Pushing Upward

by Andrea Adler

  I’d been so selfish. No wonder she didn’t want to go to the play.

  I dug my fingers into the wet sand, digging deeper until my fingertips turned cold. Maybe if I kept digging, I could bury myself in the sand, dissolve here, and be washed away by the sea. Who would care? Who would notice?

  I kept digging. Around me, the incoming waves hissed up on the sand, the seagulls wheeled above the sea.

  The slapping of the waves and the sweet, salty air reminded me that life would go on whether I died here or not. I stopped digging, sat up, and placed my hands around my knees. What do I do now?

  I listened intently, but there was nothing, nothing but the sound of the waves. As I sat there motionless, images arose, one after the other: every person I had known in my life. I watched myself walking away from each one of them, slamming doors, storming out. Like I’d done with Allen. Leaving Larry with no explanation. Never confronting my father, my mother. Steven, Lenny, Emma. I realized I’d never completed anything.

  Oh, Emma. You left too soon! Dear God, show me what I need to do, where I need to go.

  I sat there looking out into the ocean, into the restless movement of the waves. I closed my eyes. I waited to hear an answer. Nothing. There was only the sound of the waves. I kept listening.

  And then, a wave surged within me, a wave of inner resolve. It rose up inside me like a fountain of light, coursing through every atom of my being. Energy poured through me with a lightness and freedom, as if the desire to lie down and dissolve had never been there.

  I didn’t fight or resist this energy, but allowed it to move on its own and propel me. I found my legs and the strength to stand up, wipe my tears, and face the ocean. Only a hint of sadness remained. There was an openness now, a vulnerability, and a new kind of humbleness. I liked it. It made me feel rooted, grounded.

  The veil had lifted from inside, and outside the fog vanished. The water sparkled with the reflection of the sun. With the sun on my back, my feet firmly embracing the sand, I walked back up the beach toward the car. I wanted to go back to the place where I’d started this journey, to the place I’d never really wanted to leave.

  I knocked on the door. Sharleen unbolted the lock. Her eyes were as red as mine surely were. She took hold of my shoulder, gently, and escorted me into the kitchen. The warmth there that had once embraced me had since vanished; it must have left with Emma’s soul. There was no smell of chicken soup or evergreen air freshener, no crumbs on the counter, no peels of orange in the sink. Two apples sat waiting on the counter. And they’d have to go on waiting, like the rest of us.

  Sharleen let me wander. I smiled, and moved on toward Emma’s bedroom. Her bed was made. The bedspread was pulled up high over the feather pillow, the sides not quite even, and the crocheted blanket, the one she’d made for Josef, was placed neatly at the foot of the bed. She’d told me that there were six mistakes in the blanket; I’d never seen even one of them. I wondered when they’d take her bed away. What would happen to her dresser, her clothes? Turning back to the door, I noticed her blue dress and her white shawl laid out neatly on the chair, her matching shoes placed next to each other on the floor. When did she know she wasn’t coming to the play?

  I walked into my old room and found Sharleen’s clothes scattered everywhere. Shoes were strewn across the floor, pants flung across the bed. The pictures on the walls had been rearranged. What would happen to Josef’s paintings now?

  I came back to the living room. Sharleen was gone, but she’d left the door cracked open. Emma’s chair stood there alone, the throne now deserted. I paused, hesitant. A shaft of light appeared from the window, lighting the back of the seat. I sat down with my back against the plush green satin and placed my arms along the rich mahogany armrests, breathing in the remainder of her presence. Secretly, I hoped that Emma’s wisdom and strength would seep into me. I took a deep breath, looked around, and noticed her glasses were sitting on the side table.

  I put them on.

  How differently Emma saw the world. The lenses, distorted for me, were clear to her. She no doubt saw me, like the rest of her world, quite clearly. I picked up the newspaper that lay close to her chair and saw that it was the Los Angeles Times, not the New York Times. It was open to the review.

