The awakening

david hobbs · The awakening

The Awakening

We made our way to the Healing Hands Centre that Sunday evening in good time to get seats nearer to the front. A few people recognised us from our last visit and gave us a warm welcome. Sheila the lady president came over and made small talk. We had a short chat while the hall filled up and bought some raffle tickets that were sold to pay for the hall rental, and then it was time for the evening to begin. We had been to several different churches but for some reason this place felt right for me. It had a welcoming feel to it and the people always made you feel like an old friend who had come to their warm and welcoming home, so by now I was feeling relaxed and ready to enjoy what ever the night was to bring. After the lords prayer Sheila introduced the lady medium for the evening. If quality in mediums was measured by their girth, then this lady would surely be the best so far, she gave her address and then for the next hour gave messages to various people around the hall. So tonight looked like being the first night ever that the medium did not come to me. I don’t know if I was disappointed or relieved. “Time for one more quick one” Sheila Stage whispered to the medium. “Now let me see, ah yes, the gentleman in the third row, yes you sir’. She was looking straight at me. Why aren’t you doing healing work? I mumbled something in reply, “Sorry I missed that” she said. I felt as if all eyes in the hall were on me, and I began to shuffle uncomfortably in my seat. Why were these ladies so intimidating? After all I was a grown man wasn’t I? “I don’t know how to heal anyone” was the best I could manage in response. “Well this is a healing centre and I feel sure that if you ask they will be only to happy to help you”. Sheila rose to her feet, the back of her hand covering what could have been either a cough or a smile and thanking the medium she brought the evening to a close reminding people that, those who wanted healing, should stay behind, and that the healers would take care of them. I stood up and made ready to go, but found my exit blocked by Sheila. “How many times do you need to be told something before you take notice” she asked. Before I had a chance to answer she suggested that I stay behind and watch the healers working. My curiosity was such that I accepted the invitation without hesitation. After all this would be a whole new experience for me. I asked my wife if it was OK to stop for a while and she seemed only to happy to do so. I guess that she was just as curious to see what went on as me. About ten people stayed behind to receive healing, and each was offered a cup of tea and asked to remain quiet while the healing was in progress. This, it seemed, was to take place up on the rostrum. Chairs were being put in place and the healers began to climb the steps and take their positions where the chairs were being placed. You could tell by their demeanour that this was their time, their reason for being there this evening, in fact, their reason for being. They had changed from chatty outgoing people, to calm and inward looking in the space of just a few minutes, and just watching the transformation had a calming effect on me. It seemed that they would work in pairs, one man and one woman. I guessed that as they did not know if it would be a man or women that they would give healing to it made sense to work that way. Sheila waved me up to the rostrum where a separate chair had been positioned to one side, especially for me. I sat down not quite knowing what to expect. A pair of heavy red curtains were drawn across the front of the rostrum so that those waiting for their turn could not see what was happening, and it also gave a more private atmosphere to the proceedings within the curtained off area, and too those taking part. The healing began in silence. It was a simple procedure. The patient sat in a chair with one healer in front and one behind. Hands were laid on various limbs and soon the atmosphere began to change. It felt calm and there was an overwhelming feeling of peace. I sat watching, enjoying the atmosphere, intrigued by the goings on.

How could this heal anyone? Yes I was aware of the change in atmosphere, and yes I must admit I felt that something was about to happen, but was anyone really going to gain any benefit from all of this mumbo jumbo.

I felt the first thud towards the front centre of my skull just above the eyes, and then another but more urgent this time. Now the Solar plexus was being hit. My heart was banging and I felt as though my body was being punched from the inside out. I was breaking out into a cold sweat. Soon the thuds came harder and faster gradually they became so frequent and intolerable that I began to slip into unconsciousness. I felt that the front of my skull would explode any second. The last thud of all was made by my sixteen stone body as it hit the rostrum floor. I sank down into a black velvet lined pit. Somewhere through the mists I felt hands pulling at me and I could hear muffled voices. “Get him to the back of the hall away from the healing; the energies are too much for him”. Was that Sheila? Was it my wife? I felt myself being lowered on to a seat, and as I slowly became aware of my surroundings again I realised that I was at the far end of the hall and not at all sure how I came to be there. Was I going to cry? Was I going to make light of what was happening. The way I felt at that moment I don’t think that I really cared what had happened to me? It took me back to a dentists chair when I was eleven years old and being given gas, the black rubber mask over my mouth, and everything spinning and spinning. Someone put a cold glass of water into my hands and I could here Sheila’s voice saying “you had better bring him back to our house for a cup of tea and a chat”. Tea of course, the magic liquid that was a guaranteed cure for any ailment that one could possibly have. Including it would seem being smashed from the inside out, by some invisible something, and then dumped unceremoniously onto the floor. But the one saving grace was the glass in my hands. It was cold and real and some how it connected me to the real world. I clung to it for all that my life was worth. It was an anchor and I knew that if I felt the coolness and the hardness of it and did not lose contact with it, then I could come back to the “real world”. Strange how at times of peak experiences in your life, at times when you can only be a spectator at the destruction of your life’s accumulated beliefs and experiences, that the simple things become your anchor to this so called,’ reality”. I thank God, if God there be, for hard cold glass.