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.

EFT and Matrix Reimprinting - Pt 1 - How I even got there

A very close online friend has asked to 'hear my story' about how I became trained as an EFT and Matrix Reimprinting practitioner.

Or perhaps she means to ask what happened to me on the training and how I have changed.

Or even, how I came to decide that was what I wanted to become. That is the subject of this post.

To use an insufficient analogy (not enough dimensions), every major quantum change in a linear, human life is kind of like a pebble dropped into a pond. The 'major event' presents as a crux, but, looking back, (once you know what you're looking for) its always possible to see ripples that precede the change, preparations, serendipitous coincidences, LoA, God preparing the soil.... call it what you like.

That's why its impossible now to state with any certainty 'why' I did this training, it feels more as if I was called to it, simply because so many doors opened without my intention or knowing participation..

• I don't know why, how or when I became interested in tapping at all.
• I don't know how many years I had Gary Craig's newsletter sent to my email inbox, when I was always too busy to click the links, or even open most of them before trashing the lot to make space. Gary invented EFT.
• I think (THINK) it was discovering that Gary's website had closed and all the articles I intended to read but never had were now removed, that fired up my indignation and set me searching for snippets through Google, suddenly, contrarily determined to learn all about it just because it seemed someone was daring to dictate my options. 
• I KNOW it was Gary taking care to stress (in a clip on youtube?) that this is not faith healing, that the client does not need to be calm, nor even remotely enthusiastic for it to work, that made the difference between following this up or consigning it to the pile labelled hocus-pocus mashed-potato-brain new-age tripe. I was allowed to walk into this thinking it was all rubbish and it was STILL supposed to do the job. That was a reassurance and a challenge, all at once. All my old buttons got pushed.
• So I asked a question of the only person in my facebook friends who had EFT in their name - Karl. I have no earthly idea how he came to be on my list at all, but there he was.
• And I bought a book from Amazon about what I thought was a branch of EFT - and then realised the guy smiling on the back of the cover was..... Karl.
• So I went to his website, and lo and behold, the very weekend that I landed on his page, he had just landed a bus ride away from me and was training people. I couldn't afford it, I couldn't go anyway because it had started, and I couldn't sigh and rationalise my feelings on the basis of it being 'too far away anyway'. Hooked!

After that I decided I was going to the next training, even before there was any clue where the money was coming from. I did overtime and walked a lot more for the three months I had, and was about £100 short when my mother decided to confess that she'd been angry at one of my children a year earlier and had cut me out of a matured savings bond, all of which she gave to my two brothers, as revenge. Thanks mum. So she chucked me a grand to make up for it.  Revenge, love, ownership, friendship, reliability, even familial politeness, they've always been all about money, to my mum, and most of my life has been about proving her wrong to the other extreme. Or, in some more damaging way, proving her right.  I don't even visit any more even though I love her desperately, because she expresses her excitement by phoning the world and his dog to tell them how much work I'm causing her and how much its going to cost her.  Its her way of feeling important.  But I digress.

I hardly needed the money by then, and spent it un-notching the proverbial belt and restocking the cupboards which had suffered through my extra economy drive, but it was one huge hint-with-a-housebrick from the Universe that I was supposed to go on this course, and not chicken out at the last minute. No excuses left, not one.

So that's how come I got there.

Status Check

Hi guys! How are you? Everyone OK? Sorry its been so long...............again. I miss your comments and your 'stuff', the kind of normal, special, fleeting incidents we used to commit to the keyboard.

I'm sitting here, not exactly in dawnlight, but close. I mean, five minutes ago it was still that soft early morning light that hints of sleepy fairy folk, of snails and other garden souls making their way home. The kind of gentle scented breeze that speaks of sunshine to come, warms and coaxes roses until they blush, whispers to the bees to ready the battle plan for the coming day.

It was forgiving; you know? The kind of moment that would welcome careful feet out onto the lawn, or just as readily give an understanding wink and wish you sweet dreams, if you turned tail and headed back to bed.

The magic evaporated with the dew, while I blinked, and now we have the kind of light that really only favours the woods, or perhaps leafy lanes in Victorian suburbs.  Flat, it is, with the new day holding on to its bedsheet of cloud like another reluctant waker, pained and grim, forcing the light to filter through in a grey, stark, disgruntled fashion on to the world below.

There might still be colour to be found, and sparkle, and life and secrets and earth and renewal; but, I think, only in the shadows; under a tree, or perhaps in the busy, ramshackle darkness of an overgrown privet bush. The rest of us, those who will not or cannot look, must pay, on a level many more feel than ever understand, for our isolationist concrete fantasy world that we confuse for the real thing.

No going back to bed, then. More tea.

And, breathe....