Ghost Writers

How much is that doggy in the window?

One day, in a fishing village not too far away, a small shop displayed an interesting item in its front window. The item looked completely harmless, yet, from this day forth, this one item would change the life of everyone who set eyes upon it. Many of the villagers actually passed by this shop as they made their way to and from the quaint little harbour where most of them worked. Life was simple in this small village and for the most part the villagers were content with this rudimentary lifestyle. Everyone contributed to this caring community and no one ever went without. That is, until the day when something quite extraordinary happened.

A large crowd had gathered at the shop window to gaze in wonder at the valuable commodity, yet no one seemed to possess the courage to enter the shop. A handmade sign innocuously sat beside the item – ‘To be sold to the highest bidder’. The villagers noticed this sign and its effect made them reluctant to venture inside. They mumbled to each other and smiled nervously. Curiosity had systematically encompassed them, yet naivety held them back.

And even though the gathering crowd grew bigger, noisier, and more excitable, the alluring item just sat in the shop window, staring innocently as the relative world around it descended into chaos.

Several months earlier, a local radio station had announced that a Tibetan Mastiff had been sold for a huge amount of money. The radio station concluded that the world had now gone completely mad and that you wouldn’t find anyone around these parts that would be stupid enough to pay that amount of money for a dog, never mind even possess that amount of money in the first place. The remarkable news story had entertained the villagers, who thought it was absolutely hilarious, and they all felt fortunate that money and greed hadn’t affected their lives in this desperately covetous fashion. Yet now, here they were, staring in bewilderment at this beautiful Tibetan Mastiff, for sale in their humble little shop, but seemingly only to the richest person in the village!

Urged on by his inquisitive friends, a middle-aged man edged forward towards the entrance of the shop. Before entering, he turned back around to face his friends, inanely searching for a reason not to proceed any further, but was swiftly encouraged to open the door and ask the question that dozens of others were too scared to ask – ‘How much is that doggy in the window?’

After a short while, the shop door opened and the man returned to a barrage of questions. He quickly raised his hand before declaring that if anyone wanted the prized asset then they should write their name on a piece of paper and state what they were willing to offer for it, before posting their bid in a specially made box inside the shop. He added that the current owner of the dog was the captain of a large container ship and he would return to harbour in three days’ time. He would make his final decision after considering all the proposals. The enthusiastic villagers willingly posted their bids and returned home dreaming of owning an extremely valuable item that could then be sold for a small fortune.

For the next three days, the only topic of conversation in the village was about who exactly would win the auction. The villagers boasted how much of their hard-earned savings they were prepared to spend on this tempting investment. They imagined the prosperous lifestyle that selling this asset could afford them and how they could leave this decidedly uninteresting village and set up home in a more prosperous and exciting town or city.

The three days quickly passed and the villagers eagerly awaited the arrival of the ship that carried the owner of the priceless Tibetan Mastiff. As the ship anchored, a huge cheer erupted to the embarrassment of the stunned captain, waiting patiently to disembark from a journey that was customarily ignored on any other day of the week.

The captain began to stride away in the direction of the village shop, now instinctively aware of the reason why his arrival has signified such a euphoric welcome, and also eager to put the villagers out of their self-inflicted misery! He entered the shop and quickly closed the door behind him, whilst the villagers eagerly waited outside in an anomalous silence that had been induced by a mixture of excitement and nervous tension.

After what seemed like an eternity to the frenzied crowd, the captain opened the shop door and stepped outside with an air of authority. Without uttering a single word, he proceeded to individually read each and every written proposal that had just been reclaimed from the box inside the shop. The eerie silence persisted as the captain began to drop each newly read proposal at his feet, before suddenly looking up at the crowd and raising one bid aloft. The crowd murmured, wondering if the captain had finally found the winning bid.

‘Where is Sasha?’ asked the captain. The crowd began to murmur more intensely.

Muffled cries of, ‘Where would Sasha find that sort of money?’ and, ‘I didn’t know that Sasha’s grandmother had any money at all!’ could be heard amidst a second plea from the captain as to the whereabouts of the mysterious Sasha.

All of a sudden, a young boy eased his way to the front of the crowd and raised his hand. ‘I am Sasha,’ he whispered in an unpretentious tone.

The captain smiled before returning inside the shop. The small boy stood motionless as the rest of the villagers started to crowd around him, all hoping that there had been a mistake and that Sasha hadn’t won the prized asset.

The captain returned outside with the Tibetan Mastiff on a lead and presented the dog to Sasha. He smiled at the young boy before promptly leaving in the direction of the harbour. And as he did so, he purposefully dropped Sasha’s winning bid on the road. The disbelieving crowd ignored Sasha and his prize, choosing instead to race for details of the winning bid. The first villager to find Sasha’s bid held it up against the shop window and began to read out loud what had been written on it.

