Mike

OH. MY. GOD.

The most incredible thing about miracles is that they happen.
G.K. Chesterton

4 November 2022

It’s been more than a month since my last post. I apologize…the screen on my laptop died and I was unable to get into the site for several weeks, and now that I can use my computer again, I was locked out for some reason and I’ve had to spend a couple days on the phone with technical support and blah, blah, blah… So I’m back, and a LOT has happened in the interim.

First, THANK YOU to everyone for your patience, prayers, lovingkindness, thoughts, encouragement and every other wonderful thing you’ve offered me (and hopefully yourselves as well). Super skeptic that I am, I’ve often wondered if that stuff actually works to impact the “real” world. At this point, my skepticism is being very seriously called into question. The latest news…

I went in for a PET scan a few days ago to check on the state of crud-in-bones, and my doctor tells me that the scan revealed no cancer activity in the places where it had appeared in the last scan. The traces of its presence are still there, but no cancerous activity whatsoever showed up. Holy shit! It looks as if it’s gone. I’m cautiously optimistic, because it could certainly reappear. But it does seem, at least, that the date of my upcoming memorial service has been pushed back a bit. THIS, my dear friends, is why I’m thanking you all with such enthusiasm. It’s very possible that your kind and loving efforts on my behalf have really worked. Yeah. OH. MY. GOD.

My reaction: cautious optimism. I was talking with Joan last night about the fact that I’m not jumping up and down for joy. Like, is there something wrong with me? But she pointed out that I’m taking the “good” news in the same way that I took the “bad” news. It’s all just news. It’s all just life. I’m VERY grateful, of course, and it removes a great deal of pressure, but, in the end, it just forms another chapter. I shared with you all early on that I choose not to go into drama, and that I had no idea what would happen. So now THIS has happened. Wow. And I still don’t know what happens next. I will admit that I wept quietly in relief when I heard the news. And another thought comes to mind: some of you talked of “fighting” the cancer. Many see a cancer diagnosis as a call to battle. If you’ve read my previous posts, you know that I prefer peace over war, so I approached the errant cells with compassion, inviting them to heal themselves and go away. Who knows if that had any effect, but it certainly kept me out of violence mode.

I can only speak for myself, but perhaps you’ll feel some resonance with something I’m discovering. Once the pressure is off, once things feel “safe,” I have a tendency to let up on the proactive activities I’ve been practicing. That is, I get lazy. It’s gotten more challenging to meditate every day, to practice the lovingkindness meditation for many of you, for my family and for myself. Once the “prayers” are “answered,” it’s easy for me to just settle back into a routine of normalcy and lack of challenge. I end up being less aware of the importance of gratitude and of consciousness focused on spreading peace. It reminds me of a story about a hapless Irishman named Sean. In fact, I’ve placed his story here on the site for you to read.

Oh yeah. Almost forgot. I had a heart attack about four weeks ago. Some have asked what it was like. Well, I’d been feeling a tightness in my chest for a few days, but I wrote that off as heartburn and took Rolaids. Then one evening at 8:30 pm or so, it got to feeling really uncomfortable, and I also had pains in my arms. But no searing sudden pain in the chest, as I thought a heart attack was about. Just some pretty obvious discomfort. So we called 911. In the middle of the call however, the pain subsided, so we cancelled the call. A bit later though, the pains came back and my intuition told me I should probably pay attention. Another 911 call, a ride to Hilo Medical Center in an ambulance with a couple of very cool firemen, a few spurts of nitroglycerin under the tongue and a night in the emergency room where they stabilized the situation. More or less normal EKG, but the blood test indicated the presence of troponin, an enzyme that appears when the heart’s in trouble. Early the next morning, a WONDERFUL cardiologist showed up and said “Well, we can handle this in one of two ways…treat it with medications and see if it improves or just go in with a catheter to investigate.” My response: “Go for it. Let’s just get in there and see what’s happening.” So by 10 AM I was shot up with happy juice in an operating room and the doctor was running a thingie up through my wrist. Never felt a thing.

It turns out that the left anterior descending (LAD) artery was 98-99% blocked and that the doctor had to implant a stent. Dr Trutter said that there was slight damage to the heart, but that it’s recoverable. So now I’m taking enough medications to stock a pharmacy and it’s taking a while to recover my energy, but all’s well that ends well. Hilo Medical Center is just a small rural hospital, with a coronary care unit that is rather new and excellent. For any treatment more complicated than what I received, they would have put me on a plane to Honolulu, which is typical of medical care on the Big Island. Kaiser (my provider) has a small clinic next door, and I was terrifically impressed that by the time I checked out, records of the procedure had already been transmitted to Kaiser Hawai’i, and my doctor in California was viewing them soon after. More gratitude. The care I received in our little hospital in Hilo would definitely rate an A+.

