Bekka - Retrieval V

This was something of an experiment, and I felt quite sick at the prospect. I wasn't sure where I would find her, or who to 'be'.

Berlin, 1950

 In traveling down to the lower astral, I find myself in Berlin in 1950, beside the railroad station adjacent to her apartment building.  I love the buildings, and the cleanness of everything as compared to 2015, even in this situation. I have decided to be Ingrid Hemmendorf, a friend of hers in the BDM and NSF (women's org) during the war. Ingrid was also of a once well-off family. I am wearing a sage-green suit and pink blouse, lovely upswept hair -very blonde- and heels. Visiting clothes.

I go up to ring the bell and two men come up behind me. Not the Secret Police. Sepp in a dark-blue suit and pale blue shirt with no tie - casual wear; and Otto (Franz in disguise. 'Uncle Otto' who was actually a cousin once removed and only ten years older than Bekka). Tall, stately, dark. Like a film star, in a beautiful, expensive  dark suit. A welcoming committee. Sepp makes a joke about taking a holiday but being under dressed, compared to his companion. 

She buzzes the door open and we walk up the green-carpeted hall. The carpet is shabby, the walls rather dingy. There is a lift but it doesn't work, so we walk up the stairs to the first floor. Down to the left, then on the right is her flat. Number 13 (floor plus room, first floor, third room). Otto knocks on the door. She opens it, her face alight.

'Uncle Otto!' She clasps his hand. She is wearing a wool maroon dress and frilly apron (for receiving, not for housework), her hair done, with the front swept up and curled all round. Worn, but good shoes. The small flat is immaculate, but shows signs that she changed since the street door bell - the bedroom door is ajar and there is the smell of face powder.

She invites us all in and greets us warmly, one by one. Leading to the chairs  in the sitting room, she returns with coffee and sachertorte on a tray. Tiny demitasse cups. The tray and dishes all clearly are second-hand, but the cutlery is actual silver. 

"I am sorry that Karl is at school until later, so you cannot see him,' she says, sitting down and passing the items. The armchair  she sits in is square, of a shiny green fabric, second-hand. To its right is a better chair that Sepp sits in, myself on a kitchen chair and Otto on the small sofa, across from her. Otto holds up his hand.
'It is no trouble. We will see him later.'

There is some short time of catching up - enquiries after friends and relative. She is happy, if wistful. I get the impression from her that she envies us our ability to 'move around', as she is 'stuck in Berlin' working at the coffeehouse. Sepp is slouched in the chair, Thomas-fashion, with the cake plate balanced on his chest. He rubs his jaw ironically, and drawls, 'Well, funny thing, I am going on a holiday to Bern, and when I was arranging it, I happened upon your uncle.... I was wondering id you would like to come along, and show me the sights, visit your family....' Worst non-sequitor ever. Way to be subtle.  It;s hardly even probable that  he would have encountered Otto in a booking agent's here in Berlin. But she is so happy to see them, she takes all of it at face value.

She looks at Otto, with a joyful, expectant, questioning expression. Is it possible? Possible to 'be forgiven' (for something that was out of her control!), welcomed back into the bosom of a family that she left at age 8. She and her boy. Otto is smiling. 'That's what I came here for, to ask if you would come  and stay with us at the Bergschlosse, you and Karl,,,' He looks at Sepp with a sardonic smile. 'The General is most welcome,' he says with courtliness. Sepp is smirking. Somewhere, Wolf and the other Habsburgs are bursting into flames. Bekka is very moved. 'Thank you, Uncle!' She repeats this many times.

'Ingrid can help you pack,' Otto says. 'We will wait.' He looks at Sepp. 

'There is sherry on the cabinet,' Bekka says, gesturing to the buffet under the window. The decanter and glasses are old, gold-rimmed.... Sepp looks like he has been invited to drink poison, but Otto, now smirking, brings over the glasses.

Meanwhile, I go with Bekka into the one bedroom. There is a very small 'double' bed, a dressing table, wardrobe, and chair. From underneath the bed, she  retrieves two battered old suitcases. A smallish pullman and a smaller dressing case.

'I'm afraid there isn't much to pack,' she apologises. Going to the wardrobe, there are two dresses, an extra school uniform, and in the drawers beneath, two sets of underclothes each, a pair of capris and top, and a scarf. (But it is an Hermes scarf.)

'That's quite all right,' I say. 'I'm sure there will be time to get suitable things in Switzerland.'

