Miracles in the Mind

An experience is in search of me. Last night I dreamed that I had my car washed. In reality, I don’t own a car. I also dreamed that I sat on the ground in a forest, in a meditative position, watching a tree grow. I felt it growing. I don’t want to drive again, which is strange to see in writing, although I haven’t sat in the driver’s seat since 2002, the year I moved from Seattle to Madrid. I’m afraid to count the years between then and now. The counting happens on its own. A tree grows on its own. I don’t control my mind. I experience it. What might it mean to me to be in the driver’s seat of my own inner experiences?

I imagine the opening sentence in the paragraph above appearing and disappearing on the surface of my mind, as if I were meditating in a forest and observing a tree experience its own natural process of growth. I pause before writing the next sentence. Silence becomes the pause, before noise in my mind returns and the pen moves again. Trees belong in a forest. My imagination has made the impossible possible: I sit on the ground, and the growth of a tree becomes a moment to moment visible experience.

More words that feel strange to see in writing come to me: this experience is experiencing me. I am being experienced by life in the forest. The mind is a miraculous place.

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Unfinished Sentence

The image of the black hardcover in my client’s hands is so real that I stop typing and glance around the room. He’s reading the book in the waiting room, and this sentence feels as real as the image. Our session starts in five minutes. He’s having an important reading experience. There’s such certainty in these words in my head. It’s a thick volume. The title comes to me. I haven’t read it. I haven’t read any of Carl Jung’s books. I get to my feet. What am I doing? It’s as if my body moves me toward the door, toward the waiting room, toward the unknown. I stop. Words don’t have to tell me that I’m not thinking. All of this exists only in my head. The silence in the room helps me realize that this is not the state of mind I need to be in when the client enters the room. Suddenly I can’t remember the name of the book I imagine the client reading in a chair on the other side of the door. I glance at my watch. Four minutes remain before I open the door. I’m having an important experience, full of uncertainty. Reading can be an intense experience. Three minutes remain. So can writing. I realize that I have a sentence to finish writing. It can wait. Whatever is happening inside of me can’t.