Inspirited

Hat

2012-01-22T10:29:00.003+01:00

Actually finished a knitting project (hat for husband shown here). This is a minor miracle, as I have various unfinished projects lurking in carrier bags in the bedroom, some of which have been there for *cough* years.
This pattern is available for free from the Argyle Sheep.

The ultimate to-do list

2011-12-30T00:04:00.001+01:00

Inspired thereto by the lovely Sekhemet, I started thinking about things I would like to do before I die. Since my 40th birthday a couple of years ago, it has dawned on me that I can only reasonably expect another 40 years or so on this earth (barring accidents, illness, Armageddon and other minor hiccups in the fabric of time and space), and I don't want to arrive on the other side thinking, "Damn, why didn't I do that while I had the chance?" So here goes:
1. I would love to travel across Eastern Europe and Asia on the Trans-Siberian Railway, starting in Berlin and finishing in Vladivostok. From there I would fly to Japan for a visit before going home. Might be wise to learn a bit of Russian (and Japanese) first, too.
2. I'd like to take a year out to travel for my spiritual development, not unlike the author of Eat, Pray, Love. However, rather than spending time in Italy, India and Bali like she did, I would spend a couple of months on retreat at a place like Jamberoo Abbey in Australia (featured in the ABC TV series The Abbey) and move on to visit some of the world's most sacred sites, such as Ayers Rock, Machu Picchu, Glastonbury and so on.
3. I aim to finish and publish my autobiography, Tales from the High Road. Not for the masses, just for family and friends.
4. I want to spend at least one night alone at the top of a mountain, gazing at the stars and communing with nature. And I want to spend at least one night alone on a remote sandy beach, being lulled to sleep by the sounds of the ocean.
5. I want to tour Italy and revel in art, architecture, history and cuisine. Before doing that, it would make sense to learn some Italian to get the most out of the experience.
6. I would like to go to Prague. For some reason, I keep having vivid dreams about going there, and I'd like to see if it looks anything like that in reality.
7. Iceland is another country I am longing to visit.
8. I would like to perform Mozart's clarinet concerto with an orchestra. Somehow this is something I missed out on when I was working as a professional clarinettist in the early 1990s.
9. One childhood dream I would love to fulfil is to take ballet classes. At present, though, I would be ashamed and embarrassed to display my elephantine girth in a dance studio.
10. Another childhood dream... I would love to learn how to ride a horse.
11. I would love to do at least one "end-to-end" on foot or by bike. By that I mean for example Lands End to John o' Groats in the UK.
12. Get a tattoo. I'd like an OM symbol on my left shoulder.
13. I would also love to travel across America from coast to coast.
There are a couple of other things too private to publish here... however, this is a work in progress and I will add to it as things occur to me. Actually, I'm starting to wonder why I'm not taking steps to make some of these come true right now...

Belle de Jour

2011-12-27T17:45:00.003+01:00

I don't make a habit of writing reviews, but just occasionally I come across a book or film which makes me want to vent. The Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl by Belle de Jour (subsequently revealed to be the nom de plume of a certain Dr. Brooke Magnanti, who financed her doctoral studies by working as an escort) is just such a book.
I bought it after being intrigued by the TV series Secret Diary of a Call Girl starring Billie Piper. Now the TV series clearly laid itself open to the accusation of glamourising prostitution as a profession - it seems to be all classy clothes, upmarket hotels, posh apartments and handsome, wealthy men. Fortunately, this book goes a long way towards dispelling this impression.
However, if you are hoping for a contemporary version of John Cleland's novel Fanny Hill, forget it. Right from the start, you are confronted with an in-your-face, sordid explicitness which far from being sexy or erotic, is likely to leave you feeling slightly nauseous (and after a while, it just gets boring). The author seems to have the same gleeful, infantile pleasure in attempting to shock as a three-year-old saying a scatological word to his parents. What's more, Dr. Magnanti seems so determined to conceal her identity that she initially adopts a persona and style that seem artificially stupid and frustratingly superficial. As the book progresses, she relaxes somewhat and sometimes lets this guise slip, but only towards the end does her writing seem anything like genuine.
For all its lack of realism, the TV series had far more substance than the book - not least because the main character in the series comes across as human and likable, characteristics which for me are conspicuous by their absence in the "heroine" of the book.
My verdict: 1 out of 10. Overrated and overhyped.

Health

2011-12-18T21:49:00.000+01:00

Since I came out of hospital, I seem to have spent hours and hours sitting in various doctor's waiting rooms.
First off was a visit to the neurologist for the lumbar puncture which they didn't manage to do in the clinic. He did an excellent job - it was all over before I realised it had begun. However, I made a BIG mistake by telling him that I had once been diagnosed with conversion disorder. From that point on, he seemed determined to write me off as a case for the psychiatrist.
Ten days later, I went back for the results. And.... lo and behold, I tested positive for Lyme disease: they found borrelia antibodies in my blood and oligoclonal bands in my cerebrospinal fluid and blood serum. These can be indicative of multiple sclerosis, but normally the bands in the CSF and blood serum look different in MS patients, while in my case they were identical. The people at the laboratory also made a note on the report saying that I should get my blood tested for something called "oligoclonal gammopathy", which can indicate some kind of malignancy. Despite all that, the neurologist still insisted that it was "all in my mind". While I am of course well aware that the mind has a profound impact on the body, I never yet heard of a psychosomatic infection with borrelia bacteria...
Anyway, I then went back to my long-suffering GP, who took more blood for thorough screening. Everything came back normal except for elevated liver enzymes and low gamma globulin levels. Frankly, we are now rather stumped - none of these findings seem to point in a specific direction (although thankfully the serum elctrophoresis appeared to eliminate any possibility of malignancy).
In January, I have to go back for repeat blood tests and an ultrasound of my liver. Meanwhile, I intend to forget all about it until then. After all, it's nearly Christmas and I'm determined to get right into the spirit of things!

Thunderbolt

2011-11-26T10:46:00.001+01:00

This morning, I drew the card "Thunderbolt" from the Osho Zen Tarot deck. The image made me smile rather wryly, because it's such an appropriate reflection of what's going on in my nervous system at the moment! The interpretation makes such perfect sense too:

The card shows a tower being burned, destroyed, blown apart. A man and a woman are leaping from it not because they want to, but because they have no choice. In the background is a transparent, meditating figure representing the witnessing consciousness.

You might be feeling pretty shaky right now, as if the earth is rocking beneath your feet. Your sense of security is being challenged, and the natural tendency is to try to hold on to whatever you can. But this inner earthquake is both necessary and tremendously important - if you allow it, you will emerge from the wreckage stronger and more available for new experiences.

