Separation

Moving

Should anyone wish to know, I'm moving to another weblog created today: it's called (provisionally) "Reading Ahead" and it's at http://wallmart.typepad.com/reading_ahead/.

It just seemed that things have entered a new chapter, so it was time to begin posting things, at least sometimes, that reflect this new stage: one of eagerness to see what God sends next.

Hope to meet you there!

Tuning

This morning’s segment in “Transitions,” the other book Rebecca was kind enough to give me, talks about the “plan for good that is working in and through me,” and that as one releases resistance to change, one can become “attuned” to this plan.

That started me thinking about becoming attuned: what would it be like to be attuned to this “plan for good?” How does one go about it?

The first thought was about a passage in Gleanings from the Writings of Bahá'u'lláh, in which He reveals, “Sorrow not if, in these days and on this earthly plane, things contrary to your wishes have been ordained and manifested by God, for days of blissful joy…are assuredly in store for you. Worlds, holy and spiritually glorious, will be unveiled to your eyes. You are destined by Him, in this world and hereafter, to partake of their benefits, to share in their joys, and to obtain a portion of their sustaining grace. To each and every one of them you will, no doubt, attain.” His plan for me, then, will play out over some period of time, but ultimately its end will be joyous. I can live with that.

Then I began thinking about what I know of tuning a violin. First you listen to the reference note, which is “A” above middle “C”. Once you have that pitch in your ear, you make a two-note chord with the “E” string and move the “E” around until the chord resonates clearly, a perfect fifth above the “A”. If it’s out of tune in the slightest you hear a “beat,” a vibration that happens when the waves of the two notes interfere with each other. You’re listening for the moment when the waves exactly combine to reinforce each other, which makes all the other strings vibrate in sympathy, indeed resonates with all the power that resides within the instrument—a nice example of the power of unity.

Next you make a chord with the “D” string, listening again for the pure interval of a fifth. Finally, you make a chord between the “D” and the “G” strings. It’s interesting that the “G”, which physically can’t be played together with the “A”, has to be tuned by only indirect reference to the “A”. You don’t ever move the “A,” and once you have it, it becomes the means of shaping every other note, really every note that can be played on the instrument, since they are all just some number of half- or whole-tones up or down from the “A”—what might be called the “primal point” that generates everything else.

But how might this work as a metaphor about being attuned to God’s plan?

I started thinking about the things I already knew about this passage of life; I started by listening to the notes already played. One is that Rebecca is not intended as my partner, not now, maybe not ever; the guidance on this seems clear, and it resonates within me now that I’m trying to pay attention to the soul’s own voice. Books have come into my life, all talking about this process of learning to hear the soul, find out its needs, and be open to new insights; and even more reassuring, that simply asking the question, committing to learning about one’s essential self, releases energies that impel one forward even when one doesn’t know the way. There is a new project at work, one that helps me to look forward and not toward the past—encouragement to keep on. And there have been other confirmations too intimate to share here; suffice it to say that, having made the first step, God has found ways of letting me know that things are progressing in harmony with His plans.

By extension—by using these notes to tune the other ones in life—what else can be known? One, perhaps, is that I needn’t stress about finding a partner. As essential as this is for me, as deeply as I know I must have a companion in life, I also know I need time alone just now. Love will come in its appointed time, neither sooner nor later than it is needed to continue and reinforce the harmonies already in my life; I need only try to be alert to its appearance. The search for inner knowledge about the true self must go on. Energy must be invested in work, in music, in writing—all these have been confirmed in the days just past, they are half- and whole-steps from those perfect notes.

When I pick up the violin now, for instance, it is becoming a new voice, almost a form of prayer, and it begins to bring the same sense of peace as prayer does. I’ve always played as work—especially when actually making a living as a violinist—and critiqued each note, each stroke of the bow. There is a place for that, but more and more I find myself playing notes because they sound good to me, they flow from something inside, they make chords with the music in my spirit.

