My Love Affair With Geese

By Anna Olson

How do geese know when to fly to the sun?

Who tells them the seasons?

 How do we humans know when it is time to move on?

As with the migrant birds, so surely with us, there is a voice within, if only we would listen to it, that tells us so certainly when to go forth into the unknown.

                                                                      Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
(The Wheel of Life)

When I think back to when geese and I were first introduced, I would say it was through my dad being a hunter. He would bring home geese and ducks for plucking, singeing, eviscerating, and of course eating. I was a good helper, especially for pulling out the innards, as my small hands could get into the cavities better than his larger ones. I don’t remember any prayers or reverence for the birds. My dad was a farm boy and was continuing the practice of shooting birds to feed his family.

The next incident I remember is standing in Grant Park Mall parking lot, staring in awe as a big flock of geese flew directly over me. (I was probably in my late thirties at the time. I’m late sixties now.) When I got home, I put my thoughts on paper.

It’s spring, and the geese are flying overhead, squawking their way to the northeast. I am thrilled they have chosen to fly over me. I watch hypnotized: the beating and flapping, squawking and jockeying for position, the familiar V-shape plus stragglers and independents. Such purpose and intensity. They didn't even pack a lunch! No money, no hotels! Does the farmer know they're coming down in his grain field? Our rivers and marshes and lakes have cleared their ice to be ready for them.

    I want to fly away, too.

    Twice a year they leave home. So much energy used up in migration when it could be put to better use! But being alive means being active. Does it matter what we do as long as we are active?

    Do you fly the friendly skies as the airline advertises? Do airplanes get in your way? What about eagles and hawks?

    Are you running away from anything – or running open-winged to something?

    Such powerful movements of animals, birds and insects: mammals beneath the sea and on land, insects beneath the ground, birds and butterflies in the air. So much is invisible to us humans. I feel small and insignificant in the face of their intuitive knowledge and fearless plunge into the unknown.

    I feel a heart connection to the flock of geese, and I wish them well on their journey.

    So thanks for flying over me today, geese. Bon voyage.

Lots of Geese at Grand Marais

In my mid-fifties, I moved to Grand Marais (a community near Grand Beach, Manitoba). A flock of geese flew over my house on the day I moved in. I didn’t see them because I was in the house but I heard them. Also, my friends sitting outside called to me as they were going over. I thought that was a good omen, a sign I was in a good place. I was into making and selling pottery so I put a tribute to geese on the little cards I attached to my pottery.

There were lots of geese at Grand Marais on the edge of Lake Winnipeg. There were marshes and sheltered bays and small islands that the geese loved for feeding and breeding. I watched the young goslings grow from leggy balls of yellow fluff, to larger grey youngsters, then to young adults with the familiar black and white markings, ready to fly south. I loved the sound of the honking and flapping of powerful wings. I would sit on a grassy spot nearby a feeding flock and commune with them, always aware of the sentinel’s watchful gaze, alert to any signs of danger, including me if I tried to get too close. Sometimes they would fly low above the town heading for a grassy spot for feeding or to the sheltered bay to feed in the shallow waters.

My heart always sang when geese were near. They were my friends, my buddies, my inspiration.

I wasn’t totally happy living at Grand Marais. I had trouble fitting in. I was feeling lonely, especially in the winter as fewer relatives and friends came out from Winnipeg, and it was harder for me to go there. I thought I would try renting out my house for the winter so I advertised its availability. One evening I was in my kitchen, about to pull the blinds and turn on the light. There’s still a bit of outside light left. I’ll wait a few minutes before pulling the blinds, I said to myself.

Two minutes later, I heard honking and several geese came from the west and flew over my house. As my kitchen faced west, I got a good look at them. As usual, my heart thrilled to the sight and sound of the geese.

The next day, a couple came to look at the house with the intention of renting it. As I sat there talking with them, I went into an altered state and felt three thought forms drop into my head. They expanded into the words: It is time for you to move on. These are the people who are moving in. The geese came to say good-bye.

What a shock! The thoughts were so clear. You know the saying “get your ducks in a row”? These thought forms dropped into my brain in a row at the top of my head from front to back.

Because I loved the geese so much, I wanted to follow their advice. I let the people move in, and I migrated south to Winnipeg. I told people, “I’m going south for the winter – to Winnipeg!” (I have to tell you, one of my fantasies is to follow the geese south in the fall, and see where at least some of them go for the winter, then come back here in the spring as they do.)

The family moved in (two parents and three children) and my problems began. Because the geese told me that these were the ones to move in, I didn’t ask for references. If I had, I would have found out that they had a habit of not paying their rent. What a shock! I didn’t have much experience renting out property and for a while accepted the woman’s excuses for bounced cheques: my bank didn’t register my deposit quickly enough, I wrote the cheque on the wrong account, etc. I found I had to drive out from Winnipeg and ask for cash. By the time they moved out in nine months, I had collected about half the rent I was owed.

Why was this happening to me?! I shook my fist at the renters, the geese, and the universe in general. A psychic friend tuned in and said I was going through this turmoil because I had some lessons to learn. I accepted this pronouncement and tried to figure out what my side of the problem was. I realized that the renter woman reminded me of a certain relative of mine who was smiling on the surface and “empty” underneath. Because the law says you can’t evict families when children are in school, it took me a while to get over the helpless feeling and finally ask them to leave. Thankfully they left without trashing the place.

