Mike

I’m really OK

The universe is a complete unique entity. Everything and everyone is bound together with some invisible strings. Do not break anyone’s heart; do not look down on weaker than you. One’s sorrow at the other side of the world can make the entire world suffer; one’s happiness can make the entire world smile.
Shams Tabrizi

27 May 2025

So it’s time to write another post. I’m touched by and grateful for those of you who have sent me messages of support after my last post. Thank you! However, there seems to be an assumption among some of you that is rather concerning. Some messages have indicated the assumption that I’m suffering, I’m in pain, I’m struggling, which, I guess, is what folks with my diagnosis are supposed to do. I hate to disappoint, but the fact is that I’m neither suffering nor struggling. Really. As for pain, this 75-year-old body has more than earned its stiffness and aches. An effect of the health condition? Maybe, but I prefer to believe it’s just natural aging, and, in any event, there’s nothing severe going on.

Here’s where my concern lies. As Shams said some 800 years ago, our consciousness is tied into a quantum reality that links the entire universe together. Our thoughts are powerful and they can affect physical reality, even at a distance. When we hold a thought, it is a message to the universe that can actually manifest in physical reality. Now I’m not throwing a bunch of spiritual hocus-pocus at you. There are a number of credible and replicable scientific studies that strongly support this notion. So when you hold a vision and make an assumption of unfortunate reality for yourself, for me, or for anyone else, you’re planting a seed that can have the power to bring that vision about. So if you’re holding a vision of me as suffering or unhappy in any way, PLEASE KNOCK IT OFF! I know that people do this in a spirit of kindness and compassion, but, believe me, there are much better ways to express your kindness. I see you all in health and joy, and I ask that you do the same on my behalf.

To illustrate my current situation, I just got back from a two-mile walk, mostly along the ocean. It wiped me out, but that’s because I spend too much time on my fat ass and not enough time getting exercise. No pain, no suffering. Just enjoying breezes off the ocean and glimpses of hibiscus, plumeria, pua keni keni and a host of other flowers whose names I don’t know. Along the way, I took this picture. It’s a view of the building where Joan and I live here in Hilo. At the risk of overstating my case, does this seem like a guy who’s suffering?

For the last couple of years, Joan and I have been hanging out with a Science of Mind community about a half hour away from home. In fact, during the last month, Joan and I were asked to give the 20-minute Sunday message to the community, which was kinda fun. If you’d like, you can view videos of the talks on YouTube (I strongly recommend Joan’s talk…it was a lot better than mine). This link goes to Joan’s talk. And this link takes you to mine. I’m also facilitating a four-week class on Buddhism, which, it turns out, is as much for my benefit as it is (hopefully) for the folks who are in the class. Reliving this material has reminded me of the vital importance of mindfulness and of practicing healthy, life-affirming thoughts, speech and action. In Buddhist thought, Karma, you know, is not a cosmic reward and punishment system. It’s simply a process of cause and effect: what we think, say and do bring about effects. So I ask the folks in the class (and myself), “What effects do you want your choices to bring about?” and “What effects are your thoughts, words and actions actually creating?”

So that’s what I got to say. Our living room has a wall of windows that fronts upon a mass of verdant jungle foliage. At this moment, the sun bathes huge tropical leaves in warmth and an ocean breeze riffles them into an elaborate dance. As I look out upon all this vibrating greenness, the word that echoes in my mind is “LIFE!” May your whole experience be full of it.

Whoever you are, I wish you health, love, peace and joy in abundance.

I have a distribution list to notify folks when I publish a new post (which, I’m afraid, is rather infrequent). If you’re not already on the notification list, please just send an e-mail message to atpeacewithcancer@gmail.com with “Subscribe” in the subject line, and I’ll gladly put you on the list.

Mike

What Now?

Sometimes the future changes quickly and completely, and we’re left with only the choice of what to do next. We can choose to be afraid of it. Just stand there trembling, not moving. Assuming the worst that can happen. Or we step forward into the unknown, and assume it will be brilliant.
Sandra Oh

15 May 2025

Itʻs been several months now and itʻs time to write another blog post. A lot has happened. In my last post, I talked of going into a new chemotherapy regimen with a drug called Enhertu, which I associated with the ancient hero Enkidu, hopefully as his kind younger brother. Enhertu, however, turned out to be a monster who robbed me of my energy and had me awakening many nights with unfortunate surprises in my diapers. It was also totally ineffective in treating the tumors. So after six weeks and three infusions, my doctor called a halt, much to my relief.

I have yet to fully recover from the onslaught, as my energy level is dismal. The fact is that this was the last card that medical science could play from its deck, so Iʻm now receiving no active cancer treatment and the crud is (hopefully very slowly) spreading through my body. They talk of palliative care. Beyond pain management, Iʻm not sure what that is. Pain. Not much. A tinge in various places in my back…it moves around. But nothing serious. Iʻm told they can use targeted radiation to relieve the pain…not necessary at this point.

