All that you are is a product of 
what you have thought

Concepts for Conscious Living

All that you are is a product of
what you have thought.

In my book, Stories From the Sea of Life, the very first story recounts the first backpacking trip Dar and I ever went on.

Here's the story.

My wife Darlene and I love hiking. As a matter of fact, back when we were dating, a hike was our first vacation activity. We decided to hike South from the Northern end of the Bruce Trail, a system of trails that runs through Ontario. The Northern end is rugged and treacherous; with warning signs posted and everything. We're both experienced back-packers and we survived with nothing more serious than a damaged toenail.

On day three of the expedition, we came across a hole in the ground. The handy, dandy Bruce Trail Guidebook told us that one could climb into the hole, climb down a wall and emerge on a path that led to a secluded beach. We dumped off our packs and looked into the hole. Blackness.

We had no flashlight along. I started worrying about a descent into the darkness. I whipped open my pack, and stated to haul out all kinds of climbing gear -- ropes, anchors, stuff. I decided to lower the packs down first, then find an anchor point and lower myself down on a rope belay.

Actually, I was afraid. I'll climb anything . . . so long as I can see where I'm going . . . so long as I can think about it for a while. My back was to the hole, my head buried in my pack, my mind racing, trying to find a good reason . . . excuse . . . to use to let Dar know that I thought that we shouldn't climb down. Maybe later, or tomorrow . . . or in a couple of years.

In the midst of my reverie, I heard a voice from afar off. I got up, looked around, and noticed that Dar was missing. I looked down the hole. She was 30 feet below me, and the small amount of light down there was glistening off of her smile. She said, "What's taking you so long?"

That was the moment I decided I'd be with Dar for the rest of my life. I quickly climbed down. I also did an incredibly difficult climb back up, but that's another story.

Life is about getting on with what needs to be done. There are a million and one reasons for not starting, for turning back, for staying put, for being "safe." At the end of the day, however, nothing will have changed. Far better to risk, to dare, to climb.

Now, notice that, in this story, I was running my life on the basis of a whole bunch of unstated preconceived notions. At the point of digging out the climbing ropes, I had clearly not actually examined the climb itself. I had considered my imagined understandings of what climbing down into a dark, bottomless hole meant. I equated not seeing the bottom with there being no bottom.

Dar, on the other hand, worked out of another set of beliefs, which allowed her to simply attempt to climb down, and to discover that, far from there being no bottom, it was 30 feet down, and the hand and foot holds were relatively easy and obvious.

Now, it is clear that much of our life, our relationships, our thinking is boxed in by what we have thought in the past. As I mentioned last week, the study on depression starts with its conclusion in mind. The conclusion is: if we learn about depression, through CAT scans, we will develop a drug to eliminate depression. The boxed thinking exhibited here, far from freeing up multiple possibilities, allows for only one conclusion: that the test result could ONLY point to a drug, because that's what we are looking for.

In our way of being, the decisions we make internally actually limit the choices we have. A few weeks ago I mentioned a man who was depressed, re. his work for a "ma-Bell-like" company. He cancelled this week's session. His message said, "I can't come for therapy as I'm not strong enough. I'll come back to deal with my depression when I get strong enough." I wrote him a letter. One line (paraphrasing what he said,) "I suspect you are correct in your assessment that you need to get past your depressive symptoms before you can begin looking at your depressive symptoms."

Now, of course, I was being paradoxical here. What he's saying is equal to: I have to get over the symptoms of my heart attack before I can go to the hospital for treatment for my heart attack. What he's done is to box himself in with a thought, or belief, that he is not capable of change. He therefore isn't.

In truth, there is very little out there that is limiting. There is a ton "in here" that limits the heck out of us. We get something lodged in our heads, and that's it.

I mentioned last week about my problems with my cable modem. Both techies at @home declared absolutely and unequivocally that the issue was a software glitch in my computer. The first guy was very nice, but was in a box. The second woman was a condescending jerk, and made it clear the "every techie here will tell you that the problem is in your computer." In the box, with gusto.

I didn't believe her, so I turned off my cable modem, resetting it, and voila!, back on the net. Wasn't the software at all. (Both techies, working from their box, suggested I reformat my hard drive. Had I blindly followed their advice, I'd still be picking up the pieces and the things STILL wouldn't work.)

When you find yourself saying "This is the ONLY possibility," or "I'm screwed," or "This kind of stuff ALWAYS happens to me!", take a break and have a look. Why are you in that box? How are you limiting yourself? What's another way to see the situation?

All that you are is what you have thought. Until, magically, you change your thinking.

Hmm. Try thinking, out of the box.