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Why I Survive
AIDS Niro Is Alive and Well. 20 Years Later, and She's Still Healed. Click Here To Reach Her Via Email. Part One By: Niro Markoff Asistent |
I’m J. Nayer Hardin of the Computer Underground Railroad, publisher of this ebook. I’ve been typing since the 60’s, on computers since 1977, home computer since 1984, am a patent holding inventor, CompUrest, (pictured) US PATENT NO. 5,188,321, an author, an environmentalist and a cyber advocate.
On December 18, 1992 my friend Esteban Granados and I met Niro for the first time. We were on a mission. Mother Clara Hale of Harlem’s Hale House had told us ‘AIDS is a prayer answered by God, who answers all prayers.’ She added that by the time we pray for something, God already has it handled. So when we learned that there was someone who had healed herself of HIV, we put on our detective caps and found her. She was doing a seminar at FRIENDS IN DEED in New York City. Niro proved Mother Hale was right. “God is the true healer.”
In 1985, therapist Niro Asistent tested HIV positive and was moving into ARC (Aids Related Complex). Facing what many saw as a death sentence at the time, Niro created her own program of emotional therapy, daily meditation, healthy diet and exercise. Niro’s program includes facing and healing fear, shame and guilt; powerful daily meditations, productive journaling, reprioritizing your life, and listening to your inner healer who will tell you what you need to do to allow healing to flow through you…yes you. Since 1986, she has tested HIV negative. She was featured in Parade Magazine and appeared on Donohue on 7/13/93.
Dr. Bernie Siegel was a cancer surgeon for over 20 years at Yale-New Haven Hospital. He is the author of LOVE, MEDICINE AND MIRACLES and PEACE. LOVE AND HEALING. He wrote “Niro Asistent has been one of my most powerful teachers. Her book can show all of us how to overcome adversity and survive any of life’s threats. I highly recommend it.” Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross (The Wheel of Life) wrote in her foreward: “Niro’s story about her discovery of the AIDS disease as well as her struggle with it-step-by-step-is a light in the darkness for millions.” Hay House’s founder, Louise Hay, author of YOU CAN HEAL YOUR LIFE wrote “Niro Asistent is involved in some of the powerful healing work being done with AIDS. She is a beautiful woman whom I admire enormously.”
Niro explains “TO BE A HEALER really means not to do anything. The less you use your mind and all its beliefs, the more healing is able to move through you. God is the true healer. Healing is being whole with God…Within each and every one of us, there is a healer. It is the intuitive part of us that guides us on our healing journey. It is an intrinsic yet much forgotten aspect of ourselves. In fact, it has been so neglected that it is considered highly mystical and esoteric by the logical thinking of Western cultures.”
This book is currently out of print in America. With what we know about the special interests here, I have my theories as to why? Niro’s program is at worst extremely low cost, like the cost of what your inner healer advises (like a clean diet). She’s not selling pills or quick fixes. Just showing us how to look inward for the solutions to AIDS and other dis-eases.
After waiting for more than ten years for the book to be republished, I can’t take it any more. This information is too important not to share, and Lord knows Niro has earned her money. Esteban copied the pages from the original book so I could key them into my computer. Using modern technology, such as this ebook, has put the power of knowledge back into the hands of the people, where it belongs. Enjoy the journey. It’s the next step in upgrading the human experience through constructive thought and connecting with the Healer Within.
A fireside Book
Originally published by Simon & Schuster
New York, London, Toronto, Sydney, Tokyo, Singapore
Copyright 1991 by Niro Asistent
(All royalties from this ebook will be paid to the writers and/or their publisher. I've sent e-mails to Simon & Shuster and have searched as far as India and France on line to find Niro. Included in the cost is the cost of the original book, which is the designated royalty right.)
“To Spirit there can be no incurable disease”
Science of Mind 216
TO ALL of my clients and workshop participants, thank you for your endless courage and willingness to discover a new way of living and dying. You are the wind beneath my wings.
To Barbara Gess, my insightful editor, thank you for presenting me with this amazing opportunity, which has been both a great challenge and a wonderful gift.
To Geraldine, thank you for being there when I needed you. To Manahar and Joan, thank you for your editorial assistance.
To my family, thank you, Ivan, Taty, Anny, and Nadine for your constant love and support. Thank you Papa for the endless rainbow of inspiration you brought to my life and to you Mom. The love and friendship we share today is concrete proof that miracles can happen.
To the men in my life, thank you Vasant, Gawain, George, Doudou, Paul Lowe, Amitabh, and Jeru for being my teachers and friends. Namast’e.
To the women in my life, thank you, Aurora, Delphine, Patricia, Mradula, and Masha for our shared conspiracy of laughter, tears and celebration of the goddess energy.
To my precious children, Tanguy and Barbara. You are my true masters. Thank you for putting up with me and for your endless faith in me.
And finally to you, Paul. Without you this book would not have been possible. I am grateful that you are in my life. Thank you my friend.
To Nado
To Osho
And Amitabh
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Table of Contents
TOC \h \z \t "Heading 1,2,Title1,1,subhead,3" Publisher’s Notes
3. Strange Symptoms, Shattered Dreams
To say yes you have to sweat,
Roll up your sleeves,
And plunge both hands into life
Up to your elbows.
It is easy to say no,
Even if saying no means death
Jean Anouilh
Antigone
IT IS TRULY an honor to be asked to write a few words of introduction for Niro Markoff Asistent’s book, Why I Survive AIDS. Not only is it a remarkable book for patients with AIDS, but truly for any human being who is willing to look at themselves and grow; get rid of the old; and start a new life minus the old traumas, the outdated conditioning, and the leftover scars and pain – they are no longer necessary for survival.
This book really touched old buttons which I thought I had resolved and which I still need to work on! And although some of the techniques that come so easily to Niro, as an experienced meditator, may not be everybody’s cup of tea, maybe it’s time for us to try a new brand of tea.
Niro’s story about her own discovery of the AIDS disease as well as her struggle with it - step-by-step - is a light in the darkness for millions. This is especially so because it is not a book of “how to heal,” not a “recipe” for recovery, but a simply written account of a remarkable life filled with pain, hurt, frustration, hope and the slow beginning of an awareness of how to change your life without miracle cures and “tools” from outside, but by becoming aware of all our inner resources and inborn gifts. What Niro has to say about forgiveness and the New Age trap is enormously helpful-we don’t need to add guilt by implying that patients create their own diseases (cancer included). This is a great book, a beacon of light and a guide to millions of our PWA’s, showing them again that AIDS does not have to be a fatal illness but can be a gateway to a new and healthier, happier life.
To Life!!!
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, M.D.
WHY I SURVIVE AIDS
ebook Edition
MY NAME is Niro. I am a woman who has lived through a powerful, and life transforming experience. In November 1985, I tested positive for the human immune deficiency virus (HIV) and was diagnosed with AIDS-related complex (ARC). I had been infected by my lover, Nado, who was unaware that he was carrying the virus.
While I had been completely denying my condition, the symptoms of this disease of our time had already been ravaging my body for at least a year. In reaction to my diagnosis, I vacillated between deep numbness and extreme rage. Ultimately I surrendered, and accepted the unacceptable: death. In that instant, I recognized that I could no longer pretend that I was not personally accountable for my physical condition. I will always be grateful to my doctor for admitting that there was nothing he could do, because his honesty forced me to take responsibility for my own life.
I realized that I had a finite number of days left to live – approximately five hundred, if I was lucky. Each day was now very precious, so I rearranged my priorities, and put myself on the top of the list. Up until that point in my life, I had always denied my needs, playing the role of caretaker to my parents, my husband, my children, and even my spiritual master. Having nothing left to lose, I decided to use my disease as a final opportunity for learning and growth, instead of being victimized by it. I embarked on a journey to discover who I am, not in relation to the world outside, but in terms of my true essence within. It was the beginning of the most important journey of my life.
By May 1986 I was symptomless, and in full remission from ARC. To my surprise, I even tested HIV antibody negative, and have remained so ever since. Nine months later, my lover Nado peacefully healed into death.
I feel as though I have lived a miracle, and I am still deeply grateful to the mystery of it. The true miracle of my healing is that I never tried to heal myself. Back in 1985, due to the hysteria of the media and the medical community, an AIDS-related diagnosis was virtually a death sentence. It is my belief that it is because I totally accepted that I would die, and began living in the moment, that I am still alive today.
Inspired by this experience, I created the Foundation for S.H.A.R.E. (the Self Healing AIDS-Related Experiment) to share my experience with others and to help change the limited belief that AIDS is one-hundred-percent fatal. I knew in my heart that if I could do it, others could as well, and I dedicated myself to making my “rare” experience commonplace. Fortunately, more and more people are realizing that AIDS is a chronic condition, and a major opportunity for personal and planetary transformation.
The first part of this book is the story of my own arduous journey of learning how to trust what I knew and what I did not know about healing. Along the way, I often fell backward into self-doubt and despair. At times I still fall, as you may during your journey. This journey has its ups and downs, left and right turns, great insights and deep doubts in the ceaseless motion of self-healing.
The second part of the book is based on my work as a facilitator, and is inspired by the humble and courageous individuals I have had the privilege of working with. It is not a magical formula, a set of ironclad rules, or a strict regimen for healing; rather it is a sharing of insights, lessons, and tools that can guide you to discover and trust your own healer within. The premise of the book is that you know better than anyone else the direction of your healing path.
For many of us faced with the challenge of a life-threatening condition, the reality of healing is very difficult and overwhelming. It is a journey of despair and hope, fear and trust, anger and vulnerability, including the rage we sometimes feel toward God and others for “abandoning” us. Yet the healing process, as many of you have already discovered, cannot be forced. Along my journey I discovered a paradox:
Healing is an allowing, not a doing, yet we need to do everything we can physically, emotionally, and spiritually to help that allowing to happen.
Allowing is the willingness to let go and to suspend what we think is or isn’t possible. Healing occurs when we let go of the past, accept the present, and open ourselves to the mystery of the future. Life then becomes an exciting adventure, a valued learning experience, and a source of great expansion. Yet before we can truly experience this expansion, we need to say yes to our resistance and contraction. By accepting our contraction, by saying yes to our no, we simply accept what is so. By accepting the contraction, we move beyond duality to see the dance between contraction and expansion. There is no other way to move beyond it – first being aware of no, and then accepting it. For most of us this requires tremendous trust, shifting from our rational mind to our intuitive mind.
It was through my intuition that I realized the connection between the physical body and the emotions – a connection that many doctors are now discovering through the science of psychoimmunology. As I explored my emotional pain and fear, I discovered not only the source of imbalance that led to my dis-ease, but also what to do to support my healing. By turning in to the source of the mind – body connection, we can offer our body the opportunity to respond. For some of us the response may be a healing on the physical level, and for others it may be a healing on the emotional level, preparing us for a completion into death.
My intuition also told me that this condition was my “wake – up call.” I could have chosen either to respond to the message or to roll over and go back to sleep. I chose to wake up. Every crisis, whether it be illness, the consequences of addiction, or the loss of a loved one, offers us an opportunity to wake up. It is like an earthquake. It is life’s way of shaking us up. What I mean is this: Life punched me in the face so forcefully that I was unable to escape the shocking reality. My reactions ranged from numbness to anger to despair and finally to soul – searching questioning.
As I questioned my life, I realized that I had spent the majority of it asleep. I had forgotten who I am and why I am here. I was moving through life unconsciously, like a sophisticated robot. My diagnosis served as a wonderful tool to assist me in examining the limitations of my conditioning.
I had never taken the time to question my early conditioning and the personality I had created based on it. It was time to examine these things honestly, keeping what still served me and discarding what was no longer appropriate. I began to take responsibility for my life from that new state of awareness, moving from the indulgence of the victim to the integrity of the master.
Many people, faced with a similar crisis, have not yet discovered the gift of accepting the wake-up call that their body is sending them. All they want is for the symptoms to go away. In fact, they are willing to endure the most extreme and expensive treatments to rid themselves of the condition.
This is because we are a society of people who will do anything to avoid being uncomfortable. We go to the doctor, who gives us painkillers to kill the pain, and to the psychiatrist, who gives us pills to alter our moods. We seek out the priest, who promises salvation, and the guru, who points to enlightenment. We’re anesthetized during the miracle of childbirth, repress cold symptoms which are actually our body’s way of cleansing itself, and keep ourselves busy with all kinds of re-recreation to escape the loneliness and despair we feel inside. We do personal – growth workshops, read self- help books, and meditate to transcend the darkness and live in the light. We’ll do anything to avoid the discomfort of our physical and emotional pain, even if it means denying who we are. In our society being uncomfortable is not considered “natural.”
For example, try this exercise. Clasp your hands, webbing your fingers together. Feel how natural and effortless it feels. Now separate your fingers, move them over one, and clasp your hands again. Now notice how it feels. Does it feel strange and uncomfortable? Do you find yourself wondering how long you will have to maintain this position, and when you will be able to cross your fingers in their “natural” position again? Often what we think of as natural is merely what we are used to, and what is comfortable. We confuse the natural with the familiar. Healing requires a willingness to let go of the “naturalness” of what is familiar and to say yes to the discomfort of what is new.
Since I began my own healing journey, I have worked as a facilitator with hundreds of people, and we all have one thing in common. Eventually we arrive at an aspect of our condition that is not comfortable. At that point there are two choices. One is to build a wall of resistance, denial, or postponement, to say no. The other is to finally say yes to the condition, with all of its pain and frightening feelings. As you read this book, I invite you to approach your healing from a new place, one that may not be familiar, but that may be far more natural than you realize.
This is the essence of healing. To learn to say yes to what is, instead of trying to change it to how we would like it to be. I invite you to question what your condition is about, and to discover what it can teach you, before you try to get rid of it. Often, when we receive the lesson our illness or condition is teaching us, the teacher can go away.
This book is an invitation to go beyond what feels good, what feels comfortable, and at the same time to be gentle with yourself. Create an environment in which you feel nourished and safe. Give yourself permission to participate fully in the processes in the second half of the book. They are designed to provide you with a new approach toward yourself, your life, and your dis-ease, and have succeeded in doing that for hundreds of people who have participated in my workshops.
I invite you to welcome your condition as your wake – up call, the perfect tool to assist you in reaching your maximum potential. Perhaps one day, if you aren’t already, you may find yourself grateful to your condition for creating this opportunity in your life. I invite you to say yes to your condition. To say yes to who you are. To say the healing yes.
In love and light we heal,
Niro
THE INTRICATE and winding road that led to my healing journey was uniquely mine, just as your path is unique to you. My journey began in Belgium in 1945, where I was born Yvette Markoff to Pierre Markoff, a handsome White Russian of aristocratic background, and Christianne de Rode, a beautiful upper middle-class Belgium woman. Growing up, I was aware of the difference between my conservative mother and her family, and my intense, seeking father. (He had been forced to flee Russia during the revolution, and never saw his family again.) I had never identified with the Belgian name Yvette, and so when I was thirteen, I changed it to Masha, a name I felt more accurately reflected my own intense Russian nature.
My mother dedicated her life to her brilliant, demanding husband, whom she did not understand very well. Her dream was to give birth to the son he longed for, and both my parents hoped I would be a boy. But I was the third of three daughters. This unrealized expectation set the tone for what would become a major theme of my life: rejection. In terms of my parent’s wishes, I was simply the wrong gender. (As an adult, I was the wrong gender to my male bisexual lover as well.) I grew up with a sense of not being accepted for who I was. I often had difficulty standing up for myself, and saying no to the demands of others, even when it went against my own sense of integrity.
The world I remember as a child was that of a suppressed matriarchy in which all the women – my mother, my grandmother, my aunt, and my sisters – devoted their lives to satisfying the needs of their men. Service to the family, and to the men who provided for it, was so ingrained in us, that I had no concept that there could be another way. In fact, today I still carry a deep respect for that attitude. I sincerely believe that if more of us lived in service, for a universal purpose and not just for personal gain, the planet would be a warmer place.
I have always been a spiritual seeker. As a child I was very mystical, and quickly became alienated from the conventional adults around me. As a teenager, while studying Catholic catechism, I began having psychic experiences. I understood theology from a different perspective than that of the superficial interpretations imposed on me by my teachers. I consider my relationship to God as personal, and I experienced my own individual connection to what I knew was the Source of Infinite Love.
