Shinichiro Terayama

Some people say that by all the laws of modern medicine, I should not be alive. In 1983, with a wife and three children and a career in solid state physics, working in the development of semiconductors, I came close to killing myself. Not by any deliberate act, but through what I now believe was my own ignorance concerning my lifestyle . I was a workaholic. Few breaks; no holidays. Drinking 10-20 cups of coffee a day. Eating and sleeping badly. Hardly seeing my family. No time even for my beloved cello. I’m told I looked so pinched and unpleasant that maybe I wasn’t a very nice person to be around.

In 1982, I suddenly came down with a fever that lasted several weeks. Then I found blood in my urine. Mainstream medics said nothing was wrong; even my wife (a doctor who specialises in ageing) could get no sense out of her profession. Only Koshiro Otsuka, who is a holistic medical counsellor, came up with an open and direct diagnosis. He believed there was something wrong with my kidney. I sought more medical advice and the doctors at the hospital recommended a course of injections. By the third day I felt terrible. On the fourth I looked in the mirror and found my beard had turned white overnight. Chemotherapy, I realised; radiation treatment.

Stick-thin and weakening, I had a dream: My body was lying in a coffin and I was looking down from the ceiling. Many people were coming to see me. Then just before the lid was closed, I screamed, “No, I’m alive.” I shouted so loudly that I woke myself up. When I told my wife, she cried, because she’d been told I was dying. The experience proved to be a turning point. I felt some kind of physical change, which included the heightening of sensation that many people experience when near death. One night my sense of smell became so acute that I thought I would go mad. Crawling out of bed, I made my way up to the hospital roof, where I thought the air would be fresh. There was panic when the nursing staff discovered I had gone; finding me on the roof, it was assumed I was considering suicide. I was told, “If you want to stay here you must follow the rules, otherwise…” The following day I checked out.

I decided to take responsibility for my own healing. I accepted that the cancer was of my own making, that I had created my cancer, no one else. I was responsible for my sickness. Western medicine regards cancer as alien, an invasion to be battled with but I came to believe that my cancer was a part of me that needed to be loved. It’s not an enemy; it’s still my body. And I created my cancer. I said to my body, “I made a mistake. Oh, I’m very, very sorry. But you are here. So I love you.” I loved it with all my heart, and I began to heal. I thank my cancer always because I changed so much because of it.

I switched to a macrobiotic diet, as Koshiro Otsuka had recommended, and I spent much more time playing my cello. An extremely vital part of my healing process was my first visit to Findhorn. Although I still had a shadow on my lung, I accepted an invitation to speak at a conference there in 1988. I actually stayed for 40 days. It was here that for the first time in my life I was hugged by people I hardly knew. This is a very beneficial therapy with absolutely no side effects! Usually Japanese people are very shy and it was wonderful for me to experience so much love every day. By the time I had returned from Findhorn the shadow on my lung had disappeared completely. I am now happy to help organise for many of my fellow Japanese to come and experience this special place.

As I healed I began to share with others what I had learned. I did this in many ways. Between 1988 and 1995, I became executive director of the Japan Holistic Medical Society based in Asagaya, Tokyo. This society has 600 members (4,000 if you include those counselled by phone).

As part of an international network of holistic medical practitioners and supporters, I am privileged to travel extensively. I go to Israel, for example, where there is a tremendous amount of cancer. People there are raised in an atmosphere of acute stress to think, ‘Fight, fight, fight!’. No wonder they fall sick.

I counsel many cancer patients, charging what each can afford. I try to change their attitude to their diseases. I try only to get them to accept that they are responsible for their condition. Even if they can’t go all the way to loving their cancer, acceptance of their cancer, acceptance of their part in its creation can bring about revelation and peace.

“It’s up to you,” I say. “It’s very simple. We all die. So isn’t it better to live well until we die, rather than in a state of fear and angry resentment? Treasure each moment, don’t waste the time you have left!”

Shinichiro Terayama

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This post was previously published as a chapter in the book Growing People, compiled and edited by Kay Kay, published by Pilgrims Guide, 2001.