No More Turning Away—Breaking The Conspiracy Of Silence
How can we see the big picture, when we put just our face, the face of our past, our family history, and the history of humankind, in the picture frame?
Research for this book nearly cost me my life several times.
My PR campaign was anything but a success. Living into the role of being yet another “corrective hero” of the world is no role to assume for a career, or a hobby in retirement, if one wants to win friends in corporate, religious, or other patriarchal dominated areas, or live a long, carefree life.
Insanity and indifference have been normalized within our world mind, and I am not going to crucify myself in any more attempts to reach it, teach it, and breech it.. After it is published, it will either speak for itself, or die in the conspiracy of silence that it arose from and that I have thoroughly documented in the book.
I am presently writing two other books that will be much more pleasant to read, but this one is a matter of the heart, and must be distributed.
Anyway, my editor Melinda Copp and I had our final phone conversation Thursday.
She said, in effect. that it is time to leave the writer’s cocoon, and to fly with my new wings,
So, the book must be published now.
And, another new journey begins.
The book’s true impact upon the world may not be felt until well after my death, if at all.
And so it will be.
On a different note, Is anybody out there ready to let go of trauma’s controls?
I have a story about that:
Here is my final letter to my editor, Melinda Copp, (amended to include some supportive ideas).
No More Turning Away-Breaking The Conspiracy Of Silence
From: Bruce Paullin
Sent: Saturday, July 1, 2023 5:18:24 AM
To: Melinda Copp
Subject: Trauma (in case you did not see this as a reply)
Melinda,
I find myself sad, and a little tearful this morning. I grieve for all the spinoffs, or exiles of self that I created, and sent off into the deep wilderness of my unexplored interior domain due to traumatic wounding. And I grieve for the multitudes of family members, friends, acquaintances, and strangers who died young and in despair because they did not find and/or could not embrace the difficult truths that eventually leads to becoming a fully integrated, whole human being.
Finding and expressing one’s voice and expressing it through the written word can be the most fulfilling and gratifying creative activity available. Yet, for me to find my unique voice, I had to leave the world of Bruce 2.0, the Bruce that was reengineered after March of 1987 emergence from the underworld. That first six years of recovery was characterized by almost continuous blessed states, transcendent meditations like what the ” greats” talk about, fulfilling. associations with seeming enlightened people and some occasional spiritual poetry writing.
Then, the search for truth resumed, when I found cognitive dissonance between my “blessed states”, and the experience of most others in the world. I continued most of my relationships with “spiritualized” friends and acquaintances, and eschewed relationships with toxic men, except in the work setting, which was unavoidable. My wife is well versed in Jungian psychology (and so was I) and she kept pecking away at the veneer that I had created that kept me aloof from much of the human condition, and I was made more conscious of the collective and individual shadows that WE ALL CARRY WITH US THROUGH LIFE, until we become conscious, truly conscious, human beings.
Sharon did not want me to fall into the “spiritual bypass” trap that Indian gurus and Buddhist over-meditators like the Dalai Lama have fallen into–the denial of our individual self, eschewing looking fully into our dark collective and individual nature, and, once we have seen the truth, our sacred path to transcendence. They keep regurgitating the same vomitice that their so-called masters passed down through the generations to them. Umm, these wayward “insights” are just more sacred cows that have to be slaughtered if we are to find the real truth. Our egos are sacred containers for the infinite spirit that we are. They have been formed as a response to a world that knows not how to love itself. Yet, the ego is like the mothers’ womb and birth canal , and, as such, is essential to the process of transformation. Isn’t it just like patriarchy, even if it comes from spiritual men, to minimize the value of the mother (our creative nature) and her creations (ego)? Ego does not need to be overcome or defeated, and is not the enemy. Patriarchy and ignorance need to be addressed at the deepest levels in our religious and spiritual tribes of influence, and our egos need to be seen for what they are, why they were created, and how they can be transformed, without bringing further division, fear, or confusion into the mind of mankind,
Far too many “enlightened beings” are just more left brain dominated, near toxic men who have never fully dealt with their issues in a real and honest manner. Oh how the spiritual hero worshippers of our world, the ones who have not undertaken the real work of their spiritual life, love to live through their fantasies of pseudo-understanding of some of these “greats”, too. Some even bow down to worn out old patriachal farts parading around in fancy robes in Italy (though Pope Francis has finally taken the church philosophically in a more positive, healing direction, after 1700 years of darkness)., or in their own local refuge from reality. We have to slay every sacred cow, or idol, if we really want to find the real, eternal, everlasting truth of who we are in Spirit. There is no true freedom, or liberation, otherwise. Remember, it is all of our knowns that continue to support our corrupt capitalist/religious culture that is causing Mother Earth’s destruction, and the oppression of human and animal spirit.
