300 Words a Day - #25: Don't Ever Be Discouraged

For as long as I can remember I shared with the world my desire to be a recording artist.

Was it scary?

At times, yes.

Did I get ridiculed?

You bet I did! 

I still do!

You think I don’t get laughed at, scoffed at, for writing this blog?

You don’t think people who know me, secretly (sometimes not so secretly) laugh at my attempts to be a writer?

You didn’t think when I showed people my music, back when I was a teenager, that everybody supported me, did you?

I was laughed at from day one - even by my closest friends.

Even teachers said I was wasting my time.

Did I continue to share my dream with anybody who was willing to listen?

Too right I did, because it was too important.

And guess what I noticed… most of those who didn’t support me were the ones who didn’t have a dream of their own to go for.

Interesting, right?

Share your dream.

You’ve got nothing to be afraid of. 

If you have something to go for you have to be willing to take hits for it - and you will get hit.

It just proves you’re in the ring, fighting for what you believe in.

Kudos to you. 

You’re gaining strength.

To quote Happiness & Honey, “A dream has the power to put the fear of God in an idle heart.”

When you share with the world your dreams, you remind the non-dreamers of what they’re afraid of. But by bravely stepping forward and saying, “Think what you like, I’m doing this,” you light a torch and attract to you people and circumstances that will help you move forward.

Don’t ever be discouraged by the words or actions of those who don’t have the courage to live a dream.

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300 Words a Day - #24: The Way of Visualization - Part 4

Continuing on from the previous three posts…

Throughout the period of wanting to be a recording artist, I was given clear signs that my visualization practice was working.

After finishing high school I went off to college for two years, where I did courses I didn’t enjoy, and can’t remember anything at all about them, however, I do remember, at this time, falling in love with a synthesizer called a Roland EG-101. I was drawn to this keyboard like a moth to a flame. 

The Roland EG-101 

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On my computer at home and at college, I used a picture of this keyboard as my desktop wallpaper, so I would see this image several times a day, every day. I would gaze at it and imagine myself playing it. I would feel the cool keys beneath my fingers and imagine turning the dials.

At risk of repeating myself from previous posts, I hadn’t read anything on the law of attraction at this point.

I was like a kid who looks through a catalogue at Christmas, saying, “I want that, and that and that… and that.”

One day, when I was at college, I was fantasizing about having the Roland EG-101, when my brick of a mobile phone rang.

“What’s up, Dad?”

“You know that keyboard you want?”

“Yeah. I’m staring at it, right now.” (Because it was on my desktop.)

“So am I.”

“What?”

“I was just walking past the music shop, in town, and it’s in the window.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“They’ve just told me somebody returned it because it wasn’t the one they ordered. It’s on discount, too. Do you want me to get it, whilst it’s here? You can pay me back.”

And that’s how I obtained my first piece of kit for my music studio.

Cool, right?

This stuff really works.

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300 Words a Day - #23: The Way of Visualisation - Part 3

In the previous post, I went through some of the things I did to make my dream of becoming a recording artist a reality. How I used to sit up in bed, every night, hands together as if I was praying, and picture in my mind what I wanted my future to look like, as if the goal had already been accomplished.

There was something within, an innate knowing, that told me that by repeating this exercise, I would be hooking my dream and reeling it into my experience.

Even in my late teens, when I started to come home under the influence, I would still sit up in bed and do my visualising.

As my bedroom was spinning and all I wanted was to sink into my cold pillow, I can remember a sober part of me asking, “How badly do you want it?”  

I would hurl myself up, clasp those hands, go through the routine and then finally collapse into a drunken stupor.

This dream meant the world to me. 

I was obsessed with it.

I would listen to the music of the artists I wanted to be like as much as I possibly could.

I would go to sleep with my headphones on.

At the cinema I was told to turn my music down - “Off would be better!”

Having a meal with family, I would have at least one earphone in.

I earned £6 a week from a paper round I had. I saved the money to buy albums and singles (it took two weeks, sometimes three, to buy one album.) 

When I got to college, I would spend my lunch money on music. 

My dad was once frustrated at this. I can remember saying, “Would you rather I bought cigarettes?”

That kept him quiet for a bit.

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Dying in a Dream

I'm not really one for sharing dreams but I feel compelled to share this one with you.

