Create No More Pain in the Present -- from The Power of Now, A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment by Eckhart Tolle

Chapter Two pp. 27-33

CONSCIOUSNESS: THE WAY OUT OF PAIN:

CREATE NO MORE PAIN IN THE PRESENT

Q. Nobody's life is entirely free of pain and sorrow. Isn't it a question of learning to live with them rather than trying to avoid them?

A. The greater part of human pain is unnecessary. It is self-created as long as the unobserved mind runs your life.

The pain that you create now is always some form of non-acceptance, some form of unconscious resistance to what is. On the level of thought, the resistance is some form of judgment. On the emotional level, it is some form of negativity. The intensity of the pain depends on the degree of resistance to the present moment, and this in turn depends on how strongly you are identified with your mind. The mind always seeks to deny the Now and to escape from it. In other words, the more you are identified with your mind, the more you suffer. Or you may put it like this: the more you are able to honor and accept the Now, the more you are free of pain, of suffering - and free of the egoic mind.

Why does the mind habitually deny or resist the Now? Because it cannot function and remain in control without time, which is past and future, so it perceives the timeless Now as threatening. Time and mind are in fact inseparable.

Imagine the Earth devoid of human life, inhabited only by plants and animals. Would it still have a past and a future? Could we still speak of time in any meaningful way? The question "What time is it?" or "What's the date today?" - if anybody were there to ask it - would be quite meaningless. The oak tree or the eagle would be bemused by such a question. "What time?" they would ask. "Well, of course, it's now. The time is now.

What else is there?"

Yes, we need the mind as well as time to function in this world, but there comes a point where they take over our lives, and this is where dysfunction, pain, and sorrow set in.

The mind, to ensure that it remains in control, seeks continuously to cover up the present moment with past and future, and so, as the vitality and infinite creative potential of Being, which is inseparable from the Now, becomes covered up by time, your true nature becomes obscured by the mind. An increasingly heavy burden of time has been accumulating in the human mind. All individuals are suffering under this burden, but they also keep adding to it every moment whenever they ignore or deny that precious moment or reduce it to a means of getting to some future moment, which only exists in the mind, never in actuality. The accumulation of time in the collective and individual human mind also holds a vast amount of residual pain from the past.

If you no longer want to create pain for yourself and others, if you no longer want to add to the residue of past pain that still lives on in you, then don't create any more time, or at least no more than is necessary to deal with the practical aspects of your life. How to stop creating time? Realize deeply that the present moment is all you ever have. Make the Now the primary focus of your life. Whereas before you dwelt in time and paid brief visits to the Now, have your dwelling place in the Now and pay brief visits to past and future when required to deal with the practical aspects of your life situation. Always say "yes" to the present moment. What could be more futile, more insane, than to create inner resistance to something that already is? What could be more insane than to oppose life itself, which is now and always now? Surrender to what is. Say "yes" to life - and see how life suddenly starts working for you rather than against you.

Q. The present moment is sometimes unacceptable, unpleasant, or awful.

A. It is as it is. Observe how the mind labels it and how this labeling process, this continuous sitting in judgment, creates pain and unhappiness. By watching the mechanics of the mind, you step out of its resistance patterns, and you can then allow the present moment to be. This will give you a taste of the state of inner freedom from external conditions, the state of true inner peace. Then see what happens, and take action if necessary or possible.

Accept - then act. Whatever the present moment contains, accept it as if you had chosen it. Always work with it, not against it. Make it your friend and ally, not your enemy. This will miraculously transform your whole life.

PAST PAIN: DISSOLVING THE PAIN-BODY

Now, every emotional pain that you experience leaves behind a residue of pain that lives on in you. It merges with the pain from the past, which was already there, and becomes lodged in your mind and body. This, of course, includes the pain you suffered as a child, caused by the unconsciousness of the world into which you were born.

This accumulated pain is a negative energy field that occupies your body and mind. If you look on it as an invisible entity in its own right, you are getting quite close to the truth. It’s the emotional pain-body. It has two modes of being: dormant and active. A pain-body may be dormant 90 percent of the time; in a deeply unhappy person, though, it may be active up to 100 percent of the time. Some people live almost entirely through their pain-body, while others may experience it only in certain situations, such as intimate relationships, or situations linked with past loss or abandonment, physical or emotional hurt, and so on. Anything can trigger it, particularly if it resonates with a pain pattern from your past. When it is ready to awaken from its dormant stage, even a thought or an innocent remark madecby someone close to you can activate it.

Some pain-bodies are obnoxious but relatively harmless, for example like a child who won't stop whining. Others are vicious and destructive monsters, true demons. Some are physically violent; many more are emotionally violent. Some will attack people around you or close to you, while others may attack you, their host. Thoughts and feelings you have about your life then become deeply negative and self-destructive. Illnesses and accidents are often created in this way. Some pain-bodies drive their hosts to suicide.

