What to do with the hours left till I die?

Standing in St Paul’s cathedral on Elizabeth street, Melbourne, I mused again, for the umpteenth time since my arrival 2 weeks before in Australia, about all the names of the fallen listed on imposing brass plaques mounted on aged teak that lined the walkways through the church and other public places, including even the subway system, a curious place, I thought, to place a monument to the fallen. One plaque on the walkway to my left announced the birth and death of an obviously much loved organ player who had made the many thousands of miles from England to Australia at a time when voyages of 5 weeks duration were the only feasible ways of covering a journey of such epic proportions.

I mused. These people had been transplanted from their homes in far off lands and had come seeking meaning and some form of reference point for ongoing life as they knew it. I was momentarily and not for the first time, in awe of this adventurous spirit that had brought so many from other countries to start anew here in Australia. However simultaneously I reflected on my own fears of travel, those pervasive fears that seek to convince you that it’s risky and to advise cautiously against you embracing the new. I wondered again ‘What IS that fear that seeps in so randomly and sabotages so much adventure and exploration?’ One day I will be dead. The only thing between me and my death are the hours I have left to live. The thought occurred to me: ‘How do I really want to live those hours?’ Would I need to fear death if I was alive? Truly alive? Alive to what’s unseen? Alive to the beautiful lives of my ancestors, forged by tragedy and war? Alive to my spiritual inheritance? Alive to the mission that was offered to me at my conception? Alive to what was really important in life? Grounded in a wisdom that I could trust would be passed on?

A wave of sadness mixed with relief passed through me. I sat down on a pew cushioned by a tired looking red velvet runner of the type seen in old Anglican churches in a row of pews facing the main chancel. I closed my eyes. I felt inside for my peace. It was there. Waiting for me as always. Just waiting for me to check in. And as I did I took a look around at my consciousness, my head bowed. I realised I still felt tired from a night of excitement and joy a couple of nights before as I presented to a room full of hypnotherapists, operating in my most strong and inspired place which I have come to know as my gift to the world. Soulful communion inspires me. I felt so privileged to be able to indulge my perspective in a room full of leaders of consciousness, a message I am at pains to promote and share with all of those who are working on the awakening of others hearts and minds.

Once, for a moment I opened my eyes and as I looked up I caught the gaze of a cassock berobed clergyman some 20 or 30 metres away. It wasn’t exactly the stuff of intimate communion but I noticed he’d spotted me sat with my head bowed. For a moment I wondered if there was some spark of recognition between 2 souls. The energy was fleeting. It passed quickly. I closed my eyes again.

I reconvened. Only now the insight was distracted. I noticed my thoughts competing for my attention. I think being spotted by the clergyman had caused me to absorb a curiosity which in its searchingness had unnerved me. I realised he had seen me…perhaps even seen my energy. I broke away.

I stood up slowly from the pew and reconvened my stroll around the perimeter of the pew lined church perusing each of the forlorn looking commemorative plaques and, as I reflected, they seemed to beĀ beseeching passers by to notice them. Each one however, fairly stark and bald with very little ornate charm or sentimentality. I wondered if this was intentional or just a natural expression of the Australian character forged by a stony acceptance of the harshness of this country of hostile terrain and a ubiquitously jeopardous wildlife.

I reflected. This moment was significant. It heralded a new deeper awareness to my message. How to really love your life and live every moment you can in accordance with your deeper mission on this earth. How to show others how they can do that too. How to show others they can reclaim themselves and de-hypnotise themselves from mass culture that keeps us fearfully trapped in ‘The Matrix’. I would have to step up. Take this awareness. Bring it into focus. Live it even more. Be it. Fearlessly. And model an even more awake aliveness for others. At once I felt a burden of responsibility. And then the thought came. ‘Be free. This is your gift.’ Was that my thought or was it one of my ancestors speaking? Or one of my countless guides who had enabled my passage in this life and whom, whether I’d known it or not, I had taken unconscious counsel from whenever I had at times lost sight of my path?

I wandered out of the cathedral still reflecting and into the busy street. Soon I was distracted by the noise of a busy Wednesday afternoon in Melbourne with trams gliding past, just like we were in Amsterdam, and I mused that the energy did indeed feel similar.

I decided to stop at a coffee house where I could take time to record my insight. I hooked up to the internet. Facebook beckoned. My dear aussie friend and fellow therapist Craig messaged me between sessions and once again I felt blessed to be living this dream.

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