Woodland Walk

Solitude is like medicine to me.

I like the company of others, don't get me wrong, but spending time alone, especially in nature, is something I find priceless.

I recently walked to a nearby wood which is part of the the Woodland Trust - a charity I've just joined. The wood was Wither Wood in Denby Dale, West Yorkshire.

There's something about being in a wooded area which I find very therapeutic and exciting. I can remember repeatedly watching Robin Hood Prince of Thieves when I was a boy. I loved how it was good guy V bad guy in a wood.

Did I want to be Robin Hood?

Damn right I did!

When I finally arrived at my destination (which was at 11am - I set off at 8:30am) the first thing I did was sit on a bench and pour myself a hot drink from my flask. I'm not a fan of flasked tea - is anyone? - so instead of tea or coffee I decided to put in half a cinnamon stick and a spoon full of honey.

I drank nearly all of it whilst looking over the valley and listening to my surroundings.

Blissful.

The sun shot golden rays through the almost bare canopy, silhouetting a couple of squirrels as they sat on branches eating acorns. Blue tits, great tits, coal tits, black birds, magpies and robins all came to pay me a visit and to sing me their own version of nature's song.

Dog walkers plodded past, always commenting on how amazing the morning was. Their dogs bounced ecstatically ahead, not getting too far without stopping and turning around to make sure their masters were following.

I set off walking again and did a tour of the wood, which took about an hour. The ground was carpeted with yew tree needles and sycamore and oak leaves. It was very boggy in places but this seasonal rug seemed to soak it up, adding a spring in my step in the process.

Held in my hand was the Woodland Trust Leaf identification swatch book; a free gift when you join the charity. This made it so much easier to identify the trees who were keeping me company on my tour.

For about ten minutes I stood and watched three squirrels in one oak tree. One of them was staring at me barking and screaming. I wasn't even anywhere near, but I must've come across as a threat. Have you heard a squirrel bark? It's a strange noise. Not something you expect coming from such a creature. It kind of sounded like a depressed firework without the bang. . . if you can imagine that.

Later on in the day when I was telling my family about my little trip, I was surprised that both of my sisters asked the same question: What music did you listen to?

Anybody who knows me knows how much I love music. But there's a time and place for it. And walking in nature isn't either of them.

I can't imagine sticking my earphones in and ignoring the sounds of nature. How much I would've missed if I had!

For me, a walk is very much a sensory treat. My senses come alive and anything mental which may be taking up space, soon evaporates. This is why they recommend a walk in nature if you suffer from a mental illness or if you just 'want to get a way from it all'.

If you would like more information about the Woodlands Trust, visit: www.woodlandtrust.org.uk

You could be helping a lot by joining for less than £3 a month.

Happy walking. :-)

www.gavinwhyte.co.uk

Honesty and Muffins

Today, a work colleague told me about something which had recently happened to her.

Diane returned to her car to find somebody had clipped her wing mirror. The actual mirror hadn't smashed and she luckily found the back cover lying in front of her car intact. It simply just had to be fastened on.

I best mention here that Diane is a postal worker, and sometimes we postal workers will use our cars to navigate around our deliveries. This is what she was doing on this specific day. After discovering her wing mirror had been hit, she got in her car to move it to her next stop. As she parked her car a driver pulled up behind her so close that she had no room to manoeuvre.

'Great,' she thought, 'he has blocked me in.'

A young West Indian man got out of the car and approached her.

Not knowing what to expect, Diane was a bit stunned when he said, 'Excuse me, did I clip your mirror back there?'

'Somebody did, yes,' she said.

He had followed her to own up and he fixed it for her there and then. He even offered her money for a new one but she refused.

One more thing to mention about Diane is that she had made a batch of double choc chip muffins which she was selling at £1 each to raise money for Children in Need.

'I'll tell you what you can do for me,' she said to the young man, 'you can buy a muffin for a pound. The money will go to Children in Need.'

To which he happily did.

'You know,' she said to me, 'I really want to stress that he was black. Young black lads get a lot of bad press. What he did really comforted me.'       

It was a nice story, then she added, 'And out of my £5 ingredients, I made £105 for charity.'

Well done, Diane J
www.gavinwhyte.co.uk

Spiritual Healing

I received a text at the beginning of the week asking if I could attend a spiritual healing group for moral support.

A random request, but I accepted.

It was being held at a local spiritualist church. I've never been to one so I had no idea what to expect. All I knew (or thought I knew) was that these churches trained people to communicate with the deceased.

They were like bootcamps for psychics.

