The woman on the train with schizophrenia

I met a woman on the train, an artist returning from her exhibition in Paris.

She told me she had schizophrenia.

I had spent much of my trip in a crisis of my own, wondering whether I had asked too much of myself, to travel so far, to write, to call myself an artist all while struggling to feel steady.

Then she sat beside me, coming home from something I was still trying to believe I could do.

She told me about her work, what she had made, how she paints between two worlds—reality and her visions. She uses animals to explore this instinct.

Somewhere in our conversation, I began to imagine what I might make, too.

I believe God let us meet on that train.

I was still struggling when we said goodbye, but I wanted to keep going.

She invited me to hold her hand and told me that the human touch had magnetism, that her energy would flow into mine and calm my through energy.

So there I was, on a train in France, placing my hand in hers, accepting what felt like a divine gift.

And something settled inside.

I felt my hand resting in hers, warm, my body falling back into itself.

For a minute, I was present.

She sought to help me, and her words still haunt me:

“To lose your mind, you find your soul.”