I'll warn you now that I
will be writing about death. But my intent is to write about life.
Actually, I intend to write about maximizing my experience of life.
And the best way to maximize our experiences is to live them healthy.
And the healthiest way to live is with humility.
I have learned at least
twice now in my life how vitally important humility actually is.
When I was young, I had
bad sinus allergies. During allergy season, my sinuses were running
all the time. There was constant sneezing. One sinus or the other was
plugged up most of the time. And of course, I was miserable. This
lasted for a few weeks out of the year, every year, since about the
time my brother died.
I hadn't really thought
about this until I just wrote that…
…
My bother's death was a
tragedy.
Tragedy results in fear.
Fear leads to overreaction.
The classic coyote story
conundrum... I wanted to control the uncontrollable.
I wasn't religious. So, I
couldn't just pray and wait. I had to do something. And that
something was to be prepared for any circumstance. I wasn't a gun nut
or anything. But I was always on alert. Always trying to be aware.
Always a little afraid.
I wasn't paranoid.
Actually, I thought I was doing just fine. In the eyes of society;
was. Good at school. Never got into trouble. I was afraid to even
hang out with the bad kids. (Of course, that might have turned out to
have been a good decision.)
My point is that I wanted
to control the uncontrollable – my life. And I was smart enough to
think that maybe I could.
But it would take a lot of
effort. Emotionally, I never rested. I was over-stressed (quite a
common condition, I hear.) And, of course, I had sinus allergies,
which added to my stress.
But one day, when I was
about 14 years old, the stress and the illness were just too much for
me. I wasn't about to put up with the sinus problems any more. I had
to mow the lawn that day. I was expecting a sinus event and I was not
looking forward to it. So, I was desperate enough to try something
different.
I accepted my
vulnerability, summoned my inner peace, and confronted my issues
without fear… and instantly I no longer had allergies any more.
It was amazing. It was as
if I had just decided not to have allergies – and it worked.
But I never documented
what I did. And since there wasn't a problem any more, I ceased to
think about it.
At least, I ceased to
think about it until my late 40's – when my sinus allergies came
back… and I couldn't repeat what I achieved back when I was 14.
I guess watching my
parents getting old was freaking me out.
I dread the anguish of
them passing. I dread the loneliness.
There it was again –
that urge to control the uncontrollable. There I was again –
wishing I could do something to prevent death and dying – rather
than accepting death as a part of life.
As I look back at it –
it seems silly. We might be able to extend our lives – but we all
will eventually die. Nonetheless, somewhere deep down inside of me; I
did not want to accept that. I wanted to believe I could avoid the
pain. So, I constantly worried about it. And I suspect that because
of that; my stress levels rose. And because that, I wasn't living at
optimum level. And I suspect because of that; my sinus allergies came
back.
I tried for years, every
Fall; to repeat what I had achieved back when I was young. It helped.
But I couldn't quite go back to that mental state I had had for
decades. It was so frustrating – which, of course, made it worse.
Last Fall, my allergies
got bad enough that I ended up with an ear infection. Fortunately,
antibiotics took care of it – but there's something very scary
about having an infection so close to my brain.
As I write this, it is
mid-July – just about the time my allergies come back. I wasn't
looking forward to it. But I thought at least I could go outside for
a while before things got bad again. So, I decided to go backpacking.
I love the mountains. I
love to spend time in them. I love the feeling of being away from it
all – while at the same time being right in the middle of what
really matters.
My plan was simple –
four days, out and back, alone.
This would be the first
time I'd ever been backpacking alone.
I'd camped alone, and it
felt a little lonely. So, I haven't really gone out often alone.
(Good news: I never felt
lonely. But more on that later…)
As I said earlier; I
healed myself when I was young simply with an epiphany. I don't
believe it's necessary to go out on some kind of walkabout alone in
the wilderness to rid yourself of an allergy – but it worked for
me. I needed time away from the distractions.
I now know why I wanted to
be away for a while – alone.
I was holding onto
irrational fear.
I needed to let it go.
I needed time to myself to
learn about me.
As I look back; I've
always been a little edgy outdoors – almost to the point of being
jumpy. I've always tried to be alert – maybe a little too alert. If
a bug touched my skin, I'd immediately jump. If a leaf touched my
skin, I'd immediately jump. If I saw flowers, I'd be worried that
maybe they would stir up my allergies.
Of course, none of this
kept me indoors.
But I could have had a
better time outdoors. I could have been happier.
On the first two days of
my hike, my nose ran and ran. I was too late. It was allergy season
already. I did what it seemed like I always did, I put up with it –
hoping it would go away. Which, of course, it didn't. (Probiotics
have helped. My favorites are Natures Plus ear, nose, & throat
lozenges and kimchi. Of course, I didn't have any kimchi with me.)
By the morning of the
third day; I was beginning to feel good with sleeping on the ground,
exposed and vulnerable. It was then that I noticed that my sinuses
weren't quite as bad as they had been. I had slept in a meadow... and
I wasn't a wreck.
