Many of my younger days were spent in dreamland—a realm where my head was always in the clouds, I would often engage in conversations with God and spirit guides. Alternatively, I would be at my nan's, feigning asthma to prolong my stay and delve deeper into the ways of the spirit and a more spiritual existence. Reflecting on these moments, I see that they now stand as some of my most cherished memories from childhood.
Hours could pass in solitude as I talked to God and Angels, the tranquility of those moments making everything else in the world seem inconsequential. Conversations with my nan were equally enchanting, as we discussed realms beyond our own. It felt like living in a magical land, complemented by her baking cakes and making cups of tea—a wonderful and peaceful time in my life.
My pop, skilled with his hands, would be in his workshop creating things. While he was clever, it was with my nan that I spent extended periods exploring the magic and life from the spirit realm. I envisioned a land devoid of malice, painted in vibrant colours with diverse nature and animals, akin to Alice in Wonderland. This might sound corny, but I believe everyone has dreamt of their version of Wonderland at least once.
My mother, checking on my asthma, would inquire about my readiness to return home. Nan, protective, often insisted that I was still quite ill, granting me more time with her. I would stay an extra week or even two, relishing the time away from school. During these extended stays, I could dream up a place filled with love and magic—a little farm with cows, horses, green grass, trees, and a log cabin. Creating these visions resonated deeply with my soul, providing a sense of wonder and beauty. Nan encouraged me to live in these magical places.
However, the inevitable moment to return to my family would arrive. My parents, driving the hour and a half to my grandparents' place, would take me back. Many times, I'd resist, attempting excuses to stay with my nan, but my efforts often proved futile. Returning home meant being in a household oblivious to who I truly was, a feeling that persists to this day.
Despite living with seven others, I often felt isolated and lonely, dreading the emptiness of those moments. Sundays brought the detestable ritual of going to church—a place that taught a controlled version of religion, filled with threatening ideas like sin leading to hell. This God seemed far removed from the one I spoke to outside the church, where intimate connections brought love and comfort.
Navigating life in this manner was incredibly challenging. I felt like I was always on the back foot, finding solace only in retreating to my magic dreamlands. Understanding life seemed elusive—schools housed bullies, bosses often mirrored their bullying tendencies, and the betrayal by some priests and nuns shook the foundations of trust. While not all were guilty, many hid behind the cloth, exploiting their position in the name of religion and God.
It was during this period that I embarked on my road to ruin, turning to alcohol and later drugs. Perhaps it was a response to the turmoil in my life, a necessary lesson in living the way the majority does until a spiritual connection in the hospital prompted me to return to my soul existence and dreamlands. Even now, when I spend a significant amount of time alone— not out of selfishness but for the peace it brings—I find solace in my dreamland, connecting deeply with my God, Angels, and Spirit guides.
Finding a place where you feel safe, at peace, and free is a vital aspect of life. These retreats to our personal havens are essential for the soul, helping us navigate the challenges of our daily routines.
In Love, Light and Blessings.