by Myo-On Susan Hagler
June 2016

It is written that when Gautama first began to explore the world beyond the grounds of his family’s compound he encountered other humans experiencing  conditions in their lives that he had been unaware of. First he encountered an ill person, next an elderly person, and then a dead person on a funeral pyre. Finally, he is said to have observed a sanyasin or wandering holy man who emanated well-being. Shakyamuni was deeply affected by seeing fellow human beings in these states and felt compelled to understand the underlying reality of these conditions that arose before him.

I have heard this story for 40 years and have understood it in a second-hand way as I, too, have encountered people in these states. I have been intimate with others who have been in the midst of illness, old age, death, and awakening, and I’ve absorbed the flavors but haven’t absorbed these experiences into the marrow of my being. Particularly, I would like to explore how  “illness”  and “well-being” are inseparable when they are cultivated together.  

During the past nine months my life has taken an unexpected turn. It began with a genetic test that indicated I have a gene mutation which results in higher rates of breast and ovarian cancer than other women. This was shocking to me, since it pointed out that I’m not immune from illness. Although I’ve seemingly known this for a while, when the test results came back positive it was jarring. I tearfully called up Dokai and told him this news. He cut through it all by asking “Is this a diagnosis?” and I said “No.” This caused me to take a deep breath and become aware of the stories so quickly spinning out of control in my mind and the fearful nature of them. I had to look at what had changed, I now knew of a gene mutation which has been with me since the moment “I” came into being, but essentially nothing about me had changed except that the certainty of my own mortality had come into view. Each of us, sooner or later, has the potential to get some physical ailment or other, but this isn’t disease itself. Thus I proceeded with my plans to go to Green Gulch Farm Zen Center in California for its fall practice period.

My ovaries were removed as a preventative measure to lessen the chances of cancer forming in my body, but when they were analyzed, cancer was already present. Luckily, it was discovered at an early stage, so the prognosis was good. Although the initial news was devastating, my outlook quickly transformed to gratitude for this early detection. Since cancer was found when my ovaries were removed I was strongly urged to receive chemotherapy to dissipate any cancer cells lurking in the deep recesses of my body. On the day I was supposed to go to Green Gulch I began chemotherapy instead. My plans changed; I would be enrolled in a different type of practice period. There wasn’t room for regret; I just needed to focus on this new direction in order to maintain my balance.

I was deeply apprehensive about chemo, not knowing how it would affect me, so with the aid of a friend I put out a call for help. Many friends came to be with me on this journey called “illness.” Although it’s counterintuitive, this brought me a joy I had never experienced before. The connection I felt with those who supported me in many different ways was profound. I wasn’t alone. Fearfulness was being replaced by fearlessness whose foundation has been  years of Zen practice with an amazing community of good friends and family.

Another aspect of this journey has been constantly shifting terrain. A schedule of six rounds of chemo was arranged at the inception of the treatment which was dependent on how my body responded to the drugs. After a while it took longer for my platelet count to bounce back after the infusions. Three-week intervals became seven-week intervals. I went to the oncologist’s office only to be sent home three weeks in a row, until my body could handle the chemo once again in the seventh week after my last round. I had to let go of expectations and accept the fact that I had no control over my platelets regenerating; they had their own timetable. What had first been consternation turned to celebration when finally treatment was able to be administered. Practicing patience became easier as acceptance of unpredictability became the core of my practice. It has been the best way to take care of myself.

I’m grateful that when I served as Shuso (head practitioner) during a practice period a few years ago, Dokai offered me case 94 from the “Book of Serenity” to study:

Dongshan is unwell

 When Dongshan was unwell, a monk asked, “ You are ill, teacher; is there anyone who does not get ill?”
Dongshan said, “There is.”
The monk said, ”Does the one who is not ill look after you?”
Dongshan said, “I have the opportunity to look after him.”
The monk said,” How is it when you look after him?”
Dongshan said, “Then I don’t see that he has any illness.”

I have had this case as a companion ever since; it has helped me immeasurably during this time. I was able to explore how to be well as my body was diminished. Trying my best to be present with the difficulty of this regimen lessened the suffering.  What does it mean to have “the one who is ill take care of the one who is not ill?“ They cannot be separated. When they embrace, dissatisfaction (illness) cannot be found. Thus, well-being can arise under any circumstance.

Now the chemo is completed, a second surgery has been performed, and I’ve been declared cancer-free (for the moment).  Now my exploration is how to live life as wholeheartedly as possible while walking in the “mist” of sickness, old age and death with Buddha and be drenched 🙂

I would like to express my deep gratitude to Buddha, Dharma and Sangha for guiding me through this challenging time.

With Nine Bows,

Myo-On