REACH FOR THE JOY

Zaiden’s Smile

Karen — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 10:08:55 +0000

Nothing inspires me like my little girl’s smile!

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A New Choice

Karen — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 02:22:59 +0000

I CHOOSE JOY!!

At the wondrous age of five and a half, my daughter is already becoming quite the master story-teller. No real surprise, as she comes from theatrical parents, but she does have moments of timidity and can be quite shy, only to unexpectedly spring to life to recount one of her tales. Zaiden captures her audience with her accounts of her experiences, which often curiously differ from mine, even if I was right there beside her. She blends elements of fantasy with reality and the line is often blurred (to the point that her Dad and I frequently check in with one another to ascertain the facts!). But Rick and I are thankfully on the same page, fostering and encouraging her vast imagination- as long as the fantasies are harmless and she understands the difference in telling a lie.

When she spins her yarn, one is held captive, lifted back in time, reliving the adventure alongside her. Her voice depicts pure emotion while she engages her entire body in the telling. She is brave enough to attempt new words such as camouflage and apprehensive (both recently used correctly to my delight). She draws a vivid picture in technicolor and re-experiences the passion of each emotion. She quite literally takes her audience by the hand and guides them through details I am astonished she can recall. Even as far back as 2 years of age.

One thing, however, unsettled me recently while encouraging her to share her Disneyland experiences with Grandma. I listened with anticipation, assuming she would talk about her delight in meeting Mickey & Minnie in person on the way out of the park (we had them all to ourselves before other families even caught on!) or the thrill of SOARIN’ OVER CALIFORNIA (an awesome virtual reality ride… one of the few rides I felt comfortable on- we went twice!). Instead, she began with ” Oh, Grandma, this was soooo sad. I was really scared and I even cried! Right, Momma?” Now, normally I support her freedom to tell it her way, only piping in when invited to help her recall a detail or a name. Her stories can supply clues to how she is really feeling- and obviously I am completely entertained. But on this occasion, I could not bite my tongue- I had to intervene.

Over the past two years, I have often deeply considered what compels me to retell certain stories of my history- those that I remember as painful, and even cause immediate stress in my body in the telling, although I may be recalling an event that is years old (and I believe to have healed from whatever wounds I licked for however long). I spent many of my teen and young adult years enjoying, on some perverse level, the attention and pity bestowed upon me as I portrayed the victim in the drama I created: my own life. An old friend once remarked that he thought I enjoyed it when people “felt sorry” for me. I had never considered the possibility. It sort of made sense. OUCH! That was 11 years ago. Just before I met Rick, Zaiden’s Daddy. I have never forgotten that moment- It stung, but I am glad someone finally said it! I have often reflected on his observation, especially when I discover myself weaving a sad, “poor-me” account. It has taken me years, but I think I am getting more successful at “catching myself.” I don’t berate myself. A mistake is for correction, not punishment. But I do take a moment and ask myself what my purpose is in telling this story. In the words of the late Jeffrey Nikelson, am I “Complainin’ or just ’splainin?” And then I either continue, or choose not to.

I have become gradually more and more conscious of the words that come out of my mouth- and even the thoughts that swim around in my head, or the words on the pages of my journal. The readings I have been devouring of late- modern spiritual writings, holy books and even novels remind me that each of us creates our own reality. That by retelling tales of woe, our subconscious, the Universe, the Law of Attraction or what you will hears that as a request for MORE OF THE SAME! “It” doesn’t know the difference between something that is actually happening and something that is remembered- especially when charged with emotion. By recalling our own suffering, we are actually inviting more suffering into our experience.

A couple of weeks ago, I let Zaiden know that there was something that she needed to do for me that meant a small sacrifice on her part. I predicted her reply: “I don’t want to.” I viewed this as an opportunity for her to grow. I explained to her that, unfortunately, this was not one of those times that she gets to choose whether or not to comply with my wishes. BUT- she did have a choice of how she would respond. And only SHE had the power to make that choice and live with its consequences. She could choose to get upset about it and make her (and my) time miserable, OR she could choose to see it as an exciting adventure, or even a kind favor to Mom. As she considered this, I saw a moment of clarity fill her brown eyes as she surrendered a crooked, knowing smile. And guess what? She had a GREAT TIME!

We all have the same choice! While we don’t always get to choose whether or not to go to the DMV or the dentist, pick up after the dog, or drive in rush hour, we CAN choose how we respond. We can kick and scream, complain to anyone who will listen, and stress out our bodies OR we can find a way to delight in the moment.

