Jellyfish. A Journey through Life, Death and Beyond

By Kym and Andrew Oliver

Water, warm and still and soft. The sea was dark, but surrounding him were tiny lights turning on and off ever so gently. Andrew was not alone; little jellyfish were gently moving through the water, and their long, soft arms occasionally caressed his body. He felt loved and united with the water and the jellyfish….

"This is what Enlightenment feels like," Andrew told me. "So soft and natural, so simple and gentle…."

Jellyfish is the story Andrew wanted to write for you: to share with you the profound lessons he learned facing his own death, what occurred when he died, and his experience after he died. Andrew passed before he could write Jellyfish, so I wondered if I could do it for him. "But how?" I asked.

Within three months of Andrew's passing, the magic of life spun, and I was introduced to people who helped me communicate with Andrew and allow him to write through me. He sends you practical messages that speak directly to you about how to trust, allow, and let go so your heart can take centre stage, leaving your head in the background.

It is the head, Andrew says, that dissects life into what it likes and does not like. When life is smooth and easy, the head is happy. The head resists and gets agitated, though, when life is challenging and painful. This is not so with the heart, which loves both spectrums of life. The heart loves all of life.

How we view life is like how we view jellyfish. Some love jellyfish, seeing them as graceful and silent, while others hate them. After all, they sting, sometimes even kill! Life, too, involves beauty and ugliness, pain and pleasure, living and dying. But to the heart, these are just words. From the heart's perspective, life is life, just as jellyfish are jellyfish, dancing their dance. The question is, are you dancing, too?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kym Oliver
• Release date: Jun 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201171674

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Who was Andrew?

I have been promised full release from the world I created.

—Andrew

W hat sort of accent is that? is a question I have heard many people ask Andrew. He was a melting pot of cultures, and the time he spent in different parts of the world not only shaped his speech, but his pe rsonality.

Andrew was born on Nauru, a tiny island in the South Pacific. Nauru is the world’s smallest republic, covering only 21 square kilometres. By the age of two, Andrew and his family had moved to Christmas Island, in the Indian Ocean, which encompasses a mere 135 square kilometres. Andrew’s father, Jeff, managed the shopping centre on Nauru and did the same on Christmas Island. He wanted to offer his family a different lifestyle, and that is surely what they experienced. Andrew spent a very happy childhood on Christmas Island.

When Andrew talked about his childhood, he spoke mainly of three things: the sense of community, being free, and the sea. When Andrew was in the ocean, time stood still; he felt no hunger or fatigue, and he begrudged having to come back to land to eat lunch or put on more sunscreen. When he was eight years old, Andrew’s folks gifted him with his very own outrigger canoe. His parents remember standing on the beach, panic-stricken as they watched their little boy paddling further and further out to sea until he was just a dot on the horizon.

Uncomfortable with the choices of secondary schools on the island, the Oliver family moved to Australia when Andrew was ready for high school.

It was a cultural shock for them, especially for Andrew and his sister Jo. On Christmas Island, they had been cared for by a large community of people. Life was carefree and safe. But in Perth, they had to fend for themselves, and they didn’t feel as secure anymore.

Andrew’s parents, Jeff and Val, were busy working in their own business, so Andrew and Jo had to rely on themselves to make it through school. Jo could juggle school, work, and play, but Andrew did not have her self-discipline. I only scraped through high school, Andrew used to say. Spent more time partying with friends. It wasn’t that Andrew didn’t want to study; he did, but he needed someone to guide him. He was crying out for direction, a sense of community again, and above all else, that sense of freedom he had felt as a child on the Islands. Without knowing it, Andrew was looking for a spiritual teacher.

Around this time, Jeff became interested in spirituality and personal development. He attended some lectures on a philosophy called Vedanta, and it wasn’t long before Vedanta study classes were being held at the Oliver home. Jo was the first of the two kids to become interested in Vedanta, and after attending a few classes, she went to India for a three-year residential course. Andrew was not immediately taken by the philosophy, but he was happy to visit Jo as part of his travel plans to India and Nepal.

Andrew visited Jo at the ashram in 1991, and his first impression was, They’re all mad! He couldn’t understand why Jo insisted on staying in such a strange place. All anyone spoke about was their teacher, who was not even there, and when Andrew attended some tutorials, he could not make any sense of their discussion. Then there was the environment to contend with: the beds were rock hard, the routine rigorous, and the food bland. Andrew was ready to exit that place, and promptly, but everyone there urged him to wait until their teacher had returned.

