A Bridge toward Better
By Gene Aronowitz
Part 1: Preparation
One night, in 1972, I got really stoned and had one of the most thought-provoking experiences of my life. It isn’t so unusual for people who are high to have difficulty remembering what thoughts were going through their heads, so I wasn’t bothered when I had that experience. But then I continued to forget what I was thinking again and again and again for what might have been an hour. My thoughts were like water on a paddlewheel, evident to me momentarily and then gone. Later that night, as I became slightly more lucid, I started thinking about the experience.
I wondered if I had actually thought the thoughts I couldn’t remember. I wondered if everything I had gone through earlier that evening was simply an illusion - something like a dream. Then, I wondered if my day-to-day experiences, as I remembered them, had really happened or whether they were illusory. That was not an entirely new idea for me. I knew that I had a tendency to revise experiences that embarrassed me, like when I was turned down for a date during my teenage years. I would mull over the experience and then let my thoughts morph into how I wished it had really happened. Then the revision would dominate or, perhaps, even replace the recollection.
By that time, I had already seen the film Rashomon several times in which the various characters offered contradictory versions of the same incident. I was also familiar with Plato’s Allegory of the Cave which asks us to consider if what we think is real is actually real.
Although I wasn’t certain, I did believe that there was such a thing as objective reality even if those events were misperceived or reimagined. However, I thought I should look into the matter more deeply. That week, I read about the Greek, pre-Socratic philosopher, Gorgias, who believed that nothing at all existed but, even if it did, nothing could be known about it. I read some writings of the seventeenth-century philosopher, René Descartes, who doubted the separate existence of his body but did not doubt the existence of his mind, codified by his famous pronouncement “I think, therefore, I exist.” I also focused on the work of Bishop Berkley who, early in the eighteenth century, denied the existence of matter and wrote about what he called immaterialism. This finale of my marijuana-induced abstractedness was sufficiently satisfying. I could live with the possibility that everything around me, including my own body, was an illusion, But I soon forgot about it as I had to deal with the problems of my very real work-a-day-world and the issues of my very real children.
But in May 1984, twelve years later, a woman who I was pursuing at the time said she was going to a workshop on A Course in Miracles, a self-study, psychological spirituality. The “New Age Movement” was in the middle of its second decade and I assumed that this was simply part of the succession of fads that had managed to drop anchor but decided to tag along so we could spend the evening together. I had pretty much given up on religion. I was brought up Jewish, attended Hebrew School, had a Bar Mitzvah and a Confirmation because each of those activities was expected of me. I identified as a Jew, culturally, but never had any interest in Judaism as a religion. Neither was I an atheist. I always believed there was a God although I had no ability to articulate the details of that belief with any coherence. I found the characterization of the Biblical God unacceptable but had no suitable alternative.
The Course was said to have been channeled by Jesus. The scribe, Helen Schucman, heard an inner voice who she identified as Jesus and wrote down what she received. She was never in a trance and could stop and start the inner recitation at will. The result after seven years was three volumes, a 669-page Text, which presents the Course’s metaphysics; a 365 lesson Workbook for Students, which is essentially devoted to mind training; and a Manual for Teachers, which is an aid to the practical application of the Course.
I could not imagine having anything to do with Jesus if the Course was, in fact, his creation. Perceptions toward Jesus vary considerably and may include love, admiration, fascination, fear, or hate. Initially, mine was fear. I remember being very uncomfortable when we would sing Christmas carols in elementary school. Whenever the word Jesus or Christ came around in the song, I would lip the words, as if saying them out loud would transport my Jewish ass directly to hell. Later, I recall being antagonistic when approached by Christian evangelizers and when I experienced or heard about anti-Semitism. The thought of telling anyone (even myself) that I was involved with Jesus was out of the question.
The workshop leader began by repeating some words from the Course as if a mantra: “I am not a body. I am free. For I am still as God created me.” This idea was repeated for a few minutes and I tilted my head thoughtfully when I recalled the experience of getting high twelve years before and the subsequent days of exploration. I remembered accepting my own unreality as a possibility, not entirely believable, but a possibility nonetheless. I listened more carefully to what I was hearing at the workshop, particularly the notion that what we experience in the world, metaphysically speaking, is an illusion.
I learned that involvement in the Course would require me to become increasingly able to monitor my own thinking. To be effective, I would need to become aware of what I was thinking in the present moment so I could change my mind and, perhaps, my behavior, if whatever I was thinking caused reactions such as anger or other forms of distress. The key skill involved in this practice is the ability to observe oneself objectively while interacting with others. To me, this skill is referred to as self-observation capacity, a subject about which I had previously been an expert having studied and done research on the subject in a University of Chicago Ph.D. program.
Connections between seemingly disconnected events become evident in retrospect and I concluded shortly after that workshop that my experiences, explorations, and knowledge had possibly led me to and prepared me for this specific spiritual quest. I remember thinking this may be it and deciding to take my first tentative steps in what was to become a painstaking although rewarding experience.
Part 2: The Experience
It is not my intention to describe what the Course is all about except in the most general terms, only enough to provide a context, for those not acquainted with the Course, through which my experiences can be understood. The Course has no churches and does not specify how I am to behave. However, it is pretty explicit about how - not what - I should be thinking. By dealing with my thoughts in a Course specified manner, it is possible that I can achieve a state of peacefulness. Peacefulness is the aim of the Course, the more peaceful the better.
