Confessions of a serial self-saboteur.

‘There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom’. Anais Nin.

Whenever I read these words, they are resonant at a different and deeper level of my unraveling, and unraveling I have been, the myriad lies and partly covered beliefs creating my life experience are being revealed thick and fast.

Have you ever considered what you are most afraid of revealing about yourself to your most loved other? Or, perhaps a more powerful question might be, what is it that you are most afraid of feeling in relation to your most loved other, or even yourself?

I was an unconscious master self-saboteur of my love relationships my whole adult life. The truth is, though, it’s all been a lie. In the fortieth year of this life on this plane, I finally learned to love being alone, it wasn’t always this way though. I am extremely fortunate, and grateful, to be able to say that I have both loved and been deeply loved in this life, by some truly beautiful women and brothers alike. The truth I have discovered, after an honest and sometimes uncomfortable inward inquiry, is that for the most part I had been unable to receive love in the fullest way that it had been given and intended, and more than that, I was unconsciously, and often angrily, pushing it away from me.

My heart is gargantuan, I can feel how fathomless the depths of love within me are, and yet at times I can also still feel the sharp, jagged edges of the cavernous walls of my experience, when my heart closes. It is a frightening place, tight and restricted, cold and dark, and bitter and angry, and very alone. It is a place that I had become very accustomed to being, a place that I yearned to be free from, and yet had been unwilling, or unable, to truly accept and see the state for what it is. Simply. Fear.

And so, I ask myself the question, what is it that I am so afraid of experiencing, that leads to this closure, this contracted and fearful state of being? What is the worst thing that can happen to me if I open my heart, and my life, fully to another? The madness of my response to this question has led me to pen this article: I have been afraid of losing that which I desire most. Love. In an extraordinary act of self-denial, I was blocking myself from receiving love from those who love me the most, and from myself. Paradoxical? Oh,Yes.

I decide to put finger to keyboard to express and share the creativity of this self-confessed saboteur and his programs, in the hope that the words may strum a chord of resonance in your own experiences and inspire some of you to real ‘eyes’ some of the illusions of the energy of fear and self sabotage. In the real’eyes’ation, and then voluntary expression, a transmutation and a release, or letting go can happen, so that we may enjoy the freedom that lies beyond the programming and the lies. Enabling a deeper connection with all of those that we love, with ourselves, and with life.

I consider myself somewhat of an expert in the field of relating, both the unconscious and the conscious kind; an expert in the sense that I have surely made every possible mistake in this field, and am therefore uniquely qualified to comment and cast some of my aspersions for wider consumption.

For me, this story begins, and ends, in the wider context of commitment. In my experience, the deeper the commitment and the more powerful the feeling of love, the greater the fear, and also the greater the opportunity for growth and depth of connection and intimacy with an-other. A commitment implies finality. Whatever it takes, we have decided to dedicate ourselves to the cause. That is to say, if it is a commitment to another, and a commitment to love which I have decided to experience, that I have chosen to experience, I am graced with the emergence of all of the strategic mechanisms and the unconscious programmed beliefs, that exist in resistance to this. With this emergence also arises an opportunity. To see them as they are, to experience them as they are, and then skilfully to let them go. Vigilance, dedication, devotion to the cause. A commitment is necessary to see this through, and as the great Joseph Campbell so famously once said, ‘The cave you most fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.” Nowhere in my life, has this held more true than in the realm of romantic love.

In the alchemical fusion of a new love, in the merging of energies, in the dancing aliveness, in the sheer majesty of the mysticism of the reunion with an-other; the promise, the potential, the dreams, the fulfillment, the thirst, the hunger, the ravaging; it’s all consuming in its rawest vitality, it reminds us how magical it is to be alive as love, it reminds us of how magnificent it is to be human, and in the reflection of a love in which we can experience ourselves in our truest beauty. 
We wish to never leave this place, this state. To have experienced this extraordinary power and feeling, how can we ever relinquish our hold on such a heavenly, spiritual, mystical, connected, loving place of being? How can we fully know this state of being, though, without its opposite? As sure as night follows day, and hot becomes cold, in order to experience the one we must be able to relate to the other; and so begins the illusion of my game of self-sabotage.

