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THE GONG SHOW
By Michael J. VarmaAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 Michael J. Varma
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4685-9410-2Contents
Foreword.............................xiChapter One..........................3Chapter Two..........................19Chapter Three........................30Chapter Four.........................43Chapter Five.........................69Chapter Six..........................92Chapter Seven........................112Chapter Eight........................128Chapter Nine.........................143Chapter Ten..........................168Chapter Eleven.......................182Chapter Twelve.......................197Chapter Thirteen.....................221Chapter Fourteen.....................237Affirmation..........................266Bibliography.........................267Gratitude List.......................271About the Author.....................273
Chapter One
Let the Games Begin!
I could have accepted his not wanting to draw attention to himself – though just barely, but his avoidance of the subject altogether made me suspicious. Okay, so he hadn't invited me to his birthday party, but he hadn't not invited me either!
I'd known Zack for about nine years and, while we'd drifted apart, we still respected each other. He was one of the few people I could just be myself with, you know, warts and all; and in my life those people were rare indeed. Outgoing and brash, he said whatever was on his mind with a typically Taurean voice that boomed even louder in drag. Picture it: 2am, the lights, noise, traffic, downtown Granville Street riddled with throngs of celebrity drunks, wannabe whores, druggies and a short man, dressed to the hilt in a three-quarter length ruby red-sequined dress with long, auburn curly locks staggering along in a pair of red high heels shouting out a mating call Taurean of 'fuckin' A' to the whole world. Priceless!
I wouldn't have missed that act for the world, but it wasn't all act. No, underneath his bull-like exterior laid a wise sensitive soul that stood in contrast to his youngish age. Although I never told him they were qualities I took refuge in when life got the better of me.
Ever wanted to get close to someone you just couldn't get close to? Not because of anything they'd done, but because of what you thought you'd done to them? Sure I'd been lonely and needed a friend. He said he'd wanted to hang out with me, drugs or not and knew what he was doing, but I knew better too. I could've not got involved with him, got uninvolved with him and gone it alone and not taken him down with me in my addiction. Life would've been simpler that way, wouldn't it, alone? Not impacting anything or anyone, ever. But it wasn't and I hadn't and in my weakness a special room in hell had been prepared for me and my ilk.
Now with a chance to make up for the past ...
* * *
"Just go to detox. You'd go to a doctor if you had a bad foot. So you have a bad drug problem. That's what they're there for." Her requests sounded so simple and direct that to refuse was childish like not taking out garbage because it wasn't my turn. Yet this was about a huge problem called my addiction, and didn't any huge problem demand a huge answer in return? And didn't it have to come from me and not her? What if I was wrong and there wasn't a huge answer after all? Not trusting her after all the hell I'd put her through would explain why my defenses couldn't handle the simple truth!
With eyes wide open, something moved on the periphery and slipped behind the couch out of sight. Paranoid and unable to run and hide I prepared for my beating like a real man. Yet instead felt a surprising sense of relief. Not knowing where it came from, a shadowy veil ignited into flames. Feelings came to life like the sense of touch after removing mittens. Unable to comprehend the concept of muffled feelings, what else didn't I know? Would she be there for me after I'd come undone? Somehow I knew she would; she was that kind of person. The temptation to run flickered like a candle flame in the wind, but I'd been running on empty for far too long. So with a leap of faith, I kicked off my metaphorical shoes and surrendered to my new-found feelings and stayed a while.
A distant memory dislodged from some intangible place and fell into the bottomless pit of my heart. Holding on, feelings writhed like snakes in the depths below. Frantically trying to escape her witchcraft, I ran headlong into what I was actually feeling; that same sense of relief. Yet it had nothing to do with being caught, but for being able to feel again!
A memory blossomed and scented with sweet emotion I fell willingly into its loving embrace. Long ago, oh so long ago; I recalled a time of wonderment for the very feeling of life itself. Where had it gone, why did it never stay and why couldn't I have it? Why couldn't I love myself like that? Torn between blatant narcissism and an innate sense of empowerment for loving myself, why was it so socially and religiously taboo? Or were they just victims of power and control like everyone else?
Remorse beckoned, but I declined its siren-like call. Unable to recall being able to respond to my own feelings before, I felt capable of choosing what I did with my life. I could even go to detox, clean up and do it now, not later like usual. And now I even wanted to! Everything was so clear now: I could've always done something. It'd just been me in the way of myself all along – whatever that meant! Awestruck by the power of the intangible over the physical, I still hadn't taken the first step!
I never told her, but I loved her for caring enough to call me on my shit in such an inoffensive and truthful way. In that moment I saw myself for the first time in literally decades: a frightened little boy terrified of people and the world, who was faking it until some form of release like death came along. And so, I started to be a man and do what was needed of me for me, regardless of the consequences of going to treatment and jeopardizing friendships along the way.
