12.

Making Friends
with the Worst
That Can Happen

I have helped people do The Work on rape, war in Vietnam and Bosnia, torture, internment in Nazi concentration camps, the death of a child, and the prolonged pain of illnesses like cancer. Many of us think that it’s not humanly possible to accept extreme experiences like these, much less meet them with unconditional love. But not only is that possible, it’s our true nature.

Nothing terrible has ever happened except in our thinking. Reality is always good, even in situations that seem like nightmares. The story we tell is the only nightmare that we have lived. When I say that the worst that can happen is a belief, I am being literal. The worst that can happen to you is your uninvestigated belief system.

Afraid of Death

In The School for The Work, I love to use inquiry to walk people through the thing they fear most, the worst that could possibly happen. For many of them, the worst thing is death: They often believe that they’ll suffer terribly not only during the process of dying, but also after they die. I take them deep enough into these waking nightmares to dispel the illusion of fear, pain, and suffering.

I have sat with many people on their deathbeds, and after we do The Work, they always tell me that they’re fine. I remember one very frightened woman who was dying of cancer. She had requested that I sit with her, so I came. I sat down beside her and said, “I don’t see a problem.” She said, “No? Well, I’ll show you a problem!” and she pulled off the sheet. One of her legs was so swollen that it was at least twice the size of the normal leg. I looked and I looked, and I still couldn’t find a problem. She said, “You must be blind! Look at this leg. Now look at the other one.” And I said, “Oh, now I see the problem. You’re suffering from the belief that that leg should look like this one. Who would you be without that thought?” And she got it. She began to laugh, and the fear just poured out through her laughter. She said that this was the happiest she had ever been in her entire life.

I once went to visit a woman who was dying in a hospice. When I walked in, she was napping, so I just sat by her bed until she opened her eyes. I took her hand, and we talked for a few minutes, and she said, “I’m so frightened. I don’t know how to die.” And I said, “Sweetheart, is that true?” She said, “Yes. I just don’t know what to do.” I said, “When I walked in, you were taking a nap. Do you know how to take a nap?” She said, “Of course.” And I said, “You close your eyes every night, and you go to sleep. People look forward to sleeping. That’s all death is. That’s as bad as it gets, except for your belief system that says there’s something else.” She told me she believed in the after-death thing and said, “I won’t know what to do when I get there.” I said, “Can you really know that there’s something to do?” She said, “I guess not.” I said, “There’s nothing you have to know, and it’s always all right. Everything you need is already there for you; you don’t have to give it a thought. All you have to do is take a nap when you need to, and when you wake up, you’ll know what to do.” I was describing life to her, of course, not death. Then we went into the second question, “Can you absolutely know that it’s true that you don’t know how to die?” She began to laugh and said that she preferred being with me to being with her story. What fun, having nowhere to go but where we really are now.

When the mind thinks of death, it looks at nothing and calls it something, to keep from experiencing what it—the mind—really is. Until you know that death is equal to life, you’ll always try to control what happens, and it’s always going to hurt. There’s no sadness without a story that opposes reality.

The fear of death is the last smokescreen for the fear of love. We think that we’re afraid of the death of our body, though what we’re really afraid of is the death of our identity. But through inquiry, as we understand that death is just a concept and that our identity is a concept too, we come to realize who we are. This is the end of fear.

Loss is another concept. I was in the delivery room when my grandson Race was born. I loved him at first sight. Then I realized that he wasn’t breathing. The doctor had a troubled look on his face and immediately started to do something with the baby. The nurses realized that the procedures weren’t working, and you could see the stress and panic begin to take over the room. Nothing they did was working—the baby wouldn’t breathe. At a certain moment, Roxann looked into my eyes, and I smiled. She later told me, “You know that smile you often have on your face, Mom? When I saw you look at me like that, a wave of peace came over me. And even though the baby wasn’t breathing, it was okay with me.” Soon afterward, breath entered my grandson, and I heard him cry.

I love that my grandson didn’t have to breathe for me to love him. Whose business was his breathing? Not mine. I wasn’t going to miss one moment of him, whether he was breathing or not. I knew that even without a single breath, he had lived a full life. I love reality, not the way a fantasy would dictate, but just the way it is, right now.

 

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Henry: I’m angry at death because it destroys me. I’m afraid of dying. I can’t accept death. Death should let me be reincarnated. Death is painful. Death is the end. I never want to experience the fear of death again.

Katie: Let’s start at the top. Read your first statement again.

Henry: I’m angry at death because it destroys me.

Katie: If you want to live in terror, get a future. That’s quite a future you’ve planned, sweetheart. Let’s hear the next statement.

Henry: I’m afraid of dying.

Katie: What’s the worst that could happen when you die? Let’s play with that.

Henry: The death of my body.

Katie: And then what will happen?

Henry: I don’t know.

Katie: Well, what do you think is the worst that could happen? You think that something terrible could happen. What is it?

Henry: That death is the end, and I’m not born again. And that there is no soul.

Katie: And then? You’re not born again. There is no soul. So far, there’s nothing. So far, the worst that can happen to you is nothing. And then?

Henry: Yes, but it’s painful.

Katie: So the nothing is painful.

Henry: Yes.

Katie: Can you really know that that’s true? How can nothing be painful? How can it be anything? Nothing is nothing.

Henry: I imagine this nothing as a black hole that is very uncomfortable.

Katie: So nothing is a black hole. Can you really know that that’s true? I’m not saying it’s not true. I know how you love your stories. It’s the old black-hole story.

Henry: I think that’s the worst thing that could happen.

Katie: Okay. So when you die, you would go into a big, black hole forever.

Henry: Or to hell. I call this black hole hell.

Katie: A big, black hell-hole forever.

Henry: And it is a hell fire.

Katie: A big, black hell-hole fire forever.

Henry: Yes, and it’s turned away from God.

Katie: Totally away from God. Fire and darkness in this big, black hell-hole forever. I want to ask you, can you absolutely know that that’s true?

Henry: No. I can’t.

Katie: How does it feel when you believe that thought?

Henry [crying]: It’s painful. It’s horrible.

Katie: Sweetheart, look at me. Are you in touch with what you’re feeling right now? Look at yourself. This is the dark hole of hell. You’re in it. It doesn’t come later; you’re living your story of your future death right now. This terror is as bad as it gets. Can you see a reason to drop this story? And I’m not asking you to drop it.

Henry: Yes.

Katie: Give me a reason to keep this story that doesn’t feel like being in a dark fire from hell.

Henry: I can’t.

Katie: Who or what would you be without this story? You’ve already been living the worst that could happen. Imagination without investigation. Lost in hell. No way out.

Henry: Pushed away from God.

Katie: Yes, angel, pushed away from the awareness of God in your life. You can’t push yourself away from God; that’s not a possibility. You can only push yourself away from the awareness of God within you, for a while. As long as you worship this old idol, this old black-hole story of yours, there’s no room for any awareness of God in you. This story is what you’ve been worshiping like a child, in pure innocence. Let’s look at the next statement.

Henry: I’m afraid of dying.

Katie: I understand that. But no one is afraid of dying; they’re just afraid of their story about dying. Look at what you think death is. You’ve been describing your life, not death. This is the story of your life.

Henry: Hmmm. Yes.

Katie: Let’s look at the next statement.

Henry: I can’t accept death.

Katie: Is that true?

Henry: Well, yes. I have a lot of trouble accepting it.

Katie: Can you absolutely know that it’s true that you can’t accept death?

Henry: It’s hard to believe that that’s possible.

Katie: When you’re not thinking about death, you fully accept it. You’re not worrying about it at all. Think of your foot.

Henry: Okay.

Katie: Did you have a foot before you thought of it? Where was it? When there’s no thought, there’s no foot. When there’s no thought of death, there’s no death.

Henry: Really? I can’t believe it’s that simple.

Katie: How do you react, how do you feel, when you believe the thought “I can’t accept death”?

Henry: Helpless. Frightened.

Katie: What would you be in your life without this story “I can’t accept death”?

Henry: What would my life be without that thought? It would be beautiful.

Katie: “I can’t accept death”—turn it around.

Henry: I can accept death.

Katie: Everyone can. Everyone does. There’s no decision in death. People who know that there’s no hope are free. The decision’s out of their hands. It has always been that way, but some people have to die bodily to find out. No wonder they smile on their deathbeds. Dying is everything they were looking for in life. Their delusion of being in charge is over. When there’s no choice, there’s no fear. And in that, there is peace. They realize that they’re home and that they’ve never left.

Henry: This fear of losing control is very strong. And also this fear of love. It’s all connected.

Katie: It’s terrifying to think you could lose control, even though the truth is that you never had it in the first place. That’s the death of fantasy and the birth of reality. Let’s look at the next statement.

Henry: Death should let me be reincarnated.

