The Spirit Lovers – Chapter Seven: On Playgrounds and Kingdoms without a King

The Spirit Lovers

Chapter Seven: On playgrounds and Kingdoms without a King

8 December 2015

 

starlight mysticmedusa com Edward-Robert-Hughes
Courtesy mysticmedusa.com

Mother came to Rita again, this time in broad daylight, her face a dark river of shimmering stars, the bluest of hues her black body.

  • What are these talks of going elsewhere?

 

Rita felt as always when she saw Mother torn between Shaking awe and powerful solace

 

  • Well you told me Mother that this place would be no more and that we would all live in another place, very different from here so I was just getting myself ready for the journey, knowing it would be long
  • It could be, yes but where do you think it is? Some distant planet that I have chosen for you? Another universe perhaps?
  • The ground shook under her step and the air vibrated with her presence as she walked, a figure of grace and power all at once
  • I don’t know Mother. Another galaxy, yes, I assumed
  • You assume a lot child. When you don’t know why don’t you just ask me?

 

A smile tugged at the corners of what Rita imagined were her lips. It was not really that she had a face but Rita could see in that river something that replicated an image of what she thought a human face would look like. Rita volunteered a smile back and Mother laughed so Rita laughed too, at first with a sense of guilt and then freely with the wildest of joys as the room heaved and shook with their laughter and the frames from the wall strew the grounds in fits.

 

  • I shall ask you next time Mother. Rita’s voice was between a hiccup and a snigger, the laughs still Shaking her uncontrollably
  • The journey within can be long but you know best what this place will be like because you will be one of the builders.
  • Me? One of which builders? How many are we? How much time do we have?
  • Oh Time, that silly notion I put in place a long time ago for us to measure the dilation of your playgrounds. I think you don’t need to worry about that anymore soon.
  • Are we going to a place of zero-point? Will we reach full stillness, no Time?

She laughed again and Rita laughed too though less heartily as she was keen on having Mother answer before she left.

 

  • What is zero-point? Do you still ask me really the question, child? Have I not left more impact on such matters with you before?
  • It is the point of implosion, when Time will disappear and our bodies will transform, right? It is the bridge between the playgrounds.

 

Mother was listening to Rita, a little twirl in her like every time Rita knew she was pleased with her response.

  • Do you know why you are changing playgrounds?
  • I think it is because we have outgrown this one. We don’t know what to do anymore here and most of us are getting bored, with some creating new games in the playground which are not to everyone’s liking or others playing the sae games that we are sick and tired of playing. Yet they don’t care much when we tell them to stop, that it is not a nice game anymore and that we are tired of it, that we want to play a nicer and more interesting game.
  • Yes, well that is the old way of the male energy. It only knows destruction and return to void, unlike what you hold and some of you have marginalised your female energy. It was not a thing of a day, it took many light travels of your Time to achieve that.
  • But why was the female energy marginalised? Why not leave us alone?
  • Do you still wonder why? It is because you are the ones who create and play the most. When you arrived here, each of you had chosen which side of the energy you would be on because full balance would take you out of the playground and those who chose the male energy lost their touch with the full creation energy because it is the female energy that stirs the void into creation. In your reality, the female energy still needs the male energy to create within physical density but it does not in the realm of dreams and art which are expressions of your eternal being.
  • But there are many male artists, not just female artists.
  • Yes, being male or female is not just a matter of external appearance. Those who thus create have not withdrawn completely from the female energy but preserved it within them. Some, though very predominantly in the male energy, thrive on the energy they draw from the females they attract around them to stir their internal voids into creation.
  • If all males know whether consciously or unconsciously that females are essential to the game, why do they suppress us so? Why not just play along with us?
  • Have you not realised child that things are changing? More males are waking up to and accepting the female energy as it returns to them.
  • But at the same time such horrors are committed against women in so many places around the world. Not just women but also children. All these wars that bring desolation to the hearts of everyone and mostly to those of women and children, so many of them abused and broken
  • Yes my child but that is soon a thing of the past. Who else, other than females is so close to creation and playing?
  • Oh yes, children of course!
  • Precisely my child, they do that because they don’t want to change playgrounds. They try to keep you in fear and in anger so that you will lose hope, love, laughter and therefore the possibility to continue creating the new playgrounds. They create a vicious circle by which you enslave yourself into this playground, forced to play with the bullies they have become and that way you would never have enough material to create another playground. By attempting to keep you in that vicious circle, they attempt to never leave this playground where they can rule like the tyrant children they have become but both father and I are tired. We have to shake all of you back into your senses and we can’t choose which ones to shake because you have all created a common playground. Your playground heaves, it is soaked in waters, it is seared by flames that all of you may finally understand that this playground is not for you anymore, that it is time to go to the new playgrounds.
  • Transform or die?
  • Not exactly my child. Understand when the game is over and move on to the new game, pick up the code and learn the new rules that you might not be taken aback but fear not, the rules are precisely those. Not to fear. Only to Love, freely, wholly and uncontrollably.
  • But what then of detachment? The wise ones speak of detachment and of not allowing oneself to get attached. How do you love wholly and uncontrollably and at the same time not get attached?
  • Well I have to say that the notion of detachment you are all playing with is not the one we had in mind when we originally set the rules of your playground. Your detachment has become a sense of nothingness, a dull grey of being while the detachment we had in mind was a shiny explosion of vibrant colours
  • How can one speak of detachment and explosion of colours. I don’t understand Mother…
  • It is simple really child. Detachment is that knowledge in you that everything you are playing with is merely a means for play and for learning something else that will help you in another playground. Nothing is for keeping forever because otherwise you would be playing all the time the same games with the same playthings. Have you not seen your children how they play with toys and then tire of them after a while and want something new to play with? Have you not noticed what they do if you force them to keep the same toys?
  • Yes, after a while they destroy them. Well actually I have noticed that it is more the boys who destroy the toys when they don’t want them anymore. The girls most of the time just go and sit by themselves or with each other if they have company, singing or playing with imaginary toys or friends.
  • Not just the girls, those boys with the female energy in them also do that.

A twinkle passes through what Rita feels are her eyes. Today she is not changing into a human-type form for Rita. She seems to be very taken by this whole matter of playgrounds and Rita’s misunderstanding of them. In fact she seems so taken that she has not even waited for Kayla or Kalen to accompany her but has come herself and right in the middle of the day.

  • So do you understand better detachment now?
  • I think I do Mother. Detachment is not caring less. In fact it is caring to the maximum point but knowing all the same that you will give away these means of playing and move to another level some day and if the means of play was not capable of transforming into a means for the next level into the next playground than we will never see those means again. We can continue to care for those means but we know that we will have to leave them and be in peace with the fact of leaving them.

 

She smiled and stars sparkled harder within her dark river. It shimmered in places again and Rita knew she was now extremely pleased with her. She slowly started materialising into a more human-type form and this always caused Rita such joy because she could actually look into Mother’s huge beautiful eyes full of power and compassion and be submerged by their infinity.

