Given my upbringing, the belief that there is more then just this life was one comfort to me. Maybe because of my upbringing, I became more open to feeling more then just this reality.
My mother used to clean a old manor home, It was beautiful. For me it was a maze of corridors and rooms over 3 floors before the attic, stairs that had a gentle curve as the flowed from the entrance up through to the next floor.
I felt safe in this place, often begging to go to work with my mother so I could just be there. The actual building is pictured above, taken from google.
If she was the far end of the house, leaving me alone in another part, I was never afraid, because I was never actually alone. I’d run to the very top stairs, grab a blanket or towel, and slide myself down them, yes it was bumpy, but polished the stairs for my mother! Whats this got to do with me being not alone though?
I felt comfort and warmth there, no matter how old and breezy the house was, I’d hear laughter next to me, laughter that wasn’t mine, I’d feel a arm or hand brush past me as I ran down the corridors. As I bumped down the stairs, I’d see a glimmer of something next to me, yet I was never able to quite see.
The kitchen had a big open stone fire place, a wooden table next to it, I never went past the table towards the back door, I don’t know why, that to me wasn’t *safe* Yet sitting at the table drawing and coloring, I was content.
Sometimes people would be staying in the house, and if they had children I could speak to them, play with them, but it wasn’t the same. I preferred the company of those I could only hear.
As I got older I opened my eyes and ears and heart. Often feeling emotions that were not of this time.
One year, I was visiting some friends of my brother, he had taken me there as they had just moved in and he wanted to give me a day out.
When we arrived they took me straight to a top bedroom and walked out, within seconds of being there, I felt uncomfortable, I moved further into the room, sat on the end of the bed, and wanted to cry. I felt heat, I felt fire, I felt just pure hated. Hearing a baby’s cry, I left the room fast. I was then informed that a man had burnt the home down many years previously killing his two children with him, a deliberate act of evil.
For me, this was a push to find out more on this world. I didn’t want to develop what I was going through. I just wanted to know more.
On researching, stumbling across a spiritualist Church, noting the days and times, one visit later, this was my path. This was something I wanted to learn more on, be part of and a world I wanted as part of my world.
Over the years, the church did become part of me, weekly visits, the generation were older then me, some a lot older, but it never once bothered me. They welcomed me with ease, from healers, to mediums, to a old Indian crystal healer, and many others in between, it was for me my normal.b They also become part of my life, with me for many journeys I found myself down, supporting me, advising me. Some of the people have now sadly passed, I do miss them, but they are in the next stage of life now, it never ends, just moves forward.
From the years with the church I am proud to call myself a spiritualist, even if I no longer frequent a church, I keep cards in my home at all times, using them at the time of need. Crystals suited to the home sit in most rooms.
Often my questions can be answered, but sometimes even my questions are unanswerable. A couple weeks back, I pulled out the cards and asked for a sign someone was with me, tears fell for the first time in weeks when this card was the one that I pulled from the pack, the last few weeks have been so hard emotionally.
I prefer solitude in life, I find it less painful, but to know someone is there no matter what, helps ease each day as they pass.
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