Learn more about this book's author, Carolyn Mathews...

Synopsis

You don’t have to be a New Age flower child to enjoy Pandora’s correspondence with her supernatural penfriend. She’s a newly single lady of a certain age and romance is still very much on the agenda. But who to choose? And can her supernatural buddy help her satisfy the longings of both her heart and soul?

Publisher: Roundfire Books

Published: 20130123

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Book Categories: Fiction

 

 

Chapter 3 – 2003 

It had been a couple of weeks since I’d received my message from above – that I had to meditate if I wanted to contact a ‘high one’ – whoever that might be – but not much had happened on the meditation front.  The fact was, although theoretically I knew how to do it, I wasn’t very good at it.

I went through a phase in my thirties, heavily influenced by my mother, of spiritual exploration. She bought me books on self-improvement and took me to Mind, Body and Spirit exhibitions. I even braved the odd healing workshop, where we placed our hands in prescribed positions on one another, with the promise that if we wanted to do it for money, we could sign up for the next certificate.  And the one after that. I never sought professional status, but my mother accumulated quite a few diplomas, which she displays to this day on the wall of her healing room in Glastonbury.

In fact, my dear mother Frances is now a typical Glastonbury native – she and her partner Charles happily running a crystal shop cum healing centre. My poor dad Francis, on the other hand, died when he was only fifty-two.  Mum used to joke about Dad having the same name: Frankie Fry, saying it sounded like fast food.  That’ll be two frankie-fries please and hold the mustard.  But I was always embarrassed by it. 

Come to think of it, my whole life I’ve been embarrassed by names one way or another. Maybe it was genetic.  After all, hadn’t my Irish granny had her name anglicised from the softly vowelled Doireann to the more emphatic Doreen. As one of her brothers had put it. ‘God, Doireann, the way the English say your name sounds like they’re impersonating a donkey.’

Getting back to meditation matters, years earlier, Frankie had persuaded me to do a Transcendental Meditation course with her, because she’d been told that meditating regularly had an anti-ageing effect.

Our trainer, a young man with a tweed jacket and a knitted tie, was not quite what we’d expected.  Pleasant enough, he struck us as more Geography teacher than guru, disinclined to deviate from his lesson plan. 

He started with a coloured poster, pasted on to card and balanced on an old easel, which symbolised the mind’s activity.  There were rising and falling waves and many bubbles, representing persistent thoughts.  Our goal was to empty our minds and let the bubble thoughts evaporate.

Then the ‘after’ picture was revealed with a shallow line and just a few bubbles, representing our calm, receptive state during meditation, having transcended the chatter of our minds and altered our brain waves into alpha, or even theta, waves. 

‘This state,’ he said, ‘will bring enormous benefits to your mental, physical and spiritual health if you practise regularly.’

We were told to focus on our breathing, lower the chin, and think of nothing else for a minimum of twenty minutes.  Try it, and trust me, you’ll find it the longest twenty minutes of your life.

The next time the class met, we had to give a report on how our practice had gone at home.  Most people had found it hard, and there were tales of interruptions from phones, doorbells, and curious family members. I didn’t have that problem, living alone in my flat in Fulham.

One young woman looked mournful as she described her difficulties.

 ‘I’ve got a four-year-old and he just wouldn’t give me any peace.  In the end, I had to lock myself in the loo.’

There were murmurs of sympathy but I felt sorrier for the little boy.  If I had a four-year-old, I thought, I’d far rather be with him, than meditating behind a locked door. 

When it was my turn to speak, I revealed that I’d felt a sort of  tingling in the middle of my forehead.

‘That’s good,’ the trainer said encouragingly.  ‘That’s your third eye waking up.’

‘Third eye?’ I queried.

‘Also known as the brow chakra,’  he replied, pointing to a space in the middle of his forehead. 

The room that he’d hired happened to have a wall chart showing the chakras, which were portrayed as coloured ‘stars’ superimposed on the body,  starting with red at the base of the torso and working up through the colours of the rainbow to violet just above the head.  He moved closer to the chart and read out the list of qualities to be gained from a healthy relationship with one’s third eye.  ‘Intuition, soul realisation, insight, imagination, clairvoyance, peace of mind, wisdom.’

A man put up his hand.  ‘What is a chakra exactly?’

The trainer looked at the clock, consulted his notes, and answered briefly, ‘The word is Sanskrit for ‘wheel’ and it’s the Hindu name for the seven main energy centres of the body which correspond roughly to our physical glandular system. These endocrine glands are the portals between the physical and the etheric body. The third eye relates to the pineal and pituitary glands.’

‘Why a wheel?’ asked the same man.

‘It’s a wheel in the sense of rotating motion.  Healthy chakras have a pure colour and good movement.’    Shuffling his papers, he said firmly, ‘Okay, so back to the question.  Anybody else have any other sensations?  Or experiences?’

Frankie put up her hand.  ‘I felt my eyes move back in my head, as if they were trying to turn over.  It felt quite weird.’

A couple of other people said they’d experienced the same thing, and the teacher beamed.

‘That’s good.  It means the third eye is opening and your brain’s going into a meditative state.’   Seeing no more raised hands, he continued swiftly,  ‘So if you’d like to close your eyes, slow your breath . . . let’s make it happen.

The highlight of the course was when we individually received a personal mantra to focus on, in addition to the breathing.  On the day it was given to us, we had to take a flower and a piece of white cloth.  I took an embroidered handkerchief, which I’ve still got somewhere, the dried flower pressed inside ...

Books by Carolyn Mathews

Shaken by her mother’s sudden death and the secrets it uncovers, free spirit Pandora is drawn into a world of intrigue, centring on a devious couple’s plot to exploit a healing circle for their own ends. Her partner Jay’s collaboration with an attractive singer and her own encounter with an old flame add to the confusion. Will she succeed in her quest to bring equilibrium to her life, and the lives of those she loves, or will the decisions she and Jay make set them up for more heartache?

Book Categories: Fantasy, Fiction

When Jay loses their home and business in the financial crash and Pandora’s job as a TV panellist comes under threat, the appearance of an archangel seems to be just the good omen they need. The message he brings, however, forces Pandora to disappear on a secret mission to fulfil a prophecy, endangering both her relationship and a precious gift she’s been given. Events bring Pandora to her knees, but the light at the end of the tunnel may yet lead her to a miracle. It wouldn’t be a Pandora story without romance, transformation, suspense and a touch of the ...

Book Categories: Fantasy, Mystery, Mystic

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