Yesterday was a tough day, and at 5:50 pm CST, my sister and I, she in Texas, me in New York, as well as my daughter in Boston, lit candles prior to the time my mother flew to higher consciousness one year to the day. We blew out the candles and watched the smoke rise - as she had done a year ago. For my sister, it relieved a lot of pain and she felt lighter. I, on the other hand, had only the candles lit and so when I blew them out, was sitting in darkness and realized I couldn't see the smoke. So in an attempt to feel what my sister felt, I reenacted it later, and watching the smoke rising up, felt somewhat better, but still felt the loss of not only our mother, but our father who had gone on more than 13 years ago.
Yet, this morning I do feel better. I feel the release and I know all is well. Most of all, I feel a new era coming for me. Yesterday I stayed home from my ESL evening class. I hadn't intended to, but when I woke up, I just knew I needed to be alone. I had been my mother's hospice caregiver. I'd given her every bit of medicine and pain reliever. I'd not slept worth anything for days once we brought her home. I'd held her hand and witnessed her pulse cease. Yesterday it all came back.
But, still, yesterday, I asked my mother to bring me peace, bring me answers. Help me to move on. And around mid afternoon, I got an inkling to listen to hayhouseradio.com and the tingle of spirit came onto me when I saw that Doreen Virtue's show was ready to begin angeltherapy.com.
One of the callers stated that her ability to manifest was happening so slowly, and why? Doreen explained to her that she needed to ramp up her personal energy. I felt the joy of discovery. "This is for you, Sheela," I felt my mother telling me. And yes, it was for me. I have not been diligent in living a healthy, strong lifestyle in nutrition, exercise, less caffeine, and more sleep. Aha! I felt! Aha!
So to everyone who has cajoled me into better eating, I have gotten healthier, but I know what I'm not doing enough and now I know this is the wall between manifestation and me.
Hoorah! Thank you, Mom, and to everyone who has told me. It is so true, change is a personal choice and can only happen from within the individual. The change for me has come.
This morning is a new day for me. I'm going to exercise more, eat better and wiser, drink lots of water, less coffee, and get incredible hours of sleep. That combined with meditation, prayer, study, and manifestation, I am primed, ready, out of the gate.
My mother, Nancy, on the right with I think
either her best friend or a cousin.
One year ago today, and in a few hours, my mother, Nancy Lee Powell-Hastings, took flight and transitioned from physical to a higher consciousness of love. In looking for an old email, I stumbled upon this email from her in response to poems I had written to her for her 80th birthday. That was two years ago. Here is part of it:
Dear Sheela:
I have been reading it, but when I came to the part about - there is a room in my Father's house just waiting for Nancy and by then I had so many tears in my eyes, I will have to wait until I can read the rest after I get some Kleenex. Sheela, you may never know how precious this writing is to me. How can I ever put it into words? I am going to ask that it be placed in my casket with me at burial time. I want to show it to God so he can see what a talented daughter he made for me and Dad.
**
Frederick Reed and Nancy L. Hastings on
their wedding day, September 20, 1950.
Here are a few of those poems:
Turquoise eyelids,
the smell of her lipstick
as golden as the tube. A blinding trip
to Bliss church on
Wednesday evenings
or Sunday nights,
Wienschnitzel, Dunkin’ Donuts,
Dad’s delight -
red smudge marks on her water glass.
Vision re-seen, oh, for that smell again, the visor
mirror pulled down to reveal her face,
the hymnal in her hand.
_____________________________________________
One-piece bathing suit, long limbs
her own little beach, the Lake Huron of the Hamptons
“this is the life,” she says
and I take note.
Decades later
I want to put her back on that towel
on that sandy beach,
but instead urge her to swim new waters
where bathing suits
and burdens no longer exist.
_______________________________________
My mother on the left, my cousin, Sheri, in the
middle, and me on the right. Swimming was
my mother's passion.
I see her in a field of carnations
and want to place her on a mountain of roses, white,
yellow, pink and red, filling her nostrils like oxygen
new breath from a place where thorns cannot grow.
____________________________________________
“You’ll be the Belle of the Ball she says to me,
and I want to dance with her, to take her with me,
searching for the invitation we are trying to find.
