Finding Quiet

I love the quiet.  I am reading a book called Quiet by Susan Cain.  In brief, she delves into the nature of quiet, introverted people.  Devon told me she had read the book and it helped her understand that some of her behaviors she was not comfortable with had become behaviors she now not only accepts, but embraces.  Cain quotes Proust as calling those special moments of unity between writer and reader as "that fruitful miracle of a communication in the midst of solitude."  It is miraculous when we step forward toward more fully accepting ourselves and loving ourselves unconditionally.  It is perhaps a process without end.  I felt that way this weekend while listening to Ramanand.  Nearly all of what he said resonated within me with full understanding.  For me, nothing esoteric, just basic truths most of us of age (or not) have come to know through painful experiences, hard learned lessons of life, plumbing the depths of ourselves, peeling away layers in our oftentimes compelling and urgent journey towards truth of self, of life, of relationships. 

Today is Memorial Day which I understand to be a day for remembering all those men and women who fought in wars.  For decades now I have kept the bronze star awarded to my father for his service during World War II in my night stand drawer.  Long past his death, I finally came to understand and love him, and I wept for him.  Severely traumatized, alcoholic, abusive, hard core workaholic, gambler, womanizer, an absent father.  When we understand, we forgive.  With forgiveness we are free to love, and I don't think it is ever too late.

After 39 years, Dale and I got "married" in Taos on Wednesday, May 14.  The ceremony was sweet, simple, quiet, and meaningful.  I didn't think a piece of paper would mean much of anything, but the ritual, the ceremony, the sacredness of it does spin one towards looking at things from a different perspective, a view with more appreciation, perhaps a renewal.  It snowed, the moon was full, the old but modernized adobe enveloped us with warmth and hospitality.  We took our dog, Mikio, along with us.   

This past Friday I had my cat Pepe euthanized.  He had alimentary (intestinal) small cell lymphoma.  His symptoms began long ago, and I think that by the time he was diagnosed, the cancer was quite advanced.  He did not respond to prednisone, nor to two different chemotherapy treatments.  It is always a hard thing to do.  I observed his slow decline, his change in behavior, felt him daily as the muscle tissue melted away leaving him nearly emaciated.  Along the journey of dealing with his illness, there were a multitude of decisions to make.  We did everything we could, and more, and I can only hope we didn't do too much.  When I instinctually knew it was time, I had to battle with my mind for several hours.  During this time, I somehow heard about a book entitled Blink, learning how to think without thinking, meaning to listen to our intuition, our gut.  The book is on my wish list. 

It is growing dark outside, and there is the distant roar of thunder.  My dog stays close as he fears stormy weather.  The house is quiet, the cats sleeping, Dale in his room probably reading, listening to music, or online.   It is intensely green outside in infinite hues.  Pepe is peacefully sleeping forever under a stand of oaks alongside Adam, Sam, Kit Kat, Pewter, and Ralph.  The rain last night nourished the trees and grasses, filling the air with the smell of organic earth.  My burn pile is now all ashes, the fire long gone.  The wind which has been blowing daily is at the moment sitting still.   

Tuxedo Boy

After Peggy's Monday afternoon class, before I left the parking lot, I listened to a voicemail from Sharon Theisen, DVM, regarding the results of my cat Pepe's biopsies.  Not good news at all.  Cancer.  Pepe was born early Fall, 2004.  I adopted him in May 2008.  The year before he was  he was rescued by an Austin Group from Town Lake Animal Center, which was at the time a kill center.  He has been a wonderful pet, very sweet and loving, a gentle nature, quiet.  Very much a lap cat and very social with people.  Well over 2 years ago he developed allergies and was tested and found to be allergic to a wide range of pollens.  I have been giving him weekly shots since then and he has seen a dermatologist, who treats allergies, regularly.  He has suffered from ear issues related to his allergies as well as all the aggressive grooming and scratching that results from the relentless itching all over his body.  There have been times when he itches so intensely that he will lick and scratch to the point that he bleeds, forms scabs, looses large patches of hair.  Cortisone pills do provide some relief.  For over a year now he has been plagued with lots of diarrhea and vomiting.  I have mentioned this repeatedly to his doctors.  One vet found some bacteria in his stool and prescribed an antibiotic, which helped a little, for a while.  It was suggested that perhaps he had developed a food allergy so I've tried feeding him prescribed hypoallergenic cat food, and other recommended brands and flavors, with no luck.  Then he was tested for hyperthyroidism, and he was negative.  Finally, after dropping down to barely 8 pounds from nearly 12 pounds, he was referred to an internist (Dr. Sharon Thiesen) who recommended exploratory surgery as the most comprehensive method of getting good biopsies from his stomach, ileus, and intestine.  The report came back yesterday as positive for alimentary (intestinal) small cell lymphoma.  He has been put on prednisone daily which should help a lot, but the next step is to consider whether or not to begin administering chemotherapy, which comes in a pill (chlorambucil) without all the side effects associated with chemotherapy in humans.  Still, there are potential side effects and at this point I haven't made a decision on what to do.  I will meet next week with Dr. Thiesen to have his staples removed (24 of them), and we will discuss the options.  His comfort and well-being is most important.  It is my understanding that with treatment, his life expectancy should be between 1.5 and 2 years.  He's probably had the cancer for about a year.  I feel sad that he has this terminal illness.  I feel gratitude for the wonderful years we have had together and gratitude that I was able to be his caretaker for the past 6 years.  He has been such a joy.  Now it is wait and see how he responds to the daily steroid treatment and possibly the chemotherapy. 

