One of my readers sent this to me recently and I wanted to share it with you, along with my reply to her. (She has given me her approval.) In her email, (I’m paraphrasing here) she told me that film critic Roger Ebert had recently appeared on the Oprah Show. For more than eight years, he’d been battling thyroid cancer that eventually spread to his salivary gland and jaw. Because of this, most of his lower jaw had been removed and it left him unable to speak or eat. He uses a computer into which he types what he wants to say and it replays the words.

Ebert wrote in his journal that the purpose of our lives is to make the lives of others a little happier and to make ourselves happier. Anything contrary to that is a travesty because unhappiness is the breeding ground for crime. He said that he didn’t always know this, but was glad that he has lived long enough to realize it.

When asked about his appearance, he replied that nobody is perfect and that we have to accept who we are and keep on living.

My reply to her email:

I hope most of us don't have to go through what he did to realize that what he says is true. Unfortunately all we have is our words to help us convince others of the things we know will improve their lives. Here's an excerpt for you from my book. The setting takes place in a coffee shop, where I'm talking to a famous poet. In this scene she has just finished reading some of my work.

Following is an excerpt from DANCE OF THE ELECTRIC HUMMINGBIRD. It’s from Chapter 28 — Beyond the Holes of Words:

“What exactly are you trying to say here?” She points to a line in my poem with her pen.

I fumble a bit, unsure of how to respond because I’ve sugarcoated my meaning. I take a sip of my mocha latte to stall. It tastes even better than before. I take another. Then I look around the small room—the walls are painted light pink and there are dark, wooden shelves displaying coffee products for sale. Three other customers sit in overstuffed chairs arranged facing one another near the windows. The entire atmosphere is one of warmth, relaxation, and trust. It seems to say, “Go ahead…”

I’m trying not to focus on the fact that Victoria is the perfect image of a teacher, which she is, after all, because in my mind, teachers had always been harbingers of doom. Of course, this is my own silly notion left over from my Catholic school days—Victoria is not dressed in a black and white nun’s habit. She’s wearing a floral print button-down blouse, impeccably ironed, and white pants, her grey hair cut short and neatly styled. Why do I do this to myself?

“Do you mean ‘vagina’?” Her soft-spoken manner seems contradictory to such frankness.

“Yes.” I’m quite caught off-guard.

“Then say ‘vagina.’” She crosses out what I’ve written and scribbles the word “vagina” with her red pen.

I take another sip of my latte, swallowing hard in an attempt to disguise the little smile creeping over my face.

She and I had become friends when I’d signed up for the Writing through Loss grief support group after my parents died. Over the years, I had attended several of her writing workshops and poetry readings, hoping to absorb as much knowledge from her as I could. And now she was the person in charge of the class I’d enrolled in.

During one of the sessions, as the group of mourners sat writing in our chairs, she quietly approached me.

“I really love your writing. I was wondering if you’d be interested in working with me on your poetry.”

“I’d be honored!” I was a little embarrassed because I wasn’t used to compliments like this. But I sorely needed help and direction with my writing, and professional advice. I had so much inside of me that I wanted to say and I wanted it to come out as art so others could relate, but sometimes I didn’t know quite how to say it. I didn’t want to offend anyone.

And now, sitting across from her, I realize that she’s not judging me. She’s treating me with respect for what it is I need to say as an artist. What ridiculous notion had convinced me that she would immediately reject me based on one word? I feel my body relax and I gain even more respect for her—this tiny woman with a big soul.

But I learned from an early age to care what others thought of me, which stemmed from my worrying about what God thought of me. Growing up I learned how not to bring attention to myself. I was always on the lookout for what others expected of me and strove to live up to their expectations. And the things the girls at school said about me hurt me deeply, so I knew that words had a lot of power. Prepubescent girls can be horribly cruel, but I never fought back; I couldn’t conceive of hurting anyone else on purpose, even if they'd hurt me first. It went completely against my nature.

So the words thing was obviously deeply ingrained in me. I was concerned that people would form the wrong opinion of me for that reason.

Thoreau said, “Say what you have to say, not what you ought.” And here is the poet telling me pretty much the same thing.

Art is supposed to incite raw emotion.

So when it comes to writing this book, a much bigger project than writing one poem, trying to explain all this is very much like trying to explain Zen: no matter which words I choose, the only way another can truly know how it feels is by personal experience. Nevertheless, my soul screams that I have to try. I have to tell this story. It’s a quagmire I just know I can conquer if not with words, then through some sort of osmosis that whoever is meant to hear and understand, will. And yet, my ferryboat is built of words.

