Book Description
A sage, known as the Fool on the Hill, guides a woman into herself and frees her into the quintessential meaning of life beyond social perception and conventional belief systems. The adventure begins by crossing into where perceptions of reality are born. Next traversed are the worlds of altered states: dreams, meditation, and death. The exploration continues in the lake of self-image, the zone of internal balance, the desert of loneliness, and the cave of strife. Next discovered is the minefield of love, the tunnel of personal demons, the house of illusions, and earth-shaking transitions. The journey concludes in the skies of synchronicity where great self understanding flourishes.
As the pages are turned, the story catalyzes the reader into his or her own personal journey: expanding awareness, improving personal reality, deepening self-appreciation, healing psychological wounds, and bringing one into a more fruitful life experience. This manuscript is a tribute to the inner sage in us all.
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About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
I wanted badly to release the stronghold of my box, rather than just glimpse what was beyond it from time to time, and His next words felt like super glue dissolvent. "You get what you see and you see what you get. Widen your view and your reality expands. Anything can happen here in the inner world once you cross the State Line--anything. You are in the realm that creates the outer world, where dreams and nightmares are born, sustained, or broken--where you can see the beginnings that gave you today."
His words held power. Like iron granules to a magnet, they fired my heart, making it ache--but a good ache, like stiff muscles, stiff thinking, massaged back to life. I became acutely aware of my boundaries and the large morality I housed within them. This morality had pushed the real me back into the dark and lonely recesses of myself, restricting me to a tiny corner. I had to be good and perfect in accordance to majority view. The real me was a little wisp of a thing crying out, `Hear me. See me. Touch me.' But I had never listened, seen, nor touched my true self. I thought I had. I was sure of it. But I was wrong. What is self anyway?
I pushed down my tears, held my repose, and projected the demure of a duteous pupil. Had to be good, you know, had to be good. I hugged my stomach, feeling bad.
He leaned over and once more gently unfolded my arms. "The idea of good, and for that matter evil, is deeply housed in the perception of deity, and fear of death. These perceptions reflect Creative Energy, but do not reveal the source."