Harvest-time in England. It's time to thank the food that fills our rarely empty stomachs; thank farmers and others for their hard work; and thank those who help near-permanent empty stomachs. (More photos below.)
Sharing love in the world is simple. It's simply about leaving people happier than when you met.
Many people are too busy, miserable, or out of their depth in life to be happy. They have unhappy problems with money, relationships, or health. Or their life at home or at work isn't as happy as they' wish. The thing is, science shows that a person is up to 42% more likely to be happy if a friend becomes happy. http://www.adhd-triplan.com/page/mission-statement There's no excuse not to make someone happier, unless you're too lazy, or unhappy yourself. Oh dear, is that provocative? Are you too lazy or unhappy to make others happy! The point is, opportunities abound daily to bring happiness to others. Here's a few examples from the past few days. Bank Manager "How are you?" I asked. "The same," he replied. "Working hard." I smiled. "You haven't made a fortune and retired yet then?" He smiled back. "I wish I could." "You could," I said cheerfully. "Google 'red paper clip house'. A man looked at a red paper clip one day, and wished he had a house instead. He did within the year by swapping the paper clip for something more valuable, then swapping again and again and again until he had a house." "Wow. That's amazing." "I did my version and wrote a book about it. http://www.allansweeney.com/get-rich-happily.html I could retire if I wanted to. But I'd rather make people like you happier." "I do feel happier. I'll try your system," the bank manager laughed. "I love it when you come in. You always make my day." Waitress "Amazing food," my friend Phillip said, looking at the menu. "Boeuf wellington with dauphinoise, and ginger and hoisin duck prosciutto sound idyllic." "Would you like the beef rare?" the waitress asked. "Yes," I replied. "If it's rare it's worth more, but you'll still charge the same price." She was already happy, but I cracked a few jokes, and she laughed, even happier. Restaurant manager "Who's that?" I asked the waitress, nodding towards a miserable, burly, man. "That's the new manager," she said. "He hasn't smiled since he's been here." He looked dangerous, more a grim fighter than a chirpy waiter. I called him over, hoping the words I had in my head would make him laugh, not hit me. "Everything's brilliant here," I said. He stared at me, grimly. "The food's brilliant, the waitress is brilliant, the atmosphere's brilliant. There's just one little thing." "What's that?" he scowled. "You," I replied, adding before he could reply, "you'd look better in a sexy little maid's outfit." Wow! His head shot backwards as he roared with laughter. He was still laughing as he served the next customer. Road sweeper Walking along Eastbourne seafront with Amanda, I saw a serious-looking road-sweeper, working hard. They rarely get thanks. “Thank you,” I called. He ignored me and bent double, to diligently pick a tiny piece of paper from a hedge. “Thank you,” I repeated. “You're doing great work there.” He looked up and grinned. “Thank YOU. I'm just trying to make the world a better place. You caring makes me feel happy.” Turkish chip shop owner Driving through Worthing late at night, is not the best place to be if you're hungry. A 'kebab and chips' shop offered the best hope of sustenance. Inside, two Turkish men served from a wide hatch surrounded by loving Islamic symbols. I could feel the men's sadness. But it didn't feel like a huge problem to resolve. “Nice to see two men putting such love into their food,” I said. They looked startled, as if I was trying to be horrid, not nice. “You are special,” I said. “If only the world had more kind people like you, the world would be a much nicer place.” Suddenly, they broke into broad smiles. “You're the first person to be nice to us today.” They didn't stop smiling, even as I walked out with my bag of love-filled chips. Just needed to give them a little faith back in human nature, to help them be happier. Dri-cleaner's shop assistant The gorgeous young lady assistant smiled as I entered the dri-cleaners. Her smile seems winning, but hides something dark, I thought. "Good morning. How are you?" she smiled politely. "Better than you by the look of it," I replied. "I'm fine." "I'm a therapist." Her smile shrank a little. "Oh..." "What's happened?" I asked. "My best friend was murdered. A hammer smashed through his skull..." "Do thoughts keep repeating?" "Yes. There can't be a funeral for three months, until after the post-mortem. They have to reconstruct the skull, put pieces together. I can't stop thinking of my friend's skull being pieced together." Her smile had dropped. Tears dropped too. After kind words of empathy, I offered help for her post-traumatic flash-back memories, and potential bereavement. "I'll help your friends too," I said. "No charge." How can we charge when we might have been guided by the Gods to meet, to bring happier smiles to the world? There are so many ways to make people feel happier. Praise, therapy, humour, advice, kindness, reassurance or thanks. The list is endless... Can you think of more...? And become even more like an angel...? :-) Fred is too disconcerting for many to meet. He’s 21, and too young and handsome to be so all-knowing. If all men were like him, this world would be a more beautiful place. Providing women were also disconcertingly too young and gorgeous and all-knowing.
