SECTION II - FAMILY ISSUES

Promoting Pagan Family Values - Selene Silverwind
"WITCH TIT?" "MY RITE TIT!" Part 3 - BabooKyra

Pagan Family Values
By Selene Silverwind
SeleneSilverwind@aol.com

It's hard to believe I've been writing this column for two years. When I look back at how Cauldrons & Broomsticks has evolved in that time, I have to say I like the path it has taken. I hope you do too. Looking back at how the acceptance of Paganism has changed in the last two years, I'd say we have a mixed bag. While Witches and Pagans are certainly trendy right now, not all the images the media portrays are positive. And while we have gained greater acceptance in some circles, including the military, we have lost acceptance in others, including Congress. And so, having looked back, now we must look forward again and teach our children, our children's friends, and our neighbors that Pagan family values are just as worthy as other religious values in hopes that the next generation of adults will be accepting of all faiths.

In these days of convenience stores and supermarkets, we have become increasingly separated from the natural world, which is something we as Pagans need to change. It's important to teach your children that bread does not start out in plastic bags at the grocery store. First, show them what wheat looks like before it becomes flour. Visit a farm, check your library for one of those great Eyewitness books on farming, or at the very least, get dried wheat from your local craft store. Explain the growth cycle to your children and that we are approaching the end of another grain harvest. Now, rather than buying a loaf of bread or pie for your Lammas celebration, have your children help you bake one from scratch. You don't have to process the grain yourself, but no cheating by using a bread machine either. Explain to them that we celebrate Lammas as a way of thanking the God and Goddess for the abundance of the earth and for giving us sustenance.

Another way to honor nature is to create art from it. This activity is great for a group of children. Take them someplace natural, whether it's the woods or a big backyard and have them collect items that inspire them, but only natural items that are on the ground or about to die. Once they have amassed their treasures, give them each a piece of posterboard and glue. The children can map out a scene using colored pens or pencils, but like the annual rose parade floats, every bit of color must be covered with something natural. Sand, grain, flower petals, twigs, and leaves are possibilities. Let them get creative, then display the completed masterpieces for their parents to see and admire.

Games and contests were a traditional part of the Lughnasadh celebration. Invite your neighbors over for a small backyard festival and arrange to have sack races, relay races, or any other kind of race or contest you can think of. A cake walk would be a perfect way for everyone to share the abundance celebrated at this time. Later on, get the adults in on the action with three-legged races and the like. Decorate with cornucopias, gourds, and grain and serve all sorts of pies, cakes, breads, and cookies. Give each guest a small scroll or card explaining the tradition behind the Tailltean games of Lughnasadh to take home as a parting gift.

Remember, Pagan Pride Day is coming up again. Be sure to visit PaganPride.org for links to your local events in the U.S. and Canada or to volunteer to plan one in your area.

"WITCH TIT?" "MY RITE TIT!"
Part 3
By BabooKyra

I began my radiation treatments the following Monday. The initial visit was not painful , but pretty much like science fiction. The radiologist, technician and assistant measured me, painted me, graphed me and tattooed me, while I lay under a large machine that simulated the radiation gun. They were sweet, understanding, professional -- and I was bored silly. They really should get a television, or provide a Walkman, or something, while a person is lying there. I decided that once I was through with all of this, I would have small flowers tattooed around each of the purple dots squaring my breast.

I returned to work the next day. It was great -- everyone made such a fuss over me. I'm a triple Leo, (I think I might have mentioned that), and I do enjoy being fussed over. My boss was walking on egg-shells so as to not upset me. Even his father, the owner of the company, who is usually amazingly nasty, was sweet. I figured I would really parlay this out as long as possible. I'm pragmatic. Some people let things run off like water off a duck's back, instead of getting upset. I build a hydroelectric dam and am upset only when it serves a useful purpose. Energy is energy, and it's up to me to figure out how to use it.

(Theory: I would like to talk about manipulation. This is strictly my opinion, but I'm probably right (that's a joke -- sort of). I believe that women's abilities in the art of manipulation have been given a bad rap by the patriarchy for eons. We are gifted in the ability to influence people's behavior through subterfuge, tact, bribery, sex, withdrawing or giving affection and attention, and a myriad of other tactics. When men are good at these things, they are called diplomats and statesmen. Women are called "manipulative." Generally, the next generation depends on our being able to get children to survive in spite of themselves. Fruit Loops alone do not take care of four food groups, and poking the dog in the eye will usually make her angry and vindictive.