Katie: “You should be reincarnated”—can you really know that that’s true? Welcome to the story of a future.

Henry: No. I can’t know if that’s true.

Katie: You don’t even like it this time around. Why do you want to do it again? [Henry laughs.] “Boy, what a dark hole this is. Hmm, I think I’ll come back again.” [The audience laughs.] “You want to come back again”—is that true?

Henry [laughing]: No, it’s not. I don’t want to be reincarnated. It was a mistake.

Katie: “We reincarnate”—can you absolutely know that that’s true?

Henry: No, I’ve just heard and read that we do.

Katie: How do you react when you think that thought?

Henry: I feel anxious about what I’m doing now, because I think I may have to make up for it later and I may even be punished for it or at least have to suffer for many lifetimes because I’ve hurt so many people in my life. I’m afraid that I’ve piled up a lot of bad karma and maybe I’ve blown it this lifetime and I’ll have to start over again and again in lower forms of life.

Katie: Who would you be without the thought that we reincarnate?

Henry: Less fearful. Freer.

Katie: Reincarnation may be a useful concept for some people, but in my experience, nothing reincarnates but a thought. “I. I am. I am woman. I am woman with children.” And so on, ad infinitum. Do you want to end karma? It’s simple. I. “I am”—is it true? Who would I be without this story? No karma whatsoever. And I look forward to the next life, and here it comes. It’s called “now.” Let’s look at the next statement.

Henry: Death is painful.

Katie: Can you really know that that’s true?

Henry: I can’t.

Katie: How does it feel when you believe the thought that death is painful?

Henry: It feels stupid now.

Katie: “Death is painful”—turn it around. “My thinking . . .”

Henry: My thinking is painful.

Katie: Isn’t that truer?

Henry: Yes. Yes.

Katie: Death was never that unkind. Death is simply the end of thought. Fantasy without investigation is painful, sometimes. Let’s look at the next.

Henry: Death is the end.

Katie [laughing]: That’s a good one! Can you really know that that’s true?

Henry: I can’t.

Katie: Isn’t that one of your personal favorites? [The audience laughs.] How do you react when you think that thought?

Henry: Up to now, I’ve always been afraid.

Katie: “Death is the end”—turn it around.

Henry: My thinking is the end.

Katie: The beginning, the middle, the end. [Henry and the audience laugh.] All of it. You know how to die really well. Have you ever just gone to sleep at night?

Henry: Yes.

Katie: That’s it. Dreamless sleep. You do it really well. You sleep at night, then you open your eyes, and there’s still nothing, there’s no one awake. There’s never anyone alive until the story begins with “I.” And that’s where life begins, with the first word you think. Prior to that, there’s no you, no world. You do this every day of your life. Identification as an “I” wakes up. “I” am Henry. “I” need to brush my teeth. “I” am late for work. “I” have so much to do today. Before that, there’s no one, nothing, no black hell-hole, only peace that doesn’t even recognize itself as peace. You die very well, sweetheart. And you’re born very well. And if things get rough, you have inquiry. Let’s look at your last statement.

Henry: I never want to experience the fear of death again.

Katie: “I’m willing . . .”

Henry: I’m willing to experience the fear of death again.

Katie: Now you know what to do with it. So give it a shot. “I look forward to . . .”

Henry [laughing]: I look forward to experiencing the fear of death again. I’ll try my best.

Katie: Good. There’s no place, there’s no dark hole you can go into, where inquiry won’t follow. Inquiry lives inside you if you nurture it for a while. Then it takes on its own life and automatically nurtures you. And you’re never given more pain than you can handle. You never, ever get more than you can take. That’s a promise. Death experiences are just mental experiences. And when people die, it’s so wonderful that they never come back to tell you. It’s so wonderful, they’re not going to bother. [Laughter] That’s what investigation is for. So, sweetheart, look forward to the fear of death. If you’re a lover of truth, set yourself free.

Bombs Are Falling

The next dialogue, with a sixty-seven-year-old Dutch man, shows the power of an uninvestigated story, which can control our thoughts and actions for almost a whole lifetime.

Bombs also fell on a German man who participated in one of my European Schools for The Work. He was six years old when Soviet troops occupied Berlin in 1945. The soldiers took him, along with many other children, women, and old people who had survived the bombing, and put him in a shelter. He remembers playing with one of the live hand grenades that the soldiers had given the children as toys. He watched as another of the little boys pulled the pin; the grenade exploded, and the boy’s arm was blown off. Many of the children were maimed, and he remembers their screams, faces wounded, skin and limbs flying. He also remembers a girl of six who slept near him being raped by a soldier, and he told me that he could still hear the screams of the women being raped night after night in the barracks. His whole life had been dominated by the experience of a six-year-old, he said, and he had come to The School to go deeper into himself and his nightmares and to find his way back home.

At the same School, there was a Jewish woman whose parents had survived Dachau. When she was a child, her nights too were filled with screams. Her father would often wake up in the middle of the night screaming and spend hours pacing back and forth, crying and moaning. Most nights, her mother would wake up too and join her father in his moans. Her parents’ nightmare became her nightmare. She was taught that if people didn’t have a number tattooed on their arm, they were not to be trusted. She was as traumatized as the German man.

A few days into The School, after I’d heard their stories, I put these two people together for an exercise. The Worksheets they had written out were judgments on the enemy soldiers in World War II, from opposite sides. Each one in turn gave inquiry to the other. I loved watching these two survivors of thought as they became friends.

In the following dialogue, Willem investigates childhood terrors that have been with him for more than fifty years. Although he isn’t yet ready to look forward to the worst that can happen, he does have some important insights. We can never know how much we have received when we’ve finished a piece of honest inquiry or what effect it will have on us. We may never even be aware of the effect. It’s none of our business.

 

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Willem: I don’t like war because it has brought me a lot of fear and terror. It showed me that my existence is very insecure. I was hungry all the time. My father wasn’t there when I needed him. I had to spend many nights in the bomb shelter.

Katie: Good. And how old were you?

Willem: At the beginning of the war I was six, and at the end, twelve.

Katie: Let’s look at “It has brought me a lot of fear and terror.” So go to the worst time, to the very worst time you had, with all the hunger and the fear and no father. How old were you then?

Willem: Twelve.

Katie: And where are you? I’ll talk to the twelve-year-old.

Willem: I’m coming home from school, I hear the bombs, so I go into a house and then the house falls down on me. The roof hits me on the head.

Katie: And then what happens?

Willem: First, I thought I was dead, then I realized that I was alive, and I crawled out of the ruins and ran away.

Katie: So you ran away, and then what happened?

Willem: I ran down the street and into a bakery. And then I left the bakery and went into a church, into the crypt, thinking, “Maybe I’ll be safer here.” And later, I was put onto a truck with other wounded people.

Katie: Was your body okay?

Willem: Yes, but I had a concussion.

Katie: Okay. I’d like to ask the little twelve-year-old boy, What is the worst moment? When you hear the bombs? When the house falls in on you?

Willem: When the house is falling down.

Katie: Yes. And while the house is falling, apart from your thinking, little boy, is it okay? Except for your thoughts, is it okay? In reality?

Willem: Now, as an adult, I can say it’s okay, because I know I survived it. But as a child, it was not okay.

Katie: I understand. And I’m asking the twelve-year-old boy. I’m asking you to look at the house falling down. It’s coming down. Are you okay?

Willem: Yes. I’m still alive.

Katie: And then when the house falls on you, are you okay? In reality?

Willem: I’m still alive.

Katie: Now you’re crawling out of the house. Tell me the truth, little boy. Are you okay?

Willem [after a long pause]: I’m alive.

Katie: And again, I’m asking the little boy, is anything not okay?

Willem: I don’t know whether my stepmother or my brothers are still alive.

Katie: Good. Now except for that thought, are you okay?

Willem [after a pause]: I’m alive, and that’s okay, given the situation.

Katie: Without the story of your mother and your family, are you okay? I don’t mean just alive. Look at the twelve-year-old.

Willem: Although I was in panic, I can say this is okay. I was alive and happy that I came out of the house.

Katie: So close your eyes. Now move aside from the little boy. Just watch the little twelve-year-old. Watch him with the house falling in on him. Now watch him crawling out. Look at him without your story, without the story of bombs and parents. Just look at him without your story. You can have your story back later. Just for now, look at him without your story. Just be with him. Can you find the place in you where you knew it was okay?

Willem: Hmm.

Katie: Yes, sweetheart, you tell the story of how the bomb is going to wipe out your family and you, and you scare yourself with that story. Little boys don’t understand how the mind works. They can’t know that it’s just a story that’s scaring them.

Willem: I didn’t know.

Katie: So the house fell, the roof hit you on the head, you got a concussion, you crawled out, you went to a bakery, you went to a church. Reality is much kinder than our stories. “I need my father. Did a bomb hit my family? Are my parents alive? Will I ever see them again? How will I survive without them?”

