I thought of some things I wanted to say but I wasn't sure I would feel good about saying them so I tabled the decision of whether or not I would write them until after yoga. I get most of the answers I need to the important questions in my life during meditation so dedicating the practice to the answer was perfect.
We started off with a famous and well used Sanskrit chant:
Lokah Samasta Sukinoh Bhavantu
Loosely translated it means "May all beings everywhere be happy and free and may my thoughts and actions contribute in some small way to that happiness and to that freedom for all."
Now that sentiment is truly one that I hold dear to my heart. I do want to contribute in some small or big way to everyone's happiness and freedom. That's the sole reason I make movies and TV shows and write books.
In this scary, fucked up, fractured world, anything that can make us feel united, part of a whole, I feel is the greatest gift one can give. Based on the large majority of the reaction I have gotten to my work over the last 15 years, I seem to be achieving my goal and for that I am deeply grateful. If by cleaving my heart open, bearing my soul, you identify with me and feel less isolated as a result, we are one, and that feels really good for both of us.
I was concerned that the thoughts I wanted to share with you would fly in the face of this beautiful request to the universe for all people to be happy and free, in part from my actions and thoughts, and that made me sad. But I continued my practice and continued listening to see if there were any more messages and lo and behold, half way through a vigorous sun salutation with some cool music blasting, I heard the answer loud and clear.
"You will be helping them to be happy and free because you'll be talking in a language they understand."
I was thrilled! In the marrow of my bones I knew this to be true. See, these feelings I wanted to share weren't going to be directed at you, my loyal and united fans, they were going to be directed at the vast minority who from time to time yell loudly, begging for my attention. I usually treat them like the terrorists they are and don't respond, but this time somehow I wanted to buck that age old theory of non-negotiation and find some way to help them to be happy and free too. I feel I've failed them and I don't like that. I won't accept that they are lost forever. I realized in yoga that I've been speaking a language they don't speak and therefore my work has been lost on them. And the thing is, I know their language well, I just haven't spoken it in a very long time. But like riding a bike, I feel certain I will remember it right away and they will be able to be, through this new communication method, brought into the fold and enjoy the happiness and freedom that we all feel being brothers and sisters in this crazy world we all love.
To give most of you a little back story on why I felt it necessary to share these particular thoughts that will follow, since I know most of you are oblivious to the Rosemary that spawned this baby, allow me to give you the account of the little demon's birth.
Daily I check to see how many people have read my blog. Whether it's growing, ebbing, flowing... It consistently grows a little every week in its readership, which is great. The other day the number suddenly spiked, like, a bazillion percent. Like many thousands of people above the usual number. I called the friendly people at Rudius who run the site and asked if maybe the counter was broken. They informed me that no, it was working fine and that maybe I had been linked somewhere. I don't even know what "linked" means. I turn on the computer; write my little blog, Google the weather forecast, NFL lines, and the occasional Animal Love porn site and we're done. You know, the minimal.
So then I got a couple emails from friends asking me if I was okay about this "Gawker thing." I really had no clue what a "Gawker thing" was but I deduced from these emails that they were the "link" that had created this 10,000 percent increase in my fans. I was so grateful and excited that these nice folks over at Gawker, whatever that was, had seen fit to write such nice things about me and send so many people my way. I didn't really have time to find them, you know with my life and all, making movies and TV shows and writing books that millions of people world wide love and will love for hundreds of years, long after the small, sad, scared gossip writers who spew hate because they can't get a job either for lack of talent or gumption, have been forgotten; not that these Gawker people were among this crowd, you know, I'm just sayin'... So I just went on about my day enjoying the nice feeling that some stranger had performed this mitzvoth on my behalf.
For a week my website kept climbing and climbing. Amazing letters, like the wonderful ones you guys always write me were pouring in from all these new people. It was amazing. Thousands and thousands and thousands of new people every day. Day after day. And then all these nice writers from Salon and Maxim Radio and the Post and Glamour started asking me if I wanted to be interviewed about this Gawker thing.
Thank you Gawker. I love you. Man, how great. So I did the first interview yesterday with Salon, and she asked me some questions about the "Gawker thing" and I felt a little badly since I hadn't read it and had to wing some of my answers but I knew a little because some friends had told me a little bit about what had been written there. Apparently some of the gals I had met in the past that missed me terribly and felt too hurt to contact me personally had written in to this Gawker thing and shared some of their pain.
The interview was lovely and I went home. I had a few minutes before I had to get back to work so I decided to try to find this Gawker on the internet and read it so I would be more informed for my subsequent interviews.
Guys, I was sooooooooooooo disappointed. Here I thought that whatever this Gawker thing was was going to be interesting, funny, smart, something, but it was none of those things. They were trying their best to be snarky and mean but they were so banal and sophomoric and uncreative about it it made me embarrassed for them. I mean the biggest reviewers in the world writing for the most important papers in the world have taken their best shots at me over the years, and while misguided and like all hate gossip obvious declarations of their own self-hate, at least they were well written. These were just so, seventh grade... but then I realized, it must actually be some kind of seventh grade school paper that a school put up on the internet. So these people writing, and the readers writing in were actually little seventh graders and then I wasn't as disappointed. I mean I still had more hope for fourteen- year-olds but at least they were trying their best and had figured out how to get their little articles up on the internet. That was impressive.
