Immortality, super
powers, evolution… Did I always remember my True Identity? Not really. The existing
common ground between me and humans often tricked me into assuming that I was a
female member of the homo sapiens sapiens
species. As a child, I looked like any other girl, and I seemed to be
developing according to the same phases of growth as the rest of them. But my
flesh and blood were made of a more refined, more enduring substance. My
physical shape was unchangeably bound to symmetry and harmony. And my DNA
possessed knowledge of a kind that only a few enlightened people during
humanity’s past history had managed to unravel. So how come I didn’t always
remember that I was of Venusian Stock?
The little catch was
in the shape of a small problem that I shared with all human beings. The only
way for me to retrieve memories of my true, stellar origin was to keep my heart
focused only on the feeling called love. 24/7. Uninterruptedly. So that my
human body could completely transform into its upgraded, human-stellar
cross-fertilized version. That was the only way I could transmute into becoming
a fully-fledged Star Woman one day. An immortal human being.
On that fateful
day, I knew that Oscar would be there to share in my unfaltering love. At least
for a while. But then he would have to make a choice: to become like me by
love-fuelled osmosis, as prophesied by the Arkadian Plan, or reject me and miss
the most miraculous opportunity the planet could witness.
But of course I
didn’t know as much in my early years. My early life of a Star Girl on Earth
was often very dramatic. Events around me would always mirror inner
evolutionary processes taking place in my body and psyche, and in the
collective subconscious of humanity at large. I had to learn to read them as
such. It wasn’t easy - my human component was very strong and I was quite
attached to it. There in the third dimension, in the mortal plane, there would
always be two forces trying to influence my actions. The Dark Forces would try
to stop my evolution. They loved the status quo on Earth. And the Arkadian
Forces would try to speed me on my path to transformation. They were my helpers
and kin.
I was born an only
child equipped with a vast imagination. If the world around me was dull
sometimes, and complicated and tragic at others, my thoughts could always take
me on wonderful adventures. Daydreaming became my favorite past time, with
reading fantastic adventures as a close second. By the time I was four, I had a
multitude of friends that no one else could see but me. Some of them were
palm-sized shiny people who lived among the trees and plants of our family’s
landscaped garden at Villa Rosa, in the Asti Valley of Northern Italy. Others
were bigger and resembled angels in their appearance. They had colorful waves
all around them, just like wings. I couldn’t quite decide if they were
angel-children or grown-up fairies. Some were a cross between the two types.
They looked a little bit like me too.
At the start, these
visitors didn’t speak to me. So there was no way I could ask them to tell me
more about their identity. It was only on the day when my dad left me and my
mum that my “imaginary” friends made their tinkling sound heard for the first
time. Dimly at first, and then very distinctly. Over the following year, their
shapes became visible. They were not material yet, but more like liquid
holograms. In time, we also learned to communicate through feelings, and
eventually I could emote with the content of their minds. I didn’t know what to
make of those encounters at first. I was a child and my logical mind wasn’t in
the forefront yet. So I limited myself to enjoy the company of my shiny
friends, especially once mum also followed dad, leaving me behind.
By the time I moved
in with the Hughes, my adoptive family, the ‘invisibles’, as I called them, had
become my regular playtime companions. I tried to introduce them to my brother
Rufus and the neighbors’ daughter Letizia, but to no avail. My two friends
couldn’t see them and agreed that my imagination must have run wild again. As
they didn’t want to upset me, given that my real mum and dad were no longer
with me, they still went along with what they thought was a game I had made up.
But the ‘invisibles’
were real beings who were very useful to me in those formative years. They
helped me keep my heart from sadness and onto the more productive joyful
frequency that they called the Ancient Tune, the harmonious melody emitted by
the planet. All living species on the Earth, they taught me, are born attuned
to it, although humans in their current state of evolution find it difficult,
past their childhood years, to detect this life-giving hum through their
physical senses. I needed the help of the ‘invisibles’ to let this sound fill
my cells and allow for the Venusian blueprint to come to the fore through my
flesh and bones.
