Meniere’s and Prayer

The second, and hopefully final, instalment of my relationship with Meniere’s. If you were wondering how to pronounce it, Meniere rhymes with despair. Conveniently, it also rhymes with prayer…

 

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Of the many hurdles I faced ‘converting’, prayer was an especially difficult one. Those born and raised praying perhaps take it for granted, rather that viewing it as the complex and contradictory human phenomenon that it appears to newcomers (or not… share to correct me, please). I find it interesting that when you teach kids prayer, some just accept it straight away, get it and then live it, while some are not buying what you are selling at all. When I first started to pray, because I knew I should even if I didn’t really believe in it, I had to find a way rationalise to myself why I should pray. A pragmatic view on prayer.

 

Technically, there is no harm in praying directly to a greater power, as long as we aren’t expecting anything in return. Maybe our words do penetrate to a higher level, maybe they have an effect. Also, maybe they don’t. Either way we can’t know for sure, so it’s not worth worrying about, because prayer can still have a positive effect in this world we inhabit day to day. Prayer is an attempt to shift our frame of reference, our worldview, and our perspective. Prayer can simply be another form of personal development, of meditation, of mindfulness.

If you say a prayer for assistance from God, it can simply be to remind yourself that there are things in your life that can’t be controlled. Will my problems be closer to being resolved because I said this? Dunno. But I feel better accepting what comes my way in life, rather than becoming attached to any single future. I’m also more likely to recognise and embrace a new opportunity when I see it.

Its easy to be sceptical about saying prayers to help other people: should the world not be a much better place if every prayer had such power? Thoughts and prayers can also be an excuse for not taking real action. But, with this in mind, if you pray for the wellbeing of others in need, it can also help to remind us how fortunate we are. Bringing to mind the hardships of others can help strengthen my resolve to be a better person, to other people.

It is a comforting thought that everytime we pray, we are initiating a positive shift, an elevated frequency, however small. Engaging a higher consciousness, or briefly touching a divine being. But is it something to base our lives on? If we pray to help ourselves more acutely understand the things that are important in this world, and how we might support them, then prayer is guaranteed tangible value. Anything else could be seen as a bonus. The more we practice, the more we see how prayer can greatly improve our perspective on the material world. The more we continue to give it a greater role in our lives, we could even allow ourselves the pleasure of knowing that any potential spiritual bonus would continue becoming greater.

 

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Can prayer ever be proven? Maybe it shouldn’t be. It is an act of faith after all; certainty effectively eliminates faith. It’s also a humbling experience — when I first started, I felt ridiculous saying words out loud I barely understood, to a force I barely believed in. But if it works, and it’s needed for the betterment of the self and society, then attaching to it a greater burden of proof for those who need convincing is only a good thing.

The fact that it has been a reoccurring phenomenon in religion, that all religions have prayer as a central tenet, speaks of something in itself: even more secular-friendly religions such as Hinduism and Buddhism. Different from other aspects of religion, which could be interpreted by those more cynical types as reinforcing the institution of religion and its power in society, prayer is for the most part an individual and private activity. It is hard to see why non believers would have a problem with it as general concept, unless it gets dragged into political issues, and is put forward as a substitute to political action.

There is also pseudo-religious support. If you have heard of the book called ‘The Secret’, which I am definitely going to write more about at some later time, the you know it is founded around the idea of prayer. Yes, it completely warps the purpose of prayer — that one of its main uses might be to finally get that Ferrari, and/or a perfect 10 wife — but the power of prayer is nonetheless its central message. And a lot of people bought it, many thanks to Oprah, and then testified to its life changing impact. That could suggest even to a skeptic that this is some truth at the core of this craze… or they might just write them off as deluded.

There are even scientific explanations, like my (not actually my) Akashic field, that hint at an underlying field of information that can only be accessed through prayer-like methods. All these things can help. They might be the reason we start praying, when the idea of prayer is outside of the worldview you developed within, rather than inherent to it. The reason why we keep praying when there is no immediate and profound payout, as literal interpretation of the words you read out invites you to believe that there should be. Like other aspects of faith, until we see it take shape within our own lives, we can never truly believe in it. But conversely: for the power of prayer to take shape, you have to be looking for it, and know how to look for it. I think this is where hearing other peoples stories, even if they can be quite personal, are a valuable part of this process — that while all our stories are different, it might take just one small part of your story to provide a source of confirmation in another’s.

 

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Which brings me back to Meniere’s.

Picking up where I left off last time, around 6 months after my first attack of acute and random vertigo and nausea, and things seemed to be getting better. I could now see that, within the general time frame that they hit, the attacks were happening at pretty much the most convenient times possible. While not yet decreasing in frequency, the last attacked had decreased in severity, which was a good sign. The haze of nausea felt like it was lifting, slowly. I was already looking forward, slightly smugly, to telling people how I had found, in cranio-sacral therapy, the cure to a medical anomaly.

Long story short, the worst seemed to be over. Sure enough, the next attack was on the 6th of September, less than a month this time, down from 5 weeks, so a pretty sharp decrease, and the shortest gap to date. I was obviously feeling cocky, as I had just gone for a jog after work, on the way to my parents, the first jog since I started the cranio-sacral treatment, when I was advised to avoid running due to the shock it sends up to your skull. And then a massive slice of cheesecake, which my dad has reluctantly shared with me. And then it was there again, a mild ringing, a change in pressure. Once it was there, I thought I might be able to fight it off this time, that I could beat it, and that this might actually finally be it. But it kept coming, and so eventually I submitted, and up came the cheesecake, sorry dad (not sorry).

