Richard Bach & Jonathan L.

How wonderful it was a few months back to visit with Jonathan Livingston and Fletcher again. This time through your expanded version. In these troubling times we often find the personal search for spirit must be thrown against the regimented doctrines of the church. From this perspective your newly released final section seemed even more relevant (if this is even possible in an eternally fresh story that speaks forever to our hearts).
As I said at the beginning of one of my own books:
In these dark days, when even churches go astray,
can we find God and Truth on our own?
We may have to.
But even having come away with this very specific interpretation I wondered how many out there still fail to grasp some of its veiled messages and deep beauty.
I decided that this would be okay as well.
It’s a process.
My own novels are threaded through with layer upon layer of metaphor and meaning, but still it thrills me when a reader finds one more.
I have probably learned a lot of this from you.
Thank you for your continuing influence in my life.
And – through me and countless others – on other readers and thinkers everywhere.
Thank you.


“Forgiveness doesn’t make one person better, or the other guy smaller. Forgiving is just letting go. It’s turning back toward being what we really are.” – From “The Gardens of Ailana” handbook for healers & mystics

The deeper truth

The afterlife is not what you’ve been led to believe.
Neither is life.
Find the deeper Truth and heal.
– “The Gardens of Ailana” handbook for healers & mystics

Book reading for mystics
Edward Fahey Returns with a New Novel

Sapphire author, Edward Fahey will present his third novel on Friday, May 22nd at 6:30 p.m. The Gardens of Ailana explores the metaphysical, the idea that there are places on this planet not confined to the logic of men or limitations of science. In this modern-day fictional tale, four people with very different backgrounds, each scarred by a horrific childhood, meet at a place of healing where one’s most crippling darkness must be faced down. In the rubble of their lives and broken spirits they learn that in their weaknesses lie their most profound strengths. In their festering wounds they find hope. In The Gardens of Ailana we see through the souls of mystics, experience laying-on-of-hands from the healer’s point of view. Feel at home among wonders and magic. Fahey says of The Gardens of Ailana, “This is the book others have been laying the groundwork for and building towards.” Novelist and teacher, Fahey spent his life hunting magic, seeking out the other sides of reality. His previous novels are Mourning After and Entertaining Naked People. To reserve any of his books please call City Lights Bookstore at 828-586-9499.

Event date:
Friday, May 22, 2015 – 6:30pm
Event address:
3 E Jackson St.
Sylva, NC 28779
author appearance

Private memories

He lifted his chin into an intimate smile he kept for himself and his memories. “Ah, but spook bread is the very best kind.” He turned and walked on.

I lingered a bit, then followed.

Nature burbled and rustled all around us. My friend kicked rocks along his own inner streams as he wandered the world of his very private smile, shaking his head sometimes and chuckling. He wore an old woven blanket someone had made into a vest. As he stepped with great care among shadows, trying not to disturb, not to snap a branch or rouse a settled creature, he petted that vest and found that someone.

Mushrooms poked through everywhere, breaking down matter that had outlived its time, seeding spores of brightness through the lost and decaying. They drew in around us and reached off in all directions. Gaudy, gay or dull; dappled or solid, they gathered together and scattered; exquisite vistas of life growing from death, and death nurturing life. Lichen clawed out from vibrant trees and rotting stumps.

“Ahhh … Bread. Fresh-baking. How wonderful.” Waters stepped over a fallen trunk of slick green velvet, his walking stick poking a thorny vine up out of his face. “We made some marvelous breads together, Sanchee and I, according to the old ways. Bread you could cut your teeth on. Now there was bread! My wife worked wonders at our old stone hearth.”

“I’m so jealous,” I told him, making no move to catch up as he stood, studying his own chapter of Nature. “All that love, the sharing. The little home chores…”

Bonding together through the intimate drudgery of life, having problems and working them out, irritations that become seeds of growth and new understanding. But then I guess that great feast of long-lasting union would have been lost on someone like me. I wouldn’t even have paused at the table. “Just passing through,” I’d say, “Sorry; can’t stay.”

But here was a man who had dug into love. He’d labored in the field with it, shared sickness and health, spoken and lived it. Now he had joys to look back on while I could only sit on a rock and take notes. I wanted so badly to ask him more, search out details, share my friend’s greatest triumphs, joys, and deepest sorrows, all the little stuff, too; but I’m not one to pry. And Waters was a very guarded soul.

I couldn’t respect the man without honoring that.

– From “The Mourning After”

And now the world changes

April 11, 2015:

Got a connected series of ideas this morning so rich, fertile, and powerful they are dramatically changing the novel I have recently begun. They are so far-reaching that not only do I suddenly find myself working on three books at once, but these new concepts will even transform the books I have already published (without changing a word in them). If I can pull this off, the world itself may likely shift in response. – And continue to long after I have passed.

