#I don’t think I’ve thought this hard about something in AGEES

[crayonverse]

i do really love the thematic different ways Douglas and Giselle both went about their androids. Douglas crafted a single android with a specific face, body and life. He created artificial life that had a entire life he wrote and crafted, all for him to leave his hand-made creation in a pile of rocks and to act like nothing ever happened.

Giselle's androids all have unique appearances, but underneath their superficial appearance, they are all the same. She doesn't need to hand create all their personalities and lives, as a majority of her androids are just props to her. They can change face and body at any needed point so there's no point in giving most of them a name. Troy probably had many different faces and voices throughout his creation. He could be anything.

Douglas wanted an android that he could replace easily with his own kids, and Giselle wanted an android that was strong and smart and would actually listen to her. Douglas needed the androids Giselle made, and Giselle wanted the android Marcus was.

[glytchfic]

We started as a spark. PART 1.

David Dastmalchian x Fem!Reader

Hellooo guys! So i’m back for the official Part 1. I’m glad so many of you enjoyed the Prologue, it’s really appreciated. I don’t know at what frequency exactly i’ll be able to upload because i’m in college - you know the drill with college lol fml - and i’ll probably get busier and busier as the week goes by, but i’ll keep you posted as much as i can! As usual, if you have any criticism or anything, just let me know.

Enjoy! 

Rating: 18+

Warnings, i’ll probably add more as i go: slow burn, foul language. 

Inspired by the song False Alarm by Matoma & Becky Hills.

___________________________________________________________

I hear a knock on the door and I open my eyes a little bit. I turn around, hide under my blanket and close my eyes again. I can feel myself dozing off again and I hear another knock, louder this time. After a sign of despair, I get up and stumble to my front door, not entirely awake yet. I open it and see a red-haired man walking right through it. I groan. Here comes the legendary Steve Agee with his early morning attitude. 

‘I’ve been waiting for 15 minutes downstairs.’  

‘How come Richard let you through?’ 

‘The man at the lobby? I told him your darkest deepest secret to prove I knew you and he let me through. Now get dressed, we’re gonna be late.’ Steve commands. 

‘Late for what?’ I ask, apparently confused.  

He frowns at me and tilts his head a bit. After a couple of seconds, it hit me. 

‘Aw fuck the table read!’ I scream as I run to my room.  

‘Nice PJ by the way.’ 

I mutter a ‘Fuck you’ under my breath as I search for something decent to wear to our first table read. I put on something quite simple – black leggings and a white T-shirt – and grab my phone on my bedside table. One text from my mom, eight missed calls from Steve and one text from – oh my god – David.  

‘I reserved a seat for you and Steve right next to me. You’re welcome.’ 

I can’t help but smile. I first met David a month ago when James – James Gunn – decided to organize something at his place so the crew could get to know each other. To my biggest surprise, David and I hit it off immediately. But if I’m being honest with myself, it does not help the huge attraction I have for him.  

‘Are you coming or not?’ Steve yells while jingling his car keys.  

‘Oh my god, I hope you got us coffee before you got here because you’re insufferable right now!’ I yell back. 

_

I take a sip of my coffee as I look out through the window.  

‘Sorry for making us late.’ I say calmer than earlier. 

‘Don’t you have an assistant to help you keep track of all that?’ Steve points out.  

‘Yep. Might fire him.’  

Steve parks the car and I get out of it, coffee in hand. I gaze at the building, and I see the Warner Bros logo at the top of it. I look at my phone and see we’re only ten minutes late, which is not so bad. Chances are we’re not gonna be the only ones late. We enter the building and I follow Steve, who knows this place much better than I do. We arrive in front of door 171 and he opens it for me like the gentlemen that he is. With a loud bang, the door closes behind us and everybody turns around to stare at us. 

‘Hey.’ I say with an apologetic tone.  

‘Have you, at least, brought coffee for everyone?’ James chuckles. 

I mouth a sincere ‘Sorry’ as I look around for my place. I see David in the corner waving at me and Steve. He smiles at me as I sit next to him, and I can feel my face getting a little bit hotter. I really need to calm down. I can’t let him have this much effect on me. 

‘Did you get lost?’ he whispers to me. 

‘Worse than that. I forgot.’ I whisper back and he chuckles a bit.  

He hands me a copy of the script and we finally begin our first table read for The Suicide Squad. James shares with us his thoughts about most parts of the movie, some information we need to know about the underlying messages and all the important dates we need to know about the productions. After a few hours of reading and re-reading some parts, we leave the room and the first I do is lean against the wall in the corridor, holding my rumbling stomach.  

‘Are you pregnant or something?’ Steve said in his mocking tone. 

‘Fuck off, Steve.’ 

He laughs. Being very vocal about not wanting kids, he knows it annoys the shit out of me when he makes those kinds of comments. But since I’ve known him for years and we became good friends, it just became – in a way – a running gag between us. And maybe because most of my attempts at the relationship thing failed because of the baby thing and he knows all about it. He’s an asshole and I love him for that. 

‘All jokes aside, wanna grab a bite? You look like shit.’ 

‘You look like shit.’ I smile at him, and he smiles back, ‘but yeah, we should. Coffee only diet is not good.’ 

‘Wait here. I’ll ask David if he wants to come with us.’ 

Hearing his name makes me a bit weak. I see Steve walking away from me to join another group of the crew a bit farther in the corridor. I lean my head against the wall, and I close my eyes. I’ve only seen David face to face a few times this last month – and never completely alone – so I’m not really used to having him around me yet. Our brand-new friendship mainly developed from the fact that we realized from the get-go we had a lot of things in common and we shared those interests via text messages. You know, Youtube videos and memes as any friends would do. Let’s put the emphasis on the word friends here since, you know, we’re gonna be weeks long together filming and stuff. 

‘Well, hello Clarice.’ 

I smirk at the nickname and open my eyes to see David looking at me with a grin. Since he’s learned that I’m a huge fan of The Silence of the Lambs - and of horror movies in general – he's been calling me Clarice or Miss Sterling from time to time.  

‘Doctor Lecter.’ I say as professionally as possible which makes both of us laugh. 

‘Stop playing around kids, I’m hungry let’s go!’ Steve exclaims. 

_

‘Uh-huh, I can’t agree with that, I’m sorry but -’ I say while chewing on my burger. 

‘Oh my god, really?’ David replies, interrupting me. 

‘Let me explain,’’ I swallow my bite and wave at them to calm down before I continue, ‘look, I do think George Lucas was right to change a few things about his original Star Wars movies since we do have better VFX and CGI for it now. It doesn’t change anything story wise so who cares?’ 

