Kindle Notes & Highlights
The mystic Gurdjieff says that we are not one, but many people inside. There is the part dressed in tattered rags. There is the glorious, robed one inside. There is the madman. Maybe, that’s what hurt does. It cuts us into different people. There are some parts with their gaping holes that break off from the core, and then they roam inside us, reminding us of our own poverty. —Ritu Kaushal, Walking through Transitions
A voice that was strong and cruel came from somewhere deep within me. When the voice split away and talked to me all by itself I started calling her Lo. I didn’t question if I was making her up. Lo was real and I knew it. She’d been living in me, and waiting, for years. She’d watched me at my lowest points and saved up a thousand slights, a million minor offenses. She forgave nothing, and now she wanted revenge.
The outline of myself had blurred and grown dim. I shivered and shimmered into the background of the world as my rate of progress toward complete invisibility took on speed.
Things were shifting. An abrupt falling weight in my lower abdomen rapidly transformed into a formidable load—a howling monster, long and wide—made of pure poop. It moved sluggishly at first, but then gained in speed and determination until it traversed the length of my lower intestines with the frightening abandon of a hysterical giant worm. Attempting to change my position, I desperately squeezed my butt cheeks