The ‘invisibles’
were happy creatures, and their visits always filled me with a sense of peace
and awe. They informed me that I was capable of traveling across dimensions
with my mind and emotions, and that I could always connect with those people
and events, even in the future, that were milestones in the unfolding of my
destiny.
Their visits
stopped short before I was about to be sent to one of the best private schools
in the world. I was twelve at the time, and my hormones were starting to adjust
to my transforming body. It was a time of change and I was in transit between
the old and the new phase in my life. Although I didn’t know, the ‘invisibles’
left me with their legacy before their disappearance.
Edinburgh, summer
1980
My first visit to
Scotland coincided with a family holiday in 1980. We left Glasgow and drove
through the rugged landscape surrounding the bonnie banks of Loch Lomond, up to
the ruins of Urquhart Castle, perched up on a promontory overlooking the
mysterious Loch Ness. By the time we reached our five star hotel outside
Inverness on the same evening, I had fallen in love with the wilderness of that
land and its unkempt majesty. The views I had absorbed oozed mystery and magic.
Although the lochs and valleys spoke of ancient times of war, weeping and doom,
the rolling mist above them whispered old words of love.
I was surprised by
the effect that the Scottish landscape had on my emotions. I had expected to be
bored. I was a precocious teenager back then, allured by the British new wave
and the Goth movement. My family and I had lived in Italy throughout my primary
school studies. But that summer before secondary school, my adoptive parents
had decided to move back to their native Sussex. Rufus and I had welcomed the
news with elation. London would be a stone’s throw away, we thought, and with
it, concerts, fashionable stores and a wealth of exciting, new cultural trends.
But I soon
discovered that Lord and Lady Hughes had different plans for me. In keeping
with the family tradition, I would be boarding in the same school in Edinburgh
where Henrietta had studied, and where my sister Ruby would soon be completing
her final year. If that summer holiday was my parents’ attempt to make me fall
in love with the Land of Alba, they had succeeded.
My heart felt at
home in Scotland. I was meant to go there for many reasons, some of which I
could only intuit. The light had a timeless, otherworldly quality in the
Highlands. I understood that I was on the cusp of something I couldn’t quite
pin down, but which held my soul in its hands nonetheless. Strong, sudden
sensations of longing came to inhabit my chest there. At first, I interpreted
them as my soul telling me that I was going to become and artist. Or perhaps I
was going to fall in love soon. Or both. I had wanted to fall in love since my
12th birthday. With a boy who was my perfect match as chosen by the Power of
Creation itself. But how could that happen when I was soon going to be a
boarder at the most prestigious all girls’ school in the country? And when I had
barely entered adulthood after all? Ah, human love...
My biological
parents, Laura and Lorenzo, had been in love with each other. Yet their passion
had burned their minds out too fast. I was the physical fruit of that initial
flame. Now I was entering adolescence and I had learned not to miss them, nor
resent them. I had to let them go, that was all. That longing I was starting to
feel had nothing to do with the tragedies of my past. They were not mine, they
didn’t belong to me. That yearning I was feeling was a call for my own freedom.
I was growing up and it was time to find the way to let my life develop along
it course. Lord and Lady Hughes had chosen wisely for me, although the reasons
for which Scotland felt like home still eluded me and were far from what my
adoptive parents had in mind.
I moved into St
Arnold’s Girls’ School in August that year, with eleven other first graders. My
older sister was there to greet me and help me through the first days of my
life away from our parents. When she met me in the hall, she looked grown up
and elegant, even in the burgundy jacket and gray skirt that we had to wear at
all times when we were on school grounds. She was delighted to see me and
squeezed me into a bear hug.
“You’re not going
to like wearing this, Kassie. None of us does. But if I can look this good
in it”, she gave me a twirl, “so can you”.
