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Posts Tagged ‘alternative medicine’

Making Sense of Medicinal Yoga

In Health Justice, Multiple Sclerosis, Philosophical Musings on June 11, 2013 at 10:12 PM

For the longest time, I’ve been a fitness enthusiast. It started when I was a teenager trying to overcome severe depression, when hitting the gym to boost my confidence and self-esteem.

Since aesthetics didn’t factor in until later, I simply enjoyed the way working out made me feel in my own skin.

The law of impermanence would ensure that wouldn’t last. It just didn’t occur to me that it could happen so quickly.

One summer afternoon, sometime after my sophomore year in college, I was in the gym as usual and sweating profusely after a few sets of an abs workout. Suddenly I noticed stars flashing in my left eye. I didn’t think much of it at first. I assumed it was an after-image from the bright sun that day.

When the after-image persisted and intensified over the course of the following days and weeks, I became concerned and consulted an ophthalmologist in Brooklyn.

Before long I was being shuffled between facilities and doctors, had blood and fluids drawn, had my head thrown into an MRI machine. Within two months, the life-altering diagnosis: MS, or multiple sclerosis.

Fast forward five years. I’m as dreadfully skinny as I was before hitting the gym. The Universe has tested my resilience by putting me through a number of flare-ups, including a heinous one just this past month.

In this one, the lethargy and weakness were beyond what most of you temporarily healthy folks could imagine. A walk to the pharmacy felt like a hike up a canyon. Bedridden and constantly sick, I knew something had to seriously change.

After getting treated for my relapse, I made a decision to analyze my habits (again) and see if there was something else I could do that I haven’t already done.

I’ve done yoga during sporadic periods of my life, never consistently, but always understood it was a “healthy” thing to do. I pursued this course of thought.

Now a few weeks in of assiduous practice, with as many as two to three sessions a day, I can optimistically report a number of improvements that confirm the widely reported health benefits of yoga I had previously only read about.

First, I’ve been able to attain levels of flexibility unthinkable when I was an amateur bodybuilder. More importantly, I’ve seen an upsurge in energy, stamina, and libido, and find myself feeling more at ease with (and even enjoying) my newfound unemployment. A

nd once again I am writing and returning to long ignored interests. Like millions of practitioners worldwide, I’ve become completely enamored with the millennia-old tradition of yoga.

Not one to be complacent with yoga-as-exercise, I decided recently that I wanted to investigate this ever-alluring science as thoroughly as possible.

After all, why should I not invest some months learning about yoga when it can potentially revamp my quality of life for decades? With a chronic condition that is poorly understood and over which I feel little control, doing yoga gives me a desperately desired feeling of control.

But my awarenss of the health benefits of yoga were rudimentary. Although I knew of research studies pointing to health benefits, the abstracts I read were unhelpful in explaining the actual substance of yoga.

When I set out to investigate the literature on yoga more thoroughly, however, I was impressed by its nuanced complexity and sociopolitical history—aspects of yoga that are rarely, if ever, explored in the context of general courses. Per usual, I was left with more questions than answers.

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The Sanskrit symbol “Om,” inscribed within a mandala.

One of the things that has impressed me the most vis-à-vis yoga is the vast proliferation of schools, styles, and practices that fall under its name. For something as new to the West as yoga (having first been introduced to europe and the united states in the 1890s), it is fascinating that one can now find a yoga class, or even a yoga studio, in virtually every major amerikkan city.

The many schools of yoga include such disparate styles as Power Yoga, Bikram Yoga, Astanga Yoga, Kundalini Yoga, even Naked Yoga and Laughing Yoga. Moreover, according to the New York Times, the number of U.S. practitioners rose from 4 million in 2001 to a whopping 20 million in 2011 (add link). Having experienced first-hand the variations in yoga, from the highly exercise-oriented Astanga to the breath-centric spirituality of Kundalini, I was fascinated by what seemed to be an ever-growing trend that churned out classes faster than you can finish chanting ‘Om.’

Quite naturally, my skepticism led me to wonder whether a rigorous traditional and spiritual discipline, said to be thousands of years old, was going the wayside of other traditional, non-white customs co-opted and bastardized by a dominant consumerist culture.

