I have always been obsessed with white.
When I was a child, it was my evening ritual to paint my room white in my mind’s eye.
After tidying and rearranging my bedroom for the day, brushing my hair and slipping into bed, I’d close my eyes and see my whole room as well as myself, becoming washed in white.
Every piece of furniture, my bedspread, the carpet and curtains would become soaked in particles of white light, and I’d watch the colours in the fabrics slowly fade into a luminous ivory.
Surely my early obsession with white was a sign, a prelude that ‘white’ would play a major role in my later life – working with and spreading the teachings of the White Light is my life’s mission – but my obsession with it also arose from a clearly defined desire I’ve had for as long as I can remember: Purity.
I deeply desired to be pure. And I don’t think I’m the only person who desires this.
White, in western culture, has long been associated with purity; the clean, innocent and virginal. Although there aren’t many virginal brides striding down the altar these days – (who knows, maybe there weren’t many back then either!) – we are still obsessed with brides in white, babies in white, white fluffy toys and the innocence of those donned in white.
And this applies to the spiritual too. Angels are swathed in it, those that pass over are depicted walking towards rays of white light, and the holy one’s halos are white.
I believe our collective love and appreciation of white represents our longing for a state of purity, cleanliness and innocence. I think for many at us, at times, being on the earth plane feels dark and gloomy, so far away from our spiritual home.
Some time ago in the city, I passed a couple on the street that were obviously surviving from day to day. The man was bent over, wheelchair bound. His legs bent painfully under his body, his face blackened with dirt and poverty. You could see his catheter cord running down his legs. It was green and rotten, leaking infection onto the street.
The women was also bent over. Gasping and spluttering, shouting obscenities into the pavement. She stopped and turned to look at me, her stunning blue eyes hollow, and ringed in filth.
In every inch of their faces suffering was etched. I watched her roughly throw his catheter cord onto his lap, and push him away. My heart ached for both of them. For the lack of love and care they both had.
I couldn’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks.
Sending them White Light and silent blessing of love simply didn’t seem enough in that moment. I know, I can’t change their lives for them, and I do understand the spiritual reason for suffering, but sometimes, pain is pain, and it’s human for it to hurt.
That afternoon, I spent many hours in meditation, sending White Light to everyone I could think of. I visualised love and purity going to all of my loved ones, friends and family, as well as everyone I could ever remember having had met.
I also sent a double dose to my Monday white light list and I sent it to the oceans, and deserts and forests of the world. I know the only way we can create heaven on earth is by vibrationally becoming heaven on earth. But sometimes, simply, it’s hard to be far from home.
in White Light + Love,