Well, so I was well and truly myself again. Hallelulia. Oh yeah, Gospel Mama, clap your hands and rejoice. (Gee, really hard word to spell, that Hallelulia. Am not convinced I have it right.) Back to my jolly old jokey-jokey self, ready for big lols. Or so I thought.
It so happened that I drove Tabby to Takeley for a drama lesson. For Takeley you have to get in the third from left lane at the big M11 roundabout. I accidentally got in one of the A120 Colchester lanes. I signalled right and tried to move over. Three cars honked at me. I swerved back into the Colchester lane. I was forced to go towards Stansted and round the roundabout and back. Normally, you understand, a) I wouldn’t get in the wrong lane at all, b) I would wave off the honkers with a ‘Oh get a life, y’ol codger,’ and have a laugh about how anal people are. But not now. The tears started to plop. ‘People just shouldn’t honk at people,’ I sobbed.
Tabby held my hand. ‘Horrible people,’ she said. ‘They shouldn’t honk at my mummy.’
I cried all the way there and for another half hour.
So, when Carole phoned up to say it was time to visit the Cancer Centre at Scotsdales for a spot of healing, I resisted, but realised before long that I was putty in her hands. She took me into the David Rayner building. ‘Just look around you, Hester,’ she said. ‘This place honestly works miracles.’
I looked. I didn’t really understand what she meant as it all seemed fairly normal. Quite a low ceiling. Smiley people chatting at tables. An animated art class going on in the corner. A lady serving tea and biscuits. I sat outside in dappled sun and chatted with Carole’s friends. They are serious survivors. They are very, very kind and mindfully welcoming. They say things in such a way as not to jar you, because they understand vulnerability. They really believe in and practise positive thinking. Some were told they had only months at best yet are still here twelve years later.
The centre co-ordinator, Ann, approached to say she could fit me in for healing with Dennis. I looked at Dennis. He seemed like a normal chap.
I had never been for healing before so had not one jot of an idea what to expect.
I lay down on a treatment table in a little room. I shut my eyes. I could hear Dennis taking a deep breath. He placed his hands on both of my shoulders. I felt a gentle bar of heat glowing between them. I could hear him moving around. He held my foot which felt really good. When he left my foot and came round up to my head I could still feel him holding my foot. Strange. Almost as if someone else had come into the room to help him with this enormous task that was my damaged body and spirit. He touched my right shoulder and I felt a whoosh go across my body towards my left hip. I realised my breathing had slowed down. Behind my eyelids a bright lime green colour started up. I could see one big eye, the colour of new leaves, pulsating, lined with yellow as if the sun was behind it. In the centre was a throbbing dark greyish blue area, like the pupil of the eye. I almost laughed as I wondered if it was my third eye opening up. I Spy with my Massive Eye, I chuckled to myself. It was enormous, much bigger than my normal eyes. But you can’t normally see your own eye. Shit, maybe it was someone else’s. I tried to go through the pupil and see out of the other side of it. No, that didn’t work.
From my shoulder the healer went down my arm with gentle slow touches til he reached my hand. He cupped the outside of my hand. When he took his hand away, my hand felt like it had a protective coating all round it. Like it had been laminated, or been given a shell. He did the same to the other shoulder, arm and hand. Both hands felt strong, curved, ready, protected. I revelled in the feeling. I was being strengthened. This was so lovely. I felt a profound urge to thank Dennis. I felt a strong need to tell my friend Rachel that maybe her ill friend could come for healing with Dennis. I felt honoured and privileged that this person whom I did not know was putting so much care and effort into making me better.
He placed his hands on my left hip and pushed slowly. He worked his way down the leg, did the other side, then held both feet. I felt warmth and contentment. I was alert and joyful. Plus the visuals at this point were intense, still lime green, with pulsating black suns outlined in white light.
He said something like, ‘OK, that’s all done now’.
I opened my eyes. ‘You have a real gift,’ I told him. ‘You really are so good at this.’
He was pleased. ‘I’m just channelling it,’ he replied. ‘Anyone can do it. Do you have children? Well, you have done it, whenever you cuddled them after they fell over.’
