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Creating Bridges: Spirituality & Philosophy:
The Conscious Column
A Work of Heart
by David Ault |
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I was born with my Dad's heart. By outside opinion, I would be encouraged to substitute the first "d" in Dad and replace it with a "b." But claiming I was born with a bad heart would taint the outcome of this story. I believe that this heart of mine, both physically and emotionally has been the steadfast companion, the Sam to my Frodo, on this epic journey called life.
My father, Pete, passed away at the ripe old age of 54 back in the late 601s. By every account he was a gentle, kind spirit who did the best he could to provide for a large family while maintaining a job as a painter. We lived in a flat top house with one bathroom. A single wall heater warmed us during the chill of winter and a rickety ceiling fan cut the sweltering humidity of tempestuous southeast Texas summers.
Since his death occurred when I was 7, I did not fully comprehend or witness his journey of the heart. I just knew that dad was sick a lot, absent for great stretches of time in a place called the VA Hospital in a city named Houston. I had no reference for what a hospital was or what the term "city" meant. My naivete conjured images of my dad on an assembly line as in the Wizard of Oz, where funny little people worked to polish, stuff and primp him back to perfect health.
But the outcome was not the same as the movie. He didn't make it back home.
His ultimate heart failure was talked about among family as unfortunate but obvious. He was born with a "faulty ticker" just like some cars are "born" off the assembly line with little engines that can't.
Ironically, when several of my siblings, including myself, were diagnosed to have heart murmurs, no one ever consciously made the connection that perhaps it was more, that perhaps we were products of the same assembly line.
Twelve months ago, my oldest sister Brenda died suddenly while eating breakfast in a restaurant. Her husband watched as she appeared to choke followed by her eyes rolling to the back of her head. The entire process took less than three minutes and the paramedics pronounced her dead upon their arrival.
The autopsy categorized it as Sudden Death, triggered by advanced Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy (HCM). In simple terms, HCM is when the tissue walls of the atrium and the ventricle are thickened or atrophied. Occurring at conception, this genetic defect can go undiagnosed for many decades, forcing the remaining part of the heart to constantly work harder. Over time, the heart cannot sustain the irregularity and thus, gives out, quickly shutting down like an over powered, over worked circuit breaker.
Soon after Brenda's death, a scheduled echocardiogram revealed that I inherited the malfunction as well.
I received the news from my answering machine on a Friday afternoon after 5:30 PM.
"Mr. Ault, this is _______ from cardiology. I just reviewed your x-rays from the echo you had done today and I thought I should call you sooner than later," the strange monotoned voice announced.
"You have advanced HCM and we need to schedule you to come in to cardiology ASAP."
Since my insurance carrier is an HMO, I knew that ASAP translated into BS whether it was HCM or ADD. Suddenly I was drowning in a sea of acronyms not knowing where to send my SOS.
Stunned, I called a friend who I believed could process me through this. He wisely recommended that I tell no one.
"Why," I asked."Because if you tell just anybody, it will illicit two responses, pity and worry. Since everything is energy, you then run the risk of creating the energy of pity and worry around you. Is that going to facilitate the healing you desire?" He went on to remind me that the doctor's message did not say, "stop what you're doing and drive to the emergency room now."
It took nearly a month for me to get my appointment. It was the best month of my life. I began to take stock of all the unfinished business that lingered in my life. I greeted every day with a fresh perspective and a heightened sense of gratitude as if each 24 hours could be my last. If something wasn1t fun, I chose not to do it or found ways to turn it around and make it so. I spent time with the people I loved, reconnected with others that I had been too busy to respond to and began a militant regime of caring for myself.
The day of my initial appointment with the cardiologist finally arrived. Our inability to mix felt greater than oil and water; it seemed more like an arranged marriage between a vital human and an alien sea pod.
For starters, the cardiologist said I needed to be fitted with a defribulator immediately. When I shared my personal belief system and how I needed some time to explore other avenues, he simply smirked.
"There are no other avenues. No herb, no acupuncture, no alternative anything will change the fact that you have this genetic defect. The longer you put this off, the more you run the risk of experiencing what your sister did. You are a walking time bomb."
I left with those words ringing in my ears and the residue of his decaying bedside manner eating away at my soul. I remembered how author Louise Hay had turned her death notice of cervical cancer into a rejuvenating second chance at life by bargaining with doctors, stalling for time, while becoming her own personal soldier of well-being. "I will do that as well," I declared triumphantly.
I began a nutritional program, became a yoga fanatic and rested and played more. I refused to participate in any negative "ain1t it awful" feedback and shared my journey with only those select few who could support me in my vision of wellness. I sought out respected healers, held ceremony and broke "vows" with ancestral lineage over this genetic flaw. I chose to look at this adventure as a gift and searched in my questionable heart for anything unlike gratitude that needed to be forgiven, released.
Louise wrote in You Can Heal Your Life that it took six months for her to be given a clean slate by her doctors. I was having such fun that I decided to bargain for twelve. It was a stunning year of achievement for me both personally and professionally. I launched my first book, toured, even allowed myself to open my heart to explore an intimate relationship. With the ink barely dry on the first book's pages, I began formulating an outline for the next one; the story of my miraculous healing.
"There really isn't any change Mr. Ault," another cardiologist revealed after reviewing my second set of X-rays. After twelve months of vigilance, the rainbows end seemed absent of the heralded pot of gold.
