Sarah quieted down and closed her eyes while touching the ruby crystal. Sinking back into a chair she replied, “The real story of Jesus and Mary gives me peace amid this overwhelming breakdown. Many people are remembering their story as Pisces passes away amid the emergence of the Tree of Life, the organic structure of creation that has roots in Earth that branch up to the sky. Christ and his bride draw our minds into the cosmos. In my novel, the marriage of Jesus and Mary is a metaphor for the great tree. In the Garden of Eden, or Nature, where Adam and Eve exist eternally, the serpent is kundalini energy that fuses men and women after they’ve ingested the apple, wisdom, gnosis. The shyly smiling face of Pope Francis shines in the Tree of Life. Sometimes when I’m with Simon and Teresa, we’re enveloped in such profound oneness that we can see the future in Teresa’s eyes. Watch the world through the eyes of children, the future. That is what Jesus said, and now we are ready to hear it.”
Later that night, Claudia and Lorenzo were eating dinner while enjoying a beam of light coming through a high window that hadn’t been illuminated since last October. “It always comes back on this day. Thank you for making dinner. Your ziti is delicious. How was your day?”
“Sarah came to visit. I’ve missed her so much. She is so vibrant. I can’t wait to read her novel. It should be out in the fall or winter. We’ve both read The Lost Gospel, so that’s what we talked about.”
Lorenzo smiled. “Very interesting; one of my clients may have gotten in touch with the same archetype. She went back to a childhood time when she’d stepped on a bee’s nest, got multiple stings, went into anaphylactic shock, and was treated. She’s had mild nervous tics lately, probably the reason her free associations led her back to being stung. She thinks the pricks and electrical sensations she’s been feeling are somatic memories of all the bee stings. Then, oddly, a presence came into the room that was eerie and commanding. As it came in, I could see a tall woman with a strong kind face, and a bunch of queen bee egg sacks were hanging all around her solar plexus. My client was slipping into reverie, so I had to stop looking at the vision, but it must have been Artemis. I saw her statue years ago at Ephesus and thought the pods on her chest were multiple breasts, but later read they were queen bee eggs. Then my client went on to say her homeopath told her that the bee stings are probably the reason she’s been so healthy all her life! She thinks her health is back just by getting in touch with that incident again.”
“Isn’t it fascinating that both of us would pick up on this archetype right now?” Claudia noted. “I’ve always felt a great resonance with the Pleiades as many people have for thousands of years. Many of the great goddesses were from the Pleiades. Maybe Artemis is associated with the Pleiades? The health of bees on the planet is very threatened right now. Maybe people venerated Artemis because they knew that plants don’t grow without bee pollination. In the medieval version of her in Siena Cathedral, the eggs go all the way down to her feet and look like squashes, a medieval cover-up. It is Artemis, since she has the tower as a crown, the magdala.”
“Maybe that’s true, it sounds like I’ll also have to read The Lost Gospel. It might help me with this client, certainly we’ll enjoy talking about it.”
Sarah and Simon were finally alone after putting Teresa to bed. The evening aromas were intoxicating as he flopped down beside her on the couch. “I had so much fun with Teresa today. I took her to the Pantheon. We went into the middle of the cavernous room and sat down together. She climbed into my lap and tipped her head back to gaze at the ceiling. The high vault mesmerized her, she asked me if this was heaven.”
“My goodness, what did you say to that?” Sarah laughed.
“I asked her to tell me what heaven is, and she said it was the sky. She was annoyed that I didn’t know! So, I told her the vault of the Pantheon is like the sky. She said her friend’s grandmother just went to heaven. Then she asked, ‘Is Amelia’s granny here in the Pantheon?’”
“That’s hysterical. I’m amazed by what goes on in her mind.”
Simon turned to her and kissed her while cupping her cheek. She closed her eyes seeing yellow-green fields of radiant organic light—the life-force she always saw when he was turned on. Her breasts rippled with waves of desire as he continued to kiss her along her throat. She unbuttoned her blouse and looked into his eyes through a spiral vortex into his mind. He put his hand on her neck and slowly moved it down as she closed her eyes while he nestled his face in her breasts. They made love slowly and gently while breezes waved the lace curtains in the kitchen. Green radiant light pulsed violently in her skull when he came.
