New Life Story Seeds # 10
The View from the Bridge
Dear Friends,
What's that old saying about life being what happens while you're making other plans? I can relate. In this the tenth issue of New Life Story Seeds, you'll find a quotation about love, juicy questions, more resources, and the continuing story of attempted restoration in the "Hearth and Soul" column, with jumps to past journal entries and detours for what happened while I was busy making other plans.
We're getting more and more international, with 225 subscribers from the US, Canada, the Philippines, Brazil, England, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, China, Slovakia, and the Netherlands. What countries have I missed? Subscriptions are coming in through a variety of sources: links, searches, and word of mouth. More and more, new readers tell us they found the website or the newsletter through a friend. That means you're sending the URL for the website and forwarding and recommending the newsletter to your friends. Thank you for doing that.
Don't forget to email me at ellenmoore@newlifestories.com with your location (for my map dots) and to tell me your own new life stories, your writing and journaling adventures, and the other fascinating tidbits I'm now accustomed to receiving. I do love email, you know! You can find all the back issues of the newsletter at http://www.newlifestories.com/
Wishing you wonderful new life stories and all the joys of loving,
Ellen Moore
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In This Issue:
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A Thoughtful Quotation Juicy Questions Hearth and Soul Books, Resources, and Links
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A Thoughtful Quotation =======================================================
"...the lovable is not scarce--it is everywhere. Everything you touch is lovable. There is a huge surplus, a thousand wonderful things to do, see, feel, smell, and taste, a million wonderful people to watch, respond to, talk to, do things for, and delight in; ideas to play with, skills to learn, pictures to paint, songs to sing, grass to mow, poems to write, food to cook, and dishes to wash. Each of these is one more invitation to love, out of countless such."
Frank Andrews "The Art and Practice of Loving"
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Juicy Questions
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Do you accept or reject the idea that love is a decision, not a feeling?
What are the consequences of that decision?
Are you a lover? What do you love? Whom do you love?
Is love scarce or abundant in your life?
In general, do you live in a world of scarcity or a world of abundance? How?
To what extent do you believe the saying, "We make our own world?"
Who or what determines the amount of love you give and receive?
Who are your role models for loving?
What do they teach you?
What is one small action you could take now to bring more love and joy into your life?
How could you bring joy into someone else's life?
What would it take for you to live the life of your dreams right now?
If not now, when?
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Hearth and Soul
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Monday, January 24, 2000
A snowstorm sweeping across the Midwest hits New York this morning, but handyman Mike keeps his appointment. I left phone messages for nine contractors listed in the yellow pages, and he's the only one to return my call.
I meet him in the driveway. He walks toward me with his head lowered against the snow. His van is freshly washed, and Mike himself looks like an Irish Spring commercial, with cheeks scrubbed pink. Leather bomber jacket, matching folio, well-pressed blue jeans. Open smile, strong handshake, and yes, he does smell of soap. His manner puts me at ease, and I like him instantly.
We walk toward the back of the house. As he crunches on the broken glass of the fallen door to get up the steps, two sparrows fly out of the porch. "You've got birds in here," he says. Yes," I say.
Brilliant. What else could I say? Birds? I don't see any birds?
He picks at the rotten wood where the wall and doorframe have pulled away. He doesn't say the "T word," and I don't have the courage to ask if he thinks this is termite damage. I hold my breath and tell him my plan to make the porch an "office," since "writing retreat" seems a little too personal for this transaction.
He shakes his head. "You mean make it like a regular room? One you use year round? No way." He shakes his head again and steps over more broken glass. "With all these windows, it would take thousands just to heat and cool it." (We have the highest utility bills in the country). He knocks on a panel. "And this rotten wood inside needs to be replaced. All that's holding up these walls is this plywood."
"House Implosion on Oak Tree Road"
"Local Couple Crushed"
I brush away the headlines that jump through my mind and try to concentrate on what Mike's doing. He mutters to himself, and he's far enough away that I can't hear everything he's saying. "Mumble mumble do it right," I hear. "Mumble small fortune mumble mumble." All the while, he keeps shaking his head.
"Well, what if we forget the year-round plan and go for the bare minimum to make a room that can be used in spring and fall?" I ask. "I dunno," he says. "I just don't know. Tell you what, though. Why don't you go back in the house where it's warm and I'll look around, take some notes, and give you a call during the week? I'll have an estimate then. OK?" "OK," I say. "I'll look forward to hearing from you."
Surely he would have told me if he thought termites were involved. He would, wouldn't he? I don't know why I fear termites so. Would I rather tell someone our house fell in because of dry rot instead of termites? Any difference?
