::link via Karen Maezen Miller, who says "Like chemotherapy, the Dharma arrives drip by drip. A powerful essay on faith, love and cancer."
(please go to the link above to vote):
Today I found my Zen teacher. I could repeat that line over and over again, fill a whole page with it or shout it from the rooftops. A teacher. For me.
Two years ago I stood on a crossroad: walk the path labeled ‘work’ or the one labeled ‘motherhood’? Or tread on a undeveloped one somewhere in between? I couldn’t decide since I struggled with the perception of others, for being an ambitiousless mom. I wondered how I calmly managed a 24/7 busy household with the endless laundry, dirty diapers and lack of sleep, when my friends persistently complained about my kind of lifestyle. For me it wasn’t a matter of surviving, I actually found much satisfaction in my life as it was. Then I stumbled upon an article by Karen Maezen Miller on the mindful home . I had heard about mindfulness before, but I didn’t suspect it could be practiced when washing the dishes or vacuuming the floor. Suddenly I understood what kept me going, since it surely wasn’t the amount of spare time, let alone sleep, I was getting.
Through Maezen’s words doing the always annoying laundry became a whole new experience. All of a sudden I cherished the clean onesies of both my boys, the long colorful socks of my husband, and my worn out post-pregnancy underwear. I won’t pretend I never felt frustrated about the infinite list of chores – I didn’t get enlightened overnight – but the intimate encounter with the very fabric of life, as Maezen described it, was clearly visible and tangible to me. “Learning the point of pointlessness” became my mantra. I repeated it, hummed it when I was cleaning and even moved the vacuum on the rhythm of those words. It provided me with peace about the fact that my work will never be finished.
The first email I sent from Amsterdam to California dates of 17 February 2010: my 33rd birthday. I don’t know why I overcame my shyness on that particular day, but I decided to write to a Zen Buddhist priest and author somewhere across the other side of the world. I had never done anything like that before, let alone in English which isn’t my native tongue. Within less than three hours Maezen responded. Maybe I could have heard a soft whisper at that time: a teacher. For me.
Except I didn’t think I was in need of a Zen teacher. I treasured her words, for sure, and acted upon them. I honestly tried not to appreciate one thing – the path which implied taking care of my boys fulltime – in opposition to the other – the path where I would continue my work as independent art advisor. I worked towards having no opposition and going from that point, I set out a financial plan for the next couple of years. The answer I was looking for at that crossroad benefitted everybody involved.
Yet I wasn’t walking the path of Zen Buddhism. A beautiful statue of Buddha stands prominently in our living room and has travelled with me over the years from my student room to our current house. I used to see the big bronze statue purely as a piece of Eastern Art and told myself that my background in Art History somehow prevented me from regarding it as something more. Besides, I was deeply afraid of meditating, even though I regularly did it in yoga class. That’s not the same, that’s not the real Zen deal, a cunning voice inside my head told me. You are not cut out for this, Zen is for the tough. And you are most definitely not tough.
Have I become tough? Maybe. Is it a requirement to become a Zen student? I pray not.
On January 19th of this year, my husband was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Without any warning signs or alarm bells we were completely swept from our feet. He went to work like any other day and made a stopover at the laboratory to have his blood drawn. For months he had been complaining how tired he was – but so was I. We made the conscious decision to go for two kids within two years time and were two contented ánd exhausted young parents. Yet the doctor ordered some blood tests, just to be sure. At lunch my husband was called away from work and told to go to the nearest ER as soon as possible. At three o’clock that afternoon the verdict was placed: an acute and very life-threatening type of cancer. My guy, the love of my life who was only 36, had never been ill in his life before. Never.
I remember accompanying him to his isolated hospital room. Seeing the elevator button Floor #6 – Oncology it hit me: leukemia means cancer. Cancer could mean death.
At some point I had to leave him behind in his cold hospital bed and go home. Pick up the boys, whom I had brought over to a friend when my gut told me my husband needed me in the ER. I had to put the key in the lock and turn it. Step over the doorstep with two toddlers who had enjoyed the unexpected playtime and pancakes, but were now wondering why papa wasn’t home from work. Entering my new life.
