The horse is still scary—she's called Carrie and I've ridden her twice on my own now. The first time was not easy as she tested me out every step of the way, got away from me once and fly-bucked like crazy. Glad to know I'm still a good rider because I coped with it all.
But don't you love it when you get back to the stables and someone says 'did she buck?' No one had previously mentioned that little habit of hers at all...
Before ride number two I thought I'd try a bit of horse-whispering in the outside school at the stables where Carrie is kept. She's used to being lunged (going round in circles on the end of a long rein) and although I didn't do that, she trotted and cantered around me out of habit as I pushed her on for a full half hour.
It's not proper horse-whispering until you get what's called join-up. The horse lowers its head and starts licking its lips and that's a sign that it is becoming submissive to you. You have shown it that you are the herd leader. We didn't get that far but, the great thing was that the half hour took the edge off her freshness and when we went out together, she was as good as gold.
Both times there were no nasty side-effects from riding and I was thrilled. Back at Christmas time I couldn't even use a rebounder because the bouncing hurt so much. Yes, my legs were a bit stiff but that's hardly surprising since it's been about five years since I rode a horse.
So all was well. And then, on Wednesday I decided to do something I 'probably' should have done a long time ago: take down the whole strand of prosperity consciousness teaching that I used to do and have trained others to do. It was still up there on the website and, frankly, I was feeling a bit of a fraud. And, while I'm bearing my soul, I had had the sudden realisation that I had always felt a bit of a fraud with this teaching.
That's not because it's bad stuff—it's classic Law of Attraction even before we all knew what that was. And it's Biblically-based and I stand by all that. And even though my life has been one of adventures (and I wouldn't have missed them for the world) and it's always been a bit of a wing and a prayer financially, it's been an amazing life—and continues to be so. But it was all rather old—and there are thousands of people out there doing newer stuff.
It really should have been disposed of a long time ago. So I dumped it. It felt like I'd shed about three stone!
The next morning I woke up with severe pain under my left arm and it simply got worse and worse all day. By bedtime it had to be codeine even to lie down (and I really don't like taking any painkillers at all, preferring to let my body tell me to slow down or stop). I slept in the spare room because I didn't want to disturb Lion and I put my one-hour recording of the ho'oponopono chant on twice just to get me to relax.
For a while, earlier in that day, I was scared. Was this some new, horrible development that I wouldn't be able to deal with? If this level of pain continued I wouldn't be able to go to Cyprus, France or the Edinburgh Fringe. Then Seth's Blog arrived in my in-box. It was called The Rotten Fish Problem and it read like this:
On the first day, all the fish at the fish stall are fresh.
Some sell, some don't.
The second day, the sold fish are replaced by newer, fresher fish. The unsold fish remains, even though it isn't so attractive.
By the third day, of course, the unsold fish is noticably unfresh, and it doesn't take much effort to avoid them.
At this point, part of the fishmonger's stock is demonstrably unappealing, bringing down the quality of the entire counter.
Pretty soon, of course, the dropoff in business means that the owner can't afford to buy the freshest fish, even to replace his sold inventory, and the end is near.
The alternative? On day two, discard the unsold fish.
Obvious, but difficult. So difficult that we rarely do it. We'd rather lower the average and see if we can get away with it instead.
It was very clear. I'd filled my stall with unsold fish for far too long. And getting rid of it in one fell swoop had created what's known as chemicalisation. That's when you get a kick-back reaction from a major healing. Sometimes it's known as a healing crisis. I had a previous one when I first went to see Suzi the Shaman. A huge, hard lump appeared on my chest practically overnight. Utterly terrifying. I called Suzi at once and she was marvellous. 'Don't worry,' she said. 'It's a healing crisis. It's a good sign.' It was completely gone in a week once I'd had a session with my healer, Cathy, and it has never returned.
Healing crises are never fun, but they do show that something good is happening. This time, to back up the healing theory, my hot flushes stopped at the same time that the pain arrived. Well, not stopped entirely but went down to about 5% of what they had been. That's amazing.
What's more, it made me talk to my homeopath and ask her for a Peter Chapel remedy that we had discussed many times previously. I said it was time to go for it; she agreed so it kicked me into some more action.
Once I realised what was happening, I was fine—happy even. I read some more Catherine Ponder work from The Dynamic Laws of Healing and, with perfect synchronicity, read of a woman with the same symptoms as me who had been healed after affirming that she was forgiven.
A lot of the time, a dis-ease is about the need to forgive, but this rang a lot of bells. I started affirming that I was forgiven, by everyone and everything that could possibly need to forgive me. I mixed that in with the ho'oponopono (I love you, I'm sorry, please forgive me, thank you), realising that the 'thank you' is for forgiveness received.
The next morning I woke up still in some pain but considerably less. And feeling so happy and confident and sure that all is very, very well.
To read more of the story, please click on 'newer post' or 'older post' in black below.
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