After the fire, the earth is replenished; after the storm the air is clear. Try to watch the destruction with detachment, almost as if it were happening to somebody else. Say yes to the process by meeting it halfway.

Shades of the past

2011-11-19T01:33:00.002+01:00

It all started after my end-of-semester exam on October 19. Two days later, I woke up feeling a bit dizzy, weak and nauseous, and decided that I must have caught some kind of virus. So I spent most of the day in bed, just getting up to collect my son from day centre and do the shopping for the weekend.
I expected it to go away over the weekend, but instead, it got worse. I am prone to attacks of sudden and severe dizziness which always seem to be accompanied by immense tension in my neck and jaw, and normally I just have to take a behistine pill and lie down for an hour or two for it to pass. Not this time, though. The betahistine didn't work at all, and I spent the weekend feeling like my head was stuffed with cotton wool. I was all right as long as I was sitting or lying still, but any movement made everything appear to swing like crazy.
So off I reluctantly went on Monday morning to see my family doctor. She had no more idea than I did about what was wrong, but (being a qualified chiropractor as well as a doctor), she performed a manoeuvre to free the blocked vertebrae in my neck. It felt wonderful afterwards, but the dizziness didn't improve at all. So she injected dramamine into my vein to try and ease the dizziness, and all hell broke loose: whirling vertigo, numbness in my limbs and face, shivering, pouring with sweat... fortunately though, it subsided after about 20 minutes and I was able to go home. I also tried Vertigoheel (a homeopathic remedy for dizziness), but that seemed to make things worse too.
I decided to take the week off college to rest, and things did in fact improve a bit. The following week (which was also a half-term holiday); I was able to take my son and myself to our hairdresser in a neighbouring town for much-needed haircuts, and despite feeling as if I were going to fall into the road any minute, I was fine.
Not so the next day. That's when I started having trouble with my legs. I found I couldn't walk any further than a couple of hundred metres before they would start feeling impossibly weak - not weak as in after strenuous exercise, but so weak that I literally could not lift my feet off the ground. I would have to stop for a few minutes to summon the strength to put one foot in front of the other, and once I finally got to sit down and rest, they would start aching like they would with a bad attack of influenza.
So off I went to see my family doctor again. Besides the symptoms I described, she also thought she could detect some signs of numbness and paralysis in the right side of my face, and I also found the fingers on my right hand trembling uncontrollably. I was therefore not surprised when she wrote me a note admitting me to the neurology unit of one of the university hospitals in Munich.
In the end, I was in hospital for a week. An MRI scan of my brain showed that I had "isolated periventricular lesions"on the right side of my brain, although there was no sign that I had actually had a stroke. The doctors also noted that I had hyperactive patellar tendon reflexes; all other neurological tests were OK. An MRI of my spine revealed a few protruding discs and a couple of haemangiomas (benign tumours) on my spine; nothing bad, but I was not best pleased by the fact that the report stated that "the use of contrast agent did not reveal any pathological enhancement", when they had decided in the last minute not to use any contrast agent at all - there were lots of people waiting and they were in too much of a rush!
The doctors also advised me to have a lumbar puncture, but I broke that off because I felt so sick and faint.
An expedition to the ENT unit revealed that I had vestibular neuropathy in the right ear; my balance on that side is dysfunctional, probably due to an inflamed vestibular nerve in my inner ear. They also found that I am suffering from presbyacusis, an age-related thing where you lose your ability to hear higher frequencies (heaven help us, I'm only 42!). That explained the dizziness, anyway. I'm on cortisone now and it seems to be clearing up.
Now the thing is, all this is not new. As I have mentioned elsewhere in these chronicles, I had very similar symptoms back in the late 1990s and again in 2003, and underwent thorough neurological testing because of suspected multiple sclerosis. However, everything was apparently normal, and so I was diagnosed with conversion disorder, a psychosomatic condition in which the body converts emotions and conflicts into physical symptoms. I actually spent a few weeks in an open psychiatric unit because of it.
I started taking anti-depressants (Cipramil) in 2003, and also underwent several years of psychotherapy, seemingly with excellent results, because I had no symptoms at all (except chronic fatigue, exacerbated after a severe dose of Epstein Barr virus in 2007) from then until now. Taking all these circumstances into consideration, I am again compelled to look the spectre of MS in the face: my doctor wants me to have another go at a lumbar puncture, and it would probably make sense to repeat the spinal MRI too. One feature of MS is that it gets worse with heat (for example in a hot bath), and I absolutely loathe hot weather, it plays havoc with my body, especially if it's humid as well.
I console myself with the thought that if it really is MS, I must have been carrying it around with me for 15 years already and it's likely to progress benignly. But I need more answers - the uncertainty is doing my head in....

Less is more

2011-05-18T22:18:00.001+02:00

I am on a mission to lose weight (again). I've never really been thin (not built that way), but now I'm in my 40s, I'm losing ground in the battle against gravity with alarming speed.

When I was a child, my parents expected us to eat everything on our plates no matter whether we were full or not. Hardly surprising, because they were trying to raise two kids on a very tight budget and couldn't afford to let anything go to waste. However, that habit became deeply ingrained, and to this day, I find it difficult to stop eating when I'm full if there is still food on my plate.

My weight was actually OK until I left home to go to university - at 164 cm (5'4") I weighed about 61 kg (135 lbs). But then I had to start catering for myself and was bedazzled by all the things in the shops which we never got to eat at home (cake and chocolate in particular). So I binged joyfully on all these things, and within 5 years I had ballooned to 83 kg (182 lbs). I didn't have any scales for years, and was speechless with shock when I finally did check my weight.

However, at that age, losing weight was still fairly easy. The pounds started dropping off when I started taking the contraceptive pill, and vanished even more quickly when I switched to food combining. With this, you try not to eat proteins and starches at the same meal, the theory behind it being that proteins and starches require different milieus for digestion, and eating them together hampers the digestion. So if you want a cheese sandwich, you have to eat the cheese (protein) at one meal and the bread (starch) at another. For me, it worked well and was easy to follow. I was thrilled to get on the scales 3 months later and find my weight had dropped to 71 kg (156 lbs).

However, when I came to Germany in 1995, I gave up on the food combining (it was complicated enough getting used to foods with strange names like Spätzle and Geschnetzeltes...). The weight slowly went back on, and by the time I became pregnant 5 years later, I weighed 77 kg (169 lbs).

By the end of my pregnancy, I weighed 91 kg (200 lbs), 5 kg (11 lbs) of which disappeared overnight after the birth. And since then, the weight has kept piling on... I am not going to say exactly how much I weigh now, just that it's more than 100 kg (*burns with shame*).

