I may never be happy, but tonight I am content.

— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Harvey Pekar et al: The New American Splendor Anthology (1991)

“My sight and hearing were always extraordinary. I could clearly discern objects in the distance when others saw no trace of them. Several times in my boyhood I saved the houses of our neighbors from fire by hearing the faint crackling sounds which did not disturb their sleep, and calling for help. In 1899, when I was past 40 and carrying on my experiments in Colorado, I could hear very distinctly thunderclaps at a distance of 550 miles. The limit of audition for my young assistants was scarcely more than 150 miles. My ear was thus over thirteen times more sensitive. Yet at that time I was, so to speak, stone deaf in comparison with the acuteness of my hearing while under the nervous strain. In Budapest I could hear the ticking of a watch with three rooms between me and the time-piece. A fly alighting on a table in the room would cause a dull thud in my ear. A carriage passing at a distance of a few miles fairly shook my whole body. The whistle of a locomotive 20 or 30 miles away made the bench or chair on which I sat vibrate so strongly that the pain was unbearable. The ground under my feet trembled continuously. I had to support my bed on rubber cushions to get any rest at all. The roaring noises from near and far often produced the effect of spoken words which would have frightened me had I not been able to resolve them into their accidental components. The sun’s rays, when periodically intercepted, would cause blows of such force on my brain that they would stun me. I had to summon all my will power to pass under a bridge or other structure as I experienced a crushing pressure on the skull. In the dark I had the sense of a bat and could detect the presence of an object at a distance of 12 feet by a peculiar creepy sensation on the forehead. My pulse varied from a few to 260 beats and all the tissues of the body quivered with twitches and tremors which was perhaps the hardest to bear.”

–Nikola Tesla

“My Inventions V – My Later Endeavors.” Electrical Experimenter, February, 1919.

As an author and blogger, my days are spent writing stories and blog posts. When I first entertained the idea of writing my spiritual memoir Riding Spirit Horse, I asked myself: “Why should I write my story? Will anyone care about it? Will anyone read it? What does it matter?” Of course, we can talk ourselves out of anything because ultimately very few of us will live extraordinary lives or have remarkable stories from the past. Nevertheless, I believe in the value of writing our stories because the life it could change may not be a reader’s but our own.

Writing a memoir encourages self-reflection and self-examination, which can stir up long-buried emotions. Looking back over the arc of my life was a cathartic process that purged repressed emotions linked to events in the past. As I read through my journals, I relived past events that I had tried hard to forget. It was difficult but very therapeutic. I also rediscovered many fond forgotten memories, evoking nostalgia and a warm sense of joy. In writing my story, I feel like I have integrated all of my life experiences into the present moment. I remember who I really am and how I got here. I am truly more whole.

The process of writing a memoir becomes a meaningful and fulfilling journey to wholeness. The past self is fully integrated with the present self. In large part, this is the power a good memoir evokes in both the writer and the reader. Healing takes root through storytelling when the author makes self-discoveries. When those discoveries are revealed in a well-crafted narrative, the author has the makings of a compelling story. As author Thomas Larson puts it in his insightful book The Memoir and the Memoirist, “a memoir imaginatively renders our evolving selves and critically evaluates how memory, time, history, culture, and myth are expressed within our individual lives.”

So I would encourage you to write your own story. Writing helps you claim a conscious identity, grounding you in a firm sense of self. Writing your story is very empowering. It helps you find your own unique voice. Through writing, you begin to make meaning of your life. It’s a fundamental human need to know our past, how it links to the present and where we fit in. Many of us walk around in a fog of past events that we never fully understood or processed. When you write your story, you create an ordered pattern out of past events, and thereby construct meaning. You form a clearer understanding of who you are and how you got to where you are.

Once you have expressed an understanding of what your story means to you, you can then share it with others. Though we write for ourselves, a story implies both a narrator and a listener – it is created for the purpose of sharing meaning and understanding. Stories help us connect with others and create relationships. For those of us who feel alone, our stories act as bridges to others and build community. Our stories allow us to be known and seen, understood and appreciated.

Willa Cather, an American Pulitzer Prize writer known for her novels of life on the Great Plains, once wrote that: “There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before.” When writing a memoir, we may each be telling “the same stories,” but we do it with our own unique use of language, imagery and style, which to me is what’s most important. Every story has its own distinctive personality, tone and feeling.

Writing our life stories is an inner pilgrimage of transformation – both cathartic and enlightening. We cannot help but grow, expand and change through this conscious probing engagement with our inner worlds. We learn more about ourselves and often bring closure to unresolved issues. Transforming our life into words is one of the most creative pursuits we can engage in, fostering a great sense of achievement. So treat yourself to the experience. Forgive yourself for past mistakes, embrace the past sorrow, appreciate the good times, and start writing your legacy!

