Peddle Me Hope: A Review (of sorts) of "Becoming Supernatural" by Joe Dispenza

By Carolyn Oei, 29 December 2022

Image: Goodreads

“Did we win anything?” I ask my husband.

“$20. At least we’ve recouped the cost of the ticket.”

Randomly, maybe twice a year, I bet on the lottery. Because you never know. Hope is powerful. Hope is energizing. Hope is worth a million bucks. I dream a lot about how a million bucks might solve all my problems.

***

I’m aging. And so are you. It doesn’t matter which side of 40 you’re on as you read this because you’ll get to the other end at some point. Where I’m at now is managing the pain in my joints and dealing with menopause. My life is a colourful circus of sudden sharp pains in the knees, wild menstrual flows that can leave me a sodden mess and shoulder muscles tight from too much worrying. Oh, let’s not forget the inexplicable stomach bloating.  

 

I see an osteopath for my arthritic right knee, I practice yoga to keep my nerves in check, I exercise every single bloody day to keep muscular atrophy at bay, I take turmeric supplements to manage inflammation wherever and I’m no longer averse to taking a mild painkiller to help me get through the night. There’s no need for me to be macho. Sleep is good for me.

 

I feel balanced most days, but darkness and despair set in occasionally; usually when I think about the little time I have left to be fabulous or to when I could dance for hours in a club in heels or run or do deep deep deep Malasana squats.

 

In those moments of despair, I’m overwhelmed, angry and self-absorbed. I long and hope for Gummiberry Juice; that magical something to turn me into a god-damned superhero. These moments of despair are also moments of desperation. I don’t just want to be free from pain for three hours; I want my battered knees to suddenly grow cartilage again.

 

Perhaps I could will this to happen? Mind over matter, no?

 

A dear friend who, admittedly, also has to manage a million physical ailments, suggested I read Joe Dispenza’s “Becoming supernatural: How common people are doing the uncommon”. I can’t remember her exact spiel but she believed this book to hold the secrets of the universe. She had a crazed glint in her eye.

 

I couldn’t get past the Introduction and Chapter 1. Dispenza can’t go two lines without making reference to the paid workshops and meditations he offers or reminding readers to go to his website. He offers little knowledge or information, only testimony of the Evangelical Christian ilk and suggestions that if you don’t see change happening, you probably aren’t trying hard enough. Why did all this feel so familiar? Ah, yes. TV infomercials and preachers who spend too much of other people's money on private jets and Botox.

Dispenza doesn’t use the word “religion” because that isn’t what he’s peddling. On his website, he says he offers “stories from our community of profound healings and the creation of powerful mystical experiences as well as the groundbreaking (sic) research conducted by our scientific team”. I read one of the research papers listed on his website and couldn’t help but train my focus on the Discussion portion of it. You could choose to do the same.

 

I’m not a sceptic; I’m a cradle Catholic whose Sundays are so freed up now because I no longer attend Mass and a part of me believes in unicorns. But I am a critical reader and thinker and I owe it to myself to not just take someone else’s word for anything. There are too many charlatans out there preying on other people’s weaknesses for me to be lazy about this.

 

In the periods of critical clarity that I enjoy, I make notes to myself to seek out genuine invitations to ease my physical pain and forge fortitude and strength of spirit when I am despairing. I read, watch and listen to content produced by the late John O’Donohue, Krista Tippett, Jameela Jamil, the BBC’s People Fixing the World, Running Man, the John Butler Trio, Michelle Yeoh and a whole host of other honest resources. There is plenty out there. This coping mechanism is akin to going for a walk rather than reaching for the bottle in times of difficulty.

***

It would seem the odds of dying in a plane crash are higher than winning – anything – in the lottery. But hope springs eternal. Hope keeps me going. Hope keeps me dreaming of what I could do with a million bucks. Someone once told me, “Dreams are free.”

 

Well, maybe $20.