Where Tigers Belch

 

I saw that my little book, Where Tigers Belch, is available For Free on Kindle Unlimited.. ("For how long? I don't know. They decide.)

That inspired me to offer an excerpt as you might read in a bookstore with a hard copy in your hands.

 Where Tigers Belch is that spot that lights our fire.

 This road to the tiger will be an adventure. While adventures are often wrought with strife, and the possibility of all hell breaking loose is ever present, there is a gift at its end.

 Joseph Campbell called it a "boom."

 A boom is a gift the adventurer takes home to the tribe.

 I read a story about a woman who wanted to watch soap operas all day. This was before smart TVs and Video recordings when we were forced to watch our favorite shows when the studios aired them. People often missed their favorite Soap Operas and thus missed out on some important plot twists. She decided to write a synopsis and print it in a little booklet that came to be known as The TV Guide. (Boom.)

 Another successful entrepreneur loved her husband but was tired of his grunting and answering in monosyllables. She watched a show on training exotic animals and applied their training methods to her husband. It was, basically, "Reward what you like, ignore what you don't like." After collecting data, she wrote a book, What Shamu taught me about Life, Love, and Marriage. It was a rousing success and gave the tribe a new perspective.

 To find what you want to do, Martha Beck suggested sitting in a room and allowing your eyes to glide over the objects found there. When a particular object attracts you, stop and ask yourself why you chose that. Next, write down its characteristics. Third, ask how those characteristics pertain to your business. And what business might that be?

 Don't judge yourself. Be as stupid as you can. That frees your mind. Allow yourself to keep doing it over and over. In the process, you may hit on that one thing or more than one. You're allowed.

I tried the experiment. My eyes landed on a little plastic orange pill bottle on the bookshelf.

 What attributes did it have? Well, it was a container that held something good and intended to be beneficial and healing. It was a small container, ordinary, apparently insignificant, but held mighty ingredients.

 How could I use that as a business? A webpage is that. Small, ordinary, apparently insignificant, but holds mighty ingredients.

 

***

 

I began another website, named it Travels with Jo, then found it was confusing to google, for it wasn't a Travel Blog. I renamed it "Wonder with Jo." 

 To wonder and invite others to wonder with me.

 

https://www.wonderwithjo.com

 

I am including "Where Tigers Belch" on both sites. However you will find other info on Wonder with Jo. 

Here is the Introduction and the first chapter:

 

Introduction

You might have read Paulo Coelho's book, The Alchemist, where a shepherd boy begins a quest to find a treasure and something he calls his" Personal legend."

Here is another quest as a young college student sets off into the jungle to find her purpose and reason for being. And she declared it would be where the tiger's belch that she would find it.

Have you ever had one of those days where you felt off? You were out of sorts, irritable, thinking nothing was going right? You were mad at the world and mad that things weren't going according to plan. You were angry that you aren't further along on your enlightenment trail, wondering what enlightenment is anyway.

 You could search for years and never find that spot where the tiger belches, where you are calm and believe all's right with the world. It is the place where you feel invincible. 

I understand the gap. Best to back off. Go into your hut, nap, pet that baby cheetah on your bed, and listen to it purr. (I've heard that they have a purr like a lawnmower, and if they lick you, your skin will feel like it has been sanded.) Decide at that moment that you will be fresh tomorrow, and you are not going to push it today.

 I've decided that tomorrow I will take my backpack. I will add a few bottles of water and a couple of sandwiches and set off to find my destiny.

This is the purpose of Where the Tigers Belch. It is an investigation into finding our purpose and learning that we are magnificent beings on the road to greatness.

We're not on safari here, although I wish we were. We're here to find the spot that lights our fire. That's where the tiger belches. I could say sleep, lies down, or roars, but I like Abby's lyrical poem, so I'm saying, "Where it belches."

While in Africa, Martha Beck found herself in an awkward and dangerous place. She was between a Momma rhinoceros and her baby. Standing there looking at an animal the size of a Volkswagen bus, she experienced a strange phenomenon. She was frightened, yes, but she was also elated. She was at a place she had dreamed of since childhood, and at that moment, that rhinoceros represented her one true nature. She felt that, somehow, she had come face to face with her destiny. (Between a rhino and a hard place?)

Perhaps that rhino was a talisman for her, a representation of what she could become: big, strong, able to overcome obstacles, that thing that both scares us and elates us. We hope we live to tell of it when we find ourselves in that place.

Being at a spot where a tiger belch has a gentler ring than coming face-to-face with a rhino. The purpose is the same. However, which would you rather face, a wild tiger or a wild rhino?

I don't think we can take credit for all we have produced, for I believe in muses and divine intervention.  However, we can take credit for searching. I search for my figurative or literal spot, where the tiger belches.

 Come along for the hike.

 

Chapter 1

 

You might think I spent the night quivering in my debris hut, listening for the footfalls of wild animals.

  I did.

  I'm joking. I slept like a relaxed dog with all four paws in the air.

  I was on a mission and wouldn't let a minor inconvenience stop me.

