Wishing you love, miracles and Beanie Boos, xxx.

And this is why…

• love: is everything that speaks to your heart,
• miracles: are all of the things that touch apon your soul,
• and Beanie Boos are all that is soft, warm, fluffy and cathartic to your inner you.

I wish you knowledge that you are loved and the deep resonance of it in your body.

I wish you magic, wonder, amazement and regular pleasant surprise.

And I wish you faith and belief in the world around you and in the beauty and glory of the human race.

image

To be healed is having an awareness that you were never broken

To keep up to date with my progress and receive love and light in your inbox, send me your email address.

Ask me a question or book an appointment
Buy remedies, healing aides and helpful accessories
• Check out my Etsy Shop to see what else I do

There’s no place like home 

image
It’s the 2nd of December and all of a sudden Christmas is just a handful of days away, or that’s how it feels. I have been in Mallorca since Friday and am slowly settling in – adjusting to the temperature, the scenery, the way of life; putting long held things down and letting go of things that are tight. The people are friendly and I feel welcome wherever I go. The sky is blue and in the centre of the day it’s warm enough to sit outside. The streets are quiet, empty… and I do not have to clean my shoes each time I go out. There is less pollution. Whites stay white. Food is cheaper, fresher and mostly organic. Apples taste how apples should taste. Seafood is common and it is possible to eat out often without guilt. I am eating out. I do not feel guilty. I feel restless though and I am finding this hard to accept. I cannot sit quietly or do what I usually do; there are fears and thoughts filling my mind with the kind of things that go bump in the night. 

I miss my home with its familiar surroundings – my pictures, my drawings, my ornaments, my Fimo unicorns and knitted mice, my crystals, my oracle cards, my pendulums and lucky charms, a tea for every day of the month, four alternatives to milk; gluten-free, wheat-free, dairy-free, lactose-free products; a wardrobe full of choice, drawers full of excitement, a bed with a mattress and sheets that have only ever been mine, a brand new everything inside an old but renovated space… I miss the bathroom I at first disliked with its traditional sink and cracked white tiles, the floors whose scratches I hid beneath rugs, the neighbour upstairs and his heavy feet, the washing machine whose spin cycle woke everything up. I miss the central heating, the insulation, the open space and tall windows letting in the light. I miss it’s countless memories and the special things I did there. I could sit still and calm in that space for hours, content to be alone. I was warm. I was relaxed and safe. I am a creature of habit. I do not like to deviate from or break with routine; it tortures me, from the centre out, undoing all that I have put in place, unpicking all that I have set down, challenging my beliefs. 

Resisting the urge to rewind, burying myself deep in chocolate, tea and toast, over-sized omelettes and glasses of local wine, I try to love my hat, focusing on the importance of finishing that. But even while the comfortable click and clack of my needles soothes me, the simplicity of the project, the superficiality of its journey after that, fails to really get beneath.

Being mindful, I remind myself of how normal all of this is, how ‘okay’ it is to be a little spikey. In acting out I am speaking for the child within, the hidden part that is most often ignored. Like a dog, all she wants is a warm lap, a familiar space, a routine that caters to her every need and lots and lots of attention. Like an infant, she wants to play, existing solely in a space of love, laughter and light.

Maybe I will buy paper and coloured pens to paint my story out? Maybe I will buy thread and felt to stitch it down? I’d rather go for a walk on the beach, attempt to meditate with the sand on my skin, visit the cathedral, ride in a horse-drawn carriage, peruse the local markets, sightsee, explore, delving into each and every space, feeling, touching, tasting, really getting a sense of it. But I am trapped in another’s routine, rushing and rushing then sitting and sitting, counting the hours, avoiding the minutes, longing only for bedtime when, finally, I can shut it all out. 

This will pass, as everything passes; for there is nothing in life but change. We cannot still. We cannot cling. We cannot stop, no matter how much we might want to. And in the meantime – while I grin and bear and occasionally grimace and growl – it is best to view it as a meditation, the acquiring of a new level of acceptance, patience and self-love.

image

To be healed is having an awareness that you were never broken

To keep up to date with my progress and receive love and light in your inbox, send me your email address.

