The New Scrawl

We were all asked to prepare a 3-minute talk about ourselves; our stories. It wasn't just the participants, but the guides as well. Kurtis Schultz, a brilliant 24-year-old engineer, told the story of his maturation through and in Christ. Kurtis grew up going to things like "Jesus rallies", which I took to be like pep rallies for Jesus that were focused on children. I laughed at him in my mind.

After going through some difficult times at the very end of high school exams, Kurtis decided to immediately leave on a trip around the world. He went to South America, Africa and Asia, I believe; I don't remember where exactly. And it was here that he saw "Jesus in action", as he puts it. He actually saw how Jesus and God move through the world in the lives of real people. You see, up until then, Jesus might as well have been Superman. A cartoon character. Getting together with a bunch of youths yelling "Yay, Jesus!" didn't seem to make much sense anymore. He saw Jesus comforting people in different ways all over the world.

Christians are supposed to emulate Christ, and Christ loved everyone, as opposed to the image that people see in the media all the time where Christians judge everyone instead. And here was THE moment for Kurtis: he became free to love. Free. To LOVE.

What that means is that Kurtis is no longer afraid to show love and compassion to anyone. He has the ability to meet you and be your true friend. There are no barriers to a meaningful connection coming from him. He has cast aside judgment and focuses on the person in front of him, whether they be in need, or just...there. The rest of us, myself in particular, worry about silly things such as image: looking cool, or projecting an air of superiority in some way. Being standoffish or needing to make an impression somehow. If Kurtis were in front of you, you would just feel accepted and taken care of. He would probably attribute that to Jesus Christ, but the fact remains that he had to make a personal journey as a young adult to be able to be that way. I think that he is a genuinely happy person. I say this with no exaggeration: Kurtis is probably one of the most Christ-like people I have ever met. I think he loved us from the start, and that means me.

If I were as free to love as Kurtis is, would I feel better about what is happening to me right now? Would better things be happening right now?

I have been thinking about that day a lot since July, but I have been putting off integrating it into my life, because in order to do so, I would have to give up or change a large part of my identity. Identity is a core part of Christianity, but not in he way that it is for the secular world. For seculars, it's about controlling your destiny and making sure that everything is in terms of YOUYOUYOU. For Christians, it's not at all about you. It's about something bigger than yourself. But in order to do this, you have to be able to express feelings.


Well, fast forward a few months. I started seeing a shrink around November. Last week she wanted to know more about how I felt about certain things, particularly the breakdown I had last month. (I have not written about that, yet.) And I told her what was happening, giving her as accurate a picture as I could. And she kept interrupting me to ask me how I felt. I would go off on these detailed tangents and she would have to bring me back again and again. In the end I barely understood what it was that she wanted from me. Julie had that problem with me as well.

Finally the shrink said something about retreating to the mind when the heart needs to express itself, which is why when shit goes bad, I don't deal with it as well as I could. And I responded with "I hate the truth of what you said." That's what I said to her. And if you go straight to the "heart" of the matter, I think I have contempt for the heart. I look down on it, because I see it as nothing but a fucking whining crybaby that can't get simple things done.

I can't stand the weakness. It's why I used to become nearly crazy whenever a person could not look me in the eye, because it felt (yeah, I know, the irony) that they were too weak to face me. They "felt" something that wasn't actually there. (Now I just avoid those people lest I stab them.) It's part of why I feel so strongly about those who are afraid of math, because it seems as though their fucking FEELINGS ALWAYS get in the goddamn way. (If the tax is 15%, it doesn't matter how the waitress felt that day, Krystal!) I want to think about things, because once the logic of something is exposed, you can more easily deal with it. (It's also fun!) Besides, I have good reason to avoid that stuff: those that live in their hearts seem more likely to be miserable than happy, and less likely to be mentally balanced. They seem more likely to suffer. What's more likely, though, is that they know that they are suffering but can't do anything about it, while people like me don't even know. Until now, I liked my team better.

Ironically, the only reason why I am acknowledging any of this formally is because I cannot deny her logic: I cannot continue this way without letting that stupid inner crybaby express itself through its flailing hands and wild antics.


Yesterday, I took the 165 up the hill to get to the hospital when I noticed a young, bald, black man a little younger than me. He was notable because he wasn't simply bald, but cancer bald. He looked like me in the fall of 2007. So I knew exactly where he was going: Montreal General Hospital, B7. Same as me. And sure enough, when it was time to register, he was right in front of me. And I didn't think of him again after that.

