Anatomy of a Spiritual Illness (Part 4 of 5)

My meditation practice at this time actually instilled some lucidity, and this clarity kept growing until I really could see with new eyes. The increased clarity was slow in developing, however, which enabled me to more easily absorb the changes that were occurring. Every day and every moment, I stayed true to my practice. What else could I do?

Then one evening, as I was contentedly concentrating, a strange thing happened. Happiness, bliss, confidence, and single-mindedness surrounded me. I suddenly could see that "striking the bell" and "maintaining the tone" were too close to thought, and therefore objectionable -- while happiness, bliss, confidence, and single-mindedness were satisfying and serene. It was as if my effort to meditate was interfering with this newfound peace.

Not long after this occurrence, and perhaps because of the intense sensitivity that was developing because of the illness; I became painfully aware of how frenzied the actual experience of happiness was. A hint of this cropped up in Pennsylvania, but the insight was stronger now, a new kind of awareness that wanted to dismiss happiness completely and leave only equanimity and bliss remaining. Now my practice really took a turn toward stillness as I basked in this equanimity and bliss watching everything without partiality. I was neither happy nor depressed, neither striving nor slack, and although bliss came up at times, I no longer felt necessarily attached to it. This stage felt very mature.

It is said that the impatient forsake it, but that it will wait for them, too. I had no choice but to wait, and as I waited, I became less and less concerned about my spiritual progress or my health. Concern and progress were definitely connected to my mind, while spirit was never concerned about anything. What would it be concerned about?

My meditation was improving, but my health certainly was not. After many acupuncture treatments and cones of searing incense scarring my chest, no relief was in sight despite the Tibetan monk's valiant efforts. With Janet burning out, and things looking hopeless, I had to do something. I contacted Trungpa Rinpoche's local Buddhist community, literally begging for help, but no one could come up with anything. As passing thought, however, someone told me about a chiropractor who was considered to be gifted. (A chiropractor? . . . gifted?). The woman giggled when she mentioned this to me, but what choice did I have -- maybe a back adjustment would help!

A week later I found myself lying on his table, as he passed small vials of assorted substances over my chest while asking me to push on his hand -- so that he could detect any weaknesses. I couldn't believe this; I must have been really desperate. After the "examination," he sat me down in his office, prescribed 5,000 mg of vitamin C a day (vitamin C?), and warned me to stop eating all grains, especially wheat, for the rest of my life. (There went the rice, spaghetti and pizza!). I could only eat meat, fish, poultry, eggs, dairy, fruits, and vegetables. He claimed that something traumatic had occurred that created a sudden, severe allergy to grains, and that unless I stopped eating them, I would be forced to either continue with heavy medications, such as beta-blockers, or not function at all.

Okay. I had already spent a hundred bucks to see him, so I spent a little more for some vitamin C and pork chops . . ., and I stopped eating wheat. What did I have to lose at this point?

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=E._Raymond_Rock