Ask me a question or book an appointment
Buy remedies, healing aides and helpful accessories
• Check out my Etsy Shop to see what else I do

Green and Gold

I have nearly completed my Christmas tree and I’m so proud, waxing about her as if she were a newborn child. Given the brevity of time before me and the new terrain, the landscape of ‘different’ in which to source from, she’s a work of art. A patchwork of randomly sourced objects, lovingly put together with an attention to detail and adherence to certain rules – like each additional adornment must be serviceable all year, for life not just for December…, she presents a whole that even I with my obsessive need for perfection cannot readily unpick.

There is a velour cat with a bubblegum pink ribbon; a perspex diamond accommodating two mis-adventuring mice (one, with her purple jacket and hat, reminding me of my grandma) a child petting her pet, who just so happens to be a beautiful chocolate-brown spaniel; a hippo in a tutu attempting a pirouette; a moose holding a snow-clad tree – tiny in comparison to his rotund self; an eccentric giraffe displaying, in his outstretched hand, an umbrella (perhaps to remind me of England and all of the rain I incurred there); a felted tiger straight out of ‘Where the Wild Things are’, a similar felted fox and kangaroo, part of a matching collection; a terracotta angel painted Mallorcan style; a ceramic squirrel with a hollow centre and a rabbit carved from local wood. All that’s missing is the star.

Sitting at the very top, visible from every angle… the star cannot just ‘do’, she has to outshine. So while I’ve seen passable solutions and the occasional ‘blow me away with their beauty but also with their price’ attempts at twinkling joviality, I haven’t yet seen anything that works without breaking the budget (which is also one of the rules!) apart. But I believe… : in the solution, in the ‘right’ one, in the five-pointed declaration that is made specifically for me. When the Universe is ready (as like with everything else), she will extend her palm and yield. And if for some unforeseen reason she will not explain, she, the universe and all of the powers that accompany her… deem I am not to have a talisman, a gem to shine in the night, to ward off the darkness… then so be it. There are reasons greater than me.

And maybe it’s about being flexible in the face of restriction. Or happy amongst the uncompromising walls of limitation. Or about only seeing what you want to see.

Living from the one hastily-packed suitcase, a sitting room full of boxes it would be unwise to unpack; making do with another’s curious ornaments and furniture – a glass bowl full of plastic fruit, a black sofa with rose embellished cushions, threadbare rugs that house more beach than dust, a table and chairs with green velvet seats (seriously?), a kitchen that supports the making of tea but actively dissuades the creation of anything else, appliances that make their grievances known, usually throughout the night; bedsheets that itch and towels that scratch, tiles that bear the mark of generations and shift beneath passing feet: there is a lot of accepting and reimagining involved.

But like with boxes and randomly placed objects; unfolded clothes, decaying flowers and unwashed cups: all manner of unwanted but immovable things… After a while they cease to exist, the eye cleverly distorting what the mind lacks the conscious desire and active need to see.

imageSo really it’s just my tree that stands out, projecting beauty, colour, positive energy, fun, enchantment, love and pride. Greeting my return like a faithful friend, she adds a little warmth and welcome to an otherwise cold and inanimate space.

To be healed is having an awareness that you were never broken

To keep up to date with my progress and receive love and light in your inbox, send me your email address.

Ask me a question or book an appointment
Buy remedies, healing aides and helpful accessories
• Check out my Etsy Shop to see what else I do

Growing from the centre

image

Growing from the centre, spreading out; opening tired arms, reaching out… I begin to evolve; returning – slowly, surely, bit by timid bit – to my maker, to the one who conceived the thought and (albeit thousands of years ago), made my forebears who then lead lives that in a very protracted ‘meandering-around-the-fields kind of way (a bit like my writing) eventually led to me.

But who is that voice that’s calling? And why now? Why not before, when I first had need of it? 

Was it necessary to be so beaten, so tattered and torn, so tangled and tormented, bereft? Did I need to lose it all before I could from the ground, the grey grit of the tired bedraggled pavement, start crawling back?