I begin to observe the real madness of my mind; the lies and all the transparent beliefs that crouch hidden, lurking beneath the surface of my experience and beneath the masquerade of that which I thought I believed. Ready to strike. The energy is fear, and the narratives are stories worth sharing.

The first usually to emerge from the master self-saboteur’s repertoire of beliefs was that ‘women can’t be trusted,’ and with it the green eyed monster emotion of jealousy. This gem manifested into life experience as evidence that any woman that I loved in my life was bound to either leave me for other, finer more dashing derring do-ers than I, or that a woman’s love cannot be trusted as she is bound to abandon me, ‘like all the others.’ Of course this is utter nonsense, as my experience has shown me that I have almost always been the one to leave my relationships, to prevent myself experiencing the rejection and severance of love that I imagine I am so afraid to feel, initiating my own creative counter-measures to deny myself an opportunity for a deeper love.

Anger and passive aggression arrive next to be counted. ‘Women are exhausting, over emotional and I don’t need this drama in my life’. This has been a favorite, albeit less effective measure, and has carried with it a chauvinistic undertone from some place and time in my life. This idea that a woman’s probing into the very nature of my feelings and being in any given moment as an affront to my masculine sovereignty and my right to be ‘just the way I am’ without the need to share my emotional landscape at any moment of request. The chauvinistic undertone had twinges of contempt and disdain added to the mix, the perfect combination to enrage and further push away the partner and the relationship, and ultimately to reconfirm my rejection of self and denial of love.

Numbing myself was number three. Convincing myself, that I no longer felt anything for my partner, physical, emotional or otherwise. Cue closure. With the numbness, a generous dolloping of coldness and lack of empathy usually worked a treat, either pushing away or convincing myself of the rational validity to leave the relationship.This mechanism has generally been the hook, line and sinker strategy. It had never failed me, until now, as I determinedly shine the light of awareness on all the trickery that my mischievous mind has been playing on me. Despite its effectiveness, this strategy has created the most retrospective shame from my unconscious treatment of others. Again, it is a rejection of love, manifesting as rejection of the one giving the love, denying myself that I so desire. Madness. Perfect.

The further down the rabbit-hole I go, the more creative the beliefs and lies that I uncover. Next up is a confusing mix of love and hate, stemming perhaps from the deep love I hold for my mother combined with a childlike anger apportioning blame to her for the break-up of my family in my earlier teen years. Again, stark light of day realisation that a 40 year old man was still caught in the beliefs and emotions of the 14 year old boy. Time to let these go, oh yes. The journey continues, and the discovery of another association between being loved and being left. If I love someone really deeply then they will leave me. What? No, begone foul untruth.

The very last lie, and the most painful to write about, now that I realise it, is that ‘love hurts.’ This creates not only that people hurt me, but also that I hurt people, all in the name of love. In a bizarre twist of sadness, at times I have measured the amount of love a person can show me by the amount of pain I can unconsciously bestow, and they can take. Ouch. Ouch. Wow.

And so on, and so forth. The point to all of this as I reflect on a life rich with emotional experiences and a beginner’s mind approach to learning, is to pay very close attention to all the words I have taken on as beliefs over the course of my lifetime which are defining who I am.

I am committed to a new path, a new course, a new love, my new partner and a new possibility. I am dedicated to the exposure of all the old lies of who and what I am not, and a self-determined and committed dedication to allowing myself to experience exactly that which I choose. Come what may, bring the nonsense to the fore, it is time to turn off all this old energy and liberate, and create myself anew.

‘It is never too late to be what you might have been’ George Eliot.’

I believe deeply in love

I believe deeply in love; in fact, I revel in it. It stands me in the greatest stead as I write, and the words spill forth from my heart and mind through my fingers and onto this page, as I reflect upon an extraordinary few days of life and love experience, shared with an extraordinary being. I know her so well and with such familiarity it is as though I am knowing myself. I know the energetic imprint of her as expressed in this human form, and most magically I have re-connected with the essence of our love in this expression of life, and through our human experience and all of its happenings.