I discovered very early on that I could use disease as a tool to manipulate those around me. If I was unhappy, or didn’t want to go to school, I would terrify my parents by paralyzing my legs, or creating some other childhood illness. It was the perfect way to escape, and it still is.
Whenever I was ill, my mother pampered me by making me lemonade, allowing me to read my favorite books, and sharing time alone with me. When I saw that I received my mother’s affection basically only when I was ill, I recognized the power of disease. In fact, everyone in my family seemed to pay more attention to me when I was ill, so I played the role of the sick child for years.
My use of disease as a manipulative tool was not something I originated on my own. Both my mother and father were sick during the majority of my childhood. My father was diagnosed manic-depressive, and received chemical treatment through the majority of his life. My mother suffered from rheumatic fever, and spent eleven months in bed when I was nine years old. Disease became a major tool of survival for me because somewhere deep down I surmised that I had to compete for my parent’s attention. If they stopped caring for me because they were too ill, or because I wasn’t “good enough” (i.e., because I was the wrong gender), or for whatever reason, I would literally die. I’m not suggesting my parents had any intention of abandoning me, but this childhood fear of abandonment is still with me today.
While growing up in Belgium shortly after the Second World War, I was raised to conform to the social etiquette of our culture. By the time I was a teenager I have become a very elegant robot. Since childhood I have wanted to “be in service to the world.” I studied social science with the intention of working with children in Third World countries, but my family prohibited me from doing that. Instead I worked with abused children in my own homeland and as a volunteer in the Service Civile Internationale, Europe’s equivalent to the Peace Corps.
I escaped from the prison of my home life into an unexpected pregnancy and marriage with Nicholas Steinbach, a young jetsetter who was as violent as he was charming. Although I do not regret marrying him, I see now that it was a doomed decision for both of us. We were too young to take on the responsibility of being parents or to understand the true commitment of marriage. Our fragile love was not able to withstand the constant pressure we both felt because of our own sense of frustration and insecurity. Nicholas was afraid of not being able to be a proper provider for his budding family, and imprisoned himself within that role. I was a prisoner of the way things “should be,” and was living in a constant state of frustration. Even though I loved him at the time, our relationship was not a healthy one. We would explode in anger at each other for the most trivial reasons. It was a perfect illustration of how a relationship can die because two people are unable truly to communicate with each other. The only good that came out of it was my two beautiful children. Four unbearable years of marriage with Nicholas left me physically and emotionally abused. I finally left him, fearing for my sanity and for the well-being of my children. I know now that, had I stayed, I would long since be dead, either by his hand or my own.
As a single mother I was tremendously overstressed, trying to perform as father, mother, provider, and homemaker at the same time. Even though I “wore the pants” in the family, the little girl inside of me longed to find a man whom I could serve and who would take care of me. Not being able to find such a man, I shut down.
I forgot what I genuinely wanted from life, besides providing the best for my children and following the basic principles of a “normal” life. A part of me was so insecure that I fell into the trap of the “designer” lifestyle, donning the mask of a jet-setter in order to find my self-esteem. The little girl inside of me believed that if I did all the glamorous and exciting things that the magazines and T.V. shows promoted, then it was a sign of my personal “success.”
I began a lifestyle based on exploring my connection with men, and enjoyed the novelty of letting myself be taken care of by my admirers. I was not yet aware of the cost of the game of manipulating my physical beauty to get my material needs met. At the time it all looked good from the outside. I was in with the right people at the right time, in the right places, wearing the right clothes – and yet, underneath, I was suffocating from the superficiality of it all. In that world, material success was religion, and money was respected like the golden calf. It felt as if I were withering away from the tremendous lack of spiritual love. Because I was doubting my jet-setter lifestyle, I felt even more insecure, believing that something must be wrong with me. Instead of trusting what I knew deep in my heart (that life was pushing me to search within for the answers), I denied my natural flow and became a boring people-pleaser.
Eventually, my inner emptiness became too much for me. I gave up my “designer life” and, like so many generations of Europeans before me, emigrated to America. I moved to New York City and took a job as a manager in a health-food restaurant owned by a friend. He introduced me to est training, which had a great impact on my life because it taught me to access a new level of integrity within. I quickly became a guest seminar leader, and volunteered for the organization, although it didn’t really fill the spiritual void I was feeling.
Another friend had told me about his spiritual master, but for months I paid him no mind. One night he invited me to a video screening of the self-realized, enlightened master, I was curious, and decided to go. I’ll never forget the first time I saw Osho, a small Indian man with intensely powerful eyes. My heart cracked open, and I immediately knew I would become his disciple. I would follow his teachings and guidance, using him as an anchor to take the journey of self-discovery. Several months later, I traveled to his main ashram (a community where people live and practice the teachings of a spiritual master) on the West coast to be in his “Buddha field of energy.” The day I arrived, he drove by in his car. As he passed, he looked into my eyes, into my soul, and that spiritual void I had felt all my life was filled. I felt like I had finally come “home.” I became his disciple, or sannyasin, as he called it, the following day, and was given the name Anand Niro, and Indian Sanskrit name which means “bliss water.”
While at Osho’s ashram I received my training as a facilitator in gestalt, primal, and breath therapy, as well as in various meditation techniques and energy balancing. The active meditations that Osho designed for the modern Western man not only allowed me to release years of blocked emotional energy repressed within my physical body, but opened my heart as well. I still use many of Osho’s meditations in the workshops I lead, and as I will share later, his presence in my life played a major role in my healing journey.
Because I traveled to the main ashram only a few times a year, I stayed connected to its energy by creating my own meditation center in my apartment. Several of my fellow sannyasins would join me for evening meditations and satsangs (a gathering in which we would listen to the words of the master, then sing and dance in celebration). Some sannyasins were traveling to or from the main ashram, and would spend the night. Others would stay over for several days, sometimes weeks, to “be in the energy.” My apartment became too small, so we rented a house just outside of the city. There was room for twenty-five residents, but it soon grew to sixty. We finally moved to a magnificent castle in New Jersey, and our meditation center was born.
I was living one of my childhood dreams. I was a successful director of one of the largest meditation centers on the East coast. I was living with other spiritual seekers like myself, many of whom I dearly loved. I was living a “life in service,” working as a spiritual therapist, and I was raising my two children in an atmosphere of open love.
Because the circumstances of my life fit the pictures of the vision I held as a child, it was difficult for me to acknowledge that part of me that still was not fulfilled. Even though I was meditating every day, had surrendered to my beloved master, and had renounced the superficial materialistic world, I was still feeling those “negative emotions” such as loneliness and despair.
I would use a tremendous amount of energy trying to hide or get rid of my dark feelings. I would meditate even more, to reach that sense of inner bliss, or use the various therapy techniques available to me to escape the pain. Even though I have achieved my dream, it did not bring me what my soul was longing for; namely, to find my soul partner and merge.
Then I met Nado.
Nado and I had a relationship that can only be described as destiny. The first time I laid eyes on him was at a sannyasin party. His energy was intense, and although I was curious about him, I chose not to speak to him. A few days later I was invited to a meditation evening in Brooklyn. As I entered the loft and was greeted by the host, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was Nado. The connection between us was obvious, yet we realized it arose from a deep sense of recognition, rather than a romantic attraction.
After the meditation, Nado rushed up to me and rudely asked me why I had changed my hairstyle to its present short length and dark color. At first I thought he was someone I had known when I was younger and my hair was long and blond, but he quickly explained that, although we had never met (in this life at least), between the ages of five and seventeen, he had a recurring dream about me in which I had long blond hair. Seeing me materialize in the flesh in his loft that evening quite frankly blew his mind.
During our first days together, we discovered we had a lot in common. Because he was Dutch, not only did we share our European upbringing but also the feeling of being separated from our history and homeland by the great Atlantic Ocean. He had also studied the social and political sciences in college, and our taste in art was practically identical. We shared a passion for the surrealist painter Magritte, the choreographer B’ejart, and the genius composer Bach. Our most important connection was that we were both seekers of truth and shared a deep love for our master Osho.
Our attraction to each other was not love at first sight in the usual romantic sense. Nado was married to a friend of mine, and even though they were separated at the time, I never considered him as a potential partner. One day another friend at the center casually observed that our budding relationship seemed more than platonic. She referred to the way in which Nado would hover around me, serving me tea and bringing me flowers. I suppose I was blind to the signals at the time, since I was so busy taking care of a myriad of details at the center.
My birthday arrived and I considered having a party. I asked myself who I wanted to invite and to my surprise I realized that the only person I wanted to share my birthday with was Nado. He arrived that evening cradling a spray of white orchids. We gazed knowingly at each other, gently kissed, and then giggled innocently like two children on a first date. Under a full moon in July, we spent what became the first of many nights together. The next morning, before Nado left for work, I invited him to move in with me. The fact that he was still legally married, and that there were rumors that he might be gay, had no influence over the simple loving feelings I had for him.
When I suggested that moving in together could be our first step to growing old together, he quickly retorted, “Don’t count on me, I won’t be around.” Of course my feelings were immediately hurt, because I assumed he meant he was planning on eventually leaving me. Sensing my contraction, he explained that he would not be around to see old age because he would be dead by the age of forty-two. I was startled by the seriousness of his tone, and inquired further. He shared with me that he had intuitively known since he was a boy that he would die in his forty-second year.
At first Nado was very sexual with me, in a tender and passionate way, dispelling any question my naïve mind that he was anything but one-hundred-percent heterosexual. After several months, however, the honeymoon waned and Nado withdrew his physical affection from me. In an effort to avoid feeling rejected, I rationalized his sudden distance from me as his need for creative space (he was a brilliant poet and dancer). Yet deep down I knew it was more than that. He began to avoid me in other areas as well. Every time I addressed the subject of sex and our growing separation from each other he would leave the room.
After several months together, we began practicing “safe sex,” because it was advocated by our master at the ashram. Osho was a pioneer in terms of safe sex guidelines. By 1984, everyone at the ashram was required to practice safe sex. We used not only condoms, but rubber gloves as well. The running joke between sannyasins was, “How’s your glove life?” French kissing was also not allowed. Can you imagine how difficult and frustrating it was, after having normal relations with you lover, not to be able to French-kiss anymore? It took complete unconditional trust in our master, and a lot of will power.
I personally believe that, because of Nado’s own fear of rejection, he closed the door to our brief and fragile connection and hid behind it as a way of protecting his secret. I quickly realized that his conflict about his sexual identity, and his fear of intimacy, were taboo subjects. Instead of talking about it in a healthy, open way, I internalized our struggle, and hid the constant pain I felt as a result of the resistance and separation that was now between us.
In the hope of saving our relationship, I repressed my feelings and tolerated Nado’s rejection of me even though he avoided any intimate sexual contact with me for weeks at a time. Because our connection was so strong, and my commitment to that connection so total, leaving Nado was not an option. I had made a vow to myself that, since Nado and I were soul mates, we were destined to live our lives together till death should part us, regardless of how much I was starving emotionally and sexually.
Interestingly enough, I was also starving myself physically. Although at the time I was a strict vegetarian, my diet consisted almost exclusively of French bread, cappuccino, and Belgian chocolate, with lots of Haagen-Dazs ice cream for dessert. (I was a connoisseur of international vegetarian cuisine!) Although there were deliciously nutritious vegetarian meals available at the center, I chose to starve my body by feeding my indulgence.
My weakness for Belgian chocolate, an addiction which I am still battling today, stems back to my childhood, when I received a daily ration of chocolate from my Dad as a sign of approval. Not only was such poor nutrition a reaction to my undernourished and overstressed life (I was looking for emotional nourishment), but it actually contributed to the depression I was feeling. I ended up gaining twenty-five pounds in less than a month as a reaction to Nado losing his attraction to me. At least if I was fat, he would have a valid reason.
I realize now how cruel I was being to myself. Much like the women in my family who suppressed their uniqueness in deference to their men, I was denying who I was, in service to a romantic idea of relationship. I grew from being a vibrant, expressive, and extroverted woman into a repressed, withdrawn, and shameful little girl convinced that I was no longer desirable. I beat myself up for failing to create a safe space for Nado to express his internal struggle, and I felt guilty for losing our connection. It felt like my cherished dream of Nado and me sharing our lives as soul partners had escaped beyond my reach. It was as if it were tottering precariously on a shelf far above me, and the circumstances of my life were rocking me in such a way that the dream was destined to fall and shatter into a million pieces.
IN MAY 1984, my body responded to the stress and emotional drain in my life by becoming extremely sick. I knew something very important was happening to me, but I didn’t know what. The symptoms were strange and puzzling. Every afternoon around four o’clock my body tensed and began shaking. My breathing constricted and my temperature rose to 104o. For weeks I vacillated between high fevers and clammy chills, waking up every night in perspiration-soaked bedclothes.
One of the most agonizing symptoms was a throbbing pain in my neck, arms, and legs. At times it was so intense that my entire body would contract. I would hold my breath and wait for the pain to pass, for what seemed like hours. Fortunately I remembered from my training as a facilitator that if I held my breath I would hold in the pain as well, so I forced myself to close my eyes and breathe deeply. As I inhaled and exhaled consciously, my body would shake intensely as it allowed the release of the physical pain. There were times when the pain would attack while I was driving, and I had too pull over to the side of the road and let my body shake.
I became more and more exhausted as the symptoms increased. The fevers would literally knock me out. The staff doctor at the meditation center was unable to diagnose my strange symptoms, and sent me for some tests. The only condition that could be determined was a severe urinary infection, for which I was prescribed antibiotics. For months, the symptoms persisted. After a while I became accustomed to the feverish chills and the semi-comatose states I would fall into every night.
I had very little energy left during the day to fulfill my duties as the center coordinator. Ironically, I had created the center so that I could live in peace and harmony with other sannyasins like myself. Yet, because I wanted to please my master, I was obsessed with doing everything perfectly. My daily schedule was backbreaking. On a typical day I would wake up at six A.M., supervise the morning meditation, and then work nonstop as a therapist, administrator, bookkeeper, and staff supervisor until midnight, when I would fall into bed exhausted. No wonder I assumed that the extreme exhaustion I felt for months was simply my body’s reaction to my intense schedule. Because I wanted to do everything perfectly, I often pushed myself too far.
When I became sick, I also approached my condition with a very tough attitude, pushing myself even farther, and ignoring the intense signals that my body was sending me. I kept pretending that it was nothing, which was my way of dealing with my fear. I only knew how to push more and be more demanding of myself and of those around me. A cacophony of extremely critical voices in my head – voices that sounded like my parents, my teachers, and my ex-husband – kept telling me: “You are not good enough. You should be doing more, faster, and better.” I was a prisoner of all the “shoulds” in my life. That panel of judgmental voices was a constant source of stress, and robbed me of any joy I might have experienced.
The fact that the doctors could not find a specific cause for my symptoms or make a concrete diagnosis steered me away from searching for a medical solution. I figured that, since I was living in a meditation center, I would search inside myself, embark on an inner quest, to discover what was happening to me.
Today, I realize that it was more of a trial than a quest, and that I was the unforgiving and un-compassionate judge. Within my own mind, I tried and sentenced myself with a litany of accusations that showed why I deserved to be sick. I didn’t eat right, I didn’t meditate enough, I wasn’t exercising enough. I wasn’t doing enough of this or enough of that; if only I was doing more of this or that…
This barrage of “shoulds” and “should nots” was constantly making me feel like a failure, and I would resent my painful body even more. I could not find compassion or acceptance toward what was happening in me. My old habit of self-judgment was slowly and meticulously destroying me.
I also rationalized my condition from a metaphysical perspective. At the time I believed that the symptoms were a manifestation of the breaking of my ego, a goal which I had been determined to accomplish. It was another one of the many “shoulds” I had taken upon myself when I became a disciple. As a disciple of Osho, we are encouraged to be in the world but not of it. Rather than living a monastic lifestyle, we actively participated in the marketplace, but did so in a constant state of meditation.