My (wonderful) oncologist in Sacramento has hooked me up with a Kaiser oncologist here in Hawaiʻi (Weʻre here until September.), and I like her. I just talked with her and weʻre checking into the lack of energy and into getting scan images to see what can be done with radiation if it becomes desirable. During our conversation, she said two things that rattled me a bit: (1) “Weʻll check for anemia or thyroid issues, but the low energy might just be the cancer making you feel yucky.” and (2) “The scan I saw shows the disease in a lot of places, and we just canʻt irradiate them all.” Iʻll let you figure out why these statements might have rattled me.

So here we are. Iʻm laying out the situation for you many loving people who have been supporting me…I figure you deserve to know whatʻs going on, and it makes no sense to sugar-coat it. In a sense, writing this is therapy for me, because it also gives me an opportunity to be real about it. And the most real thing I can say is “Hey, this is life.” Those of you who know me well know that Iʻm not collapsing in despair and fear. Iʻm taking it as I always have, one day at a time. Sure, visions of horribleness emerge in my imagination, but years of mental training enable me to say “Hey, bucko, you donʻt know, so donʻt be stupid by going there and dragging yourself into a hole of depression.” One day at a time. Yes, just one day at a time.

Speaking of which, itʻs a lovely day in Hilo. Weʻve had a lot of rain and the land is fresh and verdant. Weʻve also had a lot of days of warm sun. In the courtyard of our condo complex, thereʻs a tree thatʻs now flowering, with pua keni keni blossoms blessing the air with the sweetest fragrance imaginable. This flower is so beloved that weʻve actually seen hulas composed specifically to honor and celebrate it: “Kaulana ka pua keni keni…Famous and honored is pua keni keni.”

Some of my earlier posts have included some smart-ass comments that I hope were entertaining. Iʻm not in a smart-ass mood right now, as you can see, but Iʻm also not in a down mood. To be honest, Iʻm not quite sure what kind of mood Iʻm in. Gratitude, for sure, and curiosity regarding whatʻs coming. Some people have called me brave. Not really. I donʻt see that courage is a big factor, because it seems that for courage to emerge, you need to start with fear. I admit to having some fear, but not enough to require a lot of courage. To be honest, my main concern is about my wife and my family and what challenges my situation might bring to their lives. Which reminds me…I have to get moving on getting all our vital documents and information together and organized. Iʻve done some of that, but thereʻs a lot more to do.

Allow me to remind you of the Lovingkindness Meditation, as I brazenly ask that you practice it on my behalf, as well as, most importantly, on your own.

So thatʻs the deal, folks. Thank you for reading this and for sticking with me. I send you a stream of aloha from my lovely home on the Big island of Hawaiʻi, and I wish you every bit of joy, love, health and prosperity that your system can handle.

Whoever you are, I wish you health, love, peace and joy in abundance.

Mike

Gratitude for a Lesson Reaffirmed

In doubt, fear is the worst of prophets.
Statius, First Century Latin poet

30 January 2025

Two days ago, I had my first infusion of a new cancer drug, Enhertu, which I discussed in my previous post, Also, in my earlier post, I admitted to having some apprehension about side effects, particularly nausea, a concern brought on partly because my health care team had loaded me up with a supply of anti-nausea medications. The assumption was that I’d experience some very bad stuff. Let’s face it. It’s chemotherapy, and everyone KNOWS that chemotherapy is awful, despite its potential benefits.

Apprehension. Concern. Hmmm. Those are just a euphemisms for fear, aren’t they? I’m so attached to doing this cancer thing coolly, calmly and gracefully that I avoid admitting any fears I have about it. But fear of the unknown is something we humans learn from birth, and it DOES serve an important purpose in helping us to protect ourselves in a world that isn’t always friendly. Nevertheless, fear is often overdone and counterproductive.

So I’m reminded of what my dear friend Rev Beverley Strutt said to me over lunch when I said that my cancer would have a predictable trajectory. “I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth again,” she said. “Quit listening to the ‘experts’, because you don’t know and neither do they know how your life will develop.” Nevertheless, I kept listening to the experts with their anti-nausea pills and assumed the worst about the side effects that I’d be experiencing.

So what happened? During the infusion session two days ago, I received three powerful drugs, and…no nausea at all, no debilitating loss of energy, nothing unpleasant. In fact the last two days have been filled with useful activities for me, cooking, house chores, intense computer work, even a delightful outing with my wife along the Sacramento River, stopping to taste some excellent local wines and signing up for a wine club. If the medical folks I work with weren’t such nice people, I’d be tempted to get back to them with “Nyah, nyah. You were wrong. No nausea. Feeling great.” But they ARE very good people who are looking out for my welfare, and though my level of maturity is often in question, I wouldn’t do it.

