Anne is a good friend of mine on a creative group I belong to, and is a very gifted writing student of mine.

She loves to visit cities even though she lives on a farm. When she does, she plans the trip so that she can give money to every poor or homeless person she encounters. She structures the trip – cheap hotels, inexpensive meals, few gifts – so there will be enough money to hand out, she sacrifices the comfort and luxury of her vacations so that she will not have to turn anyone down or walk away from anyone in need.

When I first heard this, I thought of all the police and social worker warnings about giving money to street people.  Usually, I don’t do it. Like Anne, I hate the feeling of turning away and walking away.

But it isn’t really helping, they say, the money often goes to drugs or alcohol. I asked Anne about that, and her answer touched me deeply and changed my own heart.

She said there are no strings attached to her help, she asks nothing in return and expects nothing in return. It is a gift to her to help the poor and needy, it is not a sacrifice, but a joy. I love her answer, and her purity of spirit. I thought it was a Christic answer, I thought of Jesus Christ and his notion of the Kingdom of God and of honoring and elevating the poor in every possible way. I loved her answer. And I admire her.

I feel differently about it, but I will also see it differently from now on.

In my own life, questions of how to help and how to accept help have pursued and troubled me for most of my life. I am finally ready to write about it.

I was sexually and physically abused by people giving me gifts again and again when I was young, and whenever someone gives me something, there is almost always a wave of fear and concern to sort through. I always want to run and say no. I have learned about it and worked on it, and come to understand that it can be very healthy and very safe to accept help, but for me, and for people like me,  it is never very simple and will never be simple.

When I met Maria, and offered her help, I saw myself in the mirror. I offered her the use of my small barn so she could do her art. I could see she was frightened. She said she would only accept that gift if she could give something back, and I understood completely. Like me, she worried that there might be strings attached, that I would want something for her. I said she could take care of the animals on the farm on the weekends in exchange, and she accepted.

Our understanding of the complexity of  help began our relationship with love and trust, it transformed both of our lives. Being thoughtful about help is important, I don’t just take it or give it lightly. A few years ago, I gave all of my money to a young friend – he wasn’t a friend, of course –  I wanted to save. He ended up hating me for it and running away. I ended up hating myself.

A couple of years ago, I was struggling to deal with the aftermath of the recession, divorce, and the collapse of my publishing world. Suddenly, the advances were much smaller, they were less frequent, and royalty payments vanished altogether. Like most writers the idea of asking for help from readers was absolutely unconscionable, the lucky authors like me made enough money to be independent, we rarely saw readers or communicated with them, we depended more on critics. We were the cossetted princes of entitlement, we never asked for help.

I have been working on a book for 15 years – “Talking To Animals” – and I just turned the first draft into my publisher. Then,  I needed a new camera so I could take photos of the animals here to accompany the text of the book. I was stymied, one of the seminal works of my life was stalled and threatened.The camera I needed cost a lot of money, for the first time in my life, I didn’t have it. Before the changes, I would have asked the publisher for it, and gotten a check.

My editor took me aside, and she told me about crowdsourcing, writers and artists turning to their readers and the public to make up all of the new shortfalls so they could do their work. We can’t help you anymore, she said, but there is help if you need it.  I was horrified. A writer, a mentor and friend reminded me that we were all forging a new relationship with our readers. Some writers were publishing their own books and using crowdsourcing in place of advances. Their readers were happy to help. And they got something back: books they wanted to read.

We had a running dialogue with readers now, on-line, through e-mail, on Facebook and Twitter. Readers not only expected some interaction with writers and artists, they demand it. This idea became my blog, now the centerpiece of my writing life and the source of much of my income.

My mentor reminded me that I do not bookmark my photos or posts, they are free to anyone who wishes to use them as bookmarks, print them out, pass them around. And I write all the time, he said. I know you don’t see it that way, but that is a gift.

You are giving something back, he said,  give people the chance to decide if they want to repay you and support you. So I started a Kickstarter project and got the money for my new camera, which has been invaluable in helping me finish my book. Let the readers decide, he said, they can say yes or no. “Thanks for letting us help you,” was the most frequent post I saw. I do. I came to trust help a bit, to understand it in a new way.

That decision opened up a new window for me concerning help. I began helping people – other writers, farmers – use crowdsourcing to help them in their lives. I have helped raise nearly $100,000 for people who needed help in this past year. That help has transformed some lives. Like my friend Anne, this has been nothing but a joy for me, and there are no strings, I ask nothing in return, and I do not give them thousands of my dollars. Fortunately for me, I don’t have any thousands of dollars.

