Wednesday, July 30, 2025

The Brilliance of Holotropic Breathwork


What is this Holotropic Breathwork? People lying in rows on the ground breathing fast while some strange loud music goes on and they start to go into a trance of some kind. That's what it looks like to the casual observer. To be frank it looks like new age nonsense or a psychedelic episode or people being possessed by the devil. And these people start to twitch and cry and writhe and scream and of course they must be making this up or they must be on something. Or this must be some marketing gimmick like those exorcisms that you find two a dozen on Facebook… Must we spend time and membership fees on this kind of nonsense when we can very well breathe oxygen in our own home on our couch? What is the big fuss?

And yet here I am six years into Holotropic breathing, trying to tell you that this changed my life the way absolutely nothing ever has. No amount of regular meditations, counselling therapy, DBT, EFT, NLP, hypnotherapy, you name it — absolutely nothing BEGINS TO COMPARE.

What is happening here that's so special?

Breathwork is not meditation, let's get that clear. Meditation involves focusing on a certain point, be it the breathing, your thoughts, feelings of compassion, the touch of your foot on the ground — or a dot on the wall — and breathwork is not such an activity. So your mind does not need to make an effort to concentrate or to focus or to track the monkey mind and keep it out of mischief. Breathwork is WORKING on breathing. So all you have to do is breathe. But in a particular way. You breathe in a way that your entire system becomes flooded with oxygen. This takes WORK. And no you should not do this at home. Because at a certain level of oxygen saturation, a change takes place in the physiology of the brain. And it is this change that opens you up to catharsis.


What Actually Happens in a Session?

So what is happening inside a Holotropic Breathwork session?

First, you walk in, and it looks like a cross between a yoga studio and a 70s psychedelic commune. Mats, blankets, tissues, buckets (yes, buckets — we'll get to that), and facilitators with calm eyes and soft instructions.

You lie down, you are guided to start breathing — deep, connected, faster than normal. Loud music starts playing — tribal drums, evocative chants, sometimes wild classical compositions that seem to swirl you away from daily life.

Within minutes, you realise that this is not your everyday yoga breathing. Your body starts tingling — your fingers, your toes, your face. You might feel lightheaded. You might feel tears building up for no reason. You might feel laughter bubbling up from nowhere. Or terror. Or grief you buried ten years ago when your mother died. Or the deep shame you thought you'd sorted out with your therapist last year.

You keep breathing. The music gets louder. You breathe more. Your rational mind tries to grip the steering wheel — but at some point, it has to let go. That's the gift and the terror of Holotropic Breathwork: your thinking brain eventually gets out of the way and a deeper part of you takes the driver's seat. And that's when the magic happens.


Is There Any Science Behind This?

All this might sound suspiciously woo-woo. And sure, anything that puts people on the floor in trances and has them sobbing into blankets can look cultish if you don't understand what's happening. But here's where it gets interesting: the effects of Holotropic Breathwork are rooted in our biology and psychology. This is scientific.

Holotropic Breathwork was developed by Stanislav Grof, a Czech psychiatrist who pioneered LSD psychotherapy in the 1960s. When LSD was banned, Grof wanted a legal, natural way to access the same non-ordinary states of consciousness for healing. So together with his wife Christina Grof, he developed Holotropic Breathwork: holotropic means "moving toward wholeness."

The core principle is this: by deliberately over-oxygenating the body and pushing the CO₂ balance out of normal, you change the blood chemistry and the way your brain's default networks communicate.

A 2013 study published in the Journal of Psychopharmacology found that altered states of consciousness can arise naturally from breathwork, similar to those induced by psychedelics (Kjellgren & Taylor, 2013). Participants often describe profound insights, spontaneous emotional release, and feelings of connection to something larger than themselves.