‘Unbelievable.’ David simply said under his breath. 

‘Okay, that’s enough. I don’t care, I’m gonna say it: I’m ashamed to be your friend.’ Steve dead-pan comments. 

‘I have every right to say it and I’m gonna say it goddamn it! George was right!’ I exclaim. 

Both take their faces in their own hands, and I can’t help but chuckle as a sip my milkshake. There’s nothing like creating pure chaos with Star Wars fans. I let them try to explain to me how wrong I was, and I continue eating, amuse. As I am looking at Steve explaining a deep theory about the Star Wars universe, I see from the corner of my eyes that David is glancing at me. I subtly look in his direction and he immediately turn his stare away when our eyes connect. I smirk and turn my attention back to Steve.  

‘So, anyway, that’s why you’re wrong.’ Steve says as a matter of fact. 

‘Sure buddy.’ I laugh.  

Steve rolls his eyes and looks at his phone. He sighs, gets up and puts some cash money on the table. 

‘Gotta go. I have a meeting with some friends for a photography session. You guys have fun.’  

We wave him goodbye and in just a few seconds, he was gone. I turn my attention to David, and it hit me. It’s officially the first time we’re completely alone. Completely, not really, we’re still in a public place but there’s no Steve or no James to keep the conversation going. I’ve never struggled with small talk or any talking really, but somehow, it’s the first time in my entire life where I’m legitimately concerned about me not knowing what to say or what to do.  

‘I didn’t know you were such a drama queen about Star Wars’ I say to David, trying to mock him a bit. 

‘I thought they were called public nuisance now?’  

I let out a sincere laugh, ‘In no way whatsoever you could be a public nuisance.’ 

‘I will take that as a compliment’ he says with a lovely smile. 

Fuck, this friendship is gonna be hard to deal with.  

[yeahimaloser]

Ok, getting better at this! 😁 20 angst and 1 general for hawks. Baby has a too good pokerface (too his benefit and to his demise, babyyy 😭nooo)

Thanks for requesting, and I agee bb has a really good poker face!

“Don’t look at me like that,”“Like what,”“Like you still love me.”

“I love you” “Then tell me that when you’re sober.” <- sorry I changed that one a little :)

Helloooooo, so this is gonna be a little angsty, so I hope I did ok!

Summary: After a night of drinking, you confront Hawks, the man that broke your heart.

Warnings: drinking, cursing, fighting (verbally)

Reader has no pronouns mentioned

Requests closed

Masterlist

When Hawks broke your heart you wanted to just leave Japan.

But you were a hero, worse, you were a hero known for pairing up with Hawks. And everyone in Japan associated you with him.

Your two agencies were practically intertwined with each other, under contract in fact.

Therefore, you couldn’t leave him as a partner. And you hated it, you despise it.

No one knew about you two, and that’s what you liked about it. The fact that people didn’t pity you when you two teamed up. But still, you couldn’t cry to anyone, could actually tell them why you were acting so off. However, you were glad others couldn’t feel bad for you, you thought maybe you could quickly get over Hawks.

But it hurt.

It hurt because he acted like nothing ever happened between you two, he acted like everything was fine. Like you two never happened.

So you did too.

You acted like your heart didn’t hurt every time he smiled at you, you pretended you didn’t miss the feeling of his lips on yours, you pretended you didn’t miss the way his hands felt when creased your cheeks lovingly when he looked into your eyes. You acted like it never bothered you, you acted like you two never happened, you acted like you were fine. Like you didn’t care.

But you did care, you cared so much. You loved him, in fact, maybe you still did. But it wasn’t worth it, he wasn’t worth it.

But some days you would slip up, you would stare at him a little too long, sometimes you would imagine the loving words he would tell you, you imagined what his lips felt like on yours.

And some days, he would catch you.

And he wouldn’t look away from you, he wouldn’t stop staring at you until you looked away. Then he would pretend like nothing ever happened.

How could you hate someone you loved.

______

Your agency, as well as Hawks’, had all went out for drinks together, it was supposed to be fun. But here you were, on the rooftop away from everyone.

The night started well enough, everyone was having fun, drinking, and talking. Till he showed up. He smiled so pleasantly at everyone, everyone except you. He acted as though you were some shadow, a nobody, and you hated it. You hated him.

You couldn’t stand it. So here you were, on the roof, trying to drown your pity.

You heard the door to the roof open and close, you didn’t even turn to see who it was, “Sorry, I’ll get off.”

“Oh, don’t leave on my account,” Hawks’s voice made you sit up straighter. What the hell was he doing here?

You just scoffed, “I just might, what the hell do you want? Came here to rub how much better off you are?”

You didn’t see the hurt in his eyes, you didn’t see the way his body craved you.

He knew it was a mistake, breaking up with you. He loved you, but he got scared, scared of his feelings, scared of what loving you meant, scared of his heart. So he thought this was the best option, for both of you.

It wasn’t.

He missed waking up next to you in the morning, the way you would press your self to him when you two cuddled, the way your lips would feel. He missed your word of praise whenever he saved a civilian, coming from you made him want to work harder. And when you stroked his wings, he felt like the world couldn’t touch him, he felt like only you and him mattered in that moment. The way you would laugh at his jokes felt like the best music. He just loved you so much.

So then, why did he break your heart as he did?

Because he was a coward.

_____

He sighed, pressing send.

He couldn’t even tell you to your face, because he knew if he did he would just change his mind. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist you, he knew his lips would end up back on yours.

He stared at his phone screen for a little bit, before putting it into his pocket.

He felt the heaviness in his chest, he felt the way his mind pushed and pulled at him.

He didn’t deserve you, you deserved a better, happier life. You didn’t deserve him coming in and messing up everything. So this had to be done.

But he loved you, you were all he thought about, all he wanted. All he needed. But you needed to be safe, and your safety came as the first priority. If his heart had to be shattered, so be it.

When he got home, he saw you asleep, the pillowcase wet with your tears. He felt his chest tighten at the sight, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with you, cuddle you and tell you that everything would be just fine. To feel your hands in his hair, soothing him and telling him how much you loved him.

But he didn’t deserve that, he didn’t deserve you.

So he left, he was a bastard and he left.

______

So here he was, still in pain, his heart still aches for you.

He forced himself to act distant with you, to act like he didn’t care.

But he did, he cared so much. He craved you, he needed to hold you to him, to hear your laugh, to feel your love.

But he didn’t deserve it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you said, in a disapproving tone.

“Like what,” he asked.

You sighed, “Like you still love me.”

He was silent for a moment, taking a swig from his beer bottle, “And if I do love you?”

You scoffed, “Then tell me that when you’re sober.”