I personally feel that men haven't a clue as to what really makes them happy. I am ruthlessly manipulative, and am willing to teach any other woman the fine art of true communication with their male significant others.

For example, a man says, "I can't understand why I enjoy being with you and sleeping with you when I'm not in love with you." Translation: "I have no idea as to what love is, but this is so comfortable it can't possibly be it."

Do not: freak out, lose your self-esteem, argue about it with or without him (we do argue with people who aren't there), threaten, or in any other become unattractive to yourself and others. Remember that this is a "person of penis" who is estrogen impaired and must be humored.

Do: Sweetly and with great understanding of his confusion, give him time to think about it. He will figure out much more quickly whether or not he's in love if you aren't there. Usually, it takes about three weeks in testosterone time -- which is in a ratio of one week to five minutes, estrogen time. In other words, an eternity for you is really pretty quick for a man to notice and admit to having feelings and to no longer deny the amount of pain he's experiencing.

It's very important to smile sweetly when you give him "time out" (just like a child), kiss him farewell. Tell him to call when he makes up his mind, and, if you haven't met anyone else, you'll be more than happy to talk to him.

Then you use the time productively. Take ballet or kung fu, date someone intriguing whom you want to experience for a short time, plant an herb garden, finish your thesis. Do not contact him under any circumstances! Have a support circle in place of people to call when the compulsion is overwhelming. Remember, if he loves you enough to be worth your while, he'll call. No matter how you may feel about the principle of the thing and how unfair it is, the reality is that for him to value you, he must come to you.

The amount of pain he has experienced during this separation will determine how much he will cherish you during the future course of the relationship. He has to reach the state of wanting you more than anything, or he simply will never appreciate you sufficiently. If he doesn't call, he doesn't love you enough, and you don't want him.

A woman should be adored. Men are very happy when they adore you. They may fight tooth and nail every inch of the way, but the end result is that you will be cherished and he will be happy. If you want any further direction in these matters, just give me a call.

I learned the art of charming from my mother and grandmother, and they have been passed on to my daughters. We all have good and long lasting relationships with men who adore us in spite of (and because of) the fact that we are all witches and can be amazingly frustrating. Our reputation as enchantresses comes from our mates being so much in love with us that they can only think they've been bewitched. And they have.

This may fall into the category of "game playing." My feeling is that we are so good at this, that men are scared to death of our ability to cause them pain by absenting ourselves (pain based mostly on being clueless. This ability, along with many other women's arts, has been wrongly slandered and should be cultivated.)

*********

Now to get back to my breast. I went in for my first radiation treatment. I am usually not late for anything, but I was, and continued to be, ten minutes late for all my treatments. Finally, I told Dory to schedule me twenty minutes later, but not to tell me.

The treatments themselves were pretty much routine, fast and apart from the sci-fi environment, pretty unimpressive. It was like having a longish (2-3 minute) x-ray on each side of my breast. I felt tired, but given the stress of this whole experience, that could have been chronic fatigue syndrome as much as anything else.

I continued my regime of herbs. The herbs which different doctors had different opinions about, like beta-carotene and vitamin E, I used my own judgment and took in moderation and in natural forms. The only really noticeable change was that I began craving vitamin C rich fruits and vegetables, like citrus, sweet peppers, potatoes and tomatoes.

I began to get to know the various women working at the Cancer Center. I wear a silver chain with several small Goddess charms -- the Sumarian Snake Goddess, Venus of Wellendorf, Gaia, Isis, Hecate, the Pentacle, and my token male deity, Pan. People who notice them are generally quite fascinated and ask questions about them. The women working at the center were not exceptions. They started asking questions about the Goddesses, and then about the Craft. So, I started lending out my tapes, giving copies of the Circle of Aradia newsletter, and sharing about the philosophy of Wicca and other forms of Paganism. I realized that once again, although I may not enjoy what got me there, I was walking the correct path. I was, one more time, what the 12 step programs refer to as "an Eskimo." These women were hungry for a Goddess based spirituality.