When you thought you knew a person and then you are suddenly confronted with this alien, nasty creature for the first time, you are in for quite a shock. However, it's more important to observe it in yourself than in someone else. Watch out for any sign of unhappiness in yourself, in whatever form - it may be the awakening pain-body. This can take the form of irritation, impatience, a somber mood, a desire to hurt, anger, rage, depression, a need to have some drama in your relationship, and so on. Catch it the moment it awakens from its dormant state.

The pain-body wants to survive, just like every other entity in existence, and it can only survive if it gets you to unconsciously identify with it. It can then rise up, take you over, "become you," and live through you. It needs to get its "food" through you. It will feed on any experience that resonates with its own kind of energy, anything that creates further pain in whatever form: anger, destructiveness, hatred, grief, emotional drama, violence, and even illness. So the pain-body, when it has taken you over, will create a situation in your life that reflects back its own energy frequency for it to feed on. Pain can only feed on pain. Pain cannot feed on joy. It finds it quite indigestible.

Once the pain-body has taken you over, you want more pain. You become a victim or a perpetrator. You want to inflict pain, or you want to suffer pain, or both. There isn't really much difference between the two. You are not conscious of this, of course, and will vehemently claim that you do not want pain. But look closely and you will find that your thinking and behavior are designed to keep the pain going, for yourself and others. If you were truly conscious of it, the pattern would dissolve, for to want more pain is insanity, and nobody is consciously insane.

The pain-body, which is the dark shadow cast by the ego, is actually afraid of the light of your consciousness. It is afraid of being found out. Its survival depends on your unconscious identification with it, as well as on your unconscious fear of facing the pain that lives in you. But if you don't face it, if you don't bring the light of your consciousness into the pain, you will be forced to relive it again and again. The pain-body may seem to you like a dangerous monster that you cannot bear to look at, but I assure you that it is an insubstantial phantom that cannot prevail against the power of your presence.

Some spiritual teachings state that all pain is ultimately an illusion, and this is true. The question is: Is it true for you? A mere belief doesn't make it true. Do you want to experience pain for the rest of your life and keep saying that it is an illusion? Does that free you from the pain? What we are concerned with here is how you can realize this truth - that is, make it real in your own experience.

So the pain-body doesn't want you to observe it directly and see it for what it is. The moment you observe it, feel its energy field within you, and take your attention into it, the identification is broken. A higher dimension of consciousness has come in. I call it presence. You are now the witness or the watcher of the pain-body. This means that it cannot use you any more by pretending to be you, and it can no longer replenish itself through you. You have found your own innermost strength. You have accessed the power of Now. What happens to the pain-body when we become conscious enough to break our identification with it?

Unconsciousness creates it; consciousness transmutes it into itself. St. Paul expressed this universal principle beautifully. "Everything is shown up by being exposed to the light, and whatever is exposed to the light itself becomes light." Just as you cannot fight the darkness, you cannot fight the pain-body. Trying to do so would create inner conflict and thus further pain. Watching it is enough. Watching it implies accepting it as part of what is at that moment.

The pain-body consists of trapped life-energy that has split off from your total energy field and has temporarily become autonomous through the unnatural process of mind identification. It has turned in on itself and become anti-life, like an animal trying to devour its own tail. Why do you think our civilization has become so life-destructive? But even the life-destructive forces are still life-energy.

When you start to disidentify and become the watcher, the pain-body will continue to operate for a while and will try to trick you into identifying with it again. Although you are no longer energizing it through your identification, it has a certain momentum, just like a spinning wheel that will keep turning for a while even when it is no longer being propelled. At this stage, it may also create physical aches and pains in different parts of the body, but they won't last. Stay present, stay conscious. Be the ever-alert guardian of your inner space. You need to be present enough to be able to watch the pain-body directly and feel its energy. It then cannot control your thinking. The moment your thinking is aligned with the energy field of the pain-body, you are identified with it and again feeding it with your thoughts.

For example, if anger is the predominant energy vibration of the pain-body and you think angry thoughts, dwelling on what someone did to you or what you are going to do to him or her, then you have become unconscious, and the pain-body has become "you." Where there is anger, there is always pain underneath. Or when a dark mood comes upon you and you start getting into a negative mind-pattern and thinking how dreadful your life is, your thinking has become aligned with the pain-body, and you have become unconscious and vulnerable to the pain-body's attack. "Unconscious," the way that I use the word here, means to be identified with some mental or emotional pattern. It implies a complete absence of the watcher.

Sustained conscious attention severs the link between the pain-body and your thought processes and brings about the process of transmutation. It is as if the pain becomes fuel for the flame of your consciousness, which then burns more brightly as a result. This is the esoteric meaning of the ancient art of alchemy the transmutation of base metal into gold, of suffering into consciousness. The split within is healed, and you become whole again. Your responsibility then is not to create further pain.