Throughout this ordeal, close friends and relatives who knew my goose story were surprised that I didn’t throw away my love for geese. I trusted that this ordeal was for my highest good, and I focused on what I was learning from it. I finally did sell my house at Grand Marais. On the last day when I went to the grocery store to hand in my postal box key, I saw the Winnipeg Sun’s front page headline: “Geese is the Word.” Of course I bought a paper, and still have the clippings of the pictures and text. In my mind, goose spirit managed to influence the editors to feature geese on my last day.

Am I crazy to think this? Maybe, but this is how I live – partly in this world, and partly in a world where magical things really can happen.

Back in Winnipeg, I found a book called Goose Girl by Joe McLellan and Matrine McLellan, illustrated by Rhian Brynjolson (Pemmican Publications, 2007).

Goose Girl is about Marie, a Métis girl living with her family in Northern Canada near a lake plentiful with geese. Marie loved to walk to the lake to watch the geese landing, swimming, feeding, and taking off. Her mother told her that geese have a special task. “When we die, the geese take our spirits south into the sky to our Promised Land.”

One night right after her tenth birthday, Marie heard a noise behind her as she walked home from the lake. When she got to her house, she turned and saw that a particular goose had followed her home. Marie squatted down so she and the goose could look each other in the eye. This happened many times.

Grandfather was watching this friendship develop between Marie and the geese. He said that if she liked, she could be called Niskaw, the Cree word for goose. Excited and happy, Marie said yes. “You will still be Marie,” Grandfather said, “but Niskaw makes you more than Marie. It makes you able to bring the teachings and the healings of the geese to our people.”

Grandfather told Marie, “You will do the work of the geese. This is how you will help our people. Put this [tobacco] on the water, Niskaw, as an offering to your brothers and sisters, the geese.”

          

When her grandfather died of old age, Niskaw took tobacco, ran to the lake and spread it on the water. She called to the geese, “Take Mishoom’s spirit to our ancestors, south to the Promised Land.”

Niskaw walked home with her goose following. She was very sad about her grandfather’s death. “When she reached home, Niskaw sat down on the ground and hung her head. Her goose hopped into her lap and nestled into her chest. Niskaw wrapped her arms around her goose and buried her face into its soft feathery back and cried harder than she had ever cried in her whole life. When she stopped, her goose hopped down and flew back to the lake.”

Every day for the rest of her life Marie visited the sick, comforted the dying, and called the geese to take their spirits home. When Marie was very old, she walked to the lake and called to her goose. Then “she lay her cane down on the sand and she and her goose flew away together, forever.”

* *** * *

When I first read Goose Girl, I thought it was a lovely, heart-warming myth. Imagine my surprise when a dialogue with the geese suggested the book was based on truth.

A few days after moving to Lions Place in Winnipeg (I’m in my mid sixties by then), I saw several geese fly by my living room window. I am on the eleventh floor with the living room window facing east. The geese were heading north.

           I have found that I can connect with spirit entities through dialogue on paper. I write ‘from myself’ with my right hand and answer ‘from spirit’ with my left hand. I pretend the spirit I am attempting to communicate with is "overshadowing" me – that is, entering my body and speaking through me, rather than sitting opposite me. Here is what resulted:

Anna:  Hi geese. I'm so happy to see you fly by my window. My heart is happy. You flew over my Grand Marais house when I moved in there. My heart is happy when I see you. Was your flying by special for me?

Geese: There is a connection with the Goose Girl story. Geese help souls go to the other side. You are giving "On the Nature of Life After Death" workshops. We are your spirit helpers. Please do the rattle activity for us. Cormorant spirit is helping, too. They go into deep water. The geese feed in more shallow water. Water is for emotion: flowing water, flowing emotions.

Anna: Thank you geese. I hadn't made that connection between the book Goose Girl and my workshops and my strong interest in life after death. Maybe I'll use Goose Girl in future workshops or in my writing. Did you help Evelyn [a friend who had recently died] with her transition or do you just help when people have a belief in the role of geese?

Geese:  Evelyn transitioned easily. She didn't need much help. Our help can be invisible when there is lack of belief. Thanks for your love of us. You used to eat us because your dad shot us. It's OK to eat us for food but there was a lack of reverence. Now you have reverence. Work with us.

                                                             * * *** * * *

My reaction: I was surprised they gave no response to the "fly-by" incident; they just leapt into the message they had for me, that they are part of my guidance for my writing efforts and workshops (now called “Exploring the Mysteries of Life and Death”).

           Also surprising was the request for me to “rattle” for them. A few years ago, I was told by a shamanic teacher to shake a rattle while walking backing and forth, pretending I’m a certain animal or bird. In shamanic lore, our animal and bird spirit helpers like to experience earthly existence through this exercise. I used to do it for geese and cormorant spirit but fizzled after a while. Time to start rattling again!

           The phrase ‘work with us’ made an impact on me as well. It felt like encouragement to continue with writing about after-life topics, and to keep offering workshops. Now, when I hear of someone who has had a sudden death and whose spirit might be stranded on the astral plane, I call on goose spirit to help them go to the right level in the after-life. 

