A Seaside Home Shaped Like a Boomerang in Risskov

It is a paradise country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control over the blind texts; it is an almost unethographic life One day, however, a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar.

When we say we are just thrilled, we mean the ‘just’ in the sense of very, and we also mean the just in the sense of only. In other words, there is no other experience of being with you than the thrill of it, the delight of it, the excitement of it. We do not experience exasperation, impatience, disappointment, inadequacy, or sympathy in being your partners. And yet many times we see that you presume or half-expect that we do. And so we begin here by saying to you that the only experience we have as your partners is that of thrill, excitement, or joy.

The first aspect of this that is important for you is your deeply-held stories of what it is like to be with you. And the second important aspect of this opening sentence is adventure, thrill, and excitement. We will come back to that one later.

A wonderful serenity has taken possession of my entire soul, like these sweet mornings of spring, which I enjoy with my whole heart. I am alone and feel the charm of existence in this spot, which was created for the bliss of souls like mine. I am so happy, my dear friend, so absorbed in the exquisite sense of mere tranquil existence, that I neglect my talents.

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But nothing the copy said could convince her, and so it didn’t take long until a few insidious copywriters ambushed her, made her drunk with Longe and Parole, and dragged her into their agency, where they abused her for their projects again and again. And if she hasn’t been rewritten, then they are still using her.

Far away, behind the mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated, they live in Bookmarksgrove, right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by its place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia.

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Core stories, the kind that frames much of a persona for much of a life, don’t just come running to the surface and present themselves the first time you look. No. Your heart needs to be sure over and over and over again that you mean it when you say that you want to know who you are. And your heart needs to be sure over and over and over again that you will be compassionate when you do see it.

The will to win, the desire to succeed, the urge to reach your full potential—these are the keys that will unlock the door to personal excellence.

This is not a pursuit that can be done in a night, even though the awareness of it can be gained, in terms of the abstract understanding and the value, in a minute. Seeing the core stories upon which you have built your persona is the summit, the epitome of personal healing. It can take decades and decades of extremely dedicated observation, and that is okay because this is your work as much as anything else is worth your investment, if not more.

And so when we offer to you today a core story, a foundational aspect of the scaffolding of your personality, understand the enormity of it. You have earned this not from hard work or being a good girl, but because you have permitted it in countless ways over and over again. Even when you have believed that a previous permission didn’t work very well. You are wrong about that—blatantly wrong. Every single time you have brought yourself to words or sharing or learning of any kind with the true intention of healing freedom and joy, you have been doing it every time without exception.

But in the same way that projects and wealth and children and writing books for that matter are long-term processes with phases that appear to be difficult or totally unproductive or even regressing, they are all necessary steps in an evolution. And to keep on permitting for wherever that evolution goes is your job. And to make sure that it occurs is ours.

A collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table—Samsa was a travelling salesman—and above it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice, gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer.