Closure

 

(Sorry for the quality of the images – they were taken with my phone)

 

  

Good Morning Readers… *yawn* thud*

 

Yeah, I’m pretty tired today.

 

Yesterday, we set a new record for visitors to this blog, so thank you all for stopping by, especially Tonje, my new Norwegian reader. Takk deg for lessened, Tonje! (I hope that was right, my Norwegian isn’t as good as your English…

 

I guess I was nervous; it just took a while to recognise it.

 

I raced from the office at 12, arriving back at my house at 1, showering, shaving, and attempting to get dressed. I’ll admit, for the sake of being honest, that I was in a bit of a panic about what to wear, something compounded by my impending, self-imposed ‘must leave the house by 2.15pm’ deadline.

 

Eventually I made it out, and set about my 2 hour journey to Florence House in West Sussex for Closure – the Hoffman graduating ceremony, and scene of one of the happiest nights of my life.

 

I have traffic to thank for calming me down.

 

I didn’t need to be there until about 5, but I wanted to allow time for the famous traffic on the M25, so I gave myself an extra 30 minutes. It was only just enough. 2 ¾ hours later, I arrived at Florence House having spent the vast majority of my journey in total silence; a far cry from the tornado of nervous energy and loud music I had begun with.

 

Florence House

The House

I parked in the driveway, and walked up to the house, immediately spotting the glorious open grounds in front of me. Memories flooded back – of revelations around the fire, of roses left behind, and of so much more – and I felt a lump in the back of my throat and tears forming in my eyes. For the first time in at least a couple of weeks, England had decided to have a sunny day, and the rays warmed my face and shone upon me. I don’t believe in God, but it was a godly sort of day.

 

There was one problem, however. My instructions were to enter Florence House at the back of the building, which meant entering the back garden, and then sneaking past the room, which I did, stalking past like Wile E.Coyote trying to sneak up on Road Runner. Though the curtains were closed, I later realised that due to the amounts of sunlight, if people’s eyes weren’t closed, they would have seen me, in silhouette, throwing some very weird and funny shapes as I snuck past the windows.

 

Kitchen

Kitchen

Tea Room

I entered through the back door, still quite nervous, and suddenly overwhelmed with memories. It was all there, just as it was before – the seemingly never-ending biscuit barrel, the teas, the shelves of plates, the kitchen with its chairs and decoration ready for the post-Closure food – everything, just as it was. It was as though someone had pressed ‘pause’ in the house, and I was coming back to press ‘play’. It felt weird, it felt surreal, and mostly, it felt like home.

 

I made myself some tea, but I didn’t feel relaxed. I was the only one there, for one thing, and it began to dawn on me the tremendous responsibility I would have if I were the only graduate there – and more, how disappointing it might be for the people finishing their process if the only one to turn up to turn up to a Closure was someone who had only just finished theirs. I mean, it’s lasting change they ultimately would like to hear about.

 

 

 

I paced the kitchen. I looked out at the back garden, the scene of our group photo. I played with my phone, and I was not relaxed. This was not an ideal way to be. The door opened, and out popped Simon. I’d forgotten just how long his hugs went on for, and resolved that if I should ever meet him again, I’d ‘out-hug’ him – just for fun. We had tea together, and somehow, just being with him and in Florence House once again calmed me, and I felt a whole lot better.

 

Eventually, I was led into the room, where the group were sitting in their all-too-familiar semi-circle. I sat at the back, on some pillows, and closed my eyes, trying to tune into the part of the ceremony they were currently in. It was actually really tough to do this, being that they were about halfway through, but eventually, I got there, and though I was distracted from time to time, looking to see if anyone else had turned up (eventually, someone did – Karen, who had finished her process 8 years ago – thus killing two birds with one stone) and to see when I would need to move into sitting in a chair. I can’t think if my mind is just playing tricks on me, but I distinctly remember opening my eyes, and seeing the graduates there as if out of nowhere.

 

Still, the Closure ceremony was as moving as it ever was. I was connected, and I felt those same feelings of forgiveness and comfort that I remember all too well from sitting in that room on July 10^th.

