As I sat there, a warmth arose in my being, a new inspiration for my future. I no longer needed to hide my vision nor my journey of returning to my soul. Like Jonathan Seagull, I had returned home. Here before me were my peers, contemporaries in heart and mind. The aloneness I had felt over the years was morphing into becoming All-one. There were others, who dared to Live and not Exist. The Joy of Relief started to wash away the pain with inspiration. There was life after David Gilmour. I would be ok.
After the discussion, I approached Nico Thelman with a few questions. I did not notice that he was speaking to someone when I approached. We laughed often in years to come of the moment I got through his bodyguards. He remembers how my blonde curls held the light and my eyes sparkled with such enthusiasm. I inquired if he ever came to England as he was from Belgium. He said, "Yes,"that he would be speaking in Camberley at the Theosophical Society in a few months. I mentioned that I would be there with Lily as well and left the conversation with "I shall see you there." The next morning I had to leave early to get to NYC to meet with Dr. Engel. It had been his birthday and I had a small gift for him. Lily and I were having breakfast at our table when I noticed Nico in the queue from a distance. He had a bowl of porridge in his hands, walking towards us. His hands were like fine bone china as he gracefully held his breakfast like a precious treasure. He warmly said good morning to us both, had brief words with Lily, then walked away to sit at another table leaving a whisper of his greeting in our hearts. Something was growing between us. We would meet again, I hoped.
When I returned to the UK, Brockhurst was in full swing. The floorboards were up making way for new electric wires and an internal sound system. Stone floors that Miv had gotten from a derelict monastery in France had arrived. There was a new fitted kitchen and conservatory under construction. A little working through of opinions with all the creative crew stood before me. It was normal.
Brockhurst had a wonderful minstrel gallery. Miv suggested we should use a special painting technique upon the walls, similar to what Leonardo and other Renaissance masters used as a foundation under their frescos. Layer upon layer of gesso was applied in various tones of blood red (in our case), plus ochers and greens in the upper hall. Sanding then revealed a movement of subtle colors. A final layer of wax enhanced the luster.
Throughout the process, we sealed off the hallway trying to keep the dust away from the rest of the house. It was like something out of a science fiction movie. Did we dare to pass? What creature hid within? Each day, for weeks, the specialists Bernie and Bernie, emerged a different color, each time covered from the dust storm they created. Tornadoes of color swirled within their bubble, and unfortunately, into the rest of the house. It did create a problem. Thank God, the end result was worth it. We survived! We converted the back laundry room into the mess hall as there was an Aga and we could be warm. I made homemade soup for sometimes 25 people. They loved it. As it turned out, I was an extremely creative soup cook and recorded all my recipes. Fresh bread was brought from the bakers each day, English tea and assorted biscuits were on hand as an extra way to further honor my crew. The children roller skated down the length of the house and played in the sand piles in the drive. One had to be a juggler of many aspects on a project like this one. But we did it! The opening party was a challenge. Warwick was still putting up wallpaper until the final hour and, at the same time, trying to light the fire in the main hall without drying the paste. The last strip was up and in time for him to have a shower and put on his finery. It was a grand party. Dreamy and Tim Hain sang in the studio across the garden while we danced. Alice was supposed to do a trio performance with Miv and Claire Finnie, but she was too shy. Joy filled the air and went on into the early morning.
Many came and blessed our new beginning. Smiling friends and neighbors packed the house. Most of our crew stayed over and one by one fell asleep in various corners on the floor or sofas. I think I got to bed around 4:00 a.m. and slept late. I awoke full of happiness and staggered downstairs ready to clean the aftermath. It was gone. Spic-and-Span. The crew had done it all while I slept then vanished. What a gift!
A new cycle began. The children went to school. Emo stayed in our cottage. The builders were gone. I went to my studio to paint. Jeremy Gale taught Cecil Classes there on Wednesday. In the morning, I went for walks with our Lady dog in the forest below on the dis-used railroad track. Sometimes Twix, our cat, would follow us through the field of grazing sheep. In the summer, the children swam in the pool and on alternate weekends, David would take them to London. Life began to have a rhythm.
CHAPTER 78
LIFE AFTER DAVID
THE MOMENT OF RETURN
ANGEL-VOICES ever singing
Round thy throne of Light,
ANGEL-HARPS forever ringing,
Rest not day nor night
Thousands only live to bless thee
And confess thee
Lord of Might.
Thou who art beyond the farthest Mortal eye can scan,
Can it be that thou regardest' Songs of sinful man?
Can we know that thou art near us, And wilt hear us?
Yes, we can.
E. G. Monk 1861 (1)
Before I continue my story of my journey to the "Bright Side of the Moon" further, I felt it important to share an insight I had today. Ever since I was little, there has been a flavor, a fragrance of energy, which has always guided me. Sometimes it has been full of grace, others a warning just before I touched the electric barbed wire fence. Fortunately, despite many challenges along the way, I feel, it mainly has been full of grace for which I am eternally grateful. Step by step, it has come closer and closer, this fragrance. Many methods, many teachings have guided me until this very moment. Today, a new awakening is guiding me. After many years of searching, the cherry is being placed upon the cake.