  Last night, the Los Angeles premiere of The Turning of the Century opened at the Windmill Theater to a sold-out performance. This wonderful, thought-provoking Clifford Thorne play was endearing and delightful … The real enchantment for the evening was watching Sandra Billings perform the dual roles of the medical intern and the actress … She stole our hearts. Keep a watch for this little lady …

  She’d read it. She saw it. I hoped she was pleased.

  I removed the glasses and lay them on the table, folded the newspaper, and placed it under my arm.

  I moved to the dining-room table and saw that my cookbooks were set out there. A package sat next to them. On top of the package was an envelope with my name written across the top. Surprised and curious, I picked up the envelope, opened it carefully, so as not to rip the flap, and removed the paper from inside.

  Dear Sandra,

  Since the moment you entered my home, I knew I had received a gift. Your vigor, talent, and sense of humor uplifted me and brought purpose into my life again. There were many times I wanted to tell you this, but the words never found their way.

  I want you to hear them now.

  About a month ago, I had a vision of when and where I was going to die. Knowing this, I distanced myself from you so you would become detached, and learn to stand on your own. The closer the time came, the harder it was to be around you. I knew my departure would be easier with Sharleen. So I arranged for her to stay.

  Sandra, everything that happens to us is a necessary part of our growth. Every encounter, every experience, teaches us something: forgiveness, compassion, strength.

  Remember this and move on.

  Being with you rekindled the relationship I had with my own daughter, Alexandra. She was about your age when she died in Germany from polio, a horrible disease. She too would have achieved greatness in her life, had she lived. It was her nature.

  When the time is right, when you are ripe, all opportunities will reveal themselves. The same will be true with love.

  It was an honor to know you.

  May you walk into your destiny, with great faith.

  Love always,

  Emma

  P.S. May this gift connect you to your spirit.

  Between tears, I read the letter three more times. How could she be gone? How could this be? Why couldn’t she tell me? I would have understood, and I wouldn’t have left. But at least she wasn’t mad. She didn’t hate me.

  I looked around the apartment, knowing that I would never see her, these things, this place, again. I gazed for a long time at Josef’s paintings hugging the walls, the paper plates peering through the glass of the armoire, the plastic rug runners, Emma’s high-back.

  Should I open Emma’s gift now, or wait until later? I was staring at the unopened package when the telephone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Sandra? Hi, it’s Jerry. I’m glad I caught you.”

  “Hi,” I replied, trying to find my voice.

  “The agent I introduced you to last night called me wanting your number. She wants you to audition for a film; she wants to sign you … Sandra, are you there?”

  “Yes, I think I’m here. I’m not sure.”

  “Well, take her number. I’m late for a meeting. Call me later.”

  I took the number, thanked Jerry, but could not muster the words to say much else.

  I returned to the dining-room table, picked up the unopened package, the cookbooks, and the newspaper with my review, and left Emma’s house, leaving the door unlocked for Sharleen or whoever else wanted to enter.

  Later that night, at Calvin’s, I had no energy to tackle any cleaning. I was too tired to lift anything other than the three dimes I held cupped in my hand. A rose-col
ored candle burned on the table next to the bed, along with a stick of sandalwood incense. As I rolled the dimes onto the bed, the only question that came to mind was: What next?

  The answer was hexagram 1:

  1. Ch’ien / The Creative

  Above: Ch’ien, Heaven, The Creative

  Below: Ch’ien, Heaven, The Creative

  The sage learns how best to develop himself so that his influence may endure. He must make himself strong in every way, by constantly casting out all that is inferior and degrading. Thus he attains that tirelessness which depends upon consciously limiting the fields of his activity …

  In terms of human affairs, this symbolizes a great man who is still unrecognized. Nonetheless he remains true to himself. He does not allow himself to be influenced by outward success or failure, but confident in his strength, he bides his time … The time will fulfill itself.

  I closed the I Ching and slid it over to the other side of the bed, along with the coins, the pouch, and the legal pad, and reached for Emma’s package, securely tied with twine. I untied the cord and removed the paper from around the bundle.