 

Eventually, I was introduced to the group, and joined them standing in a circle along with Karen. They broke for dinner, and after talking a little to Mairi and a couple of the other teachers, I answered what seemed like ten million questions, trying to be as honest as I could, without revealing too much about what had happened.

 

I stumbled over a couple of questions – especially ones about relationships after the process. I mean, it’s not easy to explain to someone without killing their positivity that my relationship went out the window shortly after I left Florence House…

 

When all the questions were finished, the party began, and I took it as my cue to begin the long journey home. I got into my car, and drove home in silence, eventually getting back very late, and falling into bed.

 

I wish today’s entry could have been longer. On one hand, I am, as I said, very tired, and very conscious that today’s work isn’t my best writing – and that’s annoying me. But also, as people reading this who have done the course will appreciate, I don’t want to say too much about what has passed. That’s for that group, and for me to remember.

 

I’ll leave you today with my final thought of the day. At the end of the questions, I got up and announced I had to begin my long journey home. One person said ‘you came all this way just for us?’ And then thanked me, as did the other members of the group.

 

It made me think about the course as a whole. Whether or not I came to help out the others is irrelevant, but their reality thinks it I did just for that reason. Similarly, whether or not the Hoffman Process is the answer for everyone, I don’t know, but in those moments, in those 8 days, it worked for me, and provided the answers I was looking for. I thought that when I left, and I thought how angry I’d felt a couple of days earlier when my arrogant father said ‘Hoffman isn’t the answer to everything you know.’

 

It is to me, as the notion of someone undertaking a 4 hour journey was to the group.

 

Have a great weekend everyone.

 

Closed Box

 

 

 

4th October: My Birthday Present To Myself

Although, it should be said, my birthday is actually on the 21st.

Anyway, just a quick entry today as I have a very short period of time to do some work before I leave at 12 in order to get home, and then get to West Sussex.

I have decided to get a second tattoo, this time in the inside of my arm. I have one other tattoo, my grandfather’s initials, which are HG.

When I was young man first living in London, my mother and I lived alone. During the school holidays, my mother would drag me to work, where she worked with her father (who had rescued us, effectively) in Archway, in his clothes shop.

Every day, they would buy me lunch and comics, and sit me downstairs where they kept all the stock, where I would read the comics in about 30 seconds, and play football with bundled up tissue paper covered in Sellotape.

Being that I was about 6 or 7 years old at the time, I would very quickly get bored, and I would sneak upstairs to see what was happening with the grown ups. My grandfather, a moody, buy ultimately soft man, would scowl at me and I would scream and run back downstairs before repeating this process over and over again.

I grew to love my grandfather like the father he was at that time in my life, and, in the spirit of our playfulness, and never forgetting those days, I dubbed him ‘The Green Eyed Monster’ – the man who scowled when I came upstairs.

When he died, I resolved to get a tattoo to remember him by. With my past drug-fuelled indiscretions, my memory ain’t what it should be, and sometimes, I forget things. So, one day, after wanting to get it done for about 2 years, I went to a tattoo parlour in Covent Garden, and had ‘HG’ tattooed on my lower back, with a little devil tail coming off the ‘G’ for ‘The Green Eyed Monster’. I don’t see it every day, but I always know its there, and more importantly, I’ll never forget.

And so, this October 4^th, I will be commemorating something else I don’t want to forget with this:

I’ll see you all tomorrow with my ‘Closure’ report.

Closed Box

‘Twas the Night before Closure

‘twas the night before Closure, and in Florence House,

Not a Hoffmanite was stirring, free of their doubts,

For the time to go home and Closure was nearly at hand,

And no more purple children – isn’t that grand!

 

The teachers were nestled all sung in their beds,

With visions of light filling their heads,

The last day of process, I’m ready I am,

Nearly time to go home, and finally make love to my hand!

 

But as I said there’s Closure, which starts around 5

And people come and visit, to talk about their lives,

They’ll say ‘the world ain’t so bad, in fact, it’s alright!’

‘Happy Closure to all, and to all, good night!’

 

Good morning everyone!

 

As you may be able to tell, I am feeling somewhat poetic this morning! I wore a scarf for the first time since summer today – winter is coming, and that makes me happy. If you ever want to see a grown man revert to a child-like state, come to my house when it snows and watch me play in the garden. Seriously.

