STORIES FROM THE GODDESS’S CIRCLE OF LIFE

Once lost, there was an eternity of mourning before she again experienced the resurrection of her spirit and her strengths. “Never again will I hold my tongue!” The words echo in her breast, the silvered spear of the goddess, and the golden shield of protection materialize in her hands. The white jaguar and panther instantly appear beside her. She strokes their heads, flings her thick golden braid over her shoulder and stalks into the jungle with long and steady strides. She is once again the goddess, ready to do battle for all those who tremble in the winds blowing across landscapes that waver and change in the hands of men. You cannot see that goddess when you look upon her face and as she walks the streets of the urban landscape. The goddess that wages war for those in need of her strengths resides within this simple, yet complex vessel called woman. You hear her in the words she puts upon pages, see her in the dance that is not a dance to the beat of primitive music that only she hears, and experience her in the loving she gives with every beat of her heart.

A Night to Remember

Last night the circle of life was completed on this plane for three young people. How the other two survived was by the will of some power greater than themselves. The lives of a young man and woman have been changed completely in the space of a moment.

It was a party night and they were headed for the bright lights of a nearby city with anticipation of fun, laughter and a few more drinks shared between friends. It ended before it had even begun. They were less than a few miles from home when a moment’s inattention, for whatever reason, brought tragedy to the two survivors and all of their families. I sense that three young spirits are out there wandering on that highway wondering what has happened, although I fervently pray I’m wrong.

The young woman that survived is 18 years old and during the hours that I spent with her, continually asked that I keep her awake. She was terrified that if she closed her eyes to sleep, she would never wake again. “Don’t let me die.” she asked over and over. It’s the kind of a story you don’t like to share. There seems no sense in bringing the images to life in the eyes of anyone else. Your images are more than enough for you to handle – never mind those of the families involved. They lined the halls, waiting for news. Pain and tears were etched on every face. Under normal circumstances, I would have stopped and tried to offer comfort, but I was too busy running to do more than touch the odd shoulder in passing. It was enough. They didn’t want my comfort. They wanted my expertise and that of all of us who happened to be on duty last night. Stabilize the patient, do the tests and send her to the place that has more specialized expertise to offer. We gave all that we had to give, and then reached for just that little bit more.

Small town nurses and doctors don’t have the luxury of remaining uninvolved. These are our friends and our neighbors, and in this case, one of us, who is involved. The daughter of a co-worker and friend died in that crash last night. It’s personal – that fight to preserve the lives of the still living. Our hearts are as involved as our professionalism. It’s a difficult bridge to walk.

When it was time for her to go to the larger center nearby, we found ourselves in a position of not having ambulance personnel with the necessary qualifications to deal with the extent of her injuries. In cases like this, that seem to occur far too often, we send a nurse along for the “what ifs” that may occur. Tonight, being the most experienced nurse, and the least likely to panic if such an event were to occur, that became my function – a sterile term, but it will do. The young lady in question required a calming influence and a familiar face as none of her family was able to accompany us.

During the initial few miles of the journey she asked where we were on the road every few seconds. She even went so far as to ask what had happened to the rest of her friends. She took a long look into my eyes and then said “No, I’ll wait until morning. I’ll be able to deal with it then when I’m feeling better.” She knew they had died without my saying a word and probably had all along, though she wasn’t ready to accept the finality of that few seconds of inattention to the road.

We reached the scene of the accident, and she knew instinctively where we were. When I verified the location, she turned her eyes to the roof of the ambulance and said “I love you guys”. She grew quiet and stopped asking where we were. The pain intensified after that. Every bump in the road, each slowing and swaying of the ambulance brought cries and whimpers that reminded me of a similar trip I myself had taken many years ago. You don’t forget that kind of pain. It’s ingrained into the very cells of your body. The pain began to take over her mind and was all that she could focus on. She complained that her feet were cold and wanted to move them.

