Trip into the Subconscious

I walked to the wall of my critical mind, the one that exists between my conscious and subconscious. Technically known as the Conscious Critical Faculty, it’s where the ideas that could become a belief are stopped and analyzed, and oftentimes rejected. But some of the criteria it uses is from old information, stuff placed into the mind in haste, or from hate, or from a lack of understanding or sensitivity. Or maliciously. So when something really good comes along that refutes that erroneous information, well, it has a hard time getting to the subconscious mind and incubating.


I wanted to get through it, to get into the subconscious and remove some bad programming. I spoke to the foreman of the de-construction crew, the one my Hypnotherapist hired to break through the wall. He was yelling at a guy operating a large drill. “Just a little more, then we’ll blast the rest!” he barked with confidence. The light from his hardhat illuminated the rocky wall. Another worker came along carrying a pickaxe and some dynamite and for a moment there was so much dust that we all had our own space to ourselves, apart from each other, even the floor. When it cleared the foreman yelled again, this time for a bulldozer. The soft waste was moved, and he and I moved close to see the tunnel left behind. “Can I climb through? I have some things I want to throw away.” He called off his crew and I climbed in, dragging a trash bag full of bottles behind me.


I was looking for one character in particular, someone who came into my life at my most vulnerable time and fed my subconscious with distorted ideals and self doubt. I found him squeaking his verbal garbage, he was just the size of a G.I.Joe doll, spoke very fast, like a cartoon mouse, and was very easy to grab. I stuffed him into a bottle as he yelped and put the cork on tight, then threw him in the trash bag. I found another “him,” this one repeating another of his stupid rants, the kind I came to believe at a young age and internalize. “You’ll never be a doctor, you’re not smart enough!” He shook his hands at me as I picked him up, then I stuffed him in another bottle head first. I could still hear him blabbing away until I put a cork on it. I heard other babbles in the dark, and quickly bottled each. One threatened me, like he used to, with his arms up, “I’ve killed people with these arms before!” I squeezed him and lifted his arms, then stuffed him in the bottle, his arms stuck above him in the cramped cylindrical glass. He stared at me through the distortion. “You are not here anymore,” I said to him. The bottle went into the trash bag, and I towed it out behind me through the tunnel in the wall of my critical mind.

The workmen were ready to begin blasting again. My Hypnotherapist was there. “I have them working hard, day and night,” she said with a smile. Then she added, “did you get what you were looking for?” “it’s a start,” I smiled back.


There was a blast, and dust, and for a moment we were all in our own space. Then the bulldozer moved, and the pick axes came out, and the man with the drill leaned forward and pulled his trigger. And I knew things would be better.


Updates...

9/12/17

During meditation this morning I went back to that wall between my conscious and subconscious. The workers were there, busy blasting away. My Hypnotherapist was there too. I went with the intention of removing some more garbage, but she followed me in. This time she had a bag full of bottles, and proceeded to place them on a patch of ground laid out for a garden. “This one is confidence, and this is happiness, and this is gratitude.” She poured some seeds from each bottle in the troughs of the garden and then drew water from a fountain. “It’s not water, it’s universal energy,” she smiled. I supposed that was why the “water,” did not come from a well below but from the sky above. She went on to “nourish,” as she put it, the seeds she had planted. “You will have an amazing garden here to harvest unlimited potential,” she commented. “But you need a home in this subconscious of yours, something that will make you feel worthwhile.” She led me to a dark corner of the subconscious where a young boy was hiding in loneliness. “This is your self worth,” she said with all the love she could her within herself. “My self worth,” I repeated. He was thin, frail, and bent. She and I walked him to the garden where he began to stoop and gather a little of each of the plants and herbs she had only moments earlier sown. As he ate, he began to transform. …


9/17/17

The de-construction of the wall of my critical mind is complete. The foreman and I met this morning and I watched as the last of the dust was swept up. “That was a supporting wall, so the structure had to be left with integrity,” he said to me as he pointed to each square archway that led to my subconscious. The wall was a series of square archways now, beams horizontal and vertical. They were plain. “How do you want to finish them?” he asked. “Let’s do them in wood, dark, polished mahogany, repurposed from old yachts for as much of it as you can, then old stock for the rest. But mix it all up” I had the floors done in beige granite slabs, with some of the same wood from the arches used as liners to separate the granite every fourteen feet into squares. “And to transition the conscious from the subconscious, I want to build a reflection pond finished in black granite that parallels the wall twenty one feet from it on each side, so one on the conscious side and one on the subconscious side. Make each forty two feet wide.” I was still on a roll. “Intersect a seven foot wide pond every twenty one feet that connects the two ponds, then intersect from the pond in the subconscious a pond every forty two feet that extends from the reflection pond and goes to the sea of my subconscious, flowing past the home in my subconscious and on to the sea of ideas. That way I can go sailing in ideas and harvest the ones that look best, then plant them in the fields over there.” I pointed to the far right, where my Self Worth was busy cultivating an expansive farm of governing values and fresh ideas. The mind is looking better.

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