Website Wonders

I am so blessed.

Good people think well of me! There's nothing more delightful than to find the appreciation you have for someone is reciprocated. I think that pure unburdened gratitude is one of the loveliest sensations there is, and I'm rolling in it.

I'm hanging around online with Fiona Truman, presenter of The Back Hope Summit and now creator of Bubble Tapping.

We're doing session swaps - can you believe it? I'm hanging out with 'the' Fiona Truman.
I am.
Me.
With Fiona.

I'm ALSO swapping sessions with Tahira Aziz, who I met whilst we were both helping Silvia Hartmann and Alex Kent at Earl's Court.

Tahira is amazing. She too has her own therapy which I am very pleased to say I am getting lots of - in exchange for EFT protocols. Its a whole sort of intuitive-pranic-core belief thingy and I don't want to get in to 'why' it works, it just does.

Karl Dawson is letting me help at his next Brighton training, again, picking up the overwhelms as they rush out of the door. I'll be back at The Thistle this August!  I guess that means that I am kind of sort of okay, both as a human being and as a Matrix practitioner. I am more than a little delighted.

The point of this post begins with Tahira doing quite literally 30 seconds work on my financial blocks yesterday. We started out meaning to do an hour's session on that but after the first core belief was stated, it all went off at a tangent into an hour on 'being myself', instead.

Still, before our session I'd already been noticing that if you mention 'past lives', a great many people's eyes light up. It is, I find, an officially fascinating subject, and for most of these people the interest is personal because they have an inkling, a fancy or a secret certainty that they have at least one past life under their belts.

Its the certain ones I'm after, the people who have had 'flashbacks' which explain how a trauma or attitude or type of luck pervades their current life without any imaginable reason in this incarnation.

Matrix Reimprinting is a dab hand at resolving memories or ECHOs (Energy Consciousness Holograms) no matter what their origin, and people with a past life memory are

• already aware of their memory, having played it over and over in their head
• fed up with the effect it has in this life, and ready to do something about it

Dream clients, actually - lovely people who want my service and have already done half the prep work. How can it get any better than this?

So, after the session with Tahira, I asked friends for some free website recommendations, got onto weebly late yesterday afternoon, and found myself glued to the computer until 3.30am at which point I had a complete, fully built, six page website with a FAQ page built from scratch and a services page offering six different packages, with prices and Paypal buttons.

Looking at it this morning I realise that 48 hours ago I'd been trying to talk myself into increasing my prices and in an ongoing battle with myself to feel comfortable promoting a six session package, yet now I have a website with increased prices which I currently feel are much more realistic and six, twelve and fifty-two session packages on offer. What's more when I was building that page all I felt was fun and enthusiasm. I didn't even stop to marvel at myself.

Like I said, I don't know what Tahira Aziz does, but she is gooooooood.

(Just got to work that same magic on my 'real' website now - the one that caused me two years of learning curves and headaches and that I'm still far from happy with.  Somehow it strips me of oomph and I find I can't even face copying my FAQ page over from the new site. Or maybe that's because of a little thing called 'only four hours sleep last night'. Hmm.)

My new website!

My two year uphill struggle work-in-perpetual-progress website.  For prices and FAQ, see the new one.

Dream

I had one of my flying dreams last night. I've not experienced one of those for years and yet, as with all recurring dreams, even ones silent since childhood, it felt totally obvious, in the happening.

Although I had this kind of dream time and time again when fairies and magic were real to me, I rarely managed to pirouette, or swoop around like a bird above people's heads, demanding attention. It wasn't for lack of wishing.  Instead I found myself heading forward alongside everybody else, yet rarely touching ground. I always seemed to have my head at the same height as other people's, just gliding along beside them, almost like swimming, ever so slightly off the floor. It's no less exhilarating, for that.

At two or three years old, walking down Southall High Street with my mum, I'd hold my coat open by the bottom corners, hoping the wind would let me take off. This thing has been with me a loooooong time.

The nightmare versions of these dreams - there were plenty of those as I began to grow - were filled with panic and with wobbly legs that wouldn't quite support me. Reliant on flying to cross the road yet skimming so ridiculously close to the ground, I'd bump against the camber or catch a toe on the kerb and go helplessly rolling in front of moving traffic, unable to keep up with the walkers who might help, nor get up to fly nor to walk, nor drag myself out of the way, with my power like a fading torch, so weak, and full of shame and fear.

In the dream I had this morning, I told myself so many things - who in my life is asleep and blindly content, who won't mind or notice when my adventure moves on (which was a huge and welcome surprise). I also told myself who's going to take me to the next step of my journey and introduce me to others. Little things to keep locked up for just me, to wait, and see.

The big deal happened when I woke up. See, in this dream, the power was under the building, and magnificent and hidden, and conscious, and I floated like a magnet facing the same polarity as we conversed.

It seems so easy, taking this in isolation, to say
"Ah! The power to fly isn't 'in' us, it's not a magical separation from others to make them sit up and take notice, it's just what happens when you stop being separate, and connect to source. The fact that they seem different, is down to their life journeys. Not that they're different at all, just not there yet"

It is easy to say it, but my inner child, or if you like, 20 or 30 of my inner dream echoes, are currently absorbing what was being shown to them all along - that dream-flying is a hug from the universe, a step in to welcoming arms, not a step away to self determination, and that embarrassment, sense of failure, sense of  shame and not fitting in, these are not the side effects of failing to fly - these are the causes. A whole lot of my subconscious mind is in a great big 'Wow',.... and dancing.

I owe Fiona Truman for taking the hammer to my own Berlin Wall - this is all part of the crumbling. Squeee!!

Positive Tapping

Things have moved on a lot since my last entry.

The Sunday job would have put me in the centre of town, in the larger supermarket, up and down stairs in a little uniform, every weekend, a living and breathing antithesis of a professional business owner. My husband would have loved it if I had got the job and that's my fault - even though it was drummed into him at an early age that job security with a salary and employment contract, was synonymous with responsibility and doing right, I accept full responsibility for side-lining my IQ and trying to conform to the 'little-woman-little-job' mould.

Still, notwithstanding the bash to the ego caused by, get this, the indignity of not being offered a role I thought was beneath me in the first place; life has been wonderful.

I'm against too much name-dropping on Facebook because in such a busy environment it often comes across as grandstanding; all self promotion and social climbing. There's a lot of it about. Here in this backwater blog, however, I have no such compunction. A backlink is a backlink. So..

When I stormed out of that potwash job I was already helping Mike Broadwell and Fiona Truman with the transcripts for their Back Hope Telesummit. It was wonderful fun. There were a mixture of accents in all those audios and some of the original transcriptions relied rather heavily on 'guess work' - on the dreaded so-called principle of 'near enough'. Gah. We were re-proofing and re-writing even once the event had begun and I love that sense of teamwork, of all hands to the deck.  I had to drop out of the team right at the end to go become an AAMET EFT trainer.

I am now an EFT trainer. Yay!

Just putting this out in the universe - I now need to train 100 people as AAMET EFT practitioners in order to become a Matrix Reimprinting trainer also. Matrix Reimprinting is my main love, its a submodality of EFT but one I find it very hard to refrain from using, so the sooner the better. This means I would be happy to train three or four classes full of A level or university students in exchange for travel costs and printing facilities. Psychology students, drama students, anyone who'd use it for themselves or for others. Any takers?

I am currently honoured to be one of the many proof readers Sam Thorpe has enlisted for her new book. Love Sam, she's an absolute genius and her passion for her subject just lights up a room when she starts talking.

Karl Dawson, bless his socks, says that if something turns up in your life once, it's probably the other person's issue, but if it turns up twice or three times, its almost certainly yours.

In that case I must have a thing going on at the moment about attracting the company of genius women, because after Fiona and Sam (in fact because of Sam) I find myself in the company of Silvia Hartmann, creator of EmoTrance, originator of The AMT (the 'other' huge EFT governing body in the UK), author many times over and..... loads more stuff.

