"I sing the body electric; The armies of those I love engirth me, and I engirth them; They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the Soul. . . . And if the body does not do as much as the Soul? And if the body were not the Soul, what is the Soul? . . . O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and women, nor the likes of the parts of you; I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the Soul . . . " Walt Whitman. I sing the body electric. Is the body the soul? Who are we? What is our relationship to our bodies? What are our beliefs about our bodies? What expectations? What assumptions?
Its complicated. We live in our bodies, we experience each other through our bodies. Yet one of the hardest tasks for human beings is to sing the body electric, to love and accept our own bodies, to live with our own changes: ageing, illness, and eventual death. Our culture constantly and obsessively tells us our bodies are not good enough; we must improve them: lose weight, remove the hair, make this smaller, make that bigger, defy ageing, ward off disease. For those at particular risk, not good enough quickly turns into body hatred. I sing the body electric. I sing the body electric and at the same time I recognize that this very vessel, this temple, this body electric falters, gets sick, ages, dies. It is because it does those things that we keep trying to make it perfect and impervious to change. But we cannot, and so, like Dylan Thomas, some of us find ourselves saying "Time held me green and dying, yet I sang in my chains like the sea. So we live in our bodies, but not always easily, not always peacefully, not always lovingly because our bodies call us to face the changes that make up our lives, and ultimately they offer a constant reminder of our mortality.
Thus our bodies challenge us all the time, but they particularly do so when we become ill. Today I want to explore the experience of serious physical illness, whether our own or that of someone we love, and examine how it affects our relationship to our bodies. Illness has a certain path through which it moves and at each fork in the road it poses some questions and offers some choices that both reflect and affect our relationship to life itself. What will we do? What choices open for us? What surprises teach us about ourselves, our deepest beliefs?
Serious physical illness is a journey of not only physical, but also spiritual, intellectual, and emotional import. Some of us have already experienced it in our lives, some have not. Many of us have been present through the serious physical illnesses of those we love: parents, friends, children. Susan Sontag, (Illness As Metaphor), notes that "Illness is the night side of life, a more onerous citizenship. Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick. Although we all prefer to use only the good passport, sooner or later each of us is obliged, at least for a spell, to identify ourselves as citizens of that other place." Spiritually, the journey of physical illness is one of recovering our sense of trust in ourselves, our bodies, in life, in god, or whatever we name as the expression of the core of life. Emotionally we might experience ourselves on a roller coaster. How do we respond? Some of us feel anger that our bodies have betrayed us; impatience when they get in the way of accomplishing what we want to do; some of us feel despair and sadness at the loss. Some of us are taken by surprise, not expecting that this could happen to us; some of us blame ourselves, or become filled with regret, thinking that if we had only done this or that, had not done this or that, it would be different. Feeling out of control, we seek to control what happens to our bodies through the understanding of physical disease as a psychological phenomenon. Some of us expect to recover; some of us do not. Some of us get ready to fight; some of us look for acceptance; some become resigned. Some of us are afraid; some of us are brave; some of us are brave and afraid at the same time. Intellectually the journey is one of keeping ourselves integrated, of remembering to use our mind, our judgment, to continue to learn how to help ourselves and others through this.
Life is impermanent; change is the constant. We are of the nature to encounter physical illness. Our bodies become sick. Illness comes to the bodies of those we love. May we be present with ourselves and with one another as we navigate these unpredictable waters. May we inspire and teach one another by sharing our stories of the journey.
