“I’m beginning to understand why you said that what we believe becomes our reality.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t stop there.”
“Wow, this is killing me!”
“When you believe something, it leads you to adopt certain behaviors that will have an effect on the behavior of others in a way that will, once again, reinforce what you believe.”
“Hey, now you’re getting complicated.”
“It’s simple. Let’s stay with the same example: you are convinced that the world is dangerous, that you have to be wary. How are you going to behave when you meet new people?”
“I’m going to remain on my guard.”
“Yes, and your expression will probably be fairly opaque, not very inviting.”
“No doubt.”
“But these people who are meeting you for the first time are going to see it, feel it. How are they themselves going to behave toward you?”
“There is a good chance that they will remain on their guard and not open up to me.”
“Exactly! Except that you are going to see that; you are going to feel that they are aloof, slightly strange with you. Guess how you are going to interpret it, swayed by your beliefs.”
“Obviously, I’m going to tell myself that I’m right to be suspicious.”
“Your beliefs will be reinforced.”
“That’s awful.”
“In this case, it is. But it also works in the opposite way: if you are, deep down, convinced that everyone is friendly, you are going to behave very openly with people. You will smile, be relaxed. And that, of course, is going to lead them to open up, to relax in your company. You will unconsciously have the proof that the world is indeed friendly. Your belief will be reinforced. But you must understand that this process is unconscious. That is why it is powerful. At no moment will you consciously say to yourself, It’s just what I thought—people are friendly. No. You won’t need to say it because, for you, it’s normal. That’s the way it is: people are friendly, it’s obvious. In the same way, those who think that they must at all costs be wary of others find it normal to meet aloof, even unpleasant people, even if they actually hate feeling this way.”
“It’s crazy. In the end, without realizing it, we each create our own reality, which is in fact nothing but the fruit of our beliefs. Incredible!”
“That last word is well chosen.”
I sensed a certain satisfaction in him. He must have been seeing that I was beginning to understand the force and the extent of the theory. I was truly astounded. I now saw that human beings were victims of their own ideas, their own convictions, their own “beliefs,” to use his word. The most awful thing, perhaps, was that they didn’t know it. And for a good reason: they didn’t even realize they believed what they believed. Their beliefs were not conscious. I wanted to shout it out to the whole world, to explain that they were ruining their lives because of things that were not even real. I saw myself driving around the planet in one of those vans used for advertisements. I would shout into the loudspeaker and broadcast my amplified voice from town to town: “Ladies and gentlemen, you absolutely must stop believing what you believe. You are making yourselves suffer.” It would only take three days for the men in white coats to come and put me in a straightjacket.
“Right, just one thing, though: these beliefs we have, what areas do they concern? How far do they go?”
“We have all developed beliefs about ourselves, about others, about our relationships with others, about the world that surrounds us, about everything, more or less. Each one of us carries within himself a constellation of beliefs. They are numberless and direct our lives.”
“And some are positive, and some are negative, right?”
“No, not exactly. We can’t judge our beliefs. The only thing that can be stated is that they are not reality. What is more interesting, however, is to understand their effects. Each belief tends to produce both beneficial effects and limiting effects. Now, I recognize that certain beliefs lead to more beneficial effects than others.”
“Yes, it seems to me that it is in our interest to believe that the world is friendly, isn’t it? What’s more, I can’t see how the belief that the world is dangerous can have beneficial effects.”
“It does, though. Such a belief would lead you, of course, to protect yourself to excess, you would no doubt spoil your life a little, but the fact is that, if one day you met a real danger, you would perhaps be more protected than someone who believes that everything is for the best.”
“Mmm.”
“That’s why it is important to become aware of what we believe, then to realize that they are only beliefs and, finally, discover their effects on our lives. It can help us understand many of the things we live through.”
“By the way, yesterday you said that we would touch on what it is that is preventing me from being happy.”
“Yes, but first I am going to give you work to do on your own: I have two tasks, which you must carry out after our session, before we see each other again.”
“Right.”
“The first consists of dreaming while staying awake.”
“That I think I can do.”
“You will dream that you are in a world where everything is possible. Imagine there is no limit to what you are capable of achieving. Act as if you had every qualification in the world, all the qualities that exist, a perfect intelligence, highly developed interpersonal skills, a wonderful body—everything you want. Everything is possible.”
“I sense I’m going to like this dream.”
“Imagine what your life looks like in this setting: what you do, your job, your leisure, how your life unfolds. Keep at the forefront of your mind that everything is possible. Then write it down and bring it to me.”
“Fine.”
“Your second task involves doing certain investigations.”
“Investigations?”
“Yes, I want you to gather the results of scientific research carried out in the United States on the effects of placebos. We will then talk together.”
“But where am I going to find that?”
“In the United States, all the pharmaceutical laboratories carry out research because they have to; they are not allowed to put a drug on the market if it hasn’t been scientifically proven to be more effective than a placebo, that is, an inactive substance. Indirectly, that provides precise statistics on the effectiveness … of placebos. Nobody uses these statistics. But I find them worthy of interest. I know that laboratories have produced certain results. You’ll find them.”