LET ME SUMMARIZE THE PROCESS:

Focus attention on the feeling inside you. Know that it is the pain-body. Accept that it is there. Don't think about it - don't let the feeling turn into thinking. Don't judge or analyze. Don't make an identity for yourself out of it. Stay present, and continue to be the observer of what is happening inside you. Become aware not only of the emotional pain but also of "the one who observes," the silent watcher. This is the power of the Now, the power of your own conscious presence. Then see what happens.

A Monk's Journey by Deepak Chopra

This lifetime of ours is transient as autumn clouds.
To watch the birth and death of beings
Is like looking at the movements of a dance.
A lifetime is like a flash of lightning in the sky.
Rushing by, like a torrent down a steep mountain.
--Buddha

Over the last two decades I have occasionally taken a week of silence to renew my spirit. A few years ago, I found out that there was a tradition in Thailand where some CEOs of major businesses and politicians would take a week or two of silent retreat as ordained Buddhist monks. This was to remind them to be humble in spirit and anchor themselves in sobriety. When I recently met Joy Sopitpongstorn who is a friend from Thailand, I asked her if it was possible for a "foreigner" to "ordain." Joy is a long time friend of mine who has attended my courses in India. After making some inquiries, Joy informed me that she had obtained permission for me to come on a "monk's journey" for two weeks.
 
So off I went to Thailand on June 26.

The first part of my journey was to accustom me to "hardship." For this, I went to the Forest Monastery, Wat Sunandavanaram, under the guidance of a famous but austere abbot of Japanese origin known as the Venerable Arjarn Mitsuo. In this monastery I had to sleep on a wooden floor, wake up at 2:00 AM every morning to meditate with the other monks on the impermanence of life and my own physical death. We would do this until 4:30 AM in the morning and then practice mindfulness meditation until about 6:30 AM; after which we would go for "alms round." The monks walked barefoot over rough terrain through neighboring villages. Since I was not an ordained monk at this time, I was allowed to wear my sneakers and served as an assistant to the monks. The poor peasants from the villages would line up the streets and make food offerings to the monks. If their bowls filled up, I would empty them into a large bag that I carried so they could be refilled.

It was wonderful to see the look of reverence on the faces of the villagers as they offered their alms to the monks, who in turn silently blessed them.

We would return from the alms round around 8:00 AM, after which we would have our one and only meal for the day. We all shared the food that was offered to us and ate in silence with full mindful awareness.

The rest of the day was spent in meditation. In the evening we would meet with the Venerable Arjarn Mitsuo, who would guide us further into mindful awareness of breath, feelings, emotions, and movement. We would sleep around 10:00 PM and then wake up again around 2:00 AM for meditation on impermanence and death.

Conditions of this monastery were very basic, with no running water and some mosquitoes to contend with.

After a few days of this hardship, I moved to the Forest Monastery, Chiang Khong, where I was to be officially ordained.

Joy's brother Jate, a young man of 36 years, decided at the last moment that he would ordain with me. The second monastery, which was under the guidance of the Venerable Abbott Arjarn Ekachai, was more comfortable then the previous one in that we had running water.

The ordainment ceremony required us to memorize some of the teachings of Buddha and chant them in Pali. Pali is a Sanskrit derivative language and was indeed the language spoken at the time of the Buddha. Surprisingly, I did not find it difficult to memorize the verses that I was asked to recite for the ordainment.

The ordainment ceremony began at 6:00 AM in the morning at the Forest Monastery, Chiang Kong. About 1,000 villagers from 13 neighboring villages showed up to witness it.

After a lot of chanting and instructions by Venerable Arjarn Ekachai and another senior monk on the responsibilities of an ordained monk, including following the five precepts, understanding the Four Noble Truths, and the Eight-fold Path to Enlightenment, we also had to undergo a head shaving ceremony. I did not realize that the shaving would include my eyebrows. But by this time, I had let go of all attachments for the time being and decided to surrender to the whole process. My son Gotham was there to witness and film the ceremony as I and Jate went through the process.

After the head shaving ceremony, the villagers lined up one by one to tie threads around our wrists. This was symbolic and meant that the villagers and monks had embraced us as their family. This part of the ceremony took two hours, and Jate and I sat cross-legged on the floor for it.

After the "thread ceremony," all the villagers were fed food that had been cooked by volunteers. All this took us to about noon, after which Jate and I mounted two elephants as part of a parade to the Buddhist Temple, where the ordainment and wearing of the monks robes was to take place. The parade was very festive, with drumming and chanting, and the villagers were all dressed in colorful celebratory outfits.

