"Followers of traditional Western psychology are apt to be horrified at the idea of the ego death, because there are basically two very different understandings of what "ego" is. The first definition comes from Sigmund Freud. Freud believed the human psyche was composed of the id, the ego, and the superego. The id is made up primarily of our basic instincts. The ego concerns itself mainly with conscious perception and with everyday functioning. It is also a sort of guardian for the forces of id. The superego represents a kind of unconscious ideal for the conscious ego and performs the role of our conscience.

 

 

We can refer to the AA Big Book for our most personal and appropriate definition of ego: " Selfishness-self-centredness! That, we think, is the root of our troubles. Driven by a hundred forms of fear, self-delusion, self-seeking, and self-pity . . . " Nearly every spiritual discipline on the planet has its goal the reduction, eradication, or death of this false self, or ego. They all affirm that without this death, we can never discover our true self or know real happiness in life.

 

If we examine once again Bill W’s story, especially the time just prior to his spiritual experience, it is clear that he himself was undergoing just such a death. Listen to his words: "Now I was to plunge into the dark . . . The terrifying darkness had become complete . . . ". In other places he spoke of hopelessness and utter futility, and about being beaten by alcohol. And throughout this time, there was always the sense of aloneness and loss – loss of job, friends, family, and ultimately, loss of self-esteem.

 

"London has always been a city of immigrants. It was once known as ‘ the city of nations’, and in the mid-eighteenth century Addison remarked that ‘when I consider this great city, in it’s several quarters, or divisions, I look upon it as an aggregate of various nations, distinguished from each other by their respective customs, manners, and interests’. The same observation could have been applied in any period over the last 250 years.

 

It is remarked of 18th Century London in Peter Linebaugh’s book The London Hanged that

‘ here was a centre of worldwide experiences’ with outcasts, refugees, travellers, and merchants finding a ‘place of refuge, of news, and an arena for the struggle of life and death’. It was the city itself which seemed to summon them, as if only in the experience of the city could their lives have meaning.

 

It is the continuing and never ending story. It has often been remarked that, in other cities, many years must pass before a foreigner is accepted; in London, it takes as many months. It is true too, that you can only be happy in London if you begin to consider yourself as a Londoner.

 

Peter Ackroyd - LONDON The Biography.

___________________________________

 

Born in a North London suburb, I’m not quite a cockney ( one who is born within the sound of Bow Bells Church East London ) but certainly a Londoner. And a happy one. As a teenager I thought happiness was a fawn shortie raincoat with leather criss-cross buttons until I got one and realised that happiness was temporary. I always wanted more.

 

Watching immigrants or tourists come to this fine city, excited by it’s prospects, can offer a big yawn to people who live here trying to manage 24/7 without getting wound up. Yet it is only when I travel to other world cities do I see what tourists or immigrants have to endure here, like the mystery of the London underground map, the sheer volume of multicultural peoples and an array of attacks on the senses. No wonder I love it, because there is always MORE to uncover, witness and peruse, ad infinitum.

 

Procrastination can come as companion to comfortability, familiarity and routine. Procrastination refers to the counterproductive deferment of actions or tasks to a later time. Psychologists often cite such behavior as a mechanism for coping with the anxiety associated with starting or completing any task or decision.[1] Schraw, Pinard, Wadkins, and Olafson have proposed three criteria for a behavior to be classified as procrastination: it must be counterproductive, needless, and delaying.[2]

Living in London, there is always tomorrow. A newly arrived immigrant or tourist avoids this trench to fall into, dashing about like a blue-arsed fly, cramming it in as if life was to end. When I go abroad I’m likely to do the same, but unlikely to bring this passion home to my own city just because it’s always there. Tomorrow, next week, next month, unplanned unconfirmed datelines, are the smirk of procrastination, like a dealer waiting at the school gates giving out bags of NOT NOW. DO IT LATER.

 

Although planning & booking ahead has it’s place in a managed lifestyle, recovery from Codependency and it’s sidekick procrastination, can depend upon the employment of spontaneity and just doing it. The scarfed late autumn sun is there to entice discoveries in Zone 5 ( . . where’s dat? ), a hidden museum, a lost nature trail, Dickensian alleys and multicultural platters.

 

The natural process of evolution is to wait as nature dictates, even though the ego stamps its childish foot in rage at the unfairness of having to. The Chilean Miners today is a lesson in giving time, . . TIME, as well as a lesson in action, hope and trust. Without these values, spirit withers, and today and over the following days we will witness tales regarding strength of the human spirit, and survival of endurance that puts what we call the X Factor on weekend TV into pale significance.

