Tag: spiritual journey

When life goes wrong

lizaaitken

When you take a hit and life goes the wrong way, it is very easy to blame the universe. I mean you can’t possibly blame yourself can you, that would be daft, it is obviously down to someone or something you have absolutely no control over, it’s not your fault.

I’m not talking about every day occurrences, your numbers not coming in on the lottery, your holiday company closing down with your money or your laptop crashing. I’m talking about the big hits, like losing your home and having absolutely no idea what you will do next, how you will survive. A life-changing event any way that knocks you off you feet at a point in life you were simply not expecting it.

These things happen every minute of every day to millions of people and yet when they happen to us they are catastrophic. Why, because it happened to ‘me’ and it is not fair. What have I done to deserve this we ask, friends ask the same and show pity, although from a distance on occasion, as a run of bad luck can be catching.

When I look back on my life, I’m 50 by the way. None of the awful things that happened along the way are awful today. They all led me to where I am now and until this recent bit of bad luck, life was pretty okay. In fact, if some of those at the time awful things, hadn’t happened, life might be pretty awful.

When I think back to painful experiences, does it still hurt? Although I can remember how I felt at those times and appreciate the pain I experienced, it doesn’t hurt any more. I’m pretty much all healed, and I think for the majority of the time, better off for the experience.

We trundle along in life, not noticing what is going on a lot of the time until we get knocked off our feet. Bang, bloody big reality shock, life as we know it has crumbled into tiny pieces, so small they won’t fit back together. This is how the universe wakes us up, lets us know we were nodding off and getting boring. These alarm calls are set to stimulate us, alert us to every tiny detail of our existence.

Have you ever noticed at times like this how sharp everything looks, how sound echoes and feelings intensify? Enter your true friends and out and good riddance to those hangers on. Although we don’t know it at the time these are the best of days, these are the start of our next chapters and we only have to turn the page to get there.

I have had a bit of a hit recently but this time I have surprised myself. I’m excited by it, I’m eager and full of anticipation for where I’m going this time. The universe hasn’t let me down so far, as much as things might have seemed bleak at the times, the universe had a better view, the long view, and I put myself at its mercy.

Bluebell Woods

lizaaitken

It’s beautiful here in the woods, just like I remember. I’m walking along the path through the trees. I have to watch for the bumps in the path where the roots of the trees are lifting the earth, but it’s just wonderful. I feel privileged to be here in this very special place. If I look ahead I can see the light shining at the end of the trees, it’s probably where the sunlight hits the earth but it looks almost mystical from here where I stand.

Bluebells cover the ground all around for as far as I can see, a carpet of purple and blue. To my left I see a couple of figures collecting the flowers, when I look closer I realise I know them, I am the child, the other person my grandmother. I remember how happy the child is, how happy they both are, how special that day was. I have stored it perfectly in my memory all these years to return and visit it again today. I hear my other self giggle and wonder where that childhood innocence went. I believe today I must have reclaimed it as I managed to get here even if only in my sleep.

The trees that line the path bend gently in the breeze as if to greet me, leaves cover the path around the roots of the trees. Although discarded now at the end of their days they are still part of the trees that bore them and still remain part of the scene. They will eventually rot and feed the trees through the earth, the cycle of life.

I walk away from the couple, away from myself and away from the path to the left of the scene, towards what looks like a gentle hue in the distance. Where, it would seem, the sunlight has not discovered yet today. It looks peaceful and magical. There is a mist above the bluebells like early dawn and if I look really close I can see tiny specks like shimmering dust. I sit in this place for a while, I feel protected and safe, I think about my life.

I know I’m dreaming but also know I’m in control, I can create here, I can direct the outcome. I consider going over to the child and helping her collect bluebells, tell her she will remember the day forever. I could advise her on her future, tell her the pitfalls out there for her but I won’t because she needs to learn for herself, like me. I just watch contentedly, as she lives her special day, from the background.

I know I can’t stay but it feels so good to be here, I must go but I want to keep something from today. I look down to the floor of the woods to see what I can find, a stone catches my eye nestled in the soft grass. I pick it up and hold it in the centre of my palm to have a good look. The stone is green and it shimmers slightly, if I look closely it seems I can see inside, there are patterns beneath the surface that tell a story. I will take the stone home to remember my journey here. I slip it into my pocket, take one last look at the child with her grandmother and close my eyes.

I’m back in my bedroom, the birds are whistling in the sunshine and I can hear the engine of the school bus in the distance. It draws closer and stops outside to let my daughter off. She runs up the path with her arms behind her back, hiding something. When she reaches the porch where I’m waiting to greet her she produces a bunch of bluebells she has collected today on a nature walk. I hold her tight for a moment and kiss her tiny face in gratitude. We go into the house together to put the flowers in water. We put them on display on the window ledge, just next to the shiny green stone.

