“Healing Kindness”
I was buying shoes the other day. The saleslady was so helpful! Kind, deep, present, engaged and interested in the life situation for which I was buying these shoes. Or at least she listened with patient kindness when I went on about it. I had the strongest urge to scooch over on my bench and pat the cushion next to me and ask her to sit for awhile. Just so I could enjoy her Presence a bit.
In my work as a physician, I have often gotten credit for being kind, especially when I have attended those through the last months of their lives. People say, “I couldn’t do that work.” I love being with people at the end of their lives because, oddly, that’s the time we most open up to be interested in matters of great import. I love being with people who get right down to being real without pretenses. Who are focused on sorting out at a deep level what the priorities of living really are, anyway. So, for me, this just happens to be an environment where it’s “accepted” that to focus on spiritual things is the norm. By spiritual, I mean “way-of-being” things – how have I been, what do I regret, what do I so wish I had done differently, what do I feel satisfied with?
Running the full scale of Kubler-Rossian emotions is part of demonstrating an authenticity that has often been obscured through a lifetime of niceness-to-fit-in. It seems that when we’re on the way out, we tend to get more “real” – maybe because fitting in on planet earth has abruptly become an obsolete concept.
Back to the woman at Belk. I love how she showed up. Standing there, with shoeboxes piled high, she was a living example of how you can be a healer any time, anywhere. This is important. You don’t have to be a physician or nurse to do this. Anyone can show up. Be present. Be kind.
My plea to you today is to do this. Because – you are a healer. No matter where you are or what you do. And we all need you.
Mary Ann Iyer, MD
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Fear of Change
My recent squaring off with the possibility of pending death brought the topic front and center. Many people assert that the fear of death is the greatest fear there is. I discovered that just isn’t true for me. The fears that really crimp me up are of a deeper sort. It may seem that it doesn’t get any deeper than death – but that isn’t my experience.
I notice in my own life, it is not physical death I’m most afraid of – but the possibility of some sort of torture just ahead. Something that is completely not of my choosing. What’s up there – around that bend I’m careening toward just might include some sort of pain I really, really don’t want. I glitch up the most when I feel completely out of control of where the boat is headed.
The greatest fear for many seems to be of change. Not just any old change, but specifically any change that really shakes things up in a way of major unknown consequences. Death figures right up there in this context as a major change-agent, of course. In a way, change does imply a death of sorts – to all things as we know them. And for many, the death of the body tops the list for the biggest change possible.
But, for some of us, death implies simply a change in form. And some of us don’t buy into the myth that the body is forever, so that particular facet of change doesn’t bother us so much. In fact, if we’ve hung out with really sick and ailing elders for a while, we may come to realize that death of the body is a deep blessing when it finally comes. There are other “deaths” – not necessarily of the body or physical form that are far more scary. There are forms of annihilation of the self that run deeper than dropping the physical form. For instance, if we feel of absolutely no value anymore, that is deeply painful. We – as living entities – may consider ourselves as surpassing and continuing on beyond the death of the body. But if we no longer find value in our very existence – in any shape – it is a terribly lonely proposition.
When we frame the conversation that way we open it up to realize the source of many sorts of suffering among us. We can understand the misery of those whose voices hold no weight – either because of gender, economics or age. Those who have “proven” themselves to have no worth by somebody’s strict dogmatic standards. Those of any minority in any place when the majority somehow consider themselves superior.
There is also, in today’s culture, some validity to the fear of getting old and dying – in the way it happens here. To enter the medical community as an old, sick person is often to lose any sense of dignity of self-propriety whatsoever. The worst part about my recent colon cancer mirage was the way the gastroenterologist who did the colonoscopy treated me. Like a brainless child who was meant to follow his orders. Not in the least interested in my experience or brainpower.
And that’s in spite of my being a trained physician. Who scored in the top 99.8 percentile in verbal reasoning in the MCATs!
There is a debilitation of self that occurs under these conditions that far surpasses the sloughing off of the carbon-based skin form we’re lugging around. To be treated, and start to think of ourselves as a sort of nonexistent ghost still stuck on the planet – with no worth or substance of worth – is misery.
Death, as I said, becomes a blessing. Get us out of here already.
There is a recent article in the Time magazine which describes the remarkable turnaround in returning soldiers with PTSD when they are placed in community service opportunities. One of the subtitles of the article is “We still need you”.
That says it all. My prayer for us each: As long as we are on the planet, may we know ourselves to be worthy of the space we occupy.