 

 

One aspect of their journey is one of forced REHAB or forced RETREAT. Once leaving a spiritual retreat of choice, many feel a change of attitude or life approach is required, to become more conscious, more trusting perhaps, expelling gratitude around friends, abundance and family. Leaving a forced retreat after more than two months underground must challenge all beliefs around immortality, trust and faith. Miners are trained to deal with these areas but perhaps not trained to deal with giving up alcohol, nicotine, substances, family, friends and other attachments so quickly and finally. 

 

If many users of alcohol and cigarettes say that they increase usage in times of stress and fear, then imagine how the Miners felt deprived of these familiar crutches, in the early days of entrapment. Many of the press reports about some Miners having drug and alcohol problems have been distorted and disproved, written by hacks who also enjoy a drink, as some would put it, or couldn’t complete a deadline without a line. Look toward the City of London financial district for REAL ADDICTIONS, or the tabloid addiction to celebrity, not men prepared to risk life and limb to feed family who depend on them.

 

It appears that the world media is more interested in the miners celebrity status than the miners themselves do, who in their forced retreat would have needed to pull from the bank of faith, not reward, in order to survive. Most will rise from the hell hole of time into a space of gratitude, respect and humility. In months to come when anger around mismanagement of the mines safety structure rises with expected force, when the desire for financial compensation is demanded, when trapped feelings explode at random, will humility, gratitude and respect be tested?

 

Giving time . . TIME, is always the downside of healing when our ego demands miracles NOW. Learning to wait is a spiritual lesson for all.

 

In the same week as the London 7/7 Bombing Inquest, when TV cameras show us what it was like when Underground trains were bombed in Central London our immediate reaction is likely to be one of hopelessness in such a situation, but the human spirit in a game of triumph over adversity does win through. It’s easy for us to underestimate our ability to survive, to experience darkness, blindness or torn limbs but the lifeforce within revs up to speed when we get away from the problem into solution and action required. Sometimes it means just waiting.

 

Those tobacco addicts down the mine chose the hardest cold turkey imagined, those trapped in dark tube tunnels on that commuter morning, holding humans to their hearts as they died in strangers arms, only magnify our untold strengths in crisis and faith restored in human rescue.

 

As we examine our own lives, we may notice how we yearn to rescue others yet fail to rescue ourselves, how we admire bravery in dark tunnels yet ignore our own bravery when faced with dark news, how easy it is to praise the fearless while ignoring the god energy within us that drives our breath and tenacity to survive.

 

Praise be to remember. That’s the real X Factor.

 

 

I am reminded amid the energy of my current OZ Tour that GIVING & RECEIVING are the same; or as Lesson 108 from A Course In Miracles states :

 

Most of us are brought up to give freely but not to receive, because receiving indicates lack, scarcity or humiliation as in begging, poverty and underclass. As children we are taught to share things by parents, religion and educators (we have enough to share, we are abundant ). As adults we learn that to receive means the opposite ( we have less than abundance, we are less than, not good enough to receive because we can’t give back ). Some people go through struggle times and isolate as if hoarding a secret so the shame remains locked. I have known many people who will refuse a dinner invitation or theatre ticket because they can’t afford to return the favour, so they make up some excuse rather than feel humiliated. Feeling humiliated and feeling humility are not the same.

 

Here in Australia I am learning to receive all over again. Because I live alone I get used to my own self sufficiency – when I want a coffee I have to make one, no one is around to do it. It’s not unusual after a rebirthing session to offer a tray of treats with a hot drink to the client, and it’s also not unusual for clients to suddenly wipe a tear as they realize that THIS IS FOR THEM. We are so busy nourishing others than we forget about our own needs.

Like many I have survived difficult times and felt hopeless and humiliated trapped by the experience of lack. I soon learnt in the ’80′s after bankruptcy that with no credit for 5 years, receiving was a prime option in order to learn not to just survive. All of us need to embrace the world of EXTRAS. Sometimes on dinner invitations I had no money to bring something to the host, I felt awful. Humiliation instead of humility to receive was the order of the day. I had to turn this around and started on Codependency recovery work in 1986, to learn that " my presence is enough ".