You may be wondering how I reacted to all this. One friend said I must have been terrified. Nope, sorry. It was all very…interesting. More than anything, I was moving from gratitude to gratitude for the care and professionalism I encountered. My second night in the hospital, I shared a room with a man who was delirious and obviously in great suffering. That night I found myself sobbing in compassion for him, for people in Ukraine and many other places in the world who suffer, and for the wrenching pain that our fragile American democracy is suffering. My situation was/is, by comparison, a big nothing. And with the cancer stuff I’ve experienced, this was just another wrinkle. As always, I never know what’s actually going to happen to me, so why catastrophize?

All right, all right. I’ll be honest here. What really happened was that I had figured the cancer thing was getting to be old news and folks were losing interest. So I decided to have a heart attack to liven things up a bit. Now you know the truth. And now that I can’t rely on the cancer situation to garner sympathy for me, I can always fall back on being a coronary patient. When the universe takes one blessing away, there’s always another blessing to replace it.

We’ve been back in Sacramento for a week now. I’ve been cold almost the whole time since I got here (poor baby). And this isn’t even one of those absurdly frigid places in which many of you live. We’ll be here through the holidays, also visiting friends and family in absurdly frigid Idaho and Ohio this month and next. Yep. We must love you guys a lot. But then, finally, back to our ocean-and-jungle haven in Hilo in January. There I get to wade in the lagoon just near our place while I can see snow far away on the summit of Mauna Kea. Far away. Just where I like to see snow.

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

Anima Mundi

This world is indeed a living being endowed with a soul and intelligence … a single visible living entity containing all other living entities, which by their nature are all related.
Plato

1 October 2022

A real, unedited image of 14 galaxies 12.4 billion lights years from Earth

Anima Mundi is a Latin term meaning “world soul,” an ancient concept that is well described in the above quote from Platoʻs Timaeus. I find very appealing the belief that we are profoundly linked with all creation, that “reality” is much greater than our limited day-to-day experience, that when this limited experience ends, we return to, merge with and become more fully aware of the inconceivable grandeur of a universe of infinite scope and potential, a universe consisting of billions of galaxies. Billions of galaxies!

A 90-second walk from our home here in Hilo takes one to a peaceful, rock-strewn lagoon that sees few visitors. I went there today at sunset and watched clouds’ faces over the Pacific age gracefully from pink to gray, accompanied by the rhythm of surf washing over the rock barrier some hundred meters or so from the sun-warmed rocky perch where I sat. The shore here is green, green, green, full of life. In a place like this, itʻs not hard to feel that all the earth is alive and conscious and is eager to share its verdant thoughts with my limited, closed off awareness. I really want to hear and understand what it has to say. I just wish I knew how to do it.

I went yesterday with a friend to see the film Avatar for the third time, this time in 3D. It had been several years since Iʻd seen the film previously, and Iʻd forgotten how deeply the film touched me. The entire planet, including its sentient humanoid inhabitants, is in intimate communication with Eywa, the world soul of the planet. At one point in the film, an alien (human) force brutally attacks and destroys the home of the indigenous people. As I saw this horrible destruction, I thought of the people of Ukraine and wept. But I also wept during scenes in which the presence and power of the world soul were manifest. The joy of this kind of connection is something I crave. At base, I wonder if reclaiming such a connection and (dare I say) love is something we all crave as human beings. Isnʻt that what religion is about?

At the Tree of Souls, the sacred place of close contact with Eywa, the world soul

Joan and I volunteer each week at the Panaʻewa Zoo here in Hilo, the only rainforest zoo in the United States. Itʻs both a zoo and a botanical garden, lush and beautiful, as is much of this side of the island. Joan makes a difference with her work in the gift shop and Iʻm on the Animal Enrichment Team. This means that once a week or so I fix stuff like broken pig beds, clean cages in the petting zoo, walk goats and pet small animals. Recently I had a chance to sit with three other volunteers and talk story while we were quietly petting chickens and guinea pigs. If you donʻt believe that animals are conscious and have emotions, volunteer at a zoo for a while.

Thereʻs an emu at zoo named Bling. Sheʻs still wary of me, but my friend Dolores has a sweet relationship with her. One day, Dolores took some food into Blingʻs enclosure, and the bird came up to her and actually lay her head on Doloresʻs shoulder, allowing my friend to pet her. It was a beautiful thing to see. Please never think that animals have no awareness, thoughts or emotions. They do. Itʻs just that we donʻt understand their languages. Many studies have shown that animals express sadness, joy, fear, curiosity and even empathy. Elephants, dolphins, horses and other higher-level creatures show astounding levels of intelligence and sensitivity. And octopuses are amazing, if very alien, creatures. A recent Oscar-winning film, My Octopus Teacher, documents the friendship between a South African filmmaker and an eight-legged tease, and The Soul of an Octopus by Sy Montgomery is a delightful book that explores a form of consciousness much different from yet in some ways similar to our own.

