Journey to Peaceable Soul

Megan Macaulay

Description

The path to enlightenment may not always be easy, but it is always thought provoking.
Miranda is lost. Her dreams led her to self-discovery and ultimately life-changing realities.
Strange people, stranger rules, and a mysterious guide come forward as Miranda enters a dream world with boundless possibilities. She catches a glimpse of herself as a vastly different person; a better version of herself. However, a glimpse is not enough, or is it?

Sujets

• Self-Help
• Motivational
• Inspirational
• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Self-help (disambiguation)
• Enlightenment
• Fiction
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Balboa Press
• Date de parution: 11 octobre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9798765234662
• Langue: English

Extrait

Journey to Peaceable Soul








Megan Macaulay














Copyright © 2022 Megan Macaulay.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.



Balboa Press
A Division of Hay House
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Bloomington, IN 47403
www.balboapress.com
844-682-1282

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well- being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.



ISBN: 979-8-7652-3465-5 (sc)
ISBN: 979-8-7652-3467-9 (hc)
ISBN: 979-8-7652-3466-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022917160

Balboa Press rev. date: 10/06/2022



DEDICATION
For all the wonderful souls whom I have met and will meet on my journey, I thank you.
You have allowed me to glimpse into your uniqueness as I work toward creating the best version of me.
Megan



CONTENTS
Chapter 1 Names
Chapter 2 Fred
Chapter 3 Cards
Chapter 4 The Lesson
Chapter 5 Take Flight
Chapter 6 Sofa
Chapter 7 Rose
Chapter 8 Vera
Chapter 9 Fallen
Chapter 10 No
Chapter 11 Free Will
Chapter 12 Suffering
Chapter 13 The Move
Chapter 14 Sofa Ii
Chapter 15 Balloons
Chapter 16 Water
Chapter 17 Devil
Chapter 18 Judgment
Chapter 19 Rehabilitation
Chapter 20 And So It Continues…



