Can a book forecast a dream?

October 2015 was a strange month for me. The staff I had working in my house had played me up during the year but it became too much so I said they had to go! It was dramatic but my husband handled it so I was glad it was over.  But while this was going on, in the background I had thought of a title of a particular book I had read.  I couldn’t remember its name nor the author.

After quickly washing up the dishes and tidying up the living room, I went upstairs to our fully stocked library and searched. I couldn’t find it.  Was it at one of the other houses or did I take it with me to London?  No I thought, it’s definitely here…somewhere.  I searched high and low, pulled out a book thinking I had found it due to the cover design.  So what was it about this book that preoccupied my mind? It was about a young girl’s experiences of living with her mother who had dementia.  Throughout the mother’s struggles, she never forgot about her children and her responsibility towards them. Even while fighting the authorities, or being in the mental institution, she tried as hard as she could to be there for them. But for me what was striking about this book was its ending.  The young girl’s recollection of a dream she had about her mother when her mother had already passed away. The girl dreamt of her mother visiting her and how she was so prettily dressed and wearing a bright smile.  She sat with her daughter in the warmth of the sun and the two smiled constantly at each other.  They spoke of nothing in particular but the daughter felt they were the only two in world, and for the daughter, this was an everlasting feeling. Eventually, the mother told the daughter it was time for her to go, and how everything would be fine, and that there was nothing for her to worry about.  As she spoke, she was moving closer and closer to the light until she became a tiny speck in the sky.  The little girl cried.  When I had read the book for the first time some years ago, I remember then being impressed with the book’s ending.

The following day I checked my emails for the first time in the week.  There were so many things to do in the house now that the staff had gone plus, I had just began the beginner’s class in Iyengar Yoga, forcing me to completely forget my mails.  Anyway, there was an email from the residential home where my mother resided, saying that my mother had been admitted into the local hospital on Monday. (I should add at this point that I live abroad but I travel to London twice per year).  The day I checked my email was Wednesday. I was surprised and annoyed.  Why should it take them over a day to contact me? I was about to call them when I changed my mind and decided to call my brother David instead.  David, who lives in London, also said that he only just found out and was annoyed how they delayed with the information.  He said I shouldn’t worry as he would quickly go to the home. But I called the home and spoke to the sister in charge for the evening. She said my mother had not eaten or urinated in 24 hours so they sent her to the hospital.  The hospital put her on a drip but found it to be ineffective so the consultant had decided as my mother was not responding to treatment they would discharge her. The other key thing the sister told me was the reason also for my mother’s discharge was there was not anything else the hospital could do for her.

The following day I called the home to find out what ward she was in.  They did not know so I called the hospital.  It was only after the fifth attempt that I managed to find out the name of the ward and was put through.  The Ward Sister said that my mother was in a poor state and that the intravenous feeding was not having an effect.  There would be a meeting with the consultant and they would decide what to do.  I then called my brother and we talked. Later that evening my husband and I agreed that this coming Friday, I would go to London.

The following morning, it occurred to me that one of the words of the title of the book which had escaped me was ‘Pilgrim’. After an hour or so on the internet, I managed to find the title: Pilgrim State and the author was Jacqueline Walker.  And would you know when I went to the library, there it was!  I searched for the last pages and found what had been on my mind.  Now that I had read it, I was still wondering what was the big deal: why was I compelled to read this.

Friday had crept up quickly as before I knew it, I was in my seat, on a British Airways flight to London.  When I had arrived to my mother’s house in Tottenham, I rushed up to what used to be my bedroom, grabbed the car keys and went to the garage.  The weather I would say was in-between warm and cold. Lots of leaves on the ground and yet, still lots of leaves to fall from the trees.  I warmed up the car for some minutes before leaving to see my mother. When I arrived it was a relief to see her, and to see that well, she was no different from when I had left her on the same day I was leaving for Nigeria, which was exactly one month ago.  Perhaps she was a little gaunt but still had the same glazed expression and jerking to every sound she heard. When I called her name, she jumped, looked about herself but she could not see me due to glaucoma.

