Our life is all about moments. We string togehter our moments and that is our life. We hope we have more good moments than not, but all of those moments no matter what make us who we are. I try to remember my moments that made a difference for me like the one I had with Bill Moyers .
That one moment — and it was just that, a single moment — that I have never forgotten is when I received a message from the late Bill Moyers, (June 5, 1934 – June 26, 2025).
Photo from the ap
Reaching Out to Bill Moyers
I wrote to Bill Moyers assistant inquiring if he would be interested in accepting a copy of the first book in my fantasy trilogy, “The Amulet: Journey to Sirok”. It didn’t take long before she responded, sharing with me that he would be happy to receive my book.
I sent him the book with this email:
August 4, 2017
Dear Mr. Moyers,
I am very honored to have this opportunity to not only send you my book,The Amulet: Journey to Sirok, but to tell you that The Power of Myth and Joseph Campbell inspired me to write it. I have read the book several times, as well as other books by or about Campbell, but your interview style and questions bring great clarity to the vastness, and sometime complexity, of mythology. Thank you.
My book takes a new spin on the Hero’s Journey as I feel I have written it for our time. This is a time when stereotypes are been thrown to the wind and, those who have their eyes open and looking forward, are embracing humanities beautiful differences.
I would like to urge you to read my story. I hope you can sharewith me your thoughts. Please share with (assistant’s name) that I appreciate her warm and inviting response to me.
Thank you for your consideration, and I hope for only the best to come your way.
Warmly,
Ed Kardos
Ten Days Later, Mr. Moyers Responded
Aug 14, 2017
Dear Mr. Kardos:
Thank you for your generous words about THE POWER OF MYTH and for your book. I look forward to reading it.
My best to you,
Bill Moyers
There are many other articles written about Bill Moyers that reflect the generous and powerful impact he made during his lifetime, but what I found profound was the moment he gave to me. It was both generous and powerful.
Most folks of his stature, and those with far less stature (and we all know who they are), would have dismissed my original email. But in less than two weeks, Bill Moyers not only accepted a copy of my book, thanked me personally, and, according to his assistant, “took the book home”. There’s so much packed into these moments.
He validated my place as a writer.
I meant it when I shared with him: “I have read the book several times, as well as other books by or about Campbell, but your interview style and questions bring great clarity to the vastness, and sometime complexity, of mythology…”.
Those “questions” that brought “great clarity” made all the difference for me
My Take on The Power of Myth
The Power of Myth explores how universal themes and symbols in myths provide insight into our humanity. This includes our relationships with others, the powers of the universe, and ourselves.
The “Hero’s Journey” is analyzed and clearly demonstrates that following one’s bliss has been essential to humanity since our earliest thoughts and will remain so as long as we exist. In other words, myths are just as important today as they were long ago.
As the Hero’s Journey is central to my work, I have read this book and a dozen others about Joseph Campbell’s work many times. I recommend this one in particular because of Bill Moyers’ contributions.
Mr. Moyers made numerous contributions during his lifetime in many areas and we are better off because of him. What a wonderful man.
About E.G. Kardos
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
Ah, the gloaming. Twilight…the moment when the day dims its brilliance and welcomes the early shadows of its friendly rival, of sorts, the night.
It’s far more than twilight, dusk, or the setting sun. There’s something more mystical about the moment known as the gloaming. I would say that this peaceful transition of power in nature is even magical. I’ve experienced it, have you?
Photo by Tetyana Kovyrina
Experiencing The Gloaming
First you must be outside and it can be just about anywhere. I prefer where you can observe nature. It costs nothing, but if you’re willing, it just might open a door—a magical door.
First, clear your mind, or the door of enchantment remains closed. Be open to what your internal voice tells you. Your imagination will become heightened. You may even feel “as one” with your surroundings. As we grow older, we lose our natural sense of wonder.