It happened a couple of nights ago.

I was laying on the backseat of my parents' car. I wasn't well at all. I think the car was going really fast, so I'm guessing we were whizzing our way to the hospital.

All of a sudden I floated out of my body and sat up straight. There was no panic whatsoever. In fact, I was really calm, collected and at peace.

I said, 'Dad, I think I've died.'

But even though I had said those words they were silent. Come to think of it, it was exactly like a thought. I was aware that my words were silent to the ear, but I also knew that my dad could hear me.

He turned around instantly and gently nudged my body. When he saw that it was lifeless pandemonium broke out in the car.

My parents were crying and panicking and all the while I was saying to them (silently, as before), 'I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm here.' But I knew it was futile. They couldn't hear me anymore.

And I knew why.

It was their fear.

Their fear was overriding that part of their psyche that only a moment before was alert and sensitive enough to hear my silent words.

** Reflecting on the dream, I can't help but think that this is exactly what happens when we die. And those who are left behind block the channel of contact with fear of their own death and the suffering they cause themselves through grieving severely.

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Thanking J. Krishnamurti

I thought I would share on here my latest review on Goodreads.

It sounds quite a boring thing to share but after reading it I hope you'll see why I did so.

OK, so my original review of this book wasn't a very good one. In fact, I wrote it when I had given up on the book at about 3/4 of the way through it. I had lost patience with his constant putting down of humanity, calling it 'vulgar' time and time again. I felt like he was having a good old moan and I wasn't willing to invest any more time in it. On the night I wrote the review I had a dream of Krishnamurti... honestly, I'm not making this up. He was sat at a desk in what appeared to be a classroom. Every time I try and think of what was said between us, all I remember is this:

Me: So you want me to read books that I don't agree with!?

And a frustrated He: Yes! You HAVE to!!

Not surprisingly I woke up from the dream rather perplexed. After a few minutes of failing to remember more of what was said, I picked up the unfinished book and read it to the end.

I believe that we read what we read because there's something in the book for us; to help us; to guide us; to maybe move us onto the next step or help push forward an idea. This is illustrated beautifully when someone recommends a book to you and it contains the words you needed to hear at that exact moment in your life.

Well, good'old J. Krishnamurti obviously wanted me to finish his book because right at the very end, the very last entry he had made was, for me, exactly that.

Thank you, J. Krishnamurti, for guiding me out of my ignorance.

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The Death and Birth of Dreams

I'm happy to announce that my new book, Happiness & Honey, is now out to buy in paperback and on electronic formats.

The short fable is about a bee who exists at a time when bees didn't believe they could fly. They spend all their time slaving away to make honey. Billy was a bee who dreamt he could fly, but was told to turn his back on his silly dreams, to get some responsibilities and to go to work and make as much honey as possible.

I remember when the idea came to me: I was out walking on a cool day after a really hot spell. It was early in the year, too - Spring, I believe. I stepped over a bee on the pavement that also looked like it was out for its daily stroll. Then the idea popped into my head about a bee that couldn't fly.

I'm a guilty dreamer . . . for ten years I entertained the dream of becoming a music producer. I pursued it right to the very end, signing along the dotted line of the contract when I was 23. But it turned out that I had outlived the dream. I no longer resonated with the role of music producer. So much resistance and uncertainty took place around that time that I can remember crying myself to sleep one night.

I was saying goodbye to a part of myself that I had lived and breathed for a decade.

I was grieving the death of a dream.

It didn't help that I had identified myself with the outcome of the dream - so when the dream was realised and fell flat on its face, I was left asking who I was.

I remember a friend saying to me at the time, 'This could be the best thing that ever happened to you.' And he was right, for now I had space in life for something that would be up to date with my ideals and my sense of self.

It occurred to me that if I had got a recording contract, I could have and do anything I put my mind to. 

This is how writing came into the picture.

I had wanted to write a book since I was very young, but making music always took precedence.

Having written three books so far, I intend to continue . . . but who knows, maybe I'll turn my back on it further down the line and take up painting as a means of expressing myself.

Although I can't draw to save my soul . . .

Happiness & Honey is available on Rowanvale Books

I hope it touches the dreamer in you.

www.gavinwhyte.co.uk