Sunday, January 24, 1993
Up at 6:30 to huge flakes of snow, to contemplate my present and future, to think about all the changes in my life, to "live the questions" which seem to have no answers at this time. A strange, lovely mood this morning, with a desire to tie up all the loose ends and details.
As of now, I feel relatively calm and confident about this move. The anxiety has subsided, and the way seems clear. I'm 48 years old--what the hell? On February first, I'll pack the car and head East to New York for a new life story, or at least a whole new chapter in the story.
Emilio and I have known each other almost a year, even if it's been mostly through letters and phone calls. We've had four visits, and of course, that's not enough, but aren't all decisions made with insufficient information?
Tuesday, January 25, 2000
Looks like nearly a foot of snow this morning. Schools and airports shut tight. Sleepy-looking weather persons on television tell people to stay home if at all possible. Today was to have been the first day of my class in life-span development, and I visualize all nine students sinking back into their dormitory beds with the covers over their heads.
"A snowstorm is God's way of telling all creatures to stay in their burrows," says Emilio, and we do. He has a stack of Toynbee from the library on the table next to his easy chair. He sinks into it with his cup of coffee. He takes a sip, smiles his dramatically exaggerated beatific smile, and makes the ritual grandiose gesture that takes in the whole room. "Do you see this room?" he asks. "Do you see this house?" "Who would ever want to leave this house?" He picks up the top book in the stack and sighs with ecstasy. (His favorite and oft-quoted saying is from Pascal: "All troubles come from not knowing how to stay quietly in one's room.") I make split-pea soup and scrub kitchen counters, then go downstairs to write, feed the birds and squirrels, read Jung, and answer email.
Later over soup, we discuss our upcoming celebration on the 3rd, and talk about the porch. "Shall we go to Andiamo as usual, or would you like to plan something different this year?" he asks. I lean toward Andiamo, since it's where we had our first dinner together, but we're leaving it open for now.
I tell him the news from Mike, and the growing suspicion that my dream of a "white room" is not to be realized. We'll just close up the porch so it's not open to the elements. Anything more than that would be too expensive, not sensible, not a good use of our resources. I remind him of all the benefits of my current headquarters, and that I'll stop referring to it as "the basement." It's not dank, after all. It's not a dungeon. There's lots of room down there, a working fireplace, a huge picture window, and a door to the patio where I like to write in good weather. If we put down an oriental rug, updated the bathroom, moved a few bookcases around, and cleared out the many boxes of junk, it would be gorgeous. It's more than comfortable, and I have my books and papers within easy reach. So there's not much direct sun, and it's a little dark. I could flood the place with lamplight, couldn't I?
"But Ellen, if you need a writing retreat for your spiritual development, then we must do it," says Emilio. "We'll just spend whatever it costs."
I'm not convinced I really need a "white room." It would be lovely, but maybe it's just a romantic dream from 30 years ago. I'm not a published novelist, I'm not Louis Bromfield, and I'm not restoring a plantation in Brazil; I'm just trying to renovate a little house in the suburbs and find my way in life.
What do I want? What do I need? What can I not live without? What are my priorities? The important thing is finding time to write, isn't it? I already have a place. A writing retreat would be wonderful, but it would be a luxury, wouldn't it?
It is clear that I must spend time with my journal to keep asking myself the questions that will open the door to discernment.
Monday, January 25, 1993
Up at 7:00 to drink strong, sweet tea and savor the fact that one week from today I will be driving to New York to begin my new life with Emilio. A heavy snow this morning, white flakes as a backdrop to delicate Baroque oboes on the radio--purposeful, determined.
Once I make a list of things to be done, it all seems less overwhelming, as usual. Mostly paperwork. The list is doable, finite. Check, check, check, and I'll be finished. A meeting to talk about continuity of care for patients, a staff meeting, some goodbye luncheons, an appointment with Larry, then I'll slip away quietly. Maybe forever.
I haven't seen Larry for a while, so there is catching up to do. I originally went to see him to work at removing any barriers to my goal of loving and being loved. After an early first marriage and almost 20 years of singlehood, I woke up one morning and said something like "It's time". I finally admitted to myself that I wanted love, the real thing; I wanted to be married; I wanted to grow in love. What in me was preventing that? My journal hadn't solved the problem, and I was smart enough to know that as wonderful a tool as the journal is, input from others is also important. Trouble is, most other people are biased in some way or another.
Larry isn't.
