“Oroborus, symbol of eternal life
dig a tunnel through light, through ignorant walls
I’m counting the days but I’m dying
Grow up with impatience I’m falling down
On the peaks of radiant mountains
this truth is growing before before me
My attention fixed on this silence
Rediscover life while I’m breathing
Designing the shape of material
Frozen icon distant reminder
Mankind has forgotten the gateways
By the mouth of the serpent regenerate”
Oroborus, by Gojira
To be human is to suffer. This statement is not true, but it’s what most of us believe; even those like me who don’t think they believe it. It is true, however, that to be human is to experience pain. But pain goes deeper than just the suffering we cause ourselves by believing a lie. Sometimes specific pain is the reason we are here, and the biggest picture is that we are here to surpass pain and discover joy beyond it.
How can we tell why we are suffering? There’s no point in trying. To discern the why would be to remember things we came into this life having purposefully forgotten. An excellent indicator, however, is to discern what your particular type of pain is causing your life to become, and what it is asking from you.
After eight years of unstoppable, crippling spinal pain, I am healed and it is done. All I had to do was look it in the eye and acknowledge that it was not Me, and the powers that be swooped in and did the rest. My previous post on this subject, Ending Physical Pain: For Good details the process as prescribed by master Eckhardt Tolle. It works. Doesn’t matter what kind of pain it is, emotional or physical, or how incurable. The only catch is that if you’re not ready to move on from the lesson your pain is trying to teach you, it won’t heal, or another, similar sort of pain will take its place. If what your pain is teaching you is a lesson you came here to learn, you’ll live it until you’ve learned it.
It’s so strange to me now that three months ago I was bedridden more often than I wasn’t, bent on figuring out how I was going to live out my dreams from beneath the covers, and now I’m working in the garden, running up and down stairs like a teenager and planning for the rest of my life as if I was never the me that had lost all hope. What’s most interesting is that nothing has really changed.
I expected the very Earth itself to hold its breath or throw a party, or mourn the years I spent in bed. I expected people around me to be shocked and amazed, and feel like something really huge and inexplicable had taken place, and that they would shout to the rooftops that they had seen a miracle occur. But none of that happened. It was all a rather quiet affair. I would tell people that I was cured and they’d say “That’s awesome…hey, did you see that blog on Facebook about…” and I’d want to grab them by their shoulders and say “WAIT! Didn’t you hear me?? I’M CURED!!!!” but I would smile and nod and move on with them.
Much of people’s reactions were due to the fact that I hid my pain well. The brutal reality of my condition didn’t really take shape in the mind’s eye of those who didn’t witness it firsthand. Since I didn’t go around explaining the symptoms to people (“Have someone bury a machete in your neck, a dagger in every joint and a needle in each eyeball, and then go lay down in bed and deal with it”), the end of my pain meant little more than that my boss would no longer be getting those inevitable, early morning call~ins. But I didn’t need anyone else to be shocked. I, myself, was more shocked than anyone.
The way it all went down was one miracle after another. Early one morning I was sitting at the library on campus, attempting to ignore the pain while I worked on a homework assignment. My pain had been increasingly debilitating, despite taking out a large school loan so that I didn’t have to work and could keep up on my chiropractor appointments. My chiropractor was the cheapest in town, $25 a session to crack everything at once, which was causing strange migraines that I’d not experienced before. Nothing had made any difference, and I had been falling behind on classwork, dropping classes and missing tests right and left. There was no way I was going to be able to catch up, and the prospect of dropping out was overwhelming.
Sitting there trying to concentrate, tears began to flow. I tried to brush them away and center myself, but after some minutes I found I couldn’t stop crying. After thirty minutes I found I wasn’t able to gather myself. I’ve always done everything on my own, and it was very humbling to realize that I officially needed help. I walked to the student health center, which was strangely empty that morning. I spoke to the woman at the desk around my tears, they were flowing without regard for my embarrassment. She could tell I was in need of assistance, and despite the rule that students must call in advance to make an appointment she took my name, signed me in and miraculously found an opening an hour later. At the student center at my large university that simply does not happen.
The doctor was amazing. He immediately set out to get me a network of help: medical, psychological and spiritual. The rest of that week would be full of miraculous open slots at the top of weeks~long waiting lists, and miraculous kindnesses that often made services expedient, prescriptions either free or a fraction of their price.
I returned to the chiropractor that had taken the x~rays of my spine years ago that had explained my diagnoses; years of working like a man in the construction industry causing my spine to fuse together in places. Since I hadn’t been to this chiropractor in years due to the higher expense, they no longer had those x~rays, and I needed new ones for disability services.
