As I re-read the works of St. John of the Cross, I have become more attuned to the threshold of transition—the dryness and emptiness that so often precede the invitation to move from meditation into contemplation. This is not unique to St. John; it is something pointed to by many of the great teachers. Whether it’s Namkhai Norbu, Ramana Maharshi, Thich Nhat Hanh, the Dalai Lama, or Orgyen Chowang in Pristine Mind, they all plant the seeds of meditative absorption, which only take root when the time is right. Now, it seems, those seeds are beginning to bloom, not as intellectual concepts, but as a living, unfolding experience.
Today, I found myself drawn into this quiet transformation. As I lay in stillness, the pratyayas—those passing thoughts, sensations, and memories—began to rise and fall, like waves on a distant shore. Curiosity, that soft and patient witness, guided me deeper, not into understanding but into presence.
The breath came of its own accord, a deep release from somewhere beyond my conscious will, as if the body itself knew what needed to unfold. And then, an awareness—a spaciousness—arose. It was not something I had summoned, nor could I hold it in place. It was simply there, naked and pure, like a clear blue sky.
St. John of the Cross speaks of this as a kind of surrender, but not the kind we can choose. It is a grace bestowed, not earned. In the stillness, I realized that my role was not to force this shift but to allow it to happen. To remain as the observer, the witness, as the Divine unfolded in its own time.
What struck me most deeply was the paradox of this surrender. The very act of trying to let go becomes an obstacle. Instead, it is curiosity that opens the door to pure awareness—curiosity that has no desire, no need for something to happen, but simply observes what is.
Today, in this unfolding, I realized that even the longing for deeper experience can become a barrier. The path is not one of striving but of witnessing. And in that witness, the Divine does its quiet work, purifying what needs to be released, and bringing us ever closer to the essence of who we truly are.
As I reflect on my own journey today, it is my hope, and the shared intention (Sankalpa) behind all of this work, that by sharing these reflections, insights, and experiences, they may serve as a guide, a comfort, or a spark of inspiration to those who come across them.
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Book Recommendation: St. John of the Cross, Dark Night of the Soul
Dark Night of the Soul by St. John of the Cross is a spiritual masterpiece that explores the transformative power of suffering and the journey toward union with the Divine. This work describes the profound spiritual experience of being stripped of all attachments, both inner and outer, as a necessary process for purification and deeper connection with God. For those experiencing a time of spiritual dryness or emptiness, St. John’s words offer hope and guidance through the darkness, illuminating the path to deeper faith and surrender. The Dark Night is not a time of despair, but of ultimate transformation, where we are invited to let go of our limited understanding and trust in the unfolding of the Divine. This book serves as a timeless companion for anyone navigating the challenges of the contemplative path, especially those who feel drawn to the shift from meditation to deeper contemplation.
Book Recommendation: Orgyen Chowang, Our Pristine Mind
In The Pristine Mind, Orgyen Chowang offers profound teachings on accessing our natural state of mind—a state of clarity, openness, and peace. He draws from the Dzogchen tradition, emphasizing that our true nature is already pure and perfect, and that through practice, we can return to this unconditioned state. For those on a contemplative journey, Chowang’s words provide a practical path for moving beyond mental noise and distractions, guiding us back to the inherent stillness of the mind. This book is especially helpful for those who wish to deepen their meditation practice or shift from intellectual understanding to living experience. The Pristine Mind invites readers to discover the profound joy and serenity that arises when we rest in the awareness of our true nature.
When post-viral ME/CFS first appeared in my life over 30 years ago, it was like a sudden, uninvited guest that turned everything upside down. The plans I had carefully laid out—the career, the teaching, the travel—came to a screeching halt. My body, which once felt like a reliable vehicle for my ambitions, became a source of constant limitation.
For many people today, especially in the aftermath of COVID, the experience of long COVID or post-viral ME/CFS can feel like a similar trainwreck. The life you knew, the expectations you had, are suddenly out of reach, and you’re left grappling with a new reality—one that modern medicine often struggles to explain, let alone resolve.
I remember the early days well. The confusion, the depression, the overwhelming frustration that came with the unrelenting fatigue. In the beginning, it was hard to see any way forward. It felt like I was being asked to surrender everything I had worked for, again and again. Every time I hit a new limit, I had to lower the bar, lower it again, and lower it even further. It was a painful process of letting go, not just of my physical abilities, but of my identity and the future I had imagined for myself.
