Enlightening Nonsense

[As you can see from the date below, I wrote this piece awhile back. I had submitted it to a writing contest and the rules specifically said it could not be published anywhere, including a blog. While I can argue anything, I didn't think my "an un-blog is not a blog" debate would have gotten me anywhere and so I held onto posting this piece. When they notified me that I didn't win, I responded with the appropriate amount of "You guys don't know #@%& about writing!" and was finally free to post it. Because so many important stories came up--like how I ate a bad coconut or how my band-aid fell into the blender while I was making a salad dressing--the Gaia story had to wait.

I just talked to Gaia tonight, for the first time probably since I wrote this piece. She finally broke down from trying to be "strong" for so long and cried freely.  And, once again, I felt honored to be bathed in her light...even if it was a little salty.]

© February 12, 2010 by Swami X

I fought in the ring for seven year competing in Chinese full-contact kickboxing. With each fight I was facing not only the possibility of bodily harm, but I was also fighting against my own fears and I was determined that I would not leave the game until I won this fight.  As the prophet Muhammad said, the real jihad for Islam, or “holy war” for “peace,“ takes place inside of a person and blowing shit up is just for kicks; the only infidels worth killing are the ones inside your head and the only Allah worth worshipping is love, light and a Brotherhood of All.

I have been knocked out, had my head cut open, blacked eyed, bloody nosed, fractured ribs and lived for seven years with constantly sore legs from bruises, overwork and bedsores from sitting comatose for hours on my couch after grueling fight team practices each week watching “South Park” tapes and praying for the day when I would conquer my fears once and for all so I could give up this masochistic adventure.

On some level it was kind of “cool” to walk into work looking like I just had a headbutting match with Zinedine Zidane. [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zAjWi663kXc] I thought it was ironic that as an adult I was considered “tough” for having my face repeatedly kicked and punched in but when I was beaten up in 5^th grade by Allegra Dweck, that wasn’t considered so cool.

I remember reading the book The Warrior Elite by Dick Couch, who went through Navy SEAL training in 1969 and came back thirty years later to follow and write about the training of the latest recruits of SEAL Class 228. To make it clear how elite Navy SEALs are, each year 200 of the best people from each military branch, which includes Army Rangers and Green Berets, try out to become SEALs. Each year 180 of those 200 drop out on their own accord, for that is the only way out, to ring a bell that says, “I’ve had enough.” The bell doesn’t actually say this; it just rings.

When I read about the mental and physical training these guys went through, I pulled a “Wayne’s World” and dropped to my knees and bowed repeatedly while saying, “I am not worthy! I am not worthy!” [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-FucbvoFFy0] Anything I had ever gone through in my entire athletic career and in the ring was nothing compared to what this elite of the elite went through.

Well recently I reconnected with a girl who I had interacted with only briefly and after hearing her story, a story that is continuing today, I once again bowed down and said, “I am not worthy!” In my mind she is a civilian Navy SEAL.

I met Gaia on a raw food dating site. I clicked something so that I would receive notification whenever a new female joined the site and I would usually send the person an email and say hello, that is, unless the rawest thing about her was her face. There was a gamut of people who signed up for this site but for the most part I was more interested in raw foods than anyone who I saw. I even opened my envelope and started to contact people outside of my preferred age range. But when I was finally looking in the mirror, straightening my tie and preparing to share a few carrot sticks with my 82-year old date, Edna, I realized that I had reached a new low—that is, low age, as the last four dates I went on were in their 90s.

And finally she appeared. By the time news of Gaia’s arrival came to my email box, I had grown tired of reminding my dates after make-out sessions that they should put their dentures back in their mouths. When I saw her picture I was like Ralph Kramden from The Honeymooners, “Humuna-humuna-humana!” She was physically stunning.

