Shit's About to Get Real is a journey through the cosmos. Together we explore the human mind and it's true power.
This article is an excerpt.
Look into the mirror. What do you see? Do you see thoughts staring back. What do they say. Who do they define?
You desire. In certain aspects of your life, you sense the void. The abundant expanse of empty space created as the universe expands. You continue to evolve, expand and grow. The void created by the expanding universe provides the space for you to grow into. As energy in the fabric of space and time attracts subatomic particles, which are bound by positive and negative energy, reality is manifested. The physical world.
In order for you to comprehend the whole of reality, you must see with new eyes. You must use your real eyes. (Realize) You must realize that you are not just an observer in reality. Every cell in your body is part of the integrated fabric of space and time. You affect the real world. You do not just experience it.
You have spent your entire life becoming. Right now you are exactly where you decided to go. Everything in reality is your creation. Now you might say, “oh ya I’ve made a hell of lot of mistakes. That’s exactly why I am here, thanks for that Ferre!” That’s simple. You think what you do actually creates your reality. What you do has nothing to do with creation. What you do is your reaction to the reality you create. Doing is a re-action. Being is the action. Be-coming is the process you go through to BE. When you are doing, whatever you are doing is a reaction to reality after it manifests. Mistakes are not the result of bad thinking. Bas thinking causes you to make mistakes. Your reality the one you are living in right now began a very long time ago. If you are not wealthy, you created a lack of wealth sometime in your past. You are exactly where you thought you would be. You might as well thank yourself right now. You are exactly what you think you are. You be-came. Now you desire to be-come again.
Thoughts are things and they have wings.
I want to take you on a trip. A journey through this place you call reality. But before we go, there’s someone I want you to meet.
Thirty years ago, I met this guy. I was traveling Air New Zealand from Auckland to Los Angeles. A very long flight.
I had been planning this trip for two years. The day had finally come! I’m going home! I woke up early that morning, anxious and excited.
It was raining and fucking cold.
I was in a hurry. In spite of having plenty of time, I still felt rushed. As I was loading up the car, I imagined at least a dozen ways I would miss my flight; traffic, weather, little green Martians, long lines, people.
A vivid and very real nightmare raged in my mind. I made missing my flight real two and half hours before departure. (Have you ever done that?) I know, crazy huh? I lived through the entire scene. I planned out what I would do if this happened. The entire drama played out — and it wasn’t real. When I arrived at the airport, there were people were everywhere. I wandered around looking for a space to wait for boarding to begin. Ducking and dodging, methodically navigating my way through the endless sea of faces. In and around, up and over. A horde of people waiting to board.
Waiting. If you know me — waiting is not my thing.
At the far end of the gate area, I found a small opening in the crowd. A vacant sliver, barely wide enough to fit. I not-so politely nudged my way and I leaned up against the plate glass window. I stood there impatiently, in a nearly catatonic stupor as I watched the ground crew hustling to prepare our Boeing 747 for the 6,518 mile flight.
Walking down the jet way, I began to reflect on the past two years. The best two years of my life! At least — so far. I was a missionary. My entire life, my whole reality was defined by a title. Every decision, every effort I made was prescribed by my assignment and my title.
As missionary, I worked with some incredible people. I dedicated every ounce of energy I could to finding people who needed help. It didn’t matter what kind of help. If there was a void, I tried to fill it.
Two years ago, I left behind an arrogant asshole. A self-indulgent, self-centered, self-important guy. I was happy when that guy died. I had come to New Zealand to experience a new me. The new me showed up. I worked hard and I never quit.
My work was fulfilling and I was anxiously engaged. I had rare opportunities to work with all kinds of people. Rich and poor. Strong and weak. Lost and broken. I also had to work my way through my own personal bullshit.
My work and responsibilities in New Zealand were varied . I was given one charge, go forth and serve. Unlike some of the other guys I worked with, my passion was not necessarily a religious pursuit.
I sought opportunities to help real people with real shit to deal with. I did. Almost everyday for the past two years.
