The story behind the soullage


@karina .steel created for me this soullage, she told me a whole story about how I could create a mind map to get as much out of it as possible, that I could find a lot on the Internet about the symbolism, about the spiritual hidden messages. No matter how well-intentioned, I pushed it aside. I let what was on the card come in my own way, and this story came out.


soullage

I describe my first impression here, which struck me first and then I went completely on. In my fantasy? Smile. In my imagination? Smile. In myself. In my world. Yeah, that's where fantasy belongs irrevocably. Because without it, I couldn't survive. Of course, I merge fantasy with my inner self, fabulous soul.

That calmly seated young lady at the bottom left, with a book on her lap, doesn't feel anything about it, what's she doing on my soul card, with that sweet smile on her face, corners of mouth cramping up and then that horrible dress? Well, I ignore her, there will always be people who think that they will impress by sitting carelessly on a pole.

The men in orange-brown robes, balancing over the rough bark of a tree trunk, their gaze at infinity, their minds at zero. (Well, Dana, that's not nice either!) They don't tell me anything. They're underlying passers-by. Leaf filling. Well, as long as they don't cause leaf contamination, I accept their presence. Although the front one does get awfully close to the bath. - Delicious. The bath. Away missy in the tub, get out, I want to immerse myself in it. - Sack down. Gone. - Water. Foam. Bubbles. Blub. Oh, no, that can't be. That orange brown dress man is getting too close.

The kid on the elephant's back. “Hai Grandma, do you see me? I love you, Grandma, look at me waving exuberant. Now you see me half in my bare. What a nice brown color I have, huh, Grandma? I climbed an elephant especially for you, Grandma. Kisses, a thousand kisses in the air, Grandma!” Day unattainable little boy.

The elephant is probably me. The cumbersome centerpiece. The power. The listening ear. The indispensable trunk to blow away the crap. The left ear of my-elephant-self screams. I see one of pain in it. Pain is recognizable to me. I still have the consequences of the past on a daily basis. Physical pain in my right arm, hand and leg. Mental suffering in my whole being. It's mine. Has become a part of my existence. It's with me. Sometimes I can no longer tolerate the tormenting pains. Then I'd like to hide in the tub, sink deep under the bubbles, breathe water... drown for a moment. But the stranger in the orange-brown robe keeps me from taking a bath. Fortunately, I can deal with the inconveniences most of the time. Humor and self-mockery are the best painkillers, it's the only medication I absolutely can not do without.

The right foot with that splendid shoe, with a high block heel, that was also unmistakably. Yes. Been. In a distant past, when I could still walk like no other, even on towering needle stilettos. I was a real shoe fanatic. And yet. Still.

And then. I can't get around it. The shells framed mirror. When I look in there, I don't recognize myself. I have no dark eyes, no dark hair, no clothes like that woman. It's not me either. She's got her back to a story in the background. On the right side, obliquely behind that woman, I see two figures floating. They extend their arms to a shadow very far away, very vaguely can be seen the shadow, the center of a blurry whirlpool. Is it the grown-up kids from a previous marriage or is it... my stomach is shrinking. No. I don't want to name it. It's not like that. It's not twins that weren't born. The woman looks at me smiling. She whispers to me with clamped lips. “Just focus on what's at the bottom right of the elephant's left ear, trust your heart, it's big enough.”