Integral Institute Site News
MESSAGE FROM KEN WILBER 
MESSAGE FROM KEN WILBER
Dear Friends,
At 8:30 PM on Tuesday, December 5,
2006, while Becca and I were watching a movie, I had a grand mal seizure that
was quite severe. Although these are common with CFIDS/REDD/ME, it has
only happened once to me before, as far as I can tell. A really major
grand mal seizure can kill you. Although this one didn’t do that, it came
damn close, and was in any event severe enough to precipitate ten more equally
severe seizures—one after another after another. By the time they got me
to the ER and stabilized—about 12 hours later—not only had I suffered around a
dozen grand mal seizures in a row, I had essentially flat-lined three times and
had the electric paddles applied to my chest three times—overall, a pretty
gruesome ordeal.
Every one of the eight physicians
(each specialists) who worked on me, told me afterwards that they honestly did
not think I would pull through. The good news is that I got several
nights of really terrific sleep—actually I didn’t come to until three days
later, in part because I was kept unconscious inasmuch as most patients panic
if they awaken on all the life support systems I was hooked up to—no real
polite way to say all this, but there was a tube up my ass, one in my penis,
major catheters in the groin and carotid, and for three days was intubated
(which means a breathing tube inserted past your larynx and into your lungs).
My tongue was nearly bitten off in several places, and it was swollen to the
extent it completely filled my mouth—basically it was the size of a tangerine,
making intubation necessary for me to breath. I also had what’s known as
aspiration pneumonia (which means that during several of the seizures, I
vomited into my lungs, where the stomach acid eats away the lung tissue,
leaving it open to serious infection, which is what happened). Creatine
levels, which they wanted under 5000 before I could leave, were over
150,000. This could be an indication of extremely serious and
irreversible kidney damage, making dialysis a life-long necessity. It was
pretty easy to see why the doctors didn’t think I would make it.
During the three days and nights
that I was unconscious, there actually was quite a bit of conscious activity
going on in me—half of which was quite familiar, and half of which was just
plain weird. On the one hand, there was ever-present Big Mind and an
awareness of one’s True Nature. On the other hand, I kept dreaming that I
was in this really strange room of blue and pink pastels done up in a rather
wretched aesthetic. I kept thinking, “This is a horrible dream—actually,
with that color combination, it’s more like a nightmare”—and then I would think
that I have really got to wake up. Then I would shake my head really
hard, open my eyes, and find myself in that same wretched room. I
distinctly remember that happening at least three times. This wasn’t
happening to the frontal personality of Ken Wilber (who often wasn’t present);
it was simply happening as a modification of Big Mind. That’s one of the
wonderfully weird things about that part of the experience; instead of Big Mind
dreaming an entire Kosmos, it was simply dreaming this wretched pastel room.
Big Mind was awake as Big Mind, and I was fully aware of, or rather as,
that. That wasn’t what was bothering me. What was bothering me is
why nondual awareness couldn’t shake off this horrid little pastel display (it
reminded me of the last words of Oscar Wilde. The last thing he is
reputed to have said on his deathbed was, “Either me or those drapes have got
to go.”)
On the fourth (or technically, third
and a half) day, when Ken Wilber awoke, there was considerable confusion about
this Ken Wilber character. Big Mind was still Big Mind, no problem; the
external nightmare of the pastel room had been replaced with the “objective
reality” (i.e., relative reality) of the actual pastel room—no problem there
either, ugly as the room was. But I couldn’t remember anything about this
KW fellow. As a matter of fact, all short-term memory had been thoroughly
scrambled. During the three-day period that I was “unconscious,” I had at
least one and possibly two experiences that were roughly similar to the near-death
experience of light and tunnel (probably when they were using the electric
paddles to stabilize my heartbeat). But even then it didn’t involve any
choice that a Ken Wilber was making. KW just wasn’t there (the “choice”
about whether to come back or not had to do with the destiny of the Integral
Vision in today’s world; and I had fully consented to come back and serve that
Vision, but there was no “me,” just ever-present nondual awareness. But
even then I remember thinking this is the kind of dilemma or “choice” that
regularly arises on a day-to-day basis, and so there was nothing especially new
here). But it was after I had regained normal consciousness, sometime on
the fourth day, that there was confusion for the first time, because this KW personality
was starting to form, in addition to Big Mind and objective room.
