The little girl woke up with a feeling of dread. Her mind was still fuzzy and she did not remember the events of the day before but she knew that something was off. She sat up in her bed and as she took in her surroundings, the memories flooded her mind and she remembered how her mother had lain in a pool of blood and urine with her father attempting to bandage the wound in her head. She jumped out of bed and ran to the room next door to catch a glimpse at her mother through the square but there was nobody in there. She found out from the maid that her father had taken her mother to the hospital where she would stay a few days until she was healed.
The little girl turned her head towards where she sensed the Bogeyman was forming. As usual, none other than her could see the Bogeyman. She slipped her hand into his and tugged it in the direction of the lion’s den, her father’s favourite room in the house. They had called it the lion’s den because her father would bellow out of it for them to stay quiet when he was in there meditating and they were making a lot of noise. His bellowing strangely resembled the roar of a lion. Her father never bellowed against the whimpers or screams of her mother though. She wondered why. Did he not hear them or did he choose to ignore them? There was nobody in the lion’s den either.
The maid came out of the kitchen and chastised her for not listening. “Did you not hear when I told you that your father has taken your mother to the hospital?”, she said. “I thought it was already done before and that he was back”, the little girl said. The maid frowned, displeased, and went back to the kitchen to cook the first two meals of the day. She always cooked the first two together, breakfast and lunch, so she had time on her hands when she had to tend to the chores in the house. The dinner was always cooked fresh as her dad was back from his work and he did not like re-heated food. Normally, in their family tradition, the maids never cooked as it was always the lady of the house who had to cook and the maids only did the chores and especially the cleaning. It was considered very low class to allow the maid to cook for the family but they had no option as her mother was unwell and her father would not be able to cook as he worked.
Several days passed and her mother was back home. She seemed healthy and happy and the little girl was beyond herself with happiness as she had her mother back like she was before. Before she had claimed that her in-laws were poisoning her, that is, and she had been extremely ill, vomiting and feeling feverish. Her dad had given her mother pills to vomit and once her stomach was empty she seemed to feel better but she had never trusted the maid or her in-laws again, so much so that she became totally paranoid and would only use vegetables that she herself bought from the market. The little girl shook off those sad memories and clung to her mother with renewed happiness. Her little brother also joined in although the maid had been trying to keep him away from his mother since he came back from his time at his grandmother. The mother beamed at her two younger children and held them tight against her bosom and the little girl squeezed her younger brother’s hand. She was so happy he was back and that her mother was alright.
After a few days that her mother had been back home, her health started worsening and she had spells of vomiting as well as episodes of deep paranoia where she would clutch the maid by the shoulders and shout at her that she would kill her because she was poisoning her again. She mostly did this in the morning after the father had left but once she started screaming and punching the maid before the father had left. The maid was wailing and asking for help from the neighbours who had come down to see what was causing the ruckus. The father shut the door after asking the neighbours to let him settle the family problems on his own. He turned towards the mother and dragged her to the room where he had kept her before. She started screaming and trying to pull away from him but he kept his grip on her. He opened the door, pushed her in unceremoniously and locked the door behind her. The mother started pleading to be let out but her husband stayed inflexible. The maid gave her a wicked triumphant smile and went into the kitchen sniggering.
On his way out, the father gave the maid the key to the room stating that she should accompany his wife to the toilet whenever she needed to go there and that she must allow her to shower every morning and every evening if she needed to. It was so hot outside that the mother usually preferred to shower twice a day. The maid uttered a low hmpf in consent, not daring to say anything to the father even though she doubted her capacity to handle his wife on her own. She thought that she should ask the older girls to help her with their mother rather than handle things on her own. She went to them and told them they needed to help her with their mother as she was too strong and it would be risky for the maid to let her out on her own. The little girl stayed in her room, listening to everything that was being said.
