Warrior Pose (59 page)

I let go of feeling alienated by my parents as a child, the first girl who broke my heart, being fired once by a news director who I felt was more beholden to corporate concerns than investigative journalism. As I continue this practice every day, bigger stuff bubbles up. I let go of resentments I've held from the intervention staged by my family, my years of overreacting and brooding, and finally the agony of hitting the bottom of the abyss during detox. It gets more challenging as I fully face, fully own, and finally release the dark person I was during my years of being crippled, overmedicated, and boozed up. No more justifications, excuses, or avoidance. No more self-pity or rationalization. It's remarkably humbling as I finally face it all.

On Day Four the biggest one comes. I've never fully faced the loss of my career as a global journalist. This is the one I've stuffed the deepest and always pretended wasn't there. Journalism was my truest joy, my full identity, the way I defined and validated myself. It gave me such a sense of worth that when I lost it I could no longer find value in anything, especially myself. As I start to crack the inner blockage on this one, a river of fear floods through me. It takes everything I have to find the courage to look it straight in the eyes.
I loved being that person. I loved that career. It's over now. I will never be that again. It's over and gone.
I begin to sob. And then the dam breaks wide open and my tears begin to flow. I grieve, whimper, wail, and mourn until I'm exhausted. This is when the sun bursts forth from behind the mountains and bathes me in its light. Suddenly it hits me
: I have a new identity
.
I am someone again
.
I am fully alive
.

It's Day Five now. I feel like I've actually closed all the deep wounds, faced what I needed to face, owned what I needed to own. As I lie on the dock before sunrise, I begin talking to the cancer, offering it my gratitude for all it has taught me about what's really important in life. I visualize it as a demon that has inhabited me and soon must depart. Again, the jaded journalist I was for decades would laugh at such imagery, likening it to the silly tales I tell Morgan on the story bench where the monster releases the little children after being showered with love. I'm no longer that cynical person, and cancer really does seem like a demon. More importantly, I now realize there's a great deal of power in this sort of personification. It allows me to move beyond the rational mind into a deeper subconscious realm of healing.

Day Eight. I've been practicing releasing cancer every morning on the bay for three days. Today the air is cold and the sky is overcast, streaked with lines of silver and gray. The waters of the bay are smooth as glass, holding the reflection of the San Diego skyline like a painting. I take my Yoga blankets to the Marriott dock and settle in. The stillness is palpable. Even the pelicans and seagulls seem quieter than usual. A lone sailboat softly glides toward the harbor in slow motion. I wrap a cloth around my ears and eyes, lie down on my blankets, and soon go deeper than ever before.

I feel completely in touch with every aspect of my body, mind, and Soul.
You can leave now,
I begin to tell the cancer demon.
It's time for you to go.
Every inhale carries
You can leave,
every exhale
It's time for you to go.
I feel completely present, radiantly healthy, and connected to a vibrant inner power.
You can leave. It's time for you to go.

After an hour of this mantra, my body begins to ache. Despite the chilly morning air, I start to sweat profusely. I feel tremors in my nerves. My arms and legs start quivering. Another thirty minutes and pain grips my whole body. Now it's concentrating in my chest, shoulders, and throat. I'm losing control of my motor functions. Heavy convulsions now. Memories of the detox ward screaming through my mind. Suddenly, I have a vision of something flying out of my chest
at warp speed and disappearing into the universe. In my mind's eye, it flashes for an instant, looking like an opaque, geometric hologram.

The moment it leaves, all the pain and convulsions subside. Curling into a fetal position, I'm in an altered state. A voice deep within me says,
The demon is gone. I'm past the cancer. It's gone.
My rational mind speaks up to remind me that this is utterly absurd. Nothing more than a hallucination. Cancer is a disease, not a demon. It doesn't fly through the sky looking for victims, and it doesn't fly out of someone's body while they're lying on a Yoga mat willing it to do so. Yet the experience is as real and tangible as the demons that tore at my flesh in the detox ward. Illusion or not, I know I'm healed. My organic chemotherapy is complete.

“How can I help you?”

The receptionist at my oncologist's office doesn't recognize me even though I used to have regular appointments and came to know the staff well. I can understand why. It's been more than two years since I've been here and I look nothing like the person I once was.

“I'm Brad Willis, Cindy, here for a checkup with the doctor.” I watch with a smile as her eyes widen and her jaw drops.

“I can't believe it's you,” she exclaims. “I knew you were coming, of course, but you look so much younger and healthier!” She is kind enough not to mention that I used to look like walking death. Cindy explains how difficult it was to find my file because it was shelved in the “inactive” cabinet. The inference is clear: It was assumed I had passed away.