The Gloaming Begins…
When does the gloaming begin or end? Pinpointing those exact moments isn’t easy. I would say that when the day’s clarity becomes muted and loses its luster, and displays for only a few moments blends of blues, purples, and reds, you know it’s the gloaming. It’s a feeling, too, and not a calculated moment that can be recorded.
I love when the sun’s rays lose their intensity, and its light melts into the earth. This is the moment when only what we imagine comes alive. It is a magical moment, that is, if you permit it to be.
After all, that’s what magic is…if you believe in it, you will be part of it.
The magic of the gloaming is poetic…it is lyrical. The moment is enchanting as the fading light dances on the rocks, trees, or a pond, it stirs a sense of awe. The “what ifs” freely enter your mind.
The moment teems with the spirit we all possess as it tugs us into introspection. What we long for comes to mind as we look back on the path the day had to offer. Like that very day, we now loosen our hold of both the good and the bad that the day detailed and eases us into a smooth wholeness of the evening, where the once sharp edges are now softened.
Lightening Bugs
Where I am, in June and only during this month, I am joined by lightning bugs. Just think of their existence. I heard they have been around for 100 million years. It’s really pretty cool. Their flickering presence is unique, and it is dreamlike. Theyare a welcome guest as they are nothing less than magical.
To their potential mate their luminescence is clear and attractive and is the door to future generations. To their predators, however, their light is a signal that if eaten, it will not fare well for the aggressor. Nature is wonderful.
Our Thoughts are the Magic
The gloaming sparks possibilities—some mundane and sensible, while others may be wild and untamed. Our thoughts are the magic. Our feelings float like a mystical aura, and we know there is much we cannot explain, and we are reassured that this is a good thing.
In this vast universe, our knowledge is but a small sliver of what life is all about. As the years progress, we learn more, but we have a long road to travel before us if our goal as humans is to unravel every mystery.
There’s still time to enjoy the magic and mystery in each of us. I hesitate to attempt to dispel all that is magical in our lives and encourage others to consider the same. We just need to slow down and allow our minds to wander. We need the clarity of our future like the lightning bug, and subtly let it be known to our detractors that we are not to be messed with.
I do write fiction, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.
Note: An Old English word, gloaming, originated with the Scottish and has been used since the Middle Ages in English and Scottish literature.
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
We’ve all met new people and wondered what might happen next. Will we become friends, or will we remain acquaintances? We may not think about it at the moment, but we have all meet people who will mean nothing to us, or worse, they may become our enemy; that’s life. Like in “real life” self-discovery books explore much more than the character’s relationship with “self” but their relationship with others and society.
I love the chapter I’m sharing below. It’s when Eli meets Aiden. Even when I re-read it, I pick up something new.
Like the characters we meet and journey with them, many times we just don’t have any idea where a relationship is going until it organically unfolds. There have been times that I wished I could check my proverbial crystal ball. Sometimes I have thought “why now” or “why this person”?
We carry baggage to every introduction of every new person we meet and so do they. In good fiction, so do the characters we come to love.
Fate?
Is it fate? I mean who we meet and who we don’t? If we showed up early, late, or not at all what may have we missed out on without even knowing it?
If you’re like me you’ve asked more than once, “what if?”. Do people enter our lives for a reason? Is all this fate?
If you enjoy books that explore the complexities of relationships and the journey of self-discovery, Cutting of Harp Strings should be your next read. Well, at least I hope you to read the excerpt I included below.
First, a little about the story…
Eli’s life is in limbo. He’s searching for a sense of peace but can’t seem to find it. That all changes when he returns many years later to the place where he first met Aiden.
Back those many years ago, Eli and Aiden were polar opposites, but despite their differences, a rare friendship blossoms. A friendship that neither had ever experienced before—or since. Caught off guard, their relationship deepens but like a gut punch, a promise that Aiden made to himself changes everything. Eli is left to pick up the pieces.
In Cutting of Harp Strings Eli artfully weaves together a narrative of friendship, living in the moment, and love.
