At the time, I wasn't even aware that I had a tumor in my back. It was most discouraging to learn that the tumor had eaten an eighth of an inch of one vertebra. It was a big let-down to discover that the cancer could possibly paralyze me, or spread throughout my bones at any time. For the next six months, I used visualization to first shrink and kill the tumor, and then begin reconstruction of the bone mass at the third lumbar vertebra.
In my case, the results were gradual. Every day I tried to make headway, despite fatigue and feeling poorly. I felt my best when I was actively utilizing mantra-powered visualization. In four months I had experienced excellent progress in shrinking the tumors on my neck. What was happening deeper inside my body, only a CT scan would tell.
One of the most frustrating aspects of chemotherapy was the drop in my blood counts. Fatigue was overwhelming. I faced the third cycle of chemotherapy with unfathomable dread. By that time, I would become violently ill on the way to the treatment. The mere thought of impending treatment would evoke the smell of nitrogen mustard and I would feel nauseated. The chemotherapy nurses were exceptionally patient, considerate, and kind, despite the sight of a grown man struggling with psychosomatic nausea. I would receive huge injections of anti-nausea medicine, to no avail. The third cycle of chemotherapy had me totally shaken.
On treatment days, my mind felt like it had split in two. The intellectual part knew that the treatment was ultimately bearable and I would be partially knocked out and would vomit for the next seven or eight hours. If one really thinks about it, there are countless things in life worse than chemotherapy. Any parent who has lost a child, or a burn victim can attest to the life condition of hell. I knew from the viewpoint of the Ten Worlds that I would be descending into hell, taking with me my mutually possessed state of Buddhahood. The other part of me didn't want to feel the pain because it knew already how much suffering was involved.
That day of my third treatment, I almost had a nervous breakdown during my pre-chemotherapy exam with Dr. S. He arranged an immediate appointment with a counselor. My treatment would begin later that afternoon after all the blood chemistry results were analyzed.
The counselor listened carefully to my tale of woe. So much pent-up frustration over my finances and health came to the surface that I started sobbing. In mid-sob I understood the problem without the counselor saying anything. I was human and afraid. Courage could defeat fear. There wasn't anything the counselor could say that I didn't already know about solving my problems. Winning was up to the individual. I stopped the session and told the doctor that I knew it was all up to me, thanking him profusely for just listening.
Lynn and I went into the chemotherapy room somewhat stronger than before. When the treatment time got closer, the inner coward raised its ugly head once again and I began to shake like a leaf. Tears filled my eyes as they began the IV administration. Lynn looked me in the eye, challenging me with a look that said, “Be a man, now.” I mustered up my courage and started chanting to myself. As soon as they began, I began to get sick. It took twice as long to finish the treatment because I was so violently ill.
Some schools of psychosomatic healing or new age healing believe that, in the case of chemotherapy, the mind should embrace the drug because of its healing powers. Instead of hating chemotherapy, they believe that one should open the body to its healing power. In my case, I hated chemotherapy and no mental discipline would ever change that fact. I did not open my body or spirit to it, nor did I welcome it. I wanted it out of my life as soon as possible. The idea that if the disease wasn't wiped out of my body, another four treatments would be required made my chanting all the stronger. I prayed fervently that the chemotherapy would end with the sixth cycle and I would never have to experience it again. It doesn't take long to gain a mountain-sized, negative respect for the power of chemotherapy.
With chemotherapy comes the likelihood that the person will be plunged into the state of hell for much of the treatment. Anyone who has gone through aggressive chemotherapy and beat cancer has just received a medal from the universe. The hell of chemotherapy is often a gift of life. I see no benefit in trying to embrace a wild panther, a ruthless killer. It is better to concentrate on surviving the fury. If someone can force him- or herself to embrace that, more power to them. I don't believe there is the slightest benefit from embracing chemotherapy. But if chemotherapy can help, you must have the courage not to run from it. Just pray for strength and courage, and ride out the storm.
Finally the treatment was finished, but I was unable to walk, and had to be wheeled out to the car. Lying on the back seat of our car, I was hardly able to move and was fighting to remain conscious. I was afraid that if I blacked out, that I would choke to death on my own vomit. I was violently ill all the way home. I don't know how Lynn managed to drive without breaking down emotionally on that ride home. The only thing that kept me conscious was prayer. My body was on autopilot, in survival mode. In my prayers I tried to visualize the inside of my body as turbulent seas that were turning into gentle waters. Lynn somehow managed to get us home, and got Devin to help her drag me into the apartment. I closed myself in the bedroom, still semiconscious, fighting never-ending waves of nausea. It took seven hours to reach the end of that major assault. It may sound overzealous, but at my regular time of 7 P.M., I pulled myself out of bed, faced east, and recited the first of my twice-daily prayers from the Lotus Sutra: The Liturgy of the Buddhism of Nichiren Daishonin. It took me about thirty or so minutes to finish, compared to my usual time of twenty minutes. That action brought back my concentration and my nausea lessened. Within an hour, my nausea reduced to four times an hour instead of being constant. By that time I no longer felt drugged, just sick. Chanting had truly brought me through the worst.