She was a very
attractive young woman. Her shape was different from mine: her body was
voluptuous and markedly feminine, in contrast with my waif-like limbs. Her
beauty was earthy and sensual, while mine was overwhelming and otherworldly in
its symmetry. We would always be the gestalt of womanhood. The best thing about
the year ahead was going to be the opportunity to spend time with my sister. She
was a legend to me, like older siblings tend to be to their younger ones.
While my bond with
Rufus was one of affection and fun, that with Ruby was more to do with the
acknowledgment of a spiritual affinity, albeit from a distance up to that
point. Ruby and I had always liked each other despite the six-year gap between
us. We understood that we were special people, endowed with special powers. We
had never talked about it as yet. It was just a gut feeling, a telepathic
symbiosis. And just like me, she always managed to get what she wanted if she
put her unfaltering mind to it. We had never spent much time together before as
she would only visit our family during her school holidays. Now I would have
her company for nine months. She was going to be my first mentor, I knew.
Ruby loved to
travel and had been on the Orient Express the previous summer. Our parents didn’t
mind sponsoring her cultural curiosity. I was dying to find out about her
latest adventures. Before departing, she had announced to the family that she
was about to embark on a quest to find her true purpose in life, in order to
select the most appropriate academic pathway in the following year. She leaned
towards studying psychology and languages but had not made up her mind yet. The
true reason for her journey, however, which she had revealed only to me, was
that she was actually looking for something deeper than the university she
would eventually attend.
Despite her
breath-taking beauty, she had no interest in having a boyfriend yet. Boys were
eating out of the palm of her hand, of course, and she was learning to
manipulate their attention. But her main concern was with esoteric studies,
spurred by our parent’s interests. Studying the Secret Tradition had been a
burning passion for Ruby during the past year. Only people with a very
spiritual make-up are interested in exploring the immaterial aspects of life at
a time when their peers concern themselves with the will of their hormones and
romantic emotions. Only those of us who are called to discover the invisible
realms can resonate more readily with the impulses of timelessness and
synchronicity. Ruby knew that her journey would reveal the next chapter of her
life, and the city where she would choose to live as a university student in
the year ahead. She needed to be in the place first, to experience it and let
it speak to her.
She had told me as
much in a postcard from Budapest, where she had interrupted her journey and ended
up staying for a month. From the moment the train had pulled in at the station,
she was sure that the Hungarian capital was the right place for her. It didn’t
matter that she didn’t speak the local language and that she knew nobody there.
That was the place where she was going to live and study. The signs were
everywhere. For instance, she had found a room to rent in a building on Rózsa utca, the Street of the Rose,
which she interpreted as a clear Rosicrucian reference. The Secret Tradition
that she belonged to on the inside was approaching her on the outside at last.
Or so she believed.
“I am an alchemist,
Kassie, just like mum and dad, and I follow the map of my heart. It feels like
I’ve been looking for people like me for as far as I can remember. I know you
were one of us from the moment I met you. But there are many more, and we must
find them and rally them together. What our mother and father do with the
Godhead Society is a bit old-fashioned. We, the younger generation, must create
a Magic Movement”.
“Who are we
supposed to find? Have you found any of these potential adepts in Hungary?”
“My path seems to
be stretching in that direction. And yours must have taken you here to Scotland
for a reason too. I haven’t met these people so far. But I am sure that
important lessons are awaiting me in Budapest. The city will be my learning
ground. And, since we are synchronized, Kassie, I bet Edinburgh has more in
store for you than the teachings of these nuns at St. Arnold’s!”
The sound of the
school bell erupted through the remnants of a summer sky. Ruby winked at me,
pulled my arm to signal it was time to go back to the hall and put her index
finger on her lips. I nodded and slung my schoolbag across my shoulders. The
roll was about to be called and we had to rush back to the entrance. It wouldn’t
be a good move to be late on my first day.
