Click here to go to the next issue
Highlights Home Page | Receive the Nonduality Highlights each day
How to submit material to the Highlights
#3048 -
Nonduality
Highlights - http://groups.yahoo.com/group/NDhighlights
This issue introduces Impostor:
Or Whatever Happened to Richard Beymer, by Richard
Beymer.
For millions of
Americans coming of age in 1961-62, the character that Richard
played in Westside Story -- Tony -- occupied a firm position
within a popular consciousness that included President
Kennedy, Mickey Mantle, and 45 rpm records.
Tony died on the pavement
at the end of Westside Story. Now that many decades have
passed, please consider that -- someone -- got back up.
Impostor: Or
Whatever Happened to Richard Beymer, by Richard
Beymer
For reviews and to order
go to http://www.amazon.com/Impostor-Whatever-Happened-Richard-Beymer/dp/0615175511/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1200603654&sr=1-1
For another excerpt
please visit: www.myspace.com/richardbeymer
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Richard Beymer
is somewhat famous for acting in certain films, most notably West
Side Story opposite Natalie Wood, and the role of Ben Horne on
David Lynch’s TV series
ABOUT THE BOOK
Let me say at the outset
that this is NOT a book written by an advaitic master,
enlightened guru or self-proclaimed teacher, of which there are
many, trying to jar "us sleepy ones" out of our
somnambulistic stupor…it espouses no knowledge or technique
nor does it give any advice on how to make your life any other
way than it already is. It is simply a work of fiction that
hopefully people who are interested in advaitic concepts along
with Hollywood movies will enjoy in this topsy-turvy mad-cap
search for, "Who am I when not being who I think I am?"
which is what this book is about.
It's an unauthorized
autobiography of someone who is stumbling along the path,
rummaging up and down the alleys of his mind, and others,
searching for clues as to who he is (or isn't), figuring
everybody else gets "IT" but him. It's about George,
someone who is addicted to the bliss of ignorance, someone who
has lived his whole life acting as if he were who he appeared to
be-an impostor, an ego encapsulated bag of bones and flesh
suspended between the belief of birth on the one end, and the
fear of death on the other, and who, in limbo, betwixt and
between, has managed to eke out this momentary existence, it
having (as George finds out) at its core, no more reality than a
dream.
EXCERPT
FADE UP: INTERIOR.
THE DIRECTOR: (screaming
from off camera) "Roll 'em!" Now for God sakes, try to
get it right this time, George. Action!
The only object in the
scene with Spaceman George is a full-length mirror on rollers.
Spaceman George takes a deep breath and deftly, in the tradition
of the great
SPACEMAN GEORGE: All
right, here's my dilemma. See if you can relate. On the one
hand (referring to his reflection), there's not remembering who I
am when being who I appear to be. On the other hand (referring to
himself), there's who I appear to be when being who I think I am.
That is, this me, here . . . the one in question.
Spaceman George spins the
mirror around and cozies up to his reflection. He continues:
SPACEMAN GEORGE: Let me
be more precise. I've forgotten who I am when not being who I
think I am. That's it in a nutshell, the one-liner. That's what
this whole film is about, so be warned.
Now I
don't know about you but I assumed I'd live forever, that somehow
or other I'd get out of this life alive, that I'd figure it out,
slip by unnoticed-maybe through some tear in the cosmic fiber-and
I would just step out into eternal life, God-like, you know, in
my white tie, top hat and tails . . . maybe doing a little soft
shoe routine in my shiny black patent leather shoes . . . kind of
free and easy like Fred Astaire in one of those 1930's
I was
so close I could taste it. The clues were everywhere. It was only
left for me to reconstruct the puzzle, connect the dots . . . but
NO . . . I had to die. What a shocker to wake up dead. I mean you
have no idea. It's like nothing else ever. All I knew was,
this life, this precious moment of eternity was over too soon . .
. far, far too soon. There were all those things I never did,
never said, the wasted moments, the years. I was just beginning
to get the hang of it, the feel of it, the shame of it, the blame
of it, the rage, the guilt part . . . the "I'm sorry, Marie,
forgive me, I messed up" part . . . the part where you and
me and everything is perfect just the way it is, with no
deletions, additions, corrections, expectations, or otherwise
tampered-with parts . . . the unconditional love part . . . the
part where I don't demand in you what's lacking in myself
part. The part where I accept who you are when not who you
appear to be, rather than trying to change you into who you
aren't, so I can forget who I am when not being who I appear to
be in your eyes.
Well,
it's all over now, baby blues. I jigged when I should have
jagged, zigged when I should have zagged. I hesitated. And
as you reminded me time and time again, "He who hesitates is
lost." There was so much left unfinished, the whole last act
. . . was he really insane or just play-acting? Did she
really fool him into thinking she loved him or did he know all
along she didn't? Or was he just pretending he believed her to
see if he could detect a lie in her performance? Or did she set
the whole thing up and just let him believe it was his idea to
prove she was who she appeared to be, when she was really someone
else? Now I'd never know.
Picture it yourself . . . if you were to die, no warning, like
right now, just keel over and die, not knowing who you are when
not being who you appear to be-that is, this part you're
playing-and don't kid yourself, you there . . . you are playing a
part-what would be left? There would be nothing, that's how I see
it. Zilch. Nada. But, if you were to die being who you are when
not being who you appear to be, then dying wouldn't be death, as
in annihilation, the total eradication of being, but rather,
could conceivably be just a change of scene, like in the movies.
In fact, from the die-ee's point of view, nothing would be any
different . . . Oh, maybe a little bump in the road, a little
What the hell was that?, but no difference, not really. Right? I
mean, you'd just be whoever you are when not being who you think
you are- simple.
Now, to an outside observer in a fixed matrix,
of course, you would appear dead, gone, outta here . . . but for
the die-ee, the one in question, it would just be a blip on the
radar screen . . . a simple dream shift . . . no biggie. But, and
this is the heart of the matter . . . I'm lost in the play,
consumed by my part, obsessed with my image. (In a sudden rage
Spaceman George breaks the mirror.) I really believe the lie,
that I am this "I," that I am who I appear to be. I've
forgotten something, something key, something vital to the whole
outcome. I'm sure of it. And whatever it is (screaming in the
camera) IT'S DRIVING ME CRAZY!
Impostor: Or
Whatever Happened to Richard Beymer, by Richard
Beymer
For reviews and to order
go to http://www.amazon.com/Impostor-Whatever-Happened-Richard-Beymer/dp/0615175511/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1200603654&sr=1-1
For another excerpt
please check out: www.myspace.com/richardbeymer
Reprinted with
permission.