Every day I would go to see her and spend most of the time with her. But as the week drew to an end, her breathing had become shallow and short, her mouth was permanently open and her eyelids never seem to close. Each time she paused before taking another breath, my heart would skip a beat. There was a day I fed her some soup, and it surprised the staff as it was the first time in ages that she had taken something to eat. It uplifted me but the following morning, her beautiful unlined face was shaped into the famous visage in the painting The Scream by Edvard Munch.  Not a flattering description I know but it was the image that came to mind upon seeing her. But I was depressed as it was clear that her situation was not going to improve. I believe I spent the rest of that day waiting to exhale.

On the last day of the month my mother passed away just as I was about to leave to go home. It’s a strange experience witnessing death take over as life makes its exit. I remained with her alone in her bedroom for another five hours before the suited undertakers came and removed her body.

Weeks after the cremation, I thought about the book Pilgrim State. I now understood why I was preoccupied with locating the book; it was a sort of preparation of what was to come. Since I quickly forgot my dreams after waking, perhaps it was for me to know, through the ending of Pilgrim State, that Mummy wanted to let me know that there was no need for worry, fear or upset as everything would be alright.

I was happy that I arrived to the UK in time to spend one last week with my mother. I had time to tell her I was sorry for my misunderstanding, that I forgave her when I felt that her support was not enough, to thank her for sacrificing her time and needs, that I loved her, and to say good-bye.  May she rest in perfect peace.

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Hi 2014!
Hi 2014!

Well, in the next 5 hours it will be finally over. I cannot believe how this year has travelled so quickly. I’ve not done all that I wanted but as my teachers used to say, I could have done better. There have been key moments as I’m reminded by my diary and journal – being more and more spiritually connected; reading books by Debbie Ford, Dr. Eben Alexander, Jerry and Esther Hicks (Ask and it is Given) have had a profound effect me that I know there is no turning back. There is seems to be an urgency to write more, especially about how I feel and what I want.

Resolutions I’ve not always stuck to but –

  • I look forward to reading a lot more spiritual books
  • to learn about Physics;
  • to most definitely lose weight;
  • determined to make progress with my family, with friends, with everything!

And that all in all, that the New Year will simply be great. Likewise to every one of you out there, I wish you a peaceful, prosperous New Year!

Take care!

Ask, and you will receive: Synchronicity

When I was in London, I went to see my life coach, Pat.  She has clairvoyant abilities but does not believe in telling you the future, so to speak; as she believes that by integrating her coaching methods and intuition, that it is a more practical way of helping you with your problems.

We chatted about our families and she talked about how she’d successfully landed a role in a production in the West End, plus she had written a play that was seriously being considered by one of the popular TV networks. As Pat talked, I glanced over to her loaded bookshelf and noticed a particular book. It was the only one that was standing with its back against the shelf and title in full view, whilst the other books lay flat, leaving you to wonder what their stories were. The other thing was its colour. It was a striking, deep purple and its title was in a large font dressed in silver. It said: Ask and it is Given by Esther and Jerry Hicks. My attention was taken by Pat who suddenly stopped talking about herself and began to ask me about my problems.

‘You know…’ I said to her, ‘…it’s the same ole, same ole.  Am I on track, what is my purpose?’

‘You know I don’t tell fortunes…’ Pat scolded politely, ‘…but all you have to do is ask! Ask for what is your purpose. Ask if you are on track. Your problem is that you don’t ask!’  She said with emphasis.

‘Ask? But I do!’ I responded, hoping that it didn’t seem like we were having an argument. ‘I meditate and pray constantly and with that I ask but…I don’t know.’

She lowered her head in thought then looked up at me. ‘Have you heard of synchronicity?’

‘Synchrowhat?’  I gushed.  Something to do with swimming I thought but did not dare say it.

Pat smiled and gave me an explanation. She ended by saying that I should believe when I pray and mentally state some affirmations towards the end of my meditation. My time was up but as I left, she told me not to worry.  It will all work out. Hmm, I thought.

