Finding the Joy in Cancer

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“At first I was afraid, I was petrified,”
Gloria Gaynor, “I Will Survive.”

This is the song I was listening to when I received the phone call from my doctor. I don’t remember much about what he said. All I remember were those three devastating words: “You have cancer.” The opening line of Gloria Gayor’s song summed up my exact feeling. Petrified.

After I hung up the phone I made a choice. I knew the opposite of fear was courage. I realized that to get through this adventure I would need to surround myself with family and friends who would not only support and encourage me, but would also help me stay in my joy.

The deep sorrow of any illness carves a hole into our being, but the hole leaves space for joy. Sorrow and joy are a package deal. When one is in your kitchen the other is asleep on the couch.

I learned that joy is everyday magic. It grounds me. It lifts me. It expands my mind and spirit. And I learned that a daily affirmation helped me to stay in my joy. I would look in the mirror at the scars on my face that six surgeries and 64 stitches left and I would say out loud:
“My scars are only skin deep. Cancer cannot break my heart, it cannot rob my spirit, and it cannot touch my soul. Today I choose to stay in my joy.”

There were days that were challenging to be joyful. I had a nuclear breakdown when I heard about John McCain’s brain cancer. He, too, had the same kind of melanoma as me, and I wondered if my cancer would spread. Waves of emotion crashed over me. I couldn’t breathe. I went down the street to St. Patrick’s Cathedral and sat in the back row and prayed for John McCain, for me, and for anyone going through cancer. Then I sang – out loud – in the beautiful acoustics of this 103-year-old church, “Let it Be,” which had been my theme song throughout my cancer journey. When I left the church I checked Facebook, and one of my oldest and dearest friends had posted a video of three men sitting in a cathedral singing, “Let it Be.” This confirmed to me that God/The Universe was always speaking to us, sending us little messages, creating serendipities, reminding us to stop and to breathe. Reminding us to believe in something else, to believe in something more, and to remind us that we are never alone. Never.

Last month was my one-year cancer free anniversary. I uncharacteristically did not want a party nor did I celebrate in a grand way. I didn’t buy an expensive item to mark the occasion. Having cancer has changed me.

Surviving cancer didn’t give me a fresh start on life; it gave me a chance to understand what it means to live. It wasn’t a challenge to be dealt with, conquered or overcome. I realized a complex view of myself was required to work through my fears and having cancer has provided me a level of maturity I had never before experienced. I am now weathered, solid, shaped by my sorrow and pain as well as by my success and joys. Cancer is a process that allowed me to open doorways and turn the lights on to the inner rooms of my soul. The gratitude I feel will be burned into my consciousness forever. I will never forget because I will never be the same.

And now the darkness is over. And in its place is the illumination of a bright new path that lights the way for the rest of my life and for the joy that surrounds me. Always.

The Spirituality of Our Pets

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Years ago while in Lyon, France, I stumbled onto what the locals told me was a “healing” well. It was named after my favorite medieval saint: Saint Guinefort.

In the thirteenth century, a Dominican friar, Etienne de Bourbon was preaching near Lyon, when he heard during confession that many of the local women had taken their children to Saint Guinefort. Etienne had never heard of this saint, and wanted to learn more, so he investigated.

Much to his surprise, he discovered that Saint Guinefort was actually a dog . . . a greyhound, in fact. As the hagiography of Guinefort goes, he was a dog on a large estate. One day, when his master and mistress had left the house, a snake entered into the castle and began to approach the baby’s cradle. Guinefort attacked and killed the snake, and was badly hurt himself in the fight. He stayed to guard the cradle, and so when the parents returned, they found the cradle knocked over, and both dog and cradle covered in blood. Assuming that Guinefort had attacked the baby, the lord killed him with his sword—only to find the baby safe and unharmed, and the corpse of the serpent torn to pieces. Realizing their error, they made a shrine for the unjustly slain Guinefort, and began to venerate it. Etienne was none too impressed with the locals’ veneration of a dog as a saint, so he made them destroy the shrine and burn the remains of Guinefort—but that apparently did not end the cult of St. Guinefort, because it survived all the way into the twentieth century. If this story seems familiar, it may be because a version of it is found in the Disney film, Lady and the Tramp.

Animals have been the spiritual companions of humans since the beginning of recorded time. The earliest indication of the spiritual significance of the human-animal relationship can be found in the 20,000 year-old cave wall painting of Cro-Magnon people.

In many if not most cultures, animals have served a variety of spiritual functions: They have acted as guardians and shamans, and have appeared in images of an afterlife. Many ancient creation myths depict God with a dog.

That animals touch us in a deep and meaningful place is not a new phenomenon, but one that pervades the history of the human-animal relationship. Throughout history, they have offered us something fundamental: a direct and immediate sense of both joy and love. We recognize that animals seem to feel more intensely and purely than we do. I know I yearn to express myself with such abandon and integrity.

In having a relationship with our animals we can recover that which is true within us and, and through the discovery of that truth, find our spiritual direction. Simply, animals teach us about love: how to love, how to enjoy being loved, and how loving generates more love.

