Life can often feel like Dancing In The Dark, especially when chronic illness becomes an uninvited partner. It disrupts the rhythm of our days, challenges our strength, and reshapes our understanding of ourselves and the world. This journey, though fraught with pain and unpredictability, can also illuminate unexpected paths to wisdom, resilience, and a profound appreciation for life’s subtle graces. Like a dance with an unseen partner, navigating chronic illness demands a unique blend of surrender, attentiveness, and a willingness to find beauty even in the dimmest light.
For many years, physical robustness was a given. Exploring nature as a field botanist, embracing the tranquility of long meditations, and contributing actively to the community defined a life of capability and purpose. The body was a reliable instrument, its function taken for granted. Then, the onset of mononucleosis marked a turning point, ushering in an era where illness, pain, and weakness became central themes. Recovery seemed elusive, a mirage in the desert of persistent symptoms. The cyclical nature of the illness became apparent – periods of remission followed by relapses, an unpredictable dance that took up residence in daily life. Each return of symptoms brought with it a wave of devastation, a stark reminder of the body’s new, unreliable rhythm.
Years later, the diagnosis evolved to encompass autoimmune diseases, potentially triggered by the initial viral infection. Life became a landscape of extremes: periods of symptom-free normalcy interspersed with episodes where pain and nausea dominated, confining existence to the narrow space between aching limbs and the confines of a bed. Simple pleasures, anticipated events – a walk in nature, a gathering with friends – became contingent on the body’s unpredictable cooperation. The return of symptoms brought not only physical distress but also a profound sense of grief – grief for the life put on hold, for the return to the confines of illness, for the ongoing dance in the dark. This is the very essence of navigating the “dark fields” of chronic illness.
In the face of chronic suffering, moments of self-pity are inevitable. However, acknowledging this emotion is not a weakness, but rather a fundamental step towards recognizing the universality of the human condition. Experiencing illness, in its isolating intensity, paradoxically connects us to the shared experience of suffering. Whether it’s a child battling a rare disease, a friend grappling with Parkinson’s, or countless others facing their own physical trials, tears of self-pity can transform into tears of empathy, joining an invisible river of shared human vulnerability.
One of the most profound lessons learned in this dance with illness is the imperative to unlearn the ingrained habit of bodily obliviousness. Subtle signals – fatigue, weakness, minor aches – become crucial early warnings. Ignoring these whispers can accelerate the descent into a full-blown flare-up. Yet, the body’s signals are often easily dismissed in the pursuit of daily life, making the practice of bodily awareness a continuous, and often humbling, lesson. It’s akin to a Zen student repeatedly forgetting a basic practice, met with compassionate but firm correction. The path lies in cultivating restraint, prioritizing the body’s needs over will, pride, or fleeting desires.
Ironically, prior meditation practice, focused on transcending bodily whims, now requires a nuanced shift. The challenge lies in discerning the delicate balance between non-indulgence and suppressing genuine bodily needs. Compassion becomes the guiding principle – treating the body as a partner in this intricate dance. This is particularly crucial when pain and weakness take the lead, plunging us back into the “dark.” Resistance only amplifies suffering. Surrender, a letting go into the body’s lead, becomes the unexpected pathway to easing the struggle. The body dictates the steps, and the mind learns to follow.
Illness has an uncanny ability to dismantle pride. Dependability, self-sufficiency, career achievements – all facets of self-image can be challenged by the unpredictable nature of chronic illness. In Buddhism, suffering is linked to attachment. Illness, like a relentless force, compels us to relinquish attachments, shedding layers of self-identity we once held dear.
Shame, another facet of pride, can also surface. The reluctance to ask for accommodations, born from shame, can lead to unnecessary self-imposed exile. Asking for help, whether it’s adjusting a meditation retreat schedule or admitting limitations, becomes an act of self-compassion and a return to a more authentic self.
Miraculously, with each shedding of a rigid self-image, something new and beautiful emerges. The shift from a respected professional to a wanderer and retreatant, while seemingly less impressive by societal standards, opens up space for grace. Time expands, allowing for deeper connections – with friends in pain, with the beauty of nature, with the quiet stirrings of one’s own mind.
A crucial discovery in this journey is the separation of physical suffering from the inherent freedom of the heart and mind. Even amidst physical distress, happiness and even joy remain attainable. During periods of intense illness, simple moments of beauty – light on a river, the first signs of spring – can trigger profound joy. Happiness, often overlooked, resides in the immediate present – a vibrant flower, a pleasant taste, a meaningful conversation. Long retreats have revealed that happiness is less about external circumstances and more about an inherent quality of the mind, a resonance we can tune into by quieting the internal noise. Accessing this inner happiness can involve consciously recalling past joyful experiences, rekindling those feelings in the body, even amidst present pain. Simple, humble pleasure, as taught by Zen teacher Darlene Cohen, becomes an extraordinary gift in times of physical suffering.
The most challenging aspect of this journey is recognizing illness as a blessing, a gift. This perspective is not easily embraced, especially in the throes of suffering. Suggesting illness is a gift to someone in pain can feel dismissive and invalidating. The understanding of illness as a gift must arise from a deep, personal place. Initially, illness feels like a curse – undeserved, unwarranted, and wholly unwelcome. And indeed, some days it still feels that way. Yet, within this challenging experience, gifts do exist. The most profound, and perhaps most difficult, gift is the visceral, undeniable understanding of life’s finite nature, the uncertainty of tomorrow, and the urgent call to live fully in the present moment.
A deep yearning for spiritual practice had always been present, yet often overshadowed by perceived responsibilities – relationships, work, worldly commitments. Life was a balancing act, attempting to integrate retreats with the demands of everyday life, a longing for a deeper, more authentic path constantly tugging at the edges of awareness.
Illness, like the inevitable arrival of death, strips away the illusion of endless responsibilities. It serves as a stark reminder of life’s precious brevity, urging us to prioritize what truly matters. The fear of reaching life’s end with unfulfilled longings becomes a catalyst for change. Dreams themselves begin to echo this call for a deeper spiritual commitment. And so, a pivotal decision is made: to step away from established paths and embrace the long-deferred call of the spirit. A leave of absence becomes a year of wandering, retreats, connection with loved ones, and immersion in nature. In this space of simplicity and wandering, an unexpected happiness blossoms, a grace that unfolds like a cloud of butterflies on a summer morning.
Illness, therefore, is a complex dance – an admonition, a curse, a blessing, a divine, if unwelcome, teacher. It is not a path anyone would willingly choose, a road often rough and cruel. Yet, it is the given path. In bowing to its reality, there is a profound humbling and stripping bare of inessential aspects of self. And within this process, paradoxically, lies the potential for discovering a more authentic, deeply felt life.
From the Spring 2009 issue of Inquiring Mind (Vol. 25, No. 2)
© 2009 Zenshin Florence Caplow
