Lung Surgery & Clear Trails

Well I’ve got the date set for lung surgery. I’ll head down to MD Anderson for surgery on April 30th where they will remove 80% of the right lower lobe of my lung. I’ll spend 10-ish days down in Houston, including pre-op and post-op stuff, and then head back to Austin to recover. We are ridiculously grateful for the family and friends jumping in to help us pull this off. 

The fancy name for the surgery is a basilar segmentectomy. (I’ve learned to listen a little more closely anytime a doctor uses a word that ends in -ectomy.) This represents a step in the right direction towards managing the remaining disease we see in my body. Lung surgery in this context = a good thing. 

I’ve really enjoyed a break from chemo, feeling more like myself by the day. More energy, less brain fog, more time to connect with folks. I’ve been able to work more, exercise more, and just get out into the world again. All these things have been so welcome and just felt good.

And there’s something that is a little off too. Not terribly so, but just a little off.

I jumped right back into the doing. My to-do list filled up quickly, and I was moving right back into the grind. And it was soooo easy to slip into those old patterns.

Life is full of things that require doing. I recognize that. There are some bigger life choices I could make with my family that could fundamentally change how all that works (commune anyone?). But, for the doing that needs to be done, I want a different relationship to it all. One that situates those to-do’s in their relative place, which continues to change for me. There’s a way to be in the doing of life that better balances in the being in life.

As if to encourage this, my body this past week made it clear I need to slow down my recovery - I got a nasty cold. It wasn’t unlike chemo, where you are worn down enough that you just have to let go of some things. 

Richard Rohr has posited that great love and great suffering are the two primary, universal paths that transform the soul by breaking down the ego and dualistic thinking, and opening us to Mystery. When I look back at years engaging with cancer, it has certainly moved something deep inside me towards a felt sense of something much bigger at work. Words can point toward some of it, but much of it has been beyond description for me. Cancer has brought suffering AND a wonderful, communal love. That 1-2 punch has shown me the possibility of being in the world in a different way. 

And, yet, in just a few weeks off from chemo, it feels like those visceral, deep experiences of that mystery are distant.

Lately, I’ve had this image in my head of a hiking trail through the woods that connects to that place of something bigger - infinite love, wholeness, interconnection, presence, light, God, love, whatever you want to call it. It might look like this:

The trail here is well-maintained, with a sturdy wooden structure keeping it reliable. In “clear trail” moments, I feel very connected to and held in that infinite love and interconnection. I’m kinder and gentler with myself and others. I’m more present. I view the world from that place of love, extending more grace to others. And I’m compelled to be in service to others and in community with others. 

But sometimes that trail between me and that wholeness gets a little overgrown. Something like this maybe:

And I think this is where I’m at right now - an “overgrown trail” moment. I feel less connected to meaning and to God. Easter weekend corrected that for a bit, but then I seemed to lose it again. All the doing is making it feel noisy. There’s a trail in there somewhere, but it’s got stuff in the way. I feel a little off balance. I’m having more interactions that feel transactional, lacking depth. I’m less present.

And then, looking back, I’ve lived a lot of my life in what feels like this:

It’s just a mess of underbrush and tangles. There’s little connecting me to that deepest experience of love, loving, and being loved. It feels darker - there’s little space for the light to get through. I think I’ve recognized there was something I was missing at these times, but I couldn’t name it. It was the grind at full go. When our kids were young, it felt like this often. My mind was always considering the next task to get done, rarely in the present moment. We were tired in every way. I felt disconnected.

Connecting back to the Rohr idea on great suffering and great love…I think experiences like cancer or losing someone we love can be like a brush fire in the tangled, noisy underbrush. In one minute you are in the middle of the crowded thicket of branches, but then the suffering rolls through like a wind-aided brush fire. The B.S., constant doing, and noise that otherwise crowd the trail get cleared out. That might happen in an instant, and it might stretch out for years. (If the brush fire analogy is a little harsh, perhaps it’s like a herd of goats that clear out all the underbrush for you.) The overgrowth is gone, and the trail is open and easy to see. The path to that deepest, divine love is clear. Maybe something like this: 

And here’s what’s been new for me in the last few years, but it’s where a wide range of teachers seem to be continually pointing me. The trail isn’t there so that you can find your way to that infinite love and connection. The trail is so the ever-present, infinite love and connection can find their way to you. It’s not about striving and pursuing. It’s about allowing.

That deep connection to everyone and everything is a truth that is there for us. We have to allow it to be true. And I think we all move closer and further from that truth in cycles…we will move in and out of these clear trails and overgrown trails throughout our life, if not all in one day. With each return to a deeper experience of clear trails and wholeness, we’re better equipped for the next cycle. 

This last week has been a reminder to become a better trail crew for myself, helping to keep the trail more clear. (That may be all organized religion has been trying to offer folks.) My meditation and morning practices have been so important for me, and I think they serve to knock back some of the overgrowth that can be so distracting. Playing music and getting deep into nature clears the trail for me. Writing. Laughing and connecting with friends. Breathing slowly and deeply. 

And I suppose the first step is just noticing that the trail is overgrown, and continuing to hold that awareness. It’s bound to lead to some trail maintenance that will let some light through. More being will surely happen from there. 

Wishing you clearer trails, more being balanced in with your doing, loads of love, and a spirit of allowing the light in. 

Matt

Pic from New Mexico and the people I want to BE with...

Ash, our dog, was trying to escape the picture.