I had to tell you about the place I’m visiting, because this is the kind of story I love.
I’m in a gorgeous area in the world called The Cotswolds, rolling hills of England with dark green forests, beautiful open fields dotted with sheep, yellow-colored stone cottages 300-500 years old, stone walls rolling up and down every field and lane, footpaths everywhere for people.
You can literally walk to anywhere you wish, through back yards and fields and acres and parks and villages as if cars didn’t exist. It feels like humans have walked these paths for centuries.
I could almost hear them in the wind.
I love how Byron Katie says to keep the good stories, they aren’t disturbing you.
The thing about it is, I know it’s a story.
In my mind I have visions of Lord of The Rings, Robin Hood, Jane Austen, gentry on horses, running through the woods with a bow and arrow.
Being in magical surroundings like this makes ME feel magical.
And I suppose that’s the same thing that happens when I’ve questioned unhappy stories using The Work.
There’s a lightness of being that’s open and curious.
You can do this too, right now, no matter what’s going on in your environment.
It doesn’t have to look like England to be romantic, or abundant, or exciting.
I’m looking around, so delighted and fascinated, wondering about peoples’ accents, clothing, what they put in their windows, remembering my childhood years in London (double cream for tea, yum).