The Mysterious Gift of Illness

Andrea Avari Stevens, Ph.D. 

Much has been written on the subject of illness as a pathway to finding a deeper spirituality but I have chosen not to read most of it.  I prefer to think of myself as healthy and not needing to explore that area of growth but the universe had something else in store for me. 

One day I was fine, the next minute my brain was reeling and my eyes were seeing chopped-up versions of Picasso-like paintings revolving in front of me.  Nothing had hit me in the head, I didn’t fall down.  All I did was turn my head from one side of the pillow to the other side to look out the window to see if the sun was shining.   I tried to shut my eyes and grab my head but neither idea served any benefit.  Shaking and sweating profusely, I didn’t purposefully move a muscle anywhere in my body as the visualizations slowly settled down.  It took about an hour.  I decided to get up as though leaving the scene of the crime would be helpful to me.  Another attack hit my brain with the same intensity.  I kept my eyes open this time for a sense of grounding but I was helplessly spun with forces beyond my control as though on a carnival ride.  

With what remained of my left brain, I tried to figure out what had happened.  I couldn’t  think very well in a logical way; a brain fog had settled in very deeply into the rational side of my brain.  In the next few days I could see that my speech was creative in that in my mind I knew what I wanted to say but my brain took one syllable from each word and threw them into a blender.  The result was an abbreviated word that represented a full sentence.  It actually seemed quite efficient and thrifty and although some listeners could decipher my meaning, I had to learn to speak more slowly.  

At first I could only walk holding onto the walls nearby; slowly I found more balance and walked shakily to my destinations.  The accompanying nausea was deep and long-lasting.  I couldn’t turn my head at all and even moving my eyes upset my equilibrium.  I didn’t want to draw attention to myself more than necessary so I learned, as so many people with disabilities learn, to hide the more obvious signs of my distress. 

The doctors couldn’t figure it out.  My brain and body flunked the balancing tests they gave to me but the MRI showed no damage.  Fuzzily, I couldn’t figure out if that was a good thing or not.   Finally it was decided that a virus had attacked a portion of my brain stem.  And there was no cure.  The prognosis was unknown; time would tell the possibility of moving from one plateau to another or not. 

Since I had been working a spiritual path for a number of years, one of my first thoughts was to ask the universe why they had taken my left brain to such a degree.  There seemed to be no answer.  And then one day I looked out the window and I saw the trees, the mountains, the glaciers, and the people walking down the street all shift into one energy.  I remember calling it “Godland.”  Tears fell down my cheeks as I felt an incredible feeling of peace settle in and all around me.  My heart felt like it would burst with an electric kind of love.  

As I returned to my job working with people, I noticed that although my short term memory was indeed short, necessitating taking copious notes, I was able to visualize what they were describing about themselves.  I started finishing their sentences and seemed to know and feel what they were about to say.  I frequently found myself apologizing to people for interrupting them.   They responded by asking me how I knew what they were thinking.  Embarrassed, I mumbled something and went on with my questions.  

Over time I became less embarrassed and more appreciative for the gift of insight that seemed to be with me in a much greater degree than I had experienced before.  Whenever  I encounter a lesson from the Universe that appears in my life, I attempt to make the intention to open myself to the experience.  I am not always successful but I know in my heart that there is no right or wrong, good or bad experience; it all just is.  I like to think that all experience is for my growth, to increase my awareness and to open my heart to remembering who I really am.  If I release the judgment that might arise within my mind, I can be open to the gifts of the lessons.  

I will never know all of the gifts of this particular lesson because of my viewpoint as a human on earth.  It is a mystery and I can accept that.  I can see some gifts from this brain virus to me.  I am more aware and more trusting of operating from my intuition that I ever had been before.  I take better care of my body by healthy eating and getting more exercise.  I have a much deeper sense of empathy for people who encounter brain injuries and other disabilities.   

I have less judgment and more compassion for myself.  Now I see how important balance is in my life. Before the illness I would have been able to talk my talk but now I am walking it more.   I am living a much more aware life of taking care of myself physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually every day.  I guess you could say that I don’t take myself for granted as much as I did before this virus came to visit my brain.  And now I know “Godland.”  And I am grateful. 

Copyright 2009.  Andrea is the author of A Hit of Heaven: a soul's journey through illusion.  She and her husband are currently writing a book on relationships together.