I notice in my own life, it is not physical death I’m most afraid of – but the possibility of some sort of torture just ahead. Something that is completely not of my choosing. What’s up there – around that bend I’m careening toward just might include some sort of pain I really, really don’t want. I glitch up the most when I feel completely out of control of where the boat is headed.
The greatest fear for many seems to be of change. Not just any old change, but specifically any change that really shakes things up in a way of major unknown consequences. Death figures right up there in this context as a major change-agent, of course. In a way, change does imply a death of sorts – to all things as we know them. And for many, the death of the body tops the list for the biggest change possible.
But, for some of us, death implies simply a change in form. And some of us don’t buy into the myth that the body is forever, so that particular facet of change doesn’t bother us so much. In fact, if we’ve hung out with really sick and ailing elders for a while, we may come to realize that death of the body is a deep blessing when it finally comes. There are other “deaths” – not necessarily of the body or physical form that are far more scary. There are forms of annihilation of the self that run deeper than dropping the physical form. For instance, if we feel of absolutely no value anymore, that is deeply painful. We – as living entities – may consider ourselves as surpassing and continuing on beyond the death of the body. But if we no longer find value in our very existence – in any shape – it is a terribly lonely proposition.
When we frame the conversation that way we open it up to realize the source of many sorts of suffering among us. We can understand the misery of those whose voices hold no weight – either because of gender, economics or age. Those who have “proven” themselves to have no worth by somebody’s strict dogmatic standards. Those of any minority in any place when the majority somehow consider themselves superior.
There is also, in today’s culture, some validity to the fear of getting old and dying – in the way it happens here. To enter the medical community as an old, sick person is often to lose any sense of dignity of self-propriety whatsoever. The worst part about my recent colon cancer mirage was the way the gastroenterologist who did the colonoscopy treated me. Like a brainless child who was meant to follow his orders. Not in the least interested in my experience or brainpower.
And that’s in spite of my being a trained physician. Who scored in the top 99.8 percentile in verbal reasoning in the MCATs!
There is a debilitation of self that occurs under these conditions that far surpasses the sloughing off of the carbon-based skin form we’re lugging around. To be treated, and start to think of ourselves as a sort of nonexistent ghost still stuck on the planet – with no worth or substance of worth – is misery.
Death, as I said, becomes a blessing. Get us out of here already.
There is a recent article in the Time magazine which describes the remarkable turnaround in returning soldiers with PTSD when they are placed in community service opportunities. One of the subtitles of the article is “We still need you”.
That says it all. My prayer for us each: As long as we are on the planet, may we know ourselves to be worthy of the space we occupy.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
All things pass
I’ve had lots of opportunity in recent months to reflect on my relationship with instability. Our move across the country was punctuated by a robbery in Selma, CA, a car accident in Santa Rosa, NM and a severe migraine that left me five pounds lighter by the time we arrived on the East Coast. It was a transformative trip. Since then, the challenges of finding a house and the recent scare of colon cancer (that turned out to be an adenoma, not cancer) have driven home the awareness of our fragility and the temporary nature of all things.
In all of this, the background cadence of “this, too, will pass” has been a soothing drum-beat. At no time has it felt like there was a “mistake”, or an omen of a wrong turn or punishment for some things not done “right”. And, through each event, a goodness ensued. Beyond the obvious relief I felt from the pathology report being noncancerous is the joy I feel in knowing without a doubt that I am so unafraid of death. Only by staring it in the face for a few days as a real near-term possibility could I have arrived at the solidity of this knowing.
The loss of the many things on our trip across country left us even more aware of what matters to us – and grateful for what we do have. The difficulty finding a home served to both strengthen my resolve to not sell myself short under the pressure of compromise, and introduced us to a fantastic builder with whom we can actually create what we want.
I notice that any given circumstance can open to greater awareness, rather than feel like oppression that just won’t stop. Often in my professional life I have met individuals who seem to prefer maintaining their status quo, miserable though it is, over making the changes necessary to create true and lasting peace for themselves. On some level, our gut knows full well when the habits, relationships or situations we are in are hurtful. We know when we hurt. In an odd, paradoxical way, this is sometimes part of the attraction. Why is that?
There is no simple answer to this. But it may be helpful to consider a few thoughts. If we look closely, we see that there are sometimes hidden, presumed benefits from our pain and struggle. Being seen as a victim has a lot of bennies associated with it. For one, we get attention. For some this may be the only way they know to establish their worth in the world. Overcoming the victim stance requires great strength and courage because it has to be one of the most ennobled positions in the world. Victimhood is sinuously close to martyrdom, a revered state in many cultures. The trouble is, to keep getting the benefits associated with being a victim, we have to keep reinventing the drama of it – and experiencing the dastardly consequences.
