I Took Jesus to Jail - Is A Course in Miracles REALLY practical?

Twenty years ago, when Marianne Williamson was so successful in Los Angeles, I went to all her lectures and did A Course in Miracles a couple of times through.  Then she went away for many years.  When she returned to L.A. just over two years ago, I started the Course Workbook again, and have attended every one of Marianne’s lectures and workshops. 

Marianne often says ACIM prides itself on being practical; so this idea of taking the spiritual principles and applying them - can A Course in Miracles work when you are arrested in a sting for prostitution?

I worked for many years in music doing graphic design, marketing and promotion.  When the music industry collapsed a few years ago, and after a couple of years of getting no work, I had to let go of my career, and did a practical inventory to determine what do next.  I now do several things: DJ-ing, graphic design, photography, handyman work, cleaning and organizing, refinishing furniture, reading exams for the disabled, massage and body grooming.  It might sound pretentious, but I realized (through ACIM) that my goal on earth is to help people (extend love), and each of these activities meets this criteria.

The other day, though, one of these part-time jobs landed me behind bars.

The moment the undercover cops threw me to the ground and handcuffed me, I began praying.  I was praying to be safe.  And, to be honest, I was praying (more like begging) to go back in time five minutes and make a different decision.  The girl who met me on the sidewalk— in front of the building where I would soon be arrested— seemed nice and I was just being polite, a common Canadian trait.  I thought she wanted a massage, she said she wanted a massage; I had absolutely no intention of having sex with her.

“Tell it to the judge.”

The quick realization that she was not who she was pretending to be, ACIM reminds me, does not mean that she is not a good, or innocent person, and I am trying hard not to judge her.  She and her team are just doing a job; luring people in under (it seems to me) flimsy and/or false pretenses, and arresting them. 

Thirty minutes later, they’re on to the next one.  They don’t know my name, I’m merely a statistic for their monthly quota.  One of the herd.  They don’t know or care what happens to me, or what effect this will have on my life. 

Thirty minutes later, I am in a holding cell downtown, handcuffed, with no money, no phone, no shoelaces and no idea what just happened.  This incident will be with me, haunt me, upset me for the rest of my life.  It will be pondered, re-told, hushed away, hidden in a box, an embarrassment.  And being from another country, I could actually be deported.  After living in L.A. for nearly 23 years, I have no place to go back to in Canada.  They may as well ship me to Mexico or Germany.  At least, in Canada I can speak the language (plus there’s socialized health care).  

Plus I am now facing a minimum of $4000 in lawyer fees, or more if it goes to trial. 

AND I’m out of one of my more lucrative jobs.

So this girl - I must see her as a beautiful innocent child of God.  I have to assume she is doing something she feels is important.  Snagging people off the streets who illegally massage other people and putting them behind bars (or deportation) “where they belong”.  I have to assume that she thinks she is doing the best for all concerned.  This is her career; no one is forcing her to do this, it must be her choice.

Marianne would say, when you can’t see it, pray:  Lord, I cannot see the innocence in this person.  I know it must be there, so I surrender my thoughts about her to You.

Lord, I can’t see the purpose in this situation, so I surrender my thoughts about this to You.  I am willing to see this differently.

I am not a victim of the world I see.  Lord, I can’t see that now, because I sure feel like a victim right now. But yes, I am willing to see this differently.  I am more than willing.  I am begging to see this differently.

In jail, I am stripped of everything but my clothes.  I have no idea what to expect.  I have never been arrested before.  I am terrified that I will be deported.  I am allowed access to a phone, but in the age of cell phones that are smarter than you, I previously had no need to and therefore can’t remember anyone’s phone number.  I have no idea how long I might be in jail.  It’s Friday night.  There is no court until Monday morning.  I will probably be here at least that long. OMFG.   

I have things planned for that evening: a quick and easy massage client, $120 in my pocket, hit the gym, and then a movie.  A good kick off to the weekend.   The next day, I have several appointments, errands and obligations.  Sunday, I am to pick my cousin Barbara at LAX.  I have no way to call her.  I have no way to even check what time she is coming.  Even if I could remember a phone number to have someone pick her up, I still would have no idea what her phone number is in Canada.  I picture her standing on the sidewalk at LAX with her luggage, calling my cell phone, no answer, no idea what is going on.  Maybe eventually taking a cab to my house, MAYBE finding a key, VERY confused and frightened in a city where she knows only one person, and no way to find me.

I am terrified that I will be deported.  What happens if they keep me until Monday morning and then put me on a bus to Winnipeg Monday afternoon?  Would I be allowed to go home and get my stuff?  What would I do about my cat?  What would happen to my possessions?  Could I somehow get everything shipped to Canada?  How much would that cost?  And my truck.  I’d left it parked on Wilshire in Koreatown, my camera, wallet, iPad, laptop, and jacket, all inside, on the seat.  If it sits there all night, would someone break into it and steal my electronics and wallet?  In the morning, when there is no parking allowed, my truck would get ticketed and towed.  Where would they tow it to?  How would I get my truck back?  My wallet is in my truck; how would I get my wallet back?

Tremendous anxiety begins to completely overwhelm me.  I wonder what would happen if I started to cry.  I haven’t cried in fifteen years.

So I think, as I often do: What would Marianne say?

The only thing I need to be saved from is my insane thinking about this, which would keep me in pain.  None of this is real.

This feels very real.  The handcuffs on my wrists feel very real.  This feels real on the mortal plane, but I know that my true Self (with a capital S) cannot be harmed here.  OK.  Breathe.  I’m not sure how reassuring that is right now.

All of this is happening in my head.  All my fears and worries are about what could possibly happen in the future.  I can’t do anything about the past.  I can’t do anything about the future. 

Right now, I am alone, locked in a small concrete room, sitting on a metal bed, with a very thin army blanket; if there were even a slight breeze in here, it would blow right through me.  There is no breeze, however.  There is a metal toilet/sink combo attached to the wall.  Nothing in here can hurt me.  And nothing outside myself can save me.  I am locked in here and cannot leave.  I have literally NO OPTIONS.  So I may as well be here in this moment, rather than worrying about what possibly could happen in the future, rather than wishing I could go back in time those five minutes and tell the girl on the sidewalk, “No, thanks, I have to get to the gym.” 

Marianne quotes Blaise Pascal, “All the problems in the world stem from our inability to sit quietly in a room alone.” Okay, so here I am in a room with nothing but my thoughts.  Let’s do this.

I try to shut my mind down.  I take a deep breath.  I listen for Marianne’s voice:  I see a little ball of golden light.  I see it grow larger and larger until it covers the entire inner vision of the room.  I see the light spill out into the hallway and into the street, surrounding the building. 

There is a rectangular slot in the door and I can see men outside in the hallway, in the booking department, the policemen and other prisoners, many of whom appear to be in much worse condition than I am.  I see each of these people as innocent children of God.  I blast them with love and light.  I pray for the other prisoners, who are probably not having their best day either.  Although, who am I to know?  It is clear that in the scheme of things, within 100 feet of where I am sitting, there are others who are in much worse predicaments. 

And, they don’t have the luxury of Marianne talking to them in their heads, attempting to calm them down.

