Welcome.
This is a guided meditation for people living with advanced cancer.
Resting with what is,
Holding what matters.
Let's begin by finding a position that feels as comfortable and supportive as possible for you right now.
You can be seated or lying down,
There's no one right way to do this.
Just allow your body to settle in whatever way feels kindest.
And if it feels okay,
You might also gently close your eyes.
Or,
If that's not comfortable,
Just invite a soft gaze,
Perhaps cast downward at your lap or at the floor,
And let it rest on one spot.
Take a nice slow,
Deep breath in through your nose,
And a long,
Easy breath out through your mouth.
Again,
Breathing in and breathing out.
And then allowing the breath to come in,
In its own natural rhythm and pace and depth.
No need for any effort or control now.
There is no one right way to do this,
And nothing that you need to achieve.
Just arriving in this moment exactly as you are.
And begin by simply noticing your breath.
You don't need to change it.
Simply notice that it's here,
Moving in and moving out of the body.
Perhaps you can feel the breath most clearly at the nostrils,
Or the chest,
Or the belly.
Or maybe you just sense the rhythm of breathing without any clear location.
If you'd like,
You might quietly say to yourself,
Inhaling,
Exhaling.
Throughout meditation,
Just let the breath be a gentle anchor.
Not something to hold tightly,
But something you can return to whenever you need.
If your mind wanders,
And it will,
That's what minds do,
That's not a problem.
Each time you notice that your attention has wandered,
You simply invite it to gently come back to the breath,
Like returning home.
As you continue to breathe,
You might begin to notice what it's like to live in a body and a life shaped by uncertainty.
Living with advanced cancer can mean carrying many unknowns.
Unknowns about the future,
About your health,
About how much time there is,
About what lies ahead.
You may notice feelings of stress,
Worry,
Sadness,
Anger,
Or grief.
Grief not only for what has been lost,
But for the loss of the illusion that life is predictable or controllable.
If any of this resonates,
See if you can simply acknowledge that,
Gently,
Without needing to fix anything.
You might silently name what's here.
This is uncertainty.
This is stress.
This is grief.
There's nothing wrong with you for feeling these things.
They all make sense.
And if right now you don't feel any of that,
If you feel numb,
Calm,
Distracted,
Or something else entirely,
That's okay too.
Whatever is here is allowed.
And I'd invite you to imagine now that your awareness is like a wide open sky.
Thoughts,
Emotions,
Sensations,
They are all like clouds moving through the sky.
Some days the clouds are heavy and ominous.
Other days they are lighter and fluffier.
Either way,
The sky itself has room for it all.
You might gently ask yourself,
Is it possible to make just a little space for whatever's here right now?
Making space doesn't mean approving of it or liking it.
It's just allowing it to be present.
If something feels especially strong,
Perhaps fear or sadness or exhaustion,
Just see if you can soften around it rather than tightening.
You might imagine breathing into that space,
Creating a bit more room.
And if it feels like too much,
You're always free to return your attention to the breath or to the feeling of being supported by the chair,
Sofa,
Bed,
Or floor beneath you.
You are in control of how deep you go.
And now I'll offer a few gentle affirmations.
You don't need to force them to feel true.
If one resonates,
You might let it land.
If not,
You can simply let it pass by.
You might begin with,
In this moment,
I am allowed to be exactly as I am.
In this moment,
I am allowed to be exactly as I am.
It is okay to grieve what I have lost,
Including the loss of the illusion of certainty and predictability.
It is okay to grieve what I have lost.
I can hold uncertainty and still find moments of steadiness and even joy.
I can hold uncertainty and still find moments of steadiness and even joy.
There are parts of me that remain whole and healthy.
There are parts of me that remain whole and healthy.
I am more than my diagnosis.
I am more than my diagnosis.
If it feels good for you,
You might place a hand on your heart in a gesture of self-compassion and silently offer yourself another phrase that feels supportive.
Perhaps something like,
May I be kind to myself?
Or,
I am not alone in this.
May I be kind to myself.
I am not alone in this.
And now,
Gently shift your attention to something that matters to you.
This might be a person,
A relationship,
A value you hold,
A memory,
A simple pleasure,
Or a love that feels larger than words.
There is no need to make this profound.
It could be something very ordinary.
The warmth of sunlight,
Music that you enjoy,
The presence of someone who cares for you.
Just choose something and see if you can sense how this matters to you.
Not only in your thoughts,
But perhaps in your body.
What do you notice when you connect with this?
Is there a softening?
A warmth?
A steadiness?
Even in the midst of illness,
What matters can still matter.
And you might gently remind yourself,
Some things are uncertain and many things remain meaningful.
As we prepare to bring this meditation to a close,
Simply bring your awareness back to your breath once more.
Notice how you have made it through this time of pausing and listening.
You might acknowledge yourself for showing up,
For being willing to be present with your experience,
Whatever that experience is.
You might offer yourself some final,
Gentle affirmations.
I am allowed to take this one moment at a time.
I do not need to have everything figured out today.
There is room in my life for rest,
Care,
And moments of peace.
When you are ready,
Begin to notice the sounds around you and the feeling of your body in the room.
And if your eyes are closed,
You can gently open them.
Take your time.
There is no rush.
And as you move into whatever comes next,
May you carry a sense of gentleness within you.