I just spoke on the phone with Dr. Theisen, and we are going to move forward with the chemotherapy as Pepe has bounced back quite well from his exploratory surgery.  I have a history with Sharon Theisen, DVM, as she treated one of my other cats many years ago.  Sam had a really bad heart, and with her expertise, we were able to give him 5 additional years of a good quality life.  He was my first rescued pet, and since then that is all I have had.  So, when I took Pepe in to see Dr. Theisen, I was delighted to see a photograph of Sam on her wall.  It was touching and brought tears to my eyes, and how well I remember the day we finally put Sam down, and how she and I both cried at his loss.  He was quite the warrior cat for sure.

To Listen or Not?

We all want to be loved, and so many of our needs stem from that very basic human craving.  I met a guy during yoga class on a recent cruise who reminded me of that need in me that has taken me on some rather harrowing journeys in the realm of baffling and complex relationships with others (all profound learning experiences).  Because I have microscopically examined the root cause of the particular aspect of that need, I had a pretty clear perspective on what was happening and was able to simply observe without succumbing to the pull.  Frank was in his early 50's, quite good looking, friendly, talkative, engaging, but also needy and emotionally unavailable.  He served in the military and was on board a ship that sank, he nearly drowned, and all the fire and fumes did permanent damage to his lungs, including cancer, so his hospitalizations and treatments have been extensive and ongoing.  He was also in "intelligence" and has retained that particular mindset of distrust, paranoia, and a strong tendency to manipulate, to play games.  It is not easy for me to relate or understand all this, but I try.  I listen.  And, I think that is an important key.  Learning to listen.  Learning to care.  Learning to understand.  He had no interest in my feedback so I kept as quiet as possible, but I did have to put some "gems of wisdom" on the table.  (Okay, so I am admitting that I feel both older and wiser).  He was not happy and felt all alone in the world, only 52 and living very much in the past.  I did my best to connect but he lives his life as anonymously as possible.  He wouldn't give me his last name, and his registered name on the yoga roster may have been fictitious.  I don't know!!  He told me that if I were to Google him I would hit a dead end (all by design).  That's the issue in dealing with such people, they desperately want to be listened to, they want a friend, they want to relate, but, in my opinion, they are so out of touch with their truer selves that forming such healthy bonds, is virtually impossible.   It's almost like an unconsciousness commitment to practicing the opposite of what the yamas and niyamas call for (universal and personal ethical codes of behavior).  The pull of the emotionally unavailable and needy will always be with me and so will the desire to fix (again, thank you Daddy).  But, the pull has lost nearly all strength.  It is such a paradox that while I believe in the importance of listening to others, I cannot deny the need I have to be listened to, and it seems that finding such people to listen to me is rare.  I certainly should feel gratitude when I'm faced with the role of being the listener.  In some cases, it is a duty and I know I may be helping in some small way.  I think that when we learn to truly listen to others with caring and understanding, we open the door to learning not only about others, but also about ourselves.  There can be an abundance of clarity.  I suggest that when someone wants to talk to you about something that is troubling them, let them talk, don't wait until the moment they have finished and then start telling them about all the associations that came up for you while they were talking.  In fact, do your best to stop your own associations and focus as keenly as possible on what they are saying, as though it is something you are hearing for the very first time.  Be objective in your listening, try to hear with clarity, don't allow your own associations to interfere with your listening, your understanding, your caring.  It's not that easy for me, but I'm working on it. 

