Retrieval VI -Tween

It was brought to my attention by Franz that part of the problem of recurring life crashes also comes from the experience I had as a young girl and teenager. When the adoptive mother died, the adoptive father went into a severe depression. Oh, he went to work every day, but there was no food except potatoes and beans, no medical care for the child, no money for clothes or sanitary supplies (let alone going out with friends). Some of this was ameliorated by the advent of friends of his when the child was 14, but the damage - physical, emotional, mental - had been done.

So Claire and I go to the house of my childhood, dressed in business clothes, under the shade of the elm trees, and up the path. Claire reminds me very much in clothes and manner of Dana Scully [X Files]. The house has not yet been turned into a monstrosity, as it was later at the behest of his third wife. We ring the bell and wait. Behind the coloured glass of the door, there is a figure. It bends, peering out the letterbox.

'We are from Child Protective Services,' says Claire crisply. 'Will you open the door please?'
The door opens with slow caution. There is a thin child with dark circles under her eyes. About 12 years old. Wearing cheap, shabby, too-small tank top and shorts. She looks at us fearfully.
C: May we come in?
The girl stares at us.
C: we are here to help you. We won't hurt you.
She flashes a County employee badge. The girl nods, and opens the door wider.
C: Where is your father?
D: Out. I don't know where.
She is stammering.
C: That's as well.

We go inside and sit on the sofa in the living room. The child is sitting on the ottoman. No shoes. Claire takes firm but gentle charge.
C: I am Miss Offreduccio [St. Clare's last name]. I would like to ask you some questions about how you are doing.
D: Who sent you?
She is still stammering in fear.
K: A neighbour... Mary Lou. She is concerned about you.
This neighbour actually was apparently concerned at the time. She nods.
Claire proceeds to ask her how often the parent is gone, what she eats and how often, and asks if she has adequate clothes and medical care. writing down all the answers on a clipboard she has pulled from her briefcase. She betrays no emotion, simply nods and writes. At length, however, the girl is crying and she looks up with empathy.
C: you don't have to worry any more, D. You will be taken care of now. I promise.
D: what about him? [the adoptive father]
C: We will deal with him. Don't worry.
She stands up and looks at me.
C: Miss Watters will help you pack the things you want to take with you and change your clothes. Then we will go to a nice place where you will be looked after.

So saying, I take the child to her room, letting her lead the way, even though I know it. We search the closet for a dress. My hand hovers over the green-flocked white one that was worn to the adoptive mother's funeral.
D: Not that! I hate it. Burn it!
I pick a red plaid cotton instead. It is rather too small, being 3 years old, but clean. We search for whole undergarments and shoes. The only nice shoes are also too small. We opt for sandals. When she is dressed, I fix her hair in an ingenue style, half-up in a ponytail, and tie it up with ribbon.
Then I help her pack an old suitcase with the small treasures she wants to bring. We are ready.

We go out, and Claire has left a note on the dining table to the 'adoptive father' [who is of course not there; the girl has been alone all this while.] Nodding to us, she ushers us out and closes the door firmly.
C: Let's go.
Taking the girl by the hand, we walk to the end of the large street adjacent to the house and turn, upwards toward what would be a bridge over the river, but we are speeding along toward the Children's Centre.

At the Centre, we are greeted warmly by the Directress, who is out in front. Then, Patricia, my sister, comes running down the steps and flings herself with joy on the girl, who is crying now for a different reason. She is the same age as the girl [for convenience's sake]. and, arms intertwined, they go inside without a backward glance. She will be quickly assimilated with the other fragmented parts, and go to live with her sister in her cottage.

I feel emotional. The long nightmare legacy of want and deprivation, of no one to care for that young girl at a critical time in her life, is over.
Finit. Amen.

C: Apart from the resonance [of herself, St. Clare], the desire to escape to safety and being cared for forever was a large unconscious part of the motivation to be a Poor Clare.
K: Yes, I can see that.
C: It's not a reason for not being accepted, or remaining, but several key elements would have been missed [my kids, my brothers...]
K: Noted.
She smiles at me, St. Clare's brilliant smile.
C: Let's go home, shall we?

Highland Clearances

I chanced upon the following over on Bruce Moen's Afterlife Knowledge forum and it really got my attention, as this has been my experience of the lower to mid Astral as well. This was written in 2008, but it still applies, as this work continues (needless to say), by volunteers here and those whose job it is There to do such retrievals.

But lately I am finding all these areas between 21 and 27 becoming less dense, less extensive, less populated. I am told they are being "cleared up to 27" and also find 27 MUCH more extensive and expansive/expanding than it has been. It used to be a place of stillness for me, and I find it MUCH more energized and populated. By the same token, beings with whom I have visited extensively on Focus 27 are moving to higher vibrational reals as well. My mother, who formerly "worked" in the Healing and Rejuvenation Center is no longer there, and is found more and more frequently farther on--- like around 33/34 for me. The Gathering (both Bruce and Bob Monroe wrote about it) is 34/35. I find my "I-there" someplace like 42 or so, and beyond that I sort of lose my way as yet...... but I do know it keeps on and one.