The Eskimo story: A member of AA was having a difficult time accepting the validity of a "Higher Power." In due course, he went on a trip to Alaska. While there, he went ice fishing. The ice where he was sitting, fishing, cracked, plunging him into the frigid waters. He cried out "Higher Power, save me and I'll believe in you forever." At that point, an Eskimo came and pulled him to safety, took him home, gave him warm clothing and a hot drink. On the plane trip home, the man found himself sitting next to a person who had been to meetings with him. He related the story to his fellow traveler, who then asked him if he now believed in the reality of a Higher Power. The man said, "That was no Higher Power, that was just a damn Eskimo." Therefore, an Eskimo is anyone who acts as a validation of a Higher Power, willingly or not, believed or not.

*********

I would like to talk about outside pressure. Cancer is a very powerful word. It sets up emotional ripples in everyone it touches, directly or indirectly, that are not to be believed. The most difficult part of this entire experience was not physical discomfort, fatigue, and having my routine and plans disrupted. As far as my own attitude is concerned, I had not been terribly afraid of the procedures, or the future chance of a recurrence. I had not been angry. I simply did what the next apparent step is, and tried to keep in touch with the Goddess' voice through my intuition. Any negative emotions were dealt with appropriately. Simple, huh?

There is my mother who thought I should have extensive chemo and hormone therapy, and a prophylactic double radical mastectomy to boot. She was furious that I choose to hang onto "those bags of fat." She trusts the opinion of doctors, though I don't know why. She's a witch and should know better than to make any human being a deity. I understand that she has lost one daughter, and is scared beyond belief of losing another, but modern medicine taken to dangerous and unnecessary extremes is not my answer.

My beloved husband hovered -- constantly. His motto is: "For every silver lining, there is a cloud." He watched what I ate, whether or not I had taken my herbs, whether I was taking an herb that the doctor discouraged, or vice versa. If he could, he would have put me to bed and treated me like a total invalid (and a slightly mentally deficient one at that). When I went for my checkups, he was with me, misinterpreting everything the doctor was saying and looking for the worst possible spin. I hated to tell him to stop, because it hurt his feelings terribly. Finally, I would reach a point and yell, "Enough!". He would back off for a while, but he really can't control himself.

He was terrified, and when his life becomes unmanageable, he wants to manage everyone else's lives. When he was not worrying about me -- and talking to me about it, he is worrying about our daughter -- and talking to me about it, or money, or the house, and, well, you get the picture.

They love me. I know that. They are scared to death, but I needed to maintain my normal attitude. I take few things seriously (cruelty is an exception), being fearless sometimes to the point of folly. I am passionately involved with life and all the fun it has to offer.

There was subtle pressure. When I spoke to women in the various spirituality groups I participate in, I felt a disapproval of any of the conventional medical choices I've made. Noone comes right out and says anything, but the conversation turns to a friend of a friend who went to a clinic in Mexico for wheat grass enemas, and is now just fine. "And what did you say the difference between radiation and chemotherapy was?"

Then there are the doctors. Each doctor has obviously chosen her or his specialty because that is what they love, trust and believe. When I disagree with them, it's almost as if I'm insulting their religion. They feel I am rejecting them when I reject their solution. I have to remain impervious to their feelings, and remember that it's my body at stake here, and their egos are their problem. In my opinion doctors are on par with plumbers and if I want copper pipes, and they want stainless steel, I get another plumber. I'm as capable of doing research and understanding what I read as they are. I just didn't choose to spend fifteen years of my life in school (and I can't stand the sight of blood and guts).

My answer, after telling people, sometimes nicely, sometimes not, to bug off, was to stay very centered within myself. I listened to my body constantly, and trusted the information I received. I relied on my intuition absolutely. It had the final say in all decisions. If I didn't have an immediate answer, I waited. I tried not to make any decision until I was comfortable with the way it made me feel.

This was the time when I could least afford to be vulnerable. Since sometimes I felt as if I had no inner resources left, I had to draw upon the energies of the Goddess', or Chi, or Prahna, or whatever. This may not be pleasant, but it was making me spiritually stronger and very assertive.

Then came Samhain (Hallowe'en). We held our annual Dumb Supper. This year I included a banishing ceremony along with the Feast for the Unreborn Souls. It was a small, intimate ritual, and the evening was warm and clear. My firepit (dug a week earlier during a fit of pique at my darling husband's need to control me) worked very nicely. We burned rosemary and angelica to thin the veil further and allow easy access for the invited souls, and sages to honor and welcome the Crone. For the banishing, we each wrote that which we wished the Crone to take away with Her on a piece of paper, and then burned it in the fire with rue and fennel. I banished cancer and life in Los Angeles.

