A beautiful woman stands on a street corner in our town, holding a sign, asking for the money to cover the cost of her next visit to Vancouver for chemotherapy. She has no money, and each time she needs a chemo treatment for her cancer, she has to drum up enough to cover her fourteen hour bus trip to the coast, plus her food and a place to stay.
When I met her on the street a few days ago, she was in conversation with a man. After he left, she said to me, “He’s my neighbour. He’s the best neighbour you could imagine-he cooks for me sometimes, when I cannot do it myself.”
I looked at her, and at the container she was holding in her hand, which was filling up with money. “How is it going Debbie?” I asked her. Debbie is her real name, which I am using because none of this is a secret.
She answered, without a trace of self-pity, “Oh the pain has been really bad for the last few days.”
I took in, as best I could, the reality of her pain. Then I dropped a five dollar bill in her basket, as I said, “I’ve been hoping to meet you. I’m glad I finally had this chance.”
“Who told you about me?” she asked, “Was it Fiona?”
“Yes,” I said, “Fiona told me.”
“Fiona is an angel,” she said. “I’m so lucky to know her.
“I feel just the same way about Fiona,” I told her. And I’d like to offer you a prayer right now, so that whatever you need keeps coming to you.”
We stood there on the street together for a moment, in silence.
“Oh, thank you, she said, “I want you to know that I am so blessed. I have so much support, it’s really amazing. I am so deeply blessed.”
I heard these words, on that street corner, pouring forth from this woman who has no money, and is in great pain and physical distress as she passes through a long series of chemo treatments. But they were not just words. She was not ‘talking about’ her experience of being blessed. She was transmitting it. She gave me an injection. She got right under my skin. I couldn’t stop chewing on what I had received from her– it became a living koan for me. How does Debbie feel so blessed, gifted with so much support, in her situation? How does she meet each day with so much love and gratitude, and so little bitterness and resistance? What is going on here, really?
I am living in the mystery of this question. I really don’t know the answer, only that there are Buddhas everywhere-at the gas pump, at the border, in the coffee shop, and in the chemo ward. Fiona Mooney, who told me about Debbie, is another one. She has just been through chemotherapy herself. During her journey she produced some amazing videos called ‘The Unexpected Gifts of Chemotherapy.’ Here is Chapter 2, ‘Living with Vulnerability’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZYpA6P0xeo
People like Fiona and Debbie are living in the world. They are not in a classroom, a monastery, or standing at a podium. They are on street corners and on YouTube. They are in our face, shouting at us from inside our own hearts. This Lifeletter is a warning. If you intend to keep on living your narrow and fear driven life, consumed with your own small problems, you will have to avoid these awake ones, these ordinary human beings saturated with gratitude and compassion. I am talking to myself here and anyone who wants to listen. These are wild times we are living in. Buddha has left the forest, Jesus is alive and well in this world. Be warned. You might even be living close to such a one.
One who loves you so much, they make it impossible for you to keep on hiding, inside your cocoon.
drawing us to the edge
of this new world that calls us to our knees
to give thanks for this fertile soil
seeded with dreams,
thirsty for our arrival.
Laura Weaver
with love,
Shayla
Stay Connected
beautiful reminder – thank-you for noticing and engaging with her story. thank-you for sharing your experience of her experience.
Thank you for this beautiful piece of writing, Shayla, and for the honour of being included in it. Your open heart, sense of exploration, and depth of connection is a precious gift to me, and others. With love, Fiona
I was in a car accident almost 18 months ago. To that date I had never really known pain. Prior to my accident I worked as a RN and met Fiona Mooney as one of my patients. Her presence lit up the room and she always made my day more meaningful and richer. She was an example to me of someone who could live a rich life while being in acute pain. My father was also an amazing man who lived with chronic pain, yet always had a smile on his face. I used to ask myself if I would be able to reflect such light, compassion and vibrancy while experiencing constant pain. Since my accident I am reminded every day that life is way more about who I am than what I do. I feel very limited and it appears as if, as my pain often increases, I am being asked by the Universe to slow down to hear, to know, and to really live. I embrace Debbie in her solitude and her agony, and at the same time I rejoice at the depth of life that she is experiencing in learning to be grateful for all that comes her way, for embracing her present state of health and for transmitting such hope and “aliveness” which can sometimes only emerge out of dis-ease! Aye that we were all as Debbie!
i agree with fiona, and with all that shayla has written…
Such a good wake up call, Shayla, to recognize the truth in each and every one of us.
Thanks for sharing these tales of courage and grace from two inspiring local women, Shayla.
Thank you again Shayla. I have been touched by this amazing woman and made an effort to assist her while she is in Vancouver. She is so beautiful, honest, real and gracefully raw. What a great reminder. xoxo
once again Shayla, thankyou for the very grounding message..I’ve read this one a few times, and everytime I cry, in gratitude, and hope.
Thank you for this inspiring post. It arrived just as Gillian and I were about to attend her first appointment at the BC Cancer Agency in Victoria, following up after surgery she had in March for a new and unexpected cancer. The stories of Debbie and Fiona warmed both of our hearts. Sharing stories and wisdom like this affirms for me that none of us is alone.