The Unilever Series: Dominique Gonzales Foerster - TH.2058


Inner Solace

By Flora Budd

She sat at her desk looking out of the window, watching the squirrels chase each other across the mooring garden.  She reminisced on that day when they had first bought the boat.  How different life was.  A very bad recession had hit England and nobody could sell anything, the pound was doing terribly and they feared the then owner of the boat wouldn’t accept their humble offer to invest their wedding funds and purchase the boat outright.  It was a risk but one they had to take, for the boat had so many fond memories they just couldn’t bare the thought of losing her.  The owner being in financial trouble herself and needing to sell quickly had practically bitten their hands off and so the sale went through.  They thought they would only be on the boat for a year, two at the most, get themselves a home in the country and have the boat in London for cruising holidays and yet here they were fifty years later and still firmly on board.  Still with the same old wood burning stove and the funny wooden blinds that they had made shorter and decorated with flowers and squiggles.  Still with all their instruments hanging on the walls and still watching the squirrels play as if it were only yesterday when they had been woken very early in the morning to the sound of scratching on the roof and the high pitched cackling laughter of the squirrels who had discovered a bag of bulbs and had had a field day tossing them all over the mooring garden.

These days the garden was their only solace.  She spent hours just watching. It was a lush, tropical, blooming, rambling trail of wonderful colours and tasty looking goodness.  They had nurtured it from nothing, fighting the authorities all the way to be able to keep the land and use it how they wished.  The mooring had always been no-man’s land; neither the council nor the waterways authorities knew who owned it.  They had researched and written letters and eventually, years later, managed to find out that it actually belonged to nobody so had been able to lay claim to it for a small nominal fee with the promise to maintain it well and not build ugly buildings on it.  That was no problem for the Chapman’s; they had very green fingers and had built a wonderful ecological world of delights on that mooring.  When the weather changed in the early twenties it made a huge difference to the ground.  It meant that all those foods and plants that they could only have dreamed of growing could now be grown in abundance.  Since the collapse of the government and local authorities there were no longer restrictions on the moorings, the boat owners owned the moorings and took over their maintenance, forming small local communities that acted for the goodness of each other and boy how that worked so much better than the regimented days at the beginning of the century, when religion created wars and meltdowns amongst angry people ignorant to any other way and the controlling authorities had spiralled out of hand without any positive results.  In those days technology was seen as the only way to pull the reigns in on a sprawling mass of blinkered and brainwashed souls.

They had been so lucky.  Some would say it was their destiny; they had always been so kind to others.  Their careers had evolved from their love of music and each other.  Neither or them realised just how successful their workshops would become.  People travelled from around the world to attend them, waiting for up to two years to book on to some of them.  They were renowned creative masters of their field and libraries of books had been written about them and their way of life had evoked such a strong following it was scary to imagine how different the world could have been, had they not had the courage to pursue their dreams.  There had been a time when they were going to give up on it all. Pack up their bags and head off to the other side of the planet and start again, discover something different.  It looked like those wretched computers were going to take over the world until some bright spark managed to quite literally pull the plug on the whole system and everything was lost.  All global networking stopped over night.  The controlling spell was broken.  People had to start to get to know their neighbours again, live in the community and find another way.  Most people had forgotten how to communicate without laptops and hand held machines.  Most people didn’t care for conversation and books and found it quite humiliating to have to revert back to what they assumed was a redundant and out-dated way of life.  Once they found their feet though, which didn’t take as long as expected, they were flying.  People embraced each other, and the world around them.  It started to grow again.  Even the mountains of abandoned old laptops, computers, macs, ipods, blackberries and mobile phones that had grown up in the city like children’s lego skyscrapers seemed to have a new life and served as a reminder to those still living just how close they had come to being ruled by machines.

The Chapman’s had been involved with unconscious spirituality since they were young and first engaged to be married.  That was how they had first met, at a small meeting of minds in a dingy café in London.  The aim of the group had been to enlighten the mind through telepathic nurturing and communication.  They knew that if people could just reconnect with the full capacity of their minds a whole new path could be followed that would save the world from its tragic yet inevitable destiny.  The difficulty was trying to make the rest of the world see how this could be possible, without all hell breaking loose, but thankfully they didn’t have to try too hard, for when the plug was pulled and the panic set in, there was a spontaneous unanimous rising that meant that everyone was on the same wavelength and they were able to start the thread of unconscious connection quite simply with meditative breathing.  The collective core strength of this small group of the Chapman’s had been enough to open the minds of millions and the streams of unconsciousness began flowing, together at last, in the right direction.

It became apparent that a vast amount of people had become so backwards in their thinking that there was a lot of work to be done.  The old government buildings and places of worship had all been converted into places of relaxation and meditation where people could go and learn to unlock their imaginations and reconnect with their minds as one and begin the healing process.  The Chapman’s were relentless in their efforts. Slowly but surely the skies cleared and the earth began to breathe again.  The land became green and the sound of stress that had been a constant buzz, growing ever louder over the years, became a dull fading hum.

She knew their time was coming.  She knew that they had fulfilled their requirements to the earth and they now had to go to Spirit.  Leaving their garden was going to be the hardest thing in the world, yet she knew that whoever came next would blossom with it and learn to accept and adore the beauty within.  That thought alone made her heart skip a little to know that they had come all this way through a long and troubled life, fighting for a better future, and together they had made it happen.  Like the squirrels playing in the trees her heart fluttered and jumped high, reaching up into the clouds for the warm embrace, touching laughter, a loving and beautiful sound echoing throughout the collective world and resounding across the water.

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