Gordon, January
1991
“There, Gwen, I can
see him., standing by the cigarette machine. He’s talking to Rufus. And now
what? I’ll go over and my bro will say hey, this is my sis, nice to meet you,
she’s lived in Scotland for a number of years, is now doing her finals at uni,
studies medieval history, fond of horse riding and hocus pocus, and this is her roommate, at art college, from Wales,
they were at St. Arnold’s together, blah blah blah.”
Harry’s Bar was
buzzing that Friday evening, pretty much like any other night. No surprise,
since it had been awarded ‘best venue’ at the end of 1990. By the start of 1991,
the place had become the favored drinking joint of a crowd of footballers,
rugby players and an array of local celebrities and wealthy businessmen. It was
also every pretty girl’s chosen platform to showcase her assets. For ambitious
women, it was the ideal hunting ground for bagging themselves a boyfriend who
was likely famous, or rich, or both.
Kassandra, who was
23 then, was on a mission that night, and she looked stellar in her little
black dress, kitten heels and flowing silky locks. She had fallen in love with
Gordon Steward, the most sought after bachelor in town, and tonight her brother
was going to introduce her to him. She had to accentuate her beauty for the
occasion, because every single girl in the bar looked like a perfect clothes
horse with big boobs, all long legs and wavy long hair. Unusually for her,
Kassie was now feeling small, vulnerable, and very aware of it all of a sudden.
Her blood was doing a jittery dance in her veins. She was nervous, and that was
unusual too. After all, she was one of the most popular girls at Edinburgh
University, and not a stranger to the art of breaking young men’s hearts. Why
would this golfing champion have to be any different from her previous
conquests? Why did she feel so overwhelmed by the idea of meeting him?
“Kassie, relax, you
can’t speak to him while you’re as hyper as this. He’ll think you’re high or
something. That would put a sportsman off immediately. You’re speaking at the
speed of sound and it’s not attractive at all. Slow down, breathe. Tell me,
what do you think of him in person? Do you still fancy him?”
How could she not?
He was chocolate-box handsome. Kassandra had seen Gordon on television a few
weeks earlier, shortly before the Christmas holidays. Her intention had been to
stay single throughout her final year, and concentrate on her studies. But when
those big, deep blue eyes had come on the screen, she had felt Gordon’s stare
cut into her chest, probing for her soul’s attention. Bang! Taken! At once. How
weird. She had fallen in love with his eyes. She sensed the dark story that his
soul was reaching out to tell her, like rays through the pixels forming the
image of his face, projected by the camera to the center of her heart, where
Gordon was pitching his tent.
Christmas had
provided her with a little bit more free time away from the books and her
thesis on the Scottish Knights Templar, and with the opportunity to hone her
plans to seduce the famous golfer. She was sure that the Universe would assist
her in her new romantic enterprise. So she hadn’t been too surprised when
Rufus, during their family Christmas dinner, had mentioned that Gordon was ‘his
mate’. Best festive season present ever! She had lied and said she didn’t know
who this athlete was. Golf had never been one of her top interests after all.
Polo perhaps, through the Hughes’ influence, and football for sure. She was
Italian after all. But golf was an old man’s activity in her books. Rufus had
insisted that it wasn’t so, it was quite sexy. He had taken up golfing at the
same exclusive club where Gordon’s marvelous practice was a regular feature.
With mates in common at St. Andrew’s University where both young men were
studying, they had become friends.
By the end of the
Christmas dinner, and before the family Kimble, Kassie had already been
informed that Gordon was one year her senior at 24, not particularly interested
in his engineering studies and a bit of a lad and a playboy. Soon he would be
spending time in Edinburgh where he intended to buy property at the foot of
Arthur’s Seat, the main peak in Holyrood Park. Rufus wanted her beautiful
sister to meet his new drinking buddy. Gordon had expressed his interest in her
exotic looks and sophisticated upbringing from the moment he saw her photograph
in Rufus’s apartment. Once again, Kassandra was getting what she wanted without
even lifting a finger.
And now Gordon was
standing in front of her in Harry’s Bar.
“He’s the perfect
specimen, Gwen, isn’t he? He must be used to catwalk models and actresses for
what I know. Not to pint-sized enchantresses like myself.”
