Welcome to Episode Two of the blog about the reality self-help novel entitled ‘I’s novel about how the world’s youngest best-selling author (failed) achieved redemption and moderate success at the age of 60 – he bloody hopes!’ which charts the inspiring, entertaining and deeply transformational story of a (late?) middle aged man, faced with economic challenge and intimations of death, surprisingly achieving his lifelong ambition to become a successful writer.
To those of you who visited last week and have now returned, gushing thanks. To newcomers who would like an update on what they’ve missed may I respectfully point them to Episode One 1 in which not a lot happens but you are given a good purview of the enterprise. You also get a small tension – resolution hit from discovering, or confirming, where I discovered the requisite 58 year old on the verge of turning his life around.
Here. Of course.
Now I admit straightaway that I’m not 100% ideal for the post. Hard-work, one pointedness, dedication to the end result – these are not my strongpoints. Yes, I can vow to make a change; yes, I can be very convincing at the beginning. A month or two later, however, and even a purblind observer can see that nothing has actually happened.
This is where the self-help element comes in because while it isn’t necessary for the hero of a story to succeed in his endeavour, the will he won’t he drama building tension of this reality show will be lost if he doesn’t at least make an effort to triumph.
How, therefore, am I to instil excitement, enthusiasm and purpose in place of ennui, inertia and discouragement? Answer, by embracing positivity.
To cut one of my long stories short I must point out that I’m not a neophyte when it comes to the field of positive thinking. I’ve dabbled since the 70s, attending courses, living in Ashrams, learning all the latest new age techniques and old age philosophies. It sometimes seems that my life has been a battle between two main worldviews or paradigms, each with its own Self and attitudes. In caricature one is Eastern, the other American. The Easterner has no time for the play of the world or the reality of the individual and his so called problems. All that matters is realizing oneness with the Source. The American wants to change himself by changing his thoughts and enlighten the world as to what he believes it needs. I swing from one side to the other, spending longer in the East than the West while feeling most of the time that I’m not quite grasping either properly.
What I’ve set myself here however is undoubtedly a task in the material domain. My Eastern Self has no respect for this for his only grail in life is to free his imaginary self from the whirligig of existence. Using one’s limited powers to achieve satisfaction and renown in a world of death is seen as somewhat shortsighted by the traditional mystics.
As ever there are other points of view. Take one of thousands, Harry Palmer, author of the Avatar Courses, for example, who advocates immanent action in a transcendent vehicle and writes: “If you wish to participate in life with any degree of deliberation, the primary action must be to set a goal. Goals are an essential ingredient of happiness. A person without goals is discouraged and unhappy.”
What to do?
Create goals that are right for you because “Believable, achievable, exciting goals are the grand prize of existence.”
On the scale Harry gives for judging the rightness for you of a goal I scored 30, which is plenty, with my choice, i.e. To achieve economic independence through writing by December 31st 2012. The next step is ‘to align your actions towards’ the goal. “Alignment of your attention and energies with the goal you want to achieve is called focus. Focus is one of the keys of success.”
Oh dear. This means I have to remember to want tomorrow what I want today. Clearly if I don’t want to repeat past patterns I should try following the advice of my American Self rather than swim in the Eastern Sea which, evidence suggests, I drown in.
What I’m going to do now, therefore, is to split myself in two. Well, not exactly. To engage in goal-setting and belief rearranging cognitive exercises, I must release my inner American because, quite frankly, the rest of me won’t get it together
My inner American is to be called Jack. I’m going to try to be quiet for a while and let Jack speak for himself. First I think I should advise you that initially Jack may be a little hesitant to express himself. This will be because of past experiences of being allowed out by me. I don’t tend to be supportive when he’s ventured forth. I begin by telling him, ‘Bout time you got out there Jack and got me the things I presently feel are lacking in my life, money for example, or some other prop for the individual. Fill yourself with the required currencies of self-esteem and ambition then strike out.” Sometimes I’ve sent Jack on self-improvement courses. Hardly ecloded from my womb, Jack is despatched off, sometimes for two weeks on end, to sort himself out and learn the mechanics of personal creation.
For example, I made him do something called Rebirthing, a breathing therapy with big ideas. He became a qualified teacher, would you believe and ran courses himself. He also did a few weeks on Robert Fritz’s Creation techniques (to no apparent avail). His last new age adventure into the world of self recreation involved numerous courses, in England, Germany and America – the source! These Avatar courses would have been fewer if he hadn’t kept coming back home saying he didn’t like them and was homesick. Really it was hard for him to adapt from living with me and my negativity to exuding confidence and enthusiasm when totally out of his comfort zone and subject to bouts of deriding and name-calling from me. Nevertheless, he persevered, and would often he would come back from these psychological explorations bright eyed, bushy tailed and full of good intention.
So, I’d get him back into the old ways, my ways, as quickly as possible. I’d take him round to a friend’s house and we’d all get stoned together. On the first night Jack would say, “I’m not sure if I should. I don’t want to lose this space I’m in.” On night two he’d have ‘just one puff’ on a pipe. And then off he’d go, flying into a world of possibility and into an universe where everything is connected and he suddenly understands – ‘really’ understands, whatever it was he went away to learn. I do like this part. He becomes so happy that his happiness leaks into me and we become, briefly, harmonious.
Then I eat him up.
By the fourth night he can smoke as much as he likes but all that is left is a trace of light.
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