Three things Frighten Her ........... Money, Writing and Death

It is 98 days since we finished our universe that evolved our world. I said we should leave it for 90 days. So here we are. I don’t want you to go back and read what you have written. People, heroes, do not reference the universe, not intentionally anyway​. ​Actually, I may be wrong because we are connected to it, we are not cut off from it. And I say it, or think all the time, ‘I am asking the universe​ for....’ But this is a philosophical question now, and one day, actually, it might be a physics question. There is entanglement. And maybe our entanglement with the universe is more robust than we’ve ever thought.

The reason I don’t want you to read it back is because it will slow you down and tangle you up and your conscious brain that has been trained by school, and the pantomime of your rehearsed life will want you to use features that may not be needed to be used, but your subconscious will know precisely what to do with what is written in it.

I presume you have been reading my newsletters since we finished our universe building. While I have been writing, without asking you to do anything. I have been crossing a bridge, the bridge, from victim to hero. I, now, on all occasions wear my knickers outside my pants and change in phone boxes.

I have definitely crossed a bridge. I have never done this before. And I don’t want to bog us down in trying to explain why and how to us now. I don’t know really. But I do know we will get the explanation. Like I don’t know the universe building process, until we have lived it and it bec​ome​s ​our introduction in the final chapter.

We are beginning a new process: to inhabit our physical body as the hero of our story. All I know for now is that it is a different type of evolution, though similar to evolving a universe in the fact that it takes ages. The universe takes billions of years. To evolve from ape — through hominid — to human takes millions. I bet ​an ape come​s back to camp and communicate​s the prowess of his day as a hero. Even if that is only in his body language declaring who he expects others to treat him as from this day.

For 8 weeks we are going to repeat 12 words​ to begin to uncover our hero's character and the essence of their journey. We are not gonna spell it out. As before, I am going to supply you with the title. I am going to write mine.

First, over the next 5 days, I have 5 tasks for you.

1. Today: Read this newsletter.
2. Tuesday: Re-establish your sacred hour in your sacred space (SHSS). Make It firmer. More robust. Believe this is your sanctuary; you deserve this space and time. Fuck everyone else. Get some candles, incense, new journals, pens; make it look like the sanctuary of an artist. If you go to a café, have a special bag you use to take your artist essentials to the café.
3. Wednesday: In your SHSS, investigate/research the meaning of hero. Indulge your geekiest self. Find its absolute origin.
4. Thursday: In your SHSS, list your most memorable books. To make mine 8, I have added 2 films, The Truman Show, and The Matrix. No one will ever see your list so no need to show off, just be honest with yourself. As we go through our process we are going to listen to, read, or watch our favourite material. I am listening to Love in the Time of Cholera.
5. Friday: This week’s title is — Three Things Frighten Her: Money, Writing and Death. What tangible object do you immediately see? Number a list 1 — 12. List 12 things you associate with that object. You have 20 minutes to write. You must use your object, and 12 associations under your title. There is a caveat, from now on, you are in the 3^rd person. It gives you distance. You will be able to see the hero’s journey more clearly. It gives you permission to have an opinion. I’ll expand on this when I understand it more.

Title: Three things Frighten Her: Money, Writing and Death

 Object: Graveyards

12 associations.

1. New Orleans
2. London
3. Ossuary
4. Kensington
5. Pyramids
6. Mountain
7. Amaroo
8. Postcard
9. Your terrible writing
10. An ostrich running down the road
11. The moon dropping from the sky
12. The Milky Way in the Outback

Three things frighten ​her: ​money, ​writing and ​death.​ She doesn't like who she is then. But she isn’t going to reclaim herself. She is cracking open the shell. Pushing through the shell. With no help this time. With no one pulling bits of shell out of the way so she can see the light. She is going to see the light on her own.

It begins on Wednesday. It begins by accident. They have been sending Amaroo updates for days. It isn’t inundation. It isn’t anything to do with the big sell. Prem Rawat — she knows him as Maharaji — never does that. Everything about him and his organisation Words of Peace never let her down. Have never let her down. Have never fucked her up. Have always given her what she needs. She only realises she truly trusts this when she has 2 options on Wednesday. She can go to New York and see Amanda Frances introduce her book Holy Fuck where she exits a cult and become the 40-million-pound CEO of her own company coaching other woman like her to be CEOs of their own company. Or she can go…

No, it isn’t as simple as that. She only realises this after the fact. Before the fact she is coming to her daily practice; self-help practice about being coached. She does an hour a day as if she is at the psychiatrist. When her hour is up no matter where she is she stops. Middle of a sentence. Journalling. She hears the psychiatrist​, her portable psychiatrist, in her head​, say​ our time is up​. and she closes down.  

