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    A Way of Being: The Journey to Spiritual Enlightenment
    A Way of Being: The Journey to Spiritual Enlightenment
    A Way of Being: The Journey to Spiritual Enlightenment
    Ebook220 pages3 hours

    A Way of Being: The Journey to Spiritual Enlightenment

    By Adrian Holland

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    About this ebook

    A spiritual awakening with a little angelic guidance...
    So who am I and how did I become an artist and an author?
    Life can be cruel, dreams can be shattered, but it can also be wonderful. Careers can come and go, just like loved ones. It is all about taking the best out of every situation, keeping going, and remaining positive.
    It is all about learning from your experiences and trying to understand why you have had them.
    However, despite my best efforts what I have been striving to achieve and what life has decided best for me, have not always coincided!
    Sometimes I have gone from failure to success, success back to failure, and the absurd to the ridiculous, or somewhere in between, but I am sure that I am not on my own in that respect.
    I hope that some of the things I have been through resonate with people, and in trying to overcome them, inspire and help them to go on to bigger and better things...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAdrian Holland
    Release dateDec 8, 2012
    ISBN9781909466135
    A Way of Being: The Journey to Spiritual Enlightenment
    Author

    Adrian Holland

    Adrian is primarily known for his artwork and book cover designs, although he is also an author. Originally, from Solihull, West Midlands, England, he now lives in Rural Cheshire.Adrian has now written over 40 books mostly Science Fiction, although he has also written in other genres including Spiritually Influenced, Mystery, and Fantasy.All of his work can be viewed on his website: www.amazola.co.uk

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      Book preview

      A Way of Being - Adrian Holland

      A Way of Being

      The Journey to Spiritual Enlightenment

      Adrian Holland

      Published by AMAZOLA

      The right of Adrian Holland to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

      Copyright © Adrian Holland 2011

      ISBN 978-1-909466-13-5

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior per-mission of the publishers.

      For further information please contact the official website at

      www.adrianhollandangels.com

      A copy of this book is held at the British Library.

      Cover design and illustrations by Adrian Holland

      I was very close to both of my parents who were my best friends, and I have lost count of the number of happy times we shared, and all of the creativity and laughter. Like my beloved father Joe, my mother Margaret was so special, and my total inspiration. I would therefore like to dedicate this book to their memory.

      Contents

      Introduction

      The Early Years

      The Big Wide World

      Swings and Roundabouts

      My Guardian Angel

      My Inspirational Angel

      Emancipation

      New Beginnings

      Emotions

      Exodus

      A Time of Reflection

      Silver Linings

      Angel Cards

      The Carousel

      Sun Babies

      It’s all in the Mind

      The Vision

      In Closing

      Well, putting on my T shirt this morning I happened to notice the label ‘F & F’ - Fat and Fifties!

      It has been a long time since I first published this book, and so it is about time that I did an update.

      People have been asking me about myself, my books and how I create my artwork, and indeed how I ended up doing what I do.

      Being a ‘F & F’ I can remember the Alexi Sayle’s Stuff TV Show of 1988-91, where a sweet little girl name Cheryl stopped on the opening credits to ask who is that fat Bar Stuart?

      So without further ado…

      Introduction

      Things happen!

      Good things as well as bad things, which all go together to form what we refer to as life's rich tapestry.

      Sometimes, probably most of the time, these things come along quite unexpectedly. Sometimes we may have a premonition, or be informed by a psychic, and be consciously aware of the future. But, for most of the time, we only experience things as they happen.

      On reflection, it is a good job that we do otherwise we could end up a nervous wreck!

      It is also said that we choose our lives before conception, to undergo certain tasks - Karma if you like. I have often wondered what I did in a past life to deserve all that I have been through in this lifetime!

      All I can say is that it has all been worthwhile in the end, although at times, it has been hard going, very hard going indeed, and I hope that my life story makes interesting reading.

      It is all about learning from your experiences and trying to understand why you have had them. Everything happens for a reason, and I am not about criticising people or name shaming them to get some sort of revenge. Rather, it is about me, my failings and areas that I need to improve, or to understand why people act as they do.

      Life can be cruel, dreams can be shattered, but it can also be wonderful. Careers can come and go, just like loved ones. It is all about taking the best out of every situation, keeping going, and remaining positive.

