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A Magical Story - penned in 2019

In a particularly hopeless moment this morning, as I trawled You Tube and Quora for an answer of some kind and instead got more lost in the nonsense of it all, I was reminded that I have everything I need.


What I think I was looking for (and on this occasion didn’t find) was a nugget of hope that I could latch onto; something positive to focus on momentarily that would take me off the negative train my mind was getting cosy in and onto a platform (ideally a pretty one, with fluffy white clouds in a blue sky and a field of sunflowers - maybe a unicorn or two prancing around). Now, since nothing I perused caught my interest and as I understand I do have everything I need, I wondered if I should simply remind myself of the incidents I consider to be evidence of magic and miracles instead and maybe share that, so that when someone else is, like me, feeling a bit glum in their journey, they can be cheered. Even if only for a moment. Perhaps, rather than regularly asking why and what we have to do, sometimes we should simply indulge ourselves in a bit of the wonder.


A note of explanation first: I am the matrix twin. I describe my awakening as a thunderbolt when, during a seemingly innocuous chat with a man in the corridor where we both work, I suddenly knew that all the ‘nonsense’ he was telling me about; the healing power of crystals, past lives, angelic guidance, alien beings, energy healing (it was quite a lengthy chat…) … was not only true to me but also that I remembered knowing it all. I looked into his eyes and saw the cosmos and felt the intensity of our connection within it. If I were to try and describe the feeling in words it was of relief: Thank God, finally. I’ve found him. There’s obviously much more to this story but that’s for another time. The reason I explain that here is to highlight how dramatic an impact this experience had on my life. It literally turned upside down in a moment. I woke into an entirely different world to the one I thought I knew. A world where magic is real and miracles do happen.



The Story


I am the eldest of three and as a child I always felt like the odd one out in my family. I was well behaved, quiet and shy and kept myself to myself. Rather than worry I’d been adopted as some children are prone to do, I indulged in a regular fantasy that I had been, and that one day my ‘real’ family would turn up to claim me and I’d finally fit in. From a very young age I lost myself in stories, books were my comfort blanket and if I was given a choice, that’s where I’d retreat, into a world which was entirely removed from my own. I can’t remember when I moved onto adult books but it was probably when I’d exhausted the teen options in the library which didn’t take long. I’d read all the books on my parents shelves, of which there were many, by the time I was twelve. I’d pick a genre at the library and then plough through every book I could find until I’d exhausted them all; Mysteries, The classics, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Romance… you get the picture; I love books.


My favourites I would read and re-read and would return to them when I needed soothing, when the world seemed too harsh a place. I had two books that until I left home at 19 were particularly special to me. The Magic Faraway Tree, which I took with me when I left home and even now resides in a spot on my fireplace so I can be reminded of it, and another illustrated children’s book, the details of which I had forgotten. I simply remembered a vague premise of the story and the fact that it was beautiful and I loved it. I kept it on my shelf until I left home and still looked at it regularly despite being far too old for children’s books. It was a work of art and possibly my most treasured possession.


When I left home my room was still fairly intact but over the years that followed, and after my parents were certain I wouldn’t need it, it got turned into a study for my Dad. The contents were stored in the loft or thrown out. I travelled for a few years after university, moved to London and then wound up in Devon. Now, it obviously wasn’t a big thing but every now and then I’d remember my treasured book when I was at my parents house and I’d look for it. When I came home from travelling and set up my own home, when my own kids came along, when my Mum asked me to have a clear out of the stuff I’d abandoned at various points between houses. I found loads of other books I remembered but never this one. A number of times I asked my Mum about it but she couldn’t remember the book and said she’d retrieved all the children’s books from the loft when my kids came along. I concluded that it must have been thrown away because it had fallen apart (I remembered it being fairly delicate even when I’d read it as a child). I asked friends if they’d had a copy or remembered it but no one ever had. I’d even searched for it online a number of times but without the name or the author (my memory had lost that years before) and only a vague memory of the story I never had any luck finding it. Eventually I wasn’t even sure if I’d just imagined it, it didn’t seem to exist.