They teach us the language of the spirit. Animals can’t “talk” to us, yet they communicate with us and commune with us in a language that does not require words, rather feelings. They help us to understand that words can be limiting. Animals offer the unique opportunity to transcend the boundaries of our human perspectives; they allow us to stretch our consciousness toward an understanding that enables us to grow beyond our narrow viewpoint.

I see animals as the spiritual guardians or keepers on the planet. They never lose their awareness of themselves as spirit and their innate connection to all of life. Of all species, humans appear to need the most education to master their existence. Humans, unlike most animals, struggle with their analytical complexity and fail to see or even acknowledge themselves as spiritual beings.

I think Will Rogers sums up my feelings perfectly when he said, “If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.” Indeed and some day, I look forward to meeting St. Guinefort.

I’m in Love with Improv

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My hugs are awkward. They are a perfunctory gesture mandated by social etiquette and colder than day old oatmeal. They are short where they should be long, rigid instead of soft and they end as abruptly as they begin. They have the soothing qualities of a traffic cop and just as much sex appeal. When finished, I don’t even look back and I consider by duty done. Hugs are a profound weakness of mine.

I would never had considered changing the way I hug – or lack there of- if the director of my new TV project wouldn’t have noticed. After a situation where I needed to hug someone at the end of the show he stopped and said, “Are you kidding me with that? Does anyone in your life believe your hugs?” Then he suggested I take improvisation lessons.

Returning to El Paso I made one phone call to the only friend I know who has experience in acting. He called several people and found an improv teacher named David who agreed to teach me.

Nervous I entered David’s home and the first thing I notice are his eyes, which are brown, but not like chocolate, or honey, or chestnuts. His eyes are the color of forest mushrooms, earthen brown in a way that brings to mind old sepia photographs. They could melt you with their facade of chocolate, but then they would crush you with their under-layer of earth and soil.

I am pleased to see his silver hair and he relieved to feel he has that teacher/dad vibe. He has a face like some guy you’d ask for directions in the street, non-threatening but handsome. In a suit he could be a news anchor, tall, clean cut but with a loveable smile that is only ever removed from his features when he needs to be serious. His movements are unhurried, choreographed and deliberate. His voice is deep.

Over the course of a several lessons in a couple of months I appreciate the way David counts my opinion and listens to what I have to say. For the most part I understand what is going on with the structure of improv and periodically he stops to address me directly, to explain the next exercise and what its purpose is. It was oddly comforting to be treated so much like a child, yet all along I feel in control, like all I have to do is whisper “stop” and he will.

I thought improv was just a way to make jokes, or sophisticated guidelines for brainstorming. But something in the language of our culture communicates something grander. And I began to notice that improv was something much deeper. I instinctually know that I am being asked to be fundamentally open-minded, to be brave, to be adventurous.

Improv is not about memorizing a script and performing a scene it’s about showing up and being more of yourself. Those who learn to paint like Da Vinci imitate a master; yet a long as their own inner mastery remains unknown, they are imposters. They may grow by following the brushstrokes of an original yet only become themselves by grasping their own originality. The great teachers and artists can indicate genuine paths to follow; yet following them can only take us so far. In order to emulate a saint or a teacher those who follow must eventually take their own lead and make their own footsteps.

We may enter paths where others have found meaning and even transcended; that’s a worthy way to begin a quest. But, in order to answer the question of our own lives we must risk taking our own steps. The only genuine safety in this world comes from risking oneself completely in order to become oneself more fully.

Improv demands that you show up, jump in, and go deep. After one especially charged emotional exchange I sat with the devastating emotions I was feeling and cried. And cried. And cried.

As I was leaving, David walked up to me slowly, wrapping both arms around my shoulders and hugged me. I felt my body press into to his and I sank into the warmth of his body, appreciative of the simple gesture, which made me feel as if my own father had his arms around me. I could feel the world around me melt away. His hug made the room warmer somehow, and the future seemed less bleak. It was pure. Unselfish. Undemanding. Free.

Improv has made me question every promise I ever made to myself. It made me open up when I didn’t want to let myself in. It helped me to breathe when I didn’t want to anymore and it helped me see that it’s okay to feel. And so often there are no words for the emotions we are experiencing. So we hug. Deeply.

They say that sometimes your biggest strengths are also your biggest weaknesses.
But sometimes it’s your weaknesses that become your greatest strengths.

To All The Broken Hearted

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All the genuinely smart, talented, funny friends I know seem to be broken-hearted. You will notice it on Twitter more than Facebook, because Facebook is where you go to do your performance art. It’s where you pretend to be hip; the place where people have ridiculously perfect relationships; the obligatory trips to the moon and where all toddlers potty train themselves. It’s the place where you hide how really bat shit crazy you really are. Facebook is surface; Twitter is subtext, and judging by what I am seeing lately, there are a lot of people experiencing bone aching sadness.

I have attempted to find a common denominator for all these broken-hearted souls and the answers were varied. Anything from; she had a mole on her eyelid; he pronounced it “cold slaw,” and Venus is retrograde. All the excuses you can imagine and some you can’t. But no one has said, “I am three gallons of crazy in a two gallon bucket and no one can put up with a mess like me.”