When I was doing professional training sessions for various organizations, I did a bit about the word fear as an interesting acronym:
False
Expectations
Appearing
Real
The fact is that fear is all about fantasy. We make up stories of horribleness about future events and think those stories are real. BUT WE DON’T REALLY KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN. How many times have you lain awake at night worrying about something that never happened, or even if it did happen it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. Of course unfortunate things happen, but they’re almost always unanticipated. This idea sits at the foundation of my approach to my cancer experience. I’m always making up stories, but I tell myself that they’re not real and I do all I can not to let the “bad” stories take over my awareness. I do slip sometimes, but I then remind myself not to believe my stories. That helps a great deal.

To me, there’s an interesting corollary to this approach. I firmly believe that the Universe is listening to our thoughts. And if we retain and support a thought with the energy of emotion, the Universe will manifest that thought for us. This idea is central to several spiritual and philosophical traditions, and I’ve seen proof of it many times in my life. So the stories I tell myself are being heard on a grand scale, which makes it vital for me to choose my stories very carefully. Pardon me for getting personal, but what stories, my friend, are you telling yourself and the Universe? Are they stories of peace and possibility or are they stories of fear and disaster? What outcomes are you asking the Universe to manifest for you?

One more thing…I made a request in my last post that you join me in practicing the Lovingkindness Meditation. I had been sporadic in my own practice, but since I was asking you all to join me, It was important for me to resume the practice on a regular basis as well. So most days I spend ten or fifteen minutes thinking of the many people I care about around the world…in Canada, Finland, Sweden, Australia, Thailand, New Zealand. Hawai’i and across the USA. I strive to include you all in the blessing I broadcast to the Universe. It’s difficult to describe the joy and peace this brings me, sometimes to the point of tears. The list of people that I love is so long that I always run out of time before I can finish the list. So I gently recommend the practice again, more for you than for me. I invite you to open your heart in this way…it can be a marvelous experience.

Whoever you are, I wish you health, love, peace and joy in abundance.

Mike

Things Change

Freedom and happiness are found in the flexibility and ease with which we move through change.
Gautama Buddha

18 January 2025

So here I am again, surprised by the frequency with which I’m publishing these posts. The fact is that stuff is happening, and people have asked me to share it. I’m back in Sacramento from my healing trip to Hawai’i, with attitude readjusted.

A lot of changes have taken place in the five years since this cancer adventure began. Retirement. The emergence of a loving community in Hawai’i in addition to our community on the mainland. Crepey, wrinkled skin and age spots. White hair (but more of it, thanks to hormone treatments). A contact list full of phone numbers for at least half of Kaiser Medical Foundation’s departments. The opportunity to work with some very fine medical personnel. Crud spreading gleefully through my bones. The ability to speak authoritatively about the many joys of radiation and chemotherapy. The unwavering and loving support of my wife, my friends and my family. (I guess that’s not a change, but it’s important to mention it.) Gratitude for the fact that at least half of my face still works (better than having the whole thing go numb). Having a lot less energy after having been a guy who used to have lots. And now, unlike previous times, when I bend down to tie my shoes, I think about what else I can accomplish while I’m down there.

And more changes are soon to come. On 28 January, I begin a new chemotherapy regimen. My last PET scan showed that the medication I’d been taking was ineffective, so my oncologist has identified yet another possibility. It involves an infusion every three weeks, and if it works, it will be, as the doctor says, “ongoing.” Oh goody. I get to spin the chemo roulette wheel to see what the side effects will be. Fun stuff like nausea, vomiting, muscle pain, hair loss, constipation and diarrhea. (It’ll definitely be interesting to see if those last two can happen simultaneously.) I’ve been given a pile of anti-nausea tablets, which I regard as somewhat unpromising. AT LEAST man-boobs are not on the list of possible side effects, something I gratefully avoided the last time around.

It turns out that it will be possible to receive the treatment at the Kaiser clinic in Hilo, for the time when I’m able to travel back there. But right now, the doctor wants me to stay in Sacramento for a while so he can monitor my response to the treatment, probably at least into April. So the date of my return to Hawai’i is totally uncertain at present, and you know how much I love being there. But I’ve pretty much come to terms with that reality, and I’m getting to be at peace with it.

The elixir of life that is soon to be dripped into my veins is called Enhertu. (Who in the world comes up with these names?) When I first saw the name. I couldn’t help but think of the character Enkidu in the Epic of Gilgamesh, which goes back to about 2100 BCE in ancient Sumeria. (Yes, your blog author is a certifiable nerd.) Imagine: they were doing nausea-inducing chemotherapy 4000 years ago at the Kaiser clinic in the city of Ur. At any rate, for those of you who haven’t read the original in Akkadian cuneiform, Enkidu was a wild man who was defeated in combat by Gilgamesh, the king of Uruk, but he ended up being the king’s closest friend and protector. So I’d like to think of Enhertu as Enkidu’s somewhat more civilized brother, just as strong but also gifted with diplomatic talents that will help him convince the crud in my bones to back off and find a less harmful place outside of me to hang out.