Part of my daily morning meditation— and every time I leave the house, meet a client, enter a room, or get on the freeway— is, “May I be an instrument of light to every person I see, talk to or think about.”  I surround myself in white light and protection, and a small regulation grey blanket.  In the cell I lie down and try to sleep (which proves to be impossible) and pray for God to keep me safe and to please allow me to be released soon.   

This all feels so wrong though.  Am I a criminal?  Am I a prostitute?  I had no intention of having sex with that woman.  She replied to my online ad via text; I thought she was a guy who wanted a massage.  I agreed to a massage.  Standing on Wilshire, she never mentioned the word, “massage.”  Or sex.  Confounding, vexing, unfathomable…

There are no clocks, no TV, no radio, no newspaper, no magazines, no iPad, no cell  phone - nothing to do, nothing to read, nothing to look at except either the blank industrial yellow concrete wall or the inside of my eyelids.  I have no idea what time it is.  No one says anything to me.  There is a constant murmur of voices outside, but I can’t understand a word.  I decide there is nothing I can do, so there is no point in planning.  In that, there is a relative wave of freedom. For some reason unbeknownst to me, the universe wants me to be here.  That seems pretty clear, because at this point there are no options.  I must sit quietly in a room alone with my thoughts.

And I must control my thoughts, because when I let them get away, they go into fear, and I start to hyperventilate.

Hours later, there is a knock on the door and the guard says, “Get up, they are releasing you.” I sign a small blue form, which looks like nothing more than a speeding ticket, and they give me back my phone and shoelaces and car keys.  “There’s the door.”  I have no idea where I am.  I tell the lady at the door that I need to get to Wilshire and Vermont.  She says it’s too far to walk, but she waves, “it’s that way.”  I step out into the night.

It’s 4am and I’m traversing downtown.  I don’t stop to put my shoelaces back in my sneakers.  I just walk as fast as I can.  I want to get away.  If I walk fast enough maybe I can make it never happen.  I just want to get to my truck and back home.  I don’t know where I am going.  I’m a little scared, but the relief of having being released is overwhelming.  If I can just find a hotel, they will have cabs in front, and I can get back to my truck, which hopefully hasn’t been broken into.  WHY did I just get it detailed?  Because Barbara was coming, and I wanted it to look nice and it looks so brand new.  WHY did I leave my laptop on the seat? Because I thought I’d be back in an hour.  And the largest question: WHY did my angels, my spirits, my instincts not warn me that something was amiss with this woman who had started chatting me up on the sidewalk several hours earlier.

This one I can’t get past.

I had done my Workbook lesson that morning (and every morning).  My prayer, every morning is, “Where would You have me go?  What would You have me do?  What would You have me say, and to whom?”  I’ve been clean and sober for decades, and try at all times to be quiet enough to hear the small still voice for God.  I have a great therapist and a wonderful spiritual advisor/astrologer.  I’ve spent years studying A Course in Miracles, Science of Mind, Seth, Ramtha, Louise Hay, Shirley MacLaine, Esther and Jerry Hicks, Richard Bach, John Gray, Wayne Dyer, et al.  I’m supposedly all spiritual and in touch with my feelings and senses and open to the whispers of the angels: “Don’t turn down that street,” and I avoid hitting a little old lady.  “Don’t go out to a movie tonight,” and I end up being home and getting an important phone call.  Those messages I get.  Those messages I pay attention to.

But when I’m just being polite to this young Latina girl on the sidewalk, saying, “Okay, I’ll give you a massage,” - not because I’m interested, but because I’m being a nice person.  And yes, I can use the money.  Yes, it was confusing. But there were no alarm bells going off in the back of my head: “Just say no.  This is a trap.  Don’t do this.  Just walk away.”  Nothing.

A Course in Miracles would say, “Blessed are those who believe when they cannot see.”  There is a reason for all this.  Lord, I cannot see the reason for all this, but I am willing to see this differently.  Lord, do not allow me to close my heart to this woman, these cops who arrested me, the lawyers who want thousands of dollars to “fix it,” the people who will judge me or discriminate against me because I now have a criminal record, and am “in the system.”  When I get pulled over for making an illegal U-turn, the arrest record will come up.

“I am heir to the laws of the world that I identify with.”  In that world, I am a criminal and a prostitute. I know my true Self is neither of these things.  Can I choose not to identify with that world, when every computer associated with this incident will want to prove me wrong?

“The only righteous way to respond is to realize this is a call for love on their part.” Lord, please allow me to see these people through the eyes of Jesus, who would stand back and say, “I like ‘em!”

I am not a victim of the world.

I must take 100% responsibility for this.

All things are echoes of the voice for God.

These people were sent from central casting.

“All who are destined to meet shall meet and all who meet are destined to meet.”  It is up to me whether they are my crucifier or savior, depending on what I choose to be to them.  Can I choose to be a savior to this undercover cop who lured me in with a lie and had me arrested?  How could I possibly be a savior to her?  Can she be a savior to me?  It feels right now that I am being crucified.

I guess I am a savior to her because I am a collar for her, one of several that evening.  She can send in her monthly report: “I arrested 37 deviants that evening.  I cleaned up the city of illicit back rubs.”

Who do I have to be to be a person who can be bigger than this, who can laugh it off?  Who can say, “I can absorb the loss,” of thousands of dollars in lawyer’s fees and even more in lost income?

Right now, it doesn’t seem fair.  It’s hitting where it hurts - in the pocket book, and in the threat of being deported and losing my life here.

But I am willing to let go of my perception of this situation.

I am willing to see this differently.

I found a cab, on some dark street downtown.  I wondered, if he knew I had no money, would he stop and pick me up?  But he did.  He took me to Wilshire and after a few false stops (I had been through a lot and was a little disoriented) we found my truck, safe and sound, everything intact. I drove home and was never so happy to turn into my driveway, turn the key into my front door, feed my cat, climb into my bed, and say good night to this day…

©2012 Rod Reynolds RocketManLA.com

 

You Want the Tooth? You Can't Handle the Tooth!

Shortly after new years, the right side of my head started to hurt. I often have sinus congestion, so the sinus pain was not unusual. I take a claritin every morning so I can breathe (and sometimes another at night so I can sleep). My teeth always hurt; my dentist says I have a genetic pre-disposition towards bad teeth, but I have great hair, so god gives a little here, takes a little there. The unusual thing was that my ear was hurting.




I went to my dentist, the same one I’ve been seeing for nearly 20 years now. He checked my teeth and said, no, everything looks fine. If your teeth were infected, your jaw would be swollen. Which is true, I have had that experience.

So I went to my regular doctor. I can never get in to my regular doctor by simply calling and making an appointment (unless I want an appointment 3 to 6 weeks from now). I have to call and leave a message for the nurse, who screens the calls and decides, I suppose based on her discretion, whether I ‘deserve’ an appointment or not. My head was throbbing, so much so that I could not get to sleep, would constantly wake up throughout the night and have to take pain killers all day long just to get through.

My message obviously conveyed my discomfort enough that I got in to see the nurse later that day. She checked out my mouth, nothing there to report. She checked my ears. Hmmm, nothing there. She suggested I probably had a sinus infection, but she couldn’t diagnose me or prescribe medication. She suggested I take cold medicine to clear my sinuses and to sleep. And she set me up an appointment with my doctor for the next day.

That night I took some NyQuil and actually slept through the night, which was a glorious treat. I went to see my doctor, when she took her instrument and looked deep in my ear she said, you have something stuck in the back there. She had to get the attendant (nurse? But a different one from the day before) and they spent the better part of an hour removing the foreign object from my ear. Which turned out to be the end of a Q-Tip.

