Book Review: Overcoming Deepest Grief, by Mary Aviyah Farkas

Overcoming Deepest Grief, A Woman’s Journey: Grief, Acceptance, Gratitude and Joy, by Mary Aviyah Farkas

Mary Aviyah Farkas’s book, based mostly on her journal entries, is an intensely personal record of her passage through grief. It begins with a stark retelling of three major losses: the death of her sister, with whom she was very close, followed by discovering the dead body of her long-time lover and the consequent removal of her lover’s possessions from their home by the lover’s family, an incident she describes as “a rape.” The opening essays, written after the journal entries, speak eloquently of the depth of loss, the shock and the grief—experienced by the author. The simplicity of her diction expresses the complexity of her emotions, stemming not only from the deaths of two people she dearly loved but also from the sense of violation when her home was invaded by her in-laws in what she experienced as a callous and rapacious manner.

I think every reader would identify with Farkas’s feelings of shock and horror. As much as we might like to think that physical possessions aren’t important, when we have suffered the loss of someone we love (in this case, two people), items that they owned or shared become precious. Most of us aren’t ready to let go of them until we have done considerable grieving. (Example: I still have my mother’s aprons, 40 years later!) As someone who has experienced grief under complicated circumstances, I understood why Farkas didn’t respond with legal action or even simply kicked them out, and why she could no longer remain in the home she had shared for decades.

The remainder of the book consists of essays and poetry in chronological order, written as Farkas struggled to rebuild her life and rediscover joy and connection. Here is where the universality of the opening shifts into the specificity of her experiences and beliefs. Farkas states clearly that her book is not intended to be a “how-to,” although a few sections contain suggestions; this is a record of what comforted and helped her. Some of her experiences may fall outside the interests or means of ordinary people, for example, her sessions with her bodyworker or her guru. So, too, her use of capitalization denotes esoteric definitions of otherwise common words. I wondered, for example, what was the precise difference between accepting a loved one’s death and Accepting it. Clearly, the choice of diction and punctuation has special meaning for the author, reinforcing the presentation of her unique, personal experience.

Farkas offers her healing journey with remarkable honesty and courage. She is as open about her anguish as about her renewed joy. The importance of her spiritual life shines through the pages. The book won the Silver Nautilus Book Award for “books that support Nautilus’ Four Pillars: Conscious Living & Sustainability; High-Level Health & Wellness; Spiritual Growth; and Positive Social Change & Social Justice.”

 

 

I was given a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

 

Winding Down To A Still Point

This is my first experience being with someone who is dying slowly. I’ve lost loved ones suddenly, without any chance to say goodbye. I’ve visited and taken care of friends and family during a terminal illness, but not for this length of time or this close to the end. Hospice has provided not only printed information of what to expect, but a variety of support personnel who function as educators as well as helpers. I was reasonably well prepared for the physical changes in my dying friend, but the rhythms in her decline have come as a surprise.

I – and most of us, I suspect – live my life with a greater or lesser degree of ritual. My days are structured with the things I do regularly, without much in the way of decision making, whether it’s my morning wash-up routine, the things I do when I sit down to work, preparing dinner and sharing it with my family, and so forth. The week has its own schedule, even though I work at home. I admit to having expectations about how each day will unfold, what commitments I have and what blocks of “discretionary” time. Although it’s been said that expectations are premeditated resentments (when it comes to our agendas for how other people live their lives), we humans seem to do better when things are at least slightly predictable. It’s exhausting to live in a state of not knowing what might happen next.

Spirituality in the Seven-Petaled Shield

When most people hear the word spirituality, they think of organized religion, and that in itself is a fascinating topic in terms of world-building. But what I want to talk about here is how we as writers define and develop the spiritual foundations of our story. In this sense, spiritual as distinct from religious can mean mystical, unworldly, magical, or psychic. I look at spirituality as those qualities and experiences that are not physical but can have a profound influence over the experiences and decisions of our characters. I am well aware that this opens me up to accusations of being woo-woo, and perhaps a different word would better encompass the ethical, moral, and emotional landscape of a story. Spirituality creates one of the interwoven layers that answer the question, “What is the story about?” If the entire answer is some high-falutin’ jargon about the battle between good and evil or love conquers all, the elevator pitch fails because although these may be themes, they are not story cores. Likewise, without this dimension, a description of the physical action of the story falls flat. The Wizard of Oz is “about” a whole lot more than a girl who gets swept away by a tornado. Nor can it be described completely as a tale of friendship, courage, and belonging. Stories are specific, and all of these concepts are general.

Although the first “Azkhantian Tale” was necessarily set within the sword and sorcery genre by the market I was aiming for, I wanted to play counter to the prevailing expectations. The market (Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Sword & Sorceress) required a strong female protagonist, and that’s the kind of story I wanted to write. But I didn’t want yet another iteration of the lofty heroines of the “rape and revenge,” “slaying the dragon,” or “rescuing the prince/ss” type. I wanted to get away from the physical-strength  = heroism paradigm, because there are many kinds of strength besides that of mighty thews and bulging musculature.

WWW Wednesday 4-10-2013

WWW Wednesday. This meme is from shouldbereading.
To play along, just answer the following three (3) questions…
• What are you currently reading?
• What did you recently finish reading?
• What do you think you’ll read next?

Currently reading: Charles de Lint’s Muse and Reverie: A Newford Collection. I love de Lint’s work. A couple of paragraphs into each story, some undefined tension in me sighs happily and lets go. I suspect it’s the effortlessness of his craft, or maybe just that I read his prose with a different part of my mind than I write my own. I’ve long given up trying to analyze why this is so.
I’ve been overworking these past few months, so I crave refreshment of the spirit. At bedtime I’m slowly savoring my way through The Book of Words: Talking Spiritual Life, Living Spiritual Talk by Lawrence Kushner. Kushner (there are two – the other is Harold) was my introduction to Jewish mysticism. I re-read Honey From the Rock every few years and get even more out of it. I find I sleep better and am kinder and yet stronger during the day if I enrich the gentle transition to sleep. I read a little in Hebrew to signal to my brain that this is now a time of rest, a sacred time. Then I switch to English because although I can sound out the words in Hebrew, I’m very, very far from fluent in it. I read:


Blessings give reverent and routine voice to our conviction that life is good, one blessing after another. Even, and especially when life is cold and dark. Indeed to offer blessings at such times may be our only deliverance.

… and my spirit gives that sigh of relief, just the way my writer’s mind does when I read de Lint. No matter what sorrows the day has brought, in this moment they are over. I can rest easy. Tomorrow I will begin the struggle anew.

Recently finished reading: For fun and delight: Sherwood Smith’s Blood Spirits; Kage Baker’s In the Garden of Iden (which I think is the first Company novel), a novel-in-beta-form by Juliette Wade, a rising star in science fiction, For Love, For Power. And at night, Ethics for a New Millennium by the Dalai Lama. It took me a long time to read the latter, as I wanted to let each thought sink in; small bites, small moves.

What I’ll likely read next: I’m up for more Molly Gloss, who is a terrific writer; maybe The Jump-Off Creek or rereading The Hearts of Horses. I’ve been saving Carol Berg’s The Soul Mirror and now’s a great time. I have the next Dobrenica book, also several Caitlin Brennan/Judith Tarr novels. And if life gets too crazy, I can always dive into the next Sookie Stackhouse. For bedtime, maybe rereading Jonathan Sacks To Heal A Fractured World: The Ethics of Responsibility or Elyse Goldstein ReVisions: Seeing Torah Through A Feminist Lens. Or Mary Oliver’s poetry, which always speaks to me.