Inkwell: Authors and Artists

    
My Paste Eaters humor piece weaves commentary with quotes from adults
I interviewed who ate paste as kids.  My premise was that I was curious
about who these kids grew up to be.  Since I remembered that most of
the Paste Eaters from my childhood were the really smart kids, most
often those with a real gift for science and technology, I wondered how
many of them actually grew up to be scientists or computer geniuses. 
I found that while some of them did, plenty of them also grew up to be
other things.  The biggest surprise was how eager the former Paste
Eaters were to talk about this.
As for stem cell research, I think it would be hard to give people a
crash course in such a short amount of space. Anyone who'd like more
info on it can start by checking out the website of the National
Academy of Sciences (NAS). 
  

    

What do you think about contacting Marilyn Sunderson on the other side and
conducting an interview?
  

    
Nina,  you are usually the one asking the questions,  and now you’re
on the opposite side of the street. So what’s one of *the* things you
want to express to folks instead of ask about?
  

    
That's an easy one.  This may come as a surprise, but my favorite
since I was a child has never changed.  It's Steve Allen, who
unfortunately, passed away last year.  I was probably the only little
girl on the block who wanted to grow up to be Steve Allen.  He was my
role model because all of the things I instinctively wanted to do-
write, compose music on the piano, interview people, use my sense of
humor- he was doing.  He wrote many books, both serious and funny.  He
was the original host of The Tonight Show.  He did a critically
acclaimed PBS series in the 1970s called Meeting of the Minds, in which
actors portrayed real people from history, sitting together and having
fabulous discussions that he moderated.  What made this program so
fascinating was the characters were people who could have never
possibly met when they were alive because they usually lived in
different eras.  Steve Allen was still performing, doing his social
commentary, and writing books right up until he died of a heart attack
at age 78.  My biggest regret is that I never had the opportunity to
interview him. I should have done it years ago.
  

    
The day Marilyn Sunderman died was very strange.  She had been in the
hospital for a month, since her diagnosis, undergoing extensive
chemotherapy.  the doctors told her there was a very, very small chance
the chemotherapy might trigger a remission.  If she hadn't tried the
chemo, she would have died anyway within a few weeks.  This kind of
chemo is particularly brutal: most people don't even survive the chemo
because it so quickly damages all of your vital organs.  So, about a
week before she died, it became pretty clear she wasn't going to make
it due to heart damage and other ravages of the chemo.  She wanted me
to record a conversation on the phone (she was living in Arizona and I
live in Miami) so that she could talk about some of her thoughts as she
approached death.  On two occasions that week I recorded our
conversations.  They total probably just under one hour, which would
translate to about 20 pages of transcript.  A few days after that, she
began going in & out of consciencelessness.  She lingered (if you could
call it that) for only a few days.  I spoke to her for the last time
on one of the days she was last able to speak.  Just a couple of days
later on the morning of December 8, 2000, I called the hospital and
spoke with Marilyn's niece, who told me that the doctor's expected
Marilyn to die sometime that day. Her friends and family had brought
many of her paintings into her hospital room during the month she was
there and at the end she had her closest friends by her side.  That day
I had to drive about 3 1/2 hours to Sarasota (just south of Tampa) to
do a book signing for Voices of Truth.  I knew that Marilyn would die
while I was driving there, while I was doing the 7:00 p.m. talk and
book signing or perhaps afterwards while I was spending the night in
Sarasota.  I decided that I would make the book signing a tribute to
her.  Marilyn's niece knew I was going to Sarasota and I told her to
call with any news and leave it on my voice mail.  But I also knew that
I really didn't want to know anything until I got home from Sarasota,
which would be late the next afternoon.  I just didn't want to hear
that she was gone until after I was back home.  So, I did not check my
voice mail.  Anyway, that Friday, I was driving on the highway, I was
about 2 1/2 hours into the trip and about 1 hour from Sarasota.  I was
listening to MPR on the radio and had heard that it was 4:45 p.m.  All
of a sudden I said out loud, "So, Marilyn, where are you?  Are you
still here or have you left?  Send me a sign."  Just as the word "sign"
left my mouth, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a car slowly
beginning to pass me on the left.  I glanced over, and it came into
full view as it continued to pass me very slowly.  It was a beautiful,
grey hearse.  It was not part of a funeral procession, it was all by
itself.  I was more relieved than shocked, as I said out loud, "Well,
Marilyn, you always did give me a straight answer."  I knew that the
hearse was the sign I had asked for, and that she had passed on.  When
I got back home from Sarasota,late the next afternoon, I immediately
checked my voice mail.  Sure enough, there was a message about Marilyn.
 She had passed away 15 minutes after I saw the hearse.  Marilyn was
my mother's age and we used to joke that she was my extra mother, even
though there were plenty of times when I felt like I was her big
sister. I miss talking to her and I'm glad she was able to send the
hearse.  I've never considered the ides of interviewing her or anyone
else now in residence in "The Great Beyond".  If they have publishing
houses over there, sh's probably working on her second book she thought
she would live long enough to write.  Before she died, she told me
that was one of her only regrets.
  

