A Course in Miracles (ACIM)
describes the life we think we are living as a dream. In short, my life
consists of illusionary images I have created. Yes, some of these
images/illusions are shared with yours. We learned them together. Other religions/philosophies
refer to these shared images as race (as in human race) consciousness. Carl
Jung referred to this same phenomenon as The Collective Unconsciousness.
Regardless, ACIM states what we think we think determines what we see. If we
think “dangerous” thoughts, we will see dangerous things lurking about.
“Fundamental to understanding what the Course is talking about is the
fact that what we see is quite directly caused by what is in our mind. The
commonsense idea of perception is that something outside causes an impression,
through my senses, on my mind. The reality is the reverse, according to the
Course. The thoughts of my mind are projected outward and cause my
perceptions. ‘Projection makes
perception,’ says [ACIM].” Allen Watson, A Workbook Companion, Vol. 1,
Circle Publishing, 2005, p. 85.
The Course also states that it’s
common to think that, to change our mind and our perception to see a more Christ-like
vision of the world and its people, we have to somehow sacrifice something of
ours – our self-image, our wealth, our physical safety. The Course emphatically
declares that it doesn’t recognize (much less believe in) sacrifice. All that
happens to us, when we “get it,” is our illusionary world is replaced with true
spiritual vision.
Since what we think we see
doesn’t really exist and is not truly real, how can there be any loss when we
give that up? This is a tough nut – but it’s true for me. I’ve experienced
this.
My personal experience (rather
than money or safety) is that to give up a dream or a vision or a hope or
anything like that is the most difficult reality I have had to “sacrifice.” To
illustrate, I want to tell you my story of giving up a critical vision I held
of me.
In the early 1980s, I bought a
1972 white Mercedes 250. It was a great deal. I bought it from an executive in
the company where I was a Program Manager. [I
later found out that the “good deal” was because he was having an affair with
my wife.] Regardless, the car was perfect for my pretentious lifestyle. I was
starting to really drink heavily on a daily basis. My life was beginning to
fall apart – my marriage as well as my relationship with my children. However,
if I could maintain my to-the-world appearance, I felt okay. Soon I was a single parent who had both of
his children living with me, which was very unusual at the time. I was proud of
that. Working in a high stress field, owning a condo in an upscale suburb of
Washington, DC, having custody of my children, and driving a Mercedes (which I had nicknamed Mother White) all fit
this pretend image I was trying to project and maintain.
The kids and I tried to change
its oil and filter one holiday weekend. I thought it was all well and good. One
of the children drove it to see a movie and the engine froze – all the oil has
leaked out. It was a disaster. Mother White had died. It was going to cost almost
what I had paid for the car to have the engine replaced. I didn’t have that
kind of money and all my credit was used up.
I borrowed an early 1970s Toyota
station wagon from the family of friends of my son’s. It was a tri-color: Dark
gray, light gray, and rust. But it ran well and was very serviceable. I called
it my Gray Goose. I let the Mercedes sit in the parking lot, hoping for the day
I could have it restored. It was during this time I got sober and began working
the Program of Alcoholics Anonymous.
The Condo Association was asking
me to either remove it or get it fixed. I talked with my sponsor and he told me
to sell it. I balked. Giving up that car was to give up on my dream, my
pretense, my image of self-importance and success. I kept hoping to be able to
restore it, and with it, return to my former glory. That day never came.
I finally made arrangements to
buy the Gray Goose.
The day that did come however,
was the day I truly understood why the Program stressed honesty so much. In
meetings I began to share much of what I’m writing right now. It was humiliating
and humbling. I had Mother White – a symbol of my perceived success – and I
couldn’t afford to keep it; I couldn’t afford to repair it; I couldn’t afford
to let it go.
I was stuck. Stymied. Frozen.
Women in the Program I had dated
a little said they actually liked the Gray Goose. My sponsor kept telling me
this was a real test of my desire to live a sober happy life. I remained stuck,
stymied, frozen. I just couldn’t give up on the dream I had nurtured for so
long.
But I finally got sick and tired
of being stuck, stymied, frozen. So I placed an ad – honest about the engine –
and it sold. Quickly. It was still a great deal – if you were financially
responsible, which I had not been, and could act quickly, which the first
responder to the ad did.
I was relieved that the ordeal
was over – but remained saddened that the pretense was gone. Until ….
Nobody seemed to notice! No one
laughed at me at work. No one jeered at me on the freeway. None of the parents
of my daughter’s college friends seemed to mind. No one! Damn!
I had been honest – really
honest – with both myself and others. I gave up that pretense – that
illusionary vision – and what did I lose? Nothing! What did I find? I was
happy, joyous, and free! No more lies. No more shame. I was really, really just
plain old me –and still accepted at meetings, still respected at work, still ….
What a sense of relief.
But I keep forgetting that
experience. That’s another story.
Although these messages are mostly
for me, thanks for listening. As always – feel free to forward this message to
your friends, family, and those accompanying you on your spiritual journey.
Don
#1 February 2015
Copyright, 2015