  It was my favorite painting of Josef’s, the one of the beach. The one I had looked at every night in my room. It was so beautiful! How did she know? Silly question! My fingers ran around the antique frame, feeling the richness of the wood. I’d never taken the time to really look at it. Now, I could see every brushstroke, sense Josef’s artistry in the strokes and the colors he chose, feel the love and energy emanating from the canvas.

  I leaned back against the headboard of Calvin’s guest bed, and propped the picture up against my knees to get a better view of the pale, expansive beach, dramatically juxtaposed against the vibrant aquamarine and teal-blue water.

  As I gazed at it, I could feel all my senses merging into the beach. I was there on the sand, running, feeling the sun on my back, hearing Emma’s voice: “Keep those knees high; stay on the balls of your feet.”

  And as I kept running and kept listening, I knew her words would stay with me, as would the words from the I Ching:

  Pushing Upward has supreme success …

  The individual … need not be afraid, because success is assured.

  Emma had entered me.

  Do not allow the daggers of doubt to puncture your heart. Just let them bounce off you like pellets of water.

  Emma’s love would keep me rooted.

  You are already a great actress. You only need to work on the inside.

  Her gift connected me to my spirit.

  I would hold it forever in my heart.

  working with

  the I Ching

  There are pivotal times in our lives when we are faced with challenging decisions, relationship questions, and work dilemmas. The I Ching, the ancient Chinese oracle, can help us reveal underlying issues that relate to our concerns. It can also strengthen our sense of direction, steer us onto an inspiring path—or simply confirm what we had realized all along.

  Today, there are many versions of the I Ching. I have personally used the Wilhelm-Baynes translation, entitled The I Ching, or Book of Changes, published by Princeton University Press.

  Most alternative editions include instructions on how to cast the oracle. For readers who may not have encountered the I Ching before, here is a brief description of how to “throw” the I Ching using the simplest method: three coins.

  Formulating Your Question

  When you formulate your question, it is recommended that you create a sacred space. Clear off a tabletop or other surface. You want the space to be clean, without any clutter. Focus your attention on your question, and then move gently into a state of receptivity. I usually start my question with the words: Would _______ be for my highest good?

  Tossing the Coins

  As described in Pushing Upward, yarrow stalks were used for centuries to cast the oracle—a very complex process. Today, most people use coins. I opt for either three dimes, three nickels, or three pennies. Ming Dynasty coins can also be used and may be found in many Asian stores. Whatever you pick, it is important that you use three of the same type of coin.

  Stay focused on your subject or question when casting. Hold the three coins loosely in your hands, shake them briefly but mindfully, and then toss them six times.

  The Hexagrams

  The I Ching system consists of sixty-four six-line patterns, or hexagrams, each of which is composed of a stacked pair of three-line trigrams. The individual lines are either solid (yang) or broken (yin). The nature of the lines is traditionally determined by means of casting the coins or yarrow stalks.

  The character of each line is determined by assigning a numerical value. “Heads” are counted as 3, “tails” are counted as 2. With three coins, there are four possible “throws”:

  Two tails and a head = 7 (yang, an unbroken line)

  Three heads = 9 (“moving” yang)

  Two heads and a tail = 8 (yin, a broken line)

  Three tails = 6 (“moving” yin)

  As you cast the coins, write down the numerical value of each throw and draw a corresponding line: a solid line for yang, a broken line for yin. Build your six-line hexagram from the bottom up. For example:

  Line 6

  = 9

  Line 5

  = 7

  Line 4

  = 7

  Line 3

  = 8

  Line 2

  = 8

  Line 1

  = 6

  The hexagram that you come up with is considered the “present hexagram”; it represents energies that are in play in your current situation or with regard to your query. It is a response to your question. Any version of the I Ching you choose will include a chart in which you can look up the hexagram you have thrown. Some oracles will include a judgment, an image corresponding to the hexagram as a whole, and commentaries. Plenty of food for contemplation!