THIS is causing all this pain, through my jaw, ear and sinuses?

“Yes, that will do it. They are all closely connected”.

She gave me antibiotics and sent me on my way.

It did get better, and provided an anecdote that my friends found highly amusing.

But after a week, the pain began creeping back up the scale.

I went to a different doctor because it was a Friday and there was no way I would get into my real doctor before Tuesday. My head hurt so much I couldn’t sleep, my teeth hurt so much I couldn’t eat anything harder than eggs and potatoes. And I was downing all the pain killers I could find, none of them were working.

There’s a clinic I go to on Fountain; when I started going there twenty years ago you could get in and our for $40. Now, it’s $85. It’s an expensive gamble, but there’s no way I could wait four more days to see my doctor. So the doctor at the clinic, assessing my sinus infection and resultant ear ache and jaw pain, gave me a higher dose of antibiotics and sent me on my way.

Again, the pain went from a ten down to a two, but after another week, it began creeping back up.

I decided to go to my secondary dentist. I had discovered him a few years ago by doing a google search; I had gotten a new crown but it was hitting a bit high and giving me a massive headache when I ate. My dentist only works Monday through Thursday and this was a Friday. There was no way I could go without chewing for four days. Even though eating nothing but eggs and rice would be good for my figure, it’s not very satisfying.

So I went to my secondary dentist, who works on Saturdays. I said, my teeth hurt so much I can’t even chew and I haven’t slept for four days.

He dug around in there with his little metal pointy tool, and said, well, you have a cavity in your wisdom tooth (the last one at the back) and that might be causing the pain. He wanted to pull the tooth (he is “not a fan” of wisdom teeth) which seemed extreme. We talked about options, and he said, well let’s do an x-ray first.

The x-ray revealed that the tooth in front of the wisdom tooth, which has a crown on it, was infected all the way down into my jaw. But no one could see that because it was under the crown.

“Well, that’s where all this is coming from. You need a root canal, and you need one immediately.” OK, $750 for the root canal and $750 to replace the crown. At least this will be done with.

He took the crown off and showed me what was underneath. It was black and brown and gold and slimy. Delightful. This is INSIDE my mouth. No wonder I have a headache.

He removed all the decay, did the root canal and sent me off with more antibiotics. The pain was definitely lessened, but different; of course having a root canal is traumatic for your mouth. And it would take a while for the infection to clear.



(these are actual x-rays of my teeth, click on them to see larger)

But after a week, it was still very painful, so I went back. When the dentist took the temporary filling off of the tooth, he discovered that there was a fourth root that he had missed. Apparently most teeth have three roots, but sometimes the ones in the back have four. He closed me up and said, “I have to send you to the root canal specialist in Glendale.”

actual files used in my root canal (click on pic to make larger)

I was able to get into see the endodontist the next day. I had been to see him years ago, when I had another problem root canal that had got infected under a crown installed by my first dentist. That second root canal had cost $1600 (above the first root canal that was $1000 including the crown). That particular tooth had eventually cracked and had to be pulled, and I got an implant and another crown ($2700, for a total of $5200)

He did an x-ray and said, “this will be $1100”. I asked, even thought it’s already more than half done – 3 out of the 4 roots are already gone. “No, in fact it’s even harder that someone else has been working in there.” Not sure if that’s a line, but what can you do.




He also did an x-ray of the tooth above it, which revealed a problem up there too. “You have an abscess on the root of the upper tooth, which is in your sinus. This is why you have had a sinus infection for two months. You need a root canal up there, and you need that root canal immediately.

Well, finally we get to the ROOT of all this.

Another $1100.

But, he said, you’ve been on enough antibiotics. Let’s take out the problems and let your body get back to healing itself and see if it can take care of itself. So that was some good news.




So I got one root canal that day, and another one the very next day. I had to go back and do the first one twice because he discovered that one also had a fourth root. But once the second root canal was done… Imagine having a headache for TWO MONTHS and trying every pain killer possible, and none of them really work (especially at night). Extra Strength Tylenol is not available. Neither is extra strength excedrin. For whatever reason. I got some Tylenol from my dentist, and I found the CVS generic excedrin worked. One of the dentists had given me a prescription for vicodin but I’ve found that vicodin makes me feel nauseous and sleepy, so I didn’t take any.




Imagine having a headache for two months so bad you can’t get to sleep and then waking up at 4am because your head is pounding. Imagine designing building and then doing a workshop for Marianne Williamson with a headache so bad you can hardly hold your head up.

Then imagine, one afternoon in March, it suddenly is gone!

It’s like that annoying noise that’s coming from SOMEWHERE but you have no idea what it is and can’t control it anyway, like construction workers that get up far too early and start drilling and humming and sawing and hammering and beeping when they back up. And you sort of tune it out. But it’s still there.



Then all of a sudden it’s their lunch time and the sounds STOP and you’ve forgotten that they were even there in the first place but suddenly there’s this blissful peace.


Blissful peace, yes. Eight weeks, four root canals, six doctors, three bouts of antibiotics and more pain medicine than you can imagine (“I don’t know, I can imagine quite a bit”) and $4300 later… blissful peace….

Nails in the coffin of my virtual world.

NAIL #1

For many years I made a living selling things on eBay; I sold approximately 20,000 items (mostly cds) in a 13 year period. I listed items 5 days a week and spent 3 days a week packaging and mailing (yes, that’s eight days a week, just like the Beatles song). My house looked like a warehouse (still does, some weeks). My positive feedback was over 12,000 and my negative a tiny fraction; in all that time I never ripped anyone off, but people will leave negative or neutral feedback at the drop of a hat. One guy left me negative feedback that read “nothing really wrong, I just felt like it.” I had one guy leave me negative feedback because the jewel case on his cd was cracked when it arrived.



I learned a lot through eBay. Dealing with “the public,” albeit virtual. Also dealing with the US Postal service, which is an entire mini series unto itself. I can’t tell you the number of times I have thought to myself, just because you hate your job doesn’t give you the right to take it out on me.” 13 years ago eBay was a novelty; a cultural phenomena, it was new and shiny, and we were all on a learning curve. I learned to rise above the nastiness people would hurl at me (via cyberspace). At one point I was selling hundreds of items a week; the people at the post office know me by name. I never ripped anyone off, but people ripped me off. I learned to take it as part of the territory. I had one lady steal a $100 antique quilt from me; she said she never got it, she got a full refund from paypal. I had another lady say that one of the three dresses she bought was stained; she got a full refund from paypal, and she didn’t return any of them.

When eBay bought Paypal was major stab in my business model. Now, the only form of payment you can use to sell something on eBay is paypal. And, a fact known to some, is that you can ALWAYS get your money back with PayPal. File a dispute, they will refund your money. They will conduct an “investigation” and they will ALWAYS side with the buyer. eBay will ding you once with listing fees, then seller fees, then paypal fees. They make more money than Oprah (seriously) and do a lot less running around. You are no longer allowed to accept cash checks or money orders on eBay. Only Paypal. There is something wrong with that (I believe it’s called a monopoly)(or extortion), but what can you do.

