What are we

A week ago I had a visit with a medium, actually two mediums.  This was not a private meeting; but rather, it was an open invitation to attend a healing session, and all were welcome.  It wasn’t held in a darkened room, it was held in a bright, sunny parlour that could seat 20 to 30 people.  There were that many too, we were a full house.  We spanned all ages in that room, and every one of us was looking for something.  Some were obviously there hoping to connect with a person now gone, to get an answer or feel close to someone they miss.

We shared a meditation and a prayer before moving to the healing session.  This was my interest, the healing session, the putting on of hands and sharing of personal energy.  No chanting or incantations, just silence.  The healing was very powerful.  I felt a gentle, calm centering that seemed to lift the weight that sorrow has added to my soul.  It’s always there, the awareness of loss.  So I welcomed the silent support that the healing provided.

Overall, the session was marked by openness and acceptance of each other’s dreams, fears, desires and, most of all, need.  Everyone in the room wanted something and it translated to a thick blanket of energy.  The room was highly atmospheric.  Was that the heightened expectations of those in attendance making the room feel full and overflowing with energy, or was it more?

I think the thing that I want most, is to understand that final mystifying element of our life:  our death.  Like so many before me, and so many that will come after me, I wonder what truly happens. There are those who fear death, those who don’t, but regardless, there is no one who can describe death – some return after near death experiences, but not after death.  What happens to our spirit, the force that is us?

We are energy. We can’t see the energy that makes us breathe and move, think and feel, but without it we are dead.  So when we die, what happens to that energy, to the thing we call our soul, where does it go? Perhaps it just fades away to nothingness, to heat and then cold.  Or perhaps the energy in our brain, while it sustains life, is just the manifestation of something greater, something beyond the current grasp of scientific thought or scientific assessment.  The unanswerable question.  Science will try to answer it, and those with strong faith will answer it.  For people like me, there is no answer, and I will continue to wonder about it.

 

 

 

When is the same not the same?

This morning I woke up sad.  It wasn’t a weeping type of sad, rather a lost kind of sad.  I deviated from my normal routine and sat on the bed in front of my husband’s urn and spoke to him.  All I really wanted today was  a sign, some little thing that would let me know he’s still around.  I miss him terribly, I told him so and asked him to give me a sign that he’s still around.  The day has almost passed and there has been no overt sign.  There is nothing evident that could even come near a sign.  No chimes ringing in the wind, no dimes on the floor, no hummingbirds at the bird feeder, nothing out of the ordinary. It has just been one more day in the long run of days since Kevin’s death the end of March.

On the 28th of this month he would have turned 62.  I will have all the children home to honour what should have been.  Initially I had planned on interring his ashes on his birthday; but I am just not ready.  I recall after my father died how my mother had kept his ashes with her, moving them around the house, putting his eyeglasses in front of his urn so he could watch television with her.  It seemed incredibly unbalanced to me at the time, and still does seem a little odd, but I think I understand it a bit better now.  I don’t move Kevin’s ashes around the house, but I will stop in front of his urn and touch it.  I will talk to it, to him, when I feel sad.  Much like you would see in a cemetery – people visit graves to find comfort, to try to connect with the people they love; I view Kev’s urn as a conduit to some other dimension or existence.  His new place of being.

I continue to read the book, “Broken Open”, by Elizabeth Lesser. It is slow going, not because the book is complicated, because it’s not – it’s slow because the subject is a demanding one for me.  The book is showing signs of being a comforting and therefore valuable read for me.  Early in the book, Ms Lesser quotes from biochemist and cell biologist, Rupert Sheldrake.  It was such a thought-provoking quote that I have already shared it with a few of my friends, and share it here:

“If we compare the dead body of a person or animal or plant with the living state that preceded it, we note that the amount of matter in the dead body is the same as in the living body.  The form of the body is also the same, and so are the chemicals in it, at least immediately after death.  But something has changed.  The most obvious conclusion is that something has left the body, and since there’s no change in weight, that which has left is essentially immaterial.  That immaterial something can be called the soul.” (Broken Open, pg. 3)

It’s a logical summary to which some might reply, ‘so what, what does that prove?’  But think about it – really think about it.  When is the same, not the same?  One answer is – in death.  Consider, if the soul is the reason a being lives, is the soul actually the being?  These are the types of questions that have me sitting in front of Kevin’s urn – asking for a sign, any sign.