Well. Gosh. Such a lot has gone on. Can’t even tell you.
So sorry I haven’t blogged. I have been too happy. When you are this happy it is hard to blog because blogging is kind of about the ego, and when you are happy you are outward-looking and can’t be bothered with all that self-centred crap.
The sofa/quilt/fire/nausea plan never worked out. I just didn’t need it. The Monday I went for Chemo. The very next day I went for more Healing. Healing has now been afforded a Capital Letter in my world. You will see why.
The thing is, people will say, ‘oh, yeah, well, she had a downer, thought she was gonna die, had a crisis, found religion, blah de blah, what could be more obvious….’
Well, I don’t care about what people say. I won’t deny what has happened to me, and it is kind of phenomenal.
The Healing on the Tuesday was wonderful. I felt very peaceful and protected. Near the end of the session I felt as if something in me or around me was being gently tugged, pulled towards the area diagonally away from my left foot. I had my eyes shut, so I could not see what Dennis was doing. The feeling became stronger, like a silent hoover, tugging, tugging, but a good one, a Miele. It was almost too powerful. I nearly sat up to say, ‘Hey, that’s too strong.’ Afterwards, I asked Dennis what he had been doing over there. ‘I pull the things that have hurt you away, the negative, sad things, and direct them into the earth,’ he said. ‘I let them go into the earth and be cleaned. Then I replace the energy with clean, good energy.’
I sang all the way home again. I felt light, strong, alert, full of cheer.
Since then, I have experienced no symptoms from the FEC. No nausea, no weakness, no depression, nothing. I have done lessons, ponies, dogs, RDA, cooking, shopping, everything. The quilts and sofas did not get a look-in. I only used them for watching the football, to which I am newly addicted. I love watching Greece play. They are so Greek. So anarchic and wild against the clinical Russians. And so disproportionately happy when they win, in contrast to the cautious and self-critical English. I love annoying Alfie by doing a running commentary like this: ‘Ooh, he’s lovely isn’t he? Gorgeous! What a big Swede. Mmm. Ooh, why do they pull each other’s shirts like that? It shouldn’t be allowed….That little squitty one has a nice face…why’s that one wearing bright pink boots? looks daft…Oh, GO ON, SHOOOOT, GO ON! NOOOO TOSSER!’ and suchlike.
Every day I have been having horse therapy:
On Sunday I had a phonecall. Marina along the road said that Claire wanted to see me. Claire is her mother who is quite elderly and brought up her four children in this house fifty or so years ago. I went along and had a good chat with her. She seemed in fine fettle. You know, she was the youngest of nine siblings. I know all their names. Sadly all her siblings have died. Told her about Healing. She would like to be healed too. I said I would ask Dennis if he can come to her house.
At RDA on Monday they were short of helpers so Chloe came with me. She came downstairs dressed in these multicoloured dungarees, green wellies and developing dreadlocks. I said, ‘Wow, are you really going dressed like that?’
‘I thought this was very normal,’ she replied, a bit crestfallen. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘Mmm not really,’ I said, but let it go, seeing as her other look is ravaged pop-star which would not work well at the riding school. The little boy on the pony she was leading could not speak, but he could laugh. He kept pointing at Chloe’s trousers and laughing. He would then point at her hair and laugh. At the end Chloe said ‘Pat the pony.’ He patted the pony, then Chloe patted him, and he patted her. We all patted each other. He pointed at her trousers some more laughing all the while. He had brought some apple and kept signing that he wanted to give the apple to the pony. We explained that if you keep giving them apple they start biting people who do not give them apple. He still wanted to give the pony the apple. He was allowed to put the apple on the ground for the pony. For someone who could not speak he was incredibly communicative.
Claire and little Agnes came for flute. I loved the baby while her mummy played Debussy’s L’Apres-midi d’un Faune and Bach. Agnes’ little features are imprinted on my mind now. If I shut my eyes I can see them. The baby loves Debussy but does not like Beethoven’s Eroica: too spiky and sharp.
I have been popping in at Mattie’s house as she has her first flute exam on Friday. She has to do some pieces off by heart. ‘You can use the music just once if you like, to remind you how they go,’ I said.
‘No, Hester. I like a challenge,’ she replied. Yeah, it really will be a challenge if you can’t remember how they go, Mattie! However, I like to let my pupils develop their own methods. If that involves making up the pieces, so be it. God help the examiner, lol. He’s in for a treat. She’ll probably stop halfway through a piece to tell him all about her school play and her friends and what parts they are and how she got the part of the dog.
‘I don’t need the music. I like a challenge.’
So a week bowled by, with lovely windy weather, Bloody Marys out in the garden with Fred and Barney, and Tabby going off to Italy to be a drama teacher. It is her very very sweet Italian teacher Michaela who invited her to go. If you ever want a big laugh, ask Tabby to do her Michaela impression. It is so funny honestly, it makes you die. She has a very deep voice and really draws out each syllable: ‘Taaaaaaaaa-byyyyyyyyyyyyyy….’
Anyway, so Tuesday came around again and it was time for more Healing. At the Chemo I had bumped into a friend from my yoga class, Martha. She is a really pretty, little person. She was at Oncology for a follow-up appointment, having had her operation and radiotherapy a few months back. She said she was terrified to see the doctors, that they would say it had come back. Her face was not like I knew it; she looked afraid.
