Sunday, September 25, 2011


As we evolve spiritually, we travel to our centers and our truth.

For many years, I have recurrently dreamed that, even as an M.D., because of a clerical error, I had to repeat my senior year of high school to receive my high school diploma. I was humiliated.

Because of childhood programing, one theme in my life has been that regardless of my achievements, I could not succeed. Prior to medical school graduation, I became intensely suicidal. To approach an assault on my programing, such as walking across the stage and accepting my diploma, created almost unbearable stress.

During those four years of living hell, I thought I would surely die of a brain tumor or leukemia before I received the coveted degree.

For eleven years after graduation, I trained and practiced in the field of pathology. Following considerable, personal growth, I realized in pathology I dealt with dis-eased bodies, which were often the result of dis-eased thoughts and the subsequent emotions and actions they generated. Twenty-five years ago, I retrained as a psychiatrist, the field in which I currently practice.

As I approach retirement, my dreams indicate that I am having difficulty transitioning from a human doing to a human being. For several years, I have dreamed, because my skills were rusty, I must repeat my pathology training. Again, my achievements are not "good enough," and there is more for me to do before I rest or play. On awakening, I felt guilty about the many times, during my medical training and career that I was unavailable emotionally or physically for my three children.

Because of my commitment to my patients and my fear of financial insecurity, I have pushed myself to continue my practice. My gastrointestinal tract is a perfect barometer of my emotional state. Eighteen months ago, my alimentary canal went into full revolt. It informed me, in no uncertain terms, that if I didn't quickly do something, drastically different, death was eminent. So, out of desperation, I decreased my patient load and my hours in the office.

For several months now, when I go into the office, I often feel as though I am dying. Last night, the dream of returning for a second pathology residency was more vivid than ever before. I had an infant. She was malnourished, lethargic and near death. If I attempted to perform the tasks entailed in the residency, she would die. I awoke knowing the child was me.

Soon, I know that I must leave my psychiatric practice. This phase of my life is drawing to a close. If I am to continue to help others, I will do so via another vehicle.

For many years, I have been drawn to follow my passions, art and writing, which issue from my center, my true self. As of yet, my literary footprint has been invisible, and I have not publicly shown my art. I am coming to know that it is not important that I have an audience, receive praise or earn an income from these endeavors. What is important is that I follow my passion and my truth, and so it is.

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