A Trilogy; "Please Forgive My Trespass..."

"Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of sharing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than its worth."

Mary Smich

I was reading someones blog recently from a survivor adorned with gratitude, accoutered as such with trinkets of cliche' glibness. Banner slogans with all too familiar wisdom delivered convincingly with waxing pride and certitude as the piece swelled. The lack of humility was only surpassed by its triteness and questionable intention. Has my cynicism grown so acerbic, that I'm compelled to diminish the experience of others going through the same thing I am? I'm not questioning their sincerity, I have a problem with the tedious language they employ. My glass is neither half full nor half empty, in fact, I don't have a glass, and it did not come in a box.

These metaphors oversimplify the magnitude of misfortune and the crisis that ensues as a result. Maybe I have the wrong disposition for this disease. This Cancer, this disease that isn't a disease, defined by the wreckage and the toll it exacts. I know how hard that is to confront, but increasingly we speak to one another in code. A synthesis of euphamism and idiom, that doesn't express emotion, lacking sensitivity,and bereft of real meaning. I understand its attempt to impart encouragement and optimism, and maybe that's enough? Not for me. When did it our words become so pedestrian in its own banal sanctimony? Next we'll be communicating in grunts and short bursts of mono-syllables, or worse still, remarks condensed and pre-recorded, then numbered 1-? on the key pad of our phones. Isn't that like texting now? digital-phonetics, I hope not! We've all invoked this kind of pithy logic before; I think I was at an AA meeting!


I'm not sure I can abide the sensibilities that only allows for two choices. Life is rarely either/or. Where's the romanticism of a myth with its parable of hope for transcendence. I want to discover meaning and embrace its symbolism and nuanced interpretation I can identify with; exultant in the possibility of retribution, resplendent with fabled sacrifice and august faith, executed with uncompromising determination and force of will against an apocalypse of principle, a struggle that inspires ones conviction and ultimately salvation.


I want my epiphanous moment. A story that comes with door prizes, dolls and talisman, colored beads. I want to rejoice in superstition. Voodoo is more inspirational than the volume of a glass of... What's in the glass? I better not have to climb out of a box to find out! Is there alcohol in it? I'm on a special diet and I'm still undergoing physical therapy.


Why should any of us deny ourselves the luxury to wallow in our own self-absorption and acquiesce to everything that is disconsolate in us, whatever that may be; when the glass is ostensibly half empty? It's therapeutic and why can't I refill the glass later! Fear and loathing is how I measure acceptance. Denial must be characterized first to thwart its pall. Despair and anxiety is the Rubicon we all cross to find sanctuary. I'm searching for unassailable authority for guidance. I don't want my ambivalence besieged, surveyed or measured half full or half empty by amateurs who don't see that these choices require a little more introspection than that.


False contentment in abstraction has been tantalizing to me, to us, jenel and I. Fraught with expectations and hope, we overlooked the obdurate laws of matter for just some microscopic concession that wouldn't involve any apparent sacrifice of principle or physical law. We weren't asking to win the lottery, but hope nonetheless, is for gamblers and fools. We must avail ourselves instead to expose that which constrains us and confront the beguiling violence that threatens our survival. I don't think the tears I've shed over that assault will fit in that glass. I've just had my back against the wall of annihilation, there won't be much reconciliation from me about my propriety and I like my attitude just fine.


For this I've been rebuked that "I must be careful how I project my optimism, there are some who take exception if they don't think you are doing it right". I've become suspicious of those who suborn compromise and extol approbation in a glass, like some all-purpose elixir that never works, but we keep buying it. Well thanks for the prayers, but I don't have much patience for those who proselytize "That which doesn't kill you, makes you stronger..." Nietzsche is dead and gone. I don't feel stronger, it's not purifying, it's not enabling. Where's the meaning! It doesn't make me a better human being! Just somehow marginalized and invalidated.


The problem with metaphors; they don't come with directions. So they're misused all the time.




"We shall not cease from exploring, at the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started I know the place for the first time."