To be clear, I can emphatically say that I’m not against modernizations or alterations of tradition, especially when such changes are necessary or beneficial.

Yet, when something becomes a trend in our media-saturated profit-driven society, with corporatized yoga being retailed in niche markets that engender highly lucrative careers for certain charismatic self-professed gurus, I have considerable reason to be skeptical. But this self-righteous skepticism is mixed uncomfortably with an insatiable curiosity to plunge the depths of a science with purported healing capabilities. And why wouldn’t I?

Living with MS, I am lured by the idea that I can foster the healing power of my body and mind to keep disabling flare-ups at bay. So this brings me to the central questions I sought to answer: What exactly is yoga, and how do its supposed medicinal properties work? Is there a deep, uncovered wisdom in this practice from ‘the ancients,’ or are we being hoodwinkeden by a marketing ploy that exploits our exoticized fantasies?

Being relatively new to the study of Yoga as a bona fide discipline, I make no claims to being an authority in this field. Nevertheless, from what I’ve been able to cull from the literature, here are some basics:

  • The word ‘yoga’ is used to refer to a number of distinct disciplinary practices that have their roots in ancient India, and that are encompassed within Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism. Many scholars postulate an origin in Dravidian civilizations as far back as the 7th millennium BCE.
  • The very term ‘yoga’ is popularly interpreted from the Sanskrit as meaning “union” or “a bringing together”—an allusion to the Hindu belief in an ever-present connection between individual self (jivatman) and Absolute, or cosmic, self (paramatman).
  • Yoga has many definitions. For instance, Timothy McCall, a doctor and writer of the book Yoga as Medicine, defines yoga as “a systematic technology to improve the body, understand the mind, and free the spirit” as well as a “series of practices that allow you to steadily gain discipline, strength, and self-control while cultivating relaxation, awareness, and equanimity.” Jean and Doriel Hall, writers of Astanga Yoga & Meditation, refer to it as “an inner journey to the true centre of the soul,” while Yogi Bhole Prabhu defines it as “an experiential science of self-study.”
  • The term ‘yoga’ appears frequently in the Bhagavid Gita, one of the oldest scriptural texts in Hinduism. In it, the deity Lord Krishna tells Prince Arjuna to “[p]erform your duty equiposed…abandoning all attachment to success or failure. Such equanimity is called yoga” (2.48). According to A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, this aphorism can be interpreted to signify yoga as a “means to concentrate the mind upon the Supreme by controlling the ever-disturbing senses.”
  • The first writings to formally systematize the practices of yoga were the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali (C. 100BC – AD100), which defined it as a state wherein “there is stilling of the movement of thought.” It is the foundational text of what is now called raja yoga.
  • The first known written introduction of asanas [bodily postures] come from the Hatha Yoga Pradipika, written in the 15th century.  It is believed that hatha yoga became the dominant yogic practice in India after the turn of the first millennium, and it is the basis of what we commonly refer to as ‘yoga.’
  • Much of what the mainstream calls ‘yoga’ (i.e. a set of postural movements) actually refers to a specific type of yoga, hatha yoga, and specifically within that, the asanas. Yoga has traditionally included meditation, breath work, and various practices aimed at taming the mind with the goal of self-realization. In classical texts, yoga simply refers to communion with the Absolute; consequently, there are forms of yoga that do not involve asanas, such as bhakti-yoga (yoga of devotional service) or karma-yoga (yoga of action).
  • While many of us have been taught that the asanas come from ancient knowledge passed on through the ages, research into the literature suggests that the vast number of the postures used today were invented in the 20th century, if not more recently, by a relatively small number of gurus (to see one treatment of this issue, read yoga expert Alanna Kaivalya’s article in the Huffington Post. In fact, much of what is taught in the different modern yoga schools can be traced to Tirumalai Krishnamacharya, a yogi said to have learned the ‘original’ asanas from an unpreserved (and unverified) text. The only known asanas preserved in the writing of classical texts still with us today are the mere fifteen shown in the Hatha Yoga Pradipika.
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Warrior I pose

Researching the historical and philosophical underpinnings of yoga gave me added reason to doubt certain claims (such as that it never hurts and always heals 123) while feeling validated in my belief of others.