The decline for me came when they introduced, in addition to the feedback system, the 5 star seller rating system. Buyers could now leave ratings on a scale of 1 – 5 for their transactions, rating the seller on communication, shipping prices, shipping speed and item as described.

I learned that people online will say whatever they want. It’s far too easy to click on the cute little stars and rate someone you’ve never met and could care less about. And why give anything 5 out of 5 stars? That mplies they are perfect, and no one is perfect. Don’t be ridiculous. I think one thing we all learned is there is little to no accountability in the virtual world. You can be whoever you want, say whatever you want, and no part of it will (likely) ever intrude into your real life. So just go for it.

eBay realized that they were losing money on shipping (both amazon and half.com take a percentage of ‘shipping fees). Because they could only take a percentage of your SELLING price (PayPal takes a percentage of your total payment including shipping). So they devised a system which encouraged sellers to offer “free shipping” thus negating buyer’s voting feedback on your shipping prices, which if the shipping is free, how can they vote anything but 5 out of 5. By the way, shipping prices on eBay are CLEARLY stated on the auction page, so as far as I’m concerned, you see upfront that shipping is $5 you have no right to complain that shipping was $5. During our phone conversations, they encouraged me, in order to improve my feedback ratings, to offer free shipping. As we know, there is no such thing as free shipping, you have to factor the shipping price into the selling price (thus increasing eBay’s profit margin). But that means if I am selling an item that is worth $10, and costs $4 to ship, when I am coerced into offering free shipping, I must increase the price to $14. If other people are selling the same item for $10 (it’s real value) then my price is not competitive. Win-win for eBay and Paypal, lose-lose for the seller. eBay has since changed their policy so now they take a percentage of the selling price and the shipping, so no matter what you do, as a seller, you lose.

It really ramped up when eBay decided that sellers could ONLY leave positive feedback for their buyers. But buyers could leave positive, neutral or negative feedback for their sellers, or none at all. With absolutely no accountability or repercussions. eBay said this was because buyers were afraid to leave negative feedbacks for their sellers, and this new system contributed to a “safer” trading community.

What kind of system works when only one side of the participants can vote. People totally ripped me off and I could not leave anything but positive feedback for them. This is America?

My feedback rating started to slip, and even though I had close to 13,000 positive feedbacks, most of them “didn’t count,” for whatever reason (the reason is they were more than 6 months old, in today’s eBay world, anything that happened more than 60 days ago is out of your control, let a lone 6 months ago). But the negatives sure counted. If you take my overall positive feedbacks and lay them side by side with my negatives and neutrals, they total less than 1%. But that is math in the real world, like using a calculator, or the law of gravity. eBay math significantly weights the negatives more than the positives. That is not fair on so many levels, but also because most people who are happy with things (see the missing 7200 feedback ratings) don’t bother leaving feedback at all.

According to eBay math (and I discussed this with several employees on the phone who attempted to explain their unique formula to figure out the percentage of positive vs negative) my negative feedback hit 2%. Then they put me on ‘restriction’ so I could only sell a few things per month. What that really mean is, I could only LIST a few things per month, whether they sold or not. They said this was to teach me a lesson. No, they said this was to teach me to be a better eBay seller. And to “give me the opportunity” to raise my feedback percentage. Which, I think statistically was impossible. Realistically it was simply impossible.




So the day came when my feedback slipped to -2.4% and they cut me off. Completely. One day I woke up and my entire inventory (I had nearly 2000 books listed on half.com, a division of eBay) had disappeared. I called them and spoke to several young individuals who attempted to justify their rationale. One of them actually said to me, “you are a hindrance to the eBay community and we cannot allow you to list or sell items on eBay.” Even though I had been a member more than 13 years and sold nearly 20,000 items. Another one of them told me, “we invite you to sell your items on amazon.com.” I kid you not. How much money did eBay (and PayPal) make off of me? A hell of a lot I can assure you. Some months my eBay seller fees were in the hundreds of dollars, which because it’s all linked together (eBay PayPal half.com and my bank account and credit card) they never hesitated to take their fees directly out of my bank account.

I opened a new account, under my pseudonym. But that only lasted a couple weeks because it all filters through and they realize I’m using the same ISP, and have the same bank account. So that account got pulled as well.

So, I hijacked one of my friend’s accounts (with his permission). Not as easy as it sounds. Even though he had been a member of eBay for 10 years and had 100% positive feedback, he had only used the account to buy things. once I started selling things, the virtual walls started popping up. And to my friend’s credit, and patience, he trusted me and he jumped through the hoops for me.

We did this all in the fall, and, again, I appreciate my friend’s tolerance. I listed and sold several items and his feedback remains 100% positive. But then I had a couple real big jobs and then with the holidays, and I didn’t list anything on eBay for a few months. Lat week I started listing some of my collectible and expensive items (artwork, antiques). I got a prompt, “you have reached your selling limit for the month of January. What? I had only listed 5 items. My selling limit was set at 10 items, or $1000 maximum opening prices. I have three Japanese prints from the 1850’s which are $300 each, so my $1000 limit went fast. These are LISTED items, not SOLD items. So I can’t list any more items for a full month. I have a lot more items to list. There is a button on the eBay page, “how to increase you seller limits”. I had my friend call and pretend to be (uh) himself. The eBay employee told him that because he hadn’t listed anything in the last 9 days, his seller account had been restricted. And there is nothing he can do about it for 90 more days. So at the moment, I am stuck with 4 items listed maxing out my $1000 listing limit. And I can’t do anything else.


NAIL #2

Now, a similar situation is happening with craigslist. I have managed to open several accounts, which I need because they “they” consistently, no there is no consistency whatsoever, and no rhyme nor reason. They periodically flag my ads down, which means remove them. Some days all my ads are pulled and I can’t psot anything until the next day. The flagging system is Craig’s notion that, being a free society and a free site, the natives, as it were, self regulate themselves through the flagging system. If you find someone’s ad inappropriate, you can click a button on the corner and “flag” it. Once a certain number of people (this number apparently varies according to traffic) flag your ad, it is removed by Craig’s computer. Also, Craig’s staff can remove your ads.



Both of these situations, there is no accountability and no reasons given. So, you can sift through all the ads on Craigslist, and flag every one of them if you feel like it (and have the time, which clearly some people do.) CL also has a very secret system known as “ghost listing.” Once someone’s (let’s say, for example, mine) account has a significant number of flagged posts, some posts still go through, but they are actually never posted on the site. Now, I’ve been manipulating the CL system for years; I also spent many years working in the music business in the marketing and promotion department, so I do know how to write ads. I’m also a photographer, so I know how to take amazing pictures. So when I post an ad I know I will get responses. Many of them are spam (I have learned how to spot the spam responses very quickly, although occasionally I fall prey and within seconds of an errant mouse click, I am receiving spam phone calls and texts.

So when I post an ad and don’t get ANY response, I sometimes look on the site to see if my ad is there. Most of the time, it isn’t. The post went through the system but was never posted on the site. That’s just mean, and, honestly, doesn’t make any sense to me. It’s so underhanded and passive aggressive. Frankly, can’t you just say no, this post is not approved, let’s see what we can do to make it fit within our guidelines.