He looked at his beer can, before setting it down, away from himself.

“And besides,” you said, “you don’t get to love me. You made the decision when you left.”

He didn’t say anything, so you continued, “You couldn’t even talk to me in person. Hell, you couldn’t even call me. Do you know how terrible it was? I didn’t even know why you left, I keep thinking it’s my fault, that I did something. And guess what? I couldn’t even tell anyone because even though you’re an asshole I didn’t want to ruin your reputation. So I spent night after night crying myself to sleep. Do you know how hard that was? And do you know what I thought about? All those nights that we stayed up together, talking about the future we were gonna have. Did they mean nothing to you? Did any of it matter to you?”

You didn’t even realize the tears in your eyes, but your vision was so blurry you didn’t see Hawks shed a tear.

“So Hawks, what do you think? Are you proud of yourself?”

Keigo hated when you used his hero name, he told you his real name for a reason. He missed the way you would say it. The sweet way your voice would sing his name when he did something right, he even missed when you used to yell at him too. The way you would use his name to nag at him when he was being too annoying, or when you got mad at him.

Like right now.

He wished you would use it.

He didn’t care if it stung, he needed to hear it.

“No,” he said simply, “I’m not. I’ve been wishing since I did it to take it back. It’s so hard not to hold you to me when I see you cry, to not kiss you anymore, to not hold you to me. You can say it’s the alcohol talking, but I do love you. I’ve never stopped loving you. And I never will. But this is the best for both of us.”

You looked at him, in disgust, “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me! You don’t make that decision! I loved you, but you left! And that’s the end of the story! You did this, so stop feeling sorry for yourself!”

You stilled for a moment, taking a deep breath, “And that whole shit about loving me? Well, it didn’t seem like it whenever you would ignore me. It didn’t seem like it when you acted like I was a nobody to you! You don’t get to come out here and tell me you love me after you broke my heart! That’s not how this works! You were supposed to love me, but look what you did! I hate all this, I thought about leaving my agency because I couldn’t bare to look at you anymore,” Hawks just sat there, looking down at his hand, not saying a word, “So yeah, you don’t get to love me.”

You stood, Hawks tried to catch your hand, but you swatted it away from him. Like hell, you would take his hand.

Before you left, you said, with venom in your voice, “Goodbye Keigo.”

I hope I did ok!

[swisssadge]

We shall break the shackles

Nyx had spread her star-strewn mantle over Theros. Life had come to a rest, except for the hunters of the night.

Kynaios and Tiro were in bed too, cuddled against each other. There was no light coming into the cabin they shared, not even the slightest sliver of silvery light from the moon.

Tiro was playing with his shorter lover's hair. It was brown and silky; whenever he could comb his fingers through it, that sign of intimacy soothed him. Tonight, however… what weighed on his heart was too heavy for him to completely be calmed by this familiar gesture.

"Kynaios…"

"Hm?"

The shorter man lazily lifted a hand and let his fingers streak across his lover's cheek.

"Aren't you tired of it?"

Something in his voice drove the laziness out of Kynaios. He turned and stared into the barely visible eyes of the taller man.

"What do you mean?"

Tiro made an all-encompassing gesture, more felt than seen in the dark of the cabin.

"Of all of this. Of the miserable life the Archons are subjecting us humans to. Of the two of us having to hide our love when we're outside of these walls."

Kynaios stared at his beloved with wide eyes. For a moment, he barely believed what he just had heard. It was too shocking a prospect to even consider. On the other hand… deep in his heart, Kynaios felt exactly the same. There were times when it felt to him as if it grew more difficult to hide their love with each day. If the Archons would ever learn of it, it would be a death sentence for both of them. Still… the mere idea of what his lover had suggested… the danger of it…

"Do you realize what you just said?", he eventually asked.

"I do." Tiro took one of Kynaios' hands into his and held it firmly. "My love, things have to change. You feel it, just like me. We have to rally the people behind us. Way too long have we endured Agnomakhos' cruelty. Someone has to spark the fire that will burn his reign to the ground. And the two of us are the only ones strong enough in body and mind to do it."

He was right, Kynaios knew. There were only few warriors on par with them. He agreed with his dark-skinned love from the bottom of his heart in that things had to change. However, there was still a problem.

"Star of my life", he said. "I know he strength of us both. But what about the others? Agnomakhos has hundreds of Leonin under his control. And almost all of us humans are inferior to them in physical strength."

"I know, Kynaios, I know." Tiro gently kissed his hand. "That's why we'll have to rally as much of our brethren as possible, so we may surpass them in numbers. If possible, we can train them in secret. Hard. We need to light a fire in them that will give them the courage to fight, despite the unfavorable odds. We have to make up for our physical weakness with wits. Outsmart the Leonin. At any rate, the path to our freedom will demand sacrifices. It's up to the two of us to make sure they were not in vain. Don't worry… you and me, together, we will find a way to shake off Agnomakhos' yoke."

Kynaios stared at the white in his lover's eyes which he could just make out in the dark. Tiro's hands, still holding his, radiated warmth and determination. If Kynaios weren't already so much in love with him, he would just have fallen for him even more right then and there.

His dark-skinned beloved had spoken with such conviction and fire, that Kynaios felt as if at his side he could do everything. Tiro had this inspiring effect on other people, and was only one of his many facettes Kynaios loved about him.

"Tiro…"

He dug his hand into his lover's black hair and kissed him long and passionately. After they broke the kiss, they stared each other into the eyes, faces only inches from each other. Kynaios cupped both of the other man's cheeks with his hands.

"Tiro", he repeated, "sun of my life. If my heart didn't already belong to you, it would have been consumed by the fire you have ignited inside of me just now. No fear – I will be with you. All the way. Wherever it will lead."

"Wherever it will lead", Tiro ageed. "Together always."

"Tomorrow", Kynaios continued, "we shall start drawing the people to the flame of courage. The shackles of man shall be broken."

"Freedom", Tiro added with the gravity of a pact.

Then they made love to each other in the way of two humans who didn't know how many sunrises they had left, of two humans who knew that any of the coming days could be the last. It was frantic, almost desperate lovemaking. And it was the only thing that mattered right now. Discussing the grave things could well wait until the next day.

Yet… as they drifted into the realm of sleep, their love for each other was stronger than ever before and carried the spark of hope that was going to carry them through the arduous days ahead of them.

    Author's note: So, I've got quite a few things to say about this story. So let's get started.

