How I learned to make crystal and flower essences

22/06/2016 at 7:12 am | Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

The flowers are infused in sunlight

Magical and irrational as this may sound, I first learned how to make crystal and flower essences through a series of dreams. The first ones happened while I was qualifying as a healer, around 2003. In that hypnogogic state between sleeping and waking I was shown, step by step, how to go to particular plants in the garden and gather small amounts for the purpose of bottling their essential signature. I was shown how these essences could then, at a later date, remind us of essential qualities within ourselves.

The garden around the Studio is semi-wild, with native trees and plants co-existing with introduced specimens. There’s a fusion here of what will never be tamed, and what is cultivated. I believe that humans are very like that: each of us is a unique blend of wild and cultivated. Plant essences can help us to get this balance right within ourselves.

The crystal essence dreams came along a little later, after those early plant essence dreams. The most vivid perhaps was the time I was given, while dreaming, a vial of angel essence, with implicit instructions on how to make my own through a blend of crystals, rose oil and rose water.

The crystal dreams suggested to me that while the plant essences addressed the emotions that constantly occupy us, the crystals themselves addressed bedrock aspects of who we are. Furthermore, the weather and time of day or night also had an input.

From time to time I share the garden with other people who’d like to make their own essences. One such event is happening here on Sunday 17th July, during an event I’m co-hosting with Jennie Meek, who will be bringing her own expertise of Qi Gong and therapeutic tapping to share. You can find out more here.

How do crystal and flower essences work?

I do like logical explanations and I am respectful of the scientific principle of finding proof of efficacy. At the same time, I’m happy to find therapy in the process of making.

The essences are similar to homeopathy in that they carry little or no aspect of the original material. One explanation that is sometimes suggested is that water has memory – it records the essential signature of a material added to it. It may also be that the recording is better when the person creating it has uncluttered, open, focused intention.

If any scientists reading this find that explanation hard to swallow, I think it’s possible, very simply, that on a conscious or even sub-conscious level, qualities of the original plant or crystal remind us of qualities within ourselves, and help us to reinforce those helpful, positive aspects.

The bottom line is that when we make an essence with intention, and then take small amounts of it afterwards – either in drops to imbibe, or in fragranced droplets to spray around us – a subtle yet delightful emotional shift happens within us. Dr Edward Bach recognised this when he first made his flower remedies, back in the 1930s, and it’s possible to recognise the exact same thing today.

 

How to keep a dream diary

01/06/2015 at 10:01 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 5 Comments
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Guidance of my dreams

Keeping a dream diary is one of the kindest, wisest gifts you can give yourself. Even if you don’t remember your dreams, keep a journal anyway. Record whatever you can recall on waking up. If you only catch a fleeting mood, record it. Hold this intention: ‘I am now ready for the guidance of my dreams’. And, in time, your diary will begin to fill.

I was inspired back in the 1990s by an early version of Denise Linn’s book, The Hidden Power of Dreams. I loved her suggestion that you write an uplifting title in the front of your journal. This might be something along the lines of ‘My dream diary: a beautiful book filled with beautiful gifts’. Many volumes later, I still write something similar.

On each left hand page…

Write the date, and a title for a dream you had the night before. The title can be anything that seems to sum up your dream. Then simply write down your dream. 

You may find you don’t remember any dreams. In that case, just write down any fleeting thoughts or feelings you had on waking up. Try to notice if you had any pictures or words in your mind on waking, and record those. Or you may find you had several unrelated dreams in the same night. Just write them down, as if they were chapters of the same dream.

On each right hand page…

Write down any thoughts or observations you have about the dream. Perhaps you were doing something the day before that triggered it? Over time you will begin to understand the meaning of different images in your dream. It can be helpful and enjoyable to draw or paint a picture of the dream on this page – you can gain new insights that way.

The key to your dreams

Be aware that everything and everyone in your dream is representing an aspect of yourself. Everything is symbolic. You don’t have to understand all the symbols, but it’s very rewarding when you start to interpret them. You can think of it as a puzzle to which only you hold the key. And over time, the more you study your dreams, the more you will understand.

