Walking with guardian angels

Walking through the hospital I find myself thinking once again, that it is a Universe within itself; a world of broken people, broken hearts and broken promises. The corridors are always long and I think of “The Green Mile”. Each one of us walks in a world of their own thoughts, down that lonely strip into our destiny of secret prayers and wishes. Whatever God might be and regardless of our belief about that, I wonder if each person I pass might be quietly and earnestly speaking with him.

It’s surreal and all of my senses are heightened. There is something so subtle that I can’t explain it, it is magnified and illuminated around me. There are so many people in the corridors and they look like they are walking on conveyer belts, just floating past me. They all look familiar and we acknowledge each other in a kind, knowing way. There is telepathic language all around me and I feel very light and detached as well as totally connected. I think I am out of my body and observing, in a place of no opinion; just acceptance or curiosity. It’s like knowing you are in a dream at the same time as you are dreaming it. You know it’s you there, but you also know that it’s not your real reality. I have 360 degree awareness and I’m watching a movie of myself while I participate as the lead role.

I have done a lot of meditation in the past few weeks. Specifically, I have focused on loving myself, my life and my body. I realize I am now doing this meditation spontaneously as I walk through the corridors. I feel like I am walking with a group of guardian angels and I am radiant and peaceful and truly calm. It dawns on me that although meditation is my tool and guardian angels are my symbols of protection, what I might be seeing/sensing around me is the same energy surrounding all of the other people. Perhaps they use prayer or wishes or deals with the devil – whatever, each one of us appears to be walking within a field of comfort. I wonder if we are all in this strange world together, with our full entourage of angels, and perhaps this surreal sensing is all of the angels speaking between themselves and through us, in our silent language of kind acknowledgement of each other. Without a thought or word we are telling each other, “I honour you and your life and I wish you well.”

Things change drastically when I stand in front of the directory. I am clapped out of my dreamlike state as I read the words Nuclear Medicine dept. Things have just turned very serious; my name and my life and my reality have instantly become associated with nuclear – radioactive - top end toxic matter and last chance stabs in the dark. It hits me like a ton of bricks, “I’ve got cancer!”
I feel myself melting down and my throat constricts and tears well.

A voice inside my head speaks harshly and I hear the words, “For fuck sake Sonya, get it together and get your arse down the corridor and do the job you need to do. You’re supposed to be strong now, so stop this sooky baby business and get on with it!”

I compose myself and continue walking – I’m okay, I’ll be okay – I can do this.

Another voice speaks, “Sonya baby, beautiful girl, my precious lovely girl, when exactly do you think it might be okay to cry? Why do you think you are unbreakable? At what point is Sonya Green allowed to be afraid and fragile? Where is that self-love you talk about and practise? If this isn’t a time to be compassionate and loving to yourself, when is?

“Sonya, who was that talking a minute ago?”

It was my history. It was my father. It was my child. It was my demons.

Oh God! it’s all of that stuff again. When do I really know what I thought I knew? I was sure I had released all of this, years ago, and now here it is again. It’s a good thing to be strong and I am strong. I pride myself on my optimism and my ability to rise to a challenge. All of that is good, but do I believe that I am incapable of being fragile or afraid? Do I believe that no one will ever help, support or rescue me? Am I still carrying my father’s ignorance and anger?

“Have I taken it upon myself to punish myself?”

Sitting in the waiting room I ponder these questions. I hear my father’s voice again, “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll really give you something to cry about.” “If you saw how ugly you look when you cry…” “Oh shut up your whinging and whining.”

I have long forgiven and forgotten these things and I am not trying to analyse any of those past events, but I have a huge question to answer later, “Have I been speaking to myself in this way all of these years without being aware of it?”

I know that most disease has an emotional and psychological influence – usually sadness or anger. I have looked at this before, but I don’t really believe that I am sad or angry. “What about self- punishment?” What about shame and humiliation? What about lack of nurturing?

I remind myself of my session with John a few weeks ago, he asked about nurturing, but I didn’t get it. He was talking about breast cancer relating to over nurturing. Could it also relate to feelings of not being or allowing nurturing?

When I came home I spoke with my sister. She always understands me and I knew she would understand this more than anyone. Finally I cried.

Copyright Sonya Green 2008 www.reinventingmyself.com
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