Tapping the Greater Accumulator
Do thoughts and prayers really heal? Or do they empower us face what we have to face?
I never had a birthday cake growing up — only birthday pie.
My mom earned a degree in dietetics but could barely cook — a great set-up for a Henny Youngman joke but an unfunny one for us kids.
What she did have was an untapped talent as an efficiency expert, cleverly loading a week’s worth of school sandwiches into the freezer, lettuce and all. This explains why she never baked a cake — only frozen pie. And yes, she often forgot it was in the oven, so we got to nibble the burnt edges before dinner.
Ironically, as I grew older, I cherished the burnt pie tradition. So when Karen and I popped the plastic on our verboten Whole Foods pie on the oncology floor of Emory Hospital, we shared our slice as a sacrament — proof that the universe was still on our side.
Our pumpkin joy stood in stark contrast to the numbing exertion I pulled to keep our hospital mission afloat. One night, during the zillionth trudge from the hospital to the parking structure, I marveled, “I’m not complaining, collapsing, or worrying. How is this possible?”
A century earlier, Gurdjieff called this tireless strength Tapping the Greater Accumulator.
He explained how it’s possible to plug into God’s cosmic battery.
“That’s it, accumulator!” I proclaimed as I pulled into the structure. Accumulator was the archaic term for capacitor, an electronic component that stores and releases energy through a flow of electrons that build as a potential between two plates. When you take a flash photo, a trickle of electricity from the battery fills the capacitor until you press the trigger — POOF! — the energy is released, and an explosion of light fills the room.
Instead of a capacitor, the human body has mitochondria.
In the human body, instead of electricity, we oxidize glucose to produce ATP, the energy storehouse of the cell via the mitochondria. Mitochondria are unique subcellular structures that carry their own genetic material, independent from that in the nucleus. They arose 1.45 billion years ago, and since they carry their own DNA, could they be connected to the Cosmic Battery — or even some sci-fi planetary system?
Beats me. I was carrying smoothies to Karen as these thoughts arose,
Through the miraculous process of cellular respiration, glucose is broken down to release charged electrons, which grow in number as they move through an electron transport chain like a bucket brigade. The process builds the charge needed to pass through the inner membrane of the mitochondria where ATP is manufactured until — POOF — energy!
As I headed toward the hospital, I sent loving vibes to my mitochondria and imagined my electrons flowing with unimpeded grace. If the electron transport chain weakens, the ATP insufficiency causes an energy shortage, and with it, a long list of diseases and ailments can result.1
With each out-breath, I sensed how fears and emotions should be dragging me down, but instead, I kept letting go. I had no choice; there was too much to do.
My Eureka moment with my mitochondria bordered on delirious. With a little research, I discovered Dr. Martin Picard, head of the Mitochondrial PsychoBiology Laboratory at Columbia University. Picard studied the daily mood levels of ninety women and then submitted them to mitochondrial tests. Boom — he found evidence that mood has a measurable effect on our mitochondria, energy, and longevity.
Gurdjieff was right — we can tap the Greater Accumulator in a crisis, and it’s our mitochondria. If you want to dive in, read “Energy and How to Get It” in the New Yorker.2
Mitochondria or not, I had no choice.
Each morning, after walking the dog, I returned with smoothies in time to hear from three sets of doctors on their rounds. Strangely, no doctor ever sat down to say the magic words: “This is what is going on with Karen.” The urologist asked for a urine measurement, the kidney doctor talked about sodium levels, and the resident oncologist greeted Karen with, “How do you feel?” If we asked point blank, What’s going on? he shrugged, “I’m a prostate guy.”
We sent Karen’s scans and reports to Mark Renneker, the cancer researcher in California who had been working with us for years.
Mark wrote back:
MAJOR CONCERN: the Monday CT scan notes the development of ascites (free fluid in the abdomen/pelvis), larger abdominal lymph nodes, and the suggestion of "nodularity" in an apron-like organ over the front of the abdominal cavity called the omentum — and the reading radiologist thought it could represent what is called "peritoneal carcinomatosis," which is a freely spreading series of cancerous nodules over the covering surfaces in the abdomen/pelvis. This means that the original cancer may have “TRANSFORMED” (written in all caps to underscore a rare and troubling occurrence).
The hospital never ran a biopsy, so we would never know for sure. The words “freely spreading” concurred with the symptoms; Karen’s cancer seemed to have exploded like an algae bloom.
With Thanksgiving behind us, Karen’s oncologist, Dr. Ram, finally made a visit to suggest the drug Tagrisso. Normally taken at home, Dr. Ram said it would take a few days to get the health plan to approve prescribing it in the hospital.
You’re kidding.
That night, like a crazy compass at the North Pole, I finally lost my bearings.
