eat, pray, love

Even though I said I would not see this movie, of course I saw it on its first day of release. And, knowing it would pale in comparison to the book, I was surprised by how much it paled. I am glad that they did not even try to recapture Liz Gilbert's moment of pure enlightenment. In fact, I am glad that they ignored much of the pray section. How do we, after all, visualize something so ineffable?

Richard from Texas, while admirable, lacked his punch. There was no blue light. There was no climbing out of the ashram window to get to the Gita. There was not the wisdom of Ketut. He was just a toothless, kind man.

I was glad, however, that the two most repeatedly spoken phrases about praying were "God is within" and "Offer love and light and let it go." Those two, which stayed with me after the book, will stay with others who only see the movie. Those ideas, I think, are worth the price of the ticket.

But today I find myself thinking of my eating. My praying. My loving. It's day three of a 90 day commitment I made to a new eating plan. And, although yesterday was shadowed by a massive headache and today by the same weight of lethargy, I feel good about this plan. I am not eating alone anymore either, though I ate my meals by myself. Every day I report in to Google docs, where a friend will read whether or not I have been successful. And even this entry is some kind of coming out. A promise I have to honor now that it is in print.

Eating is not a panacea to sadness. Eating is not a tool for celebration. Eating is not a way to quell waves of self --doubt and fear. Eating is for fueling the body. I am too old to be learning this now.

Praying. Interestingly, after seeing the movie this afternoon, I went to Gypsy Bean coffee shop and read some of Deepok Chopra's book, The Third Jesus. I was struck by his proposal that the first Jesus was a man who walked the earth, doing and saying things important enough to have had those actions and thoughts recorded for all time. The second Jesus is the theologically bastardized Jesus, layered with each sect's interpretation. And the third Jesus is a way to enlightenment. A path.

I found myself so relieved to read this. Because, really, I do not want a savior, I want a way. No, not singular, let me correct that. I want another way -- as many ways as possible to a higher state.

I also was struck by Chopra's subtle distinction between light and darkness and, the far more resonating, light and shadows. It all bears light. Even around the obstacles and over the ruddy lanes of living, there is light creating the shadow.

Chopra also, while quoting the Bible, refers to the Gnostics Gospels. The Gospel of Thomas. The Gospel of Truth. These texts, as much as Matthew, Mark, Luke and John amplify Jesus' mysticism.

I left the Gypsy Bean once more assured that I am not a Christian, but a reader of Jesus.

As I left Gordon Square and drove down Detroit to the Shoreway, I saw one of Carrie's old friend's Tim. And I had to laugh. Here I was given an immediate chance to be enlightened and follow the gospel of Liz Gilbert. I said to myself, "Love and Light, Carrie, and I let you go." Then, just five minutes later, I tuned my Sirius radio to the CoffeeHouse channel (a channel I have not listened to in a week -- I have been fixated on talk radio). The first song that came on was Maroon Five singing "Lovely Day" -- a song sung by Bill Withers that Carrie named as our song early on in our relationship. I have only heard the song three times since she left, and I thought it was funny (in that "I can't believe this is happening" way) on the day I was thinking about how to release love. So, as I started to cry for the mystery of it all, I said again, "Love and Light, Carrie, and I let you go."

There was -- there is -- a certain peace in that. A certain peace in this day. I have eaten fuel for my body. I have prayed to a God who watches over me. I have loved in my life, and I am getting more and more able, to let love go so that a greater love can find me.