The Development Circle

lizaaitken

She found it really hard to close her mind to the outside world and just be in the moment. There was a shopping list running through her mind and she could see herself walking down the isle of the grocery store. She found these guided meditations really hard to stick at, it was terribly difficult to let go of life or was it just too frightening. She pulled herself back from the supermarket, lifting her gaze to look round the circle. There were seven of them in total, the others appearing to be at peace and following the guidance of the leader. Okay, where was she supposed to be, could she see the blue light in the circle, maybe if she turned it into tiny drops of water she could just see it.

Who was that outside in the hallway, maybe a latecomer but surely the door was locked. She brought her mind back to the group and mentally put the noise in the hallway into her invisible shopping bag along with the groceries. The medium leading the group was telling them to put the people they loved into the healing light in the centre. This bit was easier, there was her mum dancing without oxygen a big smile on her face and her eyes reflecting the blue of the room. Her dad smiling and waving his arms about showing jazz hands, and her nephew with his school bag dancing around them both. There was Kerry looking at peace, a smile on her face without the usual signs of childhood trauma, just looking happy. Jenny and Moira stood peacefully at the edge also watching the happiness of those still living. She put all her might into seeing these people and sending them the love and healing they needed.

It was time for the loved ones to leave and for her to step into the circle and receive healing herself, ask spirit for whatever she needed. She saw herself there, she made herself a little younger, slimmer and her hair just right and yes she was smiling. What did she need, maybe guidance, she asked spirit for direction, to help her find her path and stop jumping about in her life, she so needed to find her life purpose. She was alone in the circle even though all the members of the group were supposed to be with her. She looked up to the light and sent a prayer for help putting all her love into the request.

The door opened and a man walked into the room to join the group. From the centre of the circle she watched as he crossed the room and put his coat across a chair. She wondered what the medium would say about his late arrival but casting her eyes in that direction it appeared she didn’t mind.   The man smiled over at her and put a book down on her chair. It was green with gold leaf writing on the cover but from here she couldn’t read the words.

‘Okay when you are ready bring yourself back to the group’

She took a couple of breaths and slowly opened her eyes looking around the group. The man had gone of course, he was only in her imagination but his smile remained warming her inside. Sarah, the medium, asked how everyone felt and if anyone wanted to say anything. She smiled but didn’t want to tell the group about the man in her dream so remained silent.

It was a good evening at the development circle, they usually all had fun together. They practiced a couple of psychic exercises, some tarot and aura reading before closing the group and heading to the pub.

Saying goodnight to each other later that night, Sarah told her to think about the words on the book cover. She was amazed and asked Sarah if she had seen the man with the book. Sarah shook her head and said ‘I just know about the book, not everything but I know you will write one, you just need to see the title’.

The Journey

lizaaitken

The path was of red brick, it suggested a connection with the earth.  She trod lightly upon the path and yet her steps were purposeful, she needed to reach her destination.

She was looking down at the path, as she had been told to at the beginning of the journey, focusing just ahead and a little afraid to look up in case she lost her way and the path disappeared.  She watched and counted, as her feet stepped out beneath her believing, as she travelled that she was there.   As she began to feel at ease with her surroundings she widened her gaze to look outside of the path, lifting her head slightly, while at the same time ensuring the path remained within her vision.  A butterfly flew lightly by, enticing her from her path, to follow its beauty, for just a fleeting moment.  The butterfly flew on the breeze across a garden of country flowers to join other butterflies dusted across the landscape.  Her ears tuned themselves to the scene and brought with them gentle bird song to what had originally been silence.  About a foot in front she saw a peacock, its tail splayed proudly as it too walked the path.  She stopped to pick a lost and solitary feather from the path.

She had been told to look for a seat and there it was framed beneath the buddleia, the lilac of the tree casting a gentle hue on the wood.  The seat was an old tree trunk on its side to make a bench long enough for three people.  Although the trunk was old it shone in the sunlight as if highly polished and the surface had been flattened for sitting.  Rings on the yellow tinged wood suggested a great age and although no longer as part of a tree it looked healthy and alive.  Butterflies surrounded the tall buddleia tree so it appeared to be moving and amass with colours framing the seat beneath.

She sat on the seat, her feet just off the floor and waited as she had been told by her tutor.  Beside her there was her diary, she hadn’t brought this along it had been lost many years ago but she knew it was hers by the inscription.  Her grandfather had given the diary to her as a child, it held those precious childhood memories she had almost forgotten.  She lifted the book and read from the pages, her childhood scrawl, familiar and yet forgotten.  The passion and innocence of the child she once was joining her now all these years later.