“You know them?”
“Of course.”
“Well, in that case, why are you asking me to find them? We would save a lot of time by talking about them straightaway. You know, I am flying back home on Saturday; that leaves few opportunities for us to meet—”
“Because listening to someone giving you a piece of information and finding it for oneself at the source is not at all the same thing.”
“Forgive me, but I don’t see what that changes.”
“If I talk to you about them, you can always doubt the figures that I give you. And, knowing you slightly, I know you will not fail to do that! Perhaps not at the moment, but later. Besides, it’s not by listening to someone talking that you make progress. It’s by doing, having experiences.”
“But where will I be able to get this information? I’m not in a hotel. I have no way of getting access to the Internet, and I have never seen an Internet café on the island.”
“He who allows himself to be halted by the first difficulty in his path does not go far in life. Come on. I have confidence in you.”
“One last thing: when can I come tomorrow to find you completely available, with more time?”
He looked at me for a few moments smilingly. I wondered if I had said something I shouldn’t again.
“First and foremost, do not start thinking that you need me. The time I can give at the time you come will be suff
icient.”
8
GOING BACK TO my car, I wondered how this man could remain so calm, serene, with such a kindly look, while sometimes saying things that absolutely weren’t what I wanted to hear.
He was really unusual, and I continued to be amazed by his knowledge of Western news. I would have sworn he’d never left his village, so I found it hard to understand how this old man from the other side of the world drew his wisdom from Western research. Weird.
I was beginning to know the road, and I was in Ubud in no time. The sun set early, and it was already dark when I parked near the great market. The scent of incense was coming from the garden terrace of a small restaurant. The Balinese often use incense to repel mosquitoes. You could see sticks burning on saucers laid out in gardens or at the entrance to houses. It contributed to the intoxicating nighttime atmosphere in Ubud.
I slipped into the restaurant, sat beneath a tree, and ordered grilled fish. There were candles on the tables in the garden, to which were added torches stuck in the grass, burning slowly, giving off a soft, warm light. Shouts could be heard here and there, coming from the street—no doubt Balinese calling to passing foreigners to offer services as unofficial taxi drivers. I had an hour to pass before the concert. Bali was the only place in the world where I didn’t look at my watch every half hour. Here, time had no importance. It was the time that it was, and that was that. Like the weather, no one tried to figure out what it would be like. In any case, every day would have sun and rain. That’s the way it was. The Balinese accepted what the gods gave them without asking embarrassing questions.
I thought again of the wise man’s request that I dream of an ideal life where I would be happy. I needed a little time to get myself into the shoes of someone allowed to do anything and imagine what my life would be like. You don’t have those sorts of thoughts every day. Personally, I was more used to noting each day everything that wasn’t right in my life, rather than thinking about what I would really like it to be …
When I allowed myself to dream, the first thing that came to mind was that, if everything was possible, I would change my job. Teaching was, certainly, a noble and rewarding profession, but I had had enough of teaching a subject to children who didn’t like it and were even profoundly bored by it. I knew, of course, that by setting about it differently, you could increase their motivation and learn to interest them, but I was obliged to apply to the letter the official syllabus and stick to current teaching methods, methods completely unsuited to today’s students. I couldn’t bear being caught between the totally different demands of the administration and the classroom anymore. I wanted fresh air, a total job change, to fulfill myself in an artistic field. I dreamed of making my passion my profession, and my passion was photography. I especially loved capturing facial expressions with portraits that revealed a subject’s personality, his emotions, his moods. Even wedding photography attracted me. If anything was possible, I would start my own photography studio. Not one of those factories for churning out dull, posed photos—no, a studio specializing in candid photos that captured the attitudes and personalities of my subjects. My photos would tell stories. Looking at them, you would understand what each person thinks and feels. They would decode the emotions of the parents, the hopes or the fears of the in-laws, the look in the eyes of the elder sister who is wondering when her turn will come, or the divorcees telling each other that these newlyweds believe in Santa Claus. I would want to immortalize people’s happiness, also, so that all their lives, with a single glance, they could plug back into the atmosphere and emotions of the big day. A successful photo says so much more than a long speech.
My studio would have a lot of success and would become famous. Magazines would publish some of my photos. I would at last be recognized for my talent. Yep, it’d be cool. I would hold my prices down to allow a broad public to buy my services. Even so, I’d manage with no trouble to double or even triple the amount I’d earned as a teacher. I could at last buy a house. A lovely house I’d design and have built. I would have a garden, and I’d read books there on the weekends, stretched out in a deck chair, in the shade of a lime tree. I would lie in the grass and have a siesta, my nostrils tickled by the scent of the daisies. And then, of course, I’d be with a woman I loved and who loved me. That went without saying. I would also learn to play the piano. I’d always wanted to play an instrument! This time, I’d do it. And then I’d play Chopin nocturnes in the evening, in my grand drawing room, with the fire crackling in the hearth. Every now and then, I’d have friends over and play for them. My happiness would be contagious.