“Kassie, you’ve
just said it yourself, you charm men and I’m yet to meet one who can resist
you. I share a flat with you after all, and the number of notches on your
bedpost is quite remarkable for someone who’s supposedly not dating this year.
And you’re not a midget, you’re petite and quite stunning. No point in throwing
this cold feet party right now. Come on, move, chop chop! Your brother is waving
at us!”.
The two young men
approached the girls and Rufus took care of the introductions. No sign of
Kassandra’s supposed insecurity was detected as she made a beeline for the
Scotsman’s heart. By the end of the night, she and Gordon left Harry’s Bar in
the same taxi, headed for a club at his hotel. It wasn’t just a case of young
hormones and physical attraction though. The two had discovered that they had
something in common: a connection with Kassandra’s academic obsession, the
Knights of the Temple of Solomon.
That week, it
turned out, Gordon was in town to finalize the purchase of an area on the
Dalkeith Road. Plans were being made to have his penthouse built there, over
the year ahead. When he mentioned the location, Kassie’s eyes had almost popped
out of her head.
“That place”, she
informed him, “had once housed the Residence of the Knights Templar. Nearby,
once stood a chapel erected on a hillock known as the Mount Hooly, which
belonged to the Templars. That was their holy ground, the very heart of their
secret rendezvous and exchange of esoteric knowledge. Can I visit the building
site before the bulk of the works start? Please?”
Gordon enjoyed
seeing the excitement in those long-lashed green eyes, and was already thinking
of what he could do with Rufus’s sister once the visit to the Dalkeith Road
building site was over. In the bar, she had seemed very cold towards him, and a
bit too full of herself for his liking. Up until that lucky point in their
conversation when he had mentioned the address where his new house was going to
be. He thought he would impress her with the details of the plan, which
involved a top-of-the range penthouse equipped with a few hot tubs and an
indoor swimming pool. Dalkeith Road was also the ideal location to go for walks
on Arthur’s Seat with Moses, his Irish setter, and a ball, a tee and a club.
Now he could also place the lovely young daughter of Lord and Lady Hughes in
the picture. Although the way in which she got in there was not quite what he
had planned.
Never mind. He
would take her to “feel the energy of the Templars”, as she had requested. A
weird girl, for sure. Nobility was always eccentric anyway. And Rufus had also
warned him that nobody could stand in the way of her studies. She wanted to be
an academic. He wasn’t used to women like her. They normally melted in his
stare. Showbiz starlets, models and the odd easy girl had been his staple
sexual diet, by the dozen every month. Now Kassandra was here to challenge his
habits. He could picture her naked, with her small breasts, firm tummy, lovely
round bottom, skin like velvet and the color of dark honey. She smelled pure
and expensive. While they were sitting close to each other in the taxi, he had
to struggle not to bury his face in her hair and kiss her neck.
She kept talking of
these mysterious Order that had been put on trial in Edinburgh in 1309. They
held secret knowledge and were in possession of holy relics from the Crusades.
Gordon had only the faintest notion of these Knights before that night. Now
they had become his ticket to the heart and bed of one of the most coveted
young women in Scotland. Should he consider having a girlfriend? Especially one
who seemed to be more interested in her books and legends than his muscular
body and rising fame? He always loved a challenge. He was born to be a winner.
The harder a time she would be giving him, the more he would pursue her. And
the ‘holier than thou’ she would make herself out to be, the more pleasure he
would get once he could enter her doggy style and make her scream his name.
When they reached
the Carlton Hotel, snowflakes started to dance in the air. A good sign, Kassie
thought. Gordon didn’t even notice.
Star Dream, 10
December 1992
Love was not going to
sweep me away like a waterfall until the twenty-sixth springtime of my life.