I play this little game with myself inspired by the last chapter of Eckert Tolle’s “A New Earth.” Tolle discusses the power that lies within each of us as driven by our thoughts. If the goal is to be truly happy, we must learn to accept what is, find a way to enjoy the moment, and if possible, find excitement in the living of the moment. I made up small signs and posted them everywhere: on the windshield of the car, in the bathroom, on the fridge, in the laundry room- anywhere I might need a reminder. I paired each word with a bright yellow smiley face, depicting an equivalent emotion. The words are ACCEPTANCE, ENJOYMENT, EXCITEMENT. In any given moment, the sign reminds me to take an honest look at where I am. And then I ask myself if it is achievable to “bump up a level.” For example, while sitting in traffic, I have a choice. I can choose to be stressed out that I am going to be late, get angry at the other drivers, cry, call someone on the phone and complain, get out of the car and scream… OR I can flip my visor down and find acceptance. I can have a little chat with my ego and remind myself that I am alive, right here and right now, surrender the frustration, remember that my being upset will not change the flow of traffic. Now I am in acceptance. Can I get myself to ENJOYMENT? Probably. I can use the time to (safely!) call a friend to catch up, listen to a favorite CD, sing with my daughter, really take in the sights of nature surrounding me. How about EXCITEMENT? Maybe, maybe not. But I have surprised myself! And just the simple act of playing this game with myself when I am taking care of some mundane task has helped to create far more JOY and far less stress and suffering.

No, we cannot always choose what we are doing. But we and only we have the power to choose how to respond to our circumstances.

There is an old Buddhist story about a monk who was chased by hungry lions off of a cliff. As he hung by his fingertips to the sharp rocks knowing there were only two ways out, and both led to suffering and ultimate death, he noticed a strawberry growing out of the side of the cliff. He somehow plucked that strawberry and took it into his mouth. He savored the sweetness, the texture, the natural beauty of his last strawberry with all his attention. He died, but not without acceptance, enjoyment, and quite possibly, even excitement. (Although not the sort of excitement most of us would invite!)

When Zaiden began her tale of the scary ride at Disneyland that upset her so much, I asked her a simple question. “What makes you wish to consciously, purposely choose to re-experience the painful emotions you felt that day? Is it because you want to experience them again? Or to communicate to God that you want more of the same in the future? Because if this is your goal, I support you. I just want you to be aware of the power you hold by talking about and thinking about painful circumstances. I want to remind you that you and only you have the control over your own thoughts and only you can choose how you want to create your future. It is up to you. For example, you CAN choose, instead to share how you felt when Minnie Mouse gave you a hug, or how brave you were on the same ride that frightened you when you later asked me to take you on it again and ride with you and hold you and talk to you. THAT is a story worth telling, in my opinion, because you faced your fear head on and you grew because of that decision.” Zaiden is used to me talking like this. And I believe in that moment, she got it. I have not heard her tell that story since.

The point is, WE are the ones holding the remote control (or as Zaiden calls it, “the Ma-Rote”) No one else can decide for me. I can choose to continue to retell and relive my sad stories, continue to see myself as a victim of the world, and communicate to the Universe “Please, sir, may I have another!” And this is ok. As long as I am aware that this is my own choosing. Often we become comfortable with a certain familiarity- and suffering is no different.

OR I can make a new choice in this moment, not concerning myself with always or never- just this moment. Search my heart for excitement or enjoyment. And if neither are available to me, then at least acceptance. And later on, when I have a quiet moment alone, reflect on what I may have learned, what I have gained by making a new choice.

With compassion and love in my heart~
Karen
p.s. I am FINALLY, LEGALLY Karen Ann Puanani Garcia!!

NY TIMES/Kathy Russel

Karen — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 21:21:13 +0000

Here is an article worth sharing… I AM IN THAT 2%!!!
With faith-
Karen

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/27/health/27case.html

17 Years Later, Stage 4 Survivor Is Savoring a Life Well Lived
By KATHERINE RUSSELL RICH
Published: April 26, 2010

Each year on a day in January — the 15th, to be precise — I go to a Web site and post a message to hundreds of women I’ve never met, saying, essentially, “I’m still here.”

Within days, a thunderous chorus comes back, 200 voices, 300. A few of them ask, “How can this be?” Sometimes they begin, “I’m crying.” Many answer in kind: “I’m here, too. It’s now three years.” “Five years.” “Three months.” “Seven.”

What we’re doing, in a way, is checking for lights in the darkness.

Now there probably aren’t a lot of Web sites where the announcement that you’re around and breathing would cause anyone to take notice, let alone respond. But this is a site for people with Stage 4 breast cancer, something I’ve had for 17 years. The average life expectancy with the diagnosis is 30 months, so this is a little like saying I’m 172 years old: seemingly impossible. But it’s not. I first found I had the illness in 1988, and it was rediagnosed as Stage 4 in 1993. That’s 22 years all together, which is the reason I post each year on the anniversary of the day I learned my cancer was back: to let women know that it happens, that people do live with this for years.

