Gazing at the Bandaged Places
The poet, Rumi, wrote: “Don’t turn away. Keep your gaze on the bandaged place. That’s where the light enters you.” This is so counter-intuitive. Turning towards our pain? “Following” our scars, as Carly Simon said. They both seem to understand that there is a direct relationship between our wounds and our awakening.
This takes us past the epidermis, past the sutures, to what is within. If you’ve had cancer, you know that the outer scar reflects an inner one. All of us have been wounded by life in different ways, cancer or no cancer. I have even come to think of my cancer scar as a reminder that there is inner work to be done. My outer scar has long healed, but the wounds in my soul – now that takes a lifetime to explore.
An acquaintance told me, after my diagnosis, that I had cancer in my soul. Hurtful and unkind words for someone who is barely keeping her head above water in the wake of a cancer diagnosis! But there was some truth there that I can now look at compassionately. All of us have been wounded, need healing, and find it painful to examine our wounds. My tendency is to turn away, to focus on more shallow wounds, to hold grudges against truth-speakers. I now know that it is okay to be wounded. I am not responsible for my wounds.
So just as I made decisions about what course to take to rid my body of cancer, I now summon the courage to look within at how I’ve been wounded and how I at times inflict further wounds on myself and others. I can face whatever the truth may be – that I am fearful or selfish or anxious or arrogant – knowing that in gazing at these, the light will enter. When I sit in the dentist chair, my dentist has to say over and over to me, “Turn back towards me.” Without even realizing it, little by little, I have pulled away and need his gentle reminder. It is not a natural tendency to turn towards the pain.
Yet that is what we are called to do by those wiser than I am. And in that turning, we ultimately find our souls healing and the light entering. Our scars can remind us that there is more work awaiting – and there is more light ahead.
Chronic Healing
By Laura Hankins Rand
When I was diagnosed with breast cancer shortly after 9/11, I felt that my life was toppling down at my feet much like the Twin Towers. I had good doctors. I liked them. But no information was given me about what might be helpful in managing my disrupted world: my emotions, my family’s turbulence, my finances, my vocation, my sexual identity, my spiritual well-being. The crazy thing is – we know that simply dealing with the physical condition is not enough. There is quite a lot of talk about integration of treatments that include the body, the mind, and the spirit these days, thankfully. But I see very little true “integration” going on – health providers working together, referring to different modalities, caring for the whole many-faceted people that we are.
Research clearly indicates that those with chronic physical illness also have mental health issues and needs. The Center for Disease Control and Prevention says on its website that in 2005, 133 million Americans–almost one out of every two adults– had at least one chronic illness, and seven out of ten Americans die of chronic illness each year. The most common chronic illnesses are heart disease, stroke, cancer, diabetes, respiratory diseases, and arthritis. But the category is wide and can include weight and eating issues, autoimmune diseases, mental health issues, and many other conditions. Depression is one of the leading causes of disability worldwide. And according to the World Federation for Mental Health, chronic illness is one of its major risk factors. Commonly, persons with chronic and severe illness have prolonged periods of anxiety that surface physically with symptoms such as chest tightness, headaches, dizziness, and difficulty breathing. What is going on in our lives, our emotions, and in our bodies all affect each other. We know that it is normal and even logical to feel anxiety when we have a disruptive illness. In fact, it would not be “normal” to experience no negative emotions about such serious issues. Mental health issues are – I will say it – normal.
As I’ve related in past articles I’ve written for WNC Woman, one of the many changes I made in my life after my cancer experience was that I went back to graduate school and became a Licensed Professional Counselor with the goal of working with those who are experiencing life-altering illnesses and transitions. And while I no longer had cancer, for several years thereafter my life looked to me much like Ground Zero looked after 9/11. When the cancer was gone, my life was still broken. My problems and issues weren’t removed with the cancer. I got a pathology report about the cancer but not one about what was going on in the rest of my life.
I stumbled through the following years. A handful of friends and family were near. I learned much about myself and those around me. I still bear a scar from the cancer, and I still want to turn away from it when I see myself in the mirror. But that scar is my signpost, and I can say: “Ah. Here is the mark that signifies my mortality, my struggle, my triumph.” It is a beacon leading me to deeper understanding and experience of my life. In all its “ugliness,” it has marked me.
So I am learning not to cringe when I look at myself in the mirror. I am letting my scar lead me to a larger understanding of its presence and I am exploring its meaning. That is the work of a lifetime for us all, whatever “scars” we bear. Life wounds us, all of us. Yes, you may have a chronic or severe illness. Your wounds may be of another kind. But healing can be ongoing. Healing, like our wounds, scars, and illnesses, can be chronic.
Links to other articles written by Laura Rand
http://www.wncwoman.com/2012/02/01/living-in-the-light/
http://cancerquests.blogspot.com/