Self-Discovery Books
It’s a story of self-discovery and will take you on an emotional rollercoaster of joy, heartbreak, and ultimately, utter bliss that, I think, is sure to stay with you long after turning the last page.
Why?
Readers have told me that the story is full of engaging characters and has an evocative and visual plot. They have shared with me that Cutting of Harp Strings is an unforgettable coming-of-age self discovery book that leaves them reflecting on the beauty of true friendship and the power of love.
I’m happy with that…so please read….and let me know what you think.
TWO
August 1973
I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I was sure that Father Meinrad told me this room number. Double-checking, I pulled out of my pocket a small crumpled-up piece of paper where I had written the room number.
“Yep,” I said, aloud.
Turning the knob, I didn’t know what to expect or whom I would find. With hesitation, I wrapped my head around the unwieldy oak door to take a look. No one was there. Creeping in, I dropped my duffel bag and knapsack on the bare tile floor and took a deep breath. Thinking I was intruding, I just then considered going down to the TV room to wait a while but, with a rare moment of certainty, I thought otherwise. After all, this was my room too.
In both oversized windows were two enormous box fans buzzing and gusting winds in different directions. I turned them down one notch and began looking around but disturbing nothing. I began to size up this guy, after all, I would be living with him in this space for the next two school terms. Tacked up on the wall behind his dresser were pictures from magazines of sports stars. I saw Jerry West and Wilt Chamberlain among the collage. Tucked partly behind his mirror was a recent news clipping of Mark Spitz highlighting his seventh Olympic gold medal. Fluttering to one side was an obscure obituary of someone named Sir Francis Chichester who at sixty-five, I found by scanning the clipping, sailed around the world alone in his ketch called Gipsy Moth IV.
“Hmmm. How odd,” I mumbled to myself.
I didn’t want to disturb anything, but I wanted to know everything. On his stereo was a new album. “Aerosmith—Dream On…he can’t be too bad—maybe.”
Mountains of books were everywhere except the bookcase in this twelve-by-something room. Zen, art history, and architectural design,
you name it, he had books for all his interests. Unusual bookmarks poked out from the pages. Spoons, Popsicle sticks, and a sock accounted for a few. A tee-shirt, gym shorts, and an assortment of tennis shoes were scattered and strewn about. His knotted school necktie hung from a lamp, and his blue blazer and khaki pants draped from an ancient gray radiator under the windows—I could only wonder what he kept in his closet.
At first glance, the cell, as the monks called them, was a whirlwind of chaotic prep school life, but I sensed there was a kind of order to things. It was an order that, perhaps, only the caretaker might know the code. I wasn’t going to lose sleep over it. Maybe I would care some other day.
On a stack of books on his desk, was his journal. Peeking behind me at the door and then back at the notebook, I laid my hand on its cover. Flipping it open, a sinking feeling came over me and closed it with a slap. Peering back at the door, I shook my head letting out a puff of air. Beginning to act a bit like a voyeur made me feel strange and didn’t like the feeling. Even so, I was intrigued with him and speculated if we would get along. If what he collects, and what he reads, and how he keeps his space was any indication, it would seem this year would be dreadfully long.
Among the mayhem, much to my surprise, he had both beds impeccably made, so I had no clues as to which bunk was his. Feeling like a stranger heightened my anxiety. Wasn’t so sure I wanted to deal with a new way of living, considering I would be spending this year working my ass off to get into Georgetown next fall. Maybe weird, but not knowing where I would lay my head tonight was bothersome. Sleeping was important. With confidence, I chose one and sat down. I slowly leaned back on my elbows just thinking about this hiccup in my life.
BAM!
Without warning, the door flew open nearly blowing off the hinges. I sprang forward. My uneasiness escalated and my heart raced faster than Spitz’s Olympic record times. Like the hinges on the door, I sensed things were not going to be secure the way I was used to, like it or not. I didn’t know why, but my gut told me that I had better take my steps cautiously.