D. T. Suzuki writes:

Cannot Zen be so explained that a master can lead all his pupils to enlightenment through explanation? Is satori something that is not at all capable of intellectual analysis? Yes, it is an experience which no amount of explanation or argument can make communicable to others unless the latter themselves had it previously … For a satori turned into a concept ceases to be itself … Therefore, all that we can do in Zen in the way of instruction is to indicate, or to suggest, or to show the way so that one’s attention may be directed towards the goal. As to attaining the goal and taking hold of the thing itself, this must be done by one’s own hands, for nobody else can do it for one…

I can’t wrap its message into a neat little package others can take with them like a piece of chewing gum that releases some great philosophical truth when you bite into it. If I could, believe me, I would.

END OF EXCERPT.

The sky was grey and it had been cold outside for days. Weeks. Months, it seemed. Snowflakes were falling all morning, covering the streets with a dusting of white.

It was the kind of day where you just didn’t want to get out of bed and face the cold; you’d rather curl up with a hot cup of tea and a good book in your favorite chair by the fireplace. Or smell the comforting scent of soup cooking in the crock-pot and homemade bread baking in the oven.

Instead, I was at work and business was slow. As I sat at my desk, talking with a co-worker, suddenly I smelled the unmistakable aroma of chocolate chip cookies.

“Do you smell that?” I asked her.

“No, what?”

“Chocolate chip cookies! I wonder if someone is baking them in the kitchen.”

She said she didn’t smell anything and that there wasn’t anybody in the kitchen.

I asked another of my co-workers if he could smell it. He said “no.”

But the mouth-watering scent was very strong.

Several hours later, a woman came through the door dressed like the statue of liberty in an effort to promote her tax business. She handed me some coupons and two packages of home-baked cookies, not the least of which were chocolate chip!

These sorts of things have been happening to me on a regular basis ever since my mystical experience in 2003. Whether it’s coincidence or not, it gives me a new perspective on the power of my mind to create what I desire.

Now, if I can just figure out how to manifest a million dollars…

I’m sure by now most of you have heard some of the hype about the year 2012: that the Mayan calendar ends there, therefore perhaps the world will end then too. For me, that thought conjures up images of doom and gloom—Armageddon, fire, turmoil and a “you’d-better-have-your-shit-together-by-now- because-if-you-don’t-it’s-too-late” feeling of complete helplessness.

But people have predicted the end of the world for as long as I can remember. In the ‘60s there were cartoons of beatniks carrying signs that read “The end is near.” (Or maybe there really were hippies carrying signs like that, I just didn’t see them because I was too young at the time!)

In 1999, they said we would never get to the year 2000 because computers would freak out and life as we knew it would erupt in utter chaos. Some of my neighbors stock-piled freeze-dried food, bottles of water and gasoline. But the world didn’t end. Perhaps our computers were smarter than we gave them credit for.

Now they’re saying that 2012 will be the end. After all the articles I’ve read and “experts” I’ve heard speak on the matter, I’ve come to my own conclusions.

I choose not to dwell in doom and gloom. I don’t believe God dwells in doom and gloom either. I believe God is hope and light.

I choose that hope and light. Therefore, I don’t think 2012 will be the end. I think it will be a new beginning.

True, we seem to be experiencing many more natural disasters all over the world than in the past. And I don’t know about you, but I sense something different in the air—that our way of looking at things seems to be changing—we are even more hungry for spiritual fulfillment than ever before and a lot of us are no longer satisfied with accepting someone else’s definition of “The Truth” based on blind faith alone.

I think this is great! We cannot grow if we don’t ask questions and discover our own answers. If you’re completely happy with your life, that’s wonderful, but if not, by looking in other directions you may discover what you’re looking for. Or rather, what you’re looking for will find you! But I’ll save that for another post.

My interpretation of 2012 is that people will become more spiritually aware, more tolerant and loving. It’s already happening, don’t you see? The outpouring of love for those who’ve endured the earthquakes, 9/11, the hurricanes and tsunamis—the coming together of complete strangers to help those in need. And maybe the reason for these disasters is to teach us not to segregate ourselves based on the color of our skin or to fight over whose religion is the truth, but to come together as brothers and sisters. We obviously haven’t been getting the message thus far, so maybe these things are God’s way of forcing us to unite.

The mystical experience I had in 2003 was a tremendous gift bestowed upon me. It showed me that nothing is more powerful than love and that there is no separation between me and God and all the living and non-living things of this world and all worlds. I know this sounds cliché, but it’s all so simple really. This is why I believe that 2012 will be a time of rebirth for our world—a new way of looking at ourselves and realizing our connection to one another, to this earth and to the Divine. I’m not saying there won’t be great upheaval, because sometimes this is what it takes to wake us up. If we’ve reached the bottom of the barrel, there is nowhere to go but UP, right? So if we stick together and continue to believe in the power of love, we will emerge stronger than before and find ourselves in a world of new possibilities for spiritual growth and the attainment of our human need to realize God on a personal basis—whatever that definition means to you.