***
On the subject of listening, there is little choice when having dental work done!  Today I saw my dentist because of a toothache.  His wife is lovely and is his receptionist/accountant/office manager, and I have been going there since 1980, so I've gotten to know them over the years.  She has been out of the office a lot in recent years with a wide range of health issues.  Today he told me she nearly burned the house down, then had a wreck in their car, then went and made a large jewelry purchase, then sat in the car for 4 hours in front of the jewelers, apparently in a catatonic state.  Police were called.  She ended up being diagnosed as having had a psychotic episode perhaps brought on by a severe bladder infection.  But, it turns out she was diagnosed long ago as bipolar but refuses medication.  So, she has been getting into some difficulties.  (Been there and done that many times.)  She is now in a psych ward and will be moved into a nursing care facility and cannot go home  unless she takes her prescribed meds.  My dentist said that the label of mental illness, specifically bipolar, has quite a stigma attached to it for her and so she is in denial and doesn't think she needs meds.  Reality has repeatedly proven otherwise for her and many others.  I wish her the very best, she has been in my thoughts all day.  My dentist needed to talk.  Lots going on for them and I cannot imagine the pressure he is under.  So I listened, and understood for more than he will ever imagine!  Last I heard, she is taking her meds and hopes to come home.  I had a fractured lower molar.  We shall see if a crown and/or root canal will be needed, but there was no abscess, but perhaps nerve damage.  Wait and see. 

Mikio and I had a nice long walk in Zilker park.  Yesterday I drove to Round Rock so Pepe could see his dermatologist for his allergy issues.  Now we are awaiting blood tests to see if he has hyperthyroidism, which is relatively easy to treat.  He has lost a lot of weight and simply cannot hold food down.  But, the new vial is working well and he has stopped the licking and scratching that leaves his skin raw and bloody.  I will slightly decrease his weekly injections.  Wait and see. 

I feel really tired tonight!

Settle In to Be Unsettled

My neighbors the Wolfs--Mel and Carey--told me that Oreo had been killed on their front porch a few hours after they spotted a coyote in their yard.  There was a loud thump, they later saw footprints, and that was it.  Life can be quite short for roaming cats.  Mel has a brain tumor and is undergoing chemo which will be followed by radiation.  We are all vulnerable.  A gray cat that looks a lot like Oreo has been visiting us for several months but will not let me get near him.  I looked out the other day and he was on the porch looking quite distressed.  One eye was discolored and partially closed, he had some kind of mark on the side of his face, and something, perhaps thorns, were sticking out of his back.  He would not let me get near so I set up the humane trap.  Instead I got a raccoon and promptly let him out before he got too upset.  I caught a glimpse of a buzzard flying past my window and wondered if the gray cat had died.  I walked all around the woods but found nothing; however, I was stunned at the number of birds.  They were everywhere, it was so unusual.  I've never in all my years living out here seen nor heard so many birds all over the property.  It must be due to the rain, perhaps migration.  I caught a sniff of death, that putrid smell of rotting flesh, and knew that it couldn't be the gray cat, way too soon even if he did die, which I thought likely.  The whiff of death was strong, but I couldn't locate anything, and never again could I find the smell.  One fleeting sniff and that was it.  The wind must have blown just right.  There was nothing on the property, but I found the carcass on the other side of the fence, on the right of way leading to the vacant lot, close to the Wolfs house.  The buzzards had eaten most of the insides of the doe, going in through cavities and pulling out guts and organs, leaving the skin pretty much intact.  Standing there looking at her I still could smell nothing.  I'll never know what happened to her.  I saw the gray cat today and he was remarkably healed, certainly nowhere near death.  Extraordinary resilience.  His eye was normal, the thorns were gone, only the blood from the cut on his face was still visible.  If I can catch him in the trap, I will take him to the vet, but he's elusive. My dog Mikio is a breed most closely linked genetically to wolves, I've read.  Are my neighbors from an ancient tribe where the wolf was their fetish?   I took Mikio to see the doe carcass, which is now reduced to mostly bloody rib bones with tiny bits of flesh still hanging on.  A feast for bugs.  Cycles.  Death.  Dogs know death when they smell it, see it.  As we walked back to the house the wind was fierce, but not chilly.  It felt so good to be alive, healthy, taking in the vibrancy of life, breathing, feeling, knowing, smelling...I know a moment will come when all this that I know as life will no longer be.  It is unsettling to dwell upon for too long, but being unsettled has always been a place of learning.  Ginny the remarkable dog trainer came yesterday and we are making great progress in our training sessions with Mikio.  I love him, he is such a beautiful, calm, sweet animal.  Definitely independent, and the techniques use positive reinforcement, mostly, and nothing that ever in any way hurts the animal and tries to break his spirit.  It should never ever be a goal to break the spirit of any living thing.  Theresa came from the vet's office to give Blue Eyes his rabies shot because they forget to administer it when he was last in.  Traveling is traumatic for him and he defecates and urinates all over himself, the cage, and often me.  Theresa has a slew of orphaned, injured, and abused cats that she cares for and tries to find homes for.  People will drive down Hwy 290 and throw a cat out the window, she told me.  Very, very unsettling.   I love the wind, but it stirs up all the things my cat Pepe is seriously allergic to.  A new, second vial was recently created to add to the first vial to cover more allergens and I am happy to see that he is having quite a reaction because this means it is working.  I rub his self-inflicted wounds with Vetericyn, I give him 2 shots a week, and he requires methylprednisolone which upsets his tummy and gives him diarrhea.  So he has special diet and takes fortiflora nearly every day.  When he knows a shot or pill is coming, he runs and hides.  His sense of knowing all this is eerily keen.  I think that feeling unsettled is akin to the sense of groundlessness we must learn to accept as part of our lives.  Everything is in flux. "The fundamental ambiguity of being human" is with us daily, says Pema Chodron. 

