LOVE: The Soul Survivor

This is what Love looks like…

It was the most terrible, beautiful, heartbreaking day. The day that cancer won. The day that Love whispered in Death’s ear, “You cannot touch me,” even as Death resolutely refused to take no for an answer. The day that Hope shifted and drifted and then suddenly sank. She sank into the ocean of dashed dreams and abandoned plans. Momentarily, She was seduced by the glint of Denial, shimmering and beckoning, I can save you. The sharp barbs of Panic threatened to slash Her to pieces. The undertow of Fear also motioned to Her, I will sweep you away from this terrible moment… come with me. Love was stronger than all of them. Undaunted, Love exclaimed, Stay with me!

Hope descended deeper and deeper, dropping into the dark abyss of Doubt. Taunted by Doubt, What is right? What is true? What is real? Who can I trust? Love answered, Trust me. Only I am real. I know the way. Stay with me.  Until finally, Hope surrendered, drowned out at the bottom of that deep ocean of Pain.  At the very depths of that ocean, Love cradled Hope as She lay dying, exhausted from years of facing unbearable pain. Love held on… It’s OK. I cannot die. I am here. I am with you. I am the Soul Survivor.

This is what Love looks like…

On that most terrible, beautiful, heartbreaking day, I awoke astonished. Astonished that I had slept through the night without the call: Come now. Astonished that Hope survived the night. And so I began that day, as I do every day, with the simple mantra: I am Love. A reminder that we are all Love, even and especially at the depths of our darkness. And then a prayer. Knowing that Hope had worn thin and was faltering, knowing that Pain was brutal and demanding.  Knowing that only the fiercest of Love would prevail. This was my prayer:

May she be at Peace. May she know the depths of Peace beyond the pain of her body. May she feel Love. May she know that Love surrounds her. May Love sustain her. May Courage bolster her spirit. May the Courage of her brilliant, bold, beautiful life continue to guide her. May she be at ease. May her pain be overwhelmed by Love…

And in the midst of this made-up, winging-it, doing-my-best prayer, the text: Come as soon as you can. And without a thought, I grab my car key and put on my shoes and I am out the door. Because Love can’t wait.

This is what Love looks like…

I am driving before I realize that I need to cancel my day. I make some shaky-voiced calls, trying to sound calm, yet urgent. Please, do not ask questions. Please, understand. I am driving before I realize I do not know where I am going. Literally: destination unknown. The irony escapes me until this moment, as I write it down. As I am driving, I hear in my voice and know in my heart that I need a new prayer.

I take your pain and suffering and I send you peace and love.

If you are not familiar with the Tonglen practice of taking and giving, this sounds a little crazy. In the surreal world of terminal illness where the rules don’t matter and nothing seems fair, nothing and everything seems crazy. The only thing that will make you lose your mind is trying to make sense of the impossible, devastating truth that you must abandon Hope.

This prayer is my anchor, my background, my offering. I offer it to my friend and all of those who love her. I offer it to the parade of nurses and doctors and caretakers. I offer it to the space. But mostly, I receive it over and over throughout this terrible, beautiful, heartbreaking day. It steadies me and opens me to the gifts of Love.

This is what Love looks like…

I arrive at the door of her room in the ICU and see but do not register the sign to stop and put on a gown. The gown is protecting me, protecting her, the other patients? It seems bizarre, this hand washing and gown donning. And yet appropriate to have a ritual before entering.  I cross the threshold of this most sacred space where Hope is dwindling and Death is calling. The only thing that does register is Love. Love is on fire, crackling loud and burning bright, radiating light and warmth. Fear barely smolders along the twisted territory that trips up Hope, as She searches for the trail of possibility.

And so it begins. The beginning of the end. The nurse is gentle with the GPS. You are here. The road to recovery is officially closed. Hope asks for a miracle, a side road, any opening. Access denied. Hope shifts to a more modest possibility. Weeks at home. Time to reflect. Time to accept. But just as Hope shifts with the blazing support of Love, Time shifts again. Hope drifts off. So many words, so much information, too much to absorb. What is possible? What is real? How do you know? Help me understand. Help me! And another doctor, another timeline. Always shorter. Cruel even with the most gentle explanation. Full code. DNR. Comfort care. Life support. Invasive. Non-invasive. Risks. Complications. No one is pressuring you. Time is pressuring you.