I may this morning have been handed my life’s work.

These books are defining a generation that hasn’t yet fully emerged.

Do broken hearts stop us? – Or bid us reach Higher?

“When my arms grew long and strong enough I started pulling myself up onto the roof to lie back under the stars, praying for their vast peace to drain off some of this hurt. I ached for something higher, richer, undeniable, and there were moments when I was teased with just a glimpse. I could lose my heart in a picture of Jesus or Mary, in a rainy autumn sunset, or a field of stars, and it was like I’d gone home. Everything dissolved into pure, aching sweetness. How vast love can be when we don’t hack off a chunk and hoard it, call it ours, or chain it to someone; when it isn’t love for some thing or someone, just love.

“I was only allowed brief visits to this world beyond worlds though, and couldn’t bring the bliss back with me. Trying to hold on to that soul piercing, excruciating sweetness was like tearing my heart apart; but maybe that was exactly the point. Broken hearts show us we’ve grown out of one stage, by ripping us wide open for the next.

“We’re forced to choose what we do with all that pain: turn it against ourselves, aim it at someone else, or tap all that power and reach higher.”

– From “Entertaining Naked People”.


Not stuck in this life

Some say your perspective changes as you age and watch your friends die. Or when you know you are facing your own death even earlier. You look at everything differently. Colors are richer, friends are funnier, music sinks deeper into your heart.

But I have never felt very far from death. It has always held it door open for me just a few steps ahead, but I have never made the leap for it so long as there might still be something worthwhile here I could still accomplish. Some personal growth, or some way to help another advance.

I wouldn’t clutch at this life if invited to leave it behind. I have always been ready to let go of this one. It has always seemed on temporary loan and like I had lived out the terms of the contract decades ago.

But I would want to step into the next one on the clearest, strongest, brightest terms possible. Be ready for some real growth in that one. Not so many squandered opportunities. I want to hit the next round with some momentum.

It’s not that I’m depressed, though I certainly used to be. In my youth I made a lifestyle out of it. I have just grown weary, and yearn to start fresh. I felt that way even as a child.

But I have learned. I am happy. I am at peace finally now. I am clearer and stronger and more knowing.

But still that Brighter Sun calls me nigh.

I have work to do here though, and it has begun. This life has been all preparation.

This came to me this morning. Think it may be for the next book, which I started in earnest a couple of days ago.


When meditation don’t work

Sometimes I sit to meditate in the morning, but the doors just don’t fly open like they often do. No amazing revelations. No miracles.

So I just sit there and have a little “soul check”. Make sure it is still standing strong, not buried in yesterday’s schmootz. That I am still reaching out from my core for each thought, response, and action. If I stay strong, continue coming from core, then those doors to meditation might just open any time throughout the day.

If I stay fully functional in the realm of the eternal, then what does it matter whether I’m sitting at an altar or not?

Work is play

For me, work is play. Life is play. Writing is work, but it’s playful work.
I never know what one of my books is about at the end of the first draft. I need to set the characters loose, chatting with each other, and see where THEY take it. They always surprise me, writing wonderful stories that they get to star in, but I take the credit for.

Great Spirits Lose Their Keys

A person of deep and guiding spirit is still human. She loses her keys. She forgets your name, the password to her account, and sometimes her own phone number. Even the Highest among us aren’t always so high.
But at these times we can see how we’re not really so very different. We can identify; we with them, and they with us.
And if we are alike in form, couldn’t that offer us some hope that we can reach the same heights in spirit; the same depths of truth; the same richness and meaning for our own lives?
Even those sometimes guided by higher beings still; by great spirits unseen but adored; might have times when they can’t quite connect. Maybe they just don’t feel so lost when it happens. Because they have been there and know it as home.

– Those of you who know me know that I tend to write several books at once. This morning I hoped to get something of my internet-centered novel, “I Am!”. Instead I got the above stirrings of what could be an intro for “Tackling Clara”; a collection of anecdotes from the lives of Dora Kunz and other spiritual teachers.

You have much to offer

“You have become what you are through countless lives and lessons.
There is something you can offer others
if only working on your self-discipline, fighting your own baser urges.
Do that, then.
Do what is offered. Learn and grow as you can.
That in itself is service.”
– From “The Gardens of Ailana” handbook for mystics & healers

Eroded by life

This outer world, our day-to-day lives, can be very distracting. They buffet our minds, emotions, and senses. We let things that happen to us form experiential sores; existential callouses.
As we pick at these, our surface grows tougher. We are less sensitive where we’ve been scarred.
Then we learn that there is a deeper life; we don’t need our toughness and scars anymore. That which grinds away our surface can free our core. As it polishes away the outer shell, the hull, the pod; we find our souls pulsing inside.
– From “The Gardens of Ailana” handbook for mystics & healers