About an hour later in another part of London, I was in a bookshop, looking for a book on Physics for my daughter.  Walking towards where the science books were kept, I abruptly stopped as there was a book staring right at me from the spiritual section titled Ask and it is Given.  I went and picked up a copy, opened to the intro, read two or three paragraphs and said yes, I must get this!

I’m half way through the book and clearly, I understand synchronicity and realize this is how the Almighty/the Universe communicates.  Synchronicity is when either, ‘a single event or chain of events’ produces a ‘meaningful coincidence’. An example of this is early this year, I found myself constantly thinking about an old school friend, someone I used to move around with in the early 90s. A month later, as I was driving to the supermarket, I spotted her ex-boyfriend, who also I had not seen in a while. I quickly stopped and parked the car, and chased after him. Wheezing out of breath when I caught up, he instantly recognized me, stretched out his arms and gave me a hug. About ten minutes into our conversation, I asked him about our mutual friend. He removed his mobile from his back pocket, scrolled through the names and when he had found her number, he gave it to me.  That evening I called her and we agreed to meet at her house the next weekend.

You ‘ask’ for something and you receive answers in a manner that you do not expect. It could be in the form of an ad in a magazine, or the ad on a bus, a bill board or a comment from an actor in a movie, a sentence in an article or a conclusion in a documentary.  Likewise, seeing the book on Pat’s shelf and then seeing it again in the bookshop, it’s clear that this book ‘came’ to me, making me to realize that I will find my answers there.

Now, for those of you who read my piece on Debbie Ford’s book (The Dark Side of the Light Chasers) will say I’ve spoken about this before, so what’s the big deal?  But please, spare me. How was I to know that this was synchronicity? The point is, I’m learning.  Again within a few chapters I’ve realised that ‘asking’ is not only just believing or placing a pair of hands together to pray. But I have to ‘desire’ it, believe that I’ve already received it and to act as if ‘it’ is already in my life. In the case of my long-lost friend, my thinking or constant thoughts of her, wanting to see her played a part in me actually reuniting with her.

Negativity does not play any part in this. In fact, if I ‘desire’ something but in the next second fill my head with a lot of doubt by saying ‘Nah! It’s not for me. I can’t have this’ then the thing is now cancelled as instead of being eager for ‘it’, I’m asking for the lack of it, which is exactly what I’ll will receive, if you get my meaning. If you want to know more about this, then please get yourself a copy of this book to get a deep simplified explanation.

As I said, I’m halfway through. The first part I’m reading gives a thorough explanation of how it works. Some reviewers complain that there is a lot of repetition. Perhaps there is. But how I look at it is that sometimes to make a point loud and clear, you have to keep hammering it home.  The second half, I’ve not looked at but it is composed of exercises which I can’t wait to do. I will keep you posted.

 

If you can imagine it, you can create it.  If you dream it, you can become it. 

William Arthur Ward

 

 

 

Embracing shadows: Debbie Ford

A dear friend of mine told me that everything that comes into my life means something.  Nothing is by coincidence or accident. Each day may seem the same but each day is different, it rewards us with a brand new gift whether that gift is an understanding, a friendship or a disappointment.  But if we are engulfed by fear and darkness then it makes it difficult for us to recognize those gifts, difficult to recognize whether or not it is an actual ‘coincidence’.  Normally such talk passes through one ear and out through the other but of recent one or two things have happened to make me to stop and consider what this friend said to me.

November last year I was in another part of the country, to attend a conference. Having arrived some hours earlier and already bored with watching TV in the hotel room I decided to go to the shops just to whittle away time. I walked past each shop as they didn’t hold any interest for me until I saw this interesting second-hand book shop. I went in and took my time going through the different categories until I came across the self-help section. Then I saw this book, in fact I was struck by its title; I read the back cover, the foreword and the first two paragraphs of the first chapter and wondered if I wanted this book. I checked by my purse, I had enough cash for just essentials so I headed back to my hotel room, Googled the author and read some interesting things about her and then as usually is the case, I forgot about the book and looked forward to my evening meal.

