Dr. Doner’s Blog

Times can be unbelievably harsh.

 

It’s relatively easy to adapt to small changes, mustering internal bravado or getting help. But what about when the rug is pulled out from under you, when the very ground shifts … when your entire identity is destroyed?

 

Such was my situation a few years ago. I thought I knew who I was – a wife of 21 years, a mother of two young children, the home-maker of a beautiful home and a physician with a stable practice.

 

It all changed much too quickly. A hostile divorce threatened my children, home and finances.

The hospital at which I practiced was in serious danger of being sold and turned into a nursing home.

 

And to top it all off, a drunk driver rear-ended me, spun the car around, totaled it and almost killed me! Now, no car, no money, and possibly no job, house or custody of children!

 

With many bitter months ahead in court I knew I had to pull myself together. But who was this “self”? She was no longer a wife or a full-time Mom. She could no longer depend on this man or this savings account. The sanity of other drivers was questionable. It was a very disorienting time. I needed to discover a “self” that could not be destroyed by outside forces.

 

So, to get the answers I went camping in the Everglades by myself for a week. It was my version of a “vision quest.” I got up at sunrise to greet the sun emerging from the pink and golden bay. I trudged through mangrove thickets, fought mosquitoes, and kayaked amidst alligators. I marveled afresh at the variety of birds and practiced calm presence with water moccasins. In short, I was just with my body and the elements and my form of prayer.

 

Finally, on the last day’s tromp through the swamp I got “it”.

 

“Even if I lose all those things that I thought were me – the material stuff and even precious relationships – I will still have my breath. I will still have these two arms swinging along. I will still have my wonder at this beauty around me. I can take refuge in the process of life that reawakens each delightful dawn. And I trust that I am a part of the dynamic whole.”

 

Now, someone could have told me this but it wouldn’t have helped. I had to have the experience. By learning how to center myself and feel a pure indestructible core of being, I got through the long dark time ahead. We all “survived” but, more importantly, we “thrived” as we grew from these challenges.

I still practice breathing, calming and smiling every day. And because I believe it is the one thing that can keep us all sane, I teach it—to every client, at every workshop and in every CD.

 

May we all know who we truly are.

“The hurrider I go, the behinder I get.” 

Recently I decided that the pace of my life had become much too fast. If the cause of the frantic urgency of my days was the outside world, then I reasoned that withdrawing from it would help immensely.

 

So, trying to regain some inner peace, I took myself to a four day silent meditation retreat. It was held at a beautiful center in North Florida, Chinsegut Hill, where the centuries-old oaks stretch out their moss-draped arms and the azaleas and camellias bloom pink and red.

 

The problem of striving for tranquility by not hearing anyone else’s conversation is that the chatter inside your own mind gets even louder! It’s downright embarrassing to hear your thoughts. And the emotions that pop into awareness are extremely childish, even selfish.

 

One night I was walking towards MY coveted hidden spot—a tree house high in an ancient oak. The gentle moon showed the way and I was also back-lit by an antique lantern. But  meditative calm was shattered by inner urgency when I noticed a shadow of a figure approaching the tree too, in front of me and closer.

 

“Oh no! It’s MY special place!  Must get there first!” screamed my primal competitive brain. Automatically my stride accelerated. But faster still the figure glided. And quicker and quicker—we both raced to the goal. But it got there first and merged into blackness, climbing the steps, I presumed.

 

So I rested and waited for it to descend and give me MY turn. But it didn’t, so I waited, but still it didn’t. So I got curious and respectfully tip-toed up the rickety stairs, peering around the corner, and discovered — no one.

 

The shadow I was racing against had been my own!

 

The problem of my life’s urgency, I discovered, did not have its origin in the outside world. It had been inside of me all along.