spirit – Page 3 – One Woman's Quest

Lifelines

The forest is thick with the smell of new leaves, tinged with the lingering winter musk. The trees here stretch endlessly upwards, their trunks a testimony to the timelessness of the place. Rays of warm sunlight reach downwards, creating pockets of warm glow. The soft moss and dry earth beneath my feet cushion my steps. Birdsong fills the air, adding to the aura of enchantment. I come here to meditate. This is my oasis: a calm, nurturing retreat where I can find renewal. I breathe deeply and allow all my senses to revel in the beauty. A crackling of twigs alerts me to the presence of another. A horse and rider come into my line of vision and stop. The young man’s eyes meet mine, and there is a rush of recognition. He is young, maybe mid twenties, with thick dark hair, and dark eyes. I feel that I have known him many lifetimes, and that ours has been a relationship of deep and abiding love. “I am coming back to you,” is all he says, and I feel my heart leap with joy.

The unexpected vision and accompanying emotional surge forces me back to consciousness. The meditation had been so deep and relaxing that it find it hard to shake off the drowsiness. It was so real. I open my eyes to find my friend, Sam looking at me. “It’s a boy!” I blurt out. “You’re going to have a boy!”

I was right about the boy, but the message was not for my friend who was so desperately hoping for a child. It was for me, who although I thought I was finished my childbearing, was about to discover myself pregnant again. My dark haired, brown-eyed boy was born the next fall.

Mothers know that there is an unseen cord of consciousness that runs between them and their children. It is first experienced when they wake up seconds before their sleeping baby. Or maybe earlier, in the dream time.

Navigating Intuitively

In 1997, the annual Therapeutic Touch conference was held in Vancouver, and to my great delight, my then husband encouraged me to attend. The conference was to be held over a weekend, but as I had a friend living on Vancouver Island, I decided to extend my stay. Two others wanted to join, and while I said they were welcome, I wanted it to be on my terms – outside of the conference, I wanted no set agendas, or schedules. I wanted to be fully open to the experience, and whatever presented itself; to let my intuition alone be the guide.

One of my teachers and mentors was also living in Vancouver at the time, and as it turned out would be on the island during our stay. Em agreed to meet up with us. We needed a place to stay. J, who lived on the island, scouted out a cottage we could rent for cheap. It was November, so very off season. She found a three bedroom that looked like it would accommodate us. We were excited.

We flew into Vancouver and rented a car. By late evening, we were in Victoria. We decided to stop for the night. S and I were up early the next morning, ready to explore.

“What does it mean to follow your intuition?” she asked as we set out on the deserted streets in search of an open coffee shop.

“Some teachings believe that Spirit speaks to us through omens and signs, but most of us miss this guidance in our day to day living, as we are too focused on schedules and obligations. I just want to see what happens when we open to guidance.” A large black bird squawked from its perch across the street. We both looked. “Like that bird, for example. What would happen if we followed it?” On cue, the bird flew a short distance, then stopped. We followed.

S and I were going into business together. She already had an established business, and I had a vision. I wanted to create an environment in which people could find help in times of need, but I didn’t want it to be clinical, or formal. We were thinking a book store, with added services. We shared ideas as we continued to follow the bird, who seemed to be enjoying the game. He would fly only within sight, and wait for us before journeying further. Eventually he stopped just outside a store front. The store was called “The Pomegranate”.

“I like it,” I exclaimed. I had just read something about pomegranates, and how some scholars believed the original apple in the Garden of Eden was actually a pomegranate. I shared this with S.

She told me in the Jewish religion, the pomegranate was a symbol of the many ways man can serve man. She said the pomegranate has multiple seeds (over 100) and that each seed was representative of a different act of service. Our discussion became lively and animated. We walked on, our harbinger forgotten.

When we returned to the hotel, L was ready to move on. We loaded up the rental vehicle, and headed north. L would drive, S would occupy the passenger seat, and I would be the backseat driver, listening for ‘signs’. With its combination of mountains, trees, rock, and water, it is difficult not to feel inspired on the island.

