Worlds of Words

"What an astonishing thing a book is....one glance at it and you're inside the mind of another person....perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding people together who never knew each other, citizens of distant epochs. Books break the shackles of time. A book is proof that humans are capable of working magic." --Carl Sagan

Something akin to telepathy, books bring you inside the mind of another, far removed from where you stand, transmitting thoughts and insights and channeled worlds directly to you here, now. I can I travel deeper and further than anywhere I could reach on earth--through time and space, the world over, and into dimensions and realities that I otherwise would not have access. 

I've written about this idea before--from my experiences of looking up into a dark, clear moonless night sky to sitting in deep meditation--tapping into realms beyond what can physically be seen or experienced. But in the case of reading, I stare at words and allow my imagination to transport me elsewhere--to a time, place, land, culture, body, or mind, that is unknown to me. I lose myself in these worlds and bring pieces of them back into my reality. Perpetually shifting the way I think about and see the world around me and the people in it. 

Donna Tartt had once said in an interview that reading was a kind of concentrated experience, one that adds to our understanding of human nature that is otherwise very difficult to have. I believe this is true. As an undergraduate, I studied psychology, but about halfway through my program, I became disillusioned with the whole idea. The best way to know people, human nature, and the world outside of our own experiences and interactions is by reading. And so, I abandoned the idea of studying psychology and became even more of an avid reader of literature and eventually a writer, a creator of worlds. 

I lose myself in these worlds of words, and then I rip them apart. I analyze the structure, the voice, the craft, and the whys and the hows. Whereas writing, for me, is an intuitive act that sprouts from elsewhere, reading (including my own work) is an act of purposeful exploration, pulling back veils and uncovering the hidden layers between the written words. 

And so, in the spaces between traveling, I'll be exploring these spaces between words and sharing the multilayered universes of books. Those worlds of words that have left me spellbound and changed. I will write about individual books and my favorite genres. Expect speculative science fiction, dark academia, magical realism, and postmodern / experimental of all various forms. And I might throw in some memoir and nonfiction too. 

And now, where to begin? 

I will let the seasons and general happenings in my life dictate. What is resonate at that moment. I keep so much inside--what wants to spill out? What books do I keep revisiting in my mind, mulling over and over until I want to burst? That is where I will start. 

And what about you? What books do you want to step inside of and never leave? What books haunt you? Which ones have stuck with you over time and changed your life and they way you see the world out there? 

Sacred Journeys

🗝

Back in December, I had decided to shelve my first novel. I had worked on it, on and off, for the better part of a decade and spent about two years trying to find an agent to represent it. It was strange, experimental, and ambitious. Over the years, I'd gotten all kinds of contradictory advice from all kinds of people from all walks of life on how to improve it. All I gained from that experience was confusion and frustration. I had other projects to focus on that weren't quite as polarizing. I knew I needed to let this one go. And so I did. I surrendered it fully. 

Then, a few days after I returned from India in mid January, something peculiar happened--a serendipitous anomaly that has made all my efforts, risks, and patience worth it. 

∞

Mid-March. Our pants rolled to our knees, bags over our heads, we hopped off the small, longtail boat and took in the surroundings--where savanna meets sea, a desolate landscape of wind whipped sunbeds and swings. A nothingness, full of silence and secrets, took us in and taught how to witness the world in a new way. When you give up looking for it, paradise reveals itself.

🗝

She had read our Aeon essay and followed the link to my blog where she learned that I was a fiction writer with a completed novel. She was an agent at a major agency, and she wanted to read more of my work. After vetting her far more than necessary, I sent her my query and sample pages from the novel I had shelved a month prior. Less than two weeks later, she asked for the whole manuscript. And once again, I let it go.

∞

From deserted beaches to busy mountain villages, we hiked into the forest and took the least traveled path up hundreds to stairs and along a ridge, high up in the jungle canopy. We stepped with attentiveness, careful of faulty steps and slippery ground. In every direction, a misty atmosphere landscape made of dreams and fairy tales enveloped us. Rainy season in the mountains. Ephemeral and wild, ungraspable. 

To counteract my brushes with the impermanent, I began to write 500 words a day toward my second novel with uninhibited furor, my fleeting imagination grounded into the permanent.