Having lost the script of who, what, or why I entered this movie, I asked the nurse to shut off the bed alarm (it’s a big deal) so I could squeeze in and feel Karen’s sweet soul signature. The toll of the last four months pulled at my strength, and as sick as Karen was, my mitochondria needed a boost.
Squeezed in tight to Karen, realized, holy shit, I hadn’t shared our four-month medical story with our vast network of friends — and for good reason. I didn’t have the bandwidth to manage the flood of well-wishers, prayer circles, new-age remedies, and people sending light. But now I had no choice. I posted the message:
Dear friends,
I have been reticent to share our ongoing health saga because I have been overloaded and wasn't sure I could handle the outpourings of love, concern, fear, and healing light.
But now I have an obligation to let you know about Karen's difficult situation.
Nine years ago, Karen had a sudden lung cancer that metastasized to the brain right before she was to begin her new career — and after a long and arduous certification. For the next nine years, she excelled in her job, teaching chaplains the subtle art of pastoral care.
Two years ago, during the Covid panic, she developed a small reemergence on a lymph node, but it was successfully treated as part of a Phase I clinical trial.
In July, Karen started to develop grueling back pain symptoms that were addressed as a musculoskeletal issue.
At the start of October, the pain was revealed via scan to be urological, so she began to address that with medical interventions — but always with unrelenting pain.
Ten days ago, Karen and I entered the ER for the third time in 30 days to discover a sudden and aggressive cancer in the abdominal region. It literally occurred, boom, overnight. The regimen of heavy pain drugs, cancer load, kidney issues, and endless hospital confinement has taken a toll.
The doctors at Emory have never discussed her prognosis, but through conversations with other medical specialists, we know that the outlook is not good. Our two sons and close ones are flying in.
If you pray, then pray. If you send light, that's okay, too. I prefer feeling connected as a vast, interconnected family who is journeying together.
Thanks for thinking of her — and me — as I have been pulling a Herculean load for some months.
Love you all, Bruce
And just like that, my timeline flooded with love.
People offered shifa, white light, green light, lovelight, warm thoughts, positivity, healthy vibes, and deep breathing. Others offered kamikaze for cancer cells, Chaga mushrooms with nettles, and prayers for a miracle healing.
My favorite arrived from Rebekah in West Virginia — a woman I didn’t even know:
Dear Bruce
May I sit in Green Light meditation for you all?
It is a way of the interconnection you spoke of & healing light.
Sending so much love.
It is a situation I am familiar with.
Miracles do & are occurring.
Rebekah
I immediately wrote back:
Hi Rebekah, What a delightful surprise. By all means. I learned this practice from Bhante in 1975 when I set up a green light meditation with hot stage lights and green gels. We almost passed out from the heat. Thank you so much for reaching out.
Rebekah was referring to Samdach Vira Dharmawara Bellong Mahathera — better known as Bhante.
Originally a court judge in Cambodia, he opted for a monastic and celibate life and became a forest monk. He traveled the world, meeting the King of Cambodia, Prime Minister Nehru of India, yoga pioneer Indra Devi, and teacher J.G. Bennett in England. He finally settled down to become a Buddhist leader in Stockton, California, at age 90. I met Bhante in Los Angeles in 1975 at the sprightly young age of 86 — he lived to 110.
An advocate of color healing, Bhante taught us the healing power of green with this prayer:
O Green Rays of Balancing Cosmic Force,
Thou art the Source of Strength, Energy and Youthfulness,
Flow on me thy Eternal Rays of Wisdom’s Source,
Make my Mind and Life Evergreen and Fresh,
O Emerald Rays of Great Harmonizing Light
Make me thy Instrument, fit to serve Mankind.
Rebekah wrote back immediately:
Me too!
Will begin right away
So much love to you,
holding Karen in heart ❤️
Wow, how’s that for service? The thought of Karen dying was still far-fetched, so I latched onto Rebekah’s offer of a green meditation like a talisman. And why not?
To the casual eye, Karen looked gaunt, but certain clues suggested she was tapping the Greater Accumulator as well.
As I lay there hoping for a green miracle, Karen started to push herself up from bed.
“Karen, lay down,” I asked sweetly. “Just be with me.”
Karen was having none of that. She kept pushing and pushing herself up.
“Karen, come on,” I pleaded. “Let’s just snuggle.”
What the hell is going on? Karen was labeled a “FALL RISK” and could not take a single step on her own. Despite the bold warning on her wrist, I talked the nurse into shutting off the bed alarm, thinking I could control the situation, but now the worst-case scenario unfolded. One swollen edemic leg slipped past the bed rail and then another towards the floor.
“Karen, stop. What are you doing?” I pulled at her, but nothing doing. With her newfound strength, she stiff-armed any attempt to reel her in.
With no other option, I joined her at the edge of the mattress as she rocked back and forth. Was she trying to manage the pain, or had the green meditation kicked in? I gripped her shirt to prevent a man overboard.