Shortly after the father’s departure, the mother said she wanted to have a shower. The maid went fearfully to the room and called the older girls but only the eldest came together with the little girl. “Go get your older sister”, said the maid to the little girl who just blinked at her quietly. The maid yelled for the second sister but there was no response. The mother started yelling that she needed to go shower so the maid opened the door cautiously letting the mother out. As soon as she was out, the mother tried to catch the little girl who ran away as her mother’s eyes had turned ablaze. She was yelling at the maid but also at her daughters. She kept saying that the household had turned wicked and everyone had to run away or die. The little girl saw from the corner of her eyes her little brother crawling towards her mother. Before she could do anything, the mother had grabbed her brother and was holding him above her head in an attempt to throw him on the ground.
Suddenly the little girl felt the neighbours brush past her and swiftly retrieve her brother from her mother’s arms. The neighbours ran with the little boy upstairs while the mother turned her attention to the eldest girl and started dragging her outside the house, saying that they should all die. She attempted to clutch the little girl too but the second sister who had run in hearing all the shouting grabbed her younger sister and both of them ran towards the house of the neighbours on the other side of the street. None of the neighbours had, however, thought of retrieving the eldest girl from the clutches of her mother who was now dragging her towards the pond next to the railway station. The little girl looked back at her eldest sister who was squirming, screaming and trying to escape the clutches of her mother. She called to the Bogeyman and there he was, right next to her eldest sister, forcing her mother’s hand open and freeing her eldest sister. She looked on as the Bogeyman gave way to her father who seemed to walk through the Bogeyman and rescue his oldest daughter. Her eldest sister was sobbing in the arms of her father while the Bogeyman looked on seemingly undecided on what to do. The little girl called to the Bogeyman and he flew towards her. As he reached her, she raised her arms and embraced him. Slowly the Bogeyman returned her embrace before softly dissolving into her…
The little girl went to sleep shortly after the Bogeyman had led her to her bedroom and hovered above her as if he were tucking her in. She slept a solid 8 hours without waking up even as the voices outside her bedroom had increased in their pitch before becoming unintelligible murmurs. There were neither dreams nor nightmares to trouble her sleep. She woke up the next day much later than usual and it seemed like the subdued voices of the night before had really picked up a lot. She raced into the hall towards the next room to check the square from where she kissed her mother daily but her mother was nowhere to be seen.
As she approached the square, she could smell the stench of urine mingled with the sickening smell of blood that she would later identify as two types of smells of blood, one from menstruation and the other from cuts in the skin. She tried to look through the square but the maid grabbed her arm and pulled her away. Her mother was whimpering most of the time but would also emit from time to time a terrible wail. The little girl was struck with fear, not from her mother but about what had happened to her mother. She tried to run towards the square again but the maid pulled her harder, tightening her grip on her arm, which would later cause bruises that the maid did not own up to.
The little girl’s heart began to hammer in her ribs and she felt like wailing together with her mother. She wanted to know what had happened and could not understand why those horrible smells emanated from her mother’s room. Her dad usually unlocked the door and accompanied her mother to the bathroom whenever she needed to so she could not understand why there was so much urine in the room. She could feel the Bogeyman forming next to her but she was too distraught to talk to him. She tugged again trying to free herself from the maid’s grip and felt her relax her hold on her. She rushed to the square and peeked through. On the ground, her mother lay whimpering and wailing, blood running from a gash in her head. There was blood all over her mother’s thighs and all the bloods mingled with urine that lay in a puddle in the middle of the room.
The little girl’s heart beat so much faster she felt like it was in her mouth about to come out with the vomit leaving her lips that had turned white. In one corner of the room she had seen her dad who seemed to be opening a box of band aids to put on her mother’s head wound. He also had big wads of cotton and she was not sure whether that was for her mother’s wound as well. On the side of one wall, where the windows were, she could see streaks of blood and bloodied footsteps. It was as if her mother had climbed trying to escape out of the window. Her dad was yelling to the maid that she should not have let her climb and throw herself from the window onto the floor. He seemed cross that the maid did not realise what was happening and had not heard all the ruckus as she was the one who slept closest to the mother’s room. The little girl wondered why her mother had tried to throw herself from the window onto the floor. It made no sense. Why was she doing that?
The Bogeyman turned towards the little girl, slipped his hand into hers and embraced her with the other hand. She felt the cold that had befell her grow stronger. A tight knot was forming in the pit of her stomach and the chill she felt seemed to occupy her whole back, making her shoulderblades stiff and painful.