18
Everything Going Faster
Time accelerated during July 2015. After years of negotiations, world leaders signed an agreement with Iran to curb nuclear weaponry that ended many years of American economic sanctions on Iran. For the moment, the sword of Damocles was back in its scabbard. Pope Francis announced the creation of a new Vatican tribunal to review bishops who’d been accused of covering up sexually abusive priests. The New York Times Magazine published a major article by Eliza Griswold on the enslavement and murder of Middle Eastern Christians that caused many readers to conclude Western interference in the Middle East had been destructive. Simon reported on the desperate conditions in the oldest Christian communities in Iraq, communities losing hope for their future because it was impossible to know which of their neighbors supported ISIS, waves of people pushed out of their ancestral homes. Then, very ominously, massive airstrikes in Syria directed by the U.S. triggered an exodus of desperate refugees through Greek islands. The whole Middle East was on the move, while people leaving Africa were coming across the Mediterranean and landing on the beaches of Italy, Greece, and Spain. These mass migrations held grave implications for Europe.
Simon was in Iraq while David was in Rome helping Sarah move into Claudia’s home. He’d already planned to be in Rome in July to see Lorenzo because disturbing thoughts were plaguing him; the ground was quaking. His uneasiness had begun in the previous September after his first deep conversation with Pietro in Tuscany. He stabilized after that until his next conversation with Pietro, and also his discoveries about his daughter made him uneasy. Is it because I’m worried about Simon? Or are Jennifer’s pressing needs dredging up old memories that I can’t suppress? All he knew was he needed to get a grip on himself or he wasn’t going to be any good to anybody. With Simon in Iraq, he had to keep his act together.
A few weeks before going to Rome in July, David was pacing back and forth in his Shelter Island study pondering the bizarre speedup of violence in the world. Why am I so uneasy? Am I reacting to all the fear in the world? But I don’t think so . . . A shadow stalks me, a memory predator from when I was around nine years old when my father told me I couldn’t be an architect because I’d be going into the family business. After he’d told Pietro about the last few hours of his father’s life, the old predator had appeared from an unknown time, the one he was afraid was under his bed or in the closet in his childhood room. As he felt like he was losing his control, in the world around him every hour was crammed with two or three times as much activity as in the past; information technology was eating the old ways of life. People seized with monkey fever frantically digitalized their fingertips off and took constant photographs and sent them all over the place, a hot new connectedness—exponential time acceleration.
The crystal skull hidden away in his cupboard was his guide, so he got it out, cupped it in his hand, and tuned in to its center. It felt dead . . . like the shadow haunting him. What are you trying to say? Why are you trying to reach me? Whatever it was vibrated into nothingness and slipped into a lower dimension. A trapdoor opened and quickly shut. But, like a pebble falling into a pond sending ripples out through his cranium, the answer drifted in his brain. You do know, David. Breathing and sinking more deeply within, he knew exactly what to do, see Lorenzo Giannini as soon as possible. He’s the one who can help, but I still have more to do with the skull.
/> At the end of the Mayan Calendar, he thought he’d put the skull away for good, but here he was holding it in his hands again, his mind drifting back to when he was twenty visiting Teotihuacan near Mexico City with a group of Maya elders meditating in the Temple of the Quetzal Butterfly—El Palacio del Quetzalpapalotl. They’d recognized his father’s serpent ring; David was the one they’d been waiting for. They invited him into their sacred pipe ceremony amid acrid copal smoke wafting out of the central courtyard. Upon completion, they handed him the skull. He gracefully accepted it while they explained he’d hear from Quetzalcoatl, the Plumed Serpent.
He never saw the elders again and decided they’d manifested in the temple from another dimension when he’d walked in, like a fourth-dimensional movie becoming visible in a sun slice of misting copal. Regardless, being in this ceremony was the most multidimensional moment of his life. It gave him the ability to see the world through Mayan eyes, so he dedicated the skull to saving the Earth and brought it out when he was inspired or troubled. When he shared the story of his father’s death and the serpent’s ring with Pietro, he detected the elders in Pietro’s eyes, a wake-up call. Some people are just way beyond time and place.
