The Cave

This came across Facebook this morning, and I immediately thought of you, my gentle readers:

‎"It is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life. Where you stumble, there lies your treasure."
—Joseph Campbell

Well, if it's one thing we M.S.ers do all too readily, it's stumble. So, by Campbell's assessment... is it here, in the life with M.S., that lies our treasure?

Mayyyybeee... to strictly follow Campbell's thought, this would be our treasure only if we were in the abyss.

Are we?

My (recent) journeys into my own personal abyss may have been occasioned by M.S., but they weren't caused by it. If anything, the M.S. journey has been the fire casting shadows on the wall of Plato's cave, and the first shadow I see... is my own.

Because in the Cave, it is only because of the light that we can see our own shadows, and those shadows clarify the reality of the walls that surround us.

So we M.S.ers may not all resonate with a call to "stand up" and walk out of the cave, but we can turn around, and pull a piece of wood out of the fire, and use it as a torch; and use its light to reveal... what?

That's the mystery, isn't it? We'll see, won't we? Only by the light of the fire, will we see; only by using the fire, will we see the truth of the Cave. Light is the gift of the fire...

And for us, the gift of M.S.

Laugh

Just so's you know, gentle readers, that I spend my M.S. Moments in something other than poetic Zen musings and omphaloskepsis... I had another one of those Humor You Can't Write events this afternoon.

Let's see how I can phrase this in a genteel manor... So many of us M.S.ers have moments that we can categorize under ... Whizz-o-mania. For me, these moments often involve cups provided by That Major Coffee Chain; and I'm sure that some of my gentle readers might feel that said cups have been put to no more noble use than these.

The first of these moments was a couple of years ago, on a trip to Vegas. I had been on the freeway Much Too Long, and what had been promised to be a wonderful route was slogging nastily, L.A. style. And I'm praying that My Exit will arrive soon, oh God, please, soon... and eventually I come to the exit, and I pull off, thinking that I'll stop immediately at a gas station, and all will be well.

There are no gas stations.

Alright, I think, desperation increasing with every passing second... I'll just pull over.

Nope. Nowhere to pull over. "No stopping," as far as the eye can see.

Finally, I find somewhere to pull off the road, and I grab the magical cup, and do what I'd been hoping to do for ever so long. Ahh... life is wonderful. But "wonderful" is short-lived...

The cup is getting fuller, and fuller, and soon it's going to overflow... and I can't stop filling the cup. No matter what I do. I try the muscular-control method. Nope. I try mechanical methods. Nope.

Fortunately, some sort of control (I forget exactly what finally worked) returns before disaster strikes. Finally... all is well. No harm done to anything, besides the whole "having to live through the experience" thing.

But even at the time, I thought it was funny.

So anyway, back to today... I'm seeing a reprise of those unforgettable moments. I'm at the market, and I start walking into the market, and I know that (since walking "hastens" matters) I can't walk all the way in to the store without spectacularly "hastening" something both pleasant and unpleasant. Back into the car, desperately grab for the emergency cup, and ...

Nothing. I'm expecting exuberant torrents, and... nothing.

You were so insistent, I think. Desperate. Panicking. Threatening imminent disaster. And this... this is all you got.

Eventually... something happens. I think something happened, at least. After a while.

And this too, at the time, I thought was funny.

Y'know, we're not afforded control of our basic physical functions, and we're handed all sorts of unwelcome surprises...

But nothing says we can't laugh.

Some "disease," huh?

A brief intermission:

Art imitates life... I sit down to type this, my Ever So Convenient wireless Apple keyboard doesn't want to connect to the computer. Then it connects. Then it doesn't. Then it does, but it does so poorly. And in a few moments, or eventually, depending on how you want to look at it, everything is working just as it's supposed to be. For now.

It's not like I don't live this way, 24/7. A life of intermittent, variable, puzzlingly misbehaving connections, thanks my ever-present Neurological Nonsense. I don't need to have this chunk of hardware exhibiting my problems, too.

Sorry for the extended aside, but... it seemed to fit the situation, y'know?

Anyway, on to the man topic of the day...

All of us M.S.ers know that The Disease brings us "sensitivity" in odd ways. Some physical sensitivity, the simple sensations of "touch" in my case, significantly degraded; many sensations, especially temperature, completely confused. But in other ways, sensitivity (of many kinds) has gone way, way, way up.

Something that I have become very sensitive to, in the last week or so... is speaking from the heart. Five-element acupuncturists would call what I'm feeling not just "the heart," but the capital-H "Heart," the "Heart official." It is the Emperor, the Supreme Commander, and directly connected to the Divine; the first point on the Heart meridian is named "Utmost Source."

But especially in speaking to my students, I can very distinctly feel when my Heart is fully engaged. It's not simply (and only) about "being passionate" or "speaking my bliss," as Joseph Campbell might say... it's something that underlies both of those. It is very powerful, and very patient, and profoundly compassionate.

And I can also feel when I'm not connecting to my Heart. Speaking peevishly. Speaking angrily--anger is definitely not patient or compassionate (shudder). Getting stuff off my chest... Sometimes those things are necessary to process and release stuff you don't need; sometimes those things are just massaging to the ego, or habituated massage to the ego.

But I can really feel the difference between speaking from the Heart and... not. And when I back off my bloviation enough to witness my process, "not connecting to the Heart" feels very empty.

I've felt this sort of thing before, especially playing percussion in orchestras, sometimes while I'm writing music. But ... man, the sensations right now of being "in the Heart," when I'm there, are vibrantly clear. Ragingly vibrantly clear. And when I'm in that State... it's glorious.

But sensitivity... being this sensitive... is a gift of M.S. And the process of living with The Disease, and all that this journey entails, has brought me to precisely the point when it's time to start feeling these things. Because... I think the State would really much rather I spent my time with it, rather than habituatedly massaging my selfish petulance. I know I would.

So a disease that's all about "bad connections," within the nervous system, and reduced perceptions, even numbness... is bringing me to a place of increased perceptions, improved connections, marvelous clear sensations. Oh, I'd be ever so happy to bid farewell to the Neurological Nonsense, and simply to walk free and unassisted, anywhere I wanted to... like over the rough terrain at the archery range so I can practice with my bow; to be able to kneel and rise and perform this particular kyudo ceremony that I've always really loved; to play my beloved organ again! But clarity and compassion, and connection to the Utmost Source... there, I wanna stay.

Some "disease," huh?