• Dr. Stefan

Sunday 07/24/2021 1256 Pe'ahi Hawai'i

Reflecting on my earlier post, I realized that there was a key element that I had left out of the equation. It has been as simple (and complex) as giving myself permission to be me; to give myself what I really want, really need--not just wanting or believing I should want all of the contemporary glory and nonsense of the modern world.

This is especially poignant for me since, from my earliest day, I had my unworthiness deeply hammered into me on a daily basis. The net effect can be easily seen in the artifacts of my life: emotional incest, depression, chronic compulsive eating, alcoholism (starting age 13), twenty three years of "professional" drug abuse (now 38.5 years clean from cocaine), many broken relationships and a grand total of 17 major surgeries (reflecting, to some extent, my poor self image and self-care).

Being able to feel joy now in the simple (and not-so-simple) acts of daily life is proving to be enormous and extremely fulfilling. I am no longer living for "when I am fixed" (in the old deluded image), but for the joy and wonder of every day, every moment.

I thank you, my Self.

  • Dr. Stefan

Sunday July 24th, 2021 1107 Pe'ahi Hawai'i

I woke up from a wonderful dream this morning, filled with the embracing sense of fulfillment, a deep satisfaction with my writing life and the results thereof--especially the most recent results that have been accruing on a daily basis since a recent emotional breakthrough this past Tuesday night (see earlier post). I must admit that I am still riding the wave of that experience in terms of a re-ordering of certain old beliefs and ideas I had held tightly for more than fifty years.

What I am speaking to here is the death of a personal illusion (it could be argued that clinically it might be termed "delusion")--a persistent belief maintained without any evidence other than my own desire and a fervent wish to succeed that would, in effect, "fix me" in terms of my prevailing and pervasive sense of lack of self-love, and garnering the ornaments of such as seen in the contemporary world (i.e., validation, material wealth, status, property and most distortedly, my belief that I needed all of those to "qualify" to have a loving intimate relationship).

Driving all of these discontents has been, of course, a core dissatisfaction with my own perceived sense of self and value. The vision/illusion I carried was that of myself as a flamboyant man-of-the-world, celebrated world-class author who was feted and adored everywhere; celebrated for his literary brilliance and the general qualities of a true bon vivant. Living the high life in terms of contemporary society, even though I had long detested this strictly superficial standard imposed by the permanent-war, consumerist-driven plutocracy.

So, this dream brought me an update to myself: Ever since I decided some three months ago to consciously surrender my focus and the drive of that false vision, I have been far more content and genuinely satisfied with my writing life and the beautiful "stuff" that is coming through me. I woke to the thought: "It is in the contentment and satisfaction with the work itself that the joy and worth and value is to be found, not in publishing contracts and international book tours."

I realized in that moment that it was all true and that, in the midst of editing the second draft of Book VIII in my Paul Marzeky mystery series, that I am very pleased and excited with the way the work is flowing; and I found myself reflecting, without conscious intent, on what was next in terms of a writing project. So, now I know that I will be rewriting an earlier, non-fiction book called Transcendental Retirement. What fun lies ahead of me!

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  • Dr. Stefan

This is the Invocation for Book VIII of the Paul Marzeky Mystery Series (currently in progress).


Omnia post obitum fingit majora vestutas;

Majus ab exquiius nomen in ora venit.”

What th’ envious herd deny me whilst I live,

Fame to my ashes shall interest give;

From human ashes breaks a brighter flame,

And tongues are loud to lend the dead a name.

Sextus Propertius Elegies: 1-21, Book 3 (Cynthia), ca. 29 BCE

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