Love

Strength of the eternal Spirit (childhood, sickness and death)

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 3 Comments

I will be staying with my mother for a few days from early tomorrow until Wednesday afternoon. I feel very anxious about the visit for several reasons. It is always strange going back to the home I lived in for a brief time as a teenager; that is, before going to university and moving out for good. But this visit has extra complications and emotions attached. It will most likely be the last time I stay in that house, where my mother has lived for almost 30 years, because she needs to move somewhere without stairs. Her health is deteriorating due to heart failure and lung fibrosis, so I’m not sure how much worse she will be since I last visited in early February. I speak to her a lot on Facetime and we text, but such mediums are limited for knowing how someone really is. Also, Mum is stoic and independent to a fault, and thinks she’s protecting people by not giving them the full picture. It is hard to know quite how well or otherwise she is until I see her. She has relatives nearby but we’re not a close family, so I don’t get much information from them, even though they visit my mum regularly.

In addition, my sister is driving us all (my mum, me and my niece) to the grave of my other niece who died of cancer in 2019, age 34, both to leave flowers for her and to scatter my dad’s ashes (he died in 2015). To make this extra surreal and potentially painful, my niece’s grave is where my mum’s final resting place will be, when she succumbes to the heart failure. We will all be aware of it but of course it will be left as the great unspoken. How on Earth does one even begin to make conversation along the lines of ‘one day we will be visiting you here’? You just don’t. But it will be on everyone’s minds all the same.

I know my mum won’t really be in the grave, just as my niece isn’t, and my dad is not the ashes that we will be scattering. Wherever their spirits are/will be, they’re not part of the Earth, just as none of us alive today are our physical bodies and the dust they are made from. We are the spirits that inhabit them. When our body returns to Earth, so does our Spirit return to the place from which it came. I can’t begin to rationalise that because the mind cannot understand it. It is the ‘peace that passes all understanding.’ We cannot think about it logically, we just KNOW, with deeper wisdom, that this is the case; our Spirit is eternal consciousness and will fly free, as it is our true nature.

Remembering such truth is of course far more tricky while in the presence of your childhood family. Was it Ram Dass who once said ‘if you think you’re awakened, go spend a week with your parents?’ There’s so much wisdom in that statement. Our parents trigger us, remind us how far we have to go, as well as, positively, how far we have come. Throw in old age, sickness, and death, and that’s about as triggered as you can get.

I am ready to go. I hope it will be a positive, precious experience, and a reminder of the fragility of this Earthly life as well as the enduring power of Love.

I will be back. Thank you for reading. Many blessings x

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 2 Comments
Daily writing prompt
What are you good at?
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This is a weighted question for me. I would say, overall, I am good at being honest with myself, but that has a flip side. I am very self-aware, which is mainly a good thing, but without some discernment it is easy to fall into the trap of becoming too intimate with my faults. Seeing and learning from my faults is a good thing. Judging and criticising them is not. In fact, when I criticise myself I have succumed to the past conditioning which created an image of myself as worthless and a failure. The thoughts quickly turn into the familiar narrative of how it’s pointless trying because I’m so useless and before I know it I’m back there again – hurting.

But I can see it. And this is my gift.

As a child, I saw how people’s minds and emotions worked. I wrote stories about them. I had not developed a full self image at that point. I was in touch with my intuition. I wrote to God and made characters express the feelings that I was unable to. I didn’t think about or analyse anything, it just flowed from me like a river from Source. It was only after I was forced to change schools at age ten that it all went wrong. And of course, age ten is pretty pivotal in terms of ego development. I’m talking here of healthy ego or personality development, when we learn who we are in the world, what we like, what we want.

I started the new school a shell of the child I had been previously. I was scared due to what was happening at home and school was no longer a refuge. I was socially anxious and had been removed from everyone I knew. The kids didn’t know what to make of me. In typical kid-style, they took the mickey. A year later I started secondary school, still friendless. The bullying started. I had always been an introvert but now I was completely withdrawn and scared of people. So rather than developing a healthy personality, I saw myself as an idiot who nobody liked.