And as shallow as I was at the time, if her profile read, “I likes me some candy. Good candy. Me likes candy a lots,” I still probably would have asked if she would sleep with me, but instead of a relaxing smoke after sex, the afterglow would consist of me dialing the local brain surgeons to see if we could schedule her for a transplant. But her profile contained thoughts and phrases that I was like, “I’ve said that!” and I couldn’t believe I found someone who was not only beautiful and deep but also was plagiarizing me! I felt bad about it but I immediately turned to Edna and said, “It was a good run while it lasted—get out.” She left in such a rush, forgetting to pick up her dentures on the way out. I used them for weeks to crack open nuts and to scrape the burnt stuff from my pans until that grew stale, not the scraping but the dentures.

Gaia and I exchanged some emails. She was from Canada, which I think is in Europe. And then came our first phone call. We talked for 70 minutes! I remember this number specifically because when I got the bill it was $80 and while I wished Canada was at least in North America as opposed to overseas somewhere, it was worth every dollar to me.

You know when you meet someone new and you’re like, “Uh, hi,” and she’s like, “Uh, hello,” and you’re like, “Uh, so, uh, what’s the weather like there?” and she’s like, “Uh, good. And over there?” and you’re like, “Uh, good”? This phone conversation was nothing like that. Not only didn’t we mention the weather once, it was so comfortable and flowing and I was immediately enamored by her.

She was intelligent, engaging and I could tell she was a woman of quality.  It’s hard to tell whether I had drifted into that place of delusion where you are ready to jump off a cliff because you saw Wile E. Coyote do it on the Road Runner cartoon, but I finally found a girl who I didn’t need to bring up to speed in order to “get” me, who could challenge me and without it feeling like a put-down because she emanated an essence of supportive strength, and all other girls paled in comparison. The paling might have been from the fact that was about 55 years younger than all of the others and still had blood running to her skin…but still.

And then I made one of my first mistakes. I told her how excited I was to find her, which probably should have been downplayed a little, as I seemed to come off as a borderline stalker. It didn’t quite go down like this but it could have just as easily:

Swami X:            “I am just really, really, really, really, really, really, really

excited to have met you.”

Gaia:                  “Did you just use ‘really’ six times in a row?”

Swami X:            “I think I used seven.”

Gaia:                  “We live about 3000 miles away from each other.”

Swami X:            “But love can overcome distance.”

Gaia:           “Okay, now that’s even more freaky than the six ‘really’ thing!”

Swami X:            “Seven.”

Gaia:                  “What?”

Swami X:            “I used 7 ‘really’s.”

Gaia:                  “I’ve got to go now.”

She told me she was going on some yoga/meditation intensive for a month and would need to be pretty incommunicado at that point. I took that to mean it was a Spanish-speaking retreat. She also told me that she needed to focus on the process and wasn’t really looking for more than a friend now. It hit me hard; we had moved from friends…to friends. And while that may not seem like much of a change to you, for me it was devastating.

I tried to call her there and she wouldn’t answer her phone. I think she finally responded to one of my emails and said that she met a guy and to kindly fuck off. While this was possible, it read as just a way to get rid of me, similar to the excuse I have heard countless times from women that they tell me they have gonorrhea, syphilis, Chlamydia and genital warts all at the same time and only admit to me the truth, that they want nothing to do with me, after I say, “I don’t care, I’ll wear two rubbers.”

I didn’t talk to Gaia for a long time. I think when I finally did she told me that she had a serious unknown illness and she needed to deal with this. While I had broken it off with girls in the past by telling them that I died, this time I knew Gaia was serious.

I had emailed her and text messaged her for her address, as I wanted to send her a letter. She told me in an email she would send it to me the next day and didn’t. I finally called her and she got very angry with me. She told me that she was sick and very scared and essentially didn’t need my bullshit. I said I just wanted her address so I could send her something.

She gave me her address. And then she apologized—to me—for being snappy and she worked hard at trying to engage me in a short conversation when I could tell she wasn’t really capable of it. At the time I didn’t realize the extent of her illness. Had I known I might have burst into tears not only for what she was going through but the fact that she could make such a Herculean effort for a jackass like me.

