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From The Introduction to Healing Words:

I met the muse that inspired me to write Healing Words for the Body, Mind and Spirit during the Fall of 1999. She appeared when my husband, Ted, and I faced one health-related crisis after another. First, my mother fell and underwent hip replacement surgery. Just ten days later, my father-in-law died of congestive heart failure. Upon returning from his funeral, I received word from my doctor that a lump I had found on my breast was malignant. Then, a month after my surgeon removed the small cancer from my left breast, my mother returned to the hospital. She went to have a pacemaker inserted in her chest – a simple procedure. However, during pre-op testing, her radiologist discovered a malignant mass in her lung. Fortunately, it was contained and operable. Unfortunately, at the same time, our 31-year-old daughter, Jamie, learned she had multiple sclerosis. While absorbing the impact of that blow, my sister delivered yet another: “Mom’s had a heart attack. It doesn’t look good,” she said. “You’d better get down here.” Six days later, almost six months after she shattered her hip, my mother died as my two sisters and I sat by her bedside.

On the day that my muse visited for the first time, Ted and I had decided to declare a “snow day” in the midst of the emotional chaos we felt inside and an Indian summer that warmed the autumn air outside. Tired of being wrapped in an unbroken chain of health-related phone calls and medical procedures, we canceled pending appointments, threw some bare essentials in the car, and headed for our small home in the wild and wonder-filled mountains of West Virginia.

While traveling the interstate highways and two lane country roads leading to Berkana, our simple shelter nestled in a wildlife preserve, Ted and I shared our thoughts, feelings, pain, and plans. For hours, laughter, sadness, and tears erupted from a deep well of emotions. Sobs, sniffles, chuckles, chortles, aha’s and uh’s filled gaps in our banter until we both felt verbally exhausted and slipped into mutual silence. As Ted drove, I stared out my side window. Colorful leaves that blanketed the sunlit, windy world on the other side mesmerized me.

As quilted patches of tilled farmland melded into mountains covered with oak, maple, birch, and ash trees, I noticed that the dying leaves never took a nosedive straight to the ground. Instead, upon breaking from their boughs, they would ride currents of wind before landing. Sometimes, they’d look like gliders and sail lazily through the air. Other times, a gust would toss them back and forth, like riders on wild stallions circling a fenced-in corral. Occasionally, a whirlwind would catch them and they’d deftly spiral upward like Olympic ice skaters. Indeed, it seemed that no matter what path it was taking to the ground, each leaf was relishing the moment and its last opportunity to say, “Yes!” to the life being left behind.

Delighted by the unrehearsed dance going on all around me, a passage from Deuteronomy began bouncing around in my head to the beat of some nameless tune:

"I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live.

At first, the tune was interesting –calming. But, mere miles and many rounds later, I became really desperate for it to stop droning. Silently singing several verses of “Amazing Grace” in my head didn’t work. Neither did the nursery rhymes, show tunes, patriotic songs, and popular ballads that I tried next. In fact, it didn’t matter what I sang. Time after time, the monotonous tune I could not name prevailed, until, for no known reason, it stopped. Within seconds, an unfamiliar voice stepped in.

"Help others to find ways to help themselves heal," whispered a stranger inside my head. “Help others find ways to choose life - to say ‘Yes!’”

With that said, her voice vanished.

Breaking the silence I turned to Ted and said, “I think I just heard what’s called a muse. She told me to do something to help others to help themselves. And as soon as I promised myself –or her –that I would, I saw an image of book with a healing word written on each page.” Some Healing Words:

Growth

To allow (something) to develop or increase by a natural process.

We named our West Virginia home, “Berkana,” which is an ancient symbol for “growth.” In some ways our choice is ironic, since almost all our attempts to plant anything there have been foiled by the deer.

Berkana sits in the midst of a wildlife preserve where hunting or harming animals is forbidden. Therefore, deer ranging in size from tiny Bambis to ten point bucks, roam everywhere and eat almost everything that grows as they cut a swath through vegetation in their path and make liars out of nurserymen who hawk “deer proof” plants. In a deer’s wake, daisy stems stand daisyless. Saplings become leafless, barkless twigs, and ground cover disappears like a balding man’s hair. Not surprisingly, after years of co-existence, herds of hoofed ruminants have taught us a lot about what it takes to grow in the midst of adversity.

To grow, you must first commit to preparing the ground so it can support the process for a long time. In the beginning, it’s necessary to set boundaries, because without them predators, like deer, weeds, and viruses, will go everywhere. To keep intruders at bay, use something that protects, but doesn’t smother, whatever is trying to grow. Doing that gives it room to remain grounded and self-heal its wounds even under difficult and life-threatening circumstances. It is also important to realize that not everything that grows and grows well, grows up.

