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Between Life And Death?

How do I write about this place that I am in now, it feels like?

Dr Adams says I look weaker than a week ago. Finally the remedies from the homeopath arrive?

There are life reports of people’s cancer going into remission, even after the doctors have given up on the cancer patient.

Yet I am 75. Why should I hope?

• Setting the goal to marry Stefania as soon as possible Dr Adams liked because i showed positive life force chosen for by me.

However, when feeling so weak, and under medication, it sure is hard to be positive and purposeful. Yet, I try it, I do it using what energy I might have during the moment.

Being between life and death is a nether place.

I could just as well let go from this place and say, okay, Strephon, it is ending, your life is ending. Realism calls me to this place of course. I have spent so many good years as a realist, yet not always an effective realist.

In moving to Europe I have had to earn my living in foreign countries teaching the real dreamwork and also living as best I can.

I have rented for a year a beautiful wooden house in Norway with wood in the metal stove daily when needed, all in the mountains.

But I have also lived for a short time in a store front in Oslo next to the apartment of my woman friend who kicked me out of her apartment after letting me in. That was nadir life for sure!

The growth center where I had lived and been somebody, a resident dreamwork psychologist, went bankrupt. That’s why I had to move to Oslo fairly suddenly.

I put myself in foreign cultures and this made me dependent on local organizers to get enrolled the students who wanted in depth work with their dreams.

Yet I kept getting older and older with no home base in any country, including not any more in California.

I worked with people and wrote books. I had a good life this way. But years tumble by like that great waterfall I experienced in Norway, too cold and powerful to swim in, but so very real in showing that nature and time have dominance over their frail bodies we call our own.

Now, yes, a frail body is all I live in, and for how long?

Between life and death?

In the past I have at times relied on a Greater Power to intervene and help the process work in helping people with deep problems heal.

The healer loses his power. The power is out there, but who can expect a savior when death calls so insistently?

Is it foolhardy to give up, to just say, hey, Strephon, life is over for you, and yes, there is a certain amount of suffering involved in your dying process, and for those, like Stefania, close to you.

So, fight cancer, fight for life, refuse to give in?

This does not seem realistic.

Judging from last nights up and down with the pains involved, it seems that each day and night I have difficulties living comfortably, if not healthy.

See what tonight brings. How best to get through the night? The sleeping medication is stronger for tonight.

• Who can tell if I will ever have a restful night or day again?
• Who can tell if I will also have a productive and purposeful day again?

Seems I can still write coherently now. I am searching for the right consciousness, the right words to express the actual state, the actual condition.

In Grace and Grit, written about 20 years ago, Treya and Ken Wilbur spend a lot of time being angry and seeking cancer cures, which simply don’t come to them because there aren’t any.

They seek all these cures. She has money from her father, I guess. Five years of hell spent in invasive treatments and Buddhist practices, which must be in themselves non-pleasurable but demanding. If I become a saint will you heal me?

The message of Grace and Grit is that cancer has no healing, whatever age it hits you at, though some cancers can go into remission. Nothing has changed in 20 years, except there are a lot more people out there mad at the doctors and drug companies for not finding cancer cures and also debilitating them by the millions now with strong drugs that the drug companies get rich on.

So here I am, Strephon Williams, cancer patient, still alive but suffering and seeing a lot of doctors to ameliorate my suffering as they can. No one offers a cure. The homeopathist is a trained physician also but seems dedicated to homeopathy only.

• What about that Golden Ball Strephon?

Remember, the Intervention of the Other?

Is that still possible with you?

How am I to answer such a question?

True, times are hardest now. When the worst arrives the door has to be left open for a reversal to happen, as if really the cancer tumor can resolve, dissolve, but how?

Do we count on such miracles?

Why not me, Oh, Greater Source? Why not me?

What am I going for? What is possible? What is inevitable?

Questions?

Answers?

Not any more. Only experiencing. I am suffering a serious illness. I experience that directly. I know that much.

I had a friend once. She died of cancer. She was so sensual. I never understood why at age 39 she should die of gut cancer. She seemed so one with her body at the feeling-sensual level. She did not let me know she was dying. She had left her children in Norway and going to a healing center in Spain. When I asked about her death, they wrote back that she had used her last energy, not for healing, but to be angry and what was happening to her.

I had a friend once …

That’s about it … like cancer itself likes to defy rationality and not have answers for what it does … and not give us an ounce of understanding for why it does its devastating work on us …

I had a friend once …

Now I have cancer …

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