           That's my story of my life with goose spirit so far. I'm happy to keep honouring them and working with them as best I can.

Ode to Joseph Campbell

By ANNA OLSON

I have cried tears of joy thanks to Joseph Campbell.

       Before this particular event, tears always meant pain. Not that I’m complaining. Ever since I read that crying was good for a person, that we live longer because of releasing pain through tears, I have let them flow.

       The tears of joy sprang to my eyes while watching a video of Joseph Campbell explaining the Eastern theory of “lunar” and “solar” lines that run up our spine on the etheric level (Joseph Campbell and The Power Of Myth with Bill Moyers video). What he described was what I had experienced in connection with my daughter Jenny after she died following heart surgery.

       There were two sides to our relationship after Jenny died after open-heart surgery at two and a half years of age. On the one hand, I believed in spirit life after death and communicated with her often. I saw her in my inner vision, heard her voice on occasion, and others saw her spirit as well. So I wasn’t bitter. I knew that she was alive and well in spirit. 

       The other side of me was like a deranged grizzly bear mother whose cub had been taken away from her. I was furious at the world. I felt like getting a baseball bat and smashing everything in sight. I demanded the return of my daughter and hated this spiritual nonsense. Communicating through prayer and meditation with her spirit meant nothing to grizzly mother. She screamed for her physical child and was inconsolable if she couldn’t get her back.

       This is what Joseph Campbell was describing. He said the lunar side represents our physical and emotional existence. It was named lunar because the moon seems to appear and disappear the same way babies are born and people die. This side relates only to physical reality.

       The solar side represents the spirit side of our nature, the part of us that lives after death, that knows the body is only a temporary home for the soul. And then Campbell said the words that flipped me out, “These two sides can’t communicate with each other.” He drew a diagram on a board of two entwining lines going up the spine. These lines rotated around each other but did not touch. He said the spiritual line vibrated at a slightly higher rate than the physical line. 

       I jumped up from the couch in excitement. “That’s what I’ve been going through,” I cried out to the empty room. Someone understood and had an explanation for my craziness. What a relief! I didn’t understand why I was in so much pain from her death when I was able to communicate with her in spirit. It seemed like the emotional/physical side (grizzly bear mother) didn’t hear or see the same things my spiritual side did. I paced the room in excitement, tears of joy and gratitude streaming down my face.

       So thank you, Joseph Campbell. A blessing for you in spirit. You gave us a great gift through your work on mythology: the books and videos are your legacy to those hungry for your knowledge.

       Joseph Campbell died in 1987 at the age of 83. He left behind many books (The Power of Myth, Myths to Live By, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, The Masks of God) and countless videos (check with your library).

Anna Olson has written a chapbook about her experiences before and after her daughter Jenny died called Writing my Way to Recovery: A Tribute to Jennifer Lindy Olson, for sale at $8.00, postage included. For mailing details, email annols@mts.net.

Pele: Hawaii’s Fiery Volcano Goddess

By Anna Olson

In the last hundred years, the Big Island of Hawaii has become a modern, industrialized society – but one thing has not changed. Pele is still revered as the island’s volcano goddess.

Sayings like “don’t mess with Pele,” and offerings to Pele of baskets made with ti leaves are common. The glassy filaments of lava that drift through the air after an eruption are called "Pele’s hair.” The lava droplets are “Pele’s tears.”

Is Pele real or just a figment of the Hawaiian people’s imagination, born of a need to cope with the awesome power of live volcanoes? I lean toward the “real” verdict and would like to offer some anecdotal evidence to seduce you into agreement.

The legend of Pele originated with the Polynesians who first populated the Hawaiian chain of eight islands some 2,000 years ago. It has survived the assault of Westernization, which has denigrated Hawaiian mythology since 1820, when the first missionaries arrived. In the last forty years or so, there has been a resurgence of respect for the old, nature-based way of life. But of all the ancient gods and goddesses, Pele is the strongest survivor, probably because of the continuing volcanic activity.

On a recent trip to the Big Island, I became intrigued by this reverence for Pele. At the Kilauea Visitor Centre, I found a slim, 71-page tribute to Pele called Pele: Goddess of Hawaii’s Volcanoes by Herb Kawainui Kane (pronounced KAHney), an artist and historian who writes about his native Hawaii and the South Pacific.

Pele, I read in Kane’s book, is no meek and gentle goddess. Befitting her role as the ruler of volcanoes, her personality is “volcanic, unpredictable, impulsive, given to sudden rages and violence.” In one folktale, Pele – in the guise of a young woman – is slighted by a young chief whose favourite pastime is holua, the sport of racing narrow sleds down long slides built up of rockwork and thatched with slippery grasses.” Pele challenges the young man to a race, but he abruptly refuses her and launches down the slide by himself. His pleasure is soon cut short when he realizes that the woman he has so rudely dismissed is now pursuing him in a mantle of flame atop a flow of lava. The young chief manages to escape, but he knows he will never be safe on the Big Island again.

