Wisdom For Your Life: What I have learnt from those who have passed over

Wisdom for Your Life

What I have learnt from those

who have passed over

Katrina Cavanough

First published in 2013

Copyright © Katrina Cavanough 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

Inspired Living, an imprint of

Allen & Unwin

83 Alexander Street

Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

Phone:    (61 2) 8425 0100

Email:     [email protected]

Web:      www.allenandunwin.com

Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available

from the National Library of Australia

www.trove.nla.gov.au

ISBN 978 1 74331 443 2

eISBN 978 1 74343 180 1

Set in 11/20 pt Adobe Caslon by Midland Typesetters, Australia

For Aunty Gwen, your belief in me

has been unequivocal.

For Maggie Hamilton, you saw the value in sharing

the stories and the wisdoms.

For Alan, your love and fortitude created a world that

allowed me to follow my passion to be of service.

With gratitude to you all.

Contents

Introduction

An unusual perspective

1 Finding my way to spirit

2 The intuitive social worker

3 Spiritual guardians

4 Life’s meaning

Death

5 The soul

6 Dying

7 Going too soon

8 Grief

Life

9 Precious moments

10 Freedom from regret

11 Thoughts matter

12 Your greatest power

Epilogue

Introduction

Every day of my life I talk to people who have died. However, I know that people don’t truly die. Trust me; I talk to them. I am aware that I am mind, body, soul and spirit. In my early years as a practitioner and intuitive I used the word soul and spirit interchangeably, until I came to understand that there are four layers to our being. Beyond our mind and body is our soul. It is the soul that moves in and out of each lifetime, experiencing itself through the human body and personality. The spirit is a field of energy that rests beyond the soul and comprises the same energy that others refer to as God, the universe, Allah or Buddha. We each have our own spirit with a unique energetic vibration that defines us, like a fingerprint. Our spirit is all-knowing, filled with pure wisdom and love. My intuition draws on the part of me that is spirit energy. My intuition therefore is pure in its intent and connected to the wisdom of the universe. This knowledge has changed my life, and it has given me the greatest gift of all—peace of mind.

I am also a social worker. For ten years I worked with people experiencing trauma and death in a hospital emergency department. I supported the family and friends of patients who were dying and had died. While some of the deaths were expected, and the transition was easy, many deaths were tragic, unexpected and traumatic.

Until I began working at the hospital I would have described my life as having two paths that I lived simultaneously: the path of my soul, full of intuition, connecting with spirit and spiritual development; and the practical path, my career. Little did I know, when I took up the position, that my hospital social work would be aided and enriched by the spiritual realm, through the souls of hundreds of people who came to the end of their lives before me. But so it transpired. And I began to see that each time I assisted a patient’s soul to make sense of their death I was taking part in something that held a meaning far greater than myself.

For ten years I was held in a unique tension: in my career surrounded by death and those acutely touched by it, and in my spirit able to communicate with the souls of those people who were dying and had died. It was a path with ethical considerations, and I was careful to keep the spiritual aspects completely apart from my professional work. My first priority was always my professional role as a social worker and I never compromised that. But for me personally the two paths were interwoven, creating unique insight into the nature of life, of death, and of the mingling of the two.

I saw life after death, and I felt myself change. Over time I began to notice that I altered the way I lived my life. I noticed afresh the rich colours of the pansies in the garden, the feeling of the wind on my face, and the delight of my girls’ wrapping their arms around my neck. I began to breathe in as many moments as I could. I now live with an understanding that each moment I have is the only moment I can rely on.

The result is that I live differently from other people. To begin with, I do not fear death; it is simply a passing, not an end. I live in each moment, aware that it could be my last in this life and that how I live it affects everyone around me.

I believe that the lessons I have learned can be of benefit to everyone, which is why I have written this book. In it I describe my personal experiences with the afterlife, mostly through stories of my spiritual encounters at the hospital. The impressions I have received from and the conversations I have held with souls of the dead and with my spiritual guardians have given me insight into what happens at death, but also wisdom for how to live life, and I have aimed to pass this on in the stories that follow.

In order to protect the identities of my clients, all names in the stories have been changed, along with some of the peripheral details. I believe that the stories speak for themselves, and therefore I have allowed them to do so, giving them prominence throughout the text, while also describing some of my role’s practical considerations that may be of interest to readers. It is my hope that through sharing these stories I will pass on the insights I have been given, so that you too may understand more about death and, through this, reconsider how you might live.

An unusual perspective

I have an unusual view of life and death. Many frontline health-workers, emergency personnel and palliative-care professionals are the same. Working closely with human tragedy changes the way you perceive human existence. For me there’s an added dimension: I talk to the souls of people who have died. Some of those I met as a social worker died in traffic or workplace accidents, or through suicide, heart attack or stroke; some died gently in their sleep. All taught me a great deal.

1

Finding my way to spirit

I lay in bed. The house was quiet except for the distant hum of the fridge. Suddenly, a howling wind started up outside, prompting my heart to a faster beat. I pulled the covers up close beneath my chin. To my eight-year-old ears the wind sounded like a monster trying to blow our house down. My father appeared in the doorway, and he used what were by now familiar words to try, for the hundredth time, to soothe away my night-time terrors. ‘Rabbit, it’s the sound of the wind. There’s no need to be afraid.’

Later, as I lay wide awake in the darkness, I felt the hairs across the back of my shoulder blades and neck stand erect. My pulse beat loudly in my ears, and fear raced down my arms, nearly exploding out through my fingertips. I could feel it again. It was there.

I rolled over slowly to face the doorway. In it there stood a ghostly apparition. I closed my eyes. But the figure was still there, even clearer in my mind’s eye: a man, tall, with a beard, and wearing blue overalls. He stood motionless at my door. Just there. I had often sensed he was there, but until that night I had never actually seen him.

I leaped out of bed and raced through the darkness towards my sister’s room. ‘Ruth! Can I sleep with you?’

As always my sister obliged and with a sleepy ‘Yes’ moved over, allowing me to climb in next to her. Wrapped in the rhythm of her breathing and her warm presence, I felt safe once more. My heart finally returned to its usual beat, and I slipped into sleep.

The next morning, as I ate my breakfast with my dad, I described what had happened. He listened to me with an unusual expression on his face. He was calm, quite matter of fact, as he explained that I had seen a ghost, possibly the ghost of the man who had once been married to a lady my dad was currently dating.

I smiled. In the safety of the morning light I felt happy that I could perceive ghosts, lucky to be able to see the unseeable. Dad told me that it was a special gift that others in our family also had. I was excited. I felt magical.

On the way to school I told Ruth what Dad had said.

‘Wow, you can see ghosts? That’s cool!’

Later on I heard her telling her best friend that ‘Katrina can see ghosts.’ For the rest of the day I walked with a spring in my step. I was happy. My mind delighted in my newfound understanding of my world.

But that evening, as I was getting ready for bed, I was struck by the reality of the long night ahead. The enchantment of my newfound ability dissolved. As the light waned my wonder and excitement were replaced by fear. I knew that with the darkness came the ghosts. Most people believe that the souls of dead people are in heaven, but I knew they were down here with us, and I didn’t like it. I said a prayer begging God to take them up to heaven with him.

When my father tucked me into bed I pleaded with him to leave the light on. He tried to talk me through my fear, but his words made no difference. The terror that grabbed my chest and clutched at my back could not be talked away.

As the years passed this became the rhythm of my life: happy with my intuition by day, full of fear by night. And so my extraordinary adventures began.

By the time I was fifteen years old my life had changed dramatically. My father had remarried, and my home life had become unbearable. Home was no longer a happy place to be.