Firstly, I want to dedicate this story to one of my many cousins. He is well known here in Switzerland as a successful practitioner of Swiss wrestling. And he had a coming out as a gay person just last week. A very very courageous move, especially in regards to the sport he practices. Heh… so a little dedication to him, even though he's never going to even know I wrote this. He is not into anything fantasy, leave alone into Magic the Gathering. And I think this is the first piece I ever wrote about a gay couple. If memory serves right, I never even wrote something about manga/anime yaoi. At any rate, I thought I'd use the occasion to finish and post this story. It was just such a great opportunity.

Secondly, a few words in regards to the lore. I think Kynaios and Tiro have such an interesting backstory. If you're not familiar with it, go look it up; I'd love to explain, but it would take too much space and time (or message me, if you want me to explain). Anyhow, it's quite a shame we never learn more about them. And that there are no more cards about them besides the one the have. I would have not minded each of them getting a card of their own. Or damn, wouldn't they be perfect for a partner commander duo? Damn, now it's even more a shame. Anyhow… unfortunately, we don't even know who of them is Kynaios and who is Tiro. My decision was like this: Since one of them is more African-looking, dark-skinned and all, I decided to give him Tiro and his smaller lover the more Greek-sounding of the two names, Kynaios. Just wanted to tell you this for reference.

And that's it. I hope that you MtG-fans (and maybe even the occasional person unfamiliar with the game) will enjoy this little story. See ya!

[flowermandalas]

15 Self-Help Books that Really Helped

If you type “self-help books” into Amazon’s “Books” category, you’ll get more than 675,000 hits, and their “Kindle” category lists nearly 300,000. That’s a lot of self-help!

But how many of these books have actually helped? And how many books outside the “self-help” category have been even more helpful?

Just for kicks, I drew up a list of the 15 books that, over the course of my lifetime, I’ve found most helpful, either personally or professionally. Here they are in the order in which I read them.

What books have been helpful to you, “self-help” or otherwise?

The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, by William Blake

I first encountered this part visionary / part comic / part poetry / part etching long poem in 1969, in an English class, while an Engineering student at Cornell University. I had grown up a kid scientist, and my hope was that I’d become a NASA engineer. I was also very much in my head and not so much in my body, in the world of logic and not so much the world of emotion. Blake’s poem convinced me I had to change all that or else live out my days a reduced version of myself. This powerful piece reached out to me over 200 years and 6000 miles and changed not only my focus (from Engineering to English major) but also set in motion a process of actualizing the more suppressed parts of myself, a lifelong activity that began then and there. Thank you, Mr. Blake!

Tales of the Dervishes, by Idries Shah

I read this book in 1970 in what officially was an English Composition class but was really a class in what for me were radically different ways of thinking and seeing. Tales of the Dervishes, a collection of Sufi teaching stories, was my first introduction to Eastern thought. The tales are in the form of parable, and they’re intended to be understood differently according to the ability of the listener/reader. Some I still vividly recall and have used in conversations with friends and therapy clients. I went on to study with a Sufi guide for a while, and learned from him a Sufi meditation practice aimed at increasing intuition and creativity that seemed to open up a kind of 6th sense. Remarkable stuff. I’ve since migrated to Buddhist practices, but I continue to find the Sufi teachings and practices intriguing, and my experience of them began here.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, by Robert Pirsig

Sitting in front of me on my desk right now is the copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance I bought in August, 1974, and carried with me on my own motorcycle trip from Buffalo, out to Indiana, down to Baltimore, and finally up to New York City, where I stayed for 6 years. I was a year out of college, still trying to figure out what to do when I “grew up,” and Pirsig’s book came out shortly before I started my trip. Though at the time it seemed clichéd to take such a book on a motorcycle trip, and it was one more heavy thing to add to the already overstuffed pack strapped behind me on my little Yamaha 200, it turned out to be exactly the right thing to guide my inner journey, and even helped me diagnose and repair a motorcycle issue that led to my seizing a piston in Ohio.

It’s been 42 years since I read this book, and when I flip through it and see the sentences I underlined I’m sometimes puzzled by those choices, but it still leaves a feeling in my chest of almost indescribable  longing, wonder, excitement, and calm. I can’t say many other books have had as lingering an effect, so this one makes the “Books that have inspired me” list.

Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, by James Agee and Walker Evans

James Agee and Walker Evans’ book of lyrical prose and hard-edged images was one of three books I brought with me when I moved to NYC in 1974, and one of a short list that had a major influence on me as a young writer. This was the first book I’d encountered that looked and felt deeply about a group of people largely ignored by the rest of the country, and it directly influenced my own several-year project photographing and interviewing the people I encountered living or working the streets of Manhattan and Brooklyn. I have yet to encounter anything that quite matches it in its powerful synergy of prose and photographs.

The Drama of the Gifted Child, by Alice Miller

I encountered this book in the mid-80s, a year or two into my first serious round of psychotherapy, and it was as if all the lights suddenly went on in a previously dimly lit room. Although it’s been a long time since I read The Drama of the Gifted Child, the shock of recognition – of the dynamics of my family, of my role in it, of the roles filled by my siblings, my mother, and especially by my father – became starkly revealed in a way no amount of discussion or dream analysis had approached. There’s something compelling about how some authors can strip away the confusion surrounding a complex psychological set of interactions and lay bare the bones of it, and Miller did that for me in this book.

Iron John, by Robert Bly

In Iron John, Bly translates, interprets, and expands a little-known Grimm’s Fairy Tale that depicts the path of a young prince growing into manhood. Bly uses the folktale as a frame for the larger story of how men of the last few generations have been taught to be men mainly by women and, more recently, also by the media. He portrays what has been lost and gained as a result. I read this book shortly after it was published in 1990 and found it to be the brightest lens on men, and what was difficult about being one, I’d ever seen.

Bly, a poet I’d first encountered at Cornell  University at an anti-war rally, not only precisely and lyrically delineated mens’ problems, he also outlined a solution and taught it to large gatherings of men.  (I attended a weekend workshop he held at Brandeis University.) Bly sought to bring together older and younger men to promote a return to a male apprenticeship process lost in the industrial revolution and the nuclear family. His aim was to help us break out of our extended boyhood. Bly’s book and his gatherings of men greatly enlarged, for a time, a nascent Men’s Movement that roughly paralleled the Women’s Movement of the 60s and early 70s. Today, I still recommend Iron John to male clients, and also to women who want to understand men.

Life After Life, by Raymond Moody Jr.

In 1993, I had a near-death experience as a result of a series of medical errors. At the time, I’d never heard of a near-death experience. This was the first book I read that opened my eyes to what I had gone through. Several others followed, as well as a subscription to the International Journal of Near-Death Studies, membership in a group of near-death survivors, and eventually, transitioning from a PhD program in English to one in counseling psychology. Nearly a quarter of a century later, it’s still not clear to me exactly what the meaning of an NDE is, but Moody’s book did a credible job of documenting the phenomenon, one I still find more valuable than the extraordinary claims of those who have more recently, and famously, written about near-death experiences.