So to my inquiry---

Anyone else finding this thinning? As there are fewer beings there, there is less thought to sustain the illusion and these towns and cities are thinning and dissolving back in to the quantum field from which the thoughts collapsed them in the frist place. Like the path to 27 is being rebuilt and reinforced so peole don't take so many little detours along the way, and 27 is growing in preparation.

All of my exploration has been about the Earth Changes for which The Gathering is occurring. These times and these changes are upon us. I got some truly startling and almost unbelievable information exploring The Gathering and interacting with the energies there, and look forward to more at Starline (at Monroe) in July. Such information is for a different post if anyone is interested.

Your experiences of this phenomenon are most welcome.

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.

Mountain Rescue- Retrieval III

Again at the Eco Village, this time in my house, a cabin. Cool, dim, comfortable old thing, built from nothing, over these 40 years of earth time. Waiting for George to finish up filing a rucksack with the gods know what. I feel sick. This is going to be... something intense. Self is in the long braids mode and hippie clothes, loose top and shorts. Hmm.

He comes out, from the other room, rucksack in hand, also in his (rather new here) hippie guise of longish hair, Indian shirt and yoga pants. The people coming back are as flummoxed by him as they were by Franz' Hamburg leather pants and red silk shirt. This is not what they expect. 'Are you God' questions become 'God is a hippie?' It's all to loosen them up (as was Franz' 'God is a German queen' outfit.)

G: ready?

K: I guess.

He touches my shoulder.

G: Don't be nervous!

I say nothing. 'I have a bad feeling about this' – to quote Princess Leia.

I realise that Joe and Maggie aren't coming....

We go out, through the pristine Village and pine trees encircling and are moving swiftly towards the mountains, the same area where my Dad lives. I have a swirling sensation, spinning sideways, as I sometimes did when doing readings for people many years ago.

We are at a campground.

I recognise it as one we used to frequent when I was a girl. In the Earth plane, it was in Kern, at Lake Isabella. So many mishaps there... I became intimately acquainted with the local Emergency Room [A&E]. We walk up the winding trail towards the playground area, he before me, making jokes about looking out for bears [as happened in Yellowstone] and eating pine trees [Euell Gibbons].

At length, behind the playground, we come to a section of extremely large boulders, as high as one and two story houses. Up on top, at the edge of one, is my 7 year old self, frozen in fear and indecision. In the earth plane, the daughter of a family friend, whom I was with (along with her little brother) said blithely 'look out for black widow spiders, they're poisinous' described them, and went off clambering with her brother. Seeing one near me, I was instantly terrified, and to my mind had a choice: jump (and die) or stay (and die). As with the poor souls in the Twin Towers who decided to jump from to 115^th floor rather than face a fiery demise, I then thought that taking the decision into my own hands rather than be the victim of an unknown fate was the better choice. It never occurred to me to run away in the opposite direction towards the ground. I didn't know where Rita was. I just screamed and jumped. I never knew how high the rock really was, or how long I was 'out'. Now, I see it was about 30 feet high. Now I know it was about 20 minutes.

But here she is, stuck in that moment of decision, 'in an impossible situation' , with 'only two choices, both of them bad.' I recognise what George is going to do. He is squinting up at her in the sunshine.

G: Hey! Hey up there! Are you stuck? Do you need help getting down?

She just stares at him, shaking her head in terror.

G: It's all right. We'll help you down. Come on, Claire, rope up.

He nods and hands me an end of the rope he has slung over his shoulder.

Ah.

I wrap a length of it around myself in the old way of a 'gentleman's belay', figuring that I and she will have to abseil off. Or at least I will.

G: Don't be afraid, little girl. Claire is climbing up to help you. We will get you down.

She speaks at last.

D: But, but SPIDER!

She points backwards and looks about ready to pass out.

G: Don't worry. It's not harmful. It won't hurt you.

He speaks very calmly. I look over my shoulder at him dubiously. I don't know if it is harmful or not. He nods and speaks quietly.

G: Go on.

We have climbed often in many places here, and as a belayer and climbing leader, I trust him absolutely. He has all of Mallory's skill and a much improved teaching and leading ability. Up, indeed I go, hammering pitons as I do, into the faceless areas, putting in cams in cracks, working my way up slowly and with care, manteling over the outcrop at the top, so that I am lying at the feet of the little girl before I spring up.

K: Hello there. I'm Claire. You're safe now. George and I will get you down and take you home.

I put my hand on her shoulder, because she is too big to pick up.

D: But, but SPIDER!

She points again.