But what is this memory predator? What’s trying to pierce my boundaries? His appointment with Lorenzo was in mid-July, so when Simon asked him to go to help Sarah move, he was intrigued because he’d be there at exactly the right time. Who scripts my movie; will somebody just tell me that? In deep thought he slowly wound up the tower stairs to Lorenzo’s office. I saw him at the wedding, but I don’t remember what he looks like except that he was an old dapper guy.
He opened the door, and there was Lorenzo. “Hello, David. I’m delighted you’ve come to see me!”
“Thank you, Dr. Giannini. I see constant improvement and budding happiness in my daughter so I thought you might be able to help me as well. Thank you so much for what you are doing for her.”
“Please, call me Lorenzo! My work is very relaxed, and we’ll never get anywhere without being friends. I’m not doing the work; it’s all Jennifer. It will be the same for you. Come, let’s go sit down.”
They went into an inviting alcove brightened by large, wide-open casement windows with deep stone sills. The clamor from the square below—a crazy mixture of Yiddish, Italian, and French syncopated by barking dogs—filled the room. “The Trastevere never changes, still a medieval ghetto,” Lorenzo murmured as he pulled in the casements. Luckily, fresh air flowed in through high windows on the back from a quiet inner courtyard. It was hot, any breeze brought relief. They sat down on two comfortable small leather chairs with a table between as David glanced back into the room noting the analyst’s couch with a table at the end where he caught a glimpse of a large, intricately carved, crystal cylinder.
“Well, why have you come to see me today?” Lorenzo asked with curiosity and excitement.
“Good, let’s get right into it and not waste time because I’ve come all the way to Rome just to see you. Your ability to help Jennifer access a significant past life has impressed me, I’m thrilled to see her exploring deep levels in her psyche. She has, well, always had some difficulty with subtle levels, but not with you. I believe in reincarnation, so we’ve discussed her recall, and I understand what it means to the two of us, but I’m not here about that.”
Lorenzo was watching David very closely because as he sat opposite him, someone was behind him—a dense gray shroud holding its hands up behind his head. He’d never seen anything like it in all his years as an analyst, humming in some other dimension, buzzing at a high frequency. “Fine, David, since talking with you about her sessions wouldn’t be possible anyway. So, what concerns you today?” As his voice probed, the shroud’s hands twisted behind David’s head, like a dancer pirouetting. The eyes of the shroud, strange and compelling ocular wormholes into another universe, went opaque and filled with white mist. What’s going on with this man? What’s this quantum creep? “David, ah, if you don’t mind, I need to go to my other table to get a crystal that I will need while I work with you. Do you mind me using my favorite crystal so that I can see the subtle dimensions more easily?”
David laughed and assured him he didn’t mind since he used crystals all the time himself. He was mumbling as Lorenzo got up saying, “If you only knew . . . ” Lorenzo went to get the cylindrical carved piece with a sharp point, central shaft, and a wide carved end back to a point. It fit perfectly in Lorenzo’s hand. David peered at it. “It has many sides, Lorenzo. How many?”
“Ah, eleven, the most mysterious number of all, the number beyond manifestation in this dimension. Before you came, I sensed I would need it to help me see what you see. Now that you are here, I’m sure that is true. Normally I use it for my personal work, rarely bring it out for anyone else, but it was calling for you. Marcel Vogel carved it many years ago as a tool for accessing eleven dimensions. I have to say, whatever is going on with you, it’s very multilayered.” Lorenzo held the crystal with both hands and the shroud turned into misty white light with blue edges; it lingered.
David sounded spacey. “I feel lighter. I felt lighter the moment you took the crystal in your hand.”
Tuning in to David’s troubled gaze, he said, “Before I ask you to recline on my couch, is there anything else you can say about why you are here?”