Neuroscience research has shown that techniques like Holotropic Breathwork can lower activity in the Default Mode Network (DMN) — the part of the brain linked to our sense of ego and ordinary narrative self (Carhart-Harris et al., 2014). When this network quiets down, parts of the brain that don't normally "talk" start to communicate. This is why people experience sudden visions, memories, and deep emotional breakthroughs.

It's no coincidence that cultures all over the world — from Tibetan Tummo breathers to Sufi mystics to ancient shamans — have used intense breathing to reach altered states. This is deep human technology, ancient wisdom that has been forgotten.


But Why the Screaming and Crying?

Here's the thing: your body is a library. Everything that ever happened to you is stored in your tissues, muscles, nervous system. The brain likes to think it's the boss, but the body has a different memory.

When you do Holotropic Breathwork, you create conditions for suppressed emotions, unresolved traumas, and half-forgotten griefs to come up. Unlike talk therapy, you don't have to "figure it out" or "tell the story perfectly." The body does the work — you just keep breathing.

It's common to see people shaking, twitching, yelling, or sobbing uncontrollably. It's not a performance. It's not demonic possession. It's the nervous system literally unwinding. You know that phrase "the issues are in the tissues"? Holotropic Breathwork is like a direct line to those hidden places.

Grown men will weep. Women will rage like demons. During sessions, I laughed so hard I felt I was  possessed by pure joy. I've writhed on my mat, like a snake, and curled up with my feet above me rocking like a newborn. I completely lost that demarcation between me and the rest of the universe and dissolved into one beautiful pulsating vortex like a river flowing into an ocean. I have growled, snarled and trembled tetanically and then relaxed completely into a weightless, dreamless state. 

You might sweat, you might tremble, you might even feel cramps in your hands — a phenomenon called tetany, caused by changes in blood pH and CO₂ levels. It's harmless, but weird. That's why this is best done in a safe, guided space with trained facilitators.


What About the Risks?

Holotropic Breathwork is generally safe for healthy people. But there are real cautions:

  • People with severe cardiovascular conditions, uncontrolled hypertension, epilepsy, or major psychiatric disorders (like schizophrenia) are often advised not to participate.

  • Pregnant women should avoid it — you don't want intense spasms or hyperventilation while carrying a baby!

  • It's intense, so you need to trust your facilitator and your sitter - someone entirely focussed on watching over you. DO NOT do this at home alone.

A good practitioner will screen you carefully and never push you to do more than your body can handle.


What Can You Gain?

So why do people keep coming back for this "breathing nonsense"?

Because for many, it works when nothing else has.

In published qualitative studies (for example, Holmes et al., 1996), participants report lasting improvements in anxiety, depression, grief, addiction recovery, PTSD, and existential crises.

Breathwork can deliver the deep, wordless knowing that your therapist might spend ten years trying to coax out in talk therapy. You might find an image, a memory, or a feeling so profound it shifts your entire perspective on life. Some describe a mystical experience — meeting deceased loved ones, communing with archetypal figures, feeling at one with the universe. Whether you interpret these as your brain's creative fireworks or glimpses of something beyond, the impact is real.

My Story — Why I Keep Coming Back

If you asked me six years ago if I'd ever pay good money to breathe on the floor and howl at the ceiling, I'd have laughed. I was a skeptical, practical person. But then life cracked me open — a heartbreak, panic attacks, years of trauma bonding and therapy that felt like talking in circles. A dear friend who I now consider my guardian angel in human form- cajoled, begged, manipulated me to attending a breathwork workshop.

I remember my first session vividly: lying down in my comfy leggings, vaguely enjoying the new age playlist — and then, 30 minutes in, I was sobbing so hard my ribs hurt. I saw a baby son's face, felt grief and guilt I'd buried for twenty years, felt the words in my chest that I never said. And then something lifted.

Did it fix everything overnight? No. But it gave me a crack in the wall I'd built inside myself. It gave me a door. Every session since then has cleared another layer.

Okay, But How Do I Try This?