 

  • Mother, please tell me and don’t be angry with me. People speak of apocalypse, of the end of Times, of retribution and of the Day of Judgement. They say that God will decide who will go to Heaven and who will go to Hell based on our deeds and that we only have this Life, that we will need to redeem ourselves in it if we had committed sins.
  • Do you believe in Heaven and Hell, in God and in the Devil?
  • Well I believe that there is an energy of Love and an opposing energy of Fear and that perhaps we can call these God and the Devil if we think in our human terms.
  • Hmmmm…. Well, for the sake of argument in the sense that you like to use, let us say that there is a Devil, one with horns and hooves and with tattered wings from the Times that he was an angel before he was cast upon the Kingdoms of Hell as it goes by the teachings that were brought to you. People have given him such great powers maKing him akin to God alone though inferior in rank to him as the belief goes. What according to you would happen to the Devil on Judgement Day?

 

The question took Rita by surprise. She had never thought about that and was not sure anybody had actually thought about that. Yes, true, what would happen to the Devil on Judgement Day? Rita thought to herself.

  • Well I guess he would be punished like all the evil-doers and he would be…
  • Cast to Hell?

 

The irony in her voice was palpable as her human-type body now clearly shook with mirth. Rita was slowly getting the point of what she was trying to say. If on Judgement Day the Devil got cast to hell, he was merely being sent back to his own Kingdom where he would reign as a King again and no subject of that Kingdom would dare question the King. So in all likelihood on Judgement Day the Devil would actually be rewarded and with royal title, just like he was while moving all those wrong-doers to carry out their ill-advised deeds. But if it was so then why would he be rewarded while they would be banished to his Kingdom and tortured while he, the one behind all their misdeeds would be thriving in a Kingdom where he could do as he please while he was the true culprit really?

 

Mother was watching Rita closely and this latter could feel Mother’s watchful intent eyes upon her as her face betrayed her inner turmoil and confusion of thoughts. Rita gave up at last trying to reason internally and volunteered a partial response.

 

  • It would not be right I presume
  • Why not? Could he not be cast to hell and not be a King there?
  • Well there cannot be a Kingdom without a King. If there is one, then he is the Devil but the old Devil would be no more because we are normally on Judgement Day where only God would be ruling. If the Devil is no more, then he would be a mortal being judged for his misdeeds and if he were a mortal then he is not to blame really because it would be the Devil who would be the true culprit but that Devil was just put in place to be the King of the Kingdom and who could be put in that place on Judgement Day if there are no more real Devils and only mortals, The Old Devil and God with his angels. Would another angel be sacrificed to play the part of the New Devil? That would be a monstrous fate and would it really be Judgement Day if we had a New Devil in place? Would God have to take that part for himself? If he did would that not be twice the monstrosity? Would those of us who carried out the misdeeds have to condemn ourselves to be the Devil and would we have to cast ourselves into Hell and torture ourselves? Would we all be the King or would we take turns in being the Devil King? If we were the King, would we not be able to do as we please within our own Kingdom?

 

The more Rita thought about it, the less it made sense. Mother merely smiled at her knowingly. She came closer to Rita, lifting her chin and looKing her again straight in the Eye.

 

  • Yes, there cannot be a Kingdom without a King and where there is no King there can be no Kingdom. So on Judgement Day as most of you would have it, there would be no Judgement and no means of executing that Judgement. Do you understand now?
  • There will be no Judgement Day. Just the Day we are all together again with the Source of all things. Is that why there are these playgrounds, so that we may slowly act out different levels of the game of life?
  • Not exactly? Father and I wanted to test various scenarios but it was not just about life, it was about life and death and everything in between. It was about creation and the transformation of the energy. How it could come about, how it would evolve and what it would evolve into. It is now Time for other playgrounds. This one is saturated by the same playing and playthings and your nimble consciousness needs novelty, new fields, new experiences, new ways of expanding. Did we not tell you before? In fact we even left it within all your textbooks as there are not just playthings for children but also things to learn from within your textbooks. We told you that we created you in our image because you are miniature representations of us. You remember the talk about the archetypes you had with Kayla and Kalen, it is precisely that. Now it is time to have those archetypes evolve further into their purer forms and this entails leaving this playground to go to the next.
  • I rather liked it here. I will miss it.
  • That is why you have to learn to detach my darling child but never stop experiencing that flow of sensations, that burst of colours within your chest and behind your eyes because it is the fabric of your future playgrounds and you will need to keep weaving it because there will be nothing left here soon.

 

Rita looked around, soaking in the sun far behind the houses, moving slowly towards the higher point of skies and sighed. She did not want to tell it to Mother again but she would really miss this playground. It was so beautiful and Rita was having a hard time giving up the toys she had played with here. She still felt there was so much to learn here but Mother seemed to think that it was Time for her to move to the other playground. Rita sighed again. The sun was sparkling on the small puddle in the lawn left by the rain and it made her think of Mother again as it bore the remnants of the starlight that ran through her rivers.

 

Rita sighed again as she looked back to the blue skies stretching in the horizons, behind Mother’s frame. She had a fleeting thought for Martin but realised that like all the other means of play in this playground, she had to let him too go. He was still so bent on playing within this playground and his main playthings were void and destruction with only distorted waves of the Love. She knew without Mother or Kayla needing to tell her that a phase in the growth of her Heart was over and Martin belonged to that phase – at least for now. He was not ready to move into the new playgrounds and kept alternating between blabbering indistinctly about the love of some of his toys, yelling sorely at Mother and Father or throwing some of his old or new toys in rage with tears of anger and madness streaming down his darkened face.

 

Mother merely smiled at her when she looked back to her and she knew that Mother knew so she smiled back, a smile of relief and gratitude for her caring. All Mothers always know what goes on in their children’s mind. Sometimes they pretend not to know because they want their child to feel that it has its own secret garden but Rita understood in her Heart of Hearts that Mother knew as certainly as she herself had looked upon her children’s faces in times that troubled them and knew. She just knew.

 

 

 

Nattura – Bjork

Tell me a Story – 1927

Children of the Earth – Josh Garrels

The Spirit Lovers: Chapter Four – Heartpath or the Way of Love, Time and the teachings of the Essence

The Spirit Lovers

Chapter Four: Heartpath or the Way of Love, Time and the teachings of the Essence

20-29 October 2015

breaking waves courtesy tanjakolrus on flickr com

Jointarchetypes

You and I flow instantly back to Rita and Martin and are surprised to see Rita alone wailing with only a pile of Harold’s clothes on the bed next to her.

“What happened?” I ask, still cloaked in my essence, astonished though I have seen many times before a wavering in their essences and instantly picking up on your response, I understand what happened. This is the first time though that it has happened while their physical bodies were in presence. I scrutinize the surroundings and sees remnants of Martin’s essence locked within the glow of the neutrinos looking down at Rita sadly.

You decide to go speak to Martin’s physical being and your essence vapourises leaving me with an inkling of the feeling of incompleteness and I marvel at how these entities before us can handle this feeling as it must be an overpowering sensation of separation for them when they are not together.

“Rita, don’t cry, let me explain to you better what happened. You might remember the time I talked to you in your head about energy distortions, choices and the flow of Time” I say softly, holding her by the shoulders as her whole body shakes with the uncontrollable sobs. I radiate some of my essence into her so her sobs slowly subside and I hope that her agony has not split and killed other parts of the essence elsewhere which were not ready for such agony.

