Near death experiences, cancer and drinking champagne

‘You should read this,’ said Hilary.  We were sitting on the beach (yeah, yeah, in Greece) watching the waves.  I looked at the book.  Dying to be Me by Anita Moorjani.  My first thought was that I didn’t like the cover (yeah, I’m shallow like that but really - it IS foul, isn't it?).  Then I read the subtitle: ‘My Journey from Cancer, to Near Death to True Healing’ and my second thought was ‘Eeek, no way.’

I have a pathological dislike of cancer. Not because I dwell on getting it myself particularly.  It’s probably a hangover from my father dying of it…maybe more of a habit now than anything else.  But still. 

And then, on the day I was leaving, I talked to Hilary again.  One of those conversations where, for every word spoken, another fifty were unspoken but the meaning caught.  It was a good talk/nottalk and, at the end, she said it again.  ‘You should read this.’  I sighed.   

Anita Moorjani was diagnosed with cancer in April 2002.  In 2006, she was rushed to hospital as an emergency, as a terminal case. Her organs were on the verge of shutting down and, to cut a long story short, she went into a coma and did all the usual NDE stuff – watching what was going on; going off to the place of unconditional Love; realising being dead would be totally cool; being given the choice and deciding to come back to life.  But she didn’t just come back – she came back healed, to the total stunned amazement of all the medics.

I checked her out with my sceptical cap firmly on but her story is pretty watertight and firmly backed by oncologists.  It was a spontaneous and downright miraculous recovery.  Which is great, of course, for her and her family…

But…for the rest of us?  What did she discover, what did she discover?  This is what I found really interesting – as often it goes directly against a lot of the perceived wisdom in handling cancer – and other diseases.

She felt that illness is often caused by suppression (and I have long had a suspicion about that link with cancer in particular):  “When we judge some of our emotions as being negative and try to deny them, we’re suppressing part of who we are.  This creates a blockage within us and prevents us from expressing the fullness of our magnificence. It’s about not being afraid to feel anxiety, sadness or fear, rather than suppressing everything until those emotions pass. It’s about allowing myself to be true to who I am.’

She says that she used to be terrified of negative emotions because she feared they would attract negativity into her life. “It’s about allowing what I’m actually feeling, rather than fighting against it. The very act of permitting without judgment is an act of self-love. This act of kindness towards myself goes much further in creating a joyful life than falsely pretending to feel optimistic.”

She felt that her cancer was her own unexpressed power and energy, turning inwards against her body, rather than outward.  “I knew it wasn’t a punishment or anything like that. It was just my own life force expressing it as cancer because I didn’t allow it to manifest as the magnificent powerful force of Anita.’

She discovered that there is no condemnation in the ‘other realm’ because there is nothing to condemn – we are all pure consciousness.  “I believe that people who hurt others only do so out of their own pain and their feelings of limitation and separation.  In fact they need the most compassion – not judgment and further suffering in the afterlife… I realized in the NDE state that it was myself I hadn’t forgiven, not other people.’

She realized that there really is no time.  “In the NDE state, I realized that every moment in all our lives, past, present, future, known, unknown, and unknowable – exist simultaneously.’ And that we can effectively alter our past by the moment-to-moment choices we make…  “I feel that the present moment is the only point in time we have to create our reality.” 

She learned that religion is immaterial.  “It doesn’t matter whether you believe in Jesus, Buddha, Shiva, Allah, or none of the above. What matters is how you feel about yourself, right here and right now.”

She found that there is no one right diet, one right way to eat, drink, live, be.  “I used to be paranoid about what I ate. I thought everything caused cancer.  I used to eat very healthfully, but I did so out of fear. Now I eat what I’m drawn to. I enjoy chocolate and a good wine or champagne from time to time.  I think that’s it more important to be happy than anything else.  It’s no fun eating all the so-called right foods out of fear of getting sick and being miserable about it.”  

Above all, she says, we should try to be kind – to ourselves.  “We always attract the perfect results, and like calls to like. So the kinder I am to myself, the more outward events will reflect that. The harder and more judgmental I am toward myself, the more my situation will match it. The universe always proves me right in my opinion of myself.”

Bottom line?  “Don’t take yourself or life too seriously. If I ever had to create a set of tenets for a spiritual path to healing, number one on my list would be to make sure to laugh as often as possible throughout every single day – and preferably laugh at myself. This would be hands down over and above any form of meditation, prayer, chanting, or diet reform.”

The Stone and the Sea...

Whom did I meet in Greece?  Well, Jane Matthews for one.  I’ve been tweeting with Jane for several years and loved her book Have the Best Year of your Life (O Books). So the opportunity of doing one of her courses was too tempting to pass by. 