With only minutes to spare, I walked into the small church, had a pee in the gents and made my way to the main hall where I saw my acquaintance sat in a circle made up of nine people; all of which were over fifty-five. She smiled and stood up to greet me and thanked me for coming.

'I've no idea what to expect,' I whispered.

'Me neither,' she said. 'You might get some healing though.'

'I'm cool with a bit of healing.'

She told me to fill in a 'Patient form'. It asked for basic details like name, address and why I was there. For that section I simply wrote, 'moral support'. I couldn't think of anything that needed healing. I looked up from writing and noticed a small grey-haired shih tzu walking around the place. It walked over to me and I gave a it a little stroke. It sniffed at my leg for a while before making itself comfy in it's little basket at the front of the hall.

Psychic dog? I thought. I've heard about those.

I joined the group and sat down. Everybody stared, like when you walk into a local pub when you're not a local.

I smiled.

In the centre of the circle was a tall table with a lit candle and a book of names.

A thin lady with short grey hair stood up and said we were to begin. It was time for the introductory prayer. We were told to shut our eyes and lower our heads.

A song started from the sound system. Soothing vocals and harmonies. It had a very Irish feel to it.

'Oh Father,' the lady said, 'thank you for giving us this opportunity to heal. May your healing energy surround us and support us. May your protection reach every being. May you bless the animal kingdom. May you give us strength and guidance in our lives. Ahmen.'

The lady and another, one who looked a few years younger and spoke with a geordie accent, got up and each stood behind a different person with their hands resting on the sitting person's shoulders. Everyone had their eyes shut. A part from me, of course. When the prayer was complete I was ready to stretch until I saw that everybody was motionless. My bad.

So I shut my eyes and began to meditate.

The Irish music was constantly on in the background. I really enjoyed it. I must ask them for the CD afterwards, I thought.

The two healers spent about six or seven minutes with each person. When it got to my turn, the geordie one came and sat next to me.

'Do you know what to expect, love?' she whispered. She was leaning on her knees with her elbows. Her eyes were super green.

I said I didn't have any expectations.

'Well, you might experience heat or a tingling sensation. You might have a healing crisis . . .'

A healing crisis? That doesn't sound good.

'For example,' she continued, 'if you have a cold, your symptoms might worsen afterwards. But they'll soon balance out. It's the same with any healing. Basically, healing energy is going to come from the spirits, through me, who's acting like a channel, and into you.' She smiled.

'OK,' I said. 'That's fine.'

She got up to start then sat back down again. 'You don't mind being touched, do you?' she added.

I shook my head - but I guess it depends where, I thought. I didn't want to have that kind of crisis.  

So I shut my eyes and she stood behind me with her hands resting very gently on my shoulders.

The music had stopped at this point so I could hear everything in the room:

• Stomachs bubbling and churning.
• The woman opposite me had leather shoes on. Her legs crossed at her ankles. She was rubbing them together making an annoying squeaky noise. ('WOMAN, I'M TRYING TO BE HEALED HERE!)
• Then the fireworks started outside. Mainly rockets followed by the occasional explosion.
• A boiler that kept on starting and stopping every forty-five seconds.
• The round man in the circle tried clearing his throat discreetly but ended up choking himself.
• The shih tzu snored like a trooper in the background.

It's strange where your mind takes you when you're keen for stillness. It'll do anything but be still.

That dog. Because I could hear it snoring my attention got diverted to that damn dog.

'If I had a shih tzu, what would I call it?'

Gav, you're supposed to be thinking about not thinking. Silence!

'I think I'd call it Sue.'

Gav . . . stop it . . .

An image of myself in a field with the dog popped into my head.

'If it wouldn't poo and I was losing patience with it, I'd shout "Shit, Sue!"'

A massive grin appeared on my face which I couldn't hide at all.

The healer took her hands off and I was ready to say thank you and get up, but she replaced them onto my chest for a couple of minutes.

Then it was over.

I opened my eyes and said thank you. She asked if I would like a glass of water to which I said yes.

My acquaintance smiled at me, who was having healing done at the same time.

Despite the inappropriate canine thoughts, I was relaxed and felt good.

Now it was time for the closing prayer.

This time it was the geordie lady who stood up to speak.

'Oh Father,' she said, 'thank you for all of your healing energy hear today. Thank you for touching every one of us. May your protection continue to reach every being on the planet. May you continue to give us strength and guidance in our lives. Ahmen.'

We all said thank you to one another and got ready to leave.

'You're always welcome,' said the thin lady with short grey hair.

'Thank you,' I said.

