I don’t know what cancer means to you. Cancer can imply many a thing:
c) Special treatment
Let’s be frank here, shall we? This post wasn’t written for everyone. You need not identify with what I’m saying, you might hate me for being so [fill in any number of bad words], or perhaps you’ll leave me a stinky comment.
Maybe you recognise the truth of what I’m saying, much as it hurts.
Maybe it only comes to you six months down the line.
And who knows, perhaps this applies to only a select few.
I don’t know – I’m no expert, cancer or otherwise. But this is my truth, and if it happens to resonate with you, then my reason for writing this post will have been justified. If you don’t like what I’m going to say, don’t read it.
Cancer is a get-out-of-jail card. Not free, of course: the price you pay is high whether it be physical, emotional or fiscal. But it’s a pass nonetheless. The biggest choice you have to make, from the onset to…well there is no real end to this particular decision, is there?…is this:
Am I victim?
Am I victor?
Warning: Most people will (want to) treat you as a victim. I know I did, many years ago before I had the sort of sense I do now. You’d hear about one of the “poor cancer victims” in your life and your heart would overflow with pity. It usually would be “the last person something like this should ever happen to!”
Double warning: Being treated as a victim will feel really good.
‘Oh life! How cruel thy be! On top of it all, you give me *this*?!
Bring on those damn get well soon cards and pray hard for me now, hear?’
Some of us will be all Sleeping Beauty, falling asleep until the prince (of death) wakes (picks) us up.
Others will be little Rapunzels: maybe we’re locked up in a castle, but we sure as damn can let our hair down to help save the day. “Just look at her! How well she handles this! Such a strong brave one…” I’ll admit; this was one I very easily identify with whenever I let my guard down.
But, sweet lovely person…if you manifested this, dear one, then you’re going to have to be the only prince among the troop of white horses. See, this is the other side of the jailer’s card. And this is the really cool side. Because instead of little pink roses and a lovely frilly border that just oozes how everyone doesn’t want you to die’s and yes we all love you’s and now you know you’re important’s; instead of that the crazy little jailor has gone and given you The Key!
This is your chance to die. To die to the self you were, die to the old ideas that no longer serve you, the old beliefs that no longer fit, the old habits that, let’s face it, probably contributed to a lot of the messes you have found yourself in, life-threatening dis-ease aside. If you don’t share my ecstatic joy at this amazing gift given you, tell me one thing:
How long have you been trying to “change”?
For most of us in the poor ol’ West (that part of the world that always gets blame whenever anybody is trying to write something that sounds like it makes sense), we’ve done the best-ever self-help book, listen-and-relax guided meditation audio, who’s-who-of-who-is-doing-it exercise video, revolutionary armband, change-your-life water bottle runaround…thrice over. And yet, lo and behold, here we are, on the edge of the grave, all dying and shit. So darling, might not you see that since nothing else seems to have worked, this is your final little nudge? And what better motivation is there than the Grim Reaper? I tell ya, this one I have breathes down my neck real good the minute I *consider* doing / thinking / being remotely bad-vibed. So I smile ‘n laugh ‘n dance ‘n sing just to get away from the bugger. Funny in an awesome sorta way how I end up totally becoming that which I pretend-embodied, isn’t it? =)
I read about cancer being a subconscious wanting-to-die wish. And cried cried cried because bloody hell, it wasn’t subconscious with me! I *knew* I wanted to die. I mean seriously, who wants to deal with all this crap day-in day-out when every-fucking-thing seems to be an upUpUP hill battle? Alas I have those I love and who are crazy (but awfully sweet) enough to love me in return, and so I stick around and work with those parts of me that are eager to see new tomorrow’s. All the while knowing that seriously death would feel super good on me right now. After I read and cried and thought ‘There! Got your wish now, didn’t ya!’ I sat back (I might have been in the loo at the time, illustrating just how glamorous aha! moments can be) and realised ‘Oooooooh my goodness! I’m gonna die! Holy mother of all that’s good and grand, that’s wonderful! Because obviously I can’t *die*, like keg over, dead. After all, I do have a beautiful little earth-family whom I happen to care for too much to let go of just yet (and you – yes, you – know I’d have just blown right back to you and haunted the life of you for the rest of all eternity if I did).
So, conundrum: if cancer means death (go on, ask society, that’s its very definition), and I’m not going to medically die (because it’s what I decided and that’s the end of it, thank you very much), then what’s left to die? Why of course! Crappy thoughts will die! Emotional teary-eyed baggage will die! Ridiculous putrid fears will die! The me-who-wants-to-die will die!
So look me in the eye and tell me you’re bonkers enough not to realise this is a spectacularly *great* thing.