There are indeed sometimes difficult circumstances in the world we must face. It is the way of this planet for all events and situations to come and go. Some are painful in their occurrence; some in their passing. How we frame these events in the matrix of our own psyche depends in large part on our acceptance of our experience as we have it. So long as we explain the passing events of our time as “our fault” or “punishment” or some other judgment–based picture, we will suffer an added blow to the original experience. Again and again, until we see it differently.
When we realize deeply that the ways of this world are in constant flux and that our experiences are potential openings to greater self-awareness, understanding, depth and acceptance, all these plays of our lives take on a different meaning. We learn to be curious about the event, and open to our experience. We learn to love ourselves in it all, and embrace ever again the possibility of deepening contact with that most precious ongoingness of life, Itself. Underneath all this is the fluid self-acceptance we can find by knowing that we, too, are temporary on this earth. We matter as we are – right now.
Noticing that all things – for better or for worse – are temporary phenomena is powerful medicine for overcoming resentment. Living in gratitude for the moments we do have – as we have them – is a payoff that beats victimhood hands down.
In all of this, the background cadence of “this, too, will pass” has been a soothing drum-beat. At no time has it felt like there was a “mistake”, or an omen of a wrong turn or punishment for some things not done “right”. And, through each event, a goodness ensued. Beyond the obvious relief I felt from the pathology report being noncancerous is the joy I feel in knowing without a doubt that I am so unafraid of death. Only by staring it in the face for a few days as a real near-term possibility could I have arrived at the solidity of this knowing.
The loss of the many things on our trip across country left us even more aware of what matters to us – and grateful for what we do have. The difficulty finding a home served to both strengthen my resolve to not sell myself short under the pressure of compromise, and introduced us to a fantastic builder with whom we can actually create what we want.
I notice that any given circumstance can open to greater awareness, rather than feel like oppression that just won’t stop. Often in my professional life I have met individuals who seem to prefer maintaining their status quo, miserable though it is, over making the changes necessary to create true and lasting peace for themselves. On some level, our gut knows full well when the habits, relationships or situations we are in are hurtful. We know when we hurt. In an odd, paradoxical way, this is sometimes part of the attraction. Why is that?
There is no simple answer to this. But it may be helpful to consider a few thoughts. If we look closely, we see that there are sometimes hidden, presumed benefits from our pain and struggle. Being seen as a victim has a lot of bennies associated with it. For one, we get attention. For some this may be the only way they know to establish their worth in the world. Overcoming the victim stance requires great strength and courage because it has to be one of the most ennobled positions in the world. Victimhood is sinuously close to martyrdom, a revered state in many cultures. The trouble is, to keep getting the benefits associated with being a victim, we have to keep reinventing the drama of it – and experiencing the dastardly consequences.
There are indeed sometimes difficult circumstances in the world we must face. It is the way of this planet for all events and situations to come and go. Some are painful in their occurrence; some in their passing. How we frame these events in the matrix of our own psyche depends in large part on our acceptance of our experience as we have it. So long as we explain the passing events of our time as “our fault” or “punishment” or some other judgment–based picture, we will suffer an added blow to the original experience. Again and again, until we see it differently.
When we realize deeply that the ways of this world are in constant flux and that our experiences are potential openings to greater self-awareness, understanding, depth and acceptance, all these plays of our lives take on a different meaning. We learn to be curious about the event, and open to our experience. We learn to love ourselves in it all, and embrace ever again the possibility of deepening contact with that most precious ongoingness of life, Itself. Underneath all this is the fluid self-acceptance we can find by knowing that we, too, are temporary on this earth. We matter as we are – right now.
Noticing that all things – for better or for worse – are temporary phenomena is powerful medicine for overcoming resentment. Living in gratitude for the moments we do have – as we have them – is a payoff that beats victimhood hands down.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Dying - or not
Life has a way of surprising us. Most of us are striving to be the best we can, given the circumstances of our beliefs, birth and current living situation. But then there is a curve ball that changes all the rules we’ve been living by.
Or tests them.
I’ve recently discovered the blood I’ve been noticing in the toilet every morning is really not a figment of my imagination. Moving from frank denial to concerned ignoring to finally getting a test to confirm what I full well knew was there, I’ve put myself straight in the line of needing to get a colonoscopy for next steps of evaluation. Being a doctor does no good in the department of soothing one’s nerves over such things.
But my spiritual practice has risen to the front and center in a whole new powerful way. I’ve done a lot of self-examining in the past little bit. And discovered – really – I’m not afraid of dying. Not to say this is an inevitable outcome here – but, really, it will be – some day. And events such as this bring this fact right to the fore of existential awareness.
