Dear friend,
There’s a ball of fur lying on the rug and I am very pleased to be in the company of Zara again. She’s been on her holidays and we’ve been travelling a fair bit so the weeks have passed with a growing longing for the company of an animal friend.
In my meditations I focus my attention on a starlike point of light, and when I pass through it Santy is there and she sits with me. We’re on a hillside overlooking a valley. She sits close by, the side of her light body pressing against mine.
I can feel the place of contact now as I write.
When I leave my earthly body behind she’ll be first to greet me, which puts a different spin on leaving the earth plane.
I’m thinking about death because Zara was away at a family event where the ashes of her owner were scattered. Plus I’m reading ‘Testimony of Light” by Helen Greaves.
Our culture is generally clueless about death, which makes us clueless about life.
I don’t want to make light of it.
It would be cruel and insensitive to make out that death is nothing to fear or merely a transition from one stage of life to another. For the one passing this may be so, and as far as I can tell from my own experience, this is true. But we, on earth are the ones left to make sense of the loss. Coming to terms with the loss of loved ones, friends and family, human and otherwise is a powerful experience to which we must adjust in our own way in our own time.
But this morning I’m thinking about life and light and love.
We identify so strongly as being purely physical beings it’s easy to forget that we are deathless spirit. That minds are joined and so distance in mind is meaningless.
I forget that I can communicate with Mam and Dad.
Put aside any images that arise of seances and Victorian parlours, dust and potted palms, headscarves, crystal balls, ouija boards or occult paraphernalia.
Tuning into loved ones is as natural as breathing. But we need to be able to become still. Withdrawing our attention from the noise of our busy minds and the constant ebb and flow and spin of the world.
Time is a factor also.
For me.
In the first few years of loss I couldn’t think of Mam or Dad or Santy or Nana without it hurting so much I couldn’t recall the loving times. It was dark and cold and you have to pass through it. The light comes. The way the dawn does. Slowly, bit by bit I’d be able to laugh and cry and smile. Now it’s gentler, but still with some torn edges that snag me. Nothing so serious anymore. The barbs and thorns of guilt and regret have mostly been put to rest.
When we talk about light and love, there are people who will make fun of that like it is some kind of fluffy wishful thinking.
But it’s not.
You go through the dark frozen places and love and light sustain you.
Light thaws what is frozen.
Brings life.
The fear, the shadows, the dark, the separation from our selves gives way in the light.
Love’s warmth comforts you.
We’re not reaching for a better way of life here on earth because we think we will be rewarded in some kind of celestial Disney Land. This life is not a rehearsal for another.
There is one life and it is eternal. Continuous.
When we learn to be kind and compassionate, forgiving, humble and appreciative we can create grounded in love and our time here is well spent.
We learn by messing up.
Forgiving mistakes.
Our own.
And each other’s.
Learning from one another. We can be helpful and be helped.
Countless opportunities arise in the moment one after another right in front of us.
When you look at it like that, it makes sense to bless the day and every being we encounter.
Why do anything else?
Where can it lead?
Till tomorrow
Love
Mikey