I had worked through a lot of issues with Larry. He helped me open doors with the right questions. He kept reminding me that if I wanted to find love, the first thing I needed to do was to make my life as deep and fulfilled as I could make it, and when I was living the life of my dreams, someone else would want to share it with me. I was living in a place where there wasn't much opportunity to meet people, so I joined singles organizations like Single Booklovers and Classical Music Lovers' Exchange, I wrote letters, I answered letters, I went on disastrous, semi-disastrous, and fabulous blind dates. I met wonderful men who became my friends. I persisted.
And now, it's actually happened!
I settle into the couch and tell Larry I've come for a quick reality check. Am I on target here? Is there anything I'm missing? I think I'm making a wonderful decision, but I'd really like to run it by him. He's been so astute in helping me open doors.
I lay it all out for him. I've met this man, I say. Someone I want to spend the rest of my life with. Even tentatively say the word soulmate. We've had a long- distance relationship for almost a year, and it seems time to think about moving to the next level. Partly because we didn't meet in person for several months, we got to know each other on a deeper level than we'd ever known anyone else: I had replied to a bio he'd written where he mentioned the "garden of the soul," "happiness for all beings," "fellow students," and "compassion." He hadn't used the words "busty," "attractive," or "thin."
We think whatever happens, we'll be best friends for life. It's more like a glowing ember of friendship than a wild, passionate flame, but it feels safe and warm and comfortable. In the past, we were both involved with magical, glamorous, danceaways, and this isn't nearly as exciting. It's also not so nerve-wracking or gut- wrenching. Is this love? Could this be what mature love feels like?
Larry smiles.
Emilio and I have been over this a hundred times, and all we can come up with is "Let's move forward and see." I can't think about making a commitment for "forever," so I keep telling myself and everyone who knows I'm moving that "It's for a couple of months." When I know for sure, I can always move the rest of my possessions, and this way, I won't feel any pressure. It's all tentative.
Larry asks a few strategic questions about Emilio's background, and I tell him he's worked at the same place for 26 years and that I know most of his friends from that period of time. We talk about a "Plan B," where I would go if I needed to pull away to assert boundaries, how I would have my own space and privacy, how neither of us wants to be "joined at the hip."
"And where does this man live?" asks Larry. "New York," I say.
"New York," says Larry. His eyes roll up to tap into a memory, and suddenly he's "on stage." He's usually so serious and objective, so tabula rasa, but now, he puts his hands on his head, clowning, swaying from side to side in his chair. He tells me about the last time he was in New York. He'd lost track of time shopping on Fifth Avenue, almost missed a flight, asked a cab driver if he could get him to the airport in 15 minutes. "Sure, no problem," says the cabbie. The ride is so wild and dangerous that Larry lies down in the back seat moaning, "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die." He replays the scene in falsetto, gesturing wildly and laughing so hard he can barely breathe. This is a whole new side of him I've never seen before--spontaneous, funny. It's a lovely goodbye. A gift.
We wrap up. "You don't hear anything crazy in all this?" I ask. "No," he says. "Not at all. It sounds wonderful." The benediction. The enterprise has been blessed.
Wednesday, February 3, 1993
New York at last. Early on the morning of February first, I sat behind the wheel of the not-so-fully packed Honda and headed Northeast, through Illinois, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey. By the time I left, almost all the doubt and uncertainty had subsided, and I was so grateful to have the way open clear, to know I was following my highest good and my bliss. Stopping often to call Emilio so he could follow my progress on the map. Savoring new landscapes, watching hills turn to prairies to mountains--such an adventure. The conquests of an explorer, and adventure of a spiritual sort as well. Following a dream, walking through fear to the other side, whatever that might be. That relentless, driving push to make more time on the first and second days so I could coast in on the third, and I arrive early afternoon on the third day, keyed up, buoyant, optimistic, tired, punchy, silly. As I pull into the driveway, the words of an old song come to mind: "It may not be forever, but it'll be for good."
Our new life together begins.
Wednesday, January 26, 2000
Larry's dead. Killed Sunday in a huge pile-up near Kansas City in that same storm that finally landed in New York. Ice on the interstate, zero visibility in the driving snow, two tankers, 24 cars, an explosion, fire, ten dead. Larry and his wife, their son, daughter-in-law, and a friend. All five dead.
I'm stunned. My mind keeps going over and over it. It's so hard to believe, and I keep reliving the idea. No, it can't be true. He's so alive, so vital. But it is true. Every time my mind wanders and comes back to the fact, there is a new shock, a replay of the horror.
There's a broken, empty place somewhere inside me. A deep sadness. Questions. Why? Why Larry? Why such a good human being? Why now? Why a person who has dedicated his life to helping others in both his professional and personal life? Why his whole family? How can this ever make any sense?
