A Happy Place

Several weeks ago a friend of mine pointed me to a website which contained an interesting exercise. Basically, it was a visualization exercise of one's "Happy Place". I had intended to do the exercise right off but, as I so often do, I put it down for a moment and then didn't get back to it. Then, this week, while making blog rounds, I found someone else talking about wishing they had a "Happy Place". I referenced the same website for them as my friend did for me. Then, finally, I took the exercise. Here is a description of my "Happy Place". Just in case you're interested. Well, actually, whether you're interested or not. Here it is.

(I don't think it diminishes to describe my place. I can tell you how to find it because the knowledge will be useless to help you get to my place. Follow the instructions and you'll only find yourself at your own place. You can't get to my place.)

The journey to The Place begins in a tunnel. There are torches on the wall to light the way. The passage is only wide enough for two to walk abreast. A flight of steps leads downward. At first the steps seemed short, but to step on one stretches it forward for several paces. Each step is bathed in its own light. The first step is bathed in red. Energy. Orange is warmth. Yellow is for sunlight. Green is for strength and beauty of nature. Blue is pure heavenly light. The last step, purple, is the colour of spiritual power.

Now the way is blocked by a sheet of water, falling from some unknown source above. It blocks the way as like a curtain, or door. The water rushes down fast – and hard – with noise. Yet it’s a peaceful noise (steady) despite the volume. The water falls to the sides, and through small cracks in the rocky floor. I like to stand in the torrents, taking a shower to wash away the remnants of those things which I must leave behind. The continual beating of wave upon wave against my shoulders is as a massage. I lift my face and let it beat against my chest. I tilt my head forward and let it relax my shoulders. The water is cool – but not cold. In time, it feels warm. Then I move on.

I have crossed the barrier. From here on I am in My Place. I am alone. No one can hurt me, and I can hurt no one. There is no one I can offend or frighten with my moods and damaged pieces. No one will take advantage of me. I am safe. Protected. It is an aloneness of comfort and freedom.

There are trees. Tall trees. Pines. Oaks. Others I cannot name. They block the sun, creating a shadow world just above their roots. There is life there. Things are happening. But the path is lit from above, where the trees leave a gap in the canopy. Beside the path flows a river, carrying the water from the falls to some future destination. It is not over wide. Perhaps I could jump it – at least, in places. It is seldom deeper than my waist. But there are deep places, where the water will pool. Otherwise, it moves along quickly.

When I break the cover of trees I have reached the cul-de-sac which marks the end of the journey. It is a hollow surrounded by tall hills uncrossable by human desire. Down in the middle is a pool. The pool is small, perhaps no more than a mile across. Can it even be that far? It isn’t deep, but to cross it I need swim. At the center it's depth may be twenty feet.

The water is warm, heated by a bright and happy sun which smiles down upon me to bring daytime to my heart. Sometimes I will grab an inner tube and float out on the waves. The water is clean, for one river fills it and another carries away the sediments. Those filter down a hole too small for my spirit. So I can float and let the current take me on a quiet journey around and across.

There is a large rock formation on one hill. It is white and smooth, rising perhaps two or three feet over the ground which anchors it. The sun makes the surface warm, and I will lay on it as a bed. It's a rock, but still there is comfort to lay there. A sacrifice on an altar. The sun cuts into me and I bleed the pain and sadness which clung after the shower. Now breathing is easy and free. The joy of life is in the light. The sun likes me.

Away to the left, along the slopes, is a little house I use. It is a small building. There is just the one room. It appears to have been constructed of Redwood. The boards are vertical, with periodic variations in thickness, giving it texture. I can see curtains fluttering through open windows. It is a pretty house. The roof is peaked. There is smoke exiting a small chimney. There is white trim. It is a happy house. An inviting house. I go inside.

There is a fireplace at the back. A rocking chair sits near, with a large floor lamp to the side. There is a table with a book. A tea cozy with saucer and cup. Windows on the side walls. A pot-bellied stove. A wood-burning kitchen stove. Rustic cupboards holding fixings for breakfast and lunch. An ice box. There is a settee. Music plays from a victrola. Quiet music. Peaceful. Relaxing. The windows are open and the air is fresh. There is a bookshelf. It is small, because when a book is needed, it simply appears. There is a writing table near a window. An artists table by the other window. A harp. A guitar. Pictures adorn the walls. Some are of family. Some are of friends. The one over the fireplace is me. It changes. Whoever I am, the picture will show it. In here I am whoever I feel like. It changes. Figurines adorn the shelves and tables. Dogs. Cats. Dragons. Unicorns. Fairies. Mice. There is a cross over the door. The mood is peace.

So much for dreams. What a pity it can't be a real place where I can really hide. Perhaps not. People are meant to interact with other people - no matter how poorly we do it or how much it can hurt. For the simple truth is, if I could get to such a place I might never return. Not many would miss me, I'm sure.