I tried to pay attention not only with my eyes, but also with my other senses. We hadn’t travelled far before I felt a shift in my physical perception. I asked L to pull over. My companions looked at me expectantly. Not sure what I was experiencing, I explained that I felt something different, a sensation of depletion, as if the energy was being zapped out of me. We got out and looked around. Not much to see. I pointed in the direction where I thought the sensation was coming from. There was some big machinery there; it looked like it might be the beginning of construction. We asked a passerby, who responded that the forest was being clear cut here. What a shame, we thought.

We drove on until I suddenly felt my heart begin to flutter, as if it had taken flight. “Pull over,” I announced. “I feel like soaring.” We got out and looked up. Three eagles were circling high above. We watched in speechless reverence.

Our next stop was close to the inner channel. I suddenly felt playful, bubbly. “It’s in the water!” Sure enough, it was. A lone dolphin was jumping in the waves.

“This is fun,” L said. “But I’m getting hungry. Where does your intuition say we should eat?”

“Wendy’s,” I blurted. A chorus of groans erupted. We had driven past a number of quaint towns and cute little restaurants, and fast food was the last thing on our minds.

“Surely, not.” L protested. I shrugged.

Wendy’s came into sight. Reluctantly, we pulled in. I made a beeline for the washroom, while L and S got in line to order. Inside the bathroom, I had the sensation of the earth moving. Something was here, but I had no idea what. “This is the right place.” I told the ladies when I caught up with them. They rolled their eyes. We pushed through the crowded restaurant to find a seat, and were nicely tucking into the food when I heard an unmistakeable laugh. Em was here!

Across the room, seated with her back to us, was a middle-aged woman with a long grey-black braid down her back – Em. We embraced and laughed at the serendipity of meeting in this restaurant, when all of us avoided fast food. Em was visiting friends and would be meeting up with us on Miracle beach later in the week. She travelled by motorcycle, and preferred no schedules. We would see her whenever.

We set off again, now convinced. If we make room in our lives, and open up our awareness, Spirit can speak. It was the beginning of an incredible week. Our setting was aptly named: Miracle Beach. The miracles for that week had just begun.

(Image: www.hellobc.com)

An Unexpected Lesson

On April 15, 1978, I married for the first time. It was also the day my eldest sister was diagnosed with leukemia and given one month to live – a year, if she had any fight in her. I was nineteen.

As a young woman, I viewed life’s issues as black and white, and was often intolerant and impatient of others. Now, thrown into a world of uncertainty, I was ill-equipped to cope. Jo was a single mother of one, and asked for my help and support. I vowed to be there for her, but had no idea what that would entail.

Even though we were siblings, my sister and I could not be further apart. Eleven years my senior, Jo was born with a hole in her heart, a condition that saw her constantly in and out of hospital as a child. At thirteen, on the brink of death, a new procedure, open-heart surgery, saved her life. Much of our family’s energy and attention centered around Jo’s well-being, which was always a difficult task. Coddled as a child, and setback by illness, Jo was temperamental, self-centered, and high-spirited. If there was a fight to be had, she would instigate it. She was reckless, impulsive, and emotionally immature. At nineteen, she was unwed and pregnant. She insisted on marrying the child’s father, but it didn’t last. A string of bad relationships followed, along with several moves, in and out of our family home. It seemed, Jo had a knack for creating chaos.

In contrast, although fifth born, I played the role of the responsible, sensible child, often trying to mediate calm in our tumultuous lives. It was the natural order of things for Jo to turn to me for help. I signed on as legal guardian of my niece, and accompanied my sister to medical appointments. She underwent intense chemotherapy, and many times we thought we were losing her, but Jo would rally round again.

I learned from my sister, that life is often grey – that uncertainty, and change are givens – and this rattled my sense of self-righteousness. I felt inadequate and overwhelmed. Pursuing education in the medical field was never an option for me, as a I was a fainter. Instead, I sought understanding of the psychological and spiritual aspects of illness. It would lead me to years of study and a career.

I don’t know how much I actually ever helped my sister. She was never open to any of the ideas or approaches that I studied, and she never became any easier to get along with. Her survival, fourteen years beyond the initial diagnosis, can only be attributed to an incredible fighting spirit and will to live. She never changed. I, however, was forever altered because of her.

I was with my sister the night she died, holding her hand as promised. She was one of my greatest teachers.

(Image from Pinterest)