Asking For Any Help Weakens Your Intuitive, Creative Power Of Doing
The body creates the world
Stop being in need and you will not believe how easy is to gain all the resources you apparently need. Stop asking for help!…. Stop desiring! Stop depending! You are the very creator of the world you are living in, and as such you can only create and never be created or helped by anyone or anything coming from outside. And more than anything, free yourself from the need of helping the world. No one needs or asking for help. You all are self-hypnotized from the fact that there is someone who suffers “out there”. But the “out there” is inside you. Therefore, stop suffering and the world will cease to suffer. Stop being in need…. stop dying inside and the entire world, every human being will live forever in justice, harmony, and beauty. (The Technology of the Dreamer, quote)
Organs are made for dreaming. The body creates the world. Even those who pollute their body create; but their creation is a polluted world. The world is your reflection: it is as sick as you are. Everything is connected; nothing stands alone.
The Dreamer taught me that the destiny of a human being and all that he possesses is closely linked to the health of his body. In the future — following these revelations — I would research the fields of economics and business, and find that even the financial destiny of a human being depends on his physical integrity, on the impeccability of his body. Just like nations and entire civilizations, big companies, financial fortunes, and industrial empires develop and prosper, or fall ill and die, along with their leader and founder-creator.
“An organizational pyramid is inextricably bound to its leader’s breath. A golden thread binds his image and personal destiny to that of his organization and his people. His corporeal identity coincides with his economic identity, just as it did for the rulers of antiquity. The king is the land, and the land is the king.”
I could no longer escape such a direct and crucial message. I decided to take some first steps in the direction the Dreamer suggested: I would fight against my physical decline.
I resolved to face up to every aspect of training my body, from diet and breathing to sex and sleep, following the guidelines I had received at our meeting in Mas Anglada. I examined all the options available to me and prepared a plan of action, a plan for striking a decisive blow at my existence. The difficulties seemed insurmountable. The very idea of changing my habits, of making any physical effort or making any sacrifice at all, was enough to make me feel inner resistances of varying degrees and nature rise within me — to the point of repugnance. The thought of the austerity that would be required made my moods quarrel and chase one another like swallows darting across my being.
The attention I gave to my reactions caused an inner map of my difficulties to surface as though they’d been plotted out on a radar screen: the mountains of rigidity, the steep slopes of doubt, the bottomless pits of fear, and the deserts of incomprehension and loneliness. Only by studying and observing myself in this way was I able to locate the part within me which felt most conflicted and pained at the idea of changing. And precisely there — where I felt the knot — is where I plunged the sword of my will. From that day on began the struggle: a mortal challenge, a holy war between me and myself that would last for years.
That winter was one of the harshest in the meteorological history of New York. The city was covered with a thick blanket of snow, swept by polar winds that seemed to have magically transported the metropolis into an arctic country where the skyscrapers had been changed into icy slides for the children of a race of Titans. In the early morning, before mustering the courage to go out for my run, I would peep out through the Venetian blinds to check the weather. I was one of the lucky ones. From the 16th floor, with a view over the East River and the city, I had access to immediate information on the weather conditions. Most New Yorkers had to resort to switching on the television, opening a kind of electronic window if they wanted to peer out and decide what to wear.
For weeks, the Manhattan skyline with its snowy spires and pinnacles was a white gothic universe sealed in a crystal bubble. At that sight, one’s determination would falter. Every morning one had to face a hard battle. At the sound of the alarm, the idea of making a journey out into those polar conditions would trigger an epic struggle between my resolve and my lazy, degraded body which did not want to hear about change. Disheartened by years of abuse and neglect my body said ”no” to every attempt to halt its atrophy. Threatened by the run, my body exposed its true condition. Only today, looking back, can I see the impossibility of my endeavor — as impossible as Baron Munchausen’s attempt to escape from a quagmire by pulling himself up by his wig. Only the sound of the Dreamer’s voice, the memory of His words, sustained my ambition and gave me courage.
“If we want to advance even one millimeter towards freedom, we must turn our vision of the world upside down. It requires inhuman effort. Yet there is no greater blessing. The conquest of that millimeter of Eternity can swallow oceans in the world of events.”
The program I had set for myself involved running once around the island and getting back in time to dress for work and exchange a few words with Giorgia and Luca over breakfast before they set off for school. I was always tempted to stay in bed and let Giuseppona take care of them.
Many times I tried to identify that voice attempting to dissuade me from taking a run every morning. “After all,” it said, “in weather like this, who could blame you for going back to bed? Haven’t you already done enough? It’s not the end of the world if you miss your run for just a day…” And so on. On other occasions, having gone to bed too late or needing to make an early morning flight would become the day’s pretense for trying to avoid the effort. So every circumstance sought to widen the rifts in my determination, and become a good excuse for abandoning the discipline I had set myself. Whatever its origin, that inner voice exasperated me, always ready to sabotage my plans, and I fought to suppress it. However, it was just the tip of the iceberg. By maintaining the discipline of running, by fighting my resistance, and defying my habits, the most unknown and obscure part of my being was emerging.
“Remember… Nothing is external… You are the only obstacle to your evolution!” the Dreamer had told me repeatedly. “There is no difficulty or limit that does not originate in yourself”. But it would take me years to “understand” these words and transform them into my body’s vital lymph. I had to decay, fall, and rise again a thousand times; to die and be reborn, before I learned to bless every difficulty that I met on my way and recognize that my only antagonist was within.
To justify his mortal destiny and his life infested with disastrous events, man persuades himself that there are external forces that thwart him and that these handle his every ill. He complains, makes excuses; and blames events, external circumstances, ‘the others, without ever suspecting that the world reflects himself; without ever realizing that to change one’s image in a mirror is impossible without first changing oneself.
No help will come from anywhere at all. Make your own individual revolution, which is based purely upon you.