I do post “dummy” posts, in order to get them off the Top 100, then I can change them to say what I really want. The flaggers in general, stick to the Top 100 (first two pages), but not always. You can do a specific search (obviously), let’s choose, oh “handyman” for example, and flag every ad that has the word handyman in it (ie mine). Some days every single ad I post will be flagged, including the dummy posts (which are specifically so innocuous no one could find any fault or inappropriateness). One time I made the mistake of “complaining” about a flagged post. When your ad is flagged down, CL will (usually, not always) send you an email that is extremely condescending, and says 98% of posts are flagged down because they are inappropriate. If you are in the 2% we apologize and invite you to re-post.” Or you can send the flagged post into the “help” board and say, why was this flagged, there is nothing against the terms of service (TOS) in this ad.

I did that once, and within minutes, every single ad I had posted was flagged down. No reason, no jsutification, no response to my question, nothing. Just disappeared (not unlike my half,com inventory). Thus proving that one mustn’t complain. Once you get flagged too may times, you will start getting ‘error’ messages like “you have reached the posting limit for your account.” And nothing more will be entertained. After you have been flagged too many times, they will close your account. To this, there is no warning, no justification and no appeal process. Not dissimilar to eBay. All bow down to the almighty Craig. Do not make eye contact, do not speak unless spoken to (and even then).




NAIL #3
The last week, the file share market has collapsed. File share server Megaupload was sued and shut down and billions (yes billions) of dollars confiscated. Very quickly, several more servers stopped working. This has thrown the world of file sharing into turmoil, scrambling to find servers who are still operating (mostly European and Asian based), reloading their movie and music files. At this point the long term implications are uncertain. It could be the end of file sharing as we know it. Or it could be a blip, and after a couple weeks things will be back to normal (albeit on new servers) and the incident will be forgotten.

TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCES

After a decade of being able to download pretty much any music or movie or software we wanted, will we be forced back into brick and mortar stores, back into buying cds and DVDs again? Is this a little too late, considering there are only a handful record stores left to go buy cds. The only choice we have is amazon.com or eBay (coincidence? Or just ironic?)



After a decade of selling things on eBay, they have made the selling process so expensive (in eBay and PayPal fees) and convoluted, not to mention risky (with regards to customer feedback) and, with PayPal’s extremely liberal refund process, expensive, since several items are being shipped out not only for free (when people get a refund) but at an expense (eBay fees are still in effect regardless.) Yes, eBay has a ‘dispute’ department, weighted almost entirely toward the buyer and only available to a seller for a few weeks (often not enough time to realize that a buyer has ripped you off).

After years of using Craigslist to basically market and promote my businesses (I have several irons in the fire at all times), with their newfound enthusiasm for removing my ads and posts, has effectively become more effort than return.



The most successful days (financially) I have had in the last year have been doing yard sales in front of my friend’s hair salon in North Hollywood. You get a fraction of what things are worth at yard sales (people seem to want everything for basically nothing, which is their perogative). As opposed to eBay where you get more or a market value (especially on collectibles such as art and antiques). Or craigslist where you can get at least a reasonable return (albeit at a much slower pace than a yard sale). Yard sales are a lot of work, a lot of effort, and try one’s patience. I have to do a lot of praying to get through yard sale days. But I do.

And you do get immediate result$. You are working with your feet on the ground. You do get a feel (real quick) of the value of the things you are peddling. What flies and what just sits there (online sales are a little less tangible). You also deal face to face with people, you have one to one interactions, you can get a little attitude from people but you can also have interesting conversations and make some real contacts (nothing like putting a business card into someone’s hand as opposed to doing an email blast). It reminds me of the fun I used to have working in the Rhino Records store in Westwood. Wow, human contact!

Is this the future? Analog interaction? Face to face transactions? Conversations that don’t involve electronic mail or digital pictures or iPads? People picking up an item, holding it in their hands, falling in love with it, and asking,“how much is this?”



What’s next, will people start going out to bars and roller rinks and dog parks again to meet people instead of opening Grindr on their smart phones?

How not to kill yourself, one day at a time.

It’s funny (well, not funny, perhaps odd) but over the past few days a couple people have told me they are contemplating suicide.

I have been there, more than once.

And I know that someone saying, “oh no! don’t do that!”

That doesn’t help.


So when these people said this to me, I said, “I understand.” Hopefully not to be misconstrued as,”I approve” but simply “I understand.”

And I know that a conversation that could, or maybe should, or maybe should not follow, is complicated, intense, frustrating… and a lot more…

I suppose when someone tells you that they are thinking of killing themselves, it is a cry for help. I am not now, nor have I ever been, good at small talk. One thing I admired about my dad was that he could talk to anyone; he would walk up to complete strangers anywhere, in the parking lot, in the campground, wherever, and 5 minutes later would be deep into conversation.

I think, the constant beer in one hand was a good social lubricant. I decided long ago not to go there (and have been sober for 27 years) but clearly my social life suffers because of that.


So I will instead, write down what took me out of the dark place. I hope I never have to go back there; I hope my pendulum has clicked out of the “all is lost” and into the “there is hope.” But in case it hasn’t left permanently, I will save this to possibly read to myself at that point in the future. Perhaps, in the meantime, you will get something out of it.

Because there wasn’t just one thing that did it. It was, and is, a cumulative process. It’s not something you (well, maybe YOU will, but I never did) one day wake up and say, to yourself or no-one in particular, shucks, I’ve decided not to kill myself. It’s more like something that gets set to the back; as the days go by, hopefully further and further back, until maybe one day, you forget that it’s even there.




Let’s Get Physical
First, for me, working out. Working out is something that is, at least for me, extremely hard to motivate. Marianne (Williamson) often says, with regards to doing the workbook of A Course in Miracles (CIM), which is a 365 day self study program in changing your thoughts of fear (world based) to love (spirit based); you are directed to do a lesson/mediation every day. She says, it is, like physical exercise, often hard to motivate yourself to do, but the more you do it, the easier it becomes. For me, though, the minute I start debating with myself, “I don’t really have time, I am tired, I haven’t eaten, I’ve just eaten, I’m going to be late”, whatever it is, I lose. I try to go to the gym every morning for cardio, so I feel better. I don’t have to think about it, I am tired in the morning, groggy, don’t feel good, am cranky, don’t feel attractive, it’s too hot, it’s cold, it’s raining, the sun is shining. Ignore it. I put on the sweat pants and I go. Then I go to breakfast at the same place and have the same thing. Later in the day I will go do weight training so I look better.

When I am working out, I am never depressed. Well, unless I look in the mirror (and there are a lot of mirrors at the gym), or look at other guys who have much nicer bodies than I. I try to use their “perfection” to my advantage rather than dismay.



Sometimes I really wonder if I am not gay, because when I see a gorgeous man at the gym (or jogging down Franklin with his shirt off), I don’t think, “ooh, I’d love to kiss him.” I want to BE him.

Jacob Glass said this a few weeks ago at a CIM lecture. He said, “when I see a gorgeous guy in front of me in line, I say, “thank you god, that was clearly put there for me. Life loves me.” And then a friend might say, well, did you get his number? And Jacob exclaimed, “oh no, I don’t want to TALK to him, that would ruin EVERYTHING.”




I often wonder this about myself because my first crush, in 1973, was David Cassidy (Partridge Family.) Now, when I look back, I never wanted to KISS David Cassidy (or Keith Partridge). I wanted to BE Keith Partridge. A good thirty years later, I have met David Cassidy a few times, and even standing in front of him, I never wanted to KISS him. (and, after having read his autobiography, I don’t want to BE him either.)