I tell them that when the cancer returned, it came on so fast, spread so quickly, that I was given a year or two to live. Within months, the disease turned vicious. It started breaking bones from within, and was coming close to severing my spinal cord.

Nothing was working, till a doctor tried a hormone treatment no one used much anymore, and the cancer turned and retreated, snarling. It remains sluggish but active. Every so often, it rears its head; when it does, we switch treatments and it slides back down. In that way, I stay alive.

I tell them: you just don’t know.

Two and a half years after the Stage 4 diagnosis, I confessed to my mother that the doctors had said I had two years to live, tops. I’d kept this information to myself because if you say it, it’s true. I told her this laughing, as if we were trading preposterous stories. “Well, I guess you’re going to have to hold your breath if you’re going to make that deadline,” she replied, in her slow Southern drawl when I gave my previously stated expiration date.

I spent the next five years holding my breath, then did the same for another five. I enacted every New Year’s resolution, past and future, all at once. Quit work that had grown stale and became a writer. Wrote a book. Went to India on assignment, fell in love with the language that was swirling around me, went back to live for a year and learn Hindi. Didn’t realize the reason I’d come to dislike that hyperbolically overachieving Lance Armstrong was that his behavior was too familiar. Take a nap, Lance! I’d think to myself, though in truth I couldn’t either.

But if I was verging on radical levels of life consumption, I had a reason: No one had told me I wasn’t going to die soon. About 12 years out, my doctor finally did.

There’s a small subcategory of people with Stage 4 breast cancer, it turned out, who live for years and years. “Twenty. Thirty,” said my doctor, George Raptis. This group constitutes about 2 percent of all cases. Doctors can’t predict who will fall into this category. They can’t say you’re in it till you’re in it — till you’ve racked up the necessary miles.

The reason they can’t is that for all the pink-ribbon hoopla, despite the hundreds of millions that have been poured into breast cancer research, hardly anyone has looked into the why of long-distance survival; not one doctor has specialized in this field.

Here’s pretty much the sum of collective knowledge: People in this group tend to have disease that has spread to the bone (as opposed to lung or liver, say) and feeds on estrogen. They tend to do well on hormone treatments. End of commonly known story.

But as Dr. Gabriel N. Hortobagyi at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston told me, you can also find women whose breast cancer spread to organs other than bone, for whom hormone therapy did exactly nothing, who had their lesions surgically excised and who have been free of cancer for 30 years. None of these women could have expected to live.

You just don’t know, and neither, unfortunately, does the medical field.

One reason, as the breast surgeon Dr. Susan Love told me, is that “many clinical trials are funded by the drug companies to run for five years,” obviously not enough if you’re investigating long-term survivors. But through her institute, the Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation, she has begun to conduct research.

Dr. Love said she was inspired by a colleague who told her that in World War II, aviation experts focused on planes that went down until someone said, “Why aren’t we studying the planes that stay up in the air?” By no means a reflexive optimist, she thinks there’s hope we’ll find a cure.

On the Web site, I tell the women how deeply I believe there’s no such thing as false hope: all hope is valid, even for people like us, even when hope would no longer appear to be sensible.

Life itself isn’t sensible, I say. No one can say with ultimate authority what will happen — with cancer, with a job that appears shaky, with all reversed fortunes — so you may as well seize all glimmers that appear.

I write to them (to myself) that of course this is tough: the waiting to see if the shadows are multiplying, the physical pain, the bouts with terrible blackness.

“But there can be joy in this life, too,” I say, “and that’s so important to remember. This disease does not invalidate us. This past year, I’ve had the joy of falling in love with my sister’s kids, who live states away and whom I hadn’t had the chance to know. I’ve had a second book come out, one I worked on for eight years, about going to live in India with Stage 4 cancer. I’ve had so many moments of joy this year, but when I’m in blackness, I forget about those.” Then I ask them to write and tell me about theirs, and lights begin to flash.

“Had a pajama party with my oldest friend, laughing through the night in matching pajamas about old times.”

“Came in second in a bridge tournament.”

“I went on a wonderful camping trip with my family.”

“Seeing my older daughter grow taller than me. She’s now 5-9.”

One thing I don’t ever think to say: When I was told I had a year or two, I didn’t want anything one might expect: no blow-out trip to the Galápagos, no perfect meal at Alain Ducasse, no defiant red Maserati. All I wanted was ordinary life back, for ordinary life, it became utterly clear, is more valuable than anything else.

I don’t think to say it, and I never will. The women on the site already know that.

Katherine Russell Rich is the author of “Dreaming in Hindi: Coming Awake in Another Language” and “The Red Devil: To Hell With Cancer — and Back.”

EnJOY the Ride!

