THROAT CHAKRA by Gordon Malchek: Episode 3, Freedom is Hard

The first clue to my throat chakra problems popped up on our second wedding anniversary. Karen and I were spending two weeks apart for the first time since we’d sworn our vows. Now why don’t we think about that for a moment? Why do we swear our vows in the first place? Isn’t swearing considered a bad thing by religious folks and those who aspire to high moral standards? I could understand promising but why swearing?

That morning as I girded my loins to take the stage without my wife present to cover the back of the room with her extreme organizational skills and ability to sell more of my books and tapes I knew I faced a huge challenge. The tigress had trapped me most effectively. Her own separate sales business had been sold to a sizeable corporation for more money than I made in my first five years of public speaking so that she could concentrate on boosting my bottom line. She had single handedly turned Machek Motivation from borderline profitability to running solidly in the black.

Now a word about those loins I was girding. I’ve described Karen accurately as a smoking hot package of deadly femininity and she was all of that. It’s a good thing women can at least sometimes see more deeply than we shallow minded visually oriented men can because I’ve avoided describing myself for a reason. At five feet eight inches in height I’m one full inch shorter than the comely Karen and if I’m being honest I’m shaped like a pudgy pear except more lumpy than a good Bartlett. A Bartlett pear is not supposed to have love handles. One of my not so admiring schoolmates back in the day once described me as the Pillsbury doughboy without the shoulders. I’ve been nearsighted from birth and wore Coke bottle thick glasses until contact lenses improved enough to allow me to force them to ride atop my protesting eyeballs. Lasik surgery later saved me from that particular hell but not until long after I’d gotten into the public speaking arena and proved to multiple audiences that you really can look icky and still succeed on stage if you’re crazy enough to believe.

I was not happy that Karen had chosen to gallivant off on a free trip to Hawaii with friends which was disguised as a sales seminar. She should have been there with me. That’s what a wife is for, right? Certainly it could not have been jealousy or insecurity on my part as my manly macho self would never be subject to anything like that.

Worst of all was waking up with a sore throat that morning. In hindsight I suspect it had been building for a long time as Karen slowly and subtly took over my life and shut my self expression down bit by bit except when I was on stage. At the time I simply remember thinking it wasn’t nice of her to run off like that when I was getting sick like the little boy complaining because he’s not being catered to properly. All of this was also the beginning of my admitting anger to myself about being abandoned as my parents had abandoned me in my youth but the main thing was that all of a sudden I remembered being really really sick with every cold or flu or whatever in three counties when I was little. Then Dad left and Mom killed herself and I ran my mouth like a machine gun throughout the rest of my growing up years without getting sick often at all. Subconsciously I must have known but at the conscious level I was as ignorant as they come, just talking up a storm despite all obstacles and doing well with it.

But now I’d been shutting down even though I wasn’t yet aware of it and the molting chickens were coming home to roost and poop on my head. I tried cough drops and sore throat lozenges and even some of that horrible Cepacol or Chloraseptic spray or whatever it was that makes your taste buds wish they had never been born but does manage to numb the pain for a few minutes and then I went out to give my talk. The audience was surprisingly good and smart and receptive and participating so that I kept going throughout the day without even realizing during the lunch break that I was getting sicker not better. That night misery was king and the next and final day of the two day seminar was even worse.

Luckily I had most of the following week off and used it to visit a doctor I hated but the only one I knew would prescribe antibiotics without question, just don’t ever ask for a pain pill. Things were getting a little better by the next weekend at another seminar in a different city and I foolishly thought the worst was over. Even more foolishly I superstitiously decided it was Karen’s absence that had triggered my sickness. Totally missed the deeper truth that it had been her subtly cloying presence rather than her absence. Sales at the back of the room had been practically nonexistent without her there to sweet-talk the attendees; that bottom line fact was fact.

When she got back from Hawaii all tanned and exuding vitality to find me still slightly under the weather she went, “Aw-w-w-w, my poor baby!” And the cosmos save me from myself, I felt vindicated. Never again would she leave me in the lurch like that.

I was like a convicted felon thanking the Warden for locking the steel door to his prison cell or a slave thanking his master for the iron shackles surrounding his neck and ankles. Freedom is hard!