During the entire course of my treatment, I sought the encouragement and advice of others. One of the most important people that advised me during the ordeal was a Japanese business executive and Buddhist friend, Mr. S. At every opportunity, Mr. S. and his wife would encourage us to continue fighting so we could give hope to other people who were suffering. “Everyone is watching you . . . your behavior,” he said. “You're showing everyone the power of the Mystic Law,” he went on. He would encourage me every time we met, and his frequent calls were a lifeline.
There were other people of my faith who took up our battle as their own. Mrs. E., a Japanese woman, would call me up during the day, and if I sounded weak or depressed to her, she would shout, “Come on, Chuck! Wake up! You've got to get strong! Get up and chant!” It was like having my own private drill sergeant and I really appreciated her pushing me to fight. Another Japanese woman I knew who had moved to Florida sent word that she was chanting two hours a day for my health. It would not be possible to fully express my gratitude for all my Buddhist and non-Buddhist friends who sent their prayers and gave us encouragement.
Each treatment took a little bit more out of me. After the second phase of the third cycle, I felt as if I had reached the end of my physical and mental strength. I had reached the “wall” described by long distance runners when they come to a point in the race where all their physical and mental energy seems stymied. If you don't get past the wall, you will be defeated. Mrs. E. pushed me right through the wall.
The fourth series of treatments was about to commence. This time I had my wits about me. Dr. S. had gone on vacation to England, and a brilliant young oncologist, Dr. M., would be handling my treatment. This time there were no tears, just stiff determination to meet this battle head on. I used mantra-powered visualization to navigate the rough seas of nausea. I was again reduced to a stupor. In my semiconscious state, I tried to hold on to the image of stretching my arms out to calm the waters. The treatment turned out to be no more severe than the last one. Knowing what to expect, I tried to repeat my strategy of using the evening recitation of the Lotus Sutra to break the rising tide of sickness. After surviving that fury, the cumulative effects of the treatment began to rapidly break down my strength a
nd blood counts.
1 Nichiren Daishonin, The Writings of Nichiren Daishonin (Tokyo: Soka Gakkai, 1999), p. 412.
CHAPTER 7
Into the Bardos and Back to Earth
In July 1987, because of a compromised immune system weakened by chemotherapy, I became very ill from a urinary tract infection. Confined to bed at home, my fever skyrocketed to 104 degrees for several days. I was too sick to begin my fifth cycle of chemotherapy. After getting advice from our oncology nurse, I was immediately hospitalized and put into an isolation room. A team of doctors evaluated me to determine what was wrong and how to bring my fever under control.
Our whole world looked as if it were crumbling down. Both Lynn and I knew that the crucial moment had come. I was having strange dreams about my dead grandparents. I sensed death, though not in a bad way. My sense of death felt like being near a great ocean, hearing the waves, smelling the air. The fear of death that had gripped me immediately after my diagnosis, was reconciled during my mystical experience back in March.
Being human, I was afraid for my family. Seeing the grotesque nature of cancer, I was afraid to experience those agonies but was confident from my faith that I would end my life victoriously. When I first looked at the reality of my own mortality, I doubted that I had accomplished much in my lifetime. The further I got into my struggle against cancer, the more I realized that my behavior was now an example for others on how to fight their own battle against disease.
When death comes knocking on the door, people bargain with the gods. I had staked my adult life on Buddhism and would see it through to the end, no matter what. Bargaining with the ultimate spiritual reality of the universe, I vowed: “If I overcome cancer, I'll tell my story far and wide!” Death looked easy, but dying seemed hard. After having what some would call a near-death experience and others would call a trip into the bardos, I made the determination to live.
In recent years, much attention has been paid to near-death experiences. People who were pronounced clinically dead and those under great duress have documented their experiences of separating from their body and traveling through a tunnel toward a great light. Firsthand accounts and anecdotal data of life after death are as old as civilization. Certain scientists have attributed this universal experience to a chemical reaction in the brain when oxygen is cut off or the blood flow is impaired. Science can prove that similar results may be obtained in a clinical setting. But there is much more to near-death experiences than chemical reactions in the human brain. The eternity of life cannot be validated through a controlled experiment.
In Betty Eadies' account of her near-death experience,1 she tells of meeting loved ones, traveling through a tunnel of light, meeting Jesus, having all of her questions answered, and being shown around heaven. Her account of the afterlife is filled with Christian imagery, and it portrays a kinder and gentler afterlife than that of fundamentalists. When reading about other near-death experiences, one might come to believe that after dying, separating from the body, traveling through the tunnel and into the light, that the experience is complete.
I wondered why Eadie's experience of death was so different from the one I had in July 1987. Near-death experiences have many things in common. People separate and hover over their bodies, encounter a tunnel of light and meet relatives or important religious figures from their lives. What happens after death is pure speculation unless you have experienced it for yourself. My own father believed “When you're dead, you're dead.”