Karen — Sun, 16 May 2010 04:40:22 +0000

It has been said more times than one can count, “God never gives us more than we can handle.” Throughout what I like to call my journey with cancer, I have discovered the raw truth of this adage. For I have found myself facing my day with joy, faith, gratitude and hope- even in the darkest of hours. Little did I know (until I needed it most), the strength lay within me. It came not from struggle and strife, but from grace and surrender, from faith- in myself, in others, in God. And ultimately from Reaching for the Joy.

I feel that it is time that I explain just what this catch-phrase that I believe I coined means to me. Reach for the JOY is not a denial of circumstances or of ignoring the pain and suffering of my life. In fact, it is in this lesson that I have learned to embrace ALL of my emotions and allow them to work their way through me with honesty. Yet at the end of the day- and many times throughout- I find myself counting my blessings, seeing the gifts in the challenges, and somehow finding many reasons to smile. Reaching for joy is my way of finding that silver lining no matter how menacing the cloud. And I have discovered many others like myself, who have found strength in adversity, faith in difficult times and joy in the midst of unbearable pain.

To paraphrase Dr. Bernie Seigal (whose Love, Medicine and Miracles is a must read for everyone, ill or well!): no two people would willingly trade their disease for another’s. “We are most comfortable with our own unique set of problems.”

This is not to say that I didn’t and still don’t have moments, or even weeks of despair, frustration, even anger over my current situation. Yet I have learned first-hand that a roller coaster of emotions is normal, even necessary, and certainly healing. As long as one ultimately finds gratitude for something at the end of the day, all is well.

I’ve found myself frustrated by cries of good-hearted friends who complain to me about a flu or migraine or being laid off… ‘Wanna trade?’ I never allow myself to voice this- nor do I feel it very often. But I must admit that in my darkest hours I have found myself wishing to trade places with an insensitive neighbor, even for an hour. “You want to know pain? Ha! Walk in MY slipper socks for a day!”

Yet on closer, honest examination, I’ve come to realize that even in the midst of stage 4 cancer, excruciating bone pain, a frustrating divorce where I seem to have lost my voice in the living arrangements of my now 5 year old daughter (who continuously verbalizes to her father and me that her heart tells her she needs to be with Mommy right now), and now losing our beloved home with no solution in sight, that I CAN and DO find bouquets of love, laughter, fun and peace in any given day- even the toughest ones. This is a gift I cannot take personal credit for. And yet a minor fender bender, mild constipation or even a broken nail can lead me to whining and complaining. The lesson here is that all of our suffering is suffering- there is no comparing, no judgment- and it is HOW we approach such suffering that creates our reality. I have learned so much from my faithful teacher, cancer, yet there seems still much to discover about myself and this journey called life.

After serious meditation and a great deal of procrastination, I am at last ready to bear down and give birth to the book I’ve spent nearly three years talking about. Telling MY personal story never felt like the complete vision. Isn’t mine “just another cancer survivor story?” I’ve read them all- some better than others (my absolute favorite is “My One Night Stand with Cancer” by Tania Katan- please find a copy!) Do I really need to compete with the Susan Komen’s of the world? Was what I’ve been through really of enough interest to warrant an entire book? Wasn’t there more to it than to share my personal suffering? Because, as I’ve come to realize, we all suffer to various degrees. And no one can truly ‘appreciate’ the suffering of another without having endured similar struggles. And it is useless to play comparison games.

As any new Mom can attest, no one can prepare you for motherhood. You have to experience it for yourself. Nor can one anticipate her reaction upon hearing she has terminal cancer with an outside chance of seeing the child who lay sleeping in her arms reach her next birthday. It is in that moment of truth where your true nature unfolds. Each of us has our own experiences and destinies regardless of the similarities to another’s. And this was no different.

Many have called me strong and courageous in the wake of my battles. I don’t know that I can take full credit for my fortitude. Like the young soldier in “A Red Badge of Courage,” I often felt like a coward, cursing, doubting, crying myself to sleep- a fraud wearing a bright pink ribbon. The best definition for courage I have ever heard comes from the Buddhist Nun, Pema Chodron: Courage is being deathly afraid, but moving forward, nonetheless. (I am paraphrasing). This allowed me to embrace my endurance in a new light.

So, then, what is this all about? The dis-ease, the completely transparent writings offered up to the world-wide-web, the altering of my very soul? Is there indeed a reason for all of this? Or was I fooling myself that I am so important to God that He even noticed my earthly problems?

I cannot help but feel I was assigned this role, as some pre-earthly commitment to pass on certain wisdom, lessons learned, triumphs in spite of the foundation of my world caving in. And I believe that each one of God’s billions of children have a unique mission to complete. So what is mine? And how can I be certain to fulfill it with the respect it deserves?