  Ahead was the goal of my life.

I spent yesterday walking, but when a washed-out area of the path dropped me in an avalanche of mud, I slid downhill screaming and grasping at the vegetation alongside my slippery slide. My careening stopped short of a stream, thank heavens, for my hands were scraped and my throat dry from the screaming, but I survived to the tune of the screeching and flapping of a great flotilla of birds filling the sky in a paint brush smear as though I had touched the brush to every color on my palette.

I washed my hands in the stream and ate one of the tuna fish sandwiches I had placed in a plastic container to keep them from getting mushed. I drank my bottled water and gathered sticks and debris for an enclosure where I spent the night.  

 Now you might be waiting for me to fall on my nose, and I may—I slid down the muddy slope, didn't I? But what if we travel through life knowing it will turn out well for us?

I crawled out of my enclosure, stripped off my clothes, and bathed in the stream.

Figuring that the stream—which flowed at a pretty good clip—was pure, I filled my empty water bottles.

 And when I put the bottles into my backpack, I found a surprise. (Did I tell you I had lost my backpack on the way down that embankment and had to climb, holding onto vegetation for support, back up to get it? I slipped back down again--but I had saved my backpack.)  I had used this pack before and had left a pen and a paper pad in its zipped-up compartment—Good. I searched to see if I had anything else tucked away.

I found three sticks of gum, old and dried up, a chocolate mint from a restaurant long ago, melted, flattened, and re-set, but still in its foil wrapper. A few crumbs of left-over peanuts left salt in the bottom of the pack. I dipped a wet finger in the salt and licked my finger. It gave me the taste of having potato chips –a good after-taste to my tuna fish sandwich.

 Okay, dry, dressed, fed, and invigorated after that cold bath I began skipping down the new path.

 After that fall from the path above, I felt that destiny thrown me onto this path. Besides, following a stream leads somewhere. Water goes downhill, not in circles, as I am apt to do.

What if I get lost, I think as I walk along—a moment of doubt. What if I run out of food or get eaten by a tiger?  Well, I'd be dead. I don't know where I am now anyway. I might as well proceed. I'm determined.

I take off my tee shirt, dip it in the stream, and put it back on to cool my steaming body. I sit beside the stream, gather some reeds, and weave them into a ratty-looking hat. It protects my head, and the wet grass helps keep me at a tolerable temperature.

I keep walking; the sun beats down hot, and it is mucky under the forest's canopy.

 Occasionally a monkey screams at me, sometimes they sing in a full-on chorus of screeching, but I keep on.

 Another night in the jungle? What did I get myself into?

 Suddenly I hear someone humming.

 Am I coming upon an encampment?

I stop and hold my breath as I peer through the jungle thicket. I see only one hut.

Standing there where I am, hidden in the trees, I see an old woman come out of a shelter. Her white hair frizzes out in a tangle flowing down her back. She is wearing a sarong tied above her bosom. Her shoulders are bare. She ambles, carrying a jug to the stream where she dips it into the water. She hefts the filled jug out of the water and settles it on her hip.

 As she is walking back to her hut, she calls out to me."why are you standing there gawking? Come on in out of the heat. I've been expecting you."

 

To see "Where Tigers Belch" on Kindle, please Click.

 

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It’s Tuesday-Late in the Day Already…

Dear Characters in the Drama of Life,

I heard one novelist say she likes to throw her characters into hot water and see how they get out of it. I think some of us are suffering from burns, but we’re still here. And some of us still believe in the goodness of people.

Yesterday, on our night walk with the dogs, I commented to my daughter that we’re all immigrants unless we’re Native American, and then it dawned on me that they are, too. Scientists/historians believe they crossed the Bering Strait (between Alaska and Russia) into North America before the ocean invaded the land bridge. My daughter said some Native American DNA shows that they came from the South.

We all came from somewhere, although it appears that the Africans were created on the spot.  

It’s been a mine-cart/roller coaster ride, hasn’t it?

I am launching a new website this week.

Just what the world needs, right? 

Another website.

Yes, we need magic, fun, and laughter back in our lives.

And after all my years of writing, I need one that pays for its keep. Not that I’m charging you guys, but I am offering some mind stuff, and physical stuff for sale—all optional.

Think of this: your mind can create the fragrance of freshly made sourdough bread that runs through my site. I know bread has been maligned, but sourdough is the very best for you, and the scent and taste are subline, so when I read a novel that kept describing the fragrance of sourdough and gave a recipe for making your own sourdough starter, I had to include the recipe.

I’m way into the day with this blog because I have spent so much time on the other site, and it is not complete, but I know how engineers work, (although I’m not one) they are still dinking with their product as it is being pushed onto the display floor. Yesterday, I got immersed in my story, Where Tigers Belch, by rewriting it, cleaning it up, and feeling a respite from the cares of the world by reading it. I wanted to include it on my new site.

