I had received a beautiful pot of mixed bulbous plants from my sister as a flat warming present over a year ago which gave me months of brightly coloured flowers and then slowly seemed to die. I ceremoniously watered it day after day, unwilling to give up on it and concede that it’s end had come and it was time to throw it away.

I’d never spent much time focusing on plants and had little knowledge about what they needed to thrive other than regular watering, sunlight and to be left alone to do their thing. I really did my best, considering my complete lack of expertise.
I unpicked old craggy moss on it’s surface which was parched beyond recognition and dug up all the remaining soil looking for any signs of life, any reason to hope for a phoenix- like revival from the ashes.

The day came however, when I realised, that all my well-meaning efforts were completely in vain. The hapless plant pot was pathetically barren with only dry shrivelled stumps of dead brown stalks left lying in it’s base, mortally surrendered to the ravages of decay.

There were no signs of life and so the sorry receptacle was regrettably but unceremoniously banished to a dark corner of my outdoor shed awaiting the next refuse collection for terminal disposal. It was completely and utterly dead!

It lay there entirely forgotten and untouched for months (terrible to admit that, but I couldn’t decide how it should be disposed of, feeling that it was neither regular waste, nor recycling and the pot was quite big and heavy), so it sat apologetically in the dark shade of the dustbin station, unnoticed, forgotten, an embarrassment even to itself in it’s failure to find a dignified final resting place.

Then a few days ago today, while I was having a rather early spring- clean of my dustbin zone, lo and behold I caught sight of this sad little pot and was utterly surprised and delighted. It was sprouting profusely!

Long healthy green shoots were holding their heads high and proud above the earth, defiantly fighting for life, devoid of water, deprived of light and love, these shoots were now victoriously emerging on two levels, germinating from the shifted soil I had carelessly trawled through as a last resort, when seeking to find any reason not to give up.

They now were enacting a feisty two- tier rebellion against annihilation, robustly championing life’s ability to sustain itself, despite all appearances to the contrary. It was truly a miraculous sight!

I couldn’t help but see the parallel with how we relate to the threat of so-called terminal illness, death and loss. How many times have we heard of people who have been given a life sentence in weeks or months by their well –meaning, but perhaps ill- informed doctors?

Many clients over the years have told me, that when receiving a poor prognosis, (especially one outlined in only days, weeks or a few months), it has seemed that their loved ones, while hoping against hope that they might beat the odds, often seemed to begin to subconsciously let go of them emotionally.

It was as if somehow they needed to prepare themselves for the worst, to protect their hearts from the trauma of loss, even before it happened. However, that very often increases the feelings of isolation and loneliness for both sides, at a time when people dealing with cancer and their loved ones most acutely need to feel the strength , care and nearness of each other.

Who hasn’t heard of a wonderful, seemingly miraculous story, where a prognosis with a specific number of weeks, months or even years was given to a cancer patient, and the deadline then happily bypassed, beyond what was ever imagined to be possible? In an article to follow soon, I’ll share lots more about this, focusing on countless instances of spontaneous remissions and life extensions.

The Human Spirit cannot be measured and as long as the Spirit chooses Life, there is hope! .Miracles happen every day to surprise us, when the desire to live is strong. Many times I’ve seen clients live to see a special family event e.g a beloved daughter’s wedding day or the birth of a grandchild , or perhaps the achievement of something important and then once accomplished, witness them peacefully let go, as if some inherent choice was unconsciously made, which allowed their time and destiny to be extended?

Our Spirit knows it’s D.O.D ( date of departure from the body ) and I wonder if we maybe have more power to influence this than we realize , when we are needing a little time to finish business, and fulfil our souls purpose?

It naturally appears to most people, that when the physical body dies, that we die with it. Is it not however possible, that the spark of life lying invisibly dormant in the decaying shell of our physical body, might in death remain silently latent in the ether of existence waiting for re- emergence into another expression of itself.

Is reincarnation an idea we could embrace, in the knowledge that when our physical body runs out of steam or finishes its worldly job, that we might return in another new and fully operational body, all revved up and ready to go on our eternal life’s next tailor- made experience?

We presume that when the body dies that we too die, all that we are, or know ourselves to be according to the story we and others tell us about ourselves. Is it not however, the identification with the appearance of things which causes us to relate to death as the end of life, when in fact, death may simply be the end of the physical form which we were conditioned to inextricably associate with who we are?

Could it be that Mother Nature has some of these answers?
When I look at this picture above of my resurrected lillies, I have to admit, I do wonder…….???