~

Praying, meditating, practicing yoga; spending quiet time, alone time, time with me: I pick up the pieces, attempting to reassemble the puzzle that – whole, complete – amounts to an entirety of something I am only now coming to know.

I try to remember that God loves me and that Jesus died for my sins. I try to remember too that other people have suffered, suffer, are suffering still, and that we are all battling similar things.

Only it’s easy to forget and then feel miserable, or perhaps act out, speaking from the lonely part, the child that has since we began been neglected.

~

Reading self-help books; studying religion, spirituality, philosophy, metaphysics… I move, crossing a landscape of boulders that was ‘once upon a time long ago’ green and vibrant.

Planting seeds; tending to the garden, praying to the moon and dancing for the sun: colour arrives and I thrive, rising up from the ashes of pain and shame to walk with grace and confidence.

And I try to have fun and to remember how to play, taking advice from children and the tiny inside me, the ‘me’ that I am only now really learning to see and accept. Fimo unicorns dance across tabletops, origami doves gather around lamps, felttip rainbows remind me to be kind to myself when all around me I’m staring at clouds. Having allowed what has been forbidden to surface, it won’t now be shut back down.

I was afraid that perhaps I wasn’t being mature enough.

I was also afraid that I had gone mad, losing my soul down a rabbit hole that, once entered, did not permit one to turn back.

Now I see that the answer is simple, that I have instead been forced to rewind, returning to parts that never grew, reconnecting with parts that were rejected.

Listening to her, seeing her, for the first time; looking with complete awareness, judgement-free: I slowly heal what was allowed to self-destruct. It is painful and slow. Strange how this journey began as one thing, as a new career path, as an evolution of ego – albeit with a good heart – and then turned into something else entirely that has, in new and nefarious ways, challenged me.

~

Walking in the light, I see that God had other plans and that, really, when it’s all peeled back, there is only ever one path, one way, and it is love.

Love makes us happy.

Love brings us peace.

Love enables us to forgive and thereby to finally heal.

Love enables us to reach out and touch and begin to restore, transforming hate and anger, cynicism and judgement, depression and pain. Little by little, the world begins to change. 

It is a journey of a thousand miles. And, like all of you, each day I take another step.

by Rebecca L. Atherton
image

To be healed is having an awareness that you were never broken

To keep up to date with my progress and receive love and light in your inbox, send me your email address.

Ask me a question or book an appointment
Buy remedies, healing aides and helpful accessories
• Check out my Etsy Shop to see what else I do

I believe in fairies

image
It is said that every time you say ‘there’s no such thing as fairies’, a fairy dies. And so it’s not something I’ve ever done. But I’m not sure either if I’ve ever really believed, not since I was a child and believing in magical things was easy, just part of the course, as natural as walking and sleeping and breathing. In fact, back then, it would have been an effort not to believe, because I was a dreamy child and I have always had a vivid imagination.

But as I got older and my life turned outwards, things like fairies and Santa Claus and magic and miracles fell off. It happens to all of us. It’s part of growing up. A sad fact of life that only a few of us escape.

I continued to love fairies. Angels too, but in a distant, only half-aware kind of way. I might turn to my guardian angel every so often to help me to get past something, to heal me in ways where I was stuck. But I was more likely to turn to God and ask for his forgiveness and love.

Until recently, that is… when I woke up.

Since then, the magic has filtered into my life in delicate streams, small amounts that fit me ‘just right’; amounts that are knowing and gentle, respectful and kind. Some simply see, waking overnight, shutting their eyes to one world and opening them to another. I have slowly had the blindfold removed and I am still unveiling.

Today is one of those days when I experienced a shift, one of several large ones when something remarkable happened, something so impossible, so undeniable, so inexplicable otherwise, it could only be a miracle.

