I find myself sad, and a little tearful this morning. I grieve for all the spinoffs, or exiles of self that I created, and sent off into the deep wilderness of my unexplored interior domain due to traumatic wounding. And I grieve for the multitudes of family members, friends, acquaintances, and strangers who died young and in despair because they did not find and/or could not embrace the difficult truths that eventually lead to becoming a fully integrated, healed, and whole human being.
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Finding and expressing one’s voice, and expressing it through the written word can be the most fulfilling and gratifying creative activity available. Yet, for me to find my unique voice, I had to leave the world of Bruce 2.0, the Bruce that was reengineered after March of 1987 emergence from the underworld. That first six years of recovery was characterized by almost continuous blessed states, transcendent meditations similar to what the ” greats” talk about, fulfilling associations with seeming enlightened people and some occasional spiritual poetry writing.
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Then, the search for truth resumed, when I found cognitive dissonance between my “blessed states”, and the experience of most others in the world. I continued most of my relationships with “spiritualized” friends and acquaintances, and eschewed relationships with toxic men, except in the work setting, which was unavoidable. My wife is well versed in Jungian psychology (and so was I) and she kept pecking away at the veneer that I had created that kept me aloof from much of the human condition.
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Fairly early in recovery I developed into one of the faster older runners on the West Coast, eventually retiring from all racing in 2005 at the age of 49 when I had yet another stress fracture of the leg. Orthopedic surgeons would not surgically repair the fracture, or prescribe pain killers, either of which would have been appropriate because of the severity of the pain After getting no short term help from the pros, my now deceased brother-in-law Larry suggested that I get an online doctor to prescribe pain meds. Well, it worked, I got the medicine, then lost nearly 20 years of total sobriety when I continued seeking the drug after the healing time. Five years of hell ensued, but I came out of it a wiser, if not a more damaged man.
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In 2017 I had my first of now four panic attacks, during the week our best friend Marty was diagnosed with a brain tumor. For two months I had been seeing in my “field of life force energy” a golf ball sized black tumor in the left brain hemisphere. I surmised that I was seeing one of those damned tricksters I had first seen in July of 1987, when I had my first experience of seeing my life energy field. Guess what size and where Marty’s tumor was found to be?
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Fore!
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I feared for Marty, and for my own life.
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I had that pivotal panic attack prior to and during the time on March 6th when I begged Sharon to carry my message to the public, for I feared I was not going to survive.
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Of course she said NO!, and my message must be delivered by me, or not at all.
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Well, I started writing, and wrote a 15 page parable about recovery. It was done as if it were automatic writing, it flowed so easily.
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That black tumor, once I started writing about our corrupted social and spiritual order, was seen to be the psychic representation of toxic male/patriarchal controls our culture terrorizes us with from moment to moment, as it has for thousands of years.
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Marty’s first experience of malignant melanoma was in 1987, when he had a big patch on his back removed. My first experience was in 2005, when I fell during a training run, and an arm wound from that fall coincided with a highly virulent malignant melanoma growth. My running, which nearly killed me in the end, also brought healing, for had the doctor not seen that hidden melanoma while treating the injury from the fall, it would have metastasized into a quick death for me.
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I was ever present with Marty after his “successful” surgery to remove the tumor. Once I started writing, the same day Marty’s tumor was removed, the dark mass in my life energy field disappeared, as well as all capacity to see my field.
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Marty and I continued to participate in the OHSU men’s cancer survivor writing group. We prepared to hike the Pacific Crest Trail, and all appeared to moving forward. Marty was given the latest cancer fighting drugs, and there was hope.
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After a tough training hike in May, Marty lost all feeling in his right side, and became wheelchair bound. I devoted myself to his healing, and my Spirit pulled out all of the stops. I gave him meditations for transcending his bodily sense of self, and for accessing his highest healing potential. I even had profound healing dreams, where I saw the path to true healing for Marty.
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Late in August, Marty gave up, and secured medicine for his compassionate death. I was blown away, I knew in my heart that he was healing, I saw it on the “inner plane”. He would no longer see me, but arranged a birthday party for September 10. There were 30 people there, and no one knew yet of his decision for Death with dignity. His wife Eddy took us aside at the party and told us that Marty was dying tomorrow through his medicine, and we were not invited to support him in his final day. My world started spinning, I was both confused, hurt, and betrayed, and I went over to their dining table, and sat under it for much of the “ceremony:. I went up to Marty, and let him know that Eddy told us about his decision. He lifted up his right arm, to shake my hand. His right side had been regaining feeling, and he could stand again, if he wanted. I was amazed at his physiological healing, and commented on it.
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Why would you choose death, when life is choosing you to live? I asked.
I need to be in control, Bruce, now is the time in case the cancer returns. He stated.
The world continued to spin. I had invested my entire Spirit in his healing, and he said NO!
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On September 11, after 19 hours in a coma, Marty was pronounced dead.
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On September 16, my father, who I had provided care for the last 6 years died, while I was placing Marty’s casket into the hearse.
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On Oct 2, I had another panic attack, so severe that I wanted hospitalization. Sharon refused, and held me close for hours until the tidal wave subsided.
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This points to an intense trauma to me that I talk to nobody about, save my wife and a long term friend and spiritual advisor.
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I fear that this book, which was my return to the desire to be of help to humanity, will give me the same feedback that my ” best friend” did.
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This past Saturday night I had an amazing dream where I had the joy of long distance running return, and I had a sitting with a very happy Marty. When I awoke, I was not at peace, however. I then entered into my fourth EVER panic attack, but I was shown the way to exit its labyrinth of suffering. I had failed to fully acknowledge and heal from the incredible trauma I had experienced in 2017, even though I wrote a whole book about that year. Traumatic wounding is like that, offering up multitudes of options, even distractions, to keep us from seeing the true source of our suffering.
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I will be making references to this story in the traumatic narratives section I recently added, lest this book will be a failure, at least to the healing spirit within me who will not leave me alone, no matter how well I have learned how to hide from myself.
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Life was so much simpler when I just lived in an “elevated state of consciousness.”, and ignored the illusions and sufferings of our human experience. But an Indian guru I was not destined to be.
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I guess I am just a traumatized Bhodhisatva of sorts, resolutely following each healing thread out of trauma’s labyrinth. Too bad healing had to come so late in life to me, so much suffering might have been averted.
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I still am sad, but this too shall pass.
love and peace
Bruce
