Winter’s Nest
By: Kat Magik
Tags: Inspiration, Love Letters, Home, Spirituality, Short Story

When I first came here there was drama written in every room. The previous tenant had been in drug recovery and was determinedly back on track, working at a local store. But redundancies came in the Summer and he plummeted rapidly. He lost control, told no one and so the months churned into Autumn and the debts accrued.

He fled into the winds of life and no one knows where they took him. When I moved here within days there were bills and urgent notices arriving in the post. My landing sleep was like a glazed world of wary messages. He was still here. I could feel him like a ghost, lost in a dark place, too scared to ask for help.

So I decided to transmute in my home what I have learnt to do for myself and others.

It was time to listen deep to the untold stories, with focused breath and touch if required, and transmute from the shadowy corners whatever needed to be released and sent on with love.

I began with a light loving song and led a harmony of gratitude around my new home. Well wishing with white sage (a herb often used by healers of many traditions to cleanse negative energy) and closing my eyes, I allowed myself to attune to whatever felt heavy in the air.

One of the most beautiful books I have ever read about the physical effects of positive intention is Masuru Emoto’s ‘The Hidden Messages in Water’. I really recommend it.

When we focus our attention wisely, tuning out the hyper critical mind and focusing on our hearts, we can feel shifts in our perception. We become our ancient sensing selves. We use the skills that are latent in our DNA.

That was nearly three months ago. This morning when I woke up, sleepily listing the yule countdown ahead, I decided to write a love letter to someone I had never thought of as a contender!

I decided to list all the things I love about my home.

What I love is the thick new carpet my landlady laid down. I love the view from the back window and the wildness of trees and brambles roving up the steep hill (I live on the escarpment of a famous heritage site, basically a very esteemed old castle!).

I love the padding of feet in the flat above, knowing someone is there. I love the fact how I never met this person until recently and the local gossip wasn’t true (“expensive new windows, never replies to emails, must be unfriendly”).

I love the other neighbour downstairs with her new dog and old stories, who offered me her friendship when I plunged down a slippery dungeon and read the gas metre for her, hidden in the dank spidery basement.

I love the wooden floors in the lounge, the tan evanescent sheen in the morning light, and the fast groaning pulse of the hot tap in the bathroom.

I love the thick antique pine wardrobe my friend gave me when her eldest daughter moved out and when her hubbie helped me move it in how it fitted like a solid safe glove, exact and sturdy, in the walled corner of my bedroom.

I love the winding narrow hall that opens into the large and colourfully tiled kitchen at the rear, how every time I walk down this hallway I feel like a pleased scurrying badger burying down into a secret, cavernous sett.

I love the feeling of simplicity and gratitude now I have arrived. I love the knowing that it begins right here and my energy in the world will reflect this.

I love the nights in tales and food shared so far. I love the old willow oak tree directly outside the front terrace, holding it’s shamrock green leaves steady in the robust salt sea air. A strong, resolute totem for us all.

Stories have homes to go to and homes have stories nestled in their walls.

For years Christmas meant a lot of travel for me but this year I am nesting like a bird. My kin are coming here to this much beloved home, on a hill by a castle, somewhere in this luminous, ever changing world…

Thanks for reading dear ones and wishing all on Scribe a Merry Yuletide x