‘“My parents died when I was only three so I know what it feels like to be all alone. But I live with my grandmother now and she loves me very much. She is old and has no money to buy the dog. But she says that if I loved a dog as much as she loves me then I should let you know that it’s all I can offer. I promise to walk the dog every day and I’m sure we would become best friends forever. Thank you, Sasha.”’

As the final word was humbly read out, an unnerving silence returned once more. The villagers turned to face Sasha, before slowly beginning their short walk home to try and resume some form of normality. Some of them smiled as they passed him by, others patted him on the shoulder. One of them whispered in his ear, ‘Thank you for saving our village.’

As they passed the harbour they noticed that the captain’s ship was no longer in dock. Had it left already? Or was it ever there at all?

Sasha took his new best friend home to his grandmother’s house and they proceeded to live a life of unconditional love…as did the rest of the newly educated villagers.

Maybe we could all learn something from Sasha and his dog.

Chapter Two: Forgiveness

To forgive someone is a natural progression of experiencing profound human emotions and accepting the consequences. For example; you may forgive someone for simply being late, which resulted in you both missing an important football match. Or you may forgive someone for tying you up for twenty-four hours; continually force-feeding you sun-dried cauliflower; randomly beating you over the head with a copy of Gardeners Weekly and forcing you against your will to watch episodes of Celebrity Big Brother. The first example should be fairly easily applied – especially as you may very well end up down the pub watching the game on television and getting rat-arsed. The second one, however, takes a bit more ‘savvy’. This veggie-bondage session could be seen as slightly more extreme, and the lasting effects of such a high-intensity desecration of human rights would almost certainly leave a person scarred and possibly ‘vegan-ised’ for life.

But here’s the thing. What if both examples had the same possible outcome? What if you could endure the brutality of the cauliflower-munching sadist and come out the other side smiling, just like the football fans that drank the pub dry? Would it render such a harrowing experience as just another night to forget; to be put to the back of your mind? Of course not! But, it is possible to accept what happened and move on, no matter how grim the experience may have been. And the secret ingredient to washing really bad television programmes completely out of your hair? You guessed it – forgiveness.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. What about extreme cases of inflicted pain and suffering? How could you forgive the Nazis for what they did to the Jews? How could you possibly forgive the terrorists responsible for 9/11? How could you even think of forgiving child abusers? It just doesn’t seem feasible. Well, I cannot personally give you an answer to this type of question as thankfully I haven’t been in a position where I have had to even consider this seemingly abominable suggestion. But many others have and they have forgiven individuals for some of the most heinous crimes you could ever imagine. And you know what? They almost always came out smiling afterwards and lived the rest of their lives in relative peace.

Before I started writing this book, as per normal, I asked my spirit workers to direct me towards something or someone that would inspire me. Normally, they will guide me to an uplifting song, or perhaps I will be drawn to an inspirational film that will help to ignite my writing spark. Once again, I would not be disappointed.

Two weeks ago, my wife and son decided to go to Glasgow to do some shopping. Nothing unusual about that, you might suggest, but my wife and son very rarely go shopping together as my son absolutely hates shopping. It was Saturday and I had a full day to myself – that hadn’t happened for as long as I can remember as I’m always busy on a Saturday! And as I contemplated beginning my new book, a thought quickly came into my head – go to the cinema. I checked to see what film might be of interest to a middle-aged man sitting alone in an almost empty cinema, on a dreary Saturday afternoon, and one particular film almost reached out and kicked my ass so hard that I nearly found myself shopping in Glasgow instead. The film was The Railway Man – a factual account of one man’s fight to survive the brutality of war. Popcorn at the ready, I knew that this event had almost certainly been pre-planned by my spirit workers. I then prepared myself for an education that I would never, ever, forget.

The Railway Man is the true-life account of an English soldier’s harrowing experience in a Japanese prisoner of war camp. The autobiographical account of the life of this unfortunate soldier, Eric Lomax, was tinged in controversy when the book of the same name was first published many years ago. The main talking point wasn’t the fact that much of what happened in those camps had been shamefully swept under the carpet by the British government; it was the fact that Mr Lomax had forgiven one of his torturers for the appalling crimes committed against him. Many of his fellow comrades couldn’t understand this bizarre act of kindness directed towards a sadist who had committed crimes of an almost incomparable magnitude.

I’ve read many detailed accounts of the horrors of this period and cannot begin to describe the extremely unpleasant effect it would always leave me with. You only need to Google the words Oryoku Maru to feel sick to the stomach from the unimaginable atrocities that would make even hardened slave traders grimace with horror. Mr Lomax was not on the Oryoku Maru (more aptly named – cannibal ship), but his experiences, nevertheless, were of an absolute abomination to decent human rights. However, despite suffering from frequent nightmares once returning to England, he chose the unthinkable – to forgive his chief tormentor for making his life a seemingly eternal nightmare. To most former POWs this was seen as a step too far.

