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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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?

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 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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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

6 May 2024

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.

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.

If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them.
James O’Barr

29 May 2023

Today is Memorial Day in the United States. For those of you who live in other places, it is a national holiday meant to honor military men and women who have died in service to the country. In many places, there are parades, politicians trying to sound noble, military bands, more politicians, and (mostly Christian) ministers intoning prayers. It is also seen to be the first day of the summer season, so many families head to the beach or to parks for outdoor picnics involving the mandatory searing of animal flesh.

Hawai’i (at least Hilo) does it differently. Yesterday we took part in a very moving event that is Hilo’s approach to Memorial Day, a Celebration of Life (link to online announcement) staged by a hospice organization in town. Of course there was a tribute to fallen service men and women, but the real focus was on remembering all our loved ones who have passed. For several weeks before the event, people were encouraged to purchase floating paper lanterns that they could decorate to honor their (our) loved ones who have left us.

As for the event, over 2000 people attended and, yes, there were politicians. There was, too, a small color guard that held flags as the crowd sang the US National Anthem as well as Hawai’i Pono’i, the Hawaiian National Anthem (please click the link…it’s a beautiful rendition). There were prayers too, but with a typically Hawaiian cultural twist, first in Japanese by a woman Buddhist minister, then in Hebrew by an awesome woman rabbi, then in English by a male (of course) Roman Catholic priest and finally in Hawaiian by a male chaplain from the hospice center. Those who knew it then sang the Doxology in Hawaiian (this link too takes you to a beautiful version)

To end the event, all of us who had prepared lanterns floated them out onto the bay. Even now, as I type this, there are tears in my eyes as I think of it all.

As on the mainland, the beaches here have been packed today, and the aroma of burning animal flesh floats out over the ocean. So yes, it’s the beginning of summer, but here in Hawai’i it’s also the start of the Bon Dance season. Bon Dance, or Obon, is a Japanese festival that honors the ancestors. (The link shows you a bit of what it looks like, kind of like a line dance in the round.) In Japan, Obon happens on August 15, but here in Hawai’i it lasts all summer. In Hilo, the first Bon Dance happens appropriately at the annual Celebration of Life then moves from one Japanese Buddhist temple to the next until August. A very cool way to honor your ancestors.

There’s been a long silence in this blog, mostly because my life has settled into a balanced normality. I am aware, of course, of the cancer diagnosis, but I’m still under treatment and the last two scans (October ’22 and April ’23) indicated that my body was apparently clear(!). But I was moved to write again to share with you this marvelous event and to remember and honor with you those who have left us.

One of the many gifts I’ve received through my cancer adventure has been a strong awareness both of life and of its ending. I think a lot about the fact of death, but not at all in a morbid or depressing way. I mentioned here a long time ago that I’ve done a good deal of reading–and watched many videos–about near death experiences (NDEs). I tend to be a skeptic in all things, and it takes a lot for me to sign up for any particular belief, especially if some religious teacher or text is telling me it’s THE TRUTH. Right. Run away quick. The most I’ll normally commit to is to accept a possibility. With that in mind, I’ve had years of contact with and study of many human traditions. I’ve listen with a hopefully open mind to countless stories of others’ life-changing experiences. And many times has my heart been touched deeply by music, by natural beauty and by my fellow creatures. So I’ve come to accept a strong possibility in regard to the nature of our existence as participants in this universe thing. The main problem is that language fails in describing this possibility, but I’ll make the attempt.

In the first place, these thoughts are by no means new…I’m plagiarizing shamelessly from folks a lot wiser than I. One observation that is almost universal among those who have experienced NDEs is that consciousness survives even after the body is clinically dead and inert, after there is absolutely no detectable brain activity. Another key perception is a feeling of intense and pervading love and safety. Some see lights and others don’t. Some meet deceased relatives and friends and others don’t. Some meet a divine figure such as Jesus or other such prophet, but most others don’t. Many speak of life reviews. The two main constants that impress me are the continuance of consciousness and the reality of love. It’s also significant to me that many folks speak of transcendence, a feeling of energy or consciousness (words fail) that weaves through and unites all of creation.

At base, then, I’m a skeptical mystic. St Teresa of Ávila got it. So did the Buddha. So did Yogananda, and so do a few shamans who live on the periphery of traditional societies. I can’t say I’ve got it, but I sure accept the possibility. And I’m curious. What do you think? Feel free to e-mail me at atpeacewithcancer@gmail.com.

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.

