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 bout
five years ago, a four-year-old girl flew down a hillside
on a small circular sled towards a precipice and dense stand
of trees. Through calf-deep snow I ran to stop her as the
sled angled away from me. I felt sick thinking I'm not
going to make it! At the last possible second I went airborne
(the first baseman in me remerging!) and two fingers of my
left hand latched onto the back of the sled as it zipped by.
I held on, straining ligaments in my neck and shoulder, but
the sled, the child and I skidded to a halt just inches from
a sheer drop-off of thirty feet or so.
Then, in the next month, I witnessed and was first on the
scene of two accidents involving 18-wheelers. I comforted
battered drivers and passengers, called for help, and rescued
a terrorized truck dog who had run away a mile down the freeway.
Two weeks later, I stopped on a country road behind a pick-up
lying on its side in a rapidly expanding pool of gasoline.
I pulled three hysterical children and their dazed father
to safety while wondering when the truck would explode
in a fireball.
Late that night, I lay awake reviewing these high adrenaline
surprises. I knew they were somehow signature moments, but
signifying what?
I'd spent most of my adult life in literature as a writer,
teacher, editor and publisher. I'd been fortunate, having
books of my own published. I'd taught at high schools and
universities, traveled widely and been a guest speaker and
teacher at conferences and other venues all over the world.
As a publisher/editor for twenty-two years, I'd published
and developed books by more than 200 authors; I'd created
the Rural Readers Project, which brought 75 published authors
to more than 200 middle schools and high schools in California,
upstate New York, Arkansas, and the Northwest.
This appears to be a life of accomplishment and success,
but to the one living it — me — it felt more and
more like a life of emptiness, self-indulgence, and wasted
potential. These thoughts became stronger over the next
few years as I suffered many setbacks. My longtime business
failed, sweeping away many of my close associates and friends
with it. The harder I labored to preserve what I'd had, the
more I stubbornly pushed that boulder up hill, the faster
it rolled back down on top of me. You'd think I'd get the
message! But I was so locked into surviving that I couldn't
change or adapt to new realities.
My desperation and tunnel vision also stunted my spiritual
practice. I dropped out of community outreach programs I'd
always enjoyed. Eventually, I stopped attending Mass. I was
pretty close to becoming a barren, finished thing, a numb,
crazy man banging around in the dark for a door he could not
find.
At some point I recalled how I'd acted during those strange
six weeks of others' accidents and misfortunes. Without thinking
about it, I'd become the person that each situation had called
for. If I'd become that person then, why not now?
I let go. I asked for guidance from powers greater
than myself, and some cherished friends read my heart, reminding
me that abundance and the ability to do good work is in each
of us, even in me. They encouraged me to look to my poems,
which had always proved so sustaining in every situation and
time of my life.
Through their mentoring friendship, I discovered that
writing, reading and sharing poetry had always been integral
to my spirituality. I began meditating and working with
a spiritual teacher. I practiced a daily celebration of prayers,
poems and recitations, and in time discovered my true calling-to
share and teach the good news that poetry as spiritual practice
is liberating and possible for all, regardless of one's faith.
Today, through poems, meditations and stories, coaching and
mentoring one-on-one or in classrooms and conferences, I help
others to write their own poems in traditional forms and in
free verse, and draw on the poems of others to enrich and
energize spiritual practice.
Robert
McDowell is the author of three books of poetry, co-author
of two volumes of literary theory, co-translator of a collection
of stories, and the editor of three anthologies. His poems,
stories, essays, and reviews have appeared in hundreds of
anthologies and periodicals here and abroad, including Best
American Poetry, Poetry, The New Criterion, Sewanee Review,
and The Hudson Review. He has taught in the Graduate Seminars
at Bennington College, the University of Southern Indiana,
UC Santa Cruz, and at the Taos Writers Conference, Sewanee
Writers Conference, Mendocino Writers Conference, Killybegs
Festival, West Chester Conference on Form and Narrative, and
many other venues.
McDowell
also worked as founding publisher/editor of Story Line Press
where he selected and edited 250 books, became a successful
fundraiser, and created The Poetry Hour, a program for radio.
He has lived on and worked a seed grass farm, run sheep, raised
horses, served as a fundraiser for AmericorpVISTA, and taught
high school English, journalism and drama.
McDowell
offers one-on-one mentoring, and coaching for businesses and
groups interested in improving spiritual awareness, listening,
communication, writing and presentation skills. Click
here for details. His new book, Poetry As Spiritual
Practice, will be published in the summer of 2008 by The
Free Press/Simon & Schuster.
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