Quantum healing

The phone call changed everything. Should I just go home? But what would I do, there? I might as well carry on as planned- even, it might be better. I left Friends House and took the Tube to Morden. On this mild, windy night, there is a smell of gunpowder and explosions from fireworks, and around Maria’s flat block children take turns to set off rockets, watched by their mother.

Maria’s compact flat is lovely. She is petite, just over 5′, and slim in proportion. She welcomes me, gets tea, introduces me to John her partner(?). I may get completely distracted, this evening, so I tell her my news, and she is extremely sympathetic- for my news gives me a privilege, though some will hunger to give me what seems, to them, to be a gift.

Behind me is a large banner of Ganesh, his nostrils pointing outward to sense me. In front is the circular satin mat on a circular mattress, with a circle of black cushions. There are several Buddhas and candles around. My mobile is not, usually, switched on, so S left a message for me on Thursday. Why she had not emailed or used facebook, I don’t know. I just got the message, which may be a synchronicity.

-This place is the best place for me I could be, right now.
-I’m honoured, honoured, that you would think that, says John.

They are going to the South-west. John, a chef, wants also to grow the food he cooks, and do the whole with conscious spiritual intention. Maria wants to organise retreats based on similar experiences to this evening. “You hug beautifully”, she says, “Have you been to Osho Leela?” Yes, though I learned to hug so well elsewhere.

Two more arrive, two have cancelled, and we begin. Maria tells us to visualise the Qi (she uses the word “energy”) coming up from the earth and through us. We breathe in, slowly, together, imagining this. Her voice, the breathing together, the slow repetitive music, the candles….. all create the atmosphere. I am filled with energy from Earth and father Sky.

We take it in turns to lie prone for ten minutes, then supine, while the others massage us all over with oil. Before each receives s/he states her boundaries: I have none, though when R says “not inside her yoni” I think, yes, that would be a boundary, Some would particularly like to be touched on the face, and scalp, which is most sensitive. I love it. I love the beauty of the bodies as I caress them, and I love giving the caresses.

At the end we collapse in a cuddly heap together. At one point, Maria, standing while I kneel, hugs my cheek to her abdomen. As J, R and I are staying over, we lie on the mat and Maria puts a duvet over us. I lie in front of R, spooning, her breasts in my back, her arm round my waist. I find it so hard to thole, being aroused by my submissive posture, so far from the control I crave, so inaccessible most of the time- but I enjoy it.

And (this is new) whatever my sex thing I might feel ashamed of it. As with everyone: I can respond in that way occasionally, I have to keep it within bounds almost all the time, and Shame is an extremely efficient way of doing that. This thought liberates me to find space for it: I can pack it away, so at those moments in which I may be sexual it behoves me not to be ashamed.

In the morning after tea and toast I go to the Klee exhibition. In my mind is my news, of my father’s death.

Durga II

I have my Durga.

I got the figure in Ganesha, on the South Bank. It is a bronze casting from Bangladesh. The Goddess stands with her foot on the demon’s shoulder. Though he holds his thick, heavy blade ready, he is kneeling, her spear-point at his chest.

I am unclear about the beast: I have seen her riding a tiger or a lion, but this could be a wild boar. I have seen the demon with a cow. So the beast could be his or hers, poised with its tusks against his arm.

Ganesha, the elephant god, is on her lower right, and a god with two weapons on her lower left. She is flanked by two more pacific gods, one with a stringed instrument, one with a large fruit. If you know who those gods might be, I would be very grateful if you would leave a comment explaining.


I have no beliefs about Durga at all, but I know possibilities. One is that she exists in Eternity and also in time as a manifestation of the Feminine Divine, a Being who has taken an interest in humanity, and interacts with us. Another is that she is a personification of aspects of humanity, especially of women, which I may access within myself if I follow the human process of maturing, committed to the truth and to Right.

Coffee with T

T loves Costa Coffee, and loves talking of Zen, the mind/brain interface, consciousness and ways of thinking, and these topics please me too. Whence comes Inspiration? What happens when you sever the corpus callosum? His younger brother, who was gay just after “sodomy” ceased to be a criminal offence in England and tried so hard to be straight, is a spiritual medium, and his sister was a homoeopath, and T, a former hypnotherapist, has this wonderfully thoughtful, rational way of dealing with these issues. We dispose of Naive Realism- how would you know if you were living in The Matrix- wonderful film that, the sequels were rubbish- and have such similar interests and perspectives that the conversation is a delight. What do you mean by “I”? Well, there is this physical object, or process, continually taking in or excreting substance and ideas, which being an evolved animal has a strong attachment to its own continuing existence. How could new ideas change brain structures? By reinforcing new pathways through the brain. Well, it happens, we cannot say why. How can I talk about a soul or even an “I”, when if I suddenly stop taking oestradiol I get all emotional, weepy, impulsive, angry, and if I take it again I become more even-tempered? That is a chemical process, surely, rather than an “Individual”.

What I want to discuss is healing, and how I cannot justify it with my rational being: so how just to trust my emotional being? Of course I did that before: transitioning from acting male to expressing myself female makes no sense at all, rationally, apart from the fact that I Wanted to do it. I so want my rational brain to be able to justify healing work, and it can’t. I grew up having to justify everything rationally, being unaware of my feelings.

Have I told you this story? I decided to kill myself (No, he says, I have not told that story. When was that? Oh, years ago, not recently). I got my pills, and I went into my living room to get whisky to wash them down with, because I thought that might make me lose consciousness more quickly and be better able to go through with it. But in my living room I found my bath water flowing through the ceiling. A join in the drainpipe had given way, and the water flowed out. So I called the landlord, and the plumber, and got it dealt with, and after the plumber left the immediate desire to die had gone away. A Synchronicity!

But what about all the people who decided to die and didn’t have something like that to distract them? he asks. Yeah, yeah, I know. Still, that was my Proof of the Existence of God for years. And- why Libya but not Syria? Is that the same question?

This link between the amygdala and the limbic system and the frontal lobe- different voices, then Consciousness, the illusion of the I-

An even more personal story. I get a little weepy-
……………………………..and then I relax.

I went to a Healing Development Group with the Healing Trust. They have a particular procedure, first giving energy to the seven chakras, then to the parts of the body in turn. And I felt my hands grow warm, but when I passed over the leader’s arm, my hands suddenly felt cold. It felt so different. And I did not have the courage to tell her, or anyone until now. Could that be- sensing something? Could it be real?

Actually, now I have shared this story, trusted to share it, I feel- different. More relaxed, and Much, Much Happier. Wonderful. It feels real. I can respect that feeling.

People describe the flow of energy, or Qi, with very precise technical terms, in great detail, similar to the descriptions anatomists use, yet not describing anything an anatomist could observe. It mimics rationalism, but the rationalists can’t accept it. This is the weepy bit- my rational being has to be content with Unknowing. This is the joyous bit- in that Moment, I can trust my feeling.

Out into the sunshine. There is a busker in a dinner jacket, bow tie and fingerless gloves playing the guitar, and I stop to listen. Then Candy recognises me, and we chat with the busker about that time when the violinist played in the railway station– was it New York? Not sure. Candy is almost a stranger, we exchanged a few words when I was working. Now we exchange phone numbers. Impromptu conversations in the street! Not what I am used to. I feel relaxed, more real. He plays Bach. There is a group of rough-looking men four yards away, and one suddenly barks like a dog- RuhRuhRuhRuhRuhRuhRuh- loudly at another- rough looking men, hearing the music.

To the garage to get my car fixed, where I meet Ganesh. God is everywhere!