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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 someon
