John couldn't sleep, he didn't even want to know what time it was, maybe 3:00 or 4:00am? It was a muggy night, his linen shirt clung to his body, a body made leaner again by meditation, no booze, fresh air, vegetarian food and frequent attacks of the shits. When he'd boarded that flight to Delhi all those weeks ago, photographers had captured the familiar sight of the chubby Beatle. He hated those pictures, but he also knew that he wasn't the same man now, he wasn't the bloated acid casualty anymore. Drug free (save for the occasional nocturnal joint) and away from his repetitive bingeing on the empty pleasures of clubs, parties, hangers-on and over-indulgence, John felt a renewed sense of purpose. OK, so he'd also felt the most depressed feelings of his life since his mother had been killed. OK, there had been times when he'd stood at the edge of the Ganges and seriously contemplated letting the waters just carry him away. But, if he kept himself busy he could get through it. John had been very busy, he'd written or half written the biggest batch of songs of his career in the shortest period of time, he meditated for up to 5 hours everyday and he spent a lot of his time reading the papers, reading and re-reading letters and postcards.
Right now though, John couldn't sleep, "I can't stop my brain"; he'd already written a song about just that. He's also written a song about feeling insecure and lonely, about wanting to die while he'd been on this meditation course supposedly looking for peace of mind. John had chosen to spend the last few weeks separated from his 29 year old wife in his own quarters, ostensibly so that he could focus on his meditation practice without her incessant words flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup. But in truth he found her presence limiting to his obsession with another woman. Everyday he would get up early to run down to the local post office and collect the almost daily torrent of letters and postcards from this new intriguing fantasy figure with the alien poetic name, Yoko Ono. Sometimes her messages were enigmatic Fluxus event scores "I am a cloud, look for me in the sky" sometimes they corresponded over deep subjects and she expressed strong opinions. She was like Mimi at times, John was smitten, here was a woman articulating concepts and ideas that were opening his eyes and broadening his mind. He couldn't stop thinking about her, he just wanted to talk and talk with her and that was making him miserable. He wished he'd been able to bring her with him to this place, if only he'd found a way to keep her a secret from Cyn, a situation that had all the comic potential of a Whitehall farce, it just wasnt practical. He hated being in India while she celebrated her birthday with her husband, the thought had made him ridiculously jealous. There's was also the fact that she was sexually liberated; after all she had staged that happening where men actually cut her clothes off. Let's face it, Yoko meant more than mental stimulation to John, the attraction was definitely physical, he wanted to posses her tiny frame, he wanted to unleash the wanton sexual creature he assumed was behind that cold, unblinking, emotionless front she put on. She'd let him see a glimpse of her softer side and he was hooked. He was hooked and he couldn't sleep