You're Listening to Insights at the Edge. Today My Guest Is Albert Flynn DeSilver. Albert Is an Internationally Published poet, memoirist, novelist, speaker, and Workshop leader. He Served as Marin County's First Poet Laureate From 200

AD: I think I do tell people to stop reading at some point in that chapter. I mean, I should have called this Reading as a Path to Awakening. That might even be the subheading. But reading is writing, writing is reading. You can't have one without the other. All the best, most interesting, dynamic, effective writers in the world are great readers. And sometimes you'll get this from people who say, " I'm not really that into reading. I don't like to read that much."

And I say, "You're probably not going to have much success with your writing." That's just sort of the way it is. Because you'll never learn the different cadences, the musicality, the syntax, the possibility of how language can be used to convey an idea, to convey an experience. The reading is absolutely essential.

TS: I love it. You're a fun person to talk to.

AD: Good. So are you. You're asking these terrific questions.

TS: OK, you write in a different section of the book, and I quite like this, so I underlined it, "Writing and meditation are acts of courage, showing up for this moment is an audacious act." And I wanted you to unpack a little bit this idea of "showing up for this moment is an audacious act."

AD: Yes, in my experience, it really is. Being fully present, being open to the world is terrifying on a certain level. And especially if you're someone who has experienced trauma in your life. But even if you haven't, as someone put it this past weekend, just living in America is traumatic in this day and age. Just like with all the information overload. Not even to get into the politics and all that nonsense. Nonsense is very important to deal with. But it's hard.

Life and showing up for life is hard. It takes a tremendous amount of courage just to be open and to be vulnerable to the world. Things are coming at you. And emotions are welling up inside of you. It's—the sensations can be really dramatic, and really intense.

I think for people to look inside, and to pause, and to really show up and be present in the world takes a tremendous amount of courage. And it seems to be more rare than ever, which is alarming. That's why I'm so devoted to this work. Because I want to keep reminding people this is the most important thing we can do as human beings. Without changing consciousness and awareness, and having that positive influence, we're really going to be kind of screwed as a species.

TS: Now in talking about showing up for this moment as an audacious act, you referenced how for many of us we've had trauma in our life, or just being alive today is quite traumatic for many of us. And I know your own life story—you talk about it in a TED Talk— had quite a bit of early trauma. I wonder if you can talk and share a little bit about that. And also, how writing has helped you find your way through your own life trauma.

AD: Yes, so I grew up in this household that was to distant and alcoholic parents who weren't really up for parenting. They hired this governess who was violent—extremely controlling, and eventually violent—towards my sisters and myself. By age 12, I started drinking. And that was my out. And by 19, I was a committed binge drinker.

There were numerous ... I won't go into all the details. People can read about them a little bit in this book, but also in my memoir Beamish Boy, where there's all kinds of stories of getting into an awful lot of trouble and getting run over by a car, waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed with no idea how I got there, and under arrest.

The shame, and the guilt, and the terror. Trying to transcend that was a huge, huge thing. At some point, I'd always felt drawn to art. Thank God for my parents, and their obsession with reading, and with books, and with music, and with architecture. That's one of the most beautiful things about my parents. Though they were neglectful and alcoholic and all that stuff, they were also incredibly smart, and cultured, for lack of a better term. And so I was surrounded by books.

I grew up not far from New York City. As a young child, I was taken into Lincoln Center, went to the theater, and to the ballet, and to films. For the longest time I thought that was all just kind of dopey and not that interesting. But at some point when I was lost and flailing, I found myself applying to art school because I didn't know what else to do with myself.

I thought I'm not that great at reading and writing, and all that stuff. But I can take some pictures. That seems pretty reasonable. And I took pictures in high school, they weren't terrible. When I got to college, they said, "What do you want to major in?" And I thought that was kind of a curious question. But, I thought, "Can I major in taking pictures?" They said yes. I did that. Then I transferred to the University of Colorado, and entered their Bachelor of Fine Arts program, and met Alex Sweetman, who's a photo historian. And he liked some of my pictures. And he said they were good. And nobody had ever said that to me. Nobody had ever said that anything I did on this planet was good or interesting.

And so, then I just kept doing that. I just kept going towards that creativity. It was soothing, because I could reflect on my world. And I think that's when the healing began. I knew that art was about, on some level, it was about healing. Whether I was looking outward, there was an inevitable inward pull to that. And I knew I loved photographs. I knew I loved looking at photographs, I loved seeing other artists create things and succeed in that. It just made my heart shine. However dimly, at first.

TS: Now, Albert, let's say someone's listening, and they also have a traumatic history of some kind. And they're thinking, "I know I need to write about it and find the healing in it." What would be your recommendations?

AD: Well first of all, I would encourage them to work with a professional. You know, work with a professional therapist to work through that trauma and get proper support for that, and not just talk therapy support, but also energy healing support. In my experience, trauma is very much of a bodily—it stays trapped in our bones. That's the key, is to release it energetically through the body with proper professional support.

And then I would encourage them to write, and to journal, and to reflect. And also to read. And read, read, read, read. Read the books that move them, that inspire them. That lift them up, and give them the sense that, "Wow, that person transcended their trauma by doing X, Y, and Z. And maybe I too can do that."