If one thinks of a musical composition, there is order and purpose, structure and shape. Moments of intensity alternate with moments of calm. Now there is melody, clear and singing through all the textures that support it, then again there is development, where the composer tries any number of chords, of progressions, using some, discarding others, perhaps singing out the heart’s sadness in a minor key, but always building toward a new statement of the main theme, the central idea, that soaring melody that lifts the heart, brings tears, changes life forever. All this, built around a single true note.

What Dreams May Come...

Woke up this morning feeling enthusiastic about the day--what a concept! Traffic dented my good mood a little bit, as did some pesky, persistent memories, but mostly I enjoyed a) not having that constant knot of tension in my stomach (well, OK, a little bit, but less) and b) feeling like my sleep had actually refreshed. My theory is that when you go without sleep for so long, when you are finally able to get a good night's rest, you wake up feeling more tired than before; but that gradually you get retrained and the sleep deficit goes down.

And the learning process goes on. Reading and writing are helping to get a handle on the degree to which my need was dictating action and perception, rather than the voice of the soul. This morning, as I talked with Bahá'u'lláh, I found myself telling him I felt like we were getting deeper into uncharted territory, that the language of this stage of the journey is unfamiliar to me, and that given all the distractions along the way--work, memory, desire, daily obstacles--I really needed His help to go the distance.

This morning's reading, in "...Wolves", was about the tension within the individual between ego and soul. Estés talks about how the ego, that part of us that learns its way through the outer world, tends to dominate in our early years, and rightly so: we must learn the ropes. At some point, though, the needs of the soul become more important and, if we are lucky, we hear the soul's voice despite all the competing noise from society and from our own past. Often, she says, an event will occur that will call us home, remind us that we are more than a material self that seeks fulfillment of material needs; and when that event occurs, a new life can begin. The ego is attracted to the light of the soul, in oneself and, indeed, in others, and tries to grab on to it, as it always has done in its search for fulfillment, as if the light were a thing or a possession; but the challenge is not for the ego to "possess" the light of the soul. The challenge is to work out a relationship between self and soul, through which as integrated beings we are able to navigate the outer world, build relationships, pursue the creative impulses God has placed within each one of us, and do so with the guidance of the soul--of instinct, of intuition, of the finer sensitivities of the spirit.

It seemed, as I read, that there was some value here, some resonance within. A case could be made that I have learned the outside world fairly well--I can get to the other side of the planet with just a few phone calls, make all kinds of things happen--but through loss, discovery and loss again, have been made to enter this new passage of the soul. The dynamics of this passage are still obscure but comfort can be found in the assurance that it's never too late, that having begun and committed to the work, protection, guidance and strength will come. "Make a start," 'Abdu'l-Bahá said, "and all will come right." And Bahá'u'lláh writes, “A servant is drawn unto Me in prayer until I answer him; and when I have answered him, I become the ear wherewith he heareth....”

And dreams have returned, a voice that had been silent for almost a year. I usually don't know what they mean but wake up eager to see whether meaning will become clear during the day.

There was one last night, for instance, in which it seemed my spirit was reaching out to someone, someone who cried out in surprise; I wonder who it might have been? The image of the dream was of descending to a great depth: the walls of this space rushed past me and they looked like a dark, billowing satiny curtain whose folds were lit from below; and at the bottom, a rectangular space whose borders were picked out in light, as if the light were behind and below this gleaming dark platform. As I reached the platform, a woman's voice said, loudly, "Ah!", and her cry echoed a moment through the space, then was gone. After a moment I woke up: 2:39 am on the clock.

And so the day begins.

Scholarship Awarded

Tonight the first Amelia Diaz-Allmart Scholarship awards were given at her old high school. One of the two recipients could not, at the last minute, attend, but here you can see the sweet young woman who was there, Antonia Gonzalez. Next to Bill is Mary McCarter, Amelia's former colleague who really made this happen, and Suzanne and Husayn and baby Amia. Amelia's other dear friends, Jeanette and Hal Gordon, were also there.

