Monday. This weekend The Landmark Forum which was an intense three days, each day starting at 9AM and going to 10PM with two 30 minute breaks and one 1.5 hour dinner break. So.......what to say. Weird that I, of all people, find myself at a loss for words. Hmmmmmm......... Did I say, so..........?
Talked to my friend Rose about it this morning. She is the one who pushed me to take the course. It had been on my radar for years, have friends who went through the curriculum who, not only, didn't seem worse for wear, but who seemed to possess contentment and mastery in their lives - living testimonials. And the thing about Landmark that can be offputting/unappealing is the zeal of the organization and the members in recruiting people to go through the education - it is scary to be pursued in that way, gets the hackles up. Smacks of Jim Jones. So, for years, I suspected there was something good there - I had even signed up once but then gone on line and read scathing articles that warned, Beware! Cult!, then backed out. But it kept coming back on my radar and people who I couldn't dismiss as being sycophants or kooks, said, "Go." So I did go all armored up, questioning my decision every step of the way, feeling foolish, skeptical to the max, worried about being brainwashed, but curious.
Following is some of what I experienced. I'm not going to be able to walk you through the whole premise of the forum - much of it seems to defy description - it really has to be experienced to understand it.
Lesson #1. We live captive to the stories we tell. If you're a regular reader of this blog, you know I've talked about this. In those posts I went through the exercise of revisiting events from the past and trying on a different lens/interpretation and writing a different or stronger story that served me better in the present. In the Forum, people got up and briefly talked about their stories. Some of the stories were heartbreaking (death, molestation, humiliation).
In the language of the Forum, we examined the "rackets" that we run on people in our lives - rackets like gangsters. For every story, there are players running rackets on each other, the stories justifying the rackets. If your uncle raped you when you were fifteen and you found yourself, in your adult life, unable to be happy (failed relationships, melancholy, not able to hold a job) and the story you told yourself and everyone is that your failure to live fully was because of this thing that happened to you when you were fifteen, the racket you're running could be that you are justified in being paralyzed in life because of what happened when you were a teenager. Put another way, the story you're telling serves a purpose. It gives you an excuse for not going about the hard job of living your life in an honest and authentic way with integrity. Why would you give that story away when it is so useful in justifying your unhappiness and under-performance?
The discussion that followed was identifying the cost of running those rackets. What is the cost of the stories you carry around. Failure to thrive? Loss of an important relationships? Loss of health? The list goes on and on. The stories and the rackets we perpetrate kill off future possibilities. Remember Virginia Wolfe walking into the rushing stream with her pockets full of heavy rocks? Think of those stories as heavy rocks that weigh you down, or worse kill you. Leave the stories behind by getting "complete" with them, own up to and apologize for the rackets you've been running and, voila, their hold on you disappears like magic.
The part of the Forum that required suspension of belief from me, was just this - that transformation can happen in a moment. The analogy they use is the moment when you're learning to ride a bike and you discover balance - it happens in a moment. I've always been under the impression (years of therapy) that transformation is a hard work process, one baby step after another. When I saw people talk, tell their stories, admit the rackets they've been perpetuating, identify the cost of those rackets, and then use the power of their promise and declaration to own up to their role - to forgive and ask for forgiveness. When I saw that happen over and over I was moved but worried. I worried it was a carnival act, that people were being swept away by the euphoria of the moment to pull the scabs off what shouldn't be touched and that, once the carnival broke down and moved on to a new city, they would be left worse - that the transformation wouldn't hold. Kind of like drinking Draino and then being made to throw it up - it does as much damage on the way back up as it does on the way down. It felt dangerous to me.
There was something else. I didn't want to talk about why I was there - my inability to get over Patrick even though I quickly identified the racket I was running on him. First, the story about the child with three fathers but no fathers, who was abused, abandoned, neglected - who was always left and who learned to beat others out the door at the first hint of being left - who armored up early and went out into the world and used those weapons to dominate others. I realized, too, I was clinging to the heartbreak of being left so I could say, "Told you so, everyone leaves me." And clinging to my loss gave me an excuse for not getting back on my horse - looking for love again and risk having my heart broken again. What's more, I have loved the drama of being a broken-hearted woman. Friends say, "How are you doing." I weep at sad songs and wear my broken heart on my sleeve for the world to see. I write poignantly about love lost. I sing like Billy Holiday. I excuse myself for not living passionately and effectively because, after all, I have a broken heart. Blah, blah, blah.
So I was afraid to tell my story in front of the group, identify my racket and have to get complete with Patrick. I didn't want to be complete with Patrick - didn't want to live in a world without him in some form or fashion. Didn't want to close that chapter completely because the nothingness of it terrifies me. It took until Sunday morning for me to do the homework - to write a letter to him asking for his forgiveness for running a racket on him. I also realized that getting complete with him doesn't preclude being part of each other's lives. Who knows what the future holds - could be we find it best to let go completely and just cherish our memories, or we could end up good friends. Anything is possible with integrity. Life holds surprises and promise.
It was Sunday after lunch when I braved the microphone - I was one of the last holdouts. I didn't want to weep in front of 100+ people and, in the breakout sessions, I couldn't even speak about Patrick without tears erupting. But I got up and told my story. I intended to ask for help in getting over him - getting complete with him. Instead I found myself telling the story of my childhood, my mother's role, my resentment of her and identifying the racket I've been running on her. I barely mentioned Patrick and the last year's paralysis. When I did mention him, I took ownership of my role - that the story I tell of being the girl that is always left, made me bring that very same thing true in the present. Most of you don't know that it was me who broke up with him - that I left him. I was so sure he would leave me, that, at the first hint of trouble, I bolted.
And yet, up at the microphone, it was getting complete with my mother that surfaced as being urgent. Right then and there I forgave her and it was real - not a carny act, not me being swept away by group think. Just the light bulb going off that I have been complicit and using her as an excuse for living an anemic, unfulfilled life. I also realized, she is who she is, nothing else. What happened happened. So, poof - it's gone, those caustic feelings. Right there, like riding a bike and discovering balance - in front of all those people.
Today or tomorrow, I'll call her and it won't be like castor oil, telling her I forgive her and asking her to forgive me for making her a scapegoat. I won't be faking it or fulfilling a duty to do this - I actually do love her, heart and soul. She's a pain in the ass much of time, a non-mother too often but she's my non-mother and I'm lucky to have her. I know she's never, for one day, not loved me in her own non-mother kind of way and that I've broken her heart by disowning her. Now, we can have something new. Really and truly.
And so, the Landmark Forum. It's very powerful. It's simple. It's not a cult. I recommend it to anyone who suspects they are living an inauthentic life and who wants more.
Peace,
Sarah
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