As you might remember, in recovery I developed into one of the faster older runners on the West Coast, eventually retiring from all racing in 2005 at the age of 49 when I had yet another stress fracture of the leg. Orthopedics would not surgically repair the fracture, or prescribe pain killers, which would have been appropriate because of the severity of the pain . After getting no short-term help from the pros, my now deceased brother-in-law suggested that I get an online doctor to prescribe pain meds. Well, it worked, I got the medicine, then lost nearly 20 years of total sobriety when I continued seeking the drug after the healing time. Five years of hell ensued, but I came out of it a wiser, if not a more damaged man.
In 2017 I had my first of now four panic attacks, during the week our best friend Marty was diagnosed with a brain tumor. For two months I had been seeing in my “field of life force energy” a golf ball sized black tumor in the left-brain hemisphere. I surmised that I was seeing one of those damned tricksters I had first seen in July of 1987, when I had my first experience of seeing my life energy field. Guess what size and where Marty’s tumor was found to be? I feared for Marty, and my own life. I was in the middle of a two day panic attack when I begged Sharon to carry my message to the public, for I feared I was not going to survive. Of course, she said NO!, my message must be delivered by me, or not at all. That black tumor, once I started writing, was seen to be the psychic representation of toxic male/patriarchal controls our culture terrorizes us with from moment to moment, as it has for thousands of years.
Marty and I were both participants in the OSHU cancer survivor’s men’s writing group. Marty’s first experience of malignant melanoma was in 1987, when he had a big patch on his back removed. My first experience was in 2005, when I fell during a training run, and an arm wound from that fall coincided with a highly virulent malignant melanoma growth. My running, which nearly killed me in the end, also brought healing, for had the doctor not seen that hidden melanoma while treating the injury from the fall, it would have metastasized into a quick death for me.
I was ever present with Marty after his “successful” surgery to remove the tumor. Once I started writing, the same day Marty’s tumor was removed, the dark mass in my life energy field disappeared, as well as all capacity to see my field.
Eddy, Marty, Sharon. and I prepared to hike the Pacific Crest Trail, and all appeared to be moving forward. Marty was given the latest cancer fighting drugs, and there was hope. After a tough training hike in May, Marty lost all feeling in his right side, and became wheelchair bound. I devoted myself to his healing, and my Spirit pulled out all the stops. I gave him meditations for transcending his bodily sense of self, and for accessing his highest healing potential. I even had profound healing dreams, where I saw the path to true healing for Marty.
Late in August, Marty gave up, and secured medicine for his compassionate death. I was blown away, I knew in my heart that he was healing, I saw it on the “inner plane”. He would no longer see me but arranged a birthday party for his wife on September 9th. There were 30 people there, and no one knew yet of his decision to utilize Oregon’s Death with Dignity process. His wife Eddy took us aside at the party and told us that Marty was dying tomorrow through his medicine, and we were not invited to support him in his final day. My world started spinning, I was both confused, hurt, and betrayed, and I went over to their dining table, and sat under it for much of the “ceremony:. I went up to Marty and let him know that Eddy told us about his decision. He lifted up his right arm, to shake my hand. His right side had been regaining feeling, and he could stand again, if he wanted. I was amazed at his physiological healing and commented on it.
“Why would you choose death when life is choosing you to live?” I asked
“I need to be in control, Bruce, now is the time in case the cancer returns.” He stated.
My world continued to spin. I felt like I had invested my entire Spirit in his healing, and he said NO!
On September 11, after 19 hours in a coma, Marty was pronounced dead.
On September 16, my father, who I had provided dementia care for the last 6 years died, while I was placing Marty’s casket into the hearse.
On Oct 2, I had another panic attack, so severe that I wanted hospitalization. Sharon refused and held me close for hours until the tidal wave subsided.
Melinda, this points to an intense trauma to me that I talk to nobody about, save my wife and a long-term friend and spiritual advisor.