 

On the flip side, if you ever want to see me cry like a little bitch, then come to my house when they’re handing out medals at the Paralympics. I caught a little bit of it yesterday, and… well, I got to a point where I couldn’t watch anymore. Very moving. Anyway, I need a haircut. (He said, swiftly changing the subject to protect his macho image)

 

I am pleased to announce that I did indeed cancel my date last night. Slight shame in that I didn’t tell the truth as to why – but there’s no need to be cruel as well as unreliable. She’s a nice enough girl and all, but, well… just read yesterday’s entry for the rest of this tale.

 

Folks, in just 48 hours, I will be sitting here blogging about my experiences at Closure, and just in case I haven’t made it clear, I CAN’T FUCKING WAIT.

 

Had a total pattern run in with my father yesterday, which actually, I’m going to tell you about before I get into the whole Closure thing.

 

So last night, I am talking to my parents, and dropped in a reminder that I was doing this Closure thing on Thursday. One of the most heated and charged patterns I go into with my parents is their complete and utter arrogance on all subjects – just in case you’re wondering where I get it from.

 

I explained to them that I was looking forward to doing Closure, and my father totally dismissed it, and when I explained that I would have quite liked a heads up on the first couple of months, and what they held, his response was ‘well, with respect, I’ve done quite a lot of research into the process, and you’re just at the start…’ He was actually, in his sheer arrogance, trying to suggest that he knew more about the process then someone that had actually done it. Obviously, there’s more than I wrote up there, but I can’t be bothered to write about it; I’m in a good mood, and it’ll fucking piss me off. I think I have my next gym post-it note ready to go.

 

It’s part of my father’s make up, sadly. He’ll either be into something if he knows the facts about it, or has evidence of it working, but if it is something he ever-so-slightly doesn’t understand, or doesn’t agree with, he will immediately dismiss it, and fight his corner with an arrogant sneer. Ugh. Very, very annoying.

 

Anyway, I think I’ll just keep my Hoffman stuff to myself in future. Well, between myself and any of you that care to read about it here…

 

I was going to use today to ‘map out’ my mental state right now – I even had pre-prepared categories, in order, to use as sub-headings, things like ‘Why I Came To The Process’ and ‘What Hasn’t Changed – Other People!’ But last night, as I was having a think about what I was going to write, I got a feeling, as us Hoffman people tend to do, that it wasn’t right.

 

The great thing about the Process is that it really teaches you how to relate to your heart, and your sense of what is wrong and right. No-one is perfect, and we certainly all do things which might be considered wrong, but the difference for many of us is that self-awareness that allows us to be in touch with knowing this, and, in time, to get away from repeating those same mistakes. (Read: not going on a pointless date for the wrong reasons)

 

Personally, it is this feeling of self-awareness that has allowed me to get away from the ‘act’ of David – a pre-prepared series of lies and deflections, all very well rehearsed, and presented in a lovely little package with a nice bum. But seriously, as I was thinking last night, I suddenly became very conscious of the feeling that I didn’t want to be prepared. I wanted to go to Closure, and just let the real stuff flow from the heart.

 

Aside from rolling around in the snow, the one thing guaranteed to make me smile right now is talking about my process. I’ve mentioned it before, but when I talk about the changes in me and my life, I can feel my face light up – and I don’t think I’ll have that same reaction if I’m straining to remember what I wrote in a blog a couple of days before.

 

So folks, I’m giving that whole thing a miss, and drawing today’s entry to a close.

 

So wishing you all a great day filled with love and light,

It’s good bye from me, and to all, good night!

 

Closed Box

Warning: Explict Content Which Makes Me Sound Like A Douchebag

Good morning readers!

 

You find me this morning wrestling with a bit of a conundrum.

 

You see, I have a date tonight.

 

First bit of honesty for the day: not everything I do goes into this blog. Sometimes, there are some things which put me in even worse light than I am already, and I leave them out, arguing that I can’t write endless diatribes about my sex life.

 

A few Fridays ago, I indulged myself in a little post-process hangover. Previous to my Hoffman course, I had begun ‘chatting up’ someone we’ll call… Moonshine Thunderbeam, through Facebook. You see, Moonshine Thunderbeam is actually the older sister of someone I used to be very good friends with in secondary school – here in England, the school you attend from ages 11-16/18 –had a bit of a crush on her ‘back in the day’.

