Don't worry, be happy

Which is, of course, advice easier to give than follow.

However, today I was inspired reading the short article about Michael J. Fox in Parade Magazine.  When asked about his Parkinson's disease, and in particular what worries him, he said he tends not to worry.  "If the bad thing - the worry - happens, or the disease gets to some arbitrary worrisome point, and you've worried about it all along, it's like living through it twice."  This is not a direct quote, I've embellished it a good bit, but in a way that it spoke to me.  Kind of like the Buddha's 'second arrow' of suffering, but in this case experiencing the optional one before the given one has even arrived.

Though often just recycling bin fodder, I'll sometimes read of some luminary or other pictured on the cover of Parade.  Never a huge fan of Mr. Fox, I have followed his career a bit more since his diagnosis with the serious neurological condition.  He was born a month earlier than I, and diagnosed about ten years sooner than my MS diagnosis.  He is an inspirational man, and his continued work in film, on the cause of Parkinson's research, and as a loving and involved father and husband (as far as I can tell, which, admittedly is not very far), would lead me to give him the 'bump' if I were Stephen Colbert.

If only we could go 'back to the future' to find the cures, or something.  What we have is right now, and what we continue to have, are blessings.  The opportunity and challenge is to notice them.  As true now as it always has been.

I will leave you from this short blog post with a clip from Back to the Future.  (Though a guitar player like me, I'm pretty sure his audio is enhanced...):  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d4Cr7kxjSBs&feature=related

Clouds

The clouds and mist cleared, the late afternoon sun shining from the west.  We were standing in the Daman lookout tower I had stayed in some twenty four years before at the end of my Peace Corps tour in Nepal, a kind of 'self-retreat.'  Spencer, Miller, and I could see shiny white Himaalayas in the distance.  This remained our only glimpse during the entire Asia trip last summer.

"I can't meditate," some will say, "my mind just won't shut up," they may add.  Now, before you think I'm starting to proselytize, you can calm down - this is not my intention.  Rather, I would like to share some recent insights, and some facility with the contemplative path might be helpful.  Meditation, at least as practiced in the Theravada tradition, neither begins nor ends with clarity of mind, necessarily, or some sort of blissful tabula rasa.  The practice involves a good deal of watching just what the mind does on its own, moment by moment, returning from time to time to an 'anchor,' commonly the breath.  Each time you become aware of having 'drifted off,' and return your attention to the breath, is a moment of awakening to the here and now.  No matter that three breaths later you are adding to your shopping list, lamenting a recent altercation, or making plans for the weekend.  These are three more opportunities from which to 'wake up.'

A kind heart, and patience with the messy process of mind, are quite helpful in this endeavor.  We may be quick to judge ourselves, sometimes harshly, for the confused and muddy mind that presents.  Even these judgments are mind states we can observe, let go of - if only for a moment - and return to the anchor.  "Why did I waste a whole half hour planning and regretting, and now have nothing to show for it?  Am I now more 'awake,' or 'Buddhish,' or something?"  These are questions that may arise, and only you can answer.  The empirical nature of the practice is clear:  if meditation (or any other form of mindfulness practice - yoga, tai chi, qi gong, etc.) does not lead toward freedom, then let it go, by all means.  It may not be a wise path for you right now - or maybe ever.  However, it has been a path I have found quite helpful negotiating a rather challenging decade.

After getting lost in thought (which is bound to happen - to you and even to the Dalai Lama), can you return to the breath with a 'thank you' to the very thought process you were lost in?  And without which you likely would not have noticed coming back to your breath?  The jewel of your awareness - your clear view of the Himalaayas - is not just enhanced by the distracting thoughts which surround it - like the mist and clouds - but is in fact created by them.  The luminous mind is only seen in contrast to the clutter surrounding it.  Yin and yang arise in concert.

I'm attempting to let such a practice of gratitude enter other facets of my life.  One area that has been particularly challenging concerns my symptoms of MS.  Which you are likely aware, is a very big facet.  What would it mean to thank these 'clouds'?  There are times I can feel gratitude for the slower pace, but then there are lots of other times...  Sometimes the MS feels like an animal trap.  Unlike a mouse trap, which snaps and holds with a constant force, the larger animal traps used by professionals in the fur trade do this:  after being triggered they clutch their quarry, and if the trap holds around any moving body parts - such as the lungs or heart - it will constrict tighter with each breath or pulse, narrowing to an intractable end.  Some days my mind will go there.

Driving the other day I was having a more pronounced 'nystagmus' - the slight jiggling of my eyeballs in their sockets so that everything at rest seems to be shaking and pulsing.  This is usually less pronounced in the morning, and gets more intense during the day.  (Like most of my symptoms.)  Anyway, I thought of Cat Stevens' song 'Moon Shadow', with a slight twist:  and if I ever lose my eyes, if my colors all run dry, yes, if I ever lose my eyes, oh way ay ay ay hey...I won't have to [drive], no more.  Because I've never much cared for driving.  But the possibility of losing my license most assuredly gives me considerable pause.

Sure, there are taxis, busses, and metro, thankfully driving isn't everything.  Yesterday I rode the metro back from downtown, the day was mild, even a bit too warm under the windbreaker I wore.  There are many steps, however, between the bus and train doors.  And coming back, I just missed the connecting bus, and needed to use the loo.  Which meant it would not be well to sit and wait the extra half hour, so I decided to walk to the Giant, use the facility, and catch the bus from there.  My early morning walking metric - the number of unassisted steps it takes to get from our door to the elevator - was the lowest number I've ever recorded (since noting this for maybe a year now), tying perhaps only two previous occasions.  However, walking around town my legs - particularly my right one - were dragging something fierce, and my pace and balance were quite shaky.   Fortunately, I have learned after all these years how to slow it way down.

