Death, pain and the magic carpet

When my late husband, John Harris, passed away, I broke like a glass body from the impact. In a crushing reversal, the remaining fragments of my life were transformed back into a shapeless plain of drifting sands. With no fire to recreate myself, I blew without form for a long time.

Among other things, the versatile John Harris was an archetypal Hephaestus, the wounded Greek god of the forge, thrown from Mount Olympus by Zeus. The last creative genius, the lame Hephaestus toiled endlessly, creating impressive palaces, chariots, and thrones for all to admire and use. He even created Pandora, the first human woman, in a daring push of the envelope. With the outrageous antics of John’s limitless approach to life while he was alive, it was all I could do to follow him, juggling as many airborne art projects as possible for our mother’s survival. Although he was a successful and active artist throughout his life, the thrill of living on the edge fueled his life force and satisfied his outlaw rebel. As his student, playmate, lover, shadow boxer, business partner, and wife, I gladly did it all, knowing that I was receiving the gift of my life as he helped me break free and become who I always wanted to be. Thanks to the firestorm ways of the self-described “Mr. Harris”, the real Kate finally stood up. It may not have been stable, but life with Mr. Harris was always exciting and truly alive.

If John was unruly throughout his life, in the end, imbued with the smell of death, he became a true machine, ordering his workers and pouring all life force and all our resources into his work. Rigidly intractable in his tunnel vision, I could only get out of his way or get crushed as he diverted God’s soul energy for his final creations. Do I need to mention that your interest in practical matters was not minimal, which included bank accounts and insurance policies? When he died, I had a great deal of fabulous art and a more enormous cashless debt. Heartbroken by loss and crushed by the sad reality of my life circumstances, I succumbed to a drunken existential void as family and friends nervously watched.

Not long after Mr. Harris’s death, I stood in the waning twilight under the twenty-foot ceilings of my loft. I witnessed the flicker of time opening to reveal, for a moment, the invisible reality of infinite things. A presence circulated in a spin of energy. I felt wings, flapping wings and a Voice: “Let it go. Trust. Step on the magic carpet. Get on the magic carpet and ride.” A spontaneous, conscious vibration drifted from deep within my core and I moved forward, I did.

I’m telling you the truth, as soon as I answered that call, my whole reality took an extraordinary turn. I learned to release my control of life. Just too exhausted, I stopped trying to do anything. Instead, I started allowing things to happen. “Surrender” became my mantra and a way of life, as it is to this day. I gave myself to everything: in a broader line, to tears, to loss, to pain, to the beauty of love. We have a more mundane level, at 4am the dogs barking, the dinner burned, the exquisite sunset. Having been programmed by doubt and fear all my life, like most humans, getting used to living in complete trust required some conscious maneuvering and a lot of practice, but the more I trusted, the better the outcome. In the moments of mastery, it was and still is a revelation of the true nature of the miraculous flow of life.

At first, in my darkest hours, friends and family came together selflessly to help, another lesson in the power and glory of love. A dear friend planned a big party at my loft, grabbed a clipboard, quadrupled the prices of John’s art, and sold bulky stacks for the best price. Then out of nowhere a major high-end retailer mysteriously found me and asked me to see some pictures of John’s tree stump tables. Of the twenty images that I sent, they bought them all. A short time later, they bought twenty more to display and decorate in their stores. He was now debt free and solvent. A year later, this retailer invited me as a supplier and began selling the tables in their stores internationally, which is still a steady stream of orders. There have also been many additional opportunities for John’s work to continue, for which I am grateful every day.

I did almost nothing to make all of this happen in the first year. In the second year, the Voice told me to “get back in the driver’s seat,” which I did reluctantly. Once in my place, I began to lose my stamina and go further, proactively capitalizing on my initial stroke of luck into greater accomplishments. However, nothing less than the help of angels and the Hand of God can explain everything that has happened. But then the magic carpet mentality knows no bounds, and by staying, I became a co-creator of these great Forces. I recognized that everything we ask for will be ours in a matter of time, without exception, created by our conscious intention and our deepest, unconscious desires or fears of the soul.

All the support and good fortune I received at the beginning gave me the opportunity to cry completely. Because not only did the loss of my husband occur, but also the loss of both parents, all within a calendar year until the exact day: Mother / John / Father – March 1 / July 18 / March 1. Sour sandwich indeed. I heard people say that death is a gift and ironically, it was due to the grieving process that I was able to release so much darkness and fear, which had nothing to do with the loss of my loved ones, which led to deep pain. personal transformation over time. Death gave me a new vision, because within the breakdown of all known structures, a deep spiritual awareness and connection was forged. A powerful new inner strength and fortitude began. Many truths became evident: I understood that I was not alone, that the Spirit is everywhere and is within everything. I received messages and ideas to reveal that separation is an illusion. I am you. You are me. What I do to you, I am doing to myself. I experienced that everything is part of everything in an infinite and pulsating field of consciousness. Also, there is no death, only shapeshifting. The body dies. The spirit stays. Angels are everywhere, yearning to help us. We just need to tune in to their frequency, acknowledge them, and ask questions. They always deliver. In fact, it is they who help us maneuver the magic carpet. I cannot imagine traveling through life without an entourage of accompanying angels wherever I go for comfort, guidance, and protection.

Thanks to these and many other unexpected gifts that death has bestowed, the years since then have been the greatest exponential growth of my life, continually unfolding. Infusing myself with the magic carpet consciousness, which is, in essence, a permanent connection with the universal Force of Spirit and the Divine, I have understood the greatest truth of all: the only thing that really matters in this world is love, self love. first and love for others, as a reflection of the Unique Love. I believe that now the only real failures in life are not loving fully and not developing our gifts and talents.

Our imaginations fill the canvas of our lives with beautiful creations or sad abominations. What I imagined when I was an eight-year-old girl was a magic carpet that is now mine and that will always fill me with wonder. What are we really but bodies of energy that direct us with the imagination and the intention of the will towards our next step, our next new co-creation? When I’m no longer sailing in the open sky of endless possibilities, but in a muddy puddle by the side of the road, the magic carpet keeps purring, humming, flowing, beckoning me to climb back up. Recently, a dear friend sent me an email lamenting the current bad state of his life. I shared the best solution I could think of: the magic carpet ride. “Hmmm …” he mused, his mind spinning through a silent moment of contemplation. “Hmmm … yeah … what makes me think I’m driving anyway?”