After much inner debate, I have decided to describe in this book my boomerang through the afterlife, in order to expound on the greatness of life and the universe. The difficulty of describing the near-death experience is lack of adequate language concepts with which to convey ideas of a transcendental world beyond our reality-based concepts of space and time. Metaphor and analogy are probably the most effective way of describing the dynamic of the afterlife.
Recalling my envelopment into the realm Ku, or the non-local state of existence and non-existence, I have emerged with some observations. Life after death defies all definitive or absolute description because it is completely subjective. Death isn't the end nor is it a place to go. The dimensions of death and life exist all around us, permeating all phenomena. Heaven is not in the sky and hell is not below the earth. The actual secret of death is found in the continuing life moment. Like waves on the ocean, life rises up, and falls in an unbroken pattern on the sea of eternity. One of the fears we may have of death is annihilation of consciousness. Like wafting smoke, we rise up and are absorbed by the atmosphere. In death, you become everywhere.
When death comes, you are stripped of your worldly possessions, pride, vanity, status, and ego. Position, wealth, and social standing are as meaningless as play money at your local bank. The only thing that you take with you is the accumulated treasures of your heart and the record of your karma. Everything you have thought, spoken, or done is permanently recorded in your life. Your fundamental life entity, inseparably encompassed in a sphere of karma, embarks upon the journey of death. Whatever you were is left behind. The personality as we know it is a temporal assimilation and has no relevance, but your intrinsic nature is evident and endures throughout space and time.
On the second night of my hospitalization, I was still racked by fever and feeling very miserable. A resident doctor had tried to administer ampicillin but I refused the drug because I was allergic to penicillin. I fought with myself to keep chanting. I was so tired.
I woke up at 3:45 A.M. with a start. A numbing, sparkling, bluish-black force surrounded me and I felt like I was being swallowed up into a vortex. Automatically, I chanted Nam-myoho-renge-kyo and thought loudly, “Let me win or die now!” After blacking out momentarily, I became aware again and found myself chanting in a void blacker than the darkest India ink, a place completely devoid of light. In the next instant, the absolute blackness around me exploded into a translucent, twilight blue.
Floating above my body, I heard what sounded like a loud, high-pitched bell, and I heard and felt a loud popping sound. A large tunnel of light, much larger than my room, appeared out of nowhere, obscuring the sight of my physical surroundings. This light was awesome and compelling to the degree that it was impossible to resist. My being was white and golden light, possessing an energetic form, rather than flesh, the five senses, and my conscious mind. Instantaneously, I saw a multitude of magnificent spiritual beings of incredible stature and compassion who appeared from the light, approaching me at great speed with arms extended.
I could not move forward into the light or anywhere. I hovered there at the base of the great vortex with my vision transfixed on the multitude of beings approaching me. Beneath me and around me I sensed evil and danger. When the assembly was upon me, the sensation of evil vanished. I recognized this host at once as a gathering of mighty buddhas, whom I had honored with my life. A force drew us into the tunnel toward the origin of the light. A kaleidoscopic history of the universe and the dimensions of life revealed itself on the tunnel walls.
Beholding all the images, I realized that I had repeated this familiar journey countless times before. My life was throbbing with ecstasy and love, trillions of times more wonderful than seeing your true love after a great absence. I was guided, protected, and spiritually enjoined by familiar beings who sped my way into a spectacular realm of tranquil light.
I had no sense of time or distance. The death experience might be understood as similar to blending in with everything inside and around you. I could be at the farthest corner of the most distant galaxy in just one thought. The entire universe fit on the head of a pin. You don't become aware of what is transpiring so much as you become awareness itself. Moving into the source of an all-encompassing light of incalculable vastness and beauty, my spirit was synchronous with the vibration of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo that took the form of light and sound. The light originated from sound and the sound reverberated with the light. At that moment, I realized that getting off the Wheel of Sams
ara—escaping the perpetual cycle of birth and death replete with all the joy and suffering it entails—is an illusion of consciousness. You are the wheel.
The exotic fragrance of sandalwood filled my senses and the realm reverberated with the vibration of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo. I was a baby reunited with his mother, a drop of water returning to the ocean, a speck of dust falling back to earth. I was part of a great spiritual reality that drew me into its bosom. There had never been anything separating us. Full awareness swept over me. I was not a soul or personality, but an integral part of something infinitely greater and holy. My true entity, free of all impediments, moved toward the light like a sperm to the egg.
My afterlife experience was not a walk into quiet meadows or reuniting with deceased loved ones. I was in the presence of great beings of the light who lived and died throughout the universe, sowing the seeds of enlightenment wherever they went. Their honors and blessings were psychically evident, radiating glory like twin suns in the dark of space. Those enlightened entities were not permanent residents of the afterlife, but existed there like blood cells passing through the human heart before flowing through the rest of the body. The afterlife is not an astral warehouse for the dead. I perceived it to be the origin of consciousness and energy. All life and matter in the entire universe is one vast entity. I was made aware that life is prevalent everywhere in the universe and myriad realms, with countless worlds that do not conform to our conception of environments suitable for the life as we know it.
Modern Buddhist Healing Page 10
