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Is it possible to be a good writer without being a good reader? I read for the same reason I do everything else: to grow my capacity to love. The writing that serves me most meaningfully stretches my appreciation of myself: who I am, what I’m about, why I’m alive; how to grow ever-more kindness, compassion and understanding. That sort of thing. The writers who help me most are those whose work reflects the spirit of the universe itself. Which is to say, it is playful, loving, and deep. Moreover, their work reveals that, for them, the act of writing is a celebration. Sure there’s pain and terror, but transcending it, accompanying it, is the joy of dancing in the void of possibility, the void of becoming. No one except a saint or a nutcase can confidently predict what’s going to happen ten seconds from now. The writers who speak to me most deeply are those who live in that “unknowing” at the heart of existence and love it. Can someone write like a freight train driven by Mother Teresa without being much of a reader? Probably not. But if for some reason they couldn’t get their hands on anything but a dictionary, they would still possess something far more valuable than access to the writing of others—a passionate romance with language, storytelling, and breathing through fear. Without that, who cares if a writer can deconstruct Shakespeare? Not I, for their efforts are unlikely to send this heart waltzing through the streets. What advice do you have for reading group members when it comes to selecting books for discussion? One of the things we’re learning as the human family is that life’s greatest gift is the gift of choice, and that our most important choice is whether, in this moment, we choose love or fear. We are also learning that love is much more than an emotion. It is an action, the act of letting go of fear. Indeed, our capacity to love is dependent on our ability to manage fear, make friends with it, embrace its lessons. Fear is not the bogyman. Fear is one of life’s greatest gifts, for it shows us something we must either make room for or let go of in order to become more of who we truly are—a being of depthless love. What does this have to do with choosing books? A book, like everything else in life, is merely a mirror showing us ourselves. What we’re really choosing when we choose a book is love or fear. Do we choose a book to awaken us or to put us to sleep—to move “fearward,” or to run from our fear, to become more, or to become comfortable? Among life’s most valuable questions (especially if we’re committed to being as fully alive as possible) is: “What choice am I making here and now, and why am I making it?" A great saint said environment is more important than will power. Every choice we make in how we invest our moments creates the “environment” of our life. It is a great gift we give ourselves when we become ever-more awake to why we choose the books we do. I’m much less interested in what books I read than why I read them. If you were stuck on a deserted island and could only bring one book with you to read, what would it be and why? Well, naturally, a survival manual, for obvious reasons. Other than that, nothing, because I would relish the opportunity to attune myself with the boundless ocean of possibility that exists within me (within all of us, really)—that place when it comes to fun stories and truth has more going on than the Library of Congress. Book that changed your life? Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda. It was like meeting a wise old relative I never new had…and who just happened to be a saint. The guru is the person whose job it is to introduce us to God, and he can do it because his consciousness and God’s consciousness are one. Everyone has their own path to Oneness. Yogananda just happens to be the cruise director of mine. No doubt we’ve known each other for any number of lives. I was nearly 40 when I found his autobiography in a book store. I wish I could say I was struck by lightning or something fancy like that, but all that really happened is that after reading a few minutes I laughed out loud. Here was a guy who, to me, obviously knew God, and further spoke a truth I had forever held in my heart but had found very little confirmation of outside myself: that knowing God was anything but serious business. Words to live by? Everything is a gift. Perhaps the most terrifying—and inspiring—point of view the world has ever known. Why? Every familiar disappears when we stop passing judgment and instead open ourselves to how and why the present moment is here solely to help us grow our compassion, understanding and what Albert Schweitzer called our reverence for life.
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