Francisco's Journal an author discusses the art of writing

June 8, 2019

Growing Old

Filed under: Aging,Old Age,Solitude,Soul — Francisco Stork @ 9:32 am

When I retired from practicing law three years ago, one of the things I proposed to do was write in this journal on a more regular basis. Now, looking at the small number of entries, I wonder what happened to my early resolve. I have continued my life-long practice of writing every morning in my private journal (the one no one else sees) and so it is not for lack of words or ideas that there are no entries here. Why then?  This morning I came up with a possible reason — one that will do as good as any other. I am growing old. Now, in case you didn’t know, growing old does not happen all at once. It happens slowly and it takes some getting used to. I think that these past three years have been a transition into old age. And part of that process of transition involves a need for privacy and maybe a little bit of a dislike for the desire for attention and admiration that marked earlier periods of my life. Writing here in this public journal is, I would like to think, a form of sharing, but it is also part of that persona that I choose to project to the world. One of the most beautiful things about growing old is that the false aspects of this persona are gradually shed like a snake’s old skin in favor of a more sincere reflection of this mysterious being that I am. But it seems to me that this effort toward authenticity that I am encouraging in myself as part of growing cold, this effort needs a cool, moist, shady, private place – at least until the new skin is in place.

Growing old has not been easy. I’m just getting started in what I hope will be a long process. There is an incredible amount of learning and adjusting and accepting to be done. That process of “letting go” of illusions, images, things that we cherished, but are finding out are not all that essential, seems to be the first phase of the process. Inherent in this “dis-enchantment” is the sense that my voice and what interests me many times does not “jibe” with the strident, ranting, spirit of the age where rage is evidence of principled conviction. The second phase, the one that I am now hopefully entering into now, is the “old men ought to be explorers” phase that T.S. Eliot speaks of in his Four Quartets. Explorers of external geographies, sure, but most of all explorers of the soul, ours and others. Old age is a gift in many ways — the final opportunity for soul-making and character building. All through my life, I intuited that I was growing toward something. There was a restlessness in me that I channeled into different kinds of externally recognizable achievement. That restlessness continues into old age but the goal changes or, if I am fortunate, will disappear altogether. No longer to do but to be becomes the direction and the joy. And this is not to say I cannot yet still be useful to others with my work. But, increasingly, it is the work itself and not what I receive after it is complete, where I find fulfillment. Who knows, I may have a book or two left in me. But the books, if they come will be a natural blossoming of the soul work — a fruit of love. It is the growth of love that is the true work of old age.

July 30, 2016

Solitude and Kindness

Filed under: Creativity,Kindness,Solitude,Soul — Francisco Stork @ 8:09 am

Writing is a solitary activity — something you do alone. But the solitude that is needed is not only physical but emotional and spiritual. The quiet place that we must find is not just a room in the house or a writer’s shed but a kind of fortress inside of us that shields us at least temporarily from the hubbub around us. These days, unfortunately, the hubbub is full of anger. The air is full of I am right and not only are you wrong but you are bad. Sometimes the anger seems justified by the acts and words of others but it is still anger. It is anger, loud or quiet, explicit or subtle but still divisive. And sometimes the anger is indistinguishable from hatred (as in I wish to do you harm). Is it wrong to want to retreat from an atmosphere that feels poisonous? Anger is a gas that seeps into your being and builds up pressure until it is released in deed or word. And there you are in the hubbub. I look outside and see one- hundred- year old trees and you would think that peace in a setting like this would not be hard to find. But the anger has managed to seep in through the Internet, the television, the newspaper, the magazine I buy for the cartoons and the fiction. And I keep thinking of that fortress inside of me that I must build, at least for a while, before I am eaten up alive from the inside out. There is something that is refreshing, healing, about being silent and in silence. It doesn’t have to be total silence. There is music and the quiet conversation with one or two friends who are also intent on preserving something precious. The silence that is needed is a protected space where the tender seed of kindness can grow again. What is it about kindness that is so vital to creativity? Is it that writing is a giving, after all, a giving that depends on some form of kindness? Is it that kindness is what the world most needs from you and so you must do what you can to nurture it inside you? But it hurts not to be in the midst of it. I will be forgotten. Did you ever think that anonymity, not being special, would be one of your greatest fears? You need to be willing to be alone in order to write. Not just physically alone but spiritually. You need to be willing to build that inner fortress where your kindness will be protected from the siege of anger that surrounds it. Your mission through your work is to unite, never, never to divide (even when your cause seems right), and you must protect and grow the kindness needed for that task. And you must be willing to bear the solitude needed for the work and the loneliness too, at times. But there will be peace too and eventually the certainty that you are not alone.

June 28, 2015

The Little Things – More Thoughts on Depression

Filed under: Beauty,Depression/Bipolar,Soul,The Memory of Light,Uncategorized — Francisco Stork @ 10:06 am

A few months ago I wrote about some of the lessons I learned while writing The Memory of Light, the novel scheduled for Spring 2016 that deals with a young girl’s recovery from a suicide attempt and depression. I said that one of the things I learned was the importance of having an ideal – an image of someone we want to be. Then in the months that followed that post, I thought and worried that the need for an ideal might be seen as some kind of quest for perfection which, because it is unattainable, might increase the sense of unworthiness, failure and shame so ingrained in depression. So I wanted to add this. Yes, the mental shift needed to heal from depression (which includes learning to function with its presence) requires an orientation toward the future, toward transformation, toward becoming someone you admire. But the healing powers of an ideal can be felt in even the smallest motions toward it. I can remember days when emptying the dishwasher and knowing that I managed to be helpful in some way felt like an accomplishment. Or the days when writing for fifteen minutes in my journal gave me hope. In some ways, the suffocating prison of depression forces you to focus on the little things of life. I like to think of Ivan Denisovich in Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s story about life in the Stalin work camps. At the end of the day Ivan remembers the brick wall he helped build, the unexpected extra cup of soup he received, and says to himself that all in all, it was good day. The small things. The kind word we manage to utter, the understanding silence of a friend, the yellow in the lily, the red leaves of the Japanese maple tree, the rain, the blanket, the memory of a touch, the smell of hot tea. The small things we do and the good things we notice, the glimpses of the beautiful that we catch, the light that we remember, these make up our journey toward our ideal.

The healing of depression will depend on our ability to integrate the aspiration toward something new and a loving acceptance of the now which encompasses not only who we are but who we have been and all that has happened to us. Ancient writers distinguish between spirit and soul. Spirit is an upward force that looks toward the future, seeks becoming, is restless for understanding and achievement. Soul is a downward force that pulls us toward silence, wants to linger in the beautiful and the unusual and the invisible, is at peace with mystery, is compassionate with frailty.The integration of spirit and soul is a life-long task for all, not just for those who suffer from depression. Yet it is in depression where a lot of us most acutely feel the dis-integration of these two vital forces. Depression is an illness of both spirit and soul. There is no upward push of spirit and the downward pull of soul, which in health gives our actions value and meaning, becomes in depression a destructive uncontrollable suction into a painful darkness.

So I come back again to the little things because that’s where you’ll find the wholeness of your soul and spirit. It is soul that will show you little instances of goodness, tiny moments of beauty and joy in your life. And it is spirit that will give you the strength and the direction to use those glimpses of goodness and beauty for the creation of the person you want to be, are meant to be.

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