Pages

Monday, August 10, 2009

Sweet Not Always (Truly)

The other day, a bunch of us were eating lunch at the temple following our morning practice. Ani Pema-- one of our nuns who also happens to be a veterinarian-- was updating us on how her studies are going. She's in Acupuncture school. We offered all the standard jokes about how she'd better start sharpening up her needles, etc.... She laughed and began to describe a particular acupuncture technique where no needles are used.

That got everyone's attention.

Apparently, acupuncturists can assess one's dominant constitution by smelling the patient. You read that right. They SMELL you. In the technique she described, they can treat a patient according to that sniffed-out constitution just by talking with them. Of course, our conversation never even explored the treatment part of it, because we were all caught up in the "Smelling the Patient" part.

Now, because Ani Pema is also a vet, we (okay, I ) immediately accused her of being around dogs too much. To top it off, some of the constitutions are best detected by smelling the LOWER BACK. This was too much for us. I mean, that's just a few humiliating inches away from what happens at dog parks! Naturally, none of us was rude enough to get up and walk away, but I'm sure I wasn't the only one who was relieved to be sitting with my lower back conveniently inaccessible. I did not want to be sniffed. In public, no less.

Nevertheless, we pumped her for information--what kinds of smells, what is each constitution like? This information did not put us at ease. Here are the descriptions :

Water: Putrid. Smells like Bounce fabric sheets, the salty ocean or a dirty pond. Smell the lower back.
Wood: Rancid. Smells like mulch, fresh cut wood, pine needles or rancid oil. Smell lower back, neck or top of head.
Fire: Scorched. Smells like smoke, ashes. Smell top of head or neck.
Earth: Fragrant. Smells like flowers, perfume, ripe fruit. Smell lower back or neck.
Metal: Rotten. Smells like rubbed coins or compost. Smell lower back, neck or top of head.

So... unless you're Earth-dominant, do you have any self-esteem left?

I don't know my 5-element constitution, but in Ayurveda, I'm Earth/Water and secondarily Fire. That would make my smell fragrant, putrid and smoky. Huh.

In truth, I don't know what I smell like. My dogs seem to like my smell. They don't leap backwards when I walk in the room or anything. But Lotus likes to roll all over dead fish when I feed it to her, so maybe she's not a good judge. Patch--who is a bit more refined-- is probably just being polite. He does have good manners. But no one has ever told me I stink. No one has ever said, "Ani Sangye, you smell like putrid pond water."

Even Ani Pema didn't tell me that. When I asked what her GUESS was (ie, no sniffing involved) for my constitution, she grinned like the Cheshire Cat. Well, I may not be the sharpest tool in the box, but I know you don't grin like that if someone smells like rose petals.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

Tibetan Buddhist Altar

Today is my 4-year anniversary of being ordained as a nun by His Holiness Penor Rinpoche. To celebrate, I'm sharing a new website that has been created by my lama, Jetsunma Ahkon Lhamo.


With this website, as with all her miraculous activity, Jetsunma continues His Holiness' tireless efforts to dispel darkness and hopelessness from the world. It is her offering to people everywhere who wish to learn about Buddhism or even just take a peek. It is exquisite-- a pure offering born of love and compassion, and the wish to end suffering for all beings.

May all beings be happy and well.

Friday, August 7, 2009

Backyard Dharma

To see me today, you'd never think I was capable of producing a blood-curdling scream first thing this morning. I even surprised myself.

Here's what happened. I woke up and let the dogs out into the yard. After doing their business, they both disappeared into the chest-high weeds for a few minutes. Neither dog likes to be in high weeds, so I wondered what they'd found. I was thinking cat poop. After several minutes, Lotus came running to the door, proudly carrying what she'd found. I thought it was a deflated basketball and bent forward to get a better look. That's when I screamed. It was a huge turtle.

In case it isn't clear at this point, to say that I'm afraid of turtles would be a ridiculous understatement. What I've got is a full-blown, sweaty-palmed, run-away-crying phobia, not some little Oh-I-just-don't-fancy-turtles thing.

I called my landlady upstairs and begged her to come take it away. She sent her teenage son, who showed up wearing neon pink dishwashing gloves and a look of complete terror on his face. I tried to be the adult and stay calm. Tried. He couldn't bring himself to pick it up, so I suggested he scoop it onto the snow shovel and carry it to the pond around the corner.

I had already done some mantra for the turtle and played Jetsunma's "Prayer to Be Reborn in Dewachen." So, despite being scared into his shell by two big dogs, carried in the mouth of one of them and set down in front of a screaming nun, this turtle actually had a pretty good day.

