Here is one of my favourite stories from A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson. But before I launch into it, there is something I just have to share with you.
See, A Return to Love is one of my favourite books EVER. I read it and re-read it from time to time. Considering the fact that I'm ALWAYS buying new books so that means I have an unread pile to get through, on my desk, by the side of my bed, on my dressing table (and even on my bookshelf) to re-read any book, is really saying something.
Well, when I decided to have a forgiveness-themed week, I decided that this would be one of the stories I feature. And then something happened. I could not for the life of my remember where I had put the book. I searched all my bookshelves. I searched the boxes in which I have loaded my excess books. I went through everything. And still, I couldn't find it.
I couldn't believe it. Truth is, I had lost my first copy of A Return To Love in England the last time I went. I forked out over RM50 for another copy as soon as I could find one. I should have placed it at the centre of my favourite bookshelf. Instead, I had stashed it somewhere I couldn't remember. Or lent it out without remembering who I lent it to.
Not good, Benny. Not good at all.
I ranted and raved and scattered books like confetti across my limited floorspace.
And then I went quiet and said: Holy Spirit, if the book is still somewhere around here, please show me where it is.
And there was no answer.
So I decided to make chocolate pecan chews. (The why is not important...in times of stress, we usually head for the oven to make sweet nothings that nobody will eat, because it makes so much sense).
Anyways, I mix up the batter, boil the condensed milk with the baker's chocolate...and then the gas gives out. Help!
I call my Auntie Ann, who is nicely into her afternoon nap, but being the kind soul she is, invites me to come right over an use her oven. OK, I remember that it was her birthday a few days ago and I hadn't gotten her anything. And earlier, I had been thinking of the last "Notes to the Universe" journal I still had...for a present (yeah, I ordered a few way back when I still had a credit card). Should I wrap it up? I have wrapping paper. No, I decide I will put it in one of those fancy paper bags...that I also have an abundance of.
I keep the journal in what I call my "Christmas box". It has new unused Christmas cards, Christmas boxes and a few possible Christmas presents. A large, yellow National Geographic box I got on assignment. And when I lift the cover of this box, what do I behold but A Return To Love? Apparently I had stuffed some of my books in this box as well, temporarily, only to forget that I did.
The Holy Spirit works in mysterious ways. And that's not all...when I got to my aunt's house and presented her with the journal...she told me a story. She had just been reading an article in Vogue about Lady Antonia Fraser's romance with Harold Pinter (the beautiful historian and the greatest living playwright) and she came to the part where Fraser had recorded details of their romance in 40 years worth of journals - and suddenly, she felt like she wanted a journal. And had actually gone looking for a suitable one to no avail. (Which is a miracle in itself as I find KL bookshops simply covered in pretty journals).
She wouldn't have found the Notes to the Universe one though because that's only available from Mike Dooley's online shop. Meaning it's kinda special.
So that's my own little story, before I get to the main story. And here it is:
I was dating someone several years ago when the Olympic games were playing in Los Angeles. The opening ceremonies were a marvelous theatrical presentation and it was very difficult to get tickets. Because he was involved in the media, Mike was given, at the last minute, one pass that would enable him to go.
I was very excited for him. Everyone in town knew it was going to be a wonderful event. We decided that I would watch the ceremonies on TV and we would meet afterwards. At the conclusion of the broadcast, I started getting dressed and figured that it might be an hour or so before I heard from him, since the traffic around the stadium was bound to be horrendous.
An hour passed and then another. Well, he's in TV, I thought, so maybe something came up. Another hour and then another. Midnight came and went. I took off my clothes and make-up. It was 2am, then 3. At times I fell asleep, at times I lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling, at times I was livid, and at other times I was scared he was lying in a ditch somewhere. I started calling his house. No answer. I'd call again. No answer. Finally, hardly having slept at all, I called at around 6am and he answered the phone.
"Hello," he said.
"Mike?" I said. "This is Marianne."
"Oh, hi."
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah, why?"
"We had a date yesterday. Did you forget?"