 Never be scared of your dreams – they are there to help you to understand yourself and your life choices better.

Your own dream dictionary

The best dream dictionary you can ever have comes from first hand observation of your own dreams: go by how the dream symbols feel – their essence, their energy. Where in your own life do you have a similar feeling?

 Here are some examples to get you started…

Narrow streets, or doors that are difficult to go through may suggest that a current course of action, or a current attitude, is not ideal. Conversely, if a dream has a sense of space, with wide avenues and clear views, it may be showing you that your current course in life is the right one for you.

People you dream of may represent some aspect of yourself that you are working on. What qualities do you associate with that person? 

If someone dies in a dream, it often means a new chapter of your own self-development is beginning, and maybe it’s a new chapter for that person too (it doesn’t mean that anyone is actually going to die!)

If a house or car is in need of repair, it may mean your health or career is in need of some tender loving care. Newly discovered floors and rooms in a building can mean that you will be exploring new areas of your own interests and abilities – maybe a new career is opening up for you.

Scary people or monsters chasing you may mean that a repressed part of your psyche is ready to be reintegrated. When you’re awake, spend some time loving and blessing the scary beings, ask them what they want… in your imagination, hug them!

Water often represents emotions – is it flowing, turbulent, flooding, or calm?



Nature: A beautiful object from nature – such as a flower or a feather – may represent an aspect of your natural self that you are beginning to reconnect with, and can also represent guidance from other realms.

Night guidance

Note that over time your observed dreams are likely to become more vivid, more colourful, as though you are actually there. You may experience the bliss of flying, and receive clear spiritual lessons that remain in your mind when you wake up. You may wake up with recipes, formulas… all sorts of knowledge that can help you, and other people.

Record it all in your dream diary. And be ready to carry your new knowledge into your waking life. That’s when the fun really begins!

2015-03-05 12.41.53

Bookmark your intention

10/04/2015 at 8:34 am | Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

155529_375813119168133_2129116196_n

Not so long ago, I was doing a lot of caring for others, and forgetting to care for myself. Therefore, I was running on empty: constantly tired; crabby. My caring for others had become a monster that went through the motions and denied my loved ones the true energy of compassion.

This went on for several days. Then, one morning, in that dreamy state between sleep and awakening, I saw a bookmark hovering in front of me. You know, the long, thin rectangular sort that you put in a proper card-and-paper book.

“Bookmark your intention for today,” said a wise teacher who was invisibly beside me. And at once I saw words appearing on the bookmark. I understood then that I was choosing a simple, uncomplicated intention for the day. My intention – far shorter than a typical ‘to-do’ list – was to help a particular relative in a specific way, and also to care for myself. That was all. Sure, there would be other activities in the day, but my intention was just those two things.

And with that knowledge, I stopped feeling tired and overwhelmed. The energy of life and compassion returned to me.

Additionally, I understood that each new morning benefits from a fresh bookmark, spelling out an intention for that particular day.

What is your intention for today? Keep it simple. There’s only room for a few well-chosen words on a bookmark.

Intuitive mindfulness is a match made in heaven

03/01/2015 at 1:06 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment
Tags: , , , , , , ,

1273195_10152485954351242_3075996063552013992_o
“Never do something because you feel other people expect you to do it, do it because you have that feeling of absolute certainty that what you are doing is right for you, because you have taken the time to be still, to listen and find out from within what you should do.”

The words are by Eileen Caddy, co-founder of the the Findhorn Foundation in Scotland. The poster here is shared with thanks to that spiritual community.  Eileen Caddy’s book of inspirational writings, Opening Doors Within, was a major influence on me when I first thought about running meditation workshops in a Wiltshire studio.

The principle of noticing what you notice is central to mindfulness. When we are mindful, we focus on our breath, our pulse, the position of our body, the feel of the chair beneath us, the temperature of the air entering and leaving us, and so on. We notice what we are doing in the present moment, without rushing on to the future, or dwelling in the past.