It will forever be my favourite opening line to say that I first met her 'down the pub'.  It freaks people out.

As a result of meeting Silvia, I spent two days of this Bank Holiday weekend at Earl's Court, manning the AMT stall at the Mind Body Spirit festival. I felt like a bit of a fraud at first, surrounded by amazing tappers who were there as volunteers and were rocking the show, while I stood there in an AMT staff member t-shirt, feeling awed by their natural confidence and slightly annoyed at myself for not being on their level. I tried having a grumble once or twice to see if it got any of them to work their magic on me, but finishing a sentence was difficult as the visitors just kept coming. Tahira gave me ten seconds on the first day, the darling, but after that it was full-on. Those women worked their socks off.

The upshot of all of this is ..... I still don't know what I'll be doing to earn a crust this week or next, but I do know I haven't been tapping enough and need to apply some serious attention to that. I think I'll stick, for a while to The AMT Energy Tapping for positives.

It 'feels' so easy to tap in the positives, to start at my own subjective understanding of normality and work up. It makes perfect sense too - as one lovely visitor said on Monday morning - "Who says 'good enough' is good enough?"  Tapping for 'more' of any good feeling is exactly the same as tapping away a feeling of lack. The feelings, all feelings and therefore all energy blocks, are in the torque, the tension, the twist. Its all at the point where desired and perceived reality fail to match up.

Still, two days of borrowed benefits from helping a constant stream of others (not to mention standing energetically wide open and ungrounded in the middle of all the work going on around me) may have left me feeling happily exhausted a couple of days ago, but now the shift I made in my own awareness is coming home to roost. I find myself unable to hide from certain emotions, particularly heartache and disappointment. I'm a mum, for heaven's sake, I became a master at tucking my own feelings to one side a long long time ago. You can't comfort two panicked bawling children and reassure them that the daddy who just left them 'loves them really' unless you become an instant master at swallowing down all your desire to scream obscenities at him and join in.

Now that some of my better hidden emotions are resurfacing, I am having to be honest with people about responses that surprise even me. One of my beautiful daughters, for example, has decided she wants to ramp up her obsession with tattoos into acquiring what they call a 'full sleeve' and I find my heart is suddenly wide open to acknowledge my surprising levels of stashed-away grief over these permanent scrawlings which increasingly cover my beautiful baby girl.

Good gracious. No wonder I wear glasses. All the stuff I've decided not to see.

Tap tap tap....   

1 Cathartic Huff and 6 Wonderful Things

Last week I walked out of the part time job I'd managed to convince myself I was stuck in for the past five years. Its been stressful and demeaning and the people I worked with have been, for the most part, depressed and demoralising. Some (like me, at the time) were there because they saw no hope for anything better. Not a good attitude to bask in. Others were actually there as part of a career progression, working to their capacity yet constantly vying to be seen as 'the best' at what they do, through various levels of toadying and backstabbing. They just made it easier to fall in with the relatively benign 'sighing defeatists'.  It became unbearable when I realised just how much the lack of support was backed up by a managerial lack of respect, interest, willingness to listen, or general be bothered.

Pot wash, covered in grease and blood, again, because someone didn't empty a tray before they stacked it:

"Sir, that six-foot-something 20-something-stone chef with the hands like bunches of bananas, the one who's spent since Christmas trying to convince me that you are incompetent and moody and work me too hard (as opposed to he, who, if he had your job would make life a bed of roses) - that one - he just had a psychotic break, when there was nobody but us in the kitchen, verbally laid into me, intimidated me, bullied me, told me I don't do my job properly and now I'm hyperventilating and near to tears and scared and offended and I don't know what's going on and I need your help and your support"

Boss:

"Stop overreacting you're making me angry. You two have always got it in for each other*. Can't you just be grown ups".

*News to me.

Psychotic:

----Arms folded tight, lots of eye rolling and half smiles and looking innocent when boss looks, and totally smug when he doesn't.

I do not need this. They can have the place to themselves; they deserve each other.

Turns out psycho, who keeps telling me to go home early when boss isn't there, and not to bother with X or Y so that even if I want to do the work I become trapped, unable to do my job at the risk of offending him; turns out he's been doing all this and at the same time moaning to the boss that I don't do enough work. Playing both ends off against the middle. What an unfortunate understanding of what it is to 'win', in this life.

There should be a comedy show about it.

Maybe one day.

So here I am, out of a job.

On the up side...

Wonderful Thing 1
I was phoned on Friday to attend a job interview. Its a weekend thing that I might have done side by side with the other, for a while, to get ahead of the game for once. Never mind. Dear heaven, if I get it, at least that will cover my share of the outgoings for now, and give me the whole week to build up by EFT business, which up until now has been so select and elite that you might have mistaken it for a hobby.

Wonderful Thing 2
I start my training to become an AAMET qualified Trainer, this coming weekend! I don't know if there's much in the way of a test to do after the three day training, but if not, I could be a trainer by this time next week. By the middle of June I'll have added picture tapping and PTSD-specific training to my toolbox, too.

Wonderful Thing 3
Today I authorised payment for a quarter page advert in a Police magazine going out to schools and social workers and people involved in child protection. What an amazing niche to get in to!

Wonderful Thing 4
I have a couple more transcriptions to do for Fiona Truman's Back Hope telesummit.

Wonderful Thing 5
Gary has been totally amazing, loving and supportive.  Its such a blessing to not feel like there's anyone angry or panicky watching for me to succeed, or fail. I am so grateful.

(Most) Wonderful Thing 6
Finally - I haven't managed to do this yet today because it deserves proper time and will be cathartic to the point of being spiritual - I realise I may now gather together all the awful, tatty, stained clothes that I had to wear to work for lack of a uniform; all the grotty items I left the house in, every day, that must have described me to the world for the most part of the last 60 months - gather them up (I imagine I'll fold and count them, too) - and bin the lot.

I mean; wow.

Hove Holistic and Mystic!

Sunday was amazing. I want to do another fete. Now. I want to do one every 6 to 8 weeks.

EFT is different from any other service provided at one of these holistic fairs, because we don't give.  You do not come away from the table with a reading or a lot of useful paperwork or anything to take home that explains the contrast between where your life is, and where you might wish it to be. Direction is a wonderful thing, but it's not what we deal in.

EFT is different from any other service provided at one of these holistic fairs, because we take. We remove the drama that's kicking at the back of your eyeballs and stopping you from enjoying life, right in this moment. We allow you to change, but right there, on the spot. No map from A to B, just a teleport.  We even take your idea of your limitations.  Obviously we give so very much more, but not anything you could point to on a table in a meeting hall.

Sometimes people even have quite a bad night's sleep after a session. We even take your slumber. The body simply holds all these tiny emotional stresses and strains in slumped shoulders, a stiff neck, a dry cough, sore ankles - you name it, and gets used to them being there. Suddenly, after EFT, it is safe to 'stand down', to begin to release, and that can cause secondary aches and upsets as the physical systems realign. "Drink lots of water, and rest", we tell them. What else can we say?

Next time I think I will scrap the price tag and go for donations; let people pay what they can, or what they know it to be worth after the session.  I ended up doing so much for free because I could quite literally see the bitter regrets and smashed self worth reaching out of these people to try and touch the table, even as their bodies took on the memory and froze. A group could approach and I would know which one was silently hoping. I was on a roll. Came away broke, but meh. First things first.

I am ill, again. Two weeks down with gastroenteritis and now I have a severe head cold with a really sore throat. I am so tired. I'm sure that there are dietary and lifestyle considerations in the mix, but quite honestly, I believe it hit this hard and fast because of the amazing time I had at the fair, the numbers of lives we changed, the number of spontaneous hugs. The high was incredible, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt now that I can read people, that I am sh*t hot at this, that all I want to do is plough in and help. I can even do this standing up in the middle of  the crowd.