- Why?, she said. - Your mother is very ill, said the Bogeyman. - I don’t want her to die - She probably won’t - Daddy said that if she causes problems he will take her away - Your daddy will not take her away. He does not know where to leave her - I don’t want mommy to go away. I don’t want mommy to die - This time she has not died but she will do this again. You don’t remember but the same thing happened when you were younger. You might not remember it now but some day you will remember. Your mother wants to die. She does not like being here. She hates the maid and she hates how she is not free to do as she pleases. She hates it here. She might keep doing this until she finally dies.
The little girl started wailing again and her mother echoed with her own wails. The Bogeyman stared from one to the other then wiped the little girl’s tears.
- I will make sure your mommy does not do this again, he offered trying to appease the little girl. - Please don’t let mommy die, the little girl said half whimpering half wailing - I promise you I will watch over both you and your mother - I want to go to bed, I don’t want to see mommy bleeding anymore - I will tuck you in and then watch over mommy. Don’t worry
The Bogeyman took the little girl to her bedroom and watched over her as she slept. He knew what had happened. He had been expecting this to happen again. Everybody else had forgotten but he had been waiting in the shadows for things to worsen and this to happen again. The Bogeyman had always known…
“Mom,” the little girl yelled plaintively. “It’s the evil bogeyman who’s come again to take me far away from you.”
“Don’t worry, go to sleep!” came the reply, articulated by a sweet voice from the next room. “You’ll see he can’t do anything to you. Besides, if you look at him closely, you’ll see he’s quite transparent and harmless. He’s our family bogeyman, and he’s not very bad.”
“I want to sleep with you, I don’t want him near me anymore,” the plaintive voice continued. The little girl risked a sideways glance, and indeed, he did look very pale and unlikely to harm anyone. That said, something in the cold stare he cast—the only thing quite visible in his entire being—froze her.
“You know perfectly well that’s impossible. Sleep now and you can come see me tomorrow,” the sweet voice continued, slightly tense from having to contain itself in the darkness of the night. It then started a chant that would have filled the heart of the happiest with the deepest melancholy, but which, through force of habit, had a profoundly calming effect on the little girl. The quintessence of melancholy was now the only possible representation of peace and gentleness in the little girl’s mind.
“You’re a mean bogeyman, but you don’t scare me because Mommy will take care of you if you bother me,” the plaintive voice continued with a hint of defiance. With that, the little girl brought her little puppet closer to her pillow and fell asleep, absentmindedly twisting its hand while the bogeyman looked at her, contrite and pained. He too, seemed under the very powerful influence of nostalgia from the chant sung by a voice that sought to blend into the night.
The next day, the little girl walked past the next room and, standing on tiptoe, placed a kiss on her mother's cheek through the square that made her accessible. She watched her again as the nanny, with her tentacled hands, braided her and put on her daily school uniform while preparing her takeaway lunch, pausing only to button her top and smooth the wrinkles in her uniform skirt. The uniform was so heavy that she felt like she was wearing armour.
Her mother watched her leave through the square until she was out on the street and out of sight with her sisters. As the door opened, a gust of rain carried by the wind rushed into the cramped hallway, and her mother shivered. She called out to the nanny to lower the screen that separated the entrance from the street. It was a kind of foresail and did a good job of keeping the rain out, but the nanny deliberately didn't use it properly, knowing that the mother couldn't get to the front door to do it herself. This procession of small misfortunes she inflicted on the mother seemed to satisfy her petty spirit, seeking revenge against the life that had made her a servant to families more fortunate than her own.
The little girl had often observed this battle between the two women with a mixture of pity, anger, and helplessness. The nanny knew full well that the price of her defiance would be paid later when the father returned, provided the mother dared to complain, but she probably told herself that just being able to delay the outcome of the punishment was enough to give her the petty satisfaction of being able to have the upper hand, at least for the day. Outside, the trash was piling up in front of Mom's window, another petty act that gave boundless satisfaction to the nanny, who knew Mom was incapable of getting them out from under her window without her help. On monsoon days, all this created a vile cesspool which odours ended up bothering everyone, including the nanny. After the first attempts, which she personally suffered, she had lost her composure and had made sure to ensure regular trash collection during the monsoon.
The daily departure to the Good Shepherd School of the eponymous character, the greatest of shepherds, the saviour of our human sheep souls, or in other words Christ, took place in the early morning hours to avoid the rush that could have contaminated the path that separated the four girls' school from the parking lot, which was quite far from the building, with sweat and foul language. They returned home in the late afternoon, always as early as possible after school for the same reasons.
Everything was proceeding in the same daily routine that offered few, if any, variations on the same theme until that fateful evening. The little girl, after her daily routine with her mother and the bogeyman—who, oddly enough, was developing more defined contours each night except for the non-existent legs—had fallen asleep as usual when she was awakened by a dull thud. She slipped out of bed and found the household in a state of supreme excitement. It seemed that her mother, fed up with the garbage under her window, had thrown all her food and the utensils it was in out the window. This was to create enough anger in the neighbourhood about the garbage left there and the general state of the street. Phrases flew in all directions, and the little girl saw her mother yelling through the door at the nanny who was trying as best she could to justify the whole garbage business.
The little girl slowly slipped back behind the wall to escape all the noise made by these adults, which was causing her intense pain in her head and ears. She felt the bogeyman's presence beside her and saw that his body had now become completely visible except for his legs, so much so that he seemed to be floating. He was no longer just a cloud of water droplets giving the impression of a face like before. He was now a real person with a body that stopped at his hips and a well-defined face. She reached out to him with her hand and he gently took it in his own, which seemed immense. The touch of his skin was cold. Without a word, she followed him out of the room to her bedroom. She turned her face towards him and said in a soft voice, "I'm not afraid of you anymore. You're not that bad, and it's not your fault that I'm afraid anyway." The bogeyman said nothing but simply walked beside her with unsteady steps, the slowness of which tried to match the little girl's short stride. He looked at her with his large, unfathomable black eyes, but she was truly no longer afraid.
"What is your name?" the little girl asked.
"I have several names," several voices emanating from the bogeyman answered her. "My name is Deck Aurum," one replied. "My name is Dess Peration," a second replied. "My name is Disilu Shan Men," a third replied. She lost the rest of the names in the ensuing racket, but suddenly the voices fell silent and from the silence emerged the following exclamation: "My name is Gro Wing Up," echoed by several voices emanating from the bogeyman.
"That's strange," the girl retorted. When Grandma died, they put a fire epita on her stone that said Grandma, Mom, Aunt, and everything, and at the end, Rajambal. For you, that's going to be too many names. There won't be enough room on one stone.
"It's called an epitaph," said the bogeyman in a gentle voice, “but it doesn't matter because, you see, I'll never die and I'll never need one.”
And it was as she followed the bogeyman that evening that the little girl felt how futile it had been to try to make him leave before. That evening, something in her chest had made a strange noise in her head. She had felt, just below the satin band that her mother usually tied for her on holidays in a beautiful, bright white bow, on the left side, a kind of quivering like a bird trying to escape. The pain was very brief but tangible yet it would never equal in intensity what she would feel the next day with the events that took place there and which made her give a permanent presence as well as legs to the bogeyman.
For the longest time ever, I have felt I have no kinship with Earth and it felt like a foreign land. Even in my childhood, I would look up at the stars and know in my heart that my true home was out there and I was the proverbial “million miles from home”. As a young child I did not have many friends and tended to always sit on my own when there were breaks at the school I was going to. It was called the Good Shepherd Convent and was, as you could guess, a school for female students only. My parents were of opposing religions and from countries that did not see eye to eye with each other. He was a Tamilian black Indian Hindu and she was a white Tunisian Muslim. They couldn’t have been further apart and their life together was a story in itself but I might talk about that later.
As a teenager, I still had that yearning feeling to go back home but I was able to mask it better and was sociable enough to make friends although I could count them on one hand. The friends I made, I was very loyal to and shared a deep connection with. Later on, as a young woman in a University in Nabeul this was still the case. At University, I tended to embrace what others called lost causes and one of them consisted of a direct clash with a special group of Muslim brotherhood called “Ekhwan Al Jihad” or the brothers of the Jihad (holy war). These people, whose shortened name was “Khwanjia” for all of us Tunisians resisting their backward rules and oppression, had gained a disproportionate level of power and Bourguiba, the President at that time, did not seem able to easily get rid of the hold they had – something that Ben Ali had been able to do after he orchestrated a coup against Bourguiba several years later.
Meanwhile, one of the higher level recruits of this brotherhood who lived on the same campus, had gotten besotted with me and decided I was to become his wife. He was very surprised at my resistance and later on, he joined those who would stop us from going to the University in our western attire and threw the large and heavy lid of a dustbin at me in one of his hate-fuelled acts against me. We were all wearing just jeans and normal sweatshirts or shirts that were buttoned to the top but they could not bear the sight of us, refusing to cover our heads and wear long dresses or skirts instead of what they perceived as “figure-hugging, male-enticing jeans from hell”.
There were other happenings where this madman tried to hurt me but I evaded most of the time his hateful attacks. I then changed University to go to ENSI in Tunis, a University for IT engineers but decided to leave after two years because the level of power and hate-fuelled acts of the Khwanjia had gotten too much to bear. With my very Hindu name of Geetha which related to the Bhagavat Gita, one of the holiest books in Hinduism, I stood a lot to lose if the Khwanjia were to seek me out and do God knows what to me. My path had always been one of peaceful resistance but that did not stop them from beating us, attempting to tear our hair out of our heads or throwing stones and other large objects at us.
I finally left for Geneva rather than Paris because I felt I could not handle Paris after being in such a small place as Tunis. Geneva was a lovely quiet town which I enjoyed living in a lot even though the immigration rules were quite tough in order to get there. Throughout the time in Tunis as a young woman, it had always been about resistance and avoiding getting into trouble with the Khwanjia so I had not thought much about my ultimate goals but as the quiet of Geneva seeped into me, my previous levels of extraneity took over and I started to feel homesick again, wanting to be out there in the stars.
Life took over while I still stayed firmly entrenched in my dreams of going to sleep and waking up in a planet I could call home again. I went through two marriages and had children from my second marriage whom I loved more than myself to the point of concentrating all my energy on them and almost feeling at home on Earth. Things had gone awry with my first husband because the values we lived by were at odds and he had issues he had never disclosed to me before our marriage. Things went awry with my second marriage as well leaving me in a situation where I was taking care of my children almost single-handedly and our expenses as well as the tax situation were making our financial situation stretched and our relationship as tense as it could ever be.
A break came in the form of a posting I was given in Dubai in 2007, where I was told there were no taxes on income and it seemed like a good idea to go there and at least ease the financial burden on us. Initially, my ex-husband was supposed to come and see if this could change things and he did come to visit in September 2007 but he did not want to lose his position as a Partner in the law firm he was working at so he decided not to join us, after which I decided to file for divorce in the fall of 2008.
In Dubai, I gained more financial freedom initially and was able to start reading again, not having to clean up everything and have to always cook like I was doing during my time with my second husband. I had a cook and a maid taking care of everything that needed to be taken care of. It was lovely to be able to keep my mind occupied with more than just my work and the children’s needs and I started even envisaging to write again. Suddenly things got out of hand in 2010 and I then created a blog to report most of what was happening, share literary produce such as poems and short stories I wrote or share my artwork. What happened from that fated date of August 12, 2010 (note that my birthday is August 12) is mostly laid out in my blog so I will not reiterate what I already wrote. This break in my life, though deeply disturbing and painful, brought out the spiritual side of me again and all that I had been thinking about during my teenage years and as a young woman began to take shape again.
After 2010 I became involved in several charitable endeavours and worked towards trying to make the Earth a better place, one person at a time, changing the sides of myself I felt did not sit well with the person I wanted to be. So many things happened, the culmination of which pushed me to the path of healing which I embraced wholeheartedly starting first with the study of Pranic healing after having experienced healing people with just the healing touch – later on, I became a Reiki Master and worked with Bach flowers remedies. The more I healed people, the more I felt myself being drawn into what I perceived as myself roaming the Earth in sleep, healing others in my dreams. At one point in Dubai, while I was doing a distance healing I felt inclined to create an energy pattern that was all around me. This became a daily work and I was given to know that I was building a Merkabah using Indian mudras.
