Mind games

I’ve spent the day welcoming a steady stream of nurses and carers into my Dad’s house today. He’s been discharged from hospital and now we have to make sure he is safe and comfortable in his own home.

I had assumed that given the nature of my day, there would be little time for things spiritual, but for the first time ever, I actually enjoyed my Morning Pages and a woman in Boots gave me a spontaneous hug. This is the second bear hug that has been sprung on me in the space of a week – what’s going on? Unfortunately, a few seconds earlier she told me she had head lice, so I had to swerve to avoid her hair.

I was thinking about money a lot last night and used this morning’s pages to dump all my beliefs about it. My goodness, I have such a twisted relationship with the stuff, it’s no wonder it doesn’t stick around.

Changing my thoughts about money is going to take some doing as these feelings are deeply ingrained. Hand me a £50 note for no apparent reason and I will be crippled with shame. I used to play the lottery and every time I won (the most I scooped was £148) I’d feel compelled to give the money away to a beggar, charity, a sponsored bike ride, anything but keep it. I didn’t deserve it. I hadn’t earned it.

The list of ridiculous stories I tell myself about money goes on and on and I am not going to bore you with them. The only way to change things is to alter my thinking.

Marion gave us a sheet about a mental diet on Saturday, which might help. The idea is, you spend an entire seven days without entertaining a negative thought. If one gets a grip of you, then you must give up and try again a few days later.

It’s called The Seven Day Mental Diet by Emmet Fox. It was written in 1935, but it makes a lot of sense.

He writes: “If you change your mind, your conditions must change too. We are transformed by the renewing of our minds.”

I’m starting to really get this now – it’s the doing of it I have problems with. I know that I should be thinking uplifting, high thoughts like love, joy and prosperity, but what do you do when those feelings are just not there? When what bubbles to the surface is somewhat darker?

Marion says: ‘Try to acknowledge what is working and all the carers and nurses who are helping with your father, uplift them with your thoughts of appreciation as much as you can.’

It sounds like sound advice to me. I’ve also got to remember to look after myself, so come tomorrow, I’m going to book myself in for 24 hours of delicious silence with the nuns next week. How very rock ‘n’ roll of me…

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