But back to working out. Jacob also has said, whenever you compare yourself to anyone, you lose. You walk down the street, better than, worse than, better than, worse than. This does not make you feel better. CIM says everyone is an individual, with a highly individualized curriculum, and no one else has the same program. So, saying, “I wish I had that guy’s job,” or “I wish my arms looked like THAT” is simply not fair.

Easier said than done, but it’s something I try to keep in check.



And, it’s perfectly acceptable to say, “that guy has PERFECT pecs, thank you god for putting him in front of me, life love me!”

Aside from that, it is impossible to be depressed when you are working out, or after working out. So I try to go to the gym every day. I don’t always make it, often I am working too late and am too tired and/or dirty to drag myself to the gym, but I try. Because I know it takes me out of my head.

Which is the scariest place I could be.





Lean on Me
#2 – A support system. For me, there is an army. My therapist, my homeopathic doctor, my western doctor, my astrologer, my psychic, my trainer, my chiropractor. Sometimes these people come and go depending on my finances, but I think I know better than to try and do this on my own. As Marianne often says, your best thinking got you here, perhaps you might want to try another way.

And of course friends. In the past year, through various circumstances and issues, I have lost a lot of my closest friends. Some people say, the older you get the harder it is to make friends, but for me, it was just as hard when I was young. Probably harder, because when I look back, to put it bluntly, I was often an asshole. Never intentionally; in all honesty, I can say I have never intentionally hurt someone.

“Well, Blanche, but you did.”

A friend and I were talking this afternoon (he is one who has told me he is thinking of killing himself) and he said he feels a lot of guilt. As do I. Now, admittedly, he has a lot of things one could say he needs to feel guilty about, but to him I would say, “you did the best you could, right. You always act from the best of intentions to the best of your ability, at the time. And therefore, you have nothing to feel guilty about.” Besides, guilt is a useless emotion. It’s not even an emotion. It’s just useless.

Although, for me, doing the 12 steps is always good. You look at your mistakes, your errors, and you make amends. And hopefully you grow. As Marianne says, you look at the crucifixion but do not dwell on it. Because if you allow yourself to BECOME your character defects, you will drown in them. Marianne says, imagine yourself as an airplane that is trying to take yourself to the next higher level. But you have TOO MUCH BAGGAGE and the plane simply can’t take off. You need to sort through all that crap, acknowledge it, and let it go.

Which is one of the reasons, after 25 years in AA, and identifying myself as an alcoholic, I decided I didn’t want to be labeled as “defective,” and decided to let it go. I let the lid off the box. I let the worms out to see the light of day. I had to let go of the fear of having a drink or taking a drug. If I am carrying that (or any fear) with me, as the CIM says, “you create what you defend against.”



Take It Easy
#3 How do you eat an elephant. A therapist many years ago told me, when I was in a deep deep hole and couldn’t see my way out of it, he said, I know you can’t even conceptualize taking your life one slice of pie at a time. But I want you to take a sliver of one piece, make one tiny tiny change.

For me, at that time, I was working three jobs (as opposed to the eight that I have now) and was exhausted and completely stressed out. I never took care of myself, never had lunch, ate standing up or driving, or, more likely, not at all. My bargain with my therapist was that I would take a lunch break every day. Go to the park across the street and take some lunch and a book and just STOP IT.

It sounds easy, and it may or may not be, but for me, it was a huge breakthrough. As my science of mind teacher says, “How do you eat an elephant. One bite at a time”. As AA says, “one day at a time.” That’s not a suggestion. You only have one day at a time, even though in your HEAD you are thinking days weeks even years at a time. All of your fear is in the future, which technically never gets here, in fact, doesn’t even exist. The simple fact is, all you have is this moment. And the universe is infinitely forgiving. As Marianne says, God is not sitting up on a throne somewhere saying, “well, I’d love to help you but your father as an alcoholic, my hands are tied.” Or, “I’d love to help you, but in this economy….” God is God, the universe is infinitely malleable and abundant. There is no shortage of anything. That is impossible. What is all encompassing can have no opposite. The first line in the text of A Course in Miracles, is, “there is no order of difficulty in miracles.” As Marianne said the other day, it’s not a course in manipulation, fixing things, making thing happen. It’s a course in MIRACLES.



Shiny Happy People
#4 Find something that makes you happy. Something to look forward to. It doesn’t matter what it is, how big or small. It doesn’t have to cost anything. Sometimes even reading a book or going to a movie is enough to get you out of your head. There have been times where I plan to see a movie on opening day, that doesn’t come out for weeks or even months in the future. That can be enough. Sometimes a song can change your life. I’ve written many times about how the songs “Hold On” by Wilson Phillips and “You Get What You Give” by the New Radicals, I heard them in moments of deep deep despair, and they saved me. I was at an AA meeting one time and this girl said, “I realize I don’t take a drink one day at a time, and I don’t kill myself one day at a time.” The Wilson Philips song says, “Hold on for one more day,” and that moment, in the bathroom at a TGI Fridays in Burbank, was enough for me to think, “ you know, I don’t need to kill myself TONIGHT. I’m kind of tired anyway.”




There’s a Reason
#5 There is a reason. Many years ago, at a CIM prayer group, in Jacob’s living room, he said something that changed my life, perhaps it was only a sliver of one small piece, but it was enough. He said, “there is a reason you are here. You know how I know that? Because you are here.”

For me, one of the things that dragged me down was feeling like I was useless, that I didn’t belong, that I had nowhere to go. No, I will say this to you, there is a reason you are here. You know how I know that? Because you are here.”

Maybe we don’t know what that reason is, (although for me, now on my fourth time doing the Course in Miracles, the answer is in there, clear as day.) And it doesn’t matter if you know what your reason is, what your “life’s mission” is. It’s not like you are going to get a text from the universe, saying, “go here, say this, to this person.” But the daily prayer in CIM is, “let me know, where do I go, what do I say, and to whom.”

And then you have to be very very quiet, because the truth comes in whispers. And often your ego dismisses it. “No, that’s not right, I can’t do that, that doesn’t make sense, I’m too old/young, that would cost too much money, I don’t have time.” I love when Marianne says, “you pray and you pray and you ask for guidance from the holy spirit, then you get guidance, but you don’t like the answer.”

The world is loud, noisy, obnoxious, fearful, even toxic. Spirit just is. It speaks in whispers, in that little thought in the back of your head, that you say, “I don’t have time to do that now.” But it is true and real and it will keep whispering until you hear it. The universe has all the time in the world, and isn’t going anywhere. God has infinite patience, because God knows the truth, and can afford to wait.

Can you?




A Thousand Beautiful Things

It’s such an old cliché by now, but many years ago Oprah’s idea of a Grateful Journal really changed my life. One thing I have learned by going into people’s houses and helping them clean and organize, is how it puts things into perspective. Being invited into other people’s homes, and seeing how people live (we tend to think that people live more or less similarly to how we live, and I can tell you, that is not the case) has been an amazing and humbling experience. And I so appreciate all that I have, including my health, and try to focus on all that I have in my life rather than what I think I am missing.



Every morning when I wake up I proactively fill my day with light. CIM says “Happiness is a decision I must make.” Every morning I ask, may I be a light to all people that I meet today, talk to today, and think about today. CIM says, the only thing lacking in any relationship is what you are not giving. Remember that song, by Seals and Croft, “Get Closer,” which says, “darling if you want me to be closer to you, get closer to me.”