So whatʻs the point of all this? Well, my friend, we may be the center of our own egotistical universe, but weʻre certainly not the center of THE universe. To make it personal in my case, as I consider my own mortality, that idea puts things into perspective, and itʻs kind of comforting in a way. Weʻre not really as important as we might like to think we are. But then, if weʻre part of such a grand miracle, maybe we ARE kind of important.

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

Mike

Vanity | Sadness | Peace | Caffeine

24 September 2022

There comes a time when you look into the mirror and you realize that what you see is all that you will ever be. And then you accept it. Or you kill yourself. Or you stop looking in mirrors.
J. Michael Straczynski

The Pacific Ocean this afternoon. The clouds entranced me. And if you look VERY closely, you can see California on the horizon.

For most of my life, I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly attractive guy. But in the last ten or fifteen years, quite a few people have told me differently. Where WERE all these people when I was younger and could have used the ego boost? And I’ve never really seen myself as vain either. But now half my face doesn’t work and my 72-year-old body looks a lot like a 72-year old body, so I’m embarrassed to say that I AM kinda vain. It makes me a bit sad that I can no longer smile. Really. I used to have a pretty expressive toothy smile, but now all I get is a half-grimace. And if I try to get the teeth involved, it looks a lot like a scary little dog smile. (Incidentally, in relation to the quote above, Iʻve stopped looking in mirrors. Seriously.)

So yeah, yesterday after all that stuff I said about “quiet joy” in my blog post a couple days ago, I got sad. A natural thing, actually. The universe loves balance. So I just accepted the sadness, knowing it would go away after a while. I even appreciated it, because it showed that I was still alive. Joy is the same way, you know. Enjoy it, appreciate it, but don’t expect it to hang around. I used to hang on tenaciously to sadness and depression, thinking it defined me. But at some point I gave up on that, realizing it took too much energy. And even worse, I’m sure it caused people to keep their distance. Who wants to hang out with Eeyore, anyway? So yes, I get sad sometimes and let it go. And I get happy sometimes and let that go too. And finally, regarding the sadness, I’m a ray of fucking sunshine, right? How could I possibly justify hanging onto sadness while saddled with that kind of responsibility?

This morning Joan and I drove to Honokaʻa, a picturesque old sugar town about an hour up the Hāmākua coast. They have an annual Peace Festival thatʻs really groovy, a sanitized celebration of what us old folks used to do to express nonconformity as we all wore the same kinds of clothes, talked the same, sported the same haircuts and toked up on the same kinds of joints. It was basically a street fair with lots of t-shirts, crafts and food. Fun stuff. No parade this year, though…still recovering from the pandemic, I figure.

The highlight of our trip, however, was a stop to see our young friend Ian, who, with his girlfriend Diana, runs Papaaloa Joe Coffee. They have 2-1/2 acres of coffee bushes and raise some really amazing coffee…it oughta be at $60 a pound. The true delight, however, is their iced Paniolo (“Hawaiian Cowboy”). A double shot of espresso, cacao tea (whatever that is), honey, milk and nutmeg. In my last post, I recommended meditation and gratitude for balancing mind and emotions. For me, caffeine is right up there as well. The effect is temporary, but few things can lift my spirits so quickly and so well. And this Paniolo thing…well, Iʻve asked Ian if he had to get a special permit to administer it as a controlled Schedule 1 substance.

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

Mike

Quiet Joy

Joy is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to recognize how good things really are.
Marianne Williamson

22 September 2022

For those of you who don’t know, the Big island has two sides that are very different from each other. We live on the east/windward side, with frequent rain, waterfalls, lush jungle and beaches that are either rough, sharp lava rocks or sandy-bottom lagoons that are great for snorkeling, but not much good for surfing. Kona and Kohala, the districts on the other side of the island, are hotter and drier, with lava-field moonscapes, picture-perfect wide sandy beaches, a plethora of short-term-rental condos and mobs of sunburned tourists. Joan and I lovingly call that side Konafornia. Both sides are wonderful, but Hilo nō ka ʻoi (Hilo is best). It takes a bit under two hours to drive from Hilo to Kailua-Kona, the main town on the other side. When folks here go to Kona, we don’t tell people “Going to Kona.” We rather say “Goin’ Costco. Want anything?” So a few days ago, we went Costco to stock up on stuff.

As we were driving across the middle of the island on what’s called the Saddle Road, looking to the summits of Mauna Loa on the left and Mauna Kea on the right, we were playing an album of Hawaiian music that our dear friend Mary had lent us, and the song Hawaiʻi Aloha began. Very frequently, wherever people with a Hawaiian connection get together (even on the mainland) for a concert, a hula presentation or some such thing, everyone stands at the end, holds hands and sings, in Hawaiian, this song’s first verse and chorus (see below). Every time I hear it, it brings tears to my eyes. And the boo-hoo-hooing happened again as we zoomed through the lava fields toward Kona.