In Pukekohe, I worked with a group of troubled teens grappling with drug addiction hacking out life on the streets. One night, we drove around in a large flatbed truck we borrowed from a local truck driver and picked up over a hundred street kids. We took them to a local church and built a make shift camp. Out of the cold — at least for one night. While we were huddled around talking about this and that, a young Maori girl started singing a song she had written. “
“If your going to go, don’t leave me here. Take me and believe me when I say, it’s never time to go. If you love me, never leave me alone.”
The soft melodic sound, the pain in the lyrics of this song were piercing. Not long after I left, she died. Broken. Alone and afraid. Her death changed me as death often does.
In Hamilton, I worked for six months, counseling a young married couple who were living on the edge of poverty and insanity. In Ngaruawahia I worked with a young man dealing with a very severe mental illness. In Tolaga Bay I cared for an aging, wise man who taught me the importance and value of living life well and dieing with no regret. In Te Ohaki I studied the history and language of the Maori people. I learned a lot about herbal medicine, natural healing and the power of believing. I prayed with the sick and dying. I spoke at funerals and performed religious services.
I learned a lot about the “real world” in New Zealand. I learned the very real difference between want and desire — fear and faith.
Shit was real.
Living and working with broken people, witnessing real life for the first time — changed me.
Today’s flight is symbolic in so many ways. It was the end of something and the beginning of everything. My end. My beginning.
I hate flying.
Not because I hate to fly. I hate the feeling of being confined. The coach section of a Boeing 747 features two isles, one down each side of the plane, three seats on each side. In the center, a row of four.
I was holding my ticket in hand for well over two hours, but I had not paid attention to my seat assignment until I was walking down the aisle.
As I approached my seat, I realized that I was assigned to sit in the center section.
Damn it. Confined.
As we took our seats, I intentionally avoided any eye contact with the woman sitting next to me. I hope this lady does not want to talk to me, I thought. She probably was thinking the same thing about me! We never spoke.
After what seemed like forever, we pushed back. We taxied down the tarmac making slow methodical turns. As we made the final turn, pointing the nose down the runway, the pilot locked the breaks and the engines started to whine as they spun up.
The awesome power of four Rolls Royce jet engines, spinning up in unison, seemed to symbolically represent a launch — my launch into the next phase of my life.
I really wasn’t in the mood to meet someone new.
I was quite content being lost in my own thoughts about this and that.
As we made the slow and tedious climb, up through the clouds, I began to let my mind drift into a not-so quiet place where I would continue to relive the past two years. My eyes closed as the memories began to fade in and out. From my first day in Pukekohe, two years ago, to the last in Onehunga — I thoughtfully revisited every village and every face.
Some memories would bring sadness, some joy. Every memory brought a tear.
For the past two years, Bryan Ferre, the man that I had become, was defined by the work. I was a missionary. A believer. An ardent, faithful follower. I was counselor and saint. I know I was. It said so on my badge.
Bryan, including all his character traits, personality and flaws was made for me — not by me. My self image, my views, my beliefs, my faith was the making of a job.
This Bryan Ferre was the invention of someone and something else.
He was happy and I liked him!
In the coming minutes, I would be forced to confront the fact that this Bryan was literally dying. The job was over. Everything I had become was dying. I was dying.
Just like that, the quiet reflection going on in my mind turned. I suddenly became very aware of the end. I had no idea what the hell I was going to do next.
Suddenly I was alone. Naked in a sea of faces. Nothing to define me. Nothing to tell me who, what or why. I started to realize that who I am, what I am, and why I am would no longer be decided for me.
I would have to create — me.
Within a matter of minutes my happy stroll down memory lane changed to a consuming fear of not knowing what would happen next in my life. I didn’t really care what would happen, I was consumed with the idea that I would have to decide. I started an entire conversation with myself.
What the hell? All of a sudden eighteen hours was not even close to enough time. I know it sounds silly, but the struggle was real.
My panic intensified. I actually thought about jumping out of the plane. I could swim back. Back to yesterday. Back to a reality that made sense.
