There Are No Coincidences

My neighbor who – overtly staring – saw me walk from car to house cradling something small and furry in my arms could be forgiven for thinking me an indiscriminate lover of animals.

Not three weeks after the passing of my beloved dog Pimo, I had already found myself a new animal companion.

Or rather, he found me…

Meet Toma, my new four-legged friend,

13680683_10153622423590653_4555277830842022901_n
Toma, August 2016.

There are no coincidences in this Universe.

Pimo put him in my path, of that I am sure. And – as is the case when  divine Source Consciousness is choreographing the events of your life – it happened in the optimum way.

A good night was picked for our meeting for starters. It was the first day of my two-week summer vacation, and I had a little more than usual wiggle room and headspace in my life for dealing with the unexpected.

When I found Toma lying motionless in the middle of road at something-past-ten at night, he was only a few minutes drive from where Pimo had fallen less then three weeks before.

He was so small I actually thought he might be a rabbit and, at first, I thought he was dead.

Half-reluctantly – feeling exhausted after an excessively hot and humid day – I found a suitable place to turn around and drove back; thinking to move him to the side of the road. “If it was Pimo that would be what I’d want for her,” was how my thinking went.

I keep a pair of gloves in the back of my car for such occasions.

When I bent down to move him however, he flailed in my hands and I promptly dropped him back on the road in surprise.

You see I am not a natural animal lover.

In fact, I’ve been scared of them – to varying degrees – since I can remember.

Summoning up courage, I somehow managed to pick him up successfully and get him to the side of the road.

A closer inspection with the flashlight revealed that although he couldn’t seem to move his legs and had excreted in the road in his shock at being hit, he didn’t actually have any visible injuries and there was no blood on the tarmac.

He has at least a chance at life, I thought.

Any true animal lover wouldn’t have hesitated. They would have picked him up in their arms, put him in their car, and took him right home.

But I would not call myself a true animal lover. Nor was I used to cats. I was scared of his teeth and claws even in his tiny and injured state. I hesitated for a long, long time.

I found myself thinking of how if he recovered I would find myself the somewhat reluctant owner of a cat. “Was that really what I wanted?” I asked myself.

Although still mourning the death of Pimo, I had started to think about how I could go on more trips now.

I loved the sense of freedom that came with that.

But then there was this life that I’d found. This life whose heart was still beating, and who had crossed paths with mine.

Even if I wasn’t a firm believer that “we don’t meet people (cats) by accident, they are meant to cross our path for a reason;” the circumstances around this particular meeting were too extraordinary for me to put it down to mere chance.

There was the location and the timing, as I mentioned above.

And then there was the fact that as I was grieving Pimo and integrating the lesson of self-forgiveness surrounding her death, I saw not once but twice – from two different sources in my Facebook feed – the following quote:

catherine-pulsifer-best-lessons-learn-life-4e7b
Image Source: http://www.facebook.com/mysimplereminders/

No coincidence here.

I knew the Universe was trying to get my attention.

At the time of Pimo’s death if I had only managed to stay calm I may have been able to save her. I knew that then, and I know it now. I’m not saying, though, that that would have necessarily been best.

Everything happens according to the perfect design and timing of the Universe.

Everything happens according to a logic and order which takes into account the interconnectedness of the whole.

It is my feeling that part of the reason Pimo passed in the way she did was to give me the chance to learn these karmic and life-lessons of self-forgiveness and calm.

On the day of her passing I lost my calm in a big way.

Calling people who lived nearish by, I completely forgot to call on any of the help available in the non-physical realm. I also made a bad decision from an ungrounded place that lost precious time on a day in which time was of the essence.

Some good reasons there for mastering the art of remaining calm.

Once I’d acknowledged what the Universe was trying to say to me through the synchronicity and repetition of the quote, the words of Hans King as heard on the Beyond the Ordinary Show came back to me.

Bravely, bravely, wondering if I really dared to do so; I said to the Universe, my guides and angels:

“Please give me this lesson again and help me to get it right this time.”

I must confess I added some conditions.

In no way was the lesson to come in the form of something that I would mourn the loss of or a human life at stake.

I could see, however, that the circumstances would have to be somewhat dire in order for there to be a lesson – a need for me to stay calm – in the first place.