It was a nice experience. How much healing I received, I have no idea.

www.gavinwhyte.co.uk

A stranger asks for help

Occasionally life presents us with situations and circumstances which stand out from our day to day routines.

I was given such an experience last week as I walked back to my car through Huddersfield town centre.

Picture in your mind a lady of about 60. She's small and round and can't speak a word of English.

She stands in my path and stares at me with deep blue eyes, muttering something in a language I don't understand. Then she holds up a piece of paper and again mutters something. I take the piece of A4 and begin to read the child-like writing:

"MY HUSBAND HAS DIED.

I NEED HELP.

FOOD AND MONEY.

PLEASE HELP ME."

Interesting.

I judged her at first when she stood in my way and held out her hand. It's not uncommon for that to happen, but the note added something. It gave her a background. A story; something which we don't normally get to see. We don't go around with a piece of a paper around our necks displaying our dramas for all to read.

I wonder what kind of effect it would have if we did?

So I'm staring at this lady and I'm feeling really connected to her.

We looked into oneanother's eyes for about ten seconds without saying a word. Ten seconds doesn't seem a lot, but I assure you, it is, especially when it's someone you've never met before.

When was the last time you looked into another's eyes for more than five seconds? After about three it gets scary. They say the eyes are the doorways to the soul . . . what are we hiding? 

I put my hand in my pocket and gave her all the money I had. It wasn't much. About a fiver in coins. She expressed her gratitude by bowing her head slightly and muttering something else I didn't quite understand. I'm sure it was a thank you, but it could've easily been, 'You tight wedge'.

She walked on holding her piece of paper as it blowed in the wind.

I couldn't get her out of my mind.

Was she sincere?

Had I just fallen for a scam?

When I got home I explained to one of my flatmates (there are 9 of them) what had happened and he said, 'She probably can't speak a word of English, but the guy who she works for probably can.'

I don't think I'll ever find out if her drama, her story, was legit or not.

I don't think I care, to be honest.

I did what was right for me, given the circumstances. My intention to help was honest and came from a compassionate place, even if I only gave her my loose change.

I wonder where she is now . . . 

The Content Taxi Driver

I had a flying trip to London last week for a meeting and got talking to a taxi driver as he took me to Victoria station.

I asked the habitual question, 'Have you been busy?' Then I remembered how much of a ridiculous question that was as he was a taxi driver in the capital of England.

'Yes' he replied.

'How long have you been doing this for?' was my next question.

I watched as he did some quick maths in his head. 'Thirteen years.'

I asked him if he enjoyed it and he said he did.

'Don't you fancy doing anything else?' I asked.

'No, I don't think so,' he replied, looking at me through the rear-view mirror.

'What did you want to be when you were a kid?'

'A professional golfer,' he said.

I could see him smiling as if remembering how amazing that dream actually was.

'What do you do in your spare time? Is there a hobby you do which you could excel in?'

'Nah, not really,' he said.

There was a pause as we snaked in and out of cars, buses and cyclists.

Then he said something which made me smile.

'I'm content, you know.'

'Yeah?' I said. 'That's good.'

'I've never really been one of those ambitious people who reach for the stars and have to have this or that. I'm content driving my taxi and doing it the best I can.'

I continued to listen whilst smiling and looking at the passing scenery of tall buildings, trees and loads of busy people doing their thing.

'I'm not unhappy but I wouldn't say I'm over the moon either. I'm just content with what is.'

Brilliant.

I think there are a lot of us who mistake happiness for contentment.

For me, happiness is on the surface and has little depth. It might be short-lived and it comes in bursts. Contentment goes much deeper, but only shows subtle ripples on the surface in the form of a small smile of knowing that all is well.

The taxi driver was content. He didn't need dreams and ambitions to find purpose in his life.

I learnt a lot from him.

'I've been to a good place. Everything's OK.'

Whilst volunteering at my local hospice last Monday, I was made aware of a booklet called Nearing the End of Life - A Guide for Relatives and Friends of the Dying written by Sue Brayne and Dr Peter Fenwick. This booklet is there for anybody to read.

Now, it was Fenwick's name that jumped out at me because I've read his amazing book The Art of Dying.

He is a well known researcher into NDEs (Near Death Experiences) and OBEs (Out of Body Experiences) and believes that at the point of death, consciousness doesn't cease to exist, but actually goes on to another state of existence.

I was excited to find this booklet (which has been there for ages and I've never seen it until now) because other material I've read which the hospice provides for families (especially to help them with their grief) says, and I'll paraphrase, 'Once your loved one has died don't be surprised if you feel their presence around you, or have certain sensations like being able to smell their aftershave or favourite perfume. These are natural reactions to grief.'

