We have come into this exquisite world to experience ever and ever more deeply our divine courage, freedom and light! ---Hafez, Persian poet (1325-1389)
This is the season when we celebrate our emergence from darkness into light. Chanukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa and other celebrations around the Winter Solstice all use candles to metaphorically guide us toward a more hopeful time, perhaps helping us move from an internal spiritual hibernation to a more outward interaction with the world. On Thursday I got to spend some time in Anemo’s Pre-K class at Temple Emanu-El watching him roll candles for his elaborate chanukiah (which he proudly told me was the last one in the class to be completed). I look forward to lighting the first candle with him soon, especially since he has been one of my brightest guiding lights through this challenging time.
Other points of light came from my colleagues at Nueva, many of whom willingly stepped in to cover my various duties, and the Nueva administration, which made the transition to this obligatory sabbatical as smooth and stress-free as possible. In addition to the light from special families and individuals around the Bay Area, we felt radiant warmth coming from friends and family in Seattle, Austin, New York City, Miami, Vail, Woonsocket, Belfast, Bristol, Curaçao, Madrid, Amsterdam, and many other places around the world. I also felt the illuminated guidance of my mother, who walked this path fearlessly before me. But the most significant beacon during this time has been my wife Suzanne. She has met me in and guided me through the darkest of times, and with her skillful humor and grace, I have come through this ordeal even stronger than before. With a nod to Lou Gehrig (and, by extension, the always gentle and avuncular Jon Osterland, who died of ALS on November 30th), I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.
But I have seen dark days. Perhaps the darkest day for me this year was not when I found out my tumor had returned (after all, I had complete confidence in Dr. Mitchel Berger, my outstanding neurosurgeon), but the day I learned the tumor had gone up in grade, requiring post-operative treatment. Although I barely took in a word my neuro-oncologist said on the phone that day, I knew I would be going through some intense radiation and chemotherapy. I encountered some tough days and some easier days, but the experience not only made me stronger, it made me more compassionate too. I saw people in the waiting room of radiation oncology much younger, much more incapacitated, and much less hopeful. It was good practice to project loving kindness toward each of these individuals as they were gradually coming to grips with their own particular situations. I still think of many of them and express the hope that we can all uncover the root of happiness during our shared but unique journeys.
I am now a veteran of chemotherapy and radiation oncology. I took temozolomide, a chemotherapeutic drug, every night for 42 nights, finishing just this past Tuesday. And with 31 radiation sessions already completed, I have only two more to go. The last one, coincidentally, falls on December 20th, the darkest day of the year. After that, the only radiation I expect to receive will be the ultraviolet radiation from the sun as the days get longer and longer. While I will not miss the radiation sessions, I will miss the daily walks to UCSF through Golden Gate Park. Every weekday I walked the mile and a half there and back, getting to know certain trees, flowers, and even mosses quite intimately. Each day, especially when I could be fully present in the moment, I saw something new that I couldn’t believe I had missed before. One of my favorite landmarks of the walk was the plaque on a bench just up from the carousel in the Children’s Playground. It was a line from Joni Mitchell: “We are stardust, we are golden, and we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.” I’ve learned that there is no use fighting against the situation you find yourself in. There is no good or bad, everything just is what it is. One of the benefits of having had this tumor is that I was able to get myself back to the garden.
And speaking of the garden, I have been so grateful for the outpouring of love and generosity from the Nueva community, the Temple Emanu-El preschool community, and the San Francisco Friends School community that has been “holding me in the light.” The garden has come along wonderfully (thank you, Lois; our thoughts are with you!), and while I have not been able to thank everyone for their individual contributions, my gratitude toward each of you is boundless. Below is a recent picture of me sitting in front of the vegetable garden. (An incredibly thoughtful get well card from the class of 2008 is to the left—thank you for organizing that Chris!) You can tell we haven’t weeded the garden in a while, but Zubin Mobedshahi—Nueva alum, farmer extraordinaire, and godfather to Anemo—assured me that leafy vegetables are less susceptible to weeds. Just look at that Swiss chard for instance, which we found out Anemo really loves to eat!