So yes. More changes coming. Physical stuff to adapt to, maybe a different relationship with my beloved home in Hawai’i, readapting to spending more time on the mainland. Or maybe not. That’s the thing: I don’t really know. In regard to change, the theme of this post, and how any of us respond to it, it seems to me that there are two possible paths to follow. The first is to whine, moan and resist. The second is to accept changes over which we have no control, to adapt, maybe to embrace, and certainly to look for opportunities in the change. For me, the first path leads to unhappiness. The second path leads to peace. This brings to mind the very well known Serenity Prayer first composed by the theologian Reinhold Niebuhr:
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Changes coming. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m a bit apprehensive. But I also know that I don’t know. Some folks get very uncomfortable about not knowing what’s coming and about their inability to control. For me, I find not knowing a comfort, because it keeps my from constructing scenarios of horribleness. Yeah, it might be awful, but then it might not be. I prefer to remind myself of the possibility of might-not-be. I’d rather be happy.

One other thing…it’s been a long time since I’ve built a request around the Lovingkindness Meditation. When I first introduced it and people told me that they were practicing it on my behalf (and on their own behalf), the first medication made the cancer disappear for two years, and perhaps all that focused Lovingkindness consciousness had a helpful impact. So now I’m asking a favor of you again, that you include the meditation in a daily practice, first, very importantly, to see yourself in health, love, peace and joy, then extending that energy to others, including (I hope) me. Thank you!
Here’s a link to a description of the practice.

Whoever you are, I wish you health, love, peace and joy in abundance.

Mike

Joy and Sorrow – Sorrow and Joy

Whenever sorrow comes, be kind to it.
For God has placed a pearl in sorrow’s hand.
Rumi

8 January 2025

In my last post, I told how my loving wife kicked me out of the house in cold, gray Sacramento and sent me to our home in Hawai’i to help me get over my weather-induced depression. Well, tomorrow I fly back to the mainland after two weeks of sun, warmth, greenness and flowers, and I’m determined to keep my spirits up this time. It’s simply not fair to my wife and others around me for me to wallow in sadness.

*Yes, Mauna Kea really looks like this, with Hilo and Hilo Bay at its base (photo taken on 6 January 2025).*

So this morning, before I am to leave this magical place for a few weeks, I took a 20-minute walk to the end of the beach road where we live to Richardson Beach Park, a famous snorkeling site, to gaze across the bay at Mauna Kea. There were several vans full of visitors off a cruise ship that’s in port here for the day, and I had fun welcoming them to Hilo and finding out where they were from.

As the visitors headed back to their vans, I sat on a rock to watch three or four surfers grab some waves, and as I took in the whole gentle scene, I found myself to be weeping just a little. As I pondered what that was about, it became clear to me that the weeping was about everything.
I wept because I have to leave this place, my heart’s home, but also out of gratitude for my ability to come here anytime I want or need to, and also that I have another lovely home in California.
I wept about the existence of cancer in my body, but also for the fact that I feel almost no effect from it right now.
I wept about the uncertainty of how long I have yet to live, but also about how full my life is and has been.
I wept that I am so prosperous and so blessed in my life, but also for the fact that so many are NOT so prosperous and blessed.
I wept about the limitations I and others are feeling as we age, but also for the fact that I am still able to walk 20 minutes unassisted from my home to gaze upon the ocean.
I simply wept a little out of sorrow and joy, grateful that I am able to recognize and acknowledge how fully intertwined the two are.

And I just felt like sharing that with you.

Whoever you are, I wish you health, love, peace and joy in abundance.

Mike

Not Sure Whatʻs Next

What would our lives be if we saw everything as an opportunity?
Antoni Porowski, Queer Eye

1 January 2025

Once again, itʻs been some time since I chose to share my thoughts and experience here. Iʻll admit that Iʻve been waiting for a more comfortable state of mind, though I’m not quite there. Iʻm working on that, and I hope that writing this post will support that effort.

I suspect that few of you have experienced a PET (Positron Emission Tomography) scan. Itʻs actually kind of relaxing: getting shot up with radioactive glucose, lying still for 45 minutes, then traveling s-l-o-w-l-y for about 20 minutes through a high tech tube, again, just lying still. Easy. I realized, however, that my life is a little bizarre in that Iʻm such a regular at the Kaiser radiology center that the prep nurse greeted me during my last visit with “Hi Mike. Nice to see you. Howʻs Hawaiʻi?” And I got to respond with “Wonderful, as always, Antwinette. How was your trip to Europe?” I doubt that many folks are on such friendly and familiar terms with their PET scan prep nurse. Gee, yet another advantage of Stage IV carcinoma.

So I had a scan on 27 November, and the results were less than encouraging. The strong medication I was taking appears to have been ineffective and the crap continues to grow and spread in my bones. My doctor told me to drop that medication, and weʻre looking at one more possibility: an infusion every three weeks that might be effective in controlling the tumors. It also means a longer stay in Sacramento…my doctor says to count on staying at least until the end of February (we had planned to return to Hilo on 9 January). Heʻs also checking if I can get the treatment at the Kaiser clinic in Hilo.