That night I lied alone in our double bed and couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t so much the fear that was keeping me awake, it was the need of telling my story to the one person I prayed would respond. By coincidence I had planned that very afternoon to write to Maezen regarding her last email almost a year ago. I intended to express my gratitude about her words, as they hadn’t lost any of their meaning since. Instead I wrote at 2.24 in the morning, when I knew my life as it was, wasn’t there anymore.
Sitting in the dark with only the kitchen light switched on, I wanted to scream for plain and simple help – not for a teacher, I was way too shattered for any lessons. Yet the teacher showed herself, present as always. She offered to say a daily service for my husband in her amazing Zen garden, which was, and is, a tremendous comfort in our daily battle with the horrors of leukemia.
That night I became present too, more than I had ever been my entire life. There wasn’t any need to question my predestinated path any further: it was crystal clear that the sole path for survival was to live mindfully. To go from one hour to the next, sometimes even from one breath to the next.
With every chemo administration that my husband received, I saw my old life vanish rapidly – without any chance of saying good-bye to it. Witnessing what was right in front of me was tough. To say the least. And I guess facing my life without the ‘could have’ or ‘should have’ was the point where I opened up and gave in to my inner voice. It told me I didn’t need to be tough to become a Zen student. But knowing I had an incredible hidden strength helped me to take the last step.
I forgave myself.
And then I let my first personal teaching from Maezen permeate my complete being. I chewed on words. Feared those words. Was angry and even more angry, because this teaching couldn’t be more focused on me. For days and weeks I read and re-read. I tried not to grasp her words with my mind, but instead let one statement spontaneously drip into my system each day.
Cancer turned out not to be about cancer. Nor was it about the immense insecurity of any given tomorrow, or about the never-ending exhaustion in keeping the fallen apart household sort of together. It was about me. The 100% healthy me, who was too afraid to look in the mirror. Who was so used to judge others, that she closed the door in front of her as tight as possible, afraid of being judged herself. Maezen even went one step further and suggested that maybe I only let her in because she was on the other side of the world. Would I open the door if she was actually knocking on it? Allow her in and allow myself to have a friend like her? There it was, the gentle hand on my burdened shoulder: a teacher. For me.
Over the years I had installed every emotional alarm system I could think of and was terrified to even move the door and let the slightest crack of light in. Wanting protection from all possible criticism, I created a cramped world. As long as I maintained it, my love would be safe, or so I thought. I would be safe. What I missed was the essence of true self love: let yourself fall apart. Be open and trust. Accept without judgment, since there is no right or wrong way of reaching out. In order to let myself be cared for, I had to start caring for myself. Loving myself.
The day after I first read Maezen’s teaching, I dropped my eldest boy off at preschool. I used to walk away from the building as quick as possible, afraid to be forced in chit chat with the other moms. That morning one of them approached me and asked me how I was really doing. Instead of making up excuses and running away, I answered, quite relieved. An hour later an oncology nurse showed up at our doorstep – an appointment we assumed had been cancelled. She politely offered to leave again, but instead I invited her in for coffee and we talked. A weight was lifted from my heart: I literally opened the door.
The Dharma works, by itself. Or as Maezen puts it: “Your life right now is the teacher. Just keep your eyes, ears, heart and hands open and the Dharma will come to you.”
I don’t properly meditate, yet. I don’t go to Dharma talks, yet. I don’t do all the things a Zen student is ‘supposed’ to do. My plate is quite full, since dealing with cancer is a fulltime job in so many ways. What I do have is a teacher. For me. And faith like a rock that is anchored in my core. I’ll be all right.
____________
[1] Karen Maezen Miller is a Zen Buddhist priest and teacher, or sensei, at the Hazy Moon Zen Center in Los Angeles and the author of two books, Momma Zen and Hand Wash Cold: Care Instructions for an Ordinary Life. The mentioned article is printed in the March 2010 issue of Shambala Sun Magazine: Do Dishes, Rake Leaves (And Don’t Forget the Endless Loads of Laundry).
::link Please go here to vote!
Comments