So… I am laying on my side, resting. I have spent an hour trying to get back to sleep, with little success. But I’m relaxed, not annoyed, since I’m not that tired anyway. I notice my imagination is a bit more active than usual, so I decide to try Project Sanctuary. It’s been a while.
I call up my energy mind and firstly, apologize to it for not paying more attention to it. I “give it a hug” (silly, I know, but it seemed necessary
) and then tell it that if it seems like I’m neglecting it in the future, to tell me in no uncertain terms! The niceties out of the way, I try to set up the game with the simplest contract. I simply tell my energy mind to take me where it wishes, and to show me what it deems to be most important.
I wait a few moments for a scene to form, but… nothing. I seem to be floating in the void. I try calling out to see if anyone can hear me. I get a couple annoyed responses along the lines of “shut up” or “You’re being annoying!” Now the scene materializes, and I see that I’m in a stereotypical jail cell. The annoyed responses were from guards doing their rounds around the prison. I look about the cell that I’m in. Four messy bunks, a nasty toilet, some junk strewn around… but I seem to be the only inmate in this cell. I ruffle through some of the junk on one of the bunks and find a huge file. Not coming up with any better ideas, I begin to file down the bars on the jail cell window. This gets me absolutely nowhere, of course, and brings the guards to my cell. They order me to hand over the file, to which I respond with a curt “no.” Then they ask me to come with them, and I start to say “no” to that too—but they drag me out of the cell and down the hall.
They bring me to a woman who seems to have some power in the prison. Perhaps she runs it, but she is wearing rather regal clothing. In any case, she looks at me and says, “Is it true that you tried to escape the prison?”
“Well, er… yes,” I respond, looking down at the floor. “But, I have to know… why did I get sent here in the first place?”
She looks at me, clearly shocked. “You mean… you don’t remember?” I shake my head. “Well… you came to us. You told us to keep you in here, said it was too dangerous or scary outside. We were pretty surprised of course, but we let you stay. You’ve been pretty well-behaved for the most part.”
At this point I know exactly what this prison is a metaphor for. “Well, what if I want to leave now?”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. You came in here for a reason in the first place, and you should make sure you’re ready to face it before you leave. You may feel you’re ready—you’re certainly eager—but I think you need more time. Remember the nightmare you had last week? Remember your anger with N., and T.? You need to learn to temper yourself, to remain calm in the face of conflict, and to avoid becoming overwhelmed.”
I know that I’ve been doing better in those areas, but I also know she’s probably right. It hurts though, to see these things seem just out of my grasp. I change the subject. “Well, when did I come here, anyway?”
“I don’t exactly remember,” she says. “It was many years ago. Perhaps before you were born. But the important thing to remember is that, you can’t recall any of this sense of fear. Whatever may have haunted your childhood and prompted you to come here… is completely gone from your memory. When you think about that, the exact date doesn’t matter. You may as well have been here your entire life.”
“Could there really have been something like that in my childhood?” I ask.
“Well, look at it this way. As a childhood, you were hypersensitive to certain sounds, touches, and textures. To a certain extent, you still are today. It’s not much of a stretch to think that you were once hypersensitive to… other things.”
I nod a bit. “What I still don’t understand is how A. says I sometimes find my way over to dreamworld, even though I can never remember it…”
There’s a pause here, as I’m trying to make sure the response doesn’t come from within myself. (With limited success, I’m sure…) She ends up saying, “Look, I don’t know. Why would I know something like that? Clearly something within you isn’t fully comfortable with the idea, despite your obvious yearnings. …You know how you always tell Andy that you feel like you’re ‘on the outside, looking in’? I would argue that it is just the opposite. You are on the inside, looking out. These things you yearn for might be experienced within the mind, but they obviously come from outside yourself. You have to be willing to venture out there.”
Around this point I lose my grasp on the scene, and decide to hop into the shower.
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