So there I was in cold, gray Sacramento, surrounded by winter-dead trees and driving past tents where the unhoused have to somehow deal with the cold, a situation that pains my heart deeply. In that environment, I was unable to get warm. Iʻd spend hours in bed, huddling between fleece sheets, dreading having to go outdoors. So one morning, in the midst of my depression, my wise and loving wife Joan said “Youʻre going to Hawaiʻi for a week. Iʻve already checked on flights. You have to get out of here to recharge, and, to be honest, Iʻm sick of seeing you like this.” After resisting out of guilt, I got online and arranged for a two-week stay. Joan was less than thrilled that I was taking extra time, but one week is over before it begins, and two weeks is still just a snippet of time.

So here I am, loving the warm sun and the verdant jungle and flowers everywhere. Lonely, because itʻs weird to be here without Joan, and still aware of depression as I look for ways to heal it and my soul. But Iʻm also spending time with dear friends here and walking along the ocean in our neighborhood. Why depression? Some might say itʻs because of the cancer situation. Iʻm sure thatʻs a contributing factor. Whatʻs happened, actually, is that I reacted to the incessant cold in Sacramento and was unable to get warm there. Add to that a feeling of perennially low energy and we have the seeds of depression. That feeling then led me to construct fantasies of misfortune around the progress of the disease, which made the depression even worse.

So blah, blah, blah. Me, me, me. I look at the quote at the top of this post and think “OK, little mister miserable, what are you gonna do about it? Find the opportunity here.” A couple days ago, I got together with Beverly Strutt, a very special friend who is the spiritual director of a Science of Mind community near Hilo that Joan and I are involved with. As we were talking, I told her “Well, this thing has a pretty predictable trajectory…” She interrupted me and said “STOP IT! I never want to hear words like that come out of your mouth again!” She then said something that I know but had forgotten: “YOU DONʻT KNOW whatʻs going to happen, so quit telling the universe you want your life to be awful. Stay away from the statistics and donʻt believe what ʻpeople who knowʻ are telling you. They donʻt know what your path is.” Of course! So the opportunity is in realigning my mind and my attitude to a point of hopeful unknowing.

I donʻt yet know how to fully move past the depression, but Iʻm at least opening up to possibilities by meditating, spending time with people I love and expressing gratitude, love and kindness whenever and however I can.

Some of you have said in the past that you see me as brave. Nah, not really. I respectfully offer that that assessment is really a projection: I think youʻre comparing my response to all this with how you think you might react in a similar situation, and youʻre assuming it would be very difficult and would require a lot of courage. In my case, I donʻt think thatʻs true. Iʻm just being as practical as I can. I donʻt want to be unhappy and I donʻt want to burden those around me, so Iʻm doing my best to avoid those conditions by working on how I approach all this. Look, I know Iʻm going to die at some point, possibly earlier than I had expected and possibly not. At this point, perhaps Iʻm being naïve in not fearing that. And I donʻt know what happens between now and then. My job is simply to be as aware, as loving and as productive as possible, and my tendency to move into depression is my greatest challenge in that effort. You might think of that as courage, but to me, itʻs just practicality. Thank you, however, for accusing me of possessing such a positive quality.

I really appreciate your sticking with me on this journey. I’m deeply humbled by how many people continue to express their love and support. And yet there are old tapes (which I’m sure none of you have) that take me into self-loathing and questioning whether or not I deserve such love. Those old thoughts are logically absurd, but they’re so deeply ingrained that they refuse to go away. When we speak of opportunities, eradicating those beliefs has been my lifelong opportunity.

Whoever you are, I wish you health, love, peace and joy in abundance.

Mike

A New Beginning

No matter what, we always have the power to choose hope over despair, engagement over apathy, kindness over indifference, enthusiasm over lethargy, love over hate. This is our true freedom. Whatever life may throw at us, we have the freedom and ability to choose our attitude. And I believe it is in those moments of choice that we manifest our destiny.
Cory Booker

15 September 2024

At the moment I have several threads of thoughts knotted in my awareness, and in the interest of coherent communication, I’ll work to untie the threads one by one and follow each to share with you what’s happening in my life and, hopefully, to connect with what’s happening in yours. First, as many of you have expressed interest in my health situation, I’ll share what I know. I reported in July that a PET scan had detected that my unanticipated and undesired companion is back. It isn’t hanging out in so many places as before, but the crud was definitely detectable. As I understand it, my body had adapted to the hormone-suppressing medication I was taking, so it started creating testosterone more actively, which apparently put the crud in a party mood. So now I’m on a stronger medication, which explains the more frequent hot flashes and higher levels of fatigue. But aside from that, I’m feeling fine. I’ll have another scan in November to assess the effectiveness of the new treatment. I hope it’s working…I kinda like being around and being able to do things.

