I wondered today at the wonderful irony of life, that I, in my mid-60’s, at this point in my life, would have ventured deep into Vermont’s winding roads and beautiful valleys to find myself face-to-face with a shaman talking about healing the wounds that have shaped and defined much of my life as the sun sliced through the mist and backlit some picture postcard farms. We both agreed that wounds are a gift, they force us to awaken, to confront life. If I didn’t know fear, I said, and has been raised differently and well, and if somebody sent me a check for $100,000 dollars, I wonder if I would be here, or if I would simply continue to swim in the chaotic stream of life. Every twinge of fear, every stab of pain, every flash of regret has been a gift bringing it’s own surprise – a photo, a book, some empathy, a friend, an insight, a move towards consciousness, an appreciation of friendship, of love.
Some years ago, an analyst in New York, on Park Avenue, a disciple of Anna Freud, a brilliant, regal, beautiful and imposing Viennese refugee from the Nazi’s, told me she expected that I would survive my pain and anguish. Why?, I asked her, doubtful. Because, she said, I believe you are committed to healing. That makes all of the difference, she said. Sitting on my shaman’s couch, I was surprised to hear, after we had talked for an hour or two, to hear her say exactly the same thing. I’ve been seeking healing my whole life and seen the process of healing through many different prisms. Each part of the process has brought me a step farther. Lately, and after many years, I have shifted from the conventional ideas about healing the body and the mind to older, more traditional ideas, approaches some would call holistic. They are the same in some ways – they have the same goals – yet they are completely different in the most important ways.
It is dangerous, even foolish to draw black-and-white-lines across the spectrum of healing. New and old ways each offer something. But I am continuously struck by the alternative healers, unfettered by corporate ideas about money, legal threats, time and scheduling pressures and the dehumanizing effect of bureaucracies and regulations. My healers don’t have any money. Few insurance companies pay for their work, and if they do, not for much of it. They work in simple, even threadbare offices without assistants or file-keepers. Their plants are droopy and pale. They write notes on pads and hand-write receipts. Dogs are usually very welcome. There is a mystical back-alley quality about out-of-the-system healers, they are second floors and recently-vacated storefronts.
My healers spent a great deal of time getting to know me. Often, they will barter with me. For books or writing help or conversations about their dogs. Whenever I am in a panic or feeling sick, and my body is disrupted, I call my naturopath and leave a message on his machine. He always calls back and asks the same question: “Jon, are you taking good photos?” If I say yes, he says, well then, you will be fine, and he is right. Because he knows me and knows what is important to me, and the day I say no, we will both no something is seriously wrong. He takes tests and asks questions, but he looks for the spark of vitality first. He always encourages me to heal myself. There is that also about my healers. They make me feel healthy. They have helped keep me healthy.
Our culture worships money and technology and we scramble in line for our share, our turn at the wheel. Most of us really believe that we can thwart life or postpone it forever if we just take our tests and pills.
The shaman is right, I think. I am committed to healing myself. And it is a commitment, for sure. I am somewhat daunted by the fact that some real healing took a lifetime to begin to take hold. Old medicine can’t skirt the realities of life any more than new medicine can. Like change, commitment is difficult. Nobody has a chest full of miracles. I commit myself to healing every day. It is hard and continuous work. I get better all of the time, I heal a bit every day. In my healing, I open myself up to people who open themselves up to me.
Healing, I think, is as much an act of will and faith as it is an offering of medicine. It is a leap of faith. A covenant between me and my life. It is not possible to keep from being broken. The only good choice for me is to heal.