 

Many years later, around 2004 I went with Gunnel Minett and others to see AMMA in London. It was my first such darshan. Having got my queue ticket for " The Hugging Saint " we waited a few hours before we were ushered into numbered sections ready to receive the spiritual energy that was already heady in the air from Amma’s presence. Suddenly we were on our knees in a line ready to be hugged by Amma, some distance away. Then I realised the big boo boo. I had not bought a flower, or a symbolic gift for Amma that most other devotees were carrying. Immediate shame kicked out the spiritual wave of joy in a swipe. Here was the hugging saint who GAVE to the world in the form of loving hugs and I was giving her NOTHING. 

 

I shared this shame with Gunnel who also was flowerless but innocent of any mishap. Give YOURSELF as a gift to Amma, she requests nothing more, and then I remembered the Lesson from A Course In Miracles " Giving & receiving are one in truth. " Another Course lesson states " whole people make no demands ". Amma has not demanded I bring a flower, she only asks that I bring myself unconditionally to her. When I did finally embrace her breast I nearly suffocated with the force of energy and had to sit for a while as others passed by tranced into a heavenly space. 

 

So thank you Australia for your open hearts and minds as we explore together the release of fears and shames. Thank you for giving of yourself in seminars and workshops, of places to stay, of food on the table and stories to tell. People say that I am generous with time and experience and I give this to you with ease but as many people in recovery programmes know, we get ten fold back, and when we get that back we give it away again in a conscious connected breath of love, support and oneness. 

 

It’s a small world with a big heart, should you care to look for it.

All you need is to offer YOURSELF to it, with no demands, to experience humility & love within and with others.

 

 

Having endured the worst, wettest August since the Iron Age, London is awash with Autumn leaves & howling winds. People mutter climate change but within my memory bank, August was often like this as a kid.

 

Memory can be selective. The same happens in relationships when you scour over the past like Somerset professors on Time Team, scraping away with a trowel to find the jewel to make all the emotional pain worthwhile.

When you are knee deep in self-help books, in recovery or therapy it takes a while to dig deep, to find the innocent perfection that occurred before life became scarred, disappointing or laden with guilt.

 

Sharing pain, fears and selective memories in the beginning of any therapeutic process is like having a romance with the mind . .  it’s light, new and inspiring. After a while the concentration wavers, remembrance becomes painful and fight or flight turns up with a smirk to test your nerve. 

 

In her latest book THE NEW CODEPENDENCY Melody Beattie writes, in the chapter called Healing What Hurts :

The first point of reference in self-care is to ask for help and stay the distance. Journey on and avoid selective memory. Looking back over an unhealthy relationship past, it’s easy to use selective memory to convince that it " wasn’t that bad ". Many codependents air brush over truth, romanticise the pain and people please, rather than experience solo abandonment. This is what I call " can’t leave/can’t stay " bungie jump relationships, because when partners hit the wall of denial and fear they bounce back to a space of familiarity. Even one saturated in low esteem.

 

The easiest way to begin healing the hurts, in my experience, is to find another person in therapy, recovery or in groupwork. It’s harder to be in denial when you hear someone else telling your story.Then it’s more likely that the light bulbs will come on, when you realise the patterns of pain you can’t let go of. It’s hard at first to get into a group of like minded memory hoarders but the truth is it’s painful because the game is up.

 

Healthy relationships avoid babysitting, parenting and distorted truths.There is no point clearing the wreckage of the past, only to create another archaeological dig decades later. So it makes sense to tell the truth faster, to find your voice, your emotional equality and create a union worthy of remembrance. Today’s New Codependencies and attachments in the Internet age are as plentiful as self help groups so it makes sense to combat one with the other. 

 

 

Do our memories get better or worse with age?

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-11178713

 

I was not one of those that got recovery straight away, it took 8 relapses over a 14 month period while attending Alcoholics Anonymous Meetings for me to find NA, my spiritual home. It took me a while to surrender the lot.

 

As long as we don’t pick up that first drug . . . . I haven’t and I’ve been clean of all drugs ever since. Booze was just fancy dress to the inner despair around using. In that awakening daze of discontent I had to admit financial defeat and sell the contents of my flat in order to eat and pay rent. I had no money a few days before Christmas and someone offered me a seat at their table and a week stay in Brighton, fares paid. 