This new doctor examined the images and said, "Quite frankly, it seems a bit more advanced than a year ago. The gradiance level has improved but not enough to make a significant difference. Your levels are extremely high and dangerous. If you don't have this implant now, I don't know how much longer your heart will be able to maintain."
Like a pin prick to a balloon, my hope began to deflate.I drove to my oasis in nature and sat, staring at the trees, the giant rocks, the gurgling stream and asked, "now what?" My question was greeted by another internal question. "Do you really want to be here?" "That's silly. Of course I want to be here." More insistent, the inner voice asked again, "Do you really want to be here?"
I thought long and hard about the question. Yes, life had been filled with enormous challenges and there were times when uncertainty, disappointment and heart ache seemed too much, but I knew that my work, my purpose, my mission was far from over. In my mid-forties, I was just beginning to awaken to a grander expression, rediscovering the beauty of this mysterious journey."Yes, I want to be here!" I shouted into the ethers. "Guide me to the next step."
I drove myself back to the hospital and scheduled an appointment for surgery. My inner critic had a field day. "Well, you certainly failed. No Louise Hay experience for you!" "Wow, you really blew an opportunity for a breakthrough best seller." "Who is going to want to be with you now?" "You'll be cut open, scarred, some freak with a bionic device protruding from your chest." "Ugly!"
It can be tough to turn a deaf ear to such persistent internal damning. Yet turning away was a must. I drove back to the hospital, walked back into the cardiology department and booked my appointment for three weeks from that date.
Within those weeks, I came to the sweet realization that I am a spiritual being in a physical body. Sometimes the physical body just needs a little help in order for us to continue doing what it is we came here to do. I was beginning to be at peace.
Dear practitioners of truth helped override any remaining negative voices, supporting me in my decision to choose life. And, they added, that if someone didn1t want to be with me because of something like this, then why would I want to waste one iota of energy in being with them? Several of my mentors even suggested that this version of my next book might be far more relatable to those going through similar circumstances. Perhaps my choices could remind them that God1s healing comes in all forms, emotional as well as physical, through a pill and a prayer, through the hand of the surgeon.
What mattered most is that I made a conscious choice to stick around. I also realized that none of the previous year's work was for naught. I had learned so much. Everything I passionately invested in brought me tremendous joy, clarity and a renewed sense of well being. A few days before the surgery, I stood before a crowd facilitating a workshop. I joked how I would be boarding a plane later that afternoon for another event the following day.
"It's the last time I'll be able to walk through the metal detectors in the airport. From now on I'll have to be hand searched, groped, before boarding a plane." "You know," I added, "I prayed for more intimacy in my life. I guess I should have been more specific." Maintaining a sense of humor couldn't hurt.
The surgery went "seamlessly" well, my recovery remarkably swift. Nurses were unparalleled in their care and lingered bedside to talk about spiritual matters. Business cards were passed around. New friends were made.
As I write this, I've had my new "companion" for a little over two weeks. The swelling is nearly gone, my mobility is back, and I was up and lecturing a mere 5 days after my hospital stay.
I've now begun sharing my story in public venues. Amazing numbers have come to me afterwards, relaying their thanks. Somewhere deep inside, they1ve been wrestling with their own sense of failure. Unable to achieve a certain preconceived idea of healing, many feared being judged by their metaphysical peers for going through with the surgery, having a relapse, taking a pill.
Maybe part of the reason for my continuing on is to be a compassionate voice about the mysterious vulnerable journey of being human. God does work in and through ALL things. I believe the way to our greater good will always be revealed. By choosing to be here, our eyes are opened to see that good and welcome it in.
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David Ault
Visionary Vocalist, Author & Motivational Speaker
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David Ault is highly regarded as one of the finest visionary vocalists and motivational speakers within the New Thought/transformational movement.
His focus on remembering the Divine within and reclaiming that connection has empowered hundreds of thousands on their spiritual journey. The union of David’s charismatic message and heartfelt singing has elevated him to guest speaker of choice in many nationwide churches and global organizations.
As a licensed minister and practitioner through Religious Science International, as well as author, songwriter/recording artist, David has traveled and shared his gifts for well over fifteen years.
Working closely with notables Louise Hay and Marianne Williamson and sharing the stage with many cherished mentors ranging from the late Og Mandino to Dr. Barbara King, Jerald Jampolsky, Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, Father Leo Booth and Mary Manin-Morrisey, David harvested that experience and developed his own unique style of teaching. His compassionate presence, warmth and humor continue to be an unforgettable guidepost for audiences as they rediscover and reawaken to their personal magnificence.
Starting out as a professional actor and singer, David worked extensively in Broadway tour shows, film and television winning critics awards in both New York and Los Angeles.
Throughout the 1980’s, David, along with the late Jerry Florence and Keith Kimberlin made their mark in New thought history by helping pioneer an unexplored musical genre—visionary vocal music. Known as Alliance, their remarkable blend became legendary, helping establish them as one of the most successful vocal groups in the Spiritual recording field.
David continues this musical path with the release of his critically acclaimed recordings, The Healing Bridge, Travelin’ With The Angels, All Is Calm, All Is Bright, And Then It Is Morning, all distributed through his Los Angeles based organization, The Conscious Company. Now, his highly anticipated literary debut, Where Regret Cannot Find Me, is heralded as “a fresh and exciting discovery in Spiritual literature ... a work of pure heart!”
“I feel extremely blessed and grateful in following this path”, says David. “It is my ongoing intention to create a message in word and music that assists us all in reawakening to our personal magnificence!”
www.davidault.com
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