You don't need to join a cult or move to an ashram. Holotropic Breathwork is offered by certified facilitators around the world. There are workshops, retreats, sometimes short evening sessions.

A good facilitator will:

  • Take your medical history seriously.

  • Create a safe space — with plenty of blankets, water, tissues, music, and privacy.

  • Pair you with a "sitter" — someone who stays beside you to make sure you're safe while you breathe.

  • Help you integrate afterwards — because what comes up during a session can be big and needs gentle unpacking.

It's not cheap, because much thought has to be put into providing a safe space — but consider it an investment in your inner life.

A Word of Caution: Not a Quick Fix

Holotropic Breathwork is powerful, but it's not a magic bullet. Some people do one session and feel changed forever. Some need dozens over years. Some use it alongside therapy, bodywork, or psychedelics. It's a tool — and like any tool, it works best in skilled hands and with your sincere commitment. You HAVE TO DO THE WORK.


Why People Are Coming Back to Ancient Breathing

Modern medicine is slowly catching up to what ancient wisdom has always known: the breath is a bridge between body and mind.

  • Wim Hof, the "Iceman," has made cold exposure and intense breathwork famous — with studies proving his methods can influence the immune system (Kox et al., 2014).

  • Yoga traditions have used pranayama (controlled breathing) for thousands of years to calm the mind and move energy.

  • Researchers today are exploring how breathwork influences trauma processing, anxiety, and even inflammatory conditions.

Breathing is free. It's yours. And under guidance, it can open doors in your psyche you didn't know were there.

Final Thoughts

Holotropic Breathwork is not a trend. It's not hype. It's an ancient instinct packaged in a modern, structured container. It's messy. It's loud. It's inconvenient. It's breathtaking — literally.

It won't make you enlightened overnight. But it might give you a glimpse of your own raw, unedited self — and a chance to heal the bits that regular talking can't reach.

So if you ever find yourself lying on a mat, eyes closed, music booming, heart pounding, with tears rolling down your face — don't panic. You're not crazy. You're just breathing your way back home.


References


For more information on how to engage with this kind of healing modality in Sri Lanka, please contact Sandy 0777683170 or Pushy 0719977799.



Monday, June 23, 2025

The Golden Ankh

Epilogue: The Exodus of the Misfits 

It began with an uprising no one saw coming—not from the royal court, not from the dusty temples of Amok, and least of all from the bureaucratic dung heaps of Sakkara's lower archives.

Mussa, once a slouching, poetry-quoting, sandal-shuffling nonentity, and Princess Naynah, a royal rebel with more brains than patriarchal tradition would ever allow, made a break that would alter history.

With the help of Kephri the scarab—who'd rerouted a labyrinth of guards using nothing but strategically placed dung balls—and the ever-snide Serious, the talking dead cat, they fled Egypt under cover of a lunar eclipse. They navigated through forbidden tomb tunnels, bribed border guards with embalming coupons, and rode atop a stolen sacred ostrich named Marvin.

In the land beyond the desert, on the shimmering shores of the Unnamed River, they founded a city called *Sekhem-Ubasti*—"The Strength of the Forgotten."

There, cats were not sacrificed but consulted. Dung beetles were not crushed under heel but elected to Parliament. Poets, dreamers, and the genetically confused were appointed judges, counselors, and sacred scribes. Everyone had a voice—even if it squeaked, meowed, or buzzed.

Princess Naynah, now simply called Naynah the Bright-Eyed, became the first monarch of this curious land—but only after insisting on the title of 'Facilitator.' Mussa, now High Oracle (and reluctant administrative assistant), composed edicts in rhyme and decrees in riddles.

The people? Misfits, all. Refugees from ancient traditions. Makers of new myths.

And every year on the Day of the Exodus, the citizens gathered at the Great Mound of Reflection, where a marble statue of Serious the Cat stood frozen in his usual disapproving hunch, a papyrus scroll under one paw. 