We pack up the few clothes and I put the items from the dressing table quietly in the small case. There are a few photographs: her parents, one of Otto, and one of the Berghof (! I am uncertain as to whether I should include this). I ask her if she wants to take these with her.

'Why?'

'Well, Otto seemed to imply that you would be staying.'

She stops folding the sheet from the bed she has stripped, and stares at me. Looking around the room, almost alarmed, she regards me in consternation.

'I didn't think of that!' Her hand goes to her hair. I smile.

'You look lovely. Perfectly presentable to your family.' 

'I must at least remove my apron!' 

She does so, then 'What about collecting Karl  from school?' She looks at her watch. 'It isn't nearly time.'

'I'll see.' I go out.

Sepp and Otto are exchanging rude stories. Otto is smoking a cigarette elegantly. I tell them we need Karl. Otto shakes his head, mashing out the cigarette in the tray.

'Not a problem.' He goes to the telephone - heavy, black, Lucite - and speaks to the 'operator' then rings off. 'Tell her he is being sent for.'

I do and help bring the cases out. She has put on a little round cocktail hat - a circle of velvet and net with cherries - lipstick, and dark gloves.

'Hubba hubba,' says Sepp, and whistles through his teeth. She blushes. Otto comes and takes her hands.

'You look lovely.'

There is is a sound at the door,and Karl bursts in, an 8 year old boy in shorts and coat - his school uniform. Looking exactly like Otto as a child.

'Mamma!' He runs over and flings himself on her. (I understand that she has actually been all alone, forever waiting one afternoon for him to come home from school.)

'Well, he certainly is one of us,' Otto says drily. He makes a bow. 'Hello, boy. I am your uncle Otto.'

Karl stops and looks up curiously. ' You look like Grandfather.' (The picture on the dressing table.)

'He was my uncle,' Otto says.

'Liebling,' says Bekka,' we are going on a journey with Uncle and the General to visit my aunt Sophie in Switzerland.'

'When, Mamma?'

'Now,' says Otto.

At that, all rise and do out, downstairs, and to the train station adjacent. Here 'Ingrid' will leave them, and when they stop, they will be in Switzerland here. I turn to Bekka. 'It was so good to see you again my dear! You will write?'

'Yes. Thank you for coming, Ingrid. It is good to see old friends.' There are presses of both cheeks. I watch them  go through the gate and wave them off as Otto hands the cases to a porter. The green train starts off slowly.

I can feel her happiness. She will heal in Switzerland, with family and friends, and move on to her life here, one of us. Helping others, perhaps. Immortal. The dark wound of the past erased.

***

Convo with Franz. I thank him for stepping in, and playing it to the hilt.

K: So, what will this freeing of Bekka accomplish for me, if anything? (I understand perfectly well what it will accomplish for her.)

F: An easing of the 'tragedienne' complex that Claire has mentioned, specifically of 'putting yourself last' and into situations that are impossible to extricate yourself from without help from us. It will also clear out any lingering feelings of 'not belonging'. The nearer she moves to Switzerland, the better she and you feel. When she is there, in the bosom of her family, the realisation of what kind of holiday she is on will dawn [that she is dead] and she will begin to work on experience - processing, releasing.  She may then be in Switzerland or anywhere else here she chooses. For you, the 'desire to be just a housewife' will wane, as well as freeing  the energy surrounding the conflicts regarding hearth and home.

Young women of the BDM

 

Bekka-esque

Sepp

Sepp and Ursula

 

 Otto, Regina, and kinder

Otto

Otto as a child. Both Bekka and her son Karl looked like this.

* Legacy. The Karl here mentioned is Otto's son. The article below was written in 2004.

Karl Habsburg and two relatives are demanding that property worth hundreds of millions of pounds, including several castles and about 50,000 acres of woodland, be given back to the family in a claim filed with the Austrian Restitution Fund for the Victims of National Socialism.

Mr Habsburg, 42, dropped the aristocratic "von" from his name before becoming an MEP for the conservative Austrian People's Party. His father, Otto von Habsburg, is the head of the family.

The intervention by the dynasty's future patriarch has given fresh impetus to a campaign launched by other members of a family whose empire once stretched across much of central and eastern Europe. They say that if they win, the property will be placed in a trust for the benefit of 160 surviving Habsburgs.

"We don't want to be treated like second-class citizens any longer," said Christian Habsburg, the Euro MP's cousin, who co-filed last week's claim. "The Habsburgs were dispossessed by the Nazis and should be handed back property by the state, just like all the other victims of national socialism.