When we mindfully wash dishes at a sink, for example, we take our time noticing the rainbow colours in the detergent bubbles, the feel of water against the surface of our hands, the sound and movement of dishes within a bowl of warm water.

As Thich Nhat Hanh teaches through his many writings on mindfulness, when we are fully present, we experience peace.

What is less widely talked about is that when we are mindfully present, we allow the quiet inner voice of our intuition to be heard. This is what Eileen Caddy understood fully, and Findhorn still encourages this in myriad ways today.

Noticing what you notice is an integral part of receiving intuitive guidance. Being mindful is essential if we want to understand what we truly feel, and the direction that we fundamentally wish to go.

When nature’s remedy came to stay

03/03/2014 at 3:49 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Betony light leaves

One of the best teachers I ever had was a medical herbalist called Nina Nissen. She taught me the herbalists’ belief that the plants you need tend to grow near you. For example, nettles and cleavers appear in the spring, just in time to help our bodies to flush out winter congestions and give us a multi-vitamin and mineral boost.
I don’t know about you, but I can learn something in my head… and somehow forget to apply it in real life. A mysterious wild flower started growing near my kitchen door. It had serrated leaves like ancient arrow heads. In the summer, pinkish purple flowers grew on long stalks. I kept forgetting to look it up. One day, I ordered some new medicinal plants. When they arrived, I suddenly discovered the identity of the mystery wild flower…

Among my bought herbs was a nervine: a relaxing herb that is particularly helpful for highly sensitive people who may become fearful or worried easily, and who, on balance, find it easier to stay at home. I could relate to these qualities. Although I love being with people, I find I also need long, quiet periods on my own. And I know that sometimes this stops me from doing things that would be helpful in my work. Steven, my partner, says that I am a hermit, and there is some truth in his comment. 

The plant for hermits goes by the name of Wood Betony,  or Stachys officinalis.

As I unpacked the Wood Betony plant I had ordered, I was amazed to see that it was identical to the mystery plant that grew near my kitchen door. Betony had come to me when I needed it, and had waited, patiently, for me to notice it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

So finally, today, I do something that my herbal medicine teacher, Nina Nissen, taught me a dozen years ago. I do an intuitive tea tasting.

First, I study the plant, to notice what I notice. I can see the leaves, shaped like arrowheads or even elongated hearts. I gather a few and bring them indoors. Close up, I can see tiny curved hairs all over the plant. The tiny hairs seem to collect particles from the environment. And yet a rinse under the kitchen tap is enough to clean the leaves completely.

Betony texture

I think, not for the first time, how important it is for any sensitive soul to let go of all that they pick up from their environment. Busy places in particular can make me feel exhausted far quicker than Steven, who thrives on stimulation. If I have lots of old energetic debris still clinging to me, I have to do something about it: a rest, a cleansing bath or shower, a dip in my local pool, a session of gardening. Like Betony, I need to let it go.

I continue to follow the advice of Nina Nissen, who has written about intuitive tea tasting in her classic book, Teach Yourself Herbal Medicine. I sniff the leaves, and  breathe in an earthy, almost musky scent, with fresh green undertones.

The chopped leaves go into freshly boiled water for three to five minutes. Many herbalists suggest ten minutes or so brewing time. If you are trying to get maximum nutrients, that’s probably a good idea. However, I remember Nina saying that you only need to make contact with the plant.

When the tea is ready, I filter it and study it once more before sipping it.

Betony tea

The colour is a fresh, delicate green that begins to fade almost as I look at it. The fragrance is earthy. It makes me think of a cottage, somewhere on a damp moor, with a peat fire creating a simple, peaceful warmth.

As I drink, the soft texture of the liquid reminds me of marshmallow tea. It soothes my dry throat, and the warmth spreads throughout my core. The taste is not a ‘pretty’ taste. It is more like the taste of Mother Earth, with fresh green after-notes.

I am beginning to feel distinctly light-headed. Images of scenes from my childhood and teenage years appear in my mind, one at a time. Alongside these images, there is a tight heaviness in my heart. What would make my heart feel better? Without really thinking about it, I imagine myself as a tiny point of consciousness, able to travel at will within a symbolic version of my body. I go to a control room just behind my eyes. There, I see a mini-version of myself at a big console. She is steering my body.