Right then, it was still the winter before such a wondrous time. I was
twenty-four and didn’t yet have an idea of the size of the feeling that would
hit me a few months later. I can zoom into that day very easily: another gray
morning was about to break and the seven hills of Edinburgh were shrouded in
cold mist. In one of the Georgian houses in the New Town, I was fast asleep in
my blue bedroom.
I had painted the
entire room, floor to ceiling, that color a few months earlier, during a bout
of misplacement activity whilst studying for my Masters Degree. Blue would help
my mind focus on the books, I thought. So I had varnished the floor boards “the
color of the Ionic sea”, as I informed Gwen, who at the time was one of my two
roommates.
“I’ll have the
walls in a hue akin to the Italian sky at the offset of spring, when the air is
a-blaze with the love-spell of blossoms.”
I had a penchant
for metaphors at that age, especially when I was talking to myself or I was
day-dreaming. I guess it was my Venusian blood talking. I knew that many of my
friends couldn’t stand my ‘poetic descriptions’. They thought that I used them
to come across as different. But Gwen didn’t share their point of view, so I
could let my fondness of enchanting descriptions emerge in our conversations.
My Welsh friend was an artist who understood that imaging is the staple of
life, and words are symbols made to encapsulate stories, convey moods and capture
dreams. In years to come, she would become a prominent member of the
Transformation Movement, the worldwide association for the evolution of
humankind which I would found in 1997. Of course, we both didn’t know any of
that, way back in our student years.
At that point in
time, I was fast asleep and still unclear as to my specific role in the
Arkadian Plan. The curtains were pulled. In my dreams, my kaleidoscopic
thoughts were immersed in the world of my imagination. It was 5:40 a.m. and my
mind was lulled by a vision: I lived on a star I was at one with. With no
boundaries, I floated and whirled in a fairy-tale landscape of a pinkish
radiance. The environment looked beautiful and liquid. Objects and people were
outlined in vivid colors interwoven with harmonious sounds and a palette of
delicate, happy feelings. It was a familiar place. An invisible melodic drone
underlined this magical climate. My heart, eyes and ears were processing this
dream-world in complete synchrony, producing a mono-feeling of bliss that I
hoped would last forever and I could remember upon awakening.
In my dream, I was
floating down the stream of notes, sounds and pulsations which felt like an
echo through my body. My hands were resting on my tummy, sensing the
pulsation of musical beats running through my veins. It was pleasant and
arousing. I wasn’t alone in my vision. A strong sexual presence followed me:
male energy with a powerful sensation of longing. The whole being of this man
was pining for me. His breath drew me to the center of his heart where there
was a waterfall of emotions. I couldn’t quite see him, yet I felt complete in
his company.
I stirred in my
sleep. My arm stretched out to look for Gordon. He wasn’t in my bed that
morning. So I let my fingers slip inside my knickers instead. My body was then
filled by a stream of gentle Light-beats. It felt like a musical instrument.
The intensity of the starry drone grew as my limbs turned to velvet and sounded
like an orchestra. Somewhere in my chest, there was a loud hammering. My heart
was the bass drum. The sound became more thunderous and sharper, filling the
space between my cells with the distinct tinkle of triangles, cymbals and bell
- the loudest bells in the Universe. My fingers kept busy. Climax was
approaching. Whirlpools of metallic reverberations traveled up to my head and
into my ears in waves of sparkling chimes, on and on like a fountain, like a
waterfall upside down.
Just a fraction of
a second from pleasure, the alarm went off on my bedside table, in loud metallic
shrieks. My hand abandoned the warmth of my thighs to silence the clock - 6 AM.
My awareness returned to my youthful body. I became the university student
again, on automatic pilot. With my eyes half-closed and star-fragments still
scattered in my mind, I got out of bed and dragged myself to sit by the window.
Not a sound came from the crescent below.
“What a dream,” I
thought. Its meaning was beyond words. I remembered flashes of sensations,
sounds and emotions. Breathing deeply to make myself awake, I parted the muslin
curtains to see the outside world. It was snowing. The coldness of the weather
moved through my limbs, bringing me back to this new day. Lampposts were lit.
