Passengers

Here on Ibiza, there is no such thing as a bus queue. People just kind of mill around, somewhere close to the bus-stop, wherever they fancy, and when the bus arrives, they get on. And if the person who turned up last gets on first...well, nobody bats an eyelid. So, having my first ever experience of flying Ryan Air last week, was something of a shock to the system.

Now, I´m not having a dig at Ryan Air here – far from it. The plane was comfortable, as far as planes go, the cabin staff were friendly and efficient and the pilots obviously knew what they were doing...well, I lived to tell this tale, didn´t I? But the thing with Ryan Air is that (unless you pay for the privilege), you are not allocated a specific seat number. And the consequences of this, my friends, I was simply not prepared for.

I started off quite well. At Ibiza airport, you are transported from the building to your plane on a bus with just the odd seat, so unless you are very lucky, you are standing, squashed against the other passengers and hanging on to handles on the ceiling or railings round the sides for dear life. I was one of the last ones onto the bus, because I´d been sitting in the airport bar drinking red wine while everyone else had been queuing at the gate, but this worked to my advantage. Last one on the bus, first one off which I was very relieved about – these airport buses are nightmares and I´m sure the pre-requisites of being a driver are the ability to make the short distance from airport to plane as jerky as possible, to brake as hard as possible on stopping, and then to wait as long as possible before opening the doors. And it was at this point...when the doors finally whooshed open...that the fun began.

I hopped off and started making my way towards the plane then suddenly, it was like a stampede. As soon as their feet hit the tarmac, everybody started running. Some to the front door of the plane, some to the back, all shouting at each other to hurry up and barging past everyone else to make it to the steps of the aircraft. The stewardess was standing at the top, looking calm and unflustered, clearly used to two hundred or so people launching themselves at break-neck speed towards her. I would have been terrified if I´d been her. As it was, I was merely bewildered. Did they all know something I didn´t know? What? The first twenty passengers on board get their flight for free? Rows nineteen through to twenty-two are given Indian Head Massages and a foot spa as they travel? Did seat 4c have a briefcase with a million euros stashed underneath it?

No, once I finally boarded, I realised that this was just a regular plane with rows of identical seats. I suppose I was fortunate in that I was travelling alone, so I didn´t have to try and get a party of passengers seats together, and at 5 foot tall, the few seats with extra leg room really held little interest to me, but still, the ferocity and determination of my fellow travellers to be the first on the plane was something to behold.

And do you know what the really strange thing was? Everybody got a seat. Everybody arrived at their destination. Amazing, isn´t it?

But the whole episode got me to thinking how we are all control freaks to some degree. We push and shove and have to have things the way we think they should be when, really, none of it matters. We can journey through life stressing over the little things, or we can flow easily with it, accepting that everything is as it is, and that everything works out perfectly in the end. We are exactly where we are supposed to be and we all get to where we´re going one way or the other.

I´m not sure it would ever use it as its advertising slogan, but for me, it´s true. Ryan Air, the great metaphor for life. Take your seat wherever it happens to be, and enjoy the journey.

That said, next time, I´m definitely flying Jet 2. ;)

What the heck??...

I´m experiencing some strange activity on my blog...or rather, on the comments.

Many of them are coming through as oriental-style characters - check it out on the last entry, Distracted - three of the six comments appear like this!! Weird, eh?

I doubt very much that these responses were sent through in anything other than English, it´s more likely to be some kind of programming error, but I just wanted to write this short blog, firstly, to thank everyone for the comments and to explain that I´m not being ill-mannered or ungrateful in not replying...I´m just at a bit of a loss as to what it all means!!

If you do want to contact me, maybe an email to jinnyibiza@gmail.com might be the easiest - I´m always interested to know what you all think.

Oh...and if anyone has any idea why this is happening, I´d love a heads-up.

Thanks :)

Namaste

Distracted

This morning, I de-activated my Facebook account...and, for some reason, I feel ridiculously happy about it. I´ve been trying to figure out why that should be for the last few hours and I think I might have sussed it out.

I read a quote recently by Herbie Hancock - “You would not exist if you did not have something to bring to the table of the life.” Yay Herbie, I´m with you on that one! We are all here to serve a positive purpose, we each have our own unique gift to offer to the world, our own paths to walk, our own dreams to fulfil, otherwise, quite simply, we would not be here.

