The Welsh have a word for their otherworld – Annwfn.
The thing about this Celtic language is it has a richness, a depth. A way of describing that acknowledges the true essence of a thing.
Annwfn, their land of spirits, has a meaning so significant that I return to it over & over. It echoes through my heart. It has made me cry, a lot...
Not here but near...
And that's how it feels for me, that the beings I have lost are almost within reach. That they wait for me behind a thin veil; a curtain made of lace.
And sometimes I glimpse them, out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes, when I meditate, I call them. I ask them to sit with me. Mum & Gran. Gramps & Lar – & a selection of animals, of course.
When Mum was dying she said, 'I don't want to leave you but I am really looking forward to seeing my Mum.'
It seems to me as we get closer, the veil gets thinner – & maybe that's because we are closer in time & maybe that's because we are closer in spirituality. I know this – the more I sit & pause, the more I meditate, the more I explore this internal space; the more I am connected to this external space – the more oneness I feel & the closer my Mum is. Sometimes after a long, profound practice, she comes & hugs me... 15 years ago, our Mum ventured through the veil, to Annwfn.
The Welsh have another word, hiraeth – a pull on the heart that conveys a distinct feeling of missing something irretrievably lost.
Maybe in this world you are irretrievably lost but I am looking forward to being with you in Annwfn, dearest Mummy...
