A Brush with Jesus Christ

In 1991 I was diagnosed with Stage Four bone lymphoma and given six months to live. My oncologist proposed a six-month regimen of double doses of CHOP chemotherapy, twice as much normally given for a man my weight. I started meditating and visualizing several times a day to help my immune system fight the disease. I imagined my bones a sandy beach covered with weak jellyfish eggs–cancer cells. When the waves came in and covered the beach, they would remove these weak cells as they receded. I timed this with my breathing, and did it religiously for the six months of my treatment.

Finally, at the end of six months of chemo, I went for various nuclear medicine tests to determine the state of the cancer. The radiologists determined the chemo had killed 90%–but 10% was still alive. My oncologist was at a loss–she couldn’t give me any more chemo without killing me. I heard this news, felt despondent, but proceeded with my visualization anyway–waves coming in on the beach, etc.

Suddenly a figure appeared on the beach–this was the first time such a thing had happened in six months. It was the figure of Jesus Christ, who bent down with a rag and wiped the beach clear of jelly fish eggs. Then he stood up and tossed the rag to me. This occurrence jerked me out of my meditation, bolt upright. Fifteen minutes later my oncologist called and said the radiologists re-interpreted my tests and determined that the cancer was completely gone!

I haven’t been a Christian since the age of 12; an agnostic at best. My secular humanist psychologist gave me the interpretatio
I anticipated: Jesus is an archetype of the healer in the Western world, and my subconscious drummed up his image. However, the coincidence of the oncologist’s call, telling me I was cancer-free, haunts me.

The cancer came back three times in the next five years and I survived by practicing internal energy exercises, meditation and visualization. The figure of Jesus never reoccurred in my mind. Through a virtually special forces effort of standing post meditatio
I survived. For a while I felt a bit smug–through my discipline, my effort, my balls, I did it. But I don’t know–all these years later that figure who tossed me the rag, indicating there was more cancer to come and it was going to be up to me–I just don’t know. Maybe the deck was stacked.