While in Mexico last spring (2009), I met many remarkable survivors- people who, like myself had refused to take this dis-ease at face value. They, too, had seized the opportunity to forgive old resentments, to mend broken relationships, to step beyond what little of their comfort-zone remained and take on (or at least attempt) the things that before cancer had frightened them. The healing power in these things, alone, are tremendous forces with which to be reckoned. (Look out, Cancer! I’ve got your number!) I was surrounded by people of every age and stage who’d sprouted wings, their faith was so strong. I’d also encountered a small minority who opted instead to abandon all hope and joy, and thus, write their own death sentence. Sad, but true, that our free will can lead us to a path of destruction that even the most formidable disease seems minor in comparison. I witnessed many determined to undermine their internal life force by simple giving up. No judgement. We each have our unique path. But I would not be a statistic!

I began in earnest to avoid people- sick or well- who are chronic complainers- to sever all ties when possible. I erased “can’t” from my (and my daughter’s) vocabulary. I began to focus my energy on what Dr. Bernie dubs Exceptional Patients: to accept that, yes, I am going to die one day, and how do I choose to enhance the quality of my life while I remain in this body?

Death is unavoidable. We are all “terminal,” after all. No one of us gets out of here alive. Dying of cancer is no more a “failure” than dying of old age. We just don’t get to live forever in these mortal coils.

Quality over quantity. With every breath, every smile, every sunrise or sunset- I’ll take quality please.

I am truly grateful for every magical moment I get to share with my precious daughter. Due in large part to my brush with death, I have grown infinitely more compassionate, patient, kind, loving and grateful. And when I do catch myself grumping or taken for granted or wasting one single hug, I gently call myself back to THIS moment and find a new way to approach the invitation to learn. The opportunity to love. For THIS, to me, is truly living.

When I consider how many hours of my finite time on earth I have spent regretting, fuming or even ignoring, I realize with elation that I have always had a choice! And my faith in the ability to make the best choice for today grows exponentially with every opportunity to choose.

It may seem difficult to understand how someone who has been through all I have endured can speak so openly of God and Love. How can I not blame God? Or at least hold Her accountable for so much anguish- question His motives? And I have, and occasionally still do. In fact, after years of practicing gratitude during our night-time prayer routine, I recently considered that perhaps my daughter needed permission to purge her emotions for the pain and suffering she has endured. Isn’t creating a safe outlet for anger exactly what I have been embracing, writing about, even (forgive me!), preaching? Hadn’t I learned myself that power that brings about healing? So, one night before our typical bed-time ritual, I asked if she ever felt mad at God, or for that matter, ME, for not being the fun, healthy, playful Mommy she deserves. At first she looked at me with eyes wide in astonishment, shocked that I could even suggest such blasphemy (not that she is aware of such a term). She whispered in disbelief, “Am I allowed to say mean things to GOD?” Yet behind the mask of insecurity, I could see her body relax for being granted such permission. She could not, herself, utter such words. Not yet, anyway. She’d been raised, afterall to be grateful, tolerant and kind. To see God in everything and everyone. How could this same God who gave her the gifts of so much joy be responsible for her anguish? Be the recipient of her worst thoughts, her scariest feelings?

She’d recently begun to admonish me and other adults for using such “bad words” as hate and stupid. So I made sure to use these words with emotional fervor to assist her in freeing whatever pain she’s been harboring in the secret places of her heart.

“Dear God,” I began, “why did you have to give my Mommy cancer? It’s not fair! I hate you!” (she audibly gasped, looking up at me for assurance.) I continued with raw emotion, “I HATE this STUPID, UGLY, CRAPPY CANCER!! I love my Mom so much and she deserves to be healthy! Other kids have Moms who can chase them and wrestle with them and run; who don’t throw up every day; who have long, beautiful hair. I wouldn’t trade my Mom for anything, but why did you have to give her cancer!??” And so it went, for several nights, at her suggestion. She has yet to brave these words herself. But I assure her daily that it is not only okay, but God WANTS us to lay our burdens on Him- ALL of them! Even the ones She may be responsible for. And, just like Mommy (even more so), God will ALWAYS listen, always understand and always forgive… no matter what.

If there is only one thing that cancer has urged me to pass on to anyone willing to listen, it is this: LET GO OF YOUR ANGER!! Let it go- the moment you feel it, experience it in all its glory. Hit a pillow, scream out load, go to a batting cage- anything that feels sincere to you and that doesn’t cause you or another physical harm. Holding onto anger leads to resentment, dis-ease and perhaps even cancer.

I now know that I “got cancer” in order to grow as a spiritual human being. That much is obvious to anyone who knows me. But I feel there is more that I am called to accomplish because of this experience. Yes, living a joy-filled life and being the example for my little girl is an admirable task, to be certain. Yet why then this writing that often comes to me as a dream or even a voice of clarity?

