I remember the day I was born (A “crazy” story about a memory)

Guess what?  I have the very vaguest recollection of something said to me on the day I was born.  I kid you not.

 

Yes, I know that sounds crazy but just today, while I sat up at 5am waiting for the sun to rise, I sort of remembered it from 40 years ago. Honestly, I did.

Now, there were quite a few people present at my birth (it was a home delivery with a house full of people) so it could have been anyone. I recall an actual whisper of something into my ear.  I also know for sure that it was sweet and that it told me of the blessings that would lie ahead for me.  Perhaps it was a prayer? Perhaps it was simply a “welcome”?  I mean, it could even have been angels, ancestors or my own soul’s voice saying “oh hi” because it had been here before?

 

Now, I get that you’re thinking that I’ve truly lost the plot this time  (and that’s always a possibility) but I implore you to trust me on this one. So, please do listen to my story a little while longer…

 

Of course it could have been a dream. Of course it could just be something I saw in a movie.  But, have you considered that it could totally be true?!  That I remember?

 

Isn’t that magical?

 

Isn’t that just why we’re on this planet?

To crack open the magic?

To listen to “wild” stories?

To experience miracles?

To explore the various aspects of “possibility”, both of things we understand and accept and then more importantly of the things which are not widely understood and accepted but are certainly no less of a “truth”?

 

I thought you’d say YES!

 

Because here’s the thing. That’s what we ALL want:

To engage the MAGIC,

To understand our PURPOSE,

To explore all aspects of the mystical, spiritual DIVINE and to excite one another with our unique expressions of what we see/feel/taste/sense/remember as we go along.

 

YES, there it is! I see that little light flickering in your heart’s memory too. Go there…it’s your work!

 

© Aluta continua, as they say.  A Heart Full of Stories, 2017

 

 

 

 

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The Zahir (A story about getting even)

I was NOT happy with my accommodation. I booked a self-catering apartment on the beach (with “distant sea views”) and when I arrived, I found that I had actually booked a whole house (with a person inside it)

 

Now, if I have gotten a good vibe from the person, I would have thought that perhaps there was an adventure to be had, but I did not.  It was definitely NOT love at first sight.

 

Her bedroom became my bedroom. Her spot on the couch mine. The coffee mug with her name called my name. Shit was weird.

 

But, I was there on a “pilgrimage” of sorts, and I needed to remain centered.

I noticed that the book on the bedside table happened to be “The Zahir” by Paulo Coelho — one of the very few of his books I had not yet read and the VERY book I had lost in the airport. It was fate.  There was no way I was going to be polite and let her continue reading it, so I grabbed it.  I carried it around the house from room to room (just in case she pounced) and savoured each beautiful moment of reading pleasure. 

 

The home owner had a way about her. Even when you could not see her, she was there.  Like in Big Brother.  She was hard to ignore.

 

I got lost in the pages of the book, and each time I felt irritated by her presence (washing the dishes, folding towels, bloody making coffee at 5am) I would just keep reading. It came as no surprise to me that The Zahir means ‘the obvious’ or ‘conspicuous’ in Arabic.  I mean, what are the chances?  Those were the only words I could use to describe the home owner. Always bloody there!

 

I wrote her a note when I left. I said “Thank you for sharing your home with me. I will always remember your presents…I mean presence! xoxo”

 

…and then I tucked her book (aka the “present”) into my suitcase, along with the mandatory miniature toiletries and waved her goodbye.

 

I figured we were square.

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.