It is so painful, Kayla, you cannot imagine, Rita tells me her eyes glazed and dull with the pain. I cannot understand this horrible pain I feel and most of all I cannot understand how Martin disappeared. We were making love and all of a sudden he started to shiver and then seemed to burst from the inside before he turned ghostlike and vanished into the cupboard. I took out all of Harold’s clothes and looked through them as I could smell him in them but he was in none of them, she adds her head indicating the pile of clothes next to her naked body.

“Let me explain again how the flow works, especially with changing choices” I say again gently to her as I take her by the shoulders and turn her face towards me. Her agony is returning so I warp into her fully and shudder as I am pierced by the might of it and wonder how these beings are capable of so much love and happiness and still able to retain so much fear and hurt. While I radiate in her, I feel the peace returning to her frame and slowly her body temperature starts going back to normal. As the fever subsides, I warp out of her and materialise out of my essence so that she may see me fully.

Rita gasps as she sees me crying out: You look so beautiful Kayla but you look different from the time before when Martin and I saw you.

“Yes” I say “I change forms depending on the mood you put me in”. “Coming back to the matter of how the flow works, you see, somewhere in your past or in the past of another of your manifestations that interacts very closely with you, it would seem like you have changed the choice of being with your twinflame. If you have changed that choice in the past then Martin can no longer be with you here in this now because he does not exist anymore here though a part of his essence would still linger confused until it reintegrates his physical being again elsewhere where he has been projected. Kalen has gone to handle the confusion of that Martin who probably is as confused as you if he even remembers you fully and what happened between you. I cannot even begin to explain the confusion and pain that you both must be feeling back up the River of Time.” I add softly, looking into her eyes and trying to make sure she is understanding what I am saying.

Rita merely looks at me blankly. I don’t understand she says. You did explain to me that Time flows both frontwards and backwards and you did explain about choices and how they moved us into alternate realities but you did not tell me that it could completely swap our existences to different possibilities even after we had made those choices. I chose Martin and sacrificed myself for months on end and I even opened the Heartpath on more than one occasion, just like you had taught me to. I resisted all the pain, all the small deaths both of mine and his darknesses during the opening of the core of the Heartpath and continued to hold on to him. I did all of that and lived through hell and beyond to be able to come to this place. I never understood completely the clues you had strewn on my path but followed them all faithfully and even when he would not see I still persevered, only closing the core when it became too unbearable for me. How can you tell me that I have changed that choice in the past? Did you not see me here with Martin just a couple of days ago and even just yesterday? I have not changed my choice, I cannot have, I am here, I was here with him, we both came together just as it was supposed to be and we made love… her voice breaks and trails off as her sobs start again and I radiate again into her. I cannot help feeling sorry for her even though I know that she has to face the consequences of her own choice.

“Rita” I whisper softly when she has regained a bit of her peace. “You have to understand that it must be you who have made such a choice because you will not be able to look past the choices that you don’t understand. Only you can help yourself now if you wish to. Kalen will investigate with Martin too if he has changed his choice in the past but if not, then you will have to understand what you did and if you choose to now, you can undo it and flow back into another now.”

Rita still shivering slightly and shaking her head answers: I did not change my choice Kayla. I know I cannot have done that.

“Well then let us travel back and see which occurrence has a ripple in the river of Time” I tell her trying to be patient although both you and I know very well by now that they both have changed their choices in their past. He because he was looking only with the mind and she because she had retained fears from remnants of her ego and then chosen to let him go. What I still can’t understand though is how she has still been able to keep her physical presence in the same place and retained full memories of their physical contact in that alternate now. I quickly check with you and you confirm that he has retained close to no memories of her, except some fleeting thoughts and an overpowering sensation of a love he has felt. You tell me that he is still connecting it to that lost love he had chosen in the past and thinks that it is her he has lost again. I try to break the news to her gently as I ponder on whether to really allow her to travel with me in the flow of time as she is already a nervous wreck and will not be able to handle the surge of emotions from the torn selves we will encounter in the Passage of Time. “Rita” I whisper softly “Kalen and I have found out that both of you have chosen to separate”.

Her body jolts upright and I see the essence of her wavering high above her as she is overtaken by the giddiness of being unaligned with her essence again. You must be joking, she almost screams at me. I have not changed anything and I cannot be here if I had changed anything. You told me that once we changed our choices, we never went back to the same flow of Time because nothing remained the same anymore. Yet I am still here and I remember fully our exchanges in our bodily frames. You are lying, you are both just sadists, she hurls at me viciously, her tears spilling all over the floor blood red and with remnants of essence writhing in them. I warp into her again and force her down on the bed holding her bodily frame, rocking her with my essence so that she regains some peace again. I look at you as you flow back to my side and exchange with you silent.

“I don’t understand how she is still here” I tell you softly still caressing her hair as she continues to shiver partially consoled. “What did you find with him” I ask you in your essence and you tell me how you found him in his bed a bit bewildered and dazed but apparently oblivious of the fact that a few instants before he had been making love to her and even less aware of the fact that he had actually encountered the woman of his dreams in the House of Love. You tell me that you were able to find out from him how he was still regretting a woman he had loved a few months ago and could not understand how he was separated from her while he had just had such vivid dreams of her. I wonder whether I should tell her this as we know the ripple effect this creates. We ourselves had some difficulty understanding from Source how this worked as when we tell her, we know she will then make that choice which will bring her back to this alternate now.

“It must be done” you tell me within my essence and I nod, my essence quivering with the advance knowledge of the additional pain I am about to cause.

“Rita” I begin softly. “Martin does not remember you anymore. He has again started confusing you with the other woman. You remember how I told you that when you open the Heartpath core channel, you will pour out your love directly and intensely and receive directly and intensely all that your twinflame may put your way”.

Rita stares at me with a sudden light clearing up the dull film over her eyes. Yes, she say, I remember what you told me about that in my head. You said that I had to understand well the sacrifice I was about to make and be willing to be eventually killed several times over depending on what would come my way. I was willing and whatever Martin hurled my way I took it all and just put it all back into my creation just like you said I should do. I used all the parts of the clues that you handed me and even started adding images and music to my poetry as you had mentioned how additional parts of creation would help the essence recognise and it did recognise me. How was I to know that he was so remotely connected to his essence that he would never understand its whispers? I called upon you several times when the pain was too much to handle; we both did in our own ways, not understanding what was happening to us. I did not know your name then and just called you Mother as I called Kalen Father back then. She almost smiles but the downward trend of her mouth makes it look like a rictus.

“Well my darling girl” I say, putting my hands on her shoulders again “Martin still is in that same state of mind. I told you, You can only see with Heart and you were connected enough with your essence to see with the Heart. You had got rid of enough darkness to be in the light of your essence and feel it flow through you directly almost unencumbered but he had not. He always chose to see only with the mind and all that he saw only increased his darkness and anguish. I already warned you once against the sacrifice as I told you he is not ready yet, too full of unpolished lust and egoist instincts from his bodily frame. I told you to wait until he was ready to sublime that lust into the primal energy force of Love it was destined to become but you would not Listen to the rain of pain knowledge I showered upon you then. You thought your love was strong enough to withstand the pain and that you would be able to make him see. Unfortunately your first etheric contact with him happened at the same time that he was starting an affair with another lady and he has latched onto her all the feelings of love and peace that you projected towards him through the core of the Heartpath. You did help him as he slowly moved from that egotistical being he had been and he sometimes even saw you fleetingly and exchanged with you in dreams, felt your love and your exchanged contact even using the words of that implicitly known synchronicity but he never really connected properly to his etheric being. He never took that leap of faith that you awaited eagerly, yearning for his heart to actually see beyond the illusion.” I break off as I sense the feeling of shock going through her and creating the ripple.