Andrew endured a week at the ashram before the teacher arrived, by which point the students had built him up to be a goliath. When Andrew sat and listened to him talk for the first time, he was full of intrigue for this man they all called Swamiji. As Swamiji spoke, Andrew got chills up and down his body. I was sitting in the lecture, and my entire being screamed ‘YES.’ Everything I’d asked for was right here. It felt incredible. After that one lecture, Andrew decided to stay at the ashram for as long as it took him to discover the freedom his soul yearned for. Andrew called his mum and dad, told them he was staying for the three-year course, and asked for more of his belongings to be sent to India.

While Andrew had found his guru and was experiencing the community and safety he had left on the island as a child, life at the ashram was not easy. Andrew faced some of his biggest challenges there, and at one stage, he was so crippled by depression that he could not get out of bed for a week.

There are few distractions from the discomfort of ashram life, and sometimes the mind caves. The outward expression is similar to a child throwing a tantrum; the only difference is that adults are better at disguising themselves. This is not an easy task when you’re living in close quarters with many other aspirants, though. All your demons come out in full view for everyone to see!

Day in and day out, aspirants were urged to sort out their demons, to improve themselves. They were nudged by their fellow students, by the knowledge they were learning, by the weather, by the food, by everything. They had two choices: to run or to face themselves. Andrew knew he would have to confront his demons eventually, so he stood his ground. In time, Andrew healed and relished being at the ashram. Once the three years had passed and Andrew had finished the course, he had no intention of going back home.

While Jeff and Val supported Andrew in the choices he made, they felt he needed to return home for a while before deciding whether to stay at the ashram permanently. They asked him to come help with their business in Perth. Andrew agreed, but he kept his room at the ashram unpacked and told everyone he would soon be back. Five years passed before Andrew returned to the ashram, however, for during that time, he decided to get a university degree and find a wife!

As Andrew visited various universities and was deciding on a course of study to pursue, he had nothing particular in mind until he saw a colourful poster he liked. It was advertising social work; based on that poster, Andrew chose to become a social worker. He claimed he also had a passing thought, Friendly people want to be social workers, so this will be a good place to meet my future wife!

CHAPTER 2

Who were we?

Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction.

—Antoine de Saint-Exupery

When Andrew enrolled at university in Melbourne, he was 27 years old. It was his first experience of tertiary education, and he was eager to be a student and immerse himself into university life. He walked around with confidence and joy, and he loved everyone. Everyone loved him, too—students and teachers. I was there with one purpose: to earn a degree and start working. I had already been in tertiary education for 3 years, going from course to course, not knowing where to focus. Finally, I found an occupation that suited me; I felt passionate about becoming a social worker but begrudged having to spend another four years studying. I was definitely not looking for a life partner; after class, I would hurry home, unable to get out of there quickly enough. Meanwhile, Andrew took part in the social gatherings and was happy to meet ne w friends.

The groovers loved Andrew. These were the people who dressed weirdly and did interesting things like playing in bands and going to protests. And while Andrew loved them back, he also loved the not-so-groovy kids: those who wore boring clothes, studied hard, and still lived at home with their parents.

Andrew was loving and light-hearted; he was clearly someone who had worked hard to improve himself, dealing with his inhibitions and complexes. I was quite the opposite, full of hang-ups. If I’d had to put myself into a category, I would have been a not-very-cool person.

After a lecture one day, I overheard Andrew asking some other students if they knew where he could get a part-time job. I do, Andrew, I said. Where I work, they’re looking for staff. Andrew was interested, and so I arranged an interview for him. We met in a café in Carlton beforehand so I could offer him some tips.

The position was caring for people in their own homes, including cleaning, preparing meals, taking them shopping, and offering personal care like help in the shower. I thought it was the perfect job for a social work student, and I was eager to share it with Andrew. I had no other expectations.

Andrew was excited to meet with me and get the job. We spoke about the interview for a short while, but most of our conversation involved getting to know one another. What’s your favourite movie? Do you have a favourite book? Have you been overseas? were the questions we asked.

"Fantastic Mister Fox is my favourite book," he told me.

One of mine, too, I said, thinking, Wow.

Then I thought to mention two movies that most people I knew hadn’t heard of. "Have you seen The Fisher King?"

It’s one of my favourites.

"The Wiz, by any chance?"

"I grew up with The Wiz."

Wow, I thought again. I was feeling amazed at the similarities we shared and the ease of our conversation.

We then moved on to Andrew’s time in India, which fascinated me to no end. Ever since I could remember, I’d been interested in India, and here was a man who had spent four years there! The more I observed his behaviour, the less I saw Australian mannerisms and more Asian ones. This was comforting for me, having a Chinese mother and being a little different, too.

There was something else that captivated me, something I could not put my finger on. I struggle to find the right words even now, but let me try. Andrew had the ability to put you at ease and make you feel loved. There was innocence in his eyes, and he seemed wise and calm, sure of himself. It was very attractive. He knew what he wanted in life and took the steps to get it. After we parted that day, I knew he would call me. There was an energy between us that we both obviously felt, and I decided that when he asked, I would welcome his invitation to meet again.

