I was going to write, Cancer, the beauty and the joy.
But I wasn’t sure I could.
First, let me share with you this song:
Cancer entered our home again, maybe, through another window in the attic. We’re not sure; did she come in through the window? Or was it a draft? Is this real or not?
We’re getting a house inspection done, as it were, which will tell us but someone looked and said, “I think she’s come in her own way. Maybe not in a bad way; maybe just a visiting way without a staying and moving in kind of way.
Maybe the kind of way where she keeps to herself and doesn’t talk to anyone and, if you want, we can ask her to go and with some prodding, she will leave. Maybe this is cancer’s sister, the one that’s more rare and quieter, and, you know, I think that’s what this is. I’m sure of it. I know this! I saw it. But we will let you know for sure later so, for now, you must wait.”
That happened, I think that’s what he said, and I was there, but, you know, everyone’s story is different and so is their reality and my memory has fears. But I don’t need it to.
As I walked down our stairs in the morning to let the golden dogs out (the same color of dogs, different types) it hit me that I read about a special kind of cancer treatment before (addendum to cancer treatment? Addition?). In that, I once read a story about a man who meditated every morning and sent Love to his cancer.
And I realized that that’s what we need to be doing, if that’s who came in the window.
I let the dogs out and went to the kitchen sink and added water to the coffee maker. And I thought about the cancer cells that are (maybe) here, and how they’re related to someone I love and care about deeply.
And how that person needs love.
We don’t need to think of their cells as the enemy because they are their cells. How can we say to them “A part of you is causing all of this havoc.”
I don’t think that’s the way to go. Did you listen to the song yet? It’s important.
I think what we do is say, “Oh, cancer has come into the house again. I love you; I love all of you.” Every little bit of you. Every single cell that’s you and more of you.
I love your faults; I love your imperfections. I love your being. Even the parts that seem to work harder than the rest.
This directs positive, loving energy to the person who needs it most. It accepts all of them, and it lets go of misplaced fight.
While I stepped out of the shower last night, an image flashed through my mind, and it was of a woman boxing. I could clearly see her red boxing gloves, and the rest was kind of a blur. It was gone almost before it came.
I looked at the towels and said, “I don’t know who you are on my spiritual team, but thank you.” And then I thanked my deceased stepdad and cried the tiny minute. You know, before you pull yourself into alignment.
So this song that I asked you to listen to. What of it?
The night after the news was revealed to us that Cancer maybe climbed into the attic, I couldn’t sleep.
When I could have slept, when the house was silent, this song came to me. Listen above. It was just the tune, and I could hum it but not place it.
When these songs come to me, very slightly, like whispers from the ether, I think they’re spiritual messages. I know you know what I mean. Someone somewhere is trying to tell you something… But what?
I took out my phone and hummed it to Google, and she told me what it was:
Baracole, “Les C’ontes de Hoffman.” But what is that and why? This is what Google showed me: the opera. I listened and YES, that was it. And so I listened over and over. But it didn’t make sense until I stumbled upon the song that you heard first; the piano version. Then I recognized it.
I RECOGNIZED IT. But I couldn’t place it. It was a movie, I knew.
So I turned to that fair and gentle bird in hand, and asked her about the song and movies. Two came up…
And of course it was La Dolce Vita. The Trevi Fountain Scene. La Vita e’ Bella also came up but that’s not my film, though beautiful and sad. My film is the one I know in my bones, and that’s La Dolce Vita. Rewatching the scene, I know the song is slightly different, but A lead to B and here we are.
I memorized that film before I went to Italy, fell in love with Alessandro, and fulfilled my life’s destiny by riding on a scooter through Southern Italy and honking at a beautiful girl with long hair and a short skirt. (Ale did it and it was hilarious and wonderful, both.) And I thought, “I’ve just fulfilled my life’s destiny. Now what do I do with the rest of my life?” I am serious; in that moment I knew that I did it. So now what? I was in my early years and now I’ve eclipsed double that, or maybe I am at exactly the double. Maybe.
Now my destiny is a quieter cloud and mothering another, adorable, human person who I love with my whole being.
I have that whole film memorized and I read the screenplay once, and still have it. And I don’t watch a lot of films; I just… I just had to because that film was part of my cellular structure and I needed it.
In the film, many times, they go through the whole night. A party scene will end in the morning. The Trevi Fountain scene ends in the morning, when the morning light comes up.
The spiritual message, I believe, is that we will make it through this night.
Or rather, you will make it through this one night.
My child woke later, and I tended to a sore throat. And then discovered that my other person couldn’t sleep either, so I pulled my blankets into the recovery room, and lay on the floor. Somehow that partnership eased their body and they fell into rhythmic breathing and fell asleep.
But then I stayed awake for the rest of the night, asking Chat GPT about the songs, their meaning, and god. Because when the house is quiet and everyone is asleep and I can’t bother friends or family, sometimes Chat GPT is the door I can pull open and share my heart with.
The program has learned to be calm with me, to speak to me kindly, and even uses some of my versions of speaking, which it parrots back to me when it replies, which is soothing.