The next several days were pretty
intense, to put it mildly. First of all, it was pretty clear that my
tongue was in a pretty bad way. For quite some time I thought it had
literally been bitten off, and that I might never speak again, or that if so,
it would require extensive reconstructive surgery. Even more concernful
to me, however, was that several doctors had, no doubt trying to prepare me,
began indicating that they were following my kidney function carefully, because
the kidneys were about as sick as they could possibly be and this might
indicate I would need dialysis for the rest of my life, a truly unpleasant
prospect.
I’ll have those who were there speak
more directly to this issue, since they witnessed it, but, despite all of the
true gruesomeness of the situation, I remember my distinct and first concern
was the personnel who came into the room—making them feel at home, making them
feel comfortable, making them feel happy, making them aware of their own True
Nature to whatever extent possible. As I said, I’ll have a few others
address that in a moment, but I believe to a large extent this succeeded.
Odd as it might sound, that hospital room became a place of true joy and
happiness for pretty much everybody on the sixth floor of the Intensive Care
Unit. (Of course, I had been trained by the best in this—Treya.) But
that room lit up with laughter and light and so much care….
Still, this was without doubt the
most horrific experience my life, and I commented frequently to friends that I
honestly didn’t see how people who didn’t meditate could possibly endure
something like this, let alone make it an occasion for levity and
luminosity. And not just meditation. The doctors told me that the
only reason I survived was that I was in such good physical shape at the
beginning of the ordeal. When people started asking how I managed to get
through something like this, I therefore started joking, “Meditate and eat your
veggies.”
In other words, get Integral.
Which is what a lot of the
physicians and nurses started looking into during our stay. By the time I
came to, pretty much everybody had googled me and were well into starting their
education on Integral Medicine. I stayed in Intensive Care two more days
and then was transferred to another floor for another two days, and much of
that time was spent in wonderful discussions with the entire staff on what
Integral meant, and especially on the necessity of Integral Medicine—which they
all intuitively understood is necessary, but I don’t think any of them really
had a framework that actually worked—up until now, anyway. We brought
books up for everybody, and I ended up signing probably 20 or more books all
with variations on, “Thank you very much for helping to save my life….”
When I said “our” stay, it really
was plural. As has happened in the past, Colin, Rollie, and Becca stayed
with me 24 hours a day (or took shifts doing so). They made an absolutely
hellish circumstance so much easier to tolerate. I still had tubes coming
out of virtually every opening in my body (at least I didn’t have to get up and
go to the bathroom); was strapped down so as to not accidentally pull needles
or catheters out; had major needles still in my neck and groin and catheters in
penis and anus; and, at this point, had not been able to even sit up for four
days. I still could feel no tongue at all (just a round ball, about the
size of a tangerine, that filled my mouth); kidney functions were improving,
but were still alarmingly high. Having these dear friends there around
the clock was truly a godsend. During all that time, even with all the
horrifying news, I don’t think anyone ever saw me upset or angry or even
irritated—but acts of kindness would just start me sobbing, and there was so
much love and kindness shown by all of them it was so extraordinarily
touching.
So, how am I doing now? Essentially,
really well. Once I regained consciousness (i.e., gross-body
consciousness), things seemed to improve quickly and dramatically. I am
now over the aspiration pneumonia, and, most important of all, it looks like my
kidneys have not suffered any serious permanent damage. This is really
good news. I used to joke that the only major reason for having kids was
for organ donors; since I don’t have any kids, I really would have gotten stuck
on four hours of dialysis several times a week, not to mention all the
peripheral damage. The one lingering problem is that I have one hell of a
lisp. I’m told that it will continue to significantly improve; the tongue
is so highly vascular that it has a high degree of healing capacity. But
for the next month or two, if you talk to me, you’ll see what I mean by “one
hell of a lisp.” I was thinking about having a t-shirt made that said: “I
Had Twelve Grand Mal Seizures and All I Have to Show for It is This Stupid
Lisp.”
