WARNING - this book contains strong language. Because when you wake up to yourself after forty years "dear me" just isn't going to cut it. I wrote this to express everything I felt on waking up and as a manual for myself on how it feels to be free (just in case I ever forget). My practice, whatever it is on any given day, is to help people feel alive, to wake them up. The tragic part is that they often wake up for a moment; for one second, for a song, for an hour, for a day or a week, they wake up to themselves and then they disappear again. I don't want to live like that any more. So this…mehr
WARNING - this book contains strong language. Because when you wake up to yourself after forty years "dear me" just isn't going to cut it. I wrote this to express everything I felt on waking up and as a manual for myself on how it feels to be free (just in case I ever forget). My practice, whatever it is on any given day, is to help people feel alive, to wake them up. The tragic part is that they often wake up for a moment; for one second, for a song, for an hour, for a day or a week, they wake up to themselves and then they disappear again. I don't want to live like that any more. So this book is for me and it is for you, because I want you to wake up too and stay awake. Maybe you are my beloved, maybe you are my sister, my friend, a stranger who I will never meet, but I want you to wake up. This world is too miraculous for you to miss it.
Pearl is in Wales, at the foot of Mount Snowdon, another magical mountain in another land of the dragon. It's another mountain that sometimes likes to hide. If you want great views may I recommend the Beech Bank B&B as her room had windows on three sides with views of the mountains (contact them direct). Life (or her subconscious), whatever you want to call it, has taken her on another magical mystery tour echoing this one, from the infected bug bites to the jellyfish (there're loads of Lion's Mane jellyfish near Bangor). Somehow she ended up in Liverpool too, the home of The Beatles, apparently she was on a pilgrimage she didn't even know about, and the Double Fantasy exhibition on the top of the Museum of Liverpool broke her open again. Eight years ago she quit her job, worked a three month notice period and in that time her ex-boyfriend fell off a mountain and died. His memorial service was coincidentally the day after her last day. It was in South Wales. She drifted for a day or two, but it was over six years later that she followed in his footsteps and wandered off. Yesterday she arrived in Llanberis and lucked out on the last space on the train to the top of the mountain and a room at Beech Bank. She is working hard on feeling and dealing with her emotions and being tolerant of all people, even those who have been, in her opinion, badly taught, or never had some things explained. Unlike Kota Kinabalu and Tiger's Nest, people can just wander up or take the train to the top of Mount Snowdon without a guide. She is working really hard on not getting cross with the people who leave their litter on the mountain or who feel the need to play loud music up there. She knows that anger is often part of grieving. She would politely suggest you don't piss off the mountain. Nature is so much bigger than you are.
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