Two months ago, I had to go back to that city to attend a business meeting. Again, I ventured towards the bookshop to look for a magazine, and as usual, my attention was quickly taken by the books and some new titles. I suddenly remembered the book I looked at some months ago although I could not remember the title or the author’s name but remembered being intrigued by what it set out to do for the reader.  I found my way towards the ‘self-help’ section and there it was a single copy. I snatched it up, bought it then left.

After reading the first chapter I decided to Google the author again and only to find out that she died early this year from cancer. I was taken aback. Of course I realize people die but in my mind she was young (57), beautiful, still had so much before her; it just seemed weird that she had passed away and even more strangely, that I had just been introduced to her and her works. Her books have been praised by Deepak and Neale Donald and Oprah and other prominent spiritual mentors.

The author was Debbie Ford and her book – The Dark Side of the Light Chasers. I’m so sorry that Debbie is no longer with us but spirit directed me to her book at a time when fear and confusion has taken ahold. Ford explains how the various facets of ourselves which we reject or try to shun away only lead to more confusion and resentment.  Instead, we should embrace the negative parts of ourselves with love and understanding. It is only until we have done this can we reclaim our wholeness and be on track towards our purpose. When I see my friend again, I will have to tell her she was right.

Review of The Gospel According to Cane by Courttia Newland

I’ve just finished reading The Gospel according to Cane by Courttia Newland. A heartrending story about a woman, called Beverley Cottrell of West Indian parentage who has her son taken from her some twenty years ago. She is educated, previously married and taught English in a prestigious private school, a woman who seemed to have everything but as a result of this tragic action, the experience leaves her damaged, single and withdrawn. We meet her presently living in a house alone, teaching kids at an after school club and attending therapy sessions until one day, a young man comes knocking at her door claiming to be her son. She receives this son named Wills gladly but does it repair the damage done to her, to Wills?  The Gospel According to Cane

The prose is mature and juxtaposes nicely with the street slang spoken by her son, and the children she teaches. The characters whether it is the protagonist or secondary characters, are nicely drawn. In fact one of the characters, Ida jumps to my mind. She is so real. A woman of a certain age who probably was born after the second world war; she is happy to entertain Beverley in her home, happy to bake her a cake but is still ambivalent about the black ‘youth’ and black people and  when there is a kerfuffle on the landing between Beverley, Wills her sister Jackie and her husband Frank, she remains hidden behind the ‘blankness’ of her front door and retreats into her reserve. Then there is Frank. We don’t see him too much but when he appears with his dominant and bitter wife, Jackie, you like that he is there, acting as a go-between between the two sisters, attempting to play down the tension which exists between them. Also Newland subtly establishes the fact there are segments of the black community that are middle class i.e, they are aware of Arnica and they shop at up market supermarkets and are concerned about speaking English, properly. This is shown through Beverley, who finds badly spoken English irritating.

Newland deftly handles writing of woman in a very convincing way; it simply shows how sensitive and how understanding he is of women. The book has no chapters but initially it is interspersed by descriptions of pain although from the middle of the book to the end you see no more of these descriptions. Throughout the story, these small explanations on pain make us realize that it is, almost a facet of life. We can experience sometimes, all sorts and levels of pain and realize how time can be a proper anesthetic. In the main character Beverley, this is clearly shown. She journals regularly, as a way of expelling the pain and in return, she achieves some cathartic moments. It’s funny. Prior to me buying this book, my husband purchased the  book Singularity is here by Ray Kurzweil. It is about how our intelligence will one day become ‘trillions’ more intelligent and increasingly non-biological. On top of that, time, whether the past, the present, the future, will become one. Singular. Then reading Newland’s book I come across this paragraph, thoughts of  Beverley :-

People say time is relative, a point with which I agree. …the nature of time as experienced by human beings is the amazing ability to occur simultaneously in the past, present and future. Everything on the planet, from the tiniest amoeba to humankind, has been is being and is also becoming. That we exist cocooned within an unseen element shifting faster than we can comprehend, that no sooner than we enter the present it is already the past and we are always, without pause, speeding full throttle towards the future. Ponder this, if I lift my finger and touch the end of my nose, I am touching my nose in the present, have touched my nose in the past and about to lower my finger from my nose in the future. All exist at once.