“It’s no use talking to me,” says the mini-me, who looks very busy. “I have to follow the programmes I’m given. If you want to change your direction, you need to talk to the programmers.” And she directs me deeper into my brain, to the programming room.

There, I find a small team of mini-me’s behind more consoles. These ones look quite boffin-like, with big dark spectacles. I talk to one of them, who is very friendly. She’s happy to write a new programme for me. We decide the words together and she hands me the completed programme. “You can take this to the navigation room yourself if you like,” says Boffin Me, smiling.

So I carry the programme back to the navigation room, and there it is received by the navigator who pops it into her console. “It’ll overwrite the previous programme,” she explains, comfortably. Together, we watch that happen on a big screen. I feel a huge sense of satisfaction.

Gradually, I return to my normal awareness. My heart feels less tight now, although I get the impression that changing course is a slow process that can take days or weeks to complete. I will be making more Wood Betony tea, though I will probably mix a leaf or two with another fragrant favourite such as spearmint, or lemon verbena. These have healing properties of their own.

And what was the new programme that I installed? Here it is, short and sweet:

“I have the power, wisdom and confidence to choose right action, or non-action, as appropriate.”

Mother Earth is stirring

11/02/2014 at 4:44 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 16 Comments
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Silbury

 

Mother Earth is stirring,

Mother Earth is waking.

Changes are occurring

in every stone and flower.

 

Touch me with compassion

at this electric time,

and I will realign.

 

This is what you do:

hold the planet in your hands,

hold the planet in your heart,

and you will be a channel

for the Mother.

 

Mother Earth is stirring,

Mother Earth is waking.

Changes are occurring:

can you feel the power?

 

The image: Silbury Hill is Europe’s tallest prehistoric human-made structure. Why it was built is a mystery. One theory is that Silbury is a representation of the Earth Mother – specifically, her pregnant belly rising above the ground. The water is only present during rainy times such as now. This is the most watery I have seen it.

A seer’s tip: Sit comfortably in front of a body of water such as this one. Formulate a question in your mind. Study the surface of the water, taking your time, noticing every detail. Then, let your mind go a little out of focus. Remember that the surface of the water is an illusion, and let your mind, and the question, slip between the molecules of your perception and into the mystery beyond. Let the question go. Let any expectation of an answer go. Simply be. Simply breathe… simply breathe. And be open to any answers that emerge.

Of storms and miracles

28/10/2013 at 9:11 am | Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Sunset and fiesta

Wind and lightening came at 5 am. We were prepared. The apples ­– Fiesta and Sunset – had been gathered. Windows and gates were fastened shut.

The raw, elemental power of the wind hit our windows almost full on. The howling sound as it tore through the trees was unrelenting. We couldn’t see, but heard the sound of branches being torn out and raked along the ground by nature’s pruning shears.

In the darkness it’s so easy to become wide-eyed, to lie in bed with teeming thoughts. So I said these most reassuring words: “I am safe, and all is well”.

The “I” in that beautiful mantra stretches beyond the individual, to all who may be in need of reassurance at that time: “We are safe, and all is well”.

And suddenly, all was well. The high-velocity air became a friend once more: a welcome agent of change.

The storm has passed. It’s sweeping eastwards. Meanwhile, the rain is still with us. There is an Atlantic freshness in the air. I notice that my mind feels like a newly ploughed field: well-watered and fertile. All I have to do is plant my questions and the answers will grow.

This One is Special rises to the surface of my thoughts. This book that I am writing is all about my experience of having a child with undiagnosed special needs. He has been called a miracle child. After thStrange, that it’s come to mind in the context of the storm. I know that there will be a good reason for it. Somehow, in a way that I don’t yet see, the two will be connected.

“You want to know about the Miracle Child?” asks my inner voice of guidance. “The Miracle Child is not one person. It is each one of you. Every human being is a miracle child. When you share your story, you remind readers who they really are.”

