Messy speech and the true self

Lately I’ve been having trouble with my speech; frequently I seem to lose control of my tongue and lips so that what comes out is kind of mushy. When I focus on shaping my mouth to make things clearer, I’m told that my face gets weirdly distorted..

Parkinson’s is all about changes from how things used to be. It’s often hard to accept those changes. I’ve long been proud of my ability to speak clearly and well, and when something like this happens, I’m inclined to go straight to “Wait - that’s not me!”

But of course, it is me - the me of this moment. A fundamental tenet of Buddhism is that there is no fixed, unchanging "self" that exists independent of the ever-shifting conditions of life.

When I’m clinging to an idea of who I am supposed to be - a clear and articulate speaker - I create suffering for myself. This attachment to a specific identity is like trying to hold onto water. The tighter I squeeze, the more it slips away.

I can sometimes interrupt that chorus of "this is not me" by recalling that "I" am not a fixed entity, but a dynamic process unfolding in each moment. Then the challenge becomes an opportunity to let go of limiting self-concepts and to relax into the flow of life, accepting what arises with equanimity and compassion.

Impermanence, though, doesn’t mean that I can’t work to change the circumstances that shape the process. I will soon start speech therapy, and work hard at it; I may change my medications. With luck and perseverance, I may be able to slow or even stop this part of the PD progression.

Whatever the  outcome, I’ll need to remember to embrace the reality of each moment, just as it is. If my speech is unclear, let it be unclear. If my face contorts, let it contort. These, like the clarity I was once so proud of, are passing phenomena, like clouds drifting across the sky. They don’t define me.

My true nature isn’t confined to any particular way of speaking or appearing or moving or even thinking. It is vast and open, like the boundless universe that has room for all things—sunshine and rain, clarity and confusion, joy and sorrow.

That spacious awareness is the true home I am always seeking, and sometimes find.