Being Peace, by Thich Nhat Hanh

I read Being Peace about 20 years ago, and then again in 2014. It was the first book by the Buddhist teacher and writer for me, and it is, I think, a seminal work, capturing in one short volume the essence of what he would go on to explicate in his many books since this one. The first time I read this book, I had never heard of Thich Nhat Hanh and was attracted to the title. I read it in a couple of sittings. The second time through, I read the book in short bursts, one section per week, in the company of other people who also follow Thich Nhat Hanh’s teachings. It took several months to complete the reading, and it was a far more profound experience. Each short segment has layers of meaning and emotion that take time to settle into the soul. Highly recommended as a first place to meet this wise teacher and his work.

Focusing, by Eugene Gendlin

Although it was ten years or so between the time I bought Eugene Gendlin’s Focusing and when I actually began to use this technique in my personal life and my therapy practice, in many ways it is now at the heart of both. In the late 60s and early 70s, Gendlin teamed up with pioneer psychologist Carl Rogers to try to figure out why some people seemed to get better with therapy while others did not. After screening for all the factors one might suspect made the difference – therapeutic training and approach, experience, types of problems clients came in with, demographics, etc. – it turned out that the dominant factor was something clients either came into therapy doing (and they got better) or didn’t do (and they usually didn’t). Gendlin realized that this factor was a natural human quality, and he created this book, and many others, to help those of us who didn’t natively do it learn how.

I have practiced Focusing for many years, and I have taught it to a wide variety of clients so they can do it themselves. Easier to do than to explain, Gendlin’s Focusing handbook nevertheless does an excellent job of summarizing the rationale behind it, the technique itself, and what to do if things don’t seem to be working.

The Highly Sensitive Person, by Elaine N. Aron

Aron’s book The Highly Sensitive Person is one I wish had been written decades ago. It helped me understand that I’m a “highly sensitive person” – someone who takes in, on both a sensory and emotional level, more than most people do. There are a lot of us – according to Aron, some 20% of the population, a figure validated by an independent study done by Harvard and the University of Toronto a few years after Aron’s book was published. Being “highly sensitive” is a blessing and a curse: We can’t screen much out, so all kinds of things bother us that don’t bother most people, but we also have more data available at a conscious level, and sometimes we can do things with that data that people who automatically screen more out cannot. The simple test for this type of sensitivity is on Aron’s website, hsperson.com, and her practical advice for how to cope with this characteristic is a uniquely valuable resource.

When I Say No, I Feel Guilty, by Manuel J. Smith

This is the book I most often take off my shelf and show to clients. Even if all you learn from it is the “Broken Record” technique for saying no and sticking to it, and you accept that his “Assertiveness Bill of Rights” really does apply to you, When I Say No, I Feel Guilty will change your life for the better. I wish Manuel Smith had written it 50 years ago!

The Anxiety & Phobia Workbook, by Edmund J. Bourne

This book is the most helpful book on anxiety I’ve encountered, and one I pull off the shelf to show a client almost as frequently as When I Say No, I Feel Guilty. Bourne knows anxiety from the inside out, and his comprehensive work on the subject is a balanced approach comprising psychoeducation, tools, and strategies that anyone suffering from anxiety can benefit from. His approach to understanding and healing the damage from mistaken beliefs alone is enough to make the book a worthwhile purchase. His chapter on panic attacks has helped many of my clients completely overcome this disorder. A must-read for therapists and anxiety sufferers alike.

Art & Fear, by David Bayles and Ted Orland

Art & Fear is the most concise and friendly companion to anyone trying to define themselves as an artist that I have so far encountered. In a series of concise essays, Bayles and Orland (a photographer and potter, respectively) put forth most the anxiety-provoking aspects of being an artist and offer sound, accessible wisdom on how to stay grounded, motivated, and focused.

The War of Art, by Steven Pressfield

Pressfield’s concise assault on Resistance and his distinction between the professional and the amateur artist helped me break through some substantial blocks along the way to creating my book Paths to Wholeness and inspired at least one artist I know to start making the transition between hobbyist painter to pro. Highly recommended for any creative person who feels held back by the mundane. His last paragraph is a terrific sendoff, the culmination of all that came before: “Creative work is not a selfish act or a bid for attention on the part of the actor. It’s a gift to the world and every being in it. Don’t cheat us of your contribution. Give us what you’ve got.”

Paths to Wholeness: Fifty-Two Flower Mandalas, by David J. Bookbinder

If you don’t blow your own horn, journalist Jimmy Breslin once said, nobody else will. Writing Paths to Wholeness was one of the most powerful self-help activities I’ve engaged in, in a life of practicing self-help. In it, I tried to distill into one volume the best of what I’ve learned as a therapist, writer, photographer, and person. Paths to Wholeness contains 52 potent essays and striking Flower Mandala images by a spiritual seeker (me!) who, having traversed his own winding path toward awakening, now guides others to find balance, build resilience, overcome fear, and to expand their hearts by listening deeply, inspiring hope, and more fully loving.

P.S.  If you find what you read here helpful, please forward it to others who might, too. Or click the social share and email buttons on this page.

Books: Paths to Wholeness: Fifty-Two Flower Mandalas Print: Amazon  –  BookBaby  –  B&N  – Books-a-Million eBook: Kindle  – Nook  – iTunes  – Kobo

NOTE: Paths to Wholeness is now available at the following Boston-area bookstores and libraries:

Cabot Street Books & Cards, 272 Cabot Street, Beverly, MA 01915 The Bookshop, 40 West Street, Beverly Farms, MA 01915 Boston Public Library (main branch) Brookline Public Library (main branch) NOBLE Public Libraries (Beverly Farms and Salem) MVLC Public Libraries (Hamilton-Wenham)

Please let me know if you find it in other locations!