In each and every moment, we have a choice.

I choose love.

I believe there are as many ways to God as there are beings in this universe.

The Shack by William P. Young is about how one man finds God through the atrocity of his young daughter’s murder.

This book reinforces some of the truths I've learned on my own journey, primarily the discovery of God in unexpected places and times in our lives.

I also find it interesting that the author mentions music and musicians here, and references James Taylor, Bob Dylan, Moby, Sarah McLachlan, Jackson Browne,  Bruce Cockburn and the bands U2, Indigo Girls and Dixie Chicks, to name a few.

Kudos to The Shack for portraying God as alternating between male and female personifications and for depicting God as more than one spiritual entity. For me, these were the book's shining moments.

I did however, have a few problems with this book. The main issue was that it is a bit too slanted toward Christianity. Although the author goes out of his way to say this isn’t the case, I found some of the concepts confusing. For instance, Young assumes that everyone practices a rite called "devotions." I had no idea what he was talking about.

I also think that due to the manner in which the story is presented, it excludes a lot of people. Not everyone sees God within the context of Christianity or religion. The Shack makes reference only to The Bible, as if it were the only holy text, whereas there are other books out there that also contain universal truths. Tao Te Ching, for instance, is even older than The Bible.

In any case, this book is written, as all books are, from the author’s perspective, which includes that which he believes to be true and that’s why I forgive these “indiscretions.” There is still a light in this book that will inspire many.

That being said, neither do I think it’s wrong to see God within the context of Christianity or religion. However one discovers God is great. It only matters that you find Him/Her/It/Them--whatever your definition of the Divine may be, and that you realize you are an important part of the Magnificence—that which is in you and also all around you.

A million thoughts are running through my mind. What if she doesn’t like it? What if my writing is no good?

Worse, what if she does like it? What if she finds a publisher for me and my book is released to the world? Then, what? I might as well stand stark naked in the middle of I-25 at rush hour, with a blinking neon sign and arrows pointing to me! Am I really willing to do that?

I sometimes compare my book to The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. If you haven’t read this, I highly recommend that you do. DANCE OF THE ELECTRIC HUMMINGBIRD is a modern day and true story version of this fictionalized tale about a shepherd boy seeking his Personal Legend—the purpose of his life. And just like in The Alchemist, now that I’m standing on the edge and I need to let go and jump into the abyss—solo and without a parachute, I’m paralyzed with fear.

“Just DO it,” Nike says. Yeah, easier said than done, pal.

Apparently this is a common reaction. We want our dream to come true. We want it with all our might, have perhaps even spent our entire lives working toward it. And then, just when we are about to see it come to fruition, most of us back off. Why? Because of all of those fears I mentioned. Then the final hurdle consists of facing the notion that we may actually be more afraid of achieving our dream than we are of not achieving it!

This isn’t as absurd as it sounds. Now that I've arrived at this point, I find myself wondering, What if I’m successful? Then I’ll have an entirely new set of conditions to deal with and right now, I have no clue what they could be. It’s much safer to remain with my known world; I pretty much know how to deal with that.

So what am I doing about the letter from the agent? I’m stalling. I’m finding all kinds of excuses to keep from emailing my reply. I’ve written it, but I can’t seem to make myself push “send.” “I have other queries to get to other agents,” I tell myself, so I work on them instead. And I’m writing this post! I’ve also come across a very good lead, and I’m doing the same thing there—stalling instead of writing to the author involved.

Oh, and www.addictinggames.com keeps seducing me with stupid tactics like: “You need a break. Your mind is tired. Just play a few rounds and then you’ll be able to think clearly again and write a better letter.” Wink, wink.

Like the boy in The Alchemist, I must make that leap into the unknown, let go of the trapeze bar, fling myself to the mercy of the void and trust that there’s another bar out there coming toward me. I haven’t worked this hard to stay where I am. But still…

And then this morning, I receive an email that says: "If we don't change, we don't grow. If we don't grow, we are not really living. Growth demands a temporary surrender of security." —Gail Sheehy

I suppose I should take this as a sign that the Universe is trying to tell me something!

Give me a minute. A hot cup of tea is calling. Oh wait; I’ve already used that excuse. I’ll get to the email tomorrow when my mind is fresher. Really, I will!

(P.S.--I sent it.)