For one, I think it is necessary to acknowledge the modernization, commercialization, and yes, the colonization of yoga. The possibility that most of the known asanas were created after introduction of yoga to the West, as well as the known reality that certain yoga schools (such as Power Yoga and Phoenix Rising Yoga) were founded by Western yogis, makes it evident that yoga, in the broadest terms, is not simply an ‘ancient’ discipline.

The most obvious changes, such as the invention of new asanas like “airplane pose” and the popularity of music-thumping yoga classes in sports clubs, make it clear that many amerikkans are not averse to the blatant evisceration of spirituality and philosophical inquiry from classical Yoga. Personally, I can respect some of the asana-focused courses of corporatized yoga—given, of course, that it is advertised as the exercise-centric activity that it is. So let’s at least make the terms clear.

As far as medicinal yoga is concerned, such clarification is needed if we are to genuinely understand its healing properties. After all, how best to disaggregate research data or understand the ideological substrate of yogic practice than to know what, in actuality, we’re doing?

Putting Yoga Inc. aside, there are actually many reasons to take yoga seriously as both an ancient spiritual science and as a form of body-mind discipline. For one thing, yoga works. I’ve experienced firsthand its potential to heal, and this is in addition to the reports many of us have likely read or heard regarding its health benefits (McCall, 2007):

  • increased flexibility;
  • stronger muscles;
  • improved immune function;
  • increased oxygenation of tissues;
  • relaxation of the nervous system;
  • an activated prefrontal cortex;
  • lowered stress hormones, blood sugar, and blood pressure;
  • pain relief;
  • improved psychological health;
  • an elicited placebo effect and many others.

Recently, it was uncovered that yoga has a beneficial impact on the genetic expression of immune cells. This latter finding is worth emphasizing, for the fact that yoga can tap into the molecules that formulate the fabric of our very being is a very powerful realization, indeed.

One of the factors said to contribute to yoga’s success, even as evidenced in the realm of empirical evidence-based studies, is its ability to unify body and mind (and for believers, the cosmic soul) through the breath.

Whereas Western science has only recently uncovered the role of mental force on bodily responses through such disciplines as psychoneuroimmunology (PNI) and positive psychology, this connection has long been axiomatic to yogic philosophy. In fact, the vinyasa flow of the physical postures is believed to help relax the nervous system enough to facilitate meditation, known for easing excitatory responses and producing mental clarity.

Because the ultimate goal of classical yoga was to produce serenity through a quieting of thoughts, the goal of which was self-realization and commune with Brahman, our cosmic self, breath work and meditation were always integral to yoga practice. In this day and age, when stress contributes to a disproportionate number of medical conditions, yoga can help us modify our bodily reactions to environmental stressors through a deactivation of the sympathetic nervous system and a “rewiring” of neural networks.

At the macro-level of medical philosophy, yoga also provides a much-needed holistic approach to the body. Incorporating a corporeal ontology that links mind, spirit, and energy, yoga’s relation to medicine is arguably distinct from the dominant allopathic model that treats the body as a compartmentalizable machine. Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras do not mention asanas, but rather, such concepts as pranayama,  yamas (abstentions such as non-violence or non-stealing), dharana (concentration), and dhyana (meditation), all of which are necessary for the ultimate goal of self-realization.

Although they lacked the imaging technology to study the endocrine system, yogic scholars were nevertheless able to identify what they called chakras, centers of energy aligned with specific plexuses (nerve clusters) and endocrine structures in the body. Their studies also highlighted the importance of the breath in facilitating changes in energy throughout the body.

