Stories
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The shop was in a garage, pottery and jewellery, two wheels a small pottery kiln and even a smaller one for jewellery, a wedging table and glazing materials. It was run by Wherebe and Whobe who lived upstairs, where you had to go to use the toilet. It turned out that the German tourist belonged to the same group as they, a US group founded by Willem Nyland, a former student-of and based on the teachings of George Gurdjieff, a Russian mystic. So I learned how to throw pots. It was using my hands.
I had a couple of memorable events in my little Page Street room. The first being that I was taking a single multiple-vitamin pill every evening, and one night I tried to swallow a pill, and it went up the wrong place into the nasal passage and got lodged there. It was one of the more painful experiences of my life, and there was nothing I could do about it. I had to endure the pain while waiting for it to dissolve, about forty-five minutes all told. Now recalling it - maybe that is why I have taken very little in hard-tablet form since.
And an accompanying key event some little time later in that same little room, was the night the bone-rubbing feeling came upon me. This time I was determined to let it happen. I had been in the army, travelled all over Europe, got caught behind enemy lines so to speak, had slept on the ground for a year, lived in Haight-Asbury, the most bizarre place on the planet, and so I determined that I was now capable of exploring this feeling.
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