But over time, and through countless moments of surrender, I began to see that while the path I had planned was no longer possible, there was another way forward. It was a quieter path, more inward, but it was no less valuable. Writing became my outlet, my way of contributing to the world, even while living in solitude and spending much of my time in bed.
For those of you reading this who are newly facing the reality of post-viral ME/CFS, I want to acknowledge that this is not an easy journey. It’s okay if you need to take breaks, both from reading and from the mental and emotional load of processing what this diagnosis means. Be gentle with yourself, and if you find the post too long, take it in pieces, come back when you’re ready. The key is to pace yourself, in life and in reading.
Surrendering to a New Reality
One of the hardest lessons I had to learn was surrender—over and over again. Post-viral ME/CFS teaches you that you can’t control everything, no matter how hard you try. Every time I felt like I was getting close to managing the illness, there would be a setback. My energy would crash, and I’d find myself in bed for days or weeks at a time. At first, it felt like defeat. I had to give up so many aspects of life I’d taken for granted.
But over time, I realized that surrendering wasn’t about giving up. It was about accepting what is, rather than constantly struggling against it. The more I fought the reality of my illness, the more frustration I experienced. Letting go didn’t mean that I had to stop hoping or working toward better health, but it did mean that I had to stop resisting what I couldn’t change in that moment.
Surrendering, in this sense, became a way to make peace with the limits of my body, to find moments of ease even when everything else felt out of control. It was an ongoing practice, one that I still revisit, especially on difficult days.
Navigating Others’ Reactions
In addition to learning how to surrender, one of the most difficult challenges I faced early on was dealing with other people’s reactions. In those early days, many people didn’t even believe post-viral ME/CFS existed. I heard things like, “You just need to drink more coffee,” or, “Have you thought about taking naps?” Even when I was officially diagnosed as disabled by the government, my own mother thought I was just lazy and needed to be more active.
This kind of misunderstanding, disrespect, and dismissal is, unfortunately, a common experience for many who suffer from post-viral ME/CFS. Family, friends, and even doctors would question or deny my experience. I’ve heard stories of doctors telling their patients not to even talk about ME/CFS because it “doesn’t exist.” It was often treated as a garbage-pail diagnosis, or dismissed entirely.
While there is more understanding of post-viral ME/CFS today, the stigma still remains. Making peace with this aspect of the illness has been a long journey. What helped me most was cultivating compassion, not just for myself but for others. As Jesus said, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Having compassion for the people in your life who may deny or diminish your experience is a key part of finding peace.
An Evolving Perspective on Post-Viral ME/CFS
In the early days of my journey with post-viral ME/CFS, I found myself going through what felt like the stages of grief as described by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross. At times, I thought I might be dying, and I cycled through stages of anger, grief, depression, and confusion. Acceptance didn’t come quickly, and it took years of processing and reflection before I could reach that place.
One of the major steps toward acceptance came when I read How to Be Sick by Toni Bernhard. This book resonated deeply with me, and for the first time, I felt like someone truly understood what I was going through. Toni’s reflections on illness gave me a new sense of validation and self-respect, and her practical tips helped me develop a healthier way of relating to my experience. I highly recommend this book to anyone struggling with post-viral ME/CFS.
Then, during a meditation class organized by students of Sogyal Rinpoche, based on The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, I began to find deeper peace. It was around this time that I discovered a Tibetan sutra titled Transforming Suffering and Happiness onto the Path of Enlightenment. This teaching profoundly shifted my perspective once again.
As I read the sutra, I realized that my anger, frustration, and negative emotions were not only draining my energy but also exacerbating my symptoms. It became clear to me that these stressful emotions were making my condition worse, and that when I was able to relax, let go, and find inner peace, I had greater capacity and longer periods of activity without crashing—or without crashing as severely. This was an important revelation: cultivating acceptance, forgiveness, and inner peace didn’t just feel better, it actually minimized my symptoms.