I must reread The Bridge of San Luis Rey, Thornton Wilder's novel of fate and death, his inquiry into why those particular five people plunged to their deaths two centuries ago when a Peruvian bridge broke. Maybe Wilder's wisdom will comfort me.
We must all be broken, I suppose. Only the broken heart can feel the pain of others. Only the wounded healer can heal. The purpose of the spiritual journey is not to have an easy life, but to grow at whatever the cost. Goodness will not protect us from tragedy. A life of good deeds is a guarantee of nothing.
I had meant to tell Larry the enterprise was a success. I had meant to send him our wedding announcement. Why didn't I? He knew from other people that we were now happily married, but he would have chuckled at our engraved card: "Ellen Moore and Emilio Fischman would like you to know they got married on October 15, 1993. Their names have not changed." He would have been delighted to hear from me. But he didn't. Good intentions...
"The spiritual journey is what the soul is up to while we attend to daily living," wrote Christina Baldwin in "Life's Companion." While I am preoccupied with schedules and career and lumber and dry rot and estimates and luxurious places to write, my soul contemplates life in the face of death. The rank ordering of each aspect of my life. In the light of certain death, what stays, what needs to be eliminated? Death as a marker, a reminder of the finite and fragile nature of life. A reminder to pare down and prune away the superfluous, to make every moment count, to make life sweet.
So what is my life about? I'm still trying to figure it out. I make tentative notes in my journal:
Being aware of the presence of the divine in each sacred moment Following truth wherever the path may lead Growing in Grace and Spirit Loving and being loved Being kind Loving and serving the world to make it a better place Living an examined life of peace and joy Helping others find their own peace and joy Living fully, deeply, widely
The world is full of opportunities for love. All that is waiting is my decision.
Monday, February 14, 2000
Valentine's Day, and we're both too tired to dine at Andiamo, just as we were on the 3rd. Does it matter? No. Mike still hasn't called with an estimate for the porch. Does it matter? No. But there is a quiet, loving companionship to be savored; there are sacred moments to be lived, and those do matter.
"...soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left the earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten," wrote Thornton Wilder in The Bridge of San Luis Rey. "But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning."
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Books, Resources, and Links
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My copy of The Art and Practice of Loving is tattered and bruised. It goes with me in the car; it sits on my bedside table; it occasionally dives into the detritus of my disordered life, only to reappear again when I need it most. It's a beautiful, soul-making book that draws on the perspectives and teachings of the world's major philosophies and religions. Journal exercises, experiments in "willingness to see things differently," and liberation. The book is so rich, it can only be read in tiny chunks, then you'll need time to ruminate, digest, write, and absorb. If you aspire to being a more loving person, you'll want this book! Andrews, Frank. The Art and Practice of Loving. J P Tarcher, 1992.
Wrestling With Your Angels is not for everyone. Some may find it too sweet or "uplifting." There is much practical teaching, however, about developing your writing ability in several directions. Sections include: Listening to your voice, Honoring nurture and discipline, Letting your writing take you deeper, Listening to your spiritual calls. Solid advice about dealing with your inner critic and developing your writing life and abilities. Hagberg, Janet O., Wrestling With Your Angels: A Spiritual Journey to Great Writing. Adams Media Corporation, 1995.
Sometimes you just take a deep breath and decide to move forward with your life. Is it time for you to take that next step? In your heart of hearts, do you want to make a more serious commitment to the creative life? Then this may be the right time for you to develop your self- expression and creativity at Writes of the Imagination. Founded by Cindy Clarke and Becky Short, this new online writing and creativity studio has an eclectic calendar of classes on writing, literature, art, and creativity, each unique in its perspective and approach to the learning process. Dedicated, competent, and creative instructors are eager to assist and nurture you in reaching your personal goals. New courses are being developed and added regularly. Second term Winter Session classes begin February 26, 2000. http://www.writesoftheimagination.com/
Grab a cup of hot cocoa and snuggle into a quilt as you follow Kay Richards' daily adventures and astute observations. in "Letters from New England." She's moving! At last! Yesssssss! Favorite books, sites, links, her favorite online journals. Pure sunshine. What a comfort! http://members.xoom.com/jrnlwtr/frontpage.htm
Ready to hang out with other writers? See what's brewing at "Coffeehouse For Writers," where you'll find critique groups, workshops, The Poetry Café, the "Fiction Fix" newsletter, a monthly grammar quiz, chat groups, writer buddy classifieds, tips for surviving the writing life, daily prompts, and much more. http://www.coffeehouse4writers.com/index.html
If your goals include exploring and understanding your deepest self, searching for meaning, rewriting your inner dramas, or writing well-constructed fiction, you'll want to visit the "StoryCraft" site to check out new story development software. John Jarvis, a professional screenwriter, developed the software based on his extensive study of classical mythology, Joseph Campbell's hero's journey, and Jungian psychology. Jarvis teaches a series of online writing courses and offers "StoryTeller," a free email newsletter that contains in- depth articles about the mythological method as the most universal and most powerful way of expressing art. http://www.writerspage.com/
For getting the most out of life, you can't beat Ray Whiting's "Two Scoops" daily newsletter. You'll find writing and journaling articles, practical wisdom for handling life's challenges, and Ray's own unique insights. Many links and resources. He also publishes the "KickNIC!!!" newsletter for would-be nonsmokers. http://www.twoscoops.com/ THIS LINK NO LONGER WORKS.
