The Wizard of Oz

Ok, so positive thoughts. Positive thoughts. Positive thoughts. I shall click the letter P for positivity three times on my keyboard, in a state of (I should admit it) wishful thinking.

“Bring forth optimistic creativity,” I command the computer screen; and tap the letter P.

P (click). P (click). P (click).

“Well hello there Dorothy,” a voice commands in my head.

“Hello?” I wonder out-loud. “That’s weird.”

“You are speaking to the Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz!” the voice commands authority in my mind once again. “Your conscience.”

Humph, and I roll my eyes. If I remember correctly the Wizard of Oz is all pomp and circumstance, as is my conscience. My conscience likes to pester me from time to time, caging my anxiety in my chest, as I stutter like a bird. My conscience likes to believe it is mightier than it is and is persistent in pestering me with worries.

“Well conscience, I want to go back home,” I shout out; my eyes rolling backwards towards my mind. I envision I can see my eyebrows and smirk to myself at the ridiculousness of the situation. Cynicism on hand, at all times, when speaking to my conscience.

“Home?” the Wizard is mystifyingly stumped.

“Yes,” I bang on the letter P and hold.

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPositivity.

“I want bravery, without the fear of anxiety,” I persist. “I want a heart not made of tin, which is so easily crushed, and I want a strong mind without regrets. I want a place where I can rest my head at night in happiness. I want to go back in time, back home, and fix everything.”

“Join the queue,” Oz mocks me; ever so slightly.

I look to my left and I look to my right – there is only me and mind conversing.

“There is no queue. Just me asking for a bit of relief.”

“But my dear, you already have all these things!” the Wizard of Oz laughs; in disbelief.

“How so?” I ask.

“Look at the yellow brick road that you have travelled along – conquering wicked thoughts, making friends and, even you have to admit, your recovery has been nothing short of miraculous. Just look at the past, are you sure you want to live there?”

“I need proof,” I mutter. “You will pester me again and without proof – I cannot justify my reasoning.”

“You are surrounded by good friends, who call you confident. Some say you have a heart made of gold, even if does get broken now and again, and your mind does not simply beat out wishes. You worked bloody hard to pass college – you hold no regrets there. That shows a strong mind to me.”

“I am home,” I mumble; in a state of utter realisation. “But where is this?”

“The present.”

There is no time like the present folks, so remember to live in it.