My next book, smoked pork, fan-mail and all-consuming inner turmoil

I haven’t posted in a while, sorry about that.

But it doesn’t mean I haven’t been busy.

My diet book is almost complete. I’m looking forward to publishing it very soon.

Yesterday I perfected my cold-smoker, and spent half the day smoking some cured pork.

Earlier in the week I had my first ever fan-mail for my novel, from a family in Canada!!!

But the bulk of my attention has been caught up in what I can only describe as deep inner turmoil.

I’d been posting recently about my eyesight – nearsightedness – and how I was exploring the causes and the limitations of it in the same way that I had previously overcome my autoimmune disease.

Well, I probably should have mentioned that taking on such a long-standing physical problem and looking for the corresponding beliefs, emotions, and stresses in one’s psyche is bound to have a big impact on your life.

How big?

I developed myopia in primary school. I’ve been wearing glasses for more than twenty years. Whatever associations, fears, or maladaptive mechanisms go with my nearsightedness are well-established and deeply ingrained.

You can’t start tearing up your deepest foundational beliefs and worldview after twenty years and expect it not to shake your whole experience of life in unanticipated ways.

So that’s what’s been going on. It turned out that the spiritual significance of how one literally sees the world has profound implications, and I’m nowhere near the end of them.

How do you see the world? Is it a good place or a bad place? Is it ruled by love or by fear? Do bad things always happen to you? Do you always expect disappointment? Is your entire experience overshadowed by the inevitability of suffering?

Are you a victim? What laws of life do you take as indomitable?

Delving into these questions with a serious intent to change your life, with the sincere faith that something like nearsightedness has a significance and a purpose and is not set in stone…That process will throw your whole world into turmoil.

That’s why you need faith and perseverance, because the rewards on the other side are truly immeasurable. When things you’ve taken for granted all your life can change in a moment – that’s miraculous.

When the fears you’ve harboured in the back of your mind are completely uprooted, your entire experience is transformed and liberated.

The past week or so has contained some of the worst moments I can remember. But by persevering in faith and honesty and a determination to arrive at the truth no matter what, those dark and painful moments have given way to an experience of love and connection in my relationships and in own self that I would never have thought possible.

I realise that’s a bit scant on details, but it’s too personal to share. My actual vision is still a work-in-progress. I’m wearing my glasses only for brief periods when driving and occasionally for TV or the computer, but I notice now that my eyes hurt from wearing them.

Without glasses, my vision actually fluctuates constantly. Sometimes it seems quite clear, but at other times it seems blurrier than ever. Like the pain from my old autoimmune problem, what seems static is actually in a constant flux.

But examining my eyesight has taken me to the very heart of my relationship with external reality, my foundational sense of being a self in and against the world. That’s why challenging this foundation has had such far-reaching consequences.

Your beliefs do shape your experience

Every experience tells a story. Every experience has something to teach you.

I’ve been turning these ideas over in my mind lately, and in the past day or two it’s become even more important to me.

An example I like to use is when my wife and a good friend were having a conversation and I suddenly felt left out and ignored. I waited, but they continued to ignore me, both in the conversation and in terms of their body language.

I ended up feeling put out by this, and later I brought it up with my wife and my friend separately.

My friend said “if you felt left out, why didn’t you join in?”

and my wife said “actually I was waiting for you to join in the conversation but you didn’t for some reason.”

So why hadn’t I just joined in?

The truth (though I had to search for it) was that I was too afraid to jump into the conversation in case they didn’t want me to be a part of it. I had read distance in their body language, and that made me anticipate a risk of failure if I came close and tried to take part.

But the irony is that I was already standing back from them from the moment the three of us met. My own body language was retreating from the engagement, leaving a vacuum that they filled with their own conversation.

The weren’t distancing themselves from me, they were responding to my own distance, which I had failed to acknowledge in myself.

How many times do we create the circumstances we fear?

Time and time again I’ve noticed in hindsight that I had produced, or imagined, the challenges and obstacles that shape my life for the worst. I have unwittingly created the very incidents and experiences that reinforce my pessimism, my hostility, my self-pity, and most of the time I haven’t even stopped to question the beliefs and assumptions behind those experiences.

In all aspects of life, my experiences are a reflection of my own beliefs about reality and about the way the world works.

My sense of what is possible and what is impossible. My sense of what is proper and improper. My attempts to ‘read’ other people’s attitudes to me….The truth is that we don’t know what is possible and impossible, and from that point every other assumption is thrown into doubt as well.

Every experience I have is reflecting something about my beliefs and my expectations within that context.

For instance, right now I’m brewing a beer. Brewing takes about four hours, and though it’s very much a worthwhile process, for me the experience feels like work. It’s a chore, and I fully expect to be tired and worn out by the end of it.

But why?

If I examine it more closely, there’s no reason I can’t relax and take it easy while still brewing. It’s not physically or mentally demanding, so long as you’re organised.

If you set a timer, you can forget about it until the timer reminds you. You don’t have to keep watching the clock.

You can worry about whether you’re doing the process correctly, but if you’ve already researched it then further worry is just a choice.

What is this experience telling me? It’s telling me that I view work as something burdensome and incompatible with a happy and relaxed frame of mind. Work is not enjoyable. Work is hard, monotonous, dull, and stressful.

There are aspects of brewing beer that are intrinsic to the process, but countless components of my personal brewing experience are entirely dependent on my choices, which are in turn dependent on my beliefs about life and reality.

Every instance, every experience is like this. I can’t fault or blame the experience or reality for being the way that it is. Or if I do, I am once again creating a situation that reflects my beliefs and expectations. If I want to feel helpless, then I need only believe that I am.

If I want to feel that life is difficult and challenging and ultimately disappointing, if I want to believe that all good things must fail, then I need only act accordingly.

You’d be amazed at how efficiently and unfailingly an individual can sabotage their own life so as to feel the disappointment and suffering they expect to find.

But what’s the alternative?

Well, I firmly believe (and so increasingly experience) that if we become aware of our own stake in these conflicts, our own role in creating them, we will gradually cease to create them this way.

When something good in your life looks like it’s coming to an end, must it really be so? Isn’t it reflecting back to you your own deepest expectations and beliefs about life?

I guarantee that if you look at it this way, if you ask yourself why you haven’t done things differently, why you accept the limitations, or why you feel powerless to change, you will arrive not at absolute obstacles but at your own self-imposed limits. You’ll discover that you’ve ruled out any alternative answers already, and so you’re not willing to try anything different.

Ignorance blinds us.

I didn’t know that I had distanced myself from my wife and my friend long before I felt excluded. Once I knew that I had done that, I could choose not to do it.

Maybe your mind works differently, but for me this is always the case.

I didn’t realise I had already decided that brewing must be onerous and time-consuming and must monopolise my attention for four hours. It doesn’t have to. There are steps where I have to pay attention, but there are also periods where I can ignore it. Likewise, if the time commitment really bothers me, I could buy equipment that would make heating and cooling much faster, or automate parts of the process. But that would touch on a whole slew of complicated beliefs about money!

The moral of the story is that our experiences are shaped far more than we realise by our own beliefs and expectations. Accordingly, our experiences can teach us a great deal about those beliefs and expectations.

We worry about external things, but our understanding of those external things – even our experience of them – is profoundly mediated by our beliefs and expectations.

We think we know how people will act and react to us. And so long as we act and react in the same old ways, we’re probably right. But the moment we change, everything changes.