I saw the doctor and got my results. I was faced with a choice: take another dose of intense chemotherapy that is similar to one I already took and that the doctor has little faith in, or focus on quality of life issues. Or end of life issues if you want to look at it that way. I wouldn't blame you. I printed out on application to become a member of Montreal's Compassion Club which includes a form for your doctor and a form for membership. My doc said that he would indeed sign what he needed to sign and so I expect to receive a call from them some time this week. And when I left, walking down the hill, I felt every one of the 317 cancerous nodes* in my body, as well as the back pain, shoulder pain and fatigue.

Halfway down the hill, walking with my cane that I use when my stomach is sore or when I am simply too tired to walk straight, I sensed someone approaching from the back. I assumed they wanted to get by, and was about to make way for them, but the young man came up to me from the right-hand side and started talking to me. It was, of course, the young man from the bus I had seen earlier. And somehow, it didn't surprise me in the least that he should start talking to me right then.

He asked me about my cancer, and I about his. His affected his vocal cords. He was diagnosed about a year ago. He's been through super harsh chemotherapy (because he's young and can take it; we've heard that a million times) and has also had surgery. When he was talking to me, he sounded totally normal. He had had surgery to remove most of the mass, but apparently that's not what restored his voice, because he regained the full use of it three days before his surgery.

We'll call him Francoeur, because that is similar to his actual name. Francoeur is a Catholic, born and raised. He, like so many people, had strayed from the path of the church (or is that, "Church" when referring to the RCs?). In his words, he "wasn't the nicest person" before. which could mean a lot of things, I suppose. He believes that the key to healing is to get in touch with yourself, your feelings, and then to get in touch with your god. Francoeur thinks that God gives us these trials because there is something he wants us to know that is-you guessed it-bigger than ourselves. We need to forge a better relationship with something that is outside of ourselves, even though everything around us tells us to focus only on ourselves, because we are the most important thing in the universe. Even much of Christianity says this. (He even criticizes Catholicism for not doing enough to foster a personal relationship with god, but instead using intermediaries. This is a sentiment I have shared for decades.)

In short, he says that prayer reveals answers, but does not make bad things just go away. I have thought that every cancer has a cure, but the chances of finding it are sometimes astronomically small, or circumstances prevent people from finding and using them. The idea here is that once I reconnect with God, answers might reveal themselves to me, such as the treatments in Toronto that were recently discussed on CTV, or "biologics" to treat esophageal cancer (I need to find out what my surgeon learned from that last week, actually), or...spontaneous remission. Why not think about that possibility, too?

Francoeur and I continued to speak amicably and honestly until he got out at St-Laurent station. When I walked out of the metro at my stop, I walked straighter and with less fatigue. I felt better.


Since the kayaking trip, and even before that, I have been more closely examining the negative aspects of pride. Pride in our ourselves and our accomplishments. Pride that makes us take credit for things we have no business taking credit for. I have seen how our own individual pride causes suffering to ourselves, and our collective pride causes it to others around the world. This is, of course, closely connected to privilege, which I have examined in both myself and in others extensively for a number of years now.

If pride can be controlled, it seems to me that access to both a wider reality, a greater knowledge of self and real love in the world becomes possible. Put another way, controlling pride is a necessary condition for these things to occur.

As you can see, there appear to be so many things telling me to focus on something else, and to let other things go. And I think that it is as hard to go through as cancer is, but in a completely different way, obviously. I have to change the way I think and feel. Feel and think, rather. I have to invite a larger power into my life. I have to give up illusions of control, because I don't have much. And before you call me out, Mikey, yes, I have been beating around the bush for 2000 words. I am talking about God. And that isn't easy for me to admit.

It's even less easy to do, because I don't really know what to do, really. There are things I have definitely worked on such as recognizing pride and knowing about illusions or fantasies of control. Maybe it means more work on the acceptance and loving of others. Maybe it also means putting certain realizations into action. Maybe it's about allowing the feeling part of me freer reign, and loving it, too. But things are telling me that something has to change lest the worst occur. I want to live, I don't want to die. But if I have to die early, at least let me go knowing what I need to know and feeling what I need to feel. I think you could do much worse than that.