“Your fish, sir.”
“Er, sorry?”
“Would you like lemon or spicy sauce?”
“Lemon, please.”
The fish was presented whole on my plate, and I had the impression its eye was looking at me. I started to feel guilty about dreaming of happiness while this fish had died for me. He was reminding me of this by staring at me.
I was almost surprised to observe that my dream was not enormous. I didn’t need to become a millionaire to be happy, nor to be a rock star or a well-known politician. And yet, this simple dream and the happiness it contained seemed inaccessible. I was almost annoyed with the healer for having half opened a door onto what my life could have been. A door which, once closed again, left a bitter taste. It made obvious to my consciousness the immense gap between dream and reality.
There remained the other task he had given me. I wondered where I could find Internet access. No doubt in a hotel, as long as it was sufficiently luxurious to be well equipped. But there was a risk I’d be refused access because I wasn’t a guest. Right, I’d do it tomorrow. I’d test my luck in one of the palaces on the coast. I’d invent some fib and try to find a way.
The fish didn’t look as though it approved of my idea. It went on staring at me with its guilt-provoking eye. My appetite gone, in the end I asked for the bill, leaving my plate half full. Sorry, old chap—you died in vain.
Outside, I found again the relaxed atmosphere of the street. I came across Hans and Claudia outside the concert hall. Standing up, they were hurriedly eating a sort of unappetizing sandwich. Naturally: why seek enjoyment? You waste less time eating a snack, and it’s cheaper. In short, more rational!
“Good evening, Julian!” they said in chorus.
“Good evening to the pair of you! Right, how many temples did you visit this afternoon?”
“Let’s say we used our day most profitably,” replied Hans.
“The concert’s about to start,” announced Claudia.
The concert hall was, in fact, a sort of open-air amphitheater. It was already almost full, and we sat at the back, right at the top, but facing the stage. As a demanding music lover, I had a few ideas about gamelan—a sort of large bamboo xylophone that produced a limited range of crude sounds. That evening, there were no less than eight on the stage, and, when the concert began, I was surprised by the volume of noise that rose up in the amphitheater. At first the sound seemed deafening, even cacophonic, but a sort of overall coherence appeared to me later. I soon had to recognize there was something enchanting in this music that lacked harmony to Western ears. After a while, the repetitiveness of the melodies hypnotized me, I found myself in a sort of trance, as if borne along by the obsessive sounds that had a hold on my brain. A strong smell of incense was spreading in the amphitheater, in different places, and was circling round the audience. Ten or twenty minutes had gone by, perhaps more because I was losing my sense of time, when the dancers appeared on stage, dressed in their sublime, richly colored, refined traditional dress. Their hair was done in sophisticated chignons decorated with pearls and fine ribbons. Their dance steps were precise, delicate, each movement demonstrating incredible femininity and grace. At a distance, I could see their upturned eyes, and, all of a sudden, I understood that they were in a trance; they were dancing in a hypnotic state. It was impressive to watch them moving perfectly in rhythm to the sound of the gam
elans, which sustained their trance and communicated it to the spectators. Their movements on stage were measured, their coordination perfect. Their hands played a crucial role in the dance. They moved in a series of delicate gestures, very codified, as elegant as they were precise. The public was captivated, and I could feel it vibrate in harmony with the dancers. The aroma of the incense bewitched us. Only Hans looked at his watch from time to time. Claudia was enthralled by the spectacle. I had the impression she was going to levitate, a phenomenon that would have greatly interested her scientist husband. The rhythm got progressively faster, and the mind-numbing sound of the gamelan grew louder, taking control of my brain and possessing my soul, which was no longer quite my own. The perfume of the incense occupied my body and impregnated each fiber of my being. The stage lights swirled in my head while each cell of my body vibrated to the rhythm of the percussion instruments.
9
I FOUND IT difficult to drive at night after such a concert. Fortunately, all I had to do was follow Hans and Claudia’s car. I knew I could trust Hans: he had not been affected by the performance. I was driving on autopilot, and yet the road seemed very long. We went through woods, fields, and innumerable villages where I had to concentrate so as not to hit the few people still present in the streets. The hardest was to avoid the cars that were driving in all directions, most of the time without lights. The Balinese believe in reincarnation and, as a result, are not afraid of death. It makes them very reckless, whether they are pedestrians or drivers. The poor mortal that I am had to be extra vigilant.
It was nearly midnight when we arrived on the beach at Pemuteran. The sky was black, but points of light indicated the presence of several people at different places on the beach. The moon occasionally came out from the clouds that were trying to hold it back, casting bright, cold light on the little waves licking the sand. The three of us were stopped by an official who was controlling access to the beach.
The Man Who Wanted to Be Happy Page 4