And then it made sense why the girls I had known had written in, deciding it best to express their feelings in that forum, a seventh grade newsletter, rather than express whatever feelings they had directly to me, you know, like an adult. They were girls that I hadn't wanted to date for more than twenty minutes, unfortunately, for many reasons, well, for one, although not fourteen, emotionally, apparently so. They felt more comfortable in their element.
Although I wasn't as disappointed in Gawker now that I realized the people running and reading it were children, it was very troubling, however, that these were homophobic, anti-gay children. That actually concerned me very much.
The spirit behind some of the things they were saying about me made it clear that Gawker is a homophobic and anti-gay publication. That sucked to find out. They seemed to think if I was gay or bisexual that would be an abhorrent thing. Wow. Gawker is anti-gay. Who knew?
What they did make clear, along with their anti-gay message, was that they and their readers are obsessed with me. And since I do want to help them be happy and free, I want to give them the gift of the truth straight from my mouth. I know it will make their day, so kind of like The Make A Wish Foundation granting gifts for emotionally and mentally handicapped kids, I thought I would clear up a few things for all of you Gawkerites who can't get enough of me.
To keep it short and sweet. Ladies, you doth protest too much. Just too fucking much, huh? Like on and on and on and on protesting? Yeah, you really really really think I'm ugly and aren't into me blah bede blah blah. Couldn't be that your feelings were hurt because I didn't like you, could it? Doh! Na. You just want to help the public to an informed opinion about just how much you weren't into me.
I'm sorry I didn't like you. Really I am. I wish you had the grace and dignity and respect not to lie about what happened, which each of you that wrote in, to some extent, know you did.
Yeah, their story was the whole story. You believe that, you're fourteen. Oh wait, right. Seventh graders.
But the most important thing at this juncture is that I forgive you all for all of your transgressions. And as proof, here's my olive branch Gawkerites. Just so you know I'm sincere. I want to give you a really really serious gift in hopes that we can make up and better understand each other and in doing so, I can help make your lives happier and freer.
What I'm about to say is the deepest. It won't ever get any deeper. So take a deep breath. Sit down. Prepare. I didn't make it up. People have been offering it up since the beginning of time in different ways but it's always the same message. And I want to share it with you in a language you can understand.
For those of you who are already down with its premise, or even more so, down with it in your heart, (meaning all my faithful readers) it won't come as any surprise and you'll get chills. It's unavoidable. It's staring into the face of God (whatever that means to you as long as it's a loving and abundant conception. And for you atheists, you're not left out of this party either, not by a long shot, it's the secret to your euphoric experience here in this lifetime even though the earthly experience is the be all and end all for you. The effects are equally as beautiful.)
Those of you who are like I used to be (and still can be in an instant if I'm not constantly vigilant and battling the dark pull to be so) and are desperately afraid of who you are deep inside, and are still, like a puppet, tossed about by your self hate and shame, clueless to the origin of your profound unhappiness and the truth that you are perfect as you are, won't understand it. And if you do, the scared puppet master in charge of you (whose only hope for sustained life is keeping you in the dark, away from this truth because it will set you free and in doing so kill him off) will convince you that it's foolish and pathetic and weak and uncool and cause you to dismiss its absolute, undeniable truth.
But my hope is that one day, like I did; you'll be graced with the courage to embrace it as your divine mother and father. Human mother and father, and you won't continue to kill every moment of this precious oh so short life and actually will find some happiness.
Believing it is really really hard. Living it, ridiculously harder. I fail most of the time but I at least have been blessed with enough courage to know that it's the only thing that has any hopes of delivering me to a happy life. And for that I'm grateful. And in knowing that, I am compelled to, in every single moment that I don't want to, that I want to live counter to it and take the infinitely easier dark way out, heed its council, in spite, and summon the courage to act from its voice.
It's a motherfucker. It's gonna fuck your shit up big time.
Ready? Really ready? Here it is.
I am you.
OH SHIT!!!! THAT'S RIGHT!! NO WAY!!!!
I... am... you.
In every way. All the time. Without fail.
Anything you think, feel, say about me... is how you think, feel and speak about yourself. I know it's a little confusing so let me break it down and make it reeeeeeeeeeeeally simple.
If you were to say, something like, oh I don't know, "Eric Schaeffer is an asshole." What you're really saying is, "I'm an asshole."
If you were to say something like, "Eric Schaeffer is talentless." What you're really saying is "I'm talentless." Getting the hang of it now? No? Still confused? Maybe if I give you an example in the positive, your mind will be able to grasp it. If you were to say something like, "Eric Schaeffer is awesome!" What you're really saying is, "I'm awesome!" If you were to say, "Eric Schaeffer is really talented. I love him." You would really be saying "I'm really talented. I love myself."
