I preach fearlessness to people. I find, it is a part of my mission. My friends have always commented on my lack of fear and I say, “thank you.” Sometime the definitions that your friends give you are better than what you are. I am filled with fear. I fear now to write my piece for my writing class. It is just a class and I am supposed to learn from it but I fear it instead. In order to cope with it I have started and stopped many times. Each time, with inspiration and ending with self-doubt. It is all one great metaphor. The whole thing, the illusion of life, the matrix, the box, the Universe, whatever I call it at different times in life. The six weeks of this class are the condensed version. It is just a class. The first day of class we were told of our assignment. To write a piece so that it would be critiqued by everyone, with compassion, of course.
I came to bed that night and told my husband. “Great,” he said turning in bed, “now you are going to be stressed about writing.” Oh shit. Is he being a grumpy unsupportive asshole or does he just know me better. My friends would say, “You can do it. You are a great writer”
Writing is my go to. Writing is my salvation. Writing became the meaning and the means of my thirty-third year resurrection. What have I done? Why did I hang it out there to be stomped on while it is just a leafling. Oh pity me. How can anyone say anything is wrong with my piece now? They will know how fragile my ego is. But even that is a lie. I am merely exploring one side of the faceted self. If I were to look else where, I would see a Mother Mary like figure, or an Esther, or a Hester Prynne. I am all those women characters that I’ve ever encountered. I can relate to all. Instead I choose to fixate on this one facet of fear. Is this my manipulation of the world or is this the internal struggle revealed? Is anyone served by my spewing except for me?
I was in Peru on a spiritual journey with my ex-boyfriend. The journey was led by my therapist and his partner. His partner Robert, has started the whole therapy, which was a spiritual practice using breath, movement and sound. The only problem was that he channeled it down from Gabriel, the Arch Angel. Some people turned away when they heard this. Some took it in with full hearts. I was somewhere in between. I listened to the message but killed the messenger in my mind. It was a big pill to swallow and I could not force it down. I took in the therapy, I grew, I learned. I became a strong character, one that I was becoming proud of. One who is slowly manifesting her life’s destiny instead of being a victim to it all. On this trip, I was confronted with the endless channeled Gabriel lectures. How can something that helped me grow so much look so phony.
I raised my hand. “I don’t believe that you are channeling Gabriel,” tears from the day’s agony of wanting to say it, but being afraid, still on my face, “I think you are Robert and Robert does not think that he is enough to have such a powerful message, so you are using Gabriel for attention.” I still can’t believe I said that. The thirty people on my trip dropped their jaws. Robert or Gabriel turned to me and said, ” You are free to believe what you choose, dear one.”
Since then, I did not care who he was. I am free to believe whatever I choose.
After the channeling that night, people came to me with wide eyes. It was like, I was some sort of hero of the Peru trip. No one dared to say what I said, but most of them were thinking it. I just did not want to pretend that I was open-minded. To pretend that I am open-minded was worse than pretending that I am a Wall Street banker.