I moved to the foot of the stretcher and took one of her feet in my hands, gently rubbing it and connecting in a way I can’t explain. Words quietly flowed and we journeyed into the new life she was about to create for herself. She was unhappy with the career choice she had made so we recreated it as we travelled to one in which she received the joy and satisfaction she craved. It was a “helping” profession, so we went there. She began to calm. We moved on to the man she would share her life with and she could see his eyes filled with love as she walked up an aisle towards him. The eyes were all she could see, but it was enough. We spoke of the children she would have and the burning question was spoken by her lips for the first time. “Will I still be able to have children?” The answer was “Yes”, and she calmed once again. I moved my attention to her other foot. She breathed through the pain and we spoke of those children she would have – there were four of them. She told us their genders and the order in which they would come. She had a name chosen for one, her first girl, and the name honored her grandmother and mother. We spoke of what she would teach them as they grew and the happiness that would come in this future life. We even spoke of the lessons she had learned tonight and in what manner it was going to change her direction in life. The young man accompanying us in the back of that ambulance listened as we made this little journey into the future, grasped quickly what was occurring and brought her to her wedding day. His vision was not hers, so she shared her dream of that day with us. And thus we made our journey, her mind and the visions she created transcending the physical pain she was experiencing. The meeting place was met, and care transferred to another, more experienced and qualified ambulance crew. My job was done and I walked outside, felt the falling snow wet my hair and face, creating the tears I had not been allowed for the past several hours. I spent that time reconnecting with my own special friends and felt their healing powers remove the debris from my own soul.

That young woman, no longer a child after tonight, knows her life had been unalterably changed; she knows that there had been helping hands at the scene of the accident and thanked her God for the continuing life she had been granted. What had been a tragedy gradually became a gift in her mind and she pulled it to her with a strength and intensity that was awe-inspiring to see in such a young woman. She has faced a traumatizing event with a strength often not seen in people much older than herself. She has grown so much within such a short period of time. The small child still within her will resurface many times over the next few months as she recuperates. She has shown the strength of spirit that will allow her to move beyond the pain and sorrow. She may require some additional help along the way for a little while as she continues to grow and connect with that Force and that Power that saved her for greater things.

It was time to return to the place it had all began for me and we arrive shortly before 3 a.m. I had been back only a few minutes when the phone rang. It was the mother who had lost one son and been spared the loss of the second. He had been cleared of any life threatening injuries but was experiencing pain and difficulty breathing. They were, understandably, frightened and worried. I gave her some suggestions for pain control and told her to bring him in if there was any doubt as to his safety in her mind. He arrived an hour later.

Examination showed nothing untoward, so we began to talk. I reassured him that his girl friend was going to be all right and would survive. And then I did what I do so often. Eye to eye, and soul to soul, we began to truly communicate. I told him what I was doing in the locking of the gaze and why. I taught him about the hemispheres of the brain, the power of the breath and gave him some tools to work through his grief and the trauma he had experienced this night. We talked about the gift of life he had also been granted. He spoke of the faith of that young woman I had spent so much time with in recent hours. I asked, and he answered the question that would most likely change his life as well. For the first time he could remember, he had experienced that closeness of One far greater than himself. We talked about purpose, good coming out of tragedy. I taught him breathing exercises, told him the physiological advantages of such exercises, the flow of oxygen increasing and permeating traumatized cells, the connection it allows between our souls and that which is beyond us.

As we talked, he began to calm and breathe more easily. His eyes lost the desolate look within them and hope began to arise – for now at least. As I sensed his calming, I became aware that his mother was also listening to each word we spoke. I had forgotten her presence and the fact that she had lost another son this night. I know that on some level, in connecting in such a way with her surviving son, I had also connected with her. All I can pray is that those powers that guided me through this night will help them through this painful journey they are making. I will never be able to imagine the strength with which she met the needs of one son in the midst of such despair that must have been echoing within her own soul.

As I came home this morning, I thought of those three young people that had not survived. I wondered if they were still out there wandering, lost and alone and said a little prayer for each of them. I thought of the families I knew and how the entire community would be affected with the ripple effects in such a small populace. No one would be exempt from the pain and suffering of this night. I thought of the woman I worked with; her eldest daughter gone from this life and the suffering and pain she had already experienced over the past year. I pray for her. Life was difficult enough before tonight. In spite of it all though, I focus on the strength of those two young people that survived and the hopes that they now have for the future. It is all we can ask for today.

You Ask For The Answer

You seek a meaning to life,
Proof of a world that lies beyond.
Search in the arms of the sick and the dying.
Here the answers may be found.