It is all lost then, she says as she slowly starts fading before you grab her, warping into her essence and jolting her up again fully bright and sparkling in essence. Martin, she screams with delight.

“No, I am Kalen” you say, slowly disengaging from her essence. “I just needed you to stay as we wanted to understand better by interacting with your essence how come you stayed behind while he projected himself into his alternate now almost seamlessly. We cannot understand yet how come this has not happened with you and you are still here fully aware of everything that unfolded in Time.”

As soon as he says that we both feel her, the true revered Mother of all of us, as she appears fiercely beautiful and unbearably full of light, even for us.

Rita has closed her eyes and is swaying saying Mother, you have come back to me. You are here again and you are not Kayla. Who are you that have walked softly picking me up each time I have fallen all these years. I know you, you were there from the beginning. I remember you drawing me out lovingly and twisting softly my head as my bodily Mother pushed me out of her forcing me out of memories of the blue swirling void and through the black warmth into the cold light outside. I remember your beautiful blue face as I cried from the harshness of the light and the cold that invaded my essence as you smiled and told me “Welcome my child. Be blessed as I have come to assist your birth and through it my own birth into this world. See and feel for me as I have forgotten to feel for this world when they slowly covered my eyes and He as I went back to sleep from this Time”.

I remember seeing him, Father, as blue as you are, looking at me as my essence danced into this world, her steps replicating his own as he faded into the fog blessing me as he left. He had whispered then that he would come for me when my call was at its shrillest though I had never seen him since then. I only saw one of his messengers, a blue one like him who taught me about Love when I was five years old and sitting alone in my room, Rita adds in a dreamlike voice, her eyes still closed, her body swaying.

We both look at each other and at revered Mother who smiles back at us sweetly though her eyes stay all at once fierce and tender, still focused on Rita who is swaying. “I am Kali” she says to Rita who immediately stops swaying and looks at her through her essence which slowly cuddles into the palm of Mother’s hand while Rita falls back on the bed inert. A second blue form emerges from the fog surrounding Mother and we both recognise our archetype Source Father Shiva as he smiles at us his hair swirling around him like snakes ready to strike. Father slowly picks up Rita’s essence from Mother’s hand and flows it back into her and she wakes up in a jolt before recognising him and saying in a dreamlike way again “Father, you have come for me like you said you would. I remember how you did not move though back in Time, only looking away unmoved while Mother tended to the wounds”

“I had to, my child” Father says in his thousand voices and as Rita’s bodily frame shakes and almost splits he reduces its numbers so that she may bear its effects. “You have to face the consequences of your choices alone and understand them before we can help you with them. I knew anyway that Mother would tend to the wounds as I am stillness without her intent”.

I had not chosen yet though Father, Rita speaks her voice a pitch higher and her eyes now half-open, gazing downward as the light is too intense for her to bear. I was merely pondering what to choose as he was still misguided by the mind and the ego.

“No my child. You had already chosen and simply had to understand your choice to see it properly. Your choice was born out of the fear and not out of the Love unlike what Mother had advised you when you were being flown into your bodily mother’s womb and the mass of matter that she was transforming into what became you” Father says in thunders while Rita still shakes from it. “We had also sent one of our brothers to inform you about love and you welcomed him, worshipped him even but did not truly understand what he told you. Love is only Love, it can be nothing else than that. It cannot be hurt, ego, darkness or even light. It just is and manifests itself in everything that surrounds you as we have woven it into the very fabric of this world, every Time and every matter as well as the space between that matter’s particles of light. You cannot not see it except if you are not seeing with the Heart and …”

I have, for once, forsaken my heart, Rita adds softly interrupting Father who smiles knowingly.

“Yes” he answers smiling at her face that is burning light with this new knowledge. “You have chosen to see with the mind, with the fear of the remnants of your ego and you have chosen to let go of your love, the strongest connecting point to your twinflame and that choice has split all the alternate realities of it”

“Why is she here still then?” we both ask and immediately understand from Father’s essence as it ebbs and flows through us partially.

“She sees both with Heart and Mind” I say turning towards Rita again and attempting to explain it to her “You chose with the mind but your heart refused to endorse that choice so your Heart brought you all the way here through the River of Time fully conscious of yourself but not fully conscious of your choice as you could not see past that choice you refused to understand”

Rita opens partially her eyes and instantly regrets it as she almost turns blind in her bodily frame while mother showers portions of her essence on her eyes so that she may not remain blind in the physical. Rita lowers her gaze again almost closing her eyes and realises that her eyesight will never be the same again. I know how I made that choice, she says quietly, her eyes downcast. I thought that as he had made a choice, even though it was with his mind and it was misguided, I had to respect that choice and therefore preserve myself. I was not looking with the eyes of the Heart and I chose to ignore then that I could still choose to stay connected and watch over him while continuing my life in the alternate reality. I think I allowed my ego and fear to speak within me and overtake the sound of my heartbeat telling me to stay in the Love. I did not learn my own lesson of humility and acceptance while I was arrogantly attempting to teach Martin the same lesson. I let my sense of higher spirituality and knowledge get the better of me and therefore fed my own ego while I was judging him for being weak and so closely connected to his ego instead of to his real etheric self. That ego then quickly turned around and became me, choosing in spite of me with the eye of the mind that only saw a future condemned and refused to see the alternate futures of togetherness anymore. The instant I accepted the loss of that twin future, it disappeared in my mind’s eye and with it therefore Martin disappeared because he was only seeing everything with the mind and not with the Heart. I was seeing with both though so a part of me made it back here to this twin reality.

Rita straightens her shoulders and eyes still downcast says Forgive me Father for I have sinned.

Father looks at her gently and says “There is no sin where there is Truth” and Rita smiles back at him as she feels in her essence his heavenly smile.

“You see” I cut in “others before you when they were bearing double messages of different archetypes have lost their way although the most prominent versions of them have found their way back quickly. The most important part is to forgive yourself when you realise that you have wronged yourself and possibly others. You only have to stay in the Love without judging anything or anyone, not even yourself and as Father says, there is no sin where there is Truth. You must have heard of Jesus, he is hardly even believed to have existed today and his bodily existence is confused with the various other archetypes of Love that preceded him and these lost essences even question his existence from the very fact of the synchronicities with those other archetypes”.