And then it hit me… well, I suppose hit is not exactly accurate. It has been more of a gradual unfolding, like the petals of a rose in spring- evidence in nearly every garden I pass just now. A rose cannot be forced to bloom. You have to patiently allow it to unfold itself in its own precise time- much like a human being- or her story…

I have been fortunate to have shared tears and prayers with many remarkable women in my lifetime. Perhaps more obviously in my recent history due to my heightened awareness. Women who have encountered extraordinary difficulties, seemingly insurmountable odds, broken hearts, dreams, bodies and minds that would have led another to run for her life, or perhaps not make it out alive. Yet these warrior women have transcended to an inner peace, devout faith, and yes, even joy in spite of the foundation of their world collapsing.

How? What is the secret behind such perseverance, such Olympian strength? And so, this is, at long last, the subject of my book, Reach for the Joy. It is MY story, it is HER story, it is YOUR story. It is deeply human. It is the tale of finding the LIGHT that lies within every one of us on the dawn of the “Dark Night of the Soul.”

It is my JOY and privilege to share these incredible stories of every-day women called to become warriors, survivors, light-bearers. These women are all of us- you will recognize your sister, your lover, your daughter, your mother, yourself. It is my desire and hope that in sharing these poignant, honest stories, perhaps someone reading will locate her own inner light without needing to face the demons, or her own mortality, or the mortality of her child; without endless, tear-filled nights of doubt and fear.

While I would not call this a “religious” book, it is certainly full of spirit. Because what each and every one of these stories have in common is the willingness to at last surrender all that she is, all that she has, to some Divine Assistant, some voice inside that whispers, “Trust me, everything is going to be alright.”

And even is we lose the battle, by finding hope and joy, we’ve won the war.

In Faith, Hope and Boundless JOY~
Karen

p.s. I am currently working on a formal book proposal. I have approached several women who are generous enough to share their stories. But I need more! I am looking for stories of WOMEN who have found their spirit because of their suffering, be it disease, loss of life, or anything else that may have threatened their faith, their essence, their life. Please, please, contact me immediately if you have a story you wish to share. I plan to put a substantial portion of any income derived from this book toward helping women find their truth. Thank you.

Are you KIDDING me??

Karen — Fri, 09 Apr 2010 06:31:34 +0000

Sometimes I reread what I wrote and I wonder who wrote that…

When I am feeling the joy, I get inspired from somewhere within or beyond. The essays pour out of me in their entirety. I rarely need to edit.

It is days like today that I just feel like I don’t even know who that other person is and where she gets her cheerful disposition. One of the challenges of being me- I am so freaking emotional and sensitive- I go from one extreme to the other and I find it hard to relate to the other half of me…

In all fairness to those who are traveling a similar path- or whatever your issues, because we all have em- I keep thinking I need to share my dark side as well. Funny, the inspiration doesn’t come when I am singing the blues.

But I do need to share that there are days, even weeks when I question why I am still here. Question God’s plan and how much stronger He/She intends for me to be. I try to allow myself to have “why me” moments, cry and scream, and then let go. Sometimes the letting go doesn’t happen so easily. Sometimes the feeling lingers for weeks. I want to crawl in a hole and, frankly, close my eyes and never wake up.

I feel like I have nothing to give to the people closest to me. As if I am a burden to be contended with. But, even as I write this, I am not looking for pity or people to tell me “no, you are a wonderful person, blah blah…” and I don’t know how to express these feelings here without appearing as though I am inviting that sort of sympathy.

I signed up for hospice to make me comfortable, to create a peaceful environment, let go of the need to fight. But while I hoped things would “ease up” on my journey, the challenges continue to overwhelm me- just when I think it can’t possibly get any worse, it does, somehow. For over a month now, I cannot seem to keep more than one meal a day down. Sometimes just a strawberry will send me running for the nearest bucket. We have tried every nausea med out there. One of them caused my vision to blur- I freaked out that the brain tumors had returned and that I was losing my eyesight! Damn side effect! (Thank GOD!) I am down to 114. Even in my Hollywood days I never dreamed of this svelt-ness. This would put even miss Moss to shame…

As I try to hang onto my faith that things will get better, the news keeps getting worse. I just found out earlier today that my landlady has sold the house I am renting and the new tenants are moving in June 15. I am devastated- and quite frankly in shock. The way it was all carried out makes me question the kindness of the human race! These people actually MET me through a ruse… The land lady traipsed them through the house under the pretense of looking into a plumbing issue or something. As I lay on the sofa with my five year old on my lap, these cold hearted buyers glanced at me and made the bold assumption that I am not long for this world! So thought nothing about putting me and my 5 year old out as I finish my life’s journey.

I am amazed! I mean, what if I am supposed to be here for months, or even years?? They expect me to look for and find another apartment and MOVE?! I cannot even wrap my mind around it!

I feel as though I am being pushed into my grave, yet God has yet to invite me into the afterlife!

