This morning having done yoga stretches and the chiropractic exercises I am ‘supposed’ to do daily, I decided that I should take the opportunity of being alone in the house to do some meditation. I am convinced of the benefits but have not quite mastered the art. Rather than do a guided meditation from a DVD I decided to open my book of Buddhist blessings etc. for inspiration and perhaps some instruction. At least to stop ‘doing’ for a while and to read which is something I rarely do although I enjoy it. Sometimes staying still is impossible – even with yoga for relaxation. When the lady in the DVD is talking at length and I find myself waiting, I start to do the next movement. Isn't that daft?
And so it happened again. I was reading about when the author met her lama, she felt she knew him already and how her dreams included flashes of memory from a past life. This led me to recall a neighbour of my Spanish friend living in Granada and how I wanted to help the neighbour on her journey of discovery. This lady has had dreams all her life of a Jewish girl called Sara in Poland who was rounded up by the Nazis and after a period of internment, shot in the side. Paca feels she is this girl, everything is so real. She knows the name of the town and sees the streets where Sara played growing up. These dreams were so vivid they frightened her and she did not share them with anyone for a long time. She asked my friend Guadalupe for help with finding an explanation after they got to know eachother and learnt that Guadalupe had studied philosophy. Paca had been able to research that there was an entry of the death of a girl with the exact name and surname she knew. It was the day she was born.
Paca thinks perhaps she would like to go to the town in Poland. If she decides that she wants this, I have said I will help arrange this and act as translator. Now all I can think about is Paca and the past life mystery that has been with her. Was Sara not yet ready to die and her soul transferred to a new born somewhere in the world? Would it be good or bad to go to the town in Poland? If traced and indeed some were still alive, what would Sara’s family make of a Spanish woman saying she was Sara or at least shared Sara’s memories? Could something be done so that Sara would rest and the dreams for Paca would stop? Is there a purpose to this? My mind cannot be still and I am not going to be able to be meditative.
Counter:
_“Faith is an oasis
______in the heart
____which will never be reached
___________by the caravan
_______________of thinking”
Kahlil Gibran, Sand and Foam
It leads me to remember a strange fortnight I had while living in Poland - Spring 1992. I was in the art college and while waiting to meet my Greek friend Anna, I was having tea with a Polish art student who was also a friend of hers. Marcin told me he felt this was an awful year because so many young people he knew had died. I’ll tell you the story of one of those tragic deaths another time. I told Marcin I didn’t want to concern him but I would be next. Well I didn’t tell him but the knowledge came into my head - I couldn’t say this to him because I hardly knew him and I didn’t understand what had just happened myself.
And so it happened again. I was reading about when the author met her lama, she felt she knew him already and how her dreams included flashes of memory from a past life. This led me to recall a neighbour of my Spanish friend living in Granada and how I wanted to help the neighbour on her journey of discovery. This lady has had dreams all her life of a Jewish girl called Sara in Poland who was rounded up by the Nazis and after a period of internment, shot in the side. Paca feels she is this girl, everything is so real. She knows the name of the town and sees the streets where Sara played growing up. These dreams were so vivid they frightened her and she did not share them with anyone for a long time. She asked my friend Guadalupe for help with finding an explanation after they got to know eachother and learnt that Guadalupe had studied philosophy. Paca had been able to research that there was an entry of the death of a girl with the exact name and surname she knew. It was the day she was born.
Paca thinks perhaps she would like to go to the town in Poland. If she decides that she wants this, I have said I will help arrange this and act as translator. Now all I can think about is Paca and the past life mystery that has been with her. Was Sara not yet ready to die and her soul transferred to a new born somewhere in the world? Would it be good or bad to go to the town in Poland? If traced and indeed some were still alive, what would Sara’s family make of a Spanish woman saying she was Sara or at least shared Sara’s memories? Could something be done so that Sara would rest and the dreams for Paca would stop? Is there a purpose to this? My mind cannot be still and I am not going to be able to be meditative.
Counter:
_“Faith is an oasis
______in the heart
____which will never be reached
___________by the caravan
_______________of thinking”
Kahlil Gibran, Sand and Foam
It leads me to remember a strange fortnight I had while living in Poland - Spring 1992. I was in the art college and while waiting to meet my Greek friend Anna, I was having tea with a Polish art student who was also a friend of hers. Marcin told me he felt this was an awful year because so many young people he knew had died. I’ll tell you the story of one of those tragic deaths another time. I told Marcin I didn’t want to concern him but I would be next. Well I didn’t tell him but the knowledge came into my head - I couldn’t say this to him because I hardly knew him and I didn’t understand what had just happened myself.