I have tried Weight Watchers a couple of times, but found that counting points was an absolute nuisance, and for some reason I started feeling terrible about 6 weeks in - this happened both times. I tried food combining again, but it no longer worked. I even flirted briefly with the Atkins diet... never again! I stuck it out for about 10 days and lost 10 lbs, but at the cost of feeling permanently hungry and sick. Even after I stopped, it took several weeks until I felt anything like "normal" again.

I am now trying the insulin resistance diet, and so far I have enjoyed fair success without too much effort. This one is exactly the opposite of food combining - it works on the premise that starches should be combined with proteins to slow down the release of glucose from food and to minimise the wild fluctuations in blood sugar which can come from eating starches and sugars alone. It claims to be ideal for people like me suffering with metabolic syndrome. It also limits your starch consumption to not more than 2 servings per meal, which might be the main reason for the weight loss.

In any case, I will carry on down this path now and see what happens. I don't expect to be flitting about from twig to twig any time soon, but it would be nice if my belly didn't have its own letter on Google....

An alternative reality

2011-05-01T20:56:00.000+02:00

Actually, I nearly wasn't born at all.

It's a strange thought. I don't feel that I have made much of a mark on the world, but my non-existence would have made a radical difference in the lives of quite a few people. My poor parents might have been tormented by thoughts of what might have been rather than what actually was. My husband would have married someone else, or maybe not married at all. My happy, clever, handsome son would never have been thought of.

And then there are the outer circles: my relatives and friends, moving out further to my teachers, my pupils, my clients, every person whose life I ever touched, however fleetingly. I would never have inspired anybody to love, to hate, to admire, to ridicule, to laugh, to cry. No-one would ever have been hurt by me, no-one would ever have been healed through me. After the destruction of those few embryonic cells, the universe would merely have closed behind me, a tiny ripple in the fabric of time and space, vanishing without a trace.

Of course, this isn't really true. Firstly because these concatenations of cells we dwell in are merely temporary housing for the immortal, indestructible soul, the true self, which is constantly present and proactive. And secondly because no ripple ever really dies away. The sound waves from the first-ever performance of Beethoven's 5th Symphony are still resounding somewhere out in space. Even the most fleeting idea leaves its mark on the fabric of reality.

Anyway, enough of that. What actually happened was that my mother was diagnosed with benign ovarian tumours at the time she was found to be pregnant with me. The doctors strongly advised her to abort me on the grounds that her life could be in danger. Thankfully she refused to listen to them and found another doctor who was willing to look after her throughout her pregnancy. In the end, I was born by Caesarean in the 37th week of her pregnancy, and the tumours were removed at the same time. Mum and I have had some bad times over the years, but I'll always be grateful to her for giving me the gift of physical life.

Sathya Sai Baba

2011-04-24T18:17:00.006+02:00

Woke up this morning to the news that the Indian guru Sri Sathya Sai Baba has passed away. Although I was never a devotee of his, his teachings played quite a significant part in my own spiritual development for a while.

As I have mentioned in the past, my Dad's side of the family were mostly Spiritualists, and I heard Sai Baba's name mentioned now and again even when I was quite small. My first closer contact came in my 20s, when I went to visit my aunt and uncle in Swindon (UK) and saw a picture of Sai Baba with his orange robes and distinctive halo of black hair on their living room wall. I also found a book about him in one of their bookshelves (I can't remember which book, but it was an account of life with Sai Baba by one of his devotees) and read it from cover to cover in 2 days. I was totally fascinated by this divine being who could apparently perform miracles, be in several places at once and bestow extraordinary blessings on his followers.

Over the next couple of years I acquired quite a collection of books about Sai Baba, and I'm now quite embarrassed to admit that I lapped it all up - the stories that he had raised a devotee from the dead, that he had manifested a piece of the cross on which Jesus was crucified, even the claims that he was God Himself incarnate, the avatar who would bring the age of Kali Yuga to an end. Maybe it's natural to want to have a specific teacher or set of beliefs to follow, and for some people this is no doubt the best way forward. I'm also inclined to think that most of us are eager to believe that miracles happen. However, I have to admit that I got too caught up with the messenger rather than focusing on the message.

I came back to earth with a bang when I found the material in the internet accusing Sai Baba of fraud and sexual misconduct with young male devotees along with many personal accounts by people claiming to have been abused by him. To this day, I have no idea how true these allegations are (although I can't help thinking that there is no smoke without fire). It doesn't help that I have yet to see a truly neutral piece of journalism about him - all the articles I have read about him are written from an overtly or covertly pro or anti stance, which I suppose is inevitable given the subject matter.

In any case, it was a timely reminder for me not to become fixated on any one teacher or belief system and to test all spiritual statements rather than accepting them blindly. These days I'm inclined to think that we are each meant to forge our own paths to spiritual enlightenment rather than following other people's, using our innate honesty, integrity and gut feeling as the touchstone. I believe that the "still small voice of God" guiding our steps is actually the voice of our intuition or "inner tuition", not a voice from outside.

Whatever Sai Baba may or may not have done during his earthly life, there is no doubt that he did immeasurable good for the people of India by providing free education and hospital treatment. And there is no doubt about the truth of the simple yet pithy spiritual mottos which still stick in my mind: "See good, do good, be good", "Help ever, hurt never" and many more attributed to him. Ultimately these are what we need to focus on and live by.

Wildpark Poing

2011-04-20T19:50:00.004+02:00

Felix and I went to Wildpark Poing today. Wildpark Poing is a nature reserve close to Munich which is mostly dedicated to animals and birds indigenous to Germany, many of which have become quite rare. Got quitely badly sunburnt (Felix didn't, he never does) but took some great photos. Here's an exotic dove:

Nesting stork.

Beaver. Amazing to see these shy, rare animals actually eating out of people's hands.

Exotic duck (got the distinct impression he was showing off for the camera!).

Shy raccoon.

Noisy peacock.

Red kite.

Bears playing in the lake.

If you go down to the woods today...

Beaver in the water.

Pigs are said to be lucky in Germany...

Breathtakingly beautiful Siberian eagle owl, she must have been at least 50 cm tall. We got to see some of the birds of prey from right up close during an exhibition of falconry - and by close, I mean they flew so low over our heads that we had to duck!

Incidentally, the park also features a spacious playground and picnic area - I warmly recommend it if you are ever in Munich and are looking for things to do with the whole family!

Pain in the neck

2011-04-19T10:18:00.009+02:00

I have just finished reading Schwachstelle Genick: Ursachen, Auswirkungen und erfolgreiche Therapie by Dr. Bodo Kuklinksi and Dr. Anja Schemionek, a book which is unfortunately only available in German at present but which would make interesting reading for anyone suffering with neck problems.

