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Just as I was attempting to leave work for the day, I found out that the head of my department had just called a meeting and my presence was mandatory. He went through a litany of proposed  changes intended to increase efficiency in the workplace, after which he solicited comments. I wasn't connecting all that well with the proposals he had just outlined and mentally rehearsed a question I wanted to ask. As I did so that little voice inside my head said "hold your tongue." That is the same little voice that once tried to warn me about putting a quarter in a gumball machine ("Revenge Of The Gumballs," Perspectives, Winter 2000). You might think I would have learned by now! I wrestled within whether to make the comment or not, and then thought to myself, what the hell am I so afraid of, and proceeded to open my mouth. Two of my coworkers who delight in making others feel embarrassed when the opportunity arises didn't miss a beat. They laughed while happily pointing out that I had missed the whole point of what my boss had been explaining these past thirty minutes. Their laughter hurt, and while my boss didn't laugh, it was obvious he was a bit frustrated by my question. I didn't bite into a gumball this time, but certainly did put my foot in my mouth; if it didn't hurt physically (at that moment anyway), it sure as hell was painful in terms of my feelings. I headed home and began to think about the incident.

For one thing, I remember that damn stubborn side of me resisting anyone telling me what I could or couldn't say or do. The fact that this someone was my own inner self, an extension of my own being, seemed to have been lost on me in that moment. Talk about misguided stubbornness! Later that evening I started getting a toothache, and by the time I went to bed I was in severe pain. Luckily, I had a dental appointment scheduled for the next day. I exposed myself to ridicule by opening my mouth at that meeting, and now the physical nerve in my mouth was exposed and throbbing. (Just a coincidence, of course.) Where does this defiance spring from, I had to ask. "Our greatest ally" Seth used to call our inner self, leaving me to wonder why I offer resistance to its suggestions.

To hear my inner voice is something I strive for. And yet, when that voice speaks plainly to me and whispers in my ear, "hold your tongue," why do I not heed its advice? I have always been rebellious to any kind of authority, but to rebel against the authority of my own inner self seems to be the height of folly. Since my gumball incident, I have had gum surgery and will have four teeth pulled shortly—one of which will be the tooth that is aching due to the exposed nerve. What I thought would be a simple recementing of my original bridge (Revenge Of The Gumballs, Part I) has now turned into a removable bridge composed of six false teeth. How many more teeth will I have to sacrifice before I finally learn? Learn what, you ask? I'll tell you. Learn that the voice that whispers in our ear is to be trusted, not feared. The voice that whispers in our ear is the truest friend we will ever have. The voice that whispers in our ear will never lead us astray and is not a threat to the ego's freedom but a part of that ego. "There are no divisions to the self" Seth often used to say, so why should we resist other aspects of ourselves that seek to teach and guide us.

If there is anything to be learned from the classes I was privileged to attend in Jane Roberts's living room, it is to trust the voice of the inner self above all other voices. It is to listen for that inner voice with greater anticipation than the voice of any others—be they priests, teachers, parents, gurus, channelers, angels, gods or demons. That is one of the prime lessons I am trying to teach myself in this life. I only hope that when I finally learn that lesson and a broad smile of satisfaction spreads across my face, there will be some teeth left to share in the event.