Space-time exploded and frothed up a ticklish idea that Zack's decision to not invite me wasn't just about me! Unwilling to give him full credit, I did what I did best and turned it into a game that once solved would set our friendship back on track. Then he'd have to invite me to his birthday party. Then it hit me: Zack wanted me to go, but couldn't or wouldn't tell me. It was the oldest recipe in the book: seduction or attraction through rejection.
Longing
Proud beyond words, triumphant thoughts made love to ecstatic feelings. Suddenly I was at a party – no, the party. People, happy people, did what was expected at a normal birthday party – they talked, laughed, drank, smoked and enjoyed themselves. The music was normal. Everything was normal. What was so damn special about normal? Balloons floated by uplifting spirit. Lapping up my vision like a thirsty dog, breath slowed to impulse. Nearing orgasm, each inhalation infused the senses with renewed clarity. Everything I was being allowed to see, absolutely everything, was a trophy of their love and friendship for Zack.
The magnitude of such a realization nearly broke my heart. Such profound love and devotion for simply coming together and sharing common everyday feelings and experiences was perplexing in its simplicity. I hardly had time to grasp such a concept before noticing I wasn't in the picture, but where I typically was – on the outside looking in.
Whimperings of unfathomable emptiness called out in harrowing tones in the depth of my heart. The terror of seeing what was buried that deep paled in comparison to not heeding its call. I wanted to ask for help, but didn't know how. Now, after years of carefully and not so carefully evading personal responsibility through booze, drugs, judgments, denial, sexual pleasing and fear, 'all roads led to Rome'. In a last ditch effort, I asked what the consequences of refusing to walk such a path would be. The answer came in true picturesque form: like a dying flower I'd wither away and be no more.
It hurt to see I'd been wrong, that real life was about participation and relationship – just like Krishnamurti had said. But how could I do that and keep what was left of my pride, integrity and independence intact? I thought about stealing what I needed from others, but couldn't now I knew. Ignorance truly was bliss! Lost and confused, my inner child silently wept. He wanted to go out and play, but something was holding him back. The Universe asked why I thought playing always had to be childish. I didn't know and didn't even know if I wanted to know anymore.
With that one of the party-goers reached down, picked up a straw and snorted a line from the table. Realization hit me like a freight train. I couldn't breathe; I forgot how. All that remained was silence ... deathly silence.
Projector
An old, beige movie projector reminiscent of the sturdy craftsmanship of old formed in my mind's eye. With no instruction manual from the Universe, panic quickly turned to pride for creating such an artistic delight. It turned, hovering before me, staring me down, scrutinizing and revealing dirt so conveniently swept under the carpet even I'd forgotten about it.
I lunged forward fumbling like a blind man in the dark. On a geographical map, I traced out waterways that served to not only nourish me, but villages, towns, cities and associated marvels of social and civic engineering as well. Multiple rivers formed a delta that fed into an even greater expanse. And this was only the river of pride! Enthralled by a force that could forge being and geography into an inter-connected wholeness, I felt connected to the consciousness of Mother Earth herself. Its existence within my mind made me its creator, its god. If this was pride in all its glory, then maybe it wasn't all bad!
Next I traveled beyond local to global, universal and infinitely larger cosmological dimensions. Feelings gave birth to newer feelings and feelings of those feelings ad infinitum. Afraid of being lost permanently down the rabbit hole, I lowered my throbbing head in humility at the sheer vastness of my inner being. I turned back to the projector for guidance. Two reels spun in synchronous orbits on mechanical arms uplifted in prayer to the heavens; mirroring my own inner feelings. Its mechanistic drone lulled me into a deep hypnotic state. Faint clickety-click sounds hammered away at the membrane of my reverie. It sheared open. Vowing vengeance on the perpetrators, what I saw shook me to the bone. The film reel had snapped and spun round and around aimlessly.
Terrified of the existential implications, I panicked and pulled on the power cord, but each tug pulled me closer and closer to dark sinister feelings. I searched frantically for the projectionist – for anyone – to save me. A piercing white light lit up the inner chambers of my third eye revealing the emptiness within. How would I know if the movie called My Life was over when there was such little knowledge of death at all?
Scrambling to hold onto my remaining sanity, questions fed doubts into an exponentiating co-dependent nightmare. If everything in the Universe was recorded and factoring in the cancelling effect of good and bad, surely even my pitiful life would amount to more than just a broken reel of film. Who could I turn to when society was too preoccupied guarding first-come-first-served inheritances than anything of any real value? In a moment of absolute stop, multidimensional pathways converged into an immensely complex delta feeding into something I could only presume was the vastness of God His/Her/ Itself. Shaking, I begged for anything but that.
