A Week In Hell

12/30/06

I spent a week in hell these last seven days. The pain was excruciating and all-encompassing. I dragged from minute to minute during the day and slept less each night than the night before. I could not smile. Tears flowed continuously as I sat in front of my computer, trying to compose literary efforts. My art did not suffer from this down time in fact, got better. What a dichotomy I went through: pain within and joy at my artistic output. Yet, I cried every time I wrote a pleading for release from this suffering. I wept so much that my keyboard is cleaner now than ever from being wiped down almost hourly. My shoulders fell each time I checked my email looking for a message, any message positively telling me penance service was over but nothing was there.

What had I done? Was this misery a result of my doing? Did I offend somehow, unknowingly, unwittingly, naively? Had the wisdom of my accumulated years suddenly changed into arrogance and I was unconcerned about the effect of my actions? Could I even pinpoint the moment, the act, the words that brought this crashing down on me?

Through the cloud of uncertainty I searched looking for that one thing that had me suffering so but, nothing clanged through the fog like a warning buoy close offshore. I played back everything I said. I searched through emails, letters even instant messenger playbacks seeking the words I uttered in print that thrust me in front of that oncoming truck and into traction. I went back over my art to see where I might have gone too far, taken a few too many liberties, exposed so much that I was obviously “over the line” and offensive. I wrote apology letters begging forgiveness for whatever I did, promising retraction and a future free of errors and misjudgments. I even sent one by airmail driving miles away to mail it at an open post office and while there, trying to decide whether to send it regular or express which was 19 times more expensive yet three times faster. I sent it regular mails figuring it might well get there in a week or so not much longer than the five days “express” offered. Tears filled my eyes as I paid for the post and left the office. All I wanted was a reason why I felt so bad and to be released by that.

I just wanted to know how this desperation overwhelmed me so. I just wanted to know what I had done that brought this on. I couldn’t believe that I done something so draconian to deserve this agonizing punishment of fear and pain from silence. It was the silence that caused all this. I was weighed down by no words, no messages—nothing. I checked hourly for emails and daily for postal deliveries—nothing. I sent emails that went unanswered. I left instant messages that were unacknowledged. I called long-distance and couldn’t get through because my cell phone couldn’t call international. All I needed was a release by a few words of absolution or a service of penance of whatever length or depth. I would flail myself in public if that was what it took. I would walk on my knees until my skin fell off in exchange for release from this suffering. All it would take was a word or a nod or a pointed finger and I would gladly comply. I even stopped my artist efforts and suffered further as I shut down my creativity. Just say the word, I thought, and all this ends.

I spoke to my best friend in Canada for several hours over several days not about my suffering but about his joy in a deepening relationship with a woman he met some months ago. He regaled me with stories of their times physically together and of their telephonic hours together neither of which I had any hope of enjoying presently or seemingly in the future. Eerily, his relationship was so much like the one I had. His love was a mirror for his thoughts and emotions and so was mine. She added to his every breathing moment and so did mine. Their hearts beat as one--as the saying went--and I knew what that was, too. They had promised each other a lifetime together and I ached to be able to do the same.

He and I had gone through many of the same things in our lives—divorce, child rearing, spiritual searches and even cancer. While I was the artist and he the engineer we both shared a sense of creativity in most of what we did. He taught me much about the design and display of the human nude from an engineering point of view. In exchange, I taught him some things about verbal expression in print and my mouth. He acknowledged my abilities and my attempts at understanding things spiritual. He introduced me to “chakras” and the power of prayer. He accepted my ideas about the universe’s power over everything and simplified those thoughts so that I could even better understand them. He showed me how to be “successful” in all I did, starting with simple, cogent beliefs about the present and its effect on the future. He helped me understand how everything now was a result of thoughts held in the past. He showed me how clarifying my prayers to the universe would result in almost instantaneous results. I followed his advice from time and was astonished at what happened. If I asked for a meeting with someone else, it happened. If I asked for better results in my art, it showed up. If I asked for financial results (and I was specific) I enjoyed the results. He sent me CD’s of positive information, teachings, instructions and DVD’s of great meetings and discussions to propel me forward. He forwarded websites and downloads for me to view as a way to help me move toward my goals. He was more than a brother; he was my best friend.

Yet, we had never met in person up to now. All our meetings were over the phone or by email. Until recently, we didn’t even know what each other really looked like except for some grainy photograph exchanges. It didn’t matter; our conversations and email exchanges were sufficient to keep us connected and developing a firm relationship. We shared similar beliefs about women. We swapped ideas regarding all manner of things from the design of a bolt to those obviously esoteric like, what were the most powerful forces in the universe. We could tease each other unmercifully without any pain delivered or received. We discussed people we both knew or events we both witnessed. He showed me much about the spiritual side of high finance; much of which escaped me. He invited me to learn more about myself and my actions and thoughts. I worked at it as much as I could, to make occasional breakthroughs in the adventure of my life examined. I trusted the paths he opened for me and found results each time. It’s just that I tired easily and reverted to previous, familiar behavior.

I did make progress from time to time, exchanging old, ineffectual ideas for these new ones—new to me, at least. I was surprised at my perception of “newness” these thoughts brought since I had been aware of them for years. I just thought they didn’t apply to me, that I was unworthy of the saving power of them due to what I found was simply a matter of low self-esteem. This lack of self-confidence, in spite of a slew of successes in art, business, volunteerism and personal relationships (okay, two divorces were in here, too) haunted me and made me discount these achievements as less my involvement and more to luck or others. I remember winning a new assignment or taking on a new project with much enthusiasm and then slowly, inexorably I would start making mistakes and spending more time correcting them than moving forward. While I could trace this low self-image back to my younger days when my parents’ “pooh-poohed” my dreams and aspirations unless these matched their own for me, I could not understand why I continued to drag this issue into adulthood.

