Hypnotic metaphor leave memories behind
Hypnosis Metaphors
Store
     of Memories
Store
     of Memories

Memories of Childhood metaphor

<< Metaphor Therapy

Leaving something behind

Some metaphors are designed to be wandering and formless, with no overt message. The idea is that the client's subconscious will examine different aspects of the metaphor and try to make sense of unrelated elements. By doing so the client will find some aspect that will match their specific subconscious concerns, which even they might not be aware of. These metaphors work particularly well if delivered as a story in hypnosis. Introspection metaphors give the therapist a tool to use when the client has only the vaguest idea of what is troubling them.

This metaphor deals with childhood memories and leaving things behind, but is non-directive and allows the client to identify with their own memories through the senses of sight, sound and touch. The second paragraph can be expanded to become a metaphor induction.

 

Store of Memories

 

A few years ago, a friend of mine, about your age, received an unexpected letter in the post. It had been redirected from several old addresses and had unusual stamps on it. I wonder if you collected stamps as a child, or maybe you knew someone who collected stamps?..... The stamps on the envelope were the old fashioned kind, engraved, if you look closely you see the image is cleverly made up of lines and dots. You can run your finger over the image and feel the raised ink. Maybe you remember stamps like that?

 

The letter was from the office of a country lawyer. A distant relative had passed on and there was something in the will. The letter didn't say what it was, but did say where to find it.... So my friend got.... ready to go on a journey. Imagine how it was.... on a train or a bus... It's hard to remember details sometimes... The journey was slow.... but the seat was comfortable.... very comfortable.... and my friend's thoughts started to drift away... the hum of the engine.... the rattle of the wheels.... the slow and gentle click-clack, click-clack.... matching the breathing.... the way each breath makes you more relaxed.... more at ease.... you can imagine what it was like.... the gentle swaying in the seat.... the warm afternoon air.... soft light through the windows... scenery drifting by silently .... breathing gently.... just letting the seat carry you along.... its easy to just drift away.... just let go and relax totally.... enjoying that feeling of comfort and ease.... settle down in the seat... now...

 

and maybe it was a dream and maybe it was real.... sometimes its hard to know... they came to a stop, near a river, I think.... the doors opened..... Getting out.... looking around.... the whole place deserted.... it was late afternoon... the heat was heavy.... over by the side was the place mentioned in the will.... it looked like an old country store.... a faded wooden building... almost falling down.... settled down quietly in the afternoon air as it had for years.... lying motionless by the cool side of the river... as if it was waiting..... slumbering on through those long days.... peaceful and relaxed....

and inside... afternoon sun sloping in through dirty windows... golden specks dancing in sunbeams.... and around the walls.... cabinets... shelves and drawers.... an old counter.... an empty cash register...

 

In one cabinet you pull out a drawer.... it is full of glass.... lenses.... spectacles... magnifying glasses.... mirrors.... crystals... and as the sun catches the open drawer the whole room glows with reflected light.... rainbows sparkle off the walls.... yellow reflections on the ceiling.... strange shapes and shadows appear....

 

in another drawer there is a jumble of keys.... delicate brass keys... huge iron door keys.... a silver key on a chain.... hundreds and hundreds of keys... all mixed up.... and in a corner, hanging.... is a brass bird cage... that catches the light.... and spins slowly.... empty.... looking closely.... it has a little door..... open .... and look closely again.... the door has no catch.... just hinges.... all the bird had to do was push on it.... to be free....

 

and the light catches a figure in the gloom..... no... it's a dressmaker's model.... that can be adjusted to any size.... who knows how many people were fitted on this?.... people long gone.... boys and girls who moved on.... who left that mould behind.... and behind the counter is a wooden bin.... full of clothes.... costumes... uniforms... feather boas... hats and shoes.... fashions and styles from all periods.... waiting for the right person to come by..... you can rummage through them.... try them on.... become who you want to be..... and there's a dusty mirror.... you can see how you look... trying on various things.... until you find something....

 

In a dark corner are heavy iron weights with numbers on them.... measures that aren't used any more.... a lot of things don't apply any more.... and there's a clock.... its hands still point to the time, but they are not right.... some things are not what they seem to be.... it's time to reassess a lot of things....

 

And there's a display case... glass doors without the glass.... there are fossils and sea shells .... children love to hold a shell up to their ear to hear the sea.... I wonder if you ever did that? and you can wonder what you might hear if you listened to one of these shells now... In the gloom of that old store the fossils are hard to make out.... vague outlines locked in stone but somehow if you look at them just right....

 

And a bag of foreign coins from all round the world... heads of kings and queens long gone... heavy and light... funny how little things can remind you of whole empires... rulers that have have vanished... countries that are gone... things that once seemed so permanent.... can change almost without you noticing...

 

And on a shelf there are photographs in boxes, .... and lying around loose.... pictures of people long gone.... they had their lives, their loves, their problems too.... faces smiling out of the gloom... old cars and houses.... birthdays long ago.... a decorated tree here, a painted egg there... fences and paths.... walls and gates... candles and cakes... meals made without love eaten in silence.... those old pictures are fading away now...

 

on the walls.... framed portraits.... pictures of teams, school groups, adverts and maps... brown and indistinct... Who knows what they were trying to do? Does it matter after all these years? So my friend turned some of those round to face to wall... and felt better for doing it.... some things can be turned around easily, now.

 

and stacked below the pictures... a bundle of letters... never opened.... still in their envelopes.... that never got delivered... and on a shelf near the floor.... a pile of old diaries.... dozens of them.... some with just a few lines ... some with pages and pages of writing..... my friend spent a long time reading and thinking about what was written in the diaries .... and opened the letters.... and tore pages out of some of the diaries... and threw them away... you can do that.... when it's your shop.

 

And there is a bin full of old seed catalogues.... gardening tools.... trowels and forks and diggers... and hundreds of packets of seeds... dahlias and roses, buttercups and violets.... tamarinds and mangoes .... climbers and creepers....

 

So my friend found an old sack.... and filled it with some things... that would be useful... I wonder what you would take?.... and what you would leave behind.....

 

My friend woke up later on that same seat..... unsure of exactly what had happened.... but knowing something had.....

 

My friend kept the stamps... and still looks at them now and again.....

 

You see, what makes a good collection is not how many, but what you choose to discard...

 

.... like memories, really.