Hope negotiates. Hospice at home? The staff scrambles against doctors’ better judgment. Maybe. Hope clings to the idea of serenity at home. Another chance. Please, give us one more chance. Another doctor, another timeline. Minutes to hours. No way out. Hope flounders and begins to sink. Buoyed by Love, Hope renegotiates with Death. Can she stay with us long enough for family to arrive? Give us just this day. Just let it be hours and not minutes. Too many goodbyes. So much Love.

This is what Love looks like…

Love creates a sacred space, a place of peace. But people can be messy, unskillful in the shroud of grief. Loved ones arrive, some talking too much, too loud, pressing too hard, getting too close for too long. It is all too much. How is one to know? How can you explain? Everyone is doing their best. Sometimes confusing their own comfort for hers, their own needs for one more exchange, one more precious moment of connection, one more chance. If only they could do something in this place of being.

Others are magnificently attuned, understanding that she is already in the space between this world and the next. Knowing that Love is allowing and not demanding. They offer Reiki, prayers of comfort and ease, silence, space… their tranquil presence palpably empowering Love to expand. And songs. How do you find a clear, sweet voice to sing to your beloved? How do you step back in what may be the final moments because you feel her asking for space? How do you silence your own pain and desires enough to clearly hear hers? How do you insist that a breathing mask stay on when you know it is distressing and yet know that it is the last bastion of Hope to keep her alive, if only for a little while longer? And knowing that, how do you acquiesce, relieving her temporarily of the mask, knowing you are bringing her comfort, while watching hawk-eyed as the monitor numbers become erratic, then plummet, imperiling Hope? How can you deny her anything, knowing soon she will be denied of everything?

This is what Love looks like…

Family arrives at last, peaceful, heart-centered. They are so filled with gratitude for this time, this space to hold vigil, to say goodbye. Time has been kind in its way. Death has been patient. And the patient herself has been a Rock Star through it all. She has understood that she was waiting for them. Time is suspended. Hearts transmitting what words cannot say. Then, finally, enough. Enough of the breathing mask. It is all way too much for way too long. OFF!

Choosing Death is the pinnacle of courage for one who loved and lived Life with awe-inspiring vitality. Choosing to honor that impossible decision is the most heartbreaking, loving gift one can offer. Does she understand, really understand, what this means? Can anyone? Ever? How do you ask again, do you understand? How do you clarify? And repeat to the nurse? And again to the doctor? And how do you wait for the orders to come through for the comfort care to arrive? How do you explain that we are listening, that the final medicine is on its way? How do you insist that the mask stay on for just a little while longer, knowing and yet not knowing that meds will keep fear and pain at bay?

Knowing that you are in the space of the unknowable, how do you let your heart break wide open when Hope has nothing left to offer and Love has nothing left to lose?

This is what Love looks like…

Hope’s final request arrives. May she leave her body in peace, without fear, without pain. In a place of no promises, the nurse does just that. She promises: She will be calm and that will keep you calm. After years and a day of too many decisions based on unreasonable options, the only choice is to trust the nurse because the alternative is too insufferable. For everyone.

I take your pain and suffering and I send you peace and love.

After repeatedly asking the unbearable question: how long? Knowing no one dare answer… This time, no one dared ask: how long? It is her choice. Until the end, it was always her choice.

The doctor confirms. The nurse consoles. The drug is injected with more on standby.  The drug begins to soften her body. The mask is removed. The monitor is turned off. No more warnings. No more decisions. No more Hope. All attention is with her. Love is vigilant, holding the space as she is/is not holding her breath. Breathing deeply. Pausing too long. Breathing again. Pausing. No rhythm. I breathe with her. Maybe we all did. Minutes pass. All anyone can feel is her breath and her presence and the space in between, all held in the space of Love. Until finally, peacefully, too soon and yet too long, she doesn’t breathe again.

I see nothing. Yet I know. I know her soul has escaped, free at last, because my eyes are fluttering, somehow signaling me. I stop waiting for her next breath. Instead, I wait for a sign from the living, an acknowledgment from her truest, deepest Love who has set her soul free, who will hold her heart forever.

This is what Love looks like…

Silence. Tears. Laughter. Stories. Memories of her amazing Life, her courageous spirit, memories shared with hearts broken wide open. The nurse returns. She is Comfort Care personified. She offers condolences. She is in awe of the Love in the room, the generosity of honoring her wishes. We are in awe of all of it, this most sacred space and the courage of all who enter, forgetting to save the courage to leave. Still holding her hands, brushing her hair, closing her eyes, re-membering her. Remembering her promise to give signs of her presence. Knowing she is gone and not gone, nowhere and everywhere all at once. Feeling the depth of this terrible, beautiful, heartbreaking day. Knowing that the only thing left is the one true thing, the only thing that Death cannot touch, the one thing that lasts forever, The Soul Survivor… LOVE.

