Combating Cancer With Peaceful Meditation
Before an Impressionist print in a sun-dappled room, one man and five women sit in the classic meditative pose: Eyes shut, minds open. They have little in common, beyond participation in an unwritten contract with fate.
Part One: Life shall be unpredictable, arbitrary, and, sometimes, cruel.
Part Two: We’ll take it.
At the moment, that means following the soothing instructions of a psychologist named Jonathan Brower.
“Visualize a ball of light somewhere outside your body.”
The light can be a laser-bright dot, a soft candle, a beacon. It can be yellow or pink or every hue of the rainbow, Brower tells the group. But whatever else it might be, it’s the perfect temperature--and when it penetrates you, it can ease the pain of cancer as surely as any pill under the sun.
Unlike the others in this homey room at the Wellness Community in Westlake Village, I don’t have and never have had cancer. But who hasn’t seen it eat away at friends and family? And who would argue against less stress for those in cancer’s shadow?
They came on Friday with complaints about low white-cell counts and quiet requests for emotional relief. Two people switched on tape recorders so they could repeat the session at home.
“I just want to get on with my life,” said one woman. “A whole year has disappeared.”
“I want to be calm,” said another.
During the decade that Brower has led these groups, he has never claimed he could shrink a tumor or prevent another. But he does help patients to feel less helpless.
“They can tolerate the feelings they’re told they’re not supposed to have,” says Brower, who also helps athletes with their inner game. “They’re not supposed to be angry or depressed or sad, but those are unrealistic expectations; when people are facing serious illness and death, it would be crazy not to have those feelings.”
Following Brower’s directions along with the others, I paid close attention to my breathing. I released the tension in my feet, my legs, my stomach, my shoulders. I let my hands fall to my sides. I allowed silence to fill my body. For a short while, I had reached that state known to Buddhists as satori and to Americans as soup.
Regardless of the name, it’s available free at the Wellness Community. About 100 people pass through here weekly, seeking help from support groups and information from experts on cancer treatment. The visualization and relaxation sessions take place Fridays from 1 to 2 p.m.
During the past decade, Brower has softly intoned encouragement to countless groups of cancer patients sprawled on easy chairs in profound relaxation.
He tells them they are marvelous creations. That they have survived so long only reflects their complexity and their power, he says.
He lets them know that the vast majority of their cells are perfectly healthy.
He has them imagine a trip through their veins and arteries--a jaunt, a jog or a wild ride, depending on individual preference.
“Now let the image of your immune system come to your mind’s eye,” he says. “It can be as fanciful or imaginary as you want, or scientifically exact . . . “
He has them see a substance--a liquid, a gas, a fine mist that “begins to dissolve unhealthy cells much as acid can dissolve metal . . . “
Does it work?
Brower is quick to point out there’s no proof that cancer can be thought or meditated or believed or commanded from the human body.
“This is not faith healing,” he says. “There’s a lot of evidence--not hard-core, double-blind scientific studies--that this may be good for us, and there’s no evidence that it’s bad.”
Pat Miller would second that.
A Thousand Oaks real estate agent, she came in Friday speaking of occasional stabs of pain and a constant aching in her upper body. Her breast cancer was gone, but she had spent months on chemotherapy and radiation and then more chemo. The treatments had taken their toll; she was feeling less fatigued these days, but she wanted to return to work full time without clients sensing her pain.
“People buying or selling houses are in a flibbertigibbet emotional state anyway,” she said. “I’m supposed to be the one they lean on.”
After the session, she was enthusiastic. The light-outside-your-body routine had worked.
“It’s empowering,” she marveled, vowing to return for next week’s session. “It enabled me to let go of the pain.”
Would it stay gone?
Maybe not--but she’ll take it.
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Steve Chawkins is a Times staff writer. His e-mail address is Steve.Chawkins@latimes.com
