“Is The Secret real?” people ask me. “Does it work?”
You may remember The Secret, the book and movie released in 2006. The premise is “thoughts are things.” It’s Cause and Effect, or the Law of Attraction. The Secret says your thoughts create your reality. You manifest what you think about.
The ideas expressed in this teaching have been around for ages, and that’s a good thing. Because life can be baffling. We find comfort in taking charge and seeing that the quality of our thoughts can affect the quality of our lives.
The Secret is often taken a little too literally for my tastes. I have found that The Secret, in it’s literal sense doesn’t always “work.” I have experienced people who apply The Secret, and don’t get what they want. Then they move to places of blame, resistance and self-recrimination.
But today, I’d like to tell you about a time when The Secret worked a little too well — a time when the power of my thoughts almost got me in trouble.
I have impure thoughts about our Veterinarian. I want to lick him.
Our Veterinarian, Dr. Clark is a nice man. He’s got a great smile, perfect white teeth and crinkly crow’s feet. He’s thirty-ish, but pre-maturely grey at the temples. He dresses in conservative khakis and rumpled button-down shirts. He wears sensible shoes, usually sandals with socks. Dr. Clark often sports a tie with an animal on it, perhaps a gift from a satisfied customer or the kind of tie one might get as a token for contributing to the A.S.P.C.A.
The animal ties are endearing. Plus Dr. Clark is a good vet. He is skilled and reasonable, not quick to order thousands of dollars-worth of painful medical tests for a lump or a vomit. He seems genuinely interested in the things that fascinate me – the oozing pus sore on our guinea pig’s nipple, or our rabbit’s cornea, scratched while scrambling over a chicken wire fence to have steaming man-sex with his rabbit brother.
Dr. Clark wore his Zebra Tie, the day our cat Audrey came down with an eye infection.
I met the doctor in his examination room. He switched off the lights and whipped out his manly ophthalmoscope to examine Audrey’s eye.
In the dark, we restrained a squirming Audrey, eager to slink back into her carrier. The doctor’s hand brushed mine. His head bent closer, and I wondered, “What would happen if I licked his ear?” I felt my tongue leering in the Vet’s direction.
But then he turned on the lights.
My tongue settled down. Dr. Clark ordered some eye drops for Audrey and we went home.
A few months later, our dogs needed their annual check-up, and Dr. Clark wore his Panda Tie.
My husband and I have two Vizslas. Vizslas are Hungarian Pointers, a highly energetic and emotional breed. At the time, we had Stella and Bartok.
My dogs act like wild ponies at the Vet’s. Afraid of what the kindly, lick-able Dr. Clark might do, they buck and trample and resist all forms of intervention.
In this examination, Stella needed to have a boil aspirated.
Even though my desire to lick Dr. Clark is not really sexual, (I am married after all), this scene did have a bit of an orgy-esque quality to it — lots of writhing and grunting. Perhaps there was even a quiet porn soundtrack playing in my mind.
We cornered Stella between the exam table and a bench. I sat on the floor to hold her, and Dr. Clark knelt beside me. Bartok leapt in so there were four of us, jammed in a tiny space, bumping up against each other, an undulating tangle of clutching bodies, a large needle waving about, groping for my dog’s neck.
Again, our hands touched. The Vet veered closer to take aim at Stella’s boil. His head was right under my tongue and I could smell his hair product. He smelled good, so again, I thought, “I want to lick him.”
Abruptly, Dr. Clark pulled out and murmured, “Let’s bring Bartok to the back to get his nails clipped… I think we need one less TONGUE in this room.”
The inner-porno-soundtrack stopped with a screech and I thought about The Secret: Thoughts are Things.
“Great Leaping God,” I said to myself. “Was that me? Did I lick him?”
Fortunately, I don’t think I licked the vet because since that day, he doesn’t seem like he’s afraid of me or my tongue. I think Bartok was the culprit. But the incident did make me ponder The Secret.
Isn’t it a relief that we don’t get everything we think about or even everything we think we want?
The power of my thoughts didn’t exactly materialize as getting to lick a veterinarian, but my thoughts did bring me great joy. And that’s what The Secret of The Secret is to me. It’s not about manifesting more stuff or even more experiences. It’s about creating an inner climate of happiness, whether we get to lick the vet (metaphorically speaking) or not.
Here’s the key: Part of our spiritual magnificence is that we get to cultivate an inner buzz of well-being independent of conditions or outcomes. Yes, Unconditional Joy — A Joy that ultimately helps us navigate the strangeness of this place called existence, where one never knows if he or she is in for a good licking. 🙂
Have you ever experienced Joy for no good reason? If so, I’d love to hear about it.