Leslie Kazadi

(Original post on www.yogapoetica.com)

LOVE TRUMPS HATE

Wake Up and Take a Stand for love: Who’s with me?

Some people I love voted for Trump. Family and friends. And I don’t mean random FB friends. They don’t fit the Trump profile. They are not all white. They are not misogynists. They are not evangelical Christians. They are bright and well educated. They love their daughters. Yes?! They have daughters. And, yes, that stumps me, too!

And, yes, I am well aware that you may be re-evaluating who you think I am because I know and love some people on the #trumptrain. Especially now. Now that I and almost everyone (else) that I know and love is some combination of shocked, devastated, heartbroken, scared and/or F-cking furious.

To clarify, I didn’t grow up in the Blue Coast Bubble. I grew up in the opaquely saturated red state of Oklahoma. Clearly, the lens is pretty different there. So as comforting and convenient as it might be to label “them” as hateful, bigoted, crazy misogynists, the truth is not that simple. Because the truth is never that simple.

I will not speak for them – cannot speak for them. But I have spoken with some of them. (They are definitely not all interested in talking politics with me.) I cannot agree with them but I can understand them. Because I dared to listen to them without ASSuming I was better or smarter than them. I cannot say that I entirely understand their positions or that I am swayed by them. I can say that I feel less devastated and more hopeful because I was able to have a civilized conversation with a Trump supporter as the election results were rolling in. In realtime.

Like a lot of us, I was anxious on election day. I cried when I voted. Normally, crying is not really my thing. Let’s agree on one thing: there was nothing normal about this election cycle. When I got home around 6pm, I immediately turned on the computer to see what was happening in the election. I had had a nagging concern that had been developing over several days. Brexit kept coming to mind. The polls might have been way off. My Blue Coast bubble was about to burst. Interesting feeling to be shocked and not surprised all at once. I was in multiple WTF text conversations with friends because I couldn’t bear to be alone in it. A girlfriend called in confused horror: What is happening? We talked for a while, listened to the news, texted our friends, pretended to be fully present as we distracted and consoled ourselves with our oh, so easy multi-tasking technology. Because the news was presenting some increasingly not-so-easy-to-digest information.

And then I did something really stupid. I sent a text to a friend in Florida. “fucking florida.” Like blaming Florida was gonna make me feel better. Like engaging my Trump-supporting friend in this particular moment was gonna be constructive in any way. Banter turned into talking points, heading South in a hurry. Not surprisingly, we don’t even agree on the facts.  So I called him, not sure he would pick up the phone. He did.

Honestly, past experience told me this conversation was going to go badly and end abruptly. But I was desperate to make some kind of sense out of it.  I wanted someone who voted for him to give it to me straight in that way that you can only bear to hear from someone you really know well. I needed a heart-to-heart. And I got one. When I really needed to believe that we are bigger than our differences, I got exactly what I needed. For two hours, we talked and we listened. And we talked and we listened. Without a moment of raised voices or cheap shots, we heard each other.  Not just heard each other.  Felt the source of our mutual concerns. We hung up the phone and I listened to Trump’s acceptance speech. And I cried. Again.

I am heartbroken. Not only for the people who are afraid of losing Obamacare, afraid of losing their LGBT – and to be clear, human! – rights, afraid of losing women’s rights, planetary rights… I could go on. I am heartbroken that I had no real idea of the pain and suffering of the #trumptrain. I am heartbroken for the impoverished mentality of a wealthy nation. I am heartbroken for a nation of people who don’t feel safe to express themselves in civilized ways. I am heartbroken that fear won. For now.

For now, I am awake. And I am so clear that anger and fear lead to hate in equal measure. No one gets immunity. The only thing I know for sure is that impossible conversation on the night of the election was made possible because we both knew that we were in a fragile state; we both knew that we had no option but to listen with kindness or come unraveled. And we revealed to our selves the deeper truth that we ARE bigger than our differences, that love trumps hate. We have to grow up and wake up. We cannot go back to sleep.

I know some people are really angry and scared and sad. And that’s understandable. Others don’t get it at all. And - tough news – that’s also understandable through their lens. No one can ever make you wrong about your feelings. And that’s universal. We can’t swipe left and make it go away. We can’t #Calexit. We are not moving to Canada.