There is an email. She opens the email. There are some links. She opens the links. The links lead to the accommodation in Amaroo. It is $3950 Australian dollars. How much is that in English pounds? She looks it up. How much is that a day? She works it out. How much will her flight need? Okay she does have help. She contacts AI. Together, they work out the cost. Together they work out the booking order. Together they realise she can’t put it on the 2 credit cards she is anticipating because the online form does not have the ability to split the bill, The Amaroo site is causing her a pain. She really wants her Jacaranda Out-of-Africa tent. She really wants to see the stars. The Milky Way. All the mad reasons she has been thinking to go to other parts of the world. The Atacama Desert to see the stars. She is afraid of a fourth thing. The stars. The Milky Way. She loves them and she fears them. They fill her with the fear of death; and they vanquish the fear of death by taking her back to a time of her ancestors, of all our ancestors, around campfires, looking up at the jewels in the sky. She instinctively knows how they feel. She has to lie down on her back because it’s too much for her.

AI suggests she write to Amaroo and ask them to physically split the bill. For the first time ever, she is able to calm her nerves after she sends the email. She is able to think it is this or something better as Amanda Frances has been teaching her. But she can’t imagine something better than being in her own Jacaranda Out-of-Africa tent, opening the flap and looking at the stars, safe cos she can bob back in, until she gets used to it. Until she gets used to it. I​t is her Vagus Nerve. In the middle of the night. it wakes her up and tells her, fuck it, you are going to pay it with your debit card. Irrelevant of what they say in the morning you are going to pay the whole bill with your debit card. She feels strangely calm. Usually, she puts big things on credit cards so she doesn’t have to look at them, so she can hide from them. But this time, this morning. Don’t do it in the middle of the night. Train yourself to be calm. She is calm when Amaroo ​gets back. They don’t disappoint. Their reply is not clawing. Not too service bound​. They try to help her. They make suggestions. She has already tried these decisions. Like not paying for the shuttle, or the entrance fee, but paying for them all separately.

Then she pays for them all together with her debit card. Then she feels the crack in the mountain. There was another crack once before when she knows she is walking into thin air. She feels her heart racing, not in terror​, but in the grace of ​the ostrich running down the road​ she watches from the taxi 20 years ago — an ostrich running down a road. A road runner. She is smiling about the pyramid mountain that is calling like Close Encounters. The mound. Weigh your soul against a feather. All the lies told through the ages to pretend you know the answer. He knows the answer. Prem Rawat. Maharaji. He knows the answer. There are 2 walls. One is birth. The other is death. In between you do the living. How you experience it depends on the wolf you feed. There are 2 wolves inside each human being. They are warring for control. The one you feed wins. Cos the one you don’t feed withers and dies and is buried in the ossuary of your soul cos there isn’t one wolf. You starve one wolf and another wolf takes its place. But the one you have been feeding consistently ages in the mirror with you. It is your friend. It goes with you to London’s Kensington Graveyard. It wants to see the one in New Orleans. It is a little tufted and matted like you are now, but its eyes are undeniably calm, and you don’t have to fear them anymore. Her and this wolf are blending. Are becoming one. This wolf is only a teenager when she watches the moon drop out of the sky 20 years ago. The Milky Way in the Outback. Here is her opportunity to see it again, both of them wiser, both of them calmer. Both of them without the need to bow before the big wolf who thinks her writing, ‘Your handwriting is shit; I can’t read it.’ Not that he is grateful to receive it. The postcard with the pyramid mountain in Amaroo.

She is taking a picture of the sun setting at Poseidon’s Temple in Athens when their daughter rings. Tom, she always calls him Tom, Tom has lung cancer. Then her phone dies. And all the way back to her hotel she is fractured, but calm, sad for him. You can’t imagine receiving this news. The day before she​ has also seen​ Prem Rawat​. In Athens. She can’t imagine receiving that news when for the 21 years they have not been together he has been feeding the wrong wolf.