Sunday, October 11, 2015

Poem Number 6 - Call Me.

Stacy and I both called the hypnotherapist.
Group session: one hypnotherapist, two clients, probably the same past lives, or similar ones at any rate.
We tense completely up like fists, then relax, completely relax.
Three deep clearing breaths; in all the way, then slowly exhale.
We are coming to the entrance of an art gallery, made just for us.
I describe the exterior of mine. It's sunny outside, wherever I'm supposed to be.
It looks more like an everyday public library or art museum. Nondescript with double doors.
Stacy describes a white Victorian mansion that's been converted into a museum. It's in Perth, Western Australia where she's from originally.
At the prompt from Kent, our therapist, I go inside to my inner mind.
The floors are polished brick tile. I see glass display cases, but nothing really clear yet.
Stacy notices hardwood floors, and an antique table with a marble top and a crystal vase containing multicolored flowers, orchids.
I take the elevator down ten levels. With each level, I go deeper into a state of relaxation.
Stacy takes a staircase down with a beautiful ebony banister. She hears her footsteps echo as she descends into a state of deep relaxation.
Deeper relaxed.
I find a subterranean art exhibit all pertaining to my life, past life to be exact.
Stacy finds a Victorian library complete with bookcases, nick nacks on the mantle of a fireplace and many paintings on the wall.
The more I look at the small statues, sculptures and paintings, the more uneasy I feel.
Stacy matter of factly says, 'I thought so.'
Breaking hypnosilence, I bring up the woman in the grocery store from the summer of 1980. The woman with the accent who grabbed my left arm.
She said no outsider would ever have a tattoo like that.
She noticed I tried to have it removed.
I politely tell her that it's not a tattoo; it's a birthmark.

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