As a nation, I know that we are better than this. As an individual, I am taking a long, hard look at how I am better than this life I am living…. Not in an egoic I’m so great or above it all kinda way. Rather, I am asking the questions: What does my best self do? How do I quell my own anger and fear? How does love respond? What is for the greatest good? Where do I need to do better? What part of me needs to grow up, wake up and stand up? What does positive action that unites us even look like?

Who’s with me?

Namaste,

Leslie Kazadi, C-IAYT, ERYT-500

Meditation on a Mother's Love

How my Meditation Practice Reunited me with My Mother

My mother was the most beautiful person I had ever seen.  As a child, I wanted nothing more than to be just like her.  She had what I only later recognized as the innocence of a child.  And she loved people like a child – without reservation or judgment.  Not to say that she was perfect.  She was also very emotional and could give you the silent treatment for an unbearable length of time.  Like a child. 

Despite this, I always knew that she loved me and that she would love me no matter what I did.  I was perplexed by her poise when I would tell her my dark secrets, as she sat and listened, unfazed.  I was stunned that she would love me just the same. I was mesmerized by her aplomb as she faced terminal cancer, also mostly appearing to be unfazed, with a wisdom and invincible strength I had never seen. Anywhere.

As was her wont, she died in dramatic fashion.  Home with hospice, it was a Tuesday.  We all knew the end was near.  Her cancer had spread to her brain, creating the electrical storms of grand mal seizures.  Big and bad.  After the violent convulsions, there is a period of rigidity and a loss of consciousness where the body goes limp.  As we sat and watched, we all breathed a huge sigh of relief that the seizure was over…   relieved that she had not injured herself – the irony?! – and relieved that it was over.  Until the third one.  As her body lay limp after the third seizure, relief turned to panic with the realization that it was truly over.  She was dead.

Even writing that now, 26 years later…. Dead…. I gasp.  If you have ever watched anyone or anything take its last breath, you know how utterly inconceivable it is.  One moment you are here and the next you are gone.  Like a terrible magic trick of the mind.

After she died, all I wanted to do was sleep.  It was in my dreams that I could find her, the best part of her, the way I wanted to remember her.  In those initial dreams she was her best self.  In the light of day, her closest friends all claimed that she spoke to them.  Was she also speaking to me?  I didn’t believe them.  If she was talking to anyone, it would be me.  It never crossed my mind that she was talking to me in my dreams or that I could choose to find her, remember her love in the present tense.

Especially because over time, she became sick in my dreams.  I was losing her all over again.  I thought it was my mind finding a way to let her go slowly, in my own time.  Then for many, many years, I had heartbreaking dreams where she was still alive – she had never died but she was sick and hiding out.  She didn’t want to see me. I was the only person she didn’t want to see. I felt betrayed and bereft as I frantically chased a ghost, chasing after the safety of unconditional love.

These dreams always came at a time when I felt vulnerable.  Had that “I want my mommy” feeling that never goes away, even when I wasn’t aware of it. Especially then.  I would wake to the feeling that I need support that I can’t find anywhere.

And then something magical happened.  I took an online course with Sally Kempton on the Wisdom Goddesses.  The first week was Durga, the divine mother.  I wasn’t thinking about my mother.  I haven’t thought of myself as grieving for my mother for a very long time.  I had simply ASSumed that missing her was a natural part of my life. So when I was doing the meditation, I didn’t make a connection.

“Oh, goddess Durga, you whose form is love, wisdom and invincible strength,

Please reveal yourself within me.  Let me feel your presence, whether in my body, my heart or my mind.  Let me know you as my own self.  Let me feel your presence in the world.”

After just a few days of this, I had another dream.  A crazy good dream.  I was on some pier that I don’t recognize in real life, bustling with happy people.  I was chatting on my cell phone.  And suddenly a gigantic, cartoonish, dreamlike whale/dolphin breached right next to me, and looked me right in the eyes, impossibly close to me… right by the pier?! I dropped my phone and it clattered onto the pier and into the ocean.  And I didn’t care. It was then that I realized I had been on the phone chatting with my mother, in that casual way where you talk about nothing when you know you have forever.  And somehow it clicked.  I DO have her forever so long as I open my heart, open my field of awareness to all that is.

Now those dreams, those terrible dreams where she is still here and rejecting me, are gone. Now when I find myself feeling unsupported, I remind myself that that is a lie. A terrible trick of the mind. And instead, I remember the feelings of unconditional love and allow myself to feel the vulnerability of that. I remember that being supported means being open to feeling loved.  It is with the innocence of a child that I choose magic, the field of awareness, the field of love.  And I realize, my dream has come true:  I have become just like my mother.

Xo,

Leslie Kazadi