I don't know why its so hard to recognise myself as unlimited and perfect and powerful. Its not about being better than anyone, its about getting up and dancing with the feet God gave me, so that others can start to join me. I am in full blown emotional and physical resolution, worse than any a client could experience from an hour or less of work. I feel like death warmed over. My body is repairing after the removal of self-limiting beliefs brought about by seven hours of tapping at the fair, yet all I can say is "Bring it on".

My nickname when I first trained in EFT was 'hit and run fairy godmother'. It even got a round of applause at the time (as EFT people live by the concept of getting in quick, working the change, and getting back out of the way), but I soon dropped it when I 'mistakenly'* joined a trades-heavy chapter of the BNI for a year (wonderful people who are now friends for life) and was told, publicly, that I sounded like I was depicting my services as a car crash.

I think when I let that go, I also forgot that 'zapping' people, such as doing the fifteen minute tasters we ran at the fair, is my absolute favourite thing in the world. On Sunday, I remembered.

*(There are no mistakes. Hence inverted commas.)

Working for Karl Dawson last year was also such a thrill, because I was needed to follow people out of the room when their issues were pricking their eyes with tears and demanding to be faced.  I love it! At the time I reasoned that my total joy was at 'coming home' to the situation where I first began my own life changing path.

Now I see it was simply reaffirming that my favourite part of EFT and Matrix Reimprinting (especially Matrix) is the bit where people are bursting to be shot of the issue that's holding them back, where their attitude is "Yes, please, do your worst" and they are totally, totally ready for the magical mystery tour through their mind, heart and soul into those surprise observations that start pennies dropping and dominoes falling and old wounds healing faster than you (or they) can say "O,...M,...G......"

I'm not so sure I'm built for running a practice, as much as being out there with a queue and a crowd, introducing people to their forgotten potential, and pointing them at other practitioners.

Again, again, again!
So      
much  
fun!!!!

Feeling like a Chinese Farmer

...well, one in particular; the one in the parable.

Chinese farmer loses his horse. "What a disaster!" cry the neighbours.
"Maybe yes, maybe no" replies our venerable and, in some stories, ancient tiller of the soil. And that pretty much sets the tone.

The whole story could have been renamed Yes But, as one disaster after another turns out to be a blessing in disguise, although to be fair, each resultant so-called good fortune also turns out to be the trigger for the next apparent catastrophe.

Off Sick

Today I am off sick, in full and furious resolution.

It does seem that my number of sick days at my salaried work have exploded since I trained in EFT and I am so glad for a surface understanding of MetaHealth; the dry, toughening stress phase of illness where we toughen up under perceived assault, and the soft, swollen, hot and sore phase which is resolution and healing but which we traditionally assume to be the illness.

This too shall pass, including this delightful sensation of having been kicked in the kidneys.

Anyway, retrospectively its easy to see that I was becoming foggy minded yesterday, and unnecessarily despondent the day before.  Today then, in between drifting off into no-man's land, I am listening to youtube videos and mp3s:

1. The Solfeggio scale

2. Prayer (Singing) bowls

3. Meditation cymbals (Tingsha)

4. Eckhart Tolle

5. Silvia Hartmann

6.  ...and cute children and cats because, meh, if I'm running on half a brain, I have every right to be as distractible as Dug.

This is Dug (from Up)

And this is a cute kid.


That is all.

Why use EFT Tapping? What does it do?

(This was going to be a reply to a comment on the previous post, but it explains the process of tapping with EFT in a very simple way)


Dearest Doris!

It doesn't matter if the success of others is even partly smoke and mirrors. When other people achieve something that is on my own personal wish list, as travel, or chances to meet and hug industry leaders, or amazing qualifications that open up whole new chapters in their ability to help others, my issue isn't with them but with my own measure against myself. They have proven that I could have done that already, and so I have been in the habit of castigating myself. Its been a bit like the sensation of not getting your homework in on time and missing out on the sweets or class treat.

With EFT I am learning to separate the sensations of an emotion from the situation or memory to which they are attached, and while I wouldn't recommend doing this without using the tapping points to maintain physical peace, the next steps are:

1. Fully accept the sensation - sit peacefully and bring it to the fore instead of squashing it down and notice where in your body you experience the sensation of the emotion; the weight/sickness/constriction etc of the fear/shame/anger etc. 

WARNING: Owning the sensation in this way can be surprisingly distressing without EFT tapping on the places that acupuncturists call 'entry and exit points' - the ones nearest the surface that they resort to with needles only when an issue won't shift by other means. (I'd sooner stimulate them with finger tapping than with needle points, where the bone is so close to the surface; wouldn't you?)

Likewise if distress does ramp up, it puts us further into the fight or flight reaction and works against achieving rational thought, so tapping counteracts this by holding a state of physical calm and opening what some call 'the alpha bridge' - the link between the delta and theta brainwaves of the subconscious where we find inspiration, deep thought and enhanced memory, and the alpha waves of relaxed and alert conscious rationality. It inspires a kind of 'whole brain' state.

If you have ever had a shining moment just as you wake up in the morning where you are both awake and still in dream space and everything starts to gel, with pennies dropping all over the place so that for a fraction of a second everything in the world makes sense... just before you forget it all again.... that's the state.

2.  If not using EFT to work directly on shifting the sensation and so switch off the panic button/fire alarm that has been going off to cause this (the easiest way forward), allow your mind to drift until you find an earlier situation when your body felt exactly the same way. Try and go as far back in your mind as possible. If you are doing this right you won't be looking for another situation when you had the same trigger, just the same bodily discomfort.  Typically the mind will go back to the first, the last, or the worst (most memorable).

No, I'm sorry, I can't continue with this description without begging you to open that alpha bridge and calm your reactions by tapping all the way through this exercise. Its imperative to be inserting something into the mix to keep your body and mind calm and alert and as emotionally uninvested in the memory as possible. The ideal trip through your past triggers and core beliefs is one where you can observe with your intellect intact and with remarkable clarity, and have a reaction no stronger than 'How interesting!'

If you find a related memory that is astounding in its ability to cause you pain once you've dug it up, then you need to work face to face with a practitioner. Trained practitioners can take over the tapping; they have the ability to spot your train of thought becoming scattered (the alpha bridge breaking down), they have tools to deal with abreaction and keep you safe, with your consciousness in the here and now instead of re-living or re-enacting the need to fight or run. They have any number of tricks and tools to add extra layers of disassociation and they are masters at spotting the tiniest physical alteration (colouration, tiny facial movements, changes in vocal tone or posture) that indicate an issue has just been even ever-so-slightly shifted or conversely compounded by new insight.

One of the greatest blessings of being a practitioner is experiencing what are called 'borrowed benefits'.

Unlike the myriad 'off the peg' tapping scripts available, or the tapping videos you can find on YouTube, bespoke, personally tailored, face to face consultation involves using only the client's own words, applying the basic counselling or NLP skills of mirroring and reflecting to repeat back to the client what they have just said, as a direct use of their particular words or as a reframing of their statement. The whole session is therefore entirely client led and that way the client is never jarred out of deep thought by the interjection of a phrase or intention which is not 100% their own, nor are they allowed to step into an emotional minefield and get lost in there. This makes the work faster, deeper and cleaner.

Borrowed benefits, then, come about when a practitioner empathises or resonates with the client, which is pretty much all the time. I'm not talking about taking on the client's issues, but about simply understanding the emotion or recognising the situation. Tapping on, or alongside, the client, also works on the resonating emotion within the practitioner.

In other words helping you helps me; blessing you blesses me. There is no superiority, no power imbalance. You provide the issue and pay for the session, and I provide the skill and the work, the place of safety and the protection and the utter investment in what it is you need to say or feel, and we are equal and equally blessed.

Perfect :-)

Not such a great day.

I'm doing okay, I know that. The people that I encounter to work with all benefit. Given time constraints, family, my own limited energy resources and the room for improvement in my financial resources, I'm blessed, I know.