Seek out the dying.
Sit by their beds.
Hold their hands,
Watch their faces,
See their eyes turn
To the darkest reaches of the room.
See their arms reach out
To those you sense
But cannot see.
If you cannot sense,
Allow that they do see.

Listen to their voices.
Hear the cries for the mother,
The father,
The daughter or son,
The wife or the husband
Who have gone before.
Listen as they speak
Of the things they see.
They see what you cannot see.
Listen closely and you may learn
Of a world
That lies beyond.

Speak little.
Hold gently.
Stroke lightly
The cheek
Of the one that seeks
The light,
The tunnel,
The caring embrace
Of the heavenly race,
Or the mother that bore them.

There is peace in that letting go
Of those with faith
And those without.
There is peace
Even in the struggle
Of those with faith
In the great unknown.

The struggle of those
Facing the final test
With no faith to sustain them
Is immense.
It’s fearful in its power
As they fight to stay,
Afraid to face
The nothingness they fear
In that great beyond,
or worse,
Hell’s fire damnation
For the things they think they’ve done.

Watch their faces.
Hear the rasp of their breath
As they struggle on.
Feel the release.
See the peace.
Hear the sigh
Of relief
As their struggle is done,
Those of faith
And those with none.

If you watch closely,
If you’re at peace,
You may see the soul
As it leaves this place.

There is no other proof
I may give.
There are many that wait
Lost and alone.
If you are willing
You may spend some time
At the bedside of one.
Hold their hand,
Give solace and comfort
As they make the journey
We must all take alone.

The answer may come.

Only I can make that choice.
Right here and now, right where
I am.
Not excluding that I have
wounds and deep hurt,
and not by saying that things
do not concern me.

Yet, despite all of that I know that
until I make the conscious choice
to move forward, no one else
can be of much assistance.

I also know that when I do make
the choice to heal all that I need
will be placed in my path

Today, I make that choice.
Today I begin to be Me.
-Jane Simington, 2004

Copyright Dr. Jane A. Simington Ph. D. Taking Flight International

Adversity is something we all have had we experience many opportunities in life to venture across adversities path, though not many of us see this as an opportunity. I struggle to see all adversity as an opportunity moment by moment. I also struggle to see that adversity is one of my greatest teachers; it is by seeing it as an opportunity I am able to step out of the chaos from time to time and see a bigger picture.

I have claimed to be a very private person, yet am open and willing to share of myself to all. That in itself is juxtaposing, which can be very confusing to me, let alone those who hear me say it. The private part is I have never sought fame and fortune for my ability to tap into resources in a way some cannot. I am no one special, and feel that when I am placed in a position above all others, I am crossing a boundary. I like to be unknown, yet the very source of who I am drives me out of this need to remain secluded.

Sharing of oneself is a gift that can never have a price put on it, it is not about fame or fortune, and it is about loving and seeing all as humans alike. Sharing can help many others in ways we may never know, it has never been my intention to make more out of my life than what it was.

Coming from parents who had nothing to offer in any way, because life had beaten it out of them, I married a man similar to my parents. Neither of us had any education with no real promise of anything more for our children. When I decided to leave my marriage, it cost me what little sanity I did have and took a few years to actually get away safely with my children.

My experiences up to this point had left me with little faith in humanity and zero trust for anyone other than myself, thus segregating me from my family.

I had not believed I would get away from my marriage safely, so when I did, I was ecstatic about the events. When the first Christmas alone with my three small children came, it was both a joyous and fearful event. Complaining was not an option, I had them, and we were beginning new traditions, and I had more than I had ever dreamed of.
Dreaming was not something I had ever given credence to, my life was too real to waist a moment of it in dream world.

Watching all the fuss on the television and in the stores saddened me, the level of our financial situation did not allow for the material pleasures of the season, yet I chose not to share this, being a high crisis time in our lives, having moved 3 times in the past year to obtain some security, the last thing I wanted was sympathetic onlookers. My children were 6, 5 and 3. I longed for them to believe in something more than I had ever believed in. I wanted the myth for us all, we had no tree, and when they asked about it, I would exclaim we are starting a new tradition; we will put it up on Christmas Eve! I had inquired at the local tree lot, as to what they did with the left over trees. They said they close at 7:00pm Christmas Eve and throw the left over trees out. I asked if I came at closing time, if I could have one they were going to throw out.