We met in a pub, watching football. Fred is not a blagger. Blaggers swagger. Blaggers talk lots and know little. Fred talks lots and knows lots because he’s good at lots. He tries anything to see if he's good at it. And he usually is. Violin playing was one of his dreams. So as a young teenager he saved to buy a second hand violin, and taught himself. Theatres now book him for solo performances. Mastering psychic and spiritual subjects were other dreams. Guess what? Psychics and spiritual seekers now seek his advice. "Gifts" like young Fred’s is not that unusual. Because, like others I've met with numerous gifts, he knows he’s an angel and consciously remembers his agreement before birth to work to help humanity progress... Angelic souls accept myriads of jobs, projects and hobbies. Deep inner knowledge helps them Master all trades and be a jack of none - easily. So they push boundaries, seeking top levels of ability possible for their human body, until they're an expert, a Master. When a person Masters a subject, such as violin, their brain’s neural pathways connect. Brains remember what was needed to achieve Mastership. When they study another subject such as psychic or spiritual teaching, neural pathways of “how to achieve” are pre-connected. Pathways to Mastership become easier, and easier again after that. But angelic souls also remember being with perfect love before birth. That memory provides an automatic love for perfection that permeates their being, bringing ease of effort. Comparing groups of ‘normal’ humans to an angel like Fred is like comparing a packet of seeds to a stunning flower. Fred is so young, all-knowing and angelic, many find him disconcerting. They can't understand how he can be so good at so much, so young. So conflict arises, even though his beauty of perfection arises from his beautiful soul. At 21, the world’s his oyster. Making many oyster beds to lie on, cultivating numerous inner pearls of wisdom to improve the world’s appearance is simply his soul’s task. Weird-and-wonderful-but-true blogs should have an emphasis on weird. How's this for weird-but-true?
Imagine having stomach pains for two years, a stomach "tumour" increasing like a 7-month pregnancy, and then 'giving birth' to an alien creature. After my lecture in Adelaide, at a Polish friend's spiritually-decorated home, we discussed her enlarged stomach. It didn't fit any health pattern I'd heard Here's her edited email received yesterday. I was very sick for 2 years. It started in the tummy with occasional dull pain, then sporadic pain. Gradually the pain increased in frequency and severity. I would rock on the floor in severe pain for hours until it eased, and then I'd be OK for 6 to 8 hours and then it would start again. As my stomach got bigger, the pain seemed to get worse. Eventually, the pain moved to the small intestines. I became so weak I passed out for a few hours before finally getting the pain out of my body. I looked in the toilet, and saw a spiky creature, little, but a monster for my tummy. The creature seemed alien. It was about 3cm long, like a caterpillar accept for fluffy fur, spikes all around, and 3 tails. Each tail had the shape of a spade card symbol on the end - like in-turned hearts. I was so surprised, I immediately flushed it down the toilet! It had lived in my stomach - not affected by the acid! Prior to it being removed I felt it passing through my small intestine. Sharp spikes dug into the intestine walls. Eventually, after almost passing out for a few hours in a chair, I released it through the back passage! Wow. A week after, I had different tummy pains, like sever ulcerations (lacerations?). A lovely traveller man had made an electrical healing device. Frequencies went through even the bone areas, to help heal me. Specially prepared Slippery Elm also healed me, as did powerful homeopathics, pure sulphur crystals and more. I'm now happy and chirpy about life, especially about my new flat tummy. :-) Please do keep in touch - love to hear from you and your adventures. Hugs, Maj x A friend once said, Newhaven is a ghetto - to walk there you need a bullet proof vest. Today at lunchtime I walked past swearing teenagers swigging beers in the street, into Newhaven community cafe, armed only with a laptop.