T.S. Elliot


I almost titled this "vicissitudes", because it describes the manic frequency of my disposition from high to low. I tried to interpret my depression; it was the first time I had experienced it. Each part of the trilogy will be published over several days and will end with an epilogue I thought was appopriate. T.

Make-over by Chemo

"What men mistake for beauty in themselves is usually nothing save a certain hollow gaudiness, a revolting flashiness, the superficial spendor of a prancing animal;...considered in the light of genuine esthetic values, is no more than a study in vulgarity..." H.L. Mencken.




I've grown tired of hearing how good I look. Surprising as that sounds, cancer has distracted me somewhat,it's hard to appreciate the sentiment. And compared to how I looked a mere 10 months ago, it's hard to believe there's no artifice there either. But, more importantly, who doesn't want to hear that? I know I should, especially now that I have this $300,000.00 make-over; the haircut really defines the look, don't you think? It must be generating some buzz, I see people looking at me funny all the time. I thought I saw more concern than envy though.

"Hello,... You look so good", a typical response to introduction really, innocuous even, often said offhandedly! Pretty rare for me to have heard that kind of thing in the past, even from my wife; with coaxing! What gives? Shouldn't I be a little suspicious, wouldn't you? Is it so surprising, how I look? I think we should prepare ourselves for this look for the foreseeable future. Our delinquency is apparent, the trend is accelerating; "cancer, that disease that is not a disease, that wave of undifferentiated function, the orgy of the lost cells." I wouldn't worry about how I look, we're all in peril!

Hey,I'm looking for any validation, even where none is to be had, but superficiality doesn't address my immune system. It needs more help than my vanity. Let's talk about that. I realize it can be vexing, cancer is scary , sometimes scarier looking! But, you won't appease it with compliments, nor me.

Do I look so different? I worry about that you know. A little emaciated maybe, cadaverous to be sure; the chemo was brutal on the metabolism. I've lost 25 lbs, it may look like a lot, but it feels so good, and now I can use words like svelte and lithe to describe myself. The diet doesn't work for everyone though, it can be deadly! Is it what you expected? Expectations can be awkward you know, you really should have an exit strategy in advance to avoid that. Or, you can try cancer awareness; I wasn't prepared either.

I don't know what the etiquette is, genuine would suffice, I should think. There are books on every kind of protocol of diplomacy and decorum since Louis XIV, certainly we could design a pamphlet. It probably should include shaking hands and embracing too. Most of us who've been transplanted are immune suppressed. It's hard to stop someone gracefully, who gets the first step and already has the momentum to grope a cancer survivor. An homage to survival I think, or maybe an act of contrition. I need an exit strategy to avoid that.




Nevertheless, hearing a pleasant refrain from time to time, is after all, comforting and tantalizes my already vainglorious nature (something I really should keep an eye on; without a mirror) But, I must say, it's easy to forget how badly I feel when everyone is always complimenting me on how good I look. I'm afraid I'm getting used to the attention and given the state of my self esteem, I'm not sure it's not therapeutic.

Some days I have this ebullience about me, I'm not sure it's of any notice to anyone else. I look a little anemic perhaps, not quite a sallow glow, but perceptively radiant I think. I asked my wife if that was jaundice, she assured me; no. What does she know, she doesn't even tell me I look good anymore; everyone else does! I am also disappointed that my bald scalp doesn't shine like I've noticed on other men. Is that wax? A rub and shine would sure go a long way to improve my disposition some days.

I admit that I do concern myself with looking good, now more so than ever. My self-confidence is a little worse for wear recently. Affectation of my lost virulence dictates my wardrobe to some extent; my fashion is more subterfuge than necessity. There are only certain colors I'll wear, not everything goes with with my pallor; mostly yellows and greens, black for those days, and I'm experimenting with red; broadcasting my defiance feels empowering sometimes; but I still have to wear a hat. I placate my skin ardently, it needs a lot of rehabilitation; chemo devastated my skin--my face now belongs to Marla; my estetician, and SkinDeep Cosmoceuticals.