Which brings me to the absolutely delicious food we received from so many families. Our family was incredibly fortunate to taste such a wide range of meals, lovingly prepared and delivered over these last few months. (A special thanks to Helping Hands—Lang Anh, Sandra, and Liza—for spearheading this effort.) And on the days we didn’t have deliveries, a generous donor provided money for healthy meals in our neighborhood. In addition, an unplanned but joyous part of my daily routine evolved over the past month: Helen Werdegar’s delivery of homemade nourishing juices, broths, and soups awaited me every Monday and Thursday, and I think they are one of the primary reasons I feel so good so late into treatment. My radiation oncologist, a smart and kind man by the name of Igor Barani, keeps telling me I will eventually feel fatigued and need to stay in bed for a while, but it hasn’t happened yet. Even after 31 sessions, I am still planning to play handball this weekend with Andrew Salverda. (I discovered handball courts in Golden Gate Park during one of my daily walks.) One interpretation of the miracle of Chanukah (thank you Rabbi Noa Kushner) is the simple refusal to surrender to the obvious (that there is not enough oil). With the immense support I have behind me, I refuse to surrender to the obvious conclusion that I should be incapacitated by fatigue.
Another important sustaining force has come from the waves of good vibes and kind thoughts that have reached my shore. From heartfelt cards and messages to math puzzles for keeping my brain alert, from thoughtful museum memberships to personal visits, I have received such incredible generosity and felt thoroughly grounded in community. Most satisfyingly, so many students I have had in class over the years taught me the true nature of giving through their selfless actions. For instance, Mimi, Helen’s daughter in the 7th grade, has inspired me with her positive spirit and ability to reach out. Not only did she encourage me to watch the movie Soul Surfer to gain a greater perspective; not only did she organize a bake sale during the screening of the film HAPPY to raise money for brain cancer research; she also committed to making 1,000 origami cranes, entirely by herself, as an outward expression of her wish for my full recovery. Below is a picture of me holding the first 999 cranes, all strung together. Mimi is holding the 1,000th crane, a beautiful gold bird that portends good things to come. With Mimi around (and all of you who have supported me in the same spirit), I have no need for fear. The prevailing optimism and positivity remind me of another quote from Hafez:
Fear is the cheapest room in the house. I would like to see you living in better conditions.
On Tuesday night, after my last radiation session is over, Suzanne, Anemo, and I will be joining some friends to celebrate another Winter Solstice celebration... the Persian night of Yalda. We will place our legs under woolen blankets, read poetry out loud (a lot of Hafez!), and eat plenty of pomegranates and pistachios. I have a lot to be grateful for as these dark days end and the light returns in abundance, perhaps most of all the realization that so much light can exist within dark times and the darkness is never far away from the light. The only way forward is to embrace wholeheartedly everything that comes. As Bethany Hamilton, the surfer who lost her left arm to a shark attack, says in Soul Surfer: "I've had the chance to embrace more people with one arm than I ever could with two." Another interpretation of the miracle of Chanukah is that the Maccabees dared to use the flame to examine the destruction of the temple, and by doing that, showed that illuminating the painful is as important as seeing the beautiful. I want my time on this earth to be not only about teaching, but to also involve a focused awareness of human suffering. I have been blessed to receive insight into this first noble truth (that life involves suffering), and through my ongoing meditation practice (alone and in community at the San Francisco Zen Center), I hope to discover my path in aiding its alleviation.
I feel so much closer to all of you—to all of humanity, in fact—since the onset of my condition. I cannot thank you all enough. But perhaps I don’t have to. As Hafez says:
Even after all this time,
the sun never says to the earth,
"You owe me."
Look what happens with a love like that.
It lights the whole sky.
the sun never says to the earth,
"You owe me."
Look what happens with a love like that.
It lights the whole sky.
Wishing you all light and lightness during this holiday season.
Stephen