Micky Shorr is here today to do that. diagnosis day by Micky Shorr
began in the dark. april earth was waking up. she exhausted preparing for the day's procedure, expecting maybe a thing wasn't right, but feeling secure that it wouldn't be serious familiar with emotional strife, scars of the early childhood. but her dear body, during menses and menopause in pregnancy, in childbirth even now with aging, never really was a problem he didn't make her have to wait, said directly it was cancer. she cried for this hardship in the life she knew was hard enough already dressed in a daze, not knowing a way to digest such news, yet hungry so taken to a health food store, bought chicken soup and alphabet noodles, whole wheat and organic. later baby brother called. she had to say it to him, to the world, make it true, I have cancer we'll get through this, he said. she cried some more, then understood she'd do as always her very best
A diagnosis can turn the world upside down. A whirl of emotions: shock, dread, what now? How did this happen to me, to you? There were no risk factors; I eat right, I exercise, I'm not overweight. . . .Some diagnoses feel like a death sentence, whether they are or not, the way a positive HIV test used to. Others seem to promise exhausting treatment and collateral damage, the way some cancers do. Others seem to forecast unceasing deterioration, like Parkinson's. It's a time of fear and uncertainty. Do we trust the people in charge of our care? What are the options? I don't understand. How could this have happened to me? To you?
A sense of numbness, and/or overwhelm often occurs here as we have to deal with our feelings and make choices for treatment and give our lives over to it and to other people. For some of us the world of medicine is a new land, and one we would rather not emigrate to. We lose the physical independence and control we were used to and that can be extremely hard and we don't always do it with grace. Or , unexpectedly, we become caretakers and our lives turn upside down. Family and friends surprise us as they move away in avoidance and fear, or lay their own feelings upon us, or tell us what we should do, as if we didn't have enough to deal with already, while others exhibit a strength and a helpfulness we did not imagine.
We need to give ourselves some time to adjust. To take a breath; to take the hand of a family member, a friend, a person in this community here; to realize that the dread and anger which might have surfaced first are not the only emotions, are not the only qualities of our character. We're standing at a fork in the road of our lives, a turning point we did not seek. Nevertheless.
if an enemy exists by Micky Shorr
imagine them dark inky octopus like the character of quicksand trying to feed on my life force murky sneaky treacherous not to be ignored submerged by the tides but not one feminine thing about them what they do to me with me even for me remains unclear referred to by others as a kind of gift I find them useless and cowardly dim facsimile of my genuine essence not an opportunity I needed
The question now: What are we going to do with this? It may not look like an opportunity we needed, but it has thrust itself upon us anyway. How are we going to be? Our minds can help us here. If we allow for the possibility, we can learn that serious illness need not render us in-valid; we still have something to give, to teach. We can still be of use, as those of us who give care must remember. We can learn that although we might feel afraid, we also have reserves of courage available for tapping into. We can learn that sickness, even when it renders us dependent and physically suffering, does not take away our dignity if we hold it within. We can learn that even illness that brings deterioration does not do so on an even slope, but that there are times of beauty and clarity still. The people we surround ourselves with have a major role to play here, for good or ill. This can be a precious, healing time with family and friends. We can learn that despite the bad days, we can choose a measure of cheerfulness and optimism more often that we might have guessed and that it will help us. Perhaps most importantly, we can learn that the illness, whatever name it goes by, does not define who we are. We are always more than that.
in the hospital by Micky Shorr
everyone was nice to her first night through the morphine heard nurses saying they would keep her on the surgical floor refuse to send her to the cancer unit knew she was healthy rich with lifeblood so why view the damage this disease could do all so pleased when the wound was clean in just 2 days they talked to her person to person student who washed and braided her tangled hair to help her remember that she was lovely supervisor so glad the report said all her margins were clean one nurse shared personal stories as people often did, sensing that she could listen another told of her young son unable to deal with his grandmother's death she watched herself from the hospital bed suggest to mom hospice group for kids, retaining her own precious healer energy throughout the week carried the heartache of your untimely disappearance she is dreaming her disappointment when an orderly comes to take the vitals he is standing there in his brown and beautiful body in the dark she can sense his manhood, swooning almost in the fullness of it she is not the cancer, she remains alive
The experience of a serious illness carries the spiritual necessity of redefining trust in our lives. Can we trust our bodies? Not if it means expecting them never to break down. Can we trust our bodies? Not if it means assuming that because we do all the right things we will never encounter serious physical illness. Can we trust our bodies? Yes, and it means loving them for the mortal, physical entities they are and still finding a way to sing the body electric. The experience of a serious illness carries the spiritual necessity of redefining trust in our lives. Can we trust our spirits, our souls? Not if we believe that illness only brings fear, dread, despair, powerlessness. Can we trust our spirits, our souls? Not if we believe that illness takes away our inherent dignity as human beings. Can we trust our spirits, our souls? Not if we believe that illness is a punishment from god, or the universe, or life for something we have done wrong, whether by intention or not. Can we trust our spirits, our souls? Yes, and it means believing that we can find within ourselves courage in the midst of fear, strength in the midst of dependence, humor in the midst of uncertainty, happiness in the midst of suffering. I believe we can and I have seen people do so, time and time again. We find it by looking to each other; by listening to each other's stories; by bringing into our lives people who inspire us to re-assert, re-build, re-define trust in life or trust in god if that word has meaning for you, and trust in ourselves: body and spirit. We find it by looking inside ourselves; by praying for it; by saying affirmations; by stating intentions; through study and research; by whatever methods are meaningful to us.