I sent her the letter with an herbal remedy I had prepared for her and a cookie from my favorite vegan bakery. I think she eventually responded with a very short email like, “Got your package. Thanks a lot.” And I don’t think we talked after that. I got back with Edna, less for the sex and more to have her get her creepy, burnt food-covered, stale dentures out of my place. But one thing led to another and next thing you know, it was back to rubbing Ben Gay into her varicose veins and plucking hairs from her chin.

I thought about Gaia from time to time. It would be easy to say that she was like Marilyn Monroe or James Dean or Bruce Lee, because what we shared had died young while it was still an ideal and never had a chance to turn into a fat old bleached-blonde with dark roots, or a balding has-been still wearing a red leather jacket, his fat belly making closing it a “cause” that rebel wouldn’t even consider, or an old bastard who couldn’t lift his leg above his waist without spilling his colostomy bag.  Still, she touched something in me. It was funny; I almost thought to myself, “When I grow up, I want to be good enough for someone like Gaia.” I’m still waiting for my Gaia…and I’m still waiting to grow up.

Probably a year or two passed without hearing from her and then about eight months ago I received a short email from Gaia that said she just wanted to say hello and hopes I’m doing okay. I wrote her back, apologizing for not giving her what she needed, whether it was space or just understanding of her fears. I told her that I was very excited when I talked to her, that she appeared very genuine and conscious. I also asked her about her health, figuring she must have gotten through that issue a long time ago.

She didn’t write me back and so two days later I forwarded her an email from the upcoming Raw Spirit Radio announcement that they were going to be interviewing “the rebel yogi Swami X,” that had my picture and a radical description that included, “His real-world approach provides a fresh breeze of air to blow away the stagnant smell of bullshit that most mistake for the fragrance of spirituality.” I also included a link to my un-blog and asked if we could talk on the phone but that I would need her number again, as I deleted it the last time she ripped me a new one, finding that one asshole served my excretory needs just fine.

She wrote me back a short email that said, “Way to go” and that she was dating some guy and wanted to respect him by not talking to me and she really just wrote to say hi. She ended her email, “With Light, Gaia.” I guess the diss followed by a New-Age platitude pushed me over the edge.

I wrote her a long email back that was not necessarily calling her a bitch but it was pretty straight up and blunt. I said how often in the New-Age people say things like, “Love and light to everyone and to all a good night” and yet they do things that don’t honor the other. Among other things, I said how I felt it was pretty unfair that she could say hello on her terms and that I had no right to say more than a hello back. I told that if her boyfriend was secure enough in their relationship that I’m sure talking to another man wouldn’t make him wet himself in fear.

This is how I ended my email:

Real connection doesn’t need to involve romance, bodily fluids or even the same zip code. And honoring “love” is more important than honoring an individual and until you are overflowing with love that pours out of you onto everyone indiscriminately, like the sun with her rays, then you don’t know love.

While it was a harsh email, converted to Non-Violent Communication (NVC) it would read more like this: “I felt really hurt by you cutting out all communication with me and angry that you won’t allow us to communicate more.” But while I was a master wordsmith back then, my communication was not yet refined with the NVC polishing stone.

I didn’t know that she that she was still battling with her illness. I didn’t know that she thought she was going to die and was reaching out to give me a final kiss from her tender heart before she crawled into her casket and took a dirt nap. And I didn’t know that she was so fragile that my words tore out her insides and made her cry and only added to the overwhelming pain she was feeling by having her life slip away between her fingers and finally giving up the idea that she could hold onto it anymore.

She wrote me an email back that she is overflowing with love and nearly lost her life and now is filled with gratitude. She apologized if her email was unwelcome and said she only wanted to say hello and how I accepted this was up to me.

Feeling that I was one-upped, that she essentially told me that my letter didn’t affect her at all and that if I wanted to twist my panties in a knot that was my own doing, I considered writing her back. But I didn’t. I felt like a total jerk and thought that she at least deserved the last word for me being such a douchebag. I thought I would never hear from her again, as I certainly had overspoken my welcome.