I am at ease with the very democratic idea of letting people decide for themselves whether they want to help or not. And I appreciate the rich and often sparky dialogue I have with my readers. We both benefit. Change is my faith in so many was, but so is mindfulness.

I have been overwhelmed with responses to this series on helping, some people really want to think about it, some people really don’t. That is always the measure of something worth doing for me as a writer. People seem to get angry sometimes at the idea that one can question help, even by bringing up the subject.  Accept it and be quiet, they say. Be grateful.

I’ve learned that what the writer Harlan Ellison once said is true: if you make people think they’re thinking, they’ll love you, if you really make them think, they’ll hate you.

I guess it should be clear now that I will never be quiet. Writing is how I think, how I solve the dilemmas of life. My head is my tool.

I have made so many mistakes trying to figure out how to help people, and how to accept help, it is sometimes exhausting for me. I have done a lot of harm, and have been harmed. I have struggled to understand what it is to help, what it is to be helped.

I am safest with help that is bounded, considered, and open. I am not at ease with help that is chosen for me or without me, decided for me, thrust into my life, given to me without my knowledge and consent. I am never comfortable taking money from people unless I know I can give them something in return, that is not help for me, it is a burden.

When you get something you didn’t ask for, you are never quite free with it. You have to like it, anything else is just bad manners. For someone like me, that can be terrifying. It feels like being trapped. That may seem like ingratitude to some people, but the many people out there who understand abuse will recognize it as something else, will see it for what it is. It is about safety. As my friend Anne teaches, we have to find our own way, our own truth.

A few months ago, I met a dairy farmer named Ed Gulley. He became my friend as is his wife Carol. He and Carol have helped me a number of times. Ed is one of those people who is always there when you need him. I needed him several times, and he was there. I know he will always be there. You just have to ask. If you don’t ask, he will leave you alone. I feel quite safe asking him for help.

Ed wants to become a writer, he wants to start a blog, he wants to tell the sometimes forgotten story of the American farmer, left behind by the economists and politicians, and by the thoughtless people who eat their food without gratitude or understanding. He came to me for help.

We are working together. He is in my writing class, we are setting up a Facebook Page, we are writing and editing together, often with Carol and her cups of hot chocolate at the kitchen table.

This is the answer for me, this is what I have come to understand, where I have landed. My way of helping.

I am in my 60’s, I have much more life behind me than ahead of me. I love this stage of life, it is peaceful and rewarding. I feel as if I am actually learning something about how to live, I have something to give back. It helps when you have found love, are not living in need and loneliness and fear.

I see that I have been on the hero’s journey.

This journey is a pattern of narrative identified by the author and mythologist Joseph Campbell, it is a pattern of narrative that appears frequently and timelessly in drama, storytelling, myth, religious ritual, and psychological development. It describes the typical adventure of the archetype known a The Hero, the person who goes out and achieves great and small things for the group, tribe, individuals and community that surround him.

Our hero is not a hero in the sense of being brave and noble, quite the opposite. He is a hero only in the sense that he is willing to examine his life, stand in his truth in the face of much challenge, and is willing to leave the ordinary world behind in search of his adventure.

There are 12 steps along the journey. The last step is “Return With The Elixir.” The hero ends his wandering, his struggles and confusion, he finds himself and his purpose. He comes home to continue the journey in place – he doesn’t have to wander any longer –  bearing some element or wisdom or treasure that he has discovered and that offers the power to transform a life, as the hero has himself been transformed.

So this is where I land on this long quest to understand help. Like my friend on her trips to the city, I can help people one at a time, using the tools that I have and the things I have learned. It is not about drama and money, it is small, personal, individual.

I help artists do their art. I help writers write. I help farmers find their voices. I help the forgotten speak. I help women express their creativity, often out from the shadows of men. I help the creative create.  Sometimes I even help horses get their message out.  One at a time.

My treasure is my own Elixir, the things in my heart, the feelings in my soul.

Like my friend Anne in the city, I follow my own path, I am not bounded by conventional wisdom or the dictates of others.

I accept the pure joy of giving, and the responsibility of helping thoughtfully and with sensitivity.  Every morning a piece comes in to edit and talk about, a student puts up a blog, a widow starts a blog and finds her voice,  a writer puts her work up for sale online, a farmer beset by animal rights crazies needs some help.

Sometime, I can transform a life, as mine has been transformed.

That is my Elixir.