My pathless path

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I’ve realised that I’m never more at peace than when I’m not trying to fit into any one way of being or belief system.

The path is me: there is no other and there never has been.

As a young child I knew this; I talked to God, journaled, prayed, but walked my own unique path, always aligned with my heart.

There are tools, teachings, guides, but ultimately everything leads back to where I started from: myself.

For a time I thought this egotistical, but then I realised this is the very point:

God/spirit has planted the seed within me and my journey is about connecting with it, trusting it, and allowing it to flower and bloom.

Life circumstances, by pure chance or design, have meant that my inner journey has always been the most important one of my life. In fact, the ONLY one. People and situations have only sought to show me that.

There is no outer path beyond where experiences take me. When I try to find one, I suffer. When I try to fit in the world and crave things that weren’t meant to be, it causes me pain.

The Sun is shining through the fog once again. My soul has awakened. And yet the grief, the desperation, the search, it’s all part of the rich tapestry of what it means to be here.

A dream of my son

Many years ago when my son was 9 years old I had a dream that I have never forgotten. He was talking to someone about me and told them his mother was beautiful and still a teenager. (My son has been more or less non verbal since birth.) I was so excited (within the dream) about this that I started telling a group of people that my son had actually talked to me! I told them ‘it was real, it wasn’t a dream, I’d know if it was a dream’ Then a powerful wind started to blow me off my chair and I held onto a person next to me as the energy swept me almost completely into the air. At this point I woke up to the sensation of energy pouring down my head and arms like water. I had been attuned to reiki a couple of years earlier and believed that was what it was.

I’ve had many amazing dreams in my life but this one really stands out. I’ve never had one like it before or since. My son has never talked and most likely never will, beyond a few words. I’ve grieved a true connection with him my entire life. Around the time when he was 9 years old, I was profoundly depressed, so some may say the dream was wish fulfilment, something I desperately wanted so I concocted in my mind in the form of a dream. But I knew it wasn’t. There was something sublime about it, reinforced by Divine energy surrounding me both in the dream and on waking. I think it was showing me that this life has a purpose, as painful as the situation is.

I wasn’t a teenager when I had my son, never mind when he was 9! But I think the dream meant that developmentally I was still learning, still growing, still evolving. I was a soul on a journey and I was nowhere near maturity, but I was developing in my own time and way. It’s interesting that my dream refers to the notion of dreams and reality – what are they? I remember feeling so strange in the dream as the energy began to lift me up, as if it none of it was real – but what? Did I mean my dream reality or the waking world? Is there even a distinction? I said ‘I don’t feel real’ right before I re-joined the world of the awake – did I simply know I was dreaming, or did it point to something more profound: that none of this is real but the expression of Divine energy? Even my son talking in the dream may not have been real but another expression of the energy manifesting in a form I wished to see, needed to see. In that sense, maybe it actually was wish-fulfilment, but for a deeper purpose; to enable me to remember what life really is and connect with it, allow myself to immerse in it, know myself as it.

As I look about me, I am often filled with such intense grief that I have not had the opportunity to connect with my child in the way I always wished, and now, at age 43 with a chronic illness, the odds are that I never will. It is easy for another to say ‘make the best of life as it is’ but far harder to do, especially when I have craved connection all my life. In some respects I don’t even want another child, I don’t have the energy for it anymore, but I wish life had been different. Sometimes this wish consumes me. I will never be a grandmother, nor get to share memories with my son, look at photographs. Little things like that hurt massively.

It is a complicated grief because my son hasn’t left this Earth, he is very much alive. Yet I still feel the loss of him immensely. I feel the loss of everything we didn’t have and never will. I miss what could have been. What does one even do with this? It’s not something that goes away. So I remember the dream that brought me some level of comfort. Hearing him talk within it is something I can never forget. I am so grateful for that. And he acknowledged me; he said I was beautiful. That touches my heart. I doubt I will have another dream like it but I pray it stays with me and I will understand it’s true meaning for my life.

How?

I wonder if spiritually minded people are more susceptible to taking responsibility where they perhaps shouldn’t? Sometimes a higher state of awareness is a curse rather than a gift.

A male friend and I have been spending more time together and have decided to move our relationship beyond what it had been preciously, at least for a number of years. The problem is, on doing so, we’ve realised his health is worsening and it may not be the right thing for him.