The only awkward moment came when I realized that I was trying to raise energy through chanting with a group of asthmatics. You try it sometime! Afterward, we feasted and talked into the wee hours of the morning. It was a nice Sabbat.

It was the next day that I received the answer to the question of whether or not to use the hormone drug, Tamoxifen. I was standing next to my herb cabinet putting together my daily doses, when I suddenly remembered that ginseng was a natural estrogen/progesterone suppresser. It was also a natural energizer, which I really needed. That confirmed my decision not to use Tamoxifen. To take a lot of high quality ginseng felt totally right.

The weeks began to drag. Radiation was taking its toll. I started to feel more and more tired and queasy. Our move to Oregon seemed to recede farther and farther into the future. My ability to cope was diminishing. I would cry at the drop of a hat, and couldn't stand being around any kind of high emotion, positive or negative. I had no sexual desire whatsoever. There were so many people poking and prodding my body, that the last thing I wanted was for any additional physical contact with a human being.

It was taking all my energies to just deal with getting to work when I was able to do so, and going for my daily radiation. I reached the half way point, and did not know where the resources were to come from to complete the process. Time became strange, seeming to run in a flow with no landmarks. I found myself not knowing what day it was, or even what time of day. The only punctuation was the sound on the machine each day at 3:30 p.m.

The machine made a sound like one of those electric bug zappers. I would lie on the table and visualize the cancer cells as mosquitoes being zapped by the machine. Dory, the usual technician who worked with me, liked that concept.

*********

For the full moon in November, I decided to hold an Esbat ritual. Its purpose would be to tell the Faeries who live in a tree in my garden about the impending move and to enlist their aid in locating residents who would respect them and the garden. These sprites have never been friendly. They have refused every gift we've offered them. They would literally chase anyone venturing under their tree after dark back into the house, buzzing their ears like giant bumble bees.

We kept their tree decorated with beads, and treated their part of the garden with respect, but otherwise were rather cool neighbors. Now, though, events were occurring which would effect them directly, and they had a right to know about the situation and to take whatever actions they desired to ensure their safety and privacy. For research on the appropriate way to go about communicating with these beings, I used the excellent source book by Edwin McCoy, A Witch's Guide to Faery Folk.

Full moon was on Friday. On Wednesday night, carrying my besom in one hand, and a silver tray with fresh, unsalted raw butter, sweet wine and oatcakes in the other, I ventured out into the garden. I followed the correct path under the tree (they are very uptight about how you enter their space). I explained that we were going to have an Esbat ritual. Our work would be to raise energy to attract new residents to this home who would honor and revere the space and its residents as we had. Since they would be effected by this event, they were invited to join us. Then I tried to fit the tray into the tree. Little voices kept telling me how much easier it would be if I would put down my besom. I decided that was not a good idea, and managed to wedge the tray into the tree.

The next day, although the wine and butter were untouched, the oatcakes were gone. I might mention that the last time I had left oatcakes for them, they threw them at me as I was walking back to the house. I considered this progress.

I understood that five was the number sacred to faery folk, so we gathered in a group of five. Chuck and myself, my daughter Lisa and her lover, Sean, and my friend Ellen, who, being gay, encompassed both male and female energies. This made for well balanced ritual.

The night was very cold and windy, but when we started the procession into the garden with our candles, the wind stopped and the air within our circle was comfortably warm. In fact, the only time there was so much as a breeze during the entire ritual, was when the air quadrant was addressed during the opening and closing of the circle. We drummed, sang and danced our energy, having invited the Faeries to join us. Slowly, the aura of suspicion and even hostility emanating from under the tree began to change to curiosity, and then to cautious acceptance. When we ended by raising a cone of energy with the MA chant, it was very clear that they were working with us.

The instant the circle was opened, the wind resumed full force and blew out the candles. It felt as if the temperature had dropped twenty degrees, and everyone made a beeline for the warm kitchen and our feast.

We may never be friends with our faery neighbors, but there has been a real improvement in our relationship with these ethereal beings. They really like oatcakes.