Around the time that my mother was passing over and other private matters were full on, I had a vision of the Christ coming to me. This was a new experience. I had heard of many, who spoke of the appearance of Christ, but was suspicious. I wanted Truth not illusions. Consequently, I found myself along a different path to God than the religion, in which I had been baptized. My family and I were in Florida during my Mother's last days. I held the torch for many but in my bedroom, I cried. It was a tense time, the depth of which I held to myself, always smiling, consoling, listening to others, responding, guiding. Then one night Christ appeared in my bedroom at the foot of my bed. It was so real, beyond doubt. He spoke to me so softly, full of heart, "Ginger, I have a message from God for you. He says not to worry that it has to be this way for his Divine plan to work out for you, your children and your family." The next morning I felt differently, full of inner Trust and Joy. Had I found my way back to Christ? The days continued full of things to do and decide. My mother was in her final days with us. While she was still clear, she spoke to me. We were alone. Her voice changed as though speaking from some inner place beyond the room, "Charlie, I need to tell you something. Please sit down. I have a secret I have often wanted to share with you but didn't." Gosh, I thought to myself what skeleton is about to be revealed to me as I sat on the bed? The story of Stephen having a different father had been enough within our family dynamics many years ago. She continued, "It's been very difficult being your mother." Gulp. The air in the room grew silent and suddenly filled with light, as I waited for the story to continue.
Her black eyes sparkled as she shifted her weight leaning upon her pillows. "Charlie, you are an Angel! A real Angel! And I didn't know how to raise an Angel. There weren't any books to help me. I couldn't tell anybody either. I didn't know why God had given me an Angel to care for as I didn't feel worthy." I was amazed at the story she shared. I reflected upon the moment that Elizabeth Collins stood at the top of her stairs. Her last words to me that day was, "Ginger, don't forget your Angels!" Since that day, I painted Angels. I believed in Angels. I spent years, hoping to see an Angel. But to BE an Angel? I sat on the edge of
her bed mesmerized as she continued, "I just wanted you to know this and perhaps you would forgive me." "What is there to forgive, Mom?" I asked. A tear dropped from her eye as she said, "I might have been too hard on you trying to protect you. And I could not treat you any different than your brothers and sisters." Her breath went softer, fulfilled from the release, the story told, she could now rest. I drove home in a daze. Those moments in my mother's final hours touched me deeply. My life perspective was changing, adjusting, and reviewing all that I have had as a guiding vision influencing my life.
She passed away in late October 2013. In the last nine months, I have had more visitations from Christ full of warmth and Love. I have come full circle to know what has always been in my heart is Him and God. Many will question this, but the reality for me is the Love building in my heart. The feeling of safety grows with each day. The dream of Love is manifesting beyond all I ever imagined was possible. Where I had many questions, many judgments before, I see now they were man made, pale images keeping me away from this Love, which speaks louder. It always has. Goodness, Truth, Kindness, Beauty, Wisdom were my instinctive qualities that stood within all the storms. I just didn't know the source. Who knows if I am an Angel. What I do know is that I am a human being, born to be of service.
Today, I listened to the Angelic Voices of a Choir at Boxgrove Priory, West Sussex, England. I have returned to church where many kind hearts were waiting to greet me. They sang from the heavens on high, (Angel Voices) the hymn at the top of this chapter. Stirring memories within me to share with you and opening the doorway of my heart further. The veils are lifting from what went before. I see more clearly the bright path that has always called me to return to the foot of God. I further understand my soul purpose to serve Humanity. And I dare to say that here, to all of you. In Jesus, I have become to discover another part of Me.
After my mother passed, I returned to England, and I wrote this prose to honor her heart, her life and our last moments:
OUR LAST SMILE
The most intimate and transformative moment of all, was when my own mother's eyes would meet mine for the last time.
Her eyes would look into my very soul and my eyes would meet her there... my smile was the last smile she saw from me, it was the last time she would reach to kiss my face, to touch it tenderly. The gaze upon which we held, stretched across chasms of time and star studded space, beyond our earthly perceptions, and then... there she was in all her splendor, there I was in all my splendor, there we were as radiant light expansive, free flowing, andin bliss.
I travelled and journeyed upon our Love. From the edges of infinity, I called forth to Remember and thus it came. It flooded into my awareness, rising up from my body and was birthed into my life, taking the form of a timeless body of work revealing the workings of the Soul and the silence that midwives our Consciousness.
Indeed, my life has never been the same.
© Ginger Gilmour
MY FINAL WORDS TO HER
Dearest Mom
As the sun set into the horizon
I pondered the Moment
Our souls came together as One...
You, as my Mother;
I, as your Daughter.
We have traveled many journeys
Together through this Lifetime
And perhaps many before.
Our Hearts touching
In Love & Beauty
Bringing Heaven
To Earth.
