I'm not coming back...

In a world called hypnotism there’s a place that I could take you that's called ‘your special place’. It’s a place that you can go to where everything is safe and calm, where nobody wants or needs anything from you, and where you can go to whenever you want and it is safe for you to do (so not when you are driving or using a chain saw).

It can be anything and anywhere that you want; a cosy room, a forest glade, a beach, a place from your past or somewhere from your imagination – it’s up to you, it is your special place, a place of peace and relaxation.

It’s taken me a while to find my special place. At first it was a clearing in a small wood, dark and lush, a mossy pool at its centre surrounded by reeds. The sunlight dappled through the leaves overhead and in the distance I could hear the sea lapping on the shore of a sunlit beach.

Then it was the beach for a while. A sandy beach littered with seashells and interesting pieces of driftwood. Only the best quality flotsam and jetsam washed up on my special beach; glass net floats, ancient glass bottles, long thin seed pods from the West Indies, huge pine cones and thick bamboo canes from China. Yes, my special beach - the perfect beach sculpture beach.

And then I had a 'free association'' revelation.

It wasn’t the glade and it wasn’t the beach, but the island that they were on. My own special island and I’m drifting towards it in a boat.

I can smell the saltiness of the sea. I can hear the seagulls calling to one another, right up high. Sometimes it is warm and sunny, and sometimes it’s rough and windy. The sea is a deep sparkling blue... No, the sea is a grey and cold, the waves riding up high above me.

And in the waves go, and then out again. Over and over. In and then out, in and then out, all day long, and all night long, the waves on the sea wash in and out. Just as my breath goes into my body, and then slowly out again, over and over.

And over and over. My boat on the sea - just drifting, drifting, drifting...

Yes, you've read this before and recently, well almost.

Of course I’ll never get to my island. I’m not allowed. That isn’t my destiny. If I were to arrive on my island they’d be no going back, I’d stay - happy from dawn ‘til dusk just doing whatever I wanted, needed to, and at night I’d sleep through torrential rain, hurricane winds, light scented breeze, or lie on the sand and watch the shooting stars falling into the sea with a well-imagined splash.

No, I’d never come back - never - not ever, ever.

And that is why I never can go there.