Their dim light pierced through the blackness preceding the dawn and across the
whiteness of the ground. I sat on the floor resting my back on the radiator. The
heat was the first material gift of the day. But it could not be compared to
the marvels that had filled my senses just a few minutes before. I smiled from
the heart. There was something familiar about that dream: the intimacy of
eternity.
While I was lighting
a stick of incense, I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror above the fireplace.
Despite my bed hair and the dark circles around my eyes, I could see why men
found me irresistible. Although my relationship with Gordon had also taught me
to feel confident in my womanly charms, that morning I noticed something new in
my features and expression. A fresh injection of Life Force had been instilled
in me. This is the power that comes from the center of the Universe.
“Thank you, Life,”
I said. High time was approaching to fulfill my role in the Plan, and express
my True Identity. Perhaps what I was supposed to do would soon become
clear.
My actions were as
measured and poised as usual. Just like any other day, I stopped in the kitchen
for a glass of hot water with lemon. I thought my roommates would be asleep for
another couple of hours. It wasn’t so. I was surprised by a hushed rustling
coming from the kitchen. Sam was already up, making scrambled eggs on toast for
his breakfast. The caffettiera on the
stove was whistling its aromatic tune. He had exams that morning, and he was
very nervous.
His eyes lowered when
he saw me. I kissed him on the cheek and ruffled his blond curls. His mind
seemed miles away. I loved Sam like a brother. Although he hated my boyfriend.
From the moment Gordon had entered my life almost two years before, bringing
the rough throes of his material world into my flawless, ethereal precinct, Sam
had always ventilated his disapproval. As a professional golfer, Gordon was a
practical, physical man, and my antithesis by all means. But I was an easy prey
to his chiseled looks and boyish charms because, for all my depth, I was
equally vain then. I was only 23 when we had met, and much of the wisdom that I
was to gain in my adult years was only hinted at then, and still lacked the
depth of experience.
Sam’s eyes were
sunken and grave that morning. Did he also guess that time had come for me to
embrace my role, and that I would soon leave Piper’s Crescent?
“Morning, Kassandra”,
he said.
He looked very,
very tired.
“Have you been up
all night, Sammy boy?”
I placed my hand on
his chest: his heart was racing, as I expected. He nodded and blushed, always
puzzled at how easily I could touch others without announcing it. Then my
energy made him feel calm.
“You’re a genius
anyway, put those books down!”
I laughed as I left
the kitchen, closing the door behind me. The house was silent apart from my
footsteps on the cracking floorboards of the long, cluttered corridor. I tread
carefully as I walked past Sam’s bedroom and three stacked-up bicycles.
Stepping over boxes, coats and hats, I passed by Gwen’s tiny box-room, which
was adjacent to my own. Ours was a typical student house. It still amuses me to
remember the contrast between the order in my room and the chaos outside it. I
opened the door to my “magic bedroom.” The sweet scent of incense welcomed me
in, soothing my senses and making me feel at home again. I couldn’t bear messy
environments or chaotic emotions for too long: they upset my eyes and heart
respectively. I needed clarity and space all around me. I was a Venusian after
all, although at that stage I didn’t fully know it.
My room was wide
and airy, a Georgian sanctuary to my strong aesthetic sense. My bed was by the
window, opposite the fireplace. The large McIntosh mirror made the room appear
even bigger. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Its light danced on
the floor in waves that made it look like water. Shelves were stacked with
books on the Templars, the Godhead Society and other esoteric traditions. I had
carved out a sitting room area next to the fireplace. It consisted of a settee
covered by a golden Damascus throw, and a coffee table made of ivory and wooden
plugs. This room was my pride and joy, my temple. My friends thought that only
a control freak could live and thrive in such a geometrically perfect,
impossibly tidy environment. They couldn’t guess that my love for symmetry and
order was spurn by my stellar DNA, and neither could I, way back then.