unfinished story by Micky Shorr
it's a big room huge, cavernous even except lots of light from many windows I say to people when I'm telling about it Damon Runyon quality, slice of life cross section I mean shared experience with strangers seen frequent during this course of time the nurses work steady moving about, checking medicine levels the poisons I call them first see physician not always the same one, dear Dr A., most human multi-tasking, hard to focus such genuine caring he calls me honey and I don't mind come into this room looking nicely dressed, pretty with having my hair and some piece of my energy rosy cheeks and my appetite intact not pale or thin till it's painful to look at chemo room people my age or older stories about recurrence decade or more later also of course younger women the shocking statistics for their disease no one seems angry no display of bitterness people's bravery and spirit that they laugh and joke with family and friends might be mistaken for being stoic I know it's a testament to being alive struck each time with new awareness this raging epidemic many lives it touches how people just won't know until and if they have to learning the cancer industry drugs catastrophic expenses toxic food water lipstick household cleaners on and on the government's lack of concern the absence of outrage among us can almost be discouraging mostly decide to just do what they tell me surrender to that medical world generally mistrusted say gratefully over & over I am not nauseous get to eat keep my strength usually have a good night's sleep this could be what acceptance means then good news 12 sessions will be 10 in the end doc says that 8 will be enough blood back okay marker described good as can be released, let loose freed from the holding pattern back to a life with plans, desires year goes by, all is well time for the test anniversary issues to remember that morning getting the news weak in the knees the mere notion of feeling those feelings again realize this truth I had cancer I have changed
Through symptoms, tests, diagnosis, treatment, the experience of a serious physical illness is an inward, as well as an outward journey. And after treatment? We have changed. No matter what comes next, be it recovery, remission, recurrence, or chronic progression, we have changed in body and spirit. And what now? After the challenges to our sense of security and trust in the world, after a closer look at our own mortality, after a lot of emotions, after encountering the possibility of growth and the development of a stronger and bigger personhood, what now? Here we are, at this time, in this moment. What now? We sing the body electric. Half-heartedly or whole-heartedly, with loud voice or whisper, with doubts or certainty, with love or ambivalence, we sing the body electric. What else could we do?
May it be so.
Closing words by Linda Anderson (with a Chinook adaptation)
Those of us who survive illness-- know what it means to feel despair to feel afraid to feel pain. Those of us who survive illness-- know what it means to live with uncertainty vulnerable in ways not known before. Those of us who survive illness-- are those of us here today. We are surviving We are surviving through it all We are surviving-- Our relationship with time different now one breath at a time one moment at a time one footstep at a time We are blessed--we are blessed the source of life itself which some call love and some call god or something else blesses us Blessed-- to be here now together in the cool of a beautiful day. And we know it. And we are thankful-- May all things move and be moved in us and know and be known in us May all creation dance for joy within us. (Chinook) May we walk with peace and may the light of the universe shine upon our path.