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Weekends…

Weekends…

Six o’clock on a Saturday evening and I’ve run out of things to do. My house is clean, the laundry done, my planning and preparation for next week’s teaching is complete. So I’m sat here home alone, my grown up children all out living their lives.

Before marriage and children, I had an active social life. I knew a large group of people and on any night of the week there were numerous pubs or music venues I could go to and someone I knew would be there, we could have a drink and a chat or sit in companionable silence and listen to whatever band happened to be playing.

As we grew older these friends got married, had children and moved away. My siblings all moved back home and I was left here with three young children and a husband who’s life revolved around his hobbies of motorbikes and drinking. His drinking took place in the evenings after work meaning he was rarely home Monday to Friday. His weekends were spent riding or working on his motorbikes, a hobby that did not involve me.

For twenty three years my life has revolved around my children, looking after them, ferrying them to activities, matches and competitions. For most of that time I also worked outside the home so didn’t get to form the school gate friendships that most other mothers take for granted. My husband wasn’t interested in socialising with any of the people I met through school or church, and as most of women I knew socialised with husbands or partners in tow I rarely got asked to join any events and when I did my husband refused to go. As I worked coffee mornings were also difficult.

My opportunities to make friends were further limited by my husband’s point blank refusal to either come home of an evening, or stay in so that I could go out. His view was that a wife was there to run his house and look after the children and my needs should have been fulfilled by that. His family was just for show really, he could tell people that he was married and had three kids thus proving his virility and ability to provide, building a picture in his head and to outsiders of a wonderful husband and father when he was far from either.

While he never physically stopped me from going out, he made it very difficult. When I made arrangements to meet friends I would let him know my plans and ask that he be home to care for the children, he would frequently “forget” despite regular reminders and notes in his diary, or something would come up and he wouldn’t be able to get away. Time and time again I would either fail to turn up at restaurants, theatres, gigs or would have to text my friends to tell them that I wouldn’t be there. I cannot blame them when they then started to plan things without me, tickets were bought, tables booked and I wasn’t invited and slowly contact diminished and the people I needed most in my life drifted away.

The people who could have allowed me to see that my life, my relationship was not normal were no longer there. I was alone, and isolated and began to withdraw, becoming depressed and agoraphobic. I left my job as I couldn’t find the confidence, the drive within me to keep going.

I don’t know if the isolation was a deliberate ploy on my husband’s behalf or if I just wasn’t strong enough. We had plenty of discussions with regard to my needs for a social life but nothing ever changed, he didn’t want to socialise with me and he wasn’t prepared to change his life so that I could socialise without him.

Now I am free to do what I want, but I spend every weekend home alone. I don’t know how to change this. I’ve tried to make friends, invited people I’ve met through work , yoga and Reiki to coffee, lunch etc. but everyone is always so busy, they always seem to have plans, people to see, things to do.

I do venture out on my own during the day, I will bring a book and sit in a café by the river and read or watch the world go by, I often walk miles by myself. It is the evenings that I would most like some company, someone to talk to but venturing out on my own at night is too scary a prospect. I am not ready for another romantic relationship so dating is out, I’ve tried Meetup without success. Sadly, I am coming to the conclusion that it is me, that there is something about me that doesn’t appeal to the people I meet, I wish I knew what it was and I could perhaps change it.

In the meantime I sit and wish the weekends away, no Sunday evening blues here, I look forward to Mondays when I am back to work teaching children. Their curiosity, liveliness, pure joy in the moment lights up my life.

 
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Posted by on February 2, 2019 in General, Healing, Life, Reiki

 

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Intentions…

Intentions…

Yesterday after yoga one of my fellow yogis, who is about ten years younger than me, commented that she was jealous of the control I have over my body, the ease with which I can move from one pose to another. I questioned her use of the word control.

Control to me has connotations of force, of trying to exert dominance over something or somebody. Having spent years in a controlling relationship I strive for steadiness and balance on my mat and in my life off the mat. I try not to exercise control over anything. Yes, I can tell my body, my breath, my mind what I want it to do, but often my body doesn’t want to move the way I would like it to. My breath doesn’t want to be held or the speed of it wants to be slower or faster than I am trying to produce. Often times my mind wants to go off on tangents, it doesn’t want to be still, or concentrate on whatever it is I have decided I want to do. And I have learnt to accept that some days balancing will be easy, on other days it’s just not going to happen, there are days when I will achieve a lot in terms of reading or work and others when the day seems to fly past with me seemingly doing nothing at all.