Late March. While on another nearly deserted island of slow life sounds and perpetual sunsets, she called me to talk about the potential she saw in what I was doing. She wanted to work with me. And in an instant, everything changed. A new adventure, a new trajectory, new decisions to be made. 

🗝

I thought about not telling anyone. Keeping it a secret because I'd always believed that holding the sacred close kept it potent, kept it magical. And maybe this is true in some circumstances like finding unknown, pristine islands and beaches. But in other cases, there is magic in sharing the journey.

Going the traditional publishing route is a long process and nothing is guaranteed--the book still needs to be sold, then published, then released. But unlike other paths, there is more potential for me to find success, for more doors to open that otherwise would remain closed. I will continue to be patient as I move forward on this path. And I'm choosing to bring you along on this journey--however far it goes. 

I hope this spring has been treating you well. And I hope this summer brings you many kinds of journeys--those you choose to share and those you keep close to your heart. Tell me about a journey you are currently on--creative or otherwise. How has it changed you or guided the direction of your life?

Taking Comfort

Kerala, January 2016

What strange trajectories life can take. 

I remember thinking this lying in my bunk at the Ashram, staring up at the world map pinned to the crumbling wall next to me. I'd been in India for less than a week, and I had already found a rhythm to my days and nights, enveloped in comfort--more comfort than I'd felt in a long time. Ever, in fact. Comfort. A word as foreign to me as everything I was now surrounded by. I had walked away from one life to live a completely different one. I'd done this before so the concept wasn't new to me, but India was. And, I was noticing, so was comfort.

Chiang Mai, December 2023

I'd left Chiang Mai in a state of discomfort days before the new year. Six weeks prior, I'd returned from the US to an unwelcoming energy that left me frustrated, drained, and eventually injured in a way that stopped me from doing many things. There had been a series of events stretching back to earlier in the year that had me questioning my relationship to this city and many people in it. Was I still thriving here? Was I tapped into community in the same way I once was? Did I have any friends left I could turn to and trust in a time of crisis? Had I outgrown my time here? 

Kolkata, January 2024

In the heart of a bustling city, I found all the answers I needed. Venturing out of the comfort of our cozy Kolkata hotel and later the safety of the monastery, I expected to get caught up in the chaotic energy of the world around me. I expected discomfort. But, much like my first time in India, I didn't. In the midst of nonstop traffic and honking and crowds of people, I found peace. 

I found comfort in a bookshop off of busy College Street where we found a book I'd been trying to track down for nearly a year. I found comfort (and the best coffee ever) in a well known noisy, crowded café. I found comfort wandering parks and libraries, sipping chai at a small roadside stall, and meeting monks and philosophers and enthusiastic students. I found a sense of acceptance and belonging I'd forgotten I could feel. 

Rishikesh, March 2016

After nearly three months in India, it was in a yoga teacher training course where I finally learned not to get caught in the washing machine (as our teacher so eloquently put it)--a lesson I'd be reminded of again and again over the years, one that would bring me back to center when the world around me seemed to keep knocking me down and luring me back into the spin cycle.

Goa, January 2024

The dark sky took me by surprise. It had been awhile since I'd seen sky so clear--the constellations and planets brilliant against the moonless sky. We walked the length of Agonda Beach, from one edge of the bay to the other and back. The gentle break of the waves was the only sound, and their cool splash around my ankles kept me grounded. I'd only been to a handful of places like this in my life--dark sky and ocean--one of the last being on the northern coast of Borneo several years ago, one of the first during a journey induced by a hypnotherapist nearly 10 years prior, learning then that this space of dark sky and water was where I needed to be to feel safe, to bring me comfort when I needed it most.

Chiang Mai, January 2024

After having spent nearly four decades of my life in a mostly constant state of discomfort and anxiety, what comfort I found lying in that Ashram bed I've carried with me. I'd like to think it's what's guided me toward and away from most people and places and things that have crossed my path these past 8 years. Being back in India reminded me what comfort feels like. I returned to Chiang Mai with a renewed sense of vitality and a plan to help me navigate through my life during the times I'm based here. So far, it's working. 

Where do you find comfort? What brings you back to it when you find yourself spinning in the washing machine?