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Zimbabwe, Poland, Canada, the United States—we came here to the Gerson Clinic from all over the world for one reason. That reason is to heal. Most all of us are here for healing cancer, some for other degenerative diseases, or so we thought.
But as I've watched our healing process, I'm discovering that it's not about the cancer, it's not even about the body. The healing goes much deeper than that. And all of us in our own way, expressing it our own way, know it deep in our souls.
What are up to heal are our broken lives. Our hopes are broken, our dreams are broken, our relationships are broken, and our futures are broken. Perhaps the most broken of all is our hearts. Life does not turn out. It evolves, it's organic, it can even be delightful, but it does not turn out—at least to what we expected when we dreamed dreams as a child.
Healing a life is our opportunity. Healing the body will most likely follow but the requirement for such diminishes in importance. What's real gets real when faced with the end.
My healing process astonishes me. As I've said in previous blogs in different ways, I must need a 2 x 4 across the head to wake up. But wake up I am, and healing I am.
And the healing process is also astonishingly simple, just not easy. It comes with a clear understanding that what has caused my dis-ease, in all its forms, is a sense of separation. My condition—the human condition—is a prevailing experience that I am separate from you, and more importantly, from God. Try as I may for it to be otherwise, that feeling invades every thought, action and interaction. Survival, in all its forms, becomes the name of the game.
A few nights ago, I luxuriated in a profound experience. It lasted for hours. I don't if it was a revelation from God, an epiphany, delirium or just plain ole' hallucinating. But I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was real—more real than water is wet and rocks are hard.
That experience was that I am not separate—never have been, never will be. That experience was that the belief that we are separate—just check out the fact you have a different body than mine if you doubt the existence of the belief—is a lie. It's a very compelling, perpetuating lie, but lie it is.
What got me to this experience was a practice I have been engaged in for awhile now. But the intensity of this practice has intensified exponentially since my potential death.
That's the beauty, gift and grace of facing the Grim Reaper head on, up close and personal, in real time, not in some time in the future bye and bye. You get to look at what is real and what is Memorex.
The practice is forgiveness. This type of forgiveness is not what I used to believe forgiveness to be. Until relatively recently in my life, forgiveness went something like this: "You screwed me. You shouldn't have done it. God is gonna get you. But in the meantime, I'll give you a pass. Just don't do it again; cause I'm watching."
The new type of forgiveness I've been practicing goes something like this: "You and I are one. We are children of God. God loves us, I love you. Any belief that you have wronged me is a lie. It is only my unwillingness to accept the love of God."
As I practice this forgiveness, I naturally and unequivocally move into a state of love. The love consumes me. I become it and it becomes me. All is well. God is love and so am I.
I've applied this forgiveness practice to everything and everyone. As I said, nothing focuses the mind like knowing time could be short. As I scan through my past and all my relationships, I look for the blips on the screen—those cases in which I still feel a twinge of being wronged. When the screen blips, I open my heart and forgive. Wow! How healing is that?
The irony is that the biggest challenge is, and always has been, to forgive me. I'm really just projecting my own sense of separation, guilt and wrongness onto you when I make you the problem. But tears of joy stream down my face as I forgive every perceived wrong, whether mine or yours.
Make no mistake about it, I know I've hurt, offended, mistreated and generally been a big ole' a-hole with many of you out there. I am not justifying, minimizing or sterilizing anything I've done. I am deeply sorry and apologize from the very bottom of my heart.
I'm just forgiving myself—and healing. And I'm more and more curious as to how, and if, my body will follow. Whether it does or not, my sense of love grows by the minute.
And I love you, deeply, Michael
P.S. I'm headed home tomorrow—to the loving arms of many of you. I feel beyond empowered to continue a therapy in which I have great confidence. But I still am, and expect to be for awhile, weak and at risk.
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