I have had neck trouble ever since I fell off a bike onto my chin in 1992, but back then, many doctors didn't seem to take it seriously. Time and again I have been told that neck problems could not possibly cause the health problems I have had over the years (dizziness, paralysis, fatigue, visual disturbances etc.), but only now am I finding reports in the internet which confirm the suspicions I had all along. Therefore it's a refreshing change to find that a member of the medical establishment has written a book on the subject.

Having said that, he admits in his foreword that many doctors will reject his theories as being scientifically unproven... but if his suggestions bring relief, who cares?

The authors' basic supposition is that if the neck is not stable, the relevant nerves will be constantly irritated and blood flow to the head will be blocked, causing false messages to be transmitted to and from the brain with detrimental effects on the sufferer's general health - not only the symptoms I had, but also allergies, cardiovascular problems, digestive problems and all kinds of things. Moreover, the constant inflammation is said to promote the formation of nitrogen monoxide, excess quantities of which can have far-reaching consequences for the body, especially at cellular level, where the nitrogen monoxide supposedly throttles the energy-producing capacity of the mitochondria causing the patient's energy levels to decline (this is called "mitochondropathy").

Many of the authors' recommendations make perfect sense, for example protecting the neck as far as possible by using a good pillow and mattress and strengthening it with appropriate exercises. They also recommend manual therapy such as osteopathy or chiropractic, but having been inexpertly "butchered" by a cack-handed chiropractor some years ago, the thought of submitting myself to any more manipulation terrifies me. However, they do comment that this kind of treatment may be too rough for some patients and make the inflammation worse, which has indeed been my own experience.

The authors also claim that many patients with cervical syndrome (a blanket term for neck trouble) are deficient in vitamin B12, zinc, potassium and magnesium (blood tests have proved that my potassium levels are constantly lower than they should be and also indicate a degree of chronic inflammation). These micronutrients are also supposed to bind the harmful NO in the body. What I don't like is that the authors recommend a ketogenic (i.e. low carb) diet, similar to Atkins. I tried the Atkins diet once, stuck it out for about 2 weeks then gave up because I felt terrible; what's more, it was several weeks before I started feeling "normal" again. In fairness though, they don't try to ram it down the reader's throat (no pun intended).

I also feel the authors take the consequences of neck injury rather too far. They make cervical syndrome directly or indirectly responsible for seemingly half the ills known to humanity, and also imply that the consequences of neck injury can be hereditary. While these theories seems logical enough when you read them, I can't help feeling that such hyperbolic statements undermine their credibility. At the end of the book, they provide a table listing case studies of diseases and conditions improved and even cured by the therapy they recommend... however, there is nothing to indicate that the patients might not have got better spontaneously or for a different reason anyway.

My rating? 7 out of 10.

Loss of faith

2011-04-18T09:32:00.002+02:00

In yesterday's post, I mentioned that I didn't know what to believe in any more. Over the years, I had happily crafted a system of belief drawn from various esoteric teachings... angels, manifestation, twin flames, ascension and so on. Since my plans to emigrate to Canada came crashing down round my ears, I find I can no longer believe in all this, much as I would like to. It's all been replaced by a degree of cynicism and the nagging conviction that all these so-called teachings from higher sources have been put together by people who willingly delude themselves like I did in order to try and give some sense and meaning to the seeming awfulness of life and to create hope for a brighter future. Well, it's no bad thing to have one's illusions stripped away, as hopefully all that remains is the truth, but it's a painful experience all the same.

(At this point, I suppose there will be various people saying I should turn to Jesus.... to them I say a courteous thanks, but no thanks.)

So what's left?

I still believe in a sentient force guiding the universe with whom it may or may not be possible to have a personal relationship (many people will call this entity God). The more I contemplate the complexity and order of all life from the smallest atom right up to the inconceivably vast universe, the more convinced I am that all this could never merely be the result of random evolution, but must have been guided by an enormously intelligent force . There is still so much which humankind does not understand. Human attempts at playing God result in chaos (look what happens when we started splitting atoms). I believe that order reflects the presence of God, while chaos reflects His absence.

I also still firmly believe in the soul's survival of bodily death. Not on the basis of mediumistic evidence I have received from other people, but because of my personal experience of communication with spirit, especially when I have been able to pass on information which the sitter could not possibly have known but which subsequently turned out to be correct.

As for the rest... well, I will just have to wait and see.

Update

2011-04-17T00:55:00.007+02:00

Decided it's time to weed out old posts and get a new look. And to update on life in general.

Sadly, I am still here in Germany. Despite being granted a visa to emigrate to Canada, I had to cancel my plans for lack of funds. You are expected to provide proof that you have a certain amount of ready cash available (amounting to several thousand dollars), and unfortunately I could not get this amount together in time. My visa expired on February 17th, and I can't renew it because I no longer fulfil the criteria. It goes without saying that I was gutted. I still can't understand why this path was made so smooth for me yet the door was shut in my face at the last minute. Doubts have been sown in my mind about all kinds of things; in fact, my belief in the fundamental order and meaning of life has been shaken to its foundations. Frankly, I don't know what to believe any more.

On the positive side though, I decided to turn my attention to making another dream come true instead. For years I'd wanted to go back to college and study to become a Heilpraktiker, a licensed natural health practitioner, but poor health and lack of funds stopped me for a long time. In fact, I had got into the habit of thinking that I couldn't do it, but it suddenly dawned on me that these obstacles had meanwhile more or less dissolved and that the only person stopping me from doing it was me. So I signed up at the Zentrum für Naturheilkunde in Munich and started the two-year course on April 5. I'm loving every minute of it (and am much relieved to find that my German is well up to it!) but commuting into Munich and sitting in the classroom for 4 hours three days a week is proving harder than I expected. After the first full week, I was utterly exhausted with severe neck pain and dizziness (I've had recurring cervical syndrome for nearly 20 years since a cycling accident). It's worrying, but it's early days yet; hopefully it'll be OK once I get into the swing of things. Meanwhile I have to be more self-aware and nip any potential problems in the bud. I would certainly not give up without a fight, but it would break my heart to have to let my other big dream go.

Agoraphobia

2011-02-17T18:03:00.004+01:00

I'm about to book flights and accommodation for the "Embracing Spirit" seminar in Darlington (UK) in June, and I'm feeling really nervous. Not (yet) because of what will happen at the seminar, but because the flight will involve a stopover in Düsseldorf on the way from Munich (Germany) to Newcastle. The reason why this is at the edge of my comfort zone is because I am a recovered agoraphobic.

Anyone who ever had (or has) agoraphobia will recognize what I am about to describe. For anyone who doesn't know, agoraphobia is a fear of open spaces which at its worse can make you housebound. Stepping out of your front door becomes an ordeal, and going down the road to your local shops becomes an absolute nightmare.