Three days later she wrote me back. While I didn’t feel much from her last emails, thinking them emotionally dead but not realizing that this was because she had no more emotion to give, this email didn’t just contain polite etiquettes but had the genuineness of Gaia.

She started “here is the thing…” and even in those four words I could feel not only that my words had affected her but also that it was important for her that I understood. She told me how she effectively dropped off the face of the planet and was just resurfacing and had a LONG difficult road that, “You don’t need to know about because you probably don’t care.” She said that maybe her email was just telling me that she thought it was sweet of me to send her an herbal remedy I prepared and a vegan cookie from my favorite store. She ended:

so truly…forgive me…if it felt intrusive to contact you…i know you are a good person and a gifted writer and perhaps we will meet one day if i am in new york…i know we would have a great conversation…probably argue too…you seem to like a debate…  : )

try not to judge me too hard…

I would have liked to blame her for me feeling like a complete idiot but I had to take full responsibility for my idiocy. I wrote her a short email that said I will judge her hard—as a sweet, conscious being—and that I always cared and still do. I thought about adding a line that she was completely off about me liking a debate but I would clearly be lying. And that was the last I heard from her.

For awhile I thought about her often. Then I thought about her less frequently. Then not much at all. Six months later, she came into my head again and so I sent an email saying hello and that I would still be interested in hearing about her experiences from the retreat and the health challenge she went through.

The next day I did a Google search for Gaia and found a blog that had a story about her. It was from here that I found out that when she was in her teens traveling the world, she spent three years in Egypt teaching English, where she lived over a dry cleaning store. She also had dental work there and received a lot of vaccinations. The combination of living and breathing toxic chemicals from the dry cleaning store, a root canal hatchet job that was infected and leaching into her bloodstream and multiple poison cocktails injected into her veins in the name of immunity, her body was so overloaded with toxins and infection that it started to break down.

She was forced to give up her successful career as a massage therapist and holed herself up in an apartment with the curtains always drawn, as her eyes were now hypersensitive to the light. Her body ached and the infection had gone to her brain to the point where her ability to communicate started to dwindle and she was starting to not know who she was.

With the support of friends, a raw food diet and a warrior spirit, she managed to hang on but didn’t show much improvement. Finally she met a naturopath that worked successfully with autistic children by helping to remove their chemical toxicity, a fact that the pharmaceutical company works very hard to deny for if they were to admit that their mercury-ridden and untested for safety adjuvant cocktails known as “vaccines” were connected to hurting not just our children but our adults, they might just lose some sales.

I thought to myself, “Wow, what a story!” until I saw that the posting on the blog was from that week—and then I was horrified. I was like many people who never really had to deal with anything more critical than deciding which dirty shirt to take out of the hamper to wear that day; I just assumed that so much time had passed that Gaia was out in the clear.

Gaia emailed me and told me that she had had 10 surgeries over the past few months and that they found gangrene in her jaw. She said this was a good thing, as now it was no longer a mystery what was going on with her and that now she could focus on healing. Her inner light had suddenly turned this Earth into the Bizarro world of Haetre, where the discovery of gangrene was seen as a “good thing.” I was afraid to leave my apartment, worrying that I might bump into the homeless man nearby who wears a Batman costume and instead he would be wearing a Batzarro costume.

I’ve been sending distant-healing energy each day to Gaia and have offered to help in any way I can. If I weren’t tethered to all my attachments at the moment, from “stuff” to rent, I would consider flying out there to be by her side and help make her journey back to health even the slightest bit easier. But one thing that was extremely healing for both of us was when she called me tonight.

Now if one person got a new haircut and another person had a new baby, the person with the baby would clearly trump the haircut person and get to take the lead in the storytelling. But the first thing Gaia told me is that I have heard about her story and she wants to hear what is going on with me. She was asking me to tell about my haircut when she had a newborn sitting on her lap! (Okay, that metaphor gets a little confusing since I haven’t cut my hair in about 15 years but hopefully you get the point.) It seemed her genuine care for others and giving way would never dampen. Just to play it safe, I decided I wouldn’t ask for her address again.