The yoga mat was
rolled out on the floor. I lit the gas fire, slipped out of my pajama and put
on my leggings and a vest. I clang my Tibetan bells three times and proceeded
to salute the Sun with a flow of graceful movements; they were like second
nature to me. I loved this moment in my day. It seemed as if time stood still
and offered space to potentiality. I called it contemplation through action.
After my yoga session, I meditated for ten minutes and then did some journaling
back in bed.
By 7 a.m. I needed
my breakfast so I went back to the kitchen. Sam was taking a shower. He had
left some hot coffee in the percolator. I poured myself a cup and put a slice
of rye bread in the toaster. Just as the toast popped up, Gwen walked in. We
sat at the table and talked about the dreams we had the night before, as we
often would. I had studied psychology as part of my undergraduate degree and
developed an interest for dream analysis. My roommate illustrated her dream of
the previous night, which was about a river of music and light. To her
surprise, I told her I had had a similar nocturnal experience.
Brad, a black model
from Chicago who was Gwen’s new lover, surfaced from her room while my friend
and I were reminiscing over the feelings associated with our dream. Everyone
was up unusually early that day. It transpired that we’d all dreamed what
seemed to be the same imagery. We all roamed sound-filled, starry climes. While
I had been woken up by my alarm, the other two had been jolted out of their
slumber by a vivid semi-orgasmic sensation in their limbs that they had never experienced
before. It had nothing to do with their intimate rendezvous, they swore. It
seemed that we each had our own special take of the experience, and we all
described it from the perspective of our own consciousness. There was no doubt
whatsoever that we had landed in the same “place” during our sleep. That
freaked them out. Gwen’s star might have been more colorful. Mine seemed more
magical. Brad’s was more physical. But it was the same star nonetheless.
The coincidence of
three people catching the same imagery and sensations during sleep, on the same
night, was beyond statistics. I loved coincidences. The others didn’t. Gwen
thought that she and Brad had smoked too much hash the night before. Or perhaps
our house was receiving dangerous radiations from some secret technical
equipment. Brad did not really say much but kept staring at me, which I didn’t
mind as he was quite easy on the eye.
Unlike them, I knew
that Star like the back of my hand. It was my original home. Sometimes I could
even reach it through the power of my intention. And now the energy of my
Native Star was making itself felt on Earth, on Piper’s Crescent, through me. I
was the bridge between here and there. It was fantastic news. I couldn’t wait
to speak to Dr. Boyd at the School of Parapsychological Studies now. She might
help me figure out the full meaning of the event. This wasn’t the first
instance of some metaphysical oddity in the house. After all, Piper’s Crescent,
where we lived, lay on a very prominent ley-line, one of the Earth’s
power-spots. Did my experience meant that the Arkadian Plan I had learned about
when I was a child was becoming manifest? If so, Dr. Boyd would be ecstatic.
What about Lord and Lady Hughes? And Maria-Carmen and Lydia at the Godhead
Society? I couldn’t wait to let them know what had happened.
For all my
enthusiasm, there was definitely someone I wouldn’t want to inform of this remarkable
occurrence: Gordon. I knew he wouldn’t be interested in the slightest. He would
find it funny, if not ridiculous. A veil of sadness descended on the crimson of
my cheeks. I shook it off. My boyfriend was my ‘aspect out of balance’, and the
fact was daunting. He was no real mirror to my heart. I still hoped that, over
time, things might change, and he might too.
That was no time
for sentimentality though: I had to get going. The Arkadian Plan was definitely
unfolding although I had not yet remembered the details of it.
“They will become
clear as they are happening”, I reassured myself. “No need to have too much
knowledge in advance. The sheer beauty of experiencing my True Identity in last
night’s dream will more than do for now”.
The snow was still
falling when I stepped out. Edinburgh was as pretty as a Christmas postcard.
The day was alive with the promise of wonders ahead. My holy heart was singing
because I had found the Key connecting me to my Birth Star, the Key that was
going to kick-start my transformation, the frequency that could change those
around me too.
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