My friend went through this same youthful programming and overcame it using the techniques he was espousing for me. He showed me how simple change could be and that it only cost time and release of old ideas. He talked endlessly of what my life could be by following the steps he followed. He carefully outlined what I should do in the next 24 hours, the next week and month to achieve this life of freedom and wealth in less time than he took. He turned me over to a spiritualist who conferred with me on the phone, identifying various positive personality attributes of mine as well as some things holding me back, all in a first meeting with me. He introduced me to “…the ‘Master Key’ given to the world as a means of tapping the great cosmic intelligence and attracting from it that which corresponds to the ambitions, and aspirations of each reader.” And, he did all of this because I wanted to change in order to achieve more than I was currently.

In time, he slowly backed away, saying he had given me all the tools required to achieve what I said I wanted. All I had to do now was use them. He told me he had cursed me and held me in praise although keeping the negatives to himself. For a time, instead of hearing from him daily, I spoke weekly and then monthly. The emails slowed to nothing. I missed him but couldn’t contact him for fear of his asking me what had I done in the spiritual realm and my answering with “…nothing.” He knew that already, I’m sure and possibly didn’t want to embarrass either one of us by raising the question.

Now, with the silence I was enduring from the woman I loved, I asked him how I should ask her the burning question, “Will you marry me?” He said to phrase it in such a way that I was inviting her to live in America. Then, if she said she wanted to, ask her if she wanted to share that life with me. He said not to scare her or overwhelm her with expressions of love right now. I had already done that earlier, in fact, on Christmas Eve the last time we spoke. Once again, I did what I thought was right and maybe foiled my chances with her. Maybe this was why she didn’t respond to my emails or to my instant messenger pleas. Maybe I had frightened her with my espousals of deepest love. Perhaps, she wasn’t ready to accept me as a lover or more than a friend and confidant. It could be that this silence was caused by my moving too fast, even though we had spent the greater part of the last two years getting to know each other deeply and intimately. What if I had blown my chances with her to share what remained of my life simply because I was frank and direct? If she was thinking over a response to me, could she not at least let me know? The torment I was enduring was possibly the worst pain ever and surely it was my entire fault. I wept constantly in guilt. I wrote her, I tried calling without success. I was so afraid that something might have happened to her and there was nobody I could contact to find out for sure. I was up hourly checking my email for posts. I turned up my PC volume so that should she try to contact me on Yahoo! I would be awakened if I wasn’t already. I could not have been more wistful.

And then, Yahoo! Instant Messenger lit up and she was back… All I could say in greeting was, “Happy, happy, joy, joy! I’ve missed you SO much” as she wrote, “im [sic] so excited to see and talk to you…”

The silent treatment was over! I am forgiven! I am accepted back into her loving arms! I must not be the rat I made myself out to be! I am okay and good to live on exuberantly! I am new, again!

“What’s that about your internet service provider? They say your modem has been inoperative for a week now, and that’s prevented you from contacting me or reading my emails? What is a modem, you ask?”

I was beside myself in relief. I told her the tears falling from my eyes were tears of joy at seeing her again. She said, “…oh, never cry... you just deserve to be happy always remember that, and im [sic] just here for you…”

It was a malfunctioning modem that caused all this distress? She wasn’t all that computer literate and didn’t know what was wrong until the day before she came online and then it was raining too hard to get to an internet café on her motorbike.

A bad modem caused the silence? I wasn’t to blame after all? All that I put myself through was for naught? I had done nothing improper or disturbing after all?

Well, that being the case, I figured it was time for me to “pop” the question. I had rehearsed it over and over again. I had a feeling what the answer would be yet, I was fearful she might ask to delay her answer or might say no, outright. I didn’t practice anything for a negative answer; I was convinced she would say yes—surely.

And so, I asked if it was okay for me to ask a question but that I wasn’t sure how to phrase it. She urged me to ask anyway.

I asked if she would like to live in America and she said that was a dream of hers as soon as she finished her college studies. That went well, I sighed. Then I asked her if she would like to live in America and share my life with me. The seconds ticked by. My hands went to my mouth which was dry fearing a “no.” Yahoo! IM indicated she was typing a message back to me. My heart beat a staccato in my chest as I waited for her to finish and press “enter.” She had chosen a red italic font for her responses and on the screen I read, “hmmmnnn... that would be a great idea, but its [sic] impossible…impossible in the sense that its [sic] difficult for me to get there...” She didn’t say no, she just said she didn’t know how it would be done. I fired back with, “If you say yes, the rest will be done...paperwork, my visit [there] to get things going, arranging for the formalities...all will be done at the right time, Li'l Love... those are just procedures…” And then she said “…yes, thank you for making me happy today and always. I love you.”

And so it goes thanks to a faulty modem. I went to the bottom and came out on top thanks to it. I found out a lot about how much I cared about her. I realized what a life would be like with her at my side. I’d fallen deeply in love for the first time in many decades. I couldn’t keep this to myself for long. The first person to hear, “She said yes!” was the Western Union clerk who processed the money I sent to my love for a wedding savings account. Then, I called my man in Canada and we spoke for an hour as we compared notes about our “gals” finding that our relationships were almost exactly the same: the same thoughts, feelings and with the exception of his being able to be with his love frequently, the same behavior.

All was well in the world. The heavens showered goodness all around. The universe had answered my prayer of asking that she love me enough to say yes. I believed once again in that power and so I asked for more…

More about that, later…