Travelling in My City

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.My artist self. When I stray, Life brings me back. When I become too much in my head, Life brings me back to my body. A car scratch.

All people are our teachers. She is. Outside the café window directly in front of me, she sat down and took her laptop out of a bright blue case. It was her dress I noticed first, orange, flowing, backless, and her body. She opened to a site. Author. The Unravelling Journey. Her aim is to empower, enrich and entice. Nice. Ego sat on the edge of my mind, wanting to pounce, but I’ve had it trained. It’s okay. There’s room for more than one writer in this world, in this café.

She was working on a book. That’s what intrigued and enticed me. As she worked, I sat behind the window, on the inside looking out as it always was, and looked her up. Five thousand followers on Instagram, almost ten times more than me. That’s okay. Maybe her writing is shit. At the time I was working on my book still and anything not minimalist made me want to look away, like being sunglasses-less on a sunny day. Come back and love. Come back and love.

Instagram is like high school, but much worse, isn’t it? You’ve got the cool popular pretty ones and the rest of us wondering why them and not us? Why not me? Won’t somebody see me. I’m cool too. Except in high school we didn’t wear badges to say how many people liked us or how many followed our every move, how many cared. What a weird world we live in.

How do we manage it?

In hypnotherapy I went into an almost trance state. I could hear her words but fell and swayed as if dropping off to sleep, only to jerk back up, like 5pm on the train. I didn’t feel sleepy. She asked me to see the 5thof July before me and take a step to be a quarter of way to it, then a half, then a quarter, until I was there. There she asked me to turn the colour up really bright and I saw red and purple, me celebrating, glass of champagne in hand, and then froze it in a snap shot, a polaroid, take it in my hand, take it in the magical vehicle, returning to the green grass in the field of the present.

When she asked me to see at each point what I have to do to get there, I didn’t receive any insight, and allowed myself to be and not force it. I didn’t know if falling as if to sleep was a good thing but she said it was, like standing and swaying, travelling deep.

 

Published by Mireille Parker

My name's Mireille Parker and i love to write. I am here to peace for peace, to love for love and to share what I learn as i wander.

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