    
I've asked people that question myself before.  At the end of an
interview sometimes I'll ask what they would like to express that we
have covered.  I think that all of the people in Voices of Truth have
made great contributions in their particular fields, and have given
many people a lot of food for thought.  I think there's so much we can
learn from the ideas and experiences of others, whether they're
presented in fiction or non-fiction books, magazines, newspapers, or
any other medium.  I interview people because I'm curious, because I
want to expand my knowledge in many different areas, because I love the
exchange of ideas, opinions, stories and information.  I think people
should find the time to have great conversations.  Talk to each other
just for the hell of it.  Talk for a long time, not just for five
minutes.  It'll really enrich your life.
  

    
Hi Nina, Francesca, all,

I just opened up an essay by Wendell Berry, and what popped out is so
appropriate to the discussion that I had to come rushing to the
computer!

He writes about people who have made great contributions in their
fields, and then asks if the value we place on those contributions
doesn't come at a price we hardly recognize.  We achieve great leaps in
"global knowledge" at the price of the loss of "local knowledge."  And
it strikes me that the way that "local knowledge" is arrived at and
passed on is conversation -- conversation of the sort you just
described, the, "Talk to each other just for the hell of it.  Talk for
a long time..."

A couple of lines of Berry's:  "As knowledge expands globally, it is
being lost locally...and it is the greatest problem of land use: modern
humans typically are using places whose nature they have never known
and whose history they have forgotten; thus ignorant, they almost
necessarily abuse what they use...If we 'grasp the true strangeness of
the universe,' but forget how to farm, what is the gain? [We have made
ourselves a society where] scientists determine the future by 'plunging
ahead,' each isolated in his or her vision of 'new terrain' and each
cut off from any restraining affection for old terrain.  Why should we
trust them?"

I don't quite know how to bring that to an interview question, but I
wanted to contribute it to the discussion.
  

    
Well, actually, here's a stab at a question.

Nina, you commented on scientists' spiritualty as being characterized
by more "awe and wonder."  What about groundedness?  Sense of
connection?

Quite early you said that the key to having a good interview is
approaching with a sense of equality, no one on a pedestal.  And
Francesca mentioned the importance of everyone's contribution to
healing the world.  And your beautiful descriptions of your own
history, experiences and observations are all about relatedness.

I wonder how intentionally you approach being a journalist as being
about the business of illuminating and creating relatedness?
  

    
>  I said out loud, "So, Marilyn, where are you?  Are you
  >     still here or have you left?  Send me a sign."  Just as the
word "sign"

Thank you, Nina, for sharing such a personal story.

Rip, glad to see you! And glad to see you as always ripping (pun
there!) and roaring via your fine intellect! I love what folks have
been saying to Nina throughout this interview! 

BTW, I never said hi to all you others folks in this conversation:
forgive my laxity, because I am so glad you are all here, and it is
great to see you again, Rab!