I, on the other hand, was emotionally spent. My body just can't sustain an adrenaline push like that without going awry. To see if I could stop the biochemical cascade before I crashed completely, I decided to meditate. This was a good decision. It's incredible to watch your mind when it's relatively calm-- thoughts continually arising, the mind wandering, and engaging in conversations, shopping and to-do lists. But it's really something to watch your mind when it's completely stirred up. It was like a cafeteria food-fight in there. There was fear, judgment about fear, anger, judgment about anger, sadness, remorse, guilt, curiosity and every other emotion possible, all battling with each other, shouting each other down, each one arising immediately on the heels of another. Some thoughts were connected to prior ones, and some just came out of nowhere.

I found myself constantly replaying the whole scene from the yard, like a printing press that keeps spitting out copies of the same story. It wasn't just the storyline, of course, but each emotion was reproduced as well, along with a corresponding physical reaction. After awhile, the story began to lose its grip on me. A little. Enough so that I became more of an observer of the rising and falling emotions.

I decided to contemplate the object of my fear-- the turtle. My fear of it is my fear. Someone who loves turtles would have reacted totally differently-- their heart instantly opening with love and compassion for the turtle, the way I would if Lotus had brought me a puppy instead. Other people are pretty neutral towards turtles, and might have gone on with their day without giving it another thought. So clearly there was nothing innately fear-producing about the turtle. It was just "turtle."

This helped me relax a little. I decided to take things one step further and see if I could dissolve my conceptual boundary that says "I am me, and turtle is other." This was pretty tough. I didn't make much progress-- maybe just punched some microscopic holes in it. My fear just had too much of a stranglehold over my mind to do much. I gave it a good try and let myself rest. It is a pretty tall order.

At the end, I contemplated where it had all come from. None of it-- the turtle, the scream, the meditation and contemplations-- was what I expected this morning. Certainly neither the turtle nor the dogs expected it. All that karma ripening for the four of us as swiftly and unpredictably as lightning in the sky. Incredible.

It took me awhile to find the courage to put the dogs out again. Both were repeatedly drawn back to where they found the turtle. They retraced the steps over and over. They'd pick up its scent, and I could see excitement rise in them. Then confusion, finding nothing there. Attachment that held them there. Desire, when something else caught their attention. Then the scent once again, leading them back into the loop. As animals, they have no way out of it. Their instincts and senses trap them, and they are incapable of observing their own minds.

Because of the large deck overhanging, the yard is the only thing I can see when I look outside. When I first moved here from the spaciousness of northern Arizona, this fact almost undid me. But now this little yard of mine is proving to be quite the arena for Dharma practice. In it are hopes and fears, beginnings and endings, mysteries and plainness, dramas and meditations. And every bit of it a perfect display of my own mind.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Homewrecker

A few months ago, a guy started hanging out in my yard. He'd just stand there and stare for hours. I knew he was trouble. I even called my landlady and warned her, "This might become a problem." She replied, "Okay, but just keep me posted. I've never had anything like that happen before, and I'm not sure what to do." I knew what I had to do, I just didn't want to do it. But finally I decided it had gone too far and if I allowed it to continue, someone might get hurt.

So I let the dogs out.

Now, depending on your habitual tendencies, you might be coming to various conclusions about what this is all about.

Here's a clue :


Once Spring sprang, birds began flying all over the neighborhood looking for nesting sites. The large deck that overhangs my yard has a wide beam underneath. There's a particularly sweet spot right in the center that's nicely sheltered from rain. A male robin began scouting it out by sitting on my fence and just staring at it. For hours. Every day. He'd fly to it and sit there, then fly back to the same spot on the fence and stare at it.

(I understand this behavior. Anyone who's ever gone shoe shopping with me will never do it again. I'll try on the same pair over and over, then the same shoe in the same size, then another size, etc.... Sometimes I just sit there and stare at the shoe, too. Once I find a shoe that fits, I don't buy another pair of shoes until it is totally worn out. Even I can't stand myself.)

When I realized he was casing the place for a nest, I was thrilled. Then I realized the nest wouldn't be far from my door and not that high above where the dogs play outside. The dogs can't reach the nest, but their running around would definitely startle a mama bird off her eggs. I figured my coming and going would be enough to make him change his mind.

No. After about a week, he brought his wife to check out the 'hood. They flew back and forth, sat and stared, examined it from other angles. All day long for several days. I know nothing about robins, but I never would have guessed they were that picky.

