| (Subject of my first email to Isaac, send May 21, 2003, a week before the retreat in Venwoude). | ||
| Dear Isaac, | ||
| Some two years ago we had a chat in the park. | ||
| At some point I said, as a conclusion, and with a painfull smile on my face: | ||
| “so in a way I’m lucky to have this ‘knowing’ that I will give satsang one day, | ||
| together with the knowing that there is nothing I can do to make it happen: | ||
| It’s the most difficult nut to crack for my mind.” | ||
| And indeed it is. The knowing appeared to be a longing. Longing for attention. | ||
| Very often I’m alone, but less and less lonely. | ||
| Some month ago I went to satsang with Samarpan. I sat in the chair. | ||
| He said that he did not see questions in me. I look happy in myself, he said. | ||
| But I see them, I said, and it is ok. | ||
| But I have the idea that I have to come up some time with the final, ultimate question. | ||
| Ah, its difficult to put in words. | ||
| I might as well write down the last sentence right now: | ||
| I’m happy to know you, although its damned difficult to let go of my complex defense mechanisms. | ||
| ( “I live behind a wall of abstracted thoughts/patterns”) | ||
| I have a strong longing to ….. To what? | ||
| To meet you/ the world from the heart, fresh, anew, naked, from the heart. | ||
| This looks like just words also, like sentimental crap. | ||
| I’m angry with myself, for not being being. | ||
| I’m angry that I still need a teacher. | ||
| I’m afraid. | ||
| Afraid for the spontaneity that I’m so much longing for. | ||
| Afraid to ask questions.(May be ashamed for having so many). | ||
| The last satsang in Munich I came in the chair, | ||
| prepared to make the public confession that I am addicted to ….. | ||
| I said: in my life there are a lot of addictions… | ||
| You interrupted me, laughing your great giggle, asking “where is it now?” | ||
| I let you stop me there, I did not dare to express my anger, | ||
| I had the idea that for a split second you went on automatic, I did not feel that you listened. | ||
| On the other hand you prevented me from telling my prepared story. | ||
| I promised to email you my story. I never dared. | ||
| I just refound the notes I made after that session. | ||
| I write it down as cryptic as it is: | ||
| Hi Isaac, My story was about left hand tantra. | ||
| Hope + beauty = attraction. | ||
| You don’t need people for that. It works with images (porn addiction). | ||
| And it works with experiences | ||
| Longing for orgasm….the addicted left hand tantric. | ||
| The story is that I’m addicted to smoking and some sexual stuff. | ||
| Sometimes I can live with that, sometimes I can not. | ||
| I observe that I go very high/radiant every retreat, | ||
| and after some time the addiction seems to go stronger. | ||
| I am afraid that the beautifull person I become when I am around you is just another brilliant (unconsciously fabricated) variation of social behaviour. | ||
| I realised lately that social behaviour for me is not a way of relating but a defense mechanism. | ||
| I am stuck between accepting, seeing, not finding the source of this almost lifelong patterns. | ||
| And just wanting to be able to choose. Whatever that may mean. | ||
| Confusion.Silence. Not in peace with the amount of fuzz in the silence. | ||
| I finally had to write you this. Forgive me. | ||
| Looking forward to see you the coming weekend in Venwoude. Scared too. | ||
| Love, | ||
| hans van der gugten | ||
| {Next morning answer: | ||
| Dear Hans, I appreciate your letter and look forward to spending next week with you. All love, isaac.} | ||
