F**k It Therapy Read online

  2 A category B prison (whatever that means) in southwest London.

  3 Exactly appropriate; also means to ‘go on’ at length.

  4 Very, very pleased and happy – and a bit proud, too.

  WHAT IS A PRISON?

  A PRISON HAS A POINT

  The point of a prison is to protect society from its dangerous inmates, to rehabilitate, or simply to punish. These factors give a prison meaning in our society.

  And the meaning you’ve found in your life and society may well have become your prison.

  Meaning, at least the conscious search for it, doesn’t seem to bother us as children. Things just somehow are. We don’t need to find purpose in things, do things that are more purposeful, or find our purpose within the grand scheme of things when we’re young. Thank goodness. Sure, kids ask ‘why’ and ‘how’ a lot.

  ‘Why is the sky blue?’

  ‘Ask your dad.’

  ‘Why does the sun come up and go down.’

  ‘Ask your dad.’

  ‘Why does Tommy have more video games than we do?’

  ‘Ask your dad.’

  ‘How do babies get made?’

  ‘Ask your mother.’

  But they don’t ask the kind of questions that we ask: ‘Why am I here?’ ‘What exactly is the point of me doing this soul-destroying work day in, day out?’ ‘Does it really matter if I’m good or bad?’ And so on. At some point, we stop asking questions about the world outside ourselves (such as the sun and the moon) and start asking questions about ourselves and our place in this world.

  And faced with the occasional horrifying glimpse of the likely reality that we have no real point in this huge, uncaring universe: the flash of ‘life’ we experience (80 years in the context of the 500,000 years humans have existed, and the five billion years or so that the world has turned); as one person in seven billion, on a planet that is just a drop of water in the huge lake of our solar system, which is a lake equivalent to a drop of water in the ocean of the galaxy, which in itself is an ocean the size of a paddling pool on the back lawn of a house in a country that is the vast universal everything, of which our tiny planet called ‘Earth’ is just a part. And faced with only the tiniest of glimpses of that reality – which is only a tiny peek through a keyhole so full of dust that we don’t really see what’s in the actual room, because to see it fully and to realize it deeply would probably lead us to instantly smash our own heads in…

  Yes, faced with just that tiny glimpse of realization of our utter futility, we panic. And the panic ebbs and flows, and we forget it’s panic at all; but the panic continues for much of our lives. And the panic takes the form of a relentless search for meaning in the most ridiculously meaning-less ways. Like dogs on heat, trying to shag1 the legs of human strangers, lampposts, fire hydrants, benches, and occasionally cats, we try to shag meaning out of anything that will have us. We are on-heat meaning machines, desperately trying to find meaning: in the pointless work we do; the fruitless relationships we have; the interminable stuff we accumulate (which we carry slowly from store to dump); the gods we invent; the rules of conduct we imagine and enforce; characters we dream up for ourselves; stories we tell… And on and on until we die, when we go… nowhere, and certainly not to finally see the point, because it wasn’t there in the first place.

  Sorry. I had to get that out.

  We are RIDICULOUS. Not just because in our lifelong-drawn-out panic there’s actually no point to ANYTHING, so we try to find meaning in EVERYTHING – which is actually quite endearing. But because the very things we attach all that meaning to then turn around and cause us pain. Because none of the things last for that long. We get attached to them. They are taken away. We feel pain. That’s the human condition.

  In fact, let’s create the full chain of events of the human condition: we get a glimpse that our life is utterly futile and wonder what the point is; we try to find meaning in things out there; we get attached to those things; the things are taken away; we feel pain; we wonder what the point is; then we try to find meaning in other things out there; we get attached to those things; the things are taken away; we feel pain; we wonder what the point is; then we try to find meaning in other things out there; we get attached to those things; the things are taken away; we feel pain; we wonder what the point is…. This is the human loop. That’s why I like to use loops in my music; it reminds me of the joke that is our human loop. The loop is wired into our DNA, which is, you know, very similar to the DNA of a banana. We are, effectively, bananas.

  The point?

  What, you still want a frickin’ point?

  Well, at this moment we’re sitting here smiling, so we’ll back off from the nihilistic blathering. We’ll even offer different ideas about what it’s all about. But it’s worth seeing that the search for meaning, which most of us are on, is a pretty potty2 affair. It’s worth seeing that many of us are actually trapped in a prison of our making; we have become attached to things that now restrict our freedom.

  And to take us from the biggest possible picture back down to the prosaic detail of the everyday – hopefully without suffering from nausea, or the bends, or getting burned on re-entry – the problem for most of us is that we worry about things that, with even a little bit of perspective, REALLY DON’T MATTER and we spend so much time and energy worrying about those things that we don’t have enough time or energy for the THINGS THAT OBVIOUSLY DO (if you’re not getting big, nihilistic, and philosophical, that is, anyway). We worry about being late for a meeting, but don’t see our kids off to school. We worry about the extra pounds we’re carrying, but don’t see the fellow human being on the street in desperate need. We worry about the lines appearing on our face, but we don’t see the cracks appearing in the Earth pointing to global climate change. We search for gods and miss the miracle of life. We are burdened by the past, worry about the future, and we miss the present.