I ask for clarification. My guidance directs me to a dream I had five years ago, entitled ‘The Angel Labels’. So I retrieve the relevant dream diary from a drawer. My eyes go straight to the following paragraph:

“I woke from that dream understanding the power of words and symbols. I saw that everyone is like a blown glass vessel – like a Christmas decoration – with a hazy, open bit at the top, connecting us with all that is, from whence we are blown.”

“From whence we are blown…” I love that expression. I was born into a Mediterranean storm. I am literally a child of the storm. However, according to my guidance, we are all blown in from the heavens, from the All That Is. So when the storm comes, don’t be afraid. Be glad, because it signifies birth: birth of the new you, the Miracle Child, who is blown in from the Universe, and eternally connected with it.

Today, this moment now, is fresh and sparkling and new. Your life right now is a new life, full of fertile possibilities. Whatever age you think you are, the reality is you are young, and vibrant, and the world is lying before you: fresh, and new and fun.

The answer is gazing right back at you

02/09/2013 at 5:46 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 7 Comments
Tags: , , , ,

Sky glow

Yesterday evening, I was tidying up indoors. My hands were present, but my mind was elsewhere. I was wondering about the new term of meditations I’d be running in the Studio. Would it go ok? The theme I’ve chosen for this week is ‘glow’. Would ‘glow’ be a good word to meditate on?

“Come outside,” called Steven. You’ve got to see this.”

His voice was light and excited.

I went outside.

And I saw this sunset.

Just to be clear, I have not altered the image in any way. The sky truly was lit with orange and red, with a tiny sprinkling of town lights below.

The sky was simply glowing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it glow so fully before.

So I guess that answers my question. Thank you Universe, for a very big answer to my question.

Avebury vision: gateway to the Universe

01/09/2013 at 9:56 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 10 Comments
Tags: , , , , , ,

Avebury stones 1

John Wilding lives with his family in the centre of Avebury Stone Circle. It must be a little like living in a fairy tale, full of myth and magic. Do you know Avebury? It’s a picturesque Wiltshire village which contains the largest stone circle in the world. (Or maybe, even, the stone circle contains the village).

John runs the Henge Shop, which is full of delightful mystic gems and esoteric books. It’s a hub for spiritual travellers from all around the world.

To help the visitors, John is setting up a new website, to be called Visit Avebury. Last week he asked me to write 200 words on sacred sites and meditation for the new website. “I’d love to,” I emailed back.

It then occurred to me that I can’t remember the last time I meditated at Avebury. How can that be? I only live 15 minutes’ drive away. So I decided to get up early at the weekend and do my usual morning meditation there, within the circle…

First, I share a quick breakfast with my nine-year-old daughter, who usually loves a trip. She wants to know why I am going to Avebury. She doesn’t look impressed when I explain.

“Are you definitely going to meditate at the stones?” she asks.

“I am.”

“Then I’m definitely not coming,” she decides.

I smile. It appears that my daughter has just started to understand that parents can be Seriously Embarrassing.

As I walk down to the garage, I happen to glance into our front yard. I see the words ‘hope’, ‘joy’ and ‘love’ chalked onto the stone slabs in a childish hand. I smile again. Maybe she and I are not so different after all.

At Avebury, I walk over to my favourite part of the circle, the quieter north semi-circle. There are no people here, just sheep. I go up to several of the stones and place the palms of my hands against their rough surface. It feels like a form of greeting, a ‘signing in’ as it were. I study the patterns of rock and lichen. I am tuning in.

I notice that I am feeling distinctly light-headed, and the feeling persists.

Carefully, I choose a stone in the outer circle to sit by – then walk to an entirely different one. I sit on the ground and lean back. The stone supports my back so well, it almost feels soft.

Meditation stone

The sun is warm in front of me. The stone is cool behind me.

A gentle wind brushes a few hairs against my face. I hear wood pigeons cooing placidly high in the trees.

I decide to do a listening meditation. Simply breathe, and listen, and feel, and listen.