Jane’s book is all about encouraging you to try different things, every day of the year. Some are fun, some are comforting, some are nourishing and nurturing and some aim to push you outside your comfort zone. I like that she’s not prescriptive – it’s very much do what you can, do what you fancy, try things out. Then again, she warns that, if something really pushes your buttons, if there’s something you really really don’t want to do – well, hey, that’s probably exactly the thing you need to do the most.

So, in lovely Nikiana, just three of us met, very informally, and talked and meditated together.  Jane was as delightful as I'd imagined - warm, kind, supportive, generous in mind, heart and spirit.  

She suggested some simple exercises – often just asking a few questions that, yes, pushed the buttons.  She asked us what we felt deprived of, what we yearned for. ‘If you suddenly had a free day and no limits of any kind what would you do with it?’  Oh.

One day Jane showed us a little canvas she’d painted – all bright and positive and sparkly.  I suddenly thought how nice it would be to do something similar for James.  He had asked for a Greek god but they were thin on the ground (seriously guys, you’re missing a marketing opportunity here) so I thought I’d paint him a picture instead.  To show my love for him.  Something pure and joyful.

It all started off so well…I sat on my terrace and painted the canvas a cheery clear yellow. Then added a bright orange and red heart.  I figured I’d simply put LOVE in big letters across the whole thing.   Keep it simple.  But my mind strayed…away from the pure simple love of a mother for her child...and my fingers followed suit.  The colours darkened; I gave up on the brush and let my fingers smear paint while a fingernail tore spirals…

Oh hell.  And I moved back to the edge of the sea, to that inbetween place, twixt sea and shore and watched the waves again.  And then I gave up on paint and turned to words…which tumbled out like this...

Love isn’t simple and neat.

It’s not a pure red heart with sharp clean edges.

It gets messy. 

It changes shape, the colours merge.

You uncover things, you discover things…

about yourself, about the other.

It isn’t always hearts and flowers.  It’s thunderstorms and ice.

It’s turbulent seas, waves lashing the beach…trying to hurt the stones.

How can you hurt a stone?

But slowly, slowly, the sea dissolves …and the stone gives in…

Becomes smaller, less stone…until finally, sand, it is swept up by the sea.

Raptured.

Is it an equal partnership, this wearing away?  This dissolving, this giving in to a relentless battering?

How would it be to be two waves instead?

Dancing. Separating. Coming back together.

Never ever truly apart…just differentiating from time to time…

Before joining again. 

Joy-ing?

My unapologetic sales pitch on behalf of Greece...

A room with a view...

As you might have gathered by now, I loved Lefkada and the quiet little village of Nikiana where I stayed.  My first impressions, however (if I’m very honest) weren’t great.  It’s an unassuming village, a strip of shops straddling either side of the main (but not terribly busy) road.  It’s no architectural stunner – no winding streets, no great ‘Oh My GOD!’ photo opportunities. 

Its delights are more subtle, less obtrusive, tucked away, shy.  You have to look beyond the brash and the overt.   It’s very Greek.  Yes, it has tourists, by dint of its position, right by the sea – the  beautiful, enigmatic, mood-shifting Ionian.  But visitors tend to be Greek or Italian on the whole, so you’re unlikely to hear the imperious bray or the inebriated slur of the stereotypical Brit on holiday, nor stumble over his or her typical hang-out joints – the ‘Irish pub’, the karaoke bar, the restaurant serving English breakfast or fish and chips.

The  beach outside...

The sea, of course, is a total delight – every day, every hour, every minute showing a different face; playing peekaboo with the mountains beyond.  Some days the horizon was a watercolour in undulating lines of grey and blue; other days you could pick out every detail of the shoreline beyond – every striation of the rock rearing up towards the clouds. A small Olympus all of our own.

But the people were the other joy – warm, honest, humorous, with twinkling eyes and ready smiles.  I love the fact that the Greeks are one of the few European peoples who actively love it if you try to speak their language. However much you mangle it, they won’t mock or frown in disdain but will be openly delighted and encouraging. How many times did I say 'Kali mera' or 'Yassous' on the short journey from my apartment to the high street?  I'd lose count. 

For sure, Nikiana has the odd oddball, so to speak.  Like the man who walked into the café every day wearing a thick jacket and motorbike helmet and drank his coffee without removing his headgear.  Why?  Why?

strolling...

But generally the people of Nikiana are plain delightful, embracing visitors with ease and grace. Are they concerned about the Euro crisis?  Sure.  But, as they pointed out, this isn’t Athens.  They live very simple, very frugal lives here – there’s not a whole lot to lose.  So no children will be given away and nobody will be jumping off buildings (really, how, how, how can these things happen? What are we thinking that this doesn’t shock us to our core??). 