I am afraid, though. Of the events that may ensue in the name of medical care. As a physician, I know well the laundry list of possibilities that await me on the other side of that colonoscopy. The sitting down to discuss ---- what. And I know full well the recommended procedures and medical treatment for each of these possibilities. Many of the options are not pleasant.
Here we run into difficulty. There just isn’t much in our culture that supports an attitude or stance of NOT doing whatever we can to prolong life at any cost. We, as a culture, are so durned afraid of death we would choose the prolongation of suffering in the decaying form over just letting it go already.
I have a problem with this. I’m not sure just how unusual I am. But I definitely know I’d rather just pass peacefully into that next night of the soul – which I so fully trust opens up again into a different sort of day – than to prolong the agony of being stuck in a form which is trying to die already. The body. It’s so, so temporary. Why, in heavens name would we try to hang onto it beyond its useful time?
I’m fully aware most won’t agree with me on this. And that when that time comes –whenever it is – I’ll likely have a fight on my hands just to be allowed to die peacefully. But I don’t want the torture of being forced to stay alive under conditions in which the body is on a natural trajectory of dying. I am so clear about this. And I know it is likely there will be a difference of opinion about what “the inevitability of death” really is. I don't know what circumstance may prompt ME to choose the route of no intervention.
So here is the real edge of my personal spiritual practice. Because to have and live in anxiety about ANY facet of life/living/dying is to suffer. For me, to look squarely into the fear of being kept alive under conditions that I theoretically don’t want is where I must go. To see it – embrace it as a possibility – and cross THAT bridge when it comes. In this day’s tendencies, it is almost as inevitable as death, and given what I know, it is more odious. So it is clearly where my work lies. To accept even this. The possibility of standing by as I watch my form deteriorate in slow motion. I may not get the luxury of dying quickly. The liberty. I feel so ready and willing to be called back Home. I just don’t necessarily like the trip getting there. And so there – there is where I find a fight going on. A disagreement with reality. This is not to say we don’t express preferences and act on them. But when the chips are down, and we see what really IS happening – this is what we deal with.
What I notice is that, in this process, I feel ever so much more aligned with Purpose. So much more willing to embrace and accept WHATEVER the Divine has in store for me. How do I know, in advance, what it is I may be called upon to do? Or where? So, this, too, is part of the curriculum. The game plan.
It opens up a whole different world of possibility to know that the WAY we die is also part of the practice. Watching, seeing, embracing, opening to what this – and this – and this is for us. To accept self here. Right here where we are.
No matter what – in the end – that is.
Or tests them.
I’ve recently discovered the blood I’ve been noticing in the toilet every morning is really not a figment of my imagination. Moving from frank denial to concerned ignoring to finally getting a test to confirm what I full well knew was there, I’ve put myself straight in the line of needing to get a colonoscopy for next steps of evaluation. Being a doctor does no good in the department of soothing one’s nerves over such things.
But my spiritual practice has risen to the front and center in a whole new powerful way. I’ve done a lot of self-examining in the past little bit. And discovered – really – I’m not afraid of dying. Not to say this is an inevitable outcome here – but, really, it will be – some day. And events such as this bring this fact right to the fore of existential awareness.
I am afraid, though. Of the events that may ensue in the name of medical care. As a physician, I know well the laundry list of possibilities that await me on the other side of that colonoscopy. The sitting down to discuss ---- what. And I know full well the recommended procedures and medical treatment for each of these possibilities. Many of the options are not pleasant.
Here we run into difficulty. There just isn’t much in our culture that supports an attitude or stance of NOT doing whatever we can to prolong life at any cost. We, as a culture, are so durned afraid of death we would choose the prolongation of suffering in the decaying form over just letting it go already.
I have a problem with this. I’m not sure just how unusual I am. But I definitely know I’d rather just pass peacefully into that next night of the soul – which I so fully trust opens up again into a different sort of day – than to prolong the agony of being stuck in a form which is trying to die already. The body. It’s so, so temporary. Why, in heavens name would we try to hang onto it beyond its useful time?
I’m fully aware most won’t agree with me on this. And that when that time comes –whenever it is – I’ll likely have a fight on my hands just to be allowed to die peacefully. But I don’t want the torture of being forced to stay alive under conditions in which the body is on a natural trajectory of dying. I am so clear about this. And I know it is likely there will be a difference of opinion about what “the inevitability of death” really is. I don't know what circumstance may prompt ME to choose the route of no intervention.