      The main things that have sustained me on my journey have been the love and support of my parents, and my sense of humour, together with a desire to achieve something with my life.

      However, despite my best efforts what I have been striving to achieve and what life has decided best for me, have not always coincided!

      Sometimes I have gone from failure to success, success back to failure, and the absurd to the ridiculous, or somewhere in between, but I am sure that I am not on my own in that respect.

      I hope that some of the things I have been through resonate with people, and in trying to overcome them, inspire and help them to go on to bigger and better things...

      The Early Years

      I grew up in a small village Majors Green just outside Solihull, West Midlands, the only child to two loving parents. Looking back I count myself very lucky to have all of their love and support, and to grow up in such an idyllic part of the country.

      However, it’s a wonder I ever made it there at all, as my mother had to go into hospital several weeks early as she had a thrombosis in her leg, and on the way to the hospital the taxi crashed through the window of a florists shop!

      This event seemed to mark the start of a life that has been a bit of a roller coaster to say the least, but as the Elton John song says I’m still standing…

      So, after being extradited from the florists, my forty one year old mother ended up in Catherine-de-Barnes the former Isolation Hospital, which was then used for maternity.

      She was fortunate to have a private room, and spent a long time with her leg strapped up being mostly attended to by a jolly black nurse Sister Durban - a life long friend who used to refer to her a pot belly!

      My father used to come and see her every day when he was off duty as a police sergeant, a striking man who was a bit of an Adonis. He used the wooden staircase and balcony outside the room, which was later condemned after the pounding it received from this giant of a man.

      He was forty four, twice the size and four times the strength of the average man, and yet so quiet, kind and gentle, whereas my mother was petite and not so quiet. They had been married for just over two years, and enjoyed big love!

      Then, they lived in a first floor maisonette with my grandmother, who had lost a leg with Mitral Stenosis. When they got married a couple were contracted as live in carers for her, but after a few weeks my father was not happy with the situation and insisted that his mother-in-law came to live with them. She absolutely adored him, and the feeling was mutual - no Les Dawson jokes here!

      She had not been with them for long when my father had to have an operation for Varicose Veins, and before he went into Hospital he had bought her a puppy. Incidentally, the surgeon Doctor Guravitz, was nicknamed the butcher, and when he first saw my father he rubbed his hands together saying Good, I have plenty of meet to cut into!

      He had not been late on duty or had a day off sick for over 25 years, and one morning whilst recuperating, he went to get the mail out of the letter box, and slipped on the polythene and newspaper puppy toilet. There was a massive crash, as the place shook as he fell over kicking the plant stand and sending soil all over the ceiling.

      My mother began to cry as she was heavily pregnant and had thoughts of having to climb out of the window for help as they had no telephone, and my grandmother also started to cry as she felt useless as she only had the one leg.

      My father found it all very amusing, as he had never had two women cry over him before!

      He just got up and started cleaning the mess, but if my mother had of attempted to climb out of the window then I might not have been here to tell the tale.

      When it was time for me to appear, Mr. Watson the chief surgeon took my father aside advising him that it would have to be C-Section, and that it was very unlikely that either my mother or I would survive!

      The poor wooden stairs and balcony took a real pounding that day, but to his great relief we did both make it due to Mr. Watson’s skill.

      When my mother came round, my father was there by her side, and she thought that he had gone home and returned. However, he had been sitting with me and the other babies in the nursery all night, and there was no one brave enough to tell him that he would have to leave.

      Mr. Watson was amazed and took me round the whole hospital exclaiming that my mother was nearly forty two, and in those days it was quite unusual. I appeared in this world, with a healthy olive skin, black eyes and jet black hair, as apposed to all of the other babies who were like pale wrinkled old men.

      He also remarked that there was no doubting who I belonged to as I was the spitting image of my father. From the first moment we bonded, and I have idolised him ever since.

      He decided to name me Adrian Henry, Henry after his father, whereas my mother preferred Thomas Joseph, Thomas after her father. He was such a proud father that she felt as though she could not really object, although she did wonder if it was after the wrestler Adrian Street.

      My father, just like his mother, were very keen wrestling fans, and before she went into hospital he had taken her to see it live. My father had got so excited that he had shaken the seat in front of him to such an extent that he had literally dismantled it!

      The name has never really felt right to me, but I have since discovered that Adrian means healer/teacher - so it appears as though he had plans for me!