I sought peace from the ghetto to write. Instead I found a piece of Light in the ghetto. “Would you like a free coffee?" a man asked. "Home-made chocolate and cheese biscuits are free too." That's different. Yummy, yummy! “What do you do here,” I asked. “We help people's lives. With community work and counselling.” Christian symbols were dotted around. Hmm... I've seen countless “community centres” that are more a way to bring lost people into a religion. I thought it best to be frank. “Do you mainly help people's lives,” I asked. “Or do you mainly help people find your version of God?” “Perhaps you should speak to John...” John lumbered towards me, a large, 50 year old skin head. Scars on his forehead looked like he'd fought ghetto wars. Tattoos bulged as he flexed his muscles. A bullet-proof vest wasn't needed. But by John's looks, I would have worn one in his past. For two hours we discussed souls, pathways, religion and so on. One gist of the conversation was this. “I was a nightclub bouncer,” John said, “then progressed. I protected the Rolling Stones at concerts. Then became a personal body guard. Then a debt collector. I collected debts my gang was owed by rival gangs.” He spoke with a sort of guilty, embarrassed pride, as if he'd reached the top of his profession, but now knew better. “I made sarcastic comments about God. I ended in prison. Lost my money, house, everything. One day, a Christian preached in the prison about Jesus. It changed my life. Now I've found Jesus.” Ooh, great! I love knowing how people find God. “What did you experience when the Christian preached with you? What did you feel inside you?” “Nothing.” Ooh, unusual... “Most people's God enlightenment, epiphany, is blinding white Light, a voice of wisdom, a feeling of heat, or electric, or movement in their soul. Or something cataclysmic that jolts their inner core. What did you feel as the preacher spoke?” “Nothing," John repeated. "But, days later, I found myself talking to druggies I'd avoided, asking about their lives. I discovered their terrible families and upbringings, and felt called to help prisoners.” “I used to train therapists to help prisoners,” I empathised. John ignored me and continued. “I now travel to African countries preaching the gospel in prisons. Look,” John said. “Here's a photo I took of men asleep in an African prison. After they woke I asked them to close their eyes, and put their hand up if they'd like Jesus within." John has found his calling. His enthusiasm for bringing prisoners' lost souls to God was wonderful. Although some may think his religion is a fundamentalist religious sect, I enjoyed how he shared love with the world. The fact that a rich Christian had just given him a brand new £20,000 car was irrelevant. If we tread a path of Godliness, rewards come naturally. There's always a payback time for fraudsters (which John isn't). Their souls may not experience bliss after death. Soul lessons can be learned in this world's prison, or the next. Ghettos are everywhere, including Europe and Africa. And everywhere, souls are in need. In John's eyes, Jesus provides spiritual bullet proof vests. Something weird happened yesterday. Office work, shopping, tidying up. You know, those weirdly 'normal boring' things.
I can't have another such a weirdly boring day again today, I thought. What on Earth will readers think? So I walked to Seaford town, consciously looking for weirdness. It's always there, somewhere. I felt energies in five coffee bars before choosing “Cafe 7”. After all, 7 is supposed to be the number of God. Perhaps 7-God could provide some weirdness? As I sipped a coffee, a lady opposite smiled. Here we go, I thought. She looks weirdly non-boring enough. She was about 60 years old, with haystack hair, and constant angelic smile. She looked like X-factor winner Susan Boyle, unfairly known as 'the hairy angel.' “Do you live near here?” I asked politely. “Eh?” she smiled. I repeated louder, “Do you live here?” She smiled again. “Eh?” Oh, she's hard of hearing. Noisy coffee machines and clanking dishes being washed up didn't help. Her eggs on toast arrived. I changed the question, speaking slow and loud. “Do you have family?” As she pierced the egg yolk, it squirted over the plate. Her smile dropped. “I've got a husband what died and a daughter what ran away. I ain't seen her since.” Ah, I thought. Perhaps today's non-boring weirdness is, can I help her? So I asked. But she couldn't hear, just wiped squirted egg off the edge of her plate with a corner of toast. Eventually, with a mouthful of dripping yolk, she spoke. “I lived in Leeds when the Yorkshire Ripper was ripping people,” she said. “His wife Sonia was as nutty as