Willem: Hmm.

Katie: I’d like to go back and be with that little boy again, because he’s still sitting here today. The story “It’s going to fall down and kill my family” causes much more terror and pain than the house actually falling on you. Did you even feel it falling on you?

Willem: Probably not, because I was in so much fear.

Katie: So, sweetheart, how many times have you experienced the story? For how many years?

Willem: Very often.

Katie: How many more bombs did you hear?

Willem: Just two more weeks of bombing.

Katie: So you experienced that for two weeks, and you’ve lived it in your mind for how many years?

Willem: Fifty-five.

Katie: So the bombs have been falling inside you for fifty-five years. And in reality, only for part of six years.

Willem: Yes.

Katie: So who is kinder, war or you?

Willem: Hmm.

Katie: Who is making war unceasingly? How do you react when you believe this story?

Willem: With fear.

Katie: And look at how you live when you believe this story. For fifty-five years, you’ve been feeling fear with no bombs and no houses falling. Can you see a reason to drop this little boy’s story?

Willem: Oh, yes.

Katie: Who would you be without it?

Willem: I would be free, free of fear probably, especially free of fear.

Katie: Yes, that’s my experience. I want to talk to the little twelve-year-old again. Is it true that you need your father? Is it really true?

Willem: I know that I missed him.

Katie: I understand that fully. And is it true you need your father? I’m asking you for the truth.

Willem: I’ve grown up without a father.

Katie: So, is it really true you needed him? Is it true you needed your mother until you met her again? In reality?

Willem: No.

Katie: Is it true that you needed food when you were hungry?

Willem: No. I didn’t starve.

Katie: Can you find a stress-free reason to keep the story that you needed your mother, you needed your father, you needed a house, you needed food?

Willem: So I can feel like a victim.

Katie: That’s very stressful. And stress is the only effect of this old, old story, which isn’t even true. “I needed my mother.” It’s not true. “I needed my father.” It’s not true. Can you hear it? How would you live if you weren’t a victim?

Willem: I would be much freer.

Katie: Little twelve-year-old boy in the shelter, can you see a reason to drop the story “I need my mother, I need my father, I need a house, I need food”?

Willem: Yes.

Katie: It’s only our story that keeps us from knowing that we always have everything we need. Can you turn your statement around? Read the statement again.

Willem: I don’t like war because it has brought me a lot of fear and terror.

Katie: “I don’t like my thinking . . .”

Willem: I don’t like my thinking about war because it has brought me a lot of fear and terror.

Katie: Yes. The worst that happened to you in reality was a concussion. So let’s move gently to the next statement.

Willem: There should only be discussions, instead of war.

Katie: Can you really know that that’s true? You’ve been having a mental discussion for fifty-five years! [Willem laughs.] And it hasn’t settled any war—inside you.

Willem: Hmm.

Katie: How do you react when you think the thought “There should be no war”? How have you lived your life, for fifty-five years, when you think that thought and you read about war in the newspaper?

Willem: It makes me frustrated, disappointed, and angry, and sometimes desperate. I struggle to resolve conflicts in a peaceful manner, and I’m not very successful at it.

Katie: So in reality, war keeps breaking out in you and in the world, and in your mind there’s a war against reality with the story “There should be no war.” Who would you be without that story?

Willem: I could deal more freely with conflicts if I didn’t have that idea.

Katie: Yes. You would experience the end of war with reality. You would be someone we could hear, a man of peace, telling the truth about how to end war—someone to be trusted. Let’s look at the next statement.

Willem: International conflicts should be resolved in a peaceful way. Should I turn it around?

Katie: Yes.

Willem: My inner conflicts should be resolved in a peaceful way.

Katie: Yes, through inquiry. You learn to resolve problems peacefully within yourself, and now we have a teacher. Fear teaches fear. Only peace can teach peace. Let’s look at the next statement.

Willem: War destroys a lot of human lives and wastes huge amounts of material resources. It brings great sorrow and suffering to families. It’s cruel, brutal, and terrible.

Katie: Can you hear the turnaround as you’re saying it? Are you experiencing it? Let’s see what it sounds like. Turn it around and put yourself on all of it.

Willem: Put me . . . ?

Katie: “My thinking destroys . . .”

Willem: My thinking destroys a lot of my human life and wastes huge amounts of my own material resources.

Katie: Yes. Every time you tell the story of war inside you, it diminishes your own favorite resources: peace and happiness. And the next one? Turn it around.

Willem: I bring great sorrow and suffering to my own family.

Katie: Yes. How much sorrow do you bring when you come home to your family with this story inside you?

Willem: That’s hard to accept.

Katie: I don’t see any bombs falling. No bombs have fallen around you for fifty-five years, except in your mind. There’s only one thing harder than accepting this, and that is not accepting it. Reality rules, whether we’re aware of it or not. The story is how you keep yourself from experiencing peace right now. “You needed your mother”—is that true?

Willem: I survived without her.

Katie: Let’s work with a yes or no and see what that feels like. “You needed your mother”—is it true in reality?

Willem: No.

Katie: “You needed your father”—is it true?

Willem: No.

Katie: Feel it. Close your eyes. Look at that little guy taking care of himself. Look at him without your story. [Long pause. Finally, Willem smiles.] Me, too. I lost my story, I lost my old pain-filled life. And I found a wonderful life on the other side of terror and internal war. The war that I made against my family and against myself was as brutal as any bomb that could be dropped. And at a certain point, I stopped bombing myself. I began to do this Work. I answered the questions with a simple yes or no. I sat in the answers, I let them sink in, and I found freedom. Let’s look at the next statement.

Willem: I don’t ever want to experience again the bombs falling on my head, or being a hostage, or feeling hunger.

Katie: You may experience the story again. And if you don’t feel peace or laughter when you hear yourself telling the story of the poor little boy who needed his parents, then it’s time to do The Work again. This story is your gift. When you can experience it without fear, then your Work is done. There is only one person who can end your internal war, and that’s you. You’re the one the internal bombs are falling on. So let’s turn it around. “I’m willing . . .”

Willem: I’m willing for the bombs to be falling on my head again.

Katie: If only in your thinking. The bombs aren’t coming from out there; they can only come from inside you. So “I look forward to . . .”

Willem: It’s hard to say this.

Katie: I look forward to the worst that can happen, only because it shows me what I haven’t yet met with understanding. I know the power of truth.

Willem: I look forward to the bombs falling again and feeling hunger. Hunger is not so bad. [Pause] I don’t feel it yet. Maybe I will later.

Katie: You’re not supposed to feel it now. It’s okay. It’s good that you can’t quite look forward to the bombs falling; there’s some freedom in that admission. The next time the story arises, you may experience something that delights you. The processing that you did today can take you over, days or weeks from now. It may hit you like a sledgehammer, or you may not even feel it. And just in case, look forward to it. Sit down and write out what’s left. It’s not easy doing mental surgery on a fifty-five-year-old phantom. Thank you for your courage, sweetheart.

Mom Didn’t Stop the Incest

I have worked with hundreds of people (mostly women) who are hopelessly trapped by their own tormented thinking about their rape or incest. Many of them still suffer, every day of their lives, from their thoughts of the past. Again and again, I have seen inquiry help them overcome any obstacle that they have innocently used to prevent their healing. Through the four questions and turnaround, they come to see what no one but they can realize for themselves: that their present pain is self-inflicted. And as they watch this realization unfold, they begin to set themselves free.

Notice how each statement in the following dialogue appears to be about a past event. In reality, the pain we feel about a past event is created in the present, whatever our past pain might have been. Inquiry looks at this present pain. Even though I lead Diane back to the scene where the event took place, and she answers the questions as if she were in that fearful time, she never leaves the perfect safety of the present.

I invite those of you who have had a similar experience to be gentle with yourselves as you read this dialogue and as you consider the answers that can free you from your pain. If at some point you find it difficult to continue, just leave the dialogue for a while. You’ll know when to come back to it.

Please be aware that when I ask these questions, in no way am I condoning cruelty or even the smallest unkindness. The perpetrator is not the issue here. My sole focus is the person sitting with me, and I am concerned solely with her freedom.

If you feel that you are a victim of a similar past event, I invite you to take some extra time with two parts of your inquiry. First, after you ask yourself question 3 and realize the pain that results from your thought, ask the additional questions I ask Diane: How many times did it happen? How many times have you relived it in your mind? Second, when you discover your own part in the event, however small—your innocent compliance with the act, for the sake of love or in order to escape worse harm—let yourself feel the power of owning that part, and feel how painful it is to deny it. Then take the time to forgive yourself for any pain you’ve inflicted on yourself. The identity that’s left after that may not feel like the identity of a victim at all.

