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Marcel Duclos and I are authors and psychotherapists
both in our sixties. We were born during World War
II, growing up in the golden age of radio, Arthur
Godfrey, crank-em-up victrolas and telephone operators
who politely said “number please?” Glass
milk bottles were delivered to our parent’s
door while we slept. We watched the birth of television
and the clothes dryer and the evolution of space
travel. We got through college with handwritten
notes and old, clanky typewriters. Now here we are
writing books on a computer, corresponding by e-mail
and living in a world that, during our youth, would
have been considered science fiction.
At our age we manage to deal with technology well
enough to get by with a bit of anxious trepidation.
Book #1
It was pure synchronicity that caused my friend
and me to work together on a book. The writing emerged
slowly, separately, from within. We had collected
a lifetime’s worth of journals, poetry, dreams,
memories and experiences. As we began to share our
stories with one another, we realized that most
of humanity is dealing with similar types of emotional
pain. As therapists we held the belief that at our
ages, although risky, we might be able help others
if we wrote about our life events from both personal
and therapeutic perspectives. The first book evolved
as if it had a will of its own. Even for us this
book still holds a wealth of surprises.
I believe that all the characters that inhabit
our stories are a part of us. Worthwhile writing
means exposing parts of the inner world loosely
enough to resonate with others. We do not tell about
our whole selves as that would personalize and contaminate
the healing value of the work. Still, it contains
enough of self for us as authors to feel a compassionate
protectiveness for the characters.
Our first manuscript was mailed to the publishing
house by snail mail. After months of waiting, UPS
brought us a box of books with our names on the
cover. It was exciting to hold the embodiment of
so much emotional energy in our hands. It felt spiritual
and blissful. The two of us celebrated with lunch
on the coast, the backdrop of a portion of our book.
We went to book signings and a party in New York
City where we first introduced the characters of
the young boy and girl who are the focus of the
story. It was an exciting time. Our relationship
with this book has evolved and grown. I still catch
my co-author reading it at the office and I must
admit I love this book.
Book #2
The story of our second book began in Tucson, Arizona.
We were presenters at a workshop on Spirituality
and Body Psychotherapy at the 2006 USABP conference.
The atmosphere of the conference and the beauty
of our surroundings surely added to an introspective
view of the world during the visit. Just the type
of setting that plants the seeds of creativity.
After the conference ended we stayed another day
to sight-see. On the cover of a hotel brochure was
a photograph of “The Dove of the Desert,”
Mission San Xavier del Bac, a white church glowing
in the desert heat. The tour book reported that
it was on the National Registry; “an interesting
place to visit.” It was a long drive and I
remember feeling like it was an oasis in the midst
a hot, steamy day.
We visited the mission for only one hour. As an
artist I was mostly interested in the paintings,
the architecture and the beauty of the lighted candles.
I remember sitting on the porch watching the candles
burn, wondering who had lit them and what brought
them to this place.
In retrospect, the visit to the mission might have
faded into memory if we had not been for our discussion
in the car. I began to chat about the beauty of
the symbols in the mission. My friend wanted to
talk about the injustices perpetrated upon Native
Americans. Part of me joined him in the conversation
and another part was triggered into indignation
by his words. I remember saying, “Why is this
injustice more important than how our people have
hurt Hispanics, Japanese Americans, women…?”
I soon deliberately silenced my indignation knowing
that there is a part of me filled to the brim with
sights, sounds and personal feelings of injustice.
Although the conversation then turned to other things,
the feelings of the moment, for both us, simmered.
It had touched a painful historic place inside us
both for different reasons. Our connections and
interconnections to religion and the characters
in this book are numerous.
It took months before we were ready to hear the
voices of Father Sebastian and Naomi. They came
not from rational thinking but, instead, from unconscious
emergence in dreams and imaginations and from the
depths of our being. Once again, just as with the
first book, the transformation of pain was happening
as we wrote. We are still discovering the nuances
of symbolic and alchemic meaning.
This book is written in the form of an e-book.
I remember the January morning that it was sent
into cyberspace, an attachment on the wings of an
e-mail. It felt a little like pushing family members
out to sea on an iceberg, unsure where they would
go or if they would survive. The publisher returned
our written document to us, transformed into a work
of art. This time the UPS man will not be stopping
by and there are no book signings. Instead we have
a key to a website where we are welcome to visit.
A place where we find our characters living large
on the internet.
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