I feel immensely guilty. If I hadn’t brought the issue up, we’d still be friends and his health would be stable. It was my need for something more that caused the problem in the first place. If his issues result in his death, it would be my fault, no less.

At least, that is where my mind is going.

Life can be so darn hard. I wish I was less sensitive, less reflective, less aware. I would have a far easier time. I wouldn’t care about the impact of my decisions on anyone else. But I do care. I care too much. I always think I’ve gone wrong somewhere and that I’m dragging others along the faulty path with me.

That is my life in a nutshell.

I wish someone would come along and tell me that I never did anything wrong. I wish God, or the spirit within, could tell me that I’m fine, I’m not hurting anyone else, I never did. But I feel as if I am. I feel as if my choices have caused so much wrong.

My biggest desire is for the Creator of the universe to turn around and say ‘My dear, you never did ANYTHING wrong.’ But that will never happen because it’s all down to me to believe that and hope that and trust that, and I can’t right now.

I’m genuinely scared that my choices will cause my friend to die. I know he has free will too. And every right to exercise it. But I feel the responsibility of my awareness and knowledge that I could – you know – just walk right away from relationships and live a life of solitude. Does God want that? I truly don’t know. Are my human desires wrong? Have they always been wrong?

I wonder if I seem too dramatic if I say I don’t know how to live this life. I don’t know how to face the choices I have and their implications. I can’t cope with the pain I feel and see around me. Even a poor catapillar trying so hard to find fresh grass to eat. And then there is my friend who is sick because of my desire to find something more.

How does one do it. This is a real question.

Where the light gets in

I had a very profound thought during the night. I know I’ve read it somewhere but I can’t think where.

A couple of days ago I was telling someone how it went with my son on Thursday and I made the very sad but nonetheless true statement that ‘my heart will always be broken.’

Even as I said it, I sensed the truth; the immense power in those six words.

I was reflecting on this during the night and almost immediately another thought came to me, almost from outside myself, carrying the wisdom and grace of a deeper realisation:

‘This is where the light gets in.’

Suddenly the balance shifted from despondency to hope. I had a wonderful visual image of God’s divine grace surrounding the broken pieces of my heart like a pure golden light, filling in all the cracks and making it stronger and more beautiful than ever.

There is always a choice. Closing down to protect a broken heart seems the best option, but it leaves one cut off, alone and in darkness, where healing is impossible.

Jesus healed people. He restored them through their own faith. At least once he asked the person if they wanted to be healed. I don’t believe that he was suggesting they didn’t or stating the obvious; rather, he was inviting them to open their heart and accept what is possible through faith. Literal or metaphoric, the healing he brought upon others was only made possible through an open heart, which is the ultimate gift of love.

It’s all too easy to protect one’s heart from further pain and become hurt and bitter. This is the challenge of being human, especially in regard to deep traumas that laid the entire foundation of a life. Each of us has our own path to walk and obstacles to navigate, as well as the particular tools to help us through. Thankfully for us, there are so many teachers, past and present, who have pointed to the truth that we all carry within.

And what is this truth? In my experience, we exist in Divine love. We are eternal beings, filled with the grace of God/Spirit/The Divine, here living a very limited human life in all its glory and tragedy. The heart is the bridge between the two. When we keep it open, the love and light of God’s grace is always available to love and heal and restore us no matter how broken we feel.

Growing and transcending

I’m aware that each time I write a truly vulnerable account of how I’m feeling about my disabled son I probably lose a few readers – understandably so because not everyone wants to read about someone’s suffering, especially those seeking a more uplifting story – so I’m drawn to say thank you to those who are drawn to read my experiences and feelings, regardless of reason. Sometimes I feel very alone and it helps to write it down and know people are reading my words, even when I am going around in circles with the same feelings and issues, or at least seem to be. I really do appreciate it.

I know in my heart that each of us is on a spiritual journey to realising our true self – our Christ self, Divine indwelling, soul – whichever term you feel most comfortable with -and we can’t drop off the path no matter what we do or feel. Sometimes life can feel completely unbearable and I think it is important to be honest about the suffering because it is the freedom of speaking the truth that ultimately saves us. As Carl Jung (I think) said, ‘suffering can’t always be worked through, only transcended.’ I cannot escape my pain. It just is. It exists in a state of consciousness that is fully human and I love and respect it. It will never leave me for it is part of me. But it is not ALL of me. And therein lies the answer.