Ahhh yes, now you're catching on... I knew you would. Yeah, it's a bitch isn't it. For those of you who (I'm sure none of you do, but hypothetically, if there were someone within ear shot who did) have an unkind thought, feeling or word for me, or if any of you who love me know anyone who seems to misunderstand me and therefore speaks, thinks of feels ill of me, it would be an awwwwwwwwwwwwwfully tough pill to swallow.
It's taken me 24 years of a serious mediation practice. A serious self examination practice. Thousands of hours spent with spiritual teachers and an equal number of hours performing service for others to finally understand this absolute truth. I know it's hard for you to grasp so I'm going to now help you in your language even more than I have already.
Before I do, I must say to my established readership, I want you to understand that this language I'm about to speak to the Gawkerites is a language I eschewed long ago. It might take you aback a bit, so I warn you now that you might want to skip the next section and jump to the end when I'm back speaking a language that you understand. The one I usually use with you and that I use in my life now 99 percent of the time. I'm sort of channeling an old dead way of speaking and relating just to try and help our new friends to come around to a better life. Forgive me for this tactic but I feel it's our only hope of helping them. So here it goes.
Gawkerites. In the past, when I was like you, (you know, how you are now, because then I was you as you are me) if I was trying to help you swallow a pill as hard to swallow as I know "I am you" is for you to swallow, I might have said something like the following;
"Don't worry, I'll help this terribly hard to swallow pill down by putting it right there on the tip of the head of my cock so when you impale your face on it, it will slide easily and effortlessly down the back of your throat in the river of cum I'm saving up for each and every one of you. As your dream come true. As your wet dream realized. Yes, that's how generous I am. I will give you that gift.
Now for you straight boys, I know many of you have only fantasized about sucking my cock, any cock, and have never done it, so you might want to practice a bit with a banana or something because even though I have an average sized cock both in length and girth, it still is going to shock you a bit when it hits the back of your throat and your gag reflex is gonna cause you to choke (I know this from the strap-ons I've sucked, which when you grow up, if you're man enough to admit you might like to experiment in your sexuality, you'll realize not only doesn't make you gay but in fact liberates you and makes you more of a real man regardless of your sexual orientation and proclivities) but just relax, I'll stop thrusting and let you get your bearings again before I slam my dick into your envious little faces, my big balls both slapping up against your sad, scared little cowardly, spineless chins and massaging the throats you only use as vehicles for your tired, pedestrian ideas to flow through and of course as my cum receptacle.
And for you girls who have had more experience, my cock might not be so hard going down because you know what it is to have a cock in your mouth, but the pill will have the same effect when it hits your stomach as it will for the boys when it mixes with all that unavoidable profound anguish you have about not having had the courage to follow your dreams but instead having hid in the cesspool of your own inability to summon the strength to overcome that first humiliation of reading your story in front of class in third grade and having everyone, especially the boy or girl you liked laugh at you.
Remember how excited you were? How proud you were of your story, or song, or poem or thought or feeling? And how you hoped your mom or dad or best friend or crush would smile and say, "that was SO GREAT! You're the best! I love you!" And how blown away you felt when they rejected you, cuckolded you, scorned and embarrassed you in front of everyone? Yeah, that sucked so bad that you said to yourself that you will NEVER EVER try again. You'll just spend the rest of your life on earth trying to get even and hurt them like you were hurt. So, you, champions that you are, courageous men and women that you are, (well tiny children with malformed, stunted child psyches that you are in men and women's bodies,) continue to spend your time desperately trying to gain a smidgen of self esteem by attempting to pull down those people who, like you, suffered the same heartbreak, but unlike you suffered it over and over and over and over and over and over again and still had the balls to continue pursuing their dreams because they knew for every one of you out there that would spend their life trying to kill them for having the courage you would never have, could never have, there are a thousand others like themselves who do have the courage of their convictions and the strength of heart and will to follow their dreams, and that the joy of uniting with even one of those thousand like minded warriors would be sublime to the millionth degree compared to the lonely obvious pathetic pin prick of your attempt to bring them down, which screams the truth of what it and you really are;
A sad, lonely person, who wishes with every ounce of your being that you could be, if only for one second of your life, like those people who have enough courage to actually live their life without the care of what others think, feel, and say about them."
But, since I'm not that person anymore, of course I wouldn't say anything like that now. I would instead echo Mother Theresa and Dr. Kent M. Keith's point of view on the matter and use their eloquent discourse as an offering of how to change your lives for the better. You know, as my gift. And of course, this part is for my alumni as well.
1. This version was found written on the wall in Mother Teresa's home for children in Calcutta: "Do It Anyway."
People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.
What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.
Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.
In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.
2. The Original Version:
To the millions of you who join me on this really really amazing and really really hard journey, I love you. All of you. The haters and the lovers. Because you are empty. The beauty I see in you is my beauty and the hate I see in you is my hate, so regardless of what you mirror back to me, you are my teachers and I am eternally grateful to you.
And Gawkerites, if you see me in yoga, or on the street or in a restaurant, come over and say hi. I'm not one of the cool kids. I'll be your friend. Remember, everyone is as scared of you as you are of them. The big secret. Namaste, e
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 11:17 AM