I hear the Angels rejoicing
For what we have achieved
Through Life's Challenges
You, as my Guardian
My Protector in the Storm;
I as the Artist
Creator of Beauty & Kindness.
I am eternally grateful
To share the divine pathway
With YOU,
My Mother.
May peace be with you!
© Ginger Gilmour
CHAPTER 79
TRANSFORMING ANGER
1992
I received a phone call from Marguerite Gaffney telling me about the Whole Life Expo in Los Angeles. She said that I could place some artwork there, if I wanted. It was a big step for me to venture into the Art world of California, but, yet, I decided to do it. I reviewed which paintings needed finishing so that I had a reasonable body of work. I had a few months to do this and set to work. One of them was to be Reflections. The one that I earlier described was like painting "Sunlight" instead of raindrops of tears. To me, it was a joyous experience every time I looked at it. It evoked Love in my heart.
I had taken to putting it in the kitchen on our welsh dresser between the colorful Clarice Cliff plates. One Sunday, David's parents, Doug and Sylvia, came to visit us at Brockhurst. We had a wonderful Sunday feast, which is an English tradition. We always looked forward to these family get togethers. Sylvia and I had gone upstairs with the children leaving Doug reading the Sunday papers in the kitchen. When I returned, he was looking rather remorseful, staring at my painting. I asked him if he was all right when he remarked, "I think you should turn that painting to the wall!" Doug was always rather direct with his words, but it still brought a tear to my heart. It was as though he had no sensitivity to the pain I was feeling in regards to David leaving. Plus, the courage I needed to believe my work would stand with others in L.A.
I waited a few minutes as I regained my composure before asking him, "Why?" He replied, "Because it holds me, possesses me, engulfs me. It beckons me to go deeper into its imagery and at the same time gives me something back that nourishes me. I am insatiable for something I cannot describe. I cannot get enough! Therefore, I would have to turn it around to get away." That was the most special comment that Doug had evergiven to me. He was a man that was very private with his emotions as with most of the British of his generation. At first, I found this quality difficult to understand, but I have come to respect its nature. It is as if - they value the importance of silence - their words having purpose when they speak.
During my granddaughter's last visit to the UK from the States, she asked me, "Nana, why are the English, so quiet?" I told her that every culture has something special and for the English it is "To BE Quiet" and once you get to know them they are your best friends! For me, the air breathes this quiet, even in the city. Sometimes I even feel they float along on their silence.
Sadly, it is changing with the fast pace of modern society. It is leading us away from the silent embrace of nature. This is why I went on the Quest to the Bright Side. It has always been with me to seek it in the flowers, the trees, the sea and most of all the Love of our creator. Forgive me, if I say it again... not to forget that we all have a spark of the Divine within us to awaken. It is the key to harmony.
Los Angeles here I come once again, but this time I was the artist. First, I was to stay in Santa Barbara with one of my BFF's Marguerite, who is always a blessing to be with. Her home is always a Sanctuary of Love for my children and me. I met with a poster printing company who she recommended so I could print three posters for the Whole Life event: Box of Illusions, Earth-A Place Where Angels Learn to Fly and Terra Madre.Cecil used to say that when reproducing one's artwork the colors are often affected by the tones of the film and equally the energy of the photographer and the printer. He said that one day it would come time for us to reproduce our work. What would be important for us to do was to increase the intensity of the colors to compensate, so I went to the printers with this in mind.
I was a tad nervous to start, but they were masters! Not only did they take notes of every possible aspect in its subtle tones, but they also were the first to print digitally. Such a new and wonderful experience it was. In addition, the man working the color ratios said that printing my images brought him great peace. I felt such a novice. He gave me confidence.
The event finally came and I was prepared with the help of Marguerite and her family. I was sharing a large room with several artists. We sat in chairs just beside one of the doo
rs not noticed. My work was hanging in the left corner of the room while the other artist was to the right. We found it interesting to watch the flow of visitors throughout the day. Some would walk directly to the left as though pulled by a magnet ignoring the other part of the room. Some would do just the opposite. It was such a knee-jerk response that we found it extremely noticeable time and time again. It happened every day for the duration of the Expo. It was something for me to contemplate.
One of the highlights for me was to go to a lecture by Kübler Ross, an American psychiatrist who was a pioneer in near-death studies. Her lecture focused on the five stages of grief in the process of dying. She said that there are five archetypal stages, (known by the acronym DABDA, which are Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and lastly Acceptance). When she got to Anger, a light bulb lit inside my head. She said that anger was one of the primordial emotions that triggered our alert button to awaken and seek protection. She observed these stages in anyone who experienced a life-threatening or life-altering event.
Kübler first developed this model based on her observations of people suffering from terminal illness. She later expanded her theory to apply to any form of catastrophic personal loss such as the death of a loved one, the loss of a job or income, divorce or major rejection, drug addiction, incarceration, the onset of a disease or chronic illness, an infertility diagnosis, as well as many tragedies and disasters (and even minor losses).
Memoirs of the Brightside of the Moon Page 36