A few days ago, my neighbor from across the street, came over to share with me that her cancer had returned and that it was “now all over her body”. She is a woman who rarely questions authority, much like my mother, and so she had no idea what that meant in terms of prognosis or long-term outcome.
As she told me the news of her test results a tear slid down her cheek, and I became extremely aware of the process we were engaged in…and the potential of the experience we were sharing.
I felt no emotional surge, nor did I experience the desire to offer solutions, manage her problem, or become involved in her affairs. I merely watched with interest and acuity as the conversation unfolded… looked to see if I could serve her… or if she needed me in a way that I could cleanly participate in.
It was a moment of great volume and clarity for me. A test if you will, to allow me to know how truly and deeply felt, has become my understanding that all events are neutral in their very essence…not some, not just the ones we approve of or like…but rather ALL events, in their fundamental nature are without the “good” and “bad” that we, in our ignorance, project outward upon them.
I knew as a direct understanding that the cancer’s return was not inherently “bad”, nor was it necessarily, a lesson that would/should be put to “good” use….as only she can make that determination.
I simply waited and breathed.
Not fearing the cancer, nor laying claim to healing potions and emergency responses on her behalf to “do battle”, with this, the next “event” of her life, left me with little to give - in the way of traditional responses. It surprised us both.
Instinctively, or perhaps intuitively, I knew that to move against the cancer, or toward her desire for comfort would in some way be an unclean action…a way of deepening the schism of “good” vs. “bad” that so inflicts, affects, and infects our divided, and thus deeply suffering minds.
And so, I waited… while quietly breathing.
Days later, turning the event over to peer at it from first this side, and then that, I came to wonder about the concept of our societies understanding of “compassion”, and the methodology of it’s use and delivery.
And so, I did as I have done for more than two decades…I went to see my Teacher.
I took with me more than just the central question of “compassion”, and what is compassionate action - when you have come to see and to know - that events of all types are neutral, as this might be the last time I have the privilege to speak with him.
I briefly described the conversation between my neighbor and myself. Framing the question of what compassion looks like, if it is not sympathetic and shared-sorrowful-suffering, or aggressively active problem solving… as is the way, most people, express compassion.
As he began to formulate his answer…the route took many halting and wayward motions, as his Parkinson’s impeded his capacity to recall and to shape his thoughts, so long moments of silence would be interspersed with clarity and cohesion. A kind of soft rocking motion or rhythm, began to hold sway over our shared moments. Silence and the search for clarity, coupled with will and the desire to serve, hung in the air like a fragrance. I sat in my chair with my hands lightly holding each other, watching the beauty of his countenance, and sharing in the rhythms of his search for lucidity.
He talked of the theft that we can and do, perpetrate on others, when we “problem solve” for them. How aggressive and ego driven is our need for satisfying their reliance upon us, and how we weaken and destroy their will with our “good” works. He talked of how necessary, valiant, and important, it is to do nothing more than turn them back upon themselves, pointing toward the in-most self as the only salvation that is ever possible.
I expected to be with him for somewhere near 20 minutes, the natural conclusion of our conversation took more than 2 hours…so indirect was the route.
Although I had several questions, points of clarity that I had long wanted to deepen, he returned over and over to the one I had begun with. “You do not serve others when you attempt to rob, (“heal”) them of the suffering their mind creates”.
As we fell more deeply into the rhythms of his search for methods by which he could move around, beneath, beyond the limitations of his brain’s circuitry…I experienced moments of breathtaking beauty and deep joy. Nowhere in my heart or mind was any withhold, sorrow, or regret, at the loss of the magnificent tool his mind once was.
Instead… as he searched and prodded, repeated and circulated… around an answer that had been already given not once but thrice, I sat bathed in wonder at the love, generosity, authenticity…the “tone” of his soul, and the deep reservoirs of his presence.
At one point, he asked was he “on topic”. Was he talking about what I had been questioning…and yes, I could truthfully respond, even though that question was many minutes in the past…I could still answer in the affirmative, because it was soon apparent that his presence was in tact, even as his mind has begun to dissolve.
Toward the end, he gave me a practical experience of true detached compassion. After a long, and by now familiar pause, he expressed his admiration that I did not try to “help” him find and use his words, his understanding, or his skills. He spoke about the losses that Parkinson’s has imposed upon his mind, his speed, and his capacities and he noted that allowing these changes, being still with them, accepting the rhythms and demands they place upon him and all who love and respect him, was the very nature and content of composed and non-involved compassion.
And thus…once more, he took his rightful place as my Teacher and Master.
Even as the light begins to fade from his mind and the wonder of his intuitive skills diminish, he conveys the Ageless Wisdom Teachings with Mastery and delicate finesse, using his own disease process with which to do so.
For the first time in the twenty-five years I have known him, I told him, today, how much I love him. Always in the past, I talked of my respect, gratitude, warmth, and many other euphemisms for the Agape Love I feel for him. I don’t really know why I have always felt so shy about saying out loud the L word. I suppose in some way it didn’t feel proper, or appropriate. And only now, when he is not as sharp or clear as he once was, did I have the courage to say so boldly what he has meant to me…and given to me.
He is the reason, I was available for my mother’s last breath…the reason I could forgive my uncle’s abuses, the light-bearer who made it possible for me to find my way home…to the depth of my interior…to the heart of my heart.
He would chastise me for characterizing it that way, he would say that only I can find my interior…and of course that is true, and I am being sentimental. But I ask you, who among you could be so clear as to not sentimentalize, at least a little, the man who gave you the tools to save your own life?
Adayre R. Miller
11/10/10
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