Canvas Conundrum
Suddenly two canvases appeared: one I could paint with my mind, the other I assumed was with experiential knowledge. While the mental canvas appeared pure in its own right, it was dreamlike and incomplete. It was only one of the many rich aspects that made up experience. Just because it was difficult to imagine other discrete canvases didn't mean the emotional, physical, spiritual and other aspects didn't exist. What if they were part of a 'meta' canvas connecting all other canvases together under the Crayola-like colors of my chakra system? Then the cold grays of the industrialized world would merely be a consequence of concreting over my true colors. Whatever my canvas, it was more likely a scribble than a colorful masterpiece in the Louvre.
Feeling playful I painted a tree into existence with my mind. Energetic roots sent the nutrients of Mother Earth up through the length of its trunk into branches, twigs and leaves that shimmered with life. They formed a collective whole, an organism unto itself, much like the human organism from organelles and cellular evolution. Even though it was the most natural of things, using my personal palette felt like trespassing on hallowed ground.
Anchoring myself in the present, I let go and fell into a chasm of endless choices and infinite possibilities. A sphere of white light appeared in the distance. Using my feelings to discover its nature, I became the captain of a star ship sending out a space-probe. It touched the light with the utmost caution sending back its findings and I surprisingly began to feel better. I repeated this process with increasing increments of trust until the connection between the light and my own intrinsic self-worth was undeniable. My entire being was inundated in a rich golden light. Sight once dulled by cobwebs, self-deprecations, pain and suffering now shone in tribute to its glorious nature. Was this sight in its most natural state?
I checked in with my other faculties: thoughts felt lighter and frolicked on the lush, green landscape of the mind with little or no impression. Feelings came to life in rich song moving my heart with untold joy. I felt clean – no beyond clean – pure. With eyes wide open a thought emanated from my mind and traveled on a ray of light into the distance. I stood breathless before the absolute magnificence of what was unfolding before me. At this point I didn't really care if I was mad. It felt so much better than the insanity of the old me. In another flash the ignorance and gullibility that had been lurking in the shadows was laid bare. I hadn't been invited to the party because Zack was looking out for me and my recovery!
A volcano erupted sending shame-based emotions flowing like lava down the mountainside of my being. They burned with anger for losing sight of the most important things in my life: me and my recovery. Hot, sweaty and breathless, frenzied panic raged and stabbed away. My knees buckled at the irony of not being invited to his party because I was an addict, but because I wasn't one! Defeated, I lay down and passed out.
Several hours later I awoke to my brain literally throbbing in the chemical pressure cooker called my head. I held it with both hands, nursing it, soothing it. I felt heavy, thought heavy and moved heavy. Trying to avoid spilling its viscous contents, I gave it a gentle shake hoping to impart some life back into it. I couldn't even begin to imagine how many brain cells I'd lost in the exchange, but then again I didn't really want to know. No, that kind of truth would've surely killed the rest.
I got up – slowly, and fixed myself a tasteless bite to eat more to fill the emotional void than any real sense of hunger. Voices chattered away in the remoteness of my being. With no energy to drag them into the present, "Maybe I didn't have to go or get him a present, who would know?" I blurted out of nowhere. 'I would know,' answered the stillness. I lowered my head as my solar plexus audibly groaned. Torn between honoring sobriety and social obligations, a seasoned mental gymnastics routine earned me a perfect 10.0 for the perfect excuse. I could go to Zack's party after an NA meeting, which luckily was taking place that same night! As coincidence became divine intervention, I reasoned I was meant to be at the party just like I was meant to go to NA.
In another flash, I was sitting at the meeting: listening, sharing and agreeing, you know all the right stuff people did at meetings. I didn't care if it was real or not, I just wanted to feel good, alive, alert and invincible enough to at least be able to handle the party. With Zack looking out for me, I couldn't lose if I threw in a birthday present as well. That's what friends were for, right?
I glowed, as a warm chemical discharge flowed up through my neck and into my brain. This time, however, I wasn't afraid. The party would take care of any biochemical reaction to social isolation. Besides, with my psychological health at stake, I had no choice but to go. It was settled.
Blanketed in chemically induced warmth, I gloated at my ingenuity, but that wasn't all. No, the real beauty was that Zack hadn't even had to lift a finger – I'd done all the work for the both of us! I checked and rechecked all the variables out of formality than really having to. Nothing was wrong ... not anymore. Sporting a Cheshire Cat-like grin I sat back, lit a cigarette and blew smoke like I was a somebody. As a matter-of-fact, in that moment I was a somebody: I'd saved a friendship from demise.
From my fifteenth floor balcony, I peered down at the people scurrying about their pettiness. "No wonder they were so small," I mused, "they weren't nearly as smart as I was ..."
Stinky Thinking
It was the night of the party. I was fired up. NA would be great. I'd go to Zack's party. I'd be empowered. I'd have a good time. I'd show him I was a good friend. I'd maintain my sobriety. I'd ...
(Continues...)
Excerpted from THE GONG SHOWby Michael J. Varma Copyright © 2012 by Michael J. Varma. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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