Although Pele’s volcanic outbursts can destroy land and property, her molten lava also brings an abundance of minerals to the surface. Within decades, lush new tropical growth hides the bleakness of the former lava flow. Herb Kane quotes one resident, on the run from the encroaching lava, philosophically accepting this cycle of destruction and rebirth: “I love my home; live here all my life, and my family for generations. But if Tutu like take it, it’s her land.” (Tutu is an affectionate term for grandparents that Hawaiians often use for Pele.)

Pele may be violent in her volcanic explosions, but she often gives warning – indirect thought it may sometimes be. “In May 1924,” Kane writes, “residents of the village of Waiohinu reported seeing a tall Hawaiian woman, a stranger dressed in a flowing white garment, walking about the countryside.” This beautiful, stately woman passed by all who saw her and spoke to no one. Soon after, earthquakes ripped the land apart and Kilauea exploded, throwing up rocks, dust and gasses that rose 20,000 feet. In hindsight, the villagers realized that the stranger must have been Pele.

“Spooky stuffs”

For Herb Kane, what may have seemed like just folk tales took on new meaning after some “spooky stuffs” – to use an island expression – happened to him. In 1973, Kane was invited to paint a mural in Hawaii’s History Centre depicting how the town of Punalu’u might have appeared two centuries before when it was just a village of thatched houses. Kane settled in to paint the ten-foot high by twenty-foot long mural with scenes of chieftains talking, children playing and women preparing food. As Kane brushed in the details, other workers and villagers gathered behind him, talking quietly among themselves, telling stories of the old days.

Close to the completion of the painting, while expensive electronic displays were being installed in the History Center, the building was kept closed to the general public. One evening, Kane returned after dinner to work on the mural. The guard unlocked the door and let him in. After working for an hour, Kane felt he was no longer alone. He turned and found “an elderly Hawaiian woman standing in the shadows looking at the painting.” Kane said hello, but the woman just smiled and kept looking at the painting. The artist returned to his work, but when he looked up again, the mysterious lady had gone. Later, when Kane asked the guard who the woman had been, the guard denied seeing or unlocking the door for anyone but Kane.

Another hard-to-explain event occurred on the final day of work on the mural. Around eleven at night, after a full day of painting, Kane heard voices speaking Hawaiian. The voices seemed to be coming from the painting. “I turned toward the group of chiefs that I had painted standing upon the beach and saw that they were talking to each other. There was a movement on my left and I turned just as one of the women seated under a thatched shelter turned her head away from me, back to the profile position in which I had painted her.” At the time, Kane attributed the vision to overwork.

The third “unreal” incident occurred in the fall of 1975 when severe earthquakes and a tsunami  damaged the Punalu’u area where Kane’s mural was located. When Kane phoned the Center the next day, he received some puzzling news. Although a three-foot high mud line was clearly visible on all the building’s walls, the painting, which touched the floor, was dry and unblemished. Kane raced over to see for himself, and it was just as the official had said.

“I searched for an explanation but found none,” Kane admits. But an onlooker thought he knew. He suggested it was Pele who saved the painting. She had made the earthquake that had created the wave but for some reason, she wanted to spare the painting. “She always get the last word,” the man said.

Pele in the past

Pele wasn’t always this ephemeral spirit who teases people with random appearances. According to legend, Pele first arrived in Hawaii “in human goddess form.” Some time after reaching Hawaii, as the story goes, Pele died, but her spirit stayed on to be an intermediary between the forces of the volcanoes on the various islands and the people living there. (At present, the only active volcanoes are on the Big Island.)

Kane speculates that the first Hawaiians must have felt a mixture of awe and terror when they beheld this huge island “crowned with fiery volcanoes and trembling with earthquakes, an island so different from the smaller and more tranquil islands and atolls they had known in the South Pacific.” But in the Polynesian universe, every part of nature, every person, and all the gods were part of an organic whole. A volcano, even with its power of destruction, was revered as part of nature. Kane points out “success was achieved by living in careful and reverent harmony with Nature; failure to do so being marked by swift retribution from the gods.” Our concept of Nature as an object of conquest would have been incomprehensible to the Polynesians.

A workshop in Hawaii

Even with all the dangers, the Big Island is still a beautiful, exotic and fascinating place to visit or live on. Ask Nicki Katchur, the Winnipegger responsible for luring me to Hawaii to attend her two-week Huna Kane (no relationship to Herb Kane!) workshop and tour of the Big Island. Nicki lived there for eleven years and loved it, developing a sense of rapport with Pele that she now incorporates into her workshops.

One day, Nicki took us to a cave in an old lava field that had a steam vent connected to the molten lava underground. Because Pele was giving us the steam, Nicki asked us to bring a small gift – perhaps food or some small token of appreciation – to leave for Pele at the entrance to the cave. We then crawled through a narrow opening in the rock into a dark cave filled with steam that we hoped wouldn’t get too hot of fill us with sulfur fumes. There was no switch on the wall to control the situation! Perhaps the gifts please Pele because we all survived.

Nicki told us about the “curse of Pele,” a myth that threatens bad luck to people who remove volcanic rocks from the island. Perhaps the myth is true. The Hawaii Volcanoes National Part frequently receives packages of rocks or other volcanic material from hapless former tourists. In their plaintive letters, they describe the calamities that have befallen them since they picked up their prohibited lava souvenirs.

