How the inestimable gift of one person’s presence made all the difference…

There are many behind-the-scenes stories related to the writing of The Tremble of Love: A Novel of the Baal Shem Tov. 

This is one of the big ones: a turning point moment in which an earthly guardian angel of the novel worked his magic.  He would not call himself an angel nor what he did magic.   He would probably say he was just calling what he saw and leave it at that.

I am prompted to share the following, which happened fifteen years ago, because of something that arose just this past Saturday night at IN THE PRESENCE OF LOVE, an intimate gathering featuring The Tremble of Love. Following the lovely weave of passages and musical interludes, some questions arose.

In response to an early question, I had said that I was not sure as I wrote if what I was writing would ever see the light of day.  I spoke of my longing that the characters in the novel, whom I loved so much, be known by others, rather than just continue to live in my mind.

A few questions later, someone circled back, asking how I had crossed the divide between the book being written and it being published. Many people have asked me similar questions privately, often those with books at various stages of gestation, which they wish to birth.  But I sensed that this questioner was not seeking a reply describing the nuts and bolts, or should I say, the pixels and data of the publication process.

I paused before answering.  I do not have canned replies, even to questions that repeat themselves.   So, I hung out briefly in not-knowing how to reply at first, feeling vulnerable, and opening with everyone else to what would be revealed.

How did I cross the divide between the book being written and it being out in the world?

What I heard myself say is really the point of this sharing.  I looked out at the beautiful, attentive people in that sublime yoga studio where we were gathered under an illumined dome, and what arose was:

“Never underestimate what a difference you, just one person, can make. You never know how your words and actions might bless another life.”

 
Then I elaborated, sharing about the boat-person who had helped me cross that divide.

After several years of research and writing, I had put writing the novel down in the face of critical demands in my life. I had to find a more affordable place for my differently-abled son and me to live, a locale that would also have a stronger, more responsive school program for him.  And I needed to do better at supporting us.

Three years had passed since I had touched the novel. I was meeting with Bryan to talk about how I might improve my livelihood, including exploring how to promote my writing mentoring work.

As Bryan and I were talking, I mentioned a book I had hoped to write, inspired by the life of a teacher of love. I was surprised to feel my eyes fill with tears.  I swiped at the unwelcome tears, collected myself and moved on, returning to what I thought was the topic at hand: how to make more money, which I equated with how to survive. Bryan stopped me.

“Wait,” he said gently but firmly. “Tell me more about that book.”

 
I felt two things immediately:  impatience at being interrupted in this urgent quest to figure out how I was going to survive—and awareness of an ache in my heart. 

“Bryan,” I said,” trying not to reveal the impatience or to pay attention to the ache, “I can’t afford to talk about this book now.  It’s a distraction—”

I would have continued arguing this point, but Bryan stopped me again.

“I don’t think you can afford not to talk about this book, Ani.”

 
I was stunned by his words, letting my shoulders drop and feeling something start to yield within me.

“Your entire body changed when you were talking about that book,” he continued.  “Light was coming from your face. I think we need to talk about how you can write this book.”

The tears that had started welling again, rolled warm down my cheeks. I knew there was truth in what he was reflecting.  And I felt afraid—not knowing how to meet that truth.

A messenger of my soul, Bryan had reached with his insight and words to stir an inner knowing that was beyond my mind’s and my fear’s agenda.

 
We went on to map out how I could bring working on the book back into my life.

That morning, the course of my life changed.  Despite my fear, I picked up the book I had been writing and longing to reunite with and recommitted to that relationship.  I renewed my promise not only to write it, but to usher it into the world.

I still had doubts.  Boy, did I have doubts—every step, i.e., word and page along the way.  In the final stretch of writing, I ate rice, beans and greens for four months, and hardly drove my car, so I could afford to make it through and bring the writing of the book to the finish line, which happened the night of the Japanese tsunami—but that’s another story.

Had Bryan not said what he said, perhaps someone else would have said or done something to inspire me.  Perhaps the book would have found another way to call me back to it.  But who knows if or when…?

Bryan had listened so deeply.  Even as he was looking at and listening to me, he was listening to what was prompting him from within not to agree with me, but rather to call me home to myself.  Is it not immense grace that we can do this for each other?  

In The Tremble of Love, Gedaliah, a disciple of the Baal Shem Tov asks the great master:

“Yisroel, if before we are born, we know who we truly are, our unity with all that is, why do we forget?”
 
“So that we can remember,” Yisroel’s answered,” and remind each other.” 

Just to be clear, this is not the same as giving advice or telling others how to live or not live their lives. It was not merely Bryan’s mind and opinions that helped to loosen my mind’s grasp on fear.

Here are a few more lines excerpted from in The Tremble of Love that speak to this.  The great master of love is addressing a group of disciples:

“It is not yours to prescribe what a soul requires on their journey…. When someone comes before you, what is needed from you is above all to be completely present.  As you cleave to your heart, beneficial words and actions will arise naturally.”

When I thank Bryan,he shakes his head, smiles and quietly credits the Grace of God moving through him. “And through you,” he makes sure to add. “I just paid attention.”

Let us treasure the power of being present with each other, in Love.

 
There may be no words.  We can be present in love when not physically together. We can be present in love by setting boundaries, and in resisting rather than yielding.  No canned responses.  No one way to be present.  We can allow not-knowing, and vulnerability, and learning from our missteps. We can allow our hearts to break open with tenderness and compassion as we are present to the suffering in the world.

Day by day by day, we can become more intimate with the Presence of Love as we learn that Love is who we are and when we forget, which we will, we are here to remind each other.

Have you an experience of someone’s presence influencing in the course of your life?  Maybe it was a turning point moment, like mine, or perhaps the cumulative presence of someone you know intimately or not well at all?

I would love to hear about your experience, either in the comments below or email me.