In 2016, artists and young people across the islands recorded a video of the song that captures its beauty. I invite you to experience it and hope that it can touch your heart as it touches mine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uDa0YmZD0Jk

This experience as we drove across the island made me strongly aware of the many joys in my life, which relates to the title of this post. Yeah, I kinda know what’s happening in my body, but that doesn’t prevent me from appreciating all the quiet little joys that touch me day after day, things like:

Sharing the mana (power) of Hawaiʻi with visitors from the mainland,
Seeing the telescopes on the summit of Mauna Kea as I turn onto Kalanianaʻole Street from our condo complex,
Preparing a cappuccino for Joan every morning,
Playing bocce every Sunday morning with Larry and Ruth when weʻre in Sacramento,
Knowing Hilo so well that I can use back streets to avoid traffic on the main drag,
Feeling warm sun on my back and a cool breeze on my face as I walk toward Hilo Bay on Waiānuenue Avenue,
Filling jelly jars with the luscious papaya-mango jam Iʻve just made,
Sitting in a fan-powered breeze as I sweat through a hormone-powered hot flash (OMG!).

I wrote all that more than a week ago, and since then Iʻve had days when the quiet joy emerges easily and days when it just doesnʻt show up. Absolutely predictable, of course. Normally, I donʻt have an acute awareness of the whole cancer thing, just a soft feeling of vulnerability. But sometimes the thought pushes its way to the forefront of my consciousness. Given the fact that Iʻm not working with any gross symptoms at the moment (except for these god-damned hot flashes), the health challenge stays pretty remote. But when the heavy awareness lumbers into the picture, I remind myself that I donʻt know what lies ahead, so shut up and enjoy the magical moment.

Returning to the notion of quiet joy and how to encourage its presence, Iʻve found that meditation helps. Iʻm generally a pretty lousy meditator in regard to my ability to stay present, but Iʻve found that focusing on the Lovingkindness Meditation helps a lot. It has several forms, and the one I use is one I created myself (link here). However you do it, though, itʻs simply a matter of wishing others well and building compassion. My routine is that almost every morning I repeat the mantra/blessing three times for each of many people, concentrating especially on my family and on people who I know are experiencing a challenge in their lives. Who knows if this is doing any good…some credible research indicates that such focused consciousness actually can support healing, even from a distance. But, hell, itʻs all about me anyway, and doing the meditation makes me feel better. If it helps others, mazel tov. Thatʻs a good thing.

The other tool I access frequently is gratitude. น้อยใจ (noi jai) is a term in Thai that literally means “little heart.” Itʻs how we feel when weʻre small in character, offended, weak, even petty. When I feel น้อยใจ and Iʻm able to admit it to myself, I think of things in my life that I can be grateful for. And there are many. When I was working as a professional coach and I had a client who was challenged by anger, fear or low self esteem, Iʻd often ask him or her to start a gratitude journal, to begin or end each day by recording three things for which they were grateful. Of course Iʻve never done this myself because Iʻm great at giving advice but lousy at taking it. But my clients reported that it was a helpful exercise, so Iʻve taken their word for it. I DO, however, use gratitude to reset a painful attitude and it DOES work for me.

Well, folks, this has been a ramble. From boo-hoo-hooing on the way to Costco to lovingkindness to a refusal to take my own advice. If you got this far, thanks for sticking with it. And thank you again to those of you who have told me this blog is helpful to you. Youʻre the reason I keep doing it.

Oh yeah…one more thing. My friends (?) Larry and Ruth Kurmel sent me this t-shirt. So wrong on so many levels. First, if that’s how they see me, I gotta do something about my image. Entirely too much responsibility. And what’s worse is that yellow is definitely not my color. But thanks, guys, for sending me the shirt. (Gratitude again, huh?)

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

Mike

Beauty, Kindness, Curiosity

Kuʻi ʻia ke kukui pili ke aloha
Pili ke aloha kau maila e.
Kukui aloha o Hawaiʻi e.

Connect with light.
Connect with love,
The love and light of Hawaiʻi.

6 September 2022

A lot has been happening and a lot has crossed my mind lately. Many times I’ve thought “I really ought to post some of this to the blog,” but then I’ve gotten distracted and haven’t known how to start. And of course there’s my native laziness and the feeling sometimes that this whole blog thing is an “assignment.” Even in college, I HATED having to do homework…doing it wasn’t so bad, but being told I had to do it was what bugged me. So what does that tell you about me? However, I learned years ago that I don’t really have to know how to begin something. If I just start, it somehow begins itself. And it always feels great when it’s done. So here we go…

Many of you know that Joan and I have two homes, one in Sacramento, California, and another in Hilo, on the rainy side of the Big Island of Hawai’i. Our plan was eventually to spend most of our time in Hilo, but crud intervened, and since medical facilities in Hawai’i are much more limited than they are in Northern California, we are spending more time in Sacramento. However, as of September 1, we’re back in our lovely home in Hilo for a couple months. So the first part of this post is about our connection to our island home.

