Do you know the story of the little Girl with the Matchsticks by Hans Christan Andersen? It was in one of my fairy-tale books when I was a little girl. The story fascinated me and wrung my heart at the same time. I could not hear it or read it without wanting to burst into tears. It hurt to read it. Today I found out why.
I have been clearing away a lot of past-life clutter over the last ten years or so, and the beginning of 2013 everything accelerated with the death of my father. Besides my own grief had to deal with a multitude of past lives and other-dimensional expression of me, all being triggered by the theme of loss and wanting my attention to be healed. I had the good fortune to be able to take a lot of dead sea salt baths, so I would get into bath to heal and release the lives and do theta healing on them right after, all whilst soaking in the womb-like comfort of warm seawater and rose soap.
Clearing, in my experience, is in order of theme, not chronology (the soul, or Higher Self smiles on the notion of time, I think as it is in no way encumbered by it).
In the last years and months, I had cleared so much stuff that today, I finally heard the little voice of the lost soul girl at the bottom of the pile that had been calling out to me all these years.
It was a little thing that triggered it. Something I saw online. And suddenly I became aware of the voice. The sense of deep loneliness that accompanied it. This was important. I dropped everything I was doing, turned my attention inward and began to search.
It wasn’t long until I became aware of a little girl. She was a Native American girl of about five. She was the source of the faint sense of loneliness I had never been able to shake all my life.
The girl had been travelling with her tribe, walking through the snow, when she wandered off a little, to study one of the 1001 things that can pique the interest of a toddler. A glittering snowflake, a peculiar rock. Whatever it was, or the trail of adventurous things was, when she looked up, it was getting dark. And her family was gone.
The girl was in a state of utter panic and loneliness. She could not find her tribe. She trudged through the snow for hours. In the end she died, but she was not aware of it.
She kept searching, until finally she found her tribe. But her people could not see her. She was desperate for their attention, to connect with them again, but as she was not in her body any more, people simply did not see her. She didn’t understand. She thought she might have done something wrong. In her culture, children who were naughty were not scalded but ignored. Why didn’t anyone acknowledge her? What had she done wrong?
I walked over to her in the snow, knelt and put my arms around her. I didn’t even introduce myself. She just held onto me tight and began to cry, in long, long wails. Finally, there was someone for her.
When I told her she was free, and her body was one with the earth again, I felt the pain begin to fade. Then I told her: ‘Look! Your family is already waiting for you. They just couldn’t see you. They have been waiting for you all this time.’ I could see them too, a large group of people surrounded by a warm, glowing light of love. The icy loneliness melted away as I released the little girl and she ran towards her tribe with open arms. She almost flew. I felt the elation of joy rush through my heart as she was taken into the heart of her family again. Finally she was home.
Wendy Gillissen, M.A. is a psychologist, certified past life therapist and author of Curse of the Tahiéra, a spiritual adventure