Agoraphobia begins slowly, you barely notice it at first. For me, it began in the late 1990s. At that time, I was traveling from Germany to Switzerland most weekends to visit my bf, who lived in Zürich. We dined out at least once every weekend, and after a while I started to find that meals out always resulted in unpleasant digestive symptoms. It got so that I started feeling scared until I had located the toilet in every public place we went to.

Unless you recognize and confront it, fear grows and spreads through you insidiously, like cancer. After a while, I found that being in a public place where I could not easily get out would make me panic. I would emerge from the cinema white as a sheet, heart racing and drenched in perspiration. So we stopped going. The same thing started happening in the shops, especially when standing in long queues at the checkout. Shopping stopped being fun and became something to avoid at all costs. Sitting in the hairdresser's salon became sheer hell. So I started using a home hairdressing service. This is how agoraphobia gradually takes over your life.

As the fear grew and spread, my radius of activity decreased. Then came other physical symptoms. I would get sudden and violent attacks of dizziness, which added to my fear of leaving the house. The dizziness became chronic and was joined by semi-paralysis, I would go for weeks or even months barely able to walk or see. I lost count of the number of times I was hospitalized and tested for multiple sclerosis, but the tests always came back negative, adding frustration to the fear. Why couldn't they find out what was wrong with me? They just said it was "stress", but stress couldn't destroy you as completely as this, could it?

The very blackest time was when I became pregnant in July 2000. The hormones and symptoms of early pregnancy made things so bad that I became practically bed-bound - even getting up to go to the bathroom was an ordeal. Paradoxically, my pregnancy was also the turning point. One day, I was surfing the internet and stumbled across an article about agoraphobia and panic attacks. It was like a light went on in my head. I spent hours researching it, bought all the books I could find about it. I couldn't believe that this was a recognized condition, that there were other people in the same boat. I knew I had to get back on my feet somehow by the time my baby was born, and the tools had been put in my hands just in the nick of time.

So I made an appointment in the psychosomatic clinic of one of the Munich hospitals, and they admitted me as an inpatient in September 2000. I spent 4 weeks there learning how to move and walk about again, and then they transferred me to a clinic specializing in cognitive behavioral therapy, where I remained for another 3 months. I have vivid memories of the love and care I received there: how my therapist would accompany me on walks of increasing length every day, her endless patience, how she even canceled leave to be there for me. And it paid off. I wasn't fully cured by the end of those three months, but I was infinitely better - able to take light exercise and go shopping without collapsing in the aisle or leaving my trolley and fleeing out of the door.

I continued to apply the coping techniques I learnt in the clinic and - except for one major relapse in 2003 which resulted in another 4-month clinic stay and which proved to be another turning point - I gradually expanded my sphere of activity until I finally reached my ultimate goal at the beginning of 2007. This was to travel alone by plane, which I was finally motivated to do by the knowledge that my dad was dying and I had not seen him since 1999. Since then, I can safely say that I have been able to do anything I want, maybe not totally without fear, but in full awareness of where the fear is coming from and how to handle it. This stopover in a strange place is a situation which still pushes my buttons, but I am confident that I can cope, and I will definitely not let it stop me.

People tell me I am a strong person. I don't know about that - all I know is that fear can only overpower you if you let it. Knowledge and determination are key. Fear is a physical reaction of the sympathetic nervous system which the body is unable to sustain forever; at some point the parasympathetic nervous system kicks in and the fear subsides by itself. All you have to do is stay in the stressful situation until the feeling of fear goes away (there are also various coping mechanisms which accelerate this process). It's a kind of de-programming process, far more effective than any pills or tranquillizers could be.

Can't wait to meet my friends in Darlington!

Omnia vincit amor

2010-08-22T11:27:00.003+02:00

Where hate defiles the day and blights the dark,

A loving thought takes hold and lights a spark.

Love draws more love and fans it to a blaze,

And through the seconds, minutes, hours and days

It grows undaunted, burning bright and clear,

Banishing the dark and quelling fear.

Love yields to none, the softness of its breath

Brings joy in sorrow, sickness, even death.

And when we pass away from earthly strife,

Love leads us on into eternal life.

...and remembrance

2010-02-14T20:59:00.002+01:00

Three years ago today, my dad died.

Not surprisingly, I have found it hard to raise a smile today. I've chewed the whole sequence of events over quite enough in previous years, and don't feel the need to do it again, but... I still miss his physical presence a lot. Sometimes it hits me out of the blue and hurts just as badly as it did at the time of his passing.

It's odd really: as a medium, I know perfectly well that the spirit survives death and that our loved ones are just the same after passing as they were before, except that they have discarded their physical bodies along with their disease and suffering. My Dad suffered terribly with bowel cancer and in other ways; he was happy to go and I'm not selfish enough to wish him back. But even though I feel him around me very often, I still miss his physical presence. For me, the worst thing was probably seeing his lifeless body on the bed - I could hardly stop myself shaking him, hoping that he'd wake up if I shook him hard enough. Then seeing the undertakers carrying his body out in a bag.. seeing him lying in the Chapel of Rest a few days later... then looking at the urn full of ashes and thinking, is this all that is left of 61 years of life?

Of course I know rationally that we are spirit incarnate and not just animated bodies. But this doesn't preclude the need to grieve, and anyone who says that grief is selfish (I've heard that one a few times) needs to learn a bit of compassion.

Love...

2010-02-14T20:55:00.005+01:00

I was going to call this entry Happy kitschy pink consumer manipulation day, but then I started to feel ashamed of myself for making such a cynical crack just to look clever. After all, there have been times I too have enjoyed myself immensely making Valentine surprises for my loved ones (like cooking my half-Italian husband's favourite pasta dish using pink pasta hearts). And no-one needs me to tell them that every day should be a celebration of love, do they?

So I'll shut my face, for once. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.

A new decade

2009-12-31T23:18:00.004+01:00

Two hours away from a new decade... that's not something you experience many times in a lifetime. This time ten years ago, I was lying ill in bed with bronchitis, watching the New Year celebrations on TV and wondering what the new millennium would bring. I should have been in New Jersey with my brother and his wife, but my agoraphobia had got the better of me and even going down the road to the supermarket was fraught with anxiety. I had ironically fallen out with Mum about that trip - she had got the idea into her head that I would be spending Christmas with her and Dad, although I had not said this - and we hadn't been on speaking terms in months.

So, what did the last decade bring?

2000: My parents move from the house in Tamworth where they had lived for 30 years to a house in Suffolk bought by my mother, and diplomatic relations are cautiously re-established. I meet my husband in January, we move together and get engaged in June, I fall pregnant in July and we are married in December. My agoraphobia and conversion disorder make me completely bed-bound, and I am admitted to hospital in September and stay there until December. I'm not cured, but the improvement is considerable.