There will be far less Greek tourists this year of course, but the villagers will get by (or so they say with a wry shrug).  How? The way they always have, by working hard (and yes, they do work hard actually, darn hard), expecting little and pulling together.

I have never, truly, been made quite so welcome in a place. I have always loved Greece (both the islands and the mainland) – and the Greek people – and this trip confirmed and amplified that love. 

When Kim thought about setting up Serenity Retreat, her first idea was to build a tailor-made retreat centre.  Then she looked around and changed her mind.  ‘The people here were so open-hearted and generous and kind to me,’ she said. ‘How could I take away their business? Wasn’t it better to use the local amenities and give back to this wonderful community?’

Nikiana Beach Hotel...

And so Serenity doesn’t own anything – it rents apartments (from the very simple to the divinely smart); it suggests good local restaurants (my favourite was the Nikiana Beach Club taverna presided over by dear Tassos and his family where my supper usually cost a ridiculous 3.50 euros) and cafes (lovely Pepe le Pew where you could make a drink last all day and nobody would bat an eye). She points out the bakery (warm from the oven baguettes, croissants and local pastries), the ‘supermarket’ with ripe fresh fruit, huge rounds of cheese and vats of olive oil and olives.  The trips are all run by local people.  The only incomer is Jane, Kim’s second in command, who provides wondrous bodywork.  And she isn’t taking work from anyone as there isn’t a local touting Amma fusion or Thai yoga massage.  In fact the locals are eyeing up her menu with a mix of curiosity, relish and nervous anticipation.

 

a calm day...with mountains

Anyhow.  The original purpose of this post was to persuade you all to go to Greece – and ideally to support lovely Lefkada.  Greece needs tourists this year more than ever and, trust me, they won’t hold you responsible for their troubles.  But then, last night I read that British holidaymakers are taking advantage of the crisis and snapping up crazy deals on holidays.  Which I suppose is better than not going...but, oh…

All I can say is, for whatever reason you choose, do go…  If you’re a solo traveler and fancy a bit of optional meditation or just hanging out with like-minded people,  then for pity’s sake check out Serenity Retreat.  If you’re a couple, or a family, then go to Nikiana under your own steam – just say hi to the locals for me, okay?  If you’re a non-stop party animal or can't live without your Guinness or bacon sarnies then…hmm…nah, it’s not for you.  

The Great Big Mattress Quest and the Island of Doom

‘You have to get there early,’ insisted Kim.  ‘If you want to get the best mattresses.’

Max, Denise and I frowned in unison.

‘The MS Christina isn't a big boat,’ Kim clarified. ‘And they lay mattresses out on deck.  Let’s just say that you need to get there before other…um…more forceful nationalities.’

Ah.  Okay.

And so…yeah.  We still ended up being the last on board.  And yup, the proprietorial towels were down and territorial glares were given as we edged along the deck and found the last free spot, at the very very front tip of the boat.  The word that springs to mind is snug.  Let’s just say it was a good job we were friends and didn’t have serious personal space issues.

But, y’know…it was just perfect.  As we set off, I wriggled up even further until I was a de facto figurehead, all wind-tousled and sea-swept, hair flying every sea-witch way as we powered down the Meganisi channel.

I’ve never done this chuntering around islands on boats thingy before. The nearest I ever came was off the East Coast of the States when my brother had a half-share in a boat. But that was actually pretty stressful as it involved a lot of narrowly avoiding rocks while downing excessive amounts of hard liquor (come to think of it that was probably why we kept nearly crashing into rocks – nobody could see straight). 

But this was…lovely, just lovely.  Sea air and pans au chocolat mellowed everyone down pretty quickly and the frontiers started easing.    

We dropped anchor just off the island of Formeluka.  ‘Anyone fancy a swim?’  I adjusted my five layers of clothing and shook my head. A gaggle of already inebriated Swedes in miniscule bikinis jumped in followed by a cohort of earnest Germans and a brace of determined Dutch.   

Next up was the ‘forgotten’ island of Kastos where the population has shrunk to virtually nothing. We moored at the harbour and walked up through what was effectively a ghost town, the buildings mainly boarded up, the erstwhile school playground returning to scrub.  A quick drink and then we were off again to anchor off a tiny deserted beach.   The sun kissed my shoulders and so I plunged into the water, a patchwork of turquoise and emerald; slipped on a snorkel and floated, face down, letting the waves pull me wherever they so wished.  Beautiful.

Onwards to Kalamos, a sunken mountain, ancient pine forests clasping its skin. The pristine beach of Asprogiali where toes touched down onto soft white sand.