I got to hand Antonia her certificate and we had a chance to chat a little. In one of the communications leading up to this evening, I asked the faculty, who know the students, to make their final choice based on whether they saw a glimpse of Amelia in one of them. Meeting Antonia, who plans to become fully bilingual so she can serve more effectively as a nurse, I saw what her teachers saw: a young woman of great poise, great sweetness, and great caring for others. I looked hard at her during the evening--she spoke on behalf of the seniors and received several other academic awards from her teachers--and I believe there was indeed something of Amelia there in her spirit. It was such a privilege to be able to help her with her academic goals, even just a little bit.

The funny yet touching part was that none of those who had known Amelia best felt they could stand and say anything without breaking down. Mary asked me to speak but I felt I couldn't do so, and asked Mary to speak, who asked Mark, who asked Alice, who finally agreed. In the event, each of these was overcome by tears as pictures of Amelia were flashed onto a screen while the award was introduced. They even had pictures I had forgotten about: Amelia mugging it up on the Maine coast, Lord only knows when. But there she was: smiling, the ocean and the lobster boats behind her. All very sweet. A good night.

Rush Hour, With Tears

Driving through traffic at 70 mph, vision blurred with tears and body wracked with sobs, is a procedure generally to be avoided. This morning, however, this was my reality.

It began with morning reading, in "...Wolves." The author was speaking of the tear the man cries when his heart breaks open to new experience, when he realizes and faces the fact that he carries in him the wounds of all his life--all the rejections, all the disappointments, all the ways he has limited living and feeling, how he has himself inhibited his own love of life and of another--and that when this tear comes forth, the real, deep healing begins. It is the moment when the man realizes that he is his own healer, that he need not, should not, look outside himself for comfort, for a lover to sedate his pain; for his own soul is where God can work to help him bring forth healing, comfort, and the power that flows from engaging this most profound life force. Man cries for himself, and he cries for the other whom he loves: passion and compassion combine in this moment, and when in the context of a loving relationship, both are enriched and ennobled. The cleansing tears also help him recover a state of innocence, in which everything is possible. He "is unafraid to say his soul desires. He is unafraid to wish, for he believes his need will be met. It is a great relief to him to believe his soul will be fulfilled."

Sitting with the book in Starbucks, all this resonated with me. Thinking of recent days I could see the beginnings of this trust, this reliance that all is well, that God is at work in my life, that my deepest wishes and needs will be met. How interesting, I thought. And kept reading.

The author then says, "When a man gives his whole heart, he becomes an amazing force....He inspires new works within himself, but also in those near him....It is a profound occasion when you create something of value through your lover's belief in you, through his heartfelt feeling about your work, your project, your subject. It is an amazing phenomenon. And it is not necessarily limited to your lover; it can occur through anyone who gives his or her heart to you in a deep manner."

This also resonated within. I knew I had glimpsed this with Rebecca, whose art is so remarkable, and the mere contact with which filled my own heart with such delight. But it was not until I began driving through traffic that the deeper impact hit.

My thoughts turned of their own accord to Amelia. Viewed in this way, I understood that our last years together on this plane had indeed been blessed with this sort of profound, shared creativity. At first I thought of her getting her Master's degree, of how hard we had both worked, of how I was able to demonstrate to her my belief in her capacity to accomplish this great thing despite, sometimes, her own doubts; and how ecstatic we both were when finally she achieved it, how we reveled in the abiding satisfaction her accomplishment brought us both.

Then I realized that the manner of her living, and her dying, in those final years were her true masterwork; and it was a work in which we both shared. I remembered how she internalized the danger she faced, and the probability of her own death, with humor, humility, acquiescence, fortitude and caring for others; how she committed to life, here and in the worlds to come, and began to prepare with thoughtfulness, intention and unshakable purpose, to make the most of her soul's eternal life in whichever of the worlds it was destined to become manifest; and how she held body and soul together until the healing of her loved ones was well advanced. I thought again how blessed, how lucky I am to have been allowed the insight, the strength and the love to accompany her, to aid in the creation she fashioned. Of all the lessons this quintessential teacher fashioned, this was her greatest, her most magnificent, and it was a collaboration with me, with family and friends--all added the richness that was in them to the final result.