Meanwhile, my mind has decided to do its bit to unlock the mysteries of the circle. No one really knows why Avebury Stone Circle is here, and there are countless theories. My mind is intrigued by the fact that there are two smaller inner circles within the outer circle. Within the best surviving inner circle, near where I’m sitting, there are two giant stones which many people call a female  and a male stone. Guess which is which…

Avebury stones 2

And then I remember that I am here to meditate. I am here to breathe, listen and feel…

Maybe, my mind points out, the stone circle is a Neolithic depiction of Yin and Yang? All physical matter is composed of binary opposites: sun and moon, male and female, hot and cold and so on… surely Avebury is a beautiful representation of that?

And then I remember, once more, that I am here to meditate…

The area around my heart begins to feel warm: a spreading, pleasant glow.

It’s then that I notice that a particular, unusual word keeps popping up in my mind:

“Locus. The circle is a locus.”

Just in case there is any doubt, the voice repeats itself.

“Locus.”

And then… it happens.

I hear these words:

“It is not the stones themselves that matter. It’s the spaces in between. “

Without any warning, there is a whoosh!

I see a gateway to the All That Is. The stones are the gateway.  Through them, I can see the Universe.

And on my right side, between the stones, laughing, I can see women, very like those I have seen before. Maybe they are the same. Natural, lean and bare-limbed, they are laughing at me, though not unkindly.

At least you are beginning to get it,” they are saying.

And then I am through the gateway and I am dancing between the particles of matter.

I am bigger than the stars and smaller than the atoms.

My previous light-headed feeling has gone, because I am now in the space in which  I am meant to be. This is my normal state of being, I realise. The rest is just a crammed up, box-like dream.

This is real life. This is reality.

I am in bliss.

I am bliss.

There is only bliss… bliss stretching out to infinity….

Gradually, as if from above, I become aware of the pattern of the stones again. I understand now how they act as a locus. The circular structure is helpful for returning back to your body.

We can think it, perhaps, as a Neolithic landing pad for the soul.

And then I am back again, sitting on baked bare earth, the sun on my face, cool stone behind my back. My heart area still feels pleasantly warm and glowing.

I am happy.

I return home via Silbury Hill, the tallest prehistoric human-made mound in Europe.

Silbury

In my psychically open state, I can see a man directing others in front of a younger and smaller mound. A wise woman, well-regarded, is behind him. She is in the light. Younger men are asking why they are building up the sky.

The old man says, “It will remind them. 

“The time of forgetting will come. 

“The time of forgetting is necessary.

But then, the time of remembering will come. “

This is fascinating, and I want to stay, to learn more. But I am feeling a growing pressure. At home, my family are waiting for my return. So Silbury must be a story for another day.

Avebury stones 3

Retrieving the miracle child

29/08/2013 at 6:26 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 21 Comments
Tags: , , , , , ,

Miracle ms

It’s 10 pm in the evening. The children are asleep upstairs, Steven is out at a dinner in London. And I am about to open a time capsule.

I’m nervous. I decide to put off the moment by walking to the fridge and getting out a beer. I open the bottle, toss the metal cap in the recycling caddy. I pour the beer. Without even taking a sip, I put the glass of beer down where I promptly forget about it. I rinse the bottle out, and place that too in the recycling caddy.

My mind is turbulent. I haven’t looked at the manuscript of The Miracle Child in maybe 14 years. It belongs to a different era. Why mess with it now?

The reason isn’t hard to find. Three days ago I broke a long silence. I wrote a blog post about my 17-year-old disabled son, Timothy. I called it, ‘What I wish I’d said to Anita Moorjani’, and I posted it on Anita Moorjani’s Facebook page. The author of Dying to Be Me has a beautiful community there, where people bare their souls. It felt good to do it. I also posted a picture of Timothy with his dad, Steven. Choosing that photo made me cry. I knew a door that had been closed for quite some time was being allowed to open. I was allowing it to open.

When Timothy was little, when we were still living in Richmond, I wrote a book, called Coping When Your Child has Special Needs for Sheldon Press. And at the time of publication there were articles and photos of Timothy in one national paper, The Express, and a handful of magazines. But I left all that behind when we moved to Wiltshire. Without realizing, I became quiet on the subject of my beautiful, mysterious, disabled boy.