a fruit cake.” Ah, here we go...perhaps here's the weirdly non-boring connection. I remember Sonia well. She was one of my students! The infamous Yorkshire Ripper, Peter Sutcliffe, murdered 13 and injured 7 more. His wife Sonia was pilloried in the press for staying faithful to him, even after divorce. “She was Ukrainian you know. Only about 5 feet tall, you know.” I smiled. The lady licked yolk off her lips. “Sonia used to say to me, 'Do you know who I am?' Sonia thought you were privileged to speak to her. She thought she was the messiah.” I smiled again. “I told her she should move away, that one of these days she'll get punched in the mouth. Sonia's crazy. She must be crazy to still love that bastard after he murdered all those people.” I nodded, to show interest. But that ended our one-sided conversation. She wiped the last bit of egg off her plate and mouth, paid, smiled, and left. Memories... The Yorkshire Ripper's sister attended my Reiki course. Terribly affected by her brother's 13 murders, she cried non-stop for two days. After, she said Reiki had helped her a lot. Months later, she introduced me to Sonia, who asked to study Reiki too. I agreed. She'd suffered terribly. Front pages of national newspapers slated her for staying loyal to her murderer ex-husband. Such 'big news' whipped the emotions of a nation against her, spitefully. Angels would not refuse to help. Thankfully, no-one on the course recognised Sonia. I simply offered unconditional love, and the same support all students receive. She obviously needed immense emotional healing. Self-healing and my therapies helped Sonia immensely. Weeks later she felt better. She asked to study Reiki Level 2, to learn distant healing. “I can then send Reiki to my ex-husband in Broadmoor Hospital prison from a distance,” she explained. “No-one need know.” Sonia said the Yorkshire Ripper needed healing because first an inmate had tried to strangle him - but another convicted murderer, the “Stockwell Strangler" stopped Sutcliffe's murder. Then another prisoner attacked him with a pen, gouging out one eye, and severely damaging the other. I immediately agreed. He was being punished in a mental hospital prison for his crimes. If she wished to help his non-crime-related suffering, why not? Angels would not refuse to help. Memories... It's been a weird, and certainly not a boring life. My churning feelings about horrid abusers, and horrors they weave in their wake, came out many years ago in a 6-page poem on child abuse.
Someone dear to me, I met in my 20s, was sexually abused as a child. It destroyed her life. 50 years later, she still attends mental health clinics. So I wrote about her life, to rid me of the empathy I shared with her suffering. There's no sex, no violence in the poem - just allusion. But the allusions often affect people deeply. Here's one... Dear Allan Your poem "The Dread Tread" (in your book "Life's a Load of Bananas") had such an effect on me that I haven't been able to sleep. And so I wrote this. It's not nearly as good as yours but I wanted to get this off my chest. Not sure about the last bit though but sending it to you anyway. Lots of LOve Jenny A Poem is written for purpose to express both beauty and beast to feel the soft snow in the winter to express sad feelings so deep. Some of these poems reach out mostly with tidings of joy but some that are written of sadness bring grieving for that girl or that boy. Grief for the death of a childhood this feeling of terrible loss when you read of things that are buried long gone but are never forgot. Of a child alone in her room at night so frightened she don't want to breath 'cause she hears a footstep outside and knows sadly just what it means. Do they know what they've done to children all the sadness and pain that they cause that is carried alone for years after 'cause they can't ask for help any more. Please all of us now must do something stop this inhuman disgusting blight that's eating away the souls of our kids - please help us to switch on the light. We must tell these terrible people who cause such suffering and pain not to hurt God's innocent children they really should be so ashamed. God watches souls of small children he helps them react or feel safe. But watch out you killers of childhood for he's watching you too, are you safe? Jenny NB. "Life's a Load of Bananas" contains 10 sections, with 7 poems in each section. (Mystical, Heavenly, Dying, Romantic, Philosophical, Cryptic, Abused, Humorous, Child's, Lover's.) Created to make you laugh, cry, or think... I hope the above reader's poem makes you cry or think... Of many emails of good news received, ones I particularly love tell of "miracle" healings.