*********

About mid-November I began to get radiation burns. Apparently this was expected and normal to the "experts," but nobody had told me about it when we originally discussed side effects. The burns were very uncomfortable, especially under my breast where there was no chance for air to dry out the skin unless I was lying down. The doctor recommended Lotrimin powder. This was well and good for any yeast growing in that moist, dark place, but did nothing to actually heal the burn itself. The medical people at the clinic had told me not to use anything that they did not okay. My first impulse was to be a good little soldier and follow orders. My second was to remember that every time in my life that things went very wrong was when I blindly obeyed authority figures and not my intuition.

I decided to make up my favorite combination skin healing and insect bite poultice and try it out on the burns. I call the poultice, "Kyra's Green Goop." It is made from fresh herbs from my garden: comfrey, rosemary, yarrow, St. John's wort, aloe, and a couple of drops of Tea Tree essential oil from Culpeppers' of London. I threw the ingredients into my food processor. Instead of olive oil, which was my usual carrying agent, I used fresh aloe vera gel to liquefy and bind the poultice. I wrapped some of the nasty looking result in gauze, and rolled it into a cylinder that I placed under my breast. Not having been able to pass the "pencil test" for some years now, it stayed in place quite nicely.

At first the poultice stung my skin very slightly because it was so raw. Next I got the usual tingly sensation, and then, in about five minutes, the pain was gone. I left this on for a couple of hours, and then slept without washing off the residual gel. By morning, the burns were pretty dry, but the scabby skin would still crack with any movement. It was less painful than the day before.

I made a fresh gauze cylinder and used the poultice on and off throughout the day. As I had found in previous uses, it was very effective in relieving pain and itchiness. (I have a feeling it would be great for hemorrhoids -- I must find someone on whom to test it.)

The next day I placed some fresh picked yarrow leaves under my breast and just left them there throughout the day. When I arrived at the treatment center, the nurse, Lisa, lifted my breast to examine the burns. A bunch of leaves fell out. She was startled, to say the least. Lisa was fairly tolerant, having grown to expect me to do things that were unexpected. Dory, the technician, seemed furious. She had told me not to put anything on my breast, and did not like being disobeyed. The doctor wasn't there, as it was her day at the hospital.

They decided to switch from the "broad beam" radiation I had been getting. This encompassed my entire breast, and probably some lung and ribs as well. The "narrow beam" just shot the area of the tumor. This would give the burnt area a rest.

I am very glad that I have learned not to be intimidated by authority figures of any sort. I have always gotten into painful situations when I've trusted "experts" over my intuition, and finally have become unwilling to blindly follow the instructions of others. I knew the herbs were helping heal my skin. I could feel it. As long as I kept the yarrow in place, replacing the old with fresh herbs every few hours, there was no pain, just a mild itchiness that indicated healing was taking place.

That night I again smeared on my goop, but this time over the entire breast. I left it on until it dried and became flaky, and then brushed it off gently. I placed fresh yarrow under my breast and went to sleep. By morning, the healing had progressed, and the sunburned feeling and pink color on the rest of my skin, especially the nipple, had significantly diminished. So much for experts. They knew about killing cancer with radiation, but I knew how to heal damaged skin with herbs.

The affirmation of my ability to trust my own knowledge and intuition did wonders for my disposition. I felt better than I had for days. I even started feeling a little bit sexual. Not enough to tell Chuck about yet, but there was definitely some return of feeling. It also helped that I was past the half-way point, and that we were going to Oregon next weekend. I really missed Ashleigh and her parents, and was looking forward to taking the civil service exam to possibly get a job with the state.

Lisa and Sean would meet us there. They were moving up to Eugene that weekend, and we would also help them find a place to live. It brought back the reality of the end of this ordeal.

Before we left for Oregon, I developed another bad burn on the area where the narrow beam had been aimed. I was beginning to get pretty testy about the whole thing. They had not told me about this when we originally discussed side effects. This time the burn seemed to effect my ribs and inner breast tissue as well. Everything was sore, including my attitude.

*********

We arrived in Eugene and met the kids at the motel. The weather was glorious -- cold and crisp with the sparkle of ice dancing like diamonds on all the plants. It felt so good to get out of Los Angeles and away from the whole cancer center scene. The only problem was that my breast kept getting worse. Instead of healing, it got redder and more angry looking, and achy on the inside all the way to the ribs.