Looking across Hilo Bay at Hilo Town and snow-capped Mauna Kea

Any respectful consideration of these islands must begin with aloha, which is probably the most misunderstood word in the Hawaiian language. Alo means “presence,” and hā is the Hawaiian word for breath, which is seen as a manifestation of divine power, joy, love…you name it. So aloha is not just something the Hawaiian Airlines flight attendant is supposed to say when you get off the plane in Honolulu. Aloha is about expressing, extending, sharing, manifesting, being divine love and power: The fact is that aloha is a living, BREATHING energy that permeates the Hawaiian Islands…if youʻre open to experiencing it. Oh yes, Hawai’i has a multitude of problems…poverty, inequality, environmental degradation, marginalization of the native population and, especially, a depressing history of the theft of a beautiful nation by unscrupulous and greedy American businessmen. But the soul of this kingdom survives in the beauty of its land and its people.

Kealoha Beach Park, a five-minute walk from our home, with Mauna Kea, again, in the distance

‘If one approaches Hawai’i with respect, openness and curiosity, it emerges clearly as a place where kindness abides. Things move more slowly here, and one frequently encounters the words kuleana (responsibility, stewardship), ‘ohana (family, community) and mālama (protective care, as in mālama ‘āina…care for the land). If you get outside the tourist centers, you’ll see that people here actually care for each other and for their land. I read the news of the mainland and am appalled by all the anger one finds there. It’s so different here. And it always requires painful adjustment to return to California. (As I type this, I hear rain falling, nourishing the jungle that sits just outside our lanai, while the temperature in Sacramento reached 115ºF / 46ºC today.) With all its problems, Hawai’i really isn’t paradise. But it IS a place where kindness is a lot more common than anger, and that works for me.

Then there’s SPAM, an integral part of the beauty of Hawai’i. This is sodium-infused pink pork slurry, artfully cooked in the can. In case you didn’t know, in Hawai’i SPAM comprises its own food group on the food pyramid, on the same level as fruits, vegetables, dairy and bread/pasta. My breakfast yesterday was fried SPAM, cheese grits with a pat of butter and two fried eggs. Eat your heart out. Actually, it’s probably eating MY heart out. But hey, I have a whole cancer thing going on here. To also get wound up about cholesterol would be excessive: one health issue at a time, ok?

A typical supermarket display you might find on any of the islands…pure salt, pure delight

Returning, however, to the discussion of kindness, I had an appointment a few days ago at the Hilo Kaiser Permanente clinic to arrange for some of my cancer treatment to take place here. I’ve been impressed and touched by the levels of professionalism, respect and sheer kindness I’ve experienced not only here but also in Sacramento throughout this cancer adventure. I’ve said many times to the folks on my medical team that I so appreciate that they operate as healers, not just as medical functionaries.

In regard to my health situation, I can’t say I’m experiencing any serious symptoms at this point (and may that continue for many years to come!). The only real thing going on is a generally low energy level, probably as a result of the hormone therapy I’m getting. The other thing that’s happening is that these female hormones they’re injecting are giving me hot flashes. HOT FLASHES!!! They’re miserable. Now I have much empathy for the women in my life who have gone through menopause. Next I’ll be laying in a supply of Midol.

That brings me to what I’ve been thinking lately. Yes, I’m still pretty calm about things, but I do wonder how many times I can return comfortably to my island home and how much time I can spend here. I feel an occasional pain in my back and wonder “Is this it? Is this the beginning?” Then the pain goes away and I get a reprieve. The message: every single moment is precious. I admit that, with an awareness of crud-in-bones (ok, I’ll call it cancer to make it clear) constantly lurking under the surface, I simply cannot allow that awareness to overwhelm me and prevent my enjoyment of every moment that comprises the astounding blessing that is my life. When anxiety begins to rear its fretful head, I’ve learned to redirect its gaze from a pit of assumed misery to the open space of curiosity. That is, I don’t know what’s in store, and making assumptions is really unwise.

And I gaze often at my amazing and wonderful wife, so grateful for the time we have together. She’s so very strong and wise. I just hope that whatever comes causes her as little pain and difficulty as possible.

I have a distribution list to notify folks when I publish a new post (which can be infrequently). 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.

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

Mike

Normality

Human beings can get used to virtually anything, given plenty of time and no choice in the matter whatsoever.
Tom Holt

21 August 2022

OK. I’ll admit to having a bit of a guilt thing going on. A surprising number of people have said that this stuff I’m putting out has been worthwhile and even helpful to them. So now I’m feeling a responsibility to launch yet more stuff into the ether. But things have gotten so “normal,” together with a baseline of laziness on my part, that I haven’t been moved to write anything here.