I had an anthropology teacher, Kush, who said that media is not
culture; that culture happens in small groups in which people can share
in a personal way their unique self. I agree: when I teach (shamanism)
I do so mostly in small small groups so that folks can connect. 

Then I did Iyanla, a TV show with I guess 20 million viewers and
though I was able to connect personally with folks in the studio
audience -- EG looking someone in the eye as I spoke and responding
back when she nodded her head in agreement with me -- I wondered about
the difference with the TV audience. Then I saw the show on my own TV
screen and of course it was “media,” me on that TV screen. But also on
that screen I was laffing *out* *loud* and literally bouncing around in
my chair, and, well, I am not expressing this very well, but I was
being my usual goofball self, clearly being in the moment and talking
directly to my TV host. So in some sense I was able to bring a tiny bit
of culture -- personal contact -- onto the TV screen. (Or maybe
someone would argue that point and if so, please do, I would love to
hear your argument!)

Anyway, my points/questions are 

* we have wonderful things nowadays like media, the world wide web,
etc -- how do we use them to foster culture instead of impersonal
dictates about who the hottest new band is and what trends are
presently de rigeur? (Hmm, this maybe just repeats your question, Rip?)

* Nina and I both say “Talk to  each other” but how can we foster that
dialogue in a media focused culture that says that no one but media
stars have anything worth saying?

* My whole post is of course connected to what Rip asked  -- “I wonder
how intentionally you approach being a journalist as being about the
business of illuminating and creating relatedness?” and I can’t wait to
hear your answer to that, Nina, but there is a larger question implied
in his: how do we *all* approach our work, our daily grind, our 
conversations with others, Nina, and make it a matter of “illuminating
and creating relatedness”?
  

    

  Thanks for that _wonderful_ story about Sunderman.  That was sweet.

  I'm very intrigued by the "paste eaters" stuff, because when I was
in grade school we all believed that it was just a gross story that
somebody had made up for some reason -- I never personally met anyone
who ate paste, and nobody that I ever met (until I reached college)
ever personally knew anyone who did.  And I remember several of us in
grade school having conversations about it, wondering why anyone would
make up such a gross story, and the class clown (Will) volunteering to
try some paste for us and let us know what he thought (we declined, and
as far as I know he never did it).  So now to discover that someone has
made it the theme of some writing just intrigues the heck out of me....
  

    

And I never knew it was the subject of such intrigue.  I remember kids 
eating paste and trying it myself to see what the big attraction was.  It 
has a very distinctive, not unpleasant taste, but I didn't really want to 
eat more of it.  It tasted sort of like Beaman's gum.
  

    

  I wonder if this was a regional thing?   My grade school years were
in northern California.....
  

    

Kush?  The poet Kush?
  

    
rab, I’m an east coast gal but paste eating is part of my childhood
mythology.

Lena, none other. In fact, (hm, side bar: most of you who have posted
in this topic know that I was interviewed on inkwell a while back  --
and somehow here I am back as an interviewer. I love it!) In any case,
Lena, I was interviewed partially in regard to my recently released
book “Goddess Initiation” which is dedicated to Kush. How do you know
Kush?
  

    

From the poetry circuit in the mid to late 70's or so.  In the days when I
had a life other than numbershuffling.
  

    
...talking amongst ourselves as we wait for our guest to return...

apropos of nothing, I read "numbershuffling" above as "numbsnuffling"
and proceeded to imagine paste-eaters in winter climes with colds...
  

    
Hi Rip:
I think that both are probably true because they come from the same
place.  The scientists didn't see spirituality as a self-help tool. 
And they didn't seem to be influenced at all by the off-shoot of that--
that someone has to take steps or follow some sort of program in order
to connect with the universe, with spirit, or whatever term you'd like
to use.  For them, it seemed more natural.  They found spirituality
just as they found physical properties--a natural-occurring part of the
universe, the cosmos.  And by "found", I mean discovered,
noticed...and by extension, related to...and that made their entire
approach different than those people who were caught up in the
"spirituality as therapy" mindset.
Historically, spirituality has played multiple roles in people's
lives.  It's only in recent decades that it's become commercialized and
packaged as just another self-help program.
I interviewed someone once who always took issue with this recent idea
that people have to strive to be spiritual.  He would say we don't
have to do anything to connect with spirit, with the universe--we
already are connected, we're born connected.  Of course,people knew
that in past generations, especially in cultures and times that had an
intimate relationship with nature.  But, today, people are told that
they're not connected, and that for the price of this book, this
seminar, this retreat, you can get connected.

