Death, pain and the magic carpet
When my late husband, John Harris, passed away, I shattered like a body of glass from the impact. In a crushing setback, the remaining fragments of my life were transformed back into a shapeless plain of quicksand. Without fire to recreate me, I blew without form for a long time.
Among other things, the multifaceted John Harris was an archetypal Hephaestus, the wounded Greek god of the forge, driven from Mount Olympus by Zeus. The ultimate creative genius, the sword Hephaestus worked tirelessly, 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 no-holds-barred approach to life while he was alive, it was all he could do to keep up with it, juggling as many airborne art projects as possible for our mother’s survival. Although he was a successful artist all his life, the thrill of living on the edge fueled his life force and satisfied his rebellious outlaw. As his student, playmate, lover, shadow boxer, business partner, and wife, I did it all gladly, knowing I was receiving the gift of a lifetime while helping me break free and become who I always wanted to be. Thanks to the firestorm ways of the self-styled “Mr. Harris”, the real Kate was finally on her feet. She 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, infused with the smell of death, he became a veritable machine, commanding his workers and pouring every ounce of life force and all of our resources into his work. Stiffly unrelenting in his tunnel vision, he could only push me out of his way or be crushed as he drew God’s soul energy for his final creations. Need I mention that his interest in practical matters was less than minimal, which included bank accounts and insurance policies? When he died, I had a huge stash of fabulous art and a bigger debt with no cash. Heartbroken by loss and crushed by the bleak reality of my life’s circumstances, I succumbed to an intoxicated existential void as family and friends watched nervously.
Not long after Mr. Harris’s death, I was standing in the fading light of dusk under the twenty-foot ceilings of my loft. I witnessed how time opened up to reveal, for a moment, the invisible reality of infinite things. A presence in a circle in a spin of energy. I felt wings, flapping of wings and a Voice: “Let go. Trust. Step on the magic carpet. Get on the magic carpet and ride.” A spontaneous and conscious vibration moved from the depths of my core and I stepped, I did.
Truly I tell you, as soon as I answered that call, my whole reality took an extraordinary turn. I learned to free myself from my control over life. Just too exhausted, I gave up trying to do anything. Instead, I began to allow 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 stroke, to tears, to loss, to pain, to the beauty of love. On a more mundane level, the dogs barking at 4am, the burnt dinner, the luscious sunset. Having been programmed by doubt and fear all my life, like most humans, getting used to living in total trust took some conscious maneuvering and a lot of practice, but the more I trusted, the better the result. In the moments of mastering, it was, and still is, a revelation of the true nature of the miraculous flow of life.
Early on, in my darkest hours, friends and family selflessly converged to help, another lesson in the power and glory of love. A dear friend planned a big party in my loft, took a clipboard, quadrupled the prices on John’s art, and sold voluminous stacks for the best price. Then, out of nowhere, a major high-end retailer mysteriously found me and asked to see some pictures of John’s tree stump tables. Of the twenty or so images I submitted, they were all bought. Soon after, they bought twenty more for display and props in their stores. He was now debt free and solvent. A year later, this retailer invited me as a vendor and started selling the tables in their stores internationally, which continues to be a continuous flow of orders. Many additional opportunities have also presented themselves for John’s work to survive, for which I am grateful every day.
I did almost nothing to make all this happen for the first year. In year two, the Voice told me to “back in the driver’s seat,” which I reluctantly did. Once in place, I began to lose my stamina and go the distance, proactively capitalizing on my initial windfall into greater accomplishments. However, nothing less than the assistance of the 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 with these great Forces. I recognized that whatever we ask for will be ours in a matter of time, with no exceptions, created by our conscious intent and our deepest, unconscious soul desires or fears.
All the support and good fortune I received in the beginning gave me the opportunity to fully cry. Because not only the loss of my husband happened, but also the loss of both parents, all within one calendar year to the exact day: Mother/John/Father – March 1/July 18/March 1. This was a sour sandwich indeed. I have heard 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 that I had held for a long time, completely unrelated to the loss of my loved ones, which led to a profound personal transformation over time. Death gave me a new vision, because within the breaking of all known structures, a deep awareness and spiritual connection was forged. A powerful new inner strength and strength was initiated. 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 the change of form. The body dies. The spirit stays. Angels are everywhere, longing to help us. We just need to tune into their frequency, recognize them, and ask. They always deliver. In fact, they are the ones who help us maneuver the magic carpet. I cannot imagine traveling through life without an entourage of angels accompanying me wherever I go for comfort, guidance, and protection.
Thanks to these and many other unexpected gifts that death has bestowed on me, the years since then have been the greatest exponential growth of my life, continuously developing. Imbued with magic carpet consciousness, which is, in essence, a permanent connection to 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, love to oneself first and love to 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 envisioned as an eight year old was a magic carpet that is now mine and will always fill me with wonder. What are we really but bodies of energy directing ourselves with imagination and the intention of will towards our next step, our next new co-creation? When I am no longer sailing in the open sky of infinite possibilities, but playing in a small muddy puddle on the side of the road, the magic carpet keeps purring, humming, flowing, beckoning me to come back up. Recently, a dear friend sent me an email, lamenting the current bad shape of his life. I shared the best solution I could come up with: 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?”