Which is all well and good, but living as we do in what the Taoists refer to as “The World of the Ten Thousand Things”, we are surrounded by distractions (and I think it´s safe to say that there are more than just ten thousand) which makes it almost impossible for us to even figure out what our higher purpose is, let alone focus enough to actually achieve it.

Some distractions are good – they can energise us, revitalise and renew us, even inspire us. But if we are serious about bringing our gift to the table of life, then we need to be able to differentiate between positive distractions, and those that do nothing other than take our attention off the main goal by filling our minds with negativity or meaninglessness.

This will be different for everybody. For one person, playing a computer game would be seen as a total waste of time, for another, it sharpens the mind and the reflexes. Laying in a field, watching the clouds float across the sky would be an unthinkable squandering of time to some, while to others, it calms and inspires. Some people would be thrilled at the distraction of unannounced guests turning up on the doorstep, other people would see it as an intrusion on their time and energy and feel resentful. Nobody is right and nobody is wrong. The key is to recognise how you work, what helps and what hinders you. And that´s what I came to realise about Facebook. There´s nothing wrong with it, and I know a lot of people gain a great deal from it - it just turns out that I´m not one of them. It had become a negative distraction, with very little of interest to me personally and actually, at times, certain posts irritating me with their banality and self-indulgence. And yet, there I was, several times every day, scrolling through my news feed allowing myself to be distracted.

The universe is communicating with us all day long, quite often through our feelings and emotions, so it´s important to take notice. When we ignore our true feelings, when we allow ourselves to be surrounded and influenced by people who are not in harmony with our true purpose, when we take on board other people´s dramas and negativity, when we spend our time doing something that serves no function other than to distract us from the joy of our higher purpose, then it is all too easy to lose sight of our dreams.

So, now it´s official – I am no longer a member of the Facebook community, and the happiness and sense of lightness I feel, along with the extra whoosh of creativity that is now coursing through me, tells me that this was the right decision for me.

Be distracted and inspired by all means, just don´t be distracted by dross – whatever that is to you.

In the meantime, long live Twitter, that´s what I say!! ;)

Namaste.

The Magic of Ibiza

I realised this morning that, in all the time I´ve had this blog entitled “Healing & Light from the White Isle”, I´ve never actually written a piece about the White Isle herself. Well, ladies and gentlemen, that is about to change... :)

I say “herself” because, quite simply, that´s how I view Ibiza – as female energy. Stepping off the plane when we arrived for our first holiday here, ten years ago, it was like I could feel her wrap her arms around me and I immediately felt safe and nurtured somehow. I´d no idea, of course, back then what this all meant; that it was, in fact, the first clue that I would eventually make this my home – I just knew it felt nice and kind of special, and didn´t give it much further thought than that. Space and Privilege were calling, after all!

Numerous clubbing holidays over the course of the next few years ensued, but even so, amidst the bedlam and the haze, there was a quiet little voice whispering to us – both me and my hubby – and eventually, we started to give serious consideration to moving to Ibiza.

And that´s when things got really weird.

Ibiza, or rather Es Vedra, the mysterious, majestic island rearing out of the sea off the south coast, is the third most magnetic spot on the planet and we certainly seemed to be feeling its pull, but to upsticks and move? Hubby had a senior job with a large multi-national, I worked full-time, we had a nice house, good standard of living, hectic social life and four cats. It seemed like an impossible pipe-dream, irresponsible even, but as soon as we faced the fact that we wanted to move, it seemed the entire universe conspired to make it happen and our life suddenly turned into something resembling a far-fetched movie with an implausible and contrived plot-line. There was no way we could have imagined or orchestrated events to transpire the way they did.

Hubby was offered a voluntary redundancy package that we would have never dared dream possible. To our astonishment, our house, when we had it valued, was worth three times the amount we´d paid for it and the day before we were due to put it on the market, a lady turned up on the doorstep selling raffle tickets for the village gala, of all things. We started chatting and, for some reason, ended up telling her about our plans to move. It turned out she was looking to buy a house in our village, so she had a look around and made us an offer there and then. Neither estate agents nor their fees were necessary!