I have already written about the sadness around my writing when I started university so I won’t repeat it again. Suffice to say, I suffered a lot through school but writing became an outlet for my emotions and something I considered myself to be good at, until I lost faith in that too. But now, as an adult in my forties, I see and understand that writing was not something that belonged to me; instead it flowed from me, and it’s not something that can be lost, just like the essence of who I was as a child cannot be lost. In a way I have become full circle; I am integrating what the child in me knew with the maturity of age and the challenges I have faced, and realising that what I believed about myself at school was an illusion.

Self-awareness is a gift. Writing is my offering. It is my joy, my passion, and I still like to believe I am ‘good’ at it because that is something that matters to me. In writing, I understand my story, discern my faults, see where I am caught. In writing, I allow the beauty of Divine love to channel through me, remind me I am okay as I am. There is a balance. There is always a balance.

The invincible summer of the soul

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 4 Comments

The above quote is my absolute favourite. No matter how many times I’ve seen and heard it, it still brings tears to my eyes. My soul resonates so strongly with its meaning that the mere words are literally sunshine to my heart. I am a summer person in every way possible and to me everything good is associated with summer. I appreciate my perspective may not be shared with those who feel happiest in winter, but either way I hope you can change the words to your preference and take something beautiful from its meaning.

The other day I was sitting out in the – relatively rare! – hot UK Sun feeling the heat on my skin and sensing the golden rays behind my closed eyelids. I felt like I was bathed in the glorious beauty of Love itself. Joy radiated from me. I felt like the Sun was washing away all my sadness and pain and I was emerging into a new version of myself. As is the wisdom of the seasons, if we take time to tune into them and really understand – not with the mind, but with the heart. Nature speaks an eternal truth: we are reborn in Love, every millisecond of every day; our Divinity shines with the Sun and the clouds of despair, horror and illusion will pass by. Only what remains is real – the invincible summer of the soul.

That night I woke up with this beautiful song in my head. With gratitude I played it several times the following day:

A personal awakening journey

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 7 Comments

Echkart Tolle explained how his spiritual awakening to his true nature beyond the mind occurred when his mental suffering became intolerable. He was severely depressed, suicidal, in total despair unable to see a way out and until he uttered the words ‘Who is this ‘I’ that I cannot live with?’ Then he paused, reflecting on the profound meaning of his words. He had discovered the inner witness that some may call the soul, who lies beyond the mind, aware of every experience, thought and emotion, yet untouched by it all. This realisation changed Tolle’s life. He woke up from the dream of identifying with his mental state and went on to (eventually) write several books and become a spiritual teacher. As far as I know he has never fallen back into unconsciousness.

His dramatic awakening is unusual in its completeness; a clear boundary between ‘before’ and ‘after.’ For most people it doesn’t work like that. The path to becoming more conscious tends to follow a rugged trajectory of peaks and troughs, consisting of periods of heightened awareness before falling back into the grip of identifying with one’s conditioned self and then, at some point, emerges the realisation of being lost in the dream of mind. Ideally, the conscious periods will lengthen and the tendency to get lost will lessen over time. However, sometimes the unconscious periods intensify as the conditioned self/ego senses it is losing its hold and will hang on to whatever it can to save itself. Eventually, for those destined to awaken in this lifetime, the ego can no longer resist the force of the soul’s desire to know itself, and it begins to dissolve. Far from being a wonderful process, it is often completely horrible. This is what is known as the ‘dark night of the soul’

My own journey has definitely followed the latter trajectory. Looking back, my awakening journey probably first started when I walked away from my marriage with an narcissist, struggling with a relapse of my physical health condition, and a profoundly disabled child in tow. Until that point I was living out my life in a state of trauma as the result of my childhood and becoming seriously unwell at university. I had improved, gone to work and had a baby, only to fall very ill again. I was sensitive, empathetic, but highly insecure and lacking in self esteem, so it was not surprising I found myself attracted to my ex’s highly magnetic stage personality. After several years of mental cruelty, I finally realised that I was worth more. I don’t know how I found the courage to leave under the circumstances, but the little girl inside me had not lost her connection to the Divine despite everything. She reminded me that I was strong and would be okay, like she had been.