Also available: 52 (more) Flower Mandalas: An Adult Coloring Book for Inspiration and Stress Relief 52 Flower Mandalas: An Adult Coloring Book for Inspiration and Stress Relief Paths to Wholeness: Selections (free eBook)

Follow me on: Bloglovin’ StumbleUpon Medium

Copyright 2017, David J. Bookbinder http://ift.tt/2oskRQ1 http://ift.tt/2ospoC2 http://ift.tt/2osp7Pj

P.S.  If you find what you read here helpful, please forward it to others who might, too. Or click the social share and email buttons on this page.

from 15 Self-Help Books that Really Helped

[latestnews2018-blog]

The summer of Josh Brolin is here, and no one’s complaining

New Post has been published on https://latestnews2018.com/the-summer-of-josh-brolin-is-here-and-no-ones-complaining/

The summer of Josh Brolin is here, and no one’s complaining

With two blockbusters, both the No 1 and No 2 movies at the box office, and a third coming this week, the 50-year-old is currently on a victory lap

On Sunday, April 29, two days after the commencement of the ‘summer of Josh Brolin’, Josh Brolin’s agents called him. “Oh, my God, dude, biggest opening of all time!” they shouted into the phone. Brolin had never been the star of a No. 1 movie before. He hung up, and it occurred to him that maybe he could let it all in. “Just enjoy it for a second,” he told himself.

He doesn’t usually allow for victory laps. But then the ‘summer of Josh Brolin’ came along.

Who ever predicted that he would be the common denominator of two of the biggest blockbusters of a summer? Who ever predicted that they — meaning a bunch of headlines and a publicist here and there — would name the entire summer after him?

And yet here we are. The ‘summer of Josh Brolin’ has seen Josh Brolin, who is 50, star in both the No. 1 and No. 2 movies at the box office at the same time: as Thanos, a veiny purple attractive-to-some population control activist in Marvel’s Avengers: Infinity War (so-named for its running time), the featured villain of that movie, which stars every other living male actor; he’s Cable, the vengeance-seeking dadbot from the future in Deadpool 2. And on June 28, here comes Sicario: Day of the Soldado, where he resumes the role he played in the first Sicario, a grizzled, seen-it-all military operative on an extraction mission. In its opening weekend, Infinity War took in a reported $258.2 million domestically, almost $383 million internationally. Deadpool 2 made an estimated $125 million domestically and $176.3 million internationally during its opening weekend, and it hadn’t even opened in China yet.

Now, nobody is more surprised about the summer of Josh Brolin than Josh Brolin. But it also leaves him with a problem, which is to figure out how to handle success that he never expected — or at least learnt to stop expecting and even to stop hoping for.

“How do you treat this moment?” he asked.

He is very concerned about becoming a self-obsessed monster and accepting only certain kinds of roles to perpetuate the momentum. How did that happen to his cool, down-to-earth friends who will now never take a risk and never deviate from what he calls the movie star “manual”?

He hadn’t fully unpacked yet. In the bedroom of his suite, there were gold, star-shaped mylar balloons that he’d given his wife, Kathryn, whom he hadn’t seen for 10 days because he was in Europe on his bromantic Deadpool 2 press tour with Ryan Reynolds. There was no point in unpacking. They were going to Tahiti the next day for two weeks, his reward for surviving the European leg of the press tour.

But afterward, he hated himself for even allowing that.

“It’s like, does it make me a better person? Does it make me invincible?”

All this can sound like too much thinking until you understand. He’s just gotten his life in order. He’s five years sober, two years married. He’d found a career that worked for him, which was doing not-quite-blockbuster movies (No Country for Old Men, Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps), interesting roles with directors and co-stars who excited him and not-quite-leading-roles in movies he thought could really work. He found a woman — the former Kathryn Boyd, 32 — who doesn’t activate in him all the codependence of his prior relationships. He had a home and another home and was even expecting a child — his third. He had just excised so many of his demons, and he wasn’t sure how the ‘summer of Josh Brolin’ might interact with his newfound peace.

He was happy before the ‘summer of Josh Brolin’. Really. The money wasn’t great, relative-movie-star-wealth-wise, but Brolin grew up on a ranch. He’s self-sufficient.

That Sunday, after the call with his agents, he banished the enjoyment after its allotted second, and something else crept into the space it had occupied: Fear.

“He’s extremely honest,” said Benicio Del Toro, his friend and co-star in the Sicario movies, among others. This is the Josh Brolin of Sicario and True Grit and No Country for Old Men and Milk, for which he earned an Oscar nomination.

But then there’s another version of Josh Brolin that turns his face on its head. It’s the one he used in Inherent Vice and Flirting With Disaster and is certainly the one on display in Deadpool 2, where he takes the assumptions inherent to his monument of a face and winks at them — a postmodern Josh Brolin.

Can you believe the choices he’s suddenly presented with? He is 33 years past his film debut as the shorts-over-sweatpants brother in The Goonies. Even as the son of actor James Brolin, he spent so long with his nose pressed against the glass. After Goonies, he did the skater flick Thrashin’ and after that, a million auditions. It all felt so out of reach: He did an episode of Highway to Heaven. He lost the lead on 21 Jump Street to Johnny Depp.

He did a few series. He had a self-consciousness that precluded him from taking jobs that he thought he couldn’t do well. The money would have been good, but the process — the auditions, the compromising — was so humiliating and awful that he felt like he should make his money some other way. And so in 2002, Josh Brolin, the movie star, began working as a day trader.

He says he made so little money in Hollywood (relative to other people we know as movie stars), that the Time’s Up pay equity discussion was a surprise to him. He’s not an idiot. He just couldn’t imagine that all those amazing women were making so much less than the men. He’s been surrounded all his life by alpha women — his late mother was a screaming, hard-drinking firecracker of a woman. His stepmother is Barbra freaking Streisand. Josh went “head-to-head” with both women, he said, both of whom he loved and loves dearly.

“I’ve always been the one that’s been paid the least,” he said. “I’ve always been the one that didn’t get what my co-stars got.” He says he received union scale for most of his work. He was paid $100,000 flat, no back end, for No Country ... After agent fees and taxes, that’s maybe $36,000. He laughed.

His mother, a Texan named Jane Cameron Agee, was “really severe,” too, he said. She was a casting director and an animal activist who, 12 days into knowing James Brolin, said something Texan like, “So, are we going to get married or what?”

Brolin said he confined his drinking to binges, away from home where his kids couldn’t see. He was settling down after a childhood that included drugs, drinking, participation in a punk band, an intentional frost-tipped mohawk, theft, arrests, at least one stint in juvie and emancipation from his parents at 16. He needed breaks from the pressure, so sometimes he’d leave for Los Angeles for a few days or come to this suite in New York, when it was being paid for by a movie or by his production deal with Warner Bros., which ended in 2012. Then he would binge drink. It was a sanctuary in time, he said, in which he wasn’t responsible for anything.

Now, in sobriety, he said, “I want to live more drunk. I want to live drunkenly. I just don’t want to take the drink.”

His approach to relationships with women had always been to try to ascertain what they’re looking for and then try to be that thing.

It was the same with his ex-wife Diane Lane, he said. “I loved Diane,” he said. “I loved being a father figure to her daughter. It just wasn’t attainable, and in that hero mentality, you get exhausted, and then when you get exhausted, you get resentful.”

