A Bittersweet Farewell

It’s been an exhausting day—or at least, it feels that way. The reality of moving out of our beloved home has hit us hard.

We’ve been given a completion date, a deadline to leave the house that has been our sanctuary. This is the place where we brought our children home from the hospital as newborns, where they spent their baby and toddler years, filling the rooms with laughter and memories. It’s been a space where we’ve all felt safe, secure, and loved.

Telling my eldest, Reuben, about the move was heart-wrenching. He’s six, and the news that we have just five weeks left in our home left him in tears. At school, he shared the news with his friends, and his teacher mentioned how he’d been telling everyone about our impending departure. When he came home, he was still upset, saying he didn’t want to leave the house, the people, or the life we’ve built here. Seeing him so heartbroken makes me question whether we’re doing the right thing.

The Uncertainty of the Future

What makes this move even harder is the uncertainty. We have five weeks to leave, but we don’t yet know where we’re going. We’re considering renting, but nothing is set in stone. This lack of clarity leaves us feeling ungrounded, adrift in a sea of unknowns. My daughter, Sophie, who is four, seems more open to the change. For her, starting a new school in September feels like an exciting adventure. But for Reuben, it’s a much heavier burden, and his sadness weighs on me.

I keep asking myself: Are we doing the right thing? Is moving to pursue our dream of building a temple—a space for spiritual growth and connection—worth causing this heartache for my children? We’ve always known this wasn’t our forever home, but leaving still feels like the end of a significant chapter. The transition from this safe, familiar space to an unknown future is daunting, and I find myself grappling with doubt.

A Vision of Hope

Amid the sadness, I hold onto a vision that came to me during meditation. I saw Reuben as an 18- or 19-year-old, sitting beside me, full of love, confidence, and groundedness. He called me “Mama” and thanked me for moving to Pen Brookshshire, saying it changed his life. That vision, so vivid and emotional, gives me hope. It’s a reminder that this move, though painful now, might be the right path for our family’s future. Without it, I’d be questioning everything even more intensely.

The Land: A Dream in Limbo

A week ago, we put an offer on a piece of land we felt guided to—land we’ve visited twice and felt a deep connection with. But the process has been anything but smooth. After submitting our offer, we heard nothing for days. We later learned that another party had matched our offer, and then a third party emerged, scheduling a second viewing. The waiting has been agonizing, filled with stress and uncertainty. I naively thought we’d make an offer, negotiate a bit, and the land would be ours. Instead, we’ve been left in limbo, questioning whether this is meant to be.

This past weekend, overwhelmed by the stress and battling a cold, my husband Nick and I canceled our plans to stay home with the kids and process everything. During this time, I was also wrapping up the Bliss Experience, a biannual event I host where a group gathers on Zoom to cultivate inner peace and joy, guided by the celestial white beings. It’s the foundation of the Omna Sanctuary, a pathway to bliss that I’m passionate about creating. Sharing updates about the temple with the group, I was touched by their support. One participant, Barbara, even helped us ground the energies of the land, which felt muddled and stuck.

Grounding the Dream

That evening, Nick and I sat together to energetically connect with the land. As we did, I felt a powerful vision: white energy descending like the mechanism of a clock, clicking into place. I recalled a previous vision of anchoring twelve massive, house-sized white quartz crystals into the land in a circle. During this grounding, the ancient elders—mystical beings who had appeared to me on the land—spoke through me. They were frustrated, asking why we hadn’t claimed the land. Nick explained that we couldn’t, as the owners hadn’t responded to our offer. But the elders urged us to give our hearts to the land, to claim it energetically despite the risk of rejection.

Reluctantly, we did. We poured our love and intention into the land, declaring it ours. The elders shared that when we secure the land, Nick should place a copper rod wand—crafted by my father before our wedding—at its center. They spoke of their ancient, mystical energy, describing themselves as wizard-like figures who could blend into nature like chameleons. They also expressed a deep interest in our children, noting that Reuben and Sophie are spiritually closed off, a challenge I’ve felt in trying to share my spiritual practices with them. The elders promised that living on the land would open our children’s spirits, connecting them with nature and teaching them ancient knowledge to carry forward.

A Leap of Faith

The elders also addressed our children’s struggles with friendships. Despite their bright, friendly natures, they often face indifference from peers. The elders explained that their light shines so brightly—even at just 2% of their potential—that it can be overwhelming for others. They believe the land will help them find true connections with people who can embrace their unique energy.

The next morning, a conversation with my dad sparked a realization: we needed to take action. We decided to submit a higher offer, one that stretched us financially but felt like a bold step forward. Nick kept us grounded, ensuring we didn’t overextend ourselves. After days of unanswered calls to the estate agent, we learned that a third party was in talks with the owners. Panic set in—were we about to lose the land? But after submitting our new offer yesterday, I felt an unexpected indifference. Whether we get the land or not, I’m at peace with walking away and finding a better fit for our family.

Waiting and Trusting

Today is the day we’ve set as our deadline to hear back about the offer. We’re waiting to see whether the owners accept or decline, and I’m holding onto a mix of hope and surrender. This journey has been a rollercoaster of emotions—sadness, stress, doubt, and moments of profound connection. I’m learning to trust the process, to believe that we’re being guided, even when it feels bleak. For Reuben, I’m thinking of ways to support him through this transition, to help him feel secure as we step into the unknown.

Thank you for following our story. We’ll know more soon, and I’ll share an update when we do. For now, it’s a leap of faith, trusting that the path we’re on will lead us to where we’re meant to be.

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