Happy vernal equinox! I hope you’re safe and remaining hopeful despite the horrific world events taking place. It’s a head-spinning, anxiety-inducing time. The past two years of the coronavirus pandemic have been filled with unprecedented challenges and uncertainty. Immersing myself in a writing project was my way to cope with a global pandemic that has affected everything and everyone. The isolation and prodigious amount of free time provided fertile ground for writing my life story. So it is with great pleasure that I announce the release of my autobiography, Riding Spirit Horse: A Journey into Shamanism.

In this spiritual memoir, I recount my journey into shamanic practice. It has been a lifelong process–a path that continues to unfold. I am sharing my journey and learnings because many people in today’s world are being called by Spirit to become shamans or shamanic practitioners. A yearning exists deep within many of us to reconnect to the natural world. It is a call to a life lived in balance with awareness of Nature, of Spirit and of Self. We live in a culture that has severed itself from Nature and Spirit. Humans have lost touch with the spirit world and the wisdom of inner knowing. The spirits, however, have not forgotten us. They are calling us to a path of environmental sanity, to rejoining the miraculous cycle of Nature.

The narrative of my story moves from my first ecstatic experience as a youth at a church revival to my mystical shamanic awakening in the wilderness, transformational pilgrimages to sacred places, working with indigenous wisdom keepers, to the experiences that prompted my writing, particularly my trance experiences “riding the drum” or Spirit Horse. Studying with Native elders and shamans, I discovered my shamanic gifts as a drummer, storyteller and ceremonialist.

A journey into shamanism is a pilgrimage of the soul. My journey has taken me down many spiritual paths. As a youth growing up, I embraced the teachings of Christ; I later studied and practiced the teachings of Taoism and Buddhism, all of which have their roots in shamanic practices from the earliest tribal communities. Shared core principles and truths weave a common thread through all spiritual traditions. This golden thread runs through the lives and the teachings of all the great prophets, seers and sages in the world’s history.

Ultimately, all contemplative spiritual practice leads to the evolution of conscious awareness and union with the divine in the present moment. The perennial wisdom traditions teach us that the “here and now” is eternal, unchanging and omnipresent; it should be the primary focus of our life. When we are not present in the moment, we become a victim of time. Our mind is pulled into the past or the future or both. The present moment is all we ever have. The eternal now is the fundamental ceremony of life. When we bring ourselves fully into the present moment, our life becomes a spiritual practice and an opportunity to ride in beauty on the windhorse of authentic presence! I invite you to look inside Riding Spirit Horse: A Journey into Shamanism.

illusion

the bell jar - sylvia plath

Brad Listi Thinks You Should Write as if You Were Already Dead

The author of “Be Brief and Tell Them Everything” on curating a fictional self and the writerly desire to capture the whole world with brevity

by Wynter K. Miller

Brad Listi has made a name for himself by talking to other people. On his podcast, Otherppl with Brad Listi, now in its tenth year, Listi has interviewed hundreds of writers. He’s known for asking questions not just about craft and literature but also about—well, everything. In my favorite episodes, he manages to ask inappropriate questions appropriately, usually within a conversation that appears to have no relevance to writing but actually turns out to be very relevant to writing. I think it’s fair to say that Otherppl is built upon the hypothesis that everything is relevant to writing.

Fittingly, Listi’s sophomore novel, Be Brief and Tell Them Everything, is an autofictious work of both breadth and depth. Structured as a non-linear series of vignettes, the novel opens in the life of a writer named Brad who can’t seem to finish the novel he’s been working on for twelve years. In the midst of this creative crisis, Brad’s six-month-old son is diagnosed with cerebral palsy. The diagnosis is devastating for all the obvious reasons, but it also serves to sharpen Brad’s persistent and pre-existing existential ennui. As he writes and rewrites his novel, he finds himself asking and re-asking a series of questions: Who am I? What happened? What should I do? Be Brief grapples with a diverse array of topics—fatherhood, disability, death, autobiography, creative failure—but it ultimately tells the story of an ordinary life. If readers are looking for Listi on the page, they will undoubtedly find him. That said, I suspect they will also find much more.

Listi and I connected via Zoom to chat about curating a fictional self and the writerly desire to capture the whole world with brevity. It was a pleasure to compel him to answer the sorts of questions he’s usually tasked with asking. 

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What doesn’t kill you, will come back to kill you. - An autobiography by Percy Jackson