Like so many Americans, I’ve become a lapsed church-goer over the years, discovering a different kind of meditation and prayer to sustain my daily life. It is my writing practice, a ritual that begins in the early morning, before the outside world intervenes to pull me into its noisy demands. I open a notebook I’ve written in for years, the leather cover engraved with Celtic knots, and turn to a fresh blank page, one inviting me into quiet, and exploration of daily life. I pick up my pen and begin. My first words are often no more than a question posed: “what did you notice?” But it is enough. Writing has become my prayer, a door that opens to the landscape of my soul. It is also my practice, helping others to express and explore their lives through writing—particularly those affected by cancer. It is humbling work, and for the many years I’ve been doing it, I also realize how deeply spiritual it is for me—and, in witnessing others’ lives, for others.
Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time—Thomas Merton
Faith and spirituality are important in improving the quality of life among many cancer patients and frequently written about in books, articles and blogs. “One Man’s Cancer,”a blog written by New York Times editor Dana Jennings, after his diagnosis with aggressive prostate cancer, documented his journey, and among his many reflections, he wrote about the importance of “spiritual antibodies” in his cancer journey.
I converted to Judaism five years ago, after decades spent stumbling toward God. That faith has helped sustain me this past year, from the diagnosis of my prostate cancer, through surgery, and through radiation and hormone treatment when it was learned that I had an aggressive cancer.
I am not a fool. I am a patient with Stage T3B cancer and a Gleason score of 9. I need the skills and the insights of the nurses and doctors who care for me. But they don’t treat the whole man. Medicine cares about physical outcomes, not the soul. I also need — even crave — the spiritual antibodies of prayer, song and sacred study.
Whatever your religious or spiritual beliefs, they can provide strength and comfort in a difficult and painful chapter of life. A diagnosis of cancer is nothing anyone chooses. It can feel like a death sentence, and it may challenge your faith. But cancer offers a chance to deepen self-understanding and compassion, an opportunity to define what is essential and important in life, a reminder to pay attention to and appreciate the ordinary gifts of each day. “Each moment holds out the promise of revelation,” Jennings wrote. (He ultimately survived his cancer ordeal and continues to enjoy life with his wife and sons).
The experience of cancer, of getting through treatment and recovery, as Jennings so eloquently expressed, is a deeply spiritual journey. Cancer forces us to pay attention, really pay attention, to what matters in our lives. So many times, when I ask members in my writing groups what sustains them during the long months of surgery, treatment and recovery, I will hear the words, “My faith grew, and I prayed a lot.”
While faith and spirituality are related, they’re not synonymous, yet whatever your beliefs, your faith or your spiritual life can provide an important source of strength and comfort. Stephen Levine, best known for his work in death and dying, and quoted from a 1989 interview with The Sun, said, “As part of our wholeness, we need our woundedness. It seems written into spirituality that there’s a dark side to which we must expose ourselves.”
Cancer plunges us into that dark night of the soul. And while it may challenge our faith, it also offers the chance to explore what is truly essential—and soul nurturing—in our lives. Meditation and prayer are a way to explore one’s faith or spirituality. Writing also offers a way into the deepest realms of our being.
“When you’re caught up in writing…” poet Denise Levertov remarked in her final interview, “it can be a form of prayer.” When we write from our lives, we must have the courage to take a deep dive into our inner lives. “Tell the truth,” Maxine Hong Kingston tells her war veterans as they meet to write their stories of battle. Writing, whether of cancer, war, or other momentous events in our lives, cracks us open. We embark on a deeply spiritual journey. It’s why so many established writers will tell you, “writing is a courageous act.”
Varda, a writer in my first group, died of metastatic breast cancer several years ago. She wrote throughout her cancer journey, often humorously, sometimes poignantly, but always honestly. She became one of our most beloved group members. Nearing the final weeks of her life, she wrote “Faith,” a poem that examined her relationship with God:
God and I always had a special relationship,
sealed in ancient Hebrew prayers
and stained glass windows.
The Shofar blown on Yom Kippur.
The Book of Life open for ten days a year,
and then my fate sealed.
But our relationship has changed.
In asking me to surrender to this illness,
God has asked me to let go—to trust—float free.
And I have found this to be a most precious time.
My cancer has challenged my faith,
and I have found an incredible well I did not know I had.
I have found true surrender,
enormous peace.
I have come home to God, and we have renewed
our friendship.
(In: When Words Heal: Writing Through Cancer by Sharon Bray, Ed.D., 2006)
I think of Varda’s words often. To trust—float free…an incredible well I did not know I had. Has your faith been challenged in the experience of cancer or other suffering? What has sustained you in times of illness, hardship or struggle? Perhaps you have embarked on a spiritual journey you never imagined could be possible as a result of cancer. Where have you found your solace, your strength? Write about how cancer has challenged or deepened your faith or your spirituality. What “spiritual antibodies” were most nourishing and sustaining for you?
Kathy is right on target about some Doctors when she quoted, “Nurses and doctors who do not treat the whole man. … medicine does not care about the whole man.” Then she said, “Thought I was the only one who felt that way.”