And finally, I mustn't forget the accoutrements; the requisite cancer paraphernalia: wristbands, water bottles and such, I'm not that thrilled with the t-shirts though (I'm working on my own) all of which I feel my duty and responsibility to advocate. A testimonial to all those who did not survive. Without whose sacrifice I may not have survived, almost certainly, just a few short years ago; when treatment was more experimental than it is now.





Alas, rapprochement I should think, is the better strategy after all. Reconciliation with a wink and a nod, or better still, some salute, acknowledging that as good as I might look and as bad as you might feel about the treachery of my circumstances, that nevertheless, my survival is a glimpse, that triumph is conceivably at hand. So I thank all those well intentioned, gentle hearts that with their kind words have advantaged my state of mind or perhaps, I should say, my inner beauty. Next time you see me, comment on that.




"I'm tired of all the nonsense about beauty being only skin deep. That's deep enough . What do you want, an adorable pancreas?" Jean Kerr

Survival of the Peregrine

"The deep, deep turbulence a man can have -- Compelled to see himself; a moving world, Impinging, hitting, charming -- at one time, The selfsame moment, by the selfsame mind. Complacency at least is fought by him. Who asks what flesh can do to formal thought -- And keeps asking, in the smoke and sun. We must see lusciousness in thought --The pale Madonna in the hot desire. The need is sterner now than ever; now our self respect demands, demands We place the viscera with logic, time."

anonymous




I have had the layers of my identity stripped away until left naked and exposed. I feel distorted and unrecognizable, helpless with the few choices imposed on me; or so I thought. I resolved myself to reconsider faith and whether it was reasonable to entrust my soul to its fatality. My own faith, as it were, was born out of rebellion and irreverent indifference. I disdained sanctimony and acquiesced to existentialism. Uncertainty? What's that? I believed in the invincibility of reason. Disregarding the suspect fallibility of certainty and its insidious influence, nevertheless, I could dispatch ambivalence, fear even, with a mere gesture. I'd scowl at its suggestion even now, if I could keep a straight face.

Well, my affliction is no longer audacity, is it? And if you reevaluate that alone, indeed, there is more at stake than just my physiology. What would be left of my soul? Has it become so twisted and schlerosed by a half century of objective and dispatch, conscripted in the regimen of conformity defined for me and accepted by my own dereliction or default? It doesn't matter really, it seems I abdicated those choices long ago, when I submitted my imagination for complacency!

Perhaps, for that, there is retribution in illness; a chance to confront my transgression and, to that end, avoid my own annihilation. A life endured without purpose only directive is surrender, no longer sustained by the creativity I revere so. I fear the insipidly pedestrian, the vapid conformity that is the contented rhythm en masse, as predictable as the tide; back and forth with hypnotic inevitability. Cancer hasn't done that to me! It appears I've been giving that away all by myself!

For all my peregrinations,as of late, if I can address that alone; my survival is assured, regardless what happens to my body. To that end I want to create a new imperative; to be well, to rejoice in immediacy, to feel joy in spite of my circumstances and even because of them.

I want to reconcile the fear and doubt we all experience and need to share. Conditions common to us all, that only varies in intensity for some of us, for others, too much to endure; alone. Collaborative voices with a language determined to tear away the mask of ambiguity and expose that it is only apprehension that we torture ourselves with. That in fact,our dignity, and yes, even our soul is intact and together we can revel in self-discovery.

My exclusivity is cancer, but discourse will reveal commonality amongst a vast collective struggling to find understanding and faith and acceptance and ultimately survival.

A Tall Ship and a Star

"Life on earth will always be Hell. The antidote is not a hereafter called Heaven, but a new life below. The new Heaven and Earth; born of the complete acceptance of Life."






Like everyone else, I cope with abstraction and uncertainty every day. It might have been unemployment if hadn't been cancer. And like you , I would vacillate between dread and opportunity with metronome indecisiveness. Everyday, I reinvent myself stronger and more determined, but with Sisyphean inevitability tumble backwards without the sense of purpose I had set out with. Yet, I begin anew, With increased vigor and a little more experience, I should hope, having learned that maybe , I just need different shoes.