And so my journey really started. I sought therapy, tried alternative treatments, focused on my life with my son. Of course it was far from easy. In many ways my life actually worsened. Like Tolle, I fell into a bad depression. I remember sitting on my back doorstep, staring at the horse chestnut tree in my then-garden, tears slipping down my face, not even having the energy to wipe them away. Someone knocked at the door wanting access to the drain in my garden, can’t remember why, but I just remember the desperation I felt for them to see me, notice my pain, take away the desperate loneliness in my heart. The overriding theme of my life and particularly at that time was loneliness. I had lost my spiritual connection. I was barely surviving. My son’s behaviour was so challenging that it took everything I had. I had little support from family and no compassion or understanding from my ex. I had carers to help with my son, and emotional support from a therapist, but I still felt very alone.

A few years later, when my son was 9, I started reading a lot of spiritual books and meditating intensely. I had dipped in and out of this over the years, but not with any serious intent. This really kickstarted the next stage of my journey. It is hard to explain exactly what happened, but I ‘opened up.’ I suddenly felt more connected to spirit than I ever had before. My dreams became more intense, often containing Christian or Buddhist imagery. I saw and felt things during meditation – lights, sensations. I no longer felt alone. This was a relief because my life was spiralling further out of control. I ended up in hospital with my illness and my son’s dad started to have our son more. It took a few more years and a court case before my son went to his dad’s full time but at that point I could finally breathe. I could find myself.

My journey has been one of coming home to myself. I realise now that there was no other way things could have gone. I could not have ‘awoken’ IN the situation I was in, but THROUGH it. I was lost in the grip of trying so hard to do the impossible – be a superhuman parent to a challenging child, while I was sick. I made a difficult decision, had to overcome a lot of hatred thrown in my direction, in order to realise that who I am goes beyond the roles that I play. I began to realise that there is something within me – in all of us – that is stronger and more real than anything in this life. Moreover, I understood the true meaning of Love: I loved my son deeply; I disliked his behaviour a lot of the time, but I loved him, and I wanted him to be where he would be cared for and safe. To love him meant making sure of that, even though many people could not understand. Also, Love meant recognising my own limits and trusting my intuition, not society’s view on what I should or shouldn’t be doing.

My spiritual journey continues. Last year was particularly tough with my son. I notice when I’m lost in thoughts about being a bad mother or even just wishing things were different. I’m only human. Spiritual perfectionism is definitely a thing, but the key is to notice – notice what’s happening, notice the resistance to what is. Tolle talks about acceptance because it’s the only thing we can do but it’s often the hardest thing to do because part of us wants to fight against what we don’t want, instinctively so. I believe I have gone through my ‘dark night of the soul’ because so much has been stripped away, yet what is real remains: the connection to my soul or to the Divine, whichever way you want to look at it, which has always existed. I may not have had an ‘eureka’ moment but in my own way I understand what Tolle was experiencing with ‘Who is this ‘I’?’ Who, indeed? All I know is that I am on my way home.

A dream of quartz: clarity, cleansing, Divine connection

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 4 Comments

I had a beautiful dream during the night in which I awoke from a bed in a little cabin somewhere in the woods. I thought to myself that I have ‘let go.’ I went outside and put my hand into a hole inside a tree trunk and found it full of crystals and other beautiful things. I saw a tiny blue heart and realised it was a sign from Spirit. However, I was searching for two things in particular: clear quartz and celestial quartz. It did not take long before I found them. At this point the dream changed and I was in a room walking towards a large mirror carrying the crystals. I could feel immense spiritual power around me and I knew that the crystals were magnifying my connection to the Divine. I also knew that I needed to start working with crystals. The dream then ended.

