the jaw-dropping truth you should understand

Burlington harbor

I've said this before, and I'll say it again: One of the privileges of being a physician is that you get to live in a state of perpetual awe. It starts with the first pass of the scalpel on your first day in the anatomy lab. It continues as you tease out every organ, blood vessel, and nerve in the body you've been assigned to dissect. A sense of wonder punches you in the gut the first time you hear a beating human heart, and realize your own heart has been pumping steadily and predictably without any effort on your part since before the day you were born.

"There is more wisdom in your body

than in your deepest philosophy."

~Friedrich Nietzsche~

You'd have to believe in miracles if you understood the way a broken bone heals, what it takes for an open wound to close, how a lifeless heart can pick up the beat again.

Don't even ask what happens during sex.

I started medical school in 1970, and I studied traditional Western medicine for seven years. That meant memorizing the structure and function of all eleven organ systems, and the symptoms and signs of the diseases that affect them. I learned how to examine a patient with those symptoms, which diagnostic tests to run, how to interpret them, and finally, how to treat the patient.

It turns out, that was the easy part. Most of it made sense. Understanding how oxygen gets into the bloodstream. How the kidneys know what to excrete and what to conserve. How food is broken down and absorbed, and what we are left to deal with. In the healthy state, every process is carried out with precision, with perfect timing, and uncanny coordination. And, for the most part, it all takes place without any effort, attention, or awareness on our part...

...which is jaw-dropping enough, except that it leaves out the greatest mystery of all: the origin, nature, and function of consciousness, including thought, memory, and imagination. Science has fully explored the anatomy, molecular structure, electrophysiology and biochemistry of the brain, but we haven't quite figured out how it works. We don't know how a thought is generated in the first place, and how it is translated into something as easily experienced and observed as tears, or laughter, or fear. How a thought can raise the heart rate, or make us sweat, or leave us shaking. How a distant memory resurfaces, and where it has been hiding.

"Your body hears everything

your mind says."

~Naomi Judd~

The fact that the body knows what to do to keep itself healthy is incomprehensible. The fact that it knows how to heal itself is beyond imagination.

"Imagination is more important

than knowledge."

~Albert Einstein~

Physicists, biologists, physicians, philosophers, and quantum theorists are hard at work trying to figure out what exactly it is that makes us who we are...while our bodies are mysteriously, silently, and predictably doing what they do best: making us who we are.

I practiced medicine for over thirty years without giving either the body or the mind credit for its genius. I wonder what else I missed. What I should have known that I didn't, and how it might have helped my patients, and myself.

"Your body's ability to heal

is greater than anyone

has permitted you to believe."

~author unknown but often quoted~

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the two things you need to grow as a human being

Fifty years ago this month, I started medical school. The year was 1970. For the next seven years I studied traditional Western medicine. It started with gross anatomy...dissecting a human corpse organ by organ, muscle by muscle, and nerve by nerve. We learned about the structure and function of every system: cardiovascular, pulmonary, gastrointestinal, endocrine, sensory, integumentary, musculoskeletal, and neurological. Then, the diseases that affected them. Then, how to make the diagnosis, and eventually, how to treat the problem.

While we studied our lives away, something else was afoot. This was just about the time the concept of the "mind-body" connection emerged. Timothy Leary and Ram Dass were starting to experiment with hallucinogenic mushrooms in their quest for enlightenment. We were hearing about accupuncture, hypnosis, meditation, massage therapy and therapeutic touch, Reiki and yoga...all dismissed by the medical elite as invalid for lack of randomized, double-blind, placebo-controlled studies that proved their worth. 

"Let your body take care of you."

~Deepak Chopra~

Nevertheless, these so-called "alternative therapies" intrigued me. The concept of the mind-body connection they depended upon was rejected by the scientific community, but I'd seen it work, so my curiosity drove me to investigate. I took vacations on retreat where I practiced various forms of meditation and yoga. I studied hypnosis. I networked with women who practiced various methods of energy medicine. But I never had the time or opportunity to use or promote these techniques in my own practice.

These are said to be the two conditions you need in order to to grow as a human being: time and opportunity. I never enjoyed either until my children were grown and out on their own, and until after I retired. Now I have nothing but time and opportunity, so I'm taking advantage of it...