Ideally, I thought, it would be someone else’s pet in trouble. I would be the one to step in with my calm superpower and magically save the day.

Even as I found Toma lying in the road that night, my words to the Universe echoed in my mind. I felt sure this was my chance to “do it again.”

I can’t really say I got it 100% right this time round, either.

I put the injured Toma in the boot of my car for a start, afraid he might somehow recover his strength and attack me. And it took me till we got to the all-night vets (an hour’s drive) to remember to surround my newfound four-legged friend in light and ask the angels for their help.

But I  would certainly say that I did a better job of staying calm and taking right action – the fact that Toma is still alive today is testament to that.

The night I found Toma was ripe with such synchronicities.

The death of Pimo had brought up some old regret about a deer with broken legs I’d found several years ago abandoned after a hit and run. Not knowing how to respond, I had called a Japanese friend who had called the police. I stayed with the deer for nearly three hours until they finally came.

At first I was as scared of the deer as it was of me. Keeping a wary distance I put some water in Pimo’s bowl I kept in the car and pushed it close in case the deer needed to drink. It didn’t. But I think it sensed my intention. It stopped trying to drag itself away from me and remained still; no longer afraid of my presence.

As we sat facing each other in the deep of night – the deer seemingly calm and serene despite the severity of his injuries and me entranced by the dream-like quality of it all, I started to notice how much like Pimo he looked with his big brown eyes, long delicate eyelashes, and fur.

In that instant the deer became known, familiar.

Pimo was far more than a dog to me. She was family.

Living with her for years had taught me that there weren’t that many differences between us. We were both sentient beings. Only she walked on four legs and had fur; while I walked on two legs and didn’t. (Or not much anyway).

If this deer was similar to – kindred – to Pimo; then he was also similar to – kindred – to me.

By the time the police arrived, I’d been gently stroking the deer’s forehead for hours.

The policemen were visibly moved. But I’d always wished I had been able to help the deer more. I mourned the loss of this precious life; the part we, as humans, played in it.

After the death of Pimo I found myself thinking of the deer again, wishing there was something more I could have done.

As I left my village that night to drive the injured kitten to the vets, two deer appeared in my headlights in separate places on the side of the road. Two deer honoring my connection with one of their kind. Two deer honoring the life of Toma. Two deer thanking me for my commitment to the faltering life in my car, wishing us Godspeed on our journey.

Like the deer from that night long ago, Toma had been hit by a car and was unable to walk or stand. The Universe was giving me a chance to relive that situation, too; a chance to do the “something more” I regretted not doing the first time around.

As if that weren’t enough, there was also the “co-incidence” that Toma was paralyzed in three of his legs. That combined with the fact that he couldn’t see and had a higher than normal number of white blood cells in his blood work suggested to the vet that he’d been hit on the head by the car that left him sprawled in the middle of the road.

The best course of action she could suggest was hospitalizing him immediately and giving him an MIR when the surgery reopened on Monday. Even then the prognosis wasn’t good. Depending on what the MIR revealed, his condition may or may not be treatable. And the cost – before treatment – was astonishing; more than my month’s wage just for the hospital stay and MIR.

I thanked her for her help, let her give Toma a shot of nutrition, and said that I would take him home with me.

She cautioned that if I did, he was almost certain to die. I had known that was a strong possibility when I found him.

But Pimo knew what she was doing when she put Toma in my path. She knew that I could help him in ways that, perhaps, others couldn’t.

The law of synchronicity says that everything in the Universe is interconnected. Sometimes connections that are unfathomable at the time become apparent later.

Thanks to my experiences with Pimo and her rear-leg paralysis last year, I knew how successful acupuncture can be in recovering the use of limbs.

Following my own recovery from near depression as a result of energy healing, I’d also been setting an intention for Pimo to receive any and all vibrations and frequencies she needed for her greatest and highest good from wherever they may be in the Universe, and visualizing her filled with and surrounded by white and golden light on a pretty much daily basis since the start of the decline in her health.

These were avenues of healing that wouldn’t be open to Toma if he’d been picked up by anyone else.

“There is no such thing as chance or coincidence. Synchronicity springs from the deepest source of destiny.” (The Tree of Awakening)

For me it was second nature to surround Toma in healing light the entire time we were at the vets, holding the intention for the maximum amount of healing possible for him and for the energies and frequencies he needed to come into his body and energy fields. I’d also asked Archangel Raphael, the healer, for help and healing on Toma’s behalf.