More than pain, I noticed something else. She was working, like in labor, but soul work. What the hell is soul work? Maybe she was extracting precious ore from the soul mine. And not 10 or 20 minutes — all night, hour after hour. Occasionally, I nodded off to sleep, woke in a panic, saw my grip intact, Karen still on the edge, rocking, breathing through the veils of pain — or maybe, the veils of existence.
I continued to play bed cop as she worked through the existential layers of her story. I desperately gripped at my beloved to remain in this world.
At five in the morning, I texted an all-points bulletin:
Karen has been up all night in agitation. I have been stroking her back to no avail. She can’t verbalize what’s going on even though she has verbal ability. When I try to get her to lie down, she is adamant about sitting up. I have had an hour of sleep, so a bit of a mess. That’s the report. The good news is that she’s not languid or zonked out, far from it.
My friend Sarah immediately wrote back:
“Maybe this is her will to survive and wanting some control over her destiny. She wants to sit up, to be present in life. And, of course, she must be trying to understand what is happening, what her choices are, how to find her voice in this time, and what she wants to say. Good for her.”
My Reiki practitioner friend, Bridget, texted back. “Should I come over?”
Fifteen minutes later, Bridget was bedside. For the next two hours, Bridget gently coaxed a no-sleep Karen to move beyond her pain body, using words like, “Move beyond the crushing pain, embrace your larger self.”
Bridget placed her hand on Karen’s crown chakra. “Can you feel the energy there?”
“It’s like a garden,” Karen replied sweetly.
Suddenly, the energy shifted, Karen’s face changed, and her body relaxed. Maybe I imagined it, but she dropped a ton of karmic weight before my eyes. It was subtle and life-changing at the same time.
Bridget later explained, “At that moment, there was no longer a need to push. You both accepted ‘Thy will be done,’ opening to whatever was to come. Like when Mary said yes to the angel Gabriel, I was moving you to that moment – energetically and psychologically. By breathing into the spaciousness, a bigger story came into being.”
Karen’s transfiguration was stunning. I became convinced that a movie-of-the-week miracle was at hand.
For most of my life, I have been a believer and a skeptic about the healing power of thoughts and prayers. When it became a tiresome meme, I grew skeptical that wishful thinking can assuage grief or make an illness disappear.
But during those seven desperate bedside hours, the feeling of interconnection reaffirmed my belief in the power of prayer. From the moment the call went out, Karen received a surge of strength.
Thank you, Rebekah.
But here I diverge from the fairy tale: “Thoughts and prayers” carry no healing magic.
They provide the energy to face what we have to face. The boost comes from knowing or feeling that “someone has our back.”
We still have to show up and do the work.
After Bridget left, Karen and I snuggled into a sanctum of grace. Despite the indignities of tubes and catheters, blood draws, and IVs, our love was constant.
Later that day, I received an unexpected call from the Cosmic Dumpster Service. That’s a bit unfair, but I wasn’t prepared for a call from hospice. They offered the deal of a lifetime (that’s a joke), and unthinking, I said yes, then quickly unsigned. Hospice has become a Medicare hustle, and I needed a day. The writing was on the wall: Karen never got the Tagrisso, never got her sodium up, her heart rate down, or her tubes removed. No one ever said the words peritoneal carcinomatosis or omentum. But the Russian oncology lady was right: “You have no idea how precious this time is.”
Two days later, an ambulance backed down our driveway, with Karen as its lone passenger.
She insisted on going to her upstairs bedroom and snuggling into our $2000 mattress — but reality had other plans. My kids had spent the day transforming our guest apartment into a hospice space — flowers, family pictures on the wall, and medical gear. The gravitas of the moment pulled me into a Bardo:
“This is really happening.”
I had just started a Zoom class when two life-hardened EMTs struggled to pull Karen up the outdoor stairs. She was bathed in light — not Bhante’s healing green — but the morbid staccato of flashing red. I let the Zoom run.
My on-screen friend Penny was stunned: “I can’t believe she was swimming across the lake a few months ago.”
Joseph, a retired doctor, physicist, and 86-year-old fire department volunteer in Rochester, NY, offered sober wisdom:
“Life comes at you like that. When you’re not paying attention, everything becomes very real.”
https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/15612-mitochondrial-diseases
https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2021/11/08/energy-and-how-to-get-it
Once again, a heart-rending narrative of the love and struggle of a lifetime. I almost said "culmination", then of course realized that dear Karen is still with you.
I don't know why, but the story of her sitting up in bed and breathing deep resonated in me, even though I have never seen or done that. For some reason I feel that Karen was trying to open something or balance some energies. And as you describe, when it was done something else was done also.
As you probably know, the mitochondria is an integral part of Dr. Joe Dispenzas work. I think the evidence is clear that mental and emotional states can change our mitochondria.
Thanks for a deeply-connected post