Three Good Books

I discovered three good books this fall. One of them was recommended to me by a friend, one was an impulse buy, and one I checked out from the library so I could learn something about the history of Santa Fe. I thought they would be competently written and possibly instructive. They were. They were also works of art, I soon discovered, and I fell in love with each of them. I wrote reviews for these books in hopes of inspiring you to check them out of the library or buy them from a used book store (as I did, for $2.95 each). They are worth any effort it takes you to acquire them and any time it costs you to read them. In fact, they are bargains.

1.   Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse

This short book--only about 150 pages--is about a young Indian Brahmin who becomes unfulfilled by his religion and leaves home to search for a deeper spirituality. Even though he is a young priest of great integrity and piety, and is admired by the whole country, he leaves everything behind to wander as an ascetic, driven by a spiritual hunger he doesn't understand. In his search for enlightenment, he wears many hats, tries many lifestyles, becomes a monk, meets the Buddha, becomes a lover, a rich man, a poor man, a father. He lives the full range of human experience, finding disappointment, pleasure, love, wealth, and loss. Finally, as an old man, he finds contentment. 

The writing is simple and beautiful, almost biblical in its economy and seriousness, poetic and profound. Every word and sentence does important work. It is a masterpiece.

I read this book in one afternoon sitting on top of a picnic table, and it didn't occur to me to be uncomfortable until the sun moved behind the house and I was in a cold shadow. Feeling annoyed, I got up, walked around the house, and sat down on the front steps in the warm Indian summer sun without taking my eyes off the page. When I looked up after finishing, the landscape had changed position somehow, the sky had rotated overhead, the trees and grass seemed to be shimmering with light and the wisdom of life. 

This book was a gift. 

2.   A Room With A View by E. M. Forster

In 1908, a young middle class British woman named Lucy goes on holiday to Italy with her maiden aunt and finds her unquestioning conventional life disturbed by the sensual beauty and passion of the Italian countryside and people. While in Florence, she befriends the Emersons, a "free-thinking" father and son from her own country, whose authenticity, kindness, indifference to social norms and personal philosophy intrigues and frightens her. After the son, George, scandalously kisses her on an outing to the country, a struggle begins in Lucy's soul between the cultural and societal norms that she has been raised with, and the previously subdued desire for adventure and passion that now seeks expression. Upon returning to England, Lucy tries to forget everything that happened in Italy and becomes engaged to a pompous bore. Italy, however, follows her home when the Emersons serendipitously move in down the street.

The hearts of men and women are open for observation throughout the book and the author is brilliant and compassionate in the analysis of each character and situation. E. M. Forster shows both the dangers of conformity and the price that must be paid for unconventionality and authenticity. But it is ultimately a beautiful story of a soul's awakening.

3.   Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather

This book is structured loosely around the life of Jean Latour, a French missionary priest who comes to 1840s Santa Fe to be its first bishop. The land, inhabited by Indian tribes, Mexican Catholics, despotic priests, and American traders, is still only accessible by foot or horseback and cut off from the rest of the world. Through the experiences of Father Latour's life, a picture of primitive America emerges, hospitable and cruel and difficult and beautiful, full of people made vivid by the stark background of sun and rock. Father Latour and his fellow priest, the missionary Father Vaillant, are especially wonderful characters, so well developed and believable that it seems like they must be walking around somewhere in my house now, wondering where I went. 

I have read many of Willa Cather's books and liked all of them, but this one I loved. She wrote this while living in New Mexico near Taos, north of Santa Fe. She was fascinated by the region's native people, the land, and the dramatic history of New Mexico, and from her fascination she created a beautiful piece of literature. She does in words what Georgia O'Keeffe did with paint and canvas--she lets you almost taste the place, the sand and the rocks, the blue sky, and the wild loneliness that is its danger and its beauty.

Despite its rather morbid title, the book has very little to do with the Archbishop's death. It is about faith and life flourishing in a desert--not in spite of the desert but because of it. Reading a chapter was like eating a chocolate--the book is too rich to be taken in all at once. It must be enjoyed over several days, maybe even a few weeks, to absorb everything it offers to your heart and imagination. It was absolutely beautiful, absolutely! If you only read one of these books, read this one.

From "A Room with a View," by E.M. Forster

In which Lucy wishes to explore the city of Florence by herself, but knows she Must Not

"Lucy never knew her desires so clearly as after music. . . . She wanted something big, and she believed that is would have come to her on the windswept platform of an electric tram. [But] this she might not attempt. It was unladylike. Why? Why were most big things unladylike? Charlotte had once explained to her why. It was not that ladies were inferior to men; it was that they were different. Their mission was to inspire others to achievement rather than to achieve themselves. Indirectly, by means of tact and a spotless name, a lady could accomplish much. But if she rushed into the fray herself she would be first censured, then despised, and finally ignored. Poems had been written to illustrate this point.

