the WAR of ART - by Steven Pressfield [scanned book].pdf

(Dana P.) #1
But where was Largo? I was standing miserably by the
rail when the captain came over and started talking to me.
Even he was lost. It was his ship, but he didn't know how
to get it off dry land. I was nervous, finding myself in
conversation with the brass, and couldn't think of a thing
to say. The skipper didn't seem to notice; he just turned to
me casually and said, "What the hell are we gonna do,

I woke up electrified. I was Largo! I was the salty old
Gunny. The power to take charge was in my hands; all I had
to do was believe it.
Where did this dream come from? Plainly its intent was
benevolent. What was its source? And what does it say about
the workings of the universe that such things happen at all?
Again, we've all had dreams like that. Again, they're
common as dirt. So is the sunrise. That doesn't make it any
less a miracle.
Before I got to North Carolina I worked in the oilfields
around Buras, Louisiana. I lived in a bunkhouse with a bunch
of other transient geeks. One guy had picked up a paperback
about meditation in a bookstore in New Orleans; he was
teaching me how to do it. I used to go out to this dock after
work and see if I could get into it. One night this came:

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