Star Woman in Love
Page 28
“How?”, the other three enquired in unison.
“It’s a very secret mission, one which I cannot even disclose to trusted allies like you. Something is about to happen. Once it’s been set in motion, it will be unstoppable. The world as we know it is going to change as a result”.
Harker stood up, shook their hands and left the room, leaving Marina, Alexander and Charlotte to pick up their dropped jaws at this announcement.
* * * *
I had followed the scene from Shambhala. As soon as Robert closed the door of Akropolis’ office behind him, he found himself sitting opposite me in the Great White Lodge, in the company of all the other Angels. We looked alike in the glory of our radiance. Robert was your Replacement Twin Flame here, where we called him Lumiel. You had failed me, the High Council had determined, and I needed a soul mirror. I was now a fully Ascended Master, a complete Angel. It was my prerogative to visit the Earth whenever I chose, to be of service to humankind. What I didn’t know at this stage was that my Star parents had wiped your name from its entry in the Akashic Records. While I was here, it was as if we had never met. They had to do it; I was born to teach the world how to love, to impart the true meaning of human existence. If this were the case, then I would have to be able to let go of the suffering that you had brought me.
Yet, a nagging feeling resided in my heart, reminding me of how uncertain I was that the Plan was actually as kind to humanity as its crafters intended. I sometimes feared that I was party to forcing Venusian concepts on human beings who were by their nature dual and divided. But my fate was sealed and the Plan was pouring out of me like water from a spring. Shambhala needed the Plan for its continued existence. This required for me to be a vessel devoid of ego. All that remained of our past were strangely faint memories of fragments of happiness... So I forgot you in the end. Your reminiscence of our love was all that was keeping the spark alive at all in my heart. But it was fading. My humanity was like a ghost that couldn’t hold on to the flesh of my Light-processing body. What could I do but let you go?
Lumiel kept his eyes on me for the entire meeting. He understood my torment: he was my mirror in those long, lonely days of Light. I had to ask him.
“Will you help me?”
My telepathic communication reached him without being intercepted by the other Masters. He nodded back. He was aware that I longed to be human again. He didn’t tell me, but he knew how much you yearned for me and the perfection you had finally accepted I represented for you. My absences from the Earth were driving you mad.
What was the point to all of your suffering? And who cared about evolution apart from the Ascended Masters? Their presence in my life now made me feel like the prisoner of a destiny I couldn’t change. Free will and creativity were all that I was beginning to pine after. The freedom to make mistakes and clean up the mess afterwards. Only Lumiel understood that uninterrupted love and knowledge come with a price: you end up on your own. He hadn’t returned to Shambhala to embrace his original ancestry: he was here to set me free from the Plan.
I was alone in the perfect precinct of Shambhala where I was revered as the daughter of Venus and Sanat Kumara, the brightest Light on the White Island. They all needed me to maintain their vision, to keep the Plan in place, and humanity as a lesser species which could be taught to reach Enlightenment. Now that I was becoming tired of this, it wouldn’t be difficult for Lumiel to entice me to join his Counterplan.
He winked at me from across the table. At least I had found an ally who would help me on my journey back to you, although at this stage I had no idea that it was you I was reaching for. Shambhala was impenetrable to all thoughts of you, let alone your presence, until the day you would turn into a Light-Being yourself, if that ever happened. That’s why I had forgotten you in Shambhala, pretty much as Magne had made me forget about you when I was on Earth. It seemed that our demise was complete.
After the meeting, I looked for Lumiel in the Garden of Eternity. He was expecting me there.
He approached me and whispered: “Tell me, Meta, are you ready to descend?”
That would be breaking the rules, but I was; I wanted to escape Shambhala. Lumiel, the Rebel Angel, had been waiting on the sidelines for my eventual capitulation to the lure of matter, and my rejection of my role in the Plan.
“It might take some time in terms of Earth years, and it’s risky... someone might get hurt...”, he said.
I thought I had nothing to lose, so I disregarded his warning. “Well, Time is determined by karma and my sheet couldn’t be any cleaner... As for risk, I don’t even know what it means...”
Lumiel started to hum a familiar tune, carefully, so that the Masters wouldn’t hear it. It re-activated the memories of my past with you.
“Gonna get your girl, gonna take her down...”
My heart sank in preparation for descent into matter. To my surprise, I found myself in Dublin where I would be Cassandra for the following twelve months. There, all knowledge of you returned to wreak havoc with my life once again. This time, however, it was to lead me into temptation and betrayal.
* * * *
Paris, Père Lachaise Cemetery, February 2008
In the misty, cold air of a grey early morning, Paris had the stamp of a harsh winter plastered all over. Oscar wondered how they could call it the city of love. He had never felt at home there. His heart would feel all the more vacant and restless whenever he would visit. Yet, for one reason or another, he had often found himself in Paris during the course of his adult life. This time his art was the excuse. In actual fact he had wanted to spend some time with Morwana, his nine-year-old daughter. But the whimsical little girl had preferred horse riding to being with her dad. He should have expected it: he was becoming a stranger to the world, and also to her.
