“There was a time when people accepted magical experiences, naturally”
This web-blog has become my voyage of discovery.
as I now begin to trace back my Mom’s Welsh Celtic footsteps to her birth place of Port Talbot, in South Wales. Sadly, as a young child, she had been relocated to Birmingham.
I remember when I was little, that she’d enjoy taking me back to Cardiff, in Wales as often as she could, to visit our folks. I have fond memories of those days. In each of their houses, there were remnants of welsh national costumes, Welsh love spoons hung from their walls, there were so many questions that I hadn’t asked them about their customs and traditions, until now.
“But How Will I Know My Family History?”
Wales was a land of story tellers, although, unfortunately those traditional lores appear to be dying out. I think that its beliefs and customs have been lost in bleak and scary translations. Yes, their legends can be deep, dark and spooky. However, in my eyes, they live in the land of ‘moving curtains’ (Their analogy: everyone looks out for each other) … and what about their secrets and magic? bridging between the visible and invisible.
In this next chapter of my web-blog affair, I hope to unravel their intricate folklore, quite simply. To ensure that our Celtic family heritage is never lost to our new generations.
I began this diary, to express my grief after losing my Mom, but through writing these poems, now five years later, although the pain is still there, the healing has begun. It’s time to follow the path to find my matriarchal ancestors. There comes a moment, when these two origins have to co-exist.
My Mom was a beautiful pure Welsh Celt, who had thick black hair, deep brown, soulful eyes and the most fragile transparent white skin.
She had a loving wisdom, that was always ‘knowing”
Mom was one of life’s greatest gift’s to me…
Victoria Healing ~ 5.2.2020.
Come Over to The Welsh Side, We’ve Got Dragons