My Story
I was ill for years. I suffered from a
strange gastroenteritis. After 20 doctors and 2 years, I still had
no diagnosis. I lost friends and some family members would not talk
to me anymore. People kept telling me it was all in my head. The
doctors had stopped working for me. I could tell they really did
not care. But my stomach still hurt.
When I told my gastroenterologist, he
asked, "Do you exercize?" I knew his question was a trap. He had
looked at his watch too often during our interview. I knew that if
I said 'no', he'd tell me to start exercizing and come back in 2
months. If I said 'yes', he'd tell me to stop straining too hard
and come back in 2 months. I just knew it.
"I exercize moderately," I told him,
talking the party line. "Two to three times a week. For about 20
minutes."
"Muscular or aerobic?" he asked, checking his watch.
"Both," I told him. He sighed. Then in a moment of weakness, I told
him, "Doctor, you've got to help me. I've tried everything -
exercize, diet, vitamins."
"Well, that's your problem", he declared. "You can get everything
you need from a balanced diet. You're taking too many vitamins.
Stop taking vitamins and come back in 2
months."
It was frustrating enough for doctors not
to admit they didn't know, but for them to openly disbelieve my
symptoms was intolerable. When people no longer believe you, you
are in serious trouble.
Then one day, as I was standing outside
the hospital getting fresh air between tests, I doubled over in
pain. At last, I thought, a pain so miraculous in its intensity, I
was sure even a student minister would be able to diagnose me with
something. As the tears of pain subsided, my vision clarified upon
an empty cigarette package. I picked it up for good measure and
threw it in a garbage canister. And the strangest thing happened --
my pain got better; not all at once but it was slightly
better.
Did picking up garbage really heal me?
Was I secretly on the road to recovery with each passing cigarette
butt I picked up? Was my doubling over a subconscious attempt to
encourage my body to pick up garbage? Who knows. But I certainly
felt I was on to something, something big, something far greater
than myself.
I began to realize I was meant to pick up
garbage. Laugh all you want, but I'm much happier then when I was a
computer programmer! Picking up garbage has changed my life and
lead me onto a great path of discovery.
Picking up garbage may make you feel
good. It may make you as happy as me. You may suddenly begin to
notice nature. Trees may make you smile. Picking up garbage makes
me lucky. Good fortune follows me as if it has fallen from the sky.
When you align your values with those of nature, the nagging
details of your life are taken care of, like you have some sort of
mystical personal trainer or valet following after you. The right
people show up in my life just when I need them the most. The
telephone rings with the right person for my immediate needs, with
the correct piece of information at the perfect time. I find the
things I've always wanted at garage sales. People I hate always
miss me in the halls. People I love are attracted to me like
magnets. People are nice to me instinctually; wherever I go people
hold doors open for me. Every quip I make receives benevolent
laughter. I know what to do. I know what to say. I know where to
go. I never feel alone.
I no longer drive with a road map in my
car. Things just seem to work out. I never have trouble parking -
spaces just open up right in front of my eyes. I never lose things
anymore; I suddenly seem to know where they are. And if I can't
find something, I later realize that I never needed them anyway. I
gave away my personal organizer - if I ever forget something, I
will be reminded of it by a bizarre coincidence. The more garbage I
pick up, the more that life has becomes a magical adventure, an
eerie set of coincidences from one to the next.
I kept this as a secret for years. But
now you know. Your time has come. Plug into the
universe.
Warmest Regards,
Georges Clyman.
|
