One...

"Get a grip and get up, you fool. Get up off the floor and get back into the center of the ring."

He could hear the voice, but there was no one there. He was down for the count. Flat on his back, his head was spinning and he was fading away. He was checking out. Cashing in his chips. What a place to go. Just above the Sunset Strip. What a time to go. Just another funny man falling off the earth. Falling on the heels of Freddie Prinze and John Belushi and Andy Kaufman and who knows how many other lesser known comics who had been dying, but not in front of an audience.

Two...

"Get up, you coward, and fight. You conquered your childhood diseases and cast your crutches away. You learned to high jump under the light of the moon and leaped over the bar and into your homemade pit again and again and again until you couldn’t go any higher. You jumped high, higher than most, and you beat gravity each of those moments that you were suspended over the bar."

The unseen voice intruded on his descent into a spinning tunnel with a tiny light at the end. But he couldn’t move his body. He was leaving his body. It was a lousy place to live after all of those years of self abuse.

Three...

"Get up, you coward and make something happen. You saw your older brother become one of the best distance runners in the country and never be recognized fully by your parents for his accomplishments... because he didn’t win enough. But he kept running and he kept caring and he kept working hard and he kept being one of the best. You saw the difference between excellence and winning."

His body rolled onto its side and moaned. A low and pathetic moan of pain and loss and self-pity. He looked back at his wracked shell and the tiny room that had once been a gate house to the villa of F. Scott Fitzgerald. The hot night and the hot cars on the Strip rumbled with decadence as he looked back at his self destruction and heard the unseen voice torment him. He realized that he was dying.

Four...

"Get up, you ingrate, and get back in front of the crowd. You worked and played with the Queen of Comedy. You were apprentice to the best. You saw Lucy’s perfectionism and indelible luminescence, but you also saw her stop the show in its tracks and hold the injured foot of the technician until help could be found. You saw the difference between charisma and caring."

His body shuddered and rolled onto its stomach below the poster photo of Io, the moon of Jupiter that he had thought was probably a better place to live than Earth.

Five...

"Get up and put your priorities right. Set your course straight. You stood in the back of The Comedy Store past midnight of your 30th birthday polluted by the smoke and booze. The crowd harassed and heckled the gross comic on stage while you waited your turn in the arena, and while your wife and family waited, neglected at home through your loss of balance. You saw the difference between love and ego gratification."

The body rolled again to its back, struggling. His spirit looked toward the light at the end of the tunnel and saw peace. It looked back at the pathetic, struggling body and saw violence. The choice seemed clear.

Six...

"Call back your spirit and try again. You woke up that morning beside your wife and she told you that she didn’t love you anymore, that she no longer wanted to be married. It was no surprise. You stood on the front porch and couldn’t look back at the failure and then you stepped off with nothing but your toothbrush and guilt. Too young, too selfish, and with too little to have shown you the way, you set out and learned to walk."

His body and spirit simultaneously had the same thought. With the sense of humor that they both had seemingly crushed, they agreed with resounding cynicism. "Why do we have to listen to this crap?" But there was no relief. It was not a laughing matter. It was a matter of life and death.

Seven...

"Open your eyes. You danced naked in the desert with your colleagues at the healing conference and then you taught your creativity and awareness exercises to the group from around the world. But that day at the pool when you held the closed and deformed hand of the old lady and saw it open for the first time in years and saw her cry with joy and saw her husband in shock, you were afraid and you ran from the power, just like you had done time and time again. Every time the spotlight shined on your brilliance as an entertainer, as a healer, and as a teacher, you pulled the plug. It was easy to fail. Success carried much responsibility."

He had spent so many years obliterating his memory, he could no longer remember what he was trying to forget. His spirit could take no more and turned toward the light - away from the dying body.

Eight...

"Reach out for the help that has always been there. Seek the vessel of inexhaustible vitality. You have seen it and you have touched it. You are loved and you can love. Sheltered from the long rains, you sat down at the desk of the stranger who came in and out of your life. She handed you a piece of paper and water colors and she put on Pachelbel’s Canon. You painted the layers of darkness that seemed to surround you, but you put a light in the center. The spark that remains."

When his spirit looked back one more time to bid farewell, it saw the eyes of the body open, and then the body reached its hand up, stretched out, looking for something to grip.

With his instinct, he felt anger. And then he gave up, but not to the descent into the spinning tunnel. He gave up to his spirit. And he heard a word come from his stomach and work its way to his mouth. And it came out. Softly, slowly, lowly and with only the faintest breath of air, he whispered, "Help." He had to get to his feet. But his body couldn’t do it. "Help me?" And his spirit responded. It came back and joined him as it lifted him to his knees. With his spirit back and with the little strength his body possessed, he worked himself to his feet, his head hanging down. His shoulder fell against the wall and there he leaned, with his head still hanging.

Nine...

"You have much to learn."

He was exhausted. But he had beaten the count. The costumed crowd screeched and laughed below on the Strip as it partied outside the Tiffany Theater waiting to get in to the Rocky Horror Picture Show. And there he leaned against the wall of his tiny cave, the rest of his life ahead of him. 

 

Sites of Related Interest

Ultimate John Belushi Tribute Page
Ted's Lucille Ball Page
SPIRIT-WWW
New Thought Movement Home Page

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