Dear Friends, I've Been Infected

For twenty years, I've carried in my heart a grand vision of building a network of Earth Healing retreat centres around the world. But finally I've come to understand that this vision hasn't been able to emerge because I was long ago infected with a psychic virus which consistently puts the brakes on my efforts just before they reach fruition. This virus feeds on my creativity, and hides in the interpersonal connections I make as I work to build my dream. As the virus strengthens, it creates holes in my psyche into which crawl worms and snakes and parasites of hatred which distract me, eat away at my resolve, and implant their offspring of self-devaluation and self-sabotage.

The virus is the victim-blame virus. And, like any other pathogenic virus, it's nothing more than an idea.

But it's one I'm well-practiced at and which I've had a love affair with for a long time.

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So I've embarked on a deep psychic detoxification to burn off this virus and allow my vision to emerge. When I'm done, it will no longer be able to hurt me or anyone else through me. It will no longer be part of my reality.

A Shield Against Hatred

Albert Einstein once said,

"Arrows of hate have been shot at me, too; but they never hit me, because somehow they belonged to another world, with which I have no connection whatsoever."

This is what I want for myself and those I love, and I have no intention of stopping until I reach this place that he described.

The detox, like diets and attempts to quit smoking, started off with great fun and resolve. I gleefully deleted and unsubscribed, unliked and unfollowed. I puttered around my apartment and fussed in my garden. I took my son to his dad's for the weekend, and adopted a puppy. I went to a wonderful solstice celebration on the beach and danced to the drums at sunset.

And then I woke up with a monster hangover. That lasted three days. Damn. Just when I was sure I'd break free this time.

It took me three entire days to recognize that I was not having a hangover from an unfortunate combination of cheap wine and summer breeze. I know better than this. I know that health issues are not the result of "bad things" that "happen" to my body. They're the result of my unconscious responses to experiences I have. And so, amidst the distraction, complexity, and confusion, at the end of the third day, I realized this wasn't a hangover.

Defensive Resistance Makes Your Blood Sugar Soar

It was a hypoglycemia attack, the healing phase of a high blood sugar attack. Caused by defensive resistance.

I was feeling victimized by the world, blaming my psychic pain on others. For over two decades I've wanted to create and live at a healing retreat, and to travel the world and create new healing retreats. In my vision, people come and talk and share and we sort through shit and we all get much happier by doing so. But mostly we have fun, make love, go exploring, make music, quietly enjoy nature, make jokes, dream big, make food. There's quite a bit of napping involved, to be honest. I spent Saturday night having pretty much this exact experience.

So, in my internal mindscape, a battle between my vision and my psychic virus was waged. And my vision won. My fear of victimization, my blaming the world for my psychic pain - it dissolved. It was unnecessary. This is what sent me into the healing phase: hypoglycemia (which I experienced as a hangover).

Productive Paranoia

In order to feel, as Einstein did, that "arrows of hate" cannot impact me, I imagine myself becoming what W. Clement Stone called an "inverse paranoid" - living from a place of deep suspicion that the world is plotting to do me good. Seeing opportunities where others see negative experiences. Expecting the world to support me regardless of what happens.

I read once that whenever you overcome an obstacle, you're instantly ahead of 80% of the competition because most people just quit when they come up against a challenge. Since I overcame the battle that night, I am even more committed to realizing my vision. I want this, and I've decided to have it. But I don't quite have it yet because the psychic virus with which I have been infected has not yet been purged from my biocomputer's operating system.

With Every Great Goal, a Great Obstacle

The vision in my heart has remained almost exactly the same since the early 90's. And, as all great visions seem to have a great obstacle in the way, right about then I had a relationship trauma in my life in which I received what, for me, was some "very bad information," indeed. It began in a single moment when a woman I worked with contacted me to inform me she'd been sleeping with my fiancee for the past couple months.

It was confirmation of my wrongness and my not-okayness and that I would never be able to keep what was important to me. One conflict mounted on top of another, compounding rapidly over the next couple of years into what might have been diagnosed by a competent medical practitioner as bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, autism spectrum disorder (or catatonia), and panic disorder.

And mythomania.

Mythomania means talking and talking and talking and talking. And writing. And talking some more. Also known as "storytelling." Storytelling is a crucial part of community. It's our primary human form of culture-building, developing a shared cultural identity, sharing, teaching, soothing, calming. It's the human form of primate grooming, if you want to get really technical.

Storytelling is also a defense mechanism. And that's exactly how I used it for twenty years. Every time my hearing conflicts were triggered by "bad information," I'd felt fearful, "checked out," and gone into storytelling. If that didn't work (that is, when people told me to shut up), I'd retreat into workaholism or catatonia until a panic attack forced me to find help.

AntiViral Therapy

My mind has not been entirely my own. It's like Swiss cheese with worms of other people's words, information, sounds, crawling, interrupting, distracting. The mental parasites eating into my consciousness, distracting me constantly so that when I was not being mythomanic with others, I'd often be mythodepressive with myself, replaying previous conversations, tidbits pieces in my head over and over until I was overwhelmed.

This is the psychic virus I've carried, unresolved, for over two decades. I've even passed it on to my son, who became infected when he was a 5-month-old fetus.

The virus arrests us. It's preventing us from achieving what we're here to achieve. This virus is to blame, and we are its victims.

However, I am the creator and perpetuator of this virus. Nobody else made my choices for me. Nobody else is thinking my thoughts. And so nobody else will take responsibility for healing this.

It's time to manifest my vision. And so, the last vestiges of the psychic virus have got to go.

What this means for you, dear friend, is that I am on a complete negativity fast, and as a friend of mine I assure you that you are one of my sources of negative information. And so, while I am sorry for no longer being there for you to commiserate, complain, gossip, or play the blame game, while I apologize and beg your forgiveness - I want you to know that I officially no longer give a damn about your sad story of victimhood. Because telling your sad story of victimhood is not the solution to your pain. It is the cause of your pain. For my sake - and for yours - please take your sad stories and deposit them where the sun don't shine.

The human mind has no ability to distinguish the truth from a lie. It does not know good information from bad information. "Bad information," therefore, is just a choice we're making. Playing the victim, blaming the world for our pain is a lie. It's a bad story we're telling ourselves.

Help a Patient Out

So now it's a different story that I'm telling. It goes like this:

"Lishui K Springford is recovering from a horrendous auto-immune mental disorder. She is in psychic quarantine, as her mindscape is covered with open, festering mind-tumours, the bones of her belief structures fragile with intellectual osteoporosis ...any psychic germ to which she is exposed could prove fatal to her superego and id. We must understand and respect her need for cerebral rest and excellent psychic nourishment. Create a clean cognitive field for her, speak quiet ideas, and keep a friendly intelligence. Bring her casseroles of happiness."

Ahh. I feel stronger already.

Peace out.


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