I have been contemplating a few confronting thoughts for many years now. Of course, the ideas seem blasphemous, but after prolonged contemplation of a grander design to existence and humbling myself to ignorance, I have to ask with sincerity:
- What if our illnesses save us from ourselves?
- How do we know our misfortune isn’t sparing us from a worse catastrophe?
- Why do we think that our life would have worked out wonderfully if we weren’t ill?
I’ve travelled a very different path to the one I imagined in my earlier years. I pictured that my planned life would unfold as planned if ALS hadn’t happened. But the stark truth is, I have no idea how my life would have worked out.
Perhaps my life was headed towards worse disasters and irredeemable mistakes of judgement. So often, when our life is at its best, the potential for loss is at its highest as the pendulum of extremes ends its swing. ALS was certainly that loss for me, but I can think of much worse things: Dying an excruciatingly prolonged, painful and lonely death is worse in my mind. A severe, terrifying pathological mental illness is another. Accidentally killing someone is even worse. There are always relatively worse alternatives than the one we find ourselves in, no matter how bad it may seem.
After acquiring a chronic, degenerative or terminal illness, given enough time, one starts to adjust to the new reality—grudgingly, for sure, but steadily nevertheless. ALS (like similar degenerative diseases) is no exception. Irritatingly, just as I started adapting to some loss of function, another round of deterioration occurred. For months, I adapted to barely buttoning my shirt; then, one day, I couldn’t any longer. This exercise in futility repeated itself with every activity, no matter how mundane; holding a fork, a toothbrush, a pen, showering, toileting, conversing, it all followed the same route. Frustration, despair and grief, with a sprinkling of defiance, were the mainstay of those tumultuous days.
Then, time passes.
As stability set in, I got into the groove of what I was able to do. Granted, what I could do was extremely limited, but with someone else’s willing hands at my disposal, I could project my thoughts to action. Eventually, what started as coping and survival turned into a daily routine, imbuing meaning and purpose into my life.
What if our misfortune, limitation or infirmity is a divine last-ditch key towards contemplation, acceptance and understanding?
Contemplation
As you may have read in my previous series, “On Death”, I argued for a spiritual existence, and by extension, an afterlife. I don’t “know” it experientially like some fortunate few, but it’s strong faith backed by an incredible amount of researched evidence. From seeing the apparent intelligent design in nature and finely-tuned universal laws amenable to life, the cataloguing and research into near-death experiences (NDE’s), out-of-body experiences (OBE’s), confirmed past-life memories in children, verified medium communication with the spiritual realm, and the experiential wisdom of mystics; it is glaringly apparent to anyone with eyes to see that our waking 3D existence is not base reality. That is, this isn’t all there is.
If the mind survives independently of the physical body as NDE’s and OBE’s have personally experienced, then it’s indisputable we are essentially an amnesiac spirit having an earthly experience; we are temporarily incarnated, immortal souls.
If this is true, and it certainly seems like it is, then that information changes the meaning of everything that happens to us. And, by extension, how we decide what to strive for, wish, think, say and do. If there is a grander design, and if we suspect it is so even minutely, then how we evaluate and face our gains and losses takes on a different flavour.
If I suppose a temporary earthly experience within a larger spiritual domain, illness ceases to be a curse robbing me of a limited existence. Instead, suffering becomes the mirror that exposes my soul. In the quiet, solitary and immobile state of my existence, I could no longer unconsciously escape painful memories, ignore thoughtless speech, or long-forgotten shame, guilt, or rage with “busyness”.
I’d built foundations on quicksand rather than stone. I unconsciously expected that my sensible actions would spare me from suffering and misfortune. These egoic fancies did nothing but offer a temporary hit of anaesthesia and amnesia to the human condition. This isn’t to imply we must consider death 24/7. This also doesn’t imply that we can’t lose ourselves in pleasurable pursuits, nor be briefly irritated at obstacles. However, it does bring to light what we do in a vain attempt to escape ourselves and any inkling of discomfort; let alone suffering.
