The Mountain Shadow

by Gregory David Roberts

‘Emotion is the spiritual language of music,’ Idriss said, ‘and sensualism is the spiritual language of dance.’ Idriss paused, waiting for comment, and then continued. ‘Birds are the spiritual language of the sky,’ Idriss said. ‘And trees are the spiritual language of the earth.’

A motorcycle is jealous metal. A motorcycle that loves you always knows when you even think about another motorcycle. And when she knows, she won’t start. And because I’d looked at Jagat’s bike, my bike didn’t start for me, even after three kicks.

‘Taking responsibility for the decisions and actions of others is a sin against Karma,’ Idriss said. ‘Equal, in gravity, to avoiding responsibility for your own decisions and actions. You did not cause this. It is not your karmic burden.

my instincts were shouting to get the hell out of hell.

‘This miscreant wandered too far,’ I said, pulling the cover back to reveal DaSilva’s face. ‘We’re wandering him back.

‘I’m so messed up that only freedom can save me.’

to hire people, new friends and not-quite strangers,

beloved mould, nature’s comment on our plans, was scraped from buildings and painted over.

Follow the greed to the sin.

My happily rescued bike hummed machine mantras all the way home.

Love and faith, like hope and justice, are constellations in the infinity of truth. And they always pull a crowd.

Trust is the soul’s drug of choice.

‘Lin has a good heart, which is inexcusable.’

We compete, cheat and punish innocent nature.