Harvest - A Spiritual Story
There are many stories that can fit into the subject matter of harvest. We are all planting seeds and wishing for the blossom as a direct result. Sometimes we are the planters and the full bloom of reality blooms somewhere else, with someone else and in a different way than we may imagine. The true meaning of paying life forward is exactly that. We invest energy and love in one place or person, and it may come back from somewhere and someone else.
This story is a harvest story with a different blossom than I could have imagined.
I was, for a while, the supervisor in a massage clinic in the Santa Barbara area, in Southern California, for a couple of evenings per week. The therapists were gaining hours of practice and clients from the local community came for a really inexpensive price, to be massaged, at three shift times available. I would walk around, joining in to illustrate a specific move or to help a new therapist to move muscles or joints in a different manner. I loved it. It was fun and another teaching opportunity for me.
The owner of the school wasn’t at all sure about me and the gifts that poured through me. It made her more than uncomfortable, so I was extremely surprised when she asked me if I would work with a dear friend and yoga instructor, Jemma, who she had known and loved for many years. She wasn’t sure what I could do for her 30 year old soul sister. She just knew she was too close to be of service in an unconditional way.
She would relieve me of my supervisor duties during the last clinic shift so that I could help her friend who was dying of cancer that had spread through her whole body. Of course I was honored and felt blessed and touched to be asked.
The last shift came. The owner showed up and I stepped into a private room, slightly off the main clinic room. Music was playing gently and the owner’s assistant was already in the room, holding the hand of her beloved yoga instructor. I stood in silent prayer, calling in all the Angels. The room had a glow in it once the work began. I simply held energy for Jemma, with my hands floating above all the areas of her body. I continued to ask for help for Jemma.
Once settled with the work, I was asked to pull up a chair, and allow talk to flow out of me. I was asked to remind her that there was a certain beauty that came with every breath and the choosing to stand up and fight for every day of life, because it was a great way of respecting the life we are in and that each day had its own value before our very existence was complete. Jemma held my hand when the words stopped. Tears had softly dropped down her cheeks.
A couple of weeks busily passed with a full class of students and clinics. One Monday I was thinking of Jemma, and chose to stop by the owner’s office, on my way home, to see how Jemma was doing since the healing session.
The owner was really busy, looked up sadly, letting me know that Jemma had passed at the end of last week. She apologized for not telling me and then went back to her work.
I sat in my car and wept. I thought I’d made a difference. What was the point in being in harvest, sowing such a loving, intentional seed of how valuable life is, when she died anyway?
The next day, the owner called me into her office and asked me to close the door.
She sat me down and dragged a chair next to mine. She held my hand and told me I’d looked very crestfallen when she told me that Jemma had died. Big tears filled my eyes, while hers were misty too. I shrugged and told her I felt like I’d failed to be of service to her or Jemma.
She told me that Jemma had been very matter-of-fact, telling all the family to simply carry on with their lives, and that she was simply prepared to leave and not to make a fuss.
Each of her sweet, close family and friends created varying degrees of separation and they were all running in different directions.
Her husband, sister and parents were simply honoring her wishes and all of them were busy getting on with their lives as though she weren’t dying.
After our session, she began gathering them around her, making sure each sat before every meal, expressing love and gratitude out loud. She made sure that every day was special and filled with sharing and depth. She let each of them know what she enjoyed about them. They all shared tears and laughter and they were all around her, sharing, crying and laughing, when she took her last breath.
We both wept as she told me the story through her tears.
My work wasn’t to harvest a cure or a change in the outcome, it was to sweeten the last chapter they all were able to share. I learned so much about not having any personal attachment to how seeds are planted, harvested or how they bloom.
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Love & Blessings,
Ruth
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