This alternative to the dominant Western medical model, which has been with us in its modern form only since the 19th century, may become increasingly necessary as the years advance. In my own experience, yoga as an all-body, whole self discipline has provided me with benefits that the dominant medical model would have achieved only through excessive risk and costs: pain relief, nervous relaxation, aerobic conditioning, energy improvement, improved libido. By way of contrast, my own experience with doctors makes evident the alienating dynamics of capitalist medicine. Having seen various doctors for my neuropathic pain, the atomizing tendencies of the established medical field became apparent when the different neurologists I’ve sought for help all provided distinct explanations of my condition with corresponding, distinct remedies and treatments. The fact that four different doctors with the same specialty (neurology), three of whom share the same sub-specialty (pain management), could offer such disparate treatments is telling.

While Yoga is no panacea, it might be the perspective we need in the face of austerity medicine, environmental degradation, factory farming and other forms of systemic violence that threaten the viability of our species.

While acknowledging the breakthrough achievements of allopathic medicine, we should also be cognizant of the deteriorating effects of the neoliberal impetus to turn everything—including land, clean air, and water—into commodities. And I anticipate a rise in more young people, like myself, finding themselves with unexplainable autoimmune conditions. In this age of empire, we might just need yoga if we are to survive.

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Desperate Times, Desperate Treatments

In Chronic Pain, Class Politics, Crip Politics / Disability Politics, Health Justice, Identity Politics, Multiple Sclerosis, Neuroscience on November 18, 2012 at 11:30 PM
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Pills, pills, and more pills…

A web of issues has kept me from writing in the past few weeks, and the entire experience has had me think deeply about how seemingly intractable concerns self-perpetuate.

I’ve been dealing with chronic fatigue and pain for quite some time now, but a vicious circle has solidified that makes my health issues seem substantially worse: irregular hours at work, a lack of family support or community, an overall lack of inspiration…

I’ve also been dealing with intractable, difficult-to-treat neuropathic pain that results from damaged nerve cells.

Typically, pain is associated with signals sent along specialized nerve fibers—nociceptors—whenever you experience something like a stubbed toe. In the case of neuropathic pain, however, it can be the very nerve fibers that communicate pain to our central nervous system that are themselves damaged. The pain signaling process that typically alerts us to harmful stimuli is suddenly miscommunicating, with nociceptors firing in the presence of usually non-painful stimuli (allodynia) or firing spontaneously or at higher intensity (hyperalgesia).

In my case, the damage wrought by successive MS-related relapses last fall created multiple lesions in my brain and spinal cord, with many localized in the midbrain (the part of the brain that controls autonomic nervous activity, such as breathing, temperature regulation, and motor coordination).

My last MRI indicated at least twenty different lesions—area of the brain where demyelination led to disruption in nerve signaling, possibly even the destruction of entire neurons.

My symptoms include abnormal sensations (dysesthesias), like throbbing or “electric shocks” in my hands or lower back. However, the issue that’s been disrupting my life the most has been the never-ending throbbing at the back of my head—precisely in the midbrain region, where the cervical spinal cord meets with the brain.

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The pons and the corpus collosum were among two areas where lesions were spotted in my most recent MRIs

That my case is emblematic of the strange symptoms MS can cause is clear: this is nothing like a migraine or typical pain that I’ve experienced before in my life.

In my case, it isn’t exactly an “acute” pain sensation either—it’s more like a dull, but heavy, throbbing that refuses to go away. Over-the-counters (like Advil, Motrin, and Aleve) have no effect.

Typically, the treatment regimen for neuropathic pain includes anti-seizure medications (like gabapentin and pregabalin) or tricyclic antidepressants (like amitriptyline and nortriptyline)—both of which I’ve already tried. The downside with these medications is that they exacerbate a symptom I was already having before the demyelination period I had last year—chronic fatigue.

Having learned more about the pharmaceutical industry, the history of the medical establishment in the United States, and the medical-industrial complex (MIC) overall, I find the idea of depending on many pharmaceuticals for my daily living to be revolting.

Yet anyone suggesting that you can find non-pharmaceutical outlets for curing even the worst conditions (some even make this claim for terminal cancer) likely hasn’t experienced it for herself.

I was gravitated towards yoga and meditation shortly after my symptoms appeared—and yes, these practices are tremendously helpful in alleviating and managing the stress that my health condition causes. I would recommend them to anyone, and had I practiced these before my condition worsened, I likely wouldn’t be here writing about how I’m managing my neuropathic pain.