So that got me to thinking. When I first got the cancer diagnosis, it was definitely discrepant information and I went into overdrive to incorporate it into my reality in a constructive way. It was a new, challenging, cage-rattling situation that stimulated a lot of thought. Now, some months later, the medical questions have been answered as well as they can be, I’m in a treatment regimen and I have no alarming symptoms that I can tell. This is the new normal. I certainly have an ongoing awareness of the presence of stuff in my bones, but at this point, it’s no big deal. I’m just living my life, generally having a pretty good time. Yeah, I still wonder what the future holds, and I wonder how close I am to the end of the conveyor belt. But until all that becomes immanent, I’m just cruising along.

And the fact is, that when “things” become immanent, I suppose that I’ll adapt to whatever that new normal will happen to be. I’m saying this based on my experience and my conviction that we as human beings are astoundingly adaptable if we allow ourselves to be. I’ve known folks who are incredibly resistant to change, and they cause themselves an awful lot of suffering, which is sad to see. Change simply happens. It’s the law of life. The reality of change isn’t going to change. So it just makes sense to embrace it rather than fight it.

In relation to adaptability, I was having a conversation recently with a dear friend, and we talked a bit about a wonderful experience I had in 2013, when I walked the Camino de Santiago in northern Spain. 800 km/500 mi, 5-1/2 weeks, anywhere from 10-25 km/6-17 mi per day. My friend asked what that was like, and the word that came immediately to mind was “normal.” I had a daily routine that simply became the norm as I walked through lovely landscapes, ate scrumptious food and met delightful people. In 1999, Joan and I quit our jobs, flew to Amsterdam, bought an old VW camper and spent almost an entire year traveling around Europe and living in our car. What was that like? Normal. After the initial excitement and trepidation, we just got used to finding campsites, living local and squeezing into a tiny bed every night.

So at the beginning of a new reality, things can be exciting or scary…or both. But after a while, we simply adapt if we allow ourselves to adapt. So how do I work on adapting to an impactful medical diagnosis (note my careful choice of wording)? Well, in the first place, denying it is pretty stupid: it’s simply there. It’s also not me to go into gnashing of teeth and loud lamentations…a waste of energy that would impede my ability to stay as happy and healthy as I can. Or I could ask “Why is this happening to me?” To me, that’s a really stupid question, another colossal waste of energy: It’s happening; there doesn’t have to be a why, and I’m not going to waste time spinning around trying to come up with a reason. (“God hates me.” Boy, there’s a pile of bullshit.) The real question is what do I do about this situation? The answer…adapt, stay happy and do what I can to support my health and well-being and, most importantly, be kind, compassionate and supportive to those around me.

Shifting topics, I’ve mentioned in previous posts that I was getting informed about near death experiences (NDEs), the nature of consciousness and recent research with psychedelics. What I’m finding is totally fascinating. I won’t go into all of it here, but I do want to introduce an idea…
It’s widely held that consciousness (thoughts, self-awareness, whatever makes us “us”) resides in and is controlled by the human brain (i.e., no brain, no consciousness). Well, there’s been quite a lot of verifiable scientific research (even in the area of quantum physics) that points to a different model. Perhaps consciousness is a phenomenon that exists independent of the brain. You might think of it as a field that surrounds and enfolds what we know of the universe. Some researchers even say that consciousness exists in eleven dimensions, as opposed to the three that we are aware of. It’s also been proposed that the brain is a filtering device that takes the overwhelming breadth of consciousness and filters (dumbs down?) that reality into a three dimensional framework that “we” can comprehend.

So that’s the kind of stuff I’ve been working with lately. All pretty amazing and encouraging.

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

Mike

Being | Doing | SPAM

At times, productivity means doing nothing at all.
Gina Greenlee

8 August 2022

I’ve been hassling myself lately that I spend too much time doing what looks like nothing, that I should be doing more to contribute to my world. This is, for many people, the defining issue of retirement. I am grateful to have been given many gifts and talents. Am I letting them go to waste? And as I enjoy the normality at this point of no symptoms from the cancer condition, should I use that opportunity to serve and show my gratitude for this magical life I lead? Volunteer to use my coaching skills? Work with kids in a reading program? Serve those who have no homes (SO many now in Sacramento)?

Our western culture is obsessed with doing. It seems that we as human doings are much more highly valued than we as human beings. This is especially true in the United States, and especially true among those of my generation, where stress over work and life is a badge of honor to be boasted about. Conversely, Hinduism defines four distinct stages in life: the Student (approx. ages 1-25), the Householder (approx. ages 26-50), the Retiree (approx. ages 51-75) and the Renunciant (approx. age 76+). While the descriptions of these stages are rather extreme, I find I can learn something from this structure: it’s ok in my stage of life to do “nothing.” The caveat I’ll add, though, is that I perform every action and interaction with kindness and compassion…that’s for selfish reasons. In other words, I’m making it ok for me to be a human BEING.