In spite of my earlier skepticism, it didn’t take long before I made my peace with Jesus. There are many first-person statements in the channeled material and he clearly states that he wants to be considered an older brother, rather than a savior, one who has been through this transformative process and can be helpful to those undertaking it. I had no problem seeing Jesus as a model for learning how to be a better person. At first, I identified with the behavior of the historical Jesus but soon focused on his way of thinking as demonstrated in the published Course material
For about a decade, I went to live workshops on the Course provided by Ken Wapnick, a psychologist, who helped to edit the original channeled manuscripts and has remained for me, even past his death in 2013, a vitally important teacher of the Course, continuing to learn from his books and recorded workshops.
As a psychological spirituality, the Course is similar, in some respects, to other spiritualties and psychotherapies such as, for example, Buddhism, Taoism, Freudian Psychoanalysis, Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy, and other traditions. The practice of the Course, for example, specifies that I should pay very close attention to what I am thinking, feeling, and doing in the present. This is similar to the Buddhist focus on mindfulness but that is where the close resemblance ends.
Those who have tried mindfulness meditation know how difficult it can be to stay focused on the present. Initially, I was annoyed when I was barraged by extraneous thoughts while trying to focus on my breath. But when I became involved with the Course, it occurred to me that I should welcome and pay attention to these wayward thoughts because they might help me know more specifically what was on my mind. Soon, I was able to capture my present thoughts and feelings when I was up and about - at work, on the street, when interacting with friends and family, or when reading or watching the news.
As that occurred, it surprised me that most of my thoughts about other people were very judgmental and negatively so. Most were what I now know were imagined rather than deliberate attacks or slights by those individuals. For example, I was frequently upset with the woman with whom I attended the Course workshop because she was not as available as I would have liked or did not return my calls as quickly as I expected. I shudder now when I recall how often I recited that ridiculous conditional statement that begins “If she loved me, she would (do or not do what I was observing)”. I was also frequently angry with those with whom I worked when they disregarded my requests or disagreed with me with apparent derision, all of which I interpreted as disrespect. I also found it curious and disconcerting that I seemed to rejoice at natural disasters in countries with which the United States was in physical or ideological conflict or even in states in which most of the people fell on the other side of the political spectrum. Other examples are far too numerous to mention but I was appalled at how negative I was underneath it all, filled with anger, envy, and schadenfreuden glee at the misfortunes of others. Yet, those with whom I interacted were not usually aware of those feelings since I was much too socialized, repressed, or deceptive to express them openly. Nevertheless, it is clear to me that, back then, I was very frequently upset.
I learned, in the Course, that I am never upset by a fact but rather by the interpretation of a fact. I then learned that interpretations were actually projections from my own mind, one of the ways that aspects of my unconscious are revealed. Therefore, I am never upset for the reasons I think. According to the Course, the people toward whom I am angry are merely mirrors, reflecting back the negative judgments I have toward myself. Intellectually, at least, I was convinced that outside events were not determining my feelings of peacefulness or lack of it. Those feelings were generated from inside of me and projected outward.
The next steps in the process are the hardest: I must bring those feelings back to myself, own them, accept them, and then let them go, thus not only forgiving the other person but also forgiving myself. I learned to not blame others when I got upset, because they were not responsible, for my thoughts or feelings, no matter what they were doing. That is not condoning the other person’s behavior. It is simply acknowledging that my being upset is my own responsibility and not theirs. The behavior of the other person can push one of my buttons, but when that happens, I need to deal with the buttons and not with the other person.
Over the years, I became slowly but increasingly skilled at catching the negative thoughts as they erupted and going through the Course process. I noticed that the negative judgments, while still frequently present, have diminished considerably from what they were at the beginning. I made progress with friends and family, gradually becoming more calm, more peaceful, and more loving. No longer believing that others were responsible for my lack of peacefulness, I reduced the incidence of blaming them for what I was feeling and they reciprocated by becoming more open and accepting of me. My relationships were enriched.
But then, in 2016, Donald Trump entered my emotional consciousness. Anger and distress were pervasive. For about a month, early in his presidency, I systematically read every article in the New York Times that described what he had said or done and monitored my reaction in order to determine which of his behaviors activated my negative thoughts. It was his lying and deceptive behavior that generated the most loathing. As I went through the Course process, I realized that I, too, lied frequently. In addition, I knew I was very deceptive and, consequently, many of my lies were those of omission. For example, I realized how different I was from how I presented myself. Shortly after getting involved with the Course, I adopted a somewhat “holier than thou” demeanor, not unlike most neophytes. Once, while attending a Course workshop, a participant came up to me and, during our conversation, confronted me by saying, “You are not real.” I was initially offended but, thinking about it a few hours later, I knew he was correct. During my political life, I, like Trump, would downplay errors or problems generated by my actions and would try to spin our activities in the most favorable light. I know that all politicians do that and I know that all people lie so I am not claiming to be unique. But it was helpful to me to realize how similar to Trump I was.
After he left office, it was revealed that a top Trump homeland security official signed an agreement with the immigration agents’ union the day before President Biden’s inauguration. Initially angry about this, when I read the newspaper account, I almost immediately recalled that I had done precisely the same thing while I was a public official in Ohio. I negotiated an agreement with a Civil Service union within days of the end of our administration.
I can accept that it was not Trump’s lying and deceptive behavior that caused my anger. Rather, he was a primary object of my projections, a mirror enabling me to become aware of those aspects of myself that were impeding my ability to be peaceful. He was and continues to be an extreme example of much that I don’t like about myself. In spite of my desire to be non-judgmental, I condemned almost everything he said or did. But, as hard as it was, I had to accept the fact that my considerable anger toward him was the result of my own projections. Nevertheless, I’m paradoxically grateful to the Ex-President for helping me understand more about myself and, thereby, helping me make a little progress on my way across the bridge toward better.
