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Dr Hew Len is a doctor who inspires me. He healed his patients by working on himself with remarkable success.  I think of him in the long dark silence of my night as I sit at home thinking about my mother in hospital, struggling for her life.  I turn to him in my minds-eye and ask: what advice do you have for me, Dr. Hew Len?  How can I  work on myself to help my mother? I hear his words: We have two choices always, he says.  To go to the data of memories, or to go to inspiration. If you find your mind is hooked on the databank of old thinking, say this mantra – I love you, I’m sorry, please forgive me.  Try to turn your thoughts to inspiration and let this cleanse you. The old data holds a mortgage on your soul, he says.

I’m sitting here in the dark, trying to turn myself from anxiety to inspiration.  It  feels like trying to turn an old car without power steering.  I had a Datsun once, who exemplified that kind of refusal – the cold early mornings were the worst.  It battled against me, it’s wheels fighting to be opposite. “Use love not force” he whispers, that illusive Dr. Len in my mind. So, I do, I write this in real-time – isn’t that what a blog is supposed to be?  Raw and honest and  now? I’m using this forum and you who read this, to help me turn myself from anxiety to inspiration.  You who read this, like it or not, have become part of my process.  Perhaps you might have use for this sometime in your life, in which case, I will then become part of your process.  Is this how inspiration works?

I drove my grandchild to school yesterday morning early, before I went to the hospital.  He was buried in a story on my Kindle and it took some power steering to persuade him to leave his electronic page for a few minutes and connect with me.  Dvorac was playing and I wanted him to hear his New World Symphony.  This man was homesick and lonely, I said.  He wrote a story out of those feelings in music. Do I really have to listen? He moaned.  Yes, I said firmly.  Just for a few minutes, listen to how he worked with his feelings in such an amazing way.  He wrote a story for all of us to be inspired by.  It took some power steering to turn his attention to the music, and I watched his little body move from resistance to relaxation as he received the sound filling our car.

Thank you Dvorac, I say, in this dark hour of silence, broken only by the sound of rain pelting at my windows and the sound of my keyboard responding to the sound of my mind melting.