Things had happened so quickly that found ourselves in the tricky position of having sold our house, without having found accommodation on Ibiza. The simplest solution seemed to be to rent a house in the UK while we were looking, but all the properties available to rent were for a minimum of 12 months (we wanted a 6 month contract) and none of them allowed pets. Just as time was running out and we were starting to get desperate, we stumbled across a letting agent we´d somehow missed before. We explained our situation and the agent, with a gasp, said “oh, what a coincidence”. Just the day before, a man had put his house up to rent with her which, due to his personal circumstances, he only wanted to rent out for 6 months, and he worked with animals so she was sure the cats would be no problem. In fact, the house was the only one on her records with a cat flap!

Once again, it felt like the universe and Ibiza were smiling on our plans. We managed to find the perfect house on Ibiza with little fuss and set a date for the big move. Now the only thing troubling us was transporting our four spoiled-rotten and totally adored cats to Ibiza. Getting ourselves there was a piece of cake compared to shipping animals and the more we looked into it, the more of a logistical nightmare it appeared to be. Then, a couple of months after we´d moved into our rented house, the owner – who we had never met before, all dealings having been carried out through the letting agent – called round. I found myself in floods of grateful tears when he mentioned, in passing, what he did for a living. He was the Managing Director of a freight company...who specialised in shipping pets abroad!! Problem solved – he himself collected our fur-babies and got them safely onto a plane to follow us out.

This all happened four years ago and to this day, I continue to marvel and chuckle at the magic of it all. I feel blessed that I am able now to live my life on this beautiful island, pursuing my creative dreams. Instead of rushing and stressing, working hard for someone else and frantically cramming in every social event we thought we couldn´t possibly miss, simplifying our lives in this way has, in fact, led us to the bliss we were always chasing.

But it hasn´t all been smooth sailing – far from it. I said before that Ibiza has a nurturing and protecting energy...but she is also tough as old boots! For me, I feel that she´s saying, “well, all right then, come and live here, but I have some things to teach you. Are you ready for that?” Erm...I suppose so. Lessons have abounded in the time I´ve been here – some fairly straightforward and easy to take on board, some absolutely not. I view Ibiza´s main lesson to me – which I now understand is a gift of gigantic proportions – as showing me all things and all people, including myself, in our true colours to see how I will handle it. A little bit shakily, it has to be said, on the occasions when the truth turns out to be startlingly at odds with what I´d previously assumed to be the case. Tough lessons, tough love, but I´ll tell you something – I wouldn´t have missed out on a single one of them.

It´s felt nice to write about this and to actually express to the world via the internet (or at least to anyone still reading these ramblings) my gratitude to the Tao of Ibiza and to share what is clearly the most important lesson for us all here. The power of positive intention, followed by simply letting go and trusting. When something is right, and is for our highest and greater good, then all we have to do is state it clearly, ask for help & sit back to allow the magic in.

Give it a go...who knows where you might end up. ;)

A Thankless Task (a short story by Jinny M Throup)

Kevin let out a silent sigh of relief as the nurse quietly told his wife’s parents it was time for them to leave. Their grief-stricken faces, their tears as they'd gazed in stunned silence at their daughter, pale and seemingly motionless underneath stiff hospital sheets, had been almost unbearable. He’d wanted to reach out to them, say something, do something, anything, but he couldn’t and when the nurse gently ushered them out, neither of them had looked at him. It didn’t surprise him. He knew they blamed him for Ellie’s suicide attempt.

He shook his head sadly and made his way to Ellie’s bedside. And who could blame them for blaming him? Who else was there to blame? He reached to touch Ellie’s short, dark hair. This was all his fault. How could he have been so stupid? So reckless? If only he'd stopped just for one instant that night, stopped to think about what he was doing, the consequences, the hurt he might cause through his thoughtlessness. But he hadn't. It had all seemed like such a good idea at the time, and he'd simply never considered the possibility that Ellie would ever find out.

Of course, it was always easy to blame the drink, but now Kevin knew better. If there was one positive thing to be taken out of this whole, pitiful mess, at least he knew now that he couldn’t go on blaming the drink for what had happened. It had been his choice all along and whilst at first it had been tough to face up to this responsibility, it was an insight he’d eventually found surprisingly liberating.