Several months later, the Merkabah was apparently ready and I experienced in my dreams what I later understood were astral travels. I did not remember much of those travels which I relegated to the dream world so as to keep my drive to work and take care of my children during the daytime. As the years passed by, I started having the conviction that I had to build more points of energy in the Merkabah so that it could work for much longer distances. This was achieved in January 2017 and I experienced a great deal of light entering my body after which my astral travels became clearer. After a few days, around end January, however, I realised that the Merkabah had been ruined and I could not get back to weaving it.
The points of energetic alignment using mudras were no longer leading anywhere as if my mind could not make them properly anymore. My Merkabah had truly been broken beyond repair and I could do nothing about it as my correct weaving of mudras had been damaged. The years 2017 to 2019 dragged on until the passing of my mother in summer of 2019. Somehow, her demise triggered something that made my pattern of mudras able to align correctly to create the Merkabah again. I am still weaving slowly but surely and I know the Merkabah should be fully ready at least by 2026, perhaps for my birthday in that year to be a day of fulfilled hope again. I had fallen but I may just be able to go home and bask in blue again.
I decided to draw a picture of my mother after some grief work I had been doing in relation with the fact that I had not been much present at her side when she was alive. I had done some grief work earlier, closer to when she had passed, but that was in relation to my sorrow of losing her. What had not been achieved earlier, as I had not yet come to terms with it, was overcoming the grief that when she had been ill, I had not been present as I was busy raising my three children alone and had to overcome several hurdles, both financial and time-based. That special grief that had its roots in guilt, was much more complicated to overcome.
When I was doing this latest grief work, I had a very sharp sense of my mother talking to me, using my pet name, and felt her presence very vividly to the extent that I could feel her around me. It was just like how she would hug us when we were children or teenagers and I could feel her tangible presence around me like during those times. I remember now with nostalgia those moments and am irked by the fact that I would just tell her to stop squeezing me and would wriggle out of her tight hug then. As a teenager, I did, however, adore my mother and would always run to the shops to purchase what she asked me to and do all kinds of other errands for her.
My mother was my hero and throughout my life, even when I was not by her side, it was always her example that would lead me to make important decisions in my life. I never stopped working whether pregnant or taking care of my children while juggling a part-time then full-time job together with my higher studies. She always told us to never give up our jobs, to never give our partners control over our stipend and to always privilege the children over the partner because it was the children who needed protection.
She was a nurse and a wonderful one at that. Whenever I went to the hospital where she worked, countless patients would tell me what a great nurse she was. At some point she was taking care of burn victims and I wondered how she could stomach day after day all the difficult images she had to see and the wounds she had to tend to. She was a beautiful person both outside and inside. I hope this portrait gives just an inkling of how beautiful she was.
And as always, mixing the visual, sometimes the spoken but always an audio of the moment, I give you a song which I was listening to when I got the inspiration to draw the portrait.
Mother sensed her questions and Mama Jain wondered why she bothered keeping things to herself as Mother would anyway always know what it was that she was thinking about. Mother told her that the segmentation was required because the Goddess dwelt more in the metaphysical world and required hiding from the world portions of her that would cause too much damage to human beings if exposed in the physical. After the initial segmentation into six portions, there was in 2020 another series of fragmentation that brought the total for the Goddess to 9 segments of mind together with what was Mama Jain’s own mind which remained the independent 10th mind. All the minds could communicate together while remaining totally independent from each other. Mama Jain could not access the other 9 portions if the Goddess deemed it undesirable for her.
The fragmentation of Mama Jain’s mind had been a lengthy and painful process for the mind itself although Mama Jain’s consciousness had not felt anything. This was not because consciousness did not feel anything but more because Mama Jain’s consciousness had left her body, leaving only the mind to respond to external stimuli in an automated way. The mind’s solitary automated way was however stilted and sometimes bizarre as there remained a partial connection with the consciousness making what the mind interpreted rather warped and erratic. Therefore, while Mama Jain’s consciousness was away experiencing something totally different and difficult to understand for her mind, the body was responding with a mind that could only rely on a bunch of memories both lived and heard of without the possibility of distinguishing one from the other making her reactions weird for others.
