Recently, Furrow wrote a limerick about me. It is one of my most prized virtual possessions (links mine, not Furrow’s):
To fully appreciate my ongoing balancing act, start by reading this post, where I explain my political development.
As for my spiritual emergence, here’s the scoop.
I grew up with asthma and severe allergies.* Family lore has it that when I was a baby, my mom was baking chocolate chip peanut cookies in one end of the house while I was napping in a closed room in the other. I swelled up like the Michelin Baby, and erupted like Vesuvius from all ends. Further investigation revealed allergies to everything. Every single one of the 44 stick tests that pierced my skin at age 5 showed over-reaction by my hyper-vigilant immune system.
- (1) stay on steroids for the rest of my life
- (2) try an experimental drug that had not been approved in the US; or
- (3) have a lobectomy, partial removal of my lung.
Options 2 seemed too risky, Option 3 seemed too drastic, and Option 1, well, in a fit of cosmic irony, I didn’t choose #1 because I was worried about its effects on fertility. Ha!
She did not travel and she did not find another job. She lived in her little crystal-filled cottage, an oasis of grace in a bad part of town. She offered energy-healing sessions and taught energy-work classes. She honed her skill of watching patterns — in people, in societies, in the stock market, in nature. She grew her own food, tended her flowers. She embodied, to me, an earth mother.
And she offered me Door #4, which allowed me to eschew all three doors offered by Dr Pneumo.
During the next dozen years, until she finally did begin to travel, Ethel showed me another way of looking at health and wellness. She became my teacher, and is the closest thing I’ve met to an ego-less person.
So that, my friends, is how the curse of my lungs led to the blessings in my life.
I mentioned in part 1 of this post that my two sisters join me in the very small club of New Age Republicans. We took different paths to the granola-crunching (no nuts, please), but we each got there. Sheri and Tami, I invite both of you to guest post an entry here on your own journey (double-dog dare you!).
* Energetically, the lungs are the place where we hold sadness. Allergies are defense systems gone haywire. And speaking of defense systems, I once figured out that my mom was pregnant with me during the Cuban Missile Crisis, and I wonder if I carry some of the collective fear engendered by the Cold War.