that old french life

It’s Bastille Day and a day I allow myself to happily enjoy all things French. From croissants in the morning to wine and cheese and a French Film later, the simple pleasures in the French way of life have always made me happy. There was no physical link to anything French in my childhood, no one in my family had even travelled to France, yet French things have always given me an inner comfort and when I was young I always thought I was meant to live there. So at 23, I made my first trip to Paris. It was Spring 1992 and being my first time outside Australia I was keen to see all the well known attractions set out on my extensive list of notable buildings, museums and monuments. I adored the atmosphere of the city but I remember feeling slightly disappointed when it was time to leave that I hadn’t met anyone special to lead me into my new French life. So I returned to Paris again the following year and this time found a leisurely pace, keeping a handwritten journal of each day’s activities. It was a pleasure to take in the beauty of the city, exploring the boulevards and gardens on foot or watching the world go by from my seat at a street cafe. I felt a warmness in my heart while in Paris but I never found what I was looking for. So after I returned to Australia I didn’t give the connection much more thought. I hadn’t made any major discoveries so I accepted I was just one of those people who loved France. Lots of people did. But synchronicity works in mysterious ways and 16 years later, after several French people passed though my life, it got me thinking again. That’s when I wrote out a page of questions in my journal and some months later on 10.10.10, I had a sudden rush of past life insights while simultaneously reading a memoir of historical women in Paris and Ruth White’s Working With Your Soul. I could suddenly see the meaning behind why certain situations had come into my life and the clues they were giving me as answers to my questions. It was like a joining of the dots, so obvious it made me laugh. I was so proud I had finally worked out this longing that had been with me all my life, thinking my Guides must be singing, “hallelujah…she’s finally got it!” I realize now I was walking down the wrong road when I was in Paris. It was never about living there now, the love of the city had carried over from a recent past life. Misinterpreting the direction of the link had kept me off the trail. Now of course, I dream of returning to the city to walk the path guided by intuition. I want to experience the city from the inside, to know more of this woman, to visit her house and be in her garden. Most of all, I want to stand in front of her portrait and experience what it feels like to finally reconnect with that old French life.


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