Rita nods her head and says I know he existed because the blue messenger who came to me and told me his essence was the archetype of Love and was called Krisna had already told me before that he had come to this world in many forms after his form as Krisna. He told me that Jesus was just the messenger of Love. When I had asked him about compassion he had smiled and told me that the archetype of compassion was not within Jesus although he had it ingrained in him through his twin essence and when I asked him how it was possible that he had a twin essence he merely smiled and said but I too have a twin essence my child. He told me his twin essence was Radha and she held the other archetype which went with love and it was compassion. Immediately before the question materialised in my confused brain – I was only a five year old child then – he informed me that Jesus also had a twin essence and it was Mary Magdalene. I had not heard of her then and confused her with the Mother Mary of the chapel in the Convent I studied at but he told me that it was not her although it was her all the same. When I looked at him confused he merely smiled and told me that one day I would understand how you could be one thing and not it at the same time. He also told me that time and time again love came to the world and had to die until it was the right Time for love to be the only thing that existed. He told me that every Time, Love had to sacrifice itself knowing that it had to continuously evolve until all beings within this world had learned to live in the love and not otherwise. He added that when that Time came, we would all transcend into a different kind of world. I had forgotten that talk and the other talks I had with him as he visited me frequently growing my love of him although I had to hide it from my bodily mother who disapproved this connection. My bodily father though often looked at me knowingly and seemed to understand although I had never really voiced anything out. I still don’t understand though why love had to continue dying and why Jesus of all people who was so pure and so full of Love, bringing so much love and proof of its existence to others also had to die.

“You see”, I interrupt again, “Jesus was not the Source, he was merely a part of it, an archetype of it. A part of Jesus though had grown to increasingly identify itself fully with Source and to reject portions of the teachings on the archetype that he himself had come to teach to the world. When Source realised that this earth-bound essence of Love was being confused with the whole of it and that even despite that and all the miracles of love showered on the people, they would not understand the ultimate message, Source informed Jesus that he too must die because his message of Love was simply not going through and people did not understand it because of the emergence of an alternate self within Jesus himself that he needed to transcend. That alternate self was diluting the message of his own essence and the people he had come to guide to walk in the Love simply did not know what they were doing and would ultimately end up killing the Love archetype in their hearts if it were not allowed to regenerate again in a different form, at a different Time.”

But he was resurrected according to the Christian tradition, Rita cries out adding, and he was not misguided. He was only Love and never had an alternate self. How can you say such a thing? How can such pure love be considered to have been tainted? She adds disbelievingly.

“It is a simple thing really” you step in to say “Jesus was also manifested into this Earthly realm and even though he retained a larger connection to his etheric self and his ultimate archetype, he was also to an extent subject to the meanders of this world of matter and occasionally allowed his bodily self to vibrate unaligned and create an alternate self that was not ego although it was slightly out of the way of his archetype. In order for him to realign and become his archetype of Love again so that his mission would ultimately be accomplished, he had to die in this world and yes he was resurrected in his etheric form but his bodily remains had dissolved instantly as with all the other pure archetypes of Love sent to this worldly realm when they flow back into pure love again. Source had explained to Jesus that he had to go back to it and regenerate before coming back as a pure unadulterated archetype again when the Time was ripe. Basically, Love had to die and be remembered for its qualities and lived through several bodily frames that were fully open to the evolving of the archetype so that it could evolve through them in this world until it was ready to be regenerated again, pure” you say.

Rita shook her head, not convinced. Why would it have to die? It could simply be redirected as an archetype and evolve naturally through other beings ready to realise it. Why did it have to die? she added almost in a whisper as her heart was already telling her the answer.

“You know the answer” Kali said fiercely

“Mother, she is still weak, please let me explain to her in the ways of her world” Kayla interrupted gently.

Kali took a step back, her blazing eyes fierce though compassionate as she studied my crestfallen face. “Never mind” she said in a softer tone. “I am leaving you in charge of her guidance and make sure that I do not have to come here and lap up her bloodied essences back into her again” she added quietly before dissolving in the fog together with Shiva.

“It had to die because the world was not ready for it then because even its archetype had strayed from its mission and become slightly confused with its bodily frame on occasion. Jesus had worked with his twinflame Mary Magdalene but often he would lapse in his essence and let the bodily frame make the choices that only his etheric self should have made clearly.”

We cannot see past the choices we don’t understand, Rita whispered softly. We have all of us forsaken love, we have all of us chosen to live only in the mind and in the matter it produces without looking at what is beyond, the energy, the love that connects us all. As each of us understands this choice, we will then awaken to a world where Love will manifest again fully as an archetype and does not have to die anymore, she adds.

“Yes my darling child” I tell her pleased with her progress as I beam at you through our joined essences. “You have understood your choice and now you can see past it and allow the River of Time to flow both ways again for you. Now all you have to do is see whether you want to maintain that choice or change it in whatever way you wish”

Rita smiles as she opens her eyes and looks at me fully seeing my essence. I have made up my mind she says softly and will put it all across as usual through the creative output you have granted me to express myself.

“Yes my darling child” you tell Rita. “Source decided that the twinflames should be clearly indicated their mission when the connection started fully and understand that the mission is more important than their attachment to each other. This has now become the work of the twinflames” you add. “They must come together first joining in Love and working through the evolution of that Love as well as helping other beings who come to them with their relational problems until everyone, everywhere in this realm has finally understood and accepted the nature of Love. It is only when that happens that you will all reach what some of you have identified as the Golden Age. Unfortunately many misguided beings have interpreted in different ways these teachings and only use the concurrent teachings of Love and the Flow of Time to create alternate realities that suit them on a very material level instead of helping the Love evolve. Even those twinflames who have not been able to connect for whatever reason should still continue to live within their archetype be it Love or any other archetype which actually all go back to the same ultimate reality which is Source. In every choice of connecting though, you need to understand what you have chosen without judging either yourself or the other twinflame, without forcing the connection but without forsaking it either”

Rita smiles at Kalen and marvels how much his projection of him as she sees him now reminds her of Martin and of his essence when it beamed at her through the looking glass opposite her bed. Don’t leave me alone too long though Kayla, she say. I count on your guidance as you sow the clues of synchronicity for my past self so that I may trace myself back here and hopefully with Martin. If he does not come, I hope you will come for me in the future when I am an old and tired woman just as you did for Nina and that you will take me back with you so that I may ease this ache within me. He had promised me that he would not act like Harold did. He seemed so much in love and so truthful when he made those promises to me as we lay in that bed and before that on that couch. I can slowly even remember all those future times when he was here beside me and we were growing old together. I don’t understand his choice though but hope that he will be able to understand it and see through the world of illusion that cloaks his heart and misguides his mind.

“I hope so too my darling” I say softly embracing her as we get ready to leave her again. She stands up to wave goodbye, resolutely in the now of her alternate reality and as we leave we see her through the web of Time which is fading curled up in her bed her nose buried in Harold’s clothes which still bears the smell of Martin’s essence. “I feel sad for her pain whether it is temporary or permanent” I tell you, my essence already wavering at her sadness though it is less acute as she seems to have gained some sort of a new-found confidence in her alternate reality.

“She will be fine” you answer in my essence, drawing me closer as we warp back on the way towards Source.