For years, I was a slave to the “to do” list, I would get anxious if I hadn’t done the things on my list each day. I still write lists but I am more relaxed and realistic about the time it takes to complete things and better able to prioritise. I can also see that motive is also a major decider in what gets done and what gets left.

Yoga and Reiki have helped me let go of trying to control what I can’t, to learn to be at ease with what I do achieve and accept that what hasn’t been done wasn’t meant to happen. They have also taught me to take a step back and assess why I am doing something, why I feel compelled to achieve certain things, what benefit it has to me and those around me.

I have discovered that even when we approach things with the purest of intentions there can be other things lurking behind.  I offered someone who had been diagnosed with cancer, and was going through chemotherapy, free Reiki treatments. She turned me down, Reiki just isn’t her thing. I was upset and questioned my motives for offering in the first place. I did have her health and well-being at the forefront of my mind, to help her deal with the treatment, to allow her to be able to give it her best shot. I wanted her to be healthy. And behind this was “me”, I wanted her to get better because I enjoy having her in my life, I wasn’t ready to lose her, and seeing her suffer also caused me pain. Reiki would have benefited both of us, but it was not part of her journey  and on reflection my offer was to a large extent more about me than her.

Now when giving Reiki treatments, in order to not have mixed motives or unrealistic expectations,  I set the intention that whatever comes of this treatment is for the highest good of all recipients  and so it is.

 

 
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Posted by on December 30, 2018 in General, Healing, Life, Reiki, Yoga

 

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Parents…

Parents…

I don’t understand how my mother can be so cruel and heartless towards my father. He can’t help the way he is and I’m pretty sure it hurts him too. I know she is upset at seeing him like that and angry too, possibly, at the unfairness of it all but to be so rough with him and constantly telling him off. It really got to me. It makes me wonder how she actually dealt with us as children, when we hurt ourselves or were crying. I do remember being hit and I remember being told to stop crying or I’d be given something to really make me cry.

She has no empathy or sympathy for him, I cannot imagine how frustrating it must be to be unable to communicate even your basic needs to others, to be reliant on them asking the right questions and interpreting your head and hand movements and then being unable to explain if they get it wrong.

Seeing him, a man who ten years ago was up mountains on a regular basis and thought nothing of tipping his ride on mower over to check for things caught in the blades, sat in a wheelchair without the strength to haul himself up to standing let alone walk is heart-breaking. He was always very practical and active, he made built-in wardrobes for our childhood home, built boats as a hobby and to make extra money, the reel to reel tape deck, record player and amplifiers we had at home he assembled himself. He worked hard to provide a comfortable life for my mother and us. Now, he sits in a chair and stares into space, struggles to wipe his nose or feed himself, needs help to get dressed and do the normal everyday things we take for granted.

And my mother treats him like a nuisance and actually tries to avoid going to visit him if she can. She says she loves him but can’t bear to see him the way he is. For me that strikes of pure selfishness, he is still him, his sense of humour remains intact, he understands what we say to him and recognises us. Just being there with him, holding his hand, talking to him or around him but so that he is included in the conversation is enough for him. He greets you with such a heart-warming smile and still gives a powerful hug despite not being able to stand.

Trying to comprehend how she cannot see that he is there, he looks at her with such love in his eyes and such pain when she doesn’t respond to his touch or pulls away, does my head in. She lives in her own little bubble where it seems that everything that happens is done to cause her hurt, pain or upset. She acts like my father has purposely gotten Alzheimer’s as a way to punish her or hurt her.

For years, when I have visited my parents I had my children with me so was always distracted by taking care of them and their needs and so spent little time with my parents alone. It is only in the last few years that my children have been old enough for me to leave them to their own devices that I have actually spent long periods of time with my mother. During these periods, I have listened to her talk, to her worries and have realised that she really cannot see beyond her own point of view, she is unable to even countenance the fact that they may be a different way of looking at things. Now in her eighties, I doubt she is going to see the light any time soon and that I am going to have to learn to, hard as it is to accept that.

 
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Posted by on December 29, 2018 in Communication, General, Life

 

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Til death do us part…

Til death do us part…

The sight of his name appearing in my email inbox or text messages still has the power to make my heart pound and my hands to shake. All the old feelings come flooding back. the fear, the uselessness I felt. How difficult it was to make myself seen let alone heard. Even in written communication he still manages to ignore my opinions or desires. It is as always about what he wants, what is best for him.