He was dripping with sweat and wearing cutoff jeans and black Chuck Taylor sneakers. Without uttering a word, but with a glance, he shot past me to one of the fans to cool himself. As they were before, he cranked up both fans to their highest setting. With his side and back toward me and with his hands on his hips, I had to notice his chiseled definition. Through the skewed windowpane and the flickering fan blades, strange patterns made by the sun played on his torso. He didn’t seem real. He was about my height of six feet, and that was where the similarities ended. His brown hair was thick with a luster and accents of the summer sun. Seemingly molded with a sculptor’s plan, he had a natural outline of long lashes that framed his blue eyes. I later learned the girls at our sister school loved his eyes and thought he was so adorable. His jaw and cheekbones rolled together in absolute harmony. If there was ever a classic nose, it was his. He, of course, had an even tan. As we all have flaws, his were not visible—that’s enough to piss off anyone.
Rolling his head in fluid rotation, his actions shifted from his self-focus to that of me. As he guided his neck from side to side, he said something that I could not make out.
“What did you say? The fans are too loud, I – didn’t – hear – you,” I said drawing out each word and cupping my ear with my hand.
In a single motion, he switched off one fan and turned toward me. Poking fun, he said, “My – name – is – Aiden. You’re late. The semester started ten days ago. I thought the place was all mine until Father Meinrad stopped me five minutes ago. What a bombshell.” He shook his head.
His choice of words aggravated me, and I responded the way I felt. “Oh, yeah, I’m Eli, and sorry if I’m spoiling your little plans, but are you always an ass?”
“Geez, hold on. Get a grip. I didn’t mean anything by it. I figured it was just too good to be true—that’s all. If you want to know the truth, I was hoping they’d move someone in here.” He totally switched gears and looked at me with a smile. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. Let’s start over—hey roomie. I’m Aiden.”
I couldn’t change my mood that fast and muttered with disinterest something like. “Yeah, yeah—hi I’m Eli, whatever.”
“Okay, that’s a lot better wouldn’t you say?” Aiden asked.
“Yeah, I’m all for fresh starts anyway. I’m here, aren’t I? So, if I may ask, what happened to your last roommate?” I asked with raised eyebrows.
“Absolutely, you may ask. Go ahead and ask,” he said crossing his arms.
“All right already,” I let out a sigh.
“Okay, okay, just trying to add some levity.”
“Uh-huh,” I said rolling my eyes.
“So, anyway, my last roommate was this guy named Brody. He’s still around. He flunked a few classes, and the monks didn’t like that. He went ballistic, but that didn’t have anything to do with his grades because he hates me anyway. He’s got issues and he made me the reason.”
“Oh really—issues?”
“Yeah—issues. I’m over all that and don’t care one way or another,” he said with a flicker of a smile. “Hey, I hope you get good grades—and don’t have issues. I don’t want you, the monks, or your mom or dad coming after me.”
Aiden began to tidy the room and nonchalantly said, “Looks like I did take over the place, but I just didn’t figure on a new kid coming in…anyway, what’s mine is yours. Yep, I know how hard it is to be thrown into strange situations.”
“Don’t worry about it. So, tell me more about Brody.”
“Huh? Nothing more to tell.” He stiffened up and looked away, so I knew he wasn’t going to budge. He changed the subject. “So, Eli, what’s your story? I mean, why are you just getting here now?”
“My mom, well, my mom passed away a few years back…”
“Oh man—didn’t have any idea. Sorry for the crack about irate moms and dads.”
“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, Dad had this thought that to better prepare me for college, I needed to spend my senior year away from home. Literally a week ago we, I mean he, settled on St. Augustine’s. In the last year, he’s hardly been at home, so I think that’s the real reason.
“Cool. It’s all good. You’re here now.”
“Dad says I should be away from distractions. He presumes coming here would help me, you know, with the Fathers watching out for me. He says it would give me an edge getting into college. Yep, he thinks this is my ticket to Georgetown.”