We dismounted our elephants upon reaching the temple where the actual ordainment ceremony began. This lasted five hours with me and Jate reciting our Buddhist chants to prove that we had done our "homework."

Finally, we were asked to give up our clothes and exchange them for the monk's robes. As Jate and I walked out of the temple at about 5:30 PM in the evening with our begging bowls and in monk robes, all of the villagers prostrated themselves at our feet with reverence, made offerings, and filled up our begging bowls. We were now ordained.

Back in the monastery the Venerable Arjarn Ekachai instructed us on our routine, which was to be similar to the one at the previous monastery. Over the next week, we maintained silence and kept the routine as instructed.

My only challenge was walking barefoot through the villages. The country paths were at times rocky and at times full of bristles and thorns, but we marched through it despite the pain.

The Venerable Arjarn Ekachai would meet with us in the afternoon and late evening where he would go over our practice of mindfulness.

Because there were no mirrors, we did not know what we looked like to ourselves. The others treated us with great respect and reverence and the villagers were very generous in the giving of alms, which mostly included rice, vegetables, fruit, boiled eggs, and sometimes even a bar of chocolate.

It was amazing to see to see the generosity and love and the reverence in the eyes of the peasants as they offered food to us. We ate once a day as in the previous monastery.

By and by, I started to feel that I was losing my sense of my previous identity. Physically, I was without hair on my scalp or my eyebrows. I walked barefoot. I wore the robe of monks. I practiced mindful awareness day and night, in addition to meditating on impermanence and on my own physical death.

The Venerable Arjarn Ekachai explained that being in this mindful state and shedding our previous identity allowed divine qualities to emerge -- lovingkindness, compassion to all beings, happiness at the happiness of others, and equanimity. Indeed I felt the truth of all this in my experience.

I realized that holding on to anything is really like holding on to your breath. You begin to feel suffocation. It was freeing to let go.

Before we went to the closing ceremony, we took our hair and packed it in palm leaves and went to the Mekong River, which runs between Thailand and Laos. We boarded a boat and went toward a shrine along the river banks, where we offered our hair to the river and it floated away. This was symbolic of letting go of our habitual certainties and attachments and creating the space for new and better and more spiritual things in our lives. The hair, which is part of our body and came from the elements, was returned to the elements.

After a full week, Jate and I returned to Bangkok once again wearing our regular clothes. But, when I looked into the mirror, I could not recognize myself and burst out laughing.

What did I learn?

1. When we let go of our habitual certainties and the labels and definitions that we and that others have given us, what emerges is a pure innocent, joyful, humble, creative, and free consciousness. It certainly is the experience of a more real, authentic self that lies beneath our social masks.

2. The monks themselves were the perfect embodiment of the elegance of simplicity, equanimity, compassion, kindness and joy.

3. The peasants and villagers were generous and giving, and in my view they had more happiness than some of the wealthiest people in the world.

4. The awareness of impermanence makes every moment precious and an opportunity for giving and receiving.

5. Compassion helps us go beyond the illusion of the separate self.

6. Life is a continuum of experiences that occur in an eternal now. When we are grounded in present-moment awareness, there is an awakening of innocence, joy, and knowingness that is our essential nature.

7. Understanding and embracing impermanence and being aware of our own death makes every moment precious and reminds us of what is really important in our life, so that we can be happy and make others happy.

8. We create our own environment. The quiet dignity and serenity of the monks and the villagers who embraced us created an atmosphere of peace, joy, and a feeling of abundance that money cannot buy.

I am back now in New York City and settling into my routine of writing, public speaking, and consulting.

What I bring back with me is a fresh and renewed awareness of how we can all be and how this transformation in us can help create a better world.

Turn the Other Cheek? Continuing Our Discussion on the Aramaic Language, its True Meaning and Historical Context

Sangha member Paul began a very interesting conversation during discussion time at our Sangha social, sharing with us a book he found fascinating, “Setting a Trap for God; The Aramaic Payer of Jesus.” (You can purchase the book here)

That discussion prompted something Tanya had seen on the History Channel several years ago regarding the true meaning of “Turn the Other Cheek,” and how the Aramaic meaning of Jesus’ teaching was skewed over time.

COF Administration promised to post about this and so here it is. The book Paul recommended has been ordered and we can continue study on this subject given your interest. We hope you find this as informative as we did. Thank you, Paul!

THE TRUE MEANING OF TURN THE OTHER CHEEK

By Marcus Borg

...in effect saying, "I am your equal. I refuse to be humiliated anymore." That is not all. The sayings about "going the second mile" and "giving your cloak to one who sues you for your coat" make a similar point: they suggest creative non-violent ways of protesting oppression..."

Both the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Mahatma Gandhi said Jesus' Sermon on the Mount provided the foundation for their political protests. Yet the Sermon on the Mount seems to recommend passive acceptance of injustice and oppression. According to Matthew 5:39-41, Jesus says:

If any one strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also.

If anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give him your cloak as well.

If any one forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile.

For much of Christian history, people have heard these verses as affirming political acquiescence, not active resistance. Yet King and Gandhi interpreted Jesus as justifying political action. Which interpretation was right? Recent Jesus scholarship suggests these verses are creative non-violent strategies of protesting oppression. Such is the persuasive argument of New Testament scholar Walter Wink.

In his books "Engaging the Powers" and "The Powers That Be," Wink argues that Jesus rejected two common ways of responding to injustice: violent resistance and passive acceptance. Instead, Jesus advocated a "third way," an assertive but non-violent form of protest.

The key to understanding Wink's argument is rigorous attention to the social customs of the Jewish homeland in the first century and what these sayings would have meant in that context.

To illustrate with the saying about turning the other cheek: it specifies that the person has been struck on the right cheek. How can you be struck on the right cheek? As Wink emphasizes, you have to act this out in order to get the point: you can be struck on the right cheek only by an overhand blow with the left hand, or with a backhand blow from the right hand. (Try it).

But in that world, people did not use the left hand to strike people. It was reserved for "unseemly" uses. Thus, being struck on the right cheek meant that one had been backhanded with the right hand. Given the social customs of the day, a backhand blow was the way a superior hit an inferior, whereas one fought social equals with fists.

This means the saying presupposes a setting in which a superior is beating a peasant. What should the peasant do? "Turn the other cheek." What would be the effect? The only way the superior could continue the beating would be with an overhand blow with the fist--which would have meant treating the peasant as an equal.

Perhaps the beating would not have been stopped by this. But for the superior, it would at the very least have been disconcerting: he could continue the beating only by treating the peasant as a social peer. As Wink puts it, the peasant was in effect saying, "I am your equal. I refuse to be humiliated anymore." That is not all. The sayings about "going the second mile" and "giving your cloak to one who sues you for your coat" make a similar point: they suggest creative non-violent ways of protesting oppression.

Literal Interpretation (Wikipedia)

A literal interpretation of the passages, in which the command refers specifically to a manual strike against the side of a person's face, can be supported by reference to historical and other factors. At the time of Jesus, striking someone deemed to be of a lower class with the back of the hand was used to assert authority and dominance. If the persecuted person "turned the other cheek," the discipliner was faced with a dilemma. The left hand was used for unclean purposes, so a back-hand strike on the opposite cheek would not be performed. The other alternative would be a slap with the open hand as a challenge or to punch the person, but this was seen as a statement of equality. Thus, by turning the other cheek the persecuted was in effect demanding equality. By handing over one's cloak in addition to one's tunic, the debtor has essentially given the shirt off their back, a situation directly forbidden by Hebrew Law as stated in Deuteronomy 24: 10-13:

When you make your neighbor a loan of any sort, you shall not enter his house to take his pledge. You shall remain outside, and the man to whom you make the loan shall bring the pledge out to you. If he is a poor man, you shall not sleep with his pledge. When the sun goes down you shall surely return the pledge to him, that he may sleep in his cloak and bless you; and it will be righteousness for you before the LORD your God.

By giving the lender the cloak as well the debtor was reduced to nakedness. Public nudity was viewed as bringing shame on the viewer, not the naked, as evidenced in Genesis 9: 20-27:

Noah was the first tiller of the soil. He planted a vineyard; and he drank of the wine, and became drunk, and lay uncovered in his tent. And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw the nakedness of his father, and told his two brothers outside. Then Shem and Japheth took a garment, laid it upon both their shoulders, and walked backward and covered the nakedness of their father; their faces were turned away, and they did not see their father's nakedness.

The succeeding verse from the Sermon on the Mount can similarly be seen as a method for making the oppressor break the law. The commonly invoked Roman law of Angaria allowed the Roman authorities to demand that inhabitants of occupied territories carry messages and equipment the distance of one mile post, but prohibited forcing an individual to go further than a single mile, at the risk of suffering disciplinary actions. In this example, the nonviolent interpretation sees Jesus as placing criticism on an unjust and hated Roman law as well as clarifying the teaching to extend beyond Jewish law. As a side effect this may also have afforded the early followers a longer time to minister to the soldier and or cause the soldier not to seek followers of Jesus to carry his equipment in the future so as not to be bothered with their proselytizing.

Righteous Personal Conduct Interpretation

There is a third school of thought in regard to this passage. Jesus was not changing the meaning of "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth" but restoring it to the original context. Jesus starts his statement with "you have heard it said" which means that he was clarifying a misconception, as opposed to "it is written" which would be a reference to scripture. The common misconception seems to be that people were using Exodus 21:24-25 (the guidelines for a magistrate to punish convicted offenders) as a justification for personal vengeance. In this context, the command to "turn the other cheek" would not be a command to allow someone to beat or rob a person, but a command not to take vengeance.

