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Sustaining Ecstasy by Dian Parker
Synopsis
Dian Parker, 53, lives on her own land and is hardworking, talented, spiritual, and happily alone. Until she falls deeply in love. Everything she thought about herself crumbles in the wake of this new passion. She had thought she was successful, an independent strong woman, and confident. Instead, unresolved fears erupt from her past and doubt permeates her newly found bliss. In the midst of this powerful love, one woman faces herself head-on, determined to sustain the ecstasy she is experiencing, every single day for the rest of her life.
A tale of courage and transformation, a modern-day Song of Songs and a bedside book for lovers, Sustaining Ecstasy fills you with gladness knowing extraordinary love really does exist as a possibility for us all. From the stages of London to the rugged coast of the Isle of Aran, from the desert sands of Syria to a yurt in the Pacific Northwest, Sustaining Ecstasy is one woman’s journey into the territory of ecstatic love.
Dian Parker is a freelance writer for a number of New England publications. A passionate gardener, oil painter and graduate of the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London, she worked professionally in theatre for 25 years as a director and teacher. She lives in Vermont with her husband, her sustained love, and is working on a novel.
Excerpt
We flood one another with presents. Every night on my coffee table I pile ribboned packages for him: a book, candy, a piece of marble where I write a dream come true on the back, shiny black obsidian, a packet of blue poppy seeds. He brings his wrapped in newsprint. A Scarlatti CD with the wrapping in green and pink crayon with “my favorite music for my favorite being” in blue. A box of sparklers — “for sparkling moments.” A framed photograph of the Hourglass Nebulae, a little screwdriver set, a journal. All these gifts collected from around the house; we had bought none of them. I hold the screwdriver for a long time and only allow myself one lit sparkler a day. But I play the Scarlatti over and over, drinking the staccato notes and the flurry of galloping runs as if I were dying of thirst and had walked across the desert in a windstorm.
The intensity I now feel reminds me of the
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By Simon Denman, Author and Founder of Readers in the KnowSynopsis
Dian Parker, 53, lives on her own land and is hardworking, talented, spiritual, and happily alone. Until she falls deeply in love. Everything she thought about herself crumbles in the wake of this new passion. She had thought she was successful, an independent strong woman, and confident. Instead, unresolved fears erupt from her past and doubt permeates her newly found bliss. In the midst of this powerful love, one woman faces herself head-on, determined to sustain the ecstasy she is experiencing, every single day for the rest of her life.
A tale of courage and transformation, a modern-day Song of Songs and a bedside book for lovers, Sustaining Ecstasy fills you with gladness knowing extraordinary love really does exist as a possibility for us all. From the stages of London to the rugged coast of the Isle of Aran, from the desert sands of Syria to a yurt in the Pacific Northwest, Sustaining Ecstasy is one woman’s journey into the territory of ecstatic love.
Dian Parker is a freelance writer for a number of New England publications. A passionate gardener, oil painter and graduate of the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London, she worked professionally in theatre for 25 years as a director and teacher. She lives in Vermont with her husband, her sustained love, and is working on a novel.
Excerpt
We flood one another with presents. Every night on my coffee table I pile ribboned packages for him: a book, candy, a piece of marble where I write a dream come true on the back, shiny black obsidian, a packet of blue poppy seeds. He brings his wrapped in newsprint. A Scarlatti CD with the wrapping in green and pink crayon with “my favorite music for my favorite being” in blue. A box of sparklers — “for sparkling moments.” A framed photograph of the Hourglass Nebulae, a little screwdriver set, a journal. All these gifts collected from around the house; we had bought none of them. I hold the screwdriver for a long time and only allow myself one lit sparkler a day. But I play the Scarlatti over and over, drinking the staccato notes and the flurry of galloping runs as if I were dying of thirst and had walked across the desert in a windstorm.
The intensity I now feel reminds me of the