This inspired me to take
the next step:
I was siting on the branch
of a fallen tree under the shade of another tree at the edge of a
meadow. I didn't have my shirt on and the tall grass was rubbing
lightly up against my bare back. I could see there was no risk, but
up until then being touched by these grasses made me feel
uncomfortable. But it was my choice to sit there. And for the past
two days I had been reminding myself that these plants were my
friends (and that I just didn't know it yet). So, I decided to treat
them like friends. I let them rub lightly against my back until I
felt truly comfortable with it.
And almost instantly I was
healed.
This experience reminds me
of the Christian “Serenity” prayer.
Actually, this prayer is
not from the Bible. It was written in the 1930's by an American
theologian. Which means these common sense words were not written in
stone. So I created my own version:
I grant
myself the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage
to change the things I can,
and the
wisdom to know the difference.
...Because, for the most
part; I'm the one who decides whether to be serene, courageous, or
wise.
And now I know: I've tried
being too courageous, and it's cost me serenity. That's wisdom
learned the hard way.
I had found my “happy
place” and I had been right there all along.
When I learned to feel at
peace with the world, I suddenly learned how to stop fighting it
unnecessarily.
It felt like I was home
out in the wilderness.
And now; the flowers are
more beautiful to me than they ever have been before.
…
At my campsite on the
fourth morning, I heard a cry out from behind the brush and trees
above me less than 100 meters away. It sounded like a fawn. And it
sounded like mountain lion was trying to kill it. Then it cried out
again. And again and again. It was a terrible sound I won't soon
forget. And it reminded me of something.
I am going to die. I am
going to die someday. No matter what I do. My death will happen. It
will probably be painful. It will likely involve a lot of anguish and
grief. I might even be screaming in pain like that poor fawn I could
hear – calling out, over and over again for a rescue that was never
coming – for an option it didn't have – for a chance to change
the past.
I imagined it was me. I
imagined myself screaming in anguish. I imagined this as an allegory
for my future – and that it was inevitable.
In some ways, my life is
no more under my control than the ants I had carelessly stepped on
while I was hiking.
The thoughts were awful,
but liberating.
In a way, I had been lying
to myself. Somewhere, deep down in my almost subconscious thoughts; I
believed that I could defend myself from the inevitable.
While I've been preparing
for the worst, looking everywhere for ghosts, and fighting windmills;
I've been missing out on life. I could rest now.
Later on, I also realized
that everyone I care about is destined to die. It is likely I am
destined to hear some of them screaming in anguish too. That is my
fate. And though I could probably change things for the worse, I
won't be able to change things for the better.
…
Since my epiphany; I
noticed (while on a somewhat frustrating mountain bike ride) that
when I started feeling overly vulnerable, I started to sneeze again.
Stress from the fear of crashing my mountain bike and the pounding of
my body against the rocks appears to trigger a mild allergic reaction
in me. Apparently; I'm allergic to crashing. Actually I'm allergic to
the thought that I cannot control my actions on a mountain bike –
and that I cannot avoid trauma. I occasionally spaz. Even though I've
been riding for 30 years now, I still seem to forget everything
once in a while. That leads to an almost mild panic attack. I can
still ride, I just don't ride as well – or enjoy it as much...
Stress does that.
Humility is now my best
defense from stress. I have to admit to myself that I cannot keep
myself perfectly safe. It isn't possible. It isn't even worth the
effort to try. I'm not a perfect rider, and therefore I will make
mistakes. If there wasn't a risk, it wouldn't be as exciting. And if
I'm not willing to get scuffed up once in a while, go find another
sport... I'm not willing to quit. So, I have to accept that someday I
will likely fall... and it's not worth worrying about. I have to
accept my vulnerability – and own it. And when I relax, I ride so
much better.
…
About a couple of weeks
after my epiphany, I woke up one morning with my sinuses all stuffed
up again. It took me the rest of the day practicing what I had
learned to get back to a well state. Apparently, I had somehow
dreamed about something that brought back my allergies.
And oddly, when I first
got my allergies back as an adult, it started when I witnessed
someone else with allergy problems. It was as if I caught her
allergies. But I think for me it was more like I caught a yawn that
wouldn't go away. I guess, in a way, empathy can spread disease. By
empathetically feeling her pain, I must have somehow copied her
painful process.
The word psychosomatic
comes to mind – but only for me. I make no assessment of anyone
else's allergies. I also am not bothered to be labeled as once having
a psychosomatic illness. I did nothing wrong – except to
unknowingly overreact to a perceived health threat. I learned from
the experience. And now I feel healthier in multiple ways. We all
have health issues throughout our lives. What's important is that we
heal.
Now, when my sinuses act
up – which they sometimes still do a little; I repeatedly remind
myself not to fight it… and I don't – and neither does my body.
That's not only peaceful, it's empowering.
…
Though I made it sound
like I accomplished all of this by myself, I had a lot of help:
I want to thank
chiropractor Joseph D. Kepo'o for the balloon treatment he performed
that opened up my sinus cavities.
I want to thank Chinese
medicine doctor Robert Cozzie for helping me understand how to turn
what Western doctors condescendingly call the “placebo effect”
into my primary health strategy.
I want to thank life coach
Carol Reynolds for giving me permission to be this honest with
myself.
And I want to thank my
Native ancestors for living a healthy sustainable life in this
beautiful place so that I too could enjoy it now – more like they
did than I ever have before.