Shifting Perspective: The Sutra That Changed Everything
One passage from the Tibetan sutra resonated deeply with my experience of post-viral ME/CFS:
“Whenever we are harmed by sentient beings or anything else, if we make a habit out of perceiving only the suffering, then when even the smallest problem comes up, it will cause enormous anguish in our mind.”
This teaching hit home because, for a long time, I had been focusing only on the suffering. Everything in my life had become an enemy—my body, my circumstances, even the people around me. The more I centered my awareness on the pain and limitations, the heavier everything felt. Even the smallest setback would feel unbearable.
The sutra showed me that the more we focus on suffering, the more it grows and colors everything we experience. By recognizing this, I began to understand that shifting my focus away from the suffering and toward acceptance could help me find peace. It wasn’t about denying the reality of the illness, but about no longer letting it dominate my entire perspective.
The true transformation came not only by making peace with suffering but by learning to approach both suffering and happiness with the same equanimity. I had to remind myself that when I’m unhappy, this too shall pass, and when I’m happy, this too shall pass. This reminder became a useful way to stay balanced through the ebb and flow of life—the good days and the bad days, the good months and the bad months.
Additionally, I found comfort in William Blake’s words: “He who kisses the joy as it flies lives in eternity’s sunrise.” It reminded me to appreciate the little moments of happiness, to savor them without attachment, knowing that they, too, are fleeting. This perspective helped me not to be disturbed by the constant changes and to find a sense of peace amidst it all.
Discovering a New Path: Writing as Healing
As I continued to navigate the ups and downs of post-viral ME/CFS, I eventually found a new passion that helped me stay connected to the world and give expression to my inner journey: writing. Although much of my life is spent in solitude, and my physical abilities are limited, writing has become my outlet, a way to contribute and share what I’ve learned.
Through writing, I’ve been able to explore the lessons of impermanence, forgiveness, and acceptance, not just for my own growth but as a way to offer encouragement to others walking a similar path. Chronic fatigue may limit what I can do in the physical world, but it has opened up this creative space where I can still connect, reflect, and contribute.
In this way, writing became not just a coping mechanism but a practice of karma yoga, an offering. It’s a way to kiss the joy as it flies, even amidst the challenges of chronic illness, and to embrace each moment—whether in suffering or happiness—as an opportunity for growth.
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“He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy; But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity’s sunrise.”
A gentle exploration of how pacing can help you find balance and protect your well-being while living with chronic illness—along with thoughtful tools and guidance for those seeking support on this journey.
Pacing is the quiet art of learning to live gently within the rhythms of your body, an act of surrender not to defeat, but to wisdom. It asks you to listen closely, with reverence, to the invisible boundaries your energy sets each day—boundaries that shift like tides, at times quietly receding, at times closing in. For those living with post-viral ME/CFS or long COVID, pacing is not about building stamina or pushing through; it is a way of navigating the unpredictable waters of illness, steering not toward exhaustion but toward balance.
Think of your energy as a delicate thread stretched between moments. Some threads are finer than others, fraying at the edges after only the smallest tug. On certain days, your energy is enough to string together simple acts—getting out of bed, speaking a few words, tending to a meal. On others, even holding a thought in your mind feels like a weight too great to bear. There is no map for how far your thread will extend each day, and so the practice of pacing requires patience: learning when to weave activity into that thread and when to set it down altogether.
It begins with noticing. As the morning unfolds, ask yourself: How does your body feel today? What whispers does it send about the tasks ahead—are your limbs heavy, your mind clouded? Or does the day offer a rare clarity, a lightness in your chest? This gentle inquiry is the starting point of pacing, the first invitation to move in harmony with yourself. If you learn to honor your limits before they are breached, you begin to discover that rest, too, is a form of action—an act of preservation, of quiet resistance to the demands of doing.
There will be moments when you falter. Some days, buoyed by the hope of feeling better, you may do too much, only to find yourself crashed in bed the next morning, as though your body is reminding you: even good days must be tended with care. And yet, these moments are not failures but teachers, guiding you back to the path of gentleness. The gift of pacing is not in perfection but in the willingness to adjust, again and again, to the ebb and flow of your energy. It teaches that every step back into rest is not a retreat but a recalibration—a way of finding your balance anew.