I love the fact I ‘woke up’ within the dream itself. This is always highly symbolic and can be a common feature in lucid dreams (when one becomes aware that they are dreaming) although this dream was not lucid. It shows that I am, indeed, ‘waking up’ akas becoming more conscious in my daily life and no longer falling so readily into unconscious thoughts and emotions. The wood is deeply indicative of a myth, played out in fairy tales, whereby representing the journey into the unknown that every soul must take in this life. There are fears and challenges to be faced, as seen in stories such as ‘Hansel and Gretel’ and ‘Red Riding Hood’ to name but two. Thankfully, my dream carried an atmosphere of safety, so I was free to explore without anxiety. The hole in the tree truck may point to the tree of life; connected to Mother Earth, yet reaching for the Heavens. I found the treasure within it; namely the little blue heart, symbolising communication with Spirit in the name of Love, which is always within me. And then I searched for the quartz.

I found this fascinating because while I own some crystals, I don’t really use them, or think about them especially. I have a large rose quartz and citrine on my window sill and plenty of smaller crystals in a bag, but I don’t often handle them. The fact I was searching for the two types of quartz in my dream led me to look into the properties of both, and I found that they support greater clarity of mind, healing/cleansing, and increased connection to the Divine. This dream follows the post I made yesterday about intending to avoid checking my emails until after I have meditated in the morning. It is a message from my unconscious reinforcing the decision I have made and – perhaps – giving it greater power and manifestation. The mirror shows that I am aware of myself and what I am perceiving, as well as what I am projecting in the world – the illusions.

On waking this morning I immediately had in mind to hunt for a clear quartz and celestial quartz and carry them around with me. Now I’m not particularly knowledgeable about crystals, so I may be wrong, but I picked out from my bag what I believed were the two. You can see them in the photo. It feels good to hold them and connect them to my dream. And this morning started on a good note; taking my dog out, eating breakfast, meditating, reading inspiring works, and only then checking my emails! I will start as I (hopefully!) mean to go on.

The message of the dragonfly

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 16 Comments

On this morning’s walk with my dog I was delighted when a dragonfly flew in my path. It reminded me of the last time I saw one down that road, around 4 and a half years ago: I was returning from taking my dead guinea pig’s body to the vet to be cremated and was immersed in sadness. Melody had lived an amazingly long life despite considerable struggles – an open infected wound, a limp, brain seizures. A vet even advised me to have her put to sleep as the wound was so deep. But while I didn’t want her suffering, I believed she deserved one chance. Melody took it and ran with it. Her wound healed with treatment and she stayed strong for another two years until seizures began to weaken her resolve and soon afterwards she developed cheyne stokes breathing and passed away. She was 7 years old.

The dragonfly’s appearance that day reminded me that we are never alone in how we feel, even when we most feel it, in fact especially when we most feel it. I was travelling on my scooter down the street when out of nowhere it flew alongside me, kept up for a good few metres, then disappeared as quickly as it came. In Native American culture, dragonflies are a sign of deceased loved ones, so maybe Melody had been paying me a visit in a new form? I will never know. It was enough to recognise its significance and feel intense gratitude that I had a sign from spirit that day.

This morning’s dragonfly flew directly at me, went in a semi-circle, then headed for a brick wall where it flew over and disappeared. Once again I am grateful and awed by its beauty and timing. I was awake for quite a while during the night thinking about my mother and her ailing health, saddened by the thought that one day in the not too distant future she’ll be gone, at least from this physical form. And then there’s my dog, who is doing well on an increased dose of phenobarbital for her epilepsy, but is getting older and the thought of not having her around is deeply distressing. The fragility and impermanence of this life is playing heavily on my mind at this time.

However, this is where dragonfly symbolism provides immense comfort to me beyond any ideas about what form each dragonfly may or may not be assuming. Dragonflies are bringers of light. They represent Spirit and higher consciousness. Ultimately, they are a reminder that everyone is on a journey of transformation, change and rebirth, whether that happens in this lifetime or in some other way. They are translucent, showing that this physical form is ultimately illusionary because everything dissolves and goes back to its source, which is Divine love. While it’s natural to become attached to various physical forms, they are temporary; they get sick, old and die, but what is real never dies.