About two weeks into this, I woke up and saw long pieces of dried grass hanging over the beam. They'd been hard at work since dawn. When they returned, she stood on the fence with her beak full of fluffy dried grass, looking like she was holding a pom-pom. I knew it was my last chance to take action. That's when I let the dogs out to play. The two birds watched at a safe distance. She held onto the pom-pom. It was heartbreaking. They had worked so hard, made so many plans. It took a long time to convince them to go. They couldn't relinquish it. I kept the dogs outside until the defeated pair finally flew away. Over the next few days I let the dogs spend more time in the yard. Bit by bit the long pieces of grass left hanging over the beam were stolen by other birds.

But then I let my guard down. Well, sort of. I spent a few days in the hospital, and when I got out I discovered that the persistent couple had taken advantage of my time away : the nest was complete.

Thankfully, she hadn't laid eggs in it. I stepped up my efforts of making the area undesirable for a young avian family. Not only did I let the dogs out more, but I spent more time out there brushing them and cutting their nails. After a few days, the birds gave up and never returned.

Their little nest is still there. I have mixed feelings when I look at it--I miss the babies that never got to use it, yet I know I did the right thing, albeit the difficult thing.

A few days ago, a small songbird began sitting on the fence and staring at the nest. I just hope he doesn't show up with a realtor.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Makeshift Medicine

I heard this story on NPR today, as I drove home from my aquatic physical therapy session. These PT sessions--paid for by my health insurance--are restoring my strength and ultimately will enable me to return to work.

My health insurance monthly premium consumes 84% of my Disability income. (That doesn't count the enormous annual deductible of $3,000, or expenses that aren't covered.) But because I have this insurance, I have access to world experts in treating Wegener's, and I can get the drugs to treat it--some of which would cost several thousand dollars each month if I were to pay out of pocket. I can have necessary CT scans and other diagnostic tests when I need them. I am blessed beyond belief.

I am also doing everything in my power to ensure that every single person in this country has what I have, and that we all can have it for a reasonable price.

In case the link expires :

Rural Medical Camp Tackles Health Care Gaps

It was a Third World scene with an American setting. Hundreds of tired and desperate people crowded around an aid worker with a bullhorn, straining to hear the instructions and worried they might be left out.

Some had arrived at the Wise County Fairgrounds in Wise, Va., two days before. They slept in cars, tents and the beds of pickup trucks, hoping to be among the first in line when the gate opened Friday before dawn. They drove in from 16 states, anxious to relieve pain, diagnose aches and see and hear better.

"I came here because of health care — being able to get things that we can't afford to have ordinarily," explained 52-year-old Otis Reece of Gate City, Va., as he waited in a wheelchair beside his red F-150 pickup. "Being on a fixed income, this is a fantastic situation to have things done we ordinarily would put off."

For the past 10 years, during late weekends in July, the fairgrounds in Wise have been transformed into a mobile and makeshift field hospital providing free care for those in need. Sanitized horse stalls become draped examination rooms. A poultry barn is fixed with optometry equipment. And a vast, open-air pavilion is crammed with dozens of portable dental chairs and lamps.

A converted 18-wheeler with a mobile X-ray room makes chest X-rays possible. Technicians grind hundreds of lenses for new eyeglasses in two massive trailers. At a concession stand, dentures are molded and sculpted.

Desperate For Health Care

The 2009 Remote Area Medical (RAM) Expedition comes to the Virginia Appalachian mountains as Congress and President Obama wrestle with a health care overhaul. The event graphically illustrates gaps in the existing health care system.

"We're willing to sleep in pickup trucks or cars and deal with the elements to at least get some kind of health care," Reece adds. He earned a six-figure income working for an international industrial supply firm until an accident five years ago left him disabled. Joining him for dental, vision and medical checks are his wife, daughter, son-in-law and three grandchildren.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to see the doctor to get my ear and my nose fixed!" grandson Jacob shouts excitedly. His nose appears battered and his ear has an oozing scab.

Before the gate opened, Loretta Miller, 41, of Honaker, Va., got four hours' sleep behind the wheel of her parked minivan. She was No. 39 in line for her eighth RAM expedition. Her visit last year saved her life.

"They done an ultrasound and told me that my gallbladder was enlarged and was ready to burst and it could kill me," Miller recalls. "They told me if I hadn't got help when I did, literally I could have died."

Medical, dental and vision help is often elusive for the 2,700 people seeking treatment during the three-day RAM event. Just over half of the people attending this year have no insurance at all, according to a survey of the patients conducted by RAM. Forty-seven percent could be considered underinsured, given unaffordable copays or gaps in coverage provided by Medicare, Medicaid and conventional insurance plans. Only 11 patients have dental insurance, and just seven have vision coverage.