Meanwhile, Rita wakes up from the dream with the vivid impression of having gone somewhere though she cannot remember exactly where. She remembers the Time spent together with her twinflame, the love, the agony and Pain of separation, the longing. After pacing throughout the room she finally understands now that the Rita of her dreams as she had chosen to call her is actually her. She slowly sits on the couch and begins writing the Fourth chapter of this incredible recount, her hands trembling as she fully realises now that she was not piecing together a novel created from parts of an imaginary dream but she is writing her own story as it unfolds backwards and frontwards through this flowing, coursing, raging, beautiful and yet often agonising River of Time. Her choice is made or rather made again and she feels more than she knows with her mind that Kayla approves of it as does Mother. After all, whatever the outcome, in Love, there is only Love…

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Mind perception

Mind and Heart perception

Heart perception

Visit of Shiva to Sati replicated in the visit of Father to one of the manifested archetypes of Mother, his consort

Tales of the wretched: Ashok and his mother – Chapter 1: The night at the shelter

Tales of the wretched

Ashok and his mother – chapter 1: The night at the shelter

4 July 2015

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Ashok lifted his head from his plate and looked at the woman sitting on the chair at the opposite side of the shelter. She had the silent sullen look of those who are used to fate giving them blow after blow and her whole body carried itself hunched, ready for the oncoming onslaught. She was a stocky large-faced woman with features which did not allow you to guess whether she had been beautiful or not, so bloated they were from the drinking and difficult life she must have lead. She was seated, hunched on a corner of the chair as if she were afraid to occupy more of it and perhaps be blamed for taking too much space. He had noticed how most of the people who came here for food seemed to carry that apologetic stance about them, as if they were readily acknowledging in advance that they ought to be sorry for the misery that brought them to this point of having to get food donated to them. He winced as somehow it brought back memories of someone closer to him, so much closer that he had once fell asleep feeling safe and comforted on her bosom.

 

Ashok shook off the bittersweet memories and tried to concentrate on his plate. The food was not a luxury meal but it was still good and its heat warmed his belly and made him feel ready to tackle the biting cold outside. He forked out a piece of the meat that sat on a corner of his plate and proceeded to cut it into bits so that he could swallow them slowly with his soup together with the bread that he had broken into pieces before. Today, the cook who was a Tunisian called Ammar, had cooked a favourite Tunisian dish for those who needed some energy and a remedy against the cold and it was called Leblaby. It mainly consisted of a very spicy chickpea soup into which some egg was added, sometimes with meat too and which you were supposed to eat by breaking pieces of bread in it and swallowing it all like a soup while it was still very hot. Ammar and the Canadian apprentice Andrew had joked a lot with Ashok about the fact that this dish was really going to give a jolt to those among the shelter visitors who were not used to eating spicy food but that he could handle it as he too came from a culture that enjoyed spicy food. Ashok had laughed with them absent-mindedly not really getting why it was a joke if these poor people coming for food would not be able to handle the spice. He knew, however, that Ammar meant no real malice as he had volunteered, as Ashok had done, to work in the shelter and came regularly day after day at the end of his shift to prepare the food for the night at the shelter.

 

Ashok felt again that gnawing at his heart and the longing for the comfort and safety he had lost as his mind strayed again into thoughts of the past. He tried to remember how she had looked before but it was always the mask she wore at death that came to his mind. It seemed like he could never remember her again the way she had been. People had told him that she had been a beautiful woman and many had attempted to console him but he had pulled away from them. He could not understand how there were so many people at her funeral but none had come earlier so that this could be prevented. His heart had hardened then as he had thought to himself that these hands that were reaching out for him in an attempt to console him were like claws of vultures attempting a show of affection while they had only circled above while she was all set to die. He had not wanted to give them the pleasure of feeling or perhaps of pretending in front of others that they had achieved something good by consoling him, the little matchstick boy as some of the boys in the neighbourhood called him. He had thus broken away from their grabbing hands and stood, a pitiful sight in his trousers that were at least two sizes too big for him, his painfully thin hands tucked into his hollow chest and his wobbling ungainly legs attempting to stay stiff and solid on the ground as his whole body quaked with sobs. People had looked at him with real pity then but all he could feel was the anger at their lack of reaction earlier and nothing they could have said could have possibly consoled him then.

 

It was then that he had first felt the pangs of hatred he recalled, that he had vowed to take revenge on every person who had somehow been responsible for her state as she lay there in front of him. He had repeated to himself the words he had heard “She was such a beautiful woman. How come she allowed herself to sink this far” and they had become like a mantra that he repeated to himself every time he felt weak and incapable of doing what he had vowed to do. His frail body then was incapable of doing anything else than growing and he had focused mainly on that first although he did not neglect his studies. Despite the number of people who had attended the funeral, nobody had come forward to become his legal guardian but he was lucky as the orphanage where he had been placed by the State was one of the rare good ones and he was treated decently if not with some kindness on occasion. He had studied hard and succeeded in life but he had never once given up his night job of working in shelters that distributed food to the homeless. He wondered whether this had contributed to his failed marriage but did not even dwell upon the thought as nothing in his marriage had felt right anyway, despite his initial lust for his wife, which he had mistakenly taken for love.

 

The woman moved a bit and looked around with shifty eyes and he realised she was probably about to do what many of the homeless do, while thinking they are actually not entitled to it. Most of them would do it in a more discreet way but this woman seemed to have a sense of urgency about her. She looked around again and not noticing his gaze as he was looking at her through semi-closed eyes, pretending to be dozing, she quickly tucked in her bra a couple of bread rolls. He chuckled inward despite the incongruous situation thinking that had it not been soup but steak as they served on rare occasions she would probably have tried to hide some of those too. He opened wide his eyes, staring straight at her intensely and like a hunted animal she felt his gaze and looked back at him with widening eyes. She seemed to quickly try to assess whether he had noticed her stealing the loafs and judged otherwise as he did not seem to be angry but her stance changed to an even less comfortable one when he rose and started walking towards her.

 

As he came up to her side she winced and started getting ready to offload her breast area of their load but he put a hand on her rough hand and stopped her. In a deliberately quiet and low voice he told her to keep them. He said it was not against the rules to take bread away as long as it was not too much. The shelter privileged giving food to those who made the effort of coming all the way but if some extra food was needed by the person who had come there was nothing against keeping a bit for later or perhaps, he said gazing at her intensely, for someone else. As their eyes locked while he said this, something passed in between them and the stocky hardened woman started to sob. Ashok kept his hand on her shoulder as she sobbed and pressed her to collect herself together so that Ammar’s apprentice would not come to the table and find out why she was crying. Neither Ammar nor Ashok bothered when people took away food with them as they knew it must be direly needed but the young boy Andrew was very tight on the rules and would have reported her. Ashok thought to himself that unlike Ammar or himself, the boy certainly had never known hardship as he came from a normal Canadian family and had been sent by his mother – a devout catholic – to the shelter to work. The woman sniffed and then stayed huddled attempting to quiet her sobs and eventually they ceased so he went back to his seat to regain his own composure and watched as she slowly edged towards the shelter exit and then disappeared into the night.

 

Ashok gazed at the gaping door that was slowly shutting behind her. He wanted to follow her but what had passed between them in that gaze had left him weak and he had been that wobbly thin boy again looking up into his mother’s eyes as she pleaded with people passing to buy her embroidered tablecloths. By the time he had been able to still his beating heart, she had been out of the door and out of the shelter. He looked past the door, staring emptily, trying to recollect images of the times before when they had both been happy. Slowly, like a man in a dream, he walked towards the window to try and get a glimpse of the woman as she left the shelter. Outside, a line of people were still queueing up for the food at the shelter and the cars on the street were still abuzz. He opened the window partially to see better and rested his throbbing head against the cool surface of the window pane as he breathed in the chill of the night and it filled his lungs and his heart with its iciness. Warm tears rolled down his cheeks as he caught a glimpse of the stocky hunched woman making her way through the stream of people, her precious load of food snuck closely to her heart and he whimpered out loud “Mother!”