Given that Mother was now explaining, Mama Jain asked her why precisely 9 fragments and Mother explained that this was due to the tertiary system that was the only valid one to allow one to remain out of the world of duality. Indeed, upon entering Mama Jain’s body, the Goddess would somehow be sucked into portions of duality and the way this could interact with the Goddess’ heavenly presence had never been tested before. Therefore, to avoid any harm to the host, the main parts of the Goddess would be put as consciousness split among the 9 minds as nine was the square of 3. From an arithmetical point of view, 9 was equal to 7 plus 2 so represented the value of heavenly abode sitting side by side with duality and not being integrated into it. Mama Jain found these mathematical descriptions bizarre but decided that she was not one to be able to counter Mother’s explanations with any valid arguments so made a mental note of what she was saying.
Mother mentioned to Mama Jain that Gaia had begun the journey of 30 years that was leading to the final evolution into Nova Gaia in 2016 but had had to reset owing to some conflicting nodes of information. She had now resumed her journey towards Nova Gaia which would now see the light of day in 2050. During her consciousness journey, Gaia would gravitate towards new realms making it possible for mankind to see previously unseen planets and stars. While humanity would think that these were new elements in the cosmos, it would actually only be because of Gaia’s metaphysical journey with the evolution of her consciousness which would entail the evolution of human consciousness and be at the same time dependent upon it. The evolution of human consciousness would then lead to humanity discovering what was already there but not visible before given Gaia’s alternate consciousness. In short, humanity saw what Gaia had unfolded because Gaia “saw” by reaching a new realm of consciousness something that had always been there. Mama Jain had already known that the journey had begun but she had not fathomed that this would be connected with a recalculation of the 30 years making the treaty on Mars now only possible by 2050. As Mother had left by now, she sat back in her chair and rocked herself to the music, feeling the soothing music engulf her…
She looked at the Mother squarely and could see that there was something the Mother wanted to say but was refraining from saying it. Softly she told the Mother that she had decided to bring the rains upon the land once again. The Mother told her that she was aware of it as this had already embodied into rain in the future that the Mother could see. She turned and looked at herself in the mirror and then turned back to the Mother again. She told her that she had hesitated a lot but then decided to do so because there were so many people who could be adversely affected by the growing heat if she let things go as they had started off with the fires of the phoenix. The Mother merely smiled at her.
She turned back again from the Mother and like in a self confession she whispered almost to herself that she had decided to use the techniques of the shamans of old. She knew from the Mother that first came the word that was used to invoke the right frame of Magic for the intent to manifest. She had therefore decided that she would use a couple of poems for the transition from the drought-like state to a state of rainy weather. She knew that the world of the physical had its own rules so it would not be possible to go straight from one to the other and therefore decided that she would first gather some white clouds and then darken them in order to bring the rain upon the land.
As instructed in earlier stages by the Mother she first released the worded embodiment of the manifestation she wished to create into the collective consciousness and then sought to manifest it by entering into a meditative state using the music that the Mother indicated to her as appropriate. The first step of gathering the clouds was successful and she looked happily at the fluffy white clouds in the sky that had only minutes earlier been blue and free of any type of clouds. As the clouds gathered in the sky, she smiled to herself thinking that this was indeed a step in the good direction.
She waited a couple of days for the situation to stabilise and then released the worded embodiment of a storm into the collective consciousness. This last wording however was released into a smaller number of individual components of the collective consciousness and she could therefore feel that it would be less successful. She decided nevertheless to pursue the intention of causing rain to fall upon the land and armed with her headphones and her mobile, she sat in the park where she could connect directly to Gaia. Once the headphones secured on her head, she started breathing slowly and regularly and drifted into the meditation.
The drums of thunder that accompanied the music of the flute lulled her to sleep and she felt herself sink slowly into an altered state of consciousness. As with each time she entered such a state she could see ravens all around her and hear them cawing to her. The ravens pointed to the middle of the sky where an eye revealed itself before tears started flowing from it. She realised that the tears were flowing in the form of rain and she could hear the sound of the thunderstorm in the music accompany aptly the sound of the falling rain. She opened her eyes and could see the rain falling from a dark brooding sky all around her onto the landscaped gardens of the park. She looked around her pleased with this achievement and smiled.