 

Before traveling, my recovery sponsor suggested I went to a meeting in London, as I was less than 90 days clean. I don’t think she heard me when I said I had no money for the tube. She did, and said WALK there. Christ! . . the meeting was in Camden Town and I lived close to Archway. WALK there? It was miles. Well it was for someone born to taxi, who had to support 5 Bank Accounts and 15 Credit Cards. WALK?

 

It was harshly cold but I must have had the desire. I put on my leather padded zipped up to the neck blouson jacket ( well it was 1982 ) from Harrods and placed the sponge earphones from my SONY Walkman onto my ears for extra warmth as I walked to Camden Town. The meeting was called " a one bar electric fire meeting " for a reason. Bare boards, light green scuffed walls, a wobbly table with a huge battered kettle that even Mrs Bridges couldn’t lift. 

 

There was a similar NA meeting at the time – Monday night Millman Street Men’s Hostel in Chelsea, known throughout fellowship as a " wee-wee & wino meeting ". It smelt of damp and cabbage. Thankfully messages get carried in the strangest of places. Camden Town Meeting had a Millman Street ring to it, as many of the seats were taken by old alkies living round the corner in Arlington House, formerly Rowton House in Arlington Road. Some were silent while others ranted during the meeting munching on biscuits and steaming mugs of brew from said kettle.

 

 

Archway Harry was in his late sixties and been in prison most of his life. He always spoke first. We always waited for his Yorkshire tones to boom the room. He started. " Me names ‘arry and I’m ever so grateful. He went on to share how he was in Arlington House with his own room but best of all he had his OWN TRANSISTOR RADIO. He proceeded to tell all that he had never owned one and how not drinking and attending recovery support meetings had not only saved his life but he had his own radio. " Me Transitor " Harry always ended his share by saying " I’m so happy ". It was Harry’s tagline and signalled the end of speaking.

 

Harry’s gratitude held me in a trance as I touched my warm leather jacket, my Sony Walkman and my oncoming Christmas trip to Brighton, all paid for by a supportive friend. Then I got it. I was so happy too. I caught " Harry’s infection " and still remember his unkempt hair, his broken teeth and his transistor radio that he showed to everyone like a beaming parent. I still need the memory of Harry, the welcome teapot and open generosity of sharing to keep my life in emotional and spiritual balance. I still need to be reminded that during that 1982 Christmas period I thought I would never make it, my arrogance and shame too overwhelming, my finances too much like telephone numbers and the simplicity of what was suggested too infantile. 

 

But I did make it, even though far worse challenges were to come. Someone said ‘The power behind you is greater than the task ahead of you’, and I took it on blind faith.

 

In those early days when NA had only one recovery meeting a day in far spread London many of us gained experience in " the other fellowship" from the likes of Harry, in corridors we would never had entered in our middle class lives, hearing stories that we had no similarity with but knew there was no difference between our journeys. Within those grimy down-and-out Camden, Kings Cross and St Pancras Hospital meetings I found a generosity of spirit that I never found in an overflowing glass, from people I would never have mixed with.

 

 

Last week, quite by accident, I appear to have invented a new syndrome - Social Laziness. Not my own personal syndrome you understand, but it appears to be an unchecked dis-ease of self waiting to solved. I scoured the web and it doesn’t exist, or should I say – the Priory hasn’t made money out of it yet, spotting a gap in the ever expanding treatment market. No self help book either. Yet.

 

The phrase suddenly dropped from my mouth, coaching a client on skype. I often say I’m being channeled by Doris Stokes, as I can’t remember what I just said, either in session or seminars, if someone asks me to repeat something. Blank.

It’s like I start and something takes over. Which is the opposite to social laziness, or is it? Instead of rampant energy increasing the flow of desire, something untoward occurs that equally takes hold. Can’t be arsed.

 

Londoners know that if an invitation comes from the opposite side of the river a fear sets in. Do I have to go? Or as example, people in Hackney are on facebook because no one visits them. No tube, no friends. No wonder they bicycle everywhere, it’s not greening, it’s essential. Which is why such a vibrant social scene has developed in Dalston’s East London. Who want’s to be pissed on your own two wheels or even a Barclay’s bike? . . .  .

 

. . . we might as well stay put.

 

Some years back, I had a client who only socialised in Earls Court because he felt fearful that he couldn’t find his way back home if he went into the next zone. In his case he drank before socialising in order to get to a bar, and would wait to be chosen by someone as a chat-up, then was too pissed to continue a conversation let alone find his way home. London is full of people like this and I dare say anywhere in the world that uses alcohol as dutch courage. It’s the nature of the beast. But social phobia with it’s symptoms of severe anxiety, sweating, panic attack, dry mouth or muscle tension is different from social laziness. The question here is did he suffer from social phobia or social laziness? My client had a mix of both.