I shared some of what was going on with me and she was so in the moment, so present. She was genuinely excited for me and wasn’t like most people who listen vacuously while they wait for their turn to speak. We talked for about an hour and I was tremendously moved and grateful.

Unlike the New-Agers who drive me up a wall with their beautiful anger hidden behind their ugly smiles, Gaia was the real deal. Even when I busted her saying that ending her emails with “Love & Light” was just gay, she said, “That’s really me,” and it was clear that she was not posing how she wished it would be, it really was. It’s still gay, though.

We shared not only what was going on in our lives but also what had gone on in our minds from our past interaction. It was here that I learned about how much my harsh email had hurt her and how she thought her first email to me was essentially her pre-obituary.

She told me how after trying a million medical doctors and procedures that she had finally lost faith in Western medicine but not in God. She made peace with her dying and surrendered herself completely the God.

Soon a sense of grace and gratitude filled her. Every day that she woke up, instead of cursing the beginning of another long day of misery like most of us do, Gaia was totally grateful for the opportunity to live one more day. Because she radiates such authentic love, she has a good core of friends who have supported her in her process of healing.

I learned so much from my interaction with Gaia, not just tonight but over the years—including the times that were hurtful for both of us. And we really haven’t interacted all that much. I learned that you never know what is going on with another person and maybe it would be nice to give them the benefit—not just of the doubt…but of your love.

I used to say about bitchy waiters and waitresses, that I didn’t really care if they had a hard day or not, that when I come into their restaurant I expect, if not service with a smile at least service without a frown. On reflection now, what is more important, how my food is delivered…or a human being who may be hurting. “It’s not my problem.” That’s only because we have stopped caring.  And that is our problem.

I’m not saying one should ask your waiter to pull up a chair and share all his problems with you, but what would happen if you just said, “Hey, I want you to know that I care about you more than I do my food and if there is anything I can do to make you feel more at peace—even if that means taking you out of this restaurant and treating you to a movie—please let me know”? At minimum, it might prevent you from getting the Soup de Piss. At maximum, you might remove some of the heaviness inside of this person in pain—not with brilliant advice or by quoting Deepak Chopra, but just from letting them know that you care.

It was also made that much more apparent to me how irrelevant most of what we get upset about really is. Think about it, we get mad at someone for cutting in front of us in a car; we get mad at our friends for not calling us when they said they would; we get mad when our iPod runs out of juice. Gaia reminded me that each day we wake up and have another opportunity to play life is a blessing and comparing that honor to the frustration of stepping in gum is an insult to life.

Gaia also stirred inside of me a feeling that I can only imagine a moth gets when it is in the presence of a bright light—an urge to fly in erratic patterns until it exhausts itself and then collapse to burn a smoky death on the source of its ecstasy. While I was attempting just now to be strictly moronic, it is actually not too far off.

When you are around someone who is Authentic and who is just as excited about your achievements as her own and who radiates a love that not even the possibility of death can dampen (just don’t ask her for her address), you do feel like you are flying on the joy of her light and you would like to never stop until you have no more flight in you…and if you die in her arms, it would be a perfect way to flicker out.

Gaia’s personal “jihad,” which is still going on, has shown the true warrior spirit of a freedom fighter. She has been forced to face her own personal “infidels” and destroy them all, from identification with a job, to a total dissolution of getting frustrated at nonsense. She has surrendered to “Allah” and lets his grace guide and protect her in battle. And while her battle for health still continues, she remarkably already resides in the peace of “Islam.” Many of us are “fighting for freedom,” “fighting for peace,” but how many of us are living in freedom and living in peace while we are fighting?

Life will always be a war. It is those who have made peace with themselves and with “Allah” who not only see it…but live it as peace.