More writing on my wall

Abracadabra!

Abracadabra! (Photo credit: vramak)

I recently read that  Abracadabra is a Hebrew or Aramaic phrase meaning  ‘I create what I speak’.

A couple of decades ago, that would have had very little significance for me, but now, not only is its meaning huge – it defines the way I live my life.

When the student is ready, so the old saying goes, the teacher will appear.  That was certainly true for me.  My first and greatest teacher was a teenage boy – ironically, an ex-pupil of mine.  When he judged that I was ready, he offered to demonstrate how to use intention to make things happen.

We’re not talking about wafty stuff here.  He challenged me to move a bottle of water across a table, using my thoughts and words but no physical intervention.  When I couldn’t do it, he demonstrated, and patiently taught me the importance of intention (e-motion being energy in motion and all that) and how to make use of ‘ertia’ – the opposite of inertia! (“Go with the flow of probability to achieve what you want, rather than fighting against it.  That can be done, but it’s much harder work.”)

Once I was open to the possibility of altering my world in this way, synchronicity kicked in and I found examples and further explanations almost everywhere I looked.

People who have read Life: A Player’s Guide, or followed my recent ‘LIME Magic’ posts will know how deeply ingrained in my life this way of being has become.

So it’s hardly surprising that one of the texts pinned up on my study wall deals with this process of creation.  I originally copied it many years ago from Conversations With God, not because I agreed with it, but because I couldn’t understand it.  I read it often, meditated on it and allowed it to slowly and gradually seep into my consciousness.

I’ve since seen the concept put more succinctly, and I know that some people find the G- word off-putting, but I love this quote because – like the boy with the water bottle – it has expanded my consciousness and allowed me to create my world in completely new ways.

 

100_0258Thought is the first level of creation.

Words are the second level of creation.

Actions are words moving.

Words are thoughts expressed.

Thoughts are ideas formed.

Ideas are energies come together.

Energies are forces released.

Forces are elements existent.

Elements are particles of God, portions of ALL, the stuff of everything.

Neale Donald Walsch: Conversations with God, Book 1

Abracadabra!

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The Writing on My Wall

Glastonbury Tor

Glastonbury Tor (Photo credit: Nick Kenrick .)

 

Over the next few posts, I’ve decided to share some of the words that are pinned up on my study wall.

 

This is the room where I do my writing, plan my lessons and tutor some of my students, so it’s a special place where much of my waking life is spent.  The window looks out onto a northern roof-scape of Glastonbury, with St Edmunds Hill towards the west and – if you know where to look – St Michael’s Tower (the one on top of Glastonbury Tor) just visible above treetops over to the east.

 

Above the door there’s a small metal sign, bearing the word:

 

INSPIRE

 

That’s to remind me what I’m here to do.  It’s what living, educating and writing are all about.

 

Ranged around the walls are other texts from various sources, which have shaped my thinking – and consequently my life.

Today I’m going to share a passage written by a fellow Glastonbury resident – a mystic and visionary who, among other things, created the trust which still runs the beautiful Chalice Well Gardens – my number one favourite place in the world.

His words, having been written in the early twentieth century, pre-date our rather wafty New Age terminology, but the sentiment is clear, and his uncompromising words have helped me to take stock and refocus when doubts and worries have threatened to take over.

 

Pennies from heaven

The importance of positive, constructive, optimistic thinking all day long cannot be over-estimated.  The fight on which you and I are constantly engaged is against the so-called forces of fear, depression, self-centredness and frustration.  Bar your gates against these negative forces as the first step towards making yourself and your life of greater service to others.

Wellesley Tudor Pole

 

 

 

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Zen and the Art of Wallpaper Stripping

Peeling Paint on Dirty Concrete

I haven’t measured the the acreage of wall in the cottage covered in damp, grubby, peeling white woodchip.  I really don’t want to.  All I need to know is that it has to be removed.  All of it.  By me.

Woodchip, for those of you too young to be familiar with this interior design abomination, is an ugly, off-white lumpy wallpaper, textured with small splinters of wood, giving it the overall appearance of solid porridge.  It was cheap, plentiful, good at covering up dodgy plastering and therefore very popular in the thrifty 1970s.   Even the upbeat estate agent, when she first showed me around, referred to it as ‘donkeys’ breakfast’.

Most people who applied it to their walls back in the day, then painted over it with white emulsion, doubtless to minimise the porridge effect, but without any thought for the person who would one day have to remove it.

Hard to say which is worse, really – the bits of wall that are so damp, the paper comes off with no more than a slight tug and a hard stare, or the places where walls are dry and the woodchip remains stubbornly bonded, relinquishing its grip in only the tiniest of fragments after interminable water spraying and scraping.  By contrast, the skin on my knuckles is proving remarkably easy to remove.