...which is why, this week, it occurred to me that I should order another bookcase. In March, I closed my door to the outside world in response to the Covid-19 pandemic, and since then, I have ordered and read so many books, I no longer have room for them. This week's delivery brought "Woman Awake" by Christine Feldman, "Reinventing Medicine" by Larry Dossey, MD, "Super Genes" by Deepak Chopra, MD and Rudolph Tanzi, Ph.D., an Ayurvedic cookbook, and "Quantum Healing" by Chopra. 

I'm learning to meditate. Struggling a bit with yoga. Changing my diet. Feeling fairly peaceful despite the chaos that has brought the world to its knees. Looking forward to the uncertain future. Living in awe of the universe and the beating of my own aging heart. 

This is my advice to you: if you are overwhelmed with fear or worry or uncertainty, don't wait until your nest is empty and you are retired to begin your search for peace. For healing. For courage. You are surrounded by teachers. Wisdom abounds. Start now.

"You must find the place inside yourself

where nothing is impossible."

~Deepak Chopra~

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until this...until now

Today was pretty much a perfect day for me. I woke up early this morning, ate a light breakfast, meditated longer than usual, and took my usual almost-daily five-mile walk in the brilliant sunshine, under a cloudless sky, while listening to beautiful music. Summer delighted me with birdsong, and treated me to vibrant shades of translucent green. No one else was out.

It would have been totally perfect except for one problem. The rest of the world is suffering. The majority if humankind is either sick, worried they will get sick, or grieving the loss of a loved one who has been sick. People are scared. Angry. Broken.

It is June here in Pennsylvania. The year is 2020. It will go down in history as the year that hosted a worldwide pandemic no one saw coming, and no one knows how to navigate. More than ten million people have already tested positive for infection with the novel SARS virus, Covid-19, that has already left over 500,000 of them dead. There is no known cure for Covid-19, and no vaccine against it, so we are left to observe rituals we can only hope will contain its spread. We have been told to stay in our homes except to get food and medicine. We're required to wear face masks whenever we go out, to keep our distance from other human beings, and to wash our hands long, hard, and often.

The Covid-19 pandemic has touched us in ways we couldn't have imagined just a few months ago. From disbelief to fear, from exhaustion to illness, from confusion to grief to anger to despair, it has invaded every aspect of our lives. We weren't prepared for schools and businesses to close. We never thought we'd have to worry about running out of food and supplies. We believed our health care system was infallible. We thought we were pretty safe.

Until this. Until now.

Back in March, I celebrated the Ides by closing my door to the rest of the world. I'd forgotten that this was the day Shakespeare dispatched the soothsayer to warn Julius Caesar his life was in danger, and he should stay at home. Still, I sensed a great looming danger on the horizon. It sounded like good advice.

I surrendered my seat for the symphony that night just to be on the safe side. I figured out how to order groceries on-line, and have them delivered to my front porch so I didn't have to venture out for food. I cancelled a dinner date with a friend, and I arranged to ship the presents I'd wrapped for my grandson because I knew I was going to miss his birthday party as he turned five. I withdrew my registration for a writing conference I have attended every summer for the past four years. All the things I had planned in advance, and looked forward to with eager anticipation.

Until this. Until now.

Nevertheless, not much else has changed for me over the past few months. I retired a couple of years ago, and I live alone now, so I'm accustomed to social distancing. I appreciate solitude, so isolation doesn't worry me. I've managed to tackle a few jobs around the house that needed attention. I'm reading through a stack of books that has been collecting dust in the back of my closet for years. I'm learning to meditate. Trying to write. Doing what introverts and loners do best, living quietly and peacefully. Enjoying solitude, embracing uncertainty, and holding onto hope.

Which, I've always believed, is how healing begins. By holding onto hope.

Until this. Until now.

Hope has taken on new meaning for me. I had hoped to join the army of brave, dedicated doctors and nurses who are out there on the front lines in the battle against this unseen enemy. I had hoped to do my part because I'm a physician, meaning I am fully qualified and capable of pitching in to support them. Except for one problem. I'm also an official card-carrying member of the Covid-19 high-risk population, meaning my body can't churn out the kind of antibodies I would need to fight the infection if I picked it up somewhere. I would be doomed, so I've been asked to step away. Because I'm old. Despite a compelling sense of duty, of urgency, of longing, I have been banished from joining my colleagues who are hard at work saving lives in the hospital where I practiced medicine for over thirty years. Meaning, I can't help at all.