So, I had been getting help, I thought I was getting better; the previous attack had felt better, less severe. Suddenly, I was getting worse — frequency, but also severity, as I felt the effects of this one for almost a week. So, with no other option, I started to pray about it. The Long Healing Prayer to start, to show that I was serious. And then a shorter one, at least daily, to keep showing that I was serious. Reassuringly, I wasn’t perfect. There was one day where, like a stubborn teenager, I decided not to, just to show that I was still in control. That phase passed quickly, and I returned, more determined. A month between attacks passed. Gradually, in the back of my mind, I thought maybe I could get away from it without a final, drawn out confrontation, as I’m sure many have dreamed of leaving an abusive relationship, never to cross paths again. But that’s not how these things work, clearly. “28 Oct: lightheadedness, vague nausea Saturday evening. Similar Sunday morning, better by the evening, fine by Monday morning”. This time, when I felt it coming on at first, it was good, because I has been waiting for it, and it gave me a chance to fight it off, and see it off, finally, hopefully. And this time I did. Feeling mildly but not incapacitating-ly nauseous has rarely made someone so happy.

Now, full disclosure: I don’t know for sure that it was praying that turned the tide. My cranio-sacral therapist did warn me that things could get worse before they got better, and they did. Maybe it just took a while to kick in. And, again, I cannot recommend this treatment enough to anyone suffering a similar symptoms, including potentially migraines. Also, while being extremely reluctant to say it, perhaps the conventional solution of eating less salt played some part as well (gone was my customary stop off at Red Rooster on the way to my parents). But the fact is I was doing everything I though that was in my power to do, which meant prayer was all that was left before I truly would lose all hope. And it made me actually pray. To feel the words, and deliver them with meaning, and to do it regularly, and in spite of normal excuses. And realise how much better it is to have a prayer memorised, so as to have it available at all times, and not have to interrupt a meditative state to reach for a book or phone. And especially how good it is to sing a prayer, and hence why it might be worthwhile being able to sing a little better.

 

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Yes, so the tide appeared to have turned. I started to piece it together on New Years Eve, fitting into a nice little package of “My year of Meniere’s and prayer”, when I first started writing this. That is where I though it would end. Sure enough (again), a week later, 2 and a half months I thought I had fought it off, another attack. Serious, proper nausea and vomiting this time, but still not too serious — diary says fine the next day. My initial reaction was: probably just a reminder… your got cocky again, didn’t you? But it wasn’t that. Not getting cocky was the lesson I had learnt last time. And I hadn’t gotten cocky this time, or not in a way that was conscious of at that time.

What was the lesson this time? What is Meniere’s? Modern medicine doesn’t know, that is pretty obvious. If, of all the progress we have made in this domain, all they have for us is less salt, then there is obviously something much, much deeper going on. ‘Alternative’ (or alternative to the majority) medicine helped. It revealed many things — see previous post — but it didn’t provide a cure. What if Meniere’s is a spiritual disease, a product of the spiritual poisons that we expose ourselves to and even inflict upon ourselves on a daily basis? If it was a spiritual disease, then no material treatment could truly cure it. It needed a spiritual cure. In my mind, with prayer, I had found it.

Obviously I hadn’t, and in hindsight it seems obvious why. Why would saying Bahá’í prayers have the effect I needed them to without actually committing fully to the reality by which they were brought about? What was I doing, in my head, everytime I was praying: negotiating and justifying this situation, rather than actually focusing my attention fully on the words and their source. As if those rules don’t apply to me, as if I could have the best of both worlds, as if I knew something they didn’t know, as if I was somehow special. Could that not also be a spiritual sickness, ego hiding in plain sight, all along?

On January 16^th, I declared as a Bahá’í (fun fact: Meniere also rhymes with declare). I remember the process of praying being immediately more powerful and comforting. Maybe it was a just a spiritual sugar hit, but I felt a weight lifted. It seemed to last for a while. There was no attack for over a month. After 6 weeks, I was in Esperance, and my friend got a stomach bug and started throwing up, and then about an hour later as I was going to sleep I felt an attack coming on and assumed I would have to fight it our for the toilet or bathroom sink (or bath) all night. But the nausea didn’t actually kick in fully, and I managed to sleep most of the night, even though I woke up the next day still feeling rubbish. This was a good sign, even if I had been here before. But then, in an amusing twist, I got the stomach bug that day, and ended up throwing up that night anyway, twice, and couldn’t actually tell what part of how rubbish I felt for the next few days was to do with what, which meant my carefully detailed Meniere’s diary was now fundamentally undermined.

 

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I could wait a few months and have a better idea of what my relationship status really is, but that series of events seemed like a good sign to wrap this story up. Still not knowing if it is gone, if this is something to live with and accept, if it is getting better and will be better but with more praying to do, or if there is something else at play — some other physical, mental or more likely spiritual issue — that is stopping it from going away, and that prayer won’t in itself fix, but may help in showing me the way. Even though I doubt it, it is possible that I could be back to where I started. But even if I was, I would still definitely be the wiser, and far better off spiritually, for it. Effective teaching, Bahá’ís are told, is about focusing on the process not the outcome. And life, after all, is about the journey not the destination. The main lessons I have gained from Meniere’s are largely irrespective of what comes next.

If Meniere’s hadn’t found me, I wouldn’t have this glimpse into the nature of suffering, and seen that, really, I haven’t had much to complain about.

If Meniere’s hadn’t found me, I wouldn’t now be starting to understand those people who used to piss me off no end, those people who seem both fortunate, detached and holy enough to pray not for the relief of tests, but for tests.

If Meniere’s hadn’t found me, I wouldn’t have the compassion and understanding for people close to me who have been dealing with chronic illness for far longer than I have, while also being in a real abusive relationship.

If Meniere’s hadn’t found me, I wouldn’t have written this post, and more than likely wouldn’t have started writing this blog, in the hope that writing about it could be the final cure.