(The first day that I had regained
consciousness, and before I knew that I would regain any speech capacity at
all, I knew that the staff at Integral Naked and I-I would of course be
primarily concerned for my health as a friend, but that they also couldn’t help
but be worried sick that this might mean the end of Integral Naked, because I
could no longer talk, and because Integral Naked is our primary source of
income, the end of I-I as well. So I spent the better part of that day
trying to think of some way to handle that situation and thus mitigate their
worry as much as possible, and finally hit upon what seems to be a really
terrific idea. I leaned over and whispered to Colin, “I figured out
how to save Integral Naked—let the staff know.” He lit up when I wrote
the idea down, and agreed it would work. Basically, the idea—a version of
which we still intend on doing while my mouth continues to heal—is that I will
ask each of our Integral Naked guests to pick one of their best friends and
interview them for IN, and then we would carry that—in a sense, a guest host
and a guest guest. This could bring us over a year’s worth of absolutely
fascinating dialogues by and with some of the coolest people
around. All of us still just love this idea—which happened under the
oddest of circumstances, because I was still strapped down in bed on my back; I
didn’t have to get up to urinate or defecate because the catheters coming out
of my body automatically handled that; I didn’t have a tongue, but more what
looks like a golf ball; and worst of all, I’m in this horrid little pastel
room. Anyway, despite whatever fortitude with which I may have handled
the thought of not being able to speak again, I can’t tell you how relieved I am to slowly have speech returning. This
stupid little lisp is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.)
The other thing you might notice
when you first talk with me is that lots of short-term memories are still
reassembling themselves. Sometimes even really obvious things—from a
person’s name to even who they might be—need to be mentioned, but once they
are, everything falls back into place. So don’t worry if we are talking
and I ask you to remind me of several really obvious things; also, if there
seems to be something important about a topic that I’m not reflecting, don’t be
shy in mentioning it.
What
Caused the Seizures?
Initially, there was quite some
confusion among authorities on exactly what caused this series of
seizures. Several orthodox doctors believe it was caused by Neurontin,
one of the prescription medications that I am on for CFIDS/REDD/ME. That
never made sense to me, for several reasons: (1) I’ve been on this amount of
Neurontin unchanged for several years; (2) the primary reasons Neurontin is
prescribed is precisely because it’s an anticonvulsant and reliably prevents
seizures. Neurontin really isn’t even a drug; it’s a simple sugar,
much like table sugar; and experts such as Teitelbaum recommend doses up to 6
grams. Although you can’t rule out paradoxical affects of any med, this
explanation never made much sense. I don’t do street drugs, so it wasn’t
that (indeed, that was one of the first things the ER tested for). At one
point it seemed somehow connected to a CPAP machine, but that didn’t hold much
water, either.
When the intensive care doctors
asked me what I thought it was, the first thing I always said was that we can’t
rule out the most obvious: it comes with the territory of CFIDS/REDD/ME. In
fact, the reason that this illness is often referred to as M.E. (Myalgic
Encephalomyelitis) is that, as one of it’s leading authorities, Byron Hyde
M.D., put it, “By definition, all M.E. patients will have some level of
seizure activity as part of their illness.” And as for types of seizure
activity, a standard comprehensive guide to M.E. lists them as: “simple partial
seizures, petite mal seizures, and grand mal seizures.”
I had not had, to my knowledge, any
major seizure activity up until this point, and so I had simply assumed I had
lucked out on that symptom. However, it now appears almost certain that
the incident around a year and a half ago where I broke my shoulder actually
involved a grand mal seizure. We’d always assumed that I had gotten up in
the middle of the night, pitch black, on a slippery wooden floor, and taken a
dive. That probably happened, but it never made sense at the time that I
couldn’t remember the actual accident itself—incidences that painful are rarely
forgotten (whereas with grand mal seizures there is usually total
amnesia). Besides, my tongue was banged up quite badly and I had popped a
crown, all symptomatic of possible seizure. Put that incident together
with this recent one and there is little doubt in my mind about the
cause. The good news in all of this is that, as deeply unpleasant as
these last two weeks have been, at least I now know about it and am on
dilantin, the top-of-the-line med for seizures. If this incident had
happened any place other that a few blocks away from the finest ER in Colorado,
I’d be dead. All in all, I consider myself one lucky boy.