Some point out that Jesus said "he who has no sword, let him sell his garment and buy one" from Luke 22:36 and the Old Testament laws regarding killing in self-defense to support this view. However, even Luke 22:36 could have been figurative as in Luke 22:38 the disciples point out that they have two swords among the twelve of them, to which Jesus replies "That is enough."

My Father's Final Journey in Hospice - by Nancy Cronk

I'm not quite certain why it is we're posting this (or how this might fit) on a meditation blog, but somehow I feel like someone, at some time, is going to have need of this beautiful article.  So, we're going with it.  --COF Administration

Excerpt:  ... "One very touching and poignant moment for me was when my Dad woke up, looked at me and said softly, "Nancy, you wouldn't believe all of the people here. There are so many." The room was empty except for me and him, since the other family members went downstairs for a meal. "My brothers and sisters -- everyone -- they are all here," he said. "They're all with me, helping me. You just wouldn't believe it unless you saw it yourself." I cried and said, "Give Grandma Cronk a hug for me. I never got to meet her." With that, I held his hand, and he fell back to sleep." ...


***
My father was diagnosed with malignant bladder cancer in 2003, and pursued an aggressive treatment program. After many hours of surgery and two organs removed, he underwent chemotherapy, and eventually went into remission.
 
I went with him once to a chemo appointment, and enjoyed watching his usual antics. The room was filled with solemn-looking people who did not know each other, each hooked up to an IV apparatus. My dad, always the one to put others at ease, started cracking jokes, flirting with the nurses and asking strangers what they had in their IV bags. "I've got Jack Daniels and Viagra. What did they give you?" Within minutes, they were smiling, chatting and enjoying his company. In his seventies, my Dad became known at his local cancer center as the "old guy" who beat the odds. He proudly wore a button which read, "I beat cancer" and passed out others to family members which read, "Someone I love beat cancer." To my dad, every day alive meant a day cancer didn't win.

Despite his upbeat attitude, strong desire to fight and ability to count his blessings under the worst circumstances, fighting cancer took a lot out of him. "I did this for your mother, and for all of you kids," he told me many times. "If it comes back, I'm not going to do it again. It is too much." We thanked him and agreed. "We won't make you do it again, Dad. We love you."

I didn't realize then how important, and difficult, that promise would be to keep.

A new hip, thousands of hours of yard work and seven years later, my dad's health started declining again. I talked to him on the phone and his voice was very different than every other time. "I just want you to know I love you, Nancy" he said. "No matter what happens to me." My Dad rarely spoke on the telephone because he was completely deaf and read lips to communicate. This was HUGE.

I knew in his voice his cancer was back and he was not telling my mother. He was a tough man and probably had a great deal of pain before letting anyone know. We had made a pact, and this was his way of telling me he was near death. I called my sisters and brother who live near my parents and asked if one of them would go with them to the next doctor's appointment. "Dad thinks he's going to die soon. I can feel it." A week later, it was confirmed. The cancer was growing very rapidly. Medical tests revealed cancer all over inside his abdomen, and tumors started popping up almost daily on his back and chest. The doctors were willing to do whatever he wanted them to do, but made it clear aggressive treatment might add only weeks to his life, not months or years.

No one can understand how much anguish end-of-life decisions can cause, unless they have been through it with a loved one. Every impulse we have during our lifetime centers around caring for ourselves and other people -- feeding them, keeping them safe and keeping them alive. At the end of life, the very things we have always done automatically as a reflection of our love are in question. Logic is turned upside down. Feeding people who are dying, or giving medications to lengthen a life, can be cruel to a person who is suffering. Allowing someone you love to die naturally and with dignity is the hardest thing there is to do, and yet, it is also an opportunity for a final act of love.

My dad had given us clear instructions on what he wanted at the end of his life. He told us which songs to play at his funeral (Amazing Grace, Old Rugged Cross, Auld Lang Syne, and That Old Gang of Mine), how he wanted to be eulogized (with humor!), who should be responsible for making financial decisions if my mother could not (two of my sisters), and what lessons he was leaving behind (family is important and forgiveness is paramount to any relationship). Had he not spelled all of this out for us in advance, each decision would have caused hours of discussion, arguing and possibly, anguish. I thank G-d everyday my father spared us so much pain.

Every time I had visited my Dad those last seven years, he went over the details with me. "I'm counting on you to make sure I don't have to suffer in the end, you understand?" I understood. He chose me, one of his most stubborn children, one who always advocates for the rights of the underdog, and "doesn't take shit" from anyone, to guard his dignity as he died. "I won't let you suffer, Dad. I won't let anyone keep you alive artificially when it is your time to go. I will fight any fight necessary to make sure you have all the pain meds you need, even if it means you might die sooner than if you weren't medicated enough. You have my word -- whatever it takes. No suffering. I promise. I love you."