I’ll admit that I’ve been lazy and unmotivated for the past few months about many aspects of life. I could say that I’ve been busy, but I really haven’t been THAT busy. I call it lethargy. At some point I went into what I feel is semi-consciousness. I haven’t been moved to post here, and I’m not sure why. I haven’t even responded to some of the kind e-mail messages that some people have sent in response to my last post. If you are one of them, please forgive me. I had quit my daily meditations, I had not done the Lovingkindness Meditation, Iʻve done very little in the way of exercise and have given up on my bodyʻs redistribution of fat globules (not pretty at all). Iʻve spent too much time watching YouTube videos and playing solitaire. And because Iʻve felt no symptoms of the cancer itself, but only the side effects of the treatment, Iʻve gotten sloppy and lazy in being aware of the condition and of working proactively to address and manage it. I suspect that some of you may be familiar with this kind of situation, and that’s a statement of solidarity, not judgment. For those of you who were brought up Roman Catholic…mea culpa, me culpa, mea maxima culpa. So how do I get off my gluteus that has been growing ever more maximus?

I titled this “A New Beginning” because Iʻm starting to move again, aided by two blessed stimuli. For one thing, I’m now back in our home in Hawaiʻi, and the beauty and energy of this island just does something to me. As I turn out of our condoʻs parking area on a clear morning, the vision of Mauna Kea straight ahead makes me smile. After the hot, dry landscapes of California, the nightly rains and lush, verdant jungle that surrounds us reminds me of what Hildegard of Bingen named viriditas, the vibrant, alive, pulsating greenness of life. It also reconnects me with the Green Man, a pivotal character in my doctoral thesis twenty years ago. Heʻs a wild, nurturing, deeply masculine presence in nature, and I love tapping into his energy.

The second experience that has moved my heart to move my life again was a journey that I took a few short weeks ago to Finland and Sweden. In Finland, I visited with my brothers and sisters (and their spouses) from a family that I had lived with for only a short time 57 years ago, when I was a 17-year-old exchange student. That visit enriched my life in ways I can’t describe. After spending two weeks with these wonderful, loving people, I traveled to the outskirts of a tiny Swedish village a couple hours south of the Arctic Circle to attend the wedding of Karen Karlsson and her AWESOME new husband Nils. Karin and I had adopted each other when I walked the Camino de Santiago in 2013…she calls me her Camino Dad, and I HAD to be at the wedding. My journey was magical, and the love that I felt with all these glorious beings ignited my heart in ways that I had forgotten. Kiitos, perheeni! Och tack från mitt hjärta, Karin och Nils! These are more than friends. They really are my family. (In fact, I’m a member of FIVE loving families…maybe I’ll do a post on that sometime. And how amazing is that?) So my Finnish family is in the picture above, and my Swedish family is pictured to the right or below, depending on how you’re viewing this. Aren’t they all beautiful?

So what does this new beginning look like. Well, I’m reviving my daily meditation practice, and I’m putting renewed energy into the Lovingkindness Meditation. That means that I’ll be focusing on the well-being of all of you as well as myself, and the request that I make is that you join me in that, especially in wishing yourself love, joy, peace and health. I also invite you to look at your own life and infuse it with even more heart and love energy. This is actually a selfish request, because when one of us does this, it benefits everyone, most often in ways of which we’re not aware. And when you enhance your life in this way, it benefits me as well as the rest of the world. I’m also determined, with Joan, to move my body more, to love it and care for it more, and to be grateful for it.

And I could use a hobby. Earlier in the year, I enrolled in a class where I made an ‘ukulele. That’s it in the picture, taken a 90-second walk from our apartment. (Yes, we really live in such a beautiful place. Amazing, huh?) I suppose it would be a good idea for me to learn how to play the damn thing, and it would be a good use of my time. I also started to learn ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi (the Hawaiian language), but that got interrupted as I studied Swedish for a few months in preparation for my trip to Sweden. I know a few words in Hawaiian, but now Iʻd really like to get at least semi-fluent. Itʻs a beautiful and very expressive language.

And the adventure continues. In two weeks, Joan and I board a ship in Honolulu for a 17-day cruise to French Polynesia, New Zealand and Australia, where we’ll visit friends in two different parts of the country. Holy crap! This was the kid with very little money who grew up dreaming the impossible…that one day he might actually travel overseas. Miracles are more than possible. They actually happen. And it is my dearest hope that your miracles materialize as well. Like a ripple on a pond’s surface I believe that one person’s miracle can somehow inspire the realization of others’ miracles as well.

Whoever you are, I wish you health, love, peace and joy in abundance.

