I have lapsed in my writing. Transitions are challenging and this has been one of the bigger ones in my life. In thinking about how often I drop the thread of my life and the tools I have at hand to pick it up and continue on, Jack Schwartz has come to mind.
Jack came to the Stanford Inn sometime in the 1990’s, I believe. I am terrible with dates but it was before I left for a few years to go back to college in 2000 to study Ecology. Jack Schwartz was one of the first biofeedback subjects at the Menninger Institute in the early 1960’s. He is remembered as a healer, teacher, naturopath and magician (of sorts) who is said to have been able to levitate as a young child, see auras and heal illnesses in others. As a biofeedback research subject and researcher he was able to regulate his bodily functions, be unaffected by pain and toxins, and to heal his body within hours from injuries and traumas.
Jack was a friend of Jeff Stanford’s family for many years. At a time of transition for Jack and his wife Lois, Jeff offered the two lower levels of the “new” lobby building for them to relocate their Alethia Foundation. Jack generously offered to Inn employees some of his classes on self-regulation and awareness. As someone who has always been a seeker of knowledge, I gladly took advantage of everything offered. I was able to experience a bit of the biofeedback work he was doing. The most important bit of wisdom he shared with me, as I complained about feeling so often lost and adrift in my life, was that life is a process of continual reinvestment.
Some people may not ever doubt their path, their decisions, or their day to day existence but I am not one of those fortunate folks. My life has been one of constant questioning, doubting, distraction. My interests range too widely and are too varied for me to ever achieve much. I have started many interesting projects in my life, including these writings, only to find myself months or years later doing something entirely different, having simply forgotten what it was I was doing before. I seem to lose interest or to forget what page I was on. Or, more often, to see something that appears to be more interesting and go running down that new path. Jack suggested that when I felt adrift or discontent to go back to what it was I had in mind when I decided to do whatever it was I was doing (at that time working in the gardens at the Inn and being a single mother) and to reinvest in the reasons I chose that path. To re-immerse myself in the wonder and potential of it. To dive back into the pool. That bit of wisdom helps me get back on track or to decide that my reasons for doing what I was doing are no longer valid and to make new decisions. It has also helped me to return to things that I was truly interested in but that I lost track of, and to not waste time judging myself. It has also, importantly, taught me to be mindful and aware of what I am doing and why, rather than being at the whim and mercy of everything around me. To be choosing, and rechoosing, the actions I am taking rather than simply sleepwalking through my life. With this guidance under my belt, I was able to stay at the Inn for over 20 years, raise my son, complete several higher education degrees and to grow into a better version of myself. Although I did finally leave the Inn, it was to move to Western Washington to be closer to my younger sister and her daughter. It was the right decision, I am certain, but there are so many aspects of being there that I deeply miss. I have never again found the same sense of belonging and purpose in anything else I have done in my life. I have gained a few precious friends, learned a lot and grown a lot since leaving and, yet, I have not replicated the feeling of contributing to something bigger than myself, of being in communication with the earth, of having the time and space to explore realms of being and the sheer pleasure of growing flowers, arranging them, and spending long, silent days in the quiet of nature. Perhaps, here in the Black Mountains, I will find again a sense of belonging.
I have brought with me, on this major journey to live in France, the memory and cellular knowledge gained through working with the land at the Stanford Inn. The wisdom of reflection and analysis. The discipline of gratitude and the ability to define for myself what is the right path and how to stay upon it. The power of knowing that I alone can know when, or if, it is time to change. And, the practice of reinvesting to keep my spirits strong and my light bright. It keeps bringing me back to this writing, week after week. Sometimes, life can feel a bit like Groundhog Day. I go to sleep each night and wake up each day to do it all over again. Each day I tweak it a little bit. I try to correct the missteps of the day before. I look for signs that this day is not like any other before. That sense of curiosity and the excitement of discovering something new and wonderful today is what keeps me moving through days that are often filled with physical pain and the slow decline of energy and strength that is accompanying growing older. Every day here feels new and unexpected. From talking to mom in the morning about not knowing where the Revel Emmaeus is located and then accidentally parking right in front of it when we went to lunch, to bumping into new neighbors while walking the dog in the evening. If I stay open and ready, the world offers itself anew every moment of every day. Like the wildflowers that are presenting themselves, a new one every few days, each day is a revelation and a gift.