So here is the real edge of my personal spiritual practice. Because to have and live in anxiety about ANY facet of life/living/dying is to suffer. For me, to look squarely into the fear of being kept alive under conditions that I theoretically don’t want is where I must go. To see it – embrace it as a possibility – and cross THAT bridge when it comes. In this day’s tendencies, it is almost as inevitable as death, and given what I know, it is more odious. So it is clearly where my work lies. To accept even this. The possibility of standing by as I watch my form deteriorate in slow motion. I may not get the luxury of dying quickly. The liberty. I feel so ready and willing to be called back Home. I just don’t necessarily like the trip getting there. And so there – there is where I find a fight going on. A disagreement with reality. This is not to say we don’t express preferences and act on them. But when the chips are down, and we see what really IS happening – this is what we deal with.
What I notice is that, in this process, I feel ever so much more aligned with Purpose. So much more willing to embrace and accept WHATEVER the Divine has in store for me. How do I know, in advance, what it is I may be called upon to do? Or where? So, this, too, is part of the curriculum. The game plan.
It opens up a whole different world of possibility to know that the WAY we die is also part of the practice. Watching, seeing, embracing, opening to what this – and this – and this is for us. To accept self here. Right here where we are.
No matter what – in the end – that is.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Good Enough
I don’t know anybody who is free of the feeling that they are never quite enough — and it’s such a source of suffering. I don’t think anything can be more painful than living every day with the scorching thoughts of: “I’m somehow not OK. There is something wrong with me. I can’t quite figure it out, but I’m sure I need to fix something about me to make me OK.” That’s torture.
This topic has loomed especially large in my mind recently because my mother died last month. Most of us don’t feel perfectly mothered. But a very interesting thing happened when my mother died. She had increasingly lived her life as the martyr that the faith in her religion encouraged her to be. It became quite gruesome, and she died the way she had lived —suffering horribly.
Throughout my last two months with her, I focused on trying to release the chains of the patriarchal religion which had so convinced her of her unworthiness. I wanted her to taste what it was like to be mothered in a loving way as she became more and more dependent. At the very end — in the last two days — I held her and rocked her, as her breath became more labored and she could no longer resist. I reminded her: “Right here, God loves you. The Angels are holding you. You did nothing wrong. You are innocent.” She finally began to lighten in the last hour, tears streaming down her face (and mine).
Two nights after that, I bolted straight up in bed. I was feeling the most intense loving, divine Presence. It was my mother! I felt then, and it has been absolutely there ever since, “This is what it is like without all the --.” -- garbage of condemnation. “This is what it’s like to just feel loved!”
What so many of us are dealing with, I’m convinced, is all that garbage wrapped like barnacles around the skin of the feminine. I believe this is true for both men and women. By female energy I mean the soft, receptive, gentle quality of nurturance. I see this deprivation as the real starvation behind so many addictions and pains.
Often, our entrance into the awareness of this Divine Space comes unbidden. It is always there – always available, when we stop agitating against it, believing we have to “do something” to earn it, to deserve it, to find it.
Being loved has as its only prerequisite that we exist.
This is an excerpt from a longer article, found at: http://www.maryanniyer.com/articlehome.html
This topic has loomed especially large in my mind recently because my mother died last month. Most of us don’t feel perfectly mothered. But a very interesting thing happened when my mother died. She had increasingly lived her life as the martyr that the faith in her religion encouraged her to be. It became quite gruesome, and she died the way she had lived —suffering horribly.
Throughout my last two months with her, I focused on trying to release the chains of the patriarchal religion which had so convinced her of her unworthiness. I wanted her to taste what it was like to be mothered in a loving way as she became more and more dependent. At the very end — in the last two days — I held her and rocked her, as her breath became more labored and she could no longer resist. I reminded her: “Right here, God loves you. The Angels are holding you. You did nothing wrong. You are innocent.” She finally began to lighten in the last hour, tears streaming down her face (and mine).
Two nights after that, I bolted straight up in bed. I was feeling the most intense loving, divine Presence. It was my mother! I felt then, and it has been absolutely there ever since, “This is what it is like without all the --.” -- garbage of condemnation. “This is what it’s like to just feel loved!”
What so many of us are dealing with, I’m convinced, is all that garbage wrapped like barnacles around the skin of the feminine. I believe this is true for both men and women. By female energy I mean the soft, receptive, gentle quality of nurturance. I see this deprivation as the real starvation behind so many addictions and pains.
Often, our entrance into the awareness of this Divine Space comes unbidden. It is always there – always available, when we stop agitating against it, believing we have to “do something” to earn it, to deserve it, to find it.
Being loved has as its only prerequisite that we exist.
This is an excerpt from a longer article, found at: http://www.maryanniyer.com/articlehome.html
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