Updated: Jun 23, 2019
When I was five years old, our family lived in Malaga on the southern coast of Spain. The school I went to, which was run by Catholic nuns, was a large house in the style of a villa with wrought iron balconies covered in crimson bougainvillea.
Our school had a lovely garden and, in a quiet corner, a rock pond which housed a statue of the virgin Mary in a little cave filled with flowers.
I had my first spiritual experience there. A profound and enveloping feeling of love and protection which words cannot accurately describe but which I have never forgotten.The feelings I experienced on that day have repeated themselves in times of profound sadness and discouragement. As if those same kindly spirits had been with me all along and made themselves present in my hour of need.
If it is true what has been said that an artist paints who they are, then I am still that little girl, in that blessed garden happily contemplating the healing touch of the angels.