Today, I put in a Table of Contents, it got screwed up, so I took it out. It only has 10 short chapters, so it doesn't need one. I posted Where Tigers Belch, some time ago on this site, you may have read it, but for those who haven’t, here is the new Introduction: 

Where Tigers Belch

by 

Jo Davis

 INTRODUCTION:

You might have read Paulo Coelho's book, The Alchemist, where a shepherd boy begins a quest to find a treasure and something he calls his "Personal legend."

Where Tigers Belch is another quest as a young college student sets off into the jungle to find her purpose and reason for being. The spot will be, she says, “where tigers belch.”

Have you ever had one of those days where you felt off? You were out of sorts, irritable, thinking nothing was going right? You were mad at the world and mad that things weren't going according to plan. You were angry that you aren't further along on your enlightenment trail, and wondering what enlightenment is anyway.

You could search for years and never find that spot where the tiger belches, where you are calm and believe all's right with the world. It is the place where you feel invincible. 

I understand the gap. Best to back off. Go into your hut, nap, pet that baby cheetah on your bed, and listen to it purr. (I've heard that they have a purr like a lawnmower, and if they lick you, your skin will feel like it has been sanded.) Decide at that moment that you will be fresh tomorrow, and you are not going to push it today.

I've decided that tomorrow I will take my backpack. I will add a few bottles of water and a couple of sandwiches and set off to find my destiny.

This is the purpose of Where the Tigers Belch. It is an investigation into finding one’s purpose and learning that we are magnificent beings on the road to greatness.

We're not on safari here, although I wish we were. We're here to find the spot that lights our fire. That's where the tiger belches. I could say sleep, lies down, or roars, but I like Abby's lyrical poem, so I'm saying, "Where it belches."

While in Africa, Martha Beck found herself in an awkward and dangerous place. She was between a Momma rhinoceros and her baby. Standing there looking at an animal the size of a Volkswagen bus, she experienced a strange phenomenon. She was frightened, yes, but she was also elated. She was at a place she had dreamed of since childhood, and at that moment, that rhinoceros represented her one true nature. She felt that, somehow, she had come face to face with her destiny. (Between a rhino and a hard place?)

Perhaps that rhino was a talisman for her, a representation of what she could become: big, strong, able to overcome obstacles, that thing that both scares us and elates us. We hope we live to tell of it when we find ourselves in that place.

Being at a spot where a tiger belch has a gentler ring than coming face-to-face with a rhino. The purpose is the same. However, which would you rather face, a wild tiger or a wild rhino?

I don't think we can take credit for all we have produced, for I believe in muses and divine intervention.  However, we can take credit for searching. I search for my figurative or literal spot where the tiger belches.

Come along for the hike. This will be available as a Pdf to download on Travels with Jo--coming up this week. 

And now dear ones, for those who are reading my book, Your Story Matters, here is the next Chapter: (Are you still with me? Daughter dear says that people don't read, however, I figure you do.)

Chapter 51

 

Badass Training 101

 

Have you ever read a well-written story, but you felt miserable after reading it?

 

I won't tell you where I found the story I’m talking about, I read it by accident. The Title lured me. That shows the value of a good title, doesn’t it?

 

If I tell you what it was, you will read it. The author will get ten thousand hits, and publishers will think that's what people want and publish more depressing stuff. And I will be home sucking my thumb, and you will be depressed because you read about another miserable life. 

 

While I found that miserable story, I also found this:

 

It was a three-line blog by Seth Godin:

 

"How much of what we want, really want, is due to the ideas that culture has given us, and how much do we need?

 

"If a memetic desire isn't making us happy, perhaps we can find some new ideas."—Seth Godin.

 

My response? What’s a memetic?

 

I looked it up. 

 

 

“Memetics are ideas that become a kind of virus, sometimes propagating despite truth and logic."

 

A memetic belief isn't necessarily true, as rules that survive aren't necessarily fair, nor are rituals that survive necessarily necessary. 

 

These beliefs are good at surviving.

 

Isn't that odd?

Some liken a memetic belief to a virus, while others say they are more like genes, replicating themselves. Robert Aunger says, "A memetic is more like a benign parasite incapable of or reproducing without a host, and the mimetic’s host is the human brain."

 

The word was new to me, while the concept was not.

 

It was one of those facts we know to exist. It lurks in the back of your mind, irritating us without our knowing why. You know something is wrong. Our internal knowingness recognizes it as absolute nonsense, but our conscious mind is muddled.

 

We know that rules grow and reproduce until we have dogmas, governmental ones, religious ones, and metaphysical ones. Ideas get passed around, repeated, and disseminated until people speak the same jargon and spout the same opinions. That belief has taken on a life of its own. 

 

It takes a Badass not to do it.

 

Today I watched and listened to Oprah Winfrey's commencement speech at Tennessee State University, her alma mater. What a woman. She can put it out there like no one else; I was motivated, inspired, and deeply moved. 

 

When she said she had never felt out of place, not enough, or an impostor, I saw how this woman had achieved heights few women ever have, and she continues to be out there to inspire. “Start by being good to one single person every day. You can be a lifesaver to the one who receives it. Be someone's hope.”