But the new x~rays showed something entirely different than the previous ones had shown. My spine was no longer fusing itself together. My condition had reversed and was suddenly reversible. I had adjustments three times a week for three weeks, two times a week for three weeks, and here I am. Healed.
This is the humbling part. All we have to do is reach out to that Something More, and we don’t have to do that gracefully or easily. We can crawl towards it on bleeding knees, moaning the entire way…as long as we are still crawling. All we have to do is take just a few steps towards a goal and a way is made. Yes, made. Designed by the exquisite Everything, whose fingers are people and bones and situations. This is what is meant by the Universe making a way for us. “God” is merely the most awesome part of us that can pull all the strings and make inexplicable things happen when we meet It halfway. Nothing is set in stone, no condition is permanent.
When I say that God is merely part of us, I say this with purpose, and I say it to myself. If you see yourself as a mere pawn in the game of life, look in the mirror. You ARE God, and you are making God a mere pawn in the game of your life. It can be a time to stop imagining that the Universe is not entirely capable of stepping in and turning our rancid waters into wine or reversing irreversible conditions that we, ourselves, have created for ourselves. It can be a time to stop hindering ourselves and start using the unimaginable power we have access to, to empty ourselves just enough that some small trickle of the Light and Sound of All Life can flow through. We need to allow it to do what it does.
Does that mean that I can now live happily ever after? Interestingly enough, no. Just as soon as the physical pain was gone a whole host of new problems and new pains flooded my life situation. One of the medications I received for a temporary depression ravaged my faculties and I had to drop out of school, despite the willingness of professors to work with me and my increasing ability to sit in the chairs and do the homework. I could have continued on and succeeded had it not been for the medication, and that fact made me very angry. Due to my past misdiagnosis of bipolar and the list of medications that only caused more problems, I have been outspoken on the dangers of diagnoses and psychiatric medications and the tendency they cause to exacerbate problems that therapy could greatly improve.
The side effects lasted for months as I slowly weaned myself off of the medication, ranging from sudden, extreme rages, derealization episodes, and black depressions. But the worst of it was that I seemed cut off from spiritual escape. I couldn’t focus my mind long enough to meet with my master or travel the otherplanes that I’m accustomed to visiting when I need to center myself. I started smoking cigarettes, and drank some alcohol, after having not touched either in fifteen or more years.
The world around me seemed to go mad. It wouldn’t stop raining, and many places in my town flooded. My daughter got into a bad car accident, totaling her car and causing her injury. My nephew’s father went into the mental ward, causing him suffer yet another severe depression. Shortly after that his mom, my twin sister, disappeared into thin air. The police got involved. We had no idea if she was alive or dead for weeks, until we got an email saying she had entered a convent.
The incident threw me into a strange midlife crisis sort of thing, which I now find myself in the midst of. I have no idea who I am or how anyone feels about me. I feel as if I can only cause damage to those around me, that I am not capable of being in personal relationships. I have removed myself from all social media and cut down on my personal interactions with friends who, interestingly enough, all seem to be quite busy with their own lives at the moment, so it works out fine with no hard feelings involved.
The feeling of having nothing to offer the world but pain is so intense that I have no choice but to return to silence, to return to my master
wasn’t that what my disabling spinal pain was also trying to teach me? The world around me becoming so intense that I had no choice but to return to the silence? Isn’t that what pain is for? To remind us that everything we need is a breath away. Every answer we have ever asked is in the glorious, Wordless Chamber of the soul. The lesson I’m learning now is that same lesson I was learning in bed, day after day. It’s the same lesson I’ve been learning my entire life, and the learning comes and goes, intermingled with forgetting.
Therefore… if, as human beings, we will continually be subject to pain throughout our many cycles upon the Earth, it would benefit us to stop focusing solely on the pain and start focusing on the cure. That cure is the silencing of the suffering victim inside. Even in this state of complete unknowing and constant mental turmoil, I am aware that there is a purpose. When we have forgotten who we are, we remember that we are not what we believed ourselves to be. In the wake of being cured of the disability I defined myself with, I can imagine no better lesson than for that self to die so that a fresh, new consciousness can be born. I love this part of my spiritual walk; that Knowing even in the midst of profound Unknowing. Dark and light, turmoil intermingled with a calm acceptance of it and an understanding that it is not for nothing.
I’m so ready for what the future holds, so ready