Summer 1975: A hospital in Norway
I started to gradually regain consciousness. I felt sick, raw and
completely empty.
I was alone, but a man in a uniform passed by and said something
to me that I didn't understand, it was as if he knew me, but I did not
know him. I found out later that he was one of the ambulance crew
who had brought me here.
I had had my stomach pumped, after having swallowed an entire jar
of strong sleeping tablets.
I just didn't see the point in anything. I felt dead, completely cut off from
myself and everybody else.
But I also felt a pain that had become more and more intolerable.
I was enclosed in darkness.
Afterwards, I spent some time in hospital, where they tried to help me by
putting me on medication, to find one that would help me, but I never really
felt any better with them, it was only talking to the psychologist that helped
me, because he was nice.
He asked for my parents to come to 1 or 2 sessions too. They came, with
some apprehension...
Gradually, over time, some of the pressure eased.
I learned Transcendental Meditation, and through my father I became
interested in Eastern Philosophy, especially Buddhism.
I was practicing TM for a long time. With use of the breath and the mantra,
the mind and the body goes into a deep state of relaxation. It is revitilising,
and it is beneficial in terms of the energy it produces. Up through the years
many tests have been carried out on the brainwaves of people in a meditative
state, and it has been proven that it produces a positive change.
However, this did not help me to deal with my issues of insecurity and
worthlessness.
I got a feeling that they did not exist anymore, but that was an illusion.
Because of the temporary feeling of relaxation that TM gave me,
it helped to cover up the lack of inner stability, but I became dependent
on it to maintain it.
It was much later that I came to realize that it could not heal me, it just
helped me to maintain the status quo.
But the urge for healing never went away.
Anyway, after the difficult period of my childhood and adolescence, my
life started to take on an outwardly normal appearance.
I started to work, I was doing all the things that one are supposed to do.
I had friends, I went out, I started to travel abroad, and in 1982
I found myself in Israel, working in a kibbutz.
Kibbutz Sarid, betweed Haifa and Nasareth, Israel
The kibbutzes are group communities, based on socialist principles,
where people work and live together and where everything is shared.
There are many of them in Israel, and at the time it was a popular
destination for young people to go and volunteer, to live this lifestyle,
and to meet other people from all parts of the world.
Us, the volunteers, came from around the world:
There was Europeans, South Americans, Africans, and 2 individuals
from Ireland.
We were carrying out a multitude of tasks;
I was harvesting oranges and grapefruits, some of us worked on the
cotton fields, others with the animals, or the creche, some even worked
in the factory there.
During an excursion to the Dead Sea and the Massada desert, I got to
know one of those Irishmen, as we were sitting around the bonfire,
eating and drinking.
I also visited Nazareth several times, and when an opportune moment
came, myself and the Irishman headed off to visit Jerusalem and Bethlehem,
and we ended up in Eilat in the south of the country.
It is by the Red Sea, it was very hot, and I got a sunstroke!
We also ran out of money...
Luckily we had bought return tickets for the bus, but the journey back to
Haifa, via Tel Aviv, on the bus, is one that I will never forget.
We were starving.
And then we had to get from Haifa to the kibbutz........
Anyway, a short time later, he asked me to marry him, and when I said
yes, he said we would get married in Rome, which, in fact we did, a year
and a half later.
But before that, we went to Greece and took part in the harvesting of
olives.
At night, we slept in a boat that was in somebody's garden, and we had
coffee and breakfast every morning in the little café just across from us.
Then we just travelled around.
In the end, we found ourselves in Ireland.
As an Irishman, he «took a drink.»
«It is my culture, there is nothing wrong with it», he would say when I
was surprised at how much and how often he was drinking.
I was willing to believe him. I adored him.
9. October 1983: Vatican City, Rome, Italy
With the Basilica filled to capacity, and also St.Peter's Square outside,
21 couples, including myself and my ex husband got married by Pope
(now Saint) John Paul 2.
The event was televised internationally, we were on the news, and reported
by newspapers all over the world.
I had converted to the Catholic Faith before the marriage.
Nobody had asked me to, I wanted to, because I found myself drawn to
the Mass.
Even though I had not been raised in the Catholic Church I recognized it
as my spiritual home.
From Norway, we had inter railed our way to Rome.
We had not even made proper arrangements for witnesses, but 2 days
before the big day I met a friend outside St. Peter's Basilica.
She was in Rome taking part in a pilgrimage.
After meeting her that day, she promised to stand as my witness.
As for my husband, he had none......
A kindly Canadian archbishop who was in the Basilica at the same time
as us on the day of the rehearsal, overheard the conversation between the
organizers and us, and he offered to stand as his witness.
How cool is that!
On the morning of the wedding, after a sleepless night, we got ourselves
ready and headed to the reception of the hotel asking the receptionist to
call a taxi for us.
«No problem», he said and we sat down to wait, thinking that it surely
would not take long, our hotel was central enough, and this was Rome,
after all.
We waited, and then waited a bit more. Strange, why had the taxi not
arrived already?
Again, we went up to the man in the reception, and asked him to please
call a taxi, as we were in a hurry! I was, after all, dressed in my wedding
dress, which was a strong clue as to the importance of the taxi!
Again the same thing happened, he smiled, picked up the phone, and
seemed to call a taxi, not that either of us could verify that, as we could
not understand much italian.
But no taxi arrived.
Now we started to panic a bit, as we had just timed it to be there on time,
and had not left a big margin. Were we going to be late for our own wedding,
or miss it?
Finally the penny dropped;«You have to give him money», I said to my
husband, «otherwise there will be no taxi».
And right enough, with a bill put into his hand, the receptionist made
a taxi appear within no time at all.
We were now definitely late.
Arriving at the Vatican, almost running to the door to the private
corridors leading to the Sistine Chapel, we were met by our witnesses
and the organizers.
They were almost more worried that us, wondering where we had been!
We were to sign the civil papers in this overwhelmingly beautiful Chapel,
before we walked from there, in a long procession, the corridors that led
us into St.Peter's Basilica, which was filled to capacity, as it always is,
every time the Pope makes an appearance.
As we entered, the entire congregation greeted us, they were all clapping,
it was mind blowing.
It was just as well that I didn't see the tv cameras...... the whole experience
was overwhelming and unbelievable.
For some time afterwards, we were interviewed by newspapers and
magazines, as we had become «celebrities».
«Wow, you were married by the Pope!» everybody said, and it became
a great boast for my husband and also for his mother.
«For if anyone thinks he is something when he is nothing, he deceives himself.»
Galatians 6:3 (ESV)
«A man's pride will bring him low, But a humble spirit will obtain honor.»
(Proverbs 29:23 )(NASB:)
It was certainly a great honour and privilege, but it wasn't because either of
us deserved it in any way, nor did it prove anything about us as Catholics.
What I remember most about this day, was the way the Pope looked at me,
when he came around to talk to us individually after the ceremony had been
conducted.
I realized that he was not just very charismatic, but also a holy man, and later
I sometimes wondered: «what he was seeing and thinking when he was looking
at me?»
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