In life, you either choose to sing a rainbow, or you don’t. Keep singing.
Kathleen Long

16 April 2023

(I have a cancer update a little farther down if youʻd like to know my current situation…)

Hula, incidentally, is not really what you might think if youʻve seen it as part of a lūʻau show at a resort here or if youʻve seen snippets of it in tourist promos. More than just a dance form, it incorporates story-telling and pride in Hawaiian language, culture and history. In fact, itʻs a profound way of life thatʻs deeply rooted in the culture of these islands.

Forgive me if Iʻm being obnoxious in pushing this at you, but if you have any interest in seeing what real hula looks like, here are some YouTube links to past Merrie Monarch performances. There are two basic styles of hula: hula kahiko (traditional hula) and hula ʻauana (modern hula):
– Hula Kahiko Wahine (Womenʻs Traditional Hula)
– Hula ʻAuana Wahine (Womenʻs Modern Hula)
– Hula Kahiko Kāne (Menʻs Traditional Hula)
– Hula ʻAuana Kāne (Menʻs Modern Hula)

The other day, we watched a hula presentation by a hālau hula kūpuna (hula group of elders) that performed a hula and sang a mele (song) called Hawaiian Lullaby that Iʻd never heard before, and the opening verse is the origin of this blogʻs title. The song touched me deeply because it brought home how incredibly grateful I am to be living in this wonderful place. You can hear the song, see the words and see its hula if you click here.

If I have any regrets at all in life, itʻs perhaps that Iʻve come to Hawaiʻi so late in life, which means I didnʻt join a hula hālau when I was much younger and had the energy to make it a part of my life.

That leads me to the cancer update. Several weeks ago, I had another PET scan, and the situation remains unchanged: no detectable evidence of cancerous activity in my body. The word “miracle” has come up a number of times, including from one of my (amazing, wonderful) doctors. I realize it might still come back, but for now, Iʻm living my miraculous life. So how did this happen? For one, an outstanding medical team and effective hormone therapy. Perhaps the healing effects of living on a magical island for much of the time. Maybe my approach to the cancer has helped as well. Iʻve never “fought” it: I simply gave it permission to be there as long as it did no further harm. Maybe because I wasnʻt fighting it, it just got bored and left. And certainly the ongoing mental, spiritual, emotional and energetic support that all of you have given me has had a huge effect. Thank you!!! Mahalo!!! Tak!!! Kiitos!!! ขอบคุฌครับ!!! ¡¡¡Gracias!!! Merci!!! I feel like my family and friends have helped give me my life, and I thank you many times over for your love. And the journey is far from over, so I hope we will continue sharing that love and support.

Yes, rainbows are something we can see physically sometime, but those are only reminders of the fact that rainbows live primarily in our hearts, and we can choose to recognize them at any moment. So, my dear friends, with all the love youʻve shown me as I move through this journey, I will return your love by challenging you to find your rainbows. Iʻve known deep depression, and if youʻre there, you have all my compassion. But, believe me, there are rainbows in your life if you put out the effort to recognize them. You may need some help to do it, as I did at some points in my life, but please believe your rainbows are there. And if you DO see your rainbows, I celebrate the joy of color and possibility with you.

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.

“I believe in angels.“
ABBA

7 March 2023

This post might be a bit different from the others I’ve published. I’m at a low point. But before launching into my whine, I’ll provide a little background.

You know, though, old habits developed with so much dedication are difficult to abandon entirely. So a lot is happening by the end of this month. Another PET scan to see what’s happening with the cancer. Who knows. Heart condition. Who knows: I could go any minute. Possibly dicey tax situation. At this point, who knows…gotta see our tax gal. And up to now I haven’t paid much for all the treatment I’ve gotten, but I just got a rather large bill from Kaiser for stuff that was free before. I’m working with them on it, but who knows. That’s the point. Who knows. Uncertainty. In my past messages to you all, I’ve been perhaps a bit arrogant about affirming that I don’t worry about outcomes that I can’t reliably predict. Why waste energy on disempowering stories? In fact, I’m not obsessing about imagined realities of horribleness. I know better than to actually believe them. BUT I know they’re possible, and that’s enough to trigger some old shit. And, truth be told, I’m pretty worn out after a week of purely enjoyable touring with Cane. We love sharing our home here with visitors, AND it takes energy, so the resistance is down.

So how about you? Do you believe in angels?

One other thing: I’d so appreciate it if you would remind the angels that we’re paying attention. I invite you again to practice the Lovingkindness Meditation, first for yourself then for others (including me as well, if you would). I promise I’m doing the same for both you and me.

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.