One thing that’s happening is I’m totally letting go of all my expectations of everything. It’s just crazy, because I thought it couldn’t be cancer, because it wasn’t in sync with my vibration, my timeframe, or my body’s way of creating illness (I tend towards autoimmune and chronic pain). But it is cancer. I thought, well, I won’t have to do chemo, that’s just insane, they can cut it out of my boob for sure, it won’t be a big deal—but I’m going through a massive chemo treatment.

I thought, I’ll have my agent by my sober anniversary, Madwoman on a Rainbow will flourish—all this stuff, visualization, magnetizing—it sort of evaporated.

It’s still there a bit, but ghostly. Like on some level, I know these things have merit—the vision, the invitation—but I also understand how insubstantial and nearly silly they are, like leaves fluttering around in the wind. How can you control them?

Everything really is mere appearance to the mind. None of it has any substantiality in fact. This is good news, now that I’m going into chemo.

The fear is in my mind. And I’m seeing that all of these great beautiful flowering visions were also just in my mind. The truth is I have no idea what the fuck will happen at all. I really gotta let go.

FEAR

Face Everything and Recover.

False Evidence Appearing Real.

Many things will appear as maras (scary illusions/apparitions) before fading away. I need to be aware of that. I can’t believe the appearances. I need to walk through them, prayerfully.

It reminds me a little of Covid. I walked straight into Covid in a way that not very many people did. I had no fear. I welcomed it like my friend. I felt totally lucky to get it right away. I hope it doesn’t sound like I’m exaggerating. I remember when I realized I had it. I was giggling and hugging myself. Because I honestly didn’t want to wait around for it.

I didn’t want to hide, I wanted to take the ride.

Me and covid got along pretty well, but it was quite tenacious; and at the end of its stay with me, I had to go through a last-gasp frightening and bitter apparition. I’m writing this down because something similar will probably happen with the chemo—some big scary “final dark night” maras. I’m gonna have to walk through them and trust the sun will rise again.

Even though it’ll be uncomfortable, here are some things I’m pretty sure I can count on:

I’ll keep writing, but I will have to work with some fear.

I’ll be able to keep biking, but I will have to work with some pain and exhaustion.

Meditation will be harder but I’ll be able to keep doing it.

One thing that I do know is: whatever happens is not gonna be what I expect. So I gotta stop visualizing specific outcomes. I gotta just go with the flow.

I gotta trust.

It’s hard, because of course I want to control it, but if there is anything this will teach me, it’s gonna be how to let go of control!

I was inspired me to look up my old credo, from the days when I was undergoing constant suffering:

Expect the unexpected.

Prepare for great difficulty.

Know that it will not be easy.

It’s gonna be a riptide of purifying energy, to blast all of my neurosis away. Whatever’s going on—all kinds of pain, nausea, symptoms—is going to be so crazy and different from my regular existence that I won’t be able to do anything but surrender.