But there was more to come. As I drove, weeping hard now, I was taken back to a vision that arose in my soul last night, as I lay on the edge of sleep. This was an occurrence unlike any in my life and reminded me, then and again as I drove, that these months of suffering, confusion, love found, expressed and transformed, had emptied the soul, broken down the walls, and set me on a path new to my experience.

As I lay on my bed last night, there arose before my eyes a vision of the world, but from above. I could see a vast panorama of villages and towns, of trees in full leaf and adorned with blossoms, stretching into the distance. The afternoon sun turned the trees' many hues of green into so many different shades of gold, warm and liquid in the light. Spread across this green-gold carpet I could see an interlocking lattice-work of circles, suspended in the midst of the sky yet below my eyes; they were circles of celestial power, of purest energy, substantial and real yet transparent or nearly so, and I knew they were intended to shelter and invigorate the life force of all the beings on the earth below them. My gaze was then lifted higher and I saw, at the farthest edge of the horizon, the shoulders and deep black luxuriant beard of a Figure; He filled the sky, though I could not see His Face. His shoulders were clothed in a sumptuous, shimmering robe of the same colors as the trees below, yet finer, deeper; they repeated while yet embellishing the theme of the living art spread below. And as I watched I could see His hands, large, powerful, majestic, fashioning one more, one final circle of golden light: larger it was than the others, and as it emerged from His hands I knew it was the one circle that would fill the sky at its apex, uniting and protecting all the network of smaller circles and knitting everything, earth and heaven alike, into a single band of power.

Such images have, to my recollection, never come to me before. I am reminded by it that a new chapter has begun in which, if this is possible, then so are all things, in His good time. Now I wept, not only for the sorrow of loss, and of love postponed, but also for the beauty of life, of the new life I feel growing in my soul, and for the gratitude I feel to a loving Creator Who can so cherish even the most unworthy of His creations that He should give him such gifts.

Scheduled Maintenance

Sedona, April 2004

One of the things that can easily slip, when a loved one is ill for a long time, is the body's scheduled maintenance. That's definitely the case here: for the last two years physical exams were put at the bottom of the priority list. Even knowing that one must have one's own resources intact if one is to give to the loved one does not prevent this schedule's slipping.

So, finally, things are almost up to date. The urologists and gastroenterologists have carried out the sundry indignities and indiscretions that lie within their power. The cardiologist has listened and thumped and rendered his verdict. The psychologist continues spelunking inside my head. The remaining base to cover is the endocrinologist: when I was born, the doctors decreed that my thyroid was too large, and in their great wisdom decided that it should be subjected to a radioactive bombardment. Many of those similarly assaulted later developed thyroid cancer; I have not, although last summer there was a two-month period, coinciding roughly with Amelia's last two months of life in this world, during which there was a very real threat, thanks to my over-eager and otherwise thoughtless "primary care" doc, of cancer for me, too. After trying unsuccessfully to have further tests done in Arizona I decided just to let it ride; we were otherwise occupied, you know? Anyway, I go to see this last fellow tomorrow night, will contribute some blood and money to his inventory of both, and find out whether some of the things I've been feeling for the last 60 days are actually the product of the node on the thyroid which turns out to be my legacy from the dawn of the atomic age.

Otherwise, the consensus, among earthly authorities at least, seems to be that I will live a while longer. Anyone who looks at the above picture may wonder at the wisdom of allowing natural selection to do its work, however........

Rebecca Was Right

It’s hard to admit that Rebecca was right about me, and if it’s hard for one guy to admit such a thing, maybe it’s hard for others, too, so let me put this conclusion in context a bit.

In some of our most recent conversations, Rebecca and I discussed our sense that we each had work to do in our interior lives before we were ready for commitment, to anyone. She went further: “You are not ready to let anyone into your life until you have done more of that work.” I heard the ring of truth in these words but didn’t know what to do with them.