So why does it hurt to notice that close friends I trained alongside, are achieving so much more? I love that they are happy and purposeful, I love that they are so blessed, I accept that we are all different, that I have other gifts, that their drive and focus and energy and resources are different than mine, and yet after I've thought good things for them, I look at my own development and feel stagnant, stunted, lazy in comparison. It just makes me feel like such a failure. I want to jump for joy on their behalf, hug them and tell them they are so, so lucky; and then I remember it has nothing to do with luck, at all. They did it. I didn't. That's all there is to it. Pointing to luck is just a way to try and absolve myself of responsibility. "Lucky" is what people with a victim-mindset say about those who have worked their nuts off.

This is bringing up so very many names I was called as a child. "You let yourself down, you do, and you let me down. You're such a disappointment, you never finish anything. You could have been X, you could have done Y. You cut your nose off to spite your face you do. You just couldn't listen, could you. You just couldn't buckle down and do what you were told. Never mind, we can't all be high achievers, we can't all have the discipline or the self control; you certainly don't."

Even the kind stuff was conciliatory. I don't think there was ever straightforward praise for an effort or achievement. Even when I got it right, there was always the debriefing attitude - the 'well, next time you could try xyz and then it could be even better'. By memory that idea was supposed to make me happy and fired up to go again.

At least, that's how I remember it. I was being trained to pull myself up by my bootstraps, by a loving mother who had absolute conviction that she was teaching me to shine, but one who had no idea how far off the mark she was in her estimation of my resilience.  I was sensitive. She didn't 'do' sensitive. Sensitivity was an affectation to be stoically ignored until it gave up and went home.

In my childhood I was the moon the stars and everything, allegedly, or at least I was supposed to have been. I just didn't match up. At some point I decided to live down to my reputation, I just forgot to tell myself, and so the angst continued.

My initial training in EFT was the first I'd undertaken in a decade and the first course I'd ever gone on, ever, that inspired me and that I'd planned for and looked forward to. I don't think I'd entered a classroom with such expectation since my first day at infants school.

The training was utterly transformative, it opened a window on another life and was almost a religious experience. Five days of constant energy work and by the end of it I was gobsmacked at my own potential - I'd forgotten I had any.  I even spent a couple of weeks seriously worried that I might have a crush on the trainer. I didn't. I had an overwhelming gratitude and understanding of a level of kindness and acceptance that hadn't touched my radar for years. It somehow felt as if it ought to be immoral to be that happy because of encountering a man with a powerpoint presentation.

That's the thing about really good EFT practitioners. They can't see the mess and limitations that you see from a downtrodden perspective. They see a perfectly good, capable, caring person temporarily side-swiped by a series of heartaches. Recognising that somebody saw that in me was briefly an emotionally confusing experience.

In that nearly-week, as we all went through our own revelations and changes, the women I connected with became my sisters. They will forever hold a place in my heart that is exclusive to them. We each left our own limitations behind and set out in glorious technicolor on the yellow brick road to happy-ever-after, together, side by side.

I guess that somewhere in my mixed up subconscious I correlated that with setting off, arms linked, matching our strides. I guess its to my credit, then, that seeing how they all have skipped so far ahead, I'm not angry or jealous, I don't feel that they left me, instead I feel that I let myself down, dropped the ball, that I could have been still side by side with my heart sisters, but I'm back here at the starting blocks because I'm...... useless.

Yup, some tiny part of me sees every tiny achievement those girls have made, as proof that I am, by comparison, useless.  There is one of our crowd who has positively flown ahead; her rise has been stratospheric and my little node of fear and insecurity weeps in torment at being even-more-completely-and-utterly-useless by comparison. Its all about how I could have, would have, should have; very unhealthy. And then another ECHO/memory throws a hissy fit that 'No I'm not useless, and its all not fair anyway'.  I really am beating myself up.  I know its all irrational and my conscious brain wouldn't choose to endorse either outlook, let alone experience them, but that's the joy of pre-programmed subconscious subroutines. Something small will hit the play button and then they just run, on repeat, and there's not a dang thing you can do about it without some energy healing or energy psychology, such as EFT.

This is in print because I tried working it out verbally by dumping it on a very dear friend, and yet even though she habitually thinks the very best of everybody, I somehow managed to convince her this was jealousy and resentment targeted at another individual. It's not it's not it's not!  Its just the pain of failure, or more specifically the regurgitated re-run pain of never being quite good enough, a long time ago.

I do hope I'm coming down with something, or heading for a menopausal meltdown. It would be so lovely to have something to blame for this coming to a head so forcefully, but maybe its just decided that at my age, its about time I got rid of this misrepresentation.

Tap tap tap tap tap...

Healing the world one smile at a time

I have a six-week client coming to the end of our contract, and she is so pleased with her sense of direction and self respect that our last session has been deferred for a week or two. It won't be about working with any new issues, simply about mopping up the fine detail. I am happy.

I was also delighted by an absolutely amazing session over in Portslade in which we connected an attempted rape back in the seventies to continued misery and side effects from a barrage of medication begun years later. Turns out the link was fear of altered perception, as Rohypnol (or some other brand of flunitrazepam - see, I'm learning) was used in the earlier event. Reading up after the fact I see it was odourless, colourless and ten times stronger than diazepam.  The client experienced a severe blockage of the throat during our session and her voice even changed. The amazing thing is that in one session we connected the two events to birth, and saw clearly that her mother was encouraged to take as much pethidine (as gas and air) as she could, and so the entire birth process was missed and the baby slept and felt sick and scared for several days.

At this point we honoured the client's wish to stop and come back to this another time. While I'd normally encourage someone to work on something else attached but not requiring recall, even chasing the pain, it was clear that one thing the client felt about the three incidents was that freedom to choose and to say no had been taken from her, so that choosing her own time to deal with this was part of the empowerment needed.

Wonderful stuff.

Thank you Sharon King for teaching me Matrix Birth Reimprinting. I never would have had the skills to communicate with a pre-birth human without that.

I love EFT!

Emo Trance

A friend of mine, Sami, has been rating Emo Trance for ages. The whole 'soften and flow' concept aligns with 'this too shall pass' and what with Benita putting a brilliant infographic about the symbolism of Ganesh on our joint business page yesterday, I realised from the description of the large stomach that I could do with some improved skill in letting things wash over me (or in Ganesh's case, through).

So.

So, via an email, I went to the website of Dragon Publishing, the people who print all Silvia Hartmann's books, and found out two things:

1. They are based up the road in Eastbourne. Oh give me a job, pllllleeeease!
2. Roughly £7 gets me a Silvia Hartmann EMO-Trance meditation download.

Now Silvia, I know, has a very individual accent; the German vowel sounds are just unusual enough to my ear to draw my attention away from the content of her message, but not in this audio.

Its sublime. I listened to it twice yesterday and it is just lovely.

Today I am grateful for all the signposts leading to this discovery,it is a new treasure in my toolkit.

Night.xx

Hard Day

I had a vivid dream last night that G and I were at my mother's, in her kitchen without her, and that G had decided, without getting permission, to help by turning all the gases up full and preparing two huge roasting joints that belonged to mum - bigger than I'd ever seen her bring to table.

He was busy and jolly and relishing the idea of a table laden with food - he was excited like a man who'd excelled himself and was certain of applause. I shot him down in flames for:
wasting mum's gas
running up her bills
cooking all her food
assuming we would ever be allowed to tuck in to such giant portions.

I started frantically calculating how to bump things up with vegetables and lots of mash until there were modest meals to last a month of Sundays that might still make him feel like he'd eaten more than a scrap, because we would never be allowed simply to have such a huge (immoral?) blow-out.

Seems I have plenty of childhood-related abundance issues, but as G pointed out in real life, once I'd woken and told him of the dream, the seventies were hard years - the three day week and the electricity cuts and every household was counting eggs, bread slices and the rest of it, all eking things out. Its just that I wasn't taught that these were hard times which would pass in the end, I absorbed the earnest notion that permanently hungry, permanently without for the good of the many, was the moral way to be.  And if two years later, my brothers broke all the rules of self denial, and helped themselves? The sky didn't fall in, although I expected it to. Behaviours that were threatened out of me before I even tried them, were explained away in my brothers as 'boys being boys', 'boys having hollow legs', them being 'growing boys' or 'only boys'.