"There's no doubt about it. There is a Third World right here in the United States," concludes Stan Brock, RAM's founder. Brock has organized similar medical expeditions in Asia, Africa and South America. "Here in the world's richest country, you have this vast number of people, some say 47 million, 49 million, that don't have access to the system and that's why [this] is necessary."

About 1,800 volunteers provide the medical, dental and logistical help, including hundreds of doctors, dentists, nurses, assistants and technicians.

Almost 4,000 Teeth

Miller is ecstatic when her number is called. The divorced hairdresser and mother of two is uninsured and in pain. But she had taken the time, even with little sleep, to put on makeup, braid her blond hair and dress in a white lace tunic. She walked briskly through the gate for what would turn out to be five hours in dental chairs, given the extraction of an abscessed tooth, three fillings and a root canal.

More than half of those seeking help sign up for dental exams and procedures. They fill the more than 70 dental chairs while hundreds wait their turn under tents nearby. Hundreds more out in the grassy parking lot hope they'll get their teeth cleaned and fixed before the event ends.

Dental health greatly affects general health, says Dr. Terry Dickinson, who directs the Virginia Dental Association and the RAM dental effort at the Wise fairgrounds.

"The infection in the mouth certainly has been shown to have an effect on systemic diseases," Dickinson explains. "So it's really critical that these folks be able to get infected teeth out and infection treated in the mouth because it's going to help them with their overall health."

The extent of infections is staggering. Dickinson and his team pull 3,857 teeth in 30 hours of work spread over 2 1/2 days. Some patients lose all their teeth. A 4-year-old had cavities filled in every tooth.

Who Is Responsible For Health Care?

Terrible teeth, obesity, smoking, high blood pressure and diabetes are common among the people seeking help here. That raises an important question. Are they at fault for their poor health?

"There's enough blame to go around for everybody. I think patients certainly have to have personal responsibility for what they're putting in their mouth, but we are also trying to create a better access care system. How are you going to get providers, whether it be dentists or physicians or anybody else, into these areas where economically these communities are struggling?" Dickinson asks.

That's a reference to the costs of medical and dental schools and the debts that graduates incur, which can be $100,000 and more. There's pressure to practice in more lucrative places beyond rural regions like Appalachia.

"There are areas of the country, and certainly Wise County is one of them, where there just aren't [enough] physicians," says Dr. Susan Kirk, an endocrinologist and diabetes specialist with the University of Virginia Health System, which provides specialists for the Wise RAM event. "We provide indigent care at the University of Virginia, but that's six hours away."

RAM founder Stan Brock is impatient with those who suggest the people seeking help in Wise are somehow at fault and unworthy of care given poor health habits.

"The rest of the population is not exactly in the best of shape themselves," Brock asserts. "They're eating well and, therefore, they're putting on weight and, therefore, they've got heart disease and the rate of diabetes in this country is going up. But, in the case of the well-to-do and the well-insured, they can afford to take care of it."

At the end of her long day with dentists, Loretta Miller was still numb with Novocain but grateful for the care she could not otherwise afford.

"It's well worth the drive and the wait," Miller said, close to 12 hours after her number was called. "You get tired and stuff. But you think about all the trips and the money it would have cost to have all this done. I couldn't have had it done."

She then laughs about standing in line again at 5 a.m. the next day so she can get eyeglasses to "see what they've done."

RAM organizers say they spent about $250,000 providing care worth about $1.5 million. In 10 years in southwest Virginia, they say, they've treated more than 25,000 people. They have eight more expeditions planned this year, from Virginia to California.

It could be any one of us standing in such a line, praying for the chance to have dental surgery at a fairground or our eyes examined and treated in a poultry barn. We are all subject to old age and sickness.

Thankfully, we are also each capable of taking action when our hearts tell us we simply must.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

A Fine Start

I don't know these people, but this is one wedding I'm sorry I missed.

Friday, July 24, 2009

This Very Moment

Some of you know the Wegener's has flared up again (D'oh!), and I'm back on the heavy-duty chemo I was first on in 2006. Both Wegener's and chemo can cause extreme weakness, so it's hard to tell which one is making me feel like a jellyfish washed up on the beach. At any rate, writing a blog post is just out of my reach until I can get my body and mind to cooperate.

I decided to post an excerpt from Jetsunma's most recent teaching. I hope you'll take 6 minutes and 39 seconds to enjoy it.




May you-- in this very moment--find peace, joy and comfort.