 

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Diane: I am angry at my mother because she allowed me to be abused by my stepfather and never did anything to stop it even though she knew it was going on.

Katie: So, “She knew it was going on”—is that true?

Diane: Yes.

Katie: Is that really true? Did you ask her? Let’s do a yes or a no.

Diane: No.

Katie: Did she see the abuse?

Diane: No.

Katie: Did he tell her?

Diane: No, but three other girls did, who were also being abused.

Katie: They told her that he was abusing you?

Diane: No. That he was abusing them.

Katie: So, “She knew that he was abusing you”—is that true? Can you absolutely know that that’s true? I don’t want to play around here. Where I go with it is: Yes, she probably made that assumption, and yes, she was informed by them, and yes, she probably knew that he was capable of this. I’m not missing this part; I want you to know that. But “She knew that he was abusing you”—can you absolutely know that that’s true?

Diane: No.

Katie: I’m not asking if she could easily have guessed it. But sometimes you think something is going on and you’re not quite sure, so you just don’t mentally go there, because you don’t really want to find out, you think it would be too horrible. Have you ever experienced that?

Diane: Yes. I have.

Katie: I have, too. So that puts us in the position of understanding. I can see how someone could live that way, because I used to live like that in so many ways. How do you react when you think the thought “She knew what was going on, and she did nothing”?

Diane: I get angry.

Katie: And how do you treat her when you think that thought?

Diane: I don’t talk to her. I see her as a co-conspirator. I see her as using me to do her job. I hate her, and I want nothing to do with her.

Katie: And how does it feel to see her that way? To be motherless?

Diane: Very sad. Lonely.

Katie: Who would you be without the thought “She knew what was going on, and she did nothing”?

Diane: At peace.

Katie: “She knew what was going on, and she did nothing”—turn it around. “I . . .”

Diane: I knew what was going on, and I did nothing.

Katie: Is that as true or truer? Did you tell her? Did you tell anyone?

Diane: No.

Katie: There was a reason for that. What were your thoughts when you wanted to tell her and you didn’t say anything?

Diane: I kept seeing my older sister being beaten.

Katie: By your stepfather?

Diane: Yes. She had the courage to stand up and say, “This abuse is going on.” And my mother just sat there.

Katie: While your sister was being beaten.

Diane [sobbing]: And I don’t know how to let it go. I don’t know how . . .

Katie: Honey, isn’t that what you’re doing in this chair today—learning how to inquire and allow the pain to let go of you? Let’s keep moving through this surgery. How old were you when you saw your sister being beaten for telling?

Diane: Eight.

Katie: Okay, I’ll talk to the eight-year-old you. So answer from that place. Little eight-year-old, “If you tell your mother, you’ll be beaten, too”—can you really know that that’s true? And I’m not saying that it’s not true. This is just a question.

Diane: Yes.

Katie: That’s how it looks, little girl; you have the proof. And I’m asking you to go deeper inside. Can you absolutely know that if you tell the truth, you’ll be beaten? And let’s go with a yes if you need to; that’s your answer for now, and I love that we respect it. You seem to have the evidence that would lead you to believe that it’s true. And, little girl, can you really know that that would happen to you, too? [There is a long pause.] Both answers are equal, honey.

Diane: That’s the only thing that I can see happening. Either he’d beat me or I’d be sent away.

Katie: So the answer is no. I hear from you that there might have been another option. Let’s look at it, okay? So, little girl, “If you tell, you’ll be sent away”—can you really know that that’s true?

Diane: I don’t know which would be worse, though—the staying or leaving.

Katie: Being beaten or leaving. How do you react when you think that thought “I’ll either be beaten or sent away if I tell”?

Diane: Scared. And I don’t tell anyone.

Katie: And then what happens?

Diane: I withdraw into myself. I can’t make up my mind what I want to do. I don’t say anything.

Katie: Yes, and then what happens when you don’t say anything?

Diane: He comes into my room, and I still don’t say anything.

Katie: And then what happens?

Diane: He just continues.

Katie: Yes, honey, it continues. This isn’t about a right or wrong. We’re just taking a look here. The abuse continues. What was going on, sweetheart?

Diane: It was sexual abuse.

Katie: Was there penetration?

Diane: Yes.

Katie: So, little girl, can you see a reason to drop the thought “If I tell, I’ll either be beaten or sent away”? And I’m not asking you to drop the thought. Your decision not to tell could have saved your life. We’re just investigating here.

Diane: I can’t see a reason. I don’t know how to make that decision. He just kept coming into my room. He wouldn’t stop.

Katie: Okay, angel, I see that. So he just kept coming into your room. Let’s go back again. How often did he come into your room?

Diane: Whenever my mother wasn’t there.

Katie: Yes. So, once a month? Once a week? And I realize there’s no way you could know accurately. But what does it seem like to you?

Diane: Sometimes it was every night. She was at school. Sometimes it could go on for weeks.

Katie: Yes, sweetheart. So that’s a reason to drop the thought “If I tell, I’ll either be beaten or sent away.” The abuse continued and continued.

Diane: Oh.

Katie: This is not about making a right decision or a wrong decision. The abuse continued. How do you react when you believe the thought that you’ll be beaten or sent away? Night after night, he came into your room when your mother went to school. Give me a reason to keep this story that is not stressful inside you, or rape-making.

Diane: There is none. Every thought of it is . . .

Katie: A torture chamber? How many times did you see your sister beaten for telling?

Diane: Just that once.

Katie: How many times did your stepfather come into your room? Many times, yes? Which would be less painful, that or the beating?

Diane: The beating would be much less painful.

Katie: Little girls, even big girls, don’t realize these things. We’re just taking a look inside the fear today. What was the worst that happened? Can you go into the sexual act, sweetheart? The sexual act with him, and your experience of it? Go to the time that was the most painful, the very worst time. How old are you?

Diane: Nine.

Katie: Okay, so tell me, little girl, what’s going on?

Diane [crying]: We had met my grandfather at an ice-cream parlor because it was my birthday. And when we left, my mother told me to ride with my stepfather. And he made me sit on his lap while he was driving. He grabbed my arm and pulled me over.

Katie: Yes. Okay. So, what was the most painful part?

Diane: It was my birthday, and I just wanted to be loved.

Katie: Yes, honey. Yes. What we do for love. . . . That’s what you are. And when you’re confused, it takes interesting directions, doesn’t it? So tell me about that. Tell me about seeking love. What happened? What were your thoughts? He pulled you over. What was your part?

Diane: I just let it happen.

Katie: Yes. Was there a part there where you pretended it was okay . . . for love? What was your part? [To audience] If any of you have had a similar experience, go inside now, if you can, and answer the question. “What was your part? What is your part?” This is not about blame. Be gentle with yourself. This is about your freedom. [To Diane] What was your part? You just let it happen and . . .

Diane [crying]: I loved him.

Katie: Yes. That’s how that is. Yes, honey. So what was the most painful part?

Diane: It wasn’t the sex. It was that he just left. He just left me in the car, got out, and started walking.

Katie: That he left. So the sitting on his lap wasn’t the worst. It’s not getting what you were seeking that was the worst. You were just left there. No payoff for the sacrifice. No payoff for seeking what we can never really find from another. Have you heard my prayer, if I had one? I once experienced what you did. I got just a taste of it. But my prayer—if I had one—would be: “God, spare me from seeking love, approval, or appreciation. Amen.”

Diane: So that makes me just as guilty as him?

Katie: No, sweetheart: just as innocent. How could you have known another way? If you had known another way, wouldn’t you have gone for it?

Diane: Yes.

Katie: Yes. So where’s the guilt in that? We’re all looking for love, in our confusion, until we find our way back to the realization that love is what we already are. That’s all. We’re looking for what we already have. Little eight-year-olds, little nine-year-olds. Little forty- and fifty- and eighty-year-olds. We’re guilty of seeking love, that’s all. Always looking for what we already have. It’s a very painful search. Were you doing the best you could?

Diane: Yes.

Katie: Yes. Maybe he was too. “He abused me”—turn it around. “I . . .”

Diane: I abused me?

Katie: Yes. Can you see that? Again, this is not about right or wrong.

Diane: Yes, I can see that. I can see that.

Katie: This is a great insight on your part, angel. So just be with that little girl a moment. You might eventually want to shut your eyes and imagine that you are holding her in your arms. And you might want to make a few gentle amends to her. Let her know that you’ll always be there for her if she needs someone. She didn’t know what you’re learning today, that’s all. She lived that for your education now, today. There is no greater teacher for you than she is. She’s the one who has lived through what you need to know now. She’s the one you can believe. She lived it so that you don’t have to live it. She is where your wisdom lies. We’re just getting a taste of this beautiful little girl who would live that way for the sake of your freedom today. Sweetheart, there’s another turnaround. “He abused me.” “I abused me.” There’s another turnaround. “I . . .”