For daily insight and inspiration, you'll want to subscribe to Kevin Eikenberry's daily "Powerquotes." You'll receive a powerful quotation with three questions to ponder. Suitable for writing prompts. http://discian.com/pq.htm
Join fellow seekers at "Higher Awareness." You'll find workbooks, resource lists, growth tips, and great links. Sign up for the free weekly inspirational newsletter. http://www.higherawareness.com/
Whether you're a business person or are looking for practical tips, inspiration, humor, and solid motivational reading, subscribe to therapist/coach Philip Humbert's weekly, resource-packed "Weekly Tips" newsletter for personal development. You'll always find "keepers" there for your files. http://www.philiphumbert.com/
Meet cultured and fascinating people who share your passion for your favorite composers and more at "Classical Music Lovers' Exchange." "For many, a shared love of classical music is a sign of much broader common interests and is a wonderful basis for beginning a meaningful relationship." Members all over the country include many professional musicians. Monthly newsletter includes updates on members' activities, concerts, performances, accomplishments, marriages. http://www.cmle.com/
"Show me the books he loves and I shall know the man far better than through mortal friends," wrote Silas Mitchell, who is quoted at the "Single Booklovers" site. Meet fellow readers through the monthly newsletter and at Single Booklover dinners scattered throughout the country. Newsletter includes member-written book reviews, items of interest for avid readers, news of members' activities, and announcements of marriages between members. http://www.singlebooklovers.com/about.html
If you're such a bookworm that you read cereal boxes and jar labels, you'll adore the Bas Bleu catalog, a literary feast of hard-to-find, unusual, and fascinating books to fall in love with. Many books about writing and writers. Rich and loving descriptions. Also find games, jewelry, accessories, gorgeous greeting cards. http://www.basbleu.com/basics/index.html
"Through giving, helping, and growing beyond personal self-interest, elders can express an ongoing commitment to the greater community," writes Zalman Schachter- Shalomi. His Spiritual Eldering Institute in Boulder, Colorado teaches the liberating truth of aging as a great spiritual adventure. Workshops and training seminars are offered throughout the country with an emphasis on "Life Harvest" through journaling. In "Age-ing to Sage-ing," Schachter-Shalomi writes about elders as "keepers of the flame," healers, judges, and "living history books." At the website, you'll find books, tapes, resources, and a workshop schedule. Become a member and sign up for the newsletter at: The Spiritual Eldering Institute, 970 Aurora Avenue, Boulder, CO 80302. (303-449-7243).
"Knowledge is not information, it is transformation," said Osho. Through "Cosmic Jokes for Inspiration and Elevation," you can cultivate the neutral mind in the midst of everyday sticky situations and use those irritations, your reactions, and your frustrations to reach a state of awe and wonder. Jokes and quotations from Eastern and Western traditions are used to "poke, provoke, confront, and elevate." Humor can be your teacher in learning the nature of attachment and release. Here's a sample from the first issue:
Mulla Nasrudin's face lit up as he recognized the man who was walking ahead of him down the subway stairs. He slapped the man so heartily on the back that the man nearly collapsed, and cried, "Goldberg, I hardly recognized you! Why, you have gained thirty pounds since I saw you last. And you have had your nose fixed, and I swear you are about two feet taller." The man looked at him angrily. "I beg your pardon," he said in icy tones, "but I do not happen to be Goldberg." "Aha!" said Mulla Nasrudin, "so you have even changed your name?" http://www.freeyellow.com/members7/innerfreedom/inspire.html
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(c) Copyright Ellen Moore, Ph.D. 2000
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