The Lady at the bar (4)

November 27 – December 1, 2014

(a shared writing effort with Lars Epperson)

372 le matin 3

Arms outstretched towards the sky, he had quickened his pace and was almost running now towards the house as if he meant to embrace it. Something seemed to have changed in his mood and she wondered how one could shift from such a sense of grief to such a sense of glee without a transition.

Suddenly he stopped in his tracks and turned towards her. He did not seem to see her but was not looking right through her either. It was more as if he was lost in his thoughts and she was a substitute to the person who seemed to occupy them. He smiled at her, a smile that was all at once innocent, roguish and so disarmingly charming before speaking.

“Do you remember the old house? It was Sunday dinners; a tradition he wanted to keep: fried chicken mashed potatoes and gravy too much cooked to eat, worried him still, never quite able to carry it on.

Kids always seemed to busy the house where you pulled open your blouse.

– Do you like these?

– Uh, yes, think so, but never seen them outside playboy magazine

– Kiss them

Swimming in the creek, headlights shining on your nakedness…”

She listened to him as he alternated mimicking his role and that of the woman he had loved apparently, completely lost in his memories.

“Damn! Hated you/loved you; give me one more chance to nibble on your neck, down lower to your full breasts… I really need to make love to you, one last time”

She listened, not sure he was referring to his past love or to her as he seemed to be describing the love-hate relationship he had with her. Did he nibble on all his girlfriends’ necks? she wondered. She thought quietly about her own love habits and how it seemed that all human beings seemed to have their favourite likes and dislikes that did not really depend upon their partner’s likes and dislikes although they often had to make an effort to blend their favourites with their partner’s favourites.

What an intricate thing, she thought, this lovemaking where everyone was so different yet so similar. How was it that people even related to each other and were able to carry on feeling the same passion year after year if the things they did were so similar from one year to another, from one partner to another?

She was stopped from her daydreaming as she felt his gaze intensify on her and she lifted her eyes which caught his that seemed dark, brooding.

He looked at her, watched the wind play upon the tall grass blowing it first this way then that and wanted to tell her something but instead thought to himself “so many things I forgot to tell you.  Did I forget to tell you I love you?”

He gazed at her, saw her eyes widening and felt her searching him as he was searching her.

Again he wanted to say all those words to her but they just ran around in his chest as he talked to the image of her in his mind “Looking into your eyes, see the reflection, another time maybe someone new… shadows passing. I feel it fade. Yesterday, you would have wanted me to make love to you”.

She could feel that he meant to say something and she desperately wanted him to say it aloud but he seemed to be all at once lost in his own world and trying so hard to reach out to her and share with her his feelings.

He watched her expressions as her face changed from troubled to hopeful to pained to bewildered and he wanted to kiss her, to reassure her that everything was alright, that it had been a fleeting moment and that he was there for her like he had been for so long, like he would always be but the words failed him again.

He knew somehow that it wasn’t true and that this relationship between them that wavered between love and hate was bound to tear them apart and he realised that all the words in the world would do nothing to change that.

He smiled again at her, sadly, with the knowledge that the sense of heartbreak he felt was probably the one her eyes were conveying too as deep pools stirred in them with the downpour approaching. He thought softly to himself as he opened his arms to her and she ran on the backdrop of grass blowing in the wind “I know you won’t be here long; goodbyes, gotten good at them but hate that wait. Is it you, or me that goes first?”.

He held her tightly and felt again that mixture of bliss and pain as her curves melted into his body and he was submerged by her warmth and softness while at the same time realising that not too long after that they would be separated again. For now though, he whispered to himself as they clung on to each other and her tears spilled all over his shoulders “it is not over yet, it is not goodbye”.

Reading of this episode of the story: 

372-le-matin-9

 

Read the next part of the story “The Lady at the Bar (5)  here – https://geethaprodhom.wordpress.com/english-novels/the-lady-at-the-bar-5/

The Lady at the bar (3)

November 22, 2014

(a shared writing effort with Lars Epperson)

Ladyatthebar4

Pulling up into the old home place. Lightning, off in the distance, waiting for the rain to hit the tin roof. Simple sounds, back in a life that once used to mean so much.

He quit caring; pain never overcame, came no more, left it on the doorstep, last time he walked out.

Waking; coffee on the porch. A whistle….there used to be dogs. He whistled, once again…nothing!

He watched her pull her dress up to her knees; grass grown tall brown, sullen feet, wet with dew.

She followed him, lifting her dress so that it would not get torn by the grass that had grown almost into bushes, dry, crackling as she walked through its bristles.

He seemed hypnotised by the house in front of him towards which they were both walking silently. She could see from the stiffness at his neck and shoulders that he seemed to be in pain.

She wondered what that small run-down shack of a house with its small holes like a bean bag bursting at the edges could have held for him to be so much in pain at the sight of it.

All of a sudden he started whistling, as if to beckon a dog but nothing came. She watched silently as his shoulders hung in sadness and wondered if she should keep following him.

Yesterday, she would have gone up to him boldly and put her arms around him to make whatever pain he felt go away but today, after their fight and despite his seeming to forgive her, she felt that somehow she had no place in that pain he seemed to be feeling.

She slowed her pace and the leaves seemed to rustle even noisier as she toyed with the idea of running towards him and throwing her arms around his neck.

He had slowed down too, his back still tense, shoulders hung, head still facing the house and he raised his arms towards the sky

 

 

 

The Lady at the bar

November 7, 2014

(a shared writing effort with Lars Epperson)

Ladyatthebar1a

She made many promises and I remember when we were driving looking out the window…

It was noon on a sunny day, one of her favourite moments when every living being was lulled into a silent sense of security that brought with it a sleepy lazy feeling.

Sun kissed thighs dark shades on, so she couldn’t see me looking; wouldn’t want to give her the satisfaction. A bottle of beam, shirt worn one day too many crumpled pack of Marlboros

She stretched and looked back at the driver who was holding on to the steering wheel like his life depended upon it. Ever since their argument that morning, they had been ignoring each other stonily. He pretending not to see or hear her and she pretending it did not matter as she strutted around in one of his favourite figure-hugging skirts. She knew he would notice as she barely wore skirts but he had of course chosen to ignore the flash of thighs revealed as she entered the passenger seat next to him. She looked out of the window again letting her hair dangle loosely over the side of the car so that the sun could play with its wisps

Fresh tank of gas so… where’re we going. Let’s take a spin, see how far this fast car can take us, looking for that last chance Texaco.

Outside the car, everything was alive with noise, the birds chirped cheerily, the grasshoppers sang, the bees buzzed around in frenzy and even the flowers seemed to say hi as they waved in the wind. Yet Inside the car, only the sound of the engine came through to them. She looked at him again; he seemed to be engrossed in his own thoughts now and not ignoring her. She wondered what he was thinking as he seemed to be puzzled. Her eyes lingered on the corners of his mouth that had been so soft when she had kissed them the night before and thought about how they had yielded to her lips hungrily while they were pressed tightly this morning, hard, unyielding…

 

 

Doll Tale 3: Leaving is living, Matilda

Doll tale 3: Leaving is living, Matilda

6 October 2014

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She thought that she would never have the time to leave before he came back. The events of the previous day raced through her mind as colours that would clash at the bottom of a kaleidoscope. The more she thought of escaping, the more she felt petrified. It seemed to her that there was no way out and she felt like a piece of Emmenthal squeezed in a sandwich between the two hot plates of a toaster which inevitably would make her melt, doing away with her.