"We are talking about properties that my family had privately owned that were seized by the Nazis in 1938 and then taken after the war without compensation."
Research conducted by Otto's brother, the late Carl-Ludwig von Habsburg, revealed that Hitler had personally directed the campaign against the family.
The best-known asset is Laxenburg Palace and its extensive park, just outside Vienna. The palace, which dates to the middle ages, is open to the public and a popular destination for Viennese day-trippers and tourists. The total value of the disputed property has yet to be calculated, but the forests alone are worth about £135 million.
Although the Habsburgs were robustly anti-Hitler, there is disquiet in republican Austria at the idea of the Nazi restitution fund being used to aid the former royal ruling family when many Holocaust victims are still awaiting compensation. Austrian governments have previously said that they oppose paying money from the fund to the Habsburgs.
Yet Herbert Golsong, a Washington-based lawyer representing the family, said: "This was an act of Nazi revenge. It was a personal instruction from Hitler because members of the Habsburg family were employed in anti-Nazi propaganda abroad, especially in the US." The family had also helped Jewish people to flee to America, he said.

Miss Patty - Retrieval IV

This was somewhat unexpected, given my lifelong familiarity with this life; despite certain experiences - uncontrollable grief, anger and bitterness when at Monticello - it never occurred to me that she might be stuck. Erm, was/is this rescue the thing I was/am supposed to do about this (and not write a book)? Well, if so, here it is. May the release of energy from this heal all concerned and free up new ways of being.

I was very surprised to see her at Elk Hill on the James (a property owned first by her father, where she lived with her first husband, the grounds of which Cornwallis destroyed in his march through) and not at Monticello, which at first blush would be 'more logical'. However, like victims of amnesia, it appears that she went back to a place and time before a great deal of the crashing horror of the life occurred. Yes those are subjective words. No apologies.

* The photo above is of Plynlimmon, nearby in Goochland, because the present house at Elk Hill Farm is  Gothic revival, built in the 1830s. The original house was a frame house (like ten-thousand other Virginia gentry houses, not really much to write home about.)

I found her sitting on a chair before the window, looking out at Elk Island in the river. The date was June, 1776. Yes that year. She had just had another miscarriage, was ill (diabetes type I) and depressed. She had supposed to be at The Forest in Charles City already with her sister and brother-in-law/cousin, and everyone was coming to look for her, having received frantic letters from Mr. Jefferson in Philadelphia.

So, I thought, Oh Lud, how shall I manage this? Realising that it would be very difficult to tear her away, she being very stubborn (her worst fault). So I thought, well, why not use the two people who came to me as a preschooler as young girls, her sisters Elizabeth and Anne? My dear Amy had actors as two of her sisters (Nancy [Anne] and Tibb [Tabitha]), actually so it should be fairly easy.

Amy and I arrived in the hall outside of the bedchamber where she sat; the door was open, so, it was a matter of scratching on the door (a family habit) and walking in.
K/E: Sister, at last!
She turned, somewhat listlessly, while we took off out bonnets, but her eyes lit and then grew teary.
P: Oh my dear sisters!
There were embraces and cheek-kisses.
A: Sister we have been so worried when we had no word of you! So we decided to come and fetch you ourselves, thinking perhaps that you needed assistance.
Oh Amy, well done!
E: Francis has been beside himself, receiving letters by every post from our friend. [Mr. Jefferson]. Had you none here at all?
I knew that she had not of course. She shook her head and so I held out a thick packet of letters, tied up in pale blue ribbon.
E: These are all this month gone.
She looked at them rather fearfully, paling, and shaking a little, her face then a changing canvas of emotions - happiness, sorrow, wistfulness.
P: Oh my dear Betsey! Thank you! You are an angel!
She took up the letters with gladness - and put them directly into her pocket in her skirts.
P: I shall read them anon.
She promised.
A: You shall, as WE are going to kit you out and bring you right along! No argument now!
Have you anything ready fit to wear?
She looked askance at the rather shabby old gown, a work gown, threadbare and mended - almost shredded, and at the undressed hair flowing loose. It was comical to see Amy as Nance was then, the littlest of the sisters, both in age and size, fussing about like a little brown hen. Patty looked toward the wardrobe press in a kind of confusion.
P: I ... think so...

Well, she had been there for such a long time in a daze, that surely fashion was the last thing on her mind. (Even though she had been in life quite fashionable and not a little vain.)
At this moment,  her servant Bett appeared in the doorway, cheerful, managerial, bustling. I hid a smile. Madame in disguise.
B: Now lamby, you come along and we's all will set you to rights. Look here and see what Mary come up with in the guest room -
Mary was Bett's eldest daughter. In comes Mary with a chemise a la reine, the most fashionable of French frocks at the time, designed to appeal to that forgotten vanity.