I refuse to actually see him so all communication is via email or text, though I try to limit the texts.  The children see him on a regular basis and it seems nothing much has changed, they often come home deflated and angry where he has put them down or spent their time together questioning them about my life, what I spend money on, who I’m seeing, though they try their best to avoid this and to divert his attention to other things.

In some ways they are as afraid of him as I am. They are spending Christmas with him. They don’t want but are too scared of his reaction to tell him so. I started a new job a few months ago but they have avoided mentioning it to him as they are afraid of his ranting about money and how he will take it that I am now earning, slightly, more. I will admit to asking them in the beginning not to mention it as we had just agreed finances for the divorce and I didn’t want to put a spanner in the works as it had taken three years to reach an agreement but now that the divorce has come through there is no reason not to.

Of course it is their choice to see him, he is their father and they love him. They are however beginning to recognise that the goal posts keep changing, what made them loveable and him proud six months ago no longer does. They are in many ways a disappointment to him, none of them high fliers, or hugely talented in any particular area. It makes it hard for him to realise his dreams and live through his children and they pay for that. He doesn’t see them for the kind, caring, compassionate and beautiful people they are but as props to enhance the illusion he likes to present to the world.

He doesn’t have to deal with the day to day fallout of this, the anxiety and lack of confidence that comes from being eternally crushed. When they tell him of things they are proud of achieving and get either no response or questioned as to why they hadn’t done better, achieved more, it saddens me. He complains that they have no confidence but doesn’t see his role in that nor does he see that telling them this is not going improve matters. They are young adults starting their journeys in a world that is much harder to navigate than the one we occupied at the same age yet the expectations  are even higher.

His world revolves around him and the impression he wishes to create of himself and sadly, we have all failed him so he takes his misery and disappointment out on us. Leaving the marriage and divorcing have had little impact on his behaviour and his words and actions continue to affect us all deeply and to ripple through family life.  Freedom is far more than a piece of paper and I’m not sure if I will ever truly break free until death do us part.

 
 

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The slow burn…

The slow burn…

Today a  video  was posted online in conjunction with Surrey Police and Women’s aid about coercive control, calling “Walking on Eggshells” to raise public awareness of coercive control. As I watched it all came flooding back, the trepidation with which I would greet my ex in the evenings, moderating my tone of voice, the language I used and how I actually phrased my words. All in an effort not to provoke a reaction, of any sort. I never knew if I was going to be yelled at, given a disdainful look or the silent treatment.

I learnt over the years to move around the house in silence and during night time hours in darkness for fear of disturbing him from his television viewing, gaming or sleeping. When the children made, what I now recognise as normal amounts of , noise I would shush them, heart in my mouth, hoping that he wouldn’t hear them or if he did that he wouldn’t be in ones of his moods. Sometimes he would shout at them to be quiet but more often once I had settled them either to a quiet activity or to sleep I would be lectured. This was always done sotto voce which was far more scary than being shouted at, there was true menace in his softly spoken words, the way his mouth would move, the look in his eyes and the clenched fists.

Of course it wasn’t like this in the beginning, but looking back I can see the signs were there. I chose to ignore them. I was insecure, I hadn’t had a long relationship before and had been through a life changing event that almost destroyed me. Here was this handsome, charming man who liked me. All the girls in my social group thought he was fantastic and boys thought he was “solid”, however I was to learn over the years that this persona he displayed outside the relationship was just an act.

In private, he was mean, lazy, selfish and  increasingly bad-tempered. The trouble with this was even though I tried to tell people what was going on, trying to gauge what other people’s relationships were like, no one believed me. I was cast as a complainer, someone who didn’t know when they had it good.

Inside I was dying, escaping an abusive relationship when no-one believes you, when they fall for his charms is no easy task. Even when on the rare occasion he let the mask slip in public he was forgiven as he always maintained it was stress that caused his outbursts. He came across as the poor misunderstood husband who was working himself to an early grave for his family. He was very good at playing the victim, of turning the tables and twisting everything so that he always came out looking like the good guy.

The problem with this is made me feel like I was going slowly mad. I started to doubt myself, he never remembered conversations we had and would accuse me of not telling him things when I knew I had. I started journaling and writing out the conversations as soon after as possible. Within a few weeks the pattern was very clear and I began to believe in my truth and to disregard what he told me. Identifying his lies and manipulations helped me gain the confidence I needed to start the process of leaving him.

