A Memoir-Manifesto

Title: “Gate C15: The Day I Returned to Myself”

A poetic memoir—part spiritual awakening, part inner-child therapy, part neuro-somatic healing journey.

The chapters follow “rounds” (Round 1: Fear, Round 2: The Body, Round 3: The Mind) and build toward full mind-body-soul integration.

I hope this story inspires you not just to reflect—but to do your own inner session(s).

LIFE CHANGING – Gate C15 | 23.07.23 | Seat 21C

Part 1 

I woke up earlier than intended. I'd gone straight to sleep after getting back to my hotel room from the Boston Yankees game. It was, without a doubt, an epic night.

I got up, packed my bag, showered, dropped off my coworker's swag at the front desk, and checked out of the hotel. Then I called an Uber and headed to Boston Logan Airport.

At Gate C15, I opened my book to continue reading C.G. Jung: Active Imagination. The passages blew me away. I credit my freedom—at least in part—to his work. Thank you, Jung, for having the courage to write what you did at a time when it could’ve been easily misunderstood. Thank you for leaving behind a roadmap to healing.

After hours of reading, I began to understand how to open my imagination and speak with it—how to claim dominion over my mind. I've taught myself this practice, and today I was ready to try another experiment, following Jung’s guidance on how to enter the inner world.

Sitting at the gate, I made the decision: I would do a session right there. I would step into the theater of my own mind.

Once my boarding section was called, I stood, got in line, and made my way to seat 21C. As soon as I sat down, I began the journey inward.

I closed my eyes and performed José Silva’s 3-1 method. As I exhaled, I visualized and mentally repeated the number 3, then 2, then 1. When I reached 1, I arrived in my mind.

My mind was completely empty—darkness filling everything. Thoughts appeared as images, like carbon prints etched into the void.

In the center of that dark expanse stood a wood, picnic-style bench. I sat on the left side. I then summoned my fear.

It appeared. Sitting across from me on the right, facing me. It was enormous—like a massive blob of greenish goop, cartoonish in shape, like something from Scooby-Doo. This thick, gelatinous presence sat still. If it had hands, they rested on the table.

I summoned it—the fear that kept me up at night, the one that haunted my thoughts, the one I had grown attached to. It was my wound, my obsession, my secret addiction. The pain that excited me. The thing I didn't want to live without.

And there it was.

I said:
“You’ve hurt me so much. You caused me so many sleepless nights. You haunted my room, my thoughts. You made me feel crazy. You hurt me in impossible ways. You’re stuck to me. You won’t let go. I know this because I won’t let go. I don’t want to let go of you. You’ve kept me safe. You’ve given me purpose. You are part of me. You distinguish me from others. You’ve protected me.”

Then I said:
“But now, I must ask you to go. I have to ask you to unbind from me.”

It knew. It was time. But I had to be the one to make the first move. I blamed it for all of my failures, for all of my breakdowns. But then—I thanked it.

I knew I couldn’t do this alone.

I called on God. I called on Mary, my angels, my elders. I asked them for the strength to release what no longer served me.

Suddenly, I saw them—my spiritual guides. An infinite line of them, standing strong behind me. Their presence steadied me. I could be still now. I could allow this moment to exist. To fully take place.

Then the blob transformed into a crystal on a chain and wrapped itself around my neck.

“No,” I said. “You have to go.”

I realized then—words matter. “Go” wasn’t strong enough. I needed something more definitive. I needed to eradicate it. To remove it so completely it would be as if it had never existed.

But I hesitated.

Because even as I wanted it gone, I still wanted to keep it. To preserve it somehow. It was still a part of me.

So I created a treasure box.

The box would act as a keeper—a place to hold it—and then it would be banished into a deep, dark hole.

But even then, I knew: It still existed. And though I told myself I wanted to eradicate it, I couldn’t. Because to eradicate it meant to erase a part of myself.

So instead, I prayed it away. I asked that it be taken to God's place.

We formed a circle around the blubber. We chanted. We prayed. We unbound it from my mind, body, and soul.

Then I became fire—pure, blazing anger. I shouted at the mass, finally speaking all the things I had kept inside. The tears streamed down my face.

There I was—on a plane, quietly crying, quietly exorcising the most painful part of my existence.

Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

The young woman beside me needed to use the restroom. I was ashamed. I didn’t know what to do. Snot was running from my nose. My eyes were red. Thankfully, I had covered my face with my sweater at some point, so that gave me a little dignity.

But I wasn’t done. Not yet.

As soon as she returned, I was ready for Round Two.

I closed my eyes—and there I was again.

The blob sat, waiting. Patient. It knew.

My fury had settled. Mary stood at my shoulder, encouraging me to release what was left. She gave me permission to pour out everything I had not yet said.

Then I heard a warm, flowing voice ask:
"Who taught you to wait for the ripe moment? The sweet spot? The time to shoot your shot?"