  Moving Lines

  If you happen to throw a 6 or a 9, it is referred to as a moving line, or changing line. This means that the broken or solid line corresponding to the throw changes into its opposite, generating a second hexagram. For instance, the 6 in line 1 above, known as “6 in the first place,” will become a solid line, and the 9 in line 6 above, known as “9 at the top,” will become a broken line. Look up the resulting hexagram:

  Line 6

  = 6

  Line 5

  = 7

  Line 4

  = 7

  Line 3

  = 8

  Line 2

  = 8

  Line 1

  = 9

  The moving lines can be very important; they provide additional perspectives, pointing to aspects of your question or the situation you may not have taken into consideration, or forces coming into play that you may not yet be aware of. When moving lines appear, they may also indicate the presence of a great deal of power or potential energy in the matter that concerns you. When you look up the description of the hexagram, you can read commentaries on the moving lines, as well as the depiction of the hexagram as a whole and of the trigrams that compose it.

  To read more about the history of the I Ching, or learn about lectures, workshops, and other Pushing Upward offerings, please go to: www.PushingUpward.com.

  acknowledgments

  My immense gratitude and appreciation to all of the people who have supported me in birthing this story:

  To Margaret Simpson, whose initial critique was the impetus for me to erase, tear up, and throw away my first draft. Without her severe critique (which took me years to digest), I would have never been able to search my soul and start the manuscript over.

  To Dhruva Romanow, whose keen insight helped me to understand the significance of this story. To Heather Raymond, Joanne Ehret, Kathy Drew, Melah Skoll, Wendy Yaffee, Dina Dunaway, Roger Elkrief, Kate DeCoo, Cliff Shulman, and Ann Cafferty for their insightful critiques.

  To Dale Ruff, who gave my son love and attention during the winter months skiing Vermont’s m
ountains, allowing me the indulgence of writing.

  To Ani Tuzman, who taught me to trust my heart and to write from that space.

  To David Kinsley, Sheila and Sheldon Lewis, Jeff Elster, and Gene Mateson for their editorial reviews.

  To Tonia Miller for reminding me to laugh when I was caught up in my drama, for disagreeing with me when I was wrong, and for hanging in there while I ranted and raved. Your spirit and honesty confirm for me why I wrote this book in the first place.

  To Jim Allen and Richard Adler, who taught me about conflict. To Parvati Marcus, who was tough and critical with her edits. To Brenda Marzett, Dr. Hyla Cass, Michael Butler, and Jessica Yudelson for their feedback. To Aaron Roessler for supporting my web presence.

  To Lisa Hagen, who was there when I needed her. To Jill Kramer, Shannon Littrell, and everyone at Hay House who ushered this labor of love into the world.

  To Jerry DiPego, who encouraged me to be strong and tenacious, to keep going no matter what, and to stay enthusiastic during the whole, sometimes excruciating process.

  To Cynthia Briggs, my editorial midwife. The one who made me go places I never would have approached without her love, compassion, and tenacity. Thank you for being my friend, my editor, my spiritual advisor, and my student. Thank you for living and breathing and birthing this book and my other books, along with me.

  To Anna, who gave me her love, her time, and her space.

  To my son, Brian, whose patience has been overextended since he was eight, and whose heart has been infinitely generous. I apologize for the weekends we didn’t get to enjoy, the vacations we were never able to take. As you grew older, you became my toughest critic and my best cheerleader. I thank you a million, trillion times. May your intelligence and talent serve you well as you complete your own life adventure.

  Finally, I would like to thank the ONE whose blessings allowed me to persevere, layer by layer, year after year, spurring me on, to go beyond my limitations and my ignorance; whose voice still moves through me (when I listen) and guides me (when I see); who paved the way (when I removed my ego) for this incredible journey to come to its final destination. Thank you, Gurumayi. Thank you, from the depths of my heart.