Nicki argues that it’s the intent that matters. She has brought lava rocks home with her to Winnipeg, but she asks Pele first, takes the rocks with reverence, and leaves a gift for the goddess in return.

“What I received from being on an island with a live volcano on it,” says Nicki, “is a feeling of reverence for the awesomeness of the creative life force. I think it’s important to let go of the judgmental aspect of creation and destruction.” Nicki was sad about the loss of Kalapana (a town covered by lava in 1990), but she could see the cycle of life and death being acted out there. She was not bitter, as some people were.

Nicki knew of the myth of Pele appearing in an area before the lava flows; in fact, she actually knew a man to whom it happened. Just before lava wiped out the Kapoho area in the 1960s, an older Hawaiian woman knocked at the door of many homes, asking for food. Everyone refused her, except for Nicki’s friend who lived on a large tract of land surrounding Green Lake. A few days later, when the lava flowed, only the man’s property was spared.

Brushes with Pele

I didn’t see or sense Pele while I was in Hawaii, but I do have a couple of stories to add to this mix of folk tales.

When I started to write this article, I was back in Winnipeg, far from the source of any volcanic action. In my mind, I asked, “Pele, could you help me with some inspiration? I wish I had interviewed more people when I was on the Big Island.”

Within a couple of days, I bumped into a friend at a local pottery shop. She was talking to a woman named Doreen who (drum roll) was here on a visit from Hawaii! Amazed, I listened as Doreen told me she belongs to a group that studies the old Hawaiian mythology and learns chants to honour Pele. Doreen even had a Pele story to tell me.

It seems there was a large, shallow, warm pond in the Kapoho area in which people loved to bathe. Someone bought the property and decided to develop it into a resort area. Their first act was to fence it off and charge admission.

One day, a young woman came to the gate and asked to come in for a swim. The guard said she had to pay.

“But I don’t have any money,” said the young woman.

“Then you can’t come in,” replied the guard.

“If I can’t swim here, then no one can,” the woman fumed, and walked away.

Within days, the warm pond was covered with lava.

My second “encounter with Pele” occurred at Grand Beach this summer while I was staying a a friend’s cabin. I was working on this article and running out of paper. What a tragedy – a writer short of paper and no store nearby! (I was using a portable typewriter; no laptop at that time.) I looked around the cabin, poking in odd corners, opening drawers, hoping for a find.

It was a bit cool that day. Impulsively, I opened the wood-burning stove, thinking I might light a fire. There I found four sheets of clean, lined paper lying on the ashes. I whooped with joy, plucked them out and giggled to myself about Pele and the woodstove, the closest thing to a volcano in Manitoba!

Convincing? It tickles my fancy to believe in Pele so I will. Our modern society has moved away from an everyday connection with ancestral and nature spirits, but I find it nourishing to believe in these spirits and to attempt to commune with them.

While at Grand Beach this summer, I walked to Spirit Rock, a four-foot-high rock on which Indians many years ago would place an offering to appease the spirits of the lake. These gifts, they hoped, would bring good weather and protect them when fishing or traveling. I put a penny on the rock, and connected in spirit to the people 4,500 miles away who perform the same ritual for Pele on the Big Island of Hawaii.

The Downside of Positive Thinking

Compulsive positivity à la Rhonda Byrne (The Secret) is a big fat downer, argues Barbara Ehrenreich (Bright-Sided)  

By ANNA OLSON 

Rhonda Byrne could be called the “queen of positive thinking,” with sales of The Secret (DVD and book), The Power, and now The Magic reaching into the stratosphere, making Byrne one wealthy woman.    

The Secret (Simon & Schuster, 2006) started the gravy train rolling. Claiming to have discovered an age-old secret, the law of attraction, it hooked millions with its "yes you can;  think positive and the world is yours" mantra. 

The law of attraction says that like attracts like. If you think positive thoughts, you’ll attract positive people, abundance and power. Vice versa for negative thoughts.

The Power (Atria Books, 2010) came along to tell us about the power of love. Each page beautifully ornamented, it exudes love and happiness, success and fulfillment, power and glory. Still aligned with the law of attraction, Byrne emphasizes that love is everything, the be all and end all, the alpha and omega, the one emotion (real or forced) that will get you everything you want.

“Without exception, every person who has a great life used love to achieve it. The power to have all the positive and good things in life is love!” Byrne’s definition of a great life is having "power over your health, your wealth, your career, your relationships, and every area of your life.” 

It all starts with imagination, Byrne says. “History has proven that those who dare to imagine the impossible are the ones who break all human limitations.” She says we need to imagine what we want, picture it in our minds in detail; then feel love for what we’re imagining. We must see ourselves mentally receive the item, person or position, pretending that we already have what we desire and “never deviate from that state of being.”

Now we are graced with The Magic (Atria Books, 2012). Byrne has rewritten a passage from the Gospel of Matthew to include gratitude.

"Whoever has gratitude will be given more, and he or she will have an abundance. Whoever does not have gratitude, even what he or she has will be taken from him or her."