Jump forward to September 2017 (prior to connecting with my twin), I’d recently decisively split with a guy I’d been on and off with for a few years and at the ripe old age of 43 I was on a personal mission to better myself. I’d engaged a therapist and had started to place my focus firmly on learning to love and enjoy myself. On a peaceful morning when my kids were at their Dad’s for the weekend I suddenly, out of the blue, remembered the title of my treasured book and decided to have another look online. Much to my surprise (I’d given up hope years before) I found a description of it on a website - it did exist! - and a link to a copy for sale. Just the one. At a cost of £174. (Now in hindsight, and with the wealth of twenty months of number synchronicities and magic behind me, the significance of that number doesn’t seem at all unusual, but at the time I could only wonder at the fact that I’d finally found the book I loved so much and it just happened to be on sale at a price that linked directly with me - I was born in 1974). Now that’s a fairly hefty sum for a children’s book, even for one I’d loved dearly. I did have some money put aside at the time so could have bought it but it would have been a huge indulgence for a single parent of limited means so I just parked it, enjoyed looking at the cover online, and was grateful for its existence in the world and the possibility that one day I could read it again.


That Christmas when I was home visiting my parents I showed my Mum the book I’d found online, mostly to prove I hadn’t crazily made it up, and she said she remembered it well. She didn’t believe she’d ever denied its existence or forgotten I’d loved it as a child. She even told me I’d taken it at some point and so it was most likely in my own loft in Devon (causing me to wonder once again whether I was crazy but this time for regularly searching for a book that according to my Mum I already owned). Don’t get me wrong, this interaction was entirely good natured even as it was exasperating. It’s also fairly typical. My experience of my life is regularly highlighted by both my siblings and my parents as being entirely different to that of the rest of my family; odd one out see.


Over the next few months; after my twin and I had very quickly connected and then as quickly fallen apart, after discovering information on the twin flame journey and having a feeling that this was what I seemed to be experiencing, whilst I was deeply and deliberately immersed in shadow work and healing, I’d remember the copy of the book for sale online at £174 and I’d ponder buying it. By then though I’d had some experience of this world of magic and miracles so I exercised my trust muscle. I felt that if the book was meant to be mine once more, and I kind of thought it was supposed to be, then I wouldn’t need to spend an exorbitant amount to purchase it. In trusting that this treasured book would somehow make its way back to me in an affordable and possibly magical way, then I was also trusting that my beloved would also return to me when the time was right.


A few months later, after a busy summer which included a trip to America with my kids and where I’d ended up seeing in the sunrise atop a vortex in Sedona on lions gate despite never have entertained going there until we did, let alone knowing what a vortex was (see…magic and miracles abound!), and having been well versed and immersed in this twin flame journey for the last ten months, I found myself once again at my parents house and without any expectation that something magical was about to happen. I arrived and took my bags up to the guest room and as I placed my bags on the bed I noticed something on the dresser. You’ve guessed it, my treasured book! In near pristine condition and exactly as I remembered it from when I was a child. Before going downstairs to ask how such a thing could be, I sat down to read it, for the first time in what was well over fifteen years.



Now as you are aware I’d remembered the title of the book the year before which is what led me to be aware of it’s existence. But what I hadn’t recalled was that this sister was in fact a secret twin who resides in a beautiful golden palace accessed via a hole under a rose bush in this little girls garden.


Magic and miracles.


As soon as I started reading the entire story came flooding back. I don’t really know how to describe how momentous it was for me to realise that this treasured book that I’d loved and lost and that had provided so much comfort for me in an often confusing and lonely childhood, perfectly mirrors my twin flame journey. The fact that it was returned to me (my Mum apparently found it sticking up amongst some junk in the loft, despite having been up there probably a thousand times over the years, she’d never noticed it before) was evidence, to me at least, that I’m not crazy. Miracles happen. Things you love dearly do get returned to you when the time is right.


The end


And for those of you still reading and interested in this beautiful story itself. Here you go...
















Published in 1974, the year of my birth.


And now happily back on my shelf.


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