The film differs slightly from the book as it infers that Mr Lomax went back to the scene of the crime to seek vengeance on his Japanese torturer, before eventually forgiving him when he found out that he too was suffering in his own personal way from what had taken place many years before. In real life, Lomax had actually prearranged this meeting and had planned to forgive him well in advance.

The end of the film is breathtaking. I watched this film with just twenty or thirty others in attendance. There was complete silence throughout the entire experience. As we all left the theatre, nobody spoke or even looked at one another. We all just wanted to get outside as quickly as possible and release our bottled-up emotions.

Mr Lomax and his torturer became firm friends after their post-war meeting. In retrospect, many of his comrades either lived the remainder of their lives in a permanent state of mental torture, or unfortunately committed suicide to end their pain. I will let you decide which path yielded the greater dividend. My thoughts will stay firmly locked with the emotions that I released immediately on leaving the movie theatre. If you haven’t watched this film yet, then I would recommend that you do so when the time is right. You will know when that time comes – trust me.

In my work as a hypnotherapist, I often meet people who suffer from acute depression. Depression is a distorted state of well-being that has unbalanced an individual’s emotional self-structure. In other words, someone suffering from depression cannot control their emotions in a manner that produces a healthy, fulfilling lifestyle. But what if that’s just ‘Doctor Talk’? After all, aren’t we here on Earth to experience emotions and what their effect has on our eternal consciousness? Wouldn’t depression be an integral part of this learning process? Perhaps, but if the effects of depression are not accepted and then suitably dealt with, then the lasting effects of such an imbalance can be extremely debilitating for any soul.

In essence, this imbalance of energy must be addressed. And if not here in the physical plane, then most certainly when returning to the world of spirit. So how do we rebalance the energy of someone suffering from a depressive state caused by extreme torture? The answer is by the means of altering the memory of traumatic events from a negative source to a more positive one. This can be achieved by hypnotherapy – and it regularly works!

Analytical hypnotherapy involves an individual choosing to regress to a point where a traumatic event occurred in their life and reliving the moment that caused this horrific imbalance of energy. A hypnotherapist will then guide the subconscious mind of the client to re-enact the traumatic event before instructing them to forgive the person involved. Once this has been achieved and the individual is returned to full consciousness, any future recalled memory of this incident will now instil a more positive emotion. This is because the individual, in their mind, has since forgiven their tormentor and now no longer wishes any bad feelings towards them. The imbalance of energy will have been suitably addressed as there will no longer be a heavy leaning towards negative emotions.

If we don’t forgive someone for committing crimes against us in this method then we will still have the opportunity when both parties eventually meet up in the spirit world. Only this time, it becomes imperative that we actively seek a compromise as any disagreement will then need to be addressed in a future incarnation.

Every case should be judged on its own merits. Forgiving someone for forgetting your birthday is much easier than forgiving someone for murdering your grandmother. But the spiritual guidelines are the same, if not the morals.

Whenever I am asked about people who inspire me and make me want to be a better person, I always name the same three individuals –Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King and Nelson Mandela. Of course, there are many others who have sacrificed their lives to aid other people not as fortunate as themselves and they are undoubtedly my heroes. But the aforementioned gentlemen, in my view, are the modern-day benchmark when it comes to inspiring ordinary people to make their world a better place to live in.

I am always in awe of those who dedicate their lifetime on this Earth to try and maintain peace within our lands. I also take my hat off to those people unfortunate enough to find their life here shortened by terminal illness, yet fight this tenure with an unassuming dignity. But it is those individuals that choose to fight oppression with simple reasoning that hearten me with the greatest hope for the future of this huge sanctimonious-filled ball of life that we call Earth. And I will now attempt to explain why.

Gandhi, King and Mandela were all victims of totalitarian regimes that denied them the right to live a life free from prejudice and restriction of choice. Any attempt to break free from persecution brought violence and abuse crashing down upon them and everyone else who stood beside them. Gandhi and King fought this terror with incisive tongues that ripped through their bigoted immoral societies. And, as countless souls yielded under the broad sword of injustice, Gandhi and King stood firm against their immensely powerful opponents. Both men were eventually assassinated but not before their legacy had been firmly put in place. That legacy decreed that no man should be treated as unequal, regardless of their skin colour or their credence. Incredibly, this was achieved by denouncing any form of violence whatsoever against the dictatorships that had principally governed their regimes through direct violence.

When Nelson Mandela was eventually released from prison, he also denounced any form of violence against the hierarchy that had systematically starved his country of civil liberties. His ethics were akin to the principles shown by Gandhi more than fifty years earlier. Yet, unlike Gandhi and King, Mandela’s political apprenticeship was stained in controversy.