I fear that this book, which was my return to the desire to be of help to humanity, will give me the same feedback that my ” best friend” did.
This past Saturday night I had an amazing dream where I had the joy of long-distance running return, and I had a sitting with a very happy Marty. When I awoke, I was not at peace, however. I then entered into my fourth EVER panic attack, but I was shown the way to exit its labyrinth of suffering. I had failed to fully acknowledge and heal from the incredible trauma I had experienced in 2017, even though I wrote a whole book about that year. Traumatic wounding is like that, offering up multitudes of options, even distractions, to keep us from seeing the true source of our suffering.
I will be making references to this story in the traumatic narratives section I recently added, lest this book will be a failure, at least to the healing spirit within me who will not leave me alone, no matter how well I have learned how to hide from myself.
Life was so much simpler when I just lived in an elevated state of consciousness. and ignored the illusions and sufferings of our human experience. But an Indian guru I was not destined to be.
I guess I am just a traumatized Bhodhisatva of sorts, resolutely following each healing thread out of trauma’s labyrinth. Too bad healing had to come so late in life to me, so much suffering might have been averted.
There still is no mystery to me as to why some people choose suicide or continued mental illness and/or addictions over recovery from trauma.
Since 1987, I have chosen life, and sobriety, save for the pain killer relapse from 2005-2009. Life isn’t always pretty, but I remain personally responsible for my attitudes and behaviors, and I retain freedom of choice in most of my affairs. As a practicing alcoholic and drug addict, and mentally ill human being, I lost all freedom of choice. I have much compassion for those who still struggle with the psychological after-effecrs of trauma, with its often times companions of mental illness and/or alcoholism/drug addiction. Our society, often the greatest agent of trauma, has created the perfect conditions for its population to practice insanity and addictive behaviors, but it remains up to us as individuals to create our own perfect conditions for recovery. Self-awareness, personal inventory, making amends to all that we have harmed, working a strong spiritual program, mindfulness, meditation, and hanging around like-minded people keeps me in the neighborhood of my own “promised land”.
Nobody can do the work for us, it is a personal journey.
Here is a poem that arose from my healing experience, circa 1990
LOVE’S REUNION
I stumbled over the frozen wilderness for oh, so long!
With a hole in my heart that life could just not fill
Until I stopped to rest, and heard a gentle voice singing a long forgotten song
That promised of my release from this winter world of painful chill
Her lyrics spoke of the return of Life to freedom
And the release of shivering minds from darkness’ frozen, fearful hands
She drew me closer without any further verbal tethers
And prepared me for the walk back to Love’s now awakening lands
Her warming presence melted the icy hardness that I used to know
Inspiring within me the courage, to myself and my world, to say
That, to all of my past memories’ barren trees of lifeless knowledge, I now refuse to go
I will now accept only the lessons learned along Love’s Infinite Way
Yes, she met me while I was with the dark companion
But it was to her pleasure to take me home to share her loving lights
And give me the shelter of Love’s never setting summer sun
She changed my cold mournings into happier, heavenly nights!
By freely offering of herself and all of her sacred charms
She moves me through life’s clamorous valleys unto its silent peaks
I can now retire from a life of fruitless wanderings
To live in the Source of Peace of which mankind forever seeks
Her life is resplendent with Wisdom, Strength, and Beauty
For these are the robes with which she clothes her being
The gift of Love now disrobes before my inviting eyes
To reveal her ecstatic vision, which is now all-seeing
My search for Truth and Love Sublime has finally ended
For, I now fill my empty cup from her joyous running streams
I have reunited with my eternally fulfilling lover
And, her healing waters dissolve all of my painful dreams
I only seek to remain within her all-embracing arms
While through all life she extends her ever unfolding surprise
My first waking breath each morning brings the certainty
That, from my bed, joined as one, we again shall arise
My broken heart and shattered life is finally mending
And, wedded to her life, I now call her my faithful bride
Life no longer has a fearful road ahead to travel
For, One with God, on Love’s lighted path, I now gratefully stride
Yes, that poem represents a very real life experience, never limited to saints and sages of the past. Being “one with God” is not always a stroll through heaven, however.
There is always a crucifixion of sorts to be experienced.
There is always a new search for truth.
Thanks again for your help.
You are precious!
Love and peace,
Bruce