That’s how irrational my thinking had become.
I started to weep. I have always liked being the center of attention, but I certainly did not want to attract that kind of attention. I asked the woman sitting next to me if I could please pass.
I walked, briskly toward the rear of plane and waited my turn to get into the lavatory. Standing in line, I started to tremble, and it was all I could do to hide the tears. I made a vain attempt and failed to mask the storm of emotions beginning to brew.
My emotions were briefly interrupted as a nice elderly lady opened the door to the lavatory. We had that awkward, silent exchange. You know the one — you wink, smile and nod as you do the lavatory shuffle, swapping places in the aisle!
Once safely behind the locked door, my emotions poured out. I was barely able to stand as the tears flowed down my face. I had allowed my thoughts to consume me and the fear of not knowing what I was going to do next in my life had completely taken over.
I allowed myself to become consumed by what I thought could or would or should happen in the future. Total thought immersion! I failed to see the very real blank canvas. I chose to see a dark hole! I was free to do and be anything and yet I chose fear instead of faith.
Somehow, I was consciously aware that I could not occupy the rest room for the entire trip — but in that moment — I just didn’t give a shit.
I shook my head, splashed some cold water on my face and decided I was ready to look up.
I looked up.
Standing in the mirror, staring back at me was — me. I hardly recognized my own face. In a shaky and broken voice, I blurted out, “Who the hell are you?”
That day, in a lavatory, in a weird and awkward moment, I met Bryan Ferre, for the first time!
Not the asshole, juvenile kid that had dropped out of high school four years ago. Not the dutiful son. Not the missionary. I met me. In that moment I met, the real Bryan Ferre. Suddenly the void I could feel in my future was a part of me. In an instant, I was transformed from knowing to not needing to know. My life was mine to create. My reality. Void of external expectations and definitions. Just me.
What will I be?
I stared into the mirror for the longest time. I have blue eyes. I know I do, it says so on my drivers license and every identification card I have ever had. My passport says I have blue eyes. But I think — in that moment, I actually saw my blue eyes for the very first time.
It is impossible to lie when you talk with your eyes! They speak the truth — all without speaking.
I had learned to carefully gazed into the eyes of the fearful, the sick and dying, the lost and broken for the past two years. Searching for their truth. I saw very real fear and relentless faith manifest in their eyes.
Now, I was looking into my eyes for the very first time. It took my breath away.
The plane shook. Turbulence.
There is nothing quite like a sudden updraft caused by the energy of the sun to bring you back to the real reality. The sudden jolt brought me back to the very real hear and now.
I had far exceeded the socially acceptable amount of time one passenger can stay in the in the lavatory.
I gotta get out of this bathroom. Now.
I opened the door to yet another awkward shuffle. And the line was long. Oh, excuse me. Pardon me. I’m sorry. A wry smile, a wink and another nod.
As I did the block and tackle, past the now very long line, returning to my seat, I became very aware that my horrifying and fearful vision was nothing but an illusion. A reality created entirely in my mind! It was in fact, not real. I had, put my entire future and everything I would do or become in the very capable hands of my worrying mind.
I experienced the awesome power of creation, for the first time. I created an entire, imaginary future, in an imaginary world, with imaginary failure and imaginary loneliness. I realized I had the balance of the trip to re-create.
That was the longest and shortest eighteen hours of my life.
I was trapped in a plane and trapped in my mind.
Are you trapped in your mind?
Do you sit back and allow the real world to take shape around you?
Do you take it as it comes?
There will come a time when you see yourself for the very first time. The real you.
For me it was on board a Boeing 747 flying 698 miles an hour at an elevation of 40,000 feet high above the Pacific Ocean!
Unless you are flying in a 747 over the Pacific Ocean right now, your first look at your self will be different.
I want you to meet — you. I needed a mirror and a lavatory. You may not.
Until you look deep into your own eyes, you will remain in your illusion of reality. A story you tell over and over in your head.
Something inspired you to look. So look!