Unable to make his government concede that apartheid was abhorrently unfair, the young Mandela and his political activists believed that the only way to make change happen was to take up arms against their oppressors. Mandela and his associates were subsequently charged with treason and jailed for life. It’s fair to say that conditions in his jail cell would not have been very satisfactory; nor would the jailers have been very sociable.

After twenty-seven years Mandela was finally released from prison. The government were now prepared to listen to his viewpoint. Mandela chose to work alongside them to find a solution to the social problems that were beginning to tear South Africa apart. He did not seek revenge for twenty-seven years of injustice, nor did he choose to fight his aggressors with aggression. He simply asked his supporters to forgive those responsible for the acts of violence and discrimination endured, and to now embrace a partnership between fellow South Africans.

When he was eventually elected as president of South Africa, Mandela gave his people a voice to be heard, a life to be lived and a country to be proud of. Incredibly, he worked alongside people who had made his own life a misery for many years. His choice to forgive was his greatest asset and his greatest achievement.

When Nelson Mandela died at the age of ninety-five, the whole world rose to salute a man who endured a lifetime of hate, yet parted with a lifetime of love.

Gandhi, King and Mandela solemnly decreed that the people should willingly forgive their respective governments for crimes committed against civil rights. It is arguable that if the people had not forgiven the perpetrators of these atrocious crimes against humanity, then humanity may very well have died on those blood-stained streets.

“The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.” Mahatma Gandhi.

“We must develop and maintain the capacity to forgive. He who is devoid of the power to forgive is devoid of the power to love.” Martin Luther King.

“If there are dreams about a beautiful South Africa, there are also roads that lead to their goal. Two of these roads could be named Goodness and Forgiveness.” Nelson Mandela.

Never too late to say sorry

There were two messages left on Jason’s answering machine. Pressing the play button, he looked over at his partner for some kind of reassurance. Keith nodded his head to signify his approval. As the first message was played, both men just stared at the floor, not moving, not saying a word. The second message relayed virtually the same information, except this time there was a bit more urgency in the caller’s voice.

At the hospital, Jason asked Keith to remain in the waiting area whilst he went to see the attending doctor. The hospital ward was extremely busy, but Jason somehow knew which particular doctor he needed to speak to.

‘I... I… I’m here about my father, William Thornton’, stuttered Jason; his words struggling to come out despite the fact that he had been rehearsing this sentence in his mind for the past thirty minutes whilst driving to the hospital.

Without saying a word, the doctor quickly ushered Jason into a private room where his father lay motionless on his death bed. Suddenly, there were only two men in this room; two men who hadn’t spoken a single word in almost five years, and yet neither man seemed keen to end this linguistic drought. The noisy hospital ward had thankfully become incredulously quiet, although five years of simmering tension had prevented either man from even looking the other squarely in the eye.

‘Son, I’m dying,’ whispered William, a tear slowly garnishing his pale, yellowish face as the silence was finally broken.

As Jason slowly raised his head, he would see only a shadow of the man who had brutally thrown him out of the family home almost five years earlier. That was the day that his mother was laid to rest after she committed suicide. His father had blamed Jason for her death. He maintained that his wife could never accept the fact that her son was gay and the constant shame instigated her chronic depressive state. In actual fact, it was Jason’s father who couldn’t accept his son’s sexuality and he started drinking heavily. Eventually, his mother couldn’t take any more of her husband’s alcohol-fuelled behaviour and she overdosed on sleeping tablets. On the day of her funeral, both men had a huge argument and Jason didn’t see his father again – until this moment.

Jason suddenly pointed his forefinger aggressively in the direction of his father. ‘You blamed me for Mum’s death. You’re not going to blame me for yours!’

‘I know I did…and I was wrong,’ replied William, before holding out his hand and beckoning his son to approach the side of his bed. ‘I lost my wife five years ago and then I lost my son because of some stupid religious belief. I am so sorry for everything.’

William then wrenched his lifeless body up one final time to whisper into his son’s ear. ‘Despite what’s happened between us I never stopped loving you. I was just too ashamed of myself to admit it. That’s why I arranged for the nurse to telephone you on my behalf.’

As Jason listened to his father’s tender words he felt five years of hatred slowly begin to evaporate. He held his father’s hand and nodded his head in approval. The tension, previously evident in the faces of both men, began to disappear. And as William relaxed he whispered his final words. ‘I’m so very proud of you. I only wish I could’ve been half the man that you have become.’

As William’s body began to sink comfortably into the contours of the hospital bed Jason realised that his father was breathing his final breath. ‘I forgive you, Dad, I forgive you, I do love you…’

In that one final moment, they made their peace. The courage of an apology and the compassion of forgiveness was all that they could finally offer each other. Nonetheless, it was all that they would ever truly need.