I was still caught up in the process of validating myself through what I was doing rather than through who I was being. Because I was determined to please others, especially my master, I would do anything to serve that end. I allowed myself very little time to just be and enjoy life. I now understand what Osho meant when he invited us to “stop swimming up the river of life and go with the flow,” but at the time it was very important for me to stay in control. In fact, I was so stuck in the “control mode,” trying desperately to direct all the events of my life, that I used to actually “push the river.” The less I felt in control of my relationship with Nado, the more I would exert control over the other circumstances of my life. I wanted to be so “good” that I continued to deny the message my body was sending me even as the illness progressed.
I was very scared, yet unable to reach out for any kind of help. Whenever my friends or colleagues inquired about my physical and emotional health, I courageously answered that I was fine, never really sharing how lost and powerless I felt. I was ashamed of being sick, and believed that, as the center coordinator, I had to present a certain image of having it all together. I perceived my illness as a weakness, believing that I would be betraying the center by not being available to work twenty-four hours a day nonstop.
Because of this self-imposed image, I felt extremely isolated. I didn’t trust what I was feeling, and didn’t feel safe enough with anyone else to share what was happening. I did not know how to say simply that I was terrified that the pain in my legs and my arms, and the strange trembling fits, might be a sign of a serious illness. The only person I felt I could be open with was Nado, yet it was too disturbing for him to see me sick. Like many partners of people suffering from illness, he felt helpless. Rather than make my beloved uncomfortable, I chose to keep my fears to myself. I protected Nado, my kids and my friends from the truth. I wore the mask of “everything is fine” as a way to take care of them. Deep down, I secretly wished I could let down my mask and finally let myself be taken care of, but I was afraid of falling apart. There I was in the same old place, trapped by a warped sense of responsibility, with no way out. I needed a break badly. I needed to escape the dream I had created, which had descended into a nightmare.
The sicker I became, the more I wanted to feel close to Nado, and to feel protected by him. I needed so much to be reassured in some way, but the more I wanted it, the more it seemed to push him away. I had an enormous need to be held by Nado. Instead of simply expressing it to him, I constantly analyzed myself out of it, judging it as a need I didn’t have a right to feel. As a result, I often tried to covertly manipulate him into holding me. If he refused, I would feel that I wanted to get even with him, but I usually ended up feeling horrible as well.
Our relationship became more and more strained, and we grew distant from each other. We were no longer speaking the same language, and it hurt so much. Because it was Nado’s affection I craved, I was not interested in relating to the others at the center. My interaction with them became artificial and forced. Ironically, I closed the door to my family and friends when I needed support the most.
You might honestly question why I stayed for so long in such a self-destructive relationship. It was never my intention to reach that stage. I did not decide, “Okay, this time let’s have a real destructive, harmful relationship.” Both Nado and I tried very hard, yet we kept missing each other. I suppose it had a lot to do with the conditioning of our childhoods.
For Nado, it was his belief that his bisexuality was “wrong.” Eventually I became a mirror for his own self-judgment. The more he shrouded his “other life” in secrecy, becoming defensive upon inquiry, the more contracted I would become. This contraction or withdrawal was my defensive reflex against the feeling of being betrayed. I never really judged his bisexuality, although I perceived it as a threat and a source of rejection. I also felt hurt that it created separation between us since he was not able to communicate with me about it.
For me, the idea of leaving Nado and ending up alone seemed more painful than enduring the relationship as it was. My tendency was to judge myself for not loving him right. Somehow I deluded myself into believing that if I behaved differently perhaps he would not need to seek affection from anyone else. If only I have been somebody else (a man, perhaps, like the son my father had wanted so badly), I would have been able to satisfy his sexual tendencies.
It was my old habit of seeing myself as wrong. I was unable to recognize my own needs, and stand up for them. By accepting this situation, I was literally abusing myself over and over. Having been verbally and emotionally and sometimes physically abused as a child, my only way to deal with such abuse was to pretend that it wasn’t happening. This form of denial was imprinted deeply in me as my way to survive in the adult world, and fed the energy of the victim in me. I would seek the approval of others, continually excusing myself for just being alive. With this attitude, it was not surprising that I generated an abusive relationship in my marriage and later with Nado. Naively, I did not believe that it could be otherwise, even though secretly I clung to the dream that someday my savior would come, as all the romance novels and Hollywood movies had promised.
At times, fortunately, I found temporary comfort in meditation, because it grounded me. During meditation, the unbearable pain in my heart, which almost seemed to be the direct source of my physical pain, was bearable. There were even rare moments when it would actually disappear.
By July of 1984, two months after the strange symptoms began, we received orders from the head organization of the main ashram to close our center. Osho had decided that all of the centers in the United States would close, and only the main ashram would remain open. This news was very difficult for me to accept. I felt a deep sense of discouragement and failure. All the long hours and hard work I had spent realizing my dream now seemed like wasted energy.
After closing the center I decided to return to Europe with my children to complete some unfinished business there. I was anxious, tense, and unhappy all of the time and I tried desperately to make those feelings disappear. My main tool was pretending. If I said enough times that everything was all right, maybe it would be. Then I would think that maybe everything actually was all right, and that I was a spoiled brat to want things to be different. I felt trapped in a vicious circle of mind games, and I began doubting my own sanity.
Throughout that period, everything I did required extra effort. As usual, I pushed myself beyond my limits, which were either nonexistent or ill-defined in the first place. I would impose challenges on myself, such as driving from Spain to Belgium in one stretch, because “I did not have enough money to stop in a hotel.” I had a hundred crazy excuses that kept negating a simple human way to take care of myself. The more I said no to myself, the more resentment I had toward myself.
By winter I grew more and more dissatisfied with my life, and subsequently more and more sick. A local doctor diagnosed me with walking pneumonia. This period of my life was extremely difficult, and I was depressed most of the time. I was barely able to drag myself around, struggling for the sake of my children to keep up the pretense that everything was okay.
I didn’t respect my own body enough to listen to the constant signals it was sending me. I never took the time simply to sit and ask myself: “What is really happening, right now? What am I feeling?” and put that information into perspective. I always pushed it away because I did not want to upset my children or the others in my family, or because I had to take care of business. I was living my life according to some arbitrary standard that “it was never the right time,” according to the dictates of “circumstances” or “partner” or “country.” I can see today what a powerful defense system it was. It was like putting a polish on everything to cover the dust; staying in the superficiality of the circumstances, simply because it felt safer.
Finally, during a breath therapy session with a colleague in Spain, I dropped the pretense that everything was okay. In breath therapy, you inhale and exhale continuously, creating a circle of breath, which builds up energy in the body and facilitates healing. While doing this, I began to release the streams of repressed emotion. I expressed the anger I felt toward myself for all the years of self-denial, and at Nado for not responding to our love. This was followed by a deep sadness, that we had missed the opportunity to merge, and truly love one another unconditionally. This was the first breakdown, when I began to face what was really happening.
After allowing the waves of emotion to be released, I felt empty and open. In the silence of this emptiness I asked myself what was really happening with me. I was not so interested in easy answers, but in the question itself. I let myself be in the question. What was my body trying to tell me? How was I sabotaging myself? Who was it in me that was doing the sabotaging, and who was it in me asking the question? I felt fragile and vulnerable. I had begun to lift the veil of denial, open my eyes, and honestly view my life. I had taken the first step on my path of healing.
I returned to the States and moved to East Hampton, New York. Shortly thereafter, Nado came to visit and moved in again. Our reunion after months of separation was like a honeymoon. Unfortunately, he could not sustain his physical affection toward me, and it wore thin quickly. I fell backward into the illusion that I could control the circumstances and push the river of our love. My old ways quickly overshadowed my new fragile openness and vulnerability. I no longer felt the magic of living in the question. The freedom of “I don’t know” became imprisoned by the need to know and have it my way. My insecurity returned, burying that delicate sense of newness.
I can see now how my insecurity took control again, as a protection device. It created the illusion that I had authentic power over my life, when in reality my emotional life had become completely unmanageable. Although that attitude did serve as a filter to shield me from the shame and loneliness I felt inside, it was a very subtle way of sabotaging my intuition. My main response to life was, “No, I’ve had enough” or “How can I escape this?” At the time I was not conscious of my negative attitude, and it colored everything in my life. Every step seemed like a struggle, and required energy that did not seem to be available to me. The rare moments of harmony and joy I experienced came while I was meditating on the beach in the morning before work. Because of this I wanted to spend more time in meditation, and so I took a temporary sabbatical from my therapy practice.
That summer, Nado and I were hired as caretakers on a magnificent estate located right on the beach. The owner was only there on weekends, so our schedules were flexible during the week. It was a blessing. I needed time to think and to discover what I wanted to do with my life. I needed to reconcile myself with the change from communal living to living with my children as a nuclear family again. Because I was no longer running the meditation center, and I was living on the beach, life was much lighter and easier. As a result, my body felt much better, even though I still had very little energy and it was difficult to work. We lived a very simple life, Nado, my children, and I. In a way it was like beginning a new chapter.
But in September 1985 everything was thrown out of the window with the results of Nado’s HIV test. He had been routinely tested at the main ashram as part of anew screening program. The hierarchy of the ashram was concerned about the spread of AIDS amongst the disciples, and had decided to close the doors of the ashram to anyone who tested positive for HIV. Nado was tested with hundreds of others for verification of his assumed health. Unlike my own, his body showed no symptoms whatsoever. His test came back highly positive, and at that moment, suddenly, all my strange symptoms made frightening sense.
UP UNTIL this point in my life, AIDS had been a fiction. Even though we were well informed about AIDS and safe sex at the ashram, it was something that was happening to people “out there.” At the time I didn’t know very many gay people or I.V. drug users, so I never conceived of the possibility that it would enter my life.
In a panic, I went to see a doctor who was recommended by a sannyasin friend. I wanted someone very caring, and my friend assured me that this doctor was the right one for me since he practiced meditation and had traveled to India several times. I trusted him right away, and at our first meeting he recommended that I get tested at the Suffolk County Health Department, where I could be tested anonymously. At the time, there was a very real fear of loosing employment or insurance due to an HIV-positive test result.
In 1985, being tested at a health-department clinic in New York meant waiting six weeks for the results, and those six weeks were hell. The fear was so intense that I could only deal with it through denial and occasional rage. I would not even entertain the notion that I could possibly have AIDS. Even though the symptoms I had been suffering from for months, including diarrhea, thrush, and night sweats, were considered major warning signs, I refused to draw the terrible conclusion. I would convince myself, over and over, that it was not so. During the rare moments when I would consider the possibility, I felt intense anger toward Nado for exposing me to a deadly virus, and for his inability to trust me enough to be open and honest with me.
When the day for the test results came, Nado and I arrived at the clinic early. While we waited in the car for our appointment, I passed the time by enjoying the serenity of the pastoral surroundings. I remember that it was an exquisitely beautiful day. A few minutes before our appointment, it dawned on me. “Stop fooling yourself,” I thought. “You know the test results are positive.” When you come out of the building your life will be totally different.” I looked at the sky and the birds and all of the beautiful nature around me and I thought to myself, “Take a good look, Niro, because when you come out again nothing will look the same.”
When Nado and I entered the room, I could hardly breathe. Our counselor was so sweet in trying to break the news as gently as possible. I could feel her personal regret at having to be the one to announce to us that we were both HIV-positive, as she handed us our test results as proof that the shocking news was true. (Three months later the results from the Red Cross blood tests Nado and I had taken earlier came by registered mail. They were also HIV-positive.)
The counselor then proceeded to explain that the test results did not mean that we would have to change our lifestyle right away, but that it would be appropriate to be monitored by a doctor. She gave us a booklet from the health department containing instructions on what steps could be taken to postpone death, but I chose not to read it. To tell you the truth, I didn’t want to hear about it. All of the media were completely negative and destructive, denying any possibility of hope in their unequivocal statements that AIDS was fatal, and that there was no cure.
When she asked if we had any questions, I just wanted to run out of the building. Her tone was very compassionate, but that produced the opposite of the intended effect on me. I hated being treated as someone fragile. I wanted to run away, and be alone. I needed to let the news in, to integrate it. I was at a loss as to how to react. I wanted to scream, to cry, to get out of there. Instead I repressed my feelings and refused to cry. With a shallow voice I answered no. Nado asked how long we had to live, and she softly answered: approximately eighteen months, if we were lucky. She invited us to call her if we needed support, assuring us that she was there to help.
The news of the positive results of my HIV test did not really register. It was like some tragic soap opera. I had ARC, which stood for AIDS-related complex. What the hell did that mean? Guaranteed death … eighteen months to live if I was lucky. But worse than that, it meant being cast out of my spiritual community, ostracized by the people I loved most. My dream of eventually retiring and living at the ashram was impossible as long as I tested HIV-positive. I also feared being judged by others, and becoming a source of repulsion, a leper. That would be too much to face; I was afraid of rejections more than I was of death itself. It was all just too unbearable, and I fell into a state of numbness.
The following day I returned to my doctor with the results of my test. I arrived very tense and full of questions, trying to hide the intensity of my fears. The gentleness and care I felt from him immediately alleviated my anxiety. On that day he provided me with one of the major elements for my healing journey. I very candidly asked him if there was anything that could be done about my situation. I wanted desperately to get rid of this horrifying condition so that I could go “home” to the ashram. He responded honestly by saying, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do for you except be here whenever you need me. I know very little about AIDS, and unfortunately the medical profession has yet to discover a cure.” He then gave me the name of a top specialist on Long Island for further consultation.
I was empowered by his honesty, and felt completely taken care of, because there was such good communication between us. There was no need for pretense or false solutions. I knew that he really cared, and that the truth about my condition would always be given to me. That was priceless to me. I felt seen, respected, and understood. I felt treated as an equal human being – a feeling I rarely experienced in the presence of doctors. Most of the time I felt more like an object of science being studied. His honesty and integrity was like a seed which slowly sprouted and eventually blossomed in me. The honest readiness to accept the facts as they were presented to me, and the courage to stand up for my truth despite the circumstances, became key components of my healing. I thanked him for his frankness and support, informing him that I needed to reconcile the situation in my mind and examine what my options were before I made any decisions, I promised him that I would come see him whenever I felt I needed the anchor of his guidance.
After I returned home, the reality of the news set in. There was nothing I or anyone else could do. My first reaction was “No!” – refusing to believe it – followed by “Why me?” Virtually every HIV client I have worked with in therapy has shared the same response. It is so instinctive it is nearly a reflex. It is the natural reaction of the survivor in us. Denial of the news or of the condition itself, followed by anger and resistance to accepting responsibility for it in our lives. In the beginning, denial and resistance are healthy reactions, but we can quickly fall into the role of victim if we stay stuck in them.
There were two main reasons I remained stuck in the “Why me?” attitude. First, it was my tendency to compare my present situation with the past. I constantly obsessed about what I had “lost.” Yet in truth, when I was healthy, like many of us, I took life for granted. It wasn’t until I was faced with my imminent death that I began to appreciate the fragile gift of life. Second, I would imagine all the terrible things that would happen to my two children. Since they had grown up without a father, it was unbearable to imagine them being raised by “normal” people who did not have the same spirituality and level of consciousness that they did. This only added to the guilt I felt about contracting the disease in the first place. I began organizing my legal affairs, and prepared to draw up a will. I purchased the best life insurance I could, so that my children would be financially taken care of after my death.
In my mind I played over and over again the tragic scenario of a long, painful suffering, in which I was completely helpless, dying in some strange hospital bed. This, more than death itself, terrified me. Now not only did I have to deal with the physical symptoms of high fevers, chronic diarrhea, and excruciating pain, but I had to live with my past regrets and future fears as well. The emotional stress that resulted from these anxieties not only prohibited healing but, I believe, actually contributed to the symptoms of the disease itself. I felt that I had failed and that I was running out of time.
My response to my fears was to become utterly frantic. I ran around like the proverbial chicken with her head cut off. Because I felt so helpless, I attempted to fix everything else around me. I compulsively cleaned the house from top to bottom. I became overprotective of my children, now in their teens, giving them unwanted advice and driving them crazy. I tried to communicate with Nado, to get him to talk, to get him to change – anything to avoid facing the terror I felt inside. My only way to survive the fear was to say no to my nightmare, and to the illness that was the source of it. At one point I called the specialist whom my doctor had recommended. After I explained my symptoms to his receptionist, she replied that I was not sick enough, and I would have to wait two months for an appointment.