I think it was Mother Teresa who said ‘when you know better, do better.’ We experience life in accordance with our level of consciousness, so once we grow spiritually, we experience life, and God/the Divine, from a higher state of awareness. However, growth is not a linear process, as I know all too well. I have meditated and prayed for years and feel I have a healthy relationship with my spirituality and the Divine. I am always growing and evolving and increasing my capacity for unconditional love. The difficulty is when old wounds get activated, or, as Eckhart Tolle says, the pain body, and once again I am lost in the pain of wanting what can never be. The pain body is the emotional element of the conditioned self – who we believe ourselves to be in relation to the outer world. Some people call this the ego, and indeed I have done sometimes, but I dislike the term, maybe because it reduces it to an unpleasant sounding entity rather than being part of my being which evolved to try and help me live in this world, however misguided it has been. It also seems to suggest that my emotions are ‘wrong’ on some level. My emotions over my son and wishing things were different are not ‘wrong’; they simply are. I can’t imagine anyone in my situation not feeling this way; at least, not without a huge and permanent shift in consciousness to the extent that one’s personal history just doesn’t matter any more because one abides purely in a state of love. This ideal was perfectly executed in the story of Jesus.

Regardless of what I, or anyone else, think about the whole mystery of Jesus, whether he was real, a myth, whether he was the only ‘son of God’ or pointing to the potential that exists in all of us, it highlights that Jesus was both fully human AND fully Divine. He often referred to himself as the ‘Son of Man’ i.e son of humanity, rather than God! He fully embraced his emotions, his humanness, his fear, anger, reluctance, sense of abandonment etc. He befriended the hurting, lost and broken people. He must have felt terribly alone in a world that wasn’t ready for him and did not understand him. He suffered unimaginably horribly in the hands of others, feeling betrayed and alone, all the while trusting in God’s plan for his life.

The most important part of the entire story: Jesus was not left to die; he was resurrected into his Christ self which transcended all his pain and suffering and restored him to his Divine identity. His old self had to die for the new self to be born. Whatever one believes about this, there is a lesson in letting go and having faith, that our suffering does not have to define us, even if it is part of us for a time (even a long time; indeed, some of us live with deep hurts our entire lives and only find relief on physical death). The story of Jesus has always brought me comfort because this is a man who went through the worst torture that I imagine is possible to man, all the while feeling abandoned by God, yet loving and forgiving those who inflicted such suffering on him, who then transcended it all; a personal reminder of the renewal of all life and our own eternal nature.

When I feel crucified by my personal circumstances and unable to find relief in any of my life’s blessings due to feeling consumed by wishing things had turned out differently, I remember that fighting against my suffering will not work. My suffering results from a part of me who understandably feels devastated and angry and let down by life. I also know that I carry within me some part of the Christ mystery – my Divine spark – which both encompasses and transcends this human life. It is a daily juggle, holding those aspects of my being, but maybe knowing they are there and perfectly okay, is enough.

My suffering and the story of Jesus

The story of Jesus reminds me that suffering doesn’t have to separate us from God or mean that we have failed, it brings God to us, right here, right now, suffering with us and for us and AS us.

I haven’t posted for some weeks because I’ve had so much going on, some good, some bad, mainly bad. I went abroad for a few days to Turkey, something I’d wanted to do in many years but been too unwell. It wasn’t easy but with special assistance booked and a mobility scooter hired I managed it and feel very happy that I did.

Unfortunately, I knew in advance it was a risky time to go away with everything going on with my son but it was booked ages ago and the only time my friend and her family could make it, so I took the chance. The last night there I heard that my son had been hospitalised due to unmanageable behaviour and his grandmother was no longer capable of having him. The previous assisted living staff did all they could but are no longer involved. My son remains in hospital. There is now a new care agency supporting him there, but no accommodation for him to be moved into. There is no medical need for him to be in hospital and no clinical need for mental health sectioning. Whilst the professionals involved are trying hard to find accommodation, there is nothing.

I can’t put into words the pain of thinking of my son in hospital and exactly what happened when he got there. Sometimes pain is beyond anything I could say. All I can do is have faith that something will work out for him. He DOES have a placement to go to in the autumn but it’s currently a building site and won’t be ready until September at least. This is something to be thankful for despite the wait. The problem is finding somewhere for him in the meantime.

