If the Buddha Got Stuck_ A Handbook for Change on a Spiritual Path - Charlotte Sophia Kasl [100]
With love and all best wishes,
Your sister,
Charlotte Sophia
Lolo, Montana
Afterword
It became something of a joke with my friends that I got stuck writing a book on getting unstuck. It took less than a week to write the proposal that I envisioned becoming a manageable six month project. More than two and a half years have passed since then. But, as my friend and occasional writing teacher, David James Duncan, said, “Writing a book on getting unstuck is really asking for it!” For sure.
While I definitely got lost, disorganized, sidetracked, overly abstract, discouraged, and waylaid with a barrage of life events, there was something else that made this book a challenge. Namely, the subject kept going deeper and deeper within me, like quicksand pulling out my footing, causing me to reconsider or change my perspective. I spoke with many people, read, listened to tapes, went to retreats, observed, and let my own stuck places be mirrored back to me.
I feel as if I’ve lived every word of this book and know more deeply what it feels like to lose confidence and get lost, and also what it means to climb out of a hole. From a writing perspective, it’s been about persevering and relaxing, carefully polishing something yet being willing to throw it away, working harder and taking time out for fun or relaxation. It’s also been about asking for help.
After a lukewarm response to my second version of the book, I said to my agent of seventeen years, “How can this happen? I thought it was better than that.” “It just happens,” she said. “It can happen to anyone. It will be all right.” I was soothed but wondered if I was losing my radar or my writing instincts. I had liked the way I ended the book, but no one else did.
Then, at the suggestion of my editor, I hired what’s known in the trade as a “book doctor.” I groaned at the expense, but I now think of her as the shepherd who brought great skill and kindness in guiding me through to the final step. She assured me that the only content problem was having too much. What I needed was organization, to make connections for the reader, and to be more direct and concrete.
I was barraged over and over with a string of sudden events that totally stopped my writing. There was the sudden death of my partner’s two nephews; the many neighborhood meetings to stave off a proposed housing development in the field below us; the car tire mistakenly put in the back of my minivan that flew out, whacked my knee, tore the ligament, wrenched my hip, and left me lying around with ice packs, and which has required doctor visits, Rolfing, and physical therapy.
Last summer, the threat of nearby forest fires and evacuation warnings meant getting help to “make my house defensible.” I felt deeply moved by all the people who arrived to help me complete a long list of tasks that included raking every pine needle within thirty to forty feet of the house, getting the wood pile and scraps away from the base of the house, and (tears again) pulling up my treasured young pine grove on the hill by my house that my cousin said would act like little torches to set off my house.
There was also the task of packing boxes to take to a storage shelter—photographs, paintings, important papers, and pictures. I pondered about what mattered. I’d walk around the house enjoying the sunlight streaming in, treasuring the rocks and woodwork and touching the walls and various objects. And at the same time I’d be saying, “I’ll be all right, I can live without it.” I was immensely relieved when my morning hiking area was spared from the fire that burned up to its edge. To my surprise I heard myself think, “I’d rather lose my house than this beautiful hiking area.” Then, finally, it rained, cool weather set in, the fires subsided, the air cleared, and it was all yesterday’s news. Just a lot of boxes to bring home and unpack.
The deepest stuck place was when I lost my writing voice,