Last night, I re-discovered an energy I had presumed lost, a re-turning to one another, a re-union with one another, a re-emergence together, and a simultaneous re-lease of a deep and buried feeling of grief, of loss, and re-prieve from the pain, and re-connection and re-discovery of love, the state of being, that, until yesterday, I had never before experienced in this life, and which now I re-member again. I now know and realise that it is love that I have known before; it is a place and a way of being more than it is a feeling.

It is a place beyond the comprehension of my mind’s abilities to absorb and digest and label and sort and/or make any sense of. Whatsoever. I came home, I am home.

In the moment of the surrender to the energy in that very moment, which could only have happened in the light of this Moon, I came to the place, in her reflection, and her energy, where I was home, and I was completely safe again. She is home, she was home, we are home. Something broke open inside me, in her embrace, and I knew that I was found in her, and she in me. I shed tears for the most beautiful pain I have ever felt, of a re-union with a lost love. It was magical, and I am changed forever by this.

Who am I if not myself? I am given this gift by this most extraordinary and beautiful of souls, of being able to experience the divinity of myself, in my returning home to her, to myself, to love, through life. I love you to the Moon, and you are the Moon. There is no need to come back as I have found my way home, to where we already are and always have been. Thank you for re-membering me. I re-member you, I am you and you are me. This day until the end of days.  

There is so much magic in the truth of the experience of the now, as it unfolds. In the energy of the moment of coming together, there was a safety and an allowing, a permission transmitted through a mutual understanding of the beauty and the sacredness of the other, to be fully ourselves. In that allowing, in that permission, in that truth, sprang forth the magic, the flow of energy in motion and the un-obstruction of what really and truly is.

I love you.

Telling the truth

Have you ever considered asking yourself, sincerely, deeply and honestly, whether you are actually telling the truth about yourself to yourself….?

Neale Donald Walsch in his Conversations with God dialogues espouses this as the first, and perhaps most profound of the 5 stages of subjective truth. This very question of the truth of who I am is the subject matter that has kept me both enthralled, and also in a quandary, for most of my life. The deeper questions of what is actually real, and what exactly makes it so. And what the hell is this game of life all about, really?

Growing up in the Hampshire countryside in England, and closely allied with my younger brother Thomas, life was as for any young boy of upper middle class background, filled with adventure and fantasy, and play, and football, and staged gun fighting and tree climbing, and we tumbled, and we laughed and we were naughty; there was mischievousness and there were dogs and there was cricket and there was swimming. It all seemed like a fairytale, like a a joyous never ending summer fairytale.There was no reason to question anything, life unfolded as it did, in a splendid and glorious and joyous manner. Everything was perfect just as it was, and that was my experience/my truth.

In the Autumn of 1986, a jolt to my system came in the form of news that I was to be sent away to boarding school. That’s right, an 8 year old version of me going to live, sleep, eat and learn away from home with 250 other boys ranging in age from 8 until 13 years old for up to 3 weeks at a time. I wasn’t to realise it then, but this was when I started to learn about the power of my emotions, and that I was beginning to create beliefs which would lead to my subjective experiences in life & therefore my subjective truth/reality.

That first night away from home, I lay in my dormitory bed, curled up in a frightened ball clutching my favorite teddy, a walrus by the name of ‘loveable’, who actually wore a pink jersey with ‘loveable’ emblazoned on the front but who now had sewn on a blue striped pyjama jacket, courtesy of my dear nanny Monica, to save my being teased by the other boys. My 8 year old body was wracked with tears, and fears and uncertainty; why was this happening to me, what had I done wrong, why was I being sent away from home, why was I being rejected? Self consciousness pervaded my little 8 year old’s sense of self, as I somehow knew that to suppress and stifle these emotions might spare me blushes in the morning and teasing by the other boys. My truth in these days was that I was scared and alone and very, very sad, and yet felt that I had no safe outlet for expression of these energies and emotions. As much as I could be exuberant, joyful and highly energetic in my play, I was also very sensitive, sad and nervous in my vulnerability, with no map to skilfully navigate, communicate or express these parts of myself. ‘Boys don’t cry, and those that do are wimps and sissys and are singled out for unwarranted attention and teasing.’ Here started to begin a conflicting theme in my life, of my internal world reflecting my subjective truth/experience (pain) and my outer world reflecting what I thought was necessary in order to ‘fit in’ (pretense). I had started lying to myself.

