Prepared story

(Subject of my first email to Isaac, send May 21, 2003, a week before the retreat in Venwoude).
Dear Isaac,
Some two years ago we had a chat in the park.
At some point I said, as a conclusion, and with a painfull smile on my face:
“so in a way I’m lucky to have this ‘knowing’ that I will give satsang one day,
together with the knowing that there is nothing I can do to make it happen:
It’s the most difficult nut to crack for my mind.”
And indeed it is. The knowing appeared to be a longing. Longing for attention.
Very often I’m alone, but less and less lonely.
Some month ago I went to satsang with Samarpan. I sat in the chair.
He said that he did not see questions in me. I look happy in myself, he said.
But I see them, I said, and it is ok.
But I have the idea that I have to come up some time with the final, ultimate question.
Ah, its difficult to put in words.
I might as well write down the last sentence right now:
I’m happy to know you, although its damned difficult to let go of my complex defense mechanisms.
( “I live behind a wall of abstracted thoughts/patterns”)
I have a strong longing to ….. To what?
To meet you/ the world from the heart, fresh, anew, naked, from the heart.
This looks like just words also, like sentimental crap.
I’m angry with myself, for not being being.
I’m angry that I still need a teacher.
I’m afraid.
Afraid for the spontaneity that I’m so much longing for.
Afraid to ask questions.(May be ashamed for having so many).
The last satsang in Munich I came in the chair,
prepared to make the public confession that I am addicted to …..
I said: in my life there are a lot of addictions…
You interrupted me, laughing your great giggle, asking “where is it now?”
I let you stop me there, I did not dare to express my anger,
I had the idea that for a split second you went on automatic, I did not feel that you listened.
On the other hand you prevented me from telling my prepared story.
I promised to email you my story. I never dared.
I just refound the notes I made after that session.
I write it down as cryptic as it is:
Hi Isaac, My story was about left hand tantra.
Hope + beauty = attraction.
You don’t need people for that. It works with images (porn addiction).
And it works with experiences
Longing for orgasm….the addicted left hand tantric.
The story is that I’m addicted to smoking and some sexual stuff.
Sometimes I can live with that, sometimes I can not.
I observe that I go very high/radiant every retreat,
and after some time the addiction seems to go stronger.
I am afraid that the beautifull person I become when I am around you is just another brilliant (unconsciously fabricated) variation of social behaviour.
I realised lately that social behaviour for me is not a way of relating but a defense mechanism.
I am stuck between accepting, seeing, not finding the source of this almost lifelong patterns.
And just wanting to be able to choose. Whatever that may mean.
Confusion.Silence. Not in peace with the amount of fuzz in the silence.
I finally had to write you this. Forgive me.
Looking forward to see you the coming weekend in Venwoude. Scared too.
hans van der gugten
{Next morning answer:
Dear Hans, I appreciate your letter and look forward to spending next week with you. All love, isaac.}
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