..I can do no other. Who said that? Was it Kennedy? Martin Luther King? Anyway, in a tiny personal sense that’s it for me.
Have you ever seen an expert chef fillet a fish? Me neither. But this is how I imagine it: the fish lies inertly, inexpertly n the dish, practising its corpse pose. The chef comes along with a knife and flicks it a couple of times in the air. The fish then obediently falls into several bits which land on different parts of the dish. Thus: me, this morning. The chef? Swami Nishchalananda, or Swamiji as we call him, from Mandala Yoga Ashram. We spoke on the phone, he dissected my problem with a few deft passes of his intuition, and here I am. I can see now how this whole thing happened.
I shall be doing a Proust on this over the next few weeks ie dissecting it and mulling it over. So, as I said about He Who Must Not Be Named, if you’re not a fan of Proust you might want to avoid this blog for a while.
Now, I know Proust isn’t going to call me. I’m not that crazy. Honest…
Couple of beers with Peter tonight. I have no idea what is going to happen now, but I firmly believe it is all for my highest good.
Thanks, dear reader, for reading. If things had worked out according to my psychotic nightmare, by now I would be offering you all tickets to Birmingham to see me on stage.
I will never know whether any of this had to do with anyone apart from me. But I don’t need to know. As Aslan says in the Narnia books, everyone is only ever told their own story. Because that’s all we need to know.
I may, in future weeks, connect to some blogs about mental health problems. Because that is what this has been, at least in part. It has also been a sublime experience, which, as I said to Swamiji, I wouldn’t have missed for the world. But I have to come down to earth now.
Earth is where we live.
Enjoy the earth.
Have a good night. Don’t have nightmares. Especially after reading about mine.
Love to you all
Liz
Sarada Gray 