For a lot of my life I’ve believed that suffering separates us from God/The Divine – that if I’m experiencing ‘negative’ emotions, something is wrong and I’m not feeling God’s peace. It is true that when we become still, we feel the peace that passes understanding – that goes beyond the mind. We leave behind our troublesome thoughts and experience what is always present. But God is there in the suffering too. Regardless of what one believes about the story of Jesus – fact, fiction or myth – its point is that God isn’t apart from this world, he entered into it willingly, showing us that through his creation we are all part of him and never alone.

The symbolism of the cross and the entire crucifixion is the state of being crucified between Heaven and Earth – not fully human or Divine, but a bit of both – and existing in that space, neither here nor there. It’s a tough place to be once one fully realises it. I feel lost in this world, devastated by my suffering, my son’s suffering – neither of us belonging here or anywhere; myself longing for my spiritual home to the point nothing motivates me here but the need to become fully immersed in God. This is why the religion of my childhood – Christianity – draws me in – its a faith of love and suffering and promise of resurrection – what some may call a new state of consciousness, a living with Christ, in whatever form that takes.

I’m holding onto that faith. Right now it’s all I can do.

Last night’s dream: A UFO, rainbow colours, water pipes and a lake

Last night’s dream was the most fascinating in quite a while. I was in some sort of building looking out of the window at a wood. Somehow I knew there was a lake beyond but I was scared of it. There was a room to my right containing a large amount of water pipes. I was absolutely terrified of these pipes and didn’t want the door open at all. I asked someone if the pipes would open out into the lake. I was told they probably would. Then it started to rain heavily and I knew the rain and the lake were the same. It was extremely dark. The ceiling began to leak and I looked for a cup to catch the water before realising I’d need something bigger. Then water began to pour down the walls. I looked out of the window only to see a beautiful rainbow. It got closer and I realised it was the shape of a saucer…it was a UFO! I whipped out my phone and started to video it. My mother (I think) walked towards it and I was scared she would be abducted, but soon after she came back and the UFO started to retreat. I videoed the beautiful rainbow moving further away. Then I saw the spirit of a white dog. After this I woke up.

The feelings that overrode this dream were the polar opposites: fear and love. I was scared of the lake and, most of all, the pipes. I do have a fear of water pipes in IRL but nothing like as exaggerated as it was in the dream. I think my fear here works on two levels; psychological and spiritual. I’m feeling emotional overwhelm due to the situation with my son, represented by the water pouring through the ceiling and walls and the sinister pipes, but I’m also scared of my spiritual power and the incredible energy being channelled through me which is represented by the pipes and the lake of my subconscious mind. The rain is deeply cleansing on all levels and as the source of life represents eternity itself.

I’ve been doing a lot of contemplative meditation lately and am aware that the Divine is only found in the moment, in the midst of suffering, not in some far away land when suffering is no more (as much as I wish for that). In meditation, I am often aware of a lot of energy. I can’t explain or label it but it’s there nonetheless. It’s a comforting feeling but also very powerful and disconcerting. I know I can tap into it and the effects would be massive, as indeed it has been in the past after a lot of meditation. I think the pipes behind the door are all the energy I’m keeping in view but scared to fully look at due to what they may unleash from my subconscious. I’m scared of my own power which is always available to me through my connection with the Divine in the moment. The dog may represent the underworld, reinforcing this primal connection to All That Is.

The UFO is even more interesting. Carl Jung believed it was a religious symbol, indicating attainment. Other interpretations suggest a symbol of the universe or the higher self. All of these ideas could be applied here and the beautiful colours suggest spiritual energy is surrounding me and available to me to tap into. And of course all the symbolism of a rainbow can come into play here – hope, transformation, God’s promise after the flood. It’s funny how I videoed it on my phone – I didn’t stay fully present to it, but wanted to hold onto it, place technology between myself and it. That shows some resistance as much as longing, which is part of the theme of being afraid of the power available to me. And of course my mother – or my higher self – wasn’t ‘abducted’ by the UFO; there was a short visit and the UFO went away. I won’t take on more than I am ready to.

I woke up feeling happy and awed. It’s a dream that was full of atmosphere and will stay with me as a comfort as I plough through these tough times.

The peace that passes all understanding

If ‘God’ doesn’t feel a good fit it can be omitted or replaced with ‘the Divine’ or ‘Spirit’ or ‘meditation’ or even ‘Self’ because the word doesn’t really matter, it’s only semantics; what matters is the state of peace that the words are pointing towards. It’s a experience of peace so profound and pure that no life circumstance, situation or event can pull you from it. There’s only pure eternal Being.