The message of the dragonfly is that all is well. Nothing is to be feared, including death. Each of us is on a journey and that journey does not end.

It’s okay not to be okay

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 2 Comments

http://cliparts.co/sad-person

Someone said this to me very recently in relation to their own process but it stayed with me and today it feels most apt in my own life.

It is Mother’s Day in the UK and it’s always a hard day for me for my only child (now adult in age) has severe autism and has no concept of the day at all. There’s no one to acknowledge I’m a mother apart from myself.

This morning I got up and felt determined to think positively about it. I decided that I didn’t need any such acknowledgement because I’m in touch with my spiritual self and that’s more important than any role or identity on this plane.

But you know what? Those thoughts didn’t feel good. And I realised the reason they didn’t is that I’m not being true to my authentic self. What use is spirituality if it doesn’t encompass everything that makes us human and shine the light of compassion upon all those aspects of our being? I was caught in the trap of trying to find a way out of my own feelings. True healing and growth doesn’t work like that. To transcend our pain and grief we must accept they are there and go deeply into them, not even with the intention to get past them, but to feel them deeply and truly because they are real.

Spirituality is about being real. And the reality is sometimes we are not okay, and that is okay.

Today hurts. It feels terrible that I have a child who, as much as I love him deeply, is not able to recognise that today is Mother’s Day and say ‘I love you Mum’. I know he does love me in his own unique way, but nonetheless it’s painful that he is the way he is and that life turned out the way it did for us both. I feel awful that I didn’t have any more children, albeit it has been the right decision based on my life situation. I even feel guilty that I’m wishing for acknowledgement from others rather than letting it be enough to know deep in my heart that I’m a mother and did what I could for my son. I guess, deep down, it is not enough because everyone wants to feel love from others. Everyone wants to feel valued and appreciated. That is what this day is about after all.

I know I’ll be fine. I know these feelings will pass and I have the strength in my being to sit with them and value them for what they are. I don’t intend to get stuck (which is another trap) but simply acknowledge, this is how I feel today, and move on with hopefully greater compassion for myself and all mothers or would-be-mothers who, for whatever their unique reason, are having a hard time of it today.

Lots of love to you all.

Silver linings

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 2 Comments

It’s been a very painful few weeks but I am very grateful for the silver linings that have emerged as a result of my son’s hospitalisation. Whilst it’s been very far from ideal, my son has been calmer than he has in a while, a combination of the right medication plus 24/7 carers who he responds well to and a room and bathroom of his own (albeit off a busy ward). I am also grateful for all the professionals who have worked so hard to find a better solution for my lovely boy while not dehumanising him for the difficulties he has that led to being in hospital in the first place. He has a new placement in the autumn but it’s still a building site, so we have to wait. In the meantime he has a temporary arrangement in his previous home with the support of 24/7 carers. He should be discharged early next week.

Other relatives sadly chose not to visit, which meant me going every other day to do his washing and bring him food (he was not eating any of the hospital food). I wish others had shown their presence to my son, but I am grateful for the opportunity to really be a mother to him for the first time in many years, probably since my health forced me to give him to his father full time. My visits were positive. We bonded for the first time in a few years. He was pleased to see me and at one point lay his legs across my lap. I can’t put in words how much this all means. It has helped heal my fragile heart from all the pain of parenting, the loss and struggle of bringing him up, the feelings of disconnection that arose from only seeing him once a week and having to get past the obstacles of his dad and grandmother who often made it hard for me to visit. Moreover, it was a relief after the pain of visiting him in the assisted living accommodation where he wanted me to leave as soon as I arrived. Now I know this wasn’t personal but a reaction to his frustration and pain at living in an environment which felt out of control and that he couldn’t cope with.

I am so grateful to God/the Divine for all these silver linings in such an awful situation. I just hope and pray that my son’s discharge goes well and he thrives during the temporary placement and when he goes to the new one in the autumn.

My suffering and the story of Jesus

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 8 Comments

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.

Acceptance in the midst of it all

/ sarahlissyjenkins / 3 Comments

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.