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Navigating the Realm of Possibility



The other day I went through boxes of crap I stored years ago and came across this pic taken in my apartment in 1984:


To the right: The Original Gizmo that was used in the movie, "Gremlins" 

Yes, THE original Gizmo from Gremlins. You probably wonder how that got in my bed. You mean the creature on the left, right?

Which goes to show what may slip into your bed. Another way of looking at it: the past can sneak up and bite you on the ass.

In my cult days of yesteryear floating on a galaxy of transformational technology {whatever the fuck that means}, I lived the concept that anything is possible. Truly anything.

During my decade in Nanu-Nanu land, I walked the talk of a life of possibility. In those realms of possibility, long-dead relationships resuscitate, careers change with alacrity, far-fetched discoveries occur. I've seen it happen, hell, I lived it. That was the secret ingredient which got me hooked in the first place. No matter how strange, how bizarre the seminars, the truth of the matter was it worked.

I had quite a few of my own "miracles" - I quit my job in the midst of a depression to set up a wildly successful consulting practice that lasted 9 1/2 years. As a sideline, I got acting jobs. Who does this?

I was firmly entrenched in that world until the blinders fell off my eyes - way before they kicked me out for being too disruptive. I possess a strong personality and despite my active participation in the cult, I still had one foot tentatively planted in reality. My presence alone made them groan for I challenged them to no end and pointed out constantly the hypocritical nature of what they say as opposed to what they do. Cults don't like that. They want blind obedience.

My mother asked me numerous times, "If they annoy you to no end, why do you bother?"

I wailed, "I love what I learn. No where else can I structure what I want to achieve in life and watch it materialize." At the fever pitch of disenchantment, I found myself surrounded with people whose possibility was just within their reach if only they took another course... in other words, I surrounded myself with fucking lunatics.

As several of you repeat offender readers of this blog are aware, I've an affinity towards lunatics.

With that newfound awareness, I rid my life then of my former mates in woo-woo land with their own maxim: cut with an axe. In actuality, once I was kicked out of the cult, most dropped like flies out of my life.

Still, with a dull heavy blade, I recently bludgeoned a potential romance into the ground. I stamped on it, spat on it and yes, blogged here quite a bit about it. So, imagine my surprise when we spoke yesterday.

It happened by accident. I read his twitter account which he blocked from my responses. For the heck of it, I clicked back with one of my non sequitors. Holy crap! It hit his page. The little bastard unblocked me.

One thing led to another and before I knew it, we videochatted. That, in and of itself was a miracle. The conversation was civil, even friendly. Another frigging miracle. Got caught up in what occurred since we told each other to DIE DIE DIE. And his take on my blog posts about him. Yes, he adored them. Found them quite ingenious and hysterical. "Not as funny, though, as your books," he remarked.

I contacted my girlfriend and said, "Guess who's coming up to see me in a few days?"

"NOOOOOOO!" she groaned before laughing. Given my nature, the way I live my life, the unexpected occurs. You see, even though banned from the cult, on a molecular level I embrace their delusional practices about possibility. Because, no matter how much I deride the cult, shit happens, extraordinary shit.

"Is this sick?" I asked my girlfriend who met him. "I mean, I was vicious in the blog. I'm more surprised he's even speaking to me. All of this is rather... weird? Perhaps, he'll retaliate when he visits." I had the hobble scene in Misery upfront in my mind. "I guess I'm gonna have to hide the knives again."

Reassuringly, she said, "Nah, don't worry. He's mellow, he won't do that. He just wants to hang with you."

"Are you sure?"

"Listen, now you guys know how you are at your worst. You two verbally beat each other up for a month. The bottom line is that you guys rushed into something which wasn't right for either of you."

With those words came a recognition of what I subliminally did. I projected my feelings and desires of being in a relationship onto him. Something unfair to him. Remember that Sex and the City episode where Charlene wanted to change her muff-diving lover into a romantic interest?

That's precisely what I did. Here I had a great chatting partner where we conversationally romped all over the place, a taste of nostalgia, intellectually provoking along with a familiarity from being at the same places at the same time. In my mistaken desire for the possibility of a conventional relationship, I didn't heed my own internal geiger counter which flashed: RADIOACTIVE!!

With grace, he apologized several times with the undercurrent of apologizing for who he is. There's nothing wrong with him. I feel bad to put him in a position where he has to apologize for being who he is. In all candor, I struggle to put aside my desires, needs and wants and not project them onto him. That's the pitfall of having a strong personality. It's terrific to have a strong personality when you have your own company, or working on Wall Street, or even dealing with a cult. On the flip side, it's a major killer in relationships.

I weighed whether I can deal with him back in my life. Until I reflect on our captivating conversations. Those I miss. In the midst of shit-talk, we introduce each other to poetry the other doesn't know, go toe to toe on political issues and reminisce about restaurants in NYC from the 1990's. Leading an isolated existence has made me more receptive, for I agreed to his visit. This time, I intend to enjoy him to the fullest for who he is and not for who I want him to be.

Which, in retrospect, are major tenets of the cult: Accept people for who they are; and live in the present.





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