Awakening, 2nd edition by Ray N. Kuili Page B

looping among majestic woods. The road ended unexpectedly with an idyllic landscape. Right in the middle of the landscape , a two-story lodge towered proudly. Its long logs had darkened with age, and it was easy to assume that this construction went back at least a hundred years. Yet the building was free of any signs of decay. On the contrary, the tall straight walls exuded sturdy strength like an ancient but still living and mighty tree.
    The lodge stood right by the waterline, its shiny windows looking out over the sleepy lake. Three snow-white powerboats, accompanied by a couple of wooden boats with bright -red oars, rocked softly on the waves by the short wooden pier.
    Flashes, then, like well-edited scenes in a movie : a professional welcoming smile from the concierge ; a spacious lounge with stuffed animals and deer antlers on the walls ; a room ’s dark wooden door ; a huge bed with a dark wood en headboard . The workshop was scheduled to begin in twenty minutes, but Michael had no desire to spend this time alone in his room. He tossed his jacket on the bed and left for the boardroom , where, according to the card on the desk, the workshop was about to take place.
    A cozy midsize conference room with a skillfully created business world atmosphere and a touch of comfort and relaxation welcomed visitors . Four round tables arranged in a half-moon and the glossy folders neatly placed on their surfaces hinted at the expected number of attendees . A rectangular table facing the round ones designated the place from which the wisdom was about to be imparted . Two of its cousins settled along the walls in the company of several flipcharts, boasting clean untouched sheets of paper.
    The room was nearly deserted. A lone respectable-looking round-faced man labored over his cup of coffee in the corner next to the buffet table with its selection of scrambled eggs, muffins and fruits. The man seemed fully engaged in the act of pouring just the right amount of cream into his morning drink. Michael nodded to him briefly on his way across the room, and stepped out on to the balcony.
    And there, separated from him only by the dew-covered dark wood railing, the beauty of the mountains that had just a woke n seized him. Somehow it reminded him of a photograph he had seen last week in National Geographic . He grinned to himself. How weird human life had become if the first thing that comes to mind in front of a striking nature scene is a picture from a magazine. Common sense would suggest that it should be the other way around. But , then again, who said that human life has much to do with common sense? These days you are considered a weirdo if you live without a phone. Yet nobody cares if you live without a purpose. Anything wrong with that picture? And so you stand here, overlooking this morning beauty, a nd you can ’t help but mentally map it to that bright photo: the colors, the lulling calm of the sleepy water and the pines running down the hill to meet the lake. And even the rushing powerboat—that photo had it , too.
    He took his eyes off the powerboat that was madly ripping up the calm water, and looked at his watch. All right, it ’s time to go. The show is about to begin in a few minutes, and a cup of coffee would be nice.
    The boat, meanwhile, valiantly reached the pier. A little dark figure jumped swiftly to the dock and began tying the knot quickly around the cleat . Michael watched the figure’s swift , fluid movements for a moment , then went back indoors .
    The room, now filled with a dozen people, felt cozier but now seemed even smaller. Michael stopped at the door, not rushing to go inside.
    So this is the crowd . Assuming that they used the same criteria across the board , e very one of these people must be a middle manager. Each one has risen quickly through the ranks. Each one has been demonstrating great potential. And of course, each one of them must be ambitious to some degree and dreaming about getting to the