I went through a phase in my life when I tried diligently to meditate, but it didn’t work. I kept going off on mental journeys and got wrapped up in the experiences. I remember there was one in which I found myself flying over some cliffs and across the sea. I came to an island with a cave at the base into which I flew, and then continued through subterranean caverns before re-emerging and flying back to land. And then I climbed onto the roof of a white building and talked to a crowd of people gathered on the space in front of it. I don’t remember what I talked about; I don’t suppose it matters.
I sometimes wonder whether I should have been a writer.