For at least three weeks following the diagnosis, I vacillated between total numbness and intense anger. There were times when I was lost in a fog and nothing made sense. Then there were times when it would lift and I would experience intense rage at everything around me. The anger would come in waves, followed by accusation and blame, which would rise with it like the tide. I would usually blame Nado or use the old excuse that my body was betraying me. I blamed my body for getting sick, for not being strong enough, for leading me into temptation. Anything to avoid taking responsibility myself. An example of this was a letter I wrote to my body on one of my more difficult days.
Today, you are really taking me for a total trip. You hurt everywhere, and my feet and fingers are so swollen I can hardly put on my Birkenstocks, and there’s no way that I can put on my rings. I fucking ache everywhere, and then like a total dodo, I step on the scale, and I am ten pounds heavier. My morale drops below basement level. This is not at all funny. Here I am barely eating any sugar and this is the reward I get! Fuck you!
You have become my enemy. (The truth is you have been my enemy for a long time.) I remember when you grew too big too quickly, and I was told I was too tall to be a dancer. Then you blossomed and became very beautiful, creating so many problems for me. I didn’t know how to handle all those men, and I had nobody to talk to. I felt the constant judgments of the women in my family, like I did something wrong, but I knew not what.
My relationship with you was one of ignorance. (I did not even have a full orgasm or discover masturbation until I was much older, that’s how cut off we were from each other.) I could only use you through disease. The only time you ever gave me any satisfaction was when you were sick, and I would finally receive some attention. Oh, of course when I was eating too.
My affair with food started when I left home to live with my grandmother. At home, I use to hate heating what my mother served and I was slender. The only thing I liked was chocolate, and it was rarely available. Whenever we received it as an acknowledgement of my Dad’s love, it was always an anxious moment. I liked the chocolate, but I hated what was happening around the ceremony. I would often feel a sense of being deprived of love, when my piece was not as big as the others. I felt like there wasn’t enough simple love, celebration, or laughter in our home. At my grandmother’s house suddenly I was the center of attention and I could eat however I liked. Overnight, my diet went crazy. I ate pasta every single night, and a lot of it. I gained twenty pounds in three months, and nobody did anything about it beside speak about my change in hormones. They just let me blow up like a balloon. I grew more and more miserable, and found refuge in more food, creating a vicious circle.
So, who was the enemy of whom?
I have abused you, a lot, with food, sugar, and diet pills that those dangerous doctors gave you, and like a silly goose I trusted them so much. I remember one doctor who was attracted to me after I reached my weight loss goal because I was slender again and very beautiful. He was very handsome, and I felt attracted to him as well, but it paralyzed me. I was only eighteen, and he was married, so I freaked out when he asked me to sleep with him. I went home and gained ten pounds in one week as an instinctive way to say no. That was the beginning of a long pattern of saying no to men by gaining weight. Today it is the way to say no to myself as well. If by getting slender I don’t get what I hoped I would get, namely love, or if men pursue me, asking me to sleep with them instead of loving me first, I sabotage myself by getting fat.
Oh my aching body, how betrayed I feel by you. Is the anger toward you, or is it toward them: Nado, my husband, all the others … You hurt right now. Am I hurting you instead of screaming at them … or is it my fault for allowing it to be done to me? The search is intense and you are hurting more and more … all over. What am I doing wrong? Even being in bed does not stop the pain, the shortness of breath. You are becoming ugly and I hate you right now. I am so afraid that if I get ugly Nado will not hold my hand … and then I will die. I am so far from loving you. I need someone to teach me how. I would love to love you, but like always, my love seems so conditional. Do I have to surrender, and let you take the lead? Do I have to discover what it is to be female with you too? I’m scared, and I don’t trust you, and I don’t trust myself with the agreements I make with you, because I always break them. I want to escape, and you keep me here with the pain. Where can I go besides facing it, feeling it, discovering all the dimensions of it and the madness connected with it? You are dying, dear body, and I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do?
In reality, blaming my body was a tricky way to avoid facing all the self-abuse I had inflicted on it over the years. If I blamed my body, or the circumstances of my life, or Nado, then I could play the role of victim and escape taking personal responsibility. The anger I was feeling was actually more a form of resistance than of true anger because I was not yet willing to be accountable for my situation. I wanted only to blame and feel righteous. I was pointing the finger outside of myself as a way to avoid looking inside and facing myself.
It was also partly due to my fear of expressing anger. I have always been afraid of real anger, and have repressed it most of my life. I was always afraid that if I let go of control, I would be like a bottomless volcano erupting. I also feared that the explosion would hurt the people around me and that I would end up alone.
IN MY CHILDHOOD, whenever anger was directed at me, I withdrew into a feeling of total helplessness. Violence especially would terrify me, and I would do anything to escape it. I would shut down and become totally numb. I would isolate from my family, feelings as if I were living in the “wrong house” and judging human beings as very strange. Later in life, I learned other tools of escape, like closing my eyes and doing a pretend “meditation,” hoping that the angry person would go away.
I now know that the healthiest way to release anger is to express it outwardly, in a liberating way, without blaming others. For example, shouting “Fuck you!” and beating a pillow, or screaming wildly in front of the ocean. This releases the repressed energy that literally makes us sick. By emptying ourselves as much as possible, we make room for healing energy to move through us. When anger is appropriately channeled, it can serve us. It can assist us in setting up healthy boundaries and protecting ourselves from abuse. This is not done by screaming at the people in our life, but by first releasing the repressed energy on our own. This creates the opportunity to communicate our hurt feelings in an appropriate and honest manner.
Many of my spiritual teachers and therapists throughout the years had consistently told me, “Niro, one day you will have to reach the bottom of your anger,” and one day I did. Life in all of its abundance presented me with the perfect circumstances.
When Nado first received the results of his test from the ashram, and we were hoping that the results were a mistake, we became very close again for a few weeks. All my resentment disappeared, and I vowed that we would tackle this challenge together until the very end. After we both tested HIV-positive, Nado withdrew and began avoiding me again. I was devastated to discover that, even in a time like this, we could not find a way to communicate and support each other. Months later he confessed that because he had felt so guilty at the time, it had been easier for him to accept my anger and blame than to receive my love and support. Losing my connection with Nado again hurt so much that my desire for living diminished greatly and I began to welcome the onset of more severe symptoms. A dangerous voice within me would whisper, “Let’s get this over with quickly. Life is too disappointing.”
In his own way Nado was trying to stay connected with me, but his attempts only made things worse. He was in a relationship with a man whom he referred to as his friend, but it was obvious that they were more than just friends. In an effort to integrate his two lives, Nado would invite his friend home in the hope that the two of us would grow to like each other. Could he not see that he was asking too much of me? I finally reached my limit one day while Nado was playing tennis with his friend. I could no longer restrain my anger and repulsion and I ordered them both to leave. All of my repressed judgments about homosexuality oozed out of me like poison. I really wanted to hurt Nado. I wanted to humiliate him in front of his “friend” and make him understand how misused I felt. In fact, I wanted him to see the loneliness and abandonment I felt while watching him have fun without me.
Losing Nado, being ostracized by my spiritual family, and having a terrifying disease was all too much to bear. Life no longer seemed worth living. My spiritual teachers had taught me to accept life as it comes, but this was too much to accept. How much more could I be asked to withstand? I had to draw the line somewhere, didn’t I? Then, almost in answer to my innocent inquiry, that old familiar voice of my inner judge would come, like a punisher delighting in her vengeance. She would tell me how much I deserved my misfortunes as punishment for all my wrongdoings, and especially for having pretended that I did not see these misdeeds as I was doing them. Then the complainer in me would grumble that this was not the way she wanted to live her life, and continuously compare it to how it should be.
Whenever I listened to those negative inner voices, I felt shame, resentment, and a desire for vengeance. Those voices also generated a sense of urgency and panic, and a need to escape. When I didn’t let those voices run me, it was easier to return to my heart. I repeatedly tried to create a new understanding between Nado and me, but to no avail. We just could not find a way to be open with each other simultaneously. We were so out of sync with each other. When I reached out to him, he would withdraw. When he reached out to me, I would blame him, so that I could feel righteous.
Because I loved Nado so dearly, I could accept on one level that he was sexually active with other men. Even though it hurt a lot, I managed to deal with it, since I was unable to compete with them. Then one day I was driving home, approaching the estate, and I saw Nado leaving in a strange car with a woman driving. Since he barely acknowledged me as they were driving away, I assumed that they were having an affair.
I couldn’t take any more; something snapped inside of me. I couldn’t control myself, and I became a wild animal. I had been praying for an opportunity to release the pressure of the rage repressed within me, and this was it. I had expected it to be a great thunderstorm, but I had no idea it would be a hurricane. I stormed into Nado’s private cottage, barged into his bedroom, and systematically began destroying everything that had anything to do with us. I shredded books, demolished tapes, and violently smashed crystals on the floor. I let myself lose control, justified by my feelings of being betrayed.
When my first wave of anger subsided, I felt guilty for behaving so “insanely.” Filled with shame, I left his cottage. Suddenly I stopped and looked up at the stars. My heart was pounding. I felt so alive, so warm and passionate. I realized that there was much more anger inside of me, ready to explode. This was the place where I had always repressed my natural flow of energy. But now I felt a second wave rising in me. I ran back to the cottage and let myself express my rage until I fell on my knees feeling completely empty. In that instant I experienced one of the most exquisite moments of bliss I can remember.
The next day when I saw Nado again, he explained to me that the woman I saw with him was one of his poetry students who was driving him to class. When he discovered his room was totally ransacked he commented with a loving smile, “I am so glad you finally went there.” I was too. We held each other and were united again. In the clarity of that moment we both understood why we were together on this mysterious adventure called life and how many doors we were opening for each other. We realized that because we were constantly challenging each other by “pushing each other’s buttons,” we were keeping each other aware of the areas of our lives that we needed to work on. This supported us in continuing to discover who we were in relation to each other, to our disease, and to life.
As the days passed, I became more and more frustrated about how unfair life seemed to be. I was ready to give up. I was living in that dangerous place of “either-or.” Somewhere in my subconscious mind I held the belief that no matter what I did, it would not produce the promised results, so what was the point of continuing? In search of an answer I examined my childhood, to see what decision this belief may have been based on. Then I remembered.
When I was ten years old, my parents had promised to send me to summer camp if I received good grades in school. For the entire school year I really worked hard and earned a total average of 98 percent. My teacher mentioned that I really deserved 100 percent, but said she could not write that on a report card. When it came time to go to camp, my parents reneged on their part of the bargain, and did not allow me to go.
I felt cheated and betrayed. From that moment on, I lost trust in my parents and despised them for not keeping their word. The set of beliefs I adopted about life on that day, such as “People can’t be trusted” and “Life won’t give me what I deserve,” still impact my life today. I rarely trust authority figures and I am always wary of being used by people, especially in relationships. It was a very uncomfortable step, finally to acknowledge that I did not trust most people, especially my life partners. Because I rarely trusted that they would fulfill the promises they made to me, I would usually take over and fulfill them myself, being the “independent woman” that I am; yet at the same time I would resent them for not taking care of me. I can now see how I would sabotage any opportunity to receive, because I usually didn’t give my partners the chance to give to me in the first place.
That incident with my parents created a series of strong filters that colored the way I perceived life. Since I was now challenged by a life-threatening illness, and my whole life seemed to be caving in, I realized it was finally time to let go of the old resentment and blame I was still holding on to from an event that happened over thirty years ago. I was finally willing to see that those beliefs needed to be examined, and that perhaps they were no longer appropriate in my life as an adult.
Today, I can finally accept what happened and my response to it. I can see that my parents were not aware of the impact that the incident had on me, and never intended to hurt me. In fact, they were doing their best to take care of me. Those old beliefs I had been carrying were no longer serving me. I accepted that the memories would always be there, but realized that they hurt me only because I kept returning to them as a way of justifying the mechanism of today’s reactions. I deliberately chose to use my precious life force to empower myself rather than feed the victim in me.
It was only when I was willing to accept the past, and let go, for at least a few moments, of the decisions I had made as a child, that I had glimpses of the fact that my view of life was not actually real. It was a product of those childhood vows (“I will never let someone hurt me like that! I will never tell the truth! I will never love, it hurts too much!”) that created the filters through which I perceive “reality.”
In those moments of clarity I was able to embrace the perfection of life itself, and to be grateful for the constant opportunities it provides. Ultimately it was and is my choice whether or not to keep feeding that self-righteous voice within me, which I call the controller.
The controller is the part of me that would rather die than not get what she wants. She tries to control everything, at any price. She was the one who demanded closeness and intimacy from Nado, but could not be open to what was actually happening between us. She was able to justify her action and attitude from here to the end of time, with absolutely no humility, compassion, or love toward Nado or myself. She literally believed she needed the love and approval of others in order to survive, yet she was totally blind to the impossibility of the fulfillment of her request because even I was not willing to accept what was happening. That belief more than any other was draining most of my energy and making me sick. It kept me feeling hopeless, miserable, and trapped.
That belief, which at the time I considered my reality, also originated from my childhood conditioning and was based on another very basic conclusion made at a very early age. When we are born, we are helpless beings depending solely on our parents for survival. They are the source of our food, shelter, comfort and most importantly, love. During these early years, because we don’t yet understand the spoken language fully, we learn from our parents by modeling ourselves after them. We sense whether they approve of our behavior or not. Approval feels like love, and disapproval feels like the removal of love. Our parents’ approval is of the utmost importance to us, for without it we fear that they will stop taking care of us and abandon us. Since we are helpless as infants, and unable to take care of ourselves, if we were to be abandoned we would literally die. This basic fear is very present in almost all of our subconscious programming. It becomes more complex and sophisticated, embellished by the poetry of romance, as we get older, but it still originates from the conditioning of the helpless infant within us, who literally believes she needs to be taken care of by someone (Mommy, Daddy, or a surrogate) to survive. Because of this she continually confuses love with approval.
While I was in that unhealthy relationship with Nado, I never even questioned the validity of needing someone else’s love to “survive.” It definitely appeared to be the truth, although I know now that it was only my perceived reality.
I realize today that I was doing what I see so many of us do. I was using all of my training, as well as developing new tools, to keep those old beliefs alive. I would even go so far as to pretend that I wanted to change, when in reality I was not very interested in changing. Even though intellectually I knew it was time to examine each belief and “voice” within my head, I was afraid of letting go of my old conditioning. I was afraid I would “disappear” if I were to really examine who I thought I was, and be willing to let go of my “identity” in the process.
Occasionally, when I was totally exhausted, and no longer had the energy to resist, blame, or complain, the voice of my intuitive healer would guide me toward surrender. She reminded me that I was in charge of my life and that it was time to take responsibility for what I knew inside of me. She encouraged me to move beyond my conditioning with all its judgment and shame, and to stop trying to control the circumstances. My inner healer invited me simply to see that there was no need to resist any longer, and that it was time to move on. Somewhere deep within me I knew that it was time to let go, and to explore what I knew in my soul.
At that time in my life, I could not see the immense gift that I was receiving. Because my energy was geared toward resistance, I perceived everything that was happening as if it were an indication of my life falling apart, yet in actuality it was my wake-up call. It was the universe’s way of telling me that it was time to wake up and take responsibility for my life. Unfortunately, I was not ready for such a rude awakening. I wanted to roll over and go back to sleep, hoping that the nightmare would go away. Even though my life seemed to be falling apart as the old was dying, I resisted the birth of the new simply because I was unaware of what I was doing.
AFTER LIVING in the contraction of “hell,” and resisting my demons for the first few weeks after my diagnosis, I stumbled across a little book whose title enticed me: The Lazy Man’s Guide to Enlightenment, by Thaddeus Golas. I opened it, and there on the final page was the sentence, “When you learn to love hell, you will be in heaven.” That sentence opened my eyes to what I already intuitively knew. Accept the moment the way it is, and embrace life the way it unfolds.