_______________________________________
When she reaches for the emeralds
of her thoughts, she will swim into an ocean of
diamonds, as liquid as the sun,
a back stroke across a turquoise sky
she will laugh when the crown slips below her eyes,
moving faster, she knows more
jewels are ahead.
________________________________
My poetry makes her cry. Her tears
cause me to sew together the cloth
grown from the seeds that are us.
No matter the fight, the gossip,
the railings, the wounds,
I see my mother in her backyard,
crying, as we sleep.
The softness of your skin
is the feather of my flight.
If she falls,
I fall,
if she burns,
I burn.
If she melts,
I melt,
motherhood and daughters are
stirred in the same broth.
_________________________________
And this is her favorite:
There is a bedroom in my father’s house
made for Nancy,
the walls are of Moab stone
flooring is El Paso tile
her bed a sleigh pulled by huskies
the Northern lights through her window,
she builds a fire only she can create.
______________________________________
Finally, when my mother was in the rehab hospital and the doctors and some family members were still holding on to the idea that she would recover, yet my sister and I knew it was not to be, one Friday evening, as we three waited for the transport crew to take her to yet another hospital, we sat and waited and I tried to play "Blue Moon" for her on my Blackberry. It would begin playing and she'd lay back her head, ready to reflect and remember, and to let the music, as it always did, cause her to feel the emotion, but in this case as soon as she readied for maybe a nostalgic tear or two, the video would cut out so horribly that we would collapse in laughter. The tears, as a result, turned to joy.
To you Mama - always. I love you, Mom. I know you are simply on another plane and I feel your happiness. Keep flying, Nancy. Fly high. Thank you for the encouragement with our book. It is coming right along, but you know that.
Te amo. One year later, Mother, I am still cheering you on.
Yesterday I went to a writing workshop given by NY Writers Coalition. I had tried to be included a few times before, but the workshop, small and intimate, fills up fast. So to be included yesterday meant a lot.
I've been struggling with the tone of the memoir I am writing about my mother and me, our relationship. I had a sneaking feeling if I could get into the workshop, something would emerge. What I didn't know was how strongly it would, in fact, give birth.
As soon as I started writing to the suggestion, the words took on a life and gained speed, my hand trying to keep up. And yet it also felt easy and light in the room. I felt the energy encouraging me to continue, No! Don't stop to edit or delete, write!
And so I did and when the facilitator announced five minutes were left, I was already done. I reread it and corrected my handwriting; sharpening the r's stabilizing the n's. And then we were offered a chance to read what we had written. Another woman went first. There were only women at the workshop. And then I volunteered and began to read, suddenly and swiftly feeling the same emotion as when I read at my mother's memorial. I felt the shakiness inside me and I fiercely willed myself not to break down. Not to cry. These women came to write as I did. I knew what I had received from coming here. I held it in my hands and continued to read, shocked by what one writer would later comment on, it's "unrelenting" tone.
I'd found it.
The rest of the day I whispered "thank you" to my mother, the angels, God, the energy of the room. But most of all to my Higher Self who I connected with; who led me to that workshop. Who helped me to begin. I had everything but that.
Before getting ready to go to my ESL teaching gig tonight, I spotted a notice that Hay House (Hayhouse.com) is bringing a writing workshop to NYC on May 21! I also read that they are offering all attendees a chance to email a book proposal and try for a $10,000 advance if published by Hay House! Immediately I knew I must try. The workshop fee is $550 and must be paid by May 21. I want to attend and learn all I can AND to submit one of two books I am writing by October 6, 2011 for consideration.
I'm someone who needs a deadline and this is perfect for me. Whether Hay House takes my book or not, I will, inevitably, have a finished book(s) and will find an agent or publisher if not chosen.
I am asking to manifest this money and I am asking for your help.
It is my determination to make this happen and I come to you today to ask if you will help me by donating a $1 or more to my goal? I'm happy to offset your donation with any work I can offer to you in the form of writing or send you one of the three workshop workbooks I am writing: spiritual routine, finding healing and beauty while helping a loved one cross, and 365 lead thoughts or questions to help you write your memoir.