2001: Another month in hospital to consolidate the work done before. I give birth to our son in April and fall into severe post-natal depression. Begin psychotherapy in June.

2002: Everything goes along more or less smoothly until my conversion disorder kicks in with a vengeance just before Christmas.

2003: Am admitted to a psychiatric clinic, where I stay for nearly 3 months before being sent to a Kurklinik in the Allgäu Alps for another 6 weeks. Those 6 weeks are probably the most healing and relaxing I ever experienced, and my condition improves dramatically, also because I "give in" and start taking medication. I start designing and making teddy bears.

2004: Felix starts kindergarten. I exhibit my bears for the first time at the Bräu-Kirta in Aying, and actually sell a few. I am diagnosed with high blood pressure (200/110) and put on medication.

2005: A comparatively peaceful year, except for me having a spell in hospital with kidney stones. I am attuned to the Reiki Master/Teacher level.

2006: I find my twin flame A. in Canada, having lost him 8 years before in Russia. My husband loses his job. My dad is diagnosed with terminal cancer.

2007: I fly to England for the first time in 8 years to see my dad before he dies in February. Dad also breaks the news to me that Mum has been mentally ill for the last 4 years or so. Several trips to England this year, to see my Mum, to be present when my Dad's ashes are scattered, and also to meet with A. Felix starts school in September. I get mononucleosis and am also off my feet for a while after tearing a leg muscle playing football.

2008: Start the year in hospital with yet more kidney stones and develop M.E. from the mono. Felix is diagnosed with ADHD and begins attending a day centre for kids with behavioural disturbances. Husband is fired from another job in June and starts yet another in August. I have my gall bladder removed in November.

2009: I turn 40. Unexpected financial setbacks on all fronts, but still manage to take a lovely family break in Salzburg. I apply for immigration to Canada. Husband is temporarily laid off from work just before Christmas.

I am hoping for and expecting some tremendous life changes in 2010, especially if I can pull off the emigration thing, and I also hope to continue making strides in my spiritual development. I also intend to declutter my life and get more creative. I wonder what I will be writing here this time next year....

Anyway, I wish you all a happy, healthy and blessed New Year :-)

Reading

2009-04-15T10:43:00.011+02:00

I just received a reading from a shaman in Australia which moved me a lot - I can identify so deeply with it...

You friend are a child of the water stars. In my tribe we call you water ‘Lunata’ (Of the moon and stars). You are very moved to the cycles of the Moon Mother, the Universe (Grandfather -planets and stars) and to the tides. This may mean that you may sometimes feel not at home, unique, different and dizzy. So much of your life and experiences has, and will always come as a mother moon would in circles (cycles-numbers and seasons).

You must be near the water , especially in times of stress. And you are right to turn to the water (shower/bath) in times of stress. The water has seen so many of your tears. Much of your life if you notice will revolve around the water and in turn the moon – much of your life will happen in three’s .
Masalai tells me you sometimes feel you are from somewhere else (above/North).Your knowing is right. This is why you are drawn to flight , wings, feathers, and angels. You will also be drawn to the colour purple. You may also have sore shoulders, back and neck at times because this is once where you wore your wings.
Masalai (spirit) has blessed you with a dfferent fire (energy) than most others. Like the stars, you have much depth and much electricity (magnetic). In ny tribe we would call you ‘mother medicine woman’(alchemist). She is one that knows much of Masalai (spirit). She is a maker of families and many call her as thier own. She is like a rope (holds people together) and a north star (guidance giver) Mother medicine woman brings healing through her heart and words. Her wisdom lives in her knowledge of knowing what to speak , and when. You are so much like her. You to will guide many travellers. Many will seek shelter at your campfire for you are a guide of this time and Masalai (spirit) will use you more and more to help many. Because many travellers (people) are drawn to you and so you must be careful of the Sand Keeper people- greedy like ‘the sand keeper’ (a sea like bird, much like a sea gull)- your fire will be affected . You do so much tink tink (thinking) for others . You must have a little more time for you my friend for balance.
Masalai tells me you are also gifted in your rest time (dreams) and in your dance (movement). When you dance your guardian meets you there. She is from your time the sage (an wise old native Indian woman). Naturally you will be drawn to things sacred especially things of these times. Masalia (spirit) tells me your guardian friends will leave you feathers to show you they are near and to show their fire (love). They say to me that they will also speak to you through the words of song (song lyrics) They also visit you at night when you are near water. Salt water is also good for you at this time, it will help you with your healing. You have such strength my friend.
You are now in the moon of the bird (like Eagle- learning and insight). Masalia tells me you will be learning and remembering more of your nature wisdom (natural healing/Alchemy) Masalai also tells me you will be given more seeing in your rest (dreams) and your guardian will give you here words of power.
There is a man that visits you in Masalia. He draws and ‘E’ and a ‘W’. He shows himself reading (a book) He wears also glasses. He tells me to tell you he is ‘flying in’ (checking on you, making sure all is well) He is the one you feel around you when the sun is sleeping ( at night). There is A lady that visits you when the sun is awake (daytime) she draws a ‘G’ and an ‘M’. She is the one you will smell, especially when outside.
Soon you will fly by Balus (plane) for a time of rest (like a holiday) It will be warm there. Your tribe (family and friends) will be more by the end of the season (year) . One will birth a baby girl, who will be a earth seer. There will be a cause for celebration in the seventh moon (August). There is many blessings to come. There will be so many sit with you at your campfire. So many smiles.
My many blessings my medicine friend,
Motuar

Happy Birthday Felix

2009-04-12T17:09:00.007+02:00

Today is my son Felix's 8th birthday. Life has been enhanced in so many ways since he was born, although he and I have not had an easy time.

I knew before he was born that he would be a boy, that his name was Felix (nomen est omen, in many ways he's a very happy little soul *smile*) and that he would have certain difficulties today labelled ADHD. I spent about half of my pregnancy in hospital, and in the end an emergency Caesarean had to be performed because it turned out that the umbilical cord was wrapped twice round his neck.

In his early months, he had problems with his digestive system and also needed physiotherapy for a neck condition probably induced by his traumatic birth. Same again a year afterwards because he was late in learning to walk. Later he was labelled verhaltensauffällig, a dreadful word implying behavioural disturbance. I could sidetrack here and rant about the German obsession with normality and conformity, but I had better not go there. His school even put pressure on us to put him on medication - gave us the choice of Ritalin or expulsion - but we refused to bow to pressure. Thankfully we found a therapist who saw his intelligence and originality and who placed him in an after-school day centre with other ADHD kids, and he's now doing very well there. However, it still makes me angry to see how the attitude of certain people has smashed his self-confidence: he is constantly saying how bad and stupid he is, and we are constantly working at rebuilding his self-esteem.

