No match for a crow

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 7 Comments

While walking my dog earlier I had to smile when I saw a cat hiding ready to pounce on a carrion crow. The crow clearly knew the cat was there, crouched at the side of a curb trying its best to be invisible, but carried on merrily picking up bits of crumb and other delicacies on the pavement. Once the crow got just a little bit closer the cat seized its chance and pounced but the crow was too clever for it and flew straight onto the estate agent’s sign where it continued to torment it by looking down and making noise. It was a very funny scene and I wish I could have stayed longer but my dog was pulling me away. The cat was certainly no match for a crow.

Perfectionism isn’t the goal of the spiritual path

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 10 Comments

There is no trying on this path. No one needs to try to become a Christ-like being, feeling unconditional love towards everyone and everything (although if it happens then wonderful, don’t push it away!).

Perfectionism is not the goal.

In fact, there is no goal, only awareness of what is right now.

With awareness, it is possible to notice all the parts of ourselves that we wish weren’t there. We can then learn to shine love and light on those parts, accepting them for what they are: manifestations of the messiness of being a conditioned and flawed human being.

It is not about trying to become anything.

It is easy to fall into the trap of wishing you were different than you were – more compassionate, more selfless, less critical – especially if you’re particularly conscientious (like yours truly).

But ask this: Who is the one trying to be those things? What is the voice saying ‘I should be more compassionate?’

Go deeper. Witness the thoughts. Feel the associated emotions. For me, once I’d voiced my sadness over not being compassionate enough, tears came.

Let all the resistance go. Be who you are right now. Feel your body.

Let yourself be exactly who you are.

Beyond all passing thoughts and emotions, in the deep ocean of stillness, is the jewel that is your true essence. 

It is the spark of the Divine and is the ever present, loving witness.

It loves and accepts everything unconditionally.

You can’t conceptualise it, or understand it, only let everything else fall away like clouds, illuminating its light.

You can’t try to experience it, because you ARE it.

Perfectionism is not the goal because perfectionism only exists in the mind of the person trying to be this or that way.

Trying to be a better person is a valid and honourable choice. On a psychological level, trying to change certain thoughts can certainly be beneficial.

But what we truly are is always there, and will, if recognised, bring more light into the world.

What we are not will fall away.

Only Love remains.

Divine love

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 3 Comments

Last night the child part of me made herself known. She was hurting. She felt lonely and in need of love. She didn’t know that love surrounded her, but how could she, if she didn’t feel it? She was seeking an experience that made her feel loved, but something happened yesterday and it was denied to her. She was left desperately wanting love; all she knew in the moment was a sense of lack. However, knowing it was okay to feel the loss and sadness, she let herself cry.

This morning she had settled down; however, my mind was unsettled, trying to make sense of it. How could I have felt like that? Was there a way to stop this happening? Why have I been feeling lonely this week? What do I really need? And so on. To try and get a handle on my thoughts, I started to journal.

Several pages later, I found clarity through some simple reminders:

There is space around my thoughts and feelings.

I am part of the web of Divine love.

We are made in the Divine image.

We can reach God though stillness of being.

God is beyond ideas and concepts and language.

God is love.

I am love.

Love is our nature so I cannot be separated from it.

I am bathed in Divine unconditional love, always.

And…

It is okay to not feel the above.

It is okay to need love.

It’s okay to forget.

There is space for all of it.

I can hold those parts of me -

those which cry out in pain, abandonment, and fear – with empathy.

They are just confused, cut off, lost, but not alone

The light of the Divine shines upon them

they are intimately known,

eternally loved.

A beautiful visit with my son (autism)

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 14 Comments

I had a beautiful visit with my son on Saturday at his long term residential placement. Long term readers of my blog may remember the nightmare I went through in 2022 when he was in an entirely unsuitable placement that was too small and busy for him. I would regularly turn up to see him only to find him in a dreadful mood, usually saying ‘Bye’ straight away to indicate that he wanted me to leave even though I’d just arrived. But the worst of it was the fear of getting a phone call from the staff to tell me the latest thing he’d done, i.e kick a member of staff, punch anther resident, throw the vacuum cleaner across the room, tear up lining from the bathroom floor, pull stuffing out of his mattress – the list goes on. I used to dread every time my phone rang in case it was about him (it often was) and the latest incident. Unfortunately the violent incidents got worse until he was evicted 3 months after the placement started. This led to a whole new nightmare of a temporary placement, followed by a hospitalisation, then another temporary placement. In total this went on for a year and a half, right up until July 2023 when he finally moved into the recently built placement where he has his own little annexe in addition to full access to the main building if/when he wants to socialise. There’s a swimming pool, trampoline and sensory room. 24/7 staff to support him and the other residents.