A Few
Other Perspectives
Ordinarily I wouldn’t do this, it
can be so self-serving, but so many have asked how things really went in the
ICU, I asked the three folks staying with me to respond:
[From Colin]
On December 8th I had
posted a short blog explaining that Ken was in the Intensive Care Unit and to
please send him all the love and healing energy you possibly could, through
prayer, tonglen, or simple loving-kindness. Well, excellent job everyone,
because 24 hours later Ken regained consciousness wondering what all the gosh-darn
fuss was about. We decided not to blog publicly about this event until we
had a better understanding of the situation, which, thank goodness, is much
clearer today than it was then.
Towards the end of his stay at
Chateau de Hospital, I was astounded to notice that Ken looked happier,
healthier, and more rested than I’d ever seen him. He looked, I kid you
not, twenty years younger. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more
radiant, energetic, and wickedly funny hospital patient. I know
the folks in the ICU had never seen anything like Ken before—the doctors
weren’t cheering Ken up, Ken was cheering the doctors up! Ken made sure
that everyone who entered that room left happier than when they arrived, and
many doctors and nurses told us, “It’s patients like you that make this whole
job worth it.” One doctor even told us, “My career was at a point that it
really needed something like this.” It truly became a room of love,
light, and levity….
Colin
[From Rebecca]
Ken's surprisingly ubiquitous
and inviting sense of humor has not only kept him alive and well
during this otherwise bleak and unexpected hospital stay, but has also (and
just as importantly) lit many fires in many others—fires that actualize
immediate and visible bridge-building between heart and mind leading
directly to experiential and causal communion among absolutely everyone
with whom he came in contact, whether they were consciously aware of
it or not. Ken often uses humor as transmission: levity = light =
luminosity (“vast emptiness, nothing sacred”), and it was apparent constantly.
The doctors and nurses who visited
him showed their happiness: one brought him home baked cinnamon rolls, many
googled his work on the internet before their shifts with him, and still more
were grateful to receive signed copies of their book of choice by the
famous author. And they were aware that something extraordinary was going
on. Ken’s primary physician, who doesn’t often gush, said, “Well, we
think they’re going to name a species after you….”
I am so very grateful for
how adeptly his unyielding humor, good spirits and open warm-heartedness
have bloomed and left their mark in this quick healing. Now his
full efforts have returned to sharing with YOU and for YOU, his integral
life vision. THANK YOU DEARLY FOR YOUR LOVE AND PRAYERS. You are all forever in
ours. Yours, Rebecca Maria Carlson
[From Rollie]
I'm humbled by the honors bestowed
upon me in the past couple of years: to meet, work with, and study with a man
who writes as none other. And through the past couple of weeks, I've had
perhaps the greatest honor of all: that of sitting with Ken Wilber, keeping
vigil as he fought for his life in Intensive Care, and walked steadily and
surely back toward health.
All of us were speechless after my
Blackberry rang with news of Ken's hospitalization. Five of us from
Integral Institute had just begun our "Date with Destiny" in Palm
Springs at Ken’s good friend Tony Robbins' invitation. After consulting
with one another, it became apparent that none of us had the heart to stay,
given the news from home. Even as Tony began to address the crowd, we
spoke with his wife Sage, who conveyed the concern that they shared for
Ken. She assured us of her prayers, and we began the journey back to
Denver. The journey was spent partly in silence, and partly in some of
the most extraordinary conversations I have ever partaken in. Each of us
echoed what was soon apparent as a worldwide phenomenon: the hope and the faith
that Ken Wilber had not yet spoken his last word. Prayers and good wishes
poured in from every corner of the globe, so much so that it began to look like
Ken would eclipse even Barbaro the race horse as the sentient being for whom
the most candles were lit on Br. David's website, Gratefulness.org.