Wrapped up as he was in his thoughts, he walked absent-mindedly through the gate of the city’s monumental burial place. He had gained admission though the site was closed to visitors in the winter months. Exceptions were always made for him, a world-renowned celebrity who had wanted to paint there: reflections on death, and ponderings on genius. The two aspects also went hand-in-hand in his life. They were mirrored brutally by the desolate, heart-clenching sight of the labyrinthine cemetery stretching before him. The weather was dismal; all blustery wind and lashing rain. It was a miserable day in a lonely week during which Oscar was in Paris to see his estranged wife and their child.
He and Charlotte no longer lived together as a family. They had hardly managed to enjoy their married life in Dublin. He preferred the green pastures and ancient hills of his homeland, and the solitude of his heart’s ramblings. She hated the weather in Ireland and complained that she missed the sophistication of Paris, her adoptive city. She thrived on having people around her, on being the centre of their attention. Oscar’s depression was getting worse and he could only find some level of solace when he was on his own. He didn’t know why he felt a pull towards Paris that week at all, but something was drawing him to that cemetery. His troubled mind wanted to take him there to paint his heart’s landscape. He also really missed being around Morwana. This was the only justification for seeing the woman he had once thought he loved. Now he could hardly bear to be in the same room with her. He truly despised her. She didn’t understand him at all. She had only wanted his money and fame. But he had found out too late. Now he had to grin and bear it, and learn to live with the consequences.
He was aimlessly roaming the pathways among the graves. A strange force had brought him back to this place, and he feared the price of his actions. Memories of a time that seemed to belong to another man and another lifetime erupted unbidden from his heart, bringing pain. He was once that “other” man. He didn’t want to dwell on the memories of the life he had known back then. He knew the mistakes that he had made and the troubles they had caused. He was forced to make a choice back then. He of all people was chosen to take such an important decision. He should have chosen Cassandra, and not Charlott
e. His father had always told him that he was thick. He had obviously made the wrong choice. He hated himself for being so weak, but now he had to live with the outcome. Life had become unbearable. His work had turned dark and cynical, just like his heart.
There was a storm outside and another one raging inside his head. He walked past the grave of the rock ‘n’ roll shaman who had died a sad bastard’s death in his bathtub. Never before had he understood the tragedy of the Lizard King any more deeply, any more directly. Those memories were tormenting him again. He couldn’t fight them anymore: Cassandra was back on his mind. How could he explain to her what he had done? How could he express how guilty he felt? How could he phrase his sorrow, his regret?
Memories were becoming seeds in his heart, taking root and pushing to explode into life. His heart remembered what it felt to be loved, and could put all the pieces together much better than his mind was able. After all, his mind had always been a scattered piece of work that only now was starting to figure things out. Over four decades had passed in his life and he was still feeling lost. All those years of hurting and being hurt, of going through the motions of an artificial flow made of chemicals, alcohol and dope. From such an early age he had been prone to escapism of one form or another. He and the Lizard King were one of a kind, weren’t they?
Darkness descended upon his soul and death became yet again an appealing option. Maybe he should stop fighting against it and surrender to his sorrowful heart. He thought about her, she who was once the light of his life. Cassandra. Her face was tattooed on his heart. The mark of her angelic birth was impressed on his life. A piece of her soul was inside his soul. He had tried to warn her off him from the start. He had told her that he was just a hurt-generating machine, hadn’t he? She had taken this bit of information with scant attention and had shaken it off. He had eventually found admiration for the strength and dignity she bore undergoing the worst types of emotional torture he had inflicted upon her. She was blessed with detachment, or so he hoped. How was she now? Could he hope that she thought that being without him was possibly worse than being with him?
There had been times when they happened to run into each other in Dublin, despite all of her efforts to avoid him. She was a ghost but he always found her, although she didn’t always realise it when he did. Remarkably, life without him was making her even more beautiful. She had long had the otherworldly aura of an enchantress. She had become famous. The entire world knew of her healing powers. The wisdom of her teachings had travelled across the oceans to the most remote regions of the Earth, spreading into the wisdom of the major religions and cults of the world. At least she seemed to be fulfilling her mission.
Her voice had become so soft and harmonious that no listener could escape its charms. Her beauty was memorable. Her pure heart was like soft soil where the memory-seeds of the lovers they had been were still planted in her secret garden, not to be fostered for him anymore. She had locked the door to her heart when he had turned it into a desert.
She no longer lived in his world, literally. When he had made the wrong decision and had chosen the woman his ego, and not his soul, had wanted, a chasm had opened between his and Cassie’s worlds, and two schizophrenic, self-denying dimensions had come into being. Two parallel stories started to unfold: one in which she continued her evolution into her angelic potential, and the other in which he was strangled by his demons. Their two worlds would overlap at times, whenever the ex-lovers happened to think about each other through the eyes of love. The two dimensions would collapse into each one on such occasions. But these occurrences had become really sporadic.
