I'm Curious. Who am I?

When I was 17, I was diagnosed with a brain tumor.  It was about the size of a walnut and was located in such an "eloquent" part of my brain that it had to have been growing my whole life up to that point.  In fact, this was the explanation for why I'd been having headaches every day of my life for the previous 17 years. 

It takes courage to forgive doctors for denying that anything was wrong for so long... for not ordering an MRI until after brain damage had occurred.  It takes courage to forgive yourself for not being more persistent in finding the root of your pain.  It takes courage for parents to forgive themselves for not fighting harder against doctors who deny taking the steps that would have lead to an earlier diagnosis.  A lot of courage is involved when a young man's life is threatened by a cause whose ultimate effect is uncertain.  But this blog is not about courage.  It's about experience and what that means.

The tumor destroyed the part of my brain--an aquaduct--that drains spinal fluid.  Thus, there was a build-up of fluid in my head (a condition known as hydrocephalus).  This pressure damaged my optic nerves, as well as caused a lot of pain.  My pupils no longer dilate, and I have trouble seeing in the dark or the very bright.  The damage to my brain from the tumor gave me double-vision, a condition that caused exponentially more agony in my life than any other condition I've had previous... including the 17-year-long headache.  This condition was very thankfully eased to some degree five years after the onset by three surgeries from a very warm-hearted eye surgeon in Minnesota . 

Stepping back to when I was 17, the first surgery that had to be done, was an emergency shunt placement--a procedure to insert a tube in my head that would drain the fluid into my abdomen where it would be absorbed by my body and discarded.  This machinery is now a permanent part of my body.  After the shunt was placed, my brain had to adjust to its new environment.  What that meant to me was schizophrenic-like symptoms.  I eventually believed myself responsible for the holocaust.  It got so pathological that I thought that with every step, I was transporting into a different universe and that the universe that I had come from would go up in flames the moment I stepped out of it.  This lead me to a state of catatonia... the only solution my body could come up with that would halt me from murdering so many sentient beings. 

Eventually, with the help of anti-psychotic medication, I came out of my delusional state.  The next step was to remove the tumor--a surgery that left me with impaired muscular ability in my eyes and more pronounced double vision.  But it was the first time in my life that I understood what it fealt like to NOT have a headache. 

Within a year, the tumor grew back bigger, putting it into a category of less benign than before.  But radiation treatment resolved that issue in a much less invasive way than surgery and with fewer, though some minor, side-effects.  The prognosis:  Dead tumor. No chance of recurrence.

Woo hoo, right?  Yes, for the most part.  The next year, however, my shunt became clogged, and I fell into a mild coma that lasted for a day.  The resulting two weeks of short-term memory loss left me with no recollection of that period of my life.  The good news is I recovered my short-term memory and was able to go back to college after recovery.  The bad news is my head gained one more scar and with it, one more area where hair no longer grows. 

So, why did I say this blog is about experience?  Well, let me try to explain my thoughts on how these and other major events in my life have given me an opportunity... an opportunity to contemplate.

Whether it was a depression resultant from a friend killing his family, pain from a tumor growing in my brain or from the side-effects of surgery, anguish from the torment of believing I had inadvertantly sold my soul to the devil, blissful release via some of the spiritual experiences that accompanied a small portion of my ordeal, delusions associated with total schizophrenic psychosis, or any of the other experiences that have accompanied my long life that has manifested thus far in a short period of time, one thing, and only one thing has remained constant.  At one point, I was literally, albeit subjectively, in a completely different world... one where the devil would talk to me and I could predict the future.  I bore witness to that.  At another point, I thought I might end up harming a lot of people.  I bore witness to those thoughts and feelings.  At yet another point, I was on the edge of having my old personality and desparately wanting it back while having and exhibiting a different personality that I didn't want.  I bore witness to that lack of control.  I guess the point I am trying to make is I bore witness to a lot of different states of being--very diametrically opposing states of being.  What I have come to realize is that they are all illusory.  ALL of them, even the one you think is "normal."  But the essence of that witness is constant.  Yet it is easy to trick oneself into believing they have identity with that witness.  But it is a very subtle awareness indeed.  Very subtle, yet always obviously present at every moment. 

When I think I have attained identity with "The Witness," I quickly scroll through the many different "selves" (sort of like a checklist) I have been and ask myself, "If I were in this state of being, would the Witness I believe I am identifying with now be the same in that circumstance."  Many times, the answer is "no."  So, what I was really identifying with is something else, most likely a perspective.  I find the moments where I am truly Witness-identity are very subtle.  Yet, it is impossible to escape that Witness.  It is always present, has always been present, but It, as an identity, even disappears when non-dual awareness is recognized. 

Now, if you don't mind, I would like to thank you for reading this.  I welcome your comments.  And in the spirit of non-duality, I thank you for being both the author and the reader of this blog entry.

Namaste,
~Matthew