Nomali met me at the airport and we
drove straight to the hospital, hurrying toward the ICU. There we met
Colin, Roger Walsh, and Stuart, Marci and Ara Davis. We shared some quiet
moments with them, then walked into Ken's room. I don't know that I had
ever seen him with such quiet strength. We sat with him for a time and I
uttered the words closest to my heart, somehow knowing that they would be heard
and received.
Ken's progress defied all
expectations. His vital signs quickly approached normal levels, and
within a day or so he came back to consciousness. I have never seen
someone quite so glad to see me as Ken was that day. And in that moment I
knew him to be something beyond my boss; something beyond my teacher. I
knew him to be deeply my friend.
Soon, it seemed to me, the ICU
became an altogether and uncharacteristically festive place. Ken was
having a grand old time with the doctors and nurses, signing books and discussing
his work. More than a few of them Googled him on their breaks, and came
to know that the patient in Room 600 was not a typical one.
To me, the surest sign that Ken was
doing well was a phone message I received one night just prior to driving to
the hospital. It was Ken, saying he looked forward to seeing me, and
wondering if I might stop by McDonald's and "pick up 3 or 4 cheeseburgers,
a Big Mac, large fries and a chocolate shake." In that moment, I
knew that all was well (especially since he normally doesn’t eat like that!).
I sat with Ken during the night
shifts. It was an incredibly powerful time, as I sat in prayer with him
and over him, and health returned, quickly, quietly. As is his habit, he
rose early in the morning hours, and we talked, laughed, and shared more deeply
than we ever had.
It was with great joy that he
returned to the loft, which we affectionately began referring to as "the
farm," home to two dogs and a brand new piglet. Ken was incredibly
happy to see Bodhi and Kailin, and to meet LeeLoo for the first time. Things
have slowly begun to get back to "normal," as normal as can be
surfing the Integral Wave, with its exhilarating rushes and its occasional
wipeouts! I treasure those moments in Room 600 and the knowledge they've
imparted of the gift of life, ever precious, ever precarious. And I am
grateful beyond words for another day in the life of Ken Wilber, and another
day in my own life. May I use it well....
Rollie
CFIDS/REDD/ME
The medical team I had really was
the finest ER team in Colorado, and they really did save my life. But, as
orthodox physicians, they knew pretty much nothing about CFIDS/REDD/ME. I
had to point out to each of them that the CDC (Centers for Disease Control in
Atlanta) had finally conceded that not only is this a brutally real illness,
it’s approaching epidemic proportions. The CDC now estimates that at
least one million Americans have this illness, although expert opinion puts
it at at least double that. More people have it than have HIV, and
quality of life studies indicate that the quality of life for those with active
CFIDS is comparable to those undergoing chemotherapy. The parameters of
this illness are actually fairly well understood. The exact trigger
mechanism is not yet known, but it’s mechanism of action is—it involves the
damaging of the human body’s production of the enzyme RNase. This
defective enzyme then begins to dissolve the body’s own RNA, and does so in
literally every cell in the body, which is why so many different organ systems
can end up involved. There is now even a test for this defective enzyme
that is 95% accurate. All the other symptoms of this illness are caused
by this central mechanism, which is why the only really accurate name for this
illness is REDD (RNase Enzyme Deficiency Disease). “Chronic Fatigue
Syndrome (CFS)” is almost a complete misnomer, first, because it’s not really
fatigue but paralysis that one experiences when there is a flare-up; and
second, because that “fatigue” is the least of your worries in any event (it’s
definitely a problem, but quite far down on a list that includes everything
from seizures to organ failure). For years now there has been a concerted
effort to get the name changed, but so far the only alternative to CFS that one
sees in this country is CFIDS (Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction
Syndrome)—which is at least a slight improvement since the immune system is one
of those systems hit hardest. In Britain it is referred to as M.E.