But I just need to start tracking it. Start seeing what I'm thinking about, and what I'm feeling. And the best way to do that is to write it down. And to keep writing. That's the short answer.

TS: Very good, thank you. The final section of Writing as a Path to Awakening helps us explore our own death through both meditation and through writing practices. It's a very beautiful section of the book. And in looking at writing exercises that we could do to explore our own death, you suggest things like writing your own obituary. And you also ask people to reflect on a series of questions. And I thought I might ask you a couple of those questions, if that's OK. Because they're good ones, I thought they were good ones. And there are also good ones that our listeners can ask themselves, but I'm going to ask you.

Albert, how do you want to be remembered?

AD: Oh geez, I want to be remembered, I think, as a person who showed up. And hopefully, had something kind of fun, and wacky and curious to share with the world. I want to be remembered for that sense of creative adventure and possibility.

TS: Beautiful. Now there's five questions you asked, but I'm only going to ask you the first one and the fifth one. And I'll leave it for our listeners to go digging into Writing as a Path to Awakening to discover the other three questions.

But here's the last question that you throw out that could be a good writing exercise for people who are contemplating their own death. What held the most meaning for you, at least so far, in your days on this earth? What has held the most meaning for you?

AD: For me I think it's probably family, direct family time. You know, those just quite, connective, intimate moments with my niece, with my sisters, with my wife, with the dog. Those little connective moments in nature. I went just recently, there was a family thing with my... How do you say that? My step-grandmother? My grandmother-in-law? Who was just moved to a facility out in the Central Valley, California’s Central Valley. In some ways, if I had to use judgmental mind, I would say it’s kind of a dreadful place. That's like me projecting and making some terrible, misguided judgment.

And so, there I go with my baggage, sort of not really wanting to go, and thinking, "Well, what's this gathering going to be like. I haven't really met many of these people. Although, it would be sweet to see Lanita, and I get to see the nieces.

And it just turned into the most beautiful weekend of my life. And just because of simple connections. There was nothing profound about it. You know, we sat around, and played pool, and said hello, and ate food. Which is very simple. But that's the stuff that resonates so beautifully. The love, and the connection, and the emotional challenge of being with family. That for me is the most resonate.

TS: OK, Albert, just one final question. In the afterward to the book, one sentence I pulled out says, "Allow failure to be your handmaiden." And I was wondering if you could talk about that in terms of your own writing life, and how you have allowed failure to be your handmaiden?

AD: So difficult, so difficult is failure. And all I ever wanted in life was to be seen, to exist. Because I was largely ignored as a kid, when I wasn't, like, getting my ass kicked, I was alone, and just feeling like a shitty, nonexistent thing. So when I first came to writing, a big inclination, quite honestly, was to be seen, to be included. And that meant being published.

I kept sending work out, and I just kept getting rejected. It was devastating. But because I had started in on the meditation practice, I had to sit with that devastation and that sense of nonexistence, and that feeling of not being included. And it was very difficult. And yet, I'm like, "Why is it that they get to participate, and I don't? Are they really saying something that much more interesting, that much more important?"

And the answer I came to was, "No, they're not. So I need to keep at it." I love doing this, and I love the whole process of writing and creating. I can't not do it anymore. And so I just kept submitting, and kept participating, and kept reading. Eventually, things shifted. A poem got published in ZYZZYVA magazine after 50 submissions. And in some ways, if you want to participate on a certain level, you have to be committed that way. You have to be a little bit obsessive. And that goes for self-care, too. Be obsessive about your self-care, as obsessive as you are with your desire to participate and to be published.

And be willing to fail. Allow the failure as this is it. If you're not failing, there's something awry. Something wrong.

TS: And I was going to ask you a bit about self-care. That's a word that, and not to be too gender-oriented here, but often you hear women talking about self-care. It's unusual to hear a man say, "Be rigorous with your self-care." Tell me what you mean by that.

AD: Yes, I mean, literally taking good care of yourself. Exercising, eating right, making sure you get enough sleep, taking baths. Doing that sort of feminine nurturing stuff on yourself, and get over your little menschy male "I don't need any care" kind of attitude. And surrender to that part of yourself.

You know, I'm still baffled. Well, I'm not really, I kind of understand it. In all my workshops, it's usually 90% women, and 10% or less men. I hope that this book reaches more men. I really do. I think our culture would benefit greatly from men who took more self-care, and engaged in more self-reflection. And were more vulnerable, and more willing to expose that side of themselves that is wounded, that is hurt. That's a big part of the commitment to this book, that it reaches more men.

TS: I've been speaking with Albert Flynn DeSilver. And I have to say, I will remember you, and remember this conversation that I had with someone who really showed up. You really showed up, Albert Flynn DeSilver! Thank you so much.

AD: What an honor and delight, Tami. Thank you so much for everything.

TS: And Albert's the author of a new book called Writing as a Path to Awakening: A Year to Becoming an Excellent Writer and Living an Awakened Life. Thanks everyone for listening, and good luck with whatever creative project is truly in your heart. SoundsTrue.com. Many voices, one journey.