Unfortunately he is now also coping with the breakdown of our marriage, although we are going about it perfectly amicably and cooperating with his therapist to make the transition as smooth for him as possible. I do so wish I could make his road smooth and straight for him, but I guess everyone comes into this life with lessons to learn and challenges to overcome.

Birthday Tribute

2009-03-13T16:43:00.003+01:00

Today was Dad's birthday; he would have been 64.

And on this occasion, I'm going to take the opportunity to post the text of the speech which Uncle David gave at Dad's funeral. Still makes me weepy to read it. Happy birthday Dad, I love you.

One can’t summarise a life of over 60 years in just a few minutes, but I’ll try to relate some of the influences which shaped Peter's life and describe the sort of person he was.

My first memory of Peter was in March 1945 when Mom brought the new baby home. She showed us how to hold him and feed him - and I remember sitting on the settee cradling him in my arms, giving him his bottle, and feeling great love for this new life. We discussed names and it came to me that “His name is Peter John”, and this was agreed.

Our house was one of 16 surrounded by fields and woods with a canal at the end of the field behind the house. It was an idyllic childhood - outdoor games running free, climbing trees, making dens, exploring.

As Peter grew up he didn’t enjoy the best of health - he suffered from rheumatic fever and thyroid problems. He missed a lot of schooling, but still did well in his ‘O’ levels and ‘A’ levels. While at school he enjoyed woodworking and did some lovely woodcarving. He joined the canoe club, made his own canoes and enjoyed many expeditions on the river Wye in Wales.

When he left school he was taken on as a trainee by the C.E.G.B. to work on computer systems while studying at college but, when Dad died in April 1964 Peter was very badly affected and had difficulty completing the course. He was placed in a department that he wasn’t happy with under a boss who appeared not to want him there. Peter grew to hate it, and Mum found out much later that there had been days when he stayed away from work because he just couldn’t face it.

However, he did meet Jane there, and they started going out together, In September 1967 they got married, and started their married life in Gloucester where Peter had a new job. Heather was born 18 months later. After 2 years working for the Gloucester City Council they moved to Tamworth where John was born. The move to Tamworth came when Peter took up a job developing computer systems for Tamworth Council, but he soon found himself under extreme pressure as he was expected to do a job that would normally be done by a whole team of people nowadays.

The effect of all this stress told on Peter. One evening he came home so exhausted that he just sat down in front of the gas fire and fell asleep. He was so exhausted that he didn’t feel the burns to his legs from the radiant heat of the fire until it was far too late. He finished up in hospital having the severe burns treated, and he continued to suffer from the long-term effects for the rest of his life.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, the stress that he’d been subjected to drove him to exhaustion, and eventually Peter and Tamworth Council parted company.

Peter eventually retrained as an electronics technician and worked on radio telephone systems until the firm relocated. He started retraining again in book keeping and accountancy, but all that gave him was a dislike and distrust of accountants!

He’d been interested in gardening and nurturing plants, so when he was offered a retraining course in gardening he was delighted, and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Unfortunately while he was there he had an awful bout of ‘flu. The after effects of this severe viral infection left him quite debilitated. With that and the problem with his legs he wasn’t able to work again, though he told me later that this gave him time to think, read and reflect.

So - Peter had a rough time in his working life. He had many set-backs along the way, but from an early age he tended to treat such difficulties with a shrug of the shoulders and accept them.

Now, what of Peter's character and nature? The Peter we knew was a gentle man, kind and caring with a lovely sense of humour: think Morecombe and Wise with a dash of Goon Show.

Heather described him as the wisest, kindest and most spiritual man she’s ever met.

Sam said he could make his affection felt across the ocean. Pete himself told her that love doesn’t die, and you don’t need to be there to receive a hug.

Mary remarked on his kind, caring nature and his sense of humour.

Anne remembers him as a quiet studious child.

I have lovely memories of time spent together playing in the woods and fields, of cycling trips and camping trips years ago, and just time spent in his company - always a pleasure.

Peter always put home and family above all else - he was loyal and faithful. Care for the family came before work.

He was a craftsman by nature. Whether it was making model aircraft, building canoes, woodcarving or repairing the shed his standard of workmanship was excellent.

He loved his family, and was so pleased and grateful to spend a few days of real quality time with Heather and with John before he was too ill to communicate. He took great delight in the activities of his grandsons Felix and Corran, even though he was never able to meet them.

I must pay tribute to Jane for the way in which she looked after and cared for Peter during his final weeks, with no task too difficult or off-putting.

During his last few days, as he grew weaker, I was once again able to support him in my arms and take a cup to his lips, much as I had done 60 years ago.

Peter wasn’t a churchgoer, but he had an unshakeable faith in the continuous existence of the human soul and the life hereafter.

Peter, my dearly beloved brother and friend, you’ve overcome many trials and tribulations in your life, and emerged stronger for them.

God Bless, and farewell - until we meet again.

Repetitive Dream

2009-03-11T00:25:00.006+01:00

Took a nap this afternoon and had another one of my vivid repetitive dreams. In this one, I moved back into the apartment in Stirling Road, Edgbaston which I rented immediately after leaving university. It was a grotty place - big, but terribly cold and damp (the walls used to literally run with condensation if I boiled a kettle or cooked a meal), and heated by only a gas fire in the living room. The only way I could bear it in winter was to sleep on the couch in the living room; I bought a portable electric heater for the bedroom, but didn't feel safe leaving it on all night, and it consumed electricity at a terrifying rate.

Anyway, in my dream the apartment has been vastly improved, redecorated and central heating installed, and at last I have the wherewithal to furnish and equip it however I want. So I move in, although with some reservations, remembering what it was like before. This time, the problem turns out to be quite different: however much I lock and barricade the doors, they seem to magically open and people - strangers - keep walking in and treating the place as if it were theirs. This annoys me no end, and I keep shooing them out (with varying degrees of success), but to no avail.

This dream occurs again and again, with minor variations in location. I have only a hazy idea of what it is trying to tell me - something about setting limits, I guess. And about looking back at the past. I wish I could figure it out though, because I've no doubt it's going to keep coming back until I do.

Religion and Spirituality (Part 2)

2009-02-22T11:21:00.008+01:00

My family actually comes from a Spiritualist background on my father's side: my grandmother started attending a Spiritualist church in Birmingham after my grandfather's sudden and premature death in 1964, and became deeply involved with the movement, working as a healer and also holding a regular home circle including members of the family - even my mother attended this circle on occasion, although I believe she had some misgivings. I used to love visiting the house in Solihull where she held the circle - the very walls seemed to be permeated with joy, love and light.