  So, in this prison of meanings, we need to say F**k It to those things that really don’t matter so much, and focus on those that do (or seem to anyway). This is about getting perspective, and it’s a fundamental part of F**k It Therapy.

  That’s what a prison is. And that’s why F**k It Therapy can help.

  A PRISON HAS A STORY

  Every prison has a story: a history, incidents that have occurred there, famous inmates, a dark past, and, sometimes, inspiring stories.

  And we have a story. We have our history; all the things that have happened to us: hurt us, moved us, thrilled us, inspired us, depressed us, moved us forward, pushed us back, picked us up, and thrown us down. We have things we love to remember and other things we’d prefer to forget.

  And we tell ourselves (and others, if they’re prepared to listen) the story of who we are (which we believe is made up of our history and molded by all the things that have happened to us). We tell ourselves the story of our character: our good points and our bad points, our strengths and our weaknesses, what we’re proud of and what we are ashamed of in ourselves.

  And we tell ourselves the story of our growth and development from one thing to another. We tell ourselves about who we used to be, who we are now, and who we’d like to become. We sometimes see our story as an ascending journey from innocence to experience, from bad to good, from naiveté to experience, learning as we go, meandering along this journey of life, but getting somewhere that will reward the learning and be worth the pain. And, sometimes, we see it as a descending journey from playfulness to seriousness, squandering our talents, throwing away our dreams, going from health to sickness, getting older and weaker, never learning our lessons, losing what we had, and slowly, tiringly, meandering into our sad, lonely ending on this miserable planet.

  And we tell ourselves a story about life and the world around us: that it’s a wondrous, miraculous, ever-changing, dynamic, inspiring, mysterious place. Or it’s a tragic, misery-ridden, sinful, hopeless, unfair, doomed place. Or it’s boring. Or it’s not like it used to be. Or it’s going to hell
in a handcart. Or it’s a mix. Or it’s supporting me. Or it’s against me. Or it’s indifferent to me. Or it reflects me.

  We tell ourselves stories about ourselves and the world we see around us. But they’re just stories. And these stories – the good ones, the bad ones, and the indifferent ones – can all turn into prisons for us because… Stories don’t necessarily reflect reality. Stories fix everything. And ‘life’ isn’t fixable. It’s always moving. And it resists the stories we try to tell about it. By the time we think we’ve grasped our life – or our story – it’s gone, moved on, left town. And we’re stuck in the prison of the story we created.

  F**k It Therapy shows us how to say F**k It to the story and get in touch with life.

  A PRISON HAS AN AIM

  A prison has the aim of protecting the population from its prisoners (and sometimes protecting prisoners from the population), and rehabilitating prisoners so that they can return to society (usually).

  We have aims, too. We aim to do a certain thing by a certain age: we aim to pass our exams, buy a house, meet someone gorgeous and settle down, enjoy our lives, win the Nobel prize, get well, lose weight, shag more people, shag fewer people…

  We have aims. And, if we’re organized and determined, we write them down, too. We even put deadlines on them. We work our way toward them. We overcome obstacles to achieve them. We suffer for our art, brave storms to get to land, bear our cross, climb mountains, and take the hits to achieve our aims.

  But our aims can become our prisons. Life has a habit of not going the way we planned. Other people have the habit of not behaving the way we want them to behave. The economy has a habit of dipping at the wrong moment. And, because we’ve fixed this path for life in the form of ‘aims,’ we find ourselves in a prison of expectations thwarted by life doing the thing it does best: unpredictability.

  Aims can be helpful, of course. Much can be achieved with aims, and much squandered without them. But if you get too attached to your aims, then they can become your prison. Hold your aims lightly. Say F**k It to the held-too-tightly aims. Let them go. And sit back and enjoy the ride more.

  A PRISON OF THOUGHT

  Everything starts with a thought. God may well have started on day one by creating Heaven and Earth, then switching the light on. But what the Bible misses out is that God would have started with a thought. Before He CREATED Heaven and Earth, He must have had the bright idea of getting down to some creative work. Before his six days of hard work started, He must have had his feet up contemplating what to have for tea3, when he got his bright idea:

  Brilliant. A planet and some space. I am brilliant. Absolutely bloomin’ brilliant. Even if I say it Myself.

  He sat back and realized His thought was Good. Then another thought struck Him, and He stroked His beard as the thought took form:

  Even… if… I say it Myself’ (even God uses capitals in His own sentences), ‘Why the fluckety chuck4 don’t I create other, er… beings, that can tell Me how brilliant I am, then I wouldn’t have to just say so Myself?

  Nice one, God.

  I will create them in My own image.

  I foresee a problem there, God. You’ll give Yourself competition.

  Ah, but I don’t want any competition as God and Supreme Being, do I?

  More beard scratching.

  I will set them a ridiculous test. I’ll create a couple of these mini-Mes, then tell them there’s… I don’t know… um… a tree that makes them wise (so they’ll think they can become as wise as Me, even though, and they don’t know this, they already are). I’ll lure them into this cunning trap via a walking snake thing. They’ll, naturally, eat from this tree of knowledge and BANG, I cast them out forever more..