Toma was not expected to live. Apart from his paralysis and temporary blindness, his body temperature was six degrees below what is considered normal for a cat. This more than anything, the vet said, suggested his condition was critical. Following her advice to keep him warm, when we got home I put him in a box with a heated pet mat and a blanket. I continued to surround him in light.

He seemed better than the vet’s diagnosis would have suggested by morning. We didn’t get home until about 4am. Toma woke me up only a few hours later with a couple of loud “Meows,” using his one good paw to knock against the box.

The acupuncturist who had treated Pimo offered to come that afternoon, despite it being a Sunday. The transformation after the treatment was nothing short of miraculous. Before Toma could only lie with his back legs twisted to one side. Immediately after he started to drag himself around the room on his belly. By evening, though his stomach was still flat to the floor when he tried to walk, his legs were no longer twisted.

Come the next morning he was able to raise his stomach off the floor and walk around in an almost normal fashion. He even managed to climb up behind some boxes in my classroom. He curled himself up in an upside-down bamboo hat and settled there for the day.

Now – about five weeks on – he is running, playing and climbing all over my house; keeping me awake at night and destroying my curtains and earthen walls in the way that kittens apparently do. When I become frustrated, I remember the circumstance in which I found him. I am able to turn a lot of my frustration into gratitude and joy at how far we have journeyed together and the beautiful gift of life has has received.

I am indelibly grateful to the angels, the Archangels, the acupuncturist, the strength of Toma’s life force. It is thanks to these things that Toma has made such an incredible recovery.

Not forgetting the importance of the compassion for all living beings that my life journey has taught me.  A compassion that transcends fear; that allowed me to act from the space of my Higher Self even while I was still locked into my fear of the unknown entity “cats” and doubts about whether I really wanted to step up and take responsibility for this life that I had found or not.

This is the kind of compassion that arises from the recognition that I am you, and you are me. It is a compassion that knows that a dog is not that different from a person; nor a deer or a kitten that different from a dog. We are all interrelated. We are all one Life.

When we access compassion, we access this Truth.

It’s a process. Unlearning the fear of the unknown the illusion of separation has instilled in me; re-learning, instead, our ultimate connectedness. Perceiving that – on the deepest level – my pets are the one same Life that I Am: There is no separation.

7ea31ceba2217f37be5abe3a6e665868
Image source: http://www.quotemirror.com

I haven’t always been able to act from this place of compassion, either with people or with animals.

(I’m not at all sure I always can now, to be honest..)

Pimo was a throwaway dog in the village, but I would never have brought her home of my own accord. She came to me via a previous partner who – while difficult to be in relationship with – showed wonderful compassion for animals.

I was scared of Pimo at first, just as I was of Toma.

I made her sleep in a cardboard box pushed into the farthest corner of my room the first night, expressing anger at the poor and (no doubt) bewildered puppy when she barked for ice cream.

Yet another important life lesson learned from my pets: conquering our fear of the unknown is, more than anything, about making it known.

Within a couple of days – as I came to know and trust Pimo – she was sleeping curled up against me at nights. I literally fed her from my hand for the first few weeks because she didn’t eat much out of her bowl.

What is known is rarely feared as much as the unknown.

The more we connect with a loving intention, the more this loving intention is reflected back to us. Gradually we learn to trust. As we do, our fear dissolves. (A lesson we would do well to learn around the diversity in our own species, also).

It took me less than a day to get over my wariness of Toma and my fear of his teeth and claws. He may use them in play sometimes, but he is a tremendously loving and affectionate bundle of fun who is addicted to nose bumps and cuddles.

Pimo loved kittens so much. She raised three of them abandoned on a mountain road as if her own; giving them milk though she had never had puppies. She showed me, by her living example of unconditional love, how to grow into more of my own.

If I didn’t open my life up to Pimo, imagine all the unconditional love, the fun, the games, the companionship, the walks in nature, the nights with her sleeping curled against my stomach, the life experiences and life lessons I would have missed out on.

The more we open up to, the more we are able to receive.

Just as Pimo brought so many gifts into my life, I know Toma will too.

He already has.

We came here to evolve and grow, and I am on a continuous learning curve with regard to my pets as much as with anything else in my life.