While the video, mentioned above, does a fine job, it would take hours to explain to someone who has never experienced this kind of abuse how it affects a person and how actually when you are in the relationship fighting on a daily basis just to keep your head above water how difficult it is to recognise and do something about it. It is a long slow insidious depletion of your self-esteem, your confidence and extremely isolating. Finding the courage to talk about it takes enormous strength and it takes real guts to stand up to an abuser and leave.

And for many of us leaving, sadly, does not mean the end of the abuse…

 
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Posted by on November 29, 2018 in Communication, Depression, General, Life, Memories

 

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The long goodbye…

The long goodbye…

Why is that even when we know a relationship has reached its end, there is no good feeling between you anymore, you bring each other down, you argue, even their very presence causes inner rage, and still we can’t let them go. That final goodbye is so hard.

We drag it out. We sit in silence and stare at our phones. There are no words left to be said, or the ones that are left will cause too much hurt, as much harm to the one saying the words as to the one hearing them.

Sometimes love just isn’t enough to hold us together, especially when one loves more than the other, When love means different things, when one believes they can love enough for two. In the beginning that overwhelming love blinds you to hard reality and even when it hits you in face you still refuse to see it. Naivety and hope win the day.

As life progresses and the daily battles grind you down it is easier to ignore those little differences, to sweep them aside, there are always more important things to deal with. Actually it is the little things that break the relationship in the end, because there are just too many of them and when you can’t deal with little everyday problems when the large real problems come along they seem insurmountable.

Love is not deferring to someone else to keep the peace, nor is it putting their needs constantly above yours. Allowing yourself to be put down, to change who you are to meet someone else’s approval or to gain their supposed love does not make for good relationships. It hands someone else your power, it gives them control over your happiness.

I wish I’d realised that years ago. That my version of love was not true love, I loved him with all my heart, but those feelings weren’t really reciprocated. I know that now, there was no empathy, no caring, no gentleness, at times it seemed as if he didn’t even really like me let alone love me.

We should have said goodbye years ago, we were falling apart before we even got married, deep in my heart I knew that, I knew he would never love me the way I needed or wanted him to. I was so scared of facing life on my own that I clung to a relationship that was one-sided for years after I should have let it go.

He was clinging on too, for reasons I can only surmise, during our final proper conversation he told me that he didn’t want to break up the marriage but he didn’t want anything to change, he was apparently happy with things just the way were.

Our divorce papers came through last month and though we have yet to sell the  marital home it feels like it is finally goodbye. I can let go, forgive and hopefully move on with my life.

It’s been a very long goodbye…

 
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Posted by on November 25, 2018 in Communication, General, Healing, Life, Memories

 

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Whose lie is it?

Whose lie is it?

My marriage was a lie, all twenty one years of it. For him the importance of marriage was not the vows he made, nor even the idea of a lifelong partnership, no it was fulfilling a societal expectation. He appeared happily married to all those around him. His fertility and hence his masculinity proved by producing three children. He often boasted that he alone among his colleagues had managed to sustain a long marriage. Sadly, it wasn’t love that kept him in the marriage but his obsession with his appearance to the world around him.

 

For me marriage was the cornerstone of family, it was supposed to provide a lifelong partnership. We would become a team united against all that the world could throw at us. Parenting was part of that too. I imagined in my naivety bringing our children up together, doing bedtime routines, sharing the early mornings and sleepless nights. Weekends spent out and about with the children, having fun, teaching them about the countryside and the sea, instilling in them a sense of wonder and love of the country and planet they occupied.

 

The truth was a far cry from how I dreamt of rearing my children. Mostly, it was me, on my own. As the years went by the responsibility and crushing loneliness got to me. I was barely alive, treading water, collapsing into bed each night hoping that either I wouldn’t wake up in the morning or that by some miracle tomorrow might be different. That something, anything would change.

 

I too was living a lie. My marriage was not even a relationship. We were two people with different agendas living side by side. The love disappeared and resentment built. The more time passed the harder it became to see what had got me there in the first place, I hated him and I hated who I had become even more. Fear kept me there, fear of speaking up for myself, fear that that he would, as he threatened to, take the children away from me, make sure I was left with nothing. I thought the pain was already unbearable and the idea of ripping my family apart tore at the very fabric of my soul.

 

As the children grew and needed me less, I had time to think, to reflect and explore, to look at the life behind me and what lay before me. I was broken.