Despite the fact my mother was not ready to lose my dad and asked him to undergo chemotherapy again, and we all wanted to believe he could beat cancer one more time, one of my sisters had a gut feeling for just how sick my Dad was. "Let's celebrate his birthday a week early" she said, "Just in case." Each of my father's nine children, their spouses and the children and grandchildren were asked to write a love letter to my Dad to go into a book, as his gift. (I had already written my letter the day I found out his cancer was back, so I loved the idea.)

A week before his birthday, my father sat in the yard he had tended with my mother for more than 50 years, surrounded by his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. The few who were not able to make it from other states were on the telephone. We handed him his book filled with love letters, and through tears, he told us, "I'm the luckiest man in the world. I love you all so much." Little did we know, four days later, he would be in the hospital, and two weeks later, we would gather again at his funeral.

Making the decision for hospice was easy for some members of our huge family, but harder for others. Some just needed a little more time. Choosing hospice meant acknowledging there was no magic cure, and that we had to let go of our own (selfish?) reasons to want him alive. No one wanted to lose him -- words do not do justice to describe how painful that realization was for each of us. Everyone was dealing with his rapid decline in their own way, for their own reasons, and we were all on different places on the continuum of acceptance. When my mother heard there would be more resources for all of us through hospice (chaplain services, social work services, freedom to come and go all hours of the day, a larger room, more comfort care, etc.), she agreed.

Dad had always said he wanted to die at home, not in the hospital. After a meeting of our large family, we decided Dad being at home would be too much for my mother, emotionally. During their 50 year marriage, Dad often expressed his wants and desires, but often deferred to my mom, when possible. "Ask your mother," he would say. We knew Dad would want her to feel comfortable and supported, in the long run. As a family, we also felt we needed the around-the-clock support of the nursing staff. Once we took a tour of the hospice unit and were told we could bring anything we wanted to make his room look like "home," we decided it was the perfect compromise. It wasn't long before the room was filled with photos, art, balloons, cards and more.

The staff on the regular hospital floor was always great to us, but moving to hospice was like going from black and white to color in the Wizard of Oz. The IVs were removed, the tubes were gone, the annoying beeps and bright lights were no more. My Dad looked like my Dad again, rather than a helpless victim.

For a minute, our minds played tricks on us. "He looks so good; are we sure he's really very sick?" The doctors and nurses lovingly reminded us of the many tests that indicated he was near the end of his life.

Unlike the regular hospital unit, Dad was allowed to have as much pain medication as he needed to stay comfortable. Until hospice, we were told he could not have "too much" because it would slow his vital signs. Hospitals are in the business of keeping people alive first, keeping people pain-free second. In hospice, the reverse is true. The nurses taught us to read facial and body expressions that indicate when a sleeping or unconscious person was in pain. It was apparent Dad was often in pain, and when he was, all we had to do was request more medication. My job as my Dad's pain-soldier was much easier in hospice; I felt the staff was on our side all the time. I could finally relax a little and just "be" with my Dad, holding his hand and telling him how much I loved him. I thanked him for being my father, and for being a wonderful grandfather to my children.

Dad was keenly aware he was dying as he went in and out of consciousness. During the last week, he was only awake a few minutes each day. We were always happy to see his eyes open, and eager to hear what he would say. He told us over and over he loved us, and spoke of the journey he was on toward death. Some of his words indicated what we would normally call hallucinations (he told us he was with his deceased relatives and they were happy to see him, or that he and his brother were building casinos in heaven -- presumably for my mother, who loves to gamble. Leave it to my dad to prepare a home in the afterlife for all of us when we someday join him.)

"Where am I going?" he would ask.

You are dying, Dad.

"How do I get there?"

You'll know the way.

"Don't I need to get dressed for the trip? I can't go like this! I need pants. Get me a gown so I won't be cold."

You don't need clothes where you are going.

"Will someone come with me?"

You won't be alone, Daddy.

"How will I know what to do? Will someone show me?"

You'll know what to do.

"Are my shoes okay? This is a long walk. I will need good shoes."

"Your shoes are fine, Dad."

"Will your mother come with me?"

No, she can't. You must go first, and we will all be together again later.

One time, my father woke up as a man walked in the room to visit. The visitor was our former neighbor, whom, as a little boy, my Dad used to tease him with an affectionate nickname. My Dad had not seen him in years, and when he figured out who he was, Dad looked at my mother in a playful way and said, "Is that Shawn? Damn Who-You!" We all nearly wet our pants laughing.

Another time, my dad opened his eyes, saw my brother looking sad and worried, and said, "Dennis, if you are going to look so serious, get the hell out of my room."