Probably a whole lot more than journalists who do hard news, breaking
news.  Their job is simply to report.  But, when you do what I
do--write feature stories and essays, and interviews not only in the
narrative format, but in the Q & A format, you have to have relatedness
not only in your mind,  but as the motivation fort doing it in the
first place.  And, it's a pretty expansive kind of relatedness: I'm
relating to the person I'm interviewing, that person is relating to me,
and we're both relating to the readers.  And, of course, the ideas
(whether they're presented in a feature article,essay, or interview)
are often related (pardon the pun) somehow to the concept of
relatedness.
  

    

  Beautifully said, Nina.  And there's a nice synchronicity happening
here, too, as I recently bought and have started watching a DVD copy
of the 1980 _Cosmos_ PBS series that Carl Sagan created.  There's no
doubt at all about just how deeply spiritual that series was, and
seeing it again after more than 20 years almost brings tears to my
eyes.  And yet there are people -- many people -- for whom it had
nothing at all, to judge from what they said about it.  I think that
the kind of spiritual connection that scientists (and geeks) find and
feel so deeply is sometimes too hard to communicate to others, and may
well be permanently inaccessible to some.  Did your conversations with
these folks touch on any sense of frustration about that?  Did any of
the scientist types wonder aloud to you about how to reach more people
with their feeling of deep interconnectedness with the universe?
  

    
I see.  Talk about synchronicity!  For another discussion I'm having
with some friends, I was reading some Hannah Arendt last night.  She
has a term, "thaumadzein," which she defines as, "wonder at what is as
it is."  That seems to me to capture what you notice as the scientist's
comprehension of being "born connected."

In the passage I was quoting, she was lamenting the philosophers' (and
more general modern) aversion to starting from wonder.  Too, she went
on to argue that the only way to understand deep radical evil is to
begin from wonder there too.  

So my question would be, who have you encountered who is deeply
wondering about "evil."  Obviously, I'm looking for hope that someone
somewhere is counterbalancing the apparently profound lack of wonder in
Washington.  Possibly relatedly, awhile back you mentioned Michiko
Kaku as being Einstein's "heir apparent."  Could you say more?
  

    
For what it's worth, here's the Arendt passage I referred to above:

"It is as though in this refusal to own up to the experience of horror
and take it seriously the philosophers have inherited the traditional
refusal to grant the realm of human affairs that thaumadzein, that
wonder at what is as it is, which, according to Plato and Aristotle, is
a the beginning of all philosophy, yet which even they had refused to
accept as the preliminary condition for political philosophy. For the
speechless horror at what man may do and what the world may become is
in many ways related to the speechless wonder of gratitude from which
the questions of philosophy spring...

"An authentic political philosophy cannot ultimately arise out of
analyses of trends, partial compromises, and reinterpretations; nor can
it arise out of rebellion against philosophy itself. Like all other
branches of philosophy, it can spring only from an original act of
thaumadzein whose wondering and hence questioning impulse must now
(i.e. contrary to the teachin of the ancients) directly grasp the realm
of human affairs and human deeds. 

"To be sure, for the performance of this act the philosophers, with
their vested interest in being undisturbed and their professional
experience with solitude, are not particularly well equipped. But who
else is likely to succeed if they fail?"

Hannah Arendt (1954 lecture)
  

    
I do not agree that, as you say, Nina, scientists connect with
spirituality effortlessly in a way that shows up the self help
movement. (Of course, I am a national self help leader so I have to
disagree with you. <grin>)  I think instead that some scientists might
connect that way because they are following their own ardent discipline
of science. It might be the ardent discipline that leads them to that
profound connection and perhaps any discipline -- spiritual,
scientific, artistic, self-help -- might do the same. Of course, this
whole post of mine is glib and oversimplified. For example, there are
ways we simply are connected to the mystical without any effort. And
some people have that connection on the natch. But the glibness of my
argument aside, my point is that for many scientists, it is likely
their devotion to seeking truth that opens them to the cosmos. 