In practice, pacing asks that you break life into smaller pieces. No task need be completed all at once; no activity is so urgent that it cannot be paused. It may mean spreading chores across hours or days, resting between each small effort. You might find that simply sitting still before you are exhausted—what some call “micro-rests”—becomes a way to protect your energy, much like tending a fragile flame so it does not burn too fast.
It also teaches the value of saying no, of drawing boundaries not out of reluctance but out of care for yourself. The world may ask more of you than you can give, but your worth is not measured by what you accomplish. Pacing offers you the grace to step back when needed, to protect the little energy you have, and to understand that in rest there is healing, even if that healing is slow and subtle.
Through this practice, you begin to understand that your life with chronic illness is not a race to reclaim the old ways of being, but an invitation to live differently—deliberately, thoughtfully, and with compassion for yourself. Some days will still carry setbacks, and your thread may feel thin and worn, but you learn to trust that even in these moments, you are practicing something essential: the art of living well within your limits.
If this way of being resonates with you, I invite you to explore pacing as a tool for navigating life with long COVID, post-viral ME/CFS, or any chronic illness. It is not a cure, but a guide—a way to live with care, softness, and respect for the boundaries your body sets.
And if you are looking for a gentle companion in this journey—someone to offer guidance on pacing, energy conservation, and emotional support—I invite you to try out this free GPT assistant. This tool provides thoughtful advice, helps you manage the challenges of chronic illness, and offers a steady, compassionate voice tailored to your unique needs.
Greetings Everyone…. This is about one of the absolutely best, most helpful books, I have ever found, about living with ME/CFS.
Toni Bernhard’s “How to Be Sick” is a powerful and insightful book that offers a unique perspective on the challenges faced by those suffering from chronic illnesses such as ME/CFS, Long Covid, and other similar conditions.
The book is written with great empathy, warmth, and practicality, providing readers with a wealth of information, insights, and practical tools to help them manage their condition and live a more fulfilling life.
One of the most compelling aspects of this book is the author’s own experience of living with chronic illness. Toni Bernhard was a law professor when she became ill with a viral infection that left her bedridden and in constant pain. This experience gave her a unique perspective on what it’s like to live with a chronic illness, and she shares her insights and wisdom in a way that is both accessible and highly relatable.
The book is divided into three parts, each addressing a different aspect of living with chronic illness. The first part focuses on the emotional and psychological challenges of coping with chronic illness, including the grief, loss, and isolation that can accompany such conditions. The second part offers practical advice on managing symptoms, including pain, fatigue, and brain fog, while the third part offers guidance on how to cultivate a sense of meaning and purpose in life despite illness.
What sets this book apart from other self-help books for chronic illness is the author’s emphasis on mindfulness and compassion. Throughout the book, Toni Bernhard stresses the importance of being present in the moment, accepting one’s condition with kindness and compassion, and cultivating a sense of gratitude for the small joys in life.
She also offers a range of practical mindfulness exercises and meditations that can help readers to cultivate these qualities in themselves.
Overall, “How to Be Sick” is an essential read for anyone living with chronic illness, especially those suffering from ME/CFS, Long Covid, and other similar conditions. The book is not only packed with practical advice and insights, but it also offers a powerful message of hope and resilience that can help readers to find meaning and purpose in their lives despite illness.
I highly recommend this book to anyone looking to live a more fulfilling life with chronic illness.
Essentially… “How to Be Sick” by Toni Bernhard is a guidebook for people living with chronic illness or chronic pain. Toni, who was diagnosed with the sudden onset of chronic fatigue, shares her personal experiences and provides practical advice for managing physical and emotional challenges associated with chronic illness.
Toni encourages us to accept our condition, practice mindfulness, and cultivate gratitude to improve our quality of life. The book also offers insights into navigating relationships, communicating with healthcare providers, and adapting to a new way of life.
Without a doubt, “How to Be Sick” provides a compassionate and empowering approach to living with chronic illness. It is one of the most helpful and useful books I have ever read on the subject of living with chronic fatigue.
Dear friends, If you have found any other books, that you would highly recommend, please share them in the comments section below – it is very possible that others can benefit from your suggestions as well.
I personally, highly recommend this book to anyone experiencing ME/CFS, Long Covid or chronic illness of any kind. You can usually find a used copy on Amazon.
May we all find peace, joy and wellbeing on our journey through life.
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