 

I am sure I speak for all men, and you’ll have to forgive my honesty here, when I say that in a man’s eyes, sometimes there are people you know that you’d just LOVE to have sexual relations with. It happens, we’re men, we sometimes think with our dicks. Let’s move on. Moonshine Thunderbeam was one such person, for my sins.

 

Anyway, we had been talking through Facebook, and I, in the way I was back then, would drop in carefully planned and strategically placed compliments along the way, just to test the water. Long story short, post-process, we still talked from time to time, and ultimately we agreed to go out, and it turned out that actually, she had been manipulating me and had been carefully planning how to get me to go out with her!

 

Well folks, this sent my patterns into absolute overdrive. Moonshine Thunderbeam and I had a good old flirtatious time, and I ended up leaving her flat nigh on 5am. Perhaps I should mention that we didn’t have ‘the sex’, but we might as well have done. Sex with no feeling is just mutual masturbation anyway.

 

Anyway, in the past couple of weeks, I have been going through a period of change, as evident in yesterday’s entry where I decided to swear off all the activities and mindset you have just read about. (And, I have to confess, Moonshine Thunderbeam has been driving me FUCKING CRAZY. Being on the phone to her is sort of like being on the phone to a stand up comedian who can only relate through his or her routine. I might like her more if I knew the first thing about her, but that’s completely impossible.)

 

Ironically, tonight I am supposed to be seeing her again – at a comedy club – her suggestion – what fine juxtaposition! And I am absolutely wracking my brains for how to cancel.

 

Now I know what some of you are thinking – ah, but you liked her enough to try and play hide the sausage, right? And yes, you’re right. I did. I have to accept responsibility for that. And that in itself is one of the main reasons I want to cancel. (And she keeps calling me ‘babe’ and ‘hon’ – it really pisses me off!)

 

I know what my patterns are like. I know, and have spent some time working to recognise, when that little bit at the back of my brain sparks into life, and I begin to act in a manner most unbecoming; and I know, or at least feel, that it could once again happen tonight. Moonshine Thunderbeam likes me – she must do, or she wouldn’t be badgering me for another date of Super David Sexy Fun Time. I know that if we go out, it’s going to be all too easy, or she’ll make (yet) another joke about this all ‘being part of her plan’, or I’ll notice that other than being incredibly annoying, she’s actually very attractive, and I’ll be on here tomorrow morning, blogging away about my regret and sorrow and anger at myself for once again acting like a schmuck.

 

So, cancelling my date this evening may look on the surface like a selfish act of a selfish man, trying to wriggle out of a situation he created by making someone think he liked her, just to have his way with her, and, to a degree, I suppose it is. But this one is for me. I can’t just keep acting in the way I was, and allowing these patterns to continue to run riot. I would have wasted a trip to Starbucks and a rather long blog entry if I did, if nothing else.

 

What do you think? Do I sound like an arsehole? Or someone who has turned over a new leaf?

 

One date I will be keeping this week for sure is Thursday, where I will make my merry old way to West/East Sussex (I can never remember which, thank all that is holy for sat-navs) and Florence House, the scene of my Hoffman Process.

 

This time I will be there as a returning graduate – someone who visits the group to reassure them that life outside the walls of great change is not going to once again turn them into the people they were, and the people they now realise they were actually not. (Does that make sense? Possibly not. Anyway, fuck it.)

 

I am almost shaking with excitement. I have been thinking about what I’ll say – will I say ‘yeah, the real work starts now’? Or perhaps ‘Life is better. There’s a few hiccups along the way, but it’s so much better’? I can’t help but view it as a great responsibility; I mean, these people are probably at a stage right now, as so many of us were, where they are anxious about the outside world, but equally eager to test themselves  in it. They’re probably making the same nervous jokes about the changes they’ve made, or speculating how their parents and friends are going to say things like ‘Oh Steven’s gone mental again,’ And they’ll be looking at me, and whoever else is there, to allay these fears and tell them its all going to be ok.