Diane: I . . .

Katie: “. . . abused . . .”

Diane: . . . abused . . . [There is a long pause.] I abused . . . him? That’s a hard one.

Katie: Tell me about that. Sweetheart, he did this much [holds her hands wide apart]. You did this much [holds her hands almost touching]. That’s what you need to know—this little bit—to set yourself free. This is yours. And this little bit could hurt as much as that huge amount. Tell me. “He abused me”—turn it around. “I . . .”

Diane: I abused him.

Katie: Yes, sweetheart. Tell me about it. Let’s go in for the surgery.

Diane: After it happened . . . I could basically get anything I wanted from him.

Katie: Yes, honey. Yes. What we’ll do for love, approval, or appreciation, huh? This is self-realization. What else?

Diane: I sometimes think that if I’d said something sooner, the end of it would have been so much different.

Katie: We can’t know that either, can we, honey? What I know is that I am a respecter of your path, because I know the value of my own. Whatever it takes for you to find your freedom, that’s what you’ve lived. Not one ingredient more or less. That’s what that little girl has lived for you. All of it. She holds the key to your freedom today. So, sweetheart, of the two positions, which role would be the most painful for you, his role or yours? A man who would penetrate a little eight- or nine-year-old, or the eight- or nine-year-old? Which would be the most painful position for you to live? If you had to choose one.

Diane: I would think his.

Katie: Yes? So your answer tells me that you know the pain he was living, through your own eyes, and what it feels like—the hell that it is—to do harm. Sweetheart, let’s look at the next one. You’re doing very well. You walk through yourself very sweetly. Quite a surgery you’re doing here. I see you’re tired of the pain.

Diane: Yes. I don’t want to pass it on to my son.

Katie: Yes, your son doesn’t need this kind of pain. But he’ll have to wear it as long as you hold on to it. That’s not a choice. He is the world as you perceive it to be. And he’ll mirror that back to you as long as you hold on to it. You’re doing this surgery for him, too. He’ll follow you—he has to, just as the hand in the mirror moves when your hand moves.

Diane: My mother blamed me for it happening and asked me to lie about it to the courts, so she wouldn’t lose her alimony and child support.

Katie: And did you lie?

Diane: No.

Katie: And then what happened?

Diane: Nobody believed me.

Katie: And then what happened?

Diane: I was sent away.

Katie: Yes. How old were you?

Diane: Fourteen.

Katie: And have you had contact with her since?

Diane: Off and on over the years. Not recently, though. Not for two years.

Katie: You love her, don’t you?

Diane: Yes.

Katie: There’s nothing you can do about that.

Diane: I know I can’t get rid of it.

Katie: So, you may want to call her today and let her know, just for your sake. Tell her what you’ve found here about yourself, not what you’ve found out about her or your sister or your stepfather or anything that would cause her pain. Call her when you really know that your call is about your own freedom and has nothing to do with her. What I hear from you is that you love her and there’s nothing she or you can do to change that. Tell her because you love to hear yourself sing your song. This is about your happiness, sweetheart. Read your statement again.

Diane: I am angry at my mother because she allowed me to be abused by my stepfather and never did anything to stop it even though she knew it was going on.

Katie: Turn it around.

Diane: I am angry at myself because I allowed me to be abused by my stepfather and never did anything to stop it.

Katie: Yes. You know that song “Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places”? We’re children, sweetheart, we’re babies just learning how to live out our love. We keep trying to meet love in everything and everyone, because we haven’t noticed that we already have it, that we are it. Let’s look at the next one.

Diane: She never loved me like she loved her natural son.

Katie: Can you really know that that’s true? It’s a tough one, hmm?

Diane: I hear myself saying it, and I know it’s not true.

Katie: You’re amazing. Good. So how do you treat her when you believe that thought? How did you treat her growing up in that house?

Diane: I gave her hell.

Katie: Yes. How did it feel to give hell to this mother you love so much?

Diane: I hated myself for it.

Katie: Yes, angel. Can you see a reason to drop the thought “She loves her natural son more than she loves me”?

Diane: Yes.

Katie: Yes, hell is a reason. [Katie and Diane laugh.] Give me a stress-free reason to keep this thought.

Diane: I haven’t found one yet. I can’t imagine that I’m going to find it.

Katie: Who or what would you be without this story?

Diane: I’d be better to myself, I’d be better to my son. I wouldn’t be so angry.

Katie: Yes. How would you turn that around?

Diane: I never loved myself like I loved her natural son.

Katie: Does that make sense to you?

Diane: I did love him and treated him the way I wanted to be taken care of.

Katie: Oh, honey . . . Why does that not surprise me?

Diane: He was lovable, you know?

Katie: I do. I can see him through your sweet eyes. It’s visible. After you’ve been doing inquiry for a while, if you have the thought “She doesn’t love me,” you just get the immediate turnaround with a smile: “Oh, I’m not loving myself in this moment.” “She doesn’t care about me”: “Oh, I’m not caring about myself in the moment I think that thought.” Feel it, feel what it’s like to think that thought, how unkind you’re being to yourself when you believe it. That’s how you know that you’re not caring about yourself. Just keep mothering yourself, sweetheart. That’s what this Work does—it holds us, it mothers and fathers us. In the realization of love, of who we really are, from that place we’ve been looking for, that knows its true self and knows what’s true. Let’s look at the next statement.

Diane: I want Mom to admit she was wrong and to apologize to me.

Katie: Whose business is it if she was wrong, and whose business is it whether or not she apologizes?

Diane: Hers.

Katie: So turn it around.

Diane: I want me to admit I was wrong and to apologize to me.

Katie: And there’s another one.

Diane: I want me to apologize to Mom. And to admit that I was wrong.

Katie: Just in those areas that you know weren’t right for you. Apologize for what you see as your small part in this, and apologize for your own sake. Again, her part could be like this [hands extended wide]. That’s not your business. Let’s get your part cleaned up. You sit with it, make your list, and call her, for your own freedom’s sake.

Diane: I’ve wanted to.

Katie: I say, call her with specifics. Tell her your part in this. We want to apologize, but we don’t even know why or how. This Work can not only show you, but it can take you into all the hidden corners of it and flood them with light as you go. It’s a thorough housecleaning. And until it’s done, there’s no peace. This Work is the key to your heart. It makes it all so simple. The truth, I hear from you today, is that you love her.

Diane: Yes.

Katie: Okay, read this one again.

Diane: I want Mom to admit that she was wrong and to apologize to me.

Katie: Is that true? Is that really true?

Diane: I think so.

Katie: And if you think it would hurt her, if it’s a little more than she can deal with now, do you still want her to apologize?

Diane: I don’t want to hurt her.

Katie: No. That’s usually why people don’t apologize, it’s just too painful to face what they’ve done. They’re not ready yet. And you’re one who knows about that kind of thing. In that, you discover who you are.

Diane: That’s what I want. I just want to be at peace.

Katie: Well, honey, that little nine-year-old girl who would sit on a man’s lap and be penetrated for his love—that’s a big one. That’s like love to the death. So we’re learning who and what we are under the confusion. Let’s look at the next statement.

Diane: Mom should love me and know that I love her.

Katie: Is that true? Isn’t this starting to sound like a dictatorship? [Diane and the audience laugh.] And have you also noticed that it’s hopeless to dictate people’s awareness or behavior? So let’s turn it around. She loves you, but she may not know it yet, and that lack of awareness is very painful. I am very clear that the whole world loves me. I just don’t expect them to realize it yet. [The audience laughs.] So, let’s turn it around and see where some awareness will work in your life now.

Diane: I should love me and know that I love me.

Katie: Yes, it’s not her job. It’s no one’s job but yours.

Diane: I’m getting there.

Katie: Yes, you are. There’s another turnaround. See if you can find it.

Diane: I should love Mom and know that I love her.

Katie: And you do. There are just a few little uninvestigated thoughts here and there to interrupt the awareness of this fact. And now you know how to meet them. It’s a beginning. All right, let’s look at the next statement.

Diane: I need Mom to tell the family that she was wrong.

Katie: Is that true?

Diane [laughing]: No.

Katie: No. The nightmare always becomes laughter, once it’s understood. Turn it around and see what real understanding is possible.

Diane: I need me to tell the family that I was wrong.

Katie: How sweet it is.

Diane: I could have stopped it earlier by speaking up. I was wrong. But now I’m right . . .

Katie: Yes.

Diane [in a whisper, crying]: I’m right.

Katie: It’s obviously time that you know that. Isn’t it marvelous to discover that you’re the one you’ve been waiting for? That you are your own freedom? You go with inquiry into the darkness and find only light. And now you can see, even when you’ve been to the depths of hell, that that’s all that was ever there—ever. We just haven’t known how to go in, sweetheart. Now we do. What a trip! Let’s look at the next statement.

