at what it is we are thinking and how we speak to ourselves in our minds. Ask if this thought is loving or supportive of ourselves or others. When we take the time to stop and listen, it allows a spiritual element the space to make a marked difference in the daily and ordinary events of our lives. Be willing to simply be willing. Soften your attachment to particular outcomes. Be present to what is.
Instruments of Love
By Laurie St. Clare
I feel awful; I just want to stop crying but the tears are relentless. I’m finally being swallowed up by my sadness and fears. I am alone and flailing to stay afloat. I cannot stop hearing the words and feeling the frustration of my friend, Rachel. We’d had words and even though I could see her point, I felt terrible for me. I’d been staying with her since I moved out of my home I’d shared with my husband for the last seventeen years. It had been five months now and although she had said I could stay much longer, I didn’t know how I would be able to.
As I lay awash in my own grief at my displacement in life, I knew that Rachel was under extreme pressure at work. It would have been easy to rail against her and take my anxiety out on her. I was the one whose life was in complete upheaval! I asked for help in seeing the best of the situation, to be guided for both of our highest good. I started to relax my breathing and focus on love instead of fear. I tried to stand outside myself and see myself, as well as Rachel, as the Angels see us. We are beings that need love but we are also, very importantly, instruments of love. I knew squarely in my heart that she was having a difficult time, and my being here was an added stress to a place of sanctuary for her.
Rachel worked extremely hard in a stressful environment that provided relief for people in crisis. I realized her blow up had more to do with things she was going through at work. She was an amazing woman and friend going through her own tough time. I drifted off to sleep feeling compassion for her and myself as well.
In the morning I stayed in my room to give her space as she got ready and left for work. I thought about how I would be able to spend my day in this quiet home and tend to my needs, while she had to go back into a highly stressful situation. I felt a strong sense of love well up. I wanted her to have peace. I wanted her to know she was special. I realized we all have difficulties, and me feeling sorry for myself and only seeing my needs made the world a cold, small place. I knew this was not the truth and I wanted her to know this, too. I made the decision to send her flowers at the office. I had an arrangement of gorgeous flowers delivered to her.
Rachel called me later that afternoon gushing with gratitude. She told me how lovely the flowers were and how everyone at the office had been uplifted. Our differences melted easily away. Love filled in every crack pain had opened up. I felt empowered by my ability to be open to love, to give it and receive it. I had been guided to choose love, to feel it, to express it and act upon it. In choosing love I also affected all those people at her work place.
Seeing my friend as me, as another being that is just like me, experiencing hurts and fear but also encompassing the beauty of the Divine gave me the ability to act with compassion. I had asked for help, gone into myself, connected with love, and acknowledged unity instead of separation. That is “Spirit.” That is “Love.” That is you and that is me.
A Poem from a Deceased Loved One
By Sean M. Kelly
Over the years I’ve delivered a lot of professional development training courses to companies in Ireland and abroad. On one particular occasion I was getting the room ready to deliver a stress management course for a large Irish bank. Phil, a lady from the bank who was helping me to set up, told me that the husband of one of her friends, Joan, had just been diagnosed with cancer and had been given three months to live. As my father had died from cancer, I felt a lot of compassion for Joan and her husband facing this huge challenge. Three months passed, and I heard that Joan’s husband had died almost three months to the day after the diagnosis. This, of course, stirred up more feelings of compassion within me. I had also recently finished writing a book about my dad dying from cancer and what had happened in my life subsequently. I felt a nudge from the universe to send a copy to Joan even though I had never met her!
When faced with decisions like this, our rational mind will often try and put us off the idea–the “what will the neighbors think?” sort of mantra! “I had never met Joan, so who was I to send her a book I had written? What would she think when she received it from someone she didn’t know?” Well, sometimes we have to “walk on air against our better judgment,’’ as the Nobel Prize-winning poet, Seamus Heaney, so wisely said. So I decided to walk on air–I posted the book to Joan. I also had to give the book with no conditions attached. Sometimes we give things to people expecting something in return, and if we don’t get something, we resent them. This is a very limited and unhealthy form of giving. When thoughts of, “I wonder what Joan thought of the book,” or “I still haven’t heard anything from Joan,” came to mind, I had to remind myself to be totally detached. I had to leave it in the hands of the universal intelligence, God. I was simply playing my part. Of course, once we detach from the very thing we sought, it often comes to us anyway!
After a number of months I received a lovely letter of thanks from Joan, and I felt I should return the compliment. Synchronistically, at the time I was learning about angels and how they can help us in any area of our life if we ask them for help, and also how they often send us guidance. The trick is to be still enough and aware enough to hear or feel this guidance.
The following Sunday morning I awoke at about 5 a.m. and just lay in bed allowing thoughts and inspirations to come to mind. As I thought about what I was learning about angels, I wondered if it would be possible to write poems for people who had lost a loved one as if that poem came from their deceased loved one. “Well, I have written poems in the past for the family of a friend who died, and for my own family on the first Christmas after our father died,” I thought, “so yes, this is possible.” My rational mind then came back in with, “Oh Sean, go back to sleep; it’s too early!” Still I could not get back to sleep. “Go on downstairs and have a go,” my heart was prompting me. After a few more prompts, I got myself out of my warm bed to have a go.
I thought I would write a poem for Joan from her deceased husband. It was a lovely, bright summer morning. The house was really quiet and peaceful. I lit a candle and sat at our kitchen table. I asked for guidance and let go of any personal agenda. The only intention was to capture in words what I felt most guided to write. The poem flowed absolutely effortlessly, and when I had written it, I was delighted because I felt I had really captured the two messages–Dave was still with her, and it’s ok to have another relationship. Now what about the title? The first one that came to mind was, “To Joan from Dave,” but then my rational mind kicked in–“Remember, you have never met this person; what will she think when she receives a poem from you as if it’s written by her deceased husband? It’s totally crazy, Sean!” I quieted that side of my mind and asked the question, “If I were Dave, what would I like the poem to be called?” Immediately I knew; I would call it, To Joan from Dave. I wrote a short cover letter for Joan and sealed the poem in an envelope, ready for posting. The letter was hanging around the house for a few days before I posted it. Again I had to remind myself of unconditional giving. I was simply being a messenger. However, I still wondered what she thought of it; did it help her? “Oh, my God,” I thought, “I hope it didn’t upset her!”
A couple of weeks later, I received a message on my mobile phone from Phil, my friend at the bank who had originally told me about Joan. I wondered why she had phoned me, as I knew she was on holiday. At the time I was