His attention was distracted by a tall man, dressed in the customary white, quietly entering the room and, suddenly glad to see a familiar, friendly face, Kevin managed a smile as he greeted him.

“Hey Peter.”

“Hi Kev. How’s she doing?”

Kevin shrugged his shoulders.

“You know better than I do, mate. You're the professional.”

His attempt at humour appeared to fall on deaf ears; Peter was checking charts and drips, his expression serious and Kevin could hardly keep his eyes off him. He studied the big man’s profile as he bent over the bed, peering intently at Ellie, his hand resting softly on her brow.

“All's well,” he whispered, as if to himself, and as he turned from the bed, Kevin couldn't help noticing that his look of occupational concern had turned into something quite different. His face seemed to have lit up just by looking at his wife, and his eyes were filled with something that looked very much like pure love. He couldn’t keep quiet any

longer.

“Peter…”

“Uh-huh,”

Kevin lowered his gaze and fidgeted for a moment, not sure where to start. He’d no idea anything could feel this awkward. Of course, he thanked God that Peter had been there last night, that he'd found Ellie when he did, but there were things he needed to know. Questions he needed answering.

Peter broke into the silence.

“You really mustn’t blame yourself, you know. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, you’re the only one around here who thinks so.”

There was a distinct note of self-pity in Kevin’s voice, but he couldn’t help it.

“No, I'm not. Not really.”

Peter had that mysterious look in his eyes, that soothing lilt to his voice, as though he were privy to something that everyone else would find out later. It wasn’t an arrogant look, it was just the way Peter was, and if he was honest, Kevin had to admit that, like pretty much everything else about Peter, it had a way of making him feel better about things. Even this.

“It’s just, well, you know, I was wondering…”

“Of course you were. You were wondering what exactly happened last night, weren´t you?”

Kevin nodded as Peter sat down on the only chair in the room, gesturing as he did for Kevin to take a seat on the bed. Kevin glanced down at his wife as he sat next to her and a flood of remorse once again swept over him, but he couldn’t cry. No more tears would come. He reached for her hand and turned his attention back to Peter.

“I wasn’t there, Peter. That’s the hardest thing. I should have been there for her and I wasn’t.”

“There was somewhere else you had to be, things you had to do.”

“No! I should have been there. I should have been with Ellie. She needed me, and I wasn’t there. I let her down. Again.”

“Well, what's done is done, and there were good reasons for your not being there. You

couldn’t have been there, you know that. You were exactly where you were meant to be, Kevin. You always are.”

“But you were there.”

“That’s different.”

A silence settled on the room as Kevin tried to control his emotions. Peter had a point; there was no way on earth he could have been there with Ellie last night, but it was his own stupidity, his own irresponsibility that had caused their separation in the first place. That's why he'd been off somewhere else, doing those other things. That's why Ellie had been pushed to her limit, and why he'd been unable to do anything to help her. But Peter had. Somehow he'd been there, he'd saved her. How had that happened?

“Are you sure you really want to know the truth? Some of it might be difficult for you.”

“Just tell me.” Kevin’s voice was low, miserable but his mind was alert. Ready.

Peter began to speak, to tell the story of last night and, closing his eyes, Kevin felt as though he were somehow being transported there by the words themselves. As though he were actually watching the whole thing, just like a movie.

Ellie was crying. No, Ellie was sobbing. Sitting at the kitchen table, a framed photo of him, Kevin, in one hand, a bottle of whisky in the other.

“You bastard! How could you leave me?”

Her voice was a thick, slurred wail and Kevin felt a pang, like a gunshot, right in the centre of his chest.

“I never left you, Ellie,” he blurted out, “I'd never leave you. I'm here. I'm right here.”

He looked helplessly at Peter.

“It was just a stupid mistake. That night...I never meant for any of this to happen. I got drunk, and things got out of control and...”

“I know,” Peter interrupted gently, “I tried to tell her, but she wouldn't listen.”

With his words, the movie started again.

Ellie had been in no state to listen. Kevin doubted she was even aware that Peter was with her. She'd thrown the photo onto the tiled kitchen floor, walked barefoot through the shards of glass from the broken frame and, still gripping the bottle of whisky, made her unsteady way upstairs to the bathroom, leaving a trail of blood from the soles of her feet behind her. Then things had become eerily quiet but in his mind's eye, Kevin could see Ellie sitting cross-legged on the bathroom floor, barely flinching as she drew the razor blade down her wrists, then curling herself into the foetal position to calmly await death as blood poured from her wounds and pooled nauseatingly dark and thick onto the beige carpet. Kevin forced the image away and focused instead on his overwhelming sense of relief that Peter had been there to tend to Ellie straight away, to call for help and then to stay with her, talking to her, until first her sister, and then the ambulance had arrived.

“What did you talk to her about?” There were endless questions spinning around Kevin's head, but this seemed like the right one to ask.

“Well, mainly about you actually. I tried to explain how you couldn't help what happened. How, on the surface, it might look like a straightforward case of you drinking and driving, something she'd disapprove of, be angry about even, but how nothing is straightforward, and everything happens for a reason...”

Peter paused and looked steadily at Kevin.

“Even your death.”

Kevin let out a grunt. “Charming.”

Peter smiled and carried on.

“No matter how much easier it is to believe otherwise, you were not just being stupid and irresponsible that night. You were playing your part in the Grand Scheme of Things. You agreed to this before you were born. So did Ellie. You just both forgot which, believe me, is normal. So many distractions down here.”

“But why would we agree to tragedy? Who in their right minds would agree to dying in a car wreck aged 27? Who would agree to becoming a widow at 24? I still don't get it.”

There was a twinkle in Peter's eyes as he replied patiently.

“For the lessons you chose to learn this time around.”

“Huh. Well, I'm not impressed with my choice of lessons. I'm not impressed with being dead. I always thought if you were dead, at least you'd be able to do cool stuff. Like save your wife, for instance. Turns out being dead, no-one can hear you, no-one can feel you.” Kevin tried to ruffle Ellie's hair to make his point. “You can't make any difference at all. You might as well be...well...dead.”

Peter was nodding.

“I know. It's not all it's cracked up to be, but it does get easier, honestly. You want to try my job, being a guardian angel is one sure fire way of being completely and utterly ignored. Talk about a thankless task. I swear, you could bang a gong or ring a church bell right in their ears and they'd still not hear you.”

“Peter, look,”

Kevin nodded to Ellie. Her eyes were flickering, her fingers twitching above the tight bandaging around her wrists, and she made a pain-filled sound as she slowly opened her eyes.

“Come on. Time to go.”

Peter glanced at Kevin, his face filled with compassion, understanding completely the other man's reluctance to leave. He draped an arm around him, adding softly, “it's just for now. We can come back soon.”

The pair left the room just as the nurse hurried in.

“Ellie! You're awake. No, don't try to move, my love. What a lucky girl you are. If your sister hadn't happened to call on you when she did, well...”

Ellie closed her eyes again. Pain filled her body and her mind just as the sharp disinfectant smell of the hospital filled her senses and as always, her first waking thoughts were of Kevin, of Kevin no longer being here, but today there was something different. The agonising desperation had faded and she was feeling an unexpected but undeniable sense of calm. Perhaps she was sedated, but Ellie didn't think that was the reason. It was more a feeling of having just been with Kevin, of having felt his love surround her again, and of beginning to make sense of something; something she couldn't quite remember, but something that somehow made her feel less alone than she had in the weeks since he'd died.

The nurse was still chattering, promising to call her family straight away and her voice, full of empathy and gentleness reminded Ellie that, in spite of what had happened, there were still people who cared about her. There was still hope, and while there was hope, well - she could barely believe she was thinking this, but yes, it was true - while there was hope, she was glad to be alive. Groggy, but glad to be alive. She opened her eyes and managed a watery smile for the nurse who was cheerily describing what a beautiful day it was.

“You'd hardly believe it was November. Not a cloud in the sky. Look, I'll open the blinds for you...”

As the nurse hurried to the window, somewhere in the distance, a church bell began to

ring.

And for some reason she couldn't quite put her finger on, Ellie was glad she could hear it.