 

The lie was not mine. I had made my vows and stuck by them to the best of my ability, he had never had any intention of keeping his, I was a convenience, a tool that created the image he wanted for his life. However by staying I was complicit in the lie, does that make it mine too? Does that make me culpable? Does it matter in the end who’s lie it was?

 
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Posted by on November 14, 2018 in Depression, General, Healing, Life, Memories

 

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Growing up…

Growing up…

In theory I have been a “grown-up” for many years. At twenty two I left my home country to move to a new one and became totally responsible for myself financially.

Throughout my marriage, I was the adult, the one who made sure the bills were paid, that any maintenance on the house and household appliances was done, kept the car running and looked after the children while my ex worked and played. He came home every day to clean, sleeping children and dinner waiting for him. His evenings were spent drinking with colleagues or friends, his weekends out and about. So many times during those years I felt like a single mother, and so often I wished that he would just grow up so I could be relieved of some of the physical responsibility and the mental load of running a house and rearing children.

However, I came to the realisation the other day that although I had the burden of responsibility that comes with adulthood, I was not by any means grown up. Being married to someone who hated displays of emotion and refused to listen or accept that I ever felt anything other than happy meant my mental, emotional and spiritual growth were stunted.

I was afraid to speak my mind or express opinions or emotions for fear of his reaction. The dismissals actually being far more painful than the bursts of anger or silences. They made me feel so small, so neglected and abandoned. I learned very quickly to modify my speech, my tone, even exuberance was frowned upon.

In the beginning, he told me he liked that I did not conform to standard dress codes, that I would chatter away to anyone, that I spoke my mind and freely expressed my opinions whether others agreed or not. I was very much a free spirit when I met him a few months before my twenty third birthday.

The very things he told me he liked about me were the ones he stamped on most. Always very conscious of how he appeared to others my forthrightness grated with this and he began to have “quiet” words with me when we were alone about how what I’d said, done or worn had impacted negatively on his reputation. He would often make me change clothes before we went out if he decided he didn’t like what I had chosen to wear. Outfits that I felt good in and knew I looked good in were usually met with the utmost disapproval. He would tell me when to get my haircut or what make-up he wanted me to wear.

I reached a point where I only wore black or navy. At social events I sat or stood quietly in a corner, making small talk with anyone who approached me but always very careful about what I said, monitoring my words and refusing alcohol in case it loosened my tongue. When the children came along he had the perfect excuse to leave me at home and I was very rarely invited to any of his work functions even though all his colleagues brought their partners.

It is only in the last couple of years, since he moved out and I have been free to express myself that I understood that being an adult isn’t just about physical responsibility but also about who you are and being truthful to yourself. To be truly an adult we have to be able to recognise our emotions, be able to express them openly no matter how vulnerable that makes us feel. We need to be able to allow others their emotions, hurts, and desires without letting them affect us negatively. Forgiveness also plays a significant role in growing up, forgiving ourselves and others and realising that we are all doing the best with can with the knowledge we have at any given moment.

I have “grown up” a lot in the last year or two and it is a journey not yet complete. I feel sorry for my ex who will never know what it is to truly live, because life is about feelings and now I have so much love, joy and peace in my world that I could never have had with him.

 
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Posted by on November 10, 2018 in General, Healing, Life, Memories, Reiki

 

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Reiki 1

Reiki 1

The morning of the course loomed and I nearly didn’t go. Anxious about going somewhere new, walking into a  room full of strangers, I was shaking on the journey there.

As always, I arrived miles too early, however this worked to my advantage as they were still setting up the room and I offered to help, I am always better when I have something to do physically to distract my mind from the endless loop of thoughts. I set about putting the teas, coffee, mugs and biscuits out, and got chatting to a couple of other early birds while doing so.

I chose a seat that faced the window, I like to be able to see outside, the trees and the birds bring me comfort and help to ground me when my brain threatens to drive me crazy. The room began to fill up and soon rang with the sound of people chatting as we  talked about our journeys there and the weather; typical British small talk.

And so it began, we started off by introducing ourselves and saying what had brought us here. For the first time ever I heard my own voice telling my story, my marriage, my escape, the suicide attempt and the vision I’d had that led me to Reiki. A story I’d been too scared to tell anyone else in case they thought I was insane and here I was telling a room full of strangers. It didn’t feel like me speaking that day, for years I have hidden the truth from friends, from family and on many occasions from myself.