So why break the silence now?

“Wow, I was so moved by this blog post!!” wrote Anita Moorjani. “Thank you, Suzanne Askham. Next time, Suzanne, we’ll definitely talk more! Sending love and hugs to you and your beautiful son

After Anita wrote that, my blog was flooded with visitors. Their comments, shared stories and support were extremely moving to me. And I realized that it might be a good thing to be more open. It might be good for Timothy. It might be good for other children and young adults like Timothy. It might help other parents. And it sure as heck might be profoundly healing for me.

So that’s why in just a few minutes I’m planning to go to the spare bedroom at the far end of the house, lean down into a corner there, by the desk, and pick up a fat package in an old jiffy bag. It’s curious that over all these years, the manuscript has been kept in such an accessible place, yet never looked at.

What will the energy of the package feel like when I open it? I expect it to be drenched in sadness, and I’m dreading that.

“Why mess with it after so long?” I think again.

“Why not?” a small inner voice whispers back to me. It feels like the prompting of my soul.

The Miracle Child came about almost by itself. A dear friend, Tessa Phillips, knew a book editor at a London publishing house. She told the book editor about Timothy, and the editor suggested I wrote a book about him. She even gave me the title, The Miracle Child.

I liked the title a lot. I was worried, though, that Timothy and I might not live up to it. He was, after all, profoundly disabled. That wasn’t going to change any time soon. But there was plenty of hope and promise in his story.

So I quickly wrote the book, and in the process released a lot of anger. There was in me a fierce desire to help my son in whatever ways were possible.

But just as I was about to send the manuscript off, the book editor left, and the publishing house had no interest in The Miracle Child. I think I half-heartedly tried a couple of other publishers, who duly rejected it. A few friends read the manuscript and made supportive comments. And then, rather embarrassed about the whole thing, I put it to one side.

I figured that the universe had its reasons for arranging that I wrote The Miracle Child, and it had its reasons for the book not to be published after all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I can’t put off this moment any longer. I go up to the spare bedroom, lean down into the corner, pick up the jiffy bag, and take it back to the living room. I bring the forgotten glass of beer with me. I feel that I’m going to need it.

The house is very quiet. There are no interruptions. There is nothing to stop me facing my past.

I open the envelope. I draw out the manuscript. I see an old-fashioned floppy disk in there too. I’ll have to get it converted into a modern format.

To my surprise, the energy of the manuscript feels quite different to what I expected. The over-riding feeling is one of… eagerness. This story is ready to be heard. It’s even excited about it. Wahey! It’s dancing a jig.

Yes, there is sadness. There were certainly enough tears as I wrote it. But the sheer bouncy energy of my younger self is apparent. There was rocket fuel in my blood at that time.

The Miracle Child reflects my dawning awareness during the first years of Timothy’s life. There’s a lot it misses out. I’m amazed, as I read through the pages, that I don’t mention the vision of bliss that I experienced in the year before Timothy was born. That vision is something I told only a very few people, until I wrote about for the first time three days ago in my recent blog post.

The vision of bliss was so influential; why ever would I keep it quiet? It sustained me throughout the hardest times. I am deeply, fundamentally grateful that I experienced it. Despite that, the 35-year-old me believed it was ‘woo woo’. I couldn’t possibly mention it in print.

Today, I would write The Miracle Child differently, for sure. But that is not the point. I make a decision. I’m not going to edit this. I’m just going to publish it, as it is, in its own raw energy – like an extended blog post. I’ll most likely release it as a Kindle book.

I waver. Do I dare to do this?

And then I think about the messages I’ve received from women in my situation. I’ve also heard from  others who have struggled themselves with a range of major health issues. Sharing and caring are what make us human.

This is my request to the Universe: may all those who are able to benefit from this book, get the opportunity to read it.

I’ll send off that floppy disc to a data retrieval company.

It’s time to share.

Next Page »

Blog at WordPress.com.
Entries and comments feeds.