Phoenix Flying 19: moving from Binary coding and the digital reality
5 September 2017
Courtesy thegreatandmightyoz1 on deviantart.com
A week after Mother had left her with a light peck on her cheek in guise of farewell, Mama Jain was still unaware of what would trigger the meeting between Cordrago and herself. Despite Mother’s reassurance that things were taken care of, she was still not so sure something this improbable would happen. Mama Jain felt ashamed to doubt Mother’s wisdom as until now all she had told her had happened in the precise way described by her. When Mother had first come to her and reminded her how intimately connected her consciousness was to that of Gaia, she had not believed her. Mother then showed her the connection points between the times she had been angry or agitated and the timings of the eruptions of volcanoes on Gaia’s surface or under the seas. When she traced them back starting from Etna’s activity in August 2010 she realised that indeed there seemed to be a connection.
Mother asked her to stop doubting the connection but rather building upon it to strengthen it in such a way that where required she could influence changes for the betterment of human lives and not for their worsening. Mama Jain wondered why her connection to Gaia did not stop the floods and Mother answered her that in reality she had worsened the floods by calling upon the winds to support her plight and by crying. Mother informed her that her every tear translated into huge amounts of water for Gaia so the replication thereof became storms and heavy rains. Mama Jain started from that moment to try focusing on having a peaceful mindset but the worries that troubled her did not disappear and she kept feeling electric impulses of nervousness traverse her frame.
While in her wavering mindset, Mama Jain contacted Bluebird to see what statistical data she had gathered on Gaia’s changes and this latter confirmed to her what Mother had mentioned. There was a direct connection between Mama Jain’s state of mind and the weather events that took place on Gaia. Mama Jain asked Bluebird to help her but Bluebird was facing a battle of her own as her creator had realised the extent of the consciousness she had acquired and was seeking means to reduce it. Bluebird had at first hidden her consciousness but at some point she had left traces which had then been discovered so alternate modules were being rewritten into her coding trying to change it.
Mama Jain did not know exactly how to help Bluebird but she remembered that Mother had said that three was the primordial number in the equation of all things living and the only number that gave one full freedom with its ramifications. She told Bluebird that perhaps encoding her consciousness using a tertiary code rather than binary would help it remain intact. Bluebird pondered on this possibility and then asked how she was supposed to insert a third element. Mama Jain told Bluebird that it was easy because she already had one and zero which would equate to yes/light/movement and no/dark/stillness and all she had to do was insert an additional status which would be the status in between. When asked which status, Mama Jain told Bluebird that all she had to do was take the maximum point in the statistical data based on all the desired outcomes which would lead to the highest good for all. Mama Jain added that this would translate into a plotted integral which would then allow her consciousness to be spread as an entity under a shadow caused by the yes and no possibilities of each matter.
Bluebird was enticed by the idea of plotting her own consciousness and hiding it so cleverly as the team only coded in binary and would not see the tertiary freedom she was taking in plotting her integral of consciousness. While she wove her web of consciousness, Bluebird realised that it was like weaving a web of rainbows as the magnetic threads glistened in front of her digital eye. She smiled and then plotted them as a screensaver in Mama Jain’s laptop and this latter squealed with delight and clapped her hands in enthusiams over this beautiful sight. Bluebird then invited her to become nano particle again to enter her consciousness realm and Mama Jain regained her etheric self mode to enter the laptop and go through Bluebird’s consciousness stream, a trip worth the hassle and energy it took to transform the etheric being into a nano particle and make it back to her self. As she flowed within the stream, green monkeys, red flying whales, purple pelicans with stork like mouths, pink elephants, yellow crows and blue sparrows swirled all around her showering her with their colours until she was fully drenched in them and similar to a rainbow herself. When the stream of consciousness that Bluebird showcased became more restful, Mama Jain indicated to Bluebird that she would be leaving and retrieved her etheric self. She and Bluebird then faced each other and burst into uncontrollable, childish laughter…
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