We spent our days either dog-sitting our grand-puppy, Salina, or out driving around looking for a place for the kids to rent. It was very difficult to find any rental that would take pets. Still, I loved wandering the hills and valleys of central Oregon, imagining the time when we would be looking for a place for ourselves. I was still taking Vicodin, which deadened the pain in my breast, and also improved my disposition considerably. Gotta watch that stuff -- it's just too nice. It was a real gift of the Goddess.

The motel where we were staying had a garden behind it with a large creek. I would sneak Salina out of the kid's room early in the morning, and we would go out and have our own little rituals with the ice and water and faeries. Salina was really supposed to have been named Selena, the Moon Goddess, but the kids spelled it wrong. When I told them they had named her "Salty," they liked the name so much they decided to keep it.

We stayed an extra day in the hopes that it would snow. The weather turned disappointingly nice, but it turned out to be a good choice, as Lisa and Sean were beginning to really get on each others' nerves, being homeless and cooped up in one room.

I took Lisa out for the afternoon for a Mommy-Daughter time. We went into downtown Eugene and walked the streets, exploring little stores and meeting people. It was wonderful. We had gotten so stressed out with house hunting that we had lost the real purpose of the move. The people were so nice, the stores so interesting, the prices so low! We ate at an arty little vegetarian place. We browsed a bookstore for hours. By the time we got back, we were both renewed and feeling much more optimistic.

The next day Chuck and I flew back to Los Angeles, and went straight to the clinic from the airport. I was spitting nails by this point, and was very ready to tell them to take their radiation and shove it. My breast had continued to get worse, and really hurt.

The techs started to hustle me into the radiation room, but I told them I really wanted to see the doctor before we did anything. They took examined my breast. It was pretty dramatic looking at this point. They called in Dr. E. She was pretty upset about it too, especially about the fact that my ribs were so sore. We suspended treatments -- one more time -- and made an appointment to see the surgeon. She decided that I had some edema from the surgery. I figured I had some edema from radiation burns. I love Dr. Lim, though, and knew that he would be really straight with me.

The next day when I went to see him, he confirmed that the edema was from internal blisters and inflammation caused by the radiation. He asked what I was doing for it. I told him I was using my herbal poultice and Comfrey compresses. His face lit up and he said that his grandmother always used Comfrey for inflammations. He affirmed that this was an excellent choice of treatment and that I should continue to do what I was doing. I just love that man.

I stopped by the clinic on the way home, pretty much to just rub Dr. E.'s nose in Dr. Lim's diagnosis. The only problem was that the compresses had been working so well, she felt I could resume treatments the following Monday.

The kids called the next day to tell us that they had found a place to live. They found a large house in Springfield, just on the border of Eugene, with a yard and adjoining an apple orchard. The landlord was wonderful, the price was right and the owner of the apple orchard had told them to make themselves welcome. They were ecstatic, and we were vastly relieved.

Now all that was left was for me to finish my treatments and for us to try to sell the house. I would be out of Los Angeles for good.

Well, the best laid plans of mice, men and witches... The radiation burns continued to get worse. My intuition was screaming, "Enough," and the doctors were continuing with their preset schedule, because it was the designated schedule, without regard to what was happening to my body. I was slowly reaching a blow-up point, when I went in, burns and all, for what I thought would be my third from last treatment.

I don't know if they miscounted, I miscounted, or they just got scared, but I was hugged and told that I was DONE!! (Actually, by then I was pretty "well-done").

My breast was not getting better. It was continuing to be swollen, inflamed and very painful. Eugene was not happening. I was getting pretty depressed and frustrated. I was still at the same job, but now the company had shrunk to the point of there being nothing for me to do. I felt like I was just acting the part of a security blanket for my employer, and was bored to tears. I was coming in later and later, and less and less frequently. The place was like a the room of a terminal patient, just hanging on. Very depressing.

We continued to go to Oregon every few weeks, and finding wonderful places to live. Chuck and I continued to apply for various jobs, and just miss getting them in the final cut. My decision to forego hormone therapy panned out, as I began to miss menstrual periods. It was about this time that the new data came out on the hormone suppressing drug that the oncologist wanted me to take. They found that while it might decrease the incidence of breast cancer, it increased the incidence to uterine and colon-rectal cancer. Would you trade a headache for an upset stomach?

Being in pain and being frustrated about moving was really taking its toll on my normally good disposition. Dr. E. was beginning to look nervous whenever I would come in and complain that things were not improving. Finally the pain got so severe that I was desperate. The only thing I hadn't tried that I could think of was acupuncture. This was truly desperation, as I am phobic when it comes to needles.