Below the statue, carved in clean hieroglyphs, read:

Let no one be forgotten.

Let no voice go unheard.

Let no dung beetle go unsung.


History, of course, never mentioned this city. The priests erased it. The pharaohs ignored it. Modern archaeologists dismissed it as a myth.

But if you ever find yourself in this Empty Quadrant and you see a beetle rolling its sacred burden across the sand under the full moon—listen closely:

You might just hear the whisper of a poet laughing.


Tuesday, May 13, 2025

From Invisible to Illuminated: My Reiki Awakening


It's eleven in the night and my ears are buzzing, my fingers are tingling and I feel like I want to dance in the living room. I've had a tiring day which started at 3:33 with my meditation alarm going off and I've even just watched a movie and had a massive dinner (unusual) but none of that is slowing me down. As I type my latest generation laptop has a hard time keeping up: I have been initiated as a Reiki Healer today. 


Me: 

This ordinary dowdy retired ex-librarian, a character I felt was so gawky and gray that I sometimes have to ask people who cut ahead of me in queues, whether they actually cannot see me. 

At the start of this year I was unseen, unheard, shy, fifty-five and ready to fade away into obscurity. And now, I feel supernatural. I've just been told that I have powers. That we all do. Whatever you believe in, whatever you think is real- the fact remains that we live in a world far more magical than we've been led to believe. And today, something ancient and powerful was initiated for me.

I met Master Gamini a few weeks ago in his airy minimalistic, healing room in Battaramulla that smelled faintly of lemongrass and sandalwood. At 70+ he looks a full 20 years younger. He doesn't dress like a guru. He doesn't perform showy rituals or speak in riddles. He doesn't ask you to come for a four-day, four week or four month course. He treads lightly on the earth with a soft smile and eyes that seem to shine straight out of the quiet heart of a forest. When he speaks, it's like spring water rolling over forest rocks: gentle, steady, transformative and full of latent energy. 

Healing is his passion and he earnestly shows us hundreds of whatsapp messages he has received from all over the world. He answers his phone even at midnight if someone needs healing or even just to listen to someone crying. When he performed a Reiki healing on me a week ago I ended up weeping quietly and then falling asleep as the pain and emotional blocks melted away. 

The Healer Training is even more powerful if that can be. Powerful in its sheer simplicity.

I didn't expect the simplicity. There were no elaborate chants, no cosmic theatrics. He told us plainly, "Reiki is love. Compassion. Gratitude." And then he bowed slightly, with his hands in prayer, and looked us in the eye like we were already healers. Already whole.

He gave us four attunements. Four silent transmissions where all I did was sit and receive. And although I didn't realise it... everything changed.

I cannot explain what happened during those attunements in any logical way. At first I felt warmth, like someone had placed a hand just above my crown. Then tears—strange tears—bubbled up out of nowhere. No sadness, just the body releasing something I didn't even know I was carrying. My hands buzzed. My heart expanded. I felt seen.

The other trainee with me reported that pain that he had carried around for decade after a serious back injury, was gone. Master Gamini had narrowed into the exact location of this pain in his spine, and gently plucked it away, without a word said.

Master Gamini said something that I will carry with me for the rest of my life: "Even if you don't heal others, you can still heal yourself. That is one more healed person in the world."

I've spent most of my life giving everything to everyone else. I didn't know how to love myself. But now, every morning, I put my hands gently on my heart and say: Thank you, Pushy, for being here. Thank you, Reiki, for being here. Thank you. And I feel it. Not just the words. The truth of it.

We were taught to begin every self-healing with gratitude. To trust our intention more than any timer or technique. To sit with the energy like you'd sit with an old friend. The practice is beautifully slow. You place your hands over your chakras, over your knees and ankles. You don't force anything. You don't make an effort to focus. You care for yourself and in caring, you begin to remember yourself.