Can I learn how to thank my shaking eyes, dragging feet, impaired balance, etc. etc. etc.?  Are these dark clouds allowing me to appreciate the Himaalayan vistas in my life - my darling fiancée, strong and healthy sons, the guitar that feels gradually lighter and more facile in my grasp?  The vibrant greens of the season?

"But teacher," I ask my inner Buddha, "these MS symptoms are always changing, and are mostly getting worse!  How can I ever find peace with such a dire situation?  Waaah!"  On my good days, I can say, "lucky me!  Impermanence is in my face, every day - no need to imagine a future loss and decline - just hobble down the hall!"  But on the heavier days, oh my.  Can I look at these clouds from both sides now?

An intercontinental prayer.

If you see where this post is leading at any time - like now for example - feel free to turn away. It's not fun stuff, and I can make no guarantees that any kind of redemption or epiphany will ever materialize. If you do find it there, such states of understanding, compassion, freedom, or whatever, will be, as always, entirely up to you. You, my precious reader.

I stopped by the Giant grocery store recently. The name of this food conglomerate used to rub me the wrong way (still does a bit, but I'm older and wiser now, right?). And while I sometimes will shop at the Bethesda Food Coop, or Whole Foods, the bulk of my grocery dollar goes to the big guy. It's close, it's cheaper, the produce selection is better than at Whole Foods, and they have a growing variety of organic choices. Okay, commercial over, where was I? Yes, I was at Giant and needed to use the men's room, so I pushed my shopping cart, walker style, in that direction. As I approached the elevator there were two employees in my way, with some sort of stocking cart. I stopped behind them.

Beyond them, a man emerged from the elevator, pushing a walker - the triangular sort, which rolls - in our direction. (You probably don't know what that means. By comparison, the walker I sometimes use is rectangular, and has a seat, with four wheels. The triangle has room for some cargo, but no seat, and just three wheels.) He had a blue down jacket on, kind of wavy dark gray hair, a beard, and - do my eyes deceive me - No pants? One of the employees exchanged some words with him out of my earshot. 'Looking for the hosiery aisle, sir?' Or maybe, 'some kinda cold front blowing through, eh?' (Indeed it was very cold outside.) I pushed my cart past, and turned around to confirm my first glimpse. Not just bare legs, there was a brown striation, a few inches wide, running down along the inside of his right leg. My vision wasn't all that clear at the distance of maybe ten paces - I'm rather nearsighted, but normally only wear glasses to drive - so I had no idea what the stain was. Maybe just a naturally occurring pigmentation? Smelling nothing untoward, I pressed the elevator button, and went down.

No off-odor that is, until I entered the bathroom. Let me pause this narrative a moment. How much can you take? If you were in the Peace Corps, you can probably take all I've got to say. In Nepal, the state of our respective gastrointestinal 'issues' (a term both figurative and literal) were topics du jour - what with worms, ghiardia, ameobic dysentary. These were just some of the endemic afflictions we had to face. However, that was 25 years ago. Maybe even the RPCV's among you now might prefer to take a break. If so, know that I managed to survive, and everybody is happy! But some of you intrepid souls might be willing to step further into the miasma with me, your noses pinched.

As my urge was secondary in nature (do the math), I glanced in the HC accessible stall: there the stench was stronger. Looked into the other stall, there was a spray bottle of some kind of cleaner next to the toilet. So, I decided maybe I can hold it after all. Secondary pressures tending to be less urgent than the primary kind. (Just in case anybody hasn't caught up with the math yet.) As I headed for the door, a couple of Giant employees entered, and told me that the smaller stall was clean, no worries.

Okay, time out, I have to end the story here. Of course there was more - including some graphic details I'm certain would compromise your delicate hygienic sensibilities and would leave too long a memory trail. And much heroic cleaning efforts by the employees while I sat in the neighboring stall. Listening to an occasional $#!* or, &@^^, what the #^!&?

But in the end, I was back upstairs shopping, hands thoroughly washed, and focussed once again on the front end of the GI tract. While checking out, my 'friend' Daya mentioned to the cashier something about the fellow with no pants. Daya is a Sinhalese man from Sri Lanka, with warm smiling eyes. We've exchanged pleasantries for many months. He sometimes boxes/bags, but mostly collects carts, and helps customers take their groceries to their cars. I think he practiced accounting or something back home. "Yes, cold weather for short shorts," I agreed.

I hope the man got home, showered and took a warm bubble bath. Picturing him, I felt the urge to help him off with his jacket, turn on the shower, and draw him a bath. Because here's the thing: there but for the grace of God go I. I've changed easily over 10,000 cloth diapers when my kids were babies, and many adult diapers and 'Depends' (a kind of pull-up) for my mother and spouse in their final months, days. And, in fact, incontinence is not an infrequent symptom of MS. Bladder urgency being the more common - and even I have dealt with that from time to time. Which is clearly TMI, so I'll say no more about that.

When I got home, the phone rang. I had left my wallet at the pharmacy counter. With some significant cash in it, as I had just been to the ATM. This sort of 'incontinence' - that is, forgetting and leaving something behind - may be more common, at least it is with me.

Each night, as part of my MS prayer, I repeat the words 'may loving-kindness prevail when the incontinental divide is bridged.' (In case you need it, let me 'draw you a diagram': I mean the divide, of course, between those able to always hold except when it is time to let go, and those who are not.)

Amen.