 All the bustle of changing and arranging has at least taken her attention off the window which had exerted such an hypnotic fascination for so long. When all is done, we take her downstairs to the waiting open carriage and all sit together.

Driving along the river road smoothly (not bumps and ruts and other inconveniences of 18th Century travel),  I ask her what she was waiting for at the window. The pleasant expression of enjoyment at the dappled light vanishes and she looks catatonic again.
P: I was waiting for Mr. Skelton.
Eek. Her first husband. This is worse than I thought. She has retreated entirely to before her marriage. I glance at Amy, who says firmly,
A: No, Batt and Tibb and Jackie and Pa are all gone, Patt. So is Betsey's Dick, and Janey.
She nods at me. husbands, siblings, children, nephews.
Patty shakes her head as if waking up.
P: Why, yes of course, how foolish of me!
Her hands are tight on the reticule strings in her lap. I think she might get lost again, but she turns to me earnestly.
P: Have you heard from Maria since your loss? [a mutual friend]
I assure her that I have, and begin talking about many other friends. Keep her in her present. That's progress.

We are still traveling along the pleasant river road, and I suggest that she might want to look at her letters, that we won't mind, and a little distractedly, as if she has forgotten them, she says 'Oh Yes' and removes them from her pocket. There are many tears and kisses of the words of the one on top. I hide my smile. The girl who used to read novels is still alive in her.  She bursts out:
P: Oh! he has been asked to go to FRANCE! to assist Dr. Franklin as Minister.
Her eyes are shining.
P: France, France, France!
I think of her eldest daughter, who was a coltish tomboy as a little girl but who cherished her own time in France. It had been a girlish dream, for Patty, amongst her father's French essays and sermons and plays, borne up by the interest her first husband had in that country also. She is as excited as a girl.
P: He says I am to await with you and we will leave directly he returns -[reading]- this Tuesday week... That's tomorrow! Oh Lud!
She is blushing like a girl.
E: That is why we came. Francis had the same intelligence of him.
Making it all up of course, but, look at her.
P: Oh, Betsey! You are such a clever thing!
She hugs me impulsively.

She doesn't seem to notice that no night or day is passing, or that we do not stop at taverns or friends' houses on the way. That's as well. We are suddenly moving up the hill towards her childhood's home, a modest house amid pine, tulip, and walnut trees. She is straining to look, as there in the half-circular driveway, is a familiar horse. She digs her fingers into my arm.
P: Oh he's here! He's here!
And with that He indeed appears from the house and Elizabeth's husband with him. The carriage has barely stopped and she has scrambled out and flung herself on him. Uncharacteristic in public, but not among family.
P: I received your letter!
She is exclaiming.
P: Oh France! France!
He is smiling his sardonic smile.
T: I thought you might be glad to see me too.
He teases.

She is happy and over the moon.

Inside the house is much discussion of logistics. A ship has been commissioned for them. Various friends are helping to secure supplies. And, a letter from Lafayette's wife Adrienne, in French, welcoming her to her country and hoping to embark upon a deep and lasting friendship.

Everything now will change, as they indeed embark on this alternative history in the holoworlds There. The changes for myself as a 'downline' remain to be seen [if any]. But watching her dance about her childhood home on light feet in those few 'days', reunited with her husband and daughters, I feel less conflicted about the life and its 3D outcome.

The pull of that life from my earliest childhood was because she needed rescuing. It cast a long shadow. But all that is done. When they take their leave, bound for new adventures, we wave them farewell from that curved driveway that now is barely discernable among the ruins of the house in the 3D.
K: Well done!
I say to Amy. She is smiling.
A: Yes.

Gatekeeper

Yesterday, a friend of ours died. Between the notice of her still being on life support early in the morning and our arrival shortly before noon, so many things went down, not least realising WHY George was unexpectedly back from his learning session early. It is one of his jobs to act as 'ferryman', which he has done for many years of our time. It was only 'since' his life as George Mallory that that expression has been the one to show up, on Everest and elsewhere. He is not the only ferryman of course; he has his regions, while others have theirs.

My purpose was also front and centre as we made our way down our mountain to the hospital. I am the gatekeeper, as in the one who sits in front of the labyrinth. I'm here to make sure people who are transitioning understand that they are doing so, that they will be met (by George, their own guides, family and other beloveds), and that they will be taken care of. I am also there to reassure the bereaved that we go on. That they may talk to their beloved any time they wish. That the communication flows both ways.