Finally Skorpios, the island of the doomed, the damned, the dead.  The Onassis island.  We shivered slightly and, while others plunged merrily into the waters by the beach supposedly the favourite of Maria Callas, we stayed on board.  Superstitious maybe.  The crew threw bread and fish raced in, gobbling it up in a feeding frenzy as we heard the story of how Jackie Onassis contested her husband’s will because three million wasn’t enough.   And one of the Dutch women told us her sister was dying of cancer; that this was probably their last trip together.   And I couldn’t help the obvious correlation - that all the money in the world can’t buy you happiness and love and life.  

And then again, I thought, as we left our little spot at the end of the perfect day.  

You don't always get to choose the mattress you want.  But somehow it will always turn out okay. In the end. Hopefully. :-)

  

Watching the waves...

So, what am I doing, here in Greece?

Well... Y'know...

Mainly I am just sitting here watching the waves...

They come in, they go out; they come in, they go out; they come in, they go out.
In, out; in, out; in, out; in, out; in, out.... (you get the idea?)

The current ran from the left for a few hours.  Then it changed its mind and ran in from the right.
Presumably because of the wind.
Every so often a boat will go by and the water will come a little closer to my toes.
And then withdraw again.

But, really... In, out; in, out; in, out; in, out...

Like breathing.

And, really, that's what I am doing.  :-)

She was gone, gone...

So. That was then. This is now. Well, sort of...  And today (well, three days ago actually - I'm writing this in the past for the future present) - I'm packing my bag again.  This time adding a passport.  I’m getting on a train this evening (let's just accept that it's this evening, right? Well, probably) and will spend half the night wandering around Gatwick, so if anyone fancies joining me for a vigil?  Then (God willing) I'll hop on a plane to Greece.  
Why?  Well...

You know how you meet some people online and just know?  Well, I have this weird idea that the Internet is a conduit, that it’s allowing us to meet up with our..what would you call them?  Soul brethren?  Psychic tribe?  Hell, I dunno.  But I do know that there are some people I meet online and just know…that we’re linked in some way.  I don't always get it right, of course. Sometimes I get it more than a bit wrong. When I say this to my friend Jane, she just raises an eyebrow and says, 'Random Twitter Guy' and we both fall about laughing.  But, hey, he was never one of mine - he was my offering to her. But, actually, I don't get it wrong that often.  And not with Kim.  At least, I don't think so. 


Anyhow, I met Kim (randomly) on Twitter and we shared a daft sense of word play.  Don’t know why but got talking a bit deeper than one normally would with a total stranger. Went on from there and now she’s one of a very very small handful of people I trust.  Yeah, I have trust issues. 

Anyhow, she runs a company called Serenity Retreat.  Based on the Greek island of Lefkada (just above Kefalonia) it offers ‘retreat style holidays for solo travellers on a spiritual or self-development path. It’s about finding some personal space to simply ‘be’.’    

It sounded (and still sounds)…delicious.  Not to mention warm. And, hey, Greece needs our support, right?  But – old story – couldn’t afford it.  Couldn’t even justify going away really…the bills are mounting, the credit cards are squeaking…you know the score.  But then I thought, sod it.  If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.  Let's give Fate another chance, huh?  So I fired off an email to a travel editor on one of the nationals.  
And he said…Yes.   
Huh?  I mean...HUH??? 
And the fee will cover my costs just perfectly.  But then I felt guilty about not even trying to earn any money in a week (like I have this crazy idea that, as long as I'm sitting at my desk worrying about not earning anything, it's okay?).  Until another very lovely editor I’d pitched it to said, sorry, I can’t pay for travel pieces (you probably don’t know this but the majority of the travel features you read in magazines are written by the staff who get a freebie holiday for writing up a piece) but how about if I commission you to write a couple of other features to make up the shortfall?  And I said, that’ll do nicely, thank you very much.  


And I did.  And so here I am/was/will be. And there I will be. God willing. Jeez, these scheduled posts are more worry than they're worth.  The tense-ion. :-)

Of course, if you wanna come too, just jump or hop or clamber onto a plane; or walk or swim or crawl or whatever... and I’ll see you on the beach. Hopefully being serene.  Ish.  :-)

Serenity Retreat: www.serenityretreat.co.uk

 PS. Okay, so I haven't quite gone, gone quite yet after all. Forgot to say... of course, you know where the title for this post comes from, right?  Yeah..our Syd...

This was yesterday, btw, and the day before that this pinged up on my screen and made me smile...another version of the same old song... Teenage White Riding Voldemort  hits the hi know? :-)  Sink row nicety, huh?

And now (yesterday) I really am gone...