I may not have been a good pet parent from the start, but I have certainly learned how to grow into one.

I may not have been naturally kind, loving and compassionate with animals, but I am on a journey learning how to be more and more so.

Our pets are our spiritual partners. They are a mirror showing us the places where we can grow into more love and compassion; an everyday reminder of how to be more fully present.

We can always grow into more love and compassion.

We can always grow into more presence.

These are things we can never have too much of. These are things that can help us create a superlative world.

Advertisements

Beautiful and Loving Soul

The loss of a pet affects us profoundly and it is all too easy to blame ourself, telling ourself we should have done more of this and less of that. This moving personal account of the loss of a beloved pet explores the gift of self-forgiveness that is key to our relationship with our four-legged companions.

The universe is an indivisible whole in which all things are interconnected - Eckhart Tolle.

 

 Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep – by Mary Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft star that shines at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there; I did not die.

 

Wednesday saw me clawing my way up a shrub-covered cliff and back down again, holding onto tree branches and clumps of grass to stop myself from hurtling down helter-skelter and out of control.

Walking up the river, gingerly stepping from slippery rock to slippery rock, almost losing my footing on more than a few occasions.

Wading knee deep, grasping onto a conveniently-placed rock to keep me upright and my head above water when I slipped and fell.

It was like something out of an action movie.

Only I didn’t get to play the part of a hero.

To my sorrow I wasn’t able to bring my beautiful and loving dog back still breathing.

 

My first impulse was to keep this story – the circumstances of my beloved dog’s passing – quiet.

To only tell the few who I had called asking for help – before my phone got wet and gave out on me – what really happened.

Not that I was planning to tell any lies. Just not to tell the full truth.

“Pimo died on Wednesday,” I practiced saying, not filling in any of the details.

 

At first this impulse arose from an instinct for self-protection.

I knew that in retelling the story I would relive the events and feel the pain – especially the self-recrimination – all over again.

I think there was also a fear of people’s judgement mixed in there.

“What a bad dog owner,” I could imagine them saying. “Who in their right mind would take an aging dog to such a place?”

Well, they may be right. I have mourned my apparent foolishness.

But as my former partner said, as he sat with me by the body and we lit candles and incense, it is that streak in me, that makes the usually sensible and responsible person I am do something so lacking in good sense and judgement that afterwards I wonder what on earth I could have been thinking while – at the time of doing it – being sure that it’s a good idea, that made me the prefect parent for Pimo.

It usually is a good idea to be honest.

It’s just that sometimes they  backfire and go wrong.

 

Maybe what I am lacking is foresight.

But I’m glad I allow myself to listen to the whispers of my heart, and don’t automatically list up everything that could go wrong.

This streak in me represents a love of freedom; for Pimo as much as for me.

It is this streak in me that gave her richness of life; a richness encompassing both good and bad.

 

It is thanks to this that she spent hours roaming the hills leashless when she was younger. Going where she pleased when she pleased, as I sat with a book open on my lap in the shade of a tree on the mountain road calling her name from time to time to let her know where I was.

It is thanks to this that she got to revel in rolling around in a rotting fish by the river one time and animal feces in the mountains another; completely ignoring my calls for her to come, absorbed in her delight.

It is thanks to this that she continued to get let off her lead at all – even though I knew that she was the one calling the shots once she was out there and couldn’t be trusted to reliably respond to my “commands.”

It is thanks to this that she returned to me once with balls of ice the size of my fist attached to the fur on her stomach, completely unrepentant for having been “missing in action” for seven hours as she chased animal tracks in the snow.

And it is also thanks to this that she fell to her death on Wednesday, slipping on legs that were old and tired and no longer able to fully grasp the Earth.

 

The day started off in an uneventful way. It was hot and humid and I woke up not feeling inclined to do any of the things I had planned. I’d been missing my time in nature recently and thought how nice it would be to go somewhere and rejuvenate by restoring my connection to the Earth.

Somewhere with water, I thought. What could be nicer than sitting by a river on a hot summer’s day?

For some reason I decided to take Pimo with me, even though I’ve been leaving her sleeping at home more and more in recent weeks.

I thought she could do with the time in nature, too. And maybe I was harking back to former days when we’d enjoying exploring the outdoors together.

