The Jaguar Man

The Jaguar Man
Автор книги: id книги: 1613396     Оценка: 0.0     Голосов: 0     Отзывы, комментарии: 0 1228,2 руб.     (11,37$) Читать книгу Купить и скачать книгу Купить бумажную книгу Электронная книга Жанр: Биографии и Мемуары Правообладатель и/или издательство: Ingram Дата добавления в каталог КнигаЛит: ISBN: 9781942094210 Скачать фрагмент в формате   fb2   fb2.zip Возрастное ограничение: 0+ Оглавление Отрывок из книги

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What happens when one harrowing incident changes your life, splitting it between before and after? On the fourth day of what Lara Naughton thought would be two weeks of bliss in Belize, she was kidnapped and assaulted by a man pretending to be a cabdriver. Held in the depths of the tropical forest—alone with the jaguar Man—she found that compassion was her only defense. Lara’s survival and journey of healing is poignant, compelling, and exceptional. Bending the limits of reality, she uses myth to process her experience. As Lara seeks a new understanding of herself, her lyrical, haunting prose reveals a belief that there is room for compassion—for self and and others—even in the midst of violence.Lara Naughton is an author and documentary playwright. Her work includes Never Fight a Shark in the Water: The Wrongful Conviction of Gregory Bright. She is a certified Compassion Cultivation Trainer through The Center for Compassion and Altruism Research and Education (CCARE) at Stanford University School of Medicine. She lives and teaches in New Orleans.

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Lara Naughton. The Jaguar Man

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Special Praise for

THE JAGUAR MAN

.....

I don’t think about the bees as I sit on the beach with my feet in the Caribbean Sea. The sky hums, darkens, the wind hits my right side and trails across my body, my hair blows into my face no matter how I try to hold it back. I notice how quickly a storm enters the sky here, huge black clouds, plump like a belly, a womb not ready to release. The sea changes from teal to emerald, the waves bigger, capped in white. I don’t know it yet, but the angry man is nearby under this same sky. Rage is building in him, dark like the turning clouds, sharp as a jaguar’s teeth. In a few hours the angry man will unleash his violence on me. It doesn’t occur to me to be afraid in this beautiful place, and if I sense a ripple of the angry man’s life spiraling toward me out of control, I simply accept it as part of the natural landscape, wind and wave.

Under the blackening sky, I pray the same prayer I’ve been praying for months: for an experience of love so big I’ll have to change my life to comprehend it. This is a new way of praying for me. I was raised on Catholic prayers, recited them like lists. When I was little, my favorite bedtime prayer was naming the apostles: Peter, Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas, James, Simon, Judas the brother of James, and Judas the Traitor. I zipped through the list every night, so proud to have come up with this prayer myself. As an adult, I drifted away from religion. I’m still not in sync with the Catholic Church, but in recent months I’ve been feeling pulled back and found a progressive church with a progressive priest I’m trying to learn from, not about ritual, but about a real relationship with love. This is new for me, too. Growing up, the nuns at school terrified me with the threat of God’s love, how it could take me out of the blue the way it had taken them. “I never thought I’d be a nun. Then one day, I got the calling. You have to be ready, girls. The calling could happen to you.” For years I added to my nightly prayers: Please God, please, please, don’t make me get the calling.

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