All that said, though, I have to admit to entering a subtly altered state as I become engrossed in the task.

Atlantis

Atlantis (Photo credit: VernsPics)

There is certainly endless repetition, yet the slight changes of emphasis and direction become mesmerising after an hour or so.  I lose myself in an ever-shifting geography – whitish coastlines and islands on a pink-grey plaster sea.  I find myself rejoicing as an island finally vanishes, Atlantis-like; fascinated by the appearance of a new landscape of bays and inlets as another coast is formed.

It becomes a fractal world of my own creation.

Another one.

 

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Lace and Lime

peeping through the cottage window

peeping through the cottage window (Photo credit: troycochrane)

There’s nothing quite as fascinating as a clandestine peep into someone else’s house.

Lime Cottage fronts directly on to the pavement and since it has lain empty now for seven months, there has been ample opportunity for curious passers-by to sneak a glance inside.  In fact, judging by the number of times I’ve arrived there to notice that curious fingers have rubbed away the dirt on the window panes to get a closer look, it’s probably been more than a glance!

Musing on how to keep some privacy without resorting to blinds or nylon nets, which to me look so out of place in ancient buildings, I came across this beautiful post by Anouk, an amazing artist whose cottage interior shots are truly inspiring.  In particular, I was drawn to her photo of a window swathed in fringed vintage lace.  Glorious!  That was the look I was after.

English: Glastonbury: High Street shops

English: Glastonbury: High Street shops (Photo credit: Wikipedia

Now Glastonbury – as locals and visitors will know – is the most wonderful town for buying crystals, candles, incense, esoteric books, anything made of hemp and all things even tangentially connected to faeries, goddesses, the green man, labyrinths and the Tor.  The chances of finding vintage lace anywhere in town, though, appeared slim, to say the least.

Nevertheless, I began my now familiar incantation:

Ideally I’d like…

a length of antique lace, long enough to drape over the front window, hand made, in a cream or ivory shade, preferably with a fringed edge.

Having lightly put out the request to the Universe, I carried on with my day.

Why, you are probably asking, would the Universe bother to supply me with lace window drapes?  Does it not have more pressing concerns:  peace in Syria, an end to world hunger, a cure for killer diseases perhaps?

I’ve often thought about this, as my many miniature miracles have unfolded over the last few months.  I have two answers to the question.

One is ‘because it can’.  This benign and abundant Universe we are tiny parts of will take any opportunity to demonstrate that the old ‘ask and ye shall receive’ adage holds true.  It merely requires a subtle shift from mind-set to heart-set; from ‘Huh, well I’ll give it a try, but some chance!’ to ‘Wouldn’t it be magical if…’.

The second is that we are not only tiny parts of the Universe, but tiny holographic parts.  That means each of us has – locked inside our very being – all the power and magnificence and wonder of All That Is.  We may feel small and insignificant, but in truth we are anything but.  We can select and create our own reality.

Knowing that (and having grown used to the way Lime Cottage’s magic works) I headed into town for the two errands I had to run.  The first completed, I didn’t question the feeling that today I should take a short cut through a tiny mews passage I haven’t used for months, in order to reach my second destination.

There are a couple of shops at the start of the passageway,  beyond them one or two businesses that usually seem closed, and several vacant units.  As I went round a bend, though, I noticed light coming from one of the doorways.  Suddenly I was standing outside a tiny shop with pieces of vintage furniture, clothes, bygones and the like filling the windows and tumbling gloriously into the passage.  Inside a small lady sat hunched over a sewing machine.

The synchronicity key began to turn.  I had the strongest feeling that I’d stumbled into a fairytale.  Draped over the open door of this shop were festoons of – you guessed it – antique lace.

“I had no idea you were here!” I spluttered.

“No, I’ve only been open a couple of weeks,” the lady smiled.  “Do come in.”

I told her of my request to the Universe for a length of lace, noticing as I did so that one of the lengths was exactly the colour, type and size I’d been imagining, even down to the fringed edging.

“Isn’t it amazing how that works,” she laughed.  “It’s happened to me so many times recently!”

There was a large tear and several smaller holes in the lace, which she pointed out.  Easily repaired, I decided, and of course that affected the price.  I opened my purse and there, of course, was exactly the amount of money she was charging – no more, no less.

So I’m spending the evenings carefully and lovingly making invisible repairs to the beautiful length of hand-made lace, noticing the lovely pattern – already meticulously patched at some distant time.  Soon it will adorn the old stone mullion windows of Lime Cottage.

 

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