 

Even in a short 3 month stay in Sydney I had formed close bonds with people with shared experiences and many knew of my imminent return to London. One guy asked me to dinner as a way of saying thank you for the support I had given him over his own liver health issues and drove me back over Sydney Harbour Bridge in his beaten up old Morris-Minor. Unlike the carefree chatty journey going, his sparkling aussie mood changed going back, as we clanked over the iconic metal bridge. He starts to hunch his shoulders up as he stared ahead, white knuckling the wheel. “ I need to tell you something that I can’t tell anyone and if I don’t tell someone I will go mad, so I’m telling you as you are going home in 2 days.” I see that he refuses to look at me.

The kimono was opening within his spluttering - “ over 12 years ago I lived in San Francisco and while I was on a drug binge someone physically abused me. I wasn’t sure who it was but eventually I realized and befriended the person. I had to move flats so I ended up manipulating to live with the abuser and sharing his dealer so a bond was formed. It was not unusual for us to spliff up overlooking the Bay of San Fran, car doors wide open, music blaring from the car speakers, head well back, eyes closed in contemplation. We had done this endless times, but this time I opened the glove department, clasped a gun I had placed there and blew his brains out “. 

What? We are now going over the metal bridge, with me sitting next to a murderer. All I could say was “ what happened next? – trying to be all stiff upper lip about it as I stared straight ahead. He then turned to me, tears streaming down as he said quietly “ I went to the boot of the car where I had a change of clothing, towels to wash the blood, a packed suitcase and a one way ticket to Australia. I hailed a taxi to the airport and here I am 12 years later. I have never told anyone“

For a moment I said nothing, I wanted to ask questions but this level of grassing himself up only fueled the compassion churning inside me at his storage and outpouring of suppressed grief, sadness, anger and relief. All while he was still driving I might add. Consequently I was somewhat relieved to reach the other side of Sydney Harbour Bridge where he slowed down into a side street, stopped the engine and sobbed in my arms. I just held him as someone had held me before, when I required silent non-judgmental support. We never spoke of it again.

On returning to England I found that my best mate Barrie had his humdinger of a mother coming from Canada for a week of expectant turmoil, but this was overtaken by his mum having her handbag stolen a few yards from Barrie’s flat in Notting Hill Gate. The whole lot gone. Six months later, the day after Boxing Day, Barrie and I was due to see a Queen Elizabeth Hall, South Bank concert, but he didn’t turn up. This was a Tuesday and the next day I was out of town ready for New Year but I kept calling his landline, still with no answer. Eventually other friends called the police but they refused to break the door down until the Friday when I rang the Police and said I would pay for the door myself and that I was returning to London right now on a train. Two hours later I was told he was dead, murdered in his sleep, 67 stab wounds and his head decapitated. When the body was removed I was asked to go into the flat to see if anything was missing. The murderer had taken 5 suitcases, stuffed them with spattered duvets and curtains, had a bath, cooked a meal and changed into Barrie’s clothes before leaving with the suitcases in a bizarre way of dissolving evidence. Going into the bedroom on the arms of detectives I recalled my own memory of being stabbed in the face 3 years earlier, how I should have been living in Australia, how I should be dead with liver failure, how Barrie should be alive, how I had heard the outpourings of a planned pre-meditated murderer in Sydney and how I was witnessing the aftermath of a blood-stained bedroom in London 6 months later. 

I was stunned and humbled by this spiritual opportunity for forgiveness. All veils of anger toward the killer lifted as I realized that I know nothing. I know nothing about the order of it all. Why was I stabbed, why was I chosen to hear the Sydney confession, why was I standing in this flat? Why was Barrie dead? Why me, why this? It was not until 6 months later at the inquest that the kimono was opened. Even after hair and blood samples were taken from over 300 people in 6 countries the murderer was never found and we still don’t know the motive. What we do know was that the keys were stolen to order in June from his mothers bag so the murderer could enter the flat 6 months later at 2am the day after Boxing Day and kill him in his bed asleep. This planned premeditated murder remains unsolved to the Police, as does the one in San Francisco, a closed kimono that heralds the thought that resentment kills the container it’s kept in.