Back around 1900 Sir William Osler said “The good physician treats the disease; the great physician treats the patient who has the disease.” He recognized the problem of a lack of compassion in the medical community. The problem is currently being addressed at some medical schools, but improvement is slow and inconsistent.
Kathy, your writing reads like poetry.
Thank you Don. Just this morning we used Anatole Broyard’s chapter, “The Patient Examines the Doctor,” as inspiration for writing on this very topic…
S.
well i see all my formatting flew out the window — italics, bold, quote indents. oh well, i hope this makes sense.
Dear Sharon,
This is the week I am going to respond to your essay. Every week I intend to, I feel so open and inspired when I read each one, and then I procrastinate. And then another Sunday rolls around. … Perhaps I unconsciously worry that I am not a “poet” or that what I say is not “publishable.” – it’s something along those lines and I am oh so tired of that part of myself. After what I’ve spent the last year doing, who cares about perfectionism or presentation?
What matters is that if I can share some of what I’ve learned & what sustained us through Yolande’s long illness, maybe there’s a teeny take-away of comfort or consolation for some one person “out there” who reads your essays. That’s all that matters to me. Yolande and I were fortunate in that we already shared a belief system that sustained us through it all and we already had spent years journaling and reading Joseph Bailey out loud for timed writing inspirations in the wee hours.
I’ve gathered together a series of paraphrases from Oct 14 essay that stung me or made me feel kinship with the writer. Dana Jennings, spiritual antibodies. That is a bingo! A perfect description and the antithesis of western medicine. Nurses and doctors who do not treat the whole man. … medicine does not care about the whole man. Thought I was the only one who felt that way.
Jennings continues, I also need — even crave — the spiritual antibodies of prayer, song and sacred study. And so do I – in fact it is the only thing that got Yolande and I through this past year. We too craved sacred study and we were shrouded by a deeply spiritual explanation and teaching which protected us from the strains of fear and speculation and outcomes.
We were able to experience gratitude for each day, display lots of tenderness, walk under a couple miles of very old trees in San Mateo, and prepare the freshest vegetables, rice and chicken available, grown by farmers we knew and loved at College of San Mateo Saturday Farmers’ Market. We rarely ever cried or clung or focused on the unfairness of it all. She was a rare bird through it all – maybe she complained ??? five times.
Jennings continues: … cancer … is a deeply spiritual journey. Cancer forces us to pay attention, really pay attention, to what matters in our lives. And Sharon picks up that thread, an opportunity to define what is essential and important in life, a reminder to pay attention to and appreciate the ordinary gifts of each day. … Cancer plunges us into that dark night of the soul. … offering also the chance to explore what is truly essential—and soul nurturing. … Writing also offers a way into the deepest realms of our being.
D Levertov expresses it thus: we must have the courage to take a deep dive into our inner lives. And Maxine HK caught me right in the chest, Writing, whether of cancer, war, or other momentous events in our lives, cracks us open. That knocked the breath out of me when I read it.
And each of these heavy, thoughtful, expressions, descriptions of the same path, can also lead one to fear if they don’t know how rich life is plumbing these [spiritual] depths.
So I’d like to quote a little something here to try and tie together what these beautiful authors are leading up to, that I picked up from Joseph Bailey over the years. FEARPROOF YOUR LIFE, J. Bailey, pp96 97. He talks about
leaping into the unknown – where, in fact, new answers uncontaminated by the ego thought system await discovery.
When we begin to experience willingness and trust in our true Selves, we become comfortable with being in a state of “not knowing.” We see this state as natural and nothing to be afraid of. We understand that the unknown is not scary; rather, it is an invitation to discover more of who we truly are.
What is unknown to us on a conscious level is easily known by our Spirit, and that is comforting. We realize that not only can our questions be answered, but they also have a purpose. The purpose is to ask our Self, and in the asking and the listening, we bring more of our Spirit into our conscious awareness. The unknown is nothing more than our true Selves unrevealed, and to reveal this true state of consciousness brings us all the answers we need to have to live life as it is intended.
Thank you, Kathy, for this rich and thoughtful post–I was moved by your words and Yolande’s memory.
Sharon
“Whatever floats your boat.” That sounds so flippant, but it’s not meant to be so. I’m serious; whatever helps you get through your Cancer experience is OK with me. If it’s religion, good for you, I’m happy for you. It might be meditation, the formal kind with cross-legged seating. Or, it could be mindfulness, a technique of total concentration, of single minded focusing.
Meditation III
I found my inner peace in St. Margaret’s Church,
Repeating the names of Saints, ending with “Pray for us”.
My mind quiets and contemplates.
I found my inner self in my own silent room,
Breathing mindfully, calming all my senses.
My psyche quiets and examines.
I found my soul in Sinnepuxent Bay,
Focusing, feeling, finding clams with my mind-eyed toes.
My spirit quiets and reflects.
Inner peace, inner self, soul—all the same goal,
But each road, each path, is so different.
Does it matter which one I take?
Yes, Don–it’s a very individual thing, isn’t it? Thank you for posting your poem.
s.