Andrew called the next day, and we soon formed a close relationship. As time passed, we fell deeper in love, and within a year, Andrew suggested we get married. I knew Andrew would help me grow; he would be my teacher, and, like me, he was interested in dedicating his life to an ideal beyond the trivialities of daily existence. I could envision a purposeful life with Andrew.

Won’t they think it’s too soon? I asked Andrew as we prepared to call his parents and tell them of our marriage plans.

They’ll love the idea, don’t worry, he said.

We were sitting on the floor of my childhood bedroom, the sun bathing us from the window, my dog Misty beside us, and Mum in the kitchen cooking a delicious Chinese lunch. When we told Andrew’s folks, it delighted them; it was my mother and my friends who were concerned we were jumping into marriage too soon. What’s the hurry? they said. You’ve only just met! But when Andrew said, Let’s get married and explained that he saw no reason to wait, that he was sure now and would be sure later, I felt the same way.

When I asked Andrew, Why me?, he said I was kind and interested in spiritual growth. He was also deeply attracted to the fact that at age 21, I had lived in the same house my entire life. The first time Andrew came home with me, he told me he could feel Mum and me in the house, that it breathed our history. He said it felt sacred, and he walked around as if he were on holy ground. I didn’t understand this behaviour until Andrew explained that by the time he was 21, he had moved with his family 21 times! It was hard for me to fathom such an existence when mine had been so different.

Mum and I welcomed Andrew into our home, and when he and I decided to marry, I told him that we would have to live in my mother’s house with her. I was her only child, and Mum was an immigrant with no family in Australia. I could not leave her or ask her to move from West Melbourne. Being illiterate, Mum relied on me for many things. She couldn’t drive, so being close to public transport was important to her. She was also acutely unwell, and the hospital was nearby. Andrew couldn’t have been happier with this arrangement, and when he joined us, he hoped it would be his last move.

We got married in February 1997, and Mum passed away in April of that year. The doctors had given her permission to leave the hospital to attend the wedding, and she was one of the last guests to leave; it was her final party with us, and she made the most of every minute. She cried, she laughed, and she relaxed into the fact that her only child was going to be okay. She was ready to leave us.

Andrew and I remained in Mum’s house for another year, working as social workers and trying to settle into the 888 lifestyle—8 hours of work, 8 of play, and 8 of sleep—but we both felt pulled towards other things. I wanted to live and offer my social work skills in a developing country, while Andrew wanted to return to the ashram and study Vedanta. I did not understand what Vedanta was, and I was not open to learning about it, either. I was a practicing Christian, and while a somewhat open-minded Christian, I felt threatened by Andrew’s interest in something related to Hinduism. It was safer not to venture too far into such conversations, but I was happy for Andrew to go to India if it meant I could work somewhere like Africa. Andrew suggested I find work in India, so we could at least be on the same continent, but instead of India, the doors to Bangladesh opened for me. As a result, we made steps to organise an interesting year ahead: Andrew at the ashram for one year while I worked in an orphanage in rural Bangladesh.

CHAPTER 3

At the ashram

You are so proud of your intelligence, said the Master to the disciple. You are like the condemned man who is proud of the vastness of his prison cell.

—Anthony De Mello

Andrew departed for India four months before me, as I was keen to fulfill a year at my then-current job. Before landing in Bangladesh, I stayed with Andrew at the ashram for one month. I will never forget the day I met him on the train platform. We were like two starry-eyed teenagers; I was nervous and excited, and it was obvious Andrew felt the same. He couldn’t wait to get back to the ashram and show everyone his wife. Secretly, I wanted to hop on the next train and go somewhere far away, just the two of us.

When we walked into the ashram grounds, I felt a heaviness come over me, and all I wanted to do was run. In unfamiliar surroundings, I used to become very shy, and this was the most unfamiliar place I had ever been. I stood close to Andrew, feeling like a child wanting my daddy to pick me up so I could bury my head in his warm chest. But for Andrew, this was home; nothing could have been more familiar to him.

After dropping off my bags, we went to the dining hall for lunch. By this stage, I was extremely tense, and when we walked in, everyone started banging the tables with their hands. All eyes were on us. I felt as if I were melting like a hot wax doll, with everyone walking through the puddle I left behind. Andrew explained that the banging was what the students did as a warm welcome. You should have warned me, I thought angrily.

I looked around the room at all the students wearing white uniforms, the women in pants and the men in wrap-around skirts. Everyone had a mark on their forehead. How did I end up here? I wondered. We sat down for the meal, and while my body was going through the motions of eating and chatting, my mind was screaming, Get out of here!

