Fear

I recently had lunch with an acquaintance who was lamenting her lot in life. She has to work for a living. This would likely not be a big deal, except for the periodic bouts of panic she has about not making it. Not surviving. Not making enough moola to cover the rent – or in her case, two mortgages.

I’ve heard this story a lot. Not the two mortgages part – but some variation on the terror that can grip the belly when the specter of homelessness starts to creep up.

For some reason or Act of God this does not happen to be one of my terrors. So, in some strange way, I feel uniquely qualified to discuss it. Not because I’m an expert from the inside trenches, but because I might be able to give another view on the subject. I also want to offer the caveat that I am most certainly not free of fear; and my own variation of demons lurk in the basement, periodically scrabbling up the stairs ready to pull out my nails and yank my hair.

Back to the safe territory of basic survival. I can say there has been only one time in my life I cavorted with this particular devil of doom. And that was when I cohabited with a man whose proclivity for lying only matched his ability to overdraw our credit card. I remember distinctly laying on the cold floor one particular frozen Spokane winter day, staring at the ceiling and realizing I really, really did not have any idea how I would pay the mortgage that month. In retrospect, this particular moment stemmed from one of my more sinister demons relating to deceit, but it tapped deeply enough into the survival stream that I do know how that one tastes.

Most of the time, though, where my mind goes with this element of earth life is more brimming with possibility and adventure. I recognize this is due to Grace and hope my sharing this stuff is helpful, not just a piss-button pusher. I remember the time in college, when I was living in the student health center – allowed to sleep in a bed there every night in exchange for being on call in what passed as the emergency room. I had scrounged a few dollars that month doing some ward clerk work, so I headed to the grocery store for my weekly shopping spree. As I stood there eyeing the possibilities, I did some quick math that told me the turnips were the best buy – pound for penny, so I bagged up as many as my dollars would cover and headed home. Now I know for sure that living on a bag of turnips for a week would strike some as being out there on the limb of barely surviving. But that’s the point, see? I didn’t feel that way. Not even a little. All this sort of living is just an adventure to me.

I have lots more of those sorts of stories, but the point here would be that if anyone – even one single person – can live in similar dire straits as your worst nightmare and come out of it grinning, there is some likelihood that you, too, could begin to see your circumstances in some slightly different way. Even trying this on for size could rank as a novel adventure.

Let me know how this goes for you.

Just don’t tag on any invitations for bungee jumping.

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.