Author: WhiteWitch
•21:11
I miss what was. I miss my dad, my mom, my sister. I miss our cosy house, our beautiful garden, the green grass, the little stream and the blanket of white flowers in spring. I miss lying in my warm bed, listening to the rain falling outside, and I miss my mom coming into my room and opening one of the closets to put away folded clean sheets. I miss the sound of the closet-door opening. It felt so safe. And I miss seeing my sister in her bed across the hallway, that too felt safe.

I miss fresh strawberries from the garden. I miss days alone with my mom, when my sister was at school, and my dad was working. Those days were special. And I miss Christmas, and my mom making cookies, and I miss her making fresh bread on random days, and me getting to eat warm bread from the oven, with melting brown cheese. I miss those days spent in the cabin in the mountains, when everyone was inside together, talking, my mom doing some needle work, my dad telling stories. I miss that I would get really hungry from long walks and the cold, and that the food tasted extra good, and that everything felt extra cosy and quiet with lit candles.

There's so much to miss.

I didn't think I missed it all so much. I haven't allowed myself to feel it. I have to move on, after all. It's been several years, and it's all in the past.

In my dreams I go back there, to our house, our cabin. I can feel how much I miss it, how torn I feel. Even when I'm conscious in the astral, I find myself back there. It seems whatever teachings I get, most often take place there. I think I feel safe there, and yet sometimes a creepy feeling comes over me, a feeling of it not being ok, that something is horrible wrong and that it will never be ok, ever again.

I don't believe that. Not in my head anyway. Things are ok now, I think. I have a husband that I love, and I'm starting to find myself, and find my passion in herbs and the spiritual, everything sacred. And yet I feel alone. So very alone, and the only one I can truly talk to is my divine mother. She understands, she is close to me, divine and beautiful. It's hard for me to talk to someone who might not understand, or who might step on my pain? I'm not sure how to say it. But sometimes I feel too volnurable to share these things, even with my husband. I can't find the words, and I don't think he would understand. Who would?

I feel I'm seeking someone to talk to, someone who can guide me, help me to reconnect with myself, and with my longing to be in nature, touch the earth with my bare feet and "let go" of my burdens. I yearn for more magic.

My divine mother is helping me, and I sense I need to value that help even more, and seek her out more. For some reason I feel her even stronger when I express myself through writing, perhaps I'm just drawing closer to myself..
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