The day came when I had to get my life out of storage and start reducing the possessions.
Each object had a dozen memories, and then there were the letters and photographs and diaries never to be forgotten, impossible to throw. The books were easier. The childhood toys better not to be gone through. I didn’t realise I had such a big life.
Then came the sadness, the mourning for what could have been. It was a grim business. It had to be gone through again because there was only space for half the stuff. Hours later I chucked away the file from my drama school days, and all those mementoes I didn’t even remember. It’s like a death, I decided.
Covered in dust and dirt I reduced the last box and it was done; then I saw a sheet of paper had come loose. I was on the point of throwing it away, then saw it was a psychic reading from the sixties. Mir Bashir was a popular palm reader in those days and everyone went to him for advice and forecasts of the future. He would roll ink over your palms then press them onto fine paper and then read the lines. I was going to have a very public marriage, a writing career, three children. In the nineties I would start a mystical life in Spain and live in the mountains. I would die in the year . . . guess!
All I know is we can strengthen and change what is coming to us by our actions’ thought evolvement.
And I didn’t have three children.