I was just at the pharmacy, picking up my latest dose of poison/chemo. There was a woman next to me with no hair, as opposed to my increasingly "less" hair. We chatted about chemo and it turns out she developed lymphoma from Imuran treatments (which is what I am going through, taking Imuran) and is undergoing some sort of chemo at Stanford now. I had been warned by my doctor that from here on out, every medication they will use for chemo is a Class One carcinogen, and I saw proof positive in this nice woman. I felt so for her; I wish I had talked a bit more with her. I do not have many people to talk to about how it feels to go through this. I know it's selfish to think of only myself in these circumstances and it is also a point of learning not to isolate myself so I know that I am a citizen of the living world, not just hanging out waiting for death, and that I still have things to contribute and good things to do.
One of my goals in 2014 and beyond is to identify all the Messier objects (deep sky objects) that I can. I have a cheap telescope from Walgreens and a pair of fairly good binoculars, and it is amazing what can be seen even with this and a rather blockish view between trees (redwoods). I have a fairly unobstructed view of the southwesterly sky, which means I have been observing Jupiter, as always (I always say out loud,"Hello, old friend," when I first see it in the night sky). I spent last week searching for M1, the Crab Nebula, and two nights ago, I found it! It is absolutely beautiful--think of a grey torn piece of veiling that literally glows with a very soft, silvery light. It looked a bit like a lovely grey ghost--and it is! It's the ghost of a supernova which exploded then collapsed in on itself around 1054.
The universe does not love us, in my opinion, and praying for it to do anything at all is, in my opinion, like praying to a tree: I don't believe the stars and planets, asteroids, and comets have any sort of consciousness, at least enough to dole out or withold favors. In fact, I'd rather pray to a tree because a tree is alive (a star is not alive like a tree). As an amateur astronomer, I think it is a miracle that life exists anywhere, despite the overwhelmingly harsh conditions out there. I try not to be offended when people say that "the universe will answer you" when the real answers from the universe are really not quantifiable in terms of a consciousness that we funnel into it. The universe might speak to you by dropping a meteor on your head, but believe me, it won't be deliberate on the part of the universe. "Out There" is a mystery; even if it were all just physics and biology in the great "out there", it would still be both mystery and miracle. But it's more like we bend unto ITS will, not the other way around.
There is a point in certain spiritualities which I like: to strive beyond asking for stuff, for things that will basically be sold at a yard sale when I die, to stop wanting the people around me to act a certain way, to basically stop hacking through life with a machete. There is a point that happens every night when I am stargazing, when I feel that it is okay to turn my will and life over to the consciousness that, for me, created the great "out there". My personal belief is in that consciousness. The universe is that-which-was-created by that consciousness and for me, is an ever-unfolding origami of magesty and mysteries I want to comprehend. At the end of the night, there is no comprehension: often I reach the zone where there is no thought, no today, no tomorrow, just myself and the stars, as I learn I have a place among them.
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