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Well, I gotta tell you, writing this issue of Into the Centre has
been a challenge. For some reason, I was feeling empty of ideas this morning,
and tried to write anyway. I came up with a really odd little number, on dealing
with the harsh realities of being human. I'll be excerpting it, as I hate
wasting my writing, but essentially I gave up midday.
Before I get to what I want to say, let me tell you a few stories:
Most of you know that I have a book finished that's within an inch of coming
out. I'm now projecting that we'll have copies in hand by Dar's 50th
birthday, October 23rd. Nice, eh? I think so. Anyway, we're really
pushing this book. I want this book to circle the globe and help people to change their
lives. So, I've been studying ways to promote it. I've scoured the web for
resources, and as I noted above, in my intro, I'm hoping you will do your part
by pointing friends and co-workers and even people you don't like to the
"Phoenix Centre Press" part of our website.
Anyway, one resource I downloaded was an e-book on Spiritual Marketing. It's
geared toward people in the helping professions. I like the spin
the book provides: Marketing is essential to draw clients – the only way to be of
service to someone is to actually make contact with them. The e-book was written
by Joe Vitale and Robert Anthony. This actually matters. Keep reading.
In the course of the marketing reading I've been doing, there came upon the
screen a line about being thankful. I turned it into a poster (available here)
which reads,
Belief
Thank you God for all the blessings I have and
all the blessings I am
receiving.
Another story: we were trying to put our pool to bed for the winter, but the
water levels kept dropping. The pool guy patched a couple of leaks this past
week, and Dar and I went at the pool shed and pool today. Only I wanted to
vacuum the pool out and the pump wouldn't prime. I gave up in frustration. Then
I tried one, last time and it worked. Persistence is a good thing, and once
again proves that things always work out on the last try.
Another story, and the promised quote from the "other" Into the Centre:
I was watching PBS the other night, as I'd notice that there was a new
biography of Bobby Kennedy on. RFK's run for the presidency in 1968 was my first
active political campaign. I remember watching the California results – staying
up late, and then hearing, "Oh my God. The senator has been shot."
Rather than get all somber on you, I will skip over how that
event, and the assassination of Martin Luther King change my politics and word
view. I'll simply say that the year 1968 was pivotal for me becoming me.
What caught my attention on the PBS special was the reminder of the following
quote:
He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget
falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will,
comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God. – Aeschylus
After JFK was assassinated in 1963, Bobby was disconsolate. He spent a lot of
time with Jackie Kennedy, and she suggested he start reading the writers of
Greek tragedy. Bobby fell in love with Aeschylus, and memorized this quote. He
used it the night Marin Luther King was killed and it's printed on a marker at
his grave in Arlington.
A while back I purchased Ram Dass's new video/DVD "Fierce Grace." Following
on the heels of his book Still Here, it's a film about his life and his thinking
post his 1997 stroke. He talks about his anger with his guru and with Buddha and
coming home from the hospital and trashing his shrine and his room. In a sense,
he was asking "Why me?"
I was reminded of this during the PBS special, where someone remembered that for
days after JFK died, Bobby could be heard sobbing, "Why, God?"
The stunning, yet real answer is, "Why not me?"
The quote from Aeschylus seems to be saying that true learning and true
wisdom come from suffering and despair. This flies directly in the face of our
feel good nation's idea that the life of wisdom is a flat road paved in gold.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Strength of character is the result of confronting the searing heat of
"fierce grace," and surviving. What is clear in the PBS video is that RFK never
"got over" JFK's assassination. He used the transforming fire of his grief to
gain a heart and mind and spirit of compassion. In a sense, he went from boy to
adult. He used his pain to redirect his entire life.
Notice that such transformation does not necessarily guarantee a long life.
What it does guarantee is a significant life.
Last story. Then I promise to pull it all together.
I got a call last week from a dear, dear friend, who also has been a client.
I remember meeting her at a party, and spending several hours in a corner of the
kitchen, getting to know her and admire her. Her call was to set up an
appointment. In a nutshell, she said, "Wayne, I've just found out I have cancer,
and as soon as I heard, I thought of you. Help!"
I saw her the next day.