Of the family: Dad was never really actively involved in the movement, but he was a powerful if untaught healer. Dad's elder brother and his wife are still deeply involved in the movement today: for years they have sat on the committee of a Spiritualist church in Southampton and are both active in healing. In fact, the experiences they have had would fill a book. It was in their presence and with their help that I discovered I could actually communicate with spirit. I remember they also took me to the White Eagle Lodge near Liss in Hampshire - an unforgettable experience.

The younger of Dad's two sisters is also a Spiritualist, although I don't believe she is actively involved in the movement these days. Her husband (who passed with cancer in 2002) started out as the world's biggest sceptic, but a remarkable turn of events revealed him to be an extraordinarily talented trance medium. I still have fond memories of him giving survival evidence with a cup of tea in one hand and a fag in the other *lol*

In any case, after the vocation debacle, I moved closer to Grandma (geographically and emotionally) and we started talking a lot about spiritualism. She had a library of spiritualist books which would have made any spiritualist church green with envy; some of them are very rare now. I revelled in this material; I remember the first ones she lent me were Life in the World Unseen and its sequel by Anthony Borgia, followed by the Life Beyond the Veil series by Rev. G. Vale Owen, the Silver Birch books, Testimony of Light by Helen Greaves, The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus the Christ by Levi, and goodness knows how many others.

I also attended the Spiritualist church in Kings Heath, Birmingham, and it quickly seemed to me that this was a "living" kind of spirituality, compared to the ritual, language and beliefs of the Catholic church, which seemed stale and irrelevant in comparison. So I stopped attending Mass altogether and trotted off to Kings Heath every Sunday evening instead.

Religion and Spirituality (Part 1)

2009-02-19T12:28:00.011+01:00

I've just been reading The Spiral Staircase by Karen Armstrong, which tells the story of her life after leaving an order of nuns, and it inspired me to put down some of my own thoughts about religion.

If anyone asks, I describe myself these days as spiritual but not religious. For me, the difference is that spirituality grows from within, whereas religion is imposed from outside. Of course the two are not mutually exclusive, but I personally react with irritation and frustration when people or institutions try to impose their systems on me. Maybe that is why I have been self-employed for 17 of the 19 years I have been working; during the 2 years in which I was employed by someone else, I had the feeling I'd sold my soul for a salary, and hated it.

It wasn't always like that though. My parents never discussed religion when I was young, although they were nominally Anglican (C of E). However, they both lived a certain spirituality, especially my Dad, who was a natural contemplative and mystic. Grandma used to say he had been born out of his time and should have been walking the hills with the disciples. They didn't have me baptised because they believed I should decide for myself what direction I should take, and left me free to explore religion for myself: an unusual attitude which I greatly appreciate and have adopted with my own son.

The community I grew up in was almost exclusively Christian; school assemblies and RE lessons were expressly Christian and there was no interaction between faiths - we simply never came into contact with Jews or Muslims etc. I must have been searching for some kind of spiritual framework from an early age, because almost as soon as I could read, I was thrilled to discover a series of books with Bible stories and stories of how modern-day people interacted with God and Jesus in their everyday lives. I loved these and devoured them at a tremendous rate; as a very lonely and isolated child, I particularly loved the idea of having a personal relationship with this amazing being called Jesus who loved me and would look after me. Festivals such as Christmas and Easter were very real for me: on Christmas Eve, Good Friday etc. I used to picture where Jesus was and what he was doing at that particular time. That brought them to vivid life for me, and it's an element I still miss today, what with the traditional stories having been exploded by modern theology and the festivals having been taken over by rank commercialism.

When I was 9, I made some friends at school who were Jehovah's Witnesses, and avidly read the literature they gave me, as well as going to their houses to study the Bible. My parents must have been rather alarmed by this phase, but said nothing apart from mildly offering to remove the enormous stack of Watchtower magazines which had accumulated in the corner of the living room.

When I was 14, I read Rumer Godden's novel In this House of Brede, describing life in a Benedictine monastery. I loved it, and despite not even being Catholic at that point, it sowed a seed which led me to spend the next few years reading everything I could lay my hands on about religious life, and trying to find out whether I had a vocation.

In my first term at university, I shared a room with a Catholic girl called Brigid, who when I tentatively expressed an interest, took me to Mass at the Catholic Chaplaincy. Shortly afterwards I started taking instruction, and was baptised and confirmed in the Roman Catholic church at the end of my first year. I also started studying theology, first as a minor, but on getting much better examination results in my minor than in my major, I switched to a combined honours degree in my second year with theology as my second major. I found even the driest theological topics more interesting than the academic aspects of my other major (music). And all the time, I was delving more and more deeply into the subject of monasticism - I even wrote my Bachelor's dissertation on the relevance of contemplative monasticism in the modern world (an apologetic work rather than an academic one, it must be said - probably written in an attempt to sort out my own head).

I left university and embarked on a career as a professional musician and music teacher while still wrestling with the issue of my vocation. I spent a week with the Benedictine nuns of Oulton Abbey in Staffordshire, and actually started corresponding with the Prioress of Stanbrook Abbey (on which the monastery in In this House of Brede is based) with a view to entering as an aspirant, but.... various things happened at that time which showed me very clearly that this was not the way to go. Weird things, such as being approached by a complete stranger who told me that I was considering a change of life but should not go through with it because it was the wrong path. Eventually I had to listen to God's wishes rather than mine, and sadly gave up the idea. In retrospect, I can see that I was drawn to this life for all the wrong reasons, and would only have stagnated if I had gone through with it.

Thankfully, it was at that time that my grandma stepped in and put me on the path I am following now. But I'll continue down that road next time....

Dad

2009-02-14T23:20:00.012+01:00

This photo was taken just 4 weeks before he died. In November 2006, he was diagnosed with bowel cancer which had already spread to his liver; there was nothing the doctors could do but give him chemotherapy to prolong his life as far as possible and dimorphine to stop the pain. They stopped the chemo after three months though, because it wasn't having any effect whatsoever; the cancer was just too aggressive.

In the end, Mum called me on Feb 13th to tell me I'd better get over quick if I wanted to say goodbye. I booked a flight for the next day, but it was just too late... he passed away just as I was boarding the plane. I will never forget landing at Stansted Airport and being greeted by my uncle, Dad's brother: his first words were, "He couldn't wait"... but I guess I knew I was too late as soon as I saw the terrible expression on his face. Afterwards, we went into the airport chapel and just cried our eyes out.

I am so glad Dad was able to pass away at home though. I went up to see him as soon as we arrived, and he looked so peaceful lying there with his head turned slightly to one side and a little smile on his face. I couldn't believe he wasn't going to open his eyes and say hello. I kept thinking: if I shake him hard enough, he'll wake up. I still can't seem to realise it. Life goes on, but there is still this little kid inside of me crying pitifully for her daddy.