On a slightly different note, I want to share that today (8 August) is National SPAM Musubi Day! You gotta know that Hawaiian media outlets, grocery store web sites, tourist info sites and even a few government web sites are abuzz with news of this major event. Most of you know that Joan and I have a home in Hilo, Hawai’i, and one can’t be involved with the spirit of Hawai’i without having some involvement with SPAM, which comprises one of Hawai’i’s major food groups. SPAM musubi (pronounced moo-soo-BEE) is a delectable concoction of fried SPAM topped with a bit of savory sauce, enfolded in sushi rice and wrapped in a sheet of nori seaweed. So throttle back on your judgments until you’ve actually tried it…

And if you have an L&L Hawaiian Barbecue nearby, you can download a coupon and get a free serving of SPAM musubi today to savor the joy. (No, I’m not getting any perks from L&L for this…I just want to share a free deal with the folks I love.)

There…I’ve done something in service. I’ve shared the possibility of a freebee associated with my beloved Hawai’i. Maybe my life has purpose after all.

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

Mike

Äiti

The same substance composes us–the tree overhead, the stone beneath us, the bird, the beast, the star–we are all one, all moving to the same end.
P.L. Travers

3 August 2022

I’ve just received an e-mail message from my friend and AFS-brother Pekka to let me know that Ulla Nykänen…Äiti…has passed away. Fifty-five years ago, as an excited 17-year-old, I went to live part of a summer as an exchange student with a family in a Viiala, a factory town in central Finland. Isä (“Father” Pentti Nykänen) and Äiti (“Mother”), together with their sons Matti and Pekka and their daughters Liisa and Eeva, welcomed me with great love and generosity into their home. It was a few weeks that changed my young life. My eyes and heart opened to see and experience a world different yet similar to the one in which I was raised. Yes, there were different foods and customs, as well as a different worldview. But as the years passed and as I looked back on my time with this family, it was their kindness and generosity that impacted my life the most.

Isä, that very good man, passed many years ago, but Äiti passed just yesterday, at the age of 99 years, and as Pekka told me, she was aware, alert and independent to the very end of her life. Sisu is an untranslatable word in the Finnish language that is about strength, perseverance, total honesty, independence and unquestionable integrity and character. You’ll find it’s what the Finns are about if you have the good fortune to get to know them. It’s also what Äiti was about. You didn’t mess with her, and you certainly didn’t mess up her kitchen. I still have the fondest memories of her pulla (Finnish sweet bread) at breakfast, kesäkeitto (summer soup) and kalakukko (a rather complex dish of fish baked in a loaf of bread…amazing stuff). She showed her love through the food she served us, but she offered much more than her wonderful food. To me, as a somewhat naïve and insecure young man, she offered her quiet strength and example. Yes, this was many years ago, but there are some things one doesn’t forget easily.

I’ve wondered why Äiti’s passing has affected me so deeply, and it strikes me that I’ve become very aware of late of two important factors in my life. First, as you might expect, my mortality. It will a surprising miracle (a welcome one, of course) if this cancer thing doesn’t take me out. That’s just the way it is. It’s not so much death that I think about but what to do with the rest of my life. The passing of any person, especially of someone I care about, increases the immediacy of that question. And, the fact is that we are ALL in that situation, and it offers us a gift if we choose to accept it, the gift of motivation to live fully.

The fact that we are all living a very short life leads to the second consideration that looms large in my awareness these days. Our connectedness. I’ve mentioned that I’ve been thinking about the nature of consciousness, and now I’m reading an excellent book on recent research in psychedelics. Agnostic that I am, I’m becoming more and more convinced that we’re all connected in ways more profound than we can even conceive. And not just connected as human beings, but connected with all creation. So I’m connected with Äiti, with my friends in Finland, Thailand, Australia, Sweden, Spain, Canada, and with each of you. The World Wide Web is more, I think, than just a mechanism for transferring text and images. And the notion of being intimately connected with stars and galaxies places me in a state of awe and fearful joy. To be honest, the mystic in me longs for a deep experience of that connection.

But after all that, I want to return to where I started with a simple statement: Kiitos, Äiti.

Mike

Doors Opening / Gratitude

A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.
Winston S. Churchill
In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.
Albert Einstein

29 July 2022

Progress report: today I got shot up for the first time with Lupron, a female hormone that is supposed to suppress the production of testosterone, which, Iʻm told, encourages the growth of the tumors that have moved into the bones of this body. The nurse promised hotflashes as a probable side effect (woohoo!)…I havenʻt gone there yet. And no other effect that I can tell except perhaps the onset of a strong desire to shop for cosmetics at Wal-Mart.