“Well, it sounds like he’s got it all figured out,” Aiden said.
“Yeah, well, you don’t know my whole situation.”
“Oh?”
“They appointed him ambassador to Belgium, and he is going to spend a lot of time out of the country. When he is here, he’s going to be pretty busy—even busier than before. He decided that it would be best if I went to a school like this one. I always wanted to be a lawyer—like him. So, if this place helps me to get into Georgetown, then this is a good place for me to be.”
“Yeah, a boarding school,” Aiden interrupted. “But old Father Meinrad may have put you in the wrong room. I mean, I’m a distraction and I know it. I look for distractions. Like, distraction is my middle name. To me, that’s a good thing. Anyway—you’re here now.”
There was a long and awkward silence. I ran my fingers through my hair and felt myself tense up starting with my toes shooting upward.
“Well, I’m not planning to be around much on the weekends. We’re
only a couple of hours from D.C. so I plan to go home on the weekends when Dad’s there.”
“Hmmm. I think you’ll be here most weekends…anyway,” Aiden said. “There are some cool things to do around here. Lots to explore…and the Shenandoah River is pretty excellent this time of year. That’s where I just came from.”
“No—no. Thanks, but I’m not here for that. I’m here to get my diploma and move on.”
“Yeah, yeah yeah—I hear ya. You’re not some kind of a dork, are you? If we’re going to live together, we may as well try to hang out and have a good time. There will be plenty of time for studying. Didn’t mean to scare you with all that distraction talk.”
I was getting aggravated, and a sigh seeped out. “Hey Aiden, I just don’t need all this right now. Okay?”
“Yeah, man. I hear you. I gave you your first distraction,” Aiden said sarcastically. “You should know, Eli, the Robes might not say it, but they want us to have some distractions. Saturdays are made for distractions. That’s the way they want it. That’s the way we want it too. We don’t see them, and they don’t see us. Today is Saturday and I’m making the most out of it.”
Aiden was more interested in thinking of other things and offered his own perspective. “You may never want to go home on the weekends—or ever.”
“Oh really?”
“Let me tell you…Saturdays…it’s our day. Everyone needs a day off. Even the Robes.”
“You keep saying Robes, what’s a Robe?”
“They’re a who not a what. They’re the good Fathers, you know, the monks—the guys wearing black robes who run this place.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. But you don’t call them that to their face, do you? I mean you say, Father, right?”
“Eli, yes call them Father—for a smart dude, you may be a bit slow on the uptake. The kids here have called them Robes forever, you know, behind their backs. Sometimes they overhear us, and they really
hate it. So, watch out when you use the word because some of them have a fierce backhand slap.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks for the tip,” I said facing my palms out his way and shaking my head.
“Anyway, what I was trying to say was that the coaches, who are not Robes, rotate to keep track of us on the weekends. It’s like one coach per class and we have seventy or so in each class so it’s loose, very loose. I spend time running in the woods. It’s much better than on the track or on campus somewhere. It’s just better.”
I didn’t think he would ever shut up. When he did, I wasn’t sure what to do, but at least now, I knew the slang for priests. Yep, I didn’t think this arrangement was going to work out.
“Well, that sounds great and all, but I think I’ll pass. I’ve never been much for hiking or exploring, so count me out.”
“Once I get you off-campus, you’ll see.”
“No, I don’t think so. Don’t think it’s going to happen. Being close to the dorm is fine by me, and anyway I think I’ll be spending time in the library getting ready for college.”
“Sounds like your dad, I mean you have a plan, but I don’t know… the Robes won’t just let you study all the time. I’m telling you.”
Aiden seemed to have an answer for everything, so I thought I should change the subject. “Well, I’m going to try out for the basketball team.”
“Cool. All right. We do have something in common. Yeah, b-ball—cool.”
