Tuesday’s Tale

English: Ballerina oil painting “Oh why do I have to learn this stuff?” T asks, her small face screwed up with frustration and incomprehension.

It’s Tuesday morning.  We’re working on the properties of three-dimensional shapes. “I mean, I’m going to be a ballerina!”

One of her dramatic sighs follows and I grin sympathetically.

With some kids, I’d branch off into sacred geometry at this point, but not this time.  With others I’d talk about the uses of shape and space in construction, engineering, architecture and the like, but T isn’t going to be an engineer or an architect.  She’s going to be a ballerina.

Another dramatic sigh, accompanied by such wild flexing of limbs that I have to duck to avoid the flailing arms.

Whenever I’m teaching T, I have the uneasy sensation that I’m caging a butterfly.  She does her best to learn and we get along just fine, but sitting still for two hours at a stretch is far from easy for her.  She just isn’t wired that way.

“Go on,” I say.  “Have a few twirls around the room, then let’s get back to work.”

T has just turned eleven.  She’s not just a small girl with a romantic dream.  She’s a magical, exceptional, brilliant dancer.  She’s been accepted for a place a one of the UK’s most prestigious dance academies  in September.  They have only 8 places a year and the admission standard is ridiculously high. Her mum and dad were stunned and overflowing with pride when she got her place. Nederlands: ballet dancer - detail

The effort she has put into her dancing is incredible.  The effort her parents have put into supporting her is similarly so.  Her mother travels all over Somerset and beyond with her on buses and car shares to get her to dance classes, auditions and performances.  Her self-employed dad has worked all hours to earn the money to fund the lessons, costumes, travel costs and so forth.  They’ve been determined that nothing will get between T and her dream. Now she has her place at the academy, of course, the costs will rocket.  It will involve moving from Somerset to London and paying huge tuition fees.

All that was fine.  Everything was set.  Dad was confident that he could earn enough, if he put everything else aside. The trouble is, one of those things he put aside was the dodgy mole.  He kept meaning to get it checked at the doctors…

When he did, the diagnosis wasn’t good.   The cancer has spread to his limbs and his lungs.  The doctors are calling it incurable.

They don’t look for problems, T’s family, they look for solutions.

Her mum, with characteristic zeal, has researched alternative treatments and come up with one that claims a 40% success rate – the Gerson diet.  It involves juicing huge amounts of fruit and vegetables for him – about 8kg a day – and more-or-less ties her to the kitchen.

Her dad – well, we can only guess at his feelings.  Having always been the provider, he has been trying to carry on working, to make sure the fees for her first term can be paid by September.  When he does that, he is stressing his body and not allowing it to heal.

That was the point at which T’s mum had called me.  Did I know any fundraisers – someone who could take the pressure off the family and raise enough to get T through her first year at the academy?

“Why me?  And why NOW?” the small reptilian part of my brain asked – the part that’s hell-bent on self-preservation.  “This will take massive amounts of time and effort and energy… I’ve done this life experience before – several times.  I’ve supported children I teach through the illness, sometimes even the death of a parent.  I’ve helped them with fundraising.  Couldn’t the Universe share things out a bit?  I have so much else to deal with right now…”

And here was T, sitting in my study on this Tuesday morning, telling me she’s going to be a ballerina.

What was I supposed to say?  ‘Actually no, sweetheart, you’re not.  You’ll be going to the local comprehensive, there won’t be any money left for dance classes and on top of that, your dad’s cancer is terminal.’

No.  I would not be saying that.

Miracle Machine

Miracle Machine (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Walk your talk,” the other end of my consciousness from the reptile was telling me.  “Think about it.  You believe in creating miracles.  You’ve been blogging on about it for months.

” Why have you been given this life experience again?  Why do you think??  Because this time, you have something new to bring to it.  You have the knowledge that – if they are expected, lightly yet with conviction – miracles happen.  And a few miracles are needed here and now, are they not?”

“Yes,” I said, humbly.

So this is where LIME (Life Is Miracles Expected) magic becomes interactive.

Click away NOW if you don’t want to get involved.  

Or is it too late?  Are you already caught up in T’s story?

Ideally, I’d like… every person who reads this blog to put some energy into helping T’s miracles arrive.

Your energy may be in the form of money – however much you’d feel comfortable transforming into energy to help pay for her academy fees.

It may be in the form of reblogging this post, or linking to it on social media, so that it reaches more people, who can also join our creation.

It may be that you will send healing and positive energy to Christian – T’s dad.

Or you may have other wonderful ideas for ways of creating these miracles.

Any money that reaches my PayPal account  from the ‘make a donation’ button below will, you have my word, go into the fund a family friend is setting up for T.  I promise I’ll keep you informed of progress, because  you now have a part in this story.

Thank you for sharing your energy and helping to make this happen.

Make a Donation Button

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Bring on the AFGOs

 

English: 5D virtual 2x2x2x2x2 sequential move ...