Here's one good news email. Annie lives in South West France. We met when I visited a mutual friend - and found I had taught her Reiki Master! Hi Alan, Pam mentioned you were in France and I thought you might like to break your return journey here. I woke up 3 months ago with severe back pain and unable to walk, move etc etc. After leaving it for 2 or 3 days it was no better. So I had several days on Morphine injections followed by weeks on a mixture of morphine, codeine and paracetamol.........yeuk! During all this my sister called to tell me she doesnt have diverticulitis but terminal cancer, with just weeks left. My sister was told there was nothing to do as it was in her bones,her spleen and her liver. Then Jean- Pierre was diagnosed, the same week, with cancer of the larynx. The surgeon wanted to take out his vocal chords, larynx completely, I meanwhile was lying around brooding unable to walk a hundred yards and incapable of driving. So I sent round a Reiki request for us all! And got myself vertical and off the pills. Then I started Reikiing JP and got everyone to send Reiki to us all. My sister has since seen another doctor who now tells her it isn't in her liver and the 5-6 week diagnosis is crap. JP has seen the surgeon again and his vocal chord has started to move and he is to have radio not surgery! Namaste Annie So, if you are ill, or know someone who is ill, never give up. As in the cases above, doctors just offer drugs or surgery. Reiki, and many other complementary and alternative therapies, offer hope of cures that doctors couldn't possibly achieve. The disabled Olympics in London has been a shocker. Seriously, it's shocked many to watch sports with disabled athletes who have no arms, legs or eyes.
Chatting to friends, and reading websites, news reports, and twitters, the shock has been ultra-pleasant! As an Australian commentator put it, at the Australian Paralympic Games, disabled people were accepted as athletes. At the London Olympics, disabled people were accepted as heroes. Here's just one youtube celebration of heroes. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9VWge-Q_08&feature=fvwbrel It's been amazingly mind-boggling. At previous Paralympic Games in other countries, I remember watching near-empty stadiums on TV. At London's Paralympics, if you hadn't booked seats early, it was impossible to buy one. Every event was sold out, to cheering crowds. I couldn't get a ticket either. So yesterday I was in London to watch the Paralympians in their wheelchair marathon. Gosh! To see such focus, strength, and determination was better than watching the "normal" Olympics. One alternative for these disabled people, is they could have sat at home, and mourned the loss of their arms, legs or eyes etc. But their courage should serve as an example to all. It's surely a boost for all those who moan and groan about their lives. Instead of complaining, get shocked - get up and do something! Part of the beauty of travelling, is meeting beautiful people. It's a blessed feeling to find so many dedicated to the relief of suffering, and not sitting at home watching TV, or other such wasting of time...
Most people helping others have loving, kind hearts. I met two such people this week. Daisy May and Haskel Adamson are dedicated. They wish to "make a difference" in peoples lives. They're small in the scheme of life, like most of us. But they're so professional, it felt good to blog about them. Perhaps you might wish to use their services one day... :-) Haskel Adamson, is a medical herbalist. Oh, you might think, not another herbalist. But Haskel has a BSc honours degree in herbal medicine from respected University of Westminster. (He resigned from a previous degree course that wasn't good enough.) Haskel spent years exploring ancient herbal remedies. He combined the best of these with insights from modern pharmacology. His unique remedies now offer genuine therapeutic benefits for 21st century ailments. Haskel's desire for perfection means he personally picks herbs fresh from the English countryside. Perhaps that also means he is more likely to "make a difference" for you. Check Haskel out - http://haskeladamson.blogspot.co.uk/ He's an unassuming man, so don't expect a miracle website. Although I hope you find your miracle remedy :-) Sitting next to Haskel was a young lady. “I recognise your voice,” she said. “Twelve years ago, you taught me Reiki. I really enjoyed it. I'm Daisy May. I now make these handmade Aromatherapy Sprays and Massage Oils.” They looked good and smelled good. But the heartfelt point is, everything is handmade by Daisy, with love. In sprays, fresh spring water is used, inspired by the spring in her garden in the wilds of the English countryside. Daisy also makes Aura Sprays, Salt Scrubs, Pulse Points. Like Haskel, she's unassuming, has a small website, but is soooooo beautiful. All her products are made with pure ingredients, plus one special ingredient – her love. Check Daisy out on www.daisymaysprays.co.uk It's a bit early, but between Haskel and Daisy, you might not only be helped - you might find excellent Christmas presents! |
AuthorSee my weird-but-true first blog post on December 1st 2011, for an overview of my polymath, joyful and horrid fairy tale life. Taste the yummy, Godly, disgusting and loving ingredients of future posts - all truthful, with just a little artistic licence. Archives
September 2021
Categories
All
|