  God slapped his leg in congratulation at such a flawless mini-God creation plan…

  That way, they’ll spend the rest of their existence worshiping Me, arguing over Me, and believing they’re nothing like Me, when they actually are.

  Back to that first thought. The difficult bit for God – and the Bible neglects to mention this – was the actual thought. Imagine what it was like summoning up the whole plan for the Earth and space and animals and humans and, like, EVERYTHING from, like, NOTHING. There was NOTHING before; just God sitting there, not in space, but in NOTHING. He had nothing to go on. He didn’t have any magazines to flick through to get ideas, no books to read. He wasn’t popping down the local salon (i.e., salon for ideas not for a beard trim) to chat with fellow deity intellectuals. He wasn’t brainstorming. He wasn’t standing on the shoulders of giants. He wasn’t in competition with another god to see who could come up with the best creation scheme. It came from nothing. NOTHING.

  After that, the whole creation thing was a piece of cake. Project-management and construction work, that’s all. Sure, they did a good job. They even came in on time (six days) and on budget. But God was the ARCHITECT. He was the ideas Man… er… God… ideas God.

  Everything starts with a thought. Everything you see around you started as a thought. Everything you do starts as a thought. You started as a thought. Even if you go into territory apparently unaffected by human thought (like areas of wilderness), we’re trying to get involved there, too, with the effects of our manmade global warming. And if that doesn’t get the Earth, then our manmade nuclear weapons will. Nice thought, Einstein.

  Funny that, of all the clever clogs5 civilization has ever known, Einstein has become our token clever clogs – with his funny face and mad hair. Ah, what a genius. It’s ironic that his discoveries could lead to our final destruction. Started by a thought (of God). Ended by a thought from the cleverest mother yet (Einstein), with probably the dumbest mother getting to press the button (imagine a grinning Dubya-like character).

  Everything we do starts with a thought. We can create wonders with thoughts. We can invent amazing things. Our lives are made easier by the products of thoughts. We’re healthier because of hardworking scientific thinkers. We idolize the inventors, the scientists, and the thinkers. We hang on to every word of the scientist just as we used to hang on to every word of the priest (clearly, many people still do, but science has been the new religion for many of us for some time). We educate our children’s brains and encourage them to make their way in the world by using their heads. We rely on rational decisions to guide our lives.

  What else is there, though? You have to ask that. There is the heart. And there’s the gut, or instinct, and intuition. And there’s other information, too (does inspiration come from the brain, from within the body, or outside)… What about ‘spiritual information’?

  When we rely just on thoughts, we create a prison for ourselves. We are still, in many respects, a Cartesian society. ‘I think, therefore I am.’ But what if we’re not just our thoughts?

  Saying F**k It to an entirely thought-based approach to life can open you to amazing things. It also means that when the thoughts get too much, you know that you’re not just that. For example, in depression or after a trauma, our thoughts (self-doubt, over-analyzing, self-blame, etc.,) can drive us mad. Sometimes, literally.

  One quick way to realize that you’re not JUST your thoughts is to try your hand/brain at meditation. But when thoughts have become your prison, when they’re getting you down, when they’re leading you by the nose, you can realize that you’re not just your thoughts… you can say F**k It to a thought-led life, without leading a thought-less life.

  A PRISON OF EMOTION

  When we asked just now: ‘What else is there other than your thoughts?’ Possibly, there was a momentary blank for many men reading this. But the answer would have come quicker to most women: the heart and our emotional life.

  We split nicely down the usual gender mind/heart divide. Gaia is very heart-focused. I’m very in my head. She’s love. I’m ideas and laughter. She’s all warmth and intuition. I’m all dreams and reflection.

  Most people who come to F**k It Retreats are stuck in their heads (i.e., in a prison of thought), so they often benefit
hugely by working with their heart: opening up more, feeling their emotions more, and expressing more. Gaia then, in particular, is able to help them feel freer very quickly, while I relax them and make them laugh. Gaia then opens their hearts and the deep healing begins. We’re not good cop, bad cop, we’re head cop, heart cop.

  So getting trapped in the prison of emotion is less common. But it’s possible and we do see it. What is it? It’s when your life is dictated entirely by emotions. It’s when you feel everything deeply; you take everything personally. You probably cry a lot and sometimes for no reason. As an aside, this is something that I’ve only seen women do, and it baffles us blokes6. Well, I’m no longer baffled. If Gaia cries and, when I ask her why, she says ‘nothing,’ she’s not saying ‘nothing’ in a way that actually means ‘yeah, of course, it’s something really BIG, otherwise why would I be crying, but I’m not going to tell you because, even if it’s not about you this time, it usually is, and you’ll keep asking me, which makes me feel wanted and cared for, so I’ll give you one more “nothing” then, on the third request, I’ll actually tell you, okay?’… Gaia is saying ‘nothing’ because she actually means nothing. Somehow, for no obvious reason, she sometimes just feels upset, so she cries. Well, she’s now telling me that sometimes she doesn’t even feel upset, she just feels like crying, so she does.