Somehow, we managed a moment of quiet. Thank God. Aiden leaped backward onto a bed. He landed squarely in the middle of the mattress while clasping his hands behind his head. Finally, I got my answer and now knew which bed was mine. So, I began to collect my
duffel and knapsack, threw them on my bed, and unzipped all the compartments. Out of the corner of my right eye, I could tell he was interested in what I was doing. Using my body to shield my belongings, not that I had anything to hide, I unpacked. Just wasn’t ready to offer the same courtesy Aiden had extended to me earlier.
Seeing all I needed to see, I decided that this arrangement was awful and was ready to talk to Father Meinrad. He told me earlier in the day that if I didn’t think my roommate would work out, switching rooms was not a problem. He said that several students were without a roommate. A guy named Luis, I remembered him telling me, who lived right down the hall didn’t have one. Yep, Father and I needed to talk.
After a few minutes of uneasy silence, Aiden lost interest in what I was doing and blurted out, “Okay, didn’t mean any harm. Sorry to intrude.”
He bolted up from his bed, yanked off his worn sneakers, and peeled off his shorts. He grabbed a towel hanging from a closet doorknob, sniffed it, and he left the same way he entered. He headed down the long hall to the bathroom for a shower. Just in time, as I was ready to punch someone.
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
Among many, a single Zen story grabbed my attention. Many years ago, I received a book full of Zen stories entitled, Zen Flesh, Zen Bones. Paul Reps and Nyogen Senzaki compiled this book of stories that were first told in the 13th century by Japanese Zen master Mujū (無住) (“non-dweller”).
At the time, this was all new to me so finding them all in one book was a treat for me. As I mentioned, one story stood out.
Zen Story
Giving the reader or listener pause, a Zen story conveys profound insights about our existence and stimulates new perspectives. They are simple but deeply filled with rich symbolism. As we read they draw us in to the moment we are living in and encourage us to question our path in life.
In particular, Zen story number 84, True Friends, stood out and was, and continues to be my favorite. As most Zen stories go, it is succinct and to the point, but it is powerful beyond all measures.
More about the Zen Story, True Friends
Of the many Zen stories, True Friends is unique among 101 tales. However, I wanted more on the sugject. I researched the “ultimate friendship” or “intimate friendship” in literature, especially among men, but what I found was surprisingly sparse. This seemed very odd to me, as friendships are vital to our existence.
Yes, there is no formal union or vow for a friendship, but having the fortunate but infrequent occasion to connect with someone on a deeper level and create a bond is life-altering. The opposite, unfortunately, is equally profound.
When writing my novel Cutting of Harp Strings, I searched the internet for more information about the Zen story True Friends. There too, I found very little. I wanted to dig deeper and gain as many perspectives as I could both in literary works and other Zen stories but I came up short. If you know of another Zen story about true friendship, let me know in the comments section below.
It was then that I realized that my story, the one I wrote, is the deeper view on friendship I was looking for. Of all places, it came from my pen and keyboard.
Because this Zen story, as far as I can tell is just about unknown, I receive many questions about the title of my novel and its symbolism. I’d like to share this excerpt from the story as I think it answers those questions.
“I would like to tell you a story, Eli. A very special story that an old Buddhist monk told me when I was just a little older than you. Not many know this, but I spent three years in a different sort of monastery.”
“A Buddhist monk? What? That’s awesome Father.” We both smiled, and he continued.
“A long time ago there were two friends, one who played the harp skillfully, and one who listened skillfully. When the one played a song about the mountains, the other would listen and say, ‘I’m on top of that mountain.’ And when the one played a song about the river, the other would say, ‘Here, right before us, is the running river.’
One day the one who listened became ill and died. Out of love, the first friend cut the strings of his harp, and never played again.”
I said nothing. Catching my attention, a squirrel scampered by and scurried up a tree. As my eyes followed him on his climb, the mountains appeared in full view.
Much symbolism may be found in the above eighty-eight words, but I am especially moved reading,
“…Out of love, the first friend cut the strings of his harp, and never played again.”
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