Diane: Mom is a repressed asshole. [Laughing] I might as well just do the turnaround right here and now. I’m a repressed asshole. [Diane and everyone else laugh even harder. The audience breaks into applause.]

Katie: Sometimes. I like to say about myself, “But only for forty-three years”—which is when I woke up to reality. So, you can put that on your list of amends. What was it like for you to live as a repressed . . .

Diane [laughing]: Very tight. [Loud laughter from the audience] Wow! I understand now. It has nothing to do with her! Nothing! It’s all me! It’s all me! [A long silence. There is a look of wonderment on Diane’s face.]

Katie: So, sweetheart, I suggest that you gently take yourself to the back of the room and just lie down with your beautiful self. Just let everything you’ve realized in this session have you. Let it take you over and make the changes it will make. Just be still and let the realization unfold.

I’m Angry at Sam for Dying

It takes a great deal of courage to see through the story of a death. Parents and relatives of children who have died are especially attached to their stories, for reasons that we all understand. Leaving our sadness behind, or even inquiring into it, may seem like a betrayal of our child. Many of us aren’t ready to see things another way yet, and that’s as it should be.

Who thinks that death is sad? Who thinks that a child shouldn’t die? Who thinks that they know what death is? Who tries to teach God, in story after story, thought after thought? Is it you? I say, let’s investigate, if you’re up for it, and see if it’s possible to end the war with reality.

 

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Gail: This is about my nephew, Sam, who recently died. I was very close to him. I helped bring him up.

Katie: Good, sweetheart. Read what you’ve written.

Gail: I’m angry at Sam for dying. I’m angry that Sam is gone. I’m angry that Sam took such stupid risks. I’m angry that at twenty he’s gone in a blink. I’m angry that Sam slipped and fell sixty feet off the mountain. I want Sam back. I want Sam to be more careful. I want Sam to let me know that he’s fine. I want the image of his body falling sixty feet off the cliff, landing on his head, to go away. Sam should have stuck around.

Katie: “Sam should have stuck around”—is that true? This is our religion, the kind of belief that we live by but haven’t known how to examine. [To audience] You may want to go inside and ask for yourself, about the one who divorced you, or who died and left you, or about your children who moved away, “That person should have stuck around”—is that really true? [To Gail] Read it again.

Gail: Sam should have stuck around.

Katie: Is that true? What’s the reality of it? Did he?

Gail: No. He left. He died.

Katie: How do you react when you think this thought, this concept, that argues with reality?

Gail: I feel tired and sad, and I feel separate.

Katie: That’s how it feels to argue with what is. It’s very stressful. I’m a lover of reality, not because I’m a spiritual woman, but because it hurts when I argue with what is. And I notice that I lose, 100 percent of the time. It’s hopeless. We take these concepts to the grave with us, if they’re not examined. Concepts are the grave we bury ourselves in.

Gail: Yes. It’s always stressful when I think that.

Katie: So, angel, who would you be without that thought?

Gail: I’d feel happy again.

Katie: Which is why you want him to live. “If he were alive, then I’d be happy.” This is using him for your happiness.

Gail: Right.

Katie: We live; we die. Always right on time, not one moment sooner or later than we do. Who would you be without your story?

Gail: I’d be here, present in my own life, and I’d let Sam do his thing.

Katie: You’d even let him die in his own time?

Gail: Yes. As if I had any choice. I would be here instead of . . .

Katie: In the grave. Or falling off the mountain with Sam, over and over again in your mind.

Gail: Yes.

Katie: So, your story is “Sam should stick around.” Turn it around.

Gail: I should stick around.

Katie: Yes. Your story that Sam shouldn’t have died is yourself mentally falling off that cliff he falls off. You should stick around instead and mentally stay out of his business. This is possible.

Gail: I understand.

Katie: Sticking around would look like this: woman sitting in chair with friends, present, living her life, not mentally returning to that cliff to watch Sam fall, over and over. There’s another turnaround to “Sam should stick around.” Can you find it?

Gail: Sam should not stick around.

Katie: Yes, angel. He’s gone in the way that you knew him. Reality rules. It doesn’t wait for our vote, our permission, or our opinion—have you noticed? What I love most about reality is that it’s always the story of a past. And what I love most about the past is that it’s over. And because I’m no longer insane, I don’t argue with it. Arguing with it feels unkind inside me. Just to notice what is is love. And how do I personally know that Sam lived a full life? It’s over. He lived it to the end—his end, not the end you think he should have had. That’s reality. It hurts to fight what is. And doesn’t it feel more honest to open your arms wide to it? This is the end of war.

Gail: I can see that.

Katie: Okay, let’s look at the next statement.

Gail: I need Sam back.

Katie: That’s a good one. Is it true?

Gail: No.

Katie: No. It’s just a story, a lie. [To audience] The reason I call it a lie is that I asked her, “Is it true?” and she said no. [To Gail] How do you react when you believe the story “I need Sam back,” and he’s not back?

Gail: Shut down inside. Anxious. Depressed.

Katie: Who would you be without the thought “I need Sam back”?

Gail: I’d be back. I’d be alive again, connecting with what’s in front of me.

Katie: Yes. Just as you felt when he was here.

Gail: Right. If I let him go, I’d have what I wanted. Thinking I need him now keeps me from having what I’ve been wanting ever since he died.

Katie: So, “I need Sam back”—turn it around.

Gail: I need myself back.

Katie: And another turnaround?

Gail: I don’t need Sam back.

Katie: Yes. You keep going back to that cliff and falling off with Sam. So come back yourself. You keep thinking, “Oh, I wish he hadn’t done that.” But you keep doing it, over and over, in your mind. You just keep falling off that cliff. So if you need help, turn it around, see how you can help yourself. Let’s look at the next statement.

Gail: I need to know that Sam is totally fine and at peace.

Katie: “He’s not fine”—can you absolutely know that that’s true?

Gail: No. I can’t know that he’s not fine.

Katie: Turn that one around.

Gail: I need to know that I’m totally fine and at peace, with or without Sam’s body here.

Katie: Yes. That’s possible. So how are your toes and your knees and your legs and your arms? How are you, sitting here in this moment?

Gail: They’re good. I’m fine.

Katie: Are you in any better or worse shape now than when Sam was here?

Gail: No.

Katie: Sitting here right now, in this moment, do you need Sam to come back?

Gail: No. That’s just a story.

Katie: Good. You investigated. You wanted to know. Now you do.

Gail: Right.

Katie: So let’s look at the next statement.

Gail: I need God, or someone, to show me the perfection of Sam’s dying.

Katie: Turn it around.

Gail: I need me to show me the perfection of Sam’s dying.

Katie: Yes. You don’t grieve when the lawnmower cuts the grass. You don’t look for the perfection in the grass dying, because it’s visible to you. In fact, when the grass grows, you cut it. In the fall, you don’t grieve because the leaves are falling and dying. You say, “Isn’t it beautiful!” Well, we’re the same way. There are seasons. We all fall sooner or later. It’s all so beautiful. And our concepts, without investigation, keep us from knowing this. It’s beautiful to be a leaf, to be born, to fall, to give way to the next, to become food for the roots. It’s life, always changing its form and always giving itself completely. We all do our part. No mistake. [Gail begins to cry.] What are your thoughts, sweetheart?

Gail: I really like what you’re saying, talking about it as beauty, as part of the seasons. It makes me feel glad and appreciative. I can see it in a bigger way, and I can appreciate life and death and the cycles. It’s like a window I can look through and see it differently, see how I could hold it in that way, and how I could appreciate Sam and the way he died.

Katie: Do you realize that he’s given you life?

Gail: Yes. He’s like the fertilizer, or the soil that’s growing me right now.

Katie: So that you can give it back and live as appreciation, fully nourished, as you understand our pain and give us the new life you’re realizing. Whatever happens, that’s what’s needed. There is no mistake in nature. Look how painful it is to have a story that won’t embrace such beauty, such perfection. Lack of understanding is always painful.

Gail: Until now, I couldn’t really see it as beauty. I mean, I’ve seen beauty come to me from Sam’s death, but I couldn’t see the actual death—him dying—as beauty. I only saw it as him being a twenty-year-old doing stupid things. But he was just doing it his way.

Katie: Oh, my . . . Who would you be without that story?

Gail: I’d appreciate his death, the way you appreciate the leaves. I could appreciate him going out that way, instead of thinking it was wrong.

Katie: Yes, honey. Through self-inquiry, we see that only love remains. Without an uninvestigated story, there’s only the perfection of life appearing as itself. You can always go inside and find the beauty that’s revealed after the pain and fear are understood. Let’s look at the next statement.