Tonight I am buzzing, yes. But underneath the wild electrical current is a deep, pulsing peace. Like the Earth is breathing through me. Like I'm no longer a stranger to myself.

I never imagined I would be the kind of person who believes in energy healing. I thought that was for others—more spiritual, more radiant, more whole. But Reiki doesn't ask you to be anything other than what you are. It just meets you. And then, if you're willing, it begins to reintroduce you to your own light.

I don't know where this path will lead.

But I know I've stepped onto it barefoot, raw, grateful.

Thank you, Master Gamini.

Thank you, Reiki.

Thank you, Me.

(Author's note: Master Gamini welcomes people who want to train as healers. There are no unnecessary complications, and the whole introductory process takes four hours from start to finish. If you are curious to see what it's all about please contact him at +94774590604 https://naturesgracehealing.com/

From Invisible to Illuminated: My Reiki Awakening



It's eleven in the night and my ears are buzzing, my fingers are tingling and I feel like I want to dance in the living room. I've had a tiring day which started at 3:33 with my meditation alarm going off and I've even just watched a movie and had a massive dinner (unusual) but none of that is slowing me down. As I type my latest generation laptop has a hard time keeping up: I have been initiated as a Reiki Healer today. 


Me: 

This ordinary dowdy retired ex-librarian, a character I felt was so gawky and gray that I sometimes have to ask people who cut ahead of me in queues, whether they actually cannot see me. 

At the start of this year I was unseen, unheard, shy, fifty-five and ready to fade away into obscurity. And now, I feel supernatural. I've just been told that I have powers. That we all do. Whatever you believe in, whatever you think is real- the fact remains that we live in a world far more magical than we've been led to believe. And today, something ancient and powerful was initiated for me.

I met Master Gamini a few weeks ago in his airy minimalistic, healing room in Battaramulla that smelled faintly of lemongrass and sandalwood. At 70+ he looks a full 20 years younger. He doesn't dress like a guru. He doesn't perform showy rituals or speak in riddles. He doesn't ask you to come for a four-day, four week or four month course. He treads lightly on the earth with a soft smile and eyes that seem to shine straight out of the quiet heart of a forest. When he speaks, it's like spring water rolling over forest rocks: gentle, steady, transformative and full of latent energy. 

Healing is his passion and he earnestly shows us hundreds of whatsapp messages he has received from all over the world. He answers his phone even at midnight if someone needs healing or even just to listen to someone crying. When he performed a Reiki healing on me a week ago I ended up weeping quietly and then falling asleep as the pain and emotional blocks melted away. 

The Healer Training is even more powerful if that can be. Powerful in its sheer simplicity.

I didn't expect the simplicity. There were no elaborate chants, no cosmic theatrics. He told us plainly, "Reiki is love. Compassion. Gratitude." And then he bowed slightly, with his hands in prayer, and looked us in the eye like we were already healers. Already whole.

He gave us four attunements. Four silent transmissions where all I did was sit and receive. And although I didn't realise it... everything changed.

I cannot explain what happened during those attunements in any logical way. At first I felt heat, like someone had placed a hand just above my crown. Then tears—strange tears—bubbled up out of nowhere. No sadness, just the body releasing something I didn't even know I was carrying. My hands buzzed. My heart expanded. I felt seen.

The other trainee with me reported that pain that he had carried around for decades after a serious back injury, was gone. Master Gamini had narrowed into the exact location of this pain in his spine, and gently plucked it away. 

Master Gamini said something that I will carry with me for the rest of my life: "Even if you don't heal others, you can still heal yourself. That is one more healed person in the world."

I've spent most of my life giving everything to everyone else. I didn't know how to love myself. But now, every morning, I put my hands gently on my heart and say: Thank you, Pushy, for being here. Thank you, Reiki, for being here. Thank you. And I feel it. Not just the words. The truth of it.

