Stop Being Mean to Yourself: A Story About Finding the True Meaning of Self-Love Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Melody Beattie
to remember, and trust, why I was here.
When my friend Angelo had cut my hair, he had called this excursion "an adventure." But it wasn't a daredevil trip. It was more than that.
Sometimes in life, we feel led to do things that don't
Page 24
seem rational. This trip was one of those things. People had scowled and said they could not understand why I would want to go to the places I was going. There had been times it sounded crazy to me, too. But I had scrutinized my motives and talked to a few trusted people, who agreed. Although it appeared crazy, it wasn't. I was willing to do anything and go anywhere to find the story—the story for this book and for my life. And I knew I could find that story in the Middle East.
This trip was a leap of faith.
This was a business trip. This was a personal trip. But this was a destiny trip, too," I said to the woman interrogating me in the airport in Cairo. "I had all sorts of illusions about this trip. I had dreams about traveling to the deepest parts of Africa, on safari. Maybe I'd learn something from the Pygmy tribes, some magical secrets to life. Or maybe I'd have a grand revelation in the pyramids about the mystery of life after death."
"Is that what happened?" the woman asked, her eyes penetrating my soul.
"What I learned about," I said, "was the mystery of life before death."
Page 25
chapter 3
Gunfire
Just as people report hearing a sound like the rumbling of a freight train before a tornado passes by, I heard the rumblings of the vortex that picked me up from my home in southern California and carried me across the northern rim of the African continent long before it hit. I knew for years that I would someday venture into Africa. But I didn't know it would be Algeria until the month before I left.
"Go to France. Go to Italy. Go to Greece. But don't go to Algeria," my friend Maurice had Page 26
warned me on Christmas night when he learned of my plans.
His warning wasn't news. I had read the travel advisory issued by the United States government. Terrorist activities were rampant. A number of foreigners had been kidnapped and killed in recent years. Traveling there was not advised, and Americans who chose to be there anyway were instructed to have armed protection. I would be a woman traveling alone, with no guns or bodyguard. Yet I was drawn there. I knew I had to go. I also knew I'd be safe. I couldn't explain this to Maurice.
I didn't try.
"I'm not kidding, Melody," Maurice had repeated. "It's dangerous. You could be killed. They're in the midst of a civil war."
"Maurice, don't fuss. I'll be fine," I had said. "I've lived most of my life in the midst of a civil war—mine against myself . . ."
Now, in Casablanca, I checked out of my hotel room, hailed a cab, and headed for the airport to catch my flight to Algiers. It was 6:00 A.M. The cab was dirty. It stunk. The upholstery on the seat was ripped to shreds. The cab driver looked as if he had slept all night in his car.
"You won't like Casablanca," my friend Maurice had said. "It's a dirty seaport city."
Maurice had been right about Casablanca. For just a moment, as I boarded the airplane, I wondered if he was right about Algeria, too.
Page 27
A few months before this trip, I had visited an old Chinese healer in Pasadena, a gentle Buddhist monk who used few words. He worked on my energy, my chi ,for a while. ''You're moving to a new level,'' he said. "That's all you need to know for now. Go through the motions of taking care of yourself. Sit with the pain, and all your emotions, the best that you can. Do your daily disciplines. And be gentle with yourself."
Video games, the kind that come with a computer, often have different levels of play: beginner, intermediate, and master. When you move to a new level of play, it doesn't get easier. It becomes more of a challenge. The playing field is larger. The action is faster and more complicated.
In Aikido, or any other martial art, there are many different
When my friend Angelo had cut my hair, he had called this excursion "an adventure." But it wasn't a daredevil trip. It was more than that.
Sometimes in life, we feel led to do things that don't
Page 24
seem rational. This trip was one of those things. People had scowled and said they could not understand why I would want to go to the places I was going. There had been times it sounded crazy to me, too. But I had scrutinized my motives and talked to a few trusted people, who agreed. Although it appeared crazy, it wasn't. I was willing to do anything and go anywhere to find the story—the story for this book and for my life. And I knew I could find that story in the Middle East.
This trip was a leap of faith.
This was a business trip. This was a personal trip. But this was a destiny trip, too," I said to the woman interrogating me in the airport in Cairo. "I had all sorts of illusions about this trip. I had dreams about traveling to the deepest parts of Africa, on safari. Maybe I'd learn something from the Pygmy tribes, some magical secrets to life. Or maybe I'd have a grand revelation in the pyramids about the mystery of life after death."
"Is that what happened?" the woman asked, her eyes penetrating my soul.
"What I learned about," I said, "was the mystery of life before death."
Page 25
chapter 3
Gunfire
Just as people report hearing a sound like the rumbling of a freight train before a tornado passes by, I heard the rumblings of the vortex that picked me up from my home in southern California and carried me across the northern rim of the African continent long before it hit. I knew for years that I would someday venture into Africa. But I didn't know it would be Algeria until the month before I left.
"Go to France. Go to Italy. Go to Greece. But don't go to Algeria," my friend Maurice had Page 26
warned me on Christmas night when he learned of my plans.
His warning wasn't news. I had read the travel advisory issued by the United States government. Terrorist activities were rampant. A number of foreigners had been kidnapped and killed in recent years. Traveling there was not advised, and Americans who chose to be there anyway were instructed to have armed protection. I would be a woman traveling alone, with no guns or bodyguard. Yet I was drawn there. I knew I had to go. I also knew I'd be safe. I couldn't explain this to Maurice.
I didn't try.
"I'm not kidding, Melody," Maurice had repeated. "It's dangerous. You could be killed. They're in the midst of a civil war."
"Maurice, don't fuss. I'll be fine," I had said. "I've lived most of my life in the midst of a civil war—mine against myself . . ."
Now, in Casablanca, I checked out of my hotel room, hailed a cab, and headed for the airport to catch my flight to Algiers. It was 6:00 A.M. The cab was dirty. It stunk. The upholstery on the seat was ripped to shreds. The cab driver looked as if he had slept all night in his car.
"You won't like Casablanca," my friend Maurice had said. "It's a dirty seaport city."
Maurice had been right about Casablanca. For just a moment, as I boarded the airplane, I wondered if he was right about Algeria, too.
Page 27
A few months before this trip, I had visited an old Chinese healer in Pasadena, a gentle Buddhist monk who used few words. He worked on my energy, my chi ,for a while. ''You're moving to a new level,'' he said. "That's all you need to know for now. Go through the motions of taking care of yourself. Sit with the pain, and all your emotions, the best that you can. Do your daily disciplines. And be gentle with yourself."
Video games, the kind that come with a computer, often have different levels of play: beginner, intermediate, and master. When you move to a new level of play, it doesn't get easier. It becomes more of a challenge. The playing field is larger. The action is faster and more complicated.
In Aikido, or any other martial art, there are many different
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