But I still find myself needing Western medicine and its drugs to get by—and trust me when I say I’ve tried getting by without it.

Among the experiments: I’ve tried changes in my diet (becoming a pescatarian, then a vegetarian, then a pescatarian who avoids dairy products), played with various herbs and exercise routines, tried acupuncture and homeopathy, and yet…

There, the throbbing remains like a stubborn, unwanted guest in your bedroom. This is the world of neuropathic pain: even the best treatments only have a chance of efficacy.

I remember coming across one study that suggested that even our best pharmaceuticals have around a 30% success rate for even partial relief, and there’s even less evidence for ‘alternative’ treatments like acupuncture and meditation (though this, of course, is due to the MIC’s disinterest in free or low-cost, but potentially effective, treatments).

Like many people who are desperate about pain relief, I feel like I’ve tried it all…

Yet, there’s always something new out there you can try, some new treatment, or combination of drugs, or a new doctor or paradigm that might resolve it all. There’s always the possibility that if you give this treatment just a little more time it might actually work. The mottos seem to be: try this, try it with this other thing, try giving it more time, try, try, try…

People with chronic pain can be especially susceptible to snake oil salesmen precisely because we’ve already been let down by our other health care providers. Like others, my path down this road of chronic pain has been filled with moments of despair, desperation, loneliness, and incredible confusion.

My latest attempts are exemplary of the sort of things that people with confusing and difficult-to-treat ailments do. In addition to the Lyrica (pregabalin) and Klonopin I take every night (which only blunts the pain enough to let me sleep), I’ve been having as many as two acupuncture treatments a week and taking what must seem like an alchemist’s prescription: Valerian, Lion’s Mane Mushroom, Milk Thistle, and other herbs alongside Vitamin D and Omega 3 supplements (all taken inconsistently and depending on the day).

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My new portable TENS machine

Recently, I bought myself a transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation (TENS) machine, which works (more or less) by sticking electrodes near the site of pain and transmitting electrical currents.

It’s inconclusive science, but the idea is based on what is popularly recognized in neuroscience as the gate control theory of pain (by Melzack & Wall, 1965). Roughly put, the electrical currents from the TENS machine send signals to sensory neurons that then inhibit the activity of pain-signaling nociceptors. I’ve only tried it a few times thus far, but I’ve yet to notice anything substantial.

However, I’ve noticed that my particular, subtler pain doesn’t display immediate relief to anything, even the pharmaceuticals—so I’m left wondering if it’s just a matter of time.

What was possibly my most desperate attempt to find relief happened last weekend, when I made a long trip into central New Jersey to meet with an energy healer. (To be fair, although it’s clear that his machine is meant to deal with energy healing, he never promoted himself as such.)

I’ve kept my heart and mind open to various possibilities (having gone beyond my neuroscientific training in college to reading about homeopathy, Traditional Chinese Medicine, and Ayurvedic medicine), but this was by far the most extreme in challenging the Western allopathic model.

I learned about the healer through my acupuncturist, who claimed to have gotten good results from working with him; I decided that, given how stubborn my head-throbbing was (even to consistent acupuncture), it was at least worth a shot.

When I went to see the energy healer I was caught a bit off-guard by how small the ‘body scan’ machine was. Perhaps I was expecting something straight out of a science-fiction movie, but the machine seemed too compact to be able to reveal issues in my energy channels.

However, as he explained to me over the course of the few hours we had together, the body scan was created by scientists in Germany who worked off the science of meridian points and energy channels (the basis of acupuncture) to create a device that works the way a lie detector machine does—using galvanic skin responses.

This portable ‘body scan’ had electrical detectors that were strapped around my index fingers, my forehead, and my left calf—which, the healer explained, would measure my body up against thousands of different potential toxins to find the source of any energy imbalances.

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Image of the Spectravision Body Scanner the ‘energy healer’ used. I wonder how much one of these is worth.