In that instant, I felt complete and total alignment with my self and my life for a few exquisite seconds. In that moment I could accept hell, since I was living in it, but surprisingly I discovered that it was not as easy to love heaven. Somewhere in my conditioning I believed that I did not deserve it, and that I wasn’t worthy of it. I believed this was a major source of my disease.
I realized that when it came to taking care of my kids it was easy to access the samurai fighter inside of me, but when it came to myself, especially in terms of my diagnosis, I was really lost. Facing the fact that I could die soon was more than a “fight” for me. I did not know how to deal with it, and the samurai within me, usually full of energy to create solutions in the face of adversity, was not available.
As a therapist, I have worked with many people who, when they received their diagnosis, immediately vowed to fight it. Unlike them, I did not know how to feel. In fact, I realize now, I did not know how to live. Like many of us, I lived my life according to a series of determinations of what made me feel good or bad, and what was comfortable versus what was a struggle. I was just surviving, and what I considered happiness was basically the avoidance of problems and pain.
As I became aware of the absence of my fighting spirit, it seemed as if my only option was to yield completely into my feminine energy of acceptance. I was at the crossroads of finally accepting the fact that I had a deadly virus in my body. I had bought into the myth that AIDS was one-hundred-percent fatal and highly contagious, as was almost universally believed at the time.
The fact that I could infect others was actually the most horrible aspect of having the disease. At that time I was as neurotic as the masses. I was afraid that the virus might be contagious by drinking from the same cup, or sharing the same toilet seat. The fact that I could possibly infect my children was unbearable. I remember thinking that if someone had to pay for my “mistakes” it would be me, but definitely not my children. All of those ingredients of fear boiled in my head as in a pressure cooker, and I felt as if I were literally going mad.
I was so overwhelmed that I forgot all of my tools and training, and denied what my intuition was telling me. I probably just needed someone to remind me to trust my intuition. That is why I believe so strongly in workshops and support groups. They are a place where we can remind each other that we have the answers inside of us. We just need to take the time to be quiet with ourselves, to be open and available and listen.
Fortunately I was living on the beach. I had only to glance out the window to see the eternal dance of the ocean waves. Ebb and flow. In and out. Day and night. No matter how I was feeling, the waves were always dancing their dance, participating in the natural cycle of life. The majesty of the waves and the purity of the deserted winter beach spoke directly to my heart with its tender poetry. They did not change whether I was miserable or blissful. They were always there, available for me to watch, appreciate, and be nourished by. I was sad for having taken them for granted during my resentful moods. How could I have forgotten to take the time to receive them and let my heart dance in communion with them for at least a few moments each day?
The ocean was like my lover, and taught me the natural cycle of expansion and contraction. As I watched the tide approach and withdraw, it slowly dawned on me like the sun peeking out over the ocean’s horizon that the cycle of expansion and contraction was happening inside of me as well. I realized that my entire being and the entire life cycle on this planet responds to this natural rhythm, this continuous pulse of contraction and expansion. Inhale-exhale, day-night, summer-winter, birth-death. It is an inevitable cycle that we can resist but we cannot change.
The ocean would guide me with its gentle fidelity, opening my eyes to the simple beauty of the now. In each precious moment of communion, the poison of my life was purified. Judging, comparing, and demanding that things be different were no longer important. I felt that I was in a state of expansion in which my awareness grew wider and was no longer exclusively focused on my problems. I was able to appreciate the beauty and simplicity of the gift of being alive.
My body immediately responded to my shift in awareness by releasing the tension that it had been holding for so long. It felt like a deep “aaaah.” I could breathe again. I felt so much lighter as I let myself revel in the simple yet magnificent dance of the ocean waves. Then my judgmental mind would come rushing in like the surf, questioning how I could possibly be blissful when there were so many reasons why I should feel miserable. Each time I would surrender and open myself again to the expansion of the moment, my mind would return with its judgments about how terrible my life was and I would fall into a state of contraction. My body would become tense again, like a knot, and ache all over. My breathing would be shallow and I would pace around the house, unable to relax.
Because my body’s response to my mind’s judgments was so strong, I did not realize that I had a choice. If I had only recognized that fear and acceptance are just another expression of the dance between contraction and expansion, I could have said yes to the cycle, allowing the energy to flow naturally between the opposite extremes. Like most of us, I was attached to the feeling of expansion, and feared the feeling of contraction. Therefore I resisted the natural cycle of contraction and expansion. Also, in a strange way, feeling miserable and dwelling on my low self-esteem felt so familiar that it was usually easier to remain in a state of contraction and fear.
I was using my energy to say no to life, even though this was completely contrary to everything I had learned as a disciple. It was the complete opposite of what I knew was “right” on an intellectual level. Now that life was offering me the opportunity to really experience the lesson, I resisted. Then I realized I was trusting the strength of resistance and control, and distrusting the power of acceptance. Before I could really say yes to life, with its myriad of challenges, I had to accept my negative feelings.
I slowly learned to say yes to my feelings of contraction by taking long walks on the beach. The ocean accepted me exactly as I was in the moment without caring whether I was feeling contraction or expansion. I eventually learned to match that acceptance within myself. Looking back, I realize that accepting the contraction of my mind was a doorway to experiencing the expansion of my soul.
To say yes to my contraction, I had to accept my anger, fear, guilt, and shame. I began to say yes to it all, since I could no longer say no. That’s where I was at that moment. There was nothing I could do to change. I was pissed off about having this fucking disease. I was angry that Nado rejected me. I felt guilty about dying so early and leaving my children on their own. I was afraid of suffering and ending up as a helpless vegetable. I was in the throes of darkness. When I acknowledged and accepted what I was truly feeling, the dam inside of me finally burst open. Waves of emotion flooded out, clearing the passage for healing and for the new to come in.
It is vitally important that we learn to respect this passage. When we are overwhelmed by the circumstances of life, and feel we have reached our limit, we become open to the possibility of healing. When I work with clients who express that they’ve had enough, and they can’t take any more, I always think, “Hallelujah, now the work can really begin.”
It is through this painful passage of surrendering control that we find ourselves on the other side of darkness, feeling naked and vulnerable, like a brand-new baby. In this moment we are reborn with the opportunity to rediscover the mystery of life and begin living from a totally different perspective. This creates the opening for miracles to happen.
By saying yes to my anger and despair, and giving myself permission to feel my feelings, I accepted the frightened and doubting part of myself, along with the confident and knowing part. Up until that point I had always tried to be strong and to protect my loved ones. I had to control my response to life, denying that my feelings even existed. In a word, I was trying to be super-woman. It was simply time to accept that underneath it all I was vulnerable and needed to be taken care of as well.
Learning to be true to myself, since there was no more time for lies, was a major turning point for me. I finally dropped the demands and expectations I had of myself to be someone I was not. The someone I was trying to be was a product of all the roles I had learned how to play in the attempt to please my parents, my teachers, my children, and my lovers based on years of conditioning. It was finally time to journey within and discover who I was behind all the masks. This was the beginning of my healing journey, one which I had to embark on alone.
My two children had moved to San Diego. I had chosen not to tell them about my diagnosis. I was afraid that, had they known, they would have changed their plans and stayed with me. I could easily have indulged the victim in me, using the drama of my disease to manipulate them to stay with me, but I wanted them to learn how to fly on their own. It was urgent now. That was more important than to have them stand by and watch me die. It was not easy to let them go, because at the time I had no idea whether we would live together again. Today I value each day we have together and appreciate the fact that they both enjoy spending time with me, not out of a sense of duty but because they choose to be with me.
In January 1986, because Nado and I were in the process of separating, we were seeing each other less and less frequently. He did not share with me what was happening with him in regard to his physical health, and tended to stay away for long periods. I was finally beginning to stand up for myself and for what I wanted, even though I may have had to bark and bite in the beginning. It was not always easy simply to communicate what I needed. Because I valued my solitude, I withdrew from my friends. I knew I had to be alone to discover what it meant to let go and surrender.
The pain of my physical symptoms and my resistance to them had been growing stronger every day and there seemed to be no way out. I knew that complaining about life and criticizing myself and the people around me only made matters worse. I could no longer continue living in denial and resistance; eventually I would have to acknowledge the fact that I would die from this disease. Yet it was not something I could discuss with anyone at the time. Although I felt that I was finally approaching a place of sanity regarding my condition, I knew that the people around me would consider it madness. Surrendering to death is something our society regards as unacceptable.
I began to examine the extent of my subconscious programming about death. While I was growing up, death had been presented as something to avoid, and I perceived it as ugly and scary. It was something we rarely talked about, and now that it was time for me to face the reality of it, I realized I had no concept of it.
The few experiences I had of terminal illness and death had not been directly connected with my own life. They had always been incidents involving the life and death of others. Even though most of them had been beloved friends and family members, it still had not been happening directly to me; I had been merely a witness to their transition from this life to the next. For example, when my father died a few years ago, the cold, embalmed corpse lying in the open casket was in such contrast with the vibrant, strong man I cherished, that I observed it with total detachment. I remember thinking that it was like watching the multicolored leaves fall to the ground in autumn. It was simply a different season in the journey of a man’s life. Even though I felt sad at my own loss, I was very happy for him.
Yet now I was dying of AIDS, and somehow that seemed different.
There were times when my imminent death felt like a welcome relief from a life of pain and rejection. I felt sorry for myself and figured that, since I never got what I really wanted anyway, dying would be a great escape. I was so lost in self-pity that I didn’t even consider the impact of my death on my loved ones who remained behind. Then, after I reached a certain level of weariness regarding my resentment, resistance, and denial, the reality of the disease touched me in a brand-new way. I had to make a quantum leap in personal honesty to accept that there was a killer retrovirus in my body, and that the odds were I would die soon. The moments of surrender happened sporadically and were extremely fragile. They seemed to happen by “accident,” when I was too exhausted to keep complaining about the way things were.
That was the turning point of surrender. I finally said yes to my condition as a part of me. Up until that point it had been much easier to keep the illusion of separation between myself and the “enemy,” in the hope that maybe it would disappear as mysteriously as it had appeared. When I honestly embraced the fact that my immune system was slowly failing me, and that I would die in eighteen months or less, the illusion of living forever, like a veil, was suddenly ripped off of my face. Yet even while I was lost in a whirlwind of fear, a quiet almost imperceptible voice reminded me, “Stay open. This experience has value. Learn from what is happening now.” I knew that once I surrendered to the truth then my life would drastically change. No longer could I take tomorrow for granted.
I remember sitting at the kitchen table with a calendar, counting the 492 days I still had left if I was lucky. When I really got it in my guts that each day that passed would never return, something shifted inside of me. Suddenly each day was precious to me. It was not an intellectual understanding, it was an actual experience of each moment as sacred. I could not waste even one. This realization totally transformed the way I responded to life. I burst into seeing the fullness of each moment, and I embraced each with an open heart.
Denial, resistance, and control disappeared and were replaced with an inner strength that had not been available to me before. In that moment of surrender, the fog lifted on all the fragmented aspects of my personality, which had been fighting amongst themselves. I could recognize all my subpersonalities and their conflicts – my judgmental self was battling with the fragmented part of me that was in denial. The resistant part of me was in conflict with the mask of the people-pleaser. The controller was trying to take charge of them all. When I looked deeper behind all the masks I discovered a vulnerable little girl who was terrified of dying and who was desperately looking for someone or something to protect her.
In the beginning, the concept of surrender was a very frightening one. I had always understood surrender to be the result of a power struggle, with a winner and a loser. Because I had been approaching the disease as an external source of power over my body, the idea of surrendering magnified my fear of suffering and death. Whenever I introduce the concept of surrender to my clients, they often understand it as abandoning the fight, and they usually try to avoid it at any cost. Often they believe that if they were to surrender to the truth that they have a disease, then they would be giving power to it. The truth is, when we deny or resist something out of fear, we give our power away to fear. When we accept it as the truth, we take our power back.
Surrender does not mean giving our power away. Surrender is the path of the master and of the healer. It is saying yes to life and accepting what is so. Giving our power away is the path of the victim and of the child survivor. It is saying no to life and resisting it as it unfolds. We never actually give our power away, we simply hope to have things our own way, and we resent it when we don’t. Falling into the trap of believing that we gave our power away is simply a sophisticated way to enable ourselves to complain that life didn’t turn out the way we wanted.
Surrender is the simplest yet most grandiose state that a human being can reach. It is accepting things exactly the way they are in the present moment, with no past and no future. It is beyond judgment. In our daily lives we constantly operate from a critical evaluation: We say, this is good, it gives me pleasure – or we fall into the opposite, saying, this is bad, it creates pain. When was the last time you stopped to reevaluate your judgments and beliefs before acting from them? Rarely had I even considered it, yet now that I was facing my imminent death, I questioned everything. I wanted finally to discover who I was before I left this body and this life.
It was an intense beginning. I realized that I knew very little about who Niro was. I knew a lot about her past, and the personality she had created to survive. I was intimate with her mistakes, her regrets, her dreams and fantasies. I knew her reactions, but I didn’t know who she really was in this moment. My lifelong dreams of world travel, and of being taken care of by the perfect partner, just fell away when I let go of my future plans. There was no more time to waste dreaming of what would be, or regretting what didn’t happen. I was acutely aware that I had a finite number of days remaining on this earth (as we all do), and chose to reprioritize my life accordingly. The first thing I did was dispense with the superficial social activities that had consumed much of my time. I no longer cared about what was the “right” thing to do.
Healing energy became available to me because I was living with acceptance. Acceptance leads to forgiveness, which is an important stepping stone to healing. Like healing, forgiveness is an allowing and not a doing. It is impossible to force forgiveness. It is the natural flowering of the seeds of surrender. For me, forgiveness happened spontaneously in the moment and became an open door to love for myself and others.
Love is the most important healing energy. It is all you need to make miracles happen. Old resentments, about events like the time my mother would not allow me to go to summer camp, just fell away in that higher energy. They were no longer important. I no longer needed to cling to them as part of my identity, which had been built on so much unfinished business.
In the healing process, as in life itself, forgiveness means being willing to drop the past and live in the present. It is the bridge between finishing with old memories – perhaps resolving them, perhaps not – and being willing to let them go. Forgiveness is a very important step to take in learning to live in the present. It is accepting that the past is in the past, that we cannot change it. All we can do is to choose to finish with the memories.
Through forgiveness I realized that, although I could not change the past, I could change the effect it had on the present. For example, if I were to judge my past actions as the source of my disease, it would create intense guilt (contraction). But with forgiveness comes freedom from judgment, and liberation from guilt. Through acceptance I experienced true freedom for the first time ever.
Acceptance created expansion and opened my heart to life as it was presented to me. I simply surrendered unconditionally, without an expectation. I wasn’t bartering for more time, or a second chance; I just said yes to whatever was happening and continued with my daily chores. Even though the pain and discomfort of my body did not go away, my spirit was dancing with tremendous joy and the love of life. I was learning to accept the dance between contraction and expansion, and discovering what it meant to exist in the space between them.
Because I finally accepted the unacceptable, I was able to detach from my worries and concerns. I experienced life from a different perspective. Instead of becoming more terrified and contracted by death, I felt a deep sense of release and expansion. I embarked on a very powerful journey of questioning, of choices, of doubt and of fear. It was a journey from merely surviving on automatic pilot to consciously living the gift of life in all its glory.
As I surrendered to life itself, I was able to become more detached from the many stressful details that had been cluttering it. Letting go of the importance I had placed on them created a fresh ease which I had been lacking for what seemed like forever. I felt so alive, and so real in my feelings. I watch my emotions as they constantly changed, like the seasons. I accepted them all, the fear as well as the joy, without judging them as good or bad. As with the ocean, nothing was static inside or outside of me. I was a part of the ongoing rhythm of life. What the Chinese call the Tao or “the way.” More and more I let go and felt my place in life’s miraculous flow.
I WAS VERY SURPRISED that the extremely self-centered part of me (which I call the indulger) did not take over my life and run wild. I could have indulged my sweet tooth, stuffing myself with chocolate, ice cream, and all kinds of other fattening goodies, or gone on a shopping spree, loading my credit cards to the max, or just laid around in bed all day doing nothing. I could have totally given up and let go of any kind of discipline – because, as the indulger believed, “Since I’m gonna die nothing really matters.” It was so strange that the voice of indulgence, which had always rationalized about starting that diet tomorrow, or postponing exercise today, did not show up. That voice of a million excuses had rarely been silent, except for the few times when I was very happy and felt loved.