I’ve seen him a number of times since he moved in and he’s always been calm and happy. But Saturday’s visit showed me just how far he has come. It was the birthday of another resident and a party was taking place in the lounge. I had just arrived and was sitting with him in his annexe when a staff member asked if he would come to the party. Initially, my son refused, probably thinking he would have to leave me in his annexe. But when I said I’d accompany him he got up straight away. We sat in the lounge where other residents sat around a table, laughing and shouting, lots of staff getting them food and drinks, music booming on the loud speakers. Normally all this would send my son into a tailspin. But he found his space – an armchair on the other side of the room – where he could watch from a safe distance, willing to be part of it as long as he wasn’t required to get too close. From there he proceeded to observe and smile and even clap when encouraged. Staff kept coming over to say hello to him and take his hand, which he loved. It was really amazing. Wonderful in fact. Just to see him where he belonged was the best gift in the world.

It makes me feel so ridiculous to remember how upset I was when he couldn’t cope with my visits at the previous placement and I’d had to sit outside to wait for a taxi literally five minutes after I’d got there. It had felt personal. My own son didn’t want to see me. Due to the grief I was experiencing over my childhood as well as having a severely autistic child, I felt so devalued and disconnected. I knew deep down it was about my son being over-stimulated and not about me at all, but I was in the thick of sadness over how impossible the years with him had been, as well as longing for a basic connection with my own child who had been moved away from family for the first time. Ironically it had been a time of relief and hope for me that I could see my son on neutral turf, as opposed to visits at his father’s house, but it was an incredibly stressful time for him, and he was in pain too.

Now, in his new home, my son is completely different. He’s relaxed and happy being amongst his staff and peers. AND he’s always delighted to see me. He greets me with a big smile and clearly loves me sitting with him and chatting to him, sometimes showing him photos, sometimes playing videos on his tablet. The emotional connection is palpable, even though my son is mainly non verbal. It feels like the rainbow at the end of a terrible storm. I had to move beyond my grief to meet and love him on his terms, whilst he had needed to find his place in the world from which he could encounter and appreciate the people he loves. What a lesson. What a gift.

Feeling the need to cocoon

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 6 Comments

I’ve been a bit quiet this year so far. I’m still around and I ‘like’ and comment on other people’s posts on occasions, but I haven’t had much to offer here. At the beginning of the year I was struggling with grief and trying to work out exactly what I thought and believed about my mother’s soul (because despite my spirituality, it’s a bit different when a very close relative actually dies) until I was hit once again with the realisation that my mind was the problem. It was trying to work everything out…and, well, good luck with that! People over thousands of years haven’t managed it with any certainty so why would I! But the same realisation brought immense peace to my being. My mind quietened (to some extent) and I fell back into a state of flow, not really grieving, not really giving much energy to other than the present moment.

But then I got quite sick with a nasty virus which floored me for a week, followed by having to write a statement for the coroner who is in charge of the inquest into my mother’s death. I spent a few days last week writing around 2500 words on my experience of my mother’s illness and decline, the treatment she received by nurses and carers, the failings I witnessed, and her eventual death. I like to think I’m quite a resilient person, but writing it was incredibly painful on every level – emotional, spiritual, physical. I had to re-live those few months by looking at my mum’s texts to get correct dates and information about how she was feeling and when. It was a huge task and very distressing.

Since then I’ve been feeling like I’ve hit a kind of burn out. I’ve started turning my phone off for part of the day which I’ve never done before. I’ve been very irritated with minor situations. My mind is whizzing again, not able to step off the treadmill. I did some intense meditation last night which helped. I did some deep breathing and was struck by how tight my stomach muscles were, as well as how sick and unwell my body felt. I think it was the adrenalin. My body does not cope well with it. The years of trying to care for my son have left me with very limited reserves. I took myself to bed. Although today is better, I am struggling to interact, and my phone is off.

I don’t want anyone to think I have stopped updating because I haven’t. I think I just need a few days to let my body heal. Mental stress seems to be the worst kind of attack on the system. Also, I think I have hit a new phase in my spiritual growth where I can’t tolerate upsetting things like crime shows like I used to. Maybe it’s temporary due to my mother’s death, but it feels deeper than that. I’m reading feel good and/or inspirational books and watching spiritual videos, but that’s pretty much it. I don’t have much energy.

So this is me. I am off to cocoon myself for a bit. Hopefully I will be able to write from a deeper place on my return!

My mother, death and infinity

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 1 Comment

I dreamed last night that my mother had gone missing. It’s the second dream in a week of that nature, but this one seems more significant. My sister was panicking on the phone to me, saying our mum had disappeared and her phone was turned off. She said that her partner was going out to look for her (it was dark, so I’m assuming it was night time). As she told me this I turned around and saw my mother standing there looking at me. She was dressed in white. I told my sister that ‘Mum is right here in X cemetery.’ I said the name of the cemetery, which doesn’t actually exist in real life, but has the word ‘sand’ incorporated within it. My mother then proceeded to remove my wrist watch, which she replaced with another one. I can’t remember any obvious difference, except that maybe the second was a bit newer. The action felt significant though. After this, any remaining details are too vague to recall.

I woke in the night utterly fascinated by this dream. Why was my mum removing my watch and giving me another one? Was she actually visiting or an aspect of my subconscious, or one and the same? Obviously I can’t really know, but here are my thoughts on what the dream means, for my own curiosity.