We spent a good deal of time talking about numerology and astrology (for which I admit much ignorance) before the machine finished its scan. What showed up on the electronic screen was a list of toxins and issues correlated with the most imbalance—and much of it surprised me. Inexplicably, ‘gamma rays’ came at the top of the list. Right below it was ‘Headaches’ and some slots below that was “Alkaline Phosphatase” (an enzyme particularly concentrated in the liver).

The healer then asked me to hold onto a copper cylinder while he asked me a couple of questions (or gave me a number of prompts) that would measure my body’s sensitivity to the correlating issue. For instance, he would ask me what my name was, and the machine would be able to detect whether or not the response I gave was true. He then asked me a number of times to think about my health concerns and anxieties, and we found that the biggest ‘triggers’ were ‘anxiety’ and ‘worrying.’ Not much of a surprise there.

But the body scan also listed ‘cervicogenic pain’ at the top of another list relating to bodily issues, and listed ‘passion’ at the top of a list relating to emotions. It just seemed to hit the nail on the head there as far as accuracy. Was this for real? Was I dreaming this? I still can’t say for sure what I think—or how I feel—but I went along with his prompts as we continued to “solve” the mystery behind my ailments. What was possibly the most surprising component of that session came when we tried to find the health condition that was troubling me.

The body scan rejected ‘multiple sclerosis’ as an accurate diagnosis. Instead, it gave me this lesser-known autoimmune disease, ‘primary biliary cirrhosis,’ as the veritable diagnosis. (I later read about it and learned it was a condition marked by destruction of the bile ducts within the liver. That a liver enzyme and a liver condition appeared twice in this machine’s scan gave me incredible pause.)

I remember going home that night utterly confused. From the healer’s perspective, what I needed to do (in accordance with my astrological signs) was follow my heart, follow my passions and my instincts, and learn to love myself. That was the prescription.

How the hell would I go back home, wanting to manage my chronic pain, with information I already knew?

Any number of books I’ve read would have given me the same advice. I know, for instance, that meditating frequently will help me deal with stress more effectively. But meditation is at least a practice I can manage. Following my heart and learning to love myself? That’s a little too amorphous for me to work with.

What boggles my mind the most is the fact that I still can’t refute the efficacy of anything I’ve tried.

Maybe, just maybe, the healer was right and the ‘cure’ is to ‘follow my heart’ (whatever that means). Maybe, just maybe, the solution is to quit my job and do as much yoga and meditation as possible. Maybe shocking my brain every day will help, and maybe taking more of the pregabalin in conjunction with the other treatments will work.

Needless to say, it’s hard to eliminate anything from the list of possible treatments, and I’m left managing my day to day in a nebulous world of ‘maybes.’

Is this the best I’m going to get? Is there yet another solution lurking in the corners I haven’t tried? Do I keep looking or work on acceptance—or both? Perhaps this is just the way it’s going to be—at least for now.

Noble Truths

In Chronic Pain, Health Justice, Multiple Sclerosis, Philosophical Musings on October 28, 2012 at 12:08 AM

“We may think that our exhaustion comes from our job or our family, but in many cases, it’s not the job or family itself — it’s our mind. What’s exhausting us is how we relate to our life conceptually and emotionally. We risk becoming so stuck in the realm of concepts that nothing we do feels fresh, inspired, or natural.”
– Dzogchen Ponlop, “Rebel Buddha”

Lately it has felt as if the Universe has been unkind to me. With a sick, unhealing body, stuck in a stressful and thankless job, all the while living in emotional vacuum of my parents’ far-away home, it feels as if my years of labor, anxiety, and emotional torment were lived through in vain. I can exhaust countless words trying to bemoan my hapless situation, in which I feel as I’m whirling about in a nightmarishly interminable unmerry-go-round. The same frighteningly dark, long, and lonely nights on the A train to Ozone Park; the same mournful gaze into my mother’s anxiety-ridden eyes and aging face as we discuss one problem or another; the constant re-positioning of myself at life’s various forks-in-the-road…

