Then, blowing in from stage left . . .

Several decades ago, Kathy Ruyts decided to manifest a long-term dream. She bought an old church in the tiny town of Buhl, Idaho, and turned it into a beautiful little temple with a labyrinth at its heart. This little jewel, with the bland name of "8th Street Center" has become the cultural heart of not only the town it sits in, but a magnetic draw for the entire Magic Valley of Southern Idaho. My talk and discussion of This Vast Being was held there. Coffee, tea, cheese, crackers and brownies were all available to . . . but who knew how many would show up? Despite newspaper notices, lots of phone calls and emails, and even a small newspaper ad, only seven people came—and that includes me and three others who worked to put on the event.

My expectations, so battered by this trip in all ways, suffered a sharp jolt. I thought that by this time I had learned to flow with the Now, immune from expectations, but NO! I think what seduced me this time was the sheer beauty of this little space which can hold 50 people easily.

As usual, we formed a circle with chairs and began. Not sure how it started this way, but the conversation immediately moved to the slightly raunchy—on the theme of "men are assholes." (Two of the six were men; all of the participants knew each other; and the two men were good sports, mostly agreeing with our comments.) Then, suddenly, like a tornado, blew in a giant, ungainly man with huge, calloused hands and a dirty baseball cap on his sweat-streaked face, apparently fresh out of the potato fields. He strode over to the circle, pulled out a chair, and sat down, saying, "I lost my wife in March. It's been a long, unending nightmare."

Oops! Back up. Start again.

It was as if one play had begun, but then was scratched entirely, when a larger-than-life figure strode in from stage left. Riveting.

Immediately, we all entered the sorrowing spirit of Bill and his massive, flowing, vulnerably expressive grief. From that moment on, the evening galvanized all of us into the rich, paradoxical emotional field that the archetypal experience of death and loss engenders, encompassing both desolation and hilarity, and spinning out stories from each participant that riveted all the others. For the first time on this trip, part of our conversation centered on what might be the differences between men and women in how they grieve. (Men needing to "work out" grief, by engaging in something very physical.) Clearly, these three men, at least, were NOT assholes.

Nearly three hours later we were done, spent. Bill strode out with not one, but two books, and not before commenting, "I think there are 600 people in this town who could have benefited from this evening's discussion."

Whew!

Today, visits with old, nearby friends. Tomorrow morning, book signing at Chapter One bookstore, Ketchum, Idaho