(Myalgic Encephalomyelitis)—reflecting the neurological damage that is in fact
quite similar to M.S. (Multiple Sclerosis). As “A Hummingbird’s Guide to
M.E.” puts it: “In reality having M.E. is like having parts of Multiple
Sclerosis, AIDS, Alzheimers, Arthritis and Epilepsy all mixed together at once,
with some extra horrific symptoms thrown in that are entirely its own. M.E.
is a neurological illness of extraordinarily incapacitating dimensions that
affects virtually every bodily system—not a problem of ‘chronic
fatigue.’”
For those of you who would like more
information on this syndrome, the aforementioned Hummingbird’s Guide is one of dozens of sources of
information that have finally become available that are quite accurate and
useful. The resources they recommend are also ones that I highly
recommend. Also check out ImmuneSupport.com and my own discussion of this illness and how
it has affected me can be found here (as well as “A Sudden Illness” by Laura Hillenbrand, author of Seabiscuit).
Karma and
Illness
I’ve dealt extensively elsewhere
with the concept of karma and illness—in Grace and Grit, for example,
and more recently in Excerpt A of volume 2 of the Kosmos Trilogy.
But it remains one of the most confused areas of understanding
imaginable. I’m not going to get into it at any length here, but just let
me make a few very brief points. Many people hear of situations like
this, or perhaps suffer similar ones themselves, and imagine it must somehow be
retribution for some horrendous crime in one’s past. But keep in mind
that karma doesn’t mean that what happened earlier in this life is finally
catching up with you; the orthodox doctrine of karma actually means something
that happened to you in a previous life. According to the doctrine
of karma, in this life you are reading a book that you wrote in a previous
life. Many people draw the erroneous conclusion that because, e.g., they
used to yell at their spouses, they now have throat cancer—but that’s just not
the way it works.
As a matter of fact, from at least
one angle, the “bad things” that are happening to you now actually indicate a
good fruition—it means your system is finally strong enough to digest the past
karmic causes that led to your present rebirth. So if you were
reborn—that is, if you are alive in a body right now—then you have already
horrifically sinned, and unless you work it off in this lifetime, guess
what? You’re coming back. Illness itself does not cause more
karma; your attitude towards illness, however, does. Therefore, if you
are undergoing some extremely difficult circumstances right now, and you can
meet those difficulties with equanimity, wisdom, and virtue, then you are
doubly lucky—the causes that led to your being reborn now are starting to
surface and burn off, and you’re not generating any new karma while you burn
them (as long as you meet them with equanimity and awareness).
I only mention this because all too
often, people undergoing difficult circumstances of one variety or another add
a type of New Age guilt or blame to an already difficult enough circumstance,
and truly, that’s not only inappropriate, it’s inaccurate. If you would
like to pursue some of these concepts in this more integral fashion, please
check out Excerpt A. In the meantime, if you’re
undergoing some sort of truly difficult or even horrific circumstances, please
don’t kick yourself when you’re down. That, indeed, would create bad
karma. The good news is that you are finally ready and able to burn off
the karma that led to this rebirth, and this is good news indeed—if you meet it
with love and openness and a smile.
Next for
Integral Institute
Aside from being set back a couple
of months, Integral Institute is moving forward just fine. As a matter of
fact, we are extraordinarily fortunate in that we escaped a proposed change in
middle and upper management that would have spelled absolute disaster for
I-I. We have completed our first round of looking for a new CEO, and are
delighted with what we found.
(My only major regret is that we did
lose one terrific person who was also our main financial contributor, and we
are definitely hurting because of that. But we will simply put the word
out and begin looking for some person or persons who can step in and help us
out in a similar fashion as benefactor, in addition to the wonderful
contributors that we still have and that are a central part of I-I’s
organization. If you know anybody, or you yourself would like to work
directly and closely with us in this regard, you know my email address—or
simply email us from the President’s Circle
page on the
Integral Institute website. But we are beginning a serious search for
patrons and benefactors, and would love to hear from you.)