Last weekend I asked Rebecca for some distance, a time apart, and she agreed; and in the interim, some things are becoming clearer, and they allow me to affirm, with no sense of being diminished myself, that she was—is—right: I do have work to do. Here are some of the things to work on:

--Who is Bill? I have had various answers for this question over the years and they have worked well, but no longer. The situation in which I now find myself is so vastly different from the past, my aspirations so much higher, that life now requires new answers. Through trying to have a relationship this early after Amelia’s passing, and with a strong woman who has learned so much through her own journey, I have been helped to confront the obsolescence of the old answers and to struggle to find new ones; pain and sadness became so acute that the attempt to continue without finding new truths was simply unbearable.

Between Rebecca and me, with all the wonderful things we share in common, there are also important differences in how we approach relationship generally, and our own in particular. Lacking a sense of my own needs and values, though, made it hard for me to identify or articulate those differences. I could not give Rebecca a clear sense of where I stood when relationship matters came up, hence we were not in a position to discuss them, to see if we could work them through; and our choices were much less clear cut than they might have been.

In fact, I was trying so hard to be accepted by her that I was actually moving my boundaries, trying to shift who Bill is, even as a small voice inside me, and, in fairness, Rebecca’s outside, was telling me I was ignoring essential things and essential information. The tension produced when you try to become something you are not leads to anger, resentment, other feelings; so the emotional temperature was so high, on my part, as to make useful discussion almost impossible. Further, I was unaware of the degree to which I was having these feelings and reflecting them back toward Rebecca. And finally, I was swallowing my emotions so as not to verbalize them, lest our ties should be broken.

These behaviors are recipes for ill health spiritually, relationally and physically. Need, loneliness, fear, hunger were all driving me relentlessly; their combined noise was so loud I couldn’t hear the important voices urging me toward a healthier approach. Of course Rebecca didn’t feel comfortable with me; I wasn’t even comfortable with myself, really, but I couldn’t acknowledge that fact.

--All this is different than resisting change, refusing to learn. At every stage since we met, I have learned a lot from Rebecca, and she has been kind enough to say the same of me. Recognizing there have to be new answers implies the need for learning. Learning involves comparing new information against old and then making choices for the right reasons, sometimes logically, sometimes through the use of intuition, most times relying on God to provide guidance. Learning involves tenacity, perseverance, and at least I have brought those qualities to the task.

But learning also requires patience. My need, however, and my hunger have been making me impatient. I begin, now, to see that finding the answers I seek is an organic process, one that takes the time it takes, and that even as I lamented to God His apparent inattention to my plight, He was in fact working as fast as my soul could accommodate the necessary changes. Look at it: He has sent His Teachings, books, friends and family, Rebecca herself, dreams, flashes of insight--some of which were burningly painful--and more during this whole time. Seeing all this now, having the sense I do today of His care through this arduous passage, both excites my desire for more learning and lets me acknowledge that He’s doing His part at a pace that is best for me. I can relax.

And I know that the answers that are beginning to emerge will only work for a time before they, too, become unsuited to a new, emerging reality; and that’s all right. In two of the books Rebecca was guided to share with me, “Women Who Run With The Wolves” and “The Artist’s Way,” there is much discussion of the internal voice that tries to undermine progress. It is the voice that says to me “Your insight won’t last; in fact, maybe you’re just making it up. You know that as surely as you feel right and happy today, tomorrow you will feel dejected, ignorant and sad.” But now there’s a difference: I know the voice exists, that everyone has one inside their head, and that what it says only seems true because it is a half-truth. I recognize the signs now and can be aware of them.

The reality is that I will lose my way again, I will feel sad or deficient in some way, unloved and undeserving of acceptance by peers, a lover, friends; but this is all part of the process, and I now have a better sense that God is truly involved. I now know, deeply, that whatever barriers arise in the future, eventually together He and I will find the answers for them, too. He will do this, not because I deserve it, but merely because I want to learn, I want to know and endure what there is to be known. My dark side, after all, is always there; I am not afraid of it, will have a relationship with it that doesn’t dominate me.

--In the book “Women Who Run With The Wolves,” the author makes much of the Life/Death/Life cycles of things, including relationships. Everything that lives, dies; and everything that dies is reborn in some way. The author says that a vital part of a deep relationship is understanding these cycles and making one’s peace with them, indeed welcoming them. This leads to patience, to endurance, to deep fulfillment.

