We put great credence in owning property, such as houses, land, and material things in general. On the whole Westerners are a rather possessive society. Our success as an upstanding person in the community is often measured by how much money or assets we have. Once we work hard to obtain these assets, we spend even more time and energy protecting our “hard earned” possessions. The death of a loved one or a grave illness stimulates us to face our immortality. We want to make certain the “right” person receives our possessions when we have passed on, so we hire lawyers to draw up elaborate wills. Sometimes we even include in these legal documents, instructions as to how our heir is to use our accumulated valuables. Frequently, a rather sad consequence of this obsession with inheritances is dissension among the chosen inheritors even before any death occurs. Many times, the portion of the inheritance that is received becomes a yardstick for their love.
Darla sat in her robe on this holiday morn, nursing a cup of tea. One of her resolutions for the New Year was to give up coffee. She loved coffee but several of her co-workers at the radio station convinced her that it was bad for her. They recommended she drink green tea. She took a sip of the liquid and said out loud as though there was someone with her. “This stuff is awful. I miss my coffee. The smell. The taste. The kick of caffeine it gives me.”
New Years Resolutions! Who started that tradition? Probably some sick masochist. She chuckled to herself. After spending the holidays with relatives, the last thing she needed was deprivation. She picked up her cup, poured its contents down the drain and started perking a pot of coffee.
As adults all of us want to believe we have done a commendable job educating our young either as parents, schoolteachers priests or ministers. If the child does not fall into the accepted behavior mode of society, we tend to judge the job we did as a failure. This parental self-evaluation occurred in me when, recently, my twenty-seven year old daughter, Diane, pointed out that I had neglected an important part of her childhood education.
When I asked her what I had failed to teach her, she told me the following. “Mom, you were open with us about most everything. You taught my sister and me about sex and loving ourselves. You taught us that we are responsible for our own actions. You taught us not to lie even to ourselves. You taught us about the harm drugs and alcohol does to our bodies. But, the one thing you never taught us was about death.”
The icy sleet was pelting the window like keys on a piano. She sat alone in her father-in-law’s bedroom. Everyone had survived the holidays except George, which was why Dana was going through George’s personal belongings on this cold January morning. Her husband, Harry, was in the middle of a law case so she was designated to clean out George’s house.
She estimated it would take at least a week or so to do the job. Since the weather was tenuous for driving and George lived over a hundred miles from her own house, Harry thought it best that Dana stay there until the job was finished. Normally she felt put upon by his assumption that she should handle all the grunt work in the family. After all as he frequently reminded her; Harry’s time was more valuable than her own. This time, however, she made no fuss. A break from him and her three teenage children would be like a vacation.
OK. Enough daydreaming. Get to work. She told herself as she lifted the lid of the old chest at the end of George’s bed. It was filled to the brim with papers and memorabilia. Laying on top was a well-worn album she had never seen before. It had obviously been looked at a lot over the years.
There exists a disease especially prevalent in women but not exclusive to them, that is more deadly than any known to medical science. It is more deadly because it attacks the spirit, which eventually affects the physical. I have given the name ‘It’s better to give than to receive’ to this infliction.
It creates a tumor called guilt in the majority of American women. When or where this disease originated I can only guess. I do know it is very often inherited, passed from mother to daughter and so on.
Its physical symptoms are numerous. Some of the more obvious are malfunctions in the female organs (often resulting in their removal), depression, poverty, suppressed creativity, breast cancer, and PMS, to only name a few.
When I approach some clients on this subject during therapy or counseling, they become extremely defensive and even angry. Some common verbal responses are; ‘It makes me feel good to give’ or ‘its duty to give to my children or husband’ or the lamest response of all, ‘That’s what my mother and church say God wants me to do’. These are the same women who come to me because they are unhappy and have exceptionally low self-esteem and self worth.
‘They looked normal.’ Denise thought as she looked around the circle of people who had gathered. Her friend Carol, who had talked her into coming to this meditation group sat next to her. She was chatting with one of the men in the group, showing him a crystal. Carol always had some fortune telling cards or wands or whatever she was trying out on me or whoever would let her. ‘I’m just going to observe. I can’t really get into all this group stuff.’ Denise smiled as her mental dialogue continued. I’m sure I have better things to do than sitting here, like scrubbing the kitchen floor or microwave.
My thoughts were interrupted and the room quieted when the moderator spoke. “I’d like to introduce our guest speaker for tonight. Tonight we welcome well known psychic and channel, Chloe.”
‘Oh this should be good.’ I thought. ‘Maybe I can fake a sudden sickness and excuse myself or better yet , just sneak out when everyone’s eyes are closed.’
The lights dimmed, everyone’s eyes closed and the moderator started the meditation. My window of escape slammed shut with a bang when the people on both sides of me grabbed my hands. Evidently creating a closed circle was part of the ritual.
Although the meditation was quite relaxing and did ease a headache that was turning into a thundering roar, I was ready to be out of there. Again, my great escape was foiled when the so called psychic looked straight at me motivating everyone’s eyes to follow.
Often in our lives we meet people who seem familiar. We search our memory for a key to where we have met them before. Sometimes we even “accidentally” refer to them by a different name excusing the mistake with some comment like, “I’m not very good with remembering names”.
I have had many of these experiences with various people. While talking to a friend one day, I suddenly saw him in a different body in another time. The mental movie lasted for several minutes.
Prior to my mental movie starting, I had been irritated with something he had said. Until that lapse into what many call a past life regression where he and I had experienced a similar scenario to the present one, I did not fully understand why I felt so irritated with him. Once I saw I was repeating the same reaction as I had in that other life, I was able to change it. Doing so turned out to be for the betterment of all. By the way, that particular past life scenario ended tragically for everyone especially me.