Still, uncertainty will not relinquish its abstraction and shadowy guile. We struggle with it repeatedly, it defines our character and tests our faith. For some of us it is a plague of consciousness that is so debilitating we actually fear it more than the physical pain we anticipate. Stifled and unable to act, we succumb to it and wash it down with denial and self-delusion.

And yet again, in others it provides the possibility for a new beginning, as it has for me. New steps taken with trepidation and reticence at first, but overcome by the exuberance that discovery and adventure brings, we savor... " the sweet confection of possibility"; that I'm not sure I know where this is going, but I can't wait to get there!

Affirming that I will Survive! And although my will has been exceeding tested, as of late, I will persevere. There is purpose in that alone. Perhaps not so revelatory for some , but many of us are constricted with doubt. I have been. We are tethered, without the confidence or the imagination to wrestle the tentacles of ambivalence. It constrains us and with seemingly insurmountable challenges, we often submit our determination.

Conceit disguises our solitude. Stoic silence in the face of denial, render us unable or incapable of confessing that which is so common to all of us. We're all sinking to some extent. But fear not. We will resurface from this bottomless quicksand and I for one will be dragging my fear behind me, vanquished by reason and conquered by faith, reminding myself that my frailties won't be my downfall nor my illness or even my own mortality.

We live to die after all. We were assigned its inevitability at birth. The ultimate test is that we won't fear Life! Learning to embrace it with each breath. Discovering the potential of each moment, defiantly shouting to the heavens; I'm not afraid to die! I'm afraid of complacency; as should we all.

My son, Zack, lives in China. I talk to him every few days and I think about him all the time. I revel in his potential and I'm full of pride and conceit that I had something to do with that. His character has grown perceptively with the ambivalence and bewilderment he has known, annealed by experience. Undaunted, nevertheless, by the discoveries that come with an adventurous spirit. Ah, his spirit, I think his mother had something to do with that.

I marvel at the notion that it really wasn't so long ago that I too was imbued with wanderlust and exploit, unrestrained; in pursuit of adventure without uncertainty or mortgage payments. I travelled the world and read books inspired with fantasy and ardent purpose. Kierkegaard whispering in my head and Oscar Peterson improvising its urgency. I was invincible then, confident in who I would become and resolute to get there.

I reminisce those attributes and reflect at this moment on what I've been through, strangely steadfast with the same anticipation that I've known, undeterred now by the genesis of my own metamorphosis. A new adventure, an evolution of fate not yet imagined and under any other circumstances, ever considered.

Yes, I have trepidation and reticence still and now mortgage payments. But along the way I've acquired a few more attributes; Wisdom and experience and most importantly Jenel. And so, with Jenel at my side and the many muses in my head, with Oscar still syncopating my step, the world is once again at my feet, with the invincibility of conviction, I will begin anew and,

..."all I ask is tall ship and a star to steer her by."





"Sea Fever", poem by John Masefield

On the knees of your soul

This started out as a simple postulation of the extraordinary work TNT does. Acknowledgment of the impact it has had on me and the gratitude I have for their efforts. This , of course, precipitated an examination of choice. Diagnosis has compelled me to reevaluate my predisposition on that. Considering, ironically, that when seemingly given no choice, you have a lot of choices to make

By default, I would have been reluctant to participate in much of anything, if it didn't benefit me in some way. Of course, it's a choice to do so otherwise. A choice not often contemplated, if considered at all, really. Illness has tempered my narcissism rather abruptly though with diagnosis of cancer: AML. Conceit has been replaced with humility and chemotherapy has refocused clarity from narrow-mindedness and obfuscation. Still, transformation does not come without equivocation and doubt. After all, I didn't ask for this, and "what did I do to deserve... " I can lament ad nauseum about that , to my disadvantage, I think.