So I know that something must die in order to make space for new life. In our dance with Rebecca, it has been time for the dreams born of need, hunger and fear to die. The good that is between us will be re-born in some way, at some time we can’t know or presently describe; and that’s all right, it is as it should be, must be. It is in the nature of things that this cycle should be fulfilled.

There is, today, a steadily growing eagerness to move into the future, to see what new things God will create in order to challenge, enrich and bring joy. This will happen, not because I am so important in His scheme of things, but simply because it is what He does: He creates things, He desires for there to be joy and happiness in the world.

My role is to be open to this: “Love Me,” Bahá'u'lláh revealed, “that I may love thee; for if thou lovest Me not, My love can in no wise reach thee.”

Music Again

Wearing Dad's Golden Shirt-Studs

Last night one of Amelia's wishes for me came true: for the first time since 1992 I stepped out onto a bright stage again to play music.

The Stage

The occasion was the local symphony's final concert of the season. More than 100 voices, a huge orchestra and two wonderful soloists all came together to perform Mahler's 2nd ("Resurrection") Symphony--a huge work all about the new birth that follows the passage into death. "I am from God," sings the mezzo-soprano, "and I will return to Him. Dear Lord, please just send me a little light so I may find my way to you." "You will be reborn," answer the massed voices of the men, triumphantly. "Make your soul ready."

Playing this music felt wonderful. Nerves went away; the missed notes faded into nothingness. All that mattered was sitting in the midst of this whirlwind of sound and color, carried along by the act of creation and by the voices, in turns lilting, reassuring, wistful and jubilant. Something deep and fine happened in that place.

Amelia was there with me, from first to last. She it was who insisted the violin be repaired; she made sure I enrolled in a music course to feel the magic once more; and she it was who knew I would need music in my life to fill the hole her leaving would create. After the first movement, Mahler specified a 5-minute "contemplative pause"; I was talking with Amelia the whole time, thanking her, asking whether she liked the music, hoping she was comfortable on such a humid night.

After the Concert, A Blur

And family and friends were there, too, some visible, some not. How much it meant to have the blessing of their companionship on such a night! Husayn, Suzanne and little Amia were there; every time there was a really loud sound, Amia would jump. My sister-in-law Jean was there. Our dear friend Michael, who helped Amelia live so well and so much longer, was there. Rebecca was there, if only in my mind and heart, for her constant encouragement and her caring. My Mom and sister were there, also in the heart's chamber if not the concert hall. Dad was there; it was his gold shirt studs I wore.

Loved Ones Present, Those Absent Not Forgotten

If we are not to be grateful now to God, for what time are we waiting?

Graduations

On May 15th, Suzanne and Husayn graduated from University of Illinois/Urbana:

Almost There

The Graduate

No Caption Needed

Re-framing

Rebecca gave me this great book, The Artist's Way. I was reading it yesterday and that, together with a really hard conversation earlier in the morning, led to a couple of insights that, while not especially pretty, will help a great deal, I think (and hope).

The first will probably be no surprise at all to anyone who has read this journal and is perceptive: I have been seeking out and thriving on the sympathy of others and using it to fuel pity for myself. It's time that changed, and Rebecca, both directly and indirectly, helped me to this understanding. The present, while there are feelings of loss and sadness, is also a time when new things can be born. My choice is whether to continue to be absorbed in those feelings, or to step forward in faith that there is a creative process at work which will bring me, or help me to find, wisdom, fulfillment, contentment and the best kind of companionship. Do I trust the process? The divine forces at work all around me? Or will I shut myself off from them, disbelieve in them, lament that God's timing is so different from the timing I would prefer? Rhetorical questions.

And the second is that I have been in danger of becoming what the author calls a "crazymaker": one who is long on problems and short on solutions. I don't choose to do that, either!

So with apologies and gratitude to the friends and family who have been so wonderful, I am working on re-frame the issues in a more helpful way.