Once whatever is growing matures enough to survive alone, it’s time to give it responsibility for itself. If you’ve fostered inner strength and good health, storms and tidal waves may cause it to falter, but those natural events won’t be fatal. Additionally, you must become reconciled to, not with, whatever adversely effects growth. At Berkana, we’re never going to be reconciled with the deer. They just don’t care. However, we can be reconciled to their abiding presence. And finally, turn to other teachers. Take the trees and ground cover, for instance. They’ve taught us that to mature, be healthy, and heal our wounds, we must grow at our own pace and be willing to move in lots of directions. Occasionally, we must also turn to outside support, not allow open wounds or hidden hurts to fester, be flexible, and respond, appropriately, to all the seasons of our lives.

Affirmation: I am grateful for the resources and people who support my growth.

COMPASSION

Deep awareness of the suffering of another coupled with the wish to relieve it.

As my mother lay dying of heart failure, her orthodox rabbi came to visit her in the hospital. Anxiously, I extended my hand to shake his - momentarily forgetting that Jewish law forbid him to touch women. Upon realizing my mistake, I apologized. “It's not necessary,” he said. “There are greater concerns right now.” He then went to the foot of my mother's bed and stood shaking his head. Against the wishes of my mother's living will, hospital personnel had inserted a ventilator tube into her chest. It grotesquely distorted her tiny, pale face. Eighteen other wires and tubes were attached to her body. We all found it hard to believe that the unconscious person lying there was Muriel. “She was doing so well. What happened?” her rabbi asked. “I can't believe it.”

Their relationship was special. Years earlier, when my mother rediscovered her Jewish roots, this knowledgeable man, half her age, became her trustworthy mentor. Weekly, the small, black bearded and black suited rabbi and the woman with a blonde pageboy haircut, who wore boldly colored caftans, would meet to discuss all aspects of Judaism - especially the laws governing daily life. On special occasions, the rabbi invited mom to share a meal with his wife and five small children. Despite the fact that he couldn't hug his favorite student, she always felt warmly embraced by his love.

Now that relationship, as each knew it, was ending. Moving closer to her bedside, the rabbi began reciting Hebrew prayers. Rhythmically, he swayed as his soothing, singsong voice became a counterpoint to the menacing, mechanical sounds the monitors made. Finally, the rabbi closed his prayer book and again stood sorrowfully beside my mother. Then reaching out, he clasped her hand in his.

Affirmation: Compassion that comes from the heart knows no bounds.

PRAYER

A specially worded form used to address and/or petition God, a god, or another object of worship.

Even though I don't have a clue how or why prayer works, I just know that it does and that lots of evidence supports my belief. For example, author and physician Larry Dossey, has written about more than 130 controlled laboratory studies that show, in general, that prayer or a prayer-like state of compassion, empathy, and love can bring about healthful changes in many types of living things, from humans to bacteria. “This does not mean that prayer always works,” he says, “any more than drugs and surgery always work but that, statistically speaking, prayer is effective.”

Although statistics bolster the claim for the efficacy of prayer, anyone who has experienced itshealing power knows that numbers are only needed to convince skeptics. I was reminded of that last year, when my husband's family gathered around my father-in-law's hospital bed to bid farewell to this beloved man. A rare form of heart disease was exhausting Ed's life, and we knew there were no other medical procedures or miracles to be pulled out of his doctors' bags.

For hours before Ed's six children and their spouses arrived, my mother-in-law Millie, had repeatedly wiped the brow, kissed the cheek, and embraced the fragile body of the semi-conscious man with whom she had shared 56 years. Several times, when his breathing slowed so much it wouldn't float a feather, she expected him to die. But he lingered in a deepening coma instead.

However, it now seemed as though the time for Ed to pass had, at last, come. At first, we tried to make his transition more comfortable by singing “Amazing Grace.” But we were a sorry lot that couldn't carry a tune and Ed's agitated body language suggested we were possibly harming instead of healing. So we stopped and lapsed into silence. Minutes later, Ted, began reciting The Lord's Prayer. Joining in, we held each other's hands. Millie gently squeezed one of Ed's and someone else his other. As we slowly - ever so slowly - said the familiar words that Ed dearly loved, we also prayed that he could hear each one. He must have, because as we all sighed, “Amen,” he drew his last breath.

Affirmation: My prayers echo a still, small voice inside my body, mind, and soul.

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© 2001 Caren Goldman