I began to identify those very different parts of myself. On the one side was the indulger or victim, whose main thrust is fear and survival; on the other side was the voice of integrity, the healer, whose path is one of self-mastery and beingness. Indulgence created a false sense of expansion in me because my desires were temporarily satisfied, but ultimately it led to discomfort and contraction. On the other hand, integrity created an organic sense of expansion, not from doing anything in particular, but from being true to myself. Still, it was difficult to stay with my integrity because it was so easy to slip into indulgence. It often demanded extreme self-discipline to say no to my indulgence and say yes to what I knew was best for me.
I could not escape noticing how much my symptoms worsened when I went into the “poor me” pattern, so I created a very simple discipline to avoid indulging the “victim” in me. Each day, I committed myself to accomplishing three things, regardless of how badly I felt. In fact, I would not go to bed until they were completed. The three tasks might be balancing my checkbook, sewing on a missing button, and giving myself a manicure. Because I knew the power of my indulger, I was careful not to challenge myself too much; I chose goals that I knew I could achieve. I set myself up to win, and to go to bed with the satisfying sense of having accomplished something valuable. Most importantly of all, I kept my word with myself. It was very expansive and healing to look at my life and feel that things were in order. Accomplishing my three daily goals gave me that feeling, and as a result the quality of my sleep each night was much more nourishing. I also made a point to maintain an impeccable appearance. I did not want to look the part of a sick person at this early stage.
Living a disciplined lifestyle was a new experience for me. I no longer imposed impossible challenges on myself, only to become discouraged when I was unable to fulfill them. I practiced keeping my word with myself, one step at a time. It was like working a muscle that has not exercised in a long time. In the beginning, it is weak and shaky. Practice is needed, and mistakes happen. The newness of the experience makes it clumsy and sore. Yet with time and perseverance, the muscle grows stronger and more alive, a vital part of the body.
My indulgence had been endlessly sabotaging me, not only in terms of my physical health, but also in the quality of my relationship with Nado. At times it had also affected my attitude toward my children and my job. Following my diagnosis, my constant complaining and my need to control and resist continued to disempower me. Finally I had had enough. It was time to stop indulging, time to discover what it was to be honest with myself, take full responsibility for my actions, and live with that integrity.
For years, I had thought of “integrity” as synonymous with “self-criticism.” Every time someone would mention my integrity, it was basically to criticize me for my lack of it. So the idea of integrity and the feeling of being chastised, by both myself and others, always seemed to be intertwined.
I had first begun to learn how to take honest responsibility for my life when I was in the est Guest Seminar Leader program, which was very demanding. In order to find the time to keep all my commitments, I literally did not sleep several nights a week. Although I usually over extended myself, it was wonderful to keep my word, not to have to lie or avoid people with whom I had broken agreements. Living honestly was extremely exhilarating, but tough on the body – so then I ended up equating honesty with stress. When I was first learning how to communicate my truth with others, my fear of rejection often created a high level of stress within me. I had no idea that it could be another way.
Now I realized that it was time to discover my own experience of what it meant to live at maximum potential, as opposed to what I had learned from others in books and seminars. I embarked on a journey to discover what integrity really meant to me. I began to understand it as a simple way of living my life. I slowed down my entire life, continually asking myself the question: “Will this action or decision support me to reach my maximum potential?” I still ask myself this question today. Whenever I lose sight of my direction in life and feel as if I’ll never get back on track, I simply ask the question again to realign with myself.
As part of my exploration, I also asked myself what steps I could take that would support me in reaching my maximum potential. It was always important for me to be the best I could be, and eventually to fulfill my life’s purpose, once I finally discovered what it was. Now, since I knew I would die, there was very little time. Although I was willing to die, I wanted to fulfill my purpose for being on this planet first. It was important to me that I discover my reason for being, or my “raison d’etre,” as they say in Belgium. I opened myself up to the question and waited patiently for the answer, in silence, not in time, since time had become my enemy.
Eventually an even more basic question arose, and I asked myself, What exactly was my maximum potential? Again I simply let go and stayed open to receive the answer, without trying to figure it out. For me, the exploration of that dance between the question and the answer is one of the greatest motivations to be alive. By simply letting myself bathe in the silence of this question, without all my preconceived conclusions, the answer eventually surfaced from deep inside of me. My maximum potential is living with love for myself and others, and creating love and beauty all around me like an endless circle … a dance of giving and receiving.
I realize now that prior to my diagnosis I was living a life that mostly went against my own nature, while I was pretending that it was the way I wanted to live. I had kept experimenting with various lifestyles, from housewife to jet-setter to spiritual disciple, in search of the one that corresponded to my true nature.
The pretense that life was fine had created such an enormous stress on my system that it provided a perfect fertile ground for disease to erupt from. My immune system was so weakened by this self-denial, and by a deep sense of unworthiness, that it was not able to respond effectively to the invasion of the HIV infection.
By living my life according to my own needs instead of constantly trying to please others as I have been conditioned to do, I experienced a glimpse of what it felt like to “put myself on the top of the list.” I began to stand up for myself and what my needs were, in spite of the fact that many of my friends and relatives could not understand my “strange behavior.” It was finally time to rediscover what Niro genuinely wanted, which was extremely frightening. All of my conditioning stood in the way. I still have difficulty with the issue of service versus pleasing, especially in romantic relationships. My conditioning is so strong, and the desire to be liked and accepted so powerful, that it demanded a strong effort for me to stay true to what felt right to me. At the beginning of my healing journey, I was not cognizant of the difference between serving others and trying to please others. I know now that there is a huge qualitative difference. The desire to serve others comes from an overflow of the heart, where giving becomes receiving; trying to please others comes from a desperate need for approval in hopes that we won’t be rejected and hurt.
Since I had very little time left to bother with trying to please the world, I put myself on the top of the list. Up until that point I had believed that if I put myself first, I would be putting others down, and I did not want to be selfish. I now see that this “selfishness” was a key ingredient to my healing. Putting myself on the top of the list was a real challenge, because I had learned that in order to love others I had to put myself down. Although this was not taught outright, it was subtly implied in my religious upbringing. It came from a Catholic tradition of suffering and repression where martyrs are canonized as saints. Ironically, the more I put myself down, the less available I was to truly love another. I had always believed that if I gave a certain amount to someone, then I should receive a certain amount back from them. Suddenly, once I put myself on top of the list, loving others became a direct reflection of loving myself. I gave up trying to please everyone, and simply gave from the simplicity of my heart.
When I took the risk to stand up for myself and go for what I long for, many of my friends felt I was behaving like a spoiled capricious brat. Some friendships disappeared, while others deepened. Even though I made lots of mistakes along the way, putting myself on the top of the list helped prioritize my life. The things that were important, like loving relationships with my family and friends, stayed, and what was superfluous, like social acquaintances, fell away.
I was finally learning how to establish my boundaries. In fact, my inability to establish boundaries had been a major emotional factor contributing to my disease. My sense of shame about not living up to the standards imposed on me by my parents had made me susceptible to abuse from others. So as part of my search for my maximum potential I needed to discover what my personal boundaries were in relation to the people in my life.
For example, Nado would frequently disappear into the city for two or three days, without telling me where he was going or when he would return, leaving me to take care of his chores. Upon his return he would withdraw from me, avoiding any eye contact, as if he were ashamed by his behavior. There were times when he would return from his journey into darkness appearing so desperate and lost that all I wanted to do was hold him and tell him, “It’s all right, baby, you’re gonna be fine,” but he would never allow me to. I could feel the pain of his guilt and his struggle with his sexual identity and addiction. Unfortunately, any dialogue concerning these issues was impossible.
It eventually became too much. Not only did I have to deal with my own pain and my own approaching death, but I had to deal with the unspoken torment of my estranged lover, who refused to open up to me. His mysterious disappearances became so unbearable that I would wake up in the middle of the night, delirious from the night sweats, screaming his name in a panic.
Because our life circumstances were so confrontational in and of themselves, we would do just about anything to avoid taking on any more conflict. Although clinging to each other may have appeared to be the most convenient solution at the time, it only ended up feeding our loneliness and adding to the resentment we felt toward each other.
Finally, in a therapy session with one of my colleagues, I saw clearly that I did not want to live the last months of my life feeling as I did. Up until that session, it never occurred to me that I had the right to establish boundaries and say, “No more, this hurts too much. It is killing me more than the disease itself.” I went home that day after the session and finally asked Nado to pack his bag and leave. He looked at me silently for a moment, and then walked away. Moments later, I went upstairs to my bedroom and discovered a beautiful dusty-rose coat hanging in front of my closet with a love note from Nado. I felt horrible. The timing seemed so off, but then, the timing always seemed off when it came to respecting my boundaries.
Finally standing up for myself and asking Nado to leave, knowing that he was sicker than I, was one of the most courageous events of my life. Not only did I have to let go of the dream of us spending our lives together, but I also had to face the fact that I was not the endlessly patient and compassionate person I wanted to believe I was.
It was excruciating to watch him pack up all of his belongings. I felt so desperate like I had failed one more time. Yet, surprisingly, the moment he left, I felt so relieved. I could breathe again. Only after his departure did I realize just how much I had denied myself during those two years with Nado. Now it was time to rediscover who I was in my solitude. I had made a choice that would empower me to grow because I had finally stopped enabling the victim in Nado as well as in myself. I could now live sanely in my solitude until my death.
Up until that point I had been terrified of being alone. I had confused being alone with being lonely. As a teenager, I was too embarrassed to be seen taking public transportation alone and would hide in taxis instead. Now I was spending entire days by myself, meditating and taking long walks on the beach. Day by day, I was timidly discovering how much I truly did love myself. Meditation was the key to that discovery. It was the beginning of a real love affair with myself that still continues today.
Most of the meditations I practiced were active meditations designed by Osho to assist the modern Western man in emptying himself of all the repressed emotions that keep him from experiencing the silence within. They involved using the whole body in a vigorous and sometimes strenuous manner. Because my energy was low and my body was still fragile in the beginning, I chose the Nadabrahma meditation, the least physically demanding of them all. The Nadabrahma is based on an old Tibetan technique of humming. It is a beautiful meditation that focuses on the harmony between giving and receiving.
After meditation I felt such exquisite inner peace that I got hooked. I loved meditating because it was the way I longed to live, moment to moment, in appreciation of the miracle of life. I was no longer judging, reacting to, or trying to change what was; I simply witnessed it. I didn’t meditate in order to get something, to become healed or enlightened, but just because that was who I was in that moment. I felt so excited, and interested in life. It no longer mattered whether the nights were uncomfortable, or whether getting out of bed was a big production. That was my life at the moment, and I was saying yes to it.
Meditation assisted me in changing my tendency to dwell in the past, and worry about the future. Through meditation I learned how to live in the present moment. Not only did I sit and meditate several times a day, but everything I did became meditation. This practice is what saved my sanity.
For example, when I baked muffins I would focus my complete attention on the act of baking. Instead of dividing my awareness between baking and thinking of why I was baking, whether the muffins would taste all right, what my plans were for later, etc., I would discipline myself to observe the experience of what was happening in the present moment. I would keep asking myself the question “What is now? I am baking muffins. My bare feet are on the floor and I can feel the cool freshness of the tiles. What is now? My hands are opening the bag of flour and pouring some into a measuring cup. What is now? My back hurts, my stomach is growling, and I feel the air in my lungs as I breathe.” When I worked in the garden I focused totally on the plants and soil, tuning everything else out. When I walked on the beach I allowed the beauty and tranquility of the moment to nourish me completely. This mindful awareness kept me in the reality of the moment instead of lost in the painful “movie” of yesterday and tomorrow. It’s like they say in the twelve-step recovery programs of Alcoholics Anonymous: One day at a time. I literally lived one moment at a time. It was the only way I had of dealing with the waves of tremendous fear that would wash up on the shore sporadically throughout the day. Otherwise, I would have lost my mind long before I lost my life.
I had always wanted to learn to live in the present moment, and it seemed like now was the time to develop a discipline to do that, for the sake of my sanity. I did not need a demanding discipline, but a willingness to live with mindful awareness. It was quite difficult in the beginning and required a lot of energy. The paradox lay in my wanting desperately to escape the demons of my mind, but in seeing how automatically I let them run. It was as if I had no ability to halt the train of my thoughts.
Through meditation, I discovered that thoughts had no power by themselves. I could choose to engage in them, or to bring my awareness back to my breath in the present moment. I was able to observe the constant reactions I had to my thoughts. By simply watching each thought, followed by each reaction, I slowed down the automatic thought process. This created a tiny gap between thought and reaction. Soon I could begin to choose a new response, or even no response to the thought. After a while I realized that being run by my fearful thoughts was another form of indulgence. I had a choice. It was my responsibility to start consciously choosing moment by moment.
ONE DAY while meditating, I was guided by the common sense of my intuition and I created what I call my daily awareness routine. It consisted of daily meditation, healthy diet, regular exercise, long walks on the beach, and personal hygiene for my neglected body. One by one I began to utilize the tools I had learned in various workshops and had read about in countless books. This time, though, my discipline was not imposed on me from someone outside of me, but from my own inner wisdom. I was not submitting to the rules of any organization or external authority, but to my own self-empowering guidelines.
The daily awareness routine I developed was mine, and although it required effort, I felt little or no resistance to it. Accomplishing my goals was empowering, and if some rules needed to be adapted for certain circumstances, it was easy to use my creativity to adjust to whatever was appropriate. This process was always guided by my response to the question, “What do I want?” and “Will this serve me in reaching my maximum potential?”
The change in my attitude was a key ingredient in establishing my own definition of integrity. When I was following the rules “imposed” on me (even though I know that I am the one who chose to be part of the organization), the rebel in me resisted, as a safeguard against being controlled and possibly hurt. Rebelling is of course a natural defense mechanism, but it is such a reactive state that it made me a prisoner of the issue I was rebelling against.
Even so, my need to belong would usually override my resistance, and I would submit to the rules. Unfortunately, I didn’t follow them from the ease of surrender but from the fear of rejection. Slowly I became a victim of the system, by my own doing. That is why today I advise my students and clients to refrain from copying what I or others did, and instead to discover what resonates in them, creating what I call their own “prescription.” Then everything can fall into place naturally.
Instead of succumbing to the many “should”s imposed on me by authority, I began to be motivated by self-discipline. In other words, instead of succumbing to or rebelling against external authoritarian power, I tapped into my own internal authentic power. For example, we are told we should “eat an apple a day to keep the doctor away.” Often the rebel in me would disregard the wisdom of this practice as a way of still saying no to my parents or my teachers. Still getting even at forty is a bit silly, but aren’t we all still rebels in a certain way? With this awareness, I chose to surrender to eating the apple. I embraced the freedom of choice that was available to me by taking an action I knew was a positive and nourishing one. Eating the apple now empowers me because I am doing it of my own free will instead of having it imposed on me.
All the energy that I formerly wasted in rebellion, and then in justification, was now liberated to help me explore the simplicity and magnificence of life itself. By not indulging the part of me that was a rebel, I learned to stop feeding the victim in me. I became aware of the connection between the rebel and the victim in me. (Boy, I did not like discovering that one.)
I practiced my daily awareness routine in an atmosphere of beauty and harmony which I created all around me. I either spent my days in solitude or with people who loved me and whom I loved dearly as well. The bliss and the peace that resulted was exhilarating. I was learning to live in simple joy. I had never really lived that way before. Joy had always been dependent on someone or something outside myself, like a romantic relationship, lots of money, designer clothes, or a magnificent house. Because my attitude was now changed, my joy required nothing more than what I already had.
One of the tools I incorporated into my daily awareness routine was the result of an “accident.” This was the technique of using visualization or mental imagery. I was doing Kundalini meditation, an active meditation which involves shaking the body totally to reach a higher state of consciousness and a lighter physical density. As I was shaking to loud pulsating music that is designed specifically to facilitate the process of letting go, the electrical power went off, the music stopped.