Like I said; issues.

This is the Easter half term, the kids are home for the next two weeks and so there won't be many opportunities to use EFT on myself - tuning into a memory can be so vivid and whilst I'd cheerfully cry it out in order to transform this one; perhaps not with an audience of blithely opinionated teenagers. Better to ask a friend for Matrix Reimprinting, which adds a second layer of disassociation as I get to work on my younger self like a separate person, instead of stepping in to the feelings.

~~~~~

Last night the police called. Its about a report I made recently, about an incident many years ago. I'd swept it under the carpet, or more likely buried it under a life of other things to worry about, but this energy psychology/energy therapy/whatever you want to call it has worked its magic and dealt with those issues and burdens and inner conflicts which used to demand the most attention, so that slowly, gently, the memories and learned reactions which were not such a priority have gradually found space to come to the fore. This event was one of those, and looked at in a new light, it worried me that others could have come off badly/worse and that therefore I was duty bound to say something.

So the nice policewoman asked me to go to google maps street view and see if I could add a few more specific details. They said they would have just given me a lift around the area if only I still lived anywhere near there.

So I went online, cheerful as you please, while the kids watched a movie in the next room.

I went
I looked
I found
and I then I froze, staring at 'that doorway', 'that window', 'that corner'.
I discovered that whilst I may have come to a peace about the main event, seeing the streets, calling up the peripheral memories and the rest of the story, these brought their own quite unexpected emotional charge, and then suddenly I feel like a teenager again, helpless, inadequate, so isolated. So angry.

It must have taken a good hour or more to relive the whole scene, moment by moment, relate it to places looking back at me from the Google photos, and put it all in a semi coherent email. I managed without being noticed.

I kind of spoiled Easter Sunday after that; not really grounded or present; not really hearing people, although I tried to be pleasant. I even cajoled the kids into going to their rooms at 9 and then, finally, the pent up frustration surfaced as hot, angry tears. And now, even though I know one or two people will come along and read this, I have no option but to journal it. I am committed to recording my growth and healing and change. I am heading for wonderful things and need to understand the journey, even if only in retrospect.

But boy, am I glad for that vision yesterday. I only have to think of it, to re-visit. What a blessing.

Freaky vision

I've been playing with divination cards this morning.

Just saying that here feels so daring - I have Christian friends who would listen to the end, keep an open mind, keep testing, and yet I have others, whom I love dearly, who would shut up shop at the first words on this post, being so fearful and so certain that nothing good can come of it, that there are some things we should forever avoid, for fear for our immortal souls. I have been browbeaten by that threat of exorcism, (possibly not from God but from community, from acceptance), far too long.  Sometimes you are one of the forgiven, until you are not. Until you are scary. Such is the weakness of us all.

All I can say to them, is Ummin and Thummin, guys, or Jonah's drawing of straws; not to mention Samaritans and loving your neighbour.

End of ego-based digression.

I asked my God, my connection to all that is, to the Greater Power, to the source of Love (which is the source of light, which is the source of all matter) to allow a card to fall from the oracle pack I'd bought.

Just for fun.

Just for a lark.

Just sort of "Go on then, God, my old mate, I'm game for a laugh, tell me what I'm supposed to do today, because I want to do X and I ought to do Y and I really can't face even starting on Z"

And I received: Talk To Your Angels, with the tagline 'Instead of worrying, ask for Divine guidance'.

"Whoa, hang on there a minute", thinks I, "that's what I was doing when I asked for a card, doh."

But then something inside said 'Shut your eyes'. So I shut them, here in my messy dining room with my husband's radio show blasting out from the stereo around the corner, and the noise was loud and the light was bright and so I put my hands to my eyes to let the dark come in. The dark is the best backdrop for unsighted sight, yes?

And I found myself looking directly into the eyes of an angel, they were there right in front of mine, and they took my breath away. And as I marvelled at the beauty and the intimacy, I realised that the angel was kissing me. I was locked in an eternal, timeless, kiss with an angel and breathing only by the grace of God. My existence is a gift and reliant on the source of Love. And then I felt another angel's arms around be from behind and I am held up by the power of God too, lifted and protected and equipped, and in that brief moment I knew with all certainty that nothing, nothing in this world or the next could get to me except by the grace of God and so all of it is blessing, is gift.

And then, being human, I shook my head and retracted myself from this vision, back into the so-called-real world before a breath had passed; worked hard to ground myself by suspecting what I saw, patting down my ego for signs of swellings and lumps of self importance, and decided, what the hey, I don't want to forget this one in a hurry, so it'll do as a blog post, it'll get me off the hook for something to write, today, too, and so its a blessing anyway, whatever it was.

Such, I repeat, is the weakness of us all, but whether we know it or not, we are lifted up ;-)

New Day

Update.

I am as usual, up alone. Today is holiday for the family but not for me.

Its good to have a decent chance for retrospection.

Including yesterday's unintended two hour catnap I have managed to spend a good ten hours of the last twenty four, out like a light, what with a solid eight overnight, although the other occupants retired long before me yesterday, and remain sleeping. If we didn't have a carbon monoxide monitor in the kitchen by the cooker and boiler, I'd start to wonder...

Benita Juanita Chiquita, thank you, for this!

I love myself, as much as I love my family and my dear friends, and I've taken a lifetime to get where I can say that and mean it, where I can know it in my bones, with or without a frisson of delicious empowerment. 

Looking back its a good fifteen years, not five, since I felt so cooped up that I expressed the urge to throw something at a hard corner.  This is wonderful. The interim heart attack, which is mentioned far too often in here, sent me limping off to join the zombie ranks; to wave the white flag, to endure all like a broken prisoner, to stand defeated and learn not to see, although the precursory, long term, incremental lack of oxygen, inability to think, work, rationalise or wake up, not to mention the insidious subliminal stress which also brought me to that, all these proved an excellent training ground for giving up, giving in, accepting socially and medically prescribed victim status.

As early as last week I assumed my continued secret anger at having to be so medically confined was a problem, a fury to heal and then remove from the scene before it further damaged my health.  What kind of therapist am I, anyway? Good grief, to forget that healing involves acceptance. "We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.". Good old Einstein. 

If this blow out has taught me anything, it is this - however much growing up my fifteen-year-younger self still had to do, I am today back at that same square one. My 'acceptance' is joyful, grateful and complete. My detour through the long evil freeze response is over, and I am alive, and I am so happy that I begin to cry, now, and will be signing off to tap until I truly realise on a cellular and even quantum level, that I can do anything.

Shove over, Shirley Valentine xx 

Blazing row

Just had this huge, demonstrative, puffy faced red teary LOUD diatribe. I'd call it a row but G just stood there looking gormless. I haven't lost it like that in a decade, in fact, pardon me, I lost nothing, I was just so, so, what is the word,

angry disappointed let down frustrated betrayed belittled ignored.

He had been so

disdainful pig-ignorant selfish thoughtless self-involved.

I set about explaining to him how I felt in an "effusive and heartfelt" way which may have won a national poetry contest, if only breaking crockery and throwing away good food was part of the accepted stage act.

I love him. I love him to bits. I know right now I'm reciting that like some sort of dull dusty creed from an old book but I know that sometimes I really feel it. For example we know how to laugh together in a way that only people who have stuck together for twenty years have a hope of understanding. Except... except that wasn't just an example, that was it. All of it. We have a fondness and some good conversations, and occasionally a real belly busting laugh, especially when he's either home all week or away until the weekend, (not so much when like this week, he turns up and begins his down-time attitude half way through my work-week).

It all started because I couldn't keep my eyes open. At half five this evening I was falling asleep on the sofa, I asked him to let me rest for half an hour, to bring me a cup of tea if he was brewing one soon, and as he nodded I crept off to lie on the bed, fully clothed.  I slept hard and deep, although I never meant to, and he woke me a good two hours later, grumbling and complaining that he didn't know what we were all supposed to have for dinner.  I struggled to get up, waddled to the living room to find him already slumped back on the sofa in front of the TV and facing the door.