The Big Blab Theory

Living in what the Taoists refer to as “the world of the ten thousand things” along with approximately 7 billion other people, it´s reasonable to assume that at certain points during our life journeys, we are all going to be on the receiving end of some kind of “blabbing”.

I´m talking here about gossiping, spreading rumours, back-stabbing, tittle-tattling – call it what you will, whatever form it takes from the outright malicious and slanderous to simply revelling in dishing the dirt, it´s an ugly business. And make no mistake, its negative effects spread far and wide.

The Law of Attraction states that what we focus on grows, so it follows that if we do find ourselves on the receiving end of some kind of gossip, we should simply ignore it and it will go away. Yeah, right – well that´s easy isn´t it? Glad we got that sorted out!! No, let´s face it, if someone has been saying unkind or untrue things behind our backs, or has repeated to others something we had told them in confidence, then of course we are going to feel betrayed and hurt, angry even. Denying those feelings serves no positive purpose whatsoever, and that is not what I mean when I talk about “ignoring”.

I am a big believer in the power of venting. Here´s how it works. Announce to the universe, or the Tao, your intention to vent and that it is simply that and nothing else. Your venting time is the beginning of a healing process – for everyone concerned – and should in no way be construed as sending out negative energies, thus worsening the situation. Be very clear about this. Then, if there is someone you trust completely, vent to them. Or if you prefer, vent to yourself in front of a mirror, or write it all down. The idea is to get toxic thoughts and feelings out of your head – where they will only fester and cause harm – and out into the open in a conscious and responsible way in order for them to be diffused.

Put a time limit on your venting – say, 20 minutes – then let it go. This is the tricky bit. The temptation is to return to it, to go over it again and again, but realise that this is only the ego at play. The ego loves a drama, especially the type that prompts a “how DARE they treat me like this” reaction, and it´s all too easy to get bogged down in that. When we get stuck in these kinds of thought cycles, we´re no longer venting, we´re adding negativity to an already negative situation.

But be warned, the ego is a tough old boot and is not at all impressed by being told to shut up – by its very nature, it views itself as hugely important after all. So, the chances are it will shout all the louder. The knack is to be aware, to notice when we are slipping into irritation, indignation and self-pity, and then to consciously change that. We can take our thoughts higher any time we choose, so have a suitable affirmation to hand – something like “I see the Tao in everyone” or “I am pure love and light” - whatever works - and repeat it over and over; even if at first it is through gritted teeth and with the odd curse word thrown in, before too long, it will have an effect and you will start to feel warmer and calmer.

Be patient and gentle with yourself, give yourself some time and space and eventually, the lessons will become clear, along with the most appropriate form of action. If a confrontation is necessary, you will at least be coming to it from a calmer and more empowered perspective, and if a release is required then it can be done with love, gentleness and understanding.

We all owe it to ourselves and each other to do our best to avoid getting involved in any kind of gossip and if we do find ourselves on the receiving end, it´s a good (if painful) idea to take a look at our own actions in the past. What we give out, we get back multiplied, after all so if someone is bitching about us, who have we been bitching about?

Time to stop the bitching and do something more useful with our time?

I think so, don´t you?

:)

The Blame Game

Suitable for two or more players. Age 3 +.

Rules:-

The object of the game is to skilfully negotiate your way around the board, apportioning blame whenever possible to the other players.

Extra points are awarded for aggression and refusing to listen to another point of view. Players, above all else, should deny their own responsibility and decline to examine their own issues, patterns and lessons.

Any player landing on “The Big Picture” square must miss a go and pick a Zen card, thus being challenged to ignore that the other participants are playing their parts to perfection and are, in fact, assisting in his or her spiritual growth and understanding.

This truth can only be overcome if a player has already acquired one or more “ego”, “intolerance” or “just don´t get it” cards – all of which can be played at this time in order to avoid being thrown in Blame Jail.

If incarcerated, the player must remain in jail until one of the other players land either on a “self-pity” or “aggression” square themselves – which immediately frees you from jail – or the golden card of “No-one can DO something TO us unless we allow it and everything happens for a reason and is for our highest and greatest good” turns up – at which point, the game is over.

The winner is...well, that´s the uniqueness of this particular game. There are no winners. Everyone loses in the Blame Game.

Let the games begin.