The Medicine Woman paused as she walked across Miranda’s mindscape. Stark was the only word she could think of to describe it. This was not the disorganised chaos of the unexamined life rather there were large tracts of space where much of the debris of the past had been cleared through meditation, psychological explorations and spiritual practices. A lot of baggage had been released and a great deal of inner healing had occurred.
The process was incomplete though. Mental patterns that ran along the “I’m not good enough” vein had congealed into a dark thick stream. Beside it the trees were stunted and struggling to grow. Resting a hand on the trunk of one the Medicine Woman felt a current of unease. Probing further she found the current carried fears and profound dismay concerning external events. The world’s calamities had taken root in Miranda’s consciousness and grown into these twisted trees that emanated hopelessness. A chill wind blew across the blighted mindscape. The Medicine Woman sniffed the air. It was as she suspected – miasmas of confusion and uncertainty blew every which way.
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