"Living is a form of not being sure, not knowing what next or how.  The moment you know how, you begin to die a little.  The artist never entirely knows.  We guess.  We may be wrong, but we take leap after leap in the dark."  Agnes de Mille

"Life is like stepping into a boat that is about to sail out to sea and sink."  Shunryu Suzuki Roshi

So obviously we must learn to settle in to be unsettled. 

Negril, Jamaica (Trying to Live Beautifully)

The waves crash against the craggy, jagged shoreline, at times savagely.  Dark clouds roll in and the clap of thunder is frighteningly loud.  Amidst the cacophony of background noises I can hear a faint, steady whistling sound.  Ever so slowly it gets louder, and more shrill.  Just as gradually as it began, the whistling fades.  It is the peanut man pushing his cart along the narrow, winding road just outside the gates of the hotel.  There is no break in the sound, unlike the waves.  A pipe releases the steam from his old fashioned contraption as he rolls along the road, passing vendors selling fresh fruit, colorful tie dyed clothing, wooden carvings, homemade soup.  Until we die, there is no break in our breathing, it is steady.


I am naked on the beach in Mona Lisa's massage parlor, a small wood frame structure with walls of fluttering sheets offering some little degree of privacy from those walking the shoreline. "It is not a problem, mon."  She is a hefty woman with strong hands, her massage is deep and feels good.  I go into deep relaxation.  She caresses my genitals in several long strokes that take me by surprise but it seems so natural.  There is an earthy quality to this woman that puts me at complete ease.  I sit up slowly to dress, and she tells me "your shorts are lost, mon".  A joke.  It is raining.  My shoes have been left on the beach and are wet.  





My bed sheets are spotted with blood this morning as are my pillows.  My elbows are raw and have bled throughout the night. The yoga room floor is hard tile.  I am still feeling some anger at the taxi driver who yesterday hassled me and tried to frighten me into paying an outrageous fare.  He partially succeeded but the amount was not significant; however, the hassle was.  The anger will pass just like the clouds, it will fade away like the whistle fades from the peanut man.  It is worth it, lunch at Jackie's with Sharon is sweet.  One of the best smoothies ever. 






We went snorkeling again today with Vincent, an exceptionally nice man who watches and guides us with great care.  The water is warm and calming, the stingrays graceful as they swim in front of us.  The reef is alive and vibrant today, perhaps because of the intense downpour late yesterday.   I hold a live blow fish, a sea cucumber, a starfish...




John asks me to remain still as he tells the entire class to come and observe.  "His sitting posture is better than anyone else here," he tells the class.  My ego wants to grow big but I am humbled by the experience.  I am dripping in sweat as we've just come down from head stand then shoulder stand.  (John tells us the only rule in Iyengar Yoga is that head stand comes before shoulder stand.)  The room faces the blue sea, waves crash, the wind caresses.  "Is Ron relaxed?" he asks the class.  A resounding no.  He's sweating and tense, he says as he adjusts me for pranayama, a position I find virtually impossible to hold.  As always, I am made aware of how much I have to learn.  The previous day Barbara had us move slowly towards a balancing pose that began with getting one leg over our shoulder.  I put my leg behind my head.  "As impressive as that is, Ron Hicks, that is not where we are going."  I realized it was my pride that was leading me in that moment and I acknowledged and pulled back.  When we achieved the final pose, again I felt a sense of accomplishment that I quite nicely achieved the pose.  Barbara pointed to another student and directed the attention of the class to her pose.  I felt totally deflated and ignored. 