The silence took me by surprise and I froze. Then something very strange happened. Somehow I could see inside of my body; I literally saw my liver, my stomach, my intestines, and my other internal organs, and they looked a putrid shade of yellowish green. It lasted for only a few moments, but the impact of this experience was so strong that I had to sit and integrate what I had just seen. Shocked by what I saw, I intuitively began to use mental imagery to purify and rejuvenate my internal organs. Because I was so revolted by the horrible color, I imagined the Niagara Falls flushing away all that green stuff out of my liver and stomach. Since that time I have heard guided visualizations which involve a golden waterfall pouring down over you, but in my case I knew that only the tremendous power of Niagara Falls could do the job.
I also changed my diet to a healthier and lighter one to cleanse my body of its toxins. As I mentioned earlier, my diet was very indulgent. Although I considered myself a vegetarian, I ate very few vegetables. I may have refrained from meat, poultry, and fish, but I also refrained from almost any foods that had any nutritional value. (I daresay coffee and French bread could not be considered a well-balanced diet, even in Paris.)
The gentle reproach and concrete guidance I received from my intuition regarding my poor nutrition was extremely powerful. I began to detest the taste of chocolate, although for a while I still indulged. Some of my clients who are recovering alcoholics have shared a similar passage in their healing process. Even though they could not stand the taste or smell of alcohol they were not yet able to stop drinking. I believe that this period of disgust toward our addiction is a very important one, providing us with the opportunity to realize the full dimension and consequences of our self-destructive pattern. Ultimately it motivates us to say yes to ourselves and our maximum potential by saying no to the addiction.
When I finally listened to my inner guidance, I went to a weight-loss clinic called Health Management. I began a medically monitored liquid diet of protein powder with an egg-white base, containing a balanced intake of vitamins, minerals, glucides, and lipids. I loved it. It simplified my relationship with food. I only had to choose between vanilla and chocolate, open an envelope, and mix it with water. Food suddenly became such an unimportant part of my life. Who had time to eat anyway? My time was so precious to me.
Back then I did not consider my diet as a way to heal. Healing from AIDS was unthinkable. I chose to lose weight, to guide my body back to its natural state of health and beauty, as a way to reach my maximum potential. It was too easy to indulge in sweets and lie in bed all day. I chose not to play the “Why me?” game, complaining about the way the universe had dealt my cards. I no longer had time for that kind of indulgence. I wanted only to be the best I could be and to live at my maximum potential.
I realize now that the liquid diet served as a kind of fast to detoxify my body. I highly recommend fasts – but strictly under medical supervision – to my clients as a way of cleansing and purifying the body of its poisons. Whether it be a modified liquid diet like mine, or a juice or water fast, it is an excellent way for the body to rejuvenate.
I can’t emphasize enough how important it is that a fast be supervised by a qualified professional. This is because, as the body detoxifies, there are usually adverse reactions. If your immune system is very weak, the rapid detoxification could be very brutal on the body. For me, because I was no longer polluting my body with sugar, caffeine, and other processed chemicals, my body responded with terrible gas and constipation. ( I welcomed the change from months of diarrhea.) As my body continued to detoxify, my breath smelled pungent and my skin, which is our largest organ, broke out in pimples as a result of the poisons leaving through my pores. Salt baths and dry brushing (using a dry body brush on my body to rub away dead skin), as well as regular sessions of deep breathing, were some of the tools that assisted me in the detoxifying process.
Another common symptom I suffered from was intense headaches as a result of the sugar withdrawal. I also experienced occasional nausea in response to the fast. Fortunately, my nutritional counselor was able to monitor my progress and assured me that my symptoms were a normal response to fasting and not advancing symptoms of my illness. In fact, soon after I began my daily awareness routine and changed my diet, I noticed a shift in my previous physical symptoms. My diarrhea stopped and my energy became more available. I felt better than I had in a long, long time.
My household chores on the estate I managed were also included as part of my daily awareness routine. Two of my favorite duties were caring for the indoor plants and creating beautiful flower arrangements for my employer. They were nourishing connections with nature, and brought a lot of joy into my life.
I also began to exercise. In the beginning I would walk for a few minutes, and that was all I could accomplish. Yet instead of judging how pitiful it was to be in such bad shape, I praised myself for being dedicated enough to do it. Eventually I was walking four miles a day: two miles on the beach in the morning, and two miles along pastoral country roads in the evening. I also practiced t’ai chi on the beach. This not only centered me as a form of meditation but also served as a stretching and strengthening exercise for my muscles and ligaments.
I loved taking proper care of myself, and, surprisingly, it was very easy to create the time for it. The feeling of “doing the right thing” creates a lightness of being that was ultimately much more fulfilling than chocolate. Each day I would awaken by six A.M., following the natural rhythm of my body. I would sit on the deck overlooking the ocean for sunrise meditation, usually the Nadabrahma, and then silently enjoy breakfast. Next I would slowly take devoted care of my body, with long showers and a thorough dry brushing of the skin. Just the ritual of caring for my body would take nearly ninety minutes.
It is very important for me to discipline myself to look good so that I could feel good about myself. I took the time to dress well, fix my hair, put on a little makeup, and look the best I could. I found that if I looked healthy, I felt healthier. Many of my clients today follow the same cue. When I visited one dear friend in the hospital, he wasn’t wearing a hospital nightgown, but a pair of flashy purple pants and a lovely turquoise green T-shirt. He shared with me how important details like that were in helping him to keep his spirits high. It also gave him the sense that he was active in his healing process and not at the mercy of the sometimes demeaning atmosphere of the hospital. It is so important to respect those little details that empower us on our healing journey. It’s a simple guideline, but it so often has tremendous impact. The better we look, the better we feel.
I also noticed that I had an entirely different approach to using my healing tools. Before, whenever I would learn a new tool, a new spiritual discipline, or even a diet, I used to go into it so fanatically that it would become the entire focus of my life. After a while, of course, other aspects of my life, such as my family or my job, would demand attention, and I would have to abandon everything, in a very tout ou rieniste (“all or nothing”) way. This time, I was simply living my life, which included the use of daily awareness tools. My tools were not my life, they were a part of it.
After four months of total discipline with my fast, I began to eat solid food again, moving into the Fit for Life diet and conscious food combining. This diet was based on the principle of natural-hygiene vegetarianism and was made popular by the Diamonds in the book Fit for Life. The basic principles of proper food combining originated from the theory of how digestive enzymes interact in the digestion process. Protein foods are acid-based and starch foods are alkaline-based; therefore the two do not mix well. The theory follows that if we eat a starch an protein together (like meat and potatoes, or bread and cheese), then the alkaline and acid enzymes cancel each other out. When that neutralization takes place in the stomach, the food is not digested efficiently and our digestion system does not operate as effectively as it is designed to. Because of this, we do not receive the full nutritional value from the food we eat.
Eating solid food again was a new discovery. For the first time, I was consciously eating well to support my health as opposed to trying to lose weight. Ironically, the vain part of me was ecstatic when I dropped sixty-six pounds and once again felt beautiful and sensual. Although it was scary as well as exciting, I figured that if I was going to die, I wanted to die in a beautiful body. (Why not?) I stopped caring about the reaction of men who were attracted to me and what kind of trouble it might lead to. I gave myself permission to be a beautiful and powerful woman again and let go of any judgment or shame that may have been inhibiting me. That old fear about being attractive was still present, but this time I let myself feel it without letting it stop me. I began to discover the joy of my beauty being appreciated in an honest way, without any manipulation on my part.
I was open and available to life as it was unfolding, beyond reaction or conditioning. I simply focused on my daily awareness routine and stayed open to whatever life was offering. As my connection with the gentleness of nature, with the emptiness of silence, with the inner realms of my consciousness grew, meditation became a natural state of being, not a doing. Life became my meditation.
A simple and amazing tender trust in my new life began to arise. By putting myself on the top of the list and practicing my daily awareness routine, I was able to let go of my need to control everyone and everything around me and be open to my life as it unfolded. I was living in the question and embracing the mystery of life, a mystery that did not demand to be solved, but only to be lived.
I LOVED my new life. It was very simple, and it was exactly the way I wanted it to be. Waking up in the morning had always been a precious moment for me, but now I felt such a sense of gratitude. I was utterly grateful just to be alive.
I explored my connection with the rhythm of nature in a deeper and deeper way during my long walks on the beach. Each day I aligned myself with the gentle energy of the surf. To do this I would completely focus my awareness on the waves as they crashed on the beach or on the wind as it danced on the ashen white dunes. This heightened awareness forced me to stay conscious of my present experience instead of getting lost in the thoughts of “what if” and “if only” which so often played in my head.
Meditative walks on the beach were my priorities. These daily strolls along my beloved ocean were an essential part of my daily awareness routine. I called it my Vipassana walk. Vipassana is a meditation technique which assists us in developing a state of mindful awareness by simply witnessing our thoughts and actions. Through my Vipassana walk, the ordinary experience of walking, which I had taken for granted for so many years, became an extraordinary moment of communion with myself and with the nature all around me. The technique involved slowly and consciously taking one step at a time, feeling my foot as it lifted from the soft sand, gently moving it ahead of my other foot and slowly placing it in the sand again. My concentration would be intently focused on each step, breaking it down to the many separate moments within each step. My eyes would be focused down at a forty-five degree angle and I would walk for miles just witnessing my moment-to moment experience of walking.
Even though it was the middle of winter, the cold weather did not deter me from taking my daily walk on the beach. I love the beach in the winter; it is so empty and nostalgic. It awakens a soft melancholy in me that I welcome, for its exquisite flavor. Those moments were like draping my naked body in silk velvet.
One cold, clear day in late March, I was bundled up tightly, taking my daily walk. The beach was covered with snow and it was utterly magical. It was not the first time that I had seen the beach like that, but on that particular day the light was different, and the sky was intensely blue. The sound of the sea was powerful yet gentle at the same time, like words of love whispered in the intimacy of lovemaking. I was alone except for a group of seagulls playing on the snow-covered sand.
As I walked along the shore, I became more and more aware of the infiniteness of the ocean. The uniqueness of each separate wave touched me while at the same time I was moved by how completely each merged with the ocean. There in front of my eyes was a perfect example of oneness. Through my appreciation of the unity between the waves and the ocean, I myself became part of the experience of merging, and felt an incredible sense of “coming home.” I was deeply moved by the majestic scene in front of me. Tears of gratitude fell like raindrops returning to the sea.
As I walked, I listened to that special sound that boots make as they leave their prints in fresh snow, and enjoyed that feeling of sinking into the frosty path with each step. In that exquisite moment I was fully aware of the miracle of each breath, and of the magic of the way my bones and the muscles in my legs and ankles moved as I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. I had never experienced as much rapture and appreciation for the miracle of being alive as I felt at that instant. It was beyond bliss. It was simply a full “is-ness.”
Each step was the first one and the last one. I was totally in tune with the rhythm of nature, and a deep sense of lightness was expanding from within me. I had never experienced such a sensation. It was as if the physical limitations of my body were melting away. I experienced a sense of becoming one with the vast space around me. My presence dissolved into the snow, the ocean, the sky, the birds. No longer was there a definitive separation between myself and the heat of the sun, the icy cold breeze, or the roar of the surf. My breath slowed down, until it seemed like I was barely breathing. All that remained was a sensation of limitlessness.
My body stopped its pace naturally and I faced the ocean, feeling my oneness with the waves, and my arms started to rise above my head, guided by their own energy. Suddenly Osho appeared to me in a vision. Up until then, I had always held him in very high esteem, belittling myself as his humble disciple in a subtle put-down of myself. This time it was different. This time my beloved master appeared to me, on the same level as I was, and we joined in a deep embrace. I have never felt so safe and so totally a vital part of existence as I did in that sacred embrace. In a flash, I understood that the answers were not outside of me but had always been inside of me.
I was wrapped in a feeling that felt like a giant quilted comforter, a feeling that I was fine – not healed, just fine. That feeling penetrated me deeply, warming me and nourishing every one of my cells.
When we have a glimpse of the perfection of life, and when we realize that life is much bigger than our wildest dreams, our individual identity and our separate boundaries disappear. Only harmony and love remain. Love as an is-ness. It is not something we can strive to achieve. Love is our very being. It is not a feeling that is defined by the intensity generated by lust or sex. In fact, it has very little to do with that. In that moment, I understood that love is a total beingness, where there is no separation. In love, disease is embraced as part of the whole. Love is always available; we only need to get out of the way and be open to it. Love flows from complete trust, acceptance, and surrender to oneness, when the “I” disappears. Love is the ultimate merging.
It is my understanding that I experienced what is known as a satori, which is a Japanese word for “glimpse.” It was a glimpse of total awareness, and for a moment I experienced an altered state of consciousness. It is a state where no questions exist, and where there is only perfection.
Following that moment of satori, I completely lost the notion of time. I don’t recall very well how I got back home, and what I did after that. It all just happened perfectly. I think, if I remember correctly, that I slept for quite a long time.
Years before I probably would have jumped up and down with a great sense of achievement, but now it was clear that there was nowhere to go, and nothing to achieve. That moment was a peak, and after that I was in a valley, but in such a roaring peace, I simply let myself be transported by it. I was now totally at peace with death and even with suffering. I was really ready to accept death whenever it came, and no longer merely on an intellectual level. I also celebrated my reunion with Osho, which temporarily mitigated the loss I had been feeling because of his organization’s policy prohibiting HIV-infected people from entering the ashram.
It had been a powerful experience yet at the same time a very fragile one. I was unable to speak to anyone about it, and needed time to integrate it. Even today, I am still a little shy about sharing this experience with certain people, because it is so esoteric. Even so, that glimpse of merging still affects me whenever I recall it. Sometimes just by closing my eyes I am transported back to the feeling of that mysterious experience. Merging and its opposite, rejection, have been my life’s theme, and I was so grateful to have experienced the gift of total merging, and to have experienced both sides of one energy. My life could have ended at that moment and it wouldn’t have mattered. I felt utterly complete. I understood that both sides had their source in the same unique light. Nothing more was needed. An unshakable trust was now rooted in me, and after that day it really no longer mattered whether I died from AIDS or from a car accident or whatever. I simply knew that I would die consciously, and that created a great celebration in me. With that realization, the significance of ARC took on a very different resonance. It was a doorway to the greatest gift: awareness.
I felt better than I had in years. My body felt and looked great, and I was happier than I had ever allowed myself to be. Because one by one my symptoms had all disappeared and my energy was stronger and more available than it had been in months, my intuition suggested I go for another blood test. It was just a hunch, which came out of nowhere, and my rational mind judged and resisted it. There was no logical possibility that any change could have “miraculously” taken place. I never questioned my future scenario: sooner or later I would develop full-blown AIDS, and a few months after that, I would become a vegetable and die. There was no room for change or choice in that script, because the victim in me, as opposed to the healer, was directing the show. It was an indisputable fact. Just as water boils at one hundred degrees Celsius, Niro will die from AIDS.
But my intuition that this might not be true was reinforced by my friend and counselor Waduda. She has the gift of psychic intuition, and shared with me in session that she felt the disease had left my body. That evening, as I drove back from New York City, I reflected that even though I “knew” Waduda was right, there was still a part of me that did not have the guts to articulate it to anyone. I judged the whole idea as total lunacy, a futile wish that an impossible dream might become a reality. I never questioned the universally accepted belief that AIDS was fatal. How come?
Yet the quiet persistent voice of the healer within faithfully repeated the message: “You are fine, get retested.” I heard the message over and over until finally my rational mind gave in, figuring that I had nothing to lose. So I gathered the courage to call, despite a sense that this was going too far, and scheduled a new appointment. Actually, it was not really courage, it was more like boldness.
Driving to the health clinic, I was extremely calm, and had no expectations. I was just responding to the inner voice that had told me I needed to be retested. Yet somewhere in the back of my mind, a small glimmer of hope that I might test negative was present.
Entering the office of my counselor, I knew I was shinning. The “poor me” victim was nowhere to be found in that room. My counselor told me later that she was puzzled by my attitude, and was wondering whether the disease was affecting my brain, or if I was practicing “wishful thinking.”
