The Red Bump

After years of single-handedly managing a yoga studio, I yearn for time off, so I pack my hiking boots and iPod — fully loaded with music and spiritual teachings, from Eckhart Tolle to The Secret — and head for a spa in the red mountains of St. George, Utah. Waiting for the plane to take off for Las Vegas, my gaze falls to the tiny red bump on my right shin. It has been there for weeks. Creepy thoughts come to mind each time I look.

Three strong voices emerge: the calming “It’s nothing”; the fearsome “You should have gotten it checked”; and the judgmental “Your fears are irrational.” As the landing gear retreats into the belly of the plane, my fear gauge jumps to the red zone, and I observe a Hail Mary automatically reciting itself, courtesy of 20 years of Catholic upbringing. 

What guidance would I offer someone with similar fears? Hands down, I’d point them to Eckhart Tolle. Taking my own advice, I find my iPod and begin to listen to Tolle’s reading of The Power of Now. Floating above the clouds, Tolle reminds me that I am not my thoughts, that conditioning causes my habitual emotional reactions, and that only the present moment is real. Instant balm.

I touch the puffy little nodule that seems to change shape on my shin bone. I’ve read that skin cancer tends to change size and shape. The blood drains from my face and plummets to my feet. Tolle says that I should accept the present moment. But what do I accept? My fear? If my fear is mind driven, and Tolle guides me to not identify with my mind, why accept this present moment’s false alarm? And if this moment is manipulated by the mind, is it real? 

The mental frenzy shifts me to take refuge in the training I got at Kripalu, the Massachusetts-based yoga center. Eight years ago I volunteered to clean toilets and four months later emerged squeaky-clean from the belief that I had to stay married to the corporation. Kripalu’s five-point plan — breathe, relax, feel, watch, and allow — teaches us to ride the wave of emotions and embrace whatever comes up.

I decide to ride the wave and stay present to the fear, the anxiety, and the sadness that come up when I experience my fear of skin cancer. Breathing deeply, I feel everything. I even grieve the loss of hair that hasn’t fallen out. The promise of this technique is that awareness dissolves the grip of fear.

Fear and Loathing
We land in Vegas. The scream of slot machines overwhelms me, but the luggage carousel isn’t moving and I realize I forgot to pack my patience. All I want is a hot bath in my room that’s still two hours away. I repeat my new Vegas mantra: Be out of here, now!

On I-15 North headed toward St. George, Utah, the heart of Mormon country, my mental Ferris wheel finally stops spinning. I listen to CDs. The popular Esther Hicks, featured in the original The Secret DVD, channels Abraham, a so-called group of entities. Initially, Abraham’s voice comes on like a bottle of bleach, but under the influence of the Nevada desert, she/it gets inspirational. According to Abraham/Hicks, negative thoughts generate negative emotions that bring us exactly what we don’t want. So “if you want health, visualize health, not sickness,” say Abraham/Hicks. The Secret’s Rhonda Byrne chimes in, “If you want to be thin, stop saying ‘I’m fat.’”

Yikes! Did I create skin cancer with my fears in the last few hours? Then again, I shouldn’t have had that last thought.

I arrive at the resort, and titian-hued mountains form a necklace around the spa. My eyes absorb the red everywhere, and my nose is grateful for the lavender bushes. My room has a minimalist, Zen-like decor: subdued earth colors, slate floors, and a generously sized bathtub. 

Abraham/Hicks urges me to raise my vibration through “virtual reality” — imagining what we want and feeling good draws to us the object of our desires. 

How do I do this? Settling into the grand tub with my iPod, I search for “Cumbia Sobre el Rio” from the Babel soundtrack and instantly become a dancing fool, splashing with my feet and soaking in joy. In my new virtual reality, the bump on the shin is gone; I’ve written a book that is selling like garlic naan; I’m even getting married to Daniel Craig (the new James Bond) at Windsor Castle. Then a menopausal hot flash interrupts our honeymoon and our Ferrari comes to a screeching halt along the Mediterranean coast. 

I wonder what to do with feelings that aren’t joy and ecstasy. The prophets of the law of attraction are no help. They don’t court the dualistic yin-and-yang understanding of our world. Predictably, their prescription is to always change our vibration. It strikes me that while their “virtual reality” — whether landing a job, getting a book published, or finding a lifetime companion — feels inspiring, it’s also full of craving. And craving, according to the Buddha, causes suffering.

Needing more guidance, I vow to meditate before dinner. I improvise an altar with my traveling companion, a small Buddha statue, and ask myself: If I crave that the lump will be gone by sunrise, am I causing myself more suffering? What do I do with my desire to not have a desire? Is all this generating a habitual pattern of bad karma?

Enlightenment!
The next morning I sign up for an intermediate hike in Snow Canyon. John, our guide, explains the geophysics of sandstone. I am inspired by the red 
Navajo terrain without fully comprehending the complex history of where I stand. And suddenly I get it: I can be inspired without having all the answers — that is the acorn amid the many contradictory branches of the tree of spiritual guidance — I can compare, contrast, and interpret divergent teachings. I can seek knowledge, even wisdom, from various teachers. Or, I can just stop at being inspired . . . which, in my present situation, somehow translates to: I can be paralyzed by my fear or take action and visit a dermatologist.

The doctor’s office is across from the imposing linen-white Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Dr. Major looks at my shin for a few minutes and then unceremoniously says, “It doesn’t look serious.” He dispenses free samples of a steroid cream and an oral anti-inflammatory. “This should take care of it. Enjoy your vacation.”

The news thrills me. I’m happier than I’ve been in the last 24 hours. But my joy is tempered by my desire to access it from within 24/7. Why is joy so seemingly elusive?

It’s all maya, or illusion, say the Buddhists. So, are our searches for joy or enlightenment an illusion? If so, does it matter that we are or aren’t enlightened? Then, even the so-called perpetual wondering and the urge to merge with the Creator is an illusion, as we are the omnipresence we  seek. Maybe it’s time to fire our spiritual teachers. 

A few weeks after my vacation, the lump on my shin is gone. Did the medication help it disappear? Or are my creative visualization powers stronger than my worst nightmares?  Hm-m-m . . . too much thinking.   

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Francesca Vanegas is a freelance writer and the director of the Florida Yoga Institute’s interdisciplinary yoga teacher training in Estero, Florida. (flayogainstitute.com). She may be reached at 
director@flayogainstitute.com.