Jungle of stories

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I never knew that I had so many stories to tell.

Yesterday after I had decided to write one a day for 3 months, hundreds of them literally jumped on me in the middle of the night. They came up with more and more details, more and more colours, as if they were all competing to get my attention.

I even had a flashback of a day sometimes in the late 80’s in Kerala, India, when I went off to the jungle near Kumily in the Periyar wildlife sanctuary, alone and against the advice of my Guest House owner. I was smoking lots of oil those days, and although I would not know exactly what it is anymore, I still remember the feelings and how strong it was. Certainly I was high and in touch with nature. Those days I was barefoot wearing a black sarong around my waist, I had long natural dreadlocks and I always carried water. I got lost and dusk started to descend. I wasn’t that far from the village and if I moved in the right direction I would see the first house in less than 20 minutes. In that moment when I was contemplating what could happen if I didn’t move in the right direction, just then, as I turned around I was face to face with an Elephant. I had never seen an Elephant in the wild before; it was my first time, and it was a direct encounter.

One moment, one in millions of moments in a rich and colourful life. An incident that I kind of remembered, but also kind of forgot and very rarely talk about. But here I was yesterday, lying in my bed, face to face with this situation that happened almost 30 years ago, seeing every detail, noticing every shade, and in contacts with all those incredible sounds from the jungle. I probably could write a few chapters about what happened then and about the unbelievable night that was to follow. I may.

Those who know me are aware that the best way to annoy me is to tell stories. My passion for the truth seems insatiable; my longing for depth and my love for what is real are always running the show.

With so many stories coming up I feel confronted to find in this what is really burning in my heart- because in truth very little else interests me. It is a stretching challenge, one that tickles my juice and creativity at new depths, and I love that.

It seems that all stories lead to one place and one place only. Here I am, feeling myself unburdened, light, and just perfectly okay with the unfolding of life.

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