Gail: Sam is gone, dead. Sam is the beloved boy I got to mother. Sam is exquisitely beautiful, gentle, kind, a good listener, curious, brilliant, nonjudgmental, accepting, strong, powerful. Sam is riding the crest of a wave.

Katie: Read the first part of that again.

Gail: Sam is gone, dead.

Katie: Is that true? “Sam is dead”—can you absolutely know that that’s true?

Gail: No.

Katie: Show me death. Get a microscope and show me. Put the cells of a dead body under the lens, and show me what death is. Is it anything more than a concept? Where does Sam live? Here [touching her head and heart]. You wake up and think of him; that’s where Sam lives. You lie down at night; there he is in your mind. And every night, when you go to sleep, if you’re not dreaming, that’s death. When there’s no story, there’s no life. You open your eyes in the morning, and the “I” begins. Life begins. The Sam story begins. Did you miss him before the story began? Nothing lives but a story, and when we meet these stories with understanding, we really begin to live, without the suffering. So, how do you react when you think that thought?

Gail: I feel dead inside. I feel terrible.

Katie: Can you see a reason to drop the story “Sam’s dead”? And I’m not asking you to drop your story, this idea that you hold so dear. We love our old-time religion, even though it doesn’t work. We devote ourselves to it day in and day out, in every culture of the world.

Gail: Yes.

Katie: Inquiry doesn’t have a motive. It doesn’t teach a philosophy. It’s just investigation. So, who would you be without the story “Sam’s dead”? Even though he’s mentally living with you all the time.

Gail: He’s probably here more now, right now, than he was when he was in his body.

Katie: So who would you be without the story?

Gail: I’d appreciate the fertilizer. And I’d love being where I am, rather than living in the past.

Katie: So turn it around.

Gail: I’m gone, I’m dead, when I go into my story about Sam dying.

Katie: Yes.

Gail: I really see that now. Are we done?

Katie: Yes, sweetheart. And we always begin now.

Terrorism in New York City

After the events of September 11, 2001, the media and our political leaders said that America had begun a war against terrorism and that everything had changed. When people came to do The Work with me, I found that nothing had changed. People like Emily were frightening themselves with their uninvestigated thoughts, and after they found the terrorist inside them, they could return to their families, to their normal lives, in peace.

A teacher of fear can’t bring peace on earth. We have been trying to do it that way for thousands of years. The person who turns inner violence around, the person who finds peace inside and lives it, is the one who teaches what true peace is. We are waiting for just one teacher. You’re the one.

 

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Emily: Ever since the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center last Tuesday, I’ve been terrified that I’ll be killed in the subway or in my office building, right near Grand Central and the Waldorf. I keep thinking how scarred my sons would be if they lost me. They’re only one and four years old.

Katie: Yes, sweetheart. So, “Terrorists could attack you in the subway.”

Emily: Uh-huh.

Katie: Can you absolutely know that that’s true?

Emily: That it’s possible, or that it will happen?

Katie: That it will happen.

Emily: I can’t know that it will happen, but I do know that it’s possible.

Katie: And how do you react when you think that thought?

Emily: I feel terrified. I already feel sad about my loss, for myself, my husband, and my kids.

Katie: And how do you treat people on the subway when you think that thought?

Emily: I feel shut down, very shut down.

Katie: How do you treat yourself when you think that thought and you’re on the subway?

Emily: Well, I try to repress the thought, and I focus a lot on reading and doing what I’m doing. I’m tight.

Katie: And where does your mind travel when you’re tight and you think that thought as you’re reading on the subway?

Emily: I just keep picturing my children’s faces.

Katie: So you’re in your children’s business. You’re reading a book on the subway full of people, and in your mind you’re seeing the faces of your children with you dead.

Emily: Yes.

Katie: Does this thought bring stress or peace into your life?

Emily: Definitely stress.

Katie: Who would you be on the subway without that thought? Who would you be if you were incapable of thinking the thought “A terrorist could kill me on the subway”?

Emily: If I couldn’t think the thought . . . you mean if my mind wouldn’t do it? [Pause] Well, I would be like I was last Monday, before the attack happened.

Katie: So you’d be a little more comfortable on the subway than you are.

Emily: Much more comfortable. I grew up on the subways. I’m actually quite comfortable on the subway without that thought.

Katie: “A terrorist can kill me on the subway”—how would you turn that around?

Emily: I can kill myself on the subway?

Katie: Yes. The killing is going on in your mind. The only terrorist on the subway in that moment is you terrifying yourself with your thoughts. What else did you write?

Emily: I am furious at my family—my husband, my parents, all of us live here in New York City—for not helping me make a contingency plan in case the terrorism here gets worse, finding a place where we can all meet outside the city, getting our passports updated, some money out of the bank. I’m furious at them for being so passive, for making me feel crazy for trying to make a plan.

Katie: So, “I am furious at my family”—let’s just turn that one around. “I’m furious . . .”

Emily: I’m furious at myself for not helping me make a contingency plan?

Katie: Can you see that? Quit being so passive. Get a contingency plan, not just for you and your children and husband, for your whole family in New York. Get a plan for everyone.

Emily: I am trying, but they’re making me feel like I’m nuts for doing that. I’m angry about that.

Katie: Well, apparently they don’t need a plan. And they don’t want a plan. You’re the one who needs a contingency plan, so make a contingency plan for the evacuation of New York.

Emily [laughing]: That sounds so funny.

Katie: I know. I find that so often self-realization leaves us only with laughter.

Emily: But I’m still angry that they made me feel like a nut.

Katie: Can you find it, that part of you that is a nut?

Emily: Well, I did do the same thing with Y2K, so I guess they’ve been through this with me before. I am a bit on the paranoid side.

Katie: So they’re right, according to their world. They have a point. You could work on your contingency plan in peace, not expecting them to want to go.

Emily: I’ll make my kids go.

Katie: Because they’re small, and you can put them both under your arms and run for it. Buckle them in the car and just drive.

Emily: I think I’d better learn how to drive. I don’t have a driver’s license.

Katie [laughing]: You’re angry at your family because they don’t have a contingency plan, and you don’t have a driver’s license?

Emily [laughing]: Now that is ridiculous. I can see that. I’m judging them, and I can’t even drive if I need to. How could I not have seen this?

Katie: Now, let’s say you have the license, and the tunnels and bridges are all closed. You need to get another plan. You need to get five more jobs so you can buy a private helicopter.

Emily [laughing]: Okay, okay.

Katie: But they wouldn’t let those fly either.

Emily: No. Definitely not.

Katie: So there you are. Maybe that’s why your family doesn’t bother with a contingency plan. They notice that the tunnels were shut down; planes weren’t allowed in the air last week; there was no way out. Maybe they understand that. Maybe you’re the last to know.

Emily: That really could be.

Katie: So it just leaves us to find peace from where we are. To make a contingency plan work, from what I’ve seen of reality, you need to be psychic, so you can know ahead of time when to evacuate and where to go that would be safe.

Emily: Part of me thinks I should get out now. But then of course the problem is where is safe? Talk about needing to be psychic . . .

Katie: So you need to work on your psychic abilities. And from what I’ve seen, psychics don’t win the lottery.

Emily: That’s true.

Katie: So, “You need a contingency plan”—is that true? Can you absolutely know that that’s true?

Emily: I guess I can’t know that that’s true any more. It’s kind of a relief.

Katie: Oh, honey, just feel it. Maybe that’s what your family knows.

Emily: I think I’m not such a good planner after all. There is no plan to have.

Katie: Of course not. You can’t outsmart reality. Where you are right now might be the safest place in the world. We just don’t know.

Emily: I honestly never thought of that.

Katie: So who would you be without the thought “I need a contingency plan”?

Emily: Less anxious, less on alert, lighter. [Pause] But also more upset. [Crying] Sad. Very, very sad. All those people died. My city changed. There’s nothing I can do.

Katie: Okay, so that’s the reality of it. There’s nothing you can do. That’s humility. For me, that’s a sweet thing.

Emily: I’m just so used to being proactive, to making things happen, at least for the people close to me, to protecting them.

Katie: And feeling in control. It works for a while. But then reality catches up with us. But if we take all that amazing ability, that proactiveness, and mix it with humility, then that’s really something. Then we can be clear and helpful. “I need a contingency plan”—turn it around.

Emily: I don’t need a contingency plan.

Katie: Feel it. Can you see how that could be just as true? How it could be even truer?

Emily: Could be. I can see that it could be truer.

Katie: Oh, sweetheart. Me, too. That’s why I’m always so comfortable where I am. When you run in fear, it’s square into the wall. Then you look back at where you were, and you see that it was much safer. And without a contingency plan, when something happens, it just comes to you what to do. You can find everything you need to know right where you are. And in reality, you already live that. When you need a pen, you reach over and you take it. If there’s not a pen there, you go get one. And that’s what it’s like in an emergency. Without fear, what to do is just as clear as reaching and picking up a pen. But fear isn’t so efficient. Fear is blind and deaf. Let’s hear what else you’ve written.