Yet I'm learning to embrace the fact that I have many choices; uniquely mine, refined by uncertainty and certain to be difficult. Nevertheless, they are the choices I must confront to secure my salvation.

Some choices alternatively require responsibility and sacrifice; seemingly left without a choice; "do I really have a choice?" It resonates more like an excuse really, maligned by default; demonstrating little imagination or introspection.

I concede that some choices are predicated on individual coping capabilities; practical and automatic, effectively postponing alternative choices or deferring them completely to someone else who always makes those decisions. Under the circumstances, for many, it's easy to do. I won't presume to know the stoic nature of some and the deference of others.

And, of course, there are many of whom are imbued with a faith that wouldn't presume to question their circumstance, rapt with the conviction that; "Thy will be done". Alternatively, isn't "Faith in a holy cause to a considerable extent a substitute for the lost faith in ourselves". I embrace the revelation of faith in myself, reintroduced to me by conscription , in the spirit of immediacy and purpose in that which is attainable, in spite of the overwhelming circumstances I find myself. Hopefulness should not be a strategy employed by submission, rather, shouting in defiance; I will not lay prostrate to anguish and despair! My dignity is not so easily discarded. Ugh! or is it so tenuous? Mine has certainly been tested, but not relinquished, as of yet.

Although distorted and unrecognizable, my identity is still intact, after all. I still feel it. I know it's there. The confusion of apprehension I might have had, disappears with the contented exhale of resolve and Saul Bellows is in my head to remind me that "when your on the knees of your soul, might as well make yourself useful; scrub the floor!"* A constructive affirmation to apostasy for which we must calibrate a new barometer. Create another standard ;the evolution of cancer is absent any rules, only a myriad of choices.

In the last 9 months, I have exalted the demonstrations of sacrifice made to further a greater good, undaunted by the responsibility to accept that there are more important things to be done. Loftier endeavors to be aspired to. Not persued blindly, rather , arrived at by choice.

Those who are not compelled by the necessity of choice but choose anyway, in spite of adversity, to participate, if only to inspire those of us who waiver in the illusion of improvement. For just a moment requiring nothing more than encouragement or, perhaps comfort acknowledging that this is real. Reassurance that, I too can survive.

It confirms the selfless choices that so many make that reinforce faith. Faith in that which is far greater than all of us. Choices that consign us to an effort that is neither convenient or comfortable, but essential, in fact imperative.

With that understanding , my objective is clearer. That with definition of purpose and single-minded determination my choice is no longer equivocal. I have been on my knees until now. I have chosen to rise up and genuflect the restoration of faith, inspired by the enlightenment of universal truth and the strength of purposeful action: Train, Endure, Achieve, Matter.These are empowering words indeed; a mantra for their imperative.

Even in infirmary, I am deigned to extol your sacrifice and promulgate the advocacy of participation and contribution and, ultimately, awareness. A Promethean effort to be sure. An effort sanctioned by the gratitude of us all, for whom you persevere. In that effort, know that you will always inspire generosity and the charitable nature in all those you enjoin ....Go Team!

"...nor does your happy vagabond expect any monetary reward for his efforts. He doesn't know the meaning of effort. No one can be paid to give of his joy, it's always freely given."

Henry Miller, 1961

Participation and reciprocity

Recently I was encouraged to be the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's Team in Training honor teammate. A designated spokesperson to the team to hopefully provide some inspiration. It was an endeavor that was somewhat out of my comfort zone, but circumstances compelled me to participate in as much as I'm capable to reciprocate my appreciation for the support I've received. I was asked to speak at their commencement. I would like to share those thoughts with your indulgence.....








My experience has been at times abstract and strangely experimental in its execution. A relatively new science administered and paid for in human life, money, and support. Not so long ago, statistically, I would not have survived bone marrow transplant treatment. It has been through the efforts of so many, like yourselves, that endeavor to sacrifice and raise money and just as importantly awareness, the impact of which, has been incalculable to me and so many others like me. Among the many revelations of my experience is reciprocity and participation. I'm grateful and indebted for the overwhelming support I've received from so many, including many people in this room, who have so many times refilled my glass when I started to see it less than half full....