Yet, while the war may seem harder than ever at times, I’ve uncovered new facets of this ephemeral space we occupy on this Earth. The world can be harsh and merciless some days; on others, it is intriguing, maybe even exciting; and yet on others, boring and unamusing. At best, it is constant in being so inconstant–a seemingly pretentious euphemism, but a veritable dialectic if I ever encountered one. (I hope what follows will shed light on this)

The brutal facts: no one seems to know what to do with me. The constant, dull throbbing at the back of my head (which I can now say, with a certain modicum of certainty, is due to at least one lesion in my brainstem) seems to be impervious to resolute treatments. The traditional painkillers, the antidepressants, the antiepileptics, the vitamins, the herbs, the acupuncture, the yoga, the meditation, the aromatherapy, the avoidance of drugs and alcohol and dairy, and… sigh… the transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation…. I’ve traversed the country and back, spent countless dollars and seen various specialists, and there it still is. The ceaseless painless pain that has bound itself so inextricably that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a non-throbbing head.

It’s been nearly a year, and this headache has not stopped for a second. Sounds terrifying, doesn’t it?

Yet, as harrowing as it seems at particular moments, it seems like it was a much-needed gift from a tough-love mother. I’ve had to contend with bodily limits in a strange time in my life, with dietary restrictions compounded by an inability to overexert myself physically while the rest of the world sees an able-bodied young man. And what is difficult to explain is that the symptoms ebb and flow in what must make an incredibly erratic storm: some days I feel well-rested and free-flowing in my thoughts, able to run and teach and multi-task; others, I am sluggish and fried, my bones as heavy as lead. These inconstancies have made me re-appreciate the impermanence of it all.  From birth to death, the boundaries we draw (healthy/unhealthy; fast/slow; young/old) are at best our minds’ attempt to impose an order we can live by—but they are mental constructions that, while helpful at times, can be harmful if we take accept them too religiously. They can incarcerate us, circumscribing the limits of our experience and potential.

I say this because it resonates with my experience. I’ve kept feeling disappointed because a notion that I harbored around age (I am 24, and therefore I should be able to do _____, and not feeling _____) prevented me from accepting things as they were, as the Universe unraveled them to me. I kept feeling disappointed because I harbored a notion that good health was something that was indebted to me, that I’ve suffered enough already (as if that logic ever worked for anyone!). These are concepts that prevented me from seeing the world as it is, as opposed to what it ‘ought’ to be.

For me, the journey to understanding this came from exploring medical alternatives to what I finally accepted to be a long-term condition. When I came back from the West Coast and began exploring yoga, meditation, and acupuncture, I started to experience incremental improvements…but not necessarily in the limited notion of ‘fixing’ a broken piece of my body.  By concentrating heavily on the breath, and in my body’s simple movements, I experienced a newfound energy, a newfound curiosity for a world jaded by overstimulation and rigid concepts and desires.  Going back to the labor force has made the task of balancing stresses an immense challenge, but as with my political reawakening this past year, these past few weeks have opened up a spiritual horizon I had once completely shut off.

I continue to struggle with my health, circling through combinations of treatments and specialties while trying to carefully center myself—through the continuous hurdles of disappointments and hopes. But there is an invaluable insight I’ve gained through this entire experience that has made me come to an unexpected peace. I don’t claim to now live my life completely in perpetual awe and peace—I’m still a work-in-progress, but with a certain level of self-consciousness that also breeds an organic acceptance.

I’ve learned—in new, unpredictable ways—the importance of self-forgiveness and acceptance, of seeing the world through the gaze of something much smaller than ourselves. That breathing and walking and talking and laughing can be miraculous events if we allow them to be.

I can’t claim to have found that ever-evasive goal of enlightenment, inner peace, or love for humankind. In fact, any effort to force ‘peace’ and ‘loving-kindness’ is a contradiction in terms, and operates symmetrically opposite to the world of competition, greed, and power that is destroying so many of us at once. However, I’ve caught onto a new modality of thinking that deconstructs the notion of “world” and “I,” “you” and “me,” “pain” and “happiness.” For this knowledge, I am grateful. And for all this, I will continue to avidly explore those less-appreciated spaces at the interstices of mind, body, and spirit.

 

 

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