We were taught to begin every self-healing with gratitude. To trust our intention more than any timer or technique. To sit with the energy like you'd sit with an old friend. The practice is beautifully slow. You place your hands over your chakras, over your knees and ankles. You don't force anything. You don't make an effort to focus. You care for yourself and in caring, you begin to remember yourself.

Tonight I am buzzing, yes. But underneath the wild electrical current is a deep, pulsing peace. Like the Earth is breathing through me. Like I'm no longer a stranger to myself.

I never imagined I would be the kind of person who believes in energy healing. I thought that was for others—more spiritual, more radiant, more whole. But Reiki doesn't ask you to be anything other than what you are. It just meets you. And then, if you're willing, it begins to reintroduce you to your own light.

I don't know where this path will lead.

But I know I've stepped onto it barefoot, raw, grateful.

Thank you, Master Gamini.

Thank you, Reiki.

Thank you, Me.

(Author's note: Master Gamini welcomes people who want to train as healers. There are no unnecessary complications, and the whole introductory process takes four hours from start to finish. If you are curious to see what it's all about please contact him at +94774590604 https://naturesgracehealing.com/

Wednesday, October 09, 2024

Down with the Rain!

  


I wish the sun would come back! And small wonder they worshipped Him in Egypt, Greece and Mesopotamia and killed for Him in South America, what with sacrificing virgins yada yada.- I keep wondering what it would take to get rid of all that drippy weather - it really gets to me this time. Yes, it is that time of the year when you wish you were anywhere else but damp, sticky, moldy-smelling Sri Lanka- officially monsoon time- or to use less exotic terminology "gloomy weather predicted in Colombo" 

My cats are frozen into catatonic lumps the whole of this week- you can see them lurking like watchful gargoyles, on sideboards, in the ceiling ornaments, on cupboards, too cold to shake a limb but occasionally blinking balefully at the podgy geckos they are too lazy to catch. The half Persian has swollen to twice her size because she is cold and her bristles are sticking out, and taken to answering the calls of nature indoors, ie, in the kitchen sink. 

And the Ally living room: permanently damp and dotted with empty plastic Cargill ice cream tubs strategically positioned to catch stubborn leaks. Friends are compelled to fend off the damp purring advances of half-grown cats who are trying to poach body heat from them, and had to sit across from me on the couch and make themselves heard through the gentle tympany of heavy tropical droplets of water landing on plastic. To the optimistic feng shui enthusiast,  this may have its charm but I personally hate the whole idea. Leave aside the limp underwear and tea cloths with things growing on them, rugs so damp that you have to actually fight them to get your shoes back, reeking feline foot prints patterning across the tiles in livid muddy shades- there is the smell: take old army boots , a second hand chicken coop , manky gym towels, a lot of rotting wood and a generous dollop of pulsating tropical lichen (and this mind you is after the household dogs have been banned and cruelly locked out to fend for themselves!)- and you come somewhere close to this, keeping in mind that its not very strong, just a faint whiff, since we have got used to it anyway and if it were stronger we would have to root it out some how: no the damp atmosphere does not smother – it just hangs about sheepishly. 

But the smell does get to me – so once I land at home in the evenings I need to light two Ninja coils and 3 Dhoop sticks before I can even begin to think straight. –that's after the trip home since I  need a little time to "unwind" and recap the journey home- 

and did I forget to tell you how I actually got home, those rainy evenings? Well, I couldn't use the moped because my spectacles get foggy in the rain and don't have wipers- so I have to travel in bus like all the other normal middle-class peeps, which means squeezing in with about 85 other damp wheezy people who have just folded their dripping umbrellas and found a spot to stand in that's not half an inch underwater on the bus. Then we spend 45 minutes in the compulsory company of all kinds of droplet infections produced by the copious hacking and sneezing  and  occasional snorts from people who forgot their kerchiefs and are using their sleeves instead (or even perhaps your shawle if you doze off a minute-) …in a hurtling petri dish sealed from the outside because everyone thinks its a good idea to close the bus windows in case they get dew on them- 

Having survived that, theres the lovely tropical trek, home depending on how far you live from the bus halt.  