Dr. Redfern is equally surprised when we sit down in his office. I give him the highlights of my healing journey, even the experience of the cancer demon leaving my body, noting that while it seems absurd to me, it must sound utterly ridiculous to him. After a checkup, he smiles and says, “You are definitely in remission and appear amazingly healthy. I don't know how you pulled it off, but whatever you've been doing, ridiculous or not, it's a miracle.”

CHAPTER 40

Warrior Pose

T
HE RISING SUN BURSTS above the mountain ridge on this mid-November morning in 2001 as I sit facing San Diego Bay. I stand up on my mat, bring my palms to my heart, and whisper “
Namaste
” to the morning light as I begin a series of Sun Salutations, breathing deeply, allowing my breath to move my body, silently chanting an ancient mantra of gratitude to the sun.

Next, I flow into Warrior One. My right foot is forward on my mat, the knee bent into a deep lunge. My left leg is straight out behind me with the sole of my left foot rooted into the mat at a 45-degree angle. My torso is lifted up, and my arms are high in the air, as if I'm reaching to the light and drinking it into my heart. I feel incredibly strong and balanced, serene yet powerful, vibrant and fully alive. Holding the pose, I feel like a warrior for inner peace, a warrior for healing, and a warrior for self-transformation.

After ten deep breaths, I change sides and hold the pose for another ten breaths. Now I transition to Warrior Two, standing in the same powerful lunge, this time with one arm straight forward reaching toward the bay and the other arm out behind me, pointing toward the Pacific Ocean. Taking ten breaths on each side again, I feel expansive, grounded, focused, and whole.

Finally, I enter Warrior Three, a pose I once thought completely impossible. Balancing myself on one leg, I tilt forward at my hips and straighten the other leg out behind me in the air as I reach both
arms forward, forming a T with my body. Breathing deeply, I feel as solid as the massive rocks that line the bay and as centered as the snowy white egrets that stand on one leg in the water awaiting their prey. As I change sides in Warrior Three, the sunlight glistens across the smooth surface of San Diego Bay and into my heart center. All my muscles are taut and engaged, working together to sustain my balance and alignment. I feel like I could hold this pose forever and marvel at the fact that it's taken me less than two years to go from the depths of pain, disease, and despair to a level of health and wholeness I've never known. I was supposed to have died by now, but the only thing that passed away was the old me.

After Warrior Three, I squat down on my mat, lift up on the balls of my feet, and brace my knees into the back of my upper arms. Placing my palms firmly on the mat with fingers spread wide, I lean forward and balance on my hands as I lift into Crane Pose. After ten breaths I lean farther forward, place the crown of my head on the mat, and lift my legs straight into a headstand. Then I come slowly down to my knees and bow my forehead to the mat as I sit on my heels in Child's Pose, offering my body and breath as a prayer to Mother Earth.

From Child's Pose, I rise up onto my hands and feet, sweep my right leg forward, and slide into a full split. I melt into the splits for ten breaths then transition to the other side, chanting and breathing as I go. Rising up from the splits, I roll onto my back and wrap one leg behind my head, straightening the other leg out on my mat. Ten more breaths and I change sides.

Next, I hug my knees to my chest as I open myself to gratitude, compassion, forgiveness, loving kindness, and inner peace. Now I bring the soles of my feet down, take my arms behind me, plant my palms on the mat, and lift myself up into a full backbend. I hold it for a full minute, amazed every time I do this pose that a spine with a broken vertebra and failed surgery has this much capacity to heal.

A series of gentle poses follow the backbend as I settle down toward stillness, ultimately entering the Corpse Pose. I lie here for ten minutes, visualizing Mother Earth holding me in the palms of her hands. It feels like the air itself is breathing me, and every effortless inhale is an affirmation of my journey, every exhale is a merging
back into the source of all that is. Once I return to a seated posture, I practice
Pranayama
, then sit with my eyes closed and meditate with immense gratitude for the challenges that have taught me to appreciate the miracle of life.

When I've completed my meditation, I gaze out over the bay, contemplating how Yoga has guided me into a personal transformation I never dreamed possible. Although the poses I've done this morning are only a small aspect of Yoga, they do something much greater than build confidence, strength, and flexibility: They reflect life. The more flexible, balanced, and grounded I become on my mat, the more I bring these attributes to life off my mat. If I can move past the resistance I feel in my hamstrings, I have a greater capacity to handle tension in the real world. Staying in poses that test my muscles without backing out helps me stand firm when facing times of challenge. The more present I become in meditation, the more awareness I bring to all aspects of my life.

There is another aspect to the more physically challenging poses that is also transformative. When, after a long period of sustained effort, I finally master something I used to believe was impossible, like getting my legs behind my head or holding a headstand, it empowers me. This faith in my capacity to do something I felt was beyond my reach soon translates into other aspects of my life. It gives me confidence and courage, and helps me turn setbacks and obstacles into opportunities and accomplishments.