I have played this role so many times in this life, by 'accident' and by intent. The message, the thread, if you will (thinking of Theseus here in the great labyrinth of Crete) is of primary importance to the various components that make up this 'I' here. In the simplest terms, it is why I am here, to prod the memories of others, to reassure them of what they know: we go on. You are not alone. You will be taken care of. That sounds pretty basic, elementary. But in these critical times of birth and death (I also welcome the incomings, and remind them that they are still connected to all that is There) my presence alone has helped people. It is my service here. Kindness. Compassion. Support.

It's not about fame, or money, or the gratitude of others. It is about the doing. Like Hester Prynne, 'when came the dawn the helpful inmate was no more to be found, shunning both praise and recompense'... They are reminding me to 'finish the line'. so I shall: 'it might be pride, but it was so like humility that it worked a change of hearts on the people of the town toward her, a softness which she neither wanted, nor, perhaps, deserved.'

At any rate, I am grateful always to bear witness to these powerful, critical times. It is an honour to serve.

Thank you, Michelle. We love you.

The Unquiet Dead

Meeting, Theatre Office, Claire, Amy

They are in the mica-shaded light of the tiny office, discussing the progress of recent returnees in adapting to life here. Claire is wearing soft woolen khaki trousers and a white shirt, like old days when Franz was Director, but her fuzzy golden brown hair is soft. Amy is wearing overalls and a dark blue show t-shirt (The Incredible Mr. Cassinov), and braids. Apparently, one of the most recent is having a very hard time with the 'calls' from his wife who is still incarnate and they are deciding what to do about it.

C: Taking him to the border and letting him see and be heard could be dangerous, or at least more upsetting than it's worth.

A: But you remember what happened to [X]

Several months ago, a similar situation happened and the discarnate was 'strongly advised against' going down near enough to be heard by a loved one, and, following the advice, became so despairing that they had to return to the Rest Center, to be put into a kind of coma until they recover. They are still there.

This begs the question of free will; indeed, of communication with the discarnate from this side at all. Claire, if I may? (We go into the aisle of the house.)

C: Those who come here, who manage to get here without being caught up in the Borderlands or the Midlands, or be so shell-shocked that they need a rest cure, have work to do in sorting themselves out, in acclimatising before they can properly focus and review the life with their guide before going to the Council with their conclusions. This acclimatisation is hindered if they are continually called upon by the incarnate in an emotional manner. The HS or guide should be the one to handle the incarnate's emotion, not the one here. Your traditional cultures have guidelines about this transition period. Your own English-based culture used to have a similar period of a year and a day, when the grave was let to lie and sink before a stone was put up. The family members were encouraged to spend that time in seclusion, away from the grave, before your secular world took over in the 1600s. Those of your present societies who practise shamanism know these proscriptions well. You have wondered often at 'not hearing from' various family members who have come here for long periods after their transition. This is the reason. They are busy. We are busy helping them adjust. Some take longer than others. This is the origin of the phrase 'let the dead bury the dead', as the Judaic culture has this as well.

K: So, what should we say to those who have loved ones who have transitioned, and are having a hard time of it?

C: Prevail upon their friends there to aid and succour them. Or if they are amenable, explain to them that they can call on their HS and guides and we will answer. But make clear that the departed one is busy adjusting to 'eternal' life and making their life review.

K: Thank you. On this subject, what do you do with someone there who insist on interacting with incarnate people in this period?

C: We try our best to dissuade them, but if they insist, they will be escorted to the Borderlands by a guide, not necessarily their own guide and teacher, and watched over during the process. However, more often than not, the experiment is a failure, because while the grieved want communication, they are not of a vibrational pattern to actually experience it.

K: I presume that the companion is there not just as a scout to show the way, but to help them if they should go off the rails, as it were?

C: That is correct. The success of the mental state following such an attempt depends entirely on the vibrational level and experience of the one here. However, it is true that largely, those who request such visits are coming off of a Baby-to-Early Mature soul age life [not that the fragment is actually OF that age, they were just putting on the level for that life role.] Younger souls are typically more malleable and interested in being taken care of, and older souls are too busy enjoying being back and getting back into their lives and homes here.

K: Thank you. This brings up the matter of the Borderlands and retrievals, but I know that you are busy, so I will let you get back to work.

Claire signals an indigo blue/purple light flash – her vibrational signature and level – with a benevolent expression, and then is back in the office with Amy.