So I busied the kids with making decorations out of paper, wool and glue, along with what ever we could find. Christmas day we would celebrate being together and being safe, the children did not have memories of getting much at this time of the year. Their past two Christmases had been violent and horrifying, being safe would be enough of a reason to celebrate.

While sitting in the living room watching a special on TV with Ronnie, I was enjoying her ability to get lost in the story, wishing I could do the same, when she began to sing the carols as they played on TV. I realized I had felt sad for her, her sister and brother, for not having more. I wished to give them all the myth of Christmas in its entirety, I thought it would be the greatest gift of all; my tears flowed freely in the impossibility of this wish.

The music on the TV got louder, she turned to me, beaming with a questioning look, we had a TV that you had to physically get up and go over to, to turn up the volume. Then there was a knock at our front door, panic filled me, the music got louder, yet there was a commercial on the TV. Ronnie ran to the window, as I looked out the peep hole, fear subsided, awe consumed me as I slowly opened the door.

In my front yard and on my steps were upwards of thirty people singing Christmas Carols. Frozen in one spot, unable to speak, they continued singing as they began to enter my home, carrying boxes of gifts, food, a small potted tree decorated nicely.

Tears showered my face as they placed gifts around it, while others brought in more boxes, filled with a turkey and all the fixings, then they handed me a 250.00 money order. In moments they were all gone, leaving me speechless, watching them walk down the street singing and laughing.

I questioned if I was in a dream, who were these people, how they knew about us, I had sent no request, had no friends or family, still to this day I don’t know for sure who they were, who organized this great miracle.

There had been over thirty angels bearing gifts of music, laughter, tears, love and joy, helping a young single mom believe in human kindness, showing me, teaching me to believe in life, in true kindness.

This night changed everything for me, I began to take steps towards living like these angels, working to educate myself and my children so that I could one day give back, creating a willingness in my children to do the same. That night fed my soul for many long trying years to come; it changed the direction of my life and the lives of my children. It created in me a hunger for learning, for living, for giving back that had never died.

We are educated now, and give back when ever and how ever we can. Thank you to all the angels out there who think that the little things that you might have done is not enough, may you always know within, you are giving more than you will ever know.

Having the opportunity now to volunteer for Santa’s Anonymous I see constantly the giving nature of humans, the willingness to be part of something bigger than just their own lives. I see the tears in the many parents’ eyes as they truly appreciate all that the many angels of our community do. I see the full circle of my life and am extremely grateful for all that I have lived, for all that has been done for me and my children. For all of us are gifts to our community, we all have our own set of wings, so why not put them on.

By Dr. Jane A Simington, Ph.D.

Mother’s quilt provides a warmth
Beyond its fiber down
Each night I’m wrapped in love,
Our family history, and my wedding gown

Mother cut with care her patterns
Each scrap to trim and save.
Just as she did with the numerous fabric remnants
That to her others gave.

Each patterned square reveals a story
Of our family’s growth and change.
It is far better than an album, for this memento speaks to me
Of many precious moments the camera did not see.

Part of each marriage ceremony was mother’s quilt-gift to the bride.
It makes me smile just to recall the sparkles in their eyes.
Lambs and teddy bears announced each baby’s birth,
And pink and green pajama scraps retell of Christmas mirth

When winter days were turning cold and all the canning done
Daddy would set the frame up firm, for quilting time had begun.
I’m so glad I still can hear them today, as I am wrapped
Inside this priceless heirloom that warms me as I nap.

There you are mom, I see you…among the colors bright,
In your kitchen dresses gingham aprons and your gowns for night.
They all remind of you and of the things that you’ve been through,
The smiles and tears, the strife, mostly of your teaching of the wrong and of the right.

My quilt would not have been the same without your understanding care,
My sorrow and joy are sewn in, and hemmed by time and prayer.
Our lives were joined by chance they say. I believe by choice, and this is my great pleasure,
For a quilter of love and story like you, is indeed a priceless treasure.

It matters not that my coverlet is frayed and has tiny little tears,
Years of life and warmth and time, have helped to put them there.
So I wrap myself inside your quilt and feel your love and care,
And dream of how I will impart, to those I leave behind, the strength and courage you have shared with so many of humankind.

©Dr Jane A Simington, Ph.D.