When I found this little house a year and a half ago, it meant HOPE to me- Hope that I would survive- that I would get well, that I would have my daughter to raise with a backyard and a real neighborhood. We have created such a loving, wonderful home. And now it is all over. But I am still here!

I have no more fight in me. On days when I feel the sunshine, I feel as though I may have a chance at living the life I deserve- healthy, vibrant, affluent, traveling to book signings and PTA meetings, dining out with friends, vacationing in Hawaii and Greece, taking Zaiden to see family and friends on both coasts, laying on the beach, drinking Margaritas at sunset… But I am beginning to lose all faith…

At this moment I am reflecting on what appears to be a life of failure after failure. 2 failed marriages, an acting career that left me in poverty, I haven’t finished school (I am 11 credits shy of graduating and was hoping to finally hear “Pomp and Circumstance” for my benefit in July), I gave birth to a truly amazing little girl and it doesn’t look as though I will get to see her grow up. I am quite literally at the end of my rope!

I had a long and wonderful talk with my beloved friend and spiritual mentor, Kathy B tonight. God Bless her! She always gives me a new perspective and a reminder of my faith. No matter what I am facing, Kathy has a way of bringing me back to center. She reminded me that when God was “handing out scripts” (to use my vernacular!) – I saw the role of “Karen Kalena Ann Puanani Garcia/Stapleton/von Schnier” and said “OOOO- MEE MEEE!! I want that part!!” Because I do believe that we have a choice in our pre-earthly existence. But right now, I want to renegotiate my contract!! Are there Agents to the Angels or something like this??

I am working on finding a way to believe that God is taking care of me- that there is a plan and that it will work out exactly how and when it is supposed to. But I tell ya, my faith is being tested to the limit! I never imagined I had the strength to get through all I have already endured, and yet, here is another seemingly insurmountable challenge!

I don’t know what I will do- or where to turn except to God and to this writing.

I really don’t enjoy complaining. I know that, in spite of all I am dealing with, I still have many blessings. But, as Zaiden has grown fond of saying (Thank you Hannah Montana!) “AW- COME ON!!!!”

Not quite sure how to close this. I have no words of wisdom. So I invite you, beloved friends and family, please shower me with YOUR faith, YOUR wisdom, YOUR light.

I posted on Facebook the other night that I am in need of some virtual hugs. BRING EM ON! And if you have anything to share, I am all ears.

Blessings to you and yours. Cherish the ones you love. Enjoy the sunshine. Treasure your body and your health. Give your problems over to the one Creator. No one said this would be easy!

Karen
ps- I will find another photo of my home when I get over the shock… For now, this one is me and Koko in front of our fabulous red door. (Before Taxol….)

Sing Your Song

Karen — Mon, 22 Mar 2010 07:12:26 +0000

I am feeling as though the end of my journey is near. I am truly surrendered.
This is to be rejoiced. I have completed many of the missions I set forth to accomplish in this current body. I thought there might be more. And perhaps there is.

I have thought and prayed a great deal on this. At one time I thought my mission was to act- to share human emotion in a theatrical bent- to create joy, laughter, contemplation through the words of Shakespeare and Shaw and lesser playwrights.
Still other times, I thought it was to write the great best seller.
I believed that it was to make a big “SPLASH” in one way of other.

What if it was all for Zaiden? What if my nearly 42 years was all to prepare me to prepare her for her greatness? What if it was all for the people whose lives I have touched and effected in some way? What if it was nothing more than learning to love? And to forgive? Is this not a high calling? I am beginning to see that it is.

If all our lives amount to is loving those we reach, isn’t this a great accomplishment? To love and be loved is the highest of all callings.

Surrender is a word that I have been using ad-nauseum of late. Surrender. It is not “giving up” or “giving in” to the dis-ease or to the pain and suffering of my human life. No. It is quite the opposite.

For me, I have learned much on this journey with cancer. It has been a great teacher to me- and I believe to many whose life has crossed mine in some way. I have learned to love, to forgive, to accept. I am sure that there is always more to be learned, but I am satisfied with where I have gotten myself.

You know that I believe in “ONENESS”- that we are all connected by spirit. We are all God and God is us. Consider music. Music is a concept that connot be touched. Only when it is deciphered can it be heard and felt. Music can capture our hearts and minds- and yet it is not tangible. I see each of us as a particular melody- a unique combination of notes, pauses, stanzas. We harmonize our song with others in love. It all sounds lovely when we meet our “Song-mates.” Yet, there are times when our own beautiful melody is combined with another’s song quite different from ours and suddenly ours sounds out of tune, too loud or too soft, not quite right. And we doubt our own ability to sing our song. Or we blame the other for creating “bad music.” But ultimately, each of us has our song and whether our song meets anothers in harmony or not, we are all music. And it is our right, our duty, our mission to sing that song proudly. This is how I see our connection to the Creator and to one another.