I havenʻt posted for quite a few days, although my mind has been coming up with quite a bit of stuff that Iʻve wanted to share. Itʻs like doors have been opening to powerful concepts and opportunities. The fact is, however, that Iʻve had a very low energy reserve of late, and Iʻve also been too lazy to sit down and actually put together a post. But Iʻve come across some cool stuff, like the possibilities of cannabis and aspects of the nature of consciousness. To be continued…

Now the gratitude part.
Two weeks ago, Joan and I spent a couple days at a cabin in the Lake Tahoe area owned by our dear friends Rick and Vickie. While there, I was plagued by a nagging cough (still am, in fact) that was a side effect of a bone strengthening infusion Iʻd had several days earlier. Cough, cough, cough. Aside from being pretty exhausting, it has subjected Joan to a lot of stress. So the first night we were there, I went to bed early, having taken some cough medicine, and after lying down, I realized I wasnʻt coughing. I was almost brought to tears by the feeling of gratitude. When I manage to focus on (even the momentary) blessing rather than the difficulty, itʻs amazing how gratitude can step in.

Have you noticed recently how beautiful the world can be? Yes, thereʻs Ukraine, and January 6, and North Korea, and China destroying Hong Kongʻs freedoms, and much more. As Joan and I sat near the Truckee River two weeks ago (in the pic), I could feel the breeze on my skin, smell the aroma of sun on pine needles, hear the birds and the trickling of the river. And I could look all around me and see beauty everywhere. When was the last time you did something like that? When was the last time you invited the world to heal your heart and soul?
Iʻm an unabashed sensualist. I love the feel of sun and cool breeze on my naked skin. I love the scent of flowers and forest. I love the sound of birdsong and of rain on the roof. And I can only experience that fully if I pay attention and allow myself to open.
Some say that when we die, we just merge with all of nature. Yʻknow, Iʻd be real OK with that.

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

Mike

Manboobs

It must be really difficult to be normal.
Cass van Krah

21 July 2022

Those of you who know me well know that I am not normal. I tend to do things quirkily. So this bunch of crud (salivary duct carcinoma) that has decided to take residence in intimate quarters within my body is quite rare, and it is even more strange that it has moved into the bones. A sample was sent out to a genetic lab to look for something my medical team could grab onto, and they found only one little possibility. Joan and I met with our oncologist this morning, and here’s what we know:

The bones in this body are gradually transforming into lumps of mush.
The rate of transformation seems to be rather slow, but we’re not really certain about that.
Tests found no genetic markers or mutations that would allow for highly promising, targeted genetic therapy.
This condition is so rare that there has been very little research on it and pharmaceutical companies stand to make no money at all off of me so no particular remedy has been identified or developed.
There are (only) three treatment trials happening (worldwide) on the organism, but I don’t qualify for any of them.
General purpose, blast-the-hell-out-of me, let’s-try-it-anyway chemotherapy would be of little promise and would involve REALLY unpleasant side effects.
The only item of promise revealed by the tests is a receptor that is the same as a receptor found on prostate cancer cells (although this is NOT prostate cancer). This receptor reacts to the presence of testosterone by stimulating growth of the tumor, so the only treatment that promises any level of effectiveness is to inhibit the presence of testosterone in the body.
The treatment, which is also given to patients with prostate cancer, consists of a monthly injection plus a daily tablet.
The final takeaway from the meeting is that planning my memorial is not at present an urgent issue…also additional evidence that I am not normal.

Hormone therapy to limit the presence of testosterone. Hmmm. I wasn’t expecting that. Will I have to change my wardrobe? Will I be able to sing again in the lovely soprano voice I had as a member of St. Joachim’s School Choir 65 years ago in Buffalo? Will things…uh…withdraw inward?
Probably none of those, but here are some side effects that ARE very possible:

(Advantage) Possibly more hair to fill in my prominent bald spot.
(Disadvantage) Fat accumulation in places where I DON’T want to accumulate it.
(Advantage) Maybe slower tumor growth.
(Disadvantage) Lower energy levels.
(Disadvantage or Advantage, depending on one’s sense of æsthetics) Maybe grow manboobs.

So you might wonder how I’m feeling about all this. I’m not sure. No big drama. Now at least we know something and we can plan, especially our return to our home in Hawaiʻi. It would have been nice to have been given access to some genetic wonder drug that would not only have eliminated the cancer but might have made me bionic grandpa. But, you know, I’m grateful for all I have. Not much pain at this point. Just living in the present and working hard to stay conscious of blessing myself and others (and sometimes it IS work).

To finish this post, I want to share with you that hanging out with my family is like swimming in a (loving) pool of barracudas. We have a standard saying: “Blood in the water!” So here are my sons’ supportive comments in response to my having shared this information with them:
My older son Patrick: “Boobs! Bald spot! Heh heh heh”
My younger son Timothy: “Nothing wrong with a nice rack, Pops. Just get used to saying “my eyes are up here.”
Don’t you wish they were yours?

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