I have a bracelet that is very dear to me. It symbolises many things. And each time I wear it and look at it: I find peace and stability and reassurance and strength. It’s a talisman, each individual bead, each crystal, chosen for its reason and meaning, its inherent properties; its power further heightened by the symbols I’ve placed into it. So when I woke this morning and its absence was felt, I went into panic. How could this be? How could this happen? There was no logic. The clasp is secure. I wear it carefully, I don’t take it off. And yet… here it was: missing, no longer resident on my arm.

I scoured the apartment. I searched high and low. I turned out drawers and looked inside pillow cases and underneath beds. I was distraught. A new one wouldn’t hold half of the meaning or symbolism this one did. It wouldn’t have travelled nearly as far. It would be a replica and thereby impotent. The thought was distasteful to me. I’d rather be without than with alien, with fraud.

After an hour, I gave up: reality setting in. I was tired yesterday, out of sorts. I must have lost it while out shopping, the bags on my arm unclipping the clasp. I must have then not noticed it all afternoon and all evening. I must have slept not noticing it still. I was distracted, desensitised. And, anyway… it’s so much a part of me, I no longer feel it. It just is until it is not.

I concluded that it was gone, that someone had found and taken it, that a stranger had chanced upon an unexpected gift. I buried my head in distraction, surrendering myself to the process of grief.

But there was one thing I did that was different, that was unexpected and new. I went to my bookcase, I selected a book, I looked up lost objects and I called upon Chamuel and asked him to help me. For Chamuel is the archangel of finding lost objects and so, in my newly awakened state, referring to him was the next logical step. But I was doubtful. I’ve asked for feathers and coins as proof of existence before and come up short. In fact, I haven’t seen a feather in months. Maybe that’s a sign in itself? You see, there’s this resistance, this reluctance to bother something so mighty and powerful, so divine, with something as trivial as me. And asking for feathers and coins, just really isn’t my thing. I’d prefer to wait for the big one: helping a loved one, healing a bone, overcoming a really big block. But I have been wanting something more tangible, more solid than the flickers of light that appear just outside my vision and the inexplicable smells that suddenly appear, and the strange noises I hear in certain places and the visions that come unbidden and the things that I know with such surety, such clarity, they can only have come from elsewhere. So I asked. And then I let go and left it there, trusting to the Universe and the grace of things I cannot see but which I am increasingly aware of and gradually more certain.

And I was leaving it, accepting it and letting it, until I suddenly had this urge to go look out the window and check to see if last night’s rubbish was still there. Now this is central London and rubbish disappears fast. Dustmen come at least once a day. And if not dustmen, then other men looking for things that might hold worth. So the chances of my rubbish still being there a good 16 hours later were slim. I’d go as far as to say impossible. And yet, as I looked out the window: there it was, the bag that this morning, only hours earlier, had not been there. Because I had checked, just on the off chance, in the name of not leaving any stone unturned. As much as I had retraced my path to each shop and pavement. But I had come up empty as I had expected to.

It was a sign and one that had me racing down the stairs, washing-up glove in hand, to retrieve the now dirty bag from the opposite pavement, avoiding the looks, the feelings of shame, that picking up things that are dirty seems to attract.

I sat in the kitchen: eager, hopeful, somehow certain. And yet… as the bag grew empty and the amount of pieces that might be hiding it shrank, my faith shrank too. Maybe it was just another test? Another challenge? Because there have been many of those.

And then there is was, staring up at me from the bottom right corner: my beautiful bracelet; complete, whole, undamage, returned.

I won’t go into how I leapt about like a child, thanking Chamuel until my energy was spent. Or how I then picked up the phone, needing to share. I shall simply leave you with this… We are not alone. We are not abandoned. We are watched and cherished and guided and loved.

There are things out there I cannot explain. Things, even, I cannot see. But I have faith and I am learning to surrender, because the more I let go, the more I see.

If you are in need of guidance or holding, why not give the angels a chance? After all, the worst that could happen is nothing at all.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

image

To be healed is having an awareness that you were never broken

To keep up to date with my progress and receive love and light in your inbox, send me your email address.

Ask me a question or book an appointment
Buy remedies, healing aides and helpful accessories
• Check out my Etsy Shop to see what else I do