"There is much that is immortal in this medieval lady. The dragons have gone, and so have the knights, but still she lingers in our midst. She reigned in many an early Victorian castle, and was queen of much early Victorian song. It is sweet to protect her in the intervals of business, sweet to pay her honour when she has cooked our dinner well. But alas! the creature grows degenerate. In her heart also there are springing up strange desires. She too is enamoured of heavy winds, and vast panoramas, and green expanses of sea. She has marked the kingdom of this world, how full it is of wealth, and beauty, and war--a radiant crust, built around the central fires, spinning towards the receding heavens. Men, declaring that she inspires them to it, move joyfully over the surface, having the most delightful meetings with other men, happy, not because they are masculine, but because they are alive. Before the show breaks up she would like to drop the august title of the Eternal Woman, and go there as her transitory self."

The Juniper Tree in Walnut Canyon, by the Hopi Indian ruins

Juniper at Walnut Canyon National Monument

"The kingdom of heaven is within you," said the Juniper Tree. "It is within me too, in my junipery way."

"I know," I said, "But I am afraid."

"Grow," said the Juniper Tree. "Grow, for that is what we are made for, it is what we are meant to do. Live and grow, and revel in your aliveness."

"I am!" I said, "I am!"

"Isn't it beautiful?" said the Juniper. "And isn't it beautiful here?"

From Nelson Mandela's inaugural speech

Painting by Emily Ford, acrylic on canvas, c. 2006

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant? Gorgeous? Talented? Fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small doesn't serve the world.

There's nothing enlightened about shrinking 

so that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of god that is within us.

It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,

We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fears,

Our presence automatically liberates others."

Leviathan

I have inside of me right now,

lurking under my skin,

something fierce and furtive

and wild and wicked,

something ferocious--

full of life and love of life,

but afraid.

I feel it crouching there,

somewhere around my heart,

peering out through my eyes,

ready to uncoil

and spring,

to shoot out,

ready to stretch its

long, powerful legs

and leap.

I call to it,

"Come out and play!"

but I have hounded it into corners

and stabbed it so many times,

saying, "this is for your own good,"

that it no longer trusts me.

Oh my poor wounded animal soul, 

I cry,

you do not have to hide from me anymore.

I mean you no harm now.

I leave food and water out for you

in stainless steel bowls,

and you eye it suspiciously

from the shadows.

From November 1, 2012

The Farm

Ted says that ever since

I told him to not put

wind turbines up at the farm,

he has not wanted to put

wind turbines up at the farm.

My mom remarks: "No easy

retirement for you," and Beth

giggles and rolls her eyes.

I think perhaps Ted has

a voice inside of him that says

"Don't sell me out!"

when he looks at the rolling acres

and the woodland

and the yellow grass

fields and his small frame house

with the old furniture and appliances

and battered mattresses in the attic

and memories spilling out of

lighted windows into the night

while friends talk and laugh

by the wood stove until the moon sets.

This voice

is just one voice inside of him,

and there are other voices--

pragmatic, realistic, practical

and a bitter one

back there somewhere that says--

what does it matter?

But still . . . he hesitates.

Perhaps he now hears

that small voice stronger

because of the echo

of a self-conscious fly-away little girl

who loved to get lost in those fields,

and who said that the farm was

her favorite place in the world.

He is not all pragmatist.

He is the most difficult combination,

a Poet-Farmer.

His heart loves the beauty, his

body loves the ground.

And for this

he hesitates . . .

for this,

I like him.

November 24, 2012

Morning in Sedona

There is a secret 

to the sun 

on the juniper tree

this morning,

to the javelina and their babies

standing shy and defiant

on their sharp little hooves,

to the flowering cactus

and the aloe

and the impossible towering rocks

across the valley.

It is the secret of the blood

flowing through my veins,

through the tiny vessels in my ears,

roaring, like every other stream

in the world,

flowing from the beginning

of the creation of the world.

The juniper tree 

knows this secret.

This morning

I find that 

I know it too.

December 6, 2012

The Stream

Peace, said the stream,

Be still.

We go on and on--

There is no end to us.

I hung my harp

by the water

and wept.

written in early November, 2012

 the stream in my woods

Sedona

Cathedral Rock, Sedona, Arizona

The King's Speech Link to video

Bertie: "Listen to me--Listen to me!" 
Lionel: "Listen to you? By what right?" 
Bertie: "By divine right, if you must, I am your king!" 
Lionel: "No you're not, you told me so yourself that you didn't want it. Why should I waste my time listening--"
Bertie: "Because I have a right to be heard--I HAVE A VOICE!" 
Lionel: (pauses) "Yes you do." 

The Journey

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--

though the whole house 

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy 

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly 

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

~ Mary Oliver~