I rifled through my memories. Kindergarten. First grade. Second. Third. Fourth. Fifth.

I remembered being a patrol girl at Oliver Street School. Teachers appeared before me like spirits. I remembered swimming with my father. I remembered weapons training in the military. I remembered the practice of waiting, of knowing when.

But who taught me about timing? About the moment when the fruit is juiciest, when it’s just right?

I kept digging.

I saw myself again as that patrol girl, climbing stairs with purpose, feeling like a leader. I remembered Gloria—an angel who once came to me. She never spoke aloud—only through thought.

And again, the voice:
"Who taught you the sweet spot?"

And then I remembered.

At some point in my life, I had relinquished my power. My authority. I gave it to God. I said I would do His work.

But now… Now, the lesson was different.
Now it was time to take my authority back.
Authority over my mind. Over my body. Over my soul.

I cried—hard. The tears streamed. And I stood with that moment. Etched it into my thoughts.

This was mine.
My story.
My plot.
My doing.

I held the space. I exhaled and stayed there.

When the time was right, I chanted softly:
“I am healed by orbs of love.”
I repeated it until I felt peace.

When the peace came, I returned to the blob. In the circle, we prayed together—offering this experience up to light and love.

And then, the blob became mist.
And it vanished.

And I—was at peace.

LIFE CHANGING – Gate C15 | 23.07.23 | Seat 21C

Part 2

Then to the table, I summoned my body.

When my body appeared, I was overcome with shame and disappointment. I saw myself overweight, and I knew my cells, my organs—my sacred temple—were in disarray.

I felt devastated for allowing myself to get here.
So, I asked for forgiveness.

And in the stillness of that prayer, God spoke with me.

I asked:
“Why did I do this? Why did I choose this path?”

And from my higher self, the answer came gently but clearly:

“You chose this.”

Still confused, I pressed:
“But why do I keep choosing hard lessons?”

And the voice replied,
“Because you have the capacity to understand at a higher rate.
You push the lever. You shift into higher gears.
But remember—this is only a performance.
You have the authority to play life at whatever level you choose.”

I sighed.
“I’d like to play easy. I’m tired.”

And it was said,
“So be it.”
And just like that… all was made easy.

At that moment, the flight attendant’s voice broke into my reality.
And there he was—Jamal—standing right in front of me.
He had skipped my row earlier, but in my mind I called to him:
“Jamal.”

He turned and looked at me.
My face, still tear-streaked, puffy, probably messy—I didn’t care.

I needed water.
“Water, no ice.”

He handed it to me, and I drank slowly,
not quite believing all that had just taken place.

Should I go back?

What else do I need to let go?

Round 3

I closed my eyes again.

My body forgave me—with so much love.
It knew it too had signed up for this journey.
It too was ready for the reboot.
It was prepared.

Then, I summoned my left brain.

I inspected its inner wires—electric, metallic, glowing.
I saw one small section in the lower portion that needed soothing.
I mended it, gently. There were four clips—I checked each one.

I told it:
“We need to connect.
Mind, body, soul.
We need to take authority over our life.
No more sleeping late.
No more half-living.
We give 110%. From now on.”

Then, my right brain appeared.
It was radiant. Healthy.
The inner structure perfect. The clips aligned.

I brought both hemispheres together—eight clips total.
Left to right. Click. Click. Click.
And then—

Electricity.

A surge ran down my spine like light flooding a dark hallway.
I sat still, breathing in the divine charge.

We prayed over every system:
The spleen. The lungs. The lymphatic system. The respiratory.
The heart. The kidneys. The thyroid. The skin. The reproductive organs.

My whole body was finally in sync.

It. Was. Done.

“I am healed by orbs of love.”
I repeated it over and over until the vibration settled into my bones.

Then I opened my eyes.
And I knew:
I have dominion over this body. My body.
I am home.
I am the ruler of this temple.
I have balanced my mind, my body, and my soul.

I walked to the airplane bathroom, peed, and as I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I smiled.
Not because I was perfect.
But because I was present.

Then I returned to my seat and did what I had to do.
I began to write this story.
Because everyone needs to share their experiences in order to help others.

Amen.

The flight attendant walked past again. I nodded.
And I was me again. Whole. Clean.
Tear-dried and awake.

Final Reflections:

A question echoed:
Who taught me how to wait for the ripe fruit?
The perfect moment?

Ask. And the answer arrives like a whisper wrapped in memory...

Body Lesson – Obedience

And now I see my lesson:
The body will disobey when you’ve given up dominion and self-respect.
When you are careless and disobedient to yourself.

And yes, this was a hard lesson to learn.

But I learned it.
And I returned to my throne.

“I am healed by orbs of love.”

From all the ‘I love you’s ever spoken, 

-Angie