CHAPTER 1
Names
S omething just happened.
And she had no idea what it was.
But she found herself on a train, window seat.
A train she did not remember boarding.
In the distance, she heard the steady voice of the Conductor. “Tickets, please. Tickets, please.”
She attempted to grapple with the new reality about her. The Conductor’s apparel was old-fashioned, something she remembered seeing from documentaries depicting the 1920s or even an earlier time. Her seating area was of the same vintage. Plush, voluptuous, velvety upholstery with tassels and button backs against a trove of tiffany glass and deep, wooden, carved paneling. Not her style at all. Yet the seating area was very clean and comfortable. Her bench seat was forward-facing, on the right-hand side of the train. A bench seat was positioned immediately in front of her with a rearward-facing view. It was unoccupied. She noticed a dozen or so of these rearward/forward bench seat combinations, and most were empty.
The Conductor, sauntering the center aisle, approached her. “Welcome aboard, Miss.”
She thought, Miss? Who calls people Miss these days? Instead of that question, she voiced a different query. “Where am I?”
“On a train.”
That was not helpful. “Yes, I can see that.”
“Then why did you ask?”
Ignoring that question, she continued, “How did I get here?”
“You requested to be here.”
“I did?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t remember how I got here.”
“No one does.”
“Was I abducted?”
The Conductor rolled his eyes as if to say, I did not hear that.
“Am I in a coma?”
“No.”
“Am I dead?”
“No.”
“Where are we going?”
“Peaceable Soul.”
“What’s Peaceable Soul?”
“The destination.”
Then the Conductor turned to a man seated in her same row, facing forward, but on the left side of the train, aisle seat.
“Norman. It is good to see you again.”
She studied Norman. He looked as though he might be in his sixties. He had silver hair and a sweet smile. She noticed Norman and the Conductor exchanged a few pleasantries before the Conductor vanished.
She betrayed a stunned expression on her face, when Norman leaned over to her and in a calm, reassuring tone said, “You’ll get used to it. People pop in and out at all times here.”
She decided to be very still as she was processing all this new information.
Norman continued, “What is your name?”
She sat in silence for a moment. “Miranda.” Then she corrected herself. “No, it’s Amanda.”
Norman extended his hand and said, “Well, AmandaMiranda, it’s good to meet you. I’m Norman.”
“Why can’t I remember my own name?”
“It’s all part of the adjustment.”
“Well, I don’t think I want to be called AmandaMiranda.”
“You can pick any name you want.”
She decided she didn’t want to talk to Norman, nodded her head as a form of acknowledgment, and then closed her eyes. Why can’t I remember my name?
After a few moments with her eyes closed, she felt as though she was at the ocean. The air was embracingly warm; a faint breeze felt like a kiss from nature, the sound of the seagulls, the sight of the diminishing tide, all transformed the current confusion in her mind into a reality that seemed more believable. With her eyes still closed and immediately before her, a young woman appeared. She was a strawberry blonde with long straight hair and trim physique. With no introduction whatsoever, she simply said, “My name is Stella. I used to collect stars for a living.”
AmandaMiranda gave Stella a quizzical look and was about to inquire further when Stella’s own appearance changed from that of an adult to that of a child of about four years of age. Young Stella had a plastic bucket with her and inside, layers of starfish were delicately placed. Her mother would turn these starfish into ornaments or trinkets of some kind to entice the transient tourists to part with their cash at their little beachside stall. Stella worked her mother’s booth on the weekends and most weekdays and was always told what a cute little girl she was. She would smile and show the tourists her current favorite, which always meant that she was forced to part with this favorite, until the discovery of a new favorite.
And Stella was always discovering favorites.
AmandaMiranda breathed the air of Stella’s innocence and tried to think back to her life, but could barely remember any details. She felt as though her life were blank, as she could not recall her history.
With her eyes closed, she saw a parade of people before her. Each introduced themselves before vanishing. Some were male, others female. Their ages were as wide-ranging as their names. Their nationalities were steeped in equal variety.
“My name is Americus because I have nowhere else to go.”
AmandaMiranda wanted to talk to Americus further, but he had already vanished.
An exotic beauty, with poise and confidence, stunned AmandaMiranda. This woman had presence . “My name is Karma, and I find people expect too much of me.”
Then she disappeared.
AmandaMiranda mentally called out, Karma, come back .
Instead of the return of Karma, a strange little man with a round face and smiling eyes approached her. “My name is Albert. I like to invent stuff.”
AmandaMiranda was not the least bit interested.
“You’ll see me again.”
AmandaMiranda shrugged with indifference. She simply did not care. He lacked the elegance of the previous speakers, and for that reason alone, AmandaMiranda found him irritating.
Yet Albert didn’t disappear; he hovered in the background like an annoying mosquito.
She saw other scenes; some were motionless tableaux, with characters resembling department store mannequins positioned in a detailed space. Some of these scenes contained action like a young boy rolling on the grass with his favorite dog, while other scenes were a little more static; they were conversations between two or more people. It was one of these scenes that caught AmandaMiranda’s attention. She saw a teenage boy with an adult; this adult was possibly a parent or a teacher. The lad was struggling to communicate his thoughts. AmandaMiranda heard him say, “The word I want is not in the dictionary.”
She heard the adult say, “What word do you want?”
“I don’t know. It’s not in the dictionary.”
“What does your word mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“How does your word feel ?”
“It feels like calm. It feels like empowerment. It feels like an accomplishment. It feels like a ride on my bike on an autumn day. It feels like…”
She was jolted awake. Her surroundings were as she last remembered them. She was back on the train, facing forward in her plush window seat.
“Miranda. My name is Miranda,” she said with absolute conviction.
The moment she uttered her name, she noticed not the sight of distant plush hills and dells, or the small stone tunnels up ahead, with lakes and river tributaries in the far distance, but a sight far more immediate. There was a bird, whose species she did not know, who seemed to fly with the train and was a few inches from her carriage window. This bird stayed with the train and was the most unusual bird sh