Sometimes I stop on my driveway and see a tiny little flower growing up through the pavement crack. And I think, that is the most amazing thing I have ever seen. That somehow, against seemingly impossible odds, this seed that was so small you could probably not even see it, found its place, and even if the “world” would say, no, you can’t grow there, in the middle of the concrete in the middle of this dude’s driveway in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world, with practically no water and probably way too much sunlight, that is impossible.

And yet, there it is. Maybe I am the only person who will ever see that little flower. And it is my gift from the universe, just as much as that guy jogging past me on Franklin, with his shirt off, in the first week of November. I just have to appreciate it.

And not swerve into a tree while I am doing so.

Music gets the best of me, Marianne and Course in Miracles.

What it was like.

I grew up on a farm in Northern Canada. I hated it and felt unloved and in the way and like an alien. I had no self confidence and got beat up every day at school by what are now called bullies. Consequently, I hid as much as I could, at school and at home. When I was little, before I was in school, I taught myself to read. So by the time I started school I was eons ahead of everyone, often including my teachers. This did not help matters. I got straight A's without even trying, the academic part was all so easy for me, and boring. The social part was a nightmare and I often made myself sick before school (not consciously, but I was so upset about going to school that I would often get physically sick). In junior high I was out sick for nearly three years, I only went to school every few days. And I still got straight A's.



I spent a lot of time home alone, which I loved. My Dad was gone, my Mom was at school (she was a teacher), my brother was at school. I read and read and read. Being raised on a farm, my parents only listened to country music, which I hated. In time (like 25 years later) I would grow to admire the country music of the era, like Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, Lynn Anderson, etc. (Although I still cannot stomach Hank Williams.) But at the time I just hated it and, thinking that was what music was, wasn't interested.



One thing I did when I was young was I'd enter contests. All kinds of contests, like puzzles in the newspaper, etc. And since I entered so many contests, I won a lot of contests. One time, there was a new TV station that started, and as part of their opening celebration, I won a stereo! So suddenly, I graduated from my little hand held portable pop up record player that I played Disney 45s on (the ones with the booklets that you could read along with, that's a big part of how I taught myself to read.) to real records, an amp and big speakers. And headphones.

There was a newspaper that I won their contests so many times they eventually told me I wasn't allowed to enter any more. Their prizes were records. I could go into a certain store and pick out whatever records I wanted.



I discovered there was much more to music than my father’s country music. The first two records I got were Captain & Tennille's first two albums. I loved them so much and still love them so much I can barely stand it. They are criminally under-rated. I know you are snickering, but know that there is so much more to them than what you know, otherwise you wouldn’t be snickering. But that is OK with me.

The next record I got was ABBA's "Arrival." I had heard "I Do (x5) on the radio and just loved it, it was unlike anythign I'd ever heard. I had bought the record of "Greatest Hits" and I remember thinking that was extremely presumptuous of them, how could they have a Greatest Hits album when they'd never had any hits. At first, there were only a few songs I liked on the GH album, but eventually listened to it enough that I really liked nearly every song on the album. And then "Arrival" came out and I just wore that record out.



The other group I loved loved loved was the Carpenters. I'd heard them on the radio but didn't really know what was going on. Then one time I was in my uncle's basement. He was a garbage collector; he drove a garbage truck and picked up garbage. He also collected a lot of the stuff in his basement, and he had a lot of records. That was where I first heard the Carpenters album, (the tan one, with the fold out cover), and I've loved them ever since.



I think what I love so much about these three groups, is the dimensions to them. All three acts have tremendous female singers; I would say all four singers use their voices as instruments. Years ago, that might have been a derogatory statement, but to me, what that means is they use their voices as tools, as part of the entire song. I would say KD Lang does the same today. The second part is the male counterparts, which in all cases did the music, played most of the instruments, did the arrangements and production.



When I listen to Captain & Tennille’s “Dream” album (1978), Carpenters “Horizon” album (1975), or ABBA’s “The Visitors” (1981), when I sit there with the headphones on and just drown in the music, it just blows my mind how creative it is; on an artistic level, it is incomprehensible to me how any one person (or two, in the case of ABBA) could even conceptualize such astounding works.

And the fact that I can listen to it, 30 or 40 years later, and in fact understand and appreciate it even more than at the time. Well, that’s an achievement, as an artist myself, that I could only dream of. I am so glad that in each case, I have been able to have, in sometimes brief and sometimes lengthy conversations with these men, been able to tell them how much their music means (and meant) to me.

Because, as I said, when I was young I retreated into music. There was always safety there. They would never say, ‘not now’, or call me names, or not want to play for me. They would never be too drunk to play, or make me feel like I didn’t deserve for them to play for me. I could put my headphones on and be in my bedroom and listen to these records over and over, holding the sleeves in my hand, looking at the pictures, studying the liner notes, the lyrics, the photos. Trying to imagine what worlds these people came from, and how they got to the places they got to. When I was that age, and completely miserable and alone, the music made me feel like there was someone out there, some place other than where I was, and that one day, I would be one of them, and out there too. These people were different, and I was different. They were special, and I knew I was special too.



Also, these acts were all keyboard based. I started playing my grandmother’s piano when I was five years old; she was so astounded, she gave me her piano so I could learn, and take lessons, and play. I took lessons for many years but never learned more than I did from listening to and copying the melodies I heard on the records. I bought the piano folios (still have them) and while much of it was far beyond my level, I could play along, and dream.



Captain & Tennille was my first concert, in 1977. I barely remember it, but I was so excited I couldn’t sit down. My friend who went with me said, “sit down, this isn’t a rock concert!” I was so appalled at his lack of understanding. I saw ABBA in 1979, my friend and I had tickets at the far back of the Coliseum (same place I saw C&T) and, again, I barely remember the show itself. I do remember the screaming; when the lights went down, the roar from the crowd (it was ABBA’s first North American show, there were people from all over the world) literally shook the building. The Carpenters, well, I never did get to see perform live, although I saw Richard perform at the Carpenters Center in Long Beach. That was the first time I met him, and I’ve talked to him a few more times. C&T I’ve met many times, I have had many conversations with Daryl and, at one point, was possibly going to write a book about them, but the project never solidified because Toni had a breakdown during the Victor/Victoria tour and cancelled everything on the table, including their 25th Anniversary tour. Of ABBA, I’ve met Benny and Frida (at the Mamma Mia premiere in Las Vegas) and Bjorn (at the MM premiere in Los Angeles). I never met Karen Carpenter (although I’ve been to her grave (both in Downey and in Thousand Oaks) and I’ve never met Agnetha.



There have been a few times in my life when I was suicidal, for various reasons. There has (obviously) been something at each juncture that stopped me. In many cases, it has been music. One time, I specifically remember thinking, what if there is no Carpenters music on the other side. (I don’t believe this, but that would be a whole ‘nother story). Another time, there was a song, “Hold On” by Wilson Philips that came on the speaker while I was in the bathroom at a restaurant, having just made the decision that “tonight, when I get home, I will do it”; the song goes, “hold on for one more day,” and I thought, yeah, you know, I don’t have to kill myself TONIGHT. One of my therapists a few years back said, whatever it takes to get you to your happy place. For me, that happy place, is sitting with the headphones on, listening to one (or all) of these performers. Or, driving in my truck. When I bought my last two trucks, the first cds I played were Captain & Tennille’s “Dream.” Just the sheer beauty of that music, Toni’s voice at the peak of it’s perfection, Daryl’s astounding production, the exquisite song choices (C&T wrote some of their songs but most were covers). It’s so beautiful, it can make me cry; I am in my happy place.