  "We are so easily blown about by the winds of praise and blame.  This has been going on through the ages.  They criticize the silent ones.  They criticize the talkative ones.  They criticize the moderate ones.  There is no one in the world that escapes criticism.  There never was and never will be, nor is there now, the wholly criticized or the wholly approved."  (Skakyamuni Buddha, more than 2500 years ago.)*  The desire for praise can be a hook, just as an aversion to criticism can be a hook, no matter how constructive the criticism may be.  Know your triggers and acknowledge when you are hooked, advises Pema Chodron.




We are a trio from Sydney, Amsterdam and Dripping Springs.  We kiss and hug tightly.  We have long discussions on all things yogic.  Life is good.   We eat, laugh, drink Red Stripe beer and sip some rum.  We order extra vegetables.  We haggle with taxi drivers.  We work hard in class, perhaps too hard, I am told.  "You don't always have to give 100 percent," Marietta tells me, "quite often 90, or 80, or 70 percent might serve you better." 


We have our last class of the retreat this afternoon, followed by dinner and a party, and tomorrow Clive will deliver us to the Montego Bay Airport as we all go in separate directions. 


*Living Beautifully with Uncertainty and Change, Pema Chodron

Standing Firm on Sacred Ground

I returned home late yesterday afternoon having spent Wednesday through Sunday in Dallas and Irving.  I attended a great workshop hosted by the BKS Iyengar Yoga Studio of Dallas and conducted by Mary Obendorfer and Eddy Marks, senior Iyengar teachers.  Conjunction in Yoga: Compactness, The Deeper Meaning of Compactness.  I learned a lot and achieved a deepness in poses I have never before known.  It always amazes how much knowledge senior, experienced teachers have to impart as well as how very much work there is for me to do. 

I stayed with a gentleman in Irving who hosted me and that was truly an enriching experience.  He's a teacher and a member of the Turtle Creek Chorale, raised three children on his own as a single parent, and is now living alone in a small house with three dogs.  The house is in quite a state of disrepair and was, in areas, quite dirty.  Like so many Americans, he has fallen victim of the obesity epidemic and battles a wide range of problems, including diabetes.  He works hard and is gone much of the time.  In the meanwhile, his three dogs stay crated in the living room, so, needless to say, they were quite happy to have my company and freedom from their crates.  One of the dogs is a Shiba Inu and extraordinarily handsome and bright.  I totally fell in love with him.  We played, went on long walks, he lay down next to me on his back and let me rub his tummy.  He captured my heart with the way he stared at me and behaved towards me.  I would love to offer him a home out here but I don't think that will happen.  But I wish it so.  I have already contacted the Shiba Inu Rescue Society to see if perhaps I might find a Shiba that needs a home. 

I ran a few errands this afternoon after unpacking and washing clothes.  At the grocery store I got in line behind a woman who was having quite a conversation with the cashier, but it didn't bother me at all.  I knew the talk was slowing things down, but so what?  I had nowhere to go and practicing patience is always good.   Then the woman told me that she was so very sorry, but that all her groceries had to be rescanned!  I had never heard of that.  I smiled and practiced.  When it came time for me to be checked out, the cashier was very apologetic, told me the woman was a friend, and her daughter had been in an accident and was still in the hospital two months later having suffered severe head trauma and brain damage.  I was touched, and told her it was so good of her to listen and be there for her friend, that often we need to just listen to people and that in itself can be healing.  She looked at me oddly, checked me out, and said, your total is $$ Mr. Kind Gentleman, and again she apologized.  I told her she had nothing to apologize about, she had done a really good thing and I appreciated what she had done.  She was so stunned she started crying.  Then I could feel my eyes watering.  It was a sacred moment.  We were standing on holy ground in those moments, in the grocery check out line at HEB.  There was a moment of transcendence, of a blissful connectedness, a deep understanding, not a lot different from the way I feel when I practice Maha Mudra or contemplate the inquisitive eyes of a Shiba Inu calmly staring into mine.   