Dad left little pearls like that to each one of us who stood by him at different times that last week. One very touching and poignant moment for me was when my Dad woke up, looked at me and said softly, "Nancy, you wouldn't believe all of the people here. There are so many."

The room was empty except for me and him, since the other family members went downstairs for a meal. "My brothers and sisters -- everyone -- they are all here," he said. "They're all with me, helping me. You just wouldn't believe it unless you saw it yourself."

I cried and said, "Give Grandma Cronk a hug for me. I never got to meet her." With that, I held his hand, and he fell back to sleep.

Throughout our stay, numerous human "angels" offered us comfort and support. Chaplains came in daily and prayed with our family, which was a huge support to everyone -- "believers" and non-believers alike, especially for my mother. A social worker told my mother to call her anytime. Volunteers knocked on the door and asked if we needed someone to talk to, and we always said yes. They sat and listened as we cried, and laughed, and shared stories of my wonderful father and the things we used to do as a family. A special moment was when they placed a crocheted blanket on my Dad that was made by volunteers, which made us all burst into grateful tears.

The love of strangers for our family was as beautiful and nurturing, as the depth of our grief. There was nothing my Dad and our family lacked -- we had peace and quiet when we needed it, company when we desired it, honest education when we asked for it, and loving support 24 hours each day. I can honestly say I have never experienced anything more profound, more beautiful, more loving and more deeply touching than our week in hospice with my father.

My father's funeral was officiated by the hospital chaplain who spent hours with my mother before my father died. He connected with her in a way that few people ever have, and the service was beautiful. Chaplain Dave weaved our love letters to my dad into his sermon, as well as the stories we shared with him during hospice. My dad would have loved it.

There have been a few times in my life when I have felt completely vulnerable, completely raw and completely at the mercy of the kindness of strangers -- when I was giving birth to my children, when one of my children was in an emergency room with asthma or croup, when I dropped off my babies for the first time at preschool and when we turned to hospice to help us with my dad's final journey. In those moments, I felt as if I saw a glimpse of G-d in the faces of the people who selflessly served others. And to all of those people, I am eternally grateful.

A few days after my father died, a dear family friend of mine also passed, although her death was sudden and unexpected -- the result of a horrible, random accident. Judy was the mother of one of my best friends since childhood. I cried for her family who lost their mother, sister, wife and grandmother. I cried for her husband who was there when it happened -- a man who loved her, shared his life with her, and was married to her for more than 50 years. I cried because I could relate to their deep loss, the kind of loss I had just experienced myself. I also cried that they were unable to say goodbye and watch her on her journey to another phase of existence, as we had one just days earlier with my dad.

I lie in bed at night and wonder which is worse: watching someone die from cancer and all of the immense pain and suffering that can go along with it, or losing someone you love suddenly and unexpectedly. Both are horrific. No one should see someone they love suffer, and no one should have to die in pain. No one should ever have to lose someone without an opportunity to say good-bye either, robbing them of that last chance to directly express how much that person means to them.

I am not a religious person in a traditional sense, but I thank the Universe/Creative Spirit my dad knew how much I loved him when he died, and he forgave me for not living closer, not calling him enough, and anything else I neglected to do. (I realize now that forgiveness was a gift for me, not for him. He loved me unconditionally.) Our family was able to fulfill his dying wishes, and for that, I could not be more proud of all of us.

I am also certain Judy knew how much she was loved. Their family had always been affectionate and demonstrative -- one of the few families I know who always hugged each other and said, "I love you." In fact, it was because of their family that I first learned, way back in the seventies when I first met them, how important it was to do the same. When I tried it with my own family, they responded well. It was because of Judy I could tell my own family, "I love you." Judy's legacy reached way beyond her own family, into ours, and into the lives of many other people she met.

Two families, two losses. Two completely different experiences. Two ways to die. And yet, one thing was the same -- love. Both parents left this earth knowing they were loved, and loving others unconditionally. And that, I believe, is all that really matters.

Chipotle, Lunch Box Team Up For Campaign Turning Junk Mail Into School Meals

National restaurant chain Chipotle has launched a campaign to help children across the nation get healthy school lunches. Chipotle is asking the public to forward their junk e-mails to nojunk@chipotlejunk.com -- for each e-mail sent, a donation will be made to the nonprofit organization The Lunch Box.

The mission of the organization is to ensure that "all children...have access to healthy food to grow their bodies, minds and future." To accomplish this, the nonprofit works with schools to teach them how to provide nutritious meals with locally grown food.

Chipotle's goal is to reach 500,000 e-mails sent -- and they will donate $50,000 to The Lunch Box. So far, over 90,000 e-mails have been sent, which translates to over $9,000 for school lunches.

Learn more on Facebook.com/Chipotle.