‘You need to come for Healing!’ I told her.
So Martha picked me up and we went together. I had booked her a meeting with Dennis. I read the books in the library while she was in there. She came out emotional but beaming.
I went in. I lay down on the table and shut my eyes. Dennis set to work. Instant visuals started up. I got a black spot which started small and grew to engulf a lighter spot within it, which grew again to engulf again, lovely. Fred has told me that visuals are a tempting distraction from the real business of getting down to serious meditation, so I tried not to give them too much encouragement. This just set them off all the more, but I seemed to be going deeper and deeper into that black spot and felt myself falling with a kind of crunch into a comfort so pure that I could not detect my body. I felt tranquil but alert behind my eyes. And as if I had all the time in the world. I realised that I wanted to give thanks. Firstly to Dennis, for helping me. I tried to send some healing energy back towards him and thanked him, repeatedly. Then I gave thanks for my friends, visiting them one by one, right to left, seeing them almost in a line standing by the main door of the Cancer Centre, approaching them to touch them lightly, my friend Meg-over-the-road, Arulesh, Claire and baby Agnes, all my friends who have been so kind, my cousins, my pupils. Gently, gently, I continued to give thanks. Then I reached my mum and my dad. I gave thanks for them. Then my Aunty Lindesay. I gave thanks for her. Then, in a pool of yellow light, Ferg. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he was with me. I was sitting with my brother, within touching distance, smiling, in easy comfort and absolute happiness. I realised that in some worlds there is no need for time. I had a strong feeling of peace and wholeness. It was a wondrous shock. I started to cry. Crying with your eyes shut is odd. You feel like your eyes are going to explode, then the tears squeeze themselves out.
Dennis said ‘Ok, that’s about it,’ and went out to fetch water. I just lay, savouring the light and peace and the fact my eyes had not exploded.
‘Gosh, Dennis,’ I said when he returned. ‘I met my brother.’
‘Well, yes. Near the end I do invoke the angels,’ he replied.
We went to the appointments book to make another appointment for Martha for next week. My name is down there for Dennis. I tried to give my appointment to Martha, since that lovely Christine gave me hers the other day, but he said he would fit us both in. I said ‘Dennis, are you sure?’
He said, ‘You should come again.’
Of course I really do want to have more, but I want other people to experience this. I feel like I am being over-indulged. How much healing can one person take? My cup runneth over. I don’t think that cancer could possibly survive in such an environment, in a breast so blessed. This space is full of light and love and health.
My only worry: that Dennis will become exhausted with this work. He says, no, it does not exhaust him. Once he did five people in a row, and that was a bit too much, he said. He has given me a book he wrote, of his spiritual experiences. It is really fascinating. I am going to edit it and help him to self-publish.
Gin Claire told me that her cousin Becky who is a week ahead of me with the FEC wants to meet Dennis! (Unfortunately she lives in Manchester.) She has had a worse time the second time. I will have a queue of people waiting to see him when he gets to Bishops Stortford. Claire says she is too much of a cynic to have healing herself, but even so, she is tempted. I think she should. I think Fred should too. But he said, ‘Don’t go bringing any bloody healers into the house.’ LOL TIPS. Even he can’t deny I’m healed though. Would he rather be bringing me vom buckets, muesli (with a grape if I’m lucky) and cups of green tea, or have me bounding about in singing mode, making smoothies, sweet potato mash, ratatouille, bringing him cups of tea and indulging in my rather marvellous commentary on the football? It’s a no-brainer, Fred. Unless he actually prefers me incapacitated….it’s a thought. I did used to annoy my friend George quite a lot by being too enthusiastic about the coming of Spring I remember. I used to be able to smell Spring in about January and she thought that was taking the piss. (I actually could though.) (Just for the record.) (It’s the sap rising deep inside the trees and the earth starting to breathe again. Mmm.)
OMG, forgot to tell you about the injections! Tabby was very professional about it, flicking the needle and reading the instructions. Before the needle got anywhere near my fat, I screamed a long scream. It seemed to help. The parrots looked very interested. Chloe and Fred watched to learn how to do it. Tabby unfortunately has gone away, so Fred did it yesterday. I screamed even harder even though it really doesn’t hurt even a tiny bit. If I keep this up, by sometime next week the parrots will be screaming. He he. At least they’ve forgotten how to do Chloe’s rape alarm which is a relief. Although as soon as someone opens the drawer and accidentally sets it off they will remember.
The best scream I ever did was when I went to the loo in the middle of the night and Fattipus came in and let a mouse drop out of his mouth. It ran straight towards me. I climbed onto the loo seat and screamed my arse off. Fred bless im did come running for once in his life as he thought it was an axe murderer. He was really cross that it was only a mouse. But I reminded him about the bollocks and he had to agree that mice really are terrifying.
Guess what? Dennis is coming round tomorrow! I know, I’m so excited about this. I hope all the ghosts in the house don’t swarm him. He is going to heal Chloe and maybe Fred and maybe Cynic Gin Claire, maybe Arulesh if she summons up the courage. Haven’t asked Fred yet if he wants to be healed. Wouldn’t it be funny if he became a born-again? What a lol would that be right enough. He’s watching the football. I am going down now to do some insightful commentary on the Czech-Portugal game and check out the talent. Fwhooooarrr. Gorgeous!
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