I am trying to process the death of my mother (of course). She has disappeared from the world of form, and while we all have ideas and/or people’s experiences of what happens when the body dies, nobody actually knows for sure. So I am searching for resolution, and my dream world is fertile soil within which I can find healing. My mother appeared to me in white, which I assume represents the light of spirit and eternity. She was in a cemetery, which represents death and the transient nature of form. Sand, which was in the name of the cemetery, symbolises the passing of time as well as the miniscule speck of infinity. Then my mother changes my watch to another one. Maybe she is saying that a period of time has come to an end, but that a new one is starting; an awareness of what it means to be alive. In short, the dream is about grief and coming to terms with the loss of my mother in her earthly form, but more than that, it’s about understanding time in the context of eternity, which is what I feel my mother’s presence is all about. She isn’t missing; she may be ‘gone’ from this timeline, but her spirit is very much with us.

Spring flowers in the snow

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 3 Comments

Whenever I see daffodils, daisies or buttercups or any other spring flowers sprouting through snow, I feel intense joy inside. It reminds me of a dream I had years ago where I was walking along a path covered in thick snow and suddenly I saw a beautiful daffodil shining its golden petals across the otherwise endless sea of white. Emotions are so much more intense in dreams and I started to cry as I realised that life does not die, it renews itself over and over no matter how harsh or barren the winter.

That beautiful daffodil, and many other flowers, reminds me to always have faith in the intelligence of life that is working in ways we cannot see while in the depths of our own personal winter.

A rather anxious start to 2024

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 2 Comments

A belated Happy New Year 2024 to all who read this. I hope it brings you all you need.

Mine hasn’t started on the best note. I took my dog to the vet with what I thought was an abscess on her paw (in a nail bed). It turns out it’s a growth of some sort. The vet has given me a ten day course of antibiotics for her as it seems to be infected, probably from her licking and biting, but after that has cleared up he will need to insert a fine needle into the growth to determine what it actually is. Of course I’m worried that it is malignant, especially as mast cell tumours in dogs are apparently common and the nail bed is one place they can occur. My dog is old and I already know that surgery will not be an option for her, nor do I want to put her through chemotherapy or radiotherapy. It would be a lot for a 14 year old dog who already has a fractured cruciate ligament, arthritis and epilepsy. I would just want her to be kept as well as possible until her suffering becomes too great.

But I know my mind is running away with itself here. I just like to be prepared. It’s my way of facing yet another painful loss after my mother last year. This is happening literally weeks after the funeral, while still waiting for the inquest hearing to take place. It’s as if the universe decided that I’ve got through the worst of it, so it has given me this to deal with. Thanks very much. I know everything and everyone passes away, but couldn’t this wait another year at least?

My dog doesn’t seem unwell aside from her existing conditions so I am hoping this may turn out to be benign or some other sort of skin lesion that may clear up with the antibiotics. If it isn’t, what can I do but trust the process of life here, including the intense sadness I will face at the prospect of losing her? I was always going to lose her, that was a given; animals just don’t live as long as us and it’s such a horrible thing to accept. I will never be ready to let her go but I know I will be strong enough to do what’s right for her when the time comes because my love for her is so deep. When there’s incredible love, fear doesn’t exist. In the moment of making the choice for her, it will be out of a place of love. I know that one hundred percent.

In the meantime, all I can do is feel the preciousness of our bond, knowing all forms are temporary, but the love that connects us cannot be destroyed.

Grief is in the little things

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 4 Comments

I find it’s the so-called little losses that affect me more powerfully than the larger ones.

Christmas without my mum wasn’t easy but as I didn’t spend every Christmas with her or my other family, it didn’t feel too horrendous. It wasn’t the best day though as I went to a pub with a friend for Christmas dinner and they were running nearly an hour late, I had a bad headache and the pub was crowded and very noisy. I was desperate to get out of there. It didn’t feel overly Christmassy either because I just wanted rid of my headache.

Yesterday I visited the grave. Once again it gave me an empty feeling that the person who brought me up, saw me through nappies to university, took me on holidays, texted me every single day, was laying in the ground beneath my feet. It really is the strangest feeling. All I could do was look at her photo on the plaque and wonder where the essence of her had gone.

Later, at my sister’s house, I was looking through a TV guide (as I never buy one – don’t watch much TV) and noticed that the crime drama Vera was on that evening. Immediately I felt startled at the realisation that my mum would have texted to tell me it was on. She always did. If there was a new series of Vera or anything else we liked, she would text to let me know. I had a very visceral sense of loss that she would no longer be doing that again. That evening, I put it on TV and I felt deeply sad, as my mum would be watching it at the same time and we’d be texting each other all the way through. It was an experience I suddenly missed deep in my heart.

So grief is a funny thing. It’s not always the obvious things, but those deeply personal moments that we shared that would mean very little to anyone else. As difficult as our relationship could sometimes be, I treasure the times of connection over our favourite shows. They live on in my memory.

Merry Christmas

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 3 Comments

Merry Christmas to all the lovely people who read this. I really appreciate everyone who has read and/or commented on my blog this year. Thank you so much. May you all be blessed with love and peace and remember the light that shines within you, always.

Much love x