What sets The Magic apart from The Secret and The Power, is the inclusion of 28 days of exercises to get you going on the road to success. You'll learn to be grateful for what you have now and in the past (12 days), for what you want in the future (10 days), and for your ability to help others, dissolve problems and improve any negative situation (6 days).

If you are a business owner, take note that the value of your business will increase or decrease according to your gratitude. According to Byrne, "It is when business owners stop being grateful and replace gratitude with worry that their business spirals downward." 

Fantasize or analyze – or both

You can read the gospel according to Rhonda Byrne in two ways. The first way is to pretend the books are fairy tales. Float through the words, letting images spark your imagination or highlight a problem area in your life. Does anything inspire you? Anything you feel like trying? How can you give and receive more love? Can you increase your attitude of gratitude?

The second way is to take a critical look at Byrne's concepts – and at Byrne herself. 

Kathlyn and Gay Hendricks, two experts who were originally part of The Secret film, clashed with Byrne when they asked that two cautions be included. The first one, Gay recounted in a Huffington Post blog, is that “unless you combine the law of attraction with impeccable integrity, you can attract a peck of troubles along with anything positive that comes your way.” The Hendrickses also wanted to point out the “upper limit problem,” which Gay describes as “the tendency to sabotage yourself when you experience a rapid upsurge in success.” Why, you may ask? “If you haven't built a solid foundation of integrity under you,” Gay explains, “a rapid upturn in your fortunes can bring forth old self-esteem issues that cause you to bring yourself back down to your more familiar lower level of success.”

At one point, the Hendrickses realized that Byrne did not want anything negative in The Secret; it was to be a totally positive cheerleading effort with no pitfalls acknowledged. Asking that their interview footage not be used in the DVD, the Hendrickses bowed out.

Validating the “peck of troubles” concept, Drew Herriot (director of The Secret) and Dan Hollings (The Secret's Internet marketing guru) sued Byrne for breach of a verbal contract when she refused to share the mega profits of The Secret (one source suggests $300,000,000 in sales in the first nine months). Although Herriot lost his court case, Hollings settled out of court. 

It's a puzzle: Byrne has refused media requests for interviews about The Power and The Magic. Could it be she doesn’t want to deal with questions about The Secret lawsuits?  

Nor has Byrne commented on these lawsuits – at least nothing I've been able to find. But in The Power, she claims: “If you feel you have done something that wasn’t right, understand that your realization and acceptance of it is absolution for the law of attraction.” Some would argue that apologizing and making amends would be a more sincere way of redressing a wrong.

Also problematic is that Byrne appears to be using the law of attraction to encourage consumerism. Her emphasis is on having everything you want, rather than focusing on character development or learning to live simply. In The Power, she maintains “there is no lack anywhere in the universe.” Those who worry about vanishing species or diminishing resources are worrying needlessly. According to Byrne, “Quantum physics tell [sic] us there are infinite planet Earths and infinite universes that exist, and we move from one reality of planet Earth and a universe to another, every fraction of a second. This is the real world emerging through science.” This dubious take on quantum physics is Byrne's proof we can consume all we want.    

“Bright-Sided” shows the dark side of positive thinking 

In Bright-Sided: How Positive Thinking is Undermining America (Picador, 2009), we learn that respected intellectual Barbara Ehrenreich, an author with 16 books to her credit, had a jarringly personal introduction to the world of positive thinking. During a routine check-up, her doctor found a lump in her breast that proved to be malignant. Ehrenreich descended into a maelstrom of panic, confusion and painful medical procedures. Not trusting alternative medicine, she surrendered to the mainstream modalities of surgery, chemotherapy and radiation. 

To her surprise, Ehrenreich found that “not everyone views the disease with horror and dread.” Instead, positive thinking and acquiring the pink-ribboned accessories were de rigueur. She noted that there was very little anger, no discussion of possible environmental causes and no criticism of painful treatments. “Positive thinking seems to be mandatory in the breast cancer world,” Ehrenreich notes, “to the point that unhappiness requires a kind of apology.” 

As an experiment, Ehrenreich posted on a cancer message board under the heading "Angry." In it, she complained about the debilitating effects of chemotherapy, recalcitrant insurance companies, environmental carcinogens and the "sappy pink ribbons." She received "mostly a chorus of rebukes."

Trust Ehrenreich not to swallow this positivity pressure without fighting back. She threw herself into learning the history and ramifications of what she calls the “virus” of positive thinking. The result is an eye-opening treatise that will leave the reader in awe of the damage that can be done by a philosophy that on the surface appears as wholesome as a scrubbed and smiling child.

From positivity bubbles to empathy deficits  

Let’s start with the housing bubble in the U.S. with its  resultant stock market crash and worldwide recession. Ehrenreich details how the once sober financial sector hired motivational speakers and coaches to fire up management and employees. Exuberance was rewarded, caution discouraged. One financial expert said, “Anybody who voiced negativity was thrown out.” Some finance companies assumed daredevil debt-to-asset ratios of 30 to 1 in their underwriting of subprime mortgages, confident that positive thinking would keep them afloat. 

“Pumped up by paid motivators and divinely inspired CEOs,” says Ehrenreich, “American business entered the midyears of the decade [2000s] at a manic peak of delusional expectations, extending to the highest levels of leadership.” One financial expert told Ehrenreich that the idea that you can control the world with your thoughts went “viral” in corporate America.

