Katieism: An uncomfortable feeling is not an enemy…

An uncomfortable feeling is not an enemy. It’s a gift that says, “Get honest; inquire.” We reach out for alcohol, or television, or credit cards, so we can focus out there and not have to look at the feeling. And that’s as it should be, because in our innocence we haven’t known how. So now what we can do is reach out for a paper and a pencil, write thought down, and investigate.

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  1. Dear Katie

    I’ve been thinking a lot recently about why I saw other people as monsters and myself as an angel, who was used and abused by them. In doing the Work, I came to a profound self-realisation when I did the turnaround and saw I was no different than those that I’d accused and blamed for victimising me.

    As a writer, I wrote a short scene as the end of my novel, when I dropped my mind resistance and could imagine the whole world as turned around.

    This is what I came up with when I went to the deepest darkest part of my soul.
    I hope you will appreciate and share it with your readers.
    Thank you for showing and sharing the Work with me.


    Many years later, I wake up in a stupor to find myself in the smoldering carcass of what was once a sleek silver jet. Yet, it is still flying. Rubbing the gunge from my eyes, I look outside. I make out nothing but flames. Turbulence from fireballs sends the flying carcass rocking up and down through thick clouds. Hearing the exploding missiles and bombs down there, I wonder why I am up here.

    I get up and try to get through the mass of dangling wires, rotting corpses and belching smoke. Out of nowhere, a hideous triple-breasted monster with green eyes and a Medusa head appears to offer me a Monster-aperitif. I hesitate, looking at the gooey bile floating in a rusty mug with a tacky umbrella and slice of orange, until she puts her arms around me, maternally, and I slurp the bile under the beaming gaze of her savage fangs.

    “Where am I?”
    “What airline is this? Did we crash? Where are we going?” I shout, as she floats away into the mist.

    I try to remember which plane and destination I had chosen when I left Singapore. I was sure I’d paid more than enough for a business class seat, so where were my Dom Perignon, cheese tray selection and hundred-channel entertainment options?! Suddenly, my pussy acts up again and I dash through the fog looking for a toilet to end this distraction. With each fog-cloud denser than the next, I barely make it through a never-ending corridor, surrounded by all kinds of monsters that even my depraved mind could not have thought of. What kind of challenge is this, am I supposed to slay them all, like in a computer game, to save myself?

    Before I can make it to a private cubicle, I throw up. It doesn’t seem to matter, for when I look down at my feet, the entire cabin is flowing in muck, piss and gunk. Purple, black, gray, speckled with brown and red spots. Hang on, I’d dreamt of a pure pristine plane to take me to heaven, not a flying sewer.

    Now I am really determined to get out.

    I confront what seems like a Leading Stewardess, who has the perfectly red bloodthirsty eyes and vampira manicured nails for the part. In a calm voice amidst all the stench and ghoulish screams, she guides me back to my seat, inviting me simply to let go and enjoy the experience. Enjoy? I was in agony, though no one else seems to care. She must have sensed it too. From the seat pocket, she removes an inflight magazine, emblazoned with a fierce fiery font, Welcome to Monster Airlines. I fearfully turn the pages. Stopping me, she removes an elegant mirror from her handbag and beckons me to look at myself. For the first time in a long time, I see a monster stare back. And at that moment, the widest beam of any of the females who’d double-crossed my life beams back at me and I slump into the seat. So this is who I am.

    “No, I’m not,” I mumble to her through streaming eyes. “I am anything but that. I’ll prove it,” I frantically look for some papers that would identify me, some photographic evidence that bore a resemblance to the angel I knew I was. Again her damn wide beam stings me! I push her and dash away, only to slip on the sewage that was by now a torrent. Struggling to get up, I notice what look like visas, passports, ID cards, name tags, all burnt and shriveled, floating by.

    Now I am drowning in muck and slime. A crowd gathers around me, made up of the most vile and revolting species that I’d always run away from – mothers, priests, professors, dirty old white men, and smooth tanned muscle-boys – all beaming more unbearably wide beams of black light at me. This is it, I think, and prepare myself for the end.

    Just as I crouch to accept my fate, techno music blares, strobe lights come on, and the whole crowd starts swaying and clapping to the beat, which was hypnotic, I must admit. I vaguely make out the words they are humming along to, until a scaly limb picks me up. I look up to see an iguana in a black robe motioning me to get up and dance. Soon, everyone is in a trance, and though I try to resist, the beat carries me away as well.

    “Hey, come out, we’re all monsters here. Asian-Monsters, Euro-Monsters, Indian-Monsters, Gay-Monsters, even Angel-Monsters. Come out, you’ve come this far, this is where you belong, come out, you are among friends, no need to be afraid anymore. We’re all monsters, come out…” So went the catchy tune to which the monsters now danced. As I sway along, I realize that I’d had too narrow a conception of ‘coming out’ all my life.

    Without an invitation, I scream as I came out “I’m a monster! I’m a monster!” Everyone claps and cheers at my self-realization.

    I was only sorry that all the monsters in my life were not present to witness my magical transformation into one of them.

    Defying gravity, the floor rises up to envelope us in a cocoon of muck.
    Finally, all of us gooey together. There were no more walls between us.
    All of us monsters now.

    I return to my seat, reassured that the monsters were not out to destroy me any longer. A third monstrous stewardess soon comes over and hands me a slick pamphlet outlining what my new life as a monster is all about. Scanning its positively nasty discourses full of tolerance, respect and diversity among monsters, I could find nothing about overcoming clichéd oppressive barriers to achieve these nice things. Without those old labels anymore, the pamphlet explained, I had nothing like a body, a heart or a mind that would keep searching for a home. Better still, things like racism, homophobia, discrimination and varieties of stigma all belonged down there now, while those of us who’d come out would drift forever, neither going up or down, neither angry or sad. “You’re free,” she burped, without a hint of sarcasm. Monsters don’t need irony anymore. Not security either. Neither do I.

    I thought I would cry. Instead, I beam out a wide sincere smile that rivals hers.
    Seeing how pure my beam is, she garlands me. It is a garland made of dead rotting orchids, whose molding stench comforts me.
    Before she goes on her business serving monsters, she does not forget to add, Welcome home.

    That’s the best thing she could have said.

  2. Dear Family,
    Over a year since the most amazing first school of MY life (bad neuenahr 2006)I am finding myself a most appreciative audience of my discomfort. I never thought I would have been able to say this! I just took quite a trip on paper, from the belief that “I wasn’t getting enough” money for my paintings. The feeling of loss was so strong, the feeling of emptiness very, very clear. To sit with it, and write, to allow myself to follow the four questions in and out and to write down all the other beliefs as they rose up to be seen, and to the turnarounds, opened my mind to much insight. And I have no way of know ing if there is more or not! Either way I will have enough! I did clearly feel that money will never satisfy me. I love using money. And so far I have always had enough money. Doing the work, and returning to me, which is my business, I have received a direct experience of what I do experience sitting here…and this happiness and freedom and love – well …it is GoOD enough. I receive it and give it back, somehow, I trust this is true… sitting here alone with my computer I do not know how I could receive or give any more than this…one person at peace in the world, NOW. Thank you Katie and all the dear family on this journey of me/us, for showing me how to “get enough”!! I thank me and you for this opportunity to share it.

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