So into the car we got, with windows wide open so she wouldn’t overheat. A secluded place where we could get down by the river had sprung to mind, and it was there that we headed.

She made it down to the river on her old and tired legs quite well.

She tripped a couple of times, but I only had to carry her in one place where the steps were gone and there was a steep bank. I carefully made my way down, feeling each step. We arrived at the river edge without incident and I was enjoying the feeling of being out in nature with Pimo again, though it did cross my mind that we were rather unprotected if a bear should chance to come along.

We sat; me with my feet in the river, Pimo cooling down in a shallow pool of water.

At one point a bird appeared from between rocks taller than me, that formed a narrow channel through which the river ran downstream. I wondered if it was a message, and felt a slight sense of unease. But not being sure what it could mean we stayed a while longer until Pimo seemed to get a bit restless and I carried her back to the road above.

If only I had left it there, my day would have had the sated feeling of an afternoon spent in nature I envisioned when I left home. But I thought it would be nice for us to sit a while longer, and we carefully made our way to a rock that overlooked the river. We didn’t stay long for Pimo seemed restless again. I carried her back to what I thought was a safe spot, put her down on the ground and we had hardly walked a few steps when she slipped and fell.

And the rest of the story you pretty much know.

 

We were too far for anyone to reach us easily, and nobody I managed to call was available to come.

There was only me and the wilderness, and the glimpse of her collar halfway down the cliff.

And that is where I made a terrible mistake.

Instead of trusting myself to be able to get down the cliff to her, I ran down the steps and tried to make my way up.

But I’d misjudged the place and found myself back at the top too far downstream, having wasted precious time. By the time I got to her collar she had slipped through it, and nor could I find her anywhere as I stumbled and slipped the rest of the way down the cliff.

As I continued to search I struggled with blame and self-recrimination:

What on earth was I thinking to bring her to such a place?

Why did I put her down when I did?

Why didn’t I carry her for just another minute? Or all the way back to the car?

Why didn’t I go straight down the cliff to where I could see the red of her collar? If I’d have done that, I probably would have been in time.

Why do I always make the wrong decision at such critical junctures?

Why didn’t I take the time to pause and center and ask for guidance before I decided on my course of action?

Why didn’t I ask my guides and the angels for help sooner, rather than nearly an hour later when I finally came out of the river still not having found her?

Why hadn’t I been more loving with her, more understanding of her condition?

Why did I let her feel my impatience when she stepped in her food and smeared it all over the kitchen floor that morning?  Why wasn’t I gentler with her; kinder; more patient?

Why didn’t I leave her safe and sound at home?

How could I have done such a stupid thing?

And so it went on.

 

In the meantime, someone I had called had called someone else and he arrived on the scene in his truck.

When we finally found her in the river, she was no longer breathing. Her face wore the same gentle and peaceful expression as usual, and if you didn’t know any better you would think she was sleeping.

I brought her home and wiped her down with a towel. I almost expected her to give a little cough and start breathing. But some things cannot be so easily undone.

 

I spent the first 24 hours blaming myself, interspersed with moments of being more mindful.

I remembered a talk I had listened to only a couple of days before about how animals know they are eternal beings and do not have the same feelings about death as we do. I remembered how fiercely Esther Hicks had told the gentleman in question to stop mourning the “bunny” he had run over, replaying the incident over and over again in his mind. I thought how similar that was to my self-blame and recrimination and resolved to stop punishing myself in this way. I could torment myself for weeks and years, but it still wouldn’t change what had happened.

And I know for sure this isn’t the legacy my beautiful and loving dog would have wished to leave me with.

 

Finally coming into my Higher Self, I recited the Ho’oponopono statements. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.”

I just kept on telling my beautiful and precious (dog-)child over and over again how much I was grateful for her presence in my life, for all the many gifts she has given me.

I asked the gleaming full moon to clear both her karma and mine. I asked that this be done through this lifetime and all others; past, present, and future.

I told Pimo how much I loved her, and that that would never change.

I thanked her for continuing to be with me in Spirit.

I took comfort in the fact that if she is one with the Universe and so am I, then essentially we are one even though she is no longer a physical presence in my world.