Looking up she saw her grandfather, not the sick man she had last seen but a healthy smiling man.  He was standing next to another gentleman, he appeared to be Indian and wrapped in cloth, he appeared from looking at him, to be wise.  Her grandfather glancing once at the man at his side for permission, walked to join her on the bench.  He didn’t say anything as he joined her, just sat with her looking out at the beautiful garden and the wise man in the distance.   There was a remembered closeness between them that didn’t need words, a closeness that had been forgotten.

He held out his hand to her, a crystal shone in his palm.  Taking the crystal she looked into it and knew it represented a church and the learning within, there were no words.  The crystal was for her, she knew this and it would represent the journey yet to be travelled.  It signified all that was yet to be learnt, the possibilities ahead as well as the happiness and understanding these lessons would bring.

She looked up at him, a tear trickled down his face but the eye that it came from was smiling.  He stood up and without a word walked to join the man standing in the distance.  She knew that this man was his friend here and that he was also a teacher.  The crystal she held in her hands would hold some of his lessons, she felt the warmth from the stone.

She walked back down the path towards the wooden door she had entered from.  Her hand on the handle she turned to look once more into the garden but her grandfather was gone.

Opening her eyes slowly, she was back in the group, but she knew that the garden was easy to find again when she wanted to and she would certainly return.

The Whisper

lizaaitken

Someone spoke into my ear, whispered clearly, a man’s voice I think, deep and soft, but I didn’t quite get it.  It woke me from my sleep although I don’t think I was quite there yet, just at that in between space between sleeping and not sleeping, that comfortable, warm trance like state we seek when attempting to meditate and switch off the world.  I sat up and looked around the room for the source of the whisper, looking into the spectrum of grey mist and shadow.  The moon was bright and the large sash window cast shadows around the room, but they were just shadows, everything being familiar and as it was when I turned off the light. My cat Eris, watched curiously from the bottom of the bed, I could just see her outline and feel the warmth of her body stretched across my feet and although I couldn’t see her face I knew she wasn’t amused at the interruption.  I’m sure it wasn’t my imagination, I know the voice inside my head, it’s been there all my life, it’s me, sounds like me and thinks like me.  This was different, a voice close enough to be in my head but just outside.

I wasn’t frightened which surprised me, I felt almost privileged but disappointed I had missed the message.  I waited for the voice to come again, speaking out loud into the darkness, hoping for a repeat whisper and wanting to understand the reason behind it.  Silence filled the room, trees swayed silently in the distance through the window but even the usual noises of the city seemed to be muffled.  I strained my ears for the sound of anything, a heartbeat maybe but nothing but the slight drip from the tap in the bathroom down the hall.  I lay down again on my side, hair tucked behind my ear, searching the large mirror to the side of my bed surveying the room, watching for the movement I knew would not come.

I slept, without interruption this time, a sound sleep of a familiar dream, the dream I have often although it varies it’s the same repetitive dream.  I’m travelling across water and as I look down waves crash powerfully against a shore.  Sometimes I’m in a plane and occasionally I view the scene from a cliff or somewhere high above floating.  But I always see the water and its always moving and deep, somehow communicating, the white froth of the surf against the blue of the sea as it crashes against land.  As I travel tonight I am aware of the silence, the waves should be loud but they are not, it is as if the sound is turned down. There is always a house, not ever the same but the house is always large with many rooms of which I have to travel through.  During my many journeys through this dream, I have visited castles with huge dome like ceilings, family homes, churches and old farmhouses and I have walked through all of them searching for the room I am supposed to enter where I will find an answer.  The dream is sometimes frightening and sometimes pleasant, the atmosphere changes from room to room, I occasionally linger in a room, run from some and through others.  Tonight the house is old and the walls are cold stone, I hear my father talking to his wife in the distance but I don’t see him. My father is usually in this dream, due to arrive or just leaving but I always catch a glimpse of him although it is my journey and he too is travelling.

I wake and lay back on my warm pillow, molded by sleep, I breathe in the new day.   Through the window the old tree moves gently in the wind as it towers above the city buildings.   I think about the voice and wonder who it was, I’m certain I heard it, that it was a man and it was familiar.  I ponder also on my dream, I didn’t find what I was searching for but I will travel there again I know this with certainty. Eris wonders around the room, brushing against the bed, as is her routine, she is waiting for her food, as if I could forget.  Slowly I push back the duvet, hold it aloft as I step from the bed and head from the room.  I stop with my hand on the door and look around once again……………………………..