Did he make space?  Did he even sit up straight? Did he merely rush to continue his monologue? No, he looked at me like some sort of alien and asked me "What?"
"You wanted me to get up"
"No, I didn't want you"
"Okay. G'night."  I sloped off back to the bedroom, it being the only empty room and therefore the only one where I was certain of a relative welcome. Sleep was having none of it. Even somnus rejected me. Half an hour later I got back up to an empty house, a mess of a kitchen and a husband alone in front of his pre-recorded TV shows, slurping away at a bowl of soup. I explained my opinion of that outcome in an agile and impressively multi-sensory fashion. No. seriously. I was so disassociated that all I could do was watch myself go at it under a full head of steam, barely drawing breath, and be..... impressed.

See my kids may be young adults, but by that time they'd gone to bed of their own volition, hungry and incredibly early without being told that dinner wasn't going to happen, without being cajoled into eating a proper meal, without even being given free reign to forage for themselves. One went without. One saw his father's attitude and became compliant, insisted he also only wanted soup - his first meal of the day barring a scotch egg.

(G was actually proud that he had bought and brought home a pack of four scotch eggs, "one each for everybody!", and brought that up later in his own defence, which proved to be somewhat counter-productive. There there, good caveman. Take the spear next time)

It is good to get this written down.

Its good to look at the shame I refuse to wear; my mother's voice, albeit tiny and vaporous and far away, still ticking and tutting that 'You always cut your nose off to spite your face, you do', 'always have to make a mountain out of a mole hill', 'do love a good tantrum, madam, ought to be ashamed of yourself''.

It is good to read this over and realise it goes on to the page one way and comes off it another. I have a client whose partner became so frustrated with a sense of being unable to communicate, that they too resorted to the written word, specifically a scathing and hurtful email, which the client was then told to let me see. In my head I thought I was trying to appreciate both points of view, but how could I? Reading this back my own effort is obviously one sided although as I wrote, or more specifically as the words bypassed my brain and dripped off my fingertips faster than I could type even in a fury, as the virtual blood hit the virtual page, I did actually believe I was portraying the truth with a laudable sense of self restraint and equanimity. I thought my vision was not just clear, but complete. My client's partner is no longer so easy to dismiss as meaning things to have gone onto their own page the way they came back off them in the middle of a therapy session.

This week I have seen three or four clients. One, as above, was presenting like a rabbit in headlights, blindsided by the sudden announcement that what they see as happy-ever-after-land their partner claims to see as heartrendingly inadequate. Another, a single woman, thought she feared loneliness only to realise she was really afraid of her own power, of blinding the world with  the amazing truth of who she really is instead of forever trying to fit the mould prescribed by the next interested male. She did the whole Cinderella turnaround in one session.  Then in the middle of the week I also had a transformative CPD session with Benita and went into the future matrix to see who I really choose to be / who I really am.

I say all this because its very possible that borrowed benefits, by which I mean shared clearing of personal misconceptions  through all these similar sessions this week, have brought me to a place where my world is shifting into something truly amazing, just fast enough to be looking a bit like an earthquake as it does. Tectonic spiritual shift. Or suchlike.

Then again it may be possible that I went to these normally positive and proactive clients without setting my intentions or spiritual protections or worse, without plugging in to Spirit and allowing myself to channel (step out of ego) instead of working off my own resources, and that I have slowly taken on board issues and attitudes which are not truly mine.

What a wonderful, wonderful opportunity for growth and healing.

And now excuse me, I have to hug my husband and then go and lift a mixture of butter and glass from the kitchen lino before the cat can hurt herself.

Even though I'm,.... wow firecracker....... I completely love and accept myself.....

Good Night, God Bless

Busy

This week I've had 9am clients before dashing off to work Monday, Tuesday and today. Wednesday I took the day off to attend an all day workshop run by the amazing Sophie Mahir.

Hopefully I'll get to do some paperwork tomorrow. Four lots of client notes to write up, one lot to send out, and I still haven't followed up on the contacts I made at Jo Yates-Smith's networking event at LDEX last Thursday.

Not quite enough paying work to treat myself to a secretary, just yet, but enough to make me wish....

Dreams and other stuff

Somewhere in my draft posts is a bit about the last few days. The Lewes Expo I went to on Thursday is what caused the delay because I wanted to outline all the new people I'd made contact with and all the useful information I'd come away with. Too much info. I can't even wrap my own head around it all, yet.

Then yesterday I saw a client on recommendation. An absolutely lovely lady, and the first time an ex-client has brought me one of their contacts. Its very honouring to know people think highly of my quality of work.

This morning I had a dream. Two dreams, actually. In recent months I've often had dreams about having to leave this or that situation, only to find that the 'leaving' involved waking up. Anyway I'd come to understand them as something more than my imagination because they were the wrong way around. Imagination dreams make you dream of running or fighting because you are double wrapped in duvet and fast overheating - they take a physical sensation and make use of it, or explain it away, within the setting of the dream. How can I explain away waking up, before I wake?  Each dream would be of an excellent conversation, or a crucial lesson, or a hug with a long-lost somebody, and then something would happen or be said to mean I had to leave, even if I didn't want to. Then I would stand up to go, or open the door, or turn away, before waking up.

The otherness of this morning's first dream was even more strange.  I was sat at a dinner table with a white cloth, eating with friends (people I've never met in real life). I told one of them I was jealous that they knew what their purpose and special talent was, and said I wished I knew mine, too.

She answered with a question: "What is the colour of meditation?"

"Turquoise."

"Okay....."

"Oh no wait, its turquoise on the outside, when you look at it. Inside its deep purple."

"Right" she said, perking up and pointing to the space between her place setting and mine,
"so look here on the table and imagine a casket with purple pillars."

That sounded a bit weird to me but I imagined an oblong wooden box, sort of oak or walnut, good solid 1930s build to it, and then I kind of stuck four purple pillars sticking up slightly taller, around it.  I couldn't really see it, only imagine it,  badly I thought, but she was pleased.  I still couldn't 'see' it when she leaned in, opened it, and told me to take a little envelope from inside.  I didn't want to, and the child opposite me took the box instead, reached in, removed the envelope, wiggled it around and passed it to someone else on my right. They smiled and wiped it and handed it to me, but by now it was tangible. The envelope was a flimsy paper, around a piece of card. It was even fraying at one end, begging to be torn open as easily as the paper wrap on a MacDonalds straw. I was so tempted, and yet I didn't want to look. I tore the whole thing into quarters and hardly had time to apologise to the people at the table, because as I stood up, I woke up also.

Then I tried to go back to sleep and get back in to that room so I could look again at their reactions, second guess myself, but instead I vividly remembered when the landlord's decorators moved in on us straight after my stay in hospital and filled the bungalow with paint fumes when we had five or six week old kittens in the house. We caught them licking a newly painted door frame. One by one they died and we boxed and buried them, but not deep enough. The mother cat dug them back up, dragged their corpses back indoors and tried to lick them and nurse them. Twice over. The only image I could get was one riddled with guilt, of finding her mothering the corpses on the living room carpet and having to wrest them from her until Gary could get home to bury them better.

Why would I remember that?

Retrospectively it does seem as though a door was closed, whether the door to the decision or the door to sleep, I couldn't tell.

And then this morning a dear friend who I laughed with on FB long before meeting once, briefly, earlier this year, messaged me out of the blue and asked to connect by skype, because my name had come to her, so how would I feel about helping with writing a book. A book on a topic I love, for the people I love, with the research and main points already set out. All I have to do is translate it, present it, package it; write it.