There is no excuse for murder but every reason to expose secrets as quickly as possible. Unburden yourself.

Trying to get people to attend Personal Growth Seminars & Workshops in London is like pulling teeth – I wonder why? Maybe it’s the product? It’s image? My view about NEW AGE is well versed – even though my path has been well etched with it : "Winging with Angels" is worthy but it’s not going to get the ironing done : footwork not visualisation puts creases in shirts. 

 

Ask people in the office what they think about therapy hug-ins, and personal growth workshop organisers lose 90% of the market as we speak. 

NEW AGE needs a revamp. 

 

How many trainings have I done as the only gay in the village, hugged by an older bi-guy with a greying ponytail, who " understands my differences", while they hide in a loveless marriage. Where are the out hip gay clubbers searching for a new high? How many trainings have I been to where the " long-term partnership" is the ultimate goal, the World Cup of Relationship Therapy, instead of focussing on apropriate temporary fuck buddies to play with and enjoy? No where to be seen or heard. Even A Course in Miracles states " everything is temporary " why aim that high when it’s all happening on the ground? 

How many times have I witnessed Trainers with mystical names at seminars that bear no relation to real life. Plenty and I never went back. Many ask why I call myself SWARMITE ANANDA in that case. ANSWER : It’s a brand persona to take the piss out of myself and the guru trainers. I avoid setting myself up as a Guru - the only guru you need are the results in your life.

 

I am the Master of the Marmite Jar, reminding all not to take ourselves and projected experts too seriously, but it does not mean that my message core is a joke. Recovery is serious business. So we go back to the question as to why the average Joe won’t go near a workshop that says " please bring a musical instrument and food to share ". Understandable really when most of the week they are caning it and trying to remember their pin number let alone deep search of childhood. I was blessed by attracting The Loving Relationship Training into my life in 1988 that trained me, as it turned out to be the sanest, most businesslike vehicle connected to Breathwork at that time. Thank you Sondra Ray. At least some attempt was made to address urban issues and hold Seminars in Hotels not Healing Centres miles away from nowhere. You can heal your Life, right now if you put your mind to it, you don’t need incense or the right clothes. Bring willingness and your arse to any table of hope and it begins. Add all the frippery for focus if you like but it’s not gonna mean a monkey’s unless you do the exercises as aftercare . . . and work it!

So this Blog is not about attacking New Age, it’s value has served me well, but most of it ends up preaching to the converted rather than addressing 90% of the population that could use some soul searching and holding the stick rather than holding the can. Presentation is a key to success, marketing has it’s moments but somehow the Self Help Brigade has missed the fact that most urban people who could use a good talking to, use the net, use expletives and use drugs. Hallo.

 

The NEW RAGE is that no one is listening and still churning out what the Self Help market wants ( which is usually another book title, another Audio CD to merchandise), this is odd to me when the purpose of said market is CHANGE, but very little of it seems to be happening in the floating, flirty-flirty fantasy world of esoteric activity and I have to say – Breathwork Trainings. It’s not 1976 anymore. The NEXT STAGE to New Age is to rebrand to niche markets. Getting a businessman to a " Feelings Seminar " is as difficult as getting a fat man to a gym, so the industry needs to see that keeping the flaky, airy-fairy stuff is right for one market and hopeless for another. Niche Marketing is how we will survive recession and catch those people falling with job cuts, marital woes and raised alcohol consumption in order to cope. A rainbow just ain’t gonna do it.

 

Years ago a flyer in a Health Food Store would bring bums on seats to workshops in droves, now people order on the net. Practitioners used to pin up business cards now those practitioners are out of business. I am always busy and never slack with clientele because I work in a business-like way and wont give concessions until Tesco’s adopt the principle. This allows me to give work for free should I choose to. Too many New Agers are operating Spiritual principles without backup which is why many are still sitting on the scarcity survival pot waiting for God to do the errand for them. My experience is that when you use Karma Yoga ( work/action ) as Babaji said, you develop and materialise inner wealth and outward abundance. This is the divine right that each of us have but rarely gift to ourselves. If no one is buying you flowers – go to the Florist yourself – and witness the change in energy, change in thinking and change in RESULTS. Work the room and re-work your life.

 

http://www.facebook.com/notes/the-swarmiterehab-blog/coda-rehab-6-week-winter-evening-course-tuesday-november-2-9-16-23-30-december-7/415520148644  No best behaviour. Expletives welcomed, judgement is not.