"Oh, right," he said. "I had a kind of late night."
I don't know what I said to get off the phone, but I know how I felt and it wasn't wonderful. I had been stood up and I felt the kind of blow to my self-esteem that starts in your gut and shoots emotional black ink through all your veins. Dazed, I somehow fell asleep. When I woke up, I had a whole new take on the situation. I just knew that he was going to wake up feeling sorry for how he acted. He was going to show up at my door any minute, carrying a dozen roses and saying, "Hi, babe, can I take you to brunch?" The scenario in my head called for my being oh-so-gracious: "Of course you can, darling" would come out of my mouth in a girlish melody. The problem is, he never came. Not only did he not come. He never called.
I was in a dark zone. Now what would A Course in Miracles say about that? I knew I needed a miracle. But all I could come up with were two choices for ways to deal with this, both of which I had tried before in similar situations, and neither one felt good or got me what I wanted.
My first choice was to get very angry and let him know it. "Who do you think you are to treat me like that, you son-of-a-bitch?" The problem with that choice was that it would completely invalidate my position. "Marianne's a nice girl, but her temper just doesn't cut it. She's hysterical when she doesn't get her way."
The only other choice I could imagine was to forgive him and let it go. But that didn't feel good either.
"It's OK you stood me up, Mike. I don't care. It doesn't matter." Unconditional love I could understand, but not unconditional dating. I didn't know what to do. I asked for a miracle. I considered the possibility of another possibility. I gave the situation to God and remembered that I need do nothing.
From a Course perspective, the first thing I had to deal with was my own judgement. As long as I was not at peace, my behaviour would carry the energy of my conflict. Conflicted behaviour cannot bring peace. It can only produce more conflict. First I had to deal with my own perceptions. The rest would follow.
So I came up with an exercise: I would repeat constantly out loud when I could and silently when other people were present: "I forgive you Mike, and I release you to the Holy Spirit. I forgive you Mike, and I release you to the Holy Spirit. I forgive you, Mike, and I release you to the Holy Spirit."
Since Mike didn't call the day after our early morning phone call or the day after, I had a lot of negative feelings to try to dissipate. My forgiveness chant - a kind of mantra, or repeated affirmation of spiritual wisdom - worked like a healing balm on my emotional turmoil. It deterred my temptation to focus on Mike's behaviour and kept me focused on my own feelings instead. My goal was inner peace, and I knew I couldn't have that as long as I perceived him as guilty.
In case you're wondering, it took him two weeks to call. The constant repetition of "I forgive you Mike, and I release you to the Holy Spirit," this willingness to forgive someone, had worked on my brain like a pleasurable drug. I didn't care whether I heard from him again or not.
So one day I'm in my house, the phone rings, and I hear Mike's familiar voice. "Marianne?"
Before I could even think about it consciously, a real warmth and love filled up my chest. "Mike? Hi! It's so good to hear from you!" And it was. It felt wonderful to hear his voice.
"How are you doing? I've missed you." (Can you believe he said that?)
I don't know if I said I'd missed him, too. His line was so ridiculous, I probably didn't say anything. But I do remember this: He said, "Well, when can I see you?"
I said, "When would you like to?"
"How about tonight?"
At that moment, words came out of my mouth that startled me as much as they must have startled him. I said with a lot of love and kindness, "Mike, I really care for you and that's not going to change. I'm still your friend no matter what. But when it comes to dating, we don't seem to do the same dance. So if you want to have lunch sometime, please call. But as far as a date is concerned, I need to pass."
We both mumbled a few more pleasantries and then got off the phone. I was worried that I had rejected a brother, but just as that worry came into my mind, I saw an internal image of lots of champagne bottles with their corks popping off in the middle of Heaven. I hadn't rejected a brother. I had simply accepted myself in a whole new way. He had a win - a lesson learned and a friendship if he wanted it - and I had a win. Forgiveness hadn't turned me into a doormat. It had taught me to own my yes and own my no, without anger, with dignity and with love.
A Return to Love, Marianne Williamson
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