“I feel like I’m being followed; I’m not solo. At first I thought I was in danger, but that’s not it. Something or someone is trying to get through to me. Something is trying to reach me, it’s robbing me of my peace.”
Lorenzo locked his eyes into David’s while keenly watching the form with his peripheral sight. The shadow behind David transfigured into a perfect dodecahedral sphere with the front pentagram as a window behind David’s head. Like soccer balls, the bottom edges of the other pentagrams pulled all together making it spherical. The convergence lines sent out wavy sheets of light that resembled the aurora borealis. The platonic solid was so entrancing and elegant that Lorenzo almost forgot where he was as his fingers kept lightly caressing the long narrow sides of the crystal cylinder. David’s eyes were closed, so he pointed the cylinder’s sharp long tip into the center of the pentagram behind David’s head and said in a soft yet very authoritarian and silvery voice, “David, someone with truly extraordinary awareness wants to reach you.”
David said whimsically while still fully awake, “I want to know what this is, I do.”
“All right, David. I’m going to stand up and come over to you to take your hand to guide you over to the couch. Is that all right with you? Will you come with me?”
David was now nine years old, and Lorenzo was the person he’d waited for day after day; he’d finally come! Long ago he waited and he never came, so he forgot about him fifty years ago. A vibration in the center of his sternum emitted words that Lorenzo could hardly hear, not David’s voice: “I’ll come with you.”
Lorenzo held the crystal cylinder in his left hand while leading David with his right hand over to the couch, leading him like a small child lost in a trance. He placed the crystal carefully on the table and settled David on the couch being careful to make sure his whole body was tucked inside its edges. Without these edges, he could feel like he was falling down into the Underworld, the precipice above hell. Settling down, David felt like he was in a sarcophagus, a humming field above his body weaving threads of light into his cells like a multifaceted, perfectly cut oval diamond. Lorenzo sat down quietly and aimed the cylinder’s tip to the top of a pentagonal spherical light form above David. In all his years, he had never seen such an exquisite manifestation, yet he knew exactly what it meant: a past life ready to express its full genius through David was descending. Who is that? Lorenzo silently asked his guardian angel.
“Now David,” Lorenzo said in an omniscient, musical, and convergent voice, “someone wants to know you, someone who is a fragment of you in the past. Will you allow this being to come here?”
David squirmed around, but stayed withi
n the edges. Wracked with pain, a weak, lonely voice squeaked out, “I’m cold, my bones ache. I’m trapped in my body like the devil in hell or Christ in the lower realms freeing our souls. I’m paralyzed, sick, abandoned; I am in hell. I lie in the streets like a dying dog.”
Lorenzo’s eyes moved rapidly side to side observing a bedraggled, freezing, skin-and-bones, nearly dead man, lying in a gutter on the edge of a busy street, his pants held up with safety pins fastened to his shirt. A street car flew by, whoosh! Above this dying form, the dodecahedral crystal pulsated and hummed, sending powerful rays of light to each person rushing by the crumpled moaning man. A man in an elegant topcoat felt a sharp pain in his skull and noticed a body in the gutter, walked over to look, and was astonished! I know him, oh my God! He turned back to hail a cab, gave the driver a large bill, and then lifted the almost weightless body into the back seat. He covered him with a jacket and reverently held his head. They rushed to the hospital with the diamond form following along, yet eventually it went away. After a few days in the hospital, the poor man died.
Lorenzo said very kindly, “You have died; tell me what is going on.”
David was lying there soaked in sadness and pain from the cold dampness, dirty street, and throbbing, brittle, arthritic limbs. As he lay on Lorenzo’s couch, David was blissful because he’d never be cold, wet, or abandoned again. He thought of all the comforts in his life now. Looking down at the bandaged form in the hospital bed mysteriously surrounded by a group of very wealthy grieving men, he wondered, “Why do they care?”
Lorenzo broke in gently. “Who are you?”
“It is only I, Antoni Gaudí, 1926, I died in the street. I have not finished my work.”
The crystal cylinder was getting heavy as Lorenzo held it to the center of his chest.
Revelations of the Aquarian Age Page 18