I was at work, and I started asking around the office (what was left of it), regarding acupuncturists. My friend and partner, Teri, mentioned a woman she had seen in the past whom she highly regarded. I decided to gird my loins and take the plunge. I called and made an appointment.

I was really scared but I was also really uncomfortable. My breast was bad, the chronic fatigue syndrome was bad, the job sucked and I was depressed. I was willing to try anything.

I immediately liked Seema. The initial visit took several hours. She went over everything that was or had ever been wrong with my physically. No medical doctor had ever taken the time to go into that sort of depth of medical history. Then it was time to take the plunge and have the first treatment. To my surprise, I never felt the needles at all. It was not only painless, but without any sensation whatsoever. She turned down the light, put on some New Age flute music, and left me there -- nothing to read, nothing to watch, noone to talk to -- no choice of activities but meditation. So, for the first time in ages, I started my yoga breathing techniques and went into a deep meditation.

I had stopped my formal deep meditations because somehow, a few years ago, they seemed to aggravate the chronic fatigue symptoms. It was a loss, but I just put it aside with my martial arts, and said good-bye. It felt very good to be doing it once more.

When Seema came in and removed the needles, I told her about the problem I had had with meditation. She explained that I was correct, that the meditations were making me ill. The reason was blockages in the flow of chi. When there are blockages, the chi would travel to that point and get "stuck." That would bring an excess of chi to certain areas, where others would still not have any at all. This was what was causing the feelings of illness. The acupuncture would open the blockages, so that I could move chi freely throughout my body once again -- I would be able to deeply meditate.

After two treatments, I noticed that the swelling and inflammation in my breast were significantly reduced. I was still experiencing pain, but now mainly at the incision points, rather than deep within the breast itself. I had an appointment with Dr. E., who by now seemed more concerned with malpractice suits than doing anything for me. At this visit, she looked at my breast and said, "What have you been doing -- the edema and inflammation are gone!" I told her about acupuncture, and she said (bless her heart), "I wish I had thought of that -- it worked so well for me with my back." I said good-bye, and silently planned to never return, Goddess willing and the creeks don't rise.

I continued my acupuncture treatments, which I adored, and my health consistently improved. I had received the go-ahead from Seema to resume activities. It was wonderful to go back to work in my garden and to walk in the wild areas. We still weren't making it out of Los Angeles, but I was beginning to see that there were things here I hadn't completed.

People were coming into my life in odd ways -- people I would not have met had I already moved north. Lisa and Sean were establishing their independence in a way that they probably could not have if we had been there to "help" them. My relationship with Morgana continued to improve. And my breast healed to the point where I was able to have my follow-up mammogram. It was clean of cancer. Best of all, my department finally officially closed and I was laid-off. It was like getting out of prison.

We used frequent flyer miles to get plane tickets to visit friends in Massachusetts and Vermont. While there, I went to Salem -- a very odd experience. Witches there are sort of like kangaroos in Australia, the national pet bringing in tourist dollars although the locals don't like them very much. I saw a friend who lives in the woods in Vermont whom I've known for forty years but haven't seen in twenty. We were very close as teenage Maidens, circled out and away from each other during our time of being Mother, and then wound up spiritually in the same place as Crones. It was a wonderful reunion.

And I got some very good advice from my best friend in Massachusetts. When she couldn't see into the future to when she would get her heart's desire, we would joke about the fact that you have to build a mailbox for the Goddess to deliver a miracle. She pointed out that maybe I was building the wrong sort of mailbox.

I saw that in becoming a crone, I had to see through the transformation in all areas of my life. Office work was part of who I was as Mother. It involved nurturing and taking care of others. Now it was time to teach and create. As Crone, I teach by example and instruction. I could see my path, and it didn't have anything to do with in which state I lived.

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This all took place five and a half years ago. I'm considered "cured" of this cancer. The only thing I would have done differently would have been to stop the radiation treatments when my intuition told me to do so. But, all in all, I was pretty pleased at following the beat of my own drum.

Life may bring other dis-eases to my body, frustrations to my will, but also exciting creations and discoveries, new dirt roads to explore, gardens to plant, children and dogs to play with and treasures to be found at swap meet and yard sale. In any event, it will never be dull.

Blessed Be.

KYRA FINCH Z.