Acceptance
Perhaps, then, my current state of infirmity is a sacred privilege. Being weak and limited dragged me kicking and screaming to a different paradigm. Misfortune, always defined by loss, burns away delusions of grandeur, pride, and vanity. Ask anyone who’s suffered intensely from profound loss if it hasn’t opened their eyes to the illusion of earthly control, comfort, and safety.
Loss of a loved one, freedom, health, and trust are heavy crosses we must all carry eventually.
I’m expecting to suffer much more as a consequence of my existence. But I also have to consider the significance of my current reality—the high probability that I could have suffered a much worse fate than ALS. It’s also highly likely that I wouldn’t have pursued the depth of philosophical and spiritual inquiry if it wasn’t for this disease’s characteristics and time frame. I’m also sure I wouldn’t have built the resilience and character forged in the gauntlet of its daily trials if not for ALS.
ALS’ journey led me on an unexpected, critical inquiry into philosophy, theology, and spiritualism. Because of ALS and the research I uncovered, my faith in a grander, divine design has increased exponentially from an ignorant scepticism to a reasoned and intuitive certainty. That’s faith, after all—an intuitive reasoned knowing, beyond sensory confirmation (not despite it).
Reasoned faith is not to be confused with blind faith. Blind faith is, well, blind. It has no rational foundation and can be easily lost. Conditioned, incomplete or irrational belief from cultural or social influence is relinquished as soon as it’s challenged by suffering and loss.
But I can’t say my faith rests on a Judaic, Hindu, Buddhist or pagan God. I don’t think that the designer of the cosmos cares for teams. All I can personally attest to is witnessing evidence of an intelligent designer, a divine source from whence all things arise.
Understanding
The cosmos is an effect because it’s impossible for something to come from nothing without an external cause. To create a universe imbued with intelligence, a greater intelligence must have been responsible. Therefore, a Supreme Intelligence (First cause) must have created and maintain cosmic existence (effect).
If one rationally follows the logic, then we automatically have to infer a spiritual realm beyond our 3D reality as that external cause. But that shouldn’t be too difficult a leap since physicists are already postulating multiple dimensions and finding evidence that we may live in a holographic simulation of a universe. If we’re in a kind of incarnated simulation, then that means there’s a simulator beyond that; implying, what we call the spiritual realm.
All that’s left then, considering the evidence of something grander causing our existence, is whether we still want to believe that our suffering is pointless or random?
With the recognition of insight, redemption and grace arising from our darkest misfortunes, we could label bad luck or chance as misguided ignorance.
I wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking that perhaps these ideas are a vain attempt for me to feel better about my circumstance. After all, I would prefer not to be paralysed, not be entirely dependent on someone, and not have to yearn for mobility and normalcy for the rest of my days. However, the nature of this essay is not about personal preferences.
These ideas address how we choose to live, what we focus on, and how we make sense of our fate despite our circumstances.
I don’t believe that we suffer as divine punishment, but I do think we are punished by bad personal choices. Regardless of whether our suffering is personally or naturally caused, we suffer because that’s the arena of the human condition. The incarnated human condition seems to have a purpose, and that purpose has to do with the purification of the soul. Suffering and loss do this by taking away earthly comforts, leaving us to stop and go within for answers. Those answers are always found if we care to look without cynicism and hubris.
Adversities strengthen us. Just as a broken bone heals back stronger, so our hearts and minds heal wiser through the hammering of life. Healing and strength can only arise from suffering and loss. As we wrestle with our shadows, our soul’s mettle is tested and refined in the battlefield of the human condition.
My dear brothers-in-arms, it may seem counter-intuitive that a severe misfortune, chronic or terminal illness could be our saving grace—but search your heart. If you’re undergoing a trying period now, consider gratitude for what your misfortune offers or protects you from. If you’re not suffering right now, do not despair, you will in due time.
But however misfortune reaches you, remember three things to soothe your heart—Remember, it was expected; Remember, it could have always been worse; Remember to look within, ahead and up.
This focuses you on what is important, what can be done, and what you truly are.
Keep going. You’re not alone.
Jorge
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Also published on Medium.
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