Now, the interesting part of that session was this: she came in
the door with an agenda. She described that she was acting weepy and sad and mad, and she knew she should be
doing
something: meditating, praying, visualizing. She opined that she did not have
time to fall apart.
I suggested that she had time for nothing else.
You see, she too is in a helping and healing profession; she runs
international medical relief. She laughed and said this was what she is doing
now that she's retired. As long as I've known her, she's been caring for those
around her, hands on. Now, she's caring for the world.
And the only one she doesn't look after is herself. In a sense, her body is
now giving her the chance. As I talked about listening to her body and doing
what she needs to do, slowing down and truly hearing, she sighed, smiled and
settled into herself. She has a boundless opportunity to discover the depths of
herself, from a thing superficially called cancer. As she was leaving, she said,
Wayne, you know what? I'm not cooking Thanksgiving dinner this year. (It's today
in Canada.) We're going out!" Imagine. Cancer diagnosis, surgery next Monday,
and she was going to cook dinner.
So, do you see where I'm going with all of this? As Aeschylus writes,
learning and wisdom are the result not of an easy, worry free life, but rather
who we are and who we become as we confront obstacles, sad-ness, tragedy and even
death. As I have written, "Any moron can have a good life when nothing is going
wrong."
RFK is one of my heroes (it's a short list, and maybe an Into the
Centre column or two.) His brother's death was the fire that forged him,
straightened him and gave him his edge. A Wayne-Zen-ism: Crisis is the fire that
forges the katana. He lost his glow of privilege and gained his soul. The poor
and disenfranchised became "his people."
Some may need a battle metaphor to deal with cancer or illness. I like the
idea of hearing and learning from the voice of illness. It's a waste of time to
try to decide if we "give" ourselves illnesses and make ourselves sick. That's a
head trip. The better question is: what can I learn from this experience I am so
intimately a part of? Ram Dass made this leap after his stroke. Rather than
continue to blame his dear, departed guru, he now says, "My guru stroked me." "I needed to
learn, and the lesson is fierce (as opposed to cheap) grace."
Our job is not to avoid difficulties, nor to create them. Our job is to
persist until we die. If we don't show up, the "pump won't prime."
And back to Joe Vitale. Just after I downloaded the e-book and signed up for
his newsletter, he sent one saying his ex-wife, his best friend, had suddenly died.
He was heart-sad and heading for the funeral.
I had decided to scrap Into the Centre. I sat at the computer,
and the e-mail dinged. I had an e-mail from Joe. I reproduce it here, with his
permission. And you'll see, I think, another way of saying what we always say:
Life is a Blessing and needs to be lived, fully, richly, deeply, and with
gratitude.
Bless you all, this Thanksgiving Day.
The Only Thing You Can Count On
by Dr. Joe Vitale
We just got in from a trip to Houston, where we attended the
Memorial Service for my ex-wife and best friend of 27 years, Marian.
It stormed the entire three hour drive there. The city was
flooding, the sky dark, the clouds dumping their rain, the streets crowded and
dangerous. Yet a few dozen people weathered the storm and attended the service.
Some people I hadn't seen in 15 years. Some I've known for 30
years. Some I never met before, and only knew through stories Marian told me. It
was a warm, loving, intimate group, all with one thing in common: their love for
Marian.
David, Marian's best friend over the last few years, stood and
read parts from Marian's unpublished and unfinished autobiography. He wanted to
show that this loving woman had gone through hell as a child, yet somehow
learned to love unconditionally.
Stories about Marian's mean grandmother, and cold father,
reminded me of why Marian wanted to commit suicide as a young woman in Oregon.
Fortunately, she didn't, and she enjoyed over thirty more years of life's
sunshine.
I didn't plan to speak at the service. After four days of
emotional misery, bawling my eyes out in private, missing my beloved of almost
three decades, I didn't think I could stand, let alone speak.
But I surprised myself. I got up, went to the podium, and
fumbled to say the following:
"David left out one thing," I began. "He forgot to tell you the
title of Marian's life story. She called it 'It's All Good.'"
I went on to say that even through the pain she had suffered --
her unhappy childhood, her near fatal car-accident two years previously, the
molestation by her therapist, her struggles with self-esteem and more – she
always looked for the good.
