Welcome to my blog which today can’t help but celebrate the arrival of the sun and its warmth. Living in England, especially in times of Tory government, can easily be depressing, especially if one allows one’s attention to be too focussed on the national narrative as dumped on us by the politicians and the media. Fortunate as I am, or sometimes make myself, in my lifestyle, I have managed two good rural walks this week. On one I went up Compton Dundon Beacon, an ironage hill fort with tremendous views of the Mendips and the coast. My friend Crispin’s ashes are buried there by a tree so I visited him there. The bluebells and primroses were out and some teenagers were quietly smoking weed, which Crispin would have approved of. As always, I told myself I must do more walking and more just stopping and lying in the sun. Bearing in mind these are the best bits of life, why do I have to remind myself?
A second walk took me to Windmill Hill near Baltonsborough where, for the first time in my life, I ran away from sheep.
A stroll, rather than a walk, took me to the White Spring at the bottom of Glastonbury Tor. This spot, I am told, is a gateway to the Otherworld. Outside the little cave were a collection of ‘types’; scruffy hippies rather than riff-raff. For a few moments I was judgemental but then I realized that at the entrance to the Otherworld, none of us have much to be proud about. Inside the cave, four naked men were frolicking (and probably washing) in the pools there.
A STORY; THE MEDIUM
1.
A voice. Into the silence comes a voice. Until the voice I hadn’t been aware of the silence; hadn’t been aware of anything. When I heard the voice, I became aware of being.
2.
She is in her late twenties; thin, dark haired, maybe of Chinese heritage, smiley with soft skin, wearing a floral red dress. I had watched her, between readings, slowly inspecting the various stalls and studying the cards and pamphlets. Sometimes they have already chosen and the looking is really a steadying of the nerve. In this case I saw someone still making the decision. When she came to me I was a little surprised because the younger women usually feel safer with one of the purple ladies.
“Take a seat,” I said, although she already had. “How may I help? Here I can do you a card reading or a brief trance communication. Alternatively we can discuss an appointment for a longer in-depth session.” I knew I was fidgeting and not looking her straight in the eye. Pretty women affect me like that. I’m okay once I start reading.
“It says mediumship on your card,” she said. “Does that mean you can talk to the dead?”
3.
Where was I before I heard the voice?
4.
“Yes,” I said. “I can communicate with their spirits. Anyone can. I do.”
“Do they mind?” she asked.
“I don’t think they’d speak with me if they minded,” I said. “Usually they’ve so much to say I can’t shut them up.” She smiled at this but said nothing as she remained very still on the chair with her brown eyes looking at the pack of tarot cards on the table between us. “Is there someone in particular…?” I began.
“My mother. I want to hear from my mother.”
This is probably the request I hear most often in my professional life. Seven out of ten times I can oblige. “Did she pass away recently?” I asked.
For just a moment the smile disappeared and the pain showed. Then it was gone with a small shake of the head. “I don’t think so,” she said, “but I can’t be sure.”
5.
There was a time before the silence when I was. I can remember that. In the silence I didn’t remember that. Because the noise ended the silence, I became aware that there had been silence and to be aware that there had been silence, I must have been there when the silence was. At least for some of the time.
6.
“I never knew my mother,” she said.
7.
Before the silence, I died. Twice.
8.
“I don’t even know her name.”
“Then how do you know that she’s…not alive?”
“I don’t…not yet…not for sure. But I’ve been searching for twenty-five years and I’ve not found her anywhere on earth. Now you can help me find her on the other side.”
9.
The first time was moments before giving birth to my daughter. From the moment I conceived I felt as if I’d been invaded by a devil. Physical pain, emotional anguish and the darkest of dark thoughts filled the pregnancy. Even as I felt our two selves separate, hers into life, mine into death, I felt I had done a great wrong to the world.
10.
I always tell my clients that I never have to contact the dead because they are psychically forewarned and are waiting for them. All I really know is that when I close my eyes and concentrate hard, I hear voices in a certain part of my head and if I tell my clients what these voices say, they are often uplifted and relieved by the messages.
11.
The second time I died, it was after the great journey. I remember standing on a cliff’s edge admiring a palace of gold. And then there was nothing. The unheard silence. Peace.
12.
“How long will it take you to find her? Could you do it now? And give her a message?”
For the first time in my career I lied. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t feel her. It could be that she is still alive.”
13.
Now what? Before the voice, in the silence, there was neither time nor place. Now there is now and there is here and there is fear.
14.
The woman smiled as if it didn’t matter but I saw the blackness in her soul.
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