Which, I believe, is what we were put here to do. To help.

Until this. Until now.

Since that day in March when I closed my door to the world, my daughter and my grandson both celebrated birthdays, without me. My daughter gave birth to her second child, without me. My best friend kept vigil at her husband's bedside as he was dying, without me. I would have been there to help through all of it. I would have come bearing gifts, and offering comfort.

Until this. Until now.

If I could, if it were safe, I would pack my bags today, open my door to the world again, and venture out. But I wouldn't run to the mall, or chance a workout at the gym. I wouldn't meet my friends for coffee at our favorite cafe, or stray into the local bookstore. I would drive directly from my front door to my daughter's, where I know my grandson would be waiting for me. Where he would propel himself across the porch and down the steps, and fling himself into my open arms, calling out, "Oma, play with me!" And happily, I would.

Until this. Until now.

"People change for two main reasons:

their minds have opened or

their hearts have been broken."

~Steven Aitchison~

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timing is everything

Timing is everything.

Two days ago I was hiking when I attempted to step off the path to let another hiker pass. In an effort to avoid a patch of poison ivy, I took the wrong step and down I went. I thought someone was going to have to carry me home on a stretcher. It took me forty-five minutes to limp back to my car.

This isn't the first time I've fallen. I slipped on a rock in Yosemite last year, and I still have the scar to show for it. A few weeks later, I pulled my hamstring doing some gentle yoga. Of course, as soon as I could walk again, I was back on the trail where I slipped on some wet leaves and really did myself in...for, like, six weeks.

This week, I'm sitting around with my leg wrapped and elevated...while reading "Still Here" by Ram Dass. Little did I know, when I started reading this book last week, that he was writing about me.

What timing!

"Most of what makes a book 'good'

is that we are reading it

at the right moment for us."

~Alain de Botton~

In this book, he describes his own experience of aging with humor, grace, and wisdom. I needed to hear about the time he took a leap onto a stage where he was about to address an audience of thousands, but missed and ended up needing stitches instead. How he ended up impaled on a coral reef during an attempt to surf with his younger companions, and how he injured his shoulder helping with a construction project he didn't have the strength for. What it was like to suffer a stroke that left him disabled, helpless, and angry until he was able to embrace the fact that reality had changed for him as he aged.

As it is changing for me.

As it is for all of us.

"This is the paradox of what we call misfortune:

that so often what we most resist

bestows on our lives

the greatest, most unexpected blessings."

~Ram Dass~

I don't know why I decided to pick up this book last week, but it found its way into my life like most good things do. By chance. With exquisite timing. While I'm laid up with an injury that reminds me getting older isn't for sissies. Or, maybe it is. Maybe it's time to think about dusting off the rocker that has been collecting dust in the basement all these years. Maybe I should learn to knit. Perhaps aging has lessons to teach us if it could only catch up with us.

Sit. Stay. Heal.

I didn't plan to engage in book reviews when I launched this site, but when pure wisdom arrives unbidden at your door, I believe you should spread the word. This:

"Everything changes once

we identify with being the witness

to the story instead of

the actor in it."

~Ram Dass~

jan

how will you live your "one wild and precious life?"

If you ever turn to a page in a book I've read that looks like this, it means one of two things. Either I had absolutely no interest at all in what I was reading, or it touched me so deeply and was so beautifully written, I forgot to make notes. It totally carried me away. Which is what happened to me this week.

I was sorting through a couple of boxes of books I'd banished into storage a few years ago (because who has enough shelves to hold all their books?) when I came across this book, one I've owned for at least 15 years, but never found time to read:

I thought it might be relevant to the times we're in. Difficult times.

The author, Elizabeth Lesser, is a co-founder of Omega Institute where I have had the privilege of studying both meditation and writing over the years, so I expected to find words of wisdom here. The profound lyricism and beauty of her words, though, surprised me. The way she spoke of birth and death, of love, of embracing what is real, of surrendering our expectations, our desires, our plans, even our hopes, and instead, submitting to what is difficult but inevitable...fear, grief, failure, rejection, loss, anger, aging...and growing into a strong, peaceful, joyful force in the world.

"When you choose to learn and grow

from the weight of the world,

you are putting your soul

in charge of your life."