 

I messaged a friend and spiritual teacher, Reba Linker , who I know has faced the passing of her own four-legged companions, asking if there was anything I should do to help ease Pimo’s passing. She wrote back to me with these words that continue to help me to frame this in a way that doesn’t make Pimo the victim and me the villain, or even both of us victims:

“The most important thing is self-forgiveness. There often are things we wish we had done differently and that is part of the experience. Self-forgiveness is what is needed and what is – absolutely – deserved. Things could not have been otherwise. All is as it is supposed to be. All is right. All is well.

Pimo left you in a way that felt right to her. Perhaps she did not need to experience, or perhaps she did not want to burden you with a more drawn-out decline of health.

She wants you to be happy, of course. She loves you, forever. And she is with you, always…

Mostly, take care of you. This just happened. It’s a shock, for sure. Be gentle with yourself.”

 

I have taken these wise and loving words to heart with gratitude. I have been gentle with myself. I have stopped my train of thought each time it heads towards and/or gets caught up in self-blame and recrimination. I have reframed the thought instead.

I have taken strength and comfort in my trust in the Universe’s divine plan. I have assuaged my pain with all that I know of the Universe’s perfect timing, and how everything in our lives is unfolding for our greatest and highest good.

I know that that includes for Pimo’s greatest and highest good.

She is a child of the Universe, too.

 

Doing this enabled me to stop fighting reality.

There is still a part of me that is in shock and pain, and wishes it didn’t have to be this way. But there is a greater part of me that trusts the Universe and all that has been revealed to me over the past few years.

That part of me tells me that everything is exactly as it should be. It reminds me to focus on all the things I’m grateful to Pimo for and the purity of the love we shared. When I do this I am able to be strong and feel cleansed inside. This is the lesson of self-forgiveness my friend spoke of. This is what I am here to learn: to love myself no matter what.

 

When I was feeling slightly calmer and more centered in my own energy again, I asked to be able to see the incident with the eyes of Spirit.

How much of it came from Spirit I can’t say for sure, but the next day after I had buried Pimo in my pottery teacher’s garden I came home and felt an urge to lay down where I had laid her the night before and where she so often slept. I was struck by the fact that all I could see were the brown speckled walls of my classroom and the clock ticking on the wall. It struck me that this wasn’t a place for a dog to live out her days or to draw her last breath. I wondered if she chose to go surrounded by beauty and nature. I wondered if she chose to go in such an abrupt and shocking way because she knew that otherwise I would find it too hard to let go.

 

One thing I am certain of is that she knew how much I loved her.

 

I am trying not to see her death as tragic. I am trying not to think of how I wanted to hold her to the end and help ease her passing, letting her know that she was loved and safe.

I am trying and succeeding in not letting this moment define me and my relationship with her. I know her life was richer for knowing me, as mine was for knowing her. That helps me not to condemn myself. That helps me not to get caught up in the story of how much I “failed” her.

 

I am remembering these often-repeated words:

“In the end all that matters is how much you have loved.”

I know that as a result of my relationship with Pimo I have known the beauty of love blossoming within my own heart. I am grateful for the unconditional nature of the love she gave me so abundantly in return.

I am remembering the many times I told her silently in my heart: “Pimo, you go when you are ready. You don’t need to hang on for me. As long as you want to remain here with me, I’ll treasure our time together. But you don’t need to stay beyond when you want to out of a sense of obligation. I love you dearly, but I’ll be okay.”

 

I’m hoping she chose what was best for her.

 

I’m certain that even though I couldn’t be with her, she knew in the moment of her passing how dearly she was loved.

 

I’m thankful for the time we had, and know that we share a bond that reaches beyond this lifetime.

 

Not only do I love Pimo, I also continue to love myself.

The self-recrimination resurfaces, comes and goes like a wave. But I love myself enough to know I did the best I could, mistakes in judgement notwithstanding.

I love myself no matter what my role in the incident may or may not have been.

 

I am choosing to actively demonstrate that love by giving myself the gift of self-forgiveness.

I am engulfing myself in love. Giving myself this gift of self-forgiveness as many times as needed, over and over again.

 

We have all done things that make us afflict ourself with self-blame and recrimination.

Guilt and the heaviness it encumbers us with is not what the Universe, (or our beloved ones who have passed before us), desire us to experience. It is time for us to put down that load; to release it and let it go.

I invite you to put down your burdens of guilt; engulf yourself in love.

Give yourself the gift of self-forgiveness. Wherever it is needed. Over and over again.