I thought of when I held Tabby’s hand when she was in the Trauma room. I had known that breathing love into her body through my hand gave her strength. It had certainly taken it out of me! I thought of Nanny Rene holding baby Chloe for hours, pouring love into her through her eyes and arms. I thought of all the hours I rocked and hugged my babies with a fierce protecting love. I remembered a concert where I suddenly understood that my Aunt Lindesay sitting at the piano had become a channel for the composer, Liszt, and that he was still alive, in the room, through the union of her interpretative skills and his work.
I thanked Dennis and came out of there beaming. The room no longer looked normal. It was glowing with promise and delight. Everybody seemed to be smiling. This happens in Greece quite often. You head out on a pirate ship round Cephalonia, Ithaka, Meganissi. You watch the way the boat cleaves the wine-dark sea. The captain comes round with his barrel of ouzo. (Not for me!) You dive in off the boat and swim into Papanikoli’s huge cave. The boat stops at a deserted beach for snorkeling and a barbeque with swordfish and salads. On the way back the wake of the boat hypnotises you with its foamy whorls. You lie back on mattresses on the deck squinting through sunlight at creaking masts and rigging above. Dolphins leap around the boat. Approaching Lefkada, you look around and realise that everyone on board has stopped talking. They are just smiling and smiling.
I sat back down outside. I told the survivors about the visuals. ‘Beginner’s luck’ they laughed, and told me it’s best to have healing three weeks in a row for maximum benefit.
Next week the healers are all booked up, but a very kind lady came round the table to tell me that I could have her appointment. ‘You need it more than me,’ she said.
‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘Maybe you do need it.’
‘No, no, I have had lots. I want you to have it,’ she insisted, and she went to the book and crossed out her name and put my name. On the website for the Cancer Centre it mentions ‘an almost tangible kindness.’ I have felt it. You can touch it.
So I am seeing Dulcie next week. Apparently she is a medium. Can’t wait. There is another healer there who has angels with her. Mad Lucy tells me this is not that uncommon. She knows several people who have angels with them.
Have felt really positive ever since the healing. I think about it and can re-experience the sense of calm I had, but can’t get the visuals. I have tried, even with a light shining on my shut eyes, but I only get a blank orangey-grey dull plain. No sign of a massive green eye.
The eye reminds me of when we used to play compound noun I-Spy in the car with the kids. One time little Alfie had us going with W-W. Did we ever try? Water Works. Wrist Watch. Windscreen Wipers. In the end we gave up. He said ‘It’s Wag Wort.’
Sure enough, the passing fields were full of yellow ragwort. How could we have missed that? Duh, stupid.
Bash was a bit too young to play. She would say ‘B-P’. We would guess for ages, then she would say, ‘No, it’s Cow.’ There wouldn’t even be a cow.
That reminds me of Tabby’s first day at Northgate school in Bishops Stortford. She came out and said ‘I have a new friend. She’s my reading partner.’
‘That’s nice,’ I said. ‘What’s her name?’
‘She’s called Orangerie,’ said Tabby confidently.
‘Really?’ I asked. ‘Orangerie?’
‘Yes, Orangerie,’ repeated Tabby.
God, Orangerie must have a very odd mother, I thought to myself. Who would call their kid Orangerie?
Before long, I met Anjani and her mother Arulesh, and discovered they were not that odd really.
It’s like when we had just moved to New York and the girls had heard us talking about excursions we could do. They woke us up jumping on the bed one day with this:
‘Mummy, Daddy, can we go up the Plum Tyre Eight building?’
‘The what?’ we said.
‘The Plum Tyre Eight building,’ Chloe said.
‘Wh..what is it?’ we asked faintly, feeling like we were in a surreal film.
‘It’s de Plum…Tyre…Eight….building,’ repeated Tabby clearly, as if talking to two very thick foreigners.
Honestly, we so should have got it on vid and put it on Youtube (but there was no Youtube in them days). Oh, the laughs we do ave. They did get a trip up the Empire State building in the end, once we’d worked out what they were trying to say.