 

Tomorrow’s blog is going to be a complete review of my answer. Some time ago, I wrote a mammoth review of what had finished since I left Florence House, but this will be different. I’ve always maintained this blog is for me, and tomorrow’s entry is going to be me externalising all the change, so that I am prepared to aptly answer any questions people may have. It might be a long one, so I don’t know… you might want to bring some tea.

 

Well, that’s it for today, folks. I hope you’ve enjoyed your visit to my blog today, and I leave you with news that yesterday, I took the first, tentative steps into yet another new stage of life by updating my CV, and applying for a job as, as they call it: Fundraising Executive, Corporate Partnerships Team. Which, in essence, is a fancy way of saying ‘charming companies into giving money to charities’ – with a bit of account management thrown in. Sounds about perfect for me.

 

So, until tomorrow,

Closed Box

A Wonderful, Visual, Poetic Journey. And Other Shit.

Though this entry is posted today, (Monday morning) I have a small confession to make – it is currently 7.30pm on Sunday, and I writing this with a large breakfast tea and lemon and orange muffin by my side in a (relatively) close by Starbucks.

 

Those of you who have been paying attention will remember my Friday entry – for what it was – where I described the coming weekend as one spent alone, getting used to the idea of just being me; recognising all the old crappy patterns if and when they come up, and generally practising some good old fashioned self love. (Meant non-pornographically)

 

I wish to report some resounding success. This weekend has passed without incident (read: pattern) and I have allowed this state of relaxation and ‘me’ time to open my mind, and I have made a number of decisions, and come to some really rather stark realisations.

 

Those of you with an even better memory may remember an entry from some time ago, where I described a huge desire to go out to the nearest Starbucks, and sit pretty much where I am now, blogging away in a desperate attempt to look poetic, and to be noticed. I’d just like to make clear that this trip here this evening has nothing to do with any feelings like that; rather, I have spent an entire weekend stuck within the confines of my house, and was going a little stir crazy. Add to that a severe lack of food in my house – unless you consider what my parents eat ‘food’. I’ll blog about my completely mental parents’ obsession with calories and fat and other nonsense one day. Someone ate half a Jaffa Cake the other day. HALF! – and a trip to Starbucks for a muffin was born.

 

I am a big fan of internal resolution, and I’m pretty good at it, too. It was that same resolution which, some years ago, allowed me to look yet another line of coke in the face, and go ‘not this time’, and that same resolution that allowed me to quit the many many many many many other vices I have lived to enjoy, but ultimately know to be no good for me – smoking, I miss you!

 

So this weekend, I have had another one of my famous moments of internal resolution. And it’s about women and sex, a favoured subject of this occasionally amusing, and often baffling blog.

 

In one of my many moments of thought this weekend, I began to think about the sort of relationship I have with the fairer sex, and the sort of women I seem to attract. The women I see generally fall into one of two categories:

 

1. The needy: I engulf them in passion and fill that hole in their lives before sleeping with them and pissing off, or some variation on ‘the dynamite effect’, a process of anticipation/KABOOM!/damage, or…
2. Madonna/Whore: These are generally longer-term projects, or, as they are more popularly known, girlfriends. Madonna/Whore is, I stress, not my saying, but rather it refers to the sort of woman who you can happily take on a family outing for finger sandwiches, but would also like a finger sandwich of a different sort on the car ride home. Oh, they’re the best. Sigh.

 

I think, historically, it would be fair to say that I have always gone for the wrong sort of woman. Sometimes, the attraction and subsequent failure has been either my fault; by means of deliberate espionage or general post-coitus disinterest, and sometimes, it’s been them – either I’ve been too mental, or not mental enough in the long term. And sex. Basically, all my relationships, whether they’ve been for 5 minutes or 5 months, have all been about sex. If you want a long term relationship with me, the absolute best thing to do is to not sleep with me. And I mean EVER. Sad, but very true.