He and Lane had something like an Elizabeth Taylor/Richard Burton existence, he said, until they split in 2013. In 2004, Lane called the police, saying that Brolin had hit her, and he was arrested. The case was later dropped.

Five years ago, when Brolin decided to stop smoking, he decided to stop drinking, too.

He finalised his divorce with Lane. He went through the steps. He wrote poems, like he always had. He wrote in his journal, like he always had. One day, four months after his divorce, he looked up and he saw Kathryn, his assistant, just there, fully formed, no emotional need for him to graft onto and try to fill. “She doesn’t need me. She never needed me.”

They married in 2016.

Earlier this morning, as they sat at the breakfast table and read the paper, he looked over at her and his eyes filled up. She came over to sit on his lap. He thought of all the ways he had been careless with his life. The drinking, the arrests, the horrible days spent in this suite. He doesn’t forget about that.

That’s the problem with the ‘summer of Josh Brolin’. The ‘summer of Josh Brolin’ is a great many good things, but it is also a threat to the life he had just realised was good enough.

__

Don’t miss it

Sicario: Day of the Soldado releases in the UAE on June 28.

[flowermandalas]

15 Self-Help Books that Really Helped

15 Self-Help Books that Really Helped

If you type “self-help books” into Amazon’s “Books” category, you’ll get more than 675,000 hits, and their “Kindle” category lists nearly 300,000. That’s a lot of self-help!

But how many of these books have actually helped? And how many books outside the “self-help” category have been even more helpful?

Just for kicks, I drew up a list of the 15 books that, over the course of my lifetime, I’ve found most helpful, either personally or professionally. Here they are in the order in which I read them.

What books have been helpful to you, “self-help” or otherwise?

The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, by William Blake

I first encountered this part visionary / part comic / part poetry / part etching long poem in 1969, in an English class, while an Engineering student at Cornell University. I had grown up a kid scientist, and my hope was that I’d become a NASA engineer. I was also very much in my head and not so much in my body, in the world of logic and not so much the world of emotion. Blake’s poem convinced me I had to change all that or else live out my days a reduced version of myself. This powerful piece reached out to me over 200 years and 6000 miles and changed not only my focus (from Engineering to English major) but also set in motion a process of actualizing the more suppressed parts of myself, a lifelong activity that began then and there. Thank you, Mr. Blake!

Tales of the Dervishes, by Idries Shah

I read this book in 1970 in what officially was an English Composition class but was really a class in what for me were radically different ways of thinking and seeing. Tales of the Dervishes, a collection of Sufi teaching stories, was my first introduction to Eastern thought. The tales are in the form of parable, and they’re intended to be understood differently according to the ability of the listener/reader. Some I still vividly recall and have used in conversations with friends and therapy clients. I went on to study with a Sufi guide for a while, and learned from him a Sufi meditation practice aimed at increasing intuition and creativity that seemed to open up a kind of 6th sense. Remarkable stuff. I’ve since migrated to Buddhist practices, but I continue to find the Sufi teachings and practices intriguing, and my experience of them began here.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, by Robert Pirsig

Sitting in front of me on my desk right now is the copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance I bought in August, 1974, and carried with me on my own motorcycle trip from Buffalo, out to Indiana, down to Baltimore, and finally up to New York City, where I stayed for 6 years. I was a year out of college, still trying to figure out what to do when I “grew up,” and Pirsig’s book came out shortly before I started my trip. Though at the time it seemed clichéd to take such a book on a motorcycle trip, and it was one more heavy thing to add to the already overstuffed pack strapped behind me on my little Yamaha 200, it turned out to be exactly the right thing to guide my inner journey, and even helped me diagnose and repair a motorcycle issue that led to my seizing a piston in Ohio.

It’s been 42 years since I read this book, and when I flip through it and see the sentences I underlined I’m sometimes puzzled by those choices, but it still leaves a feeling in my chest of almost indescribable  longing, wonder, excitement, and calm. I can’t say many other books have had as lingering an effect, so this one makes the “Books that have inspired me” list.

Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, by James Agee and Walker Evans

James Agee and Walker Evans’ book of lyrical prose and hard-edged images was one of three books I brought with me when I moved to NYC in 1974, and one of a short list that had a major influence on me as a young writer. This was the first book I’d encountered that looked and felt deeply about a group of people largely ignored by the rest of the country, and it directly influenced my own several-year project photographing and interviewing the people I encountered living or working the streets of Manhattan and Brooklyn. I have yet to encounter anything that quite matches it in its powerful synergy of prose and photographs.

The Drama of the Gifted Child, by Alice Miller

I encountered this book in the mid-80s, a year or two into my first serious round of psychotherapy, and it was as if all the lights suddenly went on in a previously dimly lit room. Although it’s been a long time since I read The Drama of the Gifted Child, the shock of recognition – of the dynamics of my family, of my role in it, of the roles filled by my siblings, my mother, and especially by my father – became starkly revealed in a way no amount of discussion or dream analysis had approached. There’s something compelling about how some authors can strip away the confusion surrounding a complex psychological set of interactions and lay bare the bones of it, and Miller did that for me in this book.

Iron John, by Robert Bly

In Iron John, Bly translates, interprets, and expands a little-known Grimm’s Fairy Tale that depicts the path of a young prince growing into manhood. Bly uses the folktale as a frame for the larger story of how men of the last few generations have been taught to be men mainly by women and, more recently, also by the media. He portrays what has been lost and gained as a result. I read this book shortly after it was published in 1990 and found it to be the brightest lens on men, and what was difficult about being one, I’d ever seen.

Bly, a poet I’d first encountered at Cornell  University at an anti-war rally, not only precisely and lyrically delineated mens’ problems, he also outlined a solution and taught it to large gatherings of men.  (I attended a weekend workshop he held at Brandeis University.) Bly sought to bring together older and younger men to promote a return to a male apprenticeship process lost in the industrial revolution and the nuclear family. His aim was to help us break out of our extended boyhood. Bly’s book and his gatherings of men greatly enlarged, for a time, a nascent Men’s Movement that roughly paralleled the Women’s Movement of the 60s and early 70s. Today, I still recommend Iron John to male clients, and also to women who want to understand men.

Life After Life, by Raymond Moody Jr.

In 1993, I had a near-death experience as a result of a series of medical errors. At the time, I’d never heard of a near-death experience. This was the first book I read that opened my eyes to what I had gone through. Several others followed, as well as a subscription to the International Journal of Near-Death Studies, membership in a group of near-death survivors, and eventually, transitioning from a PhD program in English to one in counseling psychology. Nearly a quarter of a century later, it’s still not clear to me exactly what the meaning of an NDE is, but Moody’s book did a credible job of documenting the phenomenon, one I still find more valuable than the extraordinary claims of those who have more recently, and famously, written about near-death experiences.