Mike

More Challenges, More Opportunities

All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
My soul is from elsewhere, Iʻm sure of that, and I intend to end up there.
The drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place, Iʻll be completely sober.
Meanwhile, Iʻm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off, but who is it now in my ear, who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?
Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer, I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didnʻt come here of my own accord, and I canʻt leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.
Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks, in The Illustrated Rumi

25 July 2024

Itʻs been an interesting couple of weeks. I sit here now about to fly off to Finland and Sweden to connect with dear friends, having wondered earlier today if Iʻll have to cancel the trip. A week ago, Joan and I were working to recover from COVID infections, and my symptoms were an awful cough and an even more awful bout of severe nausea that put me in a hospital emergency room. We both tested negative on Sunday and Monday, but then this afternoon we came up positive again, which led me to come close to canceling my journey. A brief phone conversation with a physician assured me that, since I had no symptoms, I would be fine, and so would those around me. An emotional roller coaster.

My time in the emergency room was a test. It took a long time for the nurses and doctors there to bring the nausea under control. As I lay in physical agony, I found that I couldnʻt control my thoughts as well as I want to. I started to do what Iʻve sworn not to, asking what might lie ahead with the cancer experience. Will this be my future? Thank God I had enough sense to push back that fear for the most part, but it became clear that I yet have much work to do. I donʻt meditate enough. If anything, the experience made very clear, again, how fragile my life is, and how vital it is to cherish every second.

Regarding the cancer experience, I went in for a bone biopsy on Wednesday. I found out that to accomplish that, the clinician actually drills a tiny hole in the bone to get at the diseased tissue. OMG! I was told that Iʻd be awake but in a twilight state. The hell with that crap! I have no curiosity about the experience, and I have no desire to be aware of what theyʻre doing while theyʻre doing it…Iʻll take a play-by-play afterward. So I encouraged the nurse to be generous in administering whatever sedative they were using, then they could have their way with me. Apparently it worked because I slept through the entire procedure, waking up with a tiny pinhole above my ass and almost no soreness. Hooray for drugs! My doctor will send the sample out for genetic testing, hoping to find a vulnerability we can address. He’s scheduled a call to review the results while I’m in Finland. Hooray for the ease of worldwide communication!

I ask you all please to hold a vision for me of powerful and effective options so we can continue to control and manage this condition. I’d sure like to stick around for a lot longer and be fully functional as long as I AM around.

So that’s the news. I wanted to post because the realization of my fragility also enhances my awareness of how many people I love and how much I want them to know that I love them (you).

Whoever you are, I wish you health, love, peace and joy in abundance.

Mike

The Adventure Continues

I’ve had experiences which I never would have had, for which I have to thank the cancer. Humility, coming to terms with my own mortality, knowledge of my inner strength, which continually surprises me, and more things about myself which I have discovered because I have had to stop in my tracks, reassess and proceed.
Freda Naylor

13 July 2024

Well, it’s back. My most recent PET scan indicated that the cancerous activity that was not apparent for the last two years has reappeared. I haven’t posted much lately because it didn’t seem there was much to say. Now, however, I guess there’s news.

For those of you who are interested in the details, the activity is nowhere near as extensive as it was two years ago…apparently just in the sternum, the pelvis and the lower back. My doctors all ask if I have pain. Yeah, of course I have pain…I’m 74 years old. But I have no idea if it has anything to do with the crud in my bones. At this point, I’m guessing no. An encouraging bit is that my oncologist says it’s developing very slowly, which gives us time to explore and implement options.

Options. Hmmm. I’m getting a biopsy in a couple weeks, after which they’ll do a genetic test to identify any new vulnerabilities, which might mean a totally new treatment regimen. If not that, there’s a slightly stronger hormonal medication to augment what I’ve been taking for the last two years. The therapy so far has been pretty effective in eliminating most body hair, rearranging or enhancing a few fat cells downward and (yay!) causing hair to regrow into my bald spot. Thankfully, no manboobs yet, but there’s always hope if I go to a stronger medication. And, oh yeah, the hot flashes. Ladies, I salute and admire you in solidarity. Considering all these possibilities, the last resort is another round of chemotherapy, which we’d all like to avoid. So yes, there are options, yet to be determined.

Some have asked how I’m feeling about this. Maybe there’s something wrong with me or I’m already brain dead, but my main reaction is “Well, ok… What now?” The fact is that I really don’t know how this will play out, and I’ve for years I’ve put a lot of energy into learning not to put a lot of energy into catastrophizing about things I can’t predict. Why build fantasies of horribleness in a state of ignorance? I don’t enjoy drama (any more, anyway), so it’s unlikely that I’ll create it around stuff I don’t know. Look, I’m gonna die at some point, from this or something else, and I just hope it’s not painful and troubling, but if it is, ok. I’ll do what I can to be comfortable and to live fully until I can’t. To be honest, my main concern is for those around me, especially my wife Joan. She’s strong and brilliant, and being the amazing person she is, she’s attracted a superlative support system. She’ll be fine, no matter what. But the fact is that if this gets really serious, having a husband whose body is going kerflop has to be a pain in the ass.

Beside the health situation, there IS some newsy info. In a few days, I’m heading to Puget Sound for a reunion with the folks with whom I served in Thailand in the Peace Corp 50 years ago. Kudos to the folks up there who have worked so hard to put this together. (Unfortunately, I’ve had to cancel this trip. Joan and I have both tested positive for COVID, and I’m spending time in bed coughing.)