Ehrenreich cites political historian Kevin Phillips, author of Bad Money: Reckless Finance, Failed Politics, and the Global Crisis of American Capitalism, making a clear connection between positive-thinking euphoria and the subprime mortgage crisis. Philips “indicts prosperity preachers Osteen, T.D. James, and Credo Dollar, along with The Secret author Rhonda Byrne.” Another writer blames religious preachers who helped low-income people fool themselves into believing “God caused the bank to ignore my credit score and bless me with my first house.”

According to Ehrenreich, one danger of compulsive positivity is an “empathy deficit.”  As an example, she quotes Byrne’s callous response to hearing about the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami that killed over 200,000 people: “Citing the law of attraction, [Byrne] stated that disasters like tsunamis can happen only to people who are ‘on the same frequency as the event.’” 

One of the dictums of positive thinking is to rid your life of negative people. Even if the other person may be going through a rough patch and need a helping hand – out they go. Or the negativity could be in a child, co-worker or boss – someone difficult to eject, Ehrenreich points out.

She gives very little advice in Bright-Sided, but here, Ehrenreich responds to the delete-negative-people attitude: “The challenge of family life, or group life of any kind, is to keep gauging the moods of others, accommodating to their insights, and offering comfort when needed.” 

On the subject of manipulative positive thinking in general, Ehrenreich offers a down-to-earth alternative: “One could think of other possible means of self-improvement – through education, for example, to acquire new ‘hard’ skills, or by working for social changes that would benefit all.”

                         * * *** * *

Positive thinking and the law of attraction are valid concepts, and understanding them can enhance our lives. But if the principles are used for selfish reasons or to manipulate others, damage can occur, lives can be hurt. 

I agree with Gay and Kathlyn Hendricks about the "upper limit problem" pulling us down when we attempt to force our thoughts to be strictly positive. Results may appear successful at first, but the underlying resistance usually rears up to sabotage us. I think positive thinking efforts should be balanced with an attempt to be squeaky-clean ethical – and to deal with negative feelings and attitudes, rather than just repressing them with forced positivity.

It’s a fascinating juxtaposition: the sweet, delicious fantasy of Rhonda Byrne’s “change your thinking, change your life” versus Barbara Ehrenreich’s sober “face your reality and deal with it." The Secret/The Power/The Magic – and Bright-Sided; they are worlds apart. Compare and enjoy the contrast. 

Anna Olson (annols@mts.net) is a Winnipeg freelance writer and editor. 

    

John of God (and I) Visit Toronto

By Anna Olson

It wasn’t my idea to go to the John of God event in Toronto, the middle of March of 2013. The push to go started when I was having a Craniosacral Therapy session with Tanis, my therapist for four years. I have a spirit guide who often appears to add her energy and to give messages for me. This time, she told Tanis to tell me about John of God.

When I got home, I looked him up on the Internet and found that the 68-year-old Brazilian healer (spirit entities work through him) was going to be in Toronto, March 15 to 17. Too bad, I thought. I can’t go because I’ll be speaking at a conference that weekend.

Then I looked up the conference website and found the speaker page. There I was, my picture and my write-up. As I read my blurb, the type gradually melted off the screen until there was nothing left but my picture. What?! I scrolled up and everyone else’s material was there. I scrolled down and ditto. Back to my spot – there’s my picture but no write-up. Oh, I think I’m supposed to go to Toronto, was my painful realization.

I wrestled with the decision for two days. I was keen on talking at the conference, already planning my speech, and I was annoyed at this interference in my life. But what won out was the appreciation for the spirit guidance I have had in the past. I have learned to trust that good things happen when I follow it, often life-changing in the affirmative. So I phoned the organizer of the conference to explain my dilemma, and scrambled to get ready for TO.

The Metro Toronto Convention Centre 

You can spot the John of God attendees; they are a moving sea of white because the organizers asked everyone to dress in white. Some women are dressed in layers of filmy white: billowing skirts, lacy shawls and white shoes. The “fancy” men are in Nehru-type shirts and white slacks. These are people who enjoy dressing up and like the challenge of doing it in all white. Others have a “cobbled together” look (my type). It’s as if they’re saying, “I’m not spending any more money. This is what I have in my closet and it will have to do.” Some are rebels, wearing cream and beige, as if that’s close enough to white. One fellow had on a cream-with-black-stripes pullover. Those black stripes really stood out. No one else rebelled to that extent.

I was tempted to wear a silky purple tank top under a white blouse with white slacks but I didn’t have the nerve. It was an interesting exercise deciding what to wear: do I dare rebel against the wear-white order or do I submit to authority and wear what they tell me to? I submitted – but my runners were gray with purple laces. That was my way of asserting myself against the demands of conformity!

I guessed about 90% women, some men and a few children. Many canes, a few in wheelchairs. No one on a stretcher. Most looked like white, middle class “walking well.” But it’s hard to tell what anguish lay beneath the placid exteriors. 