Which refutes of course those self help leaders who say “You don’t
have to work at it, just pay me money.” A good self help leader --
like, ahem, myself -- instead says “Look, it is hard work, and boils
down to you seeking truth yourself. Don’t look to me for the answers. 
You, like a scientist, must devotedly seek truth. Do your research!”
Thoughts, Nina? Anyone?
  

    
Oops, I missed your last two posts, Rip, thus posted my above before I
saw them. 

I love them! And agree with them, just as I agree with you, Nina,
about wonder being a crucial starting point, since I come to self help
as a poet and mystic, not as, let’s say, an academic theorist. 

I believe there needs to be a dialect between discipline and wonder
for any authentic connection to be ongoing. Perhaps some scientists,
dancers, poets, shamans, and other spiritual practitioners embody that.
As does a mother who works hard to raise her children lovingly. More
for you to address if you want, Nina.
  

    

  Wholehearted agreement here, too, about the profound importance of
wonder and awe as starting points for philosophy.  So often, people
seem to equate those with childhood, as if only little children are
allowed to feel them and adults have absolutely nothing (more) to
learn there.  I think that's tragic, because most people seem to me
to have never learned anything from wonder and awe since they passed
the age of two, and yet they could do so much more with their adult
minds if only they wanted to.  Question the results put forth by
Nobel-prize-winning people, not because you think you're smarter but
because only in exploring the questions can you connect deeply to the
amazing reality of their work -- that's just the simplest example that
comes to mind, and yet it's apparently incomprehensible to people who
have abandoned wonder as being a "childish" thing.
  

    
The marginalia I have at the end of that Arendt passage, where she
says, "But who else is likely to succeed?" is "A child?"

Nowdays I would say a journalist, perhaps like Nina Diamond or Janine
Benyas (sp?) or Michael Pollan, or a scientist like Michiko Kaku or
Donella Meadows, or a teacher like Francesca, or an
activist-philosopher like Joanna Macy, or a practitioner of sacred sex
like Faye Desiree, or a farmer-philosopher like Wendell Berry, or an
as-yet-unknown former Enron executive, or a through-the-gate-of-fire
WTC or War on Terrorism survivor, or you, or me...

But yes, childlike...
  

    
Bob, I think you make some terrific points about scientists and
spirituality, and before I ramble on a it more about the topic, let me
answer your questions.  First, Deborah Mash, the neuroscientist who
coined the term "neuroshamanism" , talks a lot about communicating the
spirituality of science, more so than anyone else in Voices of Truth. 
While many of the others discuss it, it's the theme of her work, and
therefore, becomes the theme of our interviews in her chapter.  I think
you will enjoy reading what she has to say.
Michio Kaku, the physicist and author of Hyperspace, among other
books, doesn't articulate frustration about this, although one has the
sense that he feels it from time to time.  Regarding reaching more
people with their feelings of interconnectedness...I believe that's one
of their goals--all of the scientists in the book-- and that's why
they reach out to the general public in many ways, and don't confine
their work to just reaching the scientific community.  Their love of
what they do, their sense of mission, is so strong it practically ooxes
out of them.
I'm glad you made the point that wonder isn't just for kids. 
Scientists, those with a love for science, artists of all kinds (music,
dance, writers, you name it), and those who love the arts seem to feel
most comfortable with reveling in and displaying their sense of wonder
as adults.
I find I get the same ooh-aah feeling from looking at the
stars,pondering time travel, reading about quantum physics, watching
the ocean or being on the water, as I do from listening to music,
playing the piano, reading poetry (or anything else, for that matter),
or writing.  It all triggers the same Wonder Button. Perhaps it's
because art and science are just two ideas of the same coin: two
different ways of describing the same phenomena.