As the days passed, I tried my best to take part in what was happening around me, but I was struggling. I observed Andrew, who loved the ashram and whom everyone adored. He spoke as if this were home for him. When I voiced my dislike, Andrew would say, Wait, give it time; you haven’t even met Swamiji yet. What he didn’t realise was how nervous I felt about meeting this man who was the centre of everyone’s attention. Swamiji was all the students spoke of, and for many of them, pleasing the guru was their primary purpose in life. I feared Andrew felt the same way and that I had lost my husband to a strange sect. I kept hearing a voice inside me saying, Remember Jesus. Trust in him alone. Be a good Christian; don’t disobey your faith. Then another voice would say, Andrew is your husband. Try, for him. I was like a pressure cooker ready to blow.

A week went by, and one morning, while we were walking to the lecture hall, Andrew said, Ready to meet Swamiji? Here he is now.

Before I could reply, there he was: the man many saw as God personified. Welcome, Kym. We have wanted to meet you for a long time now.

Thank you, sir, was all I fumbled out.

Andy, bring Kym to see me soon.

Yes, Swamiji.

In the lecture hall, I tried listening to what was being said, but my mind was too noisy. I was confused and frightened of getting swept up like the other students. I feared disobeying the Christian faith that I had committed myself to, and I wondered, for the first time, whether Andrew and I were suited as a couple.

The funny thing is that before meeting Andrew, I had explored different religions and philosophies. I’d read books on Buddhism, Taoism, Islam, Hinduism, and Christianity. Then one day, I set myself a goal to read the Bible from front to back. Around the same time, I was getting interested in social justice and passionate about working for the underdog. It was at this juncture in my life that the personality of Jesus attracted me. This was someone who had hung out with real underdogs: prostitutes, tax collectors, and untouchables. I desired to be like Jesus, to love as he loved, and so I joined a church and wanted so much to dedicate myself to this religion.

But then I heard sermons that did not gel. Jesus was open, but the church seemed closed. There were demarcations that prevented me from fully giving myself to this faith. I was asking for a unifying philosophy, and while the Universe was saying, Here it is, Kym: listen to these lectures at the ashram, I could not hear it. My mind was clouded by notions like, Beware of wolves in sheep’s clothing; the disguises of the antichrist are very convincing… I wanted so much to please God, but I feared so much displeasing God. I was stuck. It felt like my feet were cemented into the ground, and if I tried to take one more step, I would fall.

One night, in our room, Andrew and I had an argument. Andrew was trying to explain that Vedanta is not opposed to Christianity, but I was not ready to listen and instead retaliated against every word. The conversation was going nowhere, and so we both rolled over and attempted to sleep. Fortunately, the ashram only had single beds, so while Andrew slept, I cried, and cried, and cried. In my entire existence, I cannot remember feeling as lost and alone as I did that night. It felt like there was nothing left to hold. Not Christianity, not my mum, and most frightening of all, not Andrew.

And so, I fell. There was nothing else to do. The last thing I remember before losing consciousness was letting go and saying, I give up; I surrender. Then I started falling. I looked down at my feet but saw no ground beneath me. It was terrifying; then, I blacked out.

The following morning, when I awoke and remembered what had happened, instead of feeling horrible, I looked around the room and out the window into the ashram grounds, and I saw everything differently. The cloud that had prevented me from seeing and hearing had lifted. If it hadn’t been for my previous readings, none of this would have made sense. I remembered the concept in a Buddhist book about losing ground, and I believed that is what had happened the night before. A very major layer of me was gone, having surrendered and let go.

When I changed into the uniform that morning, I put the clothes on without all the mental chatter about how horrible it looked and felt and how wearing it was disobeying my faith. When I walked to the lecture hall and met the other students, I saw them differently, too. They became friends and no longer enemies. I could really listen to the lecture for the first time in two weeks, and I was surprised how often Swamiji used Biblical stories, especially about Jesus, to illustrate how Vedanta is saying the same thing. When I heard, We are all worshiping the one God; that God cannot be separated, I almost cried, YES, this is what I have always felt to be true!

Later, Andrew told me that Swamiji deliberately brought in stories about Jesus for me. I will always be grateful for Swamiji’s care in helping me to grow, but it was Andrew’s patience and love that most astounded me. Andrew must have breathed a huge sigh of relief that day. Being in my company over the preceding two weeks must have been tedious, but he said little and allowed me the space to sort things out.

By the end of my one-month stay at the ashram, I made an appointment with Swamiji to ask if I could return for another year. Kym, just stay. Don’t go to Bangladesh, he said. But it was important for me to fulfill my promise to work at the orphanage there, so I went and stayed for 10 months. I spent my free time reading about Vedanta, and with each page, my interest grew. I could feel myself changing from one who passionately went