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I have just returned from four nights in Marrakech.  So beautiful, so nourishing.  The orange buildings, the limited advertising, the sense of history.  Seeing so many people in traditional dress.  The ancient music.  The palaces.  The alleyways, the shops and food stalls; pancakes and pomegranate juice, cane sugar and ginger.  Tailors’ shops with people at sewing machines, shops which were tiny dusty rooms with trays of eggs, sacks of spices.  People selling wares from little carts, or on the ground, or just walking.  Women selling homemade biscuits, children selling little packets of tissues, boys and men selling coffee from a huge kettle.


Above it all the Koutoubia Mosque, its gardens orderly and peaceful, tended with sprinklers, all lush green grass, neat hedges and healthy fruit trees.  Standing in the square, hearing, feeling, the call to prayer from all directions.  I enjoyed dressing modestly, and it was also so nice to be in a country where alcohol isn’t the social norm.  It felt so safe, even in the alleyways after dark.  Welcome and safe, a new honeymoon.


Outside a cafe on our last evening, me staring at an orange wall and thinking about how and when are we going to come back.                 What are you thinking about, my husband asked.                       Marrakech, I answered.
Well that’s a coincidence, he said, here we are, in Marrakech.                     It was one of those comments that tripped a switch and for a few minutes I felt we were both ‘there,’ in that place that I used to call being in the present moment.  That night I called it us both being at our highest frequency at the same time.  In those few moments I could believe that we had arrived in Marrakech simply by thinking about it, by thinking our way there.                                                                           How would that work, my husband asked, where would we really be? Where are we really anyway, I said.
So in those moments we are both at our highest frequency and maybe there are things we can do when we’re both there.  Maybe those things are so good they’d be worth giving up sex for, like being able to think yourself to different locations around the world.  I know, every trip begins with a thought, maybe this way cuts out all the bits between thought and being there.  Or maybe just by being really there (in the present moment) all the previous stuff falls away and is irrelevant, so that it feels as though we’ve both always been there and yet are also simultaneously sitting on the couch at home.  That’s as far as I was able to take it that night, although there is another level or slant on the situation, that we are really sitting somewhere else, outside of this matrix, and that’s where we actually are.
In bed that night just before sex, I thought what if that’s what we end up doing instead of sex: lying in bed travelling, creating our own reality. It’s another chicken and egg situation though, the only way to get to that high a frequency would be to give up sex; to give up sex we both need to believe in why we’re doing it, what the point is, etc.
We agreed to remind each other when we both feel ‘there’, in order to help us stay there, as when we go off onto the mundane, when one suddenly can’t hold the thought or denies all knowledge of what we were discussing, that is then that person, or both, dropping to a lower frequency, and it can appear as if the lights are on but no one’s home, or at least, that they are holding out on you.  So make it our mission to prioritise above all the raising of our individual frequencies and supporting each other to raise the other’s frequency, by keeping moving, staying neutral, staying in our now day, not getting emotional, questioning everything, reminding ourselves and each other…

Photographs:  First two are of El Badi Palace  The third one is our hotel.