~Elizabeth Lesser~

Which might explain why every one of the fifty-two short chapters in this book brought me to tears, not because her message was one of unending pain or suffering, not because it was all about inevitable sorrow, not because there is no hope...but because she nailed the truth and it is beautiful. Because she wrote in metaphors that reflected reality in lovely, gentle images. Because she made transformation into something that is desirable, necessary, and welcoming.

"May your longing for wakefulness

be stronger than your fear of change."

~Elizabeth Lesser~

If your heart has been broken open, I recommend you check out this book. If you are tottering on the brink of sorrow, fear, loss, failure, anger, or confusion...aren't we all, right now?...you may find a foothold here. 

"Tell me what it is you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life."

~Mary Oliver~

jan

everyone's story deserves to be heard

I’m pretty sure Mother Earth wobbled on her axis last week when another Black man died during an act of police brutality at a time when protests against racial injustice are already sweeping the country. I imagine the planet careening out of orbit as the Covid-19 pandemic claims hundreds of thousands of lives, and forces millions to reconfigure their lives. 

The urgent and passionate stories that erupt in the aftermath of tragedies like these hold us spellbound…horrified…as fear and sorrow unfold before our eyes. We have witnessed accounts of terror, helplessness, grief, and pain. We've heard stories of courage, strength, compassion, and faith.

I don’t know about you, but those stories silenced me. The worries I harbor, the sadness I feel, the losses I face in my own life pale by comparison. Who, I wonder, would want to hear about them?

"Writing is a struggle

against silence."

~Carlos Fuentes~

For example, I could tell you about a friend whose husband died of complications after a long bout of heart failure unrelated to the Covid-19 pandemic. I could tell you what a sweet man he was, how much they loved one another, and how much he is missed. I could tell you how hard it is to watch my grandchildren struggle with loneliness and social distancing when they're at the age they need to engage in social play. You probably already know how hard it is for friends who have lost their jobs or closed their businesses...all of it dwarfed by the magnitude of the suffering we witness on the news every day.

Perhaps something like this has happened to you. You went mute because your story sounded dull or ordinary or immaterial by comparison. You felt it was unworthy to be heard. Or unnecessary to tell.

"Write what should not be forgotten."

~Isabel Allende~

It doesn’t take a natural disaster or a or a violent uprising to shut storytellers down. We do it to ourselves all the time. We trivialize the course of our own lives, lock away our memories, and dismiss our thoughts, feelings, and convictions because we doubt ourselves. We tell ourselves our stories aren’t important.

"Write hard and clear

about what hurts."

~Ernest Hemingway~

In fact, everyone’s story deserves to be heard. Storytelling is not a contest to see whose narrative is the scariest or saddest or most horrifying. Rather, it’s the pathway to truth as each of us understands it. 

"You can't make this stuff up."

~Lee Gutkind~

jan



how civilization heals

Last week I asked you to reflect upon what you're reading, and why. This week the question is, "What are you writing about, and if you're not writing, why not?"

"We write out of revenge

against reality."

~Francine du Plessix Gray~

In that post, I suggested that what we read should excite us, guide us, and affect our perspective on some aspect of life and how we live it. It should touch on our beliefs, prompt us to take action, or simply interest us, or entertain us.The same applies to what we write about. It should interest or entertain the reader. Teach him, guide him, or expose him to a different way of thinking about things. Perhaps excite him. Maybe motivate him to take action. Or make him cry. Or make him laugh. Or appeal to his imagination.

"We read to learn about the world.

We write to change the world."

~Lori Jamison Rog~

We certainly have plenty of material to work with these days.

For example, how has the Covid-19 pandemic affected you? How are you coping? What have you learned? How to use ZOOM? How to teach algebra? How to conserve toilet paper? Have you lost your job, or closed the business you worked so hard to establish? Have you lost a friend or relative to the illness?

How has the "BLACK LIVES MATTER" movement affected you? Have you joined the protests, or remained silent? Do you understand the long and painful history of racism? What are you teaching your children about it?

Did you even hear about the massive diesel fuel spill in the Siberian wilderness that Putin was in such a rush to cover up? What about the measurable improvement in environmental pollution since cities all around the world went into lock down, unveiling the Himalayan peaks for the first time in decades?

Are you optimistic about the future, or pessimistic about it? Do you welcome change or resist it? What would you like to see happen? What will your role be?

"There is no time for despair,

no place for self-pity,

no need for silence,

no room for fear.

We speak.

We write. 

We do language.

This is how civilization heals."

~Toni Morrison~

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