Oh wow.  I already have a working title, but as far as journaling goes, that little brainwave is going down on paper.

Oh wow. Did I say that already? Ok then; squeeee!

Energy Exercises

Diary note to myself:  Day three of doing Donna Eden's five minute exercise and the movements are beginning to carry an electric charge. I was startled and impressed and very pleased; this must be part of what she wanted us to experience when eliciting a promise to try this for two weeks, but I certainly wasn't expecting it.  There is something there for my hands to cut through as they sweep past my shoulders etc and its beginning to feel spiritual. The neurolymphatic points along the outside of my legs still hurt but the sore spots in my torso are moving up toward the armpits.
I've sacrificed bra underwires for this; maybe its time to increase my water intake and avoid antiperspirant for a week, just to encourage the soreness to go.

Trees

So far, so good.

Last night was amazing.

This morning I woke late and naturally (which is very unusual, its normally an alarm, or a child, or a neighbour's lawnmower or revving engine). Gary stirred about two hours later.

I've done my Donna Eden five minute protocol and Gary got up and started singing. Happy songs. 

Donna can see auras. Actually when David puts it like that, she takes pains to explain that her whole family can see them, and so can all newborns, and the only difference between her and anyone else was having a family that accepted this as truth and  talked about it, so she never lost the knack.

I can 'feel' auras, or at least I guess I mean everyone can, but I am now aware that I can feel auras as one of the exercises yesterday unblocked the energy flow for Gary so much, that his popped and doubled in strength. He never seemed to notice, he just became more open to the seminar and eventually enthusiastic, as the evening went on. I only know that at one point there was this syrupy energy bounced up around him that practically bumped me to the left on the shockwave. The nearest comparison, I don't know if you've ever  walked down into a boiler room in a large building, and irrespective of the dark or light or any heat, there's this snap of electrical potential in the air and mixed with the dust its almost thick, so that you have to push against it and acclimatise to the pressure, to walk in. You know?

Anyhow, I'll be calling on my friend Benita soon, asking for Matrix Reimprinting. I need a practitioner instead of doing this on my own, because I actually want to fully 'step in' to a good infant memory and stay there long enough, so having a relaxed, patient and trusted therapist to keep me grounded or drag me back is going to allow me to swim so much further into the minutiae of the experience.

I've been mulling the idea that we can (or could once) all see auras. I've been taking on board something that was said, specifically, if you've ever held a newborn and watched their gaze track the space around you as if they were fascinated with something just outside of your head, then you've witnessed someone communicating with your aura.

So thanks to Doris commenting and asking questions, I know for sure that I do not have to learn how to see auras. I have to unlearn how to not, and as I learn to trust my subconscious to come up with the perfect next step, I am reminded that as a baby I was happy for hours if my pram was parked under trees. A leafy canopy, 20 or 25 feet above my newborn (and supposedly unfocussed eyes) would leave me entranced and I think if I was seeing the biofield, that would be a top memory to step right completely into and remember. I can almost see them now.

Donna Eden and David Feinstein

Tomorrow I am off to London to see Donna Eden and David Feinstein!  I can hardly believe it!

What are the odds that they would just happen to be in London the weekend after I become addicted to them on YouTube?
Or that there would still be tickets left?
Or that I would have the money for the fares and tickets just hanging around ready?
Or that I would find someone to go with me so I don't have to brave the scary London Underground on my own late at night?

Things haven't slotted together this neatly (divinely?) since I discovered EFT and Karl Dawson

I so, so, so want to learn from Donna. I want to be as skilled as I can possibly be at the work she does. I want, want, want to spend my life dipping into other people's awareness just to make things 'all better again' and move on. What a rush.

My world as a whole is changing so fast that its hard to comprehend. The only shift that I know of that's happened internally has been a recent step around ego as I've had to get over myself and concede that its very possible I am 'supposed' to be doing something specific with my life (so, not 'finding' it so much as accepting it), and that its equally possible it could just be something amazing, fulfilling, joyful, purposeful, healing and sharing. Why on earth not?

The relief is indescribable. Oh hell yes, I second guess this all the time, that's just my nature, but simply absorbing the concept as a viable one has let me off the hook for pushing on doors to find the open one, trying to force my heart and soul (and business) into a niche, into an operable marketing strategy, into a plan.

I don't do that very well anyway, it saps my energy, and in the past I'd allow the standard business advice to worm its way in to my mind not as a bright idea and opportunity for creativity, but as a checklist, a series of musts and shoulds, a need to stand up and be judged or fade into the background.

The thing is, there is such a difference between an 'open door' and one which is merely unlocked, unresisting. What kind of a creator would direct our paths, and leave us guessing where that would be?

Letting go and letting God is a cliché, but its also a kind of Open Sesame*.

So here's the deal.

Having a husband who would go out, anywhere, is a bit of a big deal and new experience. He works away so much that yet more travel is not his idea of fun and he banks on weekends to recharge his batteries.

Having one who would (willingly, cheerfully) trail to London and back tomorrow night to something that is my passion, not his,  sooner than see me catch trains home on my own until after midnight, is an outright miracle. Love him.

Quite aside from this I have a seminar and two huge networking events lined up, and I'm working with Benita Scott and sharing a stall with her (although to be fair she is definitely doing most of the work) and I'm all set for a ton of training in May, which a few months back was on my pie-in-the-sky-and-wishful-thinking maybe-one-day list. Now its a fast approaching reality.

And................ I'm going to go see Donna Eden! Live! Tomorrow!

How can it get any better than this?

:-D

Ernest Fricker

My neighbour is an angry man. I don't know why he is that way and on a spiritual level I completely accept every possibility that I somehow attracted him into my life. Still, that doesn't explain why he is so intent on raging through life and it doesn't seem very fair on his pour soul.

Since he moved in the year after my heart attack, (when I was still desperately lethargic and ready to cry for sleep) and began a refurbishment that would take two very loud years, he has systematically boxed his house in, by putting up 2 metre fences on all sides, even replacing fence previously owned by his neighbours. Its okay.

Its okay that his poor wife thought my darling hedgehogs were rats. I suppose if she sees something snuffling in a bin bag at night, she's conditioned to make assumptions. God bless her, she must have lived in some rough places. Its okay that he was so outraged on her behalf that he told all of our neighbours that we 'had rats, probably nesting in the front garden bushes' before asking. Its not like the hedgehogs or even the local fox come by, any more, not now he's replaced the fence baseboards with concrete panels and blocked the runs which were there, well, forever. The wildlife was a blessing, reminding me every year how grateful I was to be out of the city.

Its okay, now, that he genuinely thought the idea of warning the neighbours of new building works was a ridiculous idea and that not warning the sick woman was funny and a bit of a win.

So far he's put in his 2m fence so that my kitchen now looks out on that instead of the road. Then he's used sealant and screws to add a foot of angled UPVC to the top. Its okay. It waters my plants.  Its okay that he's built a huge shed backing on to our other connecting fence at the back, so close that the roof tips over on this side. Again, it waters my plants. What bugs me is this.

I can't quite believe my eyes. I mean, tell me why would a man in his sixties get on his new shed roof in the middle of a snowy night and chop at the neighbour's bushes? Did he? Did he really? Look at it, its practically a tree, its been there since before we moved in 15 years ago. Its a sticky-up wisteria or something with a w, holding up two different, beautiful and highly scented honeysuckles. Instead of taking off the odd tendril leaning over his side (there were none, his worker removed them when the shed was going up), he's hacked, and I mean hacked half the branches away even though there's no way they were touching the boundary.

I worry for his health on all three levels, physical, mental, spiritual, but I confess to withering a little under the weight of so much animated hatred aimed in my direction.  I was working so hard to project peace and goodwill back to him, I was doing my very best to genuinely love his higher self for living such an angry miserable life just to help others grow spiritually.  I have grown and changed and strengthened beyond recognition, out of necessity, because of the gift of Ernest Fricker as a neighbour. I was beginning to sense the peace of that instead of the black cloud of fury and territorial feudalism he projects.