If I’m right in believing that I – and all of us – at some point outside of space and time and the other trappings of 3D existence, planned this lifetime in which certain situations and experiences would appear, then I have to take some responsibility for what is happening to me.  I can’t blame fate, ill luck or even other people, no matter how tempting that may be.

 

It’s taken a while, but I’m fine with that now.  When an AFGO (Another Bleeping Growth Opportunity) comes along, I’m fairly good at accepting that this is stuff I embarked on this life to work through.

Something I’ve noticed, though, after many years of working with children and young people, is how many of those who are special, sensitive, Version 2.0/ Old Souls or however you choose to describe them, seem to have selected particularly difficult, challenging and – frankly – horrifying ‘Growth Opportunities’.

It’s made all the harder, of course, because they didn’t consciously choose these situations – not in their current lifetimes.  The higher self / god-self / soul may be brilliant at selecting challenges that will allow them to make huge and wonderful amounts of spiritual growth, to bring more love to Earth and to heal themselves, the planet and those around them, but it is so very hard to watch them suffer as family problems or other circumstances tear their young lives apart.

(Explore-D) View On Black thanks a lot Nis! Th...

Yes, I could give specific examples – ones that are showing up amongst young people I know very well at this point in time.  Maybe I will in a future post,  if I think it will help.

For now, I just want to flag up how much harder it is, sometimes, to watch a child suffering than to work through one’s own difficulties.

On the other hand, we can be reasonably sure that, if they have shown up in our lives, there’s a reason for that too.

We have something to give them.

Or they have something to teach us.

Or, more likely, both of the above and more besides.

My pain, as I feel for them, is of no value, but showing them kindness and understanding, being ready to offer support and humble enough to learn from them about how to deal with the most challenging parts of this terrifyingly realistic game called Life – that’s where the value is, for all of us.

 

 

Available in paperback and Kindle editions

Available in paperback and Kindle editions

More ponderings on this and related subjects can be found in LIFE: A PLAYER’S GUIDE, available on Amazon or to order through booksellers.  

ISBN 9781 78176 7764

 

 

 

Glastonbury, Mud and Lotus Flowers

English: Glastonbury festival 2007 THE MUD!!!!!!!!

English: Glastonbury festival 2007 THE MUD!!!!!!!! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Pilton Festival (or  ‘Glastonbury’ as non-locals call it) is fast approaching.  This is evidenced by huge flotillas of lorries carrying banks of portable toilets and other necessities past my little cottage, which lies on the main route to Worthy Farm.

The passing of portaloos is not the only effect this event is having on my cottage.  The scaffolders refuse to attempt erecting scaffolding during Pilton week – quite understandable, given the time it would take to get there, with the whole area gridlocked, and the disruption the work would cause to the already choked road.
It makes little difference – my roofers are all off to the festival in any case.

Unless the weather changes dramatically over the next week or so, mud shouldn’t be a problem at the festival this year, but my preparations for moving into Lime Cottage have seemed, over the last few weeks, to be mired in lashings of the stuff.

Embarrassing really.

This is supposed to be an uplifting tale of small but significant miracles.  I’d grown so used to everything magically manifesting as I needed it that the petty delays, crossed wires and minor problems that – in fairness – thwart just about every house renovation took me rather by surprise.

Had my LIME (Life Is Miracles Expected) magic deserted me?

Was I losing my boundless optimism?

It all reached a peak on the day I’d redoubled my efforts to make the place habitable and put my back out in the process.  I crawled back to my comfortable, weatherproof, rented haven in town feeling grim and miserable and decided it was time to take stock.

Backache.

Louise Hay When I create peace, harmony, and b...

What would Louise Hay say about that?

Lack of support.

Tell me about it.

Luckily, I soon came to my senses.  I realised that however heroic it felt to be attempting everything single handed, it was time I enlisted some help.

As if by magic, my rented house was sold that day, and the landlord happily agreed to release me from the contract that could have had me paying rent here until December.

I decided to use the money I’d save employing a firm to deep clean the cottage, an old friend who is a decorator to finish stripping the wallpaper and paying extra to the removal company to pack all my gear before they move it.  What luxury!

Peace, harmony and balance were restored.

The next day my new copy of Cygnus Review arrived through the letter box, with a beautiful photo of a lotus flower on the cover.

The picture linked to an extract from a featured book: Practising Peace of Mind by Thich Nhat Nahn.

The article started by talking about bodily pain – a subject I could relate to very well, still being in considerable discomfort with my back.  This section caught my eye:

Lotus flower

…when we look deeply we see that suffering and happiness inter-are, just as the mud and the lotus interpenetrate each other. A lotus can only grow in mud. If there were no mud, there would be no lotus flower.

– See more at: http://www.cygnus-books.co.uk/magazine/2014/06/practicing-peace-mind/#sthash.Dh0ujDwd.dpuf

What very wise words.

Now I’m happy (well, y’know, relatively happy) to wade through the mud for a few weeks longer, knowing that I’ll be able to appreciate the perfection of the lotus flower when it surfaces.