Emily: Okay. I think the terrorists are so ignorant in their hatred and their need to feel powerful. They are so desperate to hurt us. They’d do anything . . . why not poison or car bombs? They’re evil, ignorant, and yes, they’re successful and powerful. They can destroy this country. They’re like locusts, everywhere, hiding, waiting to hurt us, disrupt us, kill us.

Katie: So, “These terrorists are evil.”

Emily: Yes.

Katie: Can you absolutely know that that’s true?

Emily: I think I can know that they are ignorant. They’re ignorant about the effects of violence on us.

Katie: Can you absolutely know that that’s true? That they’re ignorant about that? This is a good one, sweetheart. Can you know that they’re ignorant about pain and death and suffering?

Emily: No. They’re not ignorant about that, because they’ve probably experienced it. I can’t know that that’s true, but I think they probably have. And that’s what they’re reacting to. But they’re still ignorant about the fact that violence never works.

Katie: Or they’re not ignorant. They believe a thought that’s the opposite of yours: that violence works. That’s what they think the whole world has taught them. They are in the grip of that thought.

Emily: But it doesn’t work, really. To hurt another person, you either have to be ignorant, confused, or a psychopath.

Katie: You could be right, and a lot of people would agree with you, but what we’re looking at here is not the right or wrong of it. So let’s go back to what you read and turn it around.

Emily: I think the terrorists are so ignorant in their hatred and their need to feel powerful.

Katie: Turn it around.

Emily: I am so ignorant in my hatred and my need to feel powerful. That’s true. I needed my contingency plan to make me feel powerful.

Katie: Yes, and how does it feel to hate?

Emily: Well, it does empower me for the moment. I mean, it makes me feel less helpless.

Katie: And then what happens when you hate?

Emily: I’m stuck. I can’t get past it, and it’s consuming.

Katie: And you have to find a way of defending that position. You have to prove that you’re right about your hatred. That it’s valid and worthwhile. And how does it feel to live that way? How do you react when you think the thought that they’re evil and ignorant?

Emily: In the context of what we’re saying, it feels pretty false, actually. I’m not sure that I even feel that way anymore.

Katie: But from their position, their hatred is absolutely valid. They’re willing to die for it. It’s a matter of right. That’s what they believe. They’re crashing their lives into buildings.

Emily: Yes.

Katie: Their hatred is no obstacle to them. That’s what it’s like when we’re attached to a concept. And that concept is “You are evil, and I’ll die to take you out.” It’s for the good of the world.

Emily: I can see that.

Katie: So continue with the turnaround.

Emily: I am evil in my ignorance . . .

Katie: . . . of where these people are coming from. They know the suffering it’s going to bring to their families when they kill themselves intentionally.

Emily: Okay.

Katie: They’re not ignorant on one level, and on another level of course they are, because their thoughts just leave more suffering. So continue to turn around what you wrote after the evil and their ignorance.

Emily: They’re evil, ignorant, and yes, they’re successful and powerful.

Katie: And I . . .

Emily: I am evil, ignorant, successful, and powerful?

Katie: Yes. In all your righteousness.

Emily: Oh, okay. My contingency plan is right, and other people just don’t get it.

Katie: So let’s continue. “They’re like locusts”—turn it around.

Emily: I am like locusts, everywhere, hiding, waiting to hurt me, disrupt me, kill me?

Katie: Yes.

Emily: My thoughts are like locusts.

Katie: Exactly. Your uninvestigated thoughts.

Emily: Right.

Katie: I don’t see any terrorists in this moment except the one you live with: yourself.

Emily: Yes. I see that.

Katie: I live in peace, and that’s what everyone deserves. We all deserve to end our own terrorism.

Emily: I can understand the arrogance of doing what I’ve been doing.

Katie: That’s where I see the possibility of change. Otherwise, we’re like ancient, primitive beings—all willing to die for a cause.

Emily: How are we all willing to die for a cause?

Katie: Well, sweetheart, if someone comes after your children . . . Just watch it.

Emily: Okay. Yes.

Katie: I mean, you’re even angry with your parents because they won’t get a contingency plan. And feel what it feels like to go to war against your own family.

Emily: Yes.

Katie: What’s the matter with them? You would grab them, with them screaming, “I just want to be left alone.” You grab them and haul them out—to where? For all you know, you move them to the very community that gets hit.

Emily: That’s true. That’s arrogant, too. Crazy even.

Katie: What else did you write?

Emily: I don’t ever want to see an ash-covered person again as I did that day walking home. I don’t ever want to see another face mask or a look of shock . . . Part of the problem is that the media kept showing images of the towers falling over and over again. It felt like it was happening for a whole week.

Katie: “Part of the problem was that the media kept showing it over and over”—turn it around.

Emily: I kept showing it over and over.

Katie: Yes. “I want the media to stop”—turn it around.

Emily: I want me to stop.

Katie: So work on you. Your mind is the media.

Emily: I’m not sure how.

Katie: You could begin by putting those images in your mind up against inquiry. Because in reality, there’s no one in front of you covered with ash right now. It’s not happening here, except in your mind. [Long pause] Okay. Let’s go back and take a look. Describe the ash-covered person in your mind. Describe the one who has the most charge for you. The person you actually saw.

Emily: Well, the one who has the most charge for me was the man who walked by my office building when I was sitting outside waiting for my husband a couple of hours after the World Trade Center towers fell. I work in midtown, so the guy had walked more than sixty blocks. We saw a lot of other ash-covered people when we walked home, but this guy was dressed in an expensive, well-fitted business suit, carrying his briefcase, and he was wearing one of those breath masks that you see on television. And he was absolutely gray—his entire head, his suit, his shoes, his briefcase were covered in ash. The ash was untouched. He was like a zombie, just walking, not looking around. He must have been in shock. He had obviously walked all the way from what was the World Trade Center. Everything was sunny, and everything here in midtown seemed normal, and then this ghost walked by. That hit me harder than any other image that day. It hit me hard. I thought, “Now it’s entering my world. It’s here.”

Katie: Good, sweetheart. Now I want to look at it with you. “He was like a zombie”—is that true?

Emily: He certainly looked like it.

Katie: Of course he did: Look who’s telling the story. The man had his briefcase with him. He thought to take it. Maybe he was simply walking home. There were no subways running. Maybe he wanted to get to his family to let them know he was all right.

Emily: Yes.

Katie: He was being perfectly intelligent. He had on a breath mask. You didn’t.

Emily: Hmm.

Katie: So, for all you know, he was doing better than you were.

Emily [after a pause]: That could be. I was nowhere near the disaster, sitting there feeling incredibly stressed-out and afraid.

Katie: “The man was like a zombie”—how do you react when you think that thought?

Emily: I feel horror, as if the world were ending.

Katie: And who would you be, watching that man, without the thought “He is like a zombie”?

Emily: I’d just think, “There’s a man covered in ash. I hope he’s close to home.”

Katie: A really smart man. Not a zombie. He got out of the building and even remembered his briefcase. What to do came to him in an instant. I don’t think he had a contingency plan: “If the plane hits and if I get out, I think I’ll pick up my briefcase as a contingency plan and walk home.”

Emily: He had walked sixty blocks or whatever it was. I guess he was an instant symbol in my mind of what had happened.

Katie: Yes, but he could just as easily be a reminder of how efficient you can be when some disaster happens. He had his briefcase. He’d made it for sixty blocks. But how were you doing when you saw him?

Emily: I actually felt like I was going into shock.

Katie: Yes. He was doing fine. You were like a zombie, and you projected it onto him. If you needed someone in a pinch, and you saw yourself standing there and him standing there, who would you go to for help?

Emily [laughing]: I’d go to him. Amazing. But I’d definitely go to him.

Katie: Okay, sweetheart. So, gently, let’s turn it around. “I’m willing . . .”

Emily: I’m willing to see another ash-covered person.

Katie: Yes, even if only in your mind—because you haven’t seen anyone since then walking around like that, except inside you. So reality and the story never match; reality’s always kinder. And it’s going to be fun to watch how this plays out in your life, especially with your children. They’ll learn from you that they don’t have to be on guard and have a plan; they’ll learn that they’ll always know what to do. They’ll see that where they are is okay and anywhere they’re going is fine. And without the fearful story “I need a contingency plan,” various good moves might come to you: a place to meet up with your husband in case the phones don’t work. Learning to drive might be useful as your kids get past the toddler stage, keeping a few maps and some other things handy in the car. Who knows what a calm mind will come up with?

Emily: Thank you, Katie. I see that.

Katie: Oh, honey, you’re welcome. I love how you don’t settle for anything but the pure truth of it.