 

So this weekend, I made a decision. And I feel as though this one is real – it has that same air of finality that I felt when I made the decisions I mentioned above. And that is to start looking for a different sort of person; and I don’t mean look in an Indiana Jones, whips-and-gold-mines sort of quest – perhaps a better way to describe it would be to ‘become aware of’ or even ‘limit myself to’ a nicer sort of girl. For all the fuck ups, sexual freaks and desperately needy women in the world, there are an equal number of genuine and pleasant women out there – I’m convinced of it. And I think that is what I need. I just feel as though… Oh I don’t know… I am kind of ‘done’ with the world I once inhabited. Those regular readers will know my dismay at occasionally finding myself inhabiting an impulsive world I am not entirely comfortable with, and I just feel as though I have grown a little past that. I am not stupid enough to think this won’t mean I get ‘the horn’ from time to time, or I will suddenly will see someone and not think ‘I wonder if the curtains match the drapes’, but I have come to realise recently that having those feelings and urges unfulfilled from time to time is not the end of the world. In fact, it could be the making of it – my world, at least.

 

It has taken a long time for me to this point, and to make this choice – I have had to ask at what point do you stop trying to conquer the mountain of women there are in the world, and realise just why you’re doing it? I’m fairly certain that eventually, it stops being funny, and actually gets very self destructive and a bit silly, and worse, a bit sad.

 

The new question to myself is: what am I trying to prove? The new answer is: that you’re not THAT guy.

 

The really sad part of this all is that, ultimately, I’m a pretty nice guy, and I have a lot to offer; it was the patterns and the ways I acted which stopped me from living it. So no more of that, thank you. It’s time to set myself the challenge of not getting in your knickers…

 

It has taken time, and time is key to making any fundamental decision.

 

My friend Dom called me last week, and it was actually he which set many of these thoughts into motion. Dom is, like many I suspect, waking up in a post-process world where he has come to realise his pre-process life was a construct of a false him – and he doesn’t want it anymore.

 

I don’t want to get into this too much, mostly because now I’m sitting in my bedroom, and not in a Starbucks, I have lost my mojo a bit, but also you can overcomplicate it quite easily…

 

The point is, and what I have learnt – and I am also conscious this blog entry is quite long, and I’ve not even started working off my notes yet – is that decisions with any sort of weight are generally the considered ones. Ok, that’ll do on that. It’s now 9:26pm, and I am tiring of the sound of my own voice, so you lot must be close to topping yourselves…

 

David’s Very Quick Review of the Weekend Which Was Originally Going to Be Much Longer

 

Friday

(a)    Had coffee with my friend Shira – tea for me.

(b)   Managed to get parking ticket, despite all the parking meters – I tried 4 – being out of order. Sending letter of appeal today. (Monday)

(c)    On way home, got rear-ended by some dipshit, who then proceeded to drive away at high speed. No real damage, but according to insurance people, I have to inform police. Luckily, I’m eagle eyed, and got the registration plate.

(d)   Discovered Republican candidate for Vice President Sarah Palin’s son in called Truck? TRUCK?!?!?!? That country is utterly utterly fucked.

 

Saturday

(a)    Went to gym. Make heap big sweat. Me man.

 

(b)   Watched a film called ‘The Fall’, (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0460791/) which was one of the most visually stunning experiences of my film-watching life. Quick story overview: Hospitalised man tells a story to a young girl in a 1920’s Los Angeles hospital – film shows the story through the imagination of the child. It’s directed by an Indian guy called Tarsem, who previously directed a bunch of adverts, music videos, and ‘The Cell’. Anyway, it was incredible. Here’s some images:

 

(c)    Watched a film called ‘Baby Mama’. (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0871426/) Apparently, this is a ‘comedy’, written by the very funny Tina Fey, who wrote ‘Mean Girls’ previously. Anyway, it wasn’t any good, or funny.

 

Sunday

(a)    Woke up late

 

(b)   Watched a film called ‘The Promotion’ (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0803057/) which was one of those drama/comedies, but wasn’t particularly either of those.

 

(c)    Watched ‘Pretty in Pink’ (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091790/) for the first time ever. I want to be a 16 year old in the 80s. Seriously.

 

And that was it until you joined me in Starbucks…

 

Now, it is Monday morning, and, as ever, I am sat at my desk, pretending to work when I’ve actually been editing this entry from last night. Strangely, that feeling of loneliness I was so happy about ‘overcoming’ hit me pretty hard last night when I got back from Starbucks. But, when a blog entry is this long, that’s certainly a story for another day…

 

Until next time, lots of love as always,

Closed Box