Even more amazing is the fact that at the end of July I fly off to Finland to spend a couple weeks with my four AFS brothers and sisters and their spouses from when I was an exchange student as a junior in high school 57 years ago. THAT, to me, is miraculous. Matti, Pekka, Liisa and Eeva have already planned out my entire itinerary, and I’m really excited about seeing them after all these years. From Finland, I travel across to the far north of Sweden to attend the wedding of Karin Karlsson, a young woman I met (and adopted) as we walked on the Camino de Santiago 11 years ago. I flera månader har jag jobbat med att lära mig svenska, men ännu är mitt ordförråd hemskt. (For several months I’ve been working at learning Swedish, but my vocabulary is still terrible.)

And there’s more…Joan and I have booked a cruise from Honolulu to Australia in October to visit friends Down Under. I often say that I lead a magical life, and I do. The cancer is just another aspect of it.

I must say that in relation to the quote from Freda Naylor at the head of this post, this health situation has brought me to consider what more I can do with my life that is of service, that can make a difference, that can support people and the world. At this stage in my life, having finished a rewarding career that I know could impact people positively, I feel like I’m not doing enough. It seems that I live safely in my little bubble., but I want to do more. Unfortunately, my imagination fails me on this, and I must admit that I have always struggled with a strain of laziness. Enough said at this point…just a thought.

I’ll end the post by acknowledging again the skilled and compassionate medical team that continues to be an ongoing gift in my life. These are Kaiser physicians Dr Hoa Doang, Dr Tom O’Toole, Dr Levi Ledgerwood and Dr Natalie Nguyen, as well as my primary care physician, Dr Jerry Huang. It is astounding that I have had the good fortune to have had these folks continue to care for me.

Whoever you are, I wish you health, love, peace and joy in abundance.

Mike

Impermanence…and an Apology

We are snowflakes, melting on the tongue of the universe.
John Mark Green

6 May 2024

Two days ago I attended a memorial service for Mike Moran, my dear, dear friend and brother. He was a remarkable individual who loved deeply and made a genuine impact on the world…he had touched the lives of thousands, including the several hundred souls who attended the memorial. More than anything, though, he was my friend. We were FM and FP to each other (F*ing Mick and F*ing Polack), and we had some of our best times when we reverted to our 14-year-old selves. And as I sit here struggling to find words to put in this post, I’ll just say that I miss my friend and am so grateful for his love.

Mike’s passing was no surprise. A shock, but not a surprise. His body had been shutting down for several years, and it became his prison. He was ready to be released, and the ending of this vital man’s frustration gives some comfort in my sadness to know that we’ll never be able to sit quietly together by a raging fire and watch the snow fall on the pines of northern Idaho. Enough said…I don’t feel I can competently add to the many words of loving praise that so many have shared. I can only say that I will always miss you, FM, and thank you, thank you, for being such an important part of my life.

Dear friend, whoever you may be, I ask your forgiveness for my laziness and selfishness. At the memorial, I saw many old friends and familiar faces, and one dear friend from long ago said “Mike, it’s so good to see you. I didn’t know if you were even still alive, though I kept checking your blog.” It’s been almost a year since my last post, and I’ve thought often of updating everyone on what’s happening, but I’ve been unmotivated to do so. In a way, introvert that I am, I guess I didn’t feel that folks would care that much. That’s an insult to the many, many people who have shown me so much love in my life. Please forgive me for that.

Before I continue, I’ll let you know that I’ve had at least two PET scans since my last post, and they’ve both come up clear in regard to any cancerous activity. At this point, indications are that I get to stick around for a while longer, despite the seemingly dire prognosis I had three years ago. So the good news healthwise is that there’s no news. I have another scan in July, and I expect it will have similar results. At least I hope so. If not, well, as my quote above states, I’m really just another snowflake on the tongue of the universe. We all gotta melt at some point, as my dear friend Mike recently illustrated with much grace.

There’s a lot of newsy stuff to share, but I don’t do Facebook and I’m not into posting pictures and stories every time I burp. For those who are interested (I can’t imagine why), Joan and I continue to spend more than half the year at our lovely condo in Hilo, Hawai’i, we play mah jong with friends twice a week there, I walk goats and service an emu’s enclosure every Wednesday, and while we’re in California, we spend time with friends and family. Speaking of friends, I’m off to Finland in August to visit with exchange-student brothers and sisters from 55 years ago, then to the wedding of a much beloved friend way up in Swedish Lappland. In October Joan and I board a ship in Honolulu for a cruise to Australia to visit friends there. Damn, we get to lead an amazing life. But enough of the newsy stuff.

And I want to say thank you again to all of you who saw me through the health challenge of a few years ago and who have continued to think kindly of me every now and then . I really do appreciate your love.

Whoever you are, I wish you health, love, peace and joy in abundance.