With the prospect of sinking or swimming, I learned how to cope pretty quickly, I learned how to adjust or adapt my behaviours in order to make friends, or curry favor with teachers, or to avoid being the target of the sometimes cruelty of little boys to one another. The learning and coping was to suppress and repress my energetic truth, and to replace these with the veneers of tip top, tally ho, and everything is grand. And so began an unhealthy manner of relating to and with myself let alone even an inkling of an understanding of my emotional intelligence. The fact is, and was, I am a very sensitive being and am able to feel very deeply, but back then I decided it wasn’t safe to, and started to push away and numb myself to the power of what I was experiencing.

It was in the following year 1987, that in retrospect, led to one of the more profound realisations of my life. My younger brother Thomas arrived to school. Of course, by this point my coping mechanisms and strategies were in place and I had learned a certain dysfunctional, functioning, repressive existence when it came to feeling my deeper emotions; then Tom appears and decides that this boarding school lark is really not his cup of tea at all. He personified home-sickness, he cried, constantly, He bawled, constantly, he was, and still is a beautifully sensitive soul, but back then he was able and freely did express exactly how he was feeling. My carefully constructed defenses came down and I suddenly found myself triggered into feeling all that I had buried. One morning in particular, Tom was in such an emotional state during breakfast that I, as big brother, was asked by the teachers to take Tom for a walk around the cart path to settle him down. I’ll never forget that walk, as it was to shape my emotional life for almost 30 years thereafter.

It was a cold, grey and misty Autumnal morning, late September or early October. We were both dressed in our uniform of corduroy trousers, checked/plaid shirts, V-necked jumpers, blue woollen ties and our trainers for walking, there was a nip in the air and the path was wet and muddy. He was sobbing, somewhat hysterically, and I was doing my best as older brother to calm him, all the while being triggered enormously by his emotions, reminding me of the power of mine. My throat was constricted and in pain as I forced back my own tears and sadness, my stomach was churning as though a jar of butterflies had been unleashed within, and I vividly remember the energy of the moment, and the decision I made in that moment: I would never show my emotions in order to protect my brother.

Seemingly innocuous, right? You can almost empathise with the 9 year old me attempting to protect and soothe and pacify his traumatised younger brother. The trouble was that the belief created by the boy in the power of that moment was carried through his boyhood, into adolescence and on into manhood. The belief that I should never show my emotions. The interesting thing about beliefs, or course, is that they hold absolute truth for us in our experience of the world. And so, I created the experience in and of my life that I should never show my emotions. A strategy for boarding school, perhaps, but not for life!

It wasn’t until 29 years later in January 2016, in the Australian outback during an Avatar consciousness training course that I uncovered this belief, discreated it, and began to experience a different reality, one where the boy, the teen, and the man was willing and able to express himself and his emotions. I cried and cried and I cried, I howled, I wailed, a grief so deep and haunting and old came through me and then I laughed and laughed and laughed, as the realisation dawned on me that I had been living my emotional life through the beliefs of an 8 year old boy.

And so, I came to the profound realisation at the grand old age of 37, in the Australian outback, that my beliefs are creating my experience of reality. I’ll say that again. Our beliefs are creating our entire subjective, and collective, experience of reality. I was dumb struck. Does everyone know this already and am I the dumb-dumb or last person to figure this out, or are these tools in consciousness deeply important for the awakening of humanity to the truth of who we are, and perhaps more aptly, who we are not?

How many of us are truly, deeply aware and conscious of what we believe? How many of these beliefs have been deliberately, and purposefully chosen and created by us, and how many are we living through as a result of a collectively conditioned and indoctrinated society? Are not the beliefs of the society simply those that are passed to us from our fathers and forefathers, and to them by theirs? I invite you to consider the reality you are currently calling your life, and how deliberate your experience of your life is. Is it a life that you have deliberately chosen to experience? Is there anything you would like to change about your life? Do you believe you can change the experiences you are having? It all starts and ends with the power of our beliefs.

This is epic news for those of us willing to do the work and take full personal responsibility for our lives. Whatever you believe you experience. What do you choose to believe?

Please feel free to share with anyone you feel may benefit from reading these words.