My sending love and light doesn't seem to be agreeing with his digestion. I shall try harder.

Did Something Right

After the work I did in the Matrix on Wednesday, I did a search online for Catch A Falling Star. I don't know why, I assumed it would have been by Frank Sinatra, maybe because of other songs like Rubber Tree Plant and Swing on a Star, although looking again, those are sweet but comparatively simplistic little moral tales to music, more about action than love.

No, I found it was Perry Como and what's more, when I put the title into Amazon it came up with a Perry Como double album CD, with another of mum's absolute favourites on there - Scarlet Ribbons.

Guess what my mum got, for Mother's Day (beautifully gift wrapped by some angelic soul who works in a back room for Amazon, probably in some huge office and warehouse complex in Ireland - thank you)

And it arrived on Saturday!

And I received, last night, a beaming and affectionate phone call from my mum, telling me it was an absolutely perfect gift and she couldn't have wished for anything more lovely.

All that for five minutes in the Matrix with EFT, reconnecting with the love.

Now I'm tapping on mum being proud of me, and me doing something right. Now I see it as a blessing that my own family is still snoring away and I am free to cry again. So far it's transformed into 'When I allow God to teach me, I always do it right'. I can feel it sparkling into my reality on every level. spiritual, cellular, you choose; its all going on.

Love EFT, love Matrix.

Happy Mother's Day xxx

Am I?

I am a Christian. I AM a Christian.

What does that mean, to you?

Well forget it. I don't do dogma. Not even when its wrapped up in pink sparklies and any new age or archaic -osophy -ology or -ism. I have many wonderful friends who plant their faith on this or that checklist or system and in doing so, put up little fences against other possibilities. We can all only grasp so much as truth at a time, I get that, but I really am doing my best to let everything wash through and leave me space to always question.

There are so many names for the ineffable gloriousness we sometimes call God, or Spirit, or Universe. A rose by any other name - none of the titles do justice and it just so happens that my admiration for the man called the Christ has increased exponentially since I decided to throw caution to the wind and really, truly, test that faith.

Specifically, to keep to verses-come-clichés I determined to 'have no anxiety about anything' and to 'test everything against the word' even though, if you want to nit pick, I was technically doing that last bit the other way around.

It just seems that every time, in my conscious exodus away from organised state-run religion I come across a soul-ringing truth that vibrates through my being like angel song, if I look again, Jesus already said that, did that and bought the tee-shirt. I'm trying to break his winning streak as honestly as I can.

Still, Law of Attraction, Namaskar/Namaste, abundance, Ho'oponopono, all these concepts hold beautiful jewels of Truth and spiritual enrichment that could be called up as perfect examples.  I use a capital T deliberately.

I could put this newly crystallised understanding of myself on my Facebook page, but no, that's too social. Never put on Facebook anything which you would not stand on a table and shout across a crowded pub half an hour before closing time.  Everyone else thinks that's their front room too. Be kind.

Procrastinating

Yesterday was amazing. Met a friend who is counting the pennies, with dust balls and a whistling breeze playing at the bottom of her purse - a situation I am far too used to myself. 

Juggling the finances down to the last 5p has been my habit and my life for a good thirty years at very least and this graceful and dignified encounter with someone else's cheerful tightrope-accounting allowed me to take stock and realise how very blessed I am, at the moment, to be enjoying relative abundance. This time, amazingly, I am the one who could afford to lend a friend a couple of hundred quid. Its mindboggling to think of the misery and degradation I used to take on, even this time last year, if I had to turn to my employers to beg a £50 advance. 

The odd thing is that I can't seem to muster up any guilt at being better off than a friend, nor much grasping anxiety about it all running out, in fact all I can feel worth mentioning is gratitude. Thank you God, Universe, I am safe. I want that to continue that way!  I want to experience more and more abundance, not to keep the wolf from the door, but so that I have more and more freedom to choose, to experience, and to share. There's a life changing distinction between running from the bad, and revelling in the good. You can't 'run to' the good; its already here. That is a huge change in my way of seeing the world. 

Confession: I am procrastinating. Up until 5pm yesterday, a rare and delicious day off from my old-life paid employment, I'd been to my first mumpreneurs networking meeting (love it, love the company and the supportive atmosphere), sat with a wonderful EFT-er, Benita Scott, and planned our expo - at least her table and my talk for the next Hove Body Mind Spirit event (My public talk! What am I doing and what tablets am I on?!?) and approached it all from the perspective of sharing what I do, purely for the love of it. If I wanted a rationalisation of that, well, I have lots of good excuses for 'not currently being able' to focus on looking for paying clients.

At five, or maybe it was six yesterday evening, I got off the number 12 bus I took to get out of Brighton and sat at the Seaford Library bus stop for ten minutes to catch the 12A that goes around the back streets.

There, across the road, is a beautiful wedding dress shop. They've only just moved into larger premises and word is that they planned on converting the offices above back into self contained flats for rental, but hit problems with building law on some level or other. The windows upstairs are clean and empty but for advertising hoardings promoting the builders and shop fitters.

I bought my youngest's prom dress from these people. They are professionals. They care. \They pay attention to tiny details such as keeping a prom dress list against girl's name and name of school, so that they never sell two identical dresses to girls attending the same prom.

Sitting at that bus stop I had visions of borrowing a room in the upstairs at weekends (it even has independent access) helping the grooms, best men and fathers of the brides to shine and stand proud when they give their wedding day speeches. The women spend a fortune on getting ready, but this is the kind of 'getting ready' the men really really need, right? Who needs an ulcer from nerves?

It all seemed so perfect; God given even. I could even imagine the flyers and business cards.

So. Procrastinating. Yes. Because I'm all dressed up and ready to go and make a tentative enquiry, and I'm bottling it.

Gah. Tap tap tap. Breathe.

Hiding in Plain Sight

I am supposed to be journalling; for whose exact benefit I do not know, but I have changed so much over the past two years, made so many shifts, possibly imperceptible at surface level, but which in reality have spanned whole universes in my subconscious map of what the world is. It would be good to have a record of these ongoing changes, to be able to look back and say 'gosh, yes, I did feel that way. I did believe that, for a while'.

Currently, for me, EFT is all about tears. Not when I see clients. but in my own personal work, and I love it. In my little world, emotions have always been things best treated with extreme suspicion, held at arms length and carefully examined from a clinical perspective, although that was probably just as well. A drop of sarcastic detachment can be incredibly useful if your inner Goddess (gah!) is an immeasurably ancient Welsh dragon with sore teeth and sore feet and the temper of a granny denied her bag of mints and her rolling tobacco. (In fact, Emily Teague, beautiful-heart, creative lady and pretty spiffing medium, read my 'soul plan' this week and pegged my early life lessons as an 18:9 which I understand is a kind of anally retentive mass murderer. So there you have it, I am a walking oxymoron. I want a badge.) 

The thing about near-overwhelming tears is I have never consciously allowed myself to experience them, and in the dark days of the soul, even then, I transmuted them into fury instead. Rage is so much more productive than collapsing in a puddle, am I right?  Sorrow always seemed so defeatist.

It seems that without this defensive disassociation my heart is strapped to my sleeve, out in the fresh air and as sensitive as a wet nipple in a wind chamber. EFT is my sound-proof room; my safe space in which to allow controlled exposure and the incremental reconnecting of heart and mind.

Today, for example, I remembered that I first learned 'Catch a falling star' when my mother used to hold me in her arms and sing it to me, with such intense love in her eyes. I had painted myself a different, more practical and less hopeful reality based on words that have filled the years between. I had completely forgotten that moment of pure connection, and sitting in the matrix (in the alpha bridge) I was able to perfectly recall it. And I cried. And my world changed. And my knowledge of my mother, of myself, of my role in life, of my value, of the capacity for the sun to shine and the birds to sing, all these changed too. In five minutes.

LOVE EFT.