(Duran Duran, Wynonna Judd, Sarah McLachlan, Kate Bush, Tori Amos, Linda Ronstadt and Fleetwood Mac also work for this, but not to the same extent. I love Elton John too, his music means so much to me (see my DJ/Photographer name RocketManLA) but his music is so vast and diverse; it affects me, but not on the same level, he is in his own different category, he is my idol (and also a piano player).



What happened.

In the late 1990’s, around 1997, I got my first computer and got online. One of the first email groups I joined was ABBAMAIL, and what a ride that was. As I’ve said before, ABBAMAIL was unique in that people were encouraged to make Off Topic posts, and talk about their personal lives. Without a doubt, that is what made all the difference. After all, ABBA had broken up decades ago. Sure, there was sometimes extremely exciting news (Mamma Mia premieres, Agnetha’s wonderful wonderful album, etc) but for the most part, the heart of the list was the people, and the NAR (Non ABBA Related) posts. None of the other email groups that I joined at that time are even in existence now. Yes there were certainly many characters, and many many fights; several times I was kicked off the list, but eventually Graeme let me back on. I met both Graeme and Grant when they were in LA (separately) and each was a unique bonding experience.



Several other members of ABBAMAIL became very close friends that remain until this day, some in real life (Hi Merrick, Ryan, Pepe!) and some in virtual life (Hi Dora, Chris!). One member of ABBAMAIL became my wife when she moved to Los Angeles from Australia; we were married dressed as ABBA and performed two ABBA numbers, and had a 70’s theme wedding (which I was the DJ of course). Things didn’t work out, for many reasons (“no more care free laugh ter”), we are now divorced and have lost contact (“si lence ev ver af ter”), which is sad, but I learned so much from the experience, and it allowed me, no, let me rephrase that. The devastation that caused, emotionally and financially, forced me to deal with some major things in my life. I try, I have to, look back with no regrets. The past is over. All that matters is now.



What it’s like now.

One of the things that really pulled me out of all this was the return of Marianne Williamson to LA. In the mid 90’s, A Course in Miracles and her book, A Return to Love, LITERALLY changed my life. A Course in Miracles (CIM) is a 365 lesson, self study spiritual and psychological workbook that trains you (in the first half) to let go of fear, which, to make a long story short, is what the world runs on. (If you don’t believe that, just watch the news). The second half of the course trains you to think in what CIM calls “love.” CIM uses Christian terms (God, Jesus, Holy Spirit, etc) but in decidedly non-christian ways. I think, for most people, these terms cause their minds to instantly reject the entire course, which is of course, “throwing the baby out with the bath water.” When the exact same principles are explained or discussed (or written about in songs, ala the Beatles) they are embraced. The word “love” in CIM terms (in my understanding) is the same word as “God” “Spirit” “Energy” or even “The Force”. Love is everything, and there cannot be an opposite to something that is everything. I did the course twice in the 90s and both times it was revelatory. Marianne lectured every week, but then she left for about 15 years.

In January 2010, just as my divorce and bankruptcy were done, Marianne returned and began lecturing at a theatre on La Brea in Hollywood. I have been to every single lecture since the first one. One of my friends had volunteered (as an usher) for ulterior motives that were quickly squelched, but in one of the staff meetings, they decided they needed some music before the lectures, and my friend said, “I know a DJ.” So I started DJ-ing for Marianne, before and after the lectures (and sometimes during meditations), which was both a wonderful and bewildering experience. But I got to sit at the front of the stage, and play music for hundreds of people every week, and Marianne would sit beside me before she went on. So that was rewarding. And interesting.



When the contract at that theatre expired, we moved to a much nicer theatre in Beverly Hills, which allowed for live music in the theatre. So no more DJ-ing, but they decided they wanted to record the lectures as they happened, and sell the cds at the end. So they asked me to do that, and I’ve done that every week since. I also sometimes DJ for Marianne at events and workshops, and have started doing graphic work for her as well. And of course I record the lectures and burn cds and post them online. I also do transcriptions, which means I have to (get to) listen to the lectures several times over and type them all out. So I am deeply immersed in the lectures.



And, at least as significantly, I also began the workbook again in January 2010; I worked through the course over the year, and then started it again in January 2011, so I am almost through it for the fourth time. As before, each time through the course, each day reading the course, has changed my life so much I cannot express. My astrologer (as is my therapist) is a wonderful wonderful resource for me; both have enabled me to make significant changes in my life. My astrologer told me one time, years ago (I have all our sessions on CD, just as I have all the Marianne lectures on CD), that it was hard to explain, but for him there was a tiny but significant point in his life when the needle clicked ever so subtly from the “all is lost” side to the “possibility that things will be all right” side of the emotional spectrum.

This has been extremely significant for me. I have lost many friends in the last few years, for various reasons, which has been hard, and I will admit, scary. But, as someone who has been sober for nearly 28 years now, when I speak at AA meetings I will say, there are only two ways to get sober. One, you have to actually want to stop drinking. And Two, you will lose all your friends. But you will get new friends, who are healthier, or, at least, on the same wave that you are. So I have to have faith that while the crowd from the 4:15 showing has left the theatre, I am here sweeping the popcorn up, waiting for the 7:30 crowd to arrive. I have to have faith that they will come. Even though I am not MovieFone and don’t sell advance tickets, so I have no idea who will show up or when.

So, ABBAvillage, (nee ABBAMAIL) remains one of the few constants that have been in my life for the last, what, nearly 15 years. I have moved several times, I have lived in completely different cities, I have changed my career three times, I have married (both to a man and to a woman, separately) and divorced, been rich and been broke, been robbed and broken into and had my inheritance stolen, I have lost and I have won, been sick and been healthy, been afraid, been very very afraid, and been happy, sometimes only in fleeting moments. People have died (my father) and been born (my nephew’s girlfriend just had a baby). People have come and gone. Some with good riddance, some with anxiety. Some have come back, others never will.

I’ve lost weight and gained weight, lost my hair and grew it back, been pudgy and been buff. Been acupunctured and cleansed and homeopathed and hypnotized. Bought flannel shirts and donated flannel shirts. Bought cargo shorts and donated cargo shorts. Fallen asleep and woken up. Been on the top and been on the bottom. Seen literally thousands of movies. A lot of it has gone into posts on ABBAMAIL (I have them all saved), my website, then MySpace and now Facebook… but ABBAMAIL/Village remains.



That, and the music, which is always there. It has sure changed many times, from the vinyl LP record to the cassette to the cd to the MP3 and iPod and now I DJ almost exclusively with my laptop. I have had several cars, from a beat up 66 Ford Fairlane to a brand new Honda CRX to a classic Mustang Convertible to a Ford Explorer and now a SAAB 97-X SUV… and in all of those cars and trucks, and all of those record players, cd players, tape decks, iPods and computers, I’ve listened to the music of Captain & Tennille, the Carpenters, and ABBA.

I remain. I am.



©2011 Rod Reynolds RocketManLA.com