I have been singing my song for 42 years now, sometimes singing loudly, proudly with clarity and pride. Other times I have tried to hide my song for fear of it being mis-heard or creating a cacaphony when combined with another song vastly different than mine. But all our songs are to be heard- loud and clear.

Sing your song! Sing it loud- sing it proud! You have so much to share!

One of my favorite songs as a child was Karen Carpenter’s “Sing a Song“- “Don’t worry that it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear- just sing!” The simplest lessons are those we learn early on and carry us into the big, scarey world.

I have been honored to raise my spirited, independent- thinking, unique Zaiden for just over five years. I was not prepared to leave her so soon. But I get that this was a part of my journey and part of hers. I hear her repeat some of the lessons I have taught her in her play and it fills my heart with JOY. It reminds me that she will be wonderful- she IS wonderful- in spite of the difficulties she has already endured- and those she will endure. She chose ME- of all the other “Mommys” available for the pickin’. I was the one she chose to love and learn from. I was the one she chose to help bring out her song that she will go one singing until her journey’s end. I was who she trusted with her first, vital five years. And her Daddy is who she chose to remain with once I am gone. And their songs will blend and divide in order to challange one another to their own unique songs. And I trust, too, that he was chosen for this particular job with wisdom and clarity. They are divine partners to bring about the opera or musical that is theirs and theirs alone. Meanwhile, I will have the great privlege of living in her heart, reminding her to proudly sing her song, no matter what. I will watch over her from a cloud, beaming proudly as her voice raises in all its perfection- all its “Zaiden-ness.” What an extremely high calling.

Zaiden seems to get what is going on. Out of her mouth came the request to be with me now for as long as we have. Her Daddy heard her and conceded to her request. So she is now by my side until she is not. And we find the harmonies we share each and every day.
She lets me rest (usually!), she compassionately helps out whenever I need something. And in my lucid moments, she sings to me- always reminding me in her sweet way that she chose me and that she will be ok.

I am so honored to have had the opportunity to touch your life. I am so grateful for all the love I have received, all the harmonies I have sung with so many great souls. Especially Zaiden.

Thank you for following me on my personal journey. I am truly living one day at a time, taking advantage of momentary strength, learning to sleep and rest when it is apparent that that is what is needed most. I have grown closer to my Mom than I ever dreamed possible. She and I have finally found where our songs connect and are creating beautiful music together these days.

I don’t know where or when this journey will come to a close. I only trust in this moment.

We are all “terminal”- none of us has any guarantees. None of us will “get out of here alive.” It is truly all about the journey. Learn from my lessons. Live for NOW. Love everyone for their own unique song- even if it is chaos to your ears. And DANCE!

Continue to Reach for the JOY! It is all within you!
Namaste. I see you, I hear you and I honor you for the light being that you are.
With Love and Gratitude-
Karen

An Experiment in Hiaku

Karen — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 06:30:03 +0000

Break Up. Break Down. Broke.
Cracks in the Spirit lead to
Peace, Faith and, yes, Love.
**********************

Surrender Today
To the unseen force within.
No one knows you better.
************************

Waiting to be seen
Each one lost in their own thoughts
Asking God, “Why Me?”

Dancing with God

Karen — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 06:37:32 +0000

Dancing With God

When I meditated on the word Guidance,
I kept seeing “dance” at the end of the word.
I remember reading that doing God’s will is a lot like dancing.
When two people try to lead, nothing feels right.
The movement doesn’t flow with the music,
and everything is quite uncomfortable and jerky.
When one person realizes that, and lets the other lead,
both bodies begin to flow with the music.
One gives gentle cues, perhaps with a nudge to the back
or by pressing Lightly in one direction or another.
It’s as if two become one body, moving beautifully.
The dance takes surrender, willingness,
and attentiveness from one person
and gentle guidance and skill from the other.
My eyes drew back to the word Guidance.
When I saw “G”: I thought of God, followed by “u” and “i”..
“God, “u” and “i” dance.”
God, you, and I dance.
As I lowered my head, I became willing to trust
that I would get guidance about my life.
Once again, I became willing to let God lead.
My prayer for you today is that God’s blessings
and mercies are upon you on this day and everyday.
May you abide in God, as God abides in you.
Dance together with God, trusting God to lead
and to guide you through each season of your life.
This prayer is powerful and there is nothing attached.
If God has done anything for you in your life,
please share this message with someone else.
There is no cost but a lot of rewards;
so let’s continue to pray for one another.
And I Hope You Dance Through 2010!
(Sent to me by Lynn Charlton- my co-teacher at Unity Children’s Garden)

Zaiden the superstar!

Karen — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 05:09:50 +0000

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

Amazing talk on the brain – not what you think!

Karen — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 18:17:55 +0000