There were drawings of the Entity helpers tacked to the front wall of the room. (Capital E is used for the Entities, the spirits who work through John of God. He goes into a trance and the Entities perform the medical procedures: physical surgery at his clinic in Brazil, psychic surgery everywhere else.) A wooden triangle (each side about two feet) graced the front as well, with a big basket on the floor beside it for written wishes. People lined up to interact with this “wailing triangle” (as I called it), to ask for help with their own and others’ health or emotional problems. They would lean their heads against the middle of the triangle, hands on the sides. We were encouraged to bring pictures of loved ones so that they could receive help as well.

John of God (I don’t know if others called him that and it stuck, or he chose the moniker) came up on the podium to speak. He was unintelligible as far as I was concerned. His heavy Portuguese accent made every third or fourth word a blur. Other speakers came through more clearly. One woman got us chanting his name plus “tulo bono” (or something like that) to raise our excitement level. It was like a New Age revival meeting with the purity garb and high hopes for a cure for what ails us. Just before the Entities worked on us, we held hands and said the Lord’s Prayer and Hail Mary Full of Grace.

Someone had a bottle of essential oil and wafted through the crowd with it.

We were supposed to buy a case of 12 2-litre bottles of water (the label had John of God’s picture on it) to help us with our recovery ($36 per case). The Entities would bless it at the point of sale so that the blessing was special for each of us. I refrained because I didn’t have a means of carrying it.

For eight days after the intervention we were supposed to rest as much as possible. No spicy food like peppers (black peppercorn and chili peppers), no alcohol, no fertilized eggs, and no heavy lifting. Also, we were warned against psychic readings and energy work for eight days. No sex for 40 days! A woman complained to me that she had just started dating a guy and didn’t like that restriction. We were given blessed soup and a sandwich (unblessed) before we were sent off to rest.

My criticism: why weren’t we told no sugar? Sugar pulls down the immune system as much as alcohol.

Our psychic stitches would be removed in seven days, we were told. We’re to wear white to bed, pray to have the stitches removed, put a cup of the blessed water next to our bed, and in the morning drink the water.

My reaction: My skeptical mind had a lot of fun poking holes in the routine. But I trusted the spirit guide who asked me to be there so I tried to keep an open mind.

At the event, I asked for help dealing with a sore on my face that could be cancerous. Maybe there’s a deep root that needs pulling out. My spirit guide wanted me to have surgery here in Winnipeg but I refused. I didn’t believe the surgeon would get it all, and I didn’t want a hole in my face. Refusing surgery is the only suggestion from her I have nixed. But I was willing to travel 1,300 miles and pay $1,500 for the trip (includes the $188 ticket for one day at the event) to have psychic surgery. Go figure! I could have stayed home and had physical surgery for free. So far (three weeks later), it looks like the sore is clearing up.

The trip as a whole was worthwhile. I saw relatives and friends in the “far east,” and I met interesting people on the train. Adam (from Australia) and I had a great talk about the damage cane toads are wreaking there. The toads were brought in to eat the cane beetles but the sugar cane heads where the beetles live were too high for the toads to get at. So now Australia has a problem with the proliferating toads and the beetles as well.

I also met an interesting man from Seattle who used to be an engineer on freight trains. The glass at the front of the train is bulletproof, I learned. Also, counseling is now available for engineers after the train hits animals, people, and various vehicles. “You didn’t cause the accident,” engineers are told. “You have witnessed one.”

So, is John of God a true healer or a charlatan? Perhaps I should declare my bias: first, I would not have gone had not my spirit guide suggested it. The event was too big for my taste, handling a few thousand people each day. One helper told me that if all the tickets sold, there would be 12,000 people put through in three days.

Second, I am inclined to believe in the possibility of spiritual healing. I am familiar with therapies like Reiki where energy is directed to problem areas of the body and often effects a cure. Also, I benefit from Craniosacral Therapy, a form of energy healing. I also believe in spirit entities wanting to help people on earth.

The success of this event is hard to assess. On the positive side, it looks like this John of God “business” has grown gradually over the years. As John says, “You can fool people for a year or two, but not for 35 years.” In the beginning, doctors and politicians in Brazil tried to shut him down for practicing medicine without a license but he’s still going strong. One article on the ‘net says his methods helped a number of high-ranking officials who then supported his work and protected him from the critics.

Another aspect to admire is the number of volunteers willing to help organize and oversee such a huge event. To be accepted as volunteers, they need to have been to John of God’s clinic in Abadiania, Brazil. There must have been over a hundred workers willing to give their time and energy free of charge. They were all well dressed (in white, of course), calm and smiling in their duties. The whole event was well organized if my experience was any indication.

On the negative side, it’s hard to assess the success of whatever medical procedures were done as people disperse after the event is over. We were told to allow 40 days before deciding whether the intervention was successful or not. How do you contact thousands of people to judge the rate of healing? (You can browse the Internet for articles for and against. Pro: An Oprah staff person investigated and was helped to overcome her deep grief about her father’s death. Con: One woman states she was assaulted at the clinic in Brazil, in that she was operated on physically without her consent, and later developed an infection.)

My inclination is to accept that John of God and the Entities must be doing something right for this high level of public interest to continue for so many years.

Anna Olson is a Winnipeg freelance writer and editor. You can reach her at annols@mts.net. Check out more articles at www.annaolsononline.blogspot.com