A few days later while walking to my English teaching job at the Sejm (parliament) I suddenly had this flash of insight again which was ringing crystal clear as ‘It’s not long now!”. I remember exactly where I was even today – on a pedestrian crossing in the square near the parliament. I now told Anna who was as bewildered as I was. When she asked me how I felt about it, I replied very calmly that if it was my time then it was my time, I’ve had a very good interesting life (I was only turning 20! But had lived in Spain, Poland and interrailed alone with amazing experiences throughout my 2 years living abroad – it still remains the most fascinating time in my life) and most importantly I had been there to the end of mum breaking free from a very difficult marriage. Anna was still confused. I felt okay about it but was intrigued when it would be and how.
That weekend I went for a walk and rested on top of the hill near my flat. Now this wasn’t a romantic hill at all – a garbage pile earthed and turfed over to create a landscape amongst the concrete jungle of the Ursinow housing estate in Warsaw. Suddenly I was overcome by a barely describable feeling of magical serene radiant joy from another place, but one I could practically reach out and touch. I wondered if a big hand would come from the sky and scoop me up. Was I going to die now? I don’t believe in heaven and hell, nor do I want to live forever (when I die I want to feel and know nothing - I have already experienced heaven and hell in this life thank you. I'm grateful for the richness of both because I feel to have really lived and learned, but a break would be good when the Grim Reaper comes.) but I am convinced that day sat on the hill that I felt the other side, whatever it is. I had no more strange messages or feelings and carried on with my normal life.
The following weekend was Easter and I was in Prague. While there I called my mum to wish her a happy Easter. It wasn’t a happy Easter though. Mum told me grandmother had died. Suddenly it made sense. Grandmother had had a good long life, grandfather had passed away a few years before and it had been important for her to be there, for reasons I won’t go into, for mum through the decade long harrowing divorce. They were gran's feelings.
On the night my mum’s grandmother passed away, mum had got up to go the bathroom in the middle of the night and was surprised to see her gran (who lived on the other side of the village) in the hallway and asked “Babcia, what are you doing here?”. I wish I could remember the details (why didn’t I keep a journal/blog before?) but my gran also had a strange experience when her grandmother died.
That weekend I went for a walk and rested on top of the hill near my flat. Now this wasn’t a romantic hill at all – a garbage pile earthed and turfed over to create a landscape amongst the concrete jungle of the Ursinow housing estate in Warsaw. Suddenly I was overcome by a barely describable feeling of magical serene radiant joy from another place, but one I could practically reach out and touch. I wondered if a big hand would come from the sky and scoop me up. Was I going to die now? I don’t believe in heaven and hell, nor do I want to live forever (when I die I want to feel and know nothing - I have already experienced heaven and hell in this life thank you. I'm grateful for the richness of both because I feel to have really lived and learned, but a break would be good when the Grim Reaper comes.) but I am convinced that day sat on the hill that I felt the other side, whatever it is. I had no more strange messages or feelings and carried on with my normal life.
The following weekend was Easter and I was in Prague. While there I called my mum to wish her a happy Easter. It wasn’t a happy Easter though. Mum told me grandmother had died. Suddenly it made sense. Grandmother had had a good long life, grandfather had passed away a few years before and it had been important for her to be there, for reasons I won’t go into, for mum through the decade long harrowing divorce. They were gran's feelings.
On the night my mum’s grandmother passed away, mum had got up to go the bathroom in the middle of the night and was surprised to see her gran (who lived on the other side of the village) in the hallway and asked “Babcia, what are you doing here?”. I wish I could remember the details (why didn’t I keep a journal/blog before?) but my gran also had a strange experience when her grandmother died.
Gran and I were incredibly close – she had always lived with us in the room next to mine and had brought me up as mum worked fulltime. Of course I hadn’t seen her much the last few years gadding about Europe with my adventures (If you had had a teenage home life like mine, you too would have gone into the world by yourself at 18 ;-). I thought of why Sara’s memories were with Paca. I wondered why I had those messages about dying and for the first time it occurred to me that maybe grandmother was trying to say goodbye to me, especially as I was so far away. If only I’d been able to understand what it all meant so I could answer the call and come home to see her and hug her one last time. With that thought and plenty of tears welling up I leave you.
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