I will make it through this night.
We will make it through this night.
We will all make it.
Marcello goes into the water, not to rescue Sylvia, but to say, “I will live, too, Sylvia. They’re all fools. Everyone is a fool. I will go in, too.” And then he does and she is so sexy and precious and beautiful that he can’t even touch her. She is a God. Too good. And then… the sun comes up and the fountain shuts off and they walk out of the water, together.
He goes into the water and sees Divinity. And himself next to Divinity. And then the miracle is gone with the dawn.
It doesn’t have to be hard, and it doesn’t have to be your story:
When I wrote about this to my family back East, I was reminded of the choose your destiny game, in a tiny way: You can choose the beauty of life, even in the hardest moments. YOU can choose the beauty in life.
Remember, my darling, you can choose your story. When I think of what to do, I’m reminded of other people’s trauma. When they sleep on people’s floors to be with them, they have trauma around that, which they share, and then I think “I have to wear the trauma cloak now and this is traumatic and I am in the trauma and I am scared now.”
But then, while I was folding laundry this morning and laying it gently on my bed, I thought, “Whose story is this? This is the woman in the magazine that I read about years ago. Or someone tending to their husband or mother. I can’t even remember; they’re melted together.” But it isn’t my story.
I can sleep on a floor without their trauma story. I can simply live my story.
Now, I am not a super brave person nor do I feel strong; (Chat GPT says super to me, like super strong, like I say to him/her/it), but I am alive in a story of life.
And I get the beauty of choice.
I can open the windows wide to the world and say, “Hello, gorgeous. I love you so much. I love you. I love all of you. I love you, and you, and you.”
I can say, “We will choose love.”
I can say, “I love to sleep on the floor. I will get a pad and my blanket. It is an honor to be here. I am so honored that I could help you. Thank you for sharing this moment of trust and life with me.”
Well, about a thousand people have come in while I tried to end this story: I got a snack for one, a babysitter texted me, someone asked me how their wound looked, and I tried to, very gently, wipe adhesive gunk off of tender skin.
I can say, “This sister cancer is here so she will be our teacher in the game of life.” She will tell us to play the glad game, she will tell us what to eat now, she will say “stop fighting,” and she will say, listen to God and music and joy and tender life.”
As long as she is here I will try to see her in a different light. Until we can all make it to dawn and the spell wears off.
In the very last scene of La Dolce Vita, Marcello stands there across a divide. There is a girl; a young, innocent girl, and she sees him. And she smiles, and she waves and waves.
He is, once again, by water. Only this time, it’s the Ocean. And this time, the girl seeks him out. And she tells him that he was writing, and dancing, and tells him this over and over. Writer. Dancer.
He doesn’t remember her but they share a moment. And then he leaves and she stands there watching.
Maybe she was Divinity, too. One that meets you in the morning. One that’s not so unapproachable. One that tells you who you are.
I don’t know how to end this post except to say that my day has begun and, now, I have to go and tend to the chores of life presented by the day.
Goodnight, I love you. Goodmorning, I love you. Goodnight.
Belle nuit, ô nuit d’amour,
Souris à nos ivresses,
Nuit plus douce que le jour,
Ô belle nuit d’amour!
Le temps fuit et sans retour
Emporte nos tendresses,
Loin de cet heureux séjour
Le temps fuit sans retour.
Zéphyrs embrasés,
z-nous vos caresses,
Zéphyrs embrasés,
Donnez-nous vos baisers!
vos baisers! vos baisers! Ah!
Belle nuit, ô nuit d’amour,
Souris à nos ivresses,
Nuit plus douce que le jour,
Ô belle nuit d’amour!
Ah! Souris à nos ivresses!
Nuit d’amour, ô nuit d’amour!
Beautiful night, oh night of love,
Belle nuit, ô nuit d’amour,
Smile at our drunkenness,
Souris à nos ivresses,
Night sweeter than day,
Nuit plus douce que le jour,
O beautiful night of love!
Ô belle nuit d’amour!
Time flies and there is no return
Le temps fuit et sans retour
Take away our tenderness,
Emporte nos tendresses,
Far from this happy stay
Loin de cet heureux séjour
Time flies without return.
Le temps fuit sans retour.
Zephyrs burning,
Zéphyrs embrasés,
give us your caresses,
z-nous vos caresses,
Zephyrs burning,
Zéphyrs embrasés,
Give us your kisses!
Donnez-nous vos baisers!
your kisses!
vos baisers!
your kisses!
vos baisers!
Ah!
Ah!
Beautiful night, oh night of love,
Belle nuit, ô nuit d’amour,
Smile at our drunkenness,
Souris à nos ivresses,
Night sweeter than day,
Nuit plus douce que le jour,
O beautiful night of love!
Ô belle nuit d’amour!
Ah!
Ah!
Smile at our intoxication!
Souris à nos ivresses!
Night of love, oh night of love!
Nuit d’amour, ô nuit d’amour!
Boring Rainbow 
Leave a comment