Upon reflection of my comments, I don't feel I conveyed my conviction; to bring awareness and provide support wherever I can in reciprocation for the care and uncompromising effort given me by my family and friends, but just as importantly all the health care professionals whose dedication and compassion never considered anything less than success. Eight months later I celebrate remission and rejoice in the increasing success of my bone marrow transplant. It will be some time before I can claim victory, or some acceptable version of that, perhaps next year or the year after that. I can say with certainty that for now detente has been achieved.


Tomorrow, opportunity is mine and I have endeavored to embrace what is availed to me each day. Inspiring words indeed, but a concept more easily said than done. Intrinsically, illness hasn't changed me that much, chemo has disrupted how my mind and body operates to some extent, to be sure. But, I haven't metamorphosed into someone or something else, at least for now. The revelations of recent months have given me some perspective that has caused me to reexamine the choices I have made. Many of which were predisposed by cynicism, obstinacy, or expediency.


That evaluation had caused me some consternation when back in March I serendipitously discovered this small tome in the book store. A little gem* that has since had some impact on me. Without too much preamble, the author describes the concept of choice, and how so many of us have relinquished the freedom of choice through default. ...."being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience... ones' default is the belief that I'm the center of the world and that my immediate needs and feelings are what should determine the worlds priorities".


In default one gives up freedom, imprisoned in individual compartments of thought and ideology, rather than the pursuit of what is truly important...." that which involves attention and awareness and discipline and effort and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad ways every day". For those of you who sacrifice and participate for that which is truly important in myriad ways everyday I hope will be reciprocated with attention deigned with generosity and charitable hearts.





Thank you T.


*"THIS IS WATER" by David Foster Wallace.

To a friend

This is a requiem to inspiration; from whom and where we find it is of little consequence; that it exists; is divine.





Yesterday, a friend of mine passed away. We weren't close and I really didn't know that much about her. In fact, we had never met, but I felt an unusual connection to her. She was also suffering from cancer. What kind? I don't really know. The more I learned of her resilience and stoic dignity, her intractable perseverance ( for almost 5 years I was told), the more intense my admiration for her became.

Her inspiration to me was imperceptible at first, as I struggled with my own cancer. I had not yet experienced the revelations that prospective brings. It has taken time, time that continues to unravel to reveal that the spectre of uncertainty isn't so unrelenting, if only for a little while; my friend reassured me of this.

Throughout the last eight months I have met many cancer patients experiencing the success of remission. I have been inspired by their insights and rejoiced in their determination and good fortune. I have also shared my treatment experience with many others in the hospital, while I was there. We rarely exchanged words, only knowing glances and a nod with the understanding, in that moment, that this wasn't going to be the same for both us. Would we see each other again? I feared not.


That fear is still an abstraction. It won't seem to release its steely grip. My friend could always give me solace. On occasion I would hear of my friend, doing well, seemingly not constricted with fear and I imagined to myself, with an elegance that we all aspire to, that I aspired to.

With gallant dignity, I had heard, she confronted each day undaunted by her irreconcilable future; content with the comfort that pride in her children brings. I am blessed to know this pride, it comforts me everyday.

I've known my friend's son for a fairly long time, and as I learned of his mothers' condition I couldn't help thinking of chivalry and other anachronisms. Endeavors that inspire imagination of such an overwhelming order, to the extent upon which we are seldom tested. Quixotic and extraordinary, reminiscent of ones' steadfast commitment to someone else in the most desperate need, stalwart and undeterred by impossibility. Qualities rare indeed these days.


Alas, I think of my lovely wife, a handful of friends, and my own family; perhaps not so rare after all, and I'm thankful for that. Today I'm most thankful for my friend, who I only knew as Jim's mom. She meant so much to me when I didn't think I could survive, or felt frightened and uncertain. She provided me illumination and faith, her light is divine.





Thank you Jim's mom... T.