I have infinite respect for Peter Levine and have been very inspired by his work, and I was really excited to read this autobiography, but I found myself grimacing throughout the book. I'll just touch on a few things I struggled with and why I won't be recommending this.
The descriptions of his or his mentors' work are saturated with flowery adjectives and lack any real explanation about what is being done. I would have loved to read more about what was actually happening, rather than vague descriptions of someone's magical and innate healing abilities. You probably need a good understanding of somatic experiencing and of trauma in general to read this book, yet if you have that understanding, this books adds nothing new to the conversation, or at least, it didn't for me.
I do posit that maybe this book just isn't for me, because, forgive me, I never want to hear about anyone slowly penetrating anyones yoni in a book about healing childhood trauma, or healing a cold unemotional childhood by imagining 'nurturance in the form of warm, vanilla flavored milk coming from a welcoming, full breast.' This book is heavily steeped in Peter's spiritual life and views, and whilst that is not for me, that is entirely subjective, and I recognise that plenty of people will relate to his experiences of dream interpretation and sychronicities.
It also just doesn't really reflect any of my experiences of trauma really. His healing seems to be a series of large spiritual moments, in which the universe is revealed and moments of trauma are magically healed. I am genuinely glad he had these experiences, and it was interesting to read about, but it spoke nothing of the journeys of myself, my clients, or friends.
I had a couple of issues that one might gloss over owing to Peter's age, but that are worth mentioning. He exoticises people of colour ('beautiful, strong, yet tender black man,' 'sensuous lively brazilians'), and there are moments of sexism that make me raise an eyebrow. He suggests that the women of his life helped to connect him to his body and emotions, whilst his male mentors inspired him scientifically and academically. He repeatedly refers to his mothers assault as 'she felt raped', 'her perceived rape', which strikes me as incredibly bizarre. These moments were frequent enough to warrant a mention.
Overall, there were moments that were interesting to read about, but I finished the book feeling mostly confused and unsure what the purpose of the memoir had been. I still love other books he has written and will continue to recommend those, but this wasn't the one for me.