Any remaining challenges are simply Life working out the way ‘I’ – at some level – have chosen, to prove to myself that I can play this game and have this particular adventure.

And there on the doorstep…

English: Create Synchronicity logo at 128px x ...

So when the doorbell went at lunchtime yesterday, I wasn’t in the best of spaces.

I’d done my back in the day before and was in quite a bit of pain.  I was upstairs in the study and the thought of making the arduous journey downstairs was tempting me to ignore it.

On the other hand, an unexpected ring at the door is an opportunity…

So slowly and uncomfortably I made my way down the stairs and along the hall.  As I approached, I could hear whoever-they-were outside chatting happily – two female voices.

I opened the door and there stood two of my dearest friends.

You know that bit in a dream, when you suddenly think, “This is too far fetched to be happening – it must be a dream,” and instantly wake up?  Well I had that feeling, but I didn’t wake up.

You see – yes – both these people were good friends of mine, certainly, but they should not have been there.  They certainly shouldn’t have been there together.  Even more certainly, they shouldn’t have known each other and been chatting away as I’d hear them doing.  None of this worked.

I stared from one to the other in total amazement.  They grinned.
“Told you this would leave her speechless!” laughed L, the friend I’ve known for years, who lives in a village a few miles down the road from here.
“Not surprised,” agreed V, the friend I’d been on a couple of workshops with earlier in the year, who lives about 200 miles away and wasn’t due to visit for another month.

My mind was trying hard to make some sense of this.  It was failing miserably.
“You came together?” I asked.
They nodded and smiled some more.
“But how on earth do you know each other…?”

“You shouldn’t have any trouble understanding this,” V told me.  “It fits in perfectly with your philosophy of life, and how things work.”

She was right.  It did.

V had come to Glastonbury for the weekend to attend a workshop.  She’d forgotten to bring my phone number and didn’t know where my house was, so hadn’t been able to contact me.

L had, quite separately, signed up for the same workshop.  She’d arrived that morning and chosen a chair to sit in.  V had chosen to sit in the chair next to her.  They’d instantly found many things in common and decided to spend their lunch break together.

As they were walking along the High Street, L had expressed her interest in Mayan astrology.  A few quick mental calculations later (L has a mind like a computer) she’d discovered that, like herself, V was a Blue Lunar Eagle.

“That’s amazing!” L said.  “You’re only the second other one I’ve found.  It explains why we get along so well.  The other is my friend Jan.”
“Not Jan Stone?” V asked.

That was how they discovered that both of them knew me.  Obviously,  they then carried on down to my house to share their discovery.

Simple really, as long as you believe in miracles and synchronicity…

 

 

 

 

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June at Lime Cottage

June gardenChurch bells woke me from a deep sleep this morning.

Thoughts gradually began to form:

Sunday……………

first day of June…………….

sun’s shining…………..

love thyself…………….

Not sure where that last one came from, or why it arrived with the King James Bible language.  Something to do with those church bells, maybe?

At any rate, the advice seemed good.  I neatly stashed a whole pile of ‘shoulds’ at the very back of my mind, ran a deep bubble bath and asked myself what I’d most like to do on this glorious morning.

The answer was there at once.  Head off to Lime Cottage and do some gardening.

I still don’t live there.  I’m waiting for the conservation team at the local council to give me consent to have the leaky roof and the great gaping hole in the ceiling fixed.  Until then I’m sleeping, eating and working in the little rented town centre house and spending every spare minute at the cottage, stripping off wallpaper and flaking paint.

Not today, though.  Today was a day to enjoy my new garden.

poppies

It’s been almost six years since I’ve had a garden of my own.  I simply don’t have the words to express the joy I felt plunging my hands into the deep, dark loam and rescuing buried violas and straggling euphorbias from rampaging bindweed and goose grass.

The aquilegias and forget-me-nots are just past their best now, but the roses and chives look wonderful together, and love-in-a-mist and margarites are flowering in drifts right through the garden.

damsel flyI watched honeybees and their huge bumbling cousins visiting foxgloves and electric-blue damsel flies basking on hollyhock leaves and nibbling delicately at the parsley flowers.

Herbs, fruit bushes, wild flowers and cottage garden plants live together here in a glorious, tolerant medley.

Who knows how many generations ago they first arrived?  Some planted perhaps by the owners of the 17th century clay tobacco pipes I find fragments of wherever I dig in the soil.

foxglovesSo yes – finally – after years of wishing and hoping, I once more have a garden of my own.  I won’t be putting my own stamp on it, though.  This beauty and exuberance has taken centuries to form.

I will be this garden’s willing custodian – trimming back the grass and honeysuckle, encouraging the shyest plants and checking the most rampant, but basically allowing it to delight and surprise me as every new month brings fresh pleasures.

The photos were all snapped there on my i-pod this morning.

Happy June from Lime Cottage, everyone.

 

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