I don’t have the answers. I don’t know some big truth that I can reveal to everyone. All I can do is hurt, and try to stop hurting, and try to help others stop hurting. Maybe we need to tribe up, find each other and put our arms around each other and say something like: I know you have lost someone and it hurts. Perhaps you began to lose pieces of them until one day, they had disappeared. I’m not going to tell you tomorrow is another day, the sun will go on shining, or there are plenty of fish in the sea. It is ok to hurt, and it won’t be better for a long, long time, but eventually it will. For now take all the time you need. Here is some chocolate.

And most of us have figured out that we have to do what’s in front of us and keep doing it. Go to work, return calls, answer emails, return library books, go to the store. And breathe. And some of us even pray. The horror felt is real, and so you do your laundry and you make it through another day. In the aftermath of a loss we do what we’ve always done, although we are changed. Perhaps that’s the point. People change for two reasons I think: their minds are open or their hearts have been broken.

I know it’s hard to believe people when they say, “I know how you feel”. But I actually know how you feel. I understand feeling as insignificant as humanly possible. And how it can actually ache in places you didn’t know you had inside you. And it doesn’t matter how many new haircuts you get, or gyms you join, or how many glasses of Malbec you drink with your girlfriends, you still go to bed every night going over every detail and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell for that brief moment you could think that you were that happy. And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he’ll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you’ll discover that little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And you will realize where there is potential for love the heart keeps on going. It will love whom it loves even if you don’t want it to, even after relationships end. It will keep loving after that too.

“And you finally realize with all the bad stuff there always comes good. If our lives are like clay cups then pain carves the cup deeper as we endure more sorrow but only to make it hold more joy as we drink from the well that of the love that surrounds us everyday.”
J. August Luhrs

Synchronicity and the Magic of Life

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One April, in lower Manhattan, I stepped out of a cab on West Broadway in front of the SoHo Grand Hotel. Missing the curb I began to fall and a man who was walking by caught me. The man turned out to be an old friend from Westlake High School who still lives in Austin and who I had not seen in twenty years. This is a coincidence: an uncanny event.

In the summer of 2007, I was attending a conference in Santa Fe, and during my lunch break, I was online searching for doctors anywhere in the world who might be able to help my son Sam, who was born blind. I was interrupted by a call from my friend Felicia who asked me to speak to a friend of hers who also has a blind son. She had found a doctor with alternative methods and she was fearful of the doctor’s unusual protocols. I immediately called this person, got the name of that doctor, and discovered that he lived in Santa Fe and his name was Sam! This is synchronicity: an unconscious awareness of life, a set of messages and these messages that are life-changing. Often times a prophecy, synchronicity is an unlikely or impossible coincidence that cannot be explained by luck or chance.

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Carl Gustave Jung was a Swiss psychiatrist and he coined the term synchronicity to describe what he called the “acausal connecting principle” that links mind and matter. He said this underlying connectedness manifests itself through meaningful coincidences that cannot be explained by cause and effect. Such synchronicities occur, he theorized when a strong need arises in the psyche of an individual.

Coincidence and synchronicity are both defined as “striking occurrences of two or more events at one time.” The difference is that coincidence is perceived as chance or luck while synchronicity implies intuition, harmony, and resonance, the presence of a deeper intelligence at work.

A coincidence is a random external event that has nothing to do with your inner world. You live as a reactor to the external. You are not yet conscious of the fact that you have the ability to think independently of your present circumstances, thereby creating your own experience. The magic of life is overlooked.

Understanding synchronicity, you realize that there is more to everyone and everything than what they appear to be in physical form. You know that the invisible essence of everything on the planet is interconnected. You recognize the power of your thoughts and begin to consciously choose thoughts and belief patterns that will serve you and the planet. You are deeply humbled as you begin to see the connection between what you are thinking and what the Universe is delivering to you. The recognition of a deeper intelligence at work holds you in a beautiful state of awe and wonder at the mystery of life. The secret to life is not knowing how it all works: rather, in knowing your purpose, and allowing life to reveal itself with grace. You understand that to humans, time happens on a linear line; but, to the Universe, time happens all at once. Synchronicity means we are participating in the creative mind of the universe.

Some people attribute synchronicity to luck, fate, destiny, karma, angels or a miracle. My grandfather used to say that synchronicity happens when God wants to remain anonymous. Whatever your belief might be, synchronicity is the magic that gives us a sense that something bigger is happening something we can’t observe with just our five senses.

Whether you believe in synchronicity or not, I encourage you to approach the mishaps of life as favors. View accidents as not so accidental and all people we encounter serving a meaningful purposeful in our lives. There is significance in interruptions and in the unexpected. Your reality will shift and you will find yourself on the bridge between the invisible and the visible. Moments will be full of discovery and fulfillment and you will realize that you are constantly surrounded by messages, blessings, and magic. Because those who don’t believe in magic will never find it and certainly never experience it.

Michelle Cromer