I am wondering if it is possible to find that inner peace when dealing with someone who is angry or bitter or very much on the offensive?  Maybe, but I'm not sure I will ever arrive there.  I haven't talked to one of my sisters in a very long while, and I called her tonight and within no more than five minutes she slammed the phone down, leaving me clueless as to the source of her anger.  It has nothing to do with me.  I think this can be a very important mantra, as well as "there is nothing I can do to change this" other than "be an example."  I suppose one can rest calmly in seeing clearly, acting mindfully, being truthful, and staying present.  The yamas and niyamas are the foundation of yoga, and when we let them guide us we can acquire a firmness to stand on shaky ground and be okay with it all, and in doing so set forth an example for ourselves as well as others. 

Ileus

It began on Saturday.  I got up at my usual 5:30 a.m., had coffee and a banana then headed to Peggy's 8:00 a.m. yoga class.  I packed my usual breakfast to eat after class, meeting up with my friend and house guest Daryl, who taught some five or six asanas during the 8:00 a.m. Saturday class.  We walked over to Starbucks where I bought some organic milk to add to my dry cereal concoction I eat most mornings along with a couple of small oranges.  I indulged and had a third cup of coffee for the day.  After a leisurely breakfast, we met at Peggy's home studio as volunteer students for Thecla who is going up for assessment soon.  At 1:00 p.m. I headed home, becoming more aware that something was not at all right with my upper abdominal regional.  It felt unusually full, even though I had eaten nothing unusual much less over indulged in anything (except the extra cup of coffee, which wasn't really that unusual).  By the time I got home my pain was increasing, slowly but surely.  I looked in the mirror and could see that my stomach was greatly distended.  I had a light lunch then decided to rest.  When I got up a short while later my stomach pain had increased dramatically.  I did some research on the internet on bloating, distension, constipation, blockage.  Apparently people experience these things all the time.   Just give it some time.  Stay calm.  Eat lightly.  Drink lots of water.  By early evening my pain was becoming unbearable, and by bedtime I could barely stand up straight.  Bent over in pain, I fell on to my bed and realized I was at the point where I was pretty close to not being able to function.  I felt I might throw up.  With help, I reached my doctor and he suggested I get myself to the nearest emergency room, which I did.  By the time I got there the pain was pretty disabling and my thinking was clouded.  I was quickly assessed and given a powerful narcotic, intravenously, which helped but also made me extremely drowsy.  I was given a cat scan and was told there was blockage and that surgery was a real possibility.  They booked me a room in the hospital and said they would talk with me the following morning.  The doctor told me I had ileus--a non mechanical blockage of the upper or lower abdomen.  Basically, paralysis sets in and nothing moves, at all.  There are a multitude of reasons this can happen.  He said he would order up some medication that would totally wash out my system.  Since I've had several colonoscopies I am familiar with this process of quick cleansing.  I drank the bottle of medication and nothing happened.  The nursing staff was small, only two people and the hospital wing was essentially deserted.  The narcotic, which had been administered a couple of more times kept me deeply drowsy.  I decided to get up and walk the halls pulling along my IV stand.  My stomach still hurt but had lessened.  After about 4 hours with no cleansing taking place whatsoever, I asked what was going on.  Could they give me something else or more of the same.  No one seemed to know what they were doing.  No doctors around.  I had a splitting headache and had asked three time for something for that and got nothing. I finally decided I was simply going to check myself out of that place and go home, which I did, after signing a statement that I was leaving without medical authorization.  I got home and felt better.  I'm still not back to normal, but my research has helped.  I called my gastroenterologist and he is going to get the cat scan results and give me a call back, hopefully tomorrow, and we will take it from there. One never knows when the strangest of things may suddenly happen. 

It is now four days later and I'm doing much better but still weak.  Nearly all the pain has gone as well as the distension.  I have thoroughly flushed my system and everything seems to be working again.  My gastroenterologist cannot see me for 2 months, so he must not think there is much to worry about.  I'm going to do a spring cleanse, in all probability I will use the one from Peggy's book.  Each time I've done a cleanse I feel so revitalized and refreshed.  I'd like to start now, but by the time I gather up everything I need it will be time to depart for Dallas, which is followed very soon thereafter by another workshop. 

I am diving into Light on Pranayama by B.K.S. Iyengar.  I feel inspired.  There are times when I forget that in many ways life hangs by a fragile thread--even a breath--and there are countless obstacles and mysteries we will encounter whose meaning we may never understand.  Just knowing that, is, in itself, understanding.  For whatever reasons, aspects of ourselves may become stuck, or paralyzed, but we must keep moving even deeper into those places where we get stuck, literally and figuratively.