BLOG 2: RON’S NEW BOOK FIRST DRAFT
Richard Bach told me that a voice came to him from over his shoulder that strange and wonderful day as he walked along a lonely beach. There was no one else on that beach that day, of that he was sure, but there was a voice. Without warning, while quite alone, he heard it, and Jonathan’s wondrous story began to unfold within his mind, much as we would watch a movie screen.
If you are familiar with his tale, you will remember that Jonathan Livingston Seagull was called to answer to the council of wise old gulls for crimes that he had committed against gullkind. What were his crimes? Going beyond where normal gulls were supposed to go; experiencing a world that was open to all gulls, yet a world denied by the flock as being real.
There, called to council for what he thought was the most wondrous discovery ever made for all of his kind, he was aghast to hear the proclamation that he was to be banished from his fellow gulls of the flock forever. And, why was he banished? Because he had been flying where no gull had gone before, nor should be allowed to go.
There, standing before the Council of Gulls, he was culled from his family of gulls for trying to tell others that these things that he did, they could do also—and more—if they would but learn from him, and try.
A decade after I read these words, I too was to be culled from the council of my peers for telling the story you are about to read, of a place I went, and returned to tell of what I saw.
This strange and wonderful telling by Richard Bach, of a life beyond that which others called “normal” originally ended at this point in the story, where Jonathan was banished by the elders from the flock. There were no more visions within his mind. The voice within him fell silent. Richard couldn’t finish the story, because in truth, it wasn’t his story at all, so the journey with Jonathan Livingston Seagull had to wait.
As yet there were no shinning gulls that taught the mysteries, there was no world beyond, in fact, there was no ending at all. The voice that Richard heard no longer whispered the words within his consciousness, and the movie he saw on his inner screen had faded to black.
The story ended without ever being completed, leaving Bach mystified as to why he would be given but half a book, half a story to tell.
Thus, with a need to make a living, he stopped the struggle to complete the story (for no effort of his own will would bring the conclusion any closer), and laid the manuscript on a shelf for the next eight years. It was not his story, you see, it was a gift from beyond his normal senses, and try as he may, he couldn’t force an ending that hadn’t yet been granted.
BLOG 1: RON'S NEW BOOK FIRST DRAFT
Every person, all the events of your life are there because you have drawn them there.
What you choose to do with them is up to you.
The Messiah's Handbook
Illusions; The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah
For most of my adult life I have felt the pull of the other world, the world that lies beyond the normal senses. It fills my soul with a joy beyond understanding. I can no more describe it than can a bird tell earthbound mortals like ourselves of the joy of taking wing and soaring without effort or thought far above the earth, just for the pure joy of flying.
Some time ago I spent an hour talking with Richard Bach, as he described the process of authoring his first mega-successful book entitled, Jonathan Livingston Seagull. The conversation brought back to my mind some of the powerful experiences that I have had with that strange and wonderful source of all true gifts, of ecstasy and spirit, that lies within all of mankind; that source that I call, for lack of a better word, or more adequate knowledge, God.
I think back on that conversation with Richard as I drive the winding mountain road this July morning, when I am bolted into the realization that the story that I will be relating to you, that so reminded me of Richard’s own experience in writing Jonathan Livingston Seagull, took place twenty-five years ago. A long time ago, but then again, maybe everything happens in its own time.
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