Back in the early ’70s, when I was briefly married to my (still wonderful) high school sweetheart and living with him in our Idaho home town, I was feeling at once both utterly “found,” finally with the man I had always loved, and completely “lost,” at odds with both my role as his wife and the small town world in which he held a prominent position. How to adjust?
Once in a while I’d travel to the Bay Area and scour metaphysical book stores, hungry for reality beyond the appearances. Manly P. Hall was one of my discoveries. I’d hug his books to my chest, grateful for glimmers of universal light.