This simple says that if you feel your deceased relative around you - it's not them. It's the grieving process.

I don't agree with this.

I'm a trained bereavement support worker with Cruse Bereavement Care and they said the same as the hospice - again, I disagreed.

If someone has felt their deceased loved one by them and it's brought them heaps amount of comfort and has eased their pain of 'losing' them, then surely, just because this experience can not be explained scientifically by our limited understanding of consciousness, we shouldn't assume that these experiences are grief-induced fantasies.

What a shame to dismiss someone's comforting experience out of ignorance.

The booklet, which I mentioned above, contains several stories. One of which I would like to share with you now:

DENISE'S STORY

I knew that my father was going to die that day and decided to leave him alone with my mother.

I had no problem leaving him as he had told me he was 'ready to go', wasn't frightened and very calm. We spent a lot of time talking while I nursed him, and without actually saying it, we had said our goodbyes.

I wandered around until I just felt that he had died, returning home to find he had indeed died 20 minutes before. I felt mixed emotions of relief, as he was no longer suffering and fearful.

I had not seen a dead body before. I stood nervously, with my back to the wall, at a distance, plucking up the courage to approach.

It was then I felt the pressure of hands on my shoulders and a voice whispering in my ear, 'I'm OK'. This was followed by the overwhelming sensation of a very strong force moving far away with immense speed.

I knew it was my father. Any fear I had I felt melted away. It gave me the strength to deal with the duties associated with death. Much later I realised this experience had removed my fear of dying.'

Imagine saying to Denise, 'You were just grieving. It's natural for things like that to happen.'

But that's exactly what our current scientific understanding of these experiences is saying.

I've recently read Raymond Moody's latest book, Paranormal. Moody has played a huge role in the field of after death studies. In the 70's, with his book Life After Life, he coined the term Near Death Experience. His latest book is biographical in nature.

He explains his troubled relationship with his dad, how his dad never really accepted his research into life after death. His dad, you see, was a respected surgeon so he had his reputation to protect. He even, at one point, admitted his son (Moody) to a mental institute because he thought he was loosing the plot with his latest research into the technique of scrying.

Towards the end of the book, Moody describes the passing of his dad, and this is what I'd like to share with you now, as it really made me smile. Remember, this is someone who, throughout his life, didn't believe in life after death, despite his son's tremendous research:

In the moments before his death, my brothers who were there at his side said his breathing picked up and they were amazed to see his eyes open; the doctors had told them he was in a coma from which he would not regain consciousness. He was wearing a beatific smile as he looked into their puzzled faces and said: 'I have been to a beautiful place. Everything is okay. I'll see everybody again. I'll miss you, but we will be together again.'

With that proclamation, he died.

I always remember the psychic medium, Johnathan Edward, saying, 'I prefer to live life believing in an after life and then to find out there isn't one, than to live life not believing and to find out there is one.'

Giving an idea wings

Before meeting with a friend for a coffee on Friday, an idea came to me as to how I could get my book into the hands of more readers.

The basic principle was for the reader to pass it on once they'd read it.

You know what an idea looks like in your head, right? It's vivid and it calls for your attention. If you don't give it your attention it fades, and sometimes I've found it can move onto somebody else who is more than willing to invest time and energy into it.

I can't remember the amount of times I've said, 'I had that idea,' but simply didn't act on it.

So the idea for my book came as an image in my mind's eye, and it looked like this: the book was opened on the first page and in it were the words, "Dear reader, once you've read this book, please pass it on to somebody you think will benefit from its message. With love, Gavin." And at the bottom was the date and the words, 'Book 1'.

I got kind of excited by this so I acted on it without delay (excitement is usually a clear sign that an idea deserves some attention). I got the only copy of my book I had, opened it up to the first page and wrote the words I saw in my mind's eye.

I then took it with me when I went to see my friend and gave it to her as a gift. I asked her if she would be interested in starting off an idea for me, 'to give my book wings,' I said. She was thrilled by the idea and said she would be happy to pass it on once she'd read it.

So - - - - in a short period of time there's going to be ten copies of my book floating around. I'm going to pass them onto friends to pass them onto their friends, who will pass them onto their friends.

I think it's a beautiful and rather organic way to spread the comforting message of the book - a message I believe in.

So if you do come across my book, Waiting for Wings - A Story of Hope, know that it has been given to you because the giver thinks you might gain something of value from its content. I sincerely hope you will then pass it onto somebody else for them to gain comfort.

Much appreciated.

G