I don’t know if Courttia was/is conscious of this concept whilst writing his novel but it is profound and in keeping with all things to do with Singularity.  Overall, this was an interesting read: I loved the beautiful prose, the descriptions of the characters but if I have to make one criticism it would be the ending. However, Newland is definitely a chronicler of the Black British experience; I believe this is the fourth book I’ve read by this author and trust that he can write our experiences honestly, with maturity and with sensitivity. I can’t wait to read his next book.

Out Of The Ashes by David Lammy: Review

 

I’m almost coming to the end of Out of the Ashes, the book written by the MP for Tottenham, David Lammy.  Firstly I have to say that I am surprised, really surprised. But why should I be you may ask? Is he not Harvard educated? Or have I been totally bowled over by the rumours that the man is a ‘sell out?’ The truth of the matter is that David can write and the man is passionate about his area. On concluding this book he has made me to realize that, like most things, it’s so easy, sometimes too easy to be dismissive as Lammy is not just some mere simpleton. His style is lucid, sensitive and accessible, and when needs be, he is still able to serve up hard statistical facts which does not interfere with the style of his writing. You believe that he cares about his constituency and his constituents and that no matter what is said of him or has been said about him, he is for Tottenham. Like myself, who was born in Tottenham, grew up in Tottenham and luckily educated by the borough, I’m aware that there are lots of cynics who say: Well! After all he is a politician, what do you expect him to say? That maybe, but one can also argue that the ‘riots’ gave Lammy the opportunity to dispel the rumours that he’s just a ‘careerist’ and the opportunity to get his hands dirty, for once.  Lammy and Clegg in Tottenham

I managed to get hold of the second edition that came out July of this year where in the book he answers all those questions that were ringing in my head: he wrote the book so quick after the riots (that’s because he was already writing the book and then the riots took place); he did it so that he could make some money (any profit from the book will be donated to charities connected to Tottenham).  So the book talks about the riots, immigration, and reform.  It explains how the underclass in Britain came about and what should be done about it.  Lammy places his argument within a context; he goes at length to explain his case cogently but he does not lecture or preach. He looks at the root causes but knows what should be done regarding the symptoms. And although I was overjoyed that he has all these incredible ideas, I couldn’t help but feel his hands are strongly tied by the forces that tower over him.  This is shown in a tiny instance when Lammy was Minister of State for Innovation, Universities and Skills and Gordon Brown became Prime Minister.  Brown requested meetings with the ministers.  Lammy complained to Brown about the increase of knife crime in Tottenham and how it was a regular complaint from the mother’s who attended Lammy’s surgeries. They wanted something done about it!  Brown listened then said the solution to the problem was ‘tax credits’ and then asked Lammy if there was anything else he wished to discuss!

Lammy also manages to weave in some touching biographical details i.e., his fear that he could end up in prison and how some family members also lived in Broadwater Farm; how his father abandoned the family and left for the US and Lammy’s success in winning a chorister scholarship at a cathedral school. It just goes to show that not all is bad in Tottenham.

Although I enjoyed reading this book, I hope it goes some way in putting away the rumours that Lammy is not really interested in the area. If there are truths in the rumours, then I hope he uses this opportunity to show that he is for Tottenham and I don’t mean just being vocal on the betting shops invading Tottenham High Road but making sure he constantly touches base with his constituents and that it’s done with concern and sincerity.

 

Week 8. And so finally…

I have finally gone through Week 8; it has been moving, frustrating, trying, freeing. The Artist’s Date?  I’m now in London to spend the Easter with my mother.  Right now, the time is 11.55pm and I’m typing this and at the same time watching the riviting Law & Order (the US one).  The weather fluctuates between really warm and a miserable cold.  And the cold is so cold that my left knee has quickly begun to react by throbbing a dull ache.  Annoying!  I’ve dug up my thermals and thick tights, telling myself I have to wear these daily, even if the sun unexpectedly begins to shine.  I didn’t do the MP’s today but tomorrow I will read Week 9 and start my MP’s on Monday.  Have a good week!