Wonderful Serendipity! Ten to fifteen minutes trudging cheerfully up those rustic, winding little side tracks that lead to home, if  you think about it carefully: these puddles are SCARY. Never mind the typhoid and gonorrhea that must lurk in them I personally have a horrible phobia ( due to watching too many horror flicks like Jaws , the Deep and Lake Placid) that if I put my foot in the wrong puddle I may not actually get it back!

 

And here at last is a regional problem that we cannot blame on the GOSL, LTTE, globalization or the IMF! So there's no point ranting about it on Kottu – unless Waruna* gets His own blog running and allows us to post comments and suggestions to him. And if He does and if we are real nice and grovel enough, maybe we should ask for lots of rain in just those "catchment areas" and not necessarily in Town Hall, Airport road and our local school backyards.. ..or maybe we should consider praying to the Sun-god, instead. 

Anything to not have to drape your underwear across a kettle to get it dry, which I have had to do in some hotels-

 .......................................................................................................................................................................................................................

*Balinese deity of Rain, Oceans (and thus tsunamis) and other water related issues..

  

The author lives in damp Hanwella but half-heartedly considers immigrating to a sunnier place, once a year around this time.

 this article from years back was adapted to suit 2024 

 

Thursday, September 26, 2024

THE DIVORCE DIARIES


October is the month of my wonderful liberating divorce, and I remember it with such mellow happiness, you might consider it rather shocking. 
The truth is, hardly any anniversary makes me so inexplicably happy!! 
Perhaps obscenely, I have many times wanted to propose divorce parties and I know if I was a minister or something I would host large-scale nationwide celebrations with free butterscotch ice cream dansal, pole dancers and/or fireworks, which ever is more fun...
I want to tell you because I trust you not to judge me… sometimes divorce can be a really good happy thing, and people really should do it more often - and with more kinds of things (not necessarily your spouse) that are just not working out- you can divorce your job, your daylight robbing trishaw man, your insufferably nosy aunt next door, your current vocation if you don't like it, your motherland if its taxing you too much and you cant take it anymore.... theres so much to be said about simply not taking it any more, giving up, moving out and starting anew! VOTING WITH YOUR FEET ! 
Someone should tell you there really isn't some celestial clock up there which is giving you points for the amount of needless suffering you endure every day to prove that you can…


Divorce is a whole lot more positive than suicide which people do in Sri Lanka with disturbing frequency…its cheaper than getting continuously drunk, and remember, that will kill you of cirrhosis before you are 59, anyway…and its simpler than living a life that is a continuous lie, because, we have only one life to live right now and it's a rather short one if you come to think of it, so hey isn't it better to make the best of the little time we have?
..What I don't understand is why people speak about it in such hushed tones, and even try to sympathize with you when they hear that you are divorced! The alternative might have been living day in day out in terror and misery, with an obnoxious, unpredictable, violent confirmed schizophrenic with control issues…and then your girlfriends actually say that they are sorry to hear you split? Sorry about what precisely? That may be the polite, social thing to say but please, its SILLY if you think about it carefully so please try and be rational! I think people should sympathize with people who have drunken or philandering and violent spouses in a daily basis and send them GET WELL SOON  cards every year (or better: GET A LIFE cards) and truly rejoice en masse when its over, and there is no more suffering required, and incidentally…. the sooner the better!
cute graphic from https://www.cleanpng.com/
Finally when all else fails, to convince- I always fall back on the words of Lord Buddha, since I'm a great believer in ancient philosophy which you can test yourself: you remember those words "mame baalasamagamo" something, something –in short: "Stay away from idiots"
There, I knew you'd understand!- anyway, one October twenty years ago really good for me, and Im feeling celebratory again woot , woot !