For someone like me who thinks too much, I easily lose myself in mind. I want to work it all out. I want to figure out what I’m going to do, how I’m going to do it, and when. That’s all useful….up to a point. I also need to let things go and rest in the peace of the moment where my thoughts cannot reside. I need to surrender to and rest in God who is beyond mind. In doing so, I can allow my thoughts to calm and my natural inner beauty to shine like a flower in perfect harmony with all that is.

Keeping the faith

Not for the first time I feel like Job in the Bible asking ‘why’ in the midst of despair.

Some time ago I mentioned to a therapist that I often wondered ‘why me?’ during my painful struggles and she said that when she said the same many years ago people in her circle used to respond ‘why not you?’ There is a bitter truth in that. We cry out from the depths of our hearts. Our pain feels so deeply personal. So much so that God/the Universe must have done this to us. Like Job, we feel wronged. We know we’ve always tried our best, or even if we haven’t, we’ve made up for it somehow. So why did this terrible event/situation/tragedy occur? No one has or ever will have an answer to that beyond that suffering is a given and no one is spared. It’s just that some people seem destined to suffer much more or less and the only way forward is to somehow trust that it’s all unfolding how it’s meant to be because otherwise it would be different than it is.

Yesterday I heard that my son is being evicted from his residential home. I knew how much the staff were struggling with him but somehow I never thought this would actually be the outcome. I feel bone-crushingly sad. I have no idea where he will go now. It could have been such a lovely home for him. Those are the words I seem to constantly repeat in relation to my son: could have been. I pulled out all the stops to try and make things easier for him so that his behaviour may improve but it hasn’t worked. I know there is a lot of hurt in those words. I feel affronted that none of it made any difference. It’s a deep-seated wound that nothing I’ve done has made a difference to my son but I know that isn’t true. It springs from my sadness that I wish life had been different for both of us. And I know if I hadn’t become so sick/hospitalised and that if my ex wasn’t the way he is, things certainly would be very different now.

And therein lies my struggle. It drags me down like a lead weight until I feel I have no strength to fight. Giving in feels too much, too painful. So I frantically search for a way out, considering all the addictive tendencies I’ve had in the past as a way to escape unbearable feelings, but not able to bring myself to go there because I’m too aware, too conscious of my actions and their consequences now. I’m left with raw pain that isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I can’t cry either so I’m just staring listlessly into space and waiting for someone to ring me – my son’s social worker, the home, a family member – so I don’t feel so desperately alone with it all. At the moment it seems the social worker will call tomorrow. I don’t yet know the way forward.

I’m remembering a scene from the movie ‘The Shack’ (wonderful movie, btw) where the guy is in a boat which is breaking up, a metaphor for his terrible pain and struggle over the abduction and murder of his young daughter, and Jesus walks up to the boat, on the water, telling him to ‘have faith’ and ‘look at me’ because each time the guy focused on his suffering, the boat broke apart more and water poured in. Eventually, the guy found his faith and climbed out of the boat onto the water with Jesus, finding himself able to walk back to the shore. This is a natural re-telling of the Bible story where Jesus told his disciples to have faith. I don’t believe the walking on water was literal, although who knows it may have been, but a metaphor for our ability to overcome our emotional pain when we keep the faith in something bigger than ourselves, whether that’s God, the Universe, or our own soul/higher/Christ self.

The Bible is all about faith in the midst of terrible suffering, as well as the human need to cry out and ask ‘why’ when we are hurting. Whilst there’s never any clear answers to why we suffer, what’s certain is no one is alone, and while life is desperately hard sometimes, with faith we find the strength to keep moving forward.

Acceptance in the midst of it all

I was talking to someone about acceptance. She asked how I was doing with accepting my son the way he is.

I replied that maybe I was a little further along, but that in all honesty, I wasn’t sure I’d ever stop wishing things were different.

This was the same day I found out that my son had punched a carer in the ribs, forcing her to go to A+E due to swelling.

On reflection, there are many layers of acceptance. If I can’t accept my son the way he is without sadness and longing for things to be different, THAT is where acceptance lies: in my longing, in my heartbreak, in the sitting with my son feeling helpless that there’s no way to reach him, in the knowing that even as his mother I am so very limited. Acceptance happens through each moment. It might look and feel different on any given day. It’s not somewhere in the illusionary future, but right here, in the midst of it all -the entire diabolical mess.