I then told everyone what happened to me on the way to the
service, an event that Marian would have loved.
"I was riding here when I got a phone call from James Caan, the
famous actor," I said.
I explained that I have a client who knows Caan. So the call
wasn't entirely unexpected.
My mobile phone rang and I heard the famous voice said,
"Joe, this is Jimmy Caan."
"Oh my g---"
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Well, ah, I'm going to a funeral."
"A funeral?!"
"I lost my ex and best friend," I said.
"My condolences but I'm glad it was your ex," he said, stressing
the word 'ex', not knowing, of course, how Marian and I remained close even
after we legally separated.
There was an awkward silence.
I was on the phone with a celebrity, a man now 64 years old,
still vibrant with life, starring in a weekly TV show called "Casino." I wanted
more. I thought maybe he could offer something wise to help ease my pain. So far
I had found no magic bullets, magic pills, magic words, books, or anything else to ease the grief.
"Do you have any advice for me?" I asked.
"Advice!?" he asked, surprised. "You don't want any advice from
me. I've got a lot of ex wives, and some of them I wish would trade places with
your ex."
I laughed out loud.
I told everyone at the service about this event and they
laughed, too.
And suddenly I realized that a miracle had taken place.
"Marian said it's all good," I told the people at the service.
"She loved movies and loved The Godfather. The fact that I spoke with James Caan
today, on the day of her service, would have made her smile that contagious huge beaming smile of hers. Marian knew the secret of the universe
before me and most anyone else."
I broke into tears and said, "It's been four days of pure hell,
with my missing her in the most painful ways, but on some level, in some way
that I don't yet understand, this is all good."
That was all last night. The service is over. Marian is gone.
What I dislike about death is that it is so final. There are no
PSs. No follow-ups. No chance to say hello, goodbye, I'm sorry, or I love you,
or anything else. None. Zip. Zero. Game over. Plug pulled. The end.
Oh, you can play mind games and have conversations in your head
with the deceased, but the person -- the flesh and blood person who you knew and
loved and could touch and hold -- is *gone.*
My advice to you, and to me, is to live now. Be sure your
affairs are in order -- have a legal will, make peace with family and friends
every day -- and look for the good in every moment. It may not be easy, at
first. But you can do it.
For example, a friend called me the other day, to see how I was
handling the loss. We spoke for a while. He shared his own feelings of sadness.
He told me, "It's real easy to fall into negative thinking."
I agreed. But I thought about it and realized I *wasn't*
falling into negative thinking. I'm grieving. I'm sad. I'm at times barely able
to function. But I'm not thinking negative. Along the way in my life with
Marian, I learned that "It's all good." Even the grieving. Even death.
When we drove back home from Houston today, traffic suddenly
stopped. We didn't know what happened. Then we saw a helicopter, and knew
someone was badly hurt and being carried to a hospital. As traffic moved again,we were able to see that a terrible wreck had taken place.
Moments before it, the drivers were talking, laughing, maybe
planning their evening. Now they're hurt, and possibly dead.
You never know what moment is our last one.
I suggest you live now.
I suggest when opportunities come your way, grab them.
I suggest you do more smiling, hugging, sharing, crying,
laughing, risking, and forgiving.
I suggest you monitor your thoughts, notice the negative ones,
and consciously replace them with positive ones.
Yes, I know it can be difficult, at first. I've learned from the
Mental Toughness Institute's program that I'm in that your thoughts can be
elevated. You can rise above negative thinking. You simply have to retrain your
brain. You have the power to do it. You just might need some support to make it
your new habit.
Well, Marian pointed the way.
She said, "It's all good."
This is the one and only moment of your life.
It's the only moment you can count on.
THIS is IT.
And it's good.
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Dr. Joe Vitale is author of way too many books
to list here, including the #1 best-selling book
"Spiritual Marketing," the best-selling e-book
"Hypnotic Writing," and the best-selling
Nightingale-Conant audio program, "The Power
of Outrageous Marketing." His main website is
at http://www.MrFire.com . His training on Hypnotic
Selling and Hypnotic Writing is Oct. 12. See
http://www.HypnoticWritingWebcast.com
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© 2004 Joe Vitale. All rights reserved. Feel free
to forward this in its entirety to anyone you wish.
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