Skip to main content

Wet Pants and The Hare

Bear with me on this one. I've been doing a lot of spiritual/ psychic development of late: meditation, channelling, visualisation and the such-like, in order to strengthen my connection with the Universal energies, because, quite frankly, my connections have been a tad loose and wobbly over the last few months, what with one domestic upset after another. 

Therefore, now feeling more on an even keel, I have been using my settled time to sort out these connections. Now, when one receives messages from the Universe, one rather likes to have the messages quantified by some sort of earthly signal or sign. A sort of 'big tick, you heard right' just so that you don't think it was all in your imagination and you were having a slightly crackers moment. This can happen because we are human and, consequently, suspicious, stubborn and cynical of nature. I think a big, and tricky part of psychic and spiritual development is trying to not be suspicious, stubborn and cynical, and to be open, loving and trusting instead. It's bloomin' hard work sometimes. 

Where was I? Ah yes. So a couple of days ago, my spirit companion gang said, 'Write your dream.' They wanted me to free write, in a stream-of-consciousness kind of way, what my dream was for living this third part of my life. They also said I was to learn a bit more about astrology, because it would enhance my Tarot reading practice. I said, but that'll involve maths. I hate maths. They said, you've got an O level. I said, only just. They rolled their eyes...

...I have started learning more about astrology. (See - suspicious, stubborn and cynical, only not too much because astrology is a subject I do find fascinating. I didn't fight TOO hard against this one.)

Back to signs and signals. Traditional ones are things like the appearance of white feathers and robins. However, my environs is currently littered with feathers and robins, what with it being birdy breeding season. Talking of which - the first baby swallows of the year are here!!


This was Nestcam first thing this morning. (When I say 'nestcam' I mean Andy wafting his phone over the nest. We haven't gone all fancy pants Springwatch.) Some eggs and some very unattractive newly hatched pink and bald babies. Five in all, I reckon. Lovely stuff! There must be a lot of insects around.  

My 'sign', as it were, is hares. We have hares in the fields around us but because the farmer has been lax in cutting the grass so far this year, we haven't seen them. But the grass was cut a couple of weeks ago and almost immediately a hare the size of a Labrador appeared and galloped around as if to say, 'I've been here all along - you just haven't been able to see me.'

Back to writing my dream. I went to find a new notebook, because ideas like these always warrant a new notebook and I need little excuse to fuel my stationery buying habit. Whilst kneeling on the floor next to the storage cubby hole on my desk that contains my stash of new notebooks, I became aware of a very odd feeling. The last time I had this feeling - sort of cold and wet and rather unpleasant, like ice rushing through your veins - was when my waters broke prior to giving birth. At 57 years old, this was going to be a highly unlikely scenario, I thought. Perish the thought.

And then I realised the hem of my voluminous tunic top had dangled itself in Bambino's near-by water fountain, and the water had progressed up the tunic and through into my jeans and then into my pants.

Oh, well chuff and bother! I retreated to the bedroom to use the hairdryer to dry myself out. I was still muttering a bit about this 'write your dream' stuff, because how do I know what my dream is? I'm still thinking it would be quite nice to be a hermit and grow herbs. But as I stood at the window, blasting hot air upon my soggy nethers, that massive hare dashed across the field, and I swear it turned and looked at me, and gave a knowing smile. My spirit companions definitely giggled. 

If I hadn't gone to fetch a new notebook, I wouldn't have dangled in Bambino's water fountain, then I wouldn't have gone to blow dry my pants, and not looked out of the window and seen the hare. 

The Universe is good at ordering itself so events happen at the right time for the right reason. It might not seem obvious at the time, and sometimes it might seem downright counter-intuitive and obtuse, but really, the Universe does know best and the sooner us humans stop railing against it, the better.

My message validated, then, I set about writing my dream.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Frosted Dawn Enigma

The decorators are in at the moment. Stairs and landing. Given my previous history of 'Hoo Ha Occurring on Stairs ' - reference the Trapped Under the Sofa Incident and the Foot Wedged Between Bookcase and Stair Rise Debacle - I thought it wise to pay for professionals to decorate the stairs and landing rather than get myself in a mix with ladder and plank combinations and achieve the Magic Three of staircase accidents. The decorators are a father and son combo who go by the  names of Craig and David. This automatically causes me entertainment. 'Came in on a Monday, prepped, filled and undercoated, back on Thursday, first top coating, by Friday finishing touches...' Okay, not as frisky or well-scanned as the original song, but you get where I'm coming from. Anyway, before they started the job Craig asked what colour I wanted for the walls. 'Same colour as the downstairs walls, please,' said I. 'Dulux Frosted Dawn.' And then white for ...

Day 1 - Decisions Are Made Beyond the Author's Control.

‘Well,’ I say, looking at the expectant faces gathered around the huge table in the Great Dining Hall of Much Malarkey Manor, ‘I didn’t think it was going to happen this year, but it is!’ There is a sharp intake of breath as everyone wonders of what I speak. I’ve been muttering about all sorts recently, and I’m not talking liquorice here either.   ‘The Much Malarkey Manor Annual and Traditional Christmas Story!’ I say, and wait for the expulsed air of relief to settle before I continue. ‘I thought we had done it all. I thought we had covered every Christmas story there was. I’ve been wracking my brains for a full two months now, trying to come up with something we haven’t done before and then it hit me! We haven’t done a version of one of the Great Christmas Films of Yore!’ ‘Your what?’ says Mrs Slocombe, who is more interested in the selection of pastries I have brought to this breakfast meeting, because that is what one does, isn’t it? Eat pastries at breakfast...

Sun Puddles

A few weeks ago, I met up with a dear friend for a meditation and healing afternoon, both of us being light workers on the spirit pathway. It did me good to re-engage in a bit of focused energy channelling (because I have let my practice slip somewhat) and during the afternoon the words ‘sun puddles’ popped into my head.  Now, I know this wasn’t my human brain thinking these words because I have never heard the phrase before; when I arrived home, I looked it up and said to myself, ‘Aaah, you mean sun spots!’ This is a sun puddle... ...there! That thing that Flora is lying on. No, not the sofa - the warm patch of sunshine on the sofa. Here are Flora and Bambino sharing a sun puddle... This proves that no matter how much they scrap with each other and try to denude each other of fur all over my rugs, they secretly share a mutual and fond admiration. I think. And here is Bambino on a sun puddle that has come to rest on my legs... It’s his casual, ‘I’m so cool’ pose. Metaphorically coo...