During the first break, a few people came up to me wanting to hear more about the vision I’d had. Some told me that I was brave and courageous, one for speaking out and secondly for escaping my marriage. I felt a fraud, brave and courageous are not words I would ever have used to describe my actions. Throughout my relationship, I’d stayed silent when I could have spoken up, I allowed my children to see me cowed and timid and they copied my behaviour. I thought I was doing the right thing, not rocking the boat, not provoking rows. I do recognise that it took a huge amount of strength to stay and even more to leave and as time goes by I can see that staying took courage too. Trying to preserve marriage and my children’s family, I put their needs before my own but it takes courage to step out from that and say that I matter too.

During our first attunement, I could feel the energy circling the room, my hair felt as if it was standing on end, and I felt a presence behind me, a warmth that spread across my shoulders and I felt loved and like I truly belonged somewhere for the first time ever. I saw the light I’d seen during the vision and was told that an angel stood behind me, now and always.

The scariest part of the course for me came when we had to give our first treatment. Here I was in a room full of strangers and I was being asked to touch them, to put my hands on their bodies and heal them. Touch was a more or less alien concept for me, I grew up with a mother who hit me and told others I didn’t like to be touched. My ex was not affectionate unless he wanted sex, so my children were the only people I touched on a regular basis. With them I was different, but adults? I wasn’t sure if I could handle that and I certainly did not want any men touching me.

Although Reiki treatments do not necessarily have to be hands on, they work just as well with the hands held away from the body, I took the decision to step outside my comfort zone and allow myself to not only be touched but also to give hands on treatments to others (no men!, I wasn’t ready for that just yet) and discovered the solace to be found in touch.

The weekend came to a close all too soon, and I found myself exchanging hugs and wished a safe journey home. I had learnt not only how to use Reiki to heal others but that actually despite the belief, that my mother had instilled in me and my marriage had perpetuated, that I am not a tactile person to the contrary affection, hugs and touch in general are natural to me and were part of what has been missing from my life for a very long time.

Nowadays, instead of shying away from physical contact I will often initiate hugs as touch itself has the power to heal, and unless a client specifically requests hands off all of my treatments  have some element of hands on.

 
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Posted by on November 2, 2018 in Communication, General, Healing, Life, Reiki

 

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Hallowe’en

Hallowe’en

Today my youngest has been out buying decorations for the Hallowe’en party I have said she may host. They have pumpkins to carve and she has planned her outfit and made a playlist of suitably spooky music. I find it hard to understand her excitement, for me Hallowe’en heralds the onset of winter, cold and darkness, a time to hide and recuperate, rest and restore.  It is a time to honour our dead and remember those who do not have enough to see them through the winter.

As a child we did dress up on Hallowe’en and went trick or treating, but it wasn’t the huge candy gathering fest that it has become these days. It was very much in line with the tradition of Samhain, we dressed to ward off evils spirits, afterwards the whole community gathered around a huge bonfire. If we were lucky we got a few pennies, a selection of nuts and fruit which we were expected to share with our younger siblings who weren’t deemed old enough to participate. There would be baked potatoes and sausages cooking on the edges of the fire and hot chocolate in paper cups.

The following day, All Saints day was a Holy Day of Obligation and in those days a day off school. So once Mass was done we had the day to play and eat our gatherings from the previous evening.

Then came the second of November, All Souls Day when we would remember those who had departed this life and pray for their release from Purgatory. An idea which always sat uneasily with me, having lost my best friend at twelve I couldn’t understand how the soul of someone who had barely lived and certainly hadn’t lived long enough to sin could be consigned to a waiting room and be dependent on the prayers of others to be released to experience the joy that she deserved. For those of us who were there when she was buried it was hard enough to watch that coffin be lowered into the ground, to know that she would not be coming back but thinking that she was not free was too much to bear.

Even now, many many years later, I still wonder if she made it to heaven or if she is living another life in another body. I remember her smile, her infectious laugh, the way her curls bounced as she ran and can’t believe that she would have been sent to Purgatory. Through further reading over the years I believe that what we were told as youngsters was erroneous and Purgatory is not always a necessary step ,or if it is indeed step we take at all. I do like the idea though of being given the chance to reflect  and atone and maybe this is the point where we choose to live another life?

The more I read and discover the more confused I become; the rigours of, my often time incorrect, Catholic upbringing  and my desire to believe that we may receive more than one chance to get this right are in conflict. As the years pass and I look back on my life and the missed opportunities, the fears that held me back I desperately want the chance to make the most of life but not sure if I have the time to do in this one.

 

 
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Posted by on October 24, 2018 in Communication, General, Life, Memories

 

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