I should have been enjoying
soothing caress of playful breeze as it wafted its way through my hair on this balmy evening in Hollywood Hills section of Los Angeles. Instead, I was too self- absorbed to notice sweet, spicy fragrance of spring blossoms in wind. I was brooding over what I should say in my speaking engagement due to commence in about ten minutes inside East-West Institute meditation center. In a muted voice, I was practicing my speech aloud when I was startled by a shadow invading my private corner of porch. The sudden appearance of a tall, swarthy stranger looming over my anxious figure temporarily seduced me out of my self-indulgence. Obviously sensing my mood and malady, lanky, dark-skinned man tried to coax me out of my funk in a soft, gentle, yet assured tone, "What's matter, cat got your tongue? Didn't I hear you rehearsing some lines?""Yes, I'm preparing my presentation for this evening. I can't decide what to talk about. I don't know if people really want to hear what I have to say about subject. Maybe I should just quote from published research on topic and let it go at that," I replied despondently.
"It's none of my business, but why don't you just speak from your heart what you've encountered personally?" "Oh, that would be too easy!" I laughed. This bold, mysterious advisor had shifted me out of my doom and gloom. I was grateful for that. "Besides, people don't care what a twenty-year-old knows about healing. I'd better adhere to what experts and professionals have to say."
"Suit yourself, but I've fared much better sticking to what I've discovered firsthand. May I tell you a story?" I nodded agreement. I was thankful for any distraction at this point. A tale sounded like perfect antidote to seriousness that had overtaken me. Through a personal story, my candid friend offered most precise and useful advice regarding communication I have ever received.
"Most of my early life growing up in Morocco, I was sickly," Michael began soberly. "After years of searching and experimenting in my quest for health, I came across a book by George Osawa, originator of a philosophy of healthy living called macrobiotics. Encouraged by my discovery, I devoured all books by Osawa I could find. By eating, thinking and living macrobiotic way of life, I transformed ailing youth I once was."
"I felt robust and alive again," Michael enthused. "My recovery was so miraculous and complete, I decided to devote my life to helping others in same way George Osawa helped me. With great exuberance, I began to give public presentations about macrobiotic system of eating and living. I described in detail how sickly I'd been. I expounded upon vitality I now enjoy and how blessed I am. Hundreds of desperate North Africans were attracted to my talks- people seeking restoration of fitness that I achieved."
Michael's poise and sincerity in recounting his tale to me explained his immediate popularity on lecture circuit. His compassion and dedication was palpable in cool night air.
"But as more and more people came to my talks and my reputation grew throughout Arab world, I began to develop a severe throat problem, " Michael continued. "At first, my throat would just itch. I coughed a lot during my speeches. As I continued to address larger and larger crowds, tickle in my throat became an acute ache. My voice gradually became harsh and grating. I was stubborn and intent upon my holy mission to help others. I insisted on keeping up my hectic speaking schedule. Finally, in middle of evening lecturing to largest audience I'd ever assembled, my throat started to bleed. Of course, in my arrogance, I attempted to keep going. Eventually I was coughing up so much blood, I had to stop talking for evening."
As tenacious stranger paused, I drew a quick, halting breath. I felt need to bolster myself before he resumed. I was visibly rattled by focus of his story. I was about to lecture on same topic of macrobiotics to several hundred anguished souls also searching for help. The similarities were remarkable; coincidence unnerving. My hands and legs were trembling. I grabbed wooden railing of stairs to stabilize myself. Why was I reacting so strongly to his story? I asked myself. I was afraid to know.
"After a frustrating week of saving my voice and waiting for my throat to heal, I began lecturing again," Michael carried on with his cautionary tale. "The same problem appeared after just ten minutes at podium. This became a pattern for next few months. I'd reluctantly take time off for my throat to heal. Then I'd return to my speaking schedule. Shortly into my next talk, I'd begin coughing up blood again and be forced to stop. It was extremely frustrating, to say least!
"I consulted many medical doctors. No practitioner could find anything medically or physiologically abnormal with my throat. I saw I must look elsewhere for relief. Needing to gain my own insight into problem, I'd have to heal it myself.