Throughout the three weeks of waiting for the results (an improvement over the six-week wait the last time) I did not even think about the outcome. I was on a sort of high that I can only describe as a stage of unquestioning trust in “what is so.” At one point my counselor called, which is against protocol because of the anonymity, and asked if I would come in at once. When I arrived she invited me to sit and asked me if I would be willing to be retested. I responded yes, but wondered why. She explained that my recent test results came back negative for the HIV antibodies. She suggested that since the tests showed conflicting results, one of them must be mistaken and they needed a confirmation of my present status.
My heart exploded in joy! I knew it. My body had transcended the disease. I believe it was because I had learned the lesson of my disease, living from my true essence one moment at a time; therefore the teacher – the disease – could go away.
My counselor drew my blood one more time, to have it retested, and asked me to come back in two weeks. When I returned for the “official” confirmation that I was indeed HIV-negative, I immediately made myself available to the medical community. I knew that I was not special, and that if I could do it, others could too. I cooperated fully with the doctors, who drew quite a few pints of blood from me, but unfortunately I never heard from them again to know what they did with it. I guess I was naïve to have believed that the medical establishment would be open and willing to explore the alternative possibilities, which might assist them in finding a solution to the AIDS crisis. At least I could help them understand a part of healing that might be explored … the connection of body, mind, and spirit.
The intuitive part of me accepted the miracle of my healing as a gift, and I had a strong urge to share what I had learned with others. The concept seemed so simple. When we are truly committed to live in the present, in acceptance of both ourselves and our surroundings, miracles can happen. I was so grateful to have received the vivid experience of what the enlightened Masters have taught since the beginning of time. I knew intuitively that my healing was an organic result of living in total alignment with the essence of life itself.
My rational mind, on the other hand, was completely baffled. I experienced a numbness similar to what I had felt after I was first diagnosed HIV-positive. It was difficult even to talk about it. I announced in a shy way to my friends that day at lunch, and then of course I immediately called my children. In a way I was not really amazed, and I didn’t really feel lucky either. What I did feel was awkwardness in relating my experience to others, and a deep sense of honor.
My healer within reminded me that an experience like this is not personal. It is a part of the collective experiment of the universe. I was not at liberty to take it for granted and keep it to myself. I was guided to share it, as a way to inspire others faced with a similar challenge and to help change the feeling of doom connected with AIDS. There was no question or hesitation on my part. I knew it was what I needed to do, but in the beginning I had difficulty finding a way to do it. The doctors to whom I had offered my assistance had ignored me, and I was too fragile in the newness of my experience to find a way to express myself with people who were not open to receive me.
At the time I was attached to physical healing, and I realize now that I was quite righteous about it, especially with Nado. Because I was so afraid of losing him, there were times when I acted like I knew all the answers about healing. I was still unaware that one could heal into death; I am grateful to Nado for opening that door for me.
SEVERAL MONTHS after my healing, on a cold gray November day in 1986, Nado called me and his voice sounded strange. Following a period of separation, we had become friends again. Because we were no longer living together, not trying to play any roles or fulfill any expectations, we were able to rediscover our connection in a brand-new way. “Hi Niro,” he said, barely audibly. “Sorry I haven’t called you. I’ve been in Saint Clare’s Hospital for the past three weeks. Will you come and visit me?” I was flabbergasted and immediately jumped into my car and drove to New York City.
As I was driving I felt panic mixed with a sense of failure. I prayed to God, making a deal with Her in exchange for Nado’s life. “I promise to be good. Please don’t let him die.” Like a mantra, I repeated it over and over. “Please God, don’t let him die. We aren’t complete. We still have so much to share together.” The love that I felt for him in that moment erased all the bitterness and resentment I have harbored against him. Suddenly all the reasons why we were not together disappeared like the cars passing me on the highway.
When I finally arrived on the AIDS ward of St. Clare’s, I was overwhelmed by the feeling of doom that permeated the whole wing. Without being fully conscious of it, I made a vow at that moment to transform the energy surrounding AIDS from one of fear and doom to one of hope and possibility. Nobody deserved to heal in such a dark energy.
As I entered Nado’s room, I saw him sitting in a chair with his back toward me. He recognized my footsteps and turned to face me. I was not ready for his ghostly appearance. My heart shattered, and I could hardly breathe. I felt like I had received a tremendous punch in my stomach. Nado looked like he had been in a concentration camp. His huge eyes were staring at me from within his emaciated face. I tried to compose myself and inquire about what had happened, but I was speechless.
As if he could sense my question, Nado began explaining to me that, three weeks earlier, he had collapsed and awakened in this hospital room. He had been diagnosed with Pneumocystis carinii pneumonia and toxoplasmosis, both of which were rare diseases common among people with AIDS.
All of my conditioning about how to behave in this kind of situation flew out the window, and the tears jut flooded out. I just held him, crying from the depth of my heart. The pain of seeing what had once been a strong, gorgeous, and dynamic man reduced to a shadow of his former self was absolutely unbearable.
After a period of crying together, I felt a huge wave of anger rise in me. I was so pissed at that fucking disease which was destroying my beloved. I was unable to hold my emotions in, and I began pacing up and down in that tiny room. I was steaming. Nado watched me silently, and then he smiled, and his smile turned into a laugh. Gently grabbing my hand, he pulled me toward him and held me. Caressing my face like he so often had before, he told me how precious and refreshing my honesty was. He had felt so isolated by the denial from the majority of the people around him. He felt alienated from his friends and their strained attempts at encouragement and comfort as a way to avoid their own fear and discomfort concerning death.
I began visiting him every other day. In the beginning I was constantly advising him what to do, what not to do, practically what to think. He patiently accepted it, knowing that it was my way of loving him. I wanted so badly for him to get well. Because they had to hook him up with tubes to take care of his bodily functions, the scene was becoming more horrifying every day. I watched the two parts of me, each experiencing the situation so differently. On one side was my present adult, and the healer within, calmly accepting what was happening, and responding creatively. On the other side was my inner child, with her many survival masks, doing whatever she could to avoid that sense of helplessness that would overwhelm me every time I entered Nado’s room.
As Nado’s body became sicker, he became more and more obsessed with getting out of the hospital. Even though he was receiving the right medication and the appropriate care, the energy of the hospital was so foreign and in such total opposition to his spiritual beliefs, and his genuine vital needs, that it was literally killing him. “If I stay here,” he warned me, “I’m gonna die soon, and this is not where I want to die.”
Nado had a dream of returning to his birthplace in Holland for his father’s seventieth birthday. A celebration was scheduled for the end of November, and his entire family would be there. He had been planning the trip for months prior to his hospitalization as a way to complete many issues with his father, and that was an opportunity he did not want to miss.
Unfortunately, he was still too sick to be released from the hospital immediately, because his fever was too high. In order for him to be released, the fever needed to be below one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. So we started to focus on specific meditation and visualization techniques to bring his body temperature down.
In the meantime we chose a deadline to motivate us, and I made airline reservations for the both of us since I had decided that I would fly back to Europe with him. Nado was very moved when he discovered my intention to fly with him, and it created an opening for him to tell me how he finally understood what I had meant about merging. He shared how in a strange way it was happening between us. Because nothing was in the way of our connection, we were both nourished by it. It wasn’t about making plans for the future, or dwelling in the past, but drinking in the preciousness of each moment we had together. We knew that we had very few moments left together, and so we stopped postponing fully expressing the love we had for each other.
The first three days of meditation and visualizations were magic. Nado’s body responded right away. His healing was also supported by various herbs sent to him from a healer in California. Then suddenly all of his symptoms worsened severely. Just after returning home from a visit to him, I received a phone call from the hospital to come at once. The hospital personnel were very concerned about the decline in his health, and feared that Nado might not make it through the night.
When I arrived at the hospital, he was barely breathing; each breath seemed to demand such extreme effort. When I saw him, I freaked out. I asked the nurse what could be done, and the answer was that they had done everything they could, and we just had to wait. So I tried. I sat near the bed and held Nado’s hand, focusing on giving him all the force and light that I could. I visualized a clear channel of light pouring from my heart into each of his cells. I became very warm, and I felt such a strong energy coming through me that I could not stay still. Trusting what was happening, I instinctively began to rub his legs, which were strangely cold, even though he had a high fever. I massaged his right arm, but was unable to massage both, because the left one was covered with shingles. I was no longer identifying with the painful emotions of seeing his body so afflicted. I was just doing what needed to be done. I massaged every part of his body that I possibly could, revitalizing it with aliveness, and recharging it with love. It was so obvious how much his body needed those loving strokes.
I did all I could to shower my beloved with unconditional love, and then I waited. My energy was spent. Around five o’clock in the morning he opened his eyes and smiled at me. He softly asked what time it was and if we were leaving soon, as planned. I began to laugh and laugh, unable to answer, and he just watched me, not really understanding my outburst of energy. Then he started laughing too, and life force came back into his eyes. The shadows began disappearing from his emaciated face, and his exquisite beauty was still so apparent yet with no-masks hiding any of it. I went and lay next to him, and we fell asleep together holding each other tightly. Little did I know that it would be the last time we would hold each other in that way.
The next day, we talked and talked like never before. He shared his memories of his childhood, and his journey from Indonesia where he grew up to Holland and eventually to America. He shared his shame about his bisexuality, his guilt for having infected me with the virus. He told me that he finally understood what I meant when I spoke about letting go into love. I remember so precisely what he said, “Niro, you have opened the door to my heart. It was closed so tight for such a long time, and now that it has cracked open, it will never close again.” That was all I needed to hear. My heart was totally open as well. Nothing else was needed. In that moment everything was complete.
For the next two days I packed, preparing for our journey. We spoke several times a day, taking care of all the details. Nado’s fever finally broke and his temperature was stabilizing at around ninety-nine degrees Fahrenheit.
In order for Nado to be released, he needed to walk out of the building on his own. I was so moved by his valiant effort as he hobbled with his cane down the long corridor. He did not allow us to hold him or help him. He was on his own. All I could do was send him all of my emotional support. Slowly and steadily he wobbled closer and closer to the doorway. When he finally crossed the threshold into the freedom of the outside world, my friend Vasant caught him in his arms and lovingly helped him into the front seat of the car.
The staff at the airport was so supportive. They gave us a whole row of seats, so that Nado could lie down; I sat on the aisle one row in front of him. During the flight, Nado began to experience some delirium. He started rambling, sometimes quite loudly, and his fever shot right up. I was afraid that the trip might have been too much for Nado’s weak constitution, and that he would die right there in the airplane, thousands of miles from any kind of medical support. I felt more helpless than ever.
We finally landed in Brussels, where a wheelchair was ready and waiting. I placed his hat on his head and draped his scarf around his neck to hide the Kaposi’s sarcoma lesion on the side of his face. I knew he did not want to frighten his family, and as usual he wanted to look his best, which he did. As I silently pushed him in his wheelchair, he had the air of a king on his throne.
We crossed the doors after passing through customs, and his family was waiting there expectantly. Their faces reflected the shock and concern they felt at seeing their loved one looking extremely sick, with his large eyes ravishing in his shrunken face. I returned to collect the baggage as Nado was absorbed by all those “foreign” people speaking Dutch, and suddenly I felt like a complete stranger.
A short while later, his brother parked his car in front of the exit and carried his baggage to it. Nado looked so happy, speaking his native language, surrounded by his family, but I felt awkward, and separate. I didn’t know how to act or what to do with myself. When it was time for us to say good-bye, we both felt very weird embracing; since he was sitting, I had to bend down to kiss his cheek.
Because he wanted to assure his family of his well-being, he refused assistance and walked out of the airport on his own. Using his cane, he wobbled so much as he took each step that I was afraid he would fall. Finally the automatic doors opened and, without looking back, he passed through the doorway and into his brother’s car. That is the way Nado walked out of my life.
Several weeks later, at two in the morning, Nado’s brother called to inform me that Nado had died peacefully in his sleep. The following day his body was cremated as he had requested. His brother told me that Nado had asked that my photograph be placed on his heart, next to one of our beloved master Osho. Nado died in February 1987 – at the age of forty-two, just as he had predicted.
Today I feel Nado vibrantly present as an important part of my life, but in a brand-new way. The gift of not being with him at the moment of his death was that it kept his presence alive and real for me. In a way, I never fully accepted the fact that he was gone. There was a part of me that still believed Nado was living somewhere in Europe, that hoped that one day we would be reunited. Writing these pages has given me the opportunity to finally let go of the dream and close that chapter of my life. It is the past, and it no longer exists. What remains in the present is a deep sense of gratitude for our journey together, and the gift that my connection with Nado was in my life.
BECAUSE THE NEGATIVE NEWS surrounding AIDS was still making the headlines, I knew that it was urgent to go public with my story as soon as possible. I had to keep my promise. The first step was to create a ten-week course especially designed for people with AIDS, ARC, or HIV infection. The concept was very simple. The group was open to ten participants; it would meet once a week for three hours, to meditate, explore self-discovery processes, and share the healing journey. Once a week each participant would see me for a private therapy session, to integrate the group work and to explore a more personal psychological aspect of the journey. I designed the course this way because I value the personal work in private session as well as the nourishment that is available in a group. I did not base the ten-week course on any traditional therapeutic approach, but rather on acceptance, recognition, respect, and love, which I believe is the best healing remedy there is.
I was invited to speak at a small PWA support group in Manhattan, and the reaction of the men who were there was extremely beautiful. Several of them called me the next day to thank me for the ray of hope and light that I had brought into their lives. They were so grateful to be able finally to verify what they had intuitively known inside, namely that AIDS is not one-hundred-percent fatal, as the media and the medical community would have us believe. I felt as if my entire life had been a preparation for sharing my experience with people who were ready to be inspired and assisting them in integrating healing into their own life.
Because the program I was developing still did not have a name, one of my clients with AIDS came up with a name for it. I had told him that I wanted a title that included self-healing and AIDS. That night he fell asleep and in a semi-dream state he conceived the name Self Healing AIDS-Related Experience, with the acronym S.H.A.R.E. It resonated strongly with me. The only alteration I made was changing the word experience to experiment, because that was what it truly was. We then incorporated as a not-for-profit organization under the official title The Foundation for the Self Healing AIDS-Related Experiment. The first ten-week course started in September 1987 with five participants who were HIV-positive. As of this writing, three are still asymptomatic and are serving the AIDS community through volunteer work. From there the next ten-week programs organically grew, and I was feeling happier than I had in my entire life. But as is my tendency, I overextended myself and let the demands of my schedule grow out of hand, into a level of insanity. Part of my work was visiting patients in the hospital, and I found it extremely difficult to say no to someone in that situation. As part of the program, I wanted to create a very close and intimate relationship with each of the participants; as a result I lived, slept, and even dreamt S.H.A.R.E. Once again, I had to learn a new set of boundaries, yet it was difficult since the epidemic was creating such a level of urgency.
In order to nurture myself and stay centered, I participated in workshops with my dear friend and teacher Amitabh. I was so impressed by the way Amitabh worked with people, assisting them to move through their fear and take their next step, that I invited him to come and work with the participants of the ten-week course. He accepted enthusiastically and immediately conceived the title “Who Heals” for the new workshop we were designing together. The foundation continued to grow, and we expanded to the West Coast.
There were many days when I had discouragement and doubts, and was totally overwhelmed by the dimensions of the job, but my inner voice of integrity kept showing me the way. After three years of facilitating workshops throughout the United States and Europe, it is becoming clearer to me that what I am creating is a safe place for people to reconnect with their own spirituality and spiritual family. I do not mean “spiritual” in the sense of religion, or dogma, but more in terms of the natural urge of the soul to experience and overflow with love. To me, that is the essence of healing.
Today, the vision dearest to my heart is the creation of a residential healing and meditation center. This would be a place where we can choose to live and die consciously, based on what we know in our hearts. I have found the Healing Home in East Hampton, New York, as the first step to realizing this vision.
Since my healing, I have had the privilege of sharing my experience with hundreds of people around the world. I have no words to describe the inspiration, love, and respect that I have received as a result. I will always be grateful for the beauty, the recognition, and the light that shines in each one of our meetings. It guides us to keep going on the journey … despite our minds.
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WHY I SURVIVE AIDS
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