To leave, to leave, to leave. She brooded over the word to the exasperation of her mind that revolted against her incessant litanies, her tiresome indecision. To leave yes, but to leave without a quest, without the possibility of winning… ​​ What for? To leave, but how to leave and how to organize oneself, what to do?  These thoughts incessantly ran through her mind like an infernal rondo making her feel dizzy.

Matilda was pacing in front of her car and could not bring herself to slip behind the wheel and take to her heels with her baby asleep in his baby seat. She suddenly stopped pacing, unbuckled her baby turned around and went back into the house. It would not do them any good to drive in her condition and she might as well take the train later she thought. She put the toddler back in his crib and he continued to sleep undisturbed. He had suckled his mother for so long that he was completely satisfied and had fallen into a deep, restful sleep. She stroked his cheek before heading down to the kitchen. Mechanically she took out the broom, vacuum, bucket and various liquids to clean floors and other household items and began to clean.

Everything was a victim of her zealous cleaning from the floor to the ceiling not forgetting the curtains, the dishes and the children’s toys littering the living room floor. She paused for a moment, realizing that she was stacking everything she was tidying into a pile of five. Today’s pain, for some reason, made her mind wander to the digit five.

Five. The five children she would have had if one of them did not fall following a ski accident the year before leaving the twin free to develop in her belly and if the first, a long time ago, had not come out without a sound. Five if that first one, as dead as her heart had not been ejected at five and a half months in a creepy delivery where death triumphed over life. Giving birth to death, trying to smother one’s five senses to keep no memory of that moment and yet having that memory forever etched in one’s mind and through the five senses so alive at that time: the pain of her flesh, the vision of the doctor, of the pale white ceiling, the smell of ammonia and that more characteristic medical scent of hospitals, the sound that did not come, deafening to the ear despite her knowing that no noise would be there and the words, irritatingly encouraging, oppressive, unnecessary of the midwife who kept asking to push again and again because it would soon be over.

She stood up angrily and ran down to the basement where she vented her grief. She felt that she should as if by patriotic inclination go to war against the cobwebs and dust bunnies she had left to accumulate in the basement of her house during the aftermath of her pregnancy. These grey and sad dirtballs that rose out of the basement when she shook the rugs made ​​her think about the quirky songs of the past that her husband would mention to her and that, for her, were just as crass as those dust bunnies despite the fact that he thought they were funny and light jokes. She furiously shook the carpets which seemed to release a never ending trail of dirt in the air. How much dirt could these rugs still conceal she thought angrily.

She thought to herself that if she had known before she would have got rid of that gunk for it was not a light joke but a solid reality of today. Did he say a slight madness of yesterday? No, a reality of today, she thought banging the carpet she still held while her tears mingled freely with the particles of dirt coming out of the carpet and fell heavily to the ground or caused the dust to be again made ​​prisoner of the carpet. This floor was really going to keep a very vivid trace of her battle she thought. Everything had been removed, dusted, polished and re-shelved.

She took a deep breath and walked towards the kitchen in a daze where she rinsed her hands and mechanically prepared three sandwiches for the children coming home from school hungry and their nanny who would accompany them home before she left for the day. She then turned towards the mop realizing she had forgotten to remove the water on the floor. As she seized the mop, she reached towards the refrigerator to try to close the door before falling on her back nursing her elbow from the electric shock. She had forgotten that there was still that bad contact problem that her husband had not taken care of and that she had been standing with bare feet in the middle of a pool of water. The current passing through her body had dazed her but had also stopped dead in its tracks her furious housewife’s urge. She stood up, gingerly feeling her heavy and painful hand and proceeded to finish drying the water to prevent one of the children having to endure the same incident.

She walked slowly down the stairs to the basement to see if she had forgotten something. The cardboard box she had left in the middle of the room not knowing if she should bring its content up or leave it down caught her eye. It was a box full of old vinyl albums and on the top of the pile there was an album of ABBA and something broke in her at the sight of this palindrome. ABBA made her think of ABC and she had missed the ABC of all the signs, the ABC of sniffing those clues of treachery was what she had missed out. She grabbed the disc as well as all the others inside the box and began methodically to break them into two.

She then proceeded to the cellar, opened the door with the key hanging on a nail in the wall to the left side of the handle and looked at the bottles that adorned the wall: the “grand cru” bordeaux for special occasions were rubbing shoulders with “côtes du Rhone”, “blanc de blanc”, bottles of champagne, a few rare costly burgundy wines among other cheaper wines. She did not drink but if there was an occasion to celebrate she thought bitterly, it was this one. How to solve this dilemma? She took the first bottle of overpriced Champagne that met her nervous fingers and that her husband had asked her not to open unless he gave her the permission to do so. “Yes, what a good idea”, she said to herself, “let us pop the cork of the champagne like in olden times slicing its top off” but she realized that the Samurai sword was in the bedroom so she resorted to the wall. She drank a few drops cutting herself at the edge of the lips in the process. She took another bottle, a Chateau Margaux with a deep robe that went crashing against the white wall of the wine cellar. Many other bottles suffered a similar fate as she continued her relentless task.

When she left the cellar, the brackish unsavoury pond that decorated its floor kept emitting bubbles that she left to tremble and burst in the dark by turning off the light. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, rubbing her temples with her fingers that were numb from that mechanical task earlier. She heard above her head footsteps and laughter as the children came home from school with their nanny. She looked at herself in the mirror of the cabinet of the cellar and was shocked to see her livid face smeared with tears and soot. Slowly she walked towards the basin of the laundry room and began to clean her sticky face and hands. She then stripped off her soiled clothes, took a light dress which was folded in a basket of items to be ironed on top of the washing machine and slipped it on. She then climbed two by two the stairs that separated her from her children and rushed toward them with open arms. “Mom! ” they cried in chorus and she pressed them against her heart.

As always they had so much to tell her and she was always surprised and amazed that they could have so much to tell her each time they returned from school. Yet the day before she had listened to their stories and marveled at how different they were from the day before that. Every day they experienced exciting new events and every day, they like her marveled at being able to experience such interesting events.

In his room, their brother had just woken up from a deep sleep after his vigorous suckling at noon. He let out a long wail of one who is hungry again and Matilda and her children looked at each other with a knowing air. “You’ll have to feed again this greedy little boy,” said her daughter with a mischievous grin. Matilda smiled softly and extended a hand towards her. “Will you come and help me change him?” she asked her daughter. Her eldest son followed loudly proclaiming that he too wanted to take care of his brother and that changing babies was not a task reserved for women. All three climbed the stairs leading to the plaintive sound of the little greedy one who was claiming his own personal pantry on feet. In three, they were quick to change his diaper, then the two children watched their mother settle into the big chair and her eldest put the nursing pillow under her elbow while her daughter adjusted the blankets around her little brother.

Matilda gently stroked the baby’s cheek and the small mouth opened to grasp the nourishing nipple. And while life flowed in the gulps that her son took, Matilda felt life gently flow back again into her heart as she devised a plan to leave.