      We all then moved to a bungalow, which my grandmother referred to as her country residence. We were inseparable, but sadly her health deteriorated and she lost her other leg.

      The summer of 1965, had been replaced by the summer of 1966, as the family got used to life without her. She was a remarkable lady, of great courage and wisdom. Lady was correct, as she walked away from the Aristocracy for love, and love in abundance is what she gave out, especially to me.

      Her ethics and principles have stayed with me ever since, and although so young, I just know that she had quite an affect on my life. She always said that there was something different about me than her other grand children - whether that was going to be a good or bad thing only time would tell!

      I do still feel her presence and carry her love and total admiration in my heart, and feel that she has always played a part in my life.

      I was growing rapidly, and as summer faded, so did my olive skin, being replaced by a fair complexion. My eyes were now blue and my hair blonde!

      Walking, talking, and thriving in a loving home, my earliest memories are of green fields, little character properties dotted about with a village post office and stores, a tea rooms, river with a ford and wooden footbridge, a canal and a boatman’s rest. There was also a little railway station with a line that stretched from Birmingham to Stratford-upon-Avon.

      There were also several football grounds taking advantage of the greenbelt, and the following summer of 1967, one of the teams Highgate United was playing Enfield in the quarter-finals of the FA Amateur Cup. There had been a lot of excitement about the game, and so my parents had taken me along in my pushchair.

      Unfortunately, midway through the first half, a torrential storm broke out, and although so young I can still remember that day. Why it has stuck in my mind is the fact that a bolt of lightning shot out of the sky and struck a player who was standing right in front of me. The Highgate United centre half Tony Allden, did not recover consciousness and tragically died the next day in hospital.

      We were at the front of the crowd, quite near the touchline, and the lightening just missed me by a proverbial whisker, and ever since, I have had a phobia of storms. (I did eventually go to see a regression therapist in an effort to release my trauma, who instead of taking me back to that time, took me back to a previous lifetime where I also encountered a terrible storm. That was the time of the crusades, and I have written about my experiences in my book Knights of Madness - The Quest for Spiritual Truth, which is quite a story!)

      I still have my phobia, although thankfully I am nearly over it now.

      The following summer with my hair now brown to match my eyes, the neighbours began to wonder if my parents had three sons!

      Life was good, and there were no more near death experiences, well apart from the fact that I was feeding one of the goats that lived on the corner of our road, when it butted me. One of his horns pierced my neck, and I was rushed to hospital where I underwent an emergency operation. I was very lucky, as the horn just missed my windpipe and it could have done some very serious damage. Thankfully again, someone or something had saved me!

      It was just as well as I developed a bad habit of walking through glass doors, and window panels. Somehow I did not seem to realise that they were there, and I can still remember my father taking me to the local glaziers on our seemingly weekly visit.

      His usual greeting was What has he smashed today?

      My father would sigh as he explained, and remark that as usual I had never even got a scratch!

      He was so patient, and in those days he was on nights, and I loved nothing better than sneaking into the bed and snuggling up to him. My mother had to put a lock on the door, as I could sleep the clock round.

      It was heaven waking up and listening to my fathers stories that he made up about the adventures of Charlie the Chicken.

      I still remember the day he retired, and being sat on the wing of his Morris Oxford with the white wall tyres.

      I loved my life, my parents and my happy home, but all that soon changed the next year when I had to go to school.

      That brought me nothing but unhappiness, as I was profoundly dyslexic, and in those days it was not recognised, as Dyslexia was somewhere in Eastern Europe. So, I was just dismissed as being somewhere between thick and stupid!

      A brief respite was having my tonsils removed, as I had so much tonsillitis around the age of five. My mother and I stayed in a private room at the Nuffield Hospital in Solihull, and the weeks off school were bliss!

      Going back, my time in class was spent sitting there wondering what was going on, and staring out of the window wishing that I was at home. Neither the staff nor the other pupils had any understanding of what I was going through, or indeed any compassion for the way that I was suffering. It was tough going, especially as I made an easy target for the playground bullies.

      I did have a few friends though, Justin who lived a few doors way from my home, although he was in a different class. His father owned a model shop - bliss!

      His mother was a real character, and I can remember squeezing into the back of her bubble car with Justin when she took us to the park one day. When we arrived back she pulled up too close to their garage

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