Initially he and Cassie had been able to see one other, or at least one would see the other, although not for long periods of time. The space-time equation had now been damaged by his mistake, and there were interferences in the Plan. Oscar had noticed how every time they bumped into each other, Cassie was always carrying a multitude of shopping bags. Compensation for losing him, he thought, and a clear departure from her spiritual nature. Success and popularity had made her very, very rich indeed. Her face featured regularly in magazines, newspapers and TV programmes. He wrongly guessed that it was obvious she wanted him to know.
At times she would quote him directly in interviews with the international press: “If you’re going through transformation, learn to be patient. Be gentle with your ego. It’s there for a purpose.” Those were the words he had once written to her when she had revealed her love to him. A trembling little declaration, so much sweetness rolled into it. He was startled and yet moved when he heard her say these words. Overjoyed and over-embarrassed. The two sides of “him”. Was there ever a time in his life when he was not in two minds about anything? Schizophrenia had always plagued him, and the voices in his head constantly whispered confusing messages. She had once brought him peace and he had let it slip through his fingers.
Unbeknown to him, on that rainy Paris morning, Oscar’s memories became heart-seeds. They also became seeds in the fourth dimension, waiting for the season to sprout, cut through the soil and into the air, to be kissed by the sun. His profound love for Cassie was one of these seeds, but it was buried under layers of guilt and self-disdain. Much attention would be required for such a seed to re-grow. It had sunk so deeply into his Core that it was now hard to grasp it. Had it ever existed? Yet on those rare times she thought about him, this heart-seed would stir and send shivers through his bones.
She was thinking about him right then. The storm in his heart was raging like a monster in the darkness, summoning all his heart-seeds to awaken. Memories re-emerged of the time when she cried in his arms because she thought he would save her from the hurts inflicted by lovers before him. She used to think he was a god. She had thought him wholesome and genuinely good. She had trusted him and she had told him so. And all he could do was to break her heart, forsake his word and leave as fast as he could to follow the first skirt that crossed his path. Memories were like poisonous seeds in his heart, too. It was dangerous to tread on such territory. But, fortunately, there were also seeds in Cassie’s heart, and at times they would turn into beautiful soul-blossoms.
He came to a sudden stop and realised where he was and what he was doing. He had been wandering around the cemetery in a daze for over an hour. He found himself leaning on Oscar Wilde’s tomb. He felt a rush of pain in his chest, distinctly and sharply: the pain of losing her. He abandoned himself to regret and started to cry like a baby. He was crying for her. He wanted her back in his life.
His mobile phone beeped to signal that he had received a text message. It was from the mother of his child. She wanted him to be at her apartment for dinner. Friends – her friends - would be there so she wanted him to scrub up and make an effort. Loneliness hit him like a whip. He rested his head on the grave of the great Irish wit, hoping that his hammering thoughts would melt into oblivion. How sad it was to see the angelic figure on the tomb all covered in lipstick kisses from the tourists’ empty rituals. He realised its once-prominent penis had been broken off. A castrated statue. He wondered how his namesake must have felt about the place of his burial. Depressed? For sure. He could relate to him more than ever. Oscar slid down to the muddy ground and sat with his back on the stone, hoping the rain would wash away the sadness he felt. He missed his Cassie more than ever. Did she know?
* * * *
She did. On the same cold February morning Cassandra was in her kitchen in the Dublin mansion that she had bought with Magne five years previously. The city in which she lived was not the same Dublin where Oscar dwelled. This was the fourth-dimensional Dublin where everything was perfect. He still lived in the old, three-dimensional version of the city, and of the Earth, where the dreams of the ego still ran riot. Although her most recent descent into matter had been in breach of the Plan, she nevertheless inhabited a level where hurt was almost completely banished. In those days, however, there were still some cracks in the protective bubble around the planet and evil could still lurk in.
Cassandra herself looked wonderful, better than she ever did in her youth. Her long dark hair fell loosely on her shoulders. She wore no makeup and sat at the table wearing one of Magne’s shirts. This particular one was white and made her skin look the colour of honey. She looked like a woman in her late twenties. The calendar indicated that her fortieth birthday was the following week. She had grace to her movements and her powers were now fully fledged. She had long come to terms with them and was quite proficient at letting them flow through her without trying to control them. We were proud of her but still kept a close eye because of her penchant for trying to get in touch with Oscar, even if only in her ever so powerful thoughts. This inclination indicated that she still held a connection to her past, and her three dimensional bodily cells. We hadn’t yet managed to delete the memory of Oscar from her heart; it would always come back now that she had re-descended on Earth.
She needed to detach from Oscar completely in order to let her body create a sufficient number of fifth dimensional cells, to help her re-ascend to the fifth dimension and rejoin us in Shambhala. That was the idea. She had left Shambhala without any notice this time. Oscar was still her weak spot, obviously, and a stronger one that we had assumed. His influence on her still hampered her progress. It wasn’t part of the Plan, of course. The element of surprise and unpredictability would always be the legacy of the love they had shared.