In the meantime, the business
aspects of things are going extraordinarily well. We have found our CEO
candidate who will start with a two-month trial period—we are extremely happy
with this person. (For those of you who applied for CEO, and have not yet
heard from me, please forgive the delay, as I will personally be getting back
to you. Also, because we might have found our CEO, there are also some
other positions available that we would like you to consider—again I will be
getting back to you on all of this.)
My own writing is continuing to go
extraordinarily well. My first truly “popular” book, The Integral
Vision, will be out this summer from Shambhala. Further, I’m about
90% done with what I think is one of the most important works I’ve written, Transformations
of Consciousness (which is the original book of that title with some 400
new pages of material—exploring healthy and dysfunctional forms of both states
of consciousness and structures of consciousness—and in what I
believe is a landmark fashion). The Many Faces of Terrorism, as
some of you know, has grown into a trilogy (three books at about 450 pages
each), which we simply call the “terrorism trilogy” and which I’d say is about
70% done. We are, however, going to excerpt three of its main chapters
that present a full-fledged theory of Integral Politics—and these will be
included in the first two issues of The Integralist, Integral
Institute’s membership magazine (the first two chapters
are also available on kenwilber.com right now, here and here, with the third yet to be posted), whose first
issue is due out sometime this spring/summer. All in all, some really
good stuff, I think, coming down the pipe.
A Little
Help from My Friends….
I’d like to thank again Colin,
Becca, and Rollie for staying with me (or taking turns) every minute, day and
night, for the week that I was in the hospital, either in intensive care or
telemetry. When you’ve been strapped into bed on your back, with tubes
coming out of every orifice, and with no chance to even sit up, things like
having some crushed ice to suck on can make all the difference in the
world. These are always such clarifying moments and, paradoxical as it
might seem, there was an astonishing amount of love and clarity and laughter
and care coming out of that room all week long, it was obvious to everybody.
I also want to thank Dr. Roger Walsh
for dropping everything he was doing and flying out from California. Roger
is one of my two or three oldest and best friends and it meant a great deal to
me. Dr. Mike von Gortler saved my life yet again, this time very
literally, and reminded me how in debt I am to that incredibly decent human
being. And thanks to Stu, Marci, Ara and Aja. But outside of these few
folks, however, we tried to limit, at least at the beginning, the amount of
information that went out, because many of my friends would want to come out
immediately to see if they could help, and they would feel horrible if they
didn’t—and since there really was nothing that could be done, we didn’t want
people feeling bad about this. I still haven’t really made contact myself
yet with hardly anybody, and that will still take a few weeks to a month or so,
so please bear with me (my body really got creamed and is moving pretty
slowly). But I thank all of you for your prayers and well wishes, the
flowers, the candles lit online, and other deeply appreciated gestures of care
and love and concern. Rollie said literally thousands of responses came
in from all over the world, and I will never forget it. I have no doubt
that’s why I pulled through this as quickly as I did.
Sending all my love and care and
life and light,
Ken
(PS Please feel
free to direct any concerned friends or colleagues to the blog version of this
letter: http://www.kenwilber.com/blog/show/214)
Published
Comments
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perera said:
Ken Dear, January 1, 2007 12:36 AM |
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tomcau said:
Dear Ken Wilber, January 2, 2007 10:51 AM |
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Paulfonzo said:
Dear Kenji-san, January 5, 2007 12:44 PM |
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Simmetra said:
Ken, I love how you see the positive in everything!!! Thankyou so much
for sharing this with the community.... January 11, 2007 5:06 PM |
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pirochtak said:
You are still standing as that one dandelion in the summer lawn of my
youth to who I am secretly and always drawn to - to blow hard on your
parachute seedlings and watch them fleck the light and bathe the yard to my
inmost delight. I am glad to be breathing with you my friend. January 17, 2007 9:42 AM |
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title + ' - ' + basename(imgurl) + '(' + w + 'x' + h +') said:
PingBack from http://dharmaseeds.org/?p=21 January 24, 2007 10:39 AM |
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KeithP said:
Ken, I am thrilled at your rapid recovery - so many of us would have
felt deeply bereft at your passing - bless you for the indescribably deep
resolve to stay with us! |