Being Peace, by Thich Nhat Hanh

I read Being Peace about 20 years ago, and then again in 2014. It was the first book by the Buddhist teacher and writer for me, and it is, I think, a seminal work, capturing in one short volume the essence of what he would go on to explicate in his many books since this one. The first time I read this book, I had never heard of Thich Nhat Hanh and was attracted to the title. I read it in a couple of sittings. The second time through, I read the book in short bursts, one section per week, in the company of other people who also follow Thich Nhat Hanh’s teachings. It took several months to complete the reading, and it was a far more profound experience. Each short segment has layers of meaning and emotion that take time to settle into the soul. Highly recommended as a first place to meet this wise teacher and his work.

Focusing, by Eugene Gendlin

Although it was ten years or so between the time I bought Eugene Gendlin’s Focusing and when I actually began to use this technique in my personal life and my therapy practice, in many ways it is now at the heart of both. In the late 60s and early 70s, Gendlin teamed up with pioneer psychologist Carl Rogers to try to figure out why some people seemed to get better with therapy while others did not. After screening for all the factors one might suspect made the difference – therapeutic training and approach, experience, types of problems clients came in with, demographics, etc. – it turned out that the dominant factor was something clients either came into therapy doing (and they got better) or didn’t do (and they usually didn’t). Gendlin realized that this factor was a natural human quality, and he created this book, and many others, to help those of us who didn’t natively do it learn how.

I have practiced Focusing for many years, and I have taught it to a wide variety of clients so they can do it themselves. Easier to do than to explain, Gendlin’s Focusing handbook nevertheless does an excellent job of summarizing the rationale behind it, the technique itself, and what to do if things don’t seem to be working.

The Highly Sensitive Person, by Elaine N. Aron

Aron’s book The Highly Sensitive Person is one I wish had been written decades ago. It helped me understand that I’m a “highly sensitive person” – someone who takes in, on both a sensory and emotional level, more than most people do. There are a lot of us – according to Aron, some 20% of the population, a figure validated by an independent study done by Harvard and the University of Toronto a few years after Aron’s book was published. Being “highly sensitive” is a blessing and a curse: We can’t screen much out, so all kinds of things bother us that don’t bother most people, but we also have more data available at a conscious level, and sometimes we can do things with that data that people who automatically screen more out cannot. The simple test for this type of sensitivity is on Aron’s website, hsperson.com, and her practical advice for how to cope with this characteristic is a uniquely valuable resource.

When I Say No, I Feel Guilty, by Manuel J. Smith

This is the book I most often take off my shelf and show to clients. Even if all you learn from it is the “Broken Record” technique for saying no and sticking to it, and you accept that his “Assertiveness Bill of Rights” really does apply to you, When I Say No, I Feel Guilty will change your life for the better. I wish Manuel Smith had written it 50 years ago!

The Anxiety & Phobia Workbook, by Edmund J. Bourne

This book is the most helpful book on anxiety I’ve encountered, and one I pull off the shelf to show a client almost as frequently as When I Say No, I Feel Guilty. Bourne knows anxiety from the inside out, and his comprehensive work on the subject is a balanced approach comprising psychoeducation, tools, and strategies that anyone suffering from anxiety can benefit from. His approach to understanding and healing the damage from mistaken beliefs alone is enough to make the book a worthwhile purchase. His chapter on panic attacks has helped many of my clients completely overcome this disorder. A must-read for therapists and anxiety sufferers alike.

Art & Fear, by David Bayles and Ted Orland

Art & Fear is the most concise and friendly companion to anyone trying to define themselves as an artist that I have so far encountered. In a series of concise essays, Bayles and Orland (a photographer and potter, respectively) put forth most the anxiety-provoking aspects of being an artist and offer sound, accessible wisdom on how to stay grounded, motivated, and focused.

The War of Art, by Steven Pressfield

Pressfield’s concise assault on Resistance and his distinction between the professional and the amateur artist helped me break through some substantial blocks along the way to creating my book Paths to Wholeness and inspired at least one artist I know to start making the transition between hobbyist painter to pro. Highly recommended for any creative person who feels held back by the mundane. His last paragraph is a terrific sendoff, the culmination of all that came before: “Creative work is not a selfish act or a bid for attention on the part of the actor. It’s a gift to the world and every being in it. Don’t cheat us of your contribution. Give us what you’ve got.”

Paths to Wholeness: Fifty-Two Flower Mandalas, by David J. Bookbinder

If you don’t blow your own horn, journalist Jimmy Breslin once said, nobody else will. Writing Paths to Wholeness was one of the most powerful self-help activities I’ve engaged in, in a life of practicing self-help. In it, I tried to distill into one volume the best of what I’ve learned as a therapist, writer, photographer, and person. Paths to Wholeness contains 52 potent essays and striking Flower Mandala images by a spiritual seeker (me!) who, having traversed his own winding path toward awakening, now guides others to find balance, build resilience, overcome fear, and to expand their hearts by listening deeply, inspiring hope, and more fully loving.

P.S. If you find what you read here helpful, please forward it to others who might, too. Or click one of the buttons on the left side of this page.

Books: Paths to Wholeness: Fifty-Two Flower Mandalas Print: Amazon  –  BookBaby  –  B&N  – Books-a-Million eBook: Kindle  – Nook  – iTunes  – Kobo

NOTE: Paths to Wholeness is now available at the following Boston-area bookstores and libraries:

Cabot Street Books & Cards, 272 Cabot Street, Beverly, MA 01915 The Bookshop, 40 West Street, Beverly Farms, MA 01915 Boston Public Library (main branch) Brookline Public Library (main branch) NOBLE Public Libraries (Beverly Farms and Salem) MVLC Public Libraries (Hamilton-Wenham)

Please let me know if you find it in other locations!

Also available: 52 (more) Flower Mandalas: An Adult Coloring Book for Inspiration and Stress Relief 52 Flower Mandalas: An Adult Coloring Book for Inspiration and Stress Relief Paths to Wholeness: Selections (free eBook)

Follow me on: Bloglovin’ StumbleUpon Medium

Copyright 2017, David J. Bookbinder http://ift.tt/2oskRQ1 http://ift.tt/2ospoC2 http://ift.tt/2osp7Pj

P.S. If you find what you read here helpful, please forward it to others who might, too. Or click one of the buttons on the left side of this page.

from 15 Self-Help Books that Really Helped