I look over, and there is indeed a spider, but it is not a black widow at all, indeed harmless. All this and nearly dying because of an ordinary spider! [Of which, I should note, I am not presently afraid] I feel angry again at the stupid child Rita, who had other idiocies to her credit on my behalf, Why the parents let her anywhere near me repeatedly, I cannot imagine. I realise that I am angry at the adoptive parents and at Rita's parents for not being responsible adults. Put the anger where it belongs then let it go. Reaching into my pocket, I take out a piece of paper, scoop up the spider, and release it over the edge of the rock then go back to the little girl.

K: You're safe now. Now, let's see about getting you down.

I survey the area, and realise that to the rear of the rocks, it is sloping, perfectly able to be walked down in rock shoes or sneakers, with a helping hand if one is a little girl. The way down is some 50 feet away. Safety, an option not involving death was 50 feet away. Hrm.

I go back to the high edge and tell George of the way down. He'll probably have to walk a bit, but it's perfectly easy. I unrope and toss the rope to him.

G: see you in a bit.

K: Okay.

I take the little girl's hand.

K: Now, see, we can walk down here this way. I will help you so you don't feel scared, okay? And my friend will meet us down at the back. Then we will take you home.

She looks up at me.

D: But, Rita and Jorge...

K: They can find their own [expletive censored] way home. Come on.

We go down, slowly, because she's still shocky, and at the bottom we wait for a few minutes and George comes striding through the trees, all smiles.

G: well, hello there! Very please to meet you. That was a little adventure, wasn't it! I'm George, and this is Claire, and we're going to take you home.

She nods dubiously.

K: she's worried about the other kids. The ones who got her into this fix.

G: Oh I see.

He scans the area.

G: well, I'm sure we'll find them at home. Come on.

He takes her hand as well and we walk through the pines, down the trail to the entrance area to the campground.

G: Now, we have to take a special way to get back, but don't worry. Hold our hands.

She nods and in a moment we are are the Children's Centre (again!)

He takes her in and deals with the transfer while I wait outside with the gatekeeper. After a few minutes, I see the child running to greet someone she knows in the garden. Mission accomplished.

George comes out and we make our way back to the cabin in the EcoVillage. Sitting in the quiet with cold drinks, lounging on the chair and sofa, we talk about the interim [when I was 'out' after jumping] and the impact of the decision and sense of choices.

This was one of those points that happen in every life where a window to leave comes up. But because I was, as you might say, habituated to the [near]death experience, the situation limited the perceived choices that I had (age aside – I was an extremely bright child). This psychological mechanism is (was) still active in me as I write this. Trust in other people's perceptions and judgements, fear of mortal circumstances and bad consequences, and the perception of only extreme choices.

In the interim, it was shown (to my not-child consciousness) what would transpire and not if I stayed There. Far flung, multiple scenarios. (The future, except for the broad outlines of the script, not being fixed). So I went back.

In the physical body, all I had to cope with was a mild concussion and a few stitches. But the psychological impact was very great, and affected my responses to life, and way of making choices to this day. By the grace, this is ameliorated now.

Broken Faith

Retrieval II, Parts of Self

I am again in the common area of the EcoVillage, by the covered barbeque platform. Is is a brilliant day. Now, I barely have time to think of asking for fellow-travellers and Joe and Maggie show up.
K: Don't you guys have something more important to be doing?
Joe is grinning.
J: This won't take long. It's a nice break for us. And besides, you kind of matter to us.
M: So, come on, kid. Let's get this done!
She takes my hand and we are in the Midlands in no time, turning to the right over toward the Belief Systems Territories. I know where this is going, and I feel sick.

Sure enough, we go into a Roman Catholic Cathedral there. I have visited the Catholic section before with a visitor who was once Agnese of Assisi, who wanted to meet Jesus, and I know the by-ways and tiny alleys of this Umbrian style town. Umbria, where Assisi is. Assisi, where Clare and Francis grew up. I am shaking and feel very sick now.

The Cathedral is modeled on the Church of San Giorgio, which is where Clare and her sister Catherine (later Agnese) first heard Francis preach, next to which she lived, and at which she was first interred after making her transition. The inside of this church is in the High Gothic style, with pale beige-grey pillars, stained glass, and wooden chairs. The typical side altars are present, full of brass and gold illumination and candles. Such a far cry from its Romanesque origins. I know that Santa Chiara doesn't care anymore, but I feel the residual echoes of an 800 year old distress.

We walk in and there on 'Mary's side' [left] where I sat as a three-year-old child with neighbours, is a little child, in a Sunday frock, gloves, and small chaplet pinned to long hair. If I had dressed my daughter so, it would be her. But I know it is myself. and I know to whence this meeting is 'ever tending'. She is just sitting, quietly, as instructed, not fidgeting. I feel the power of the place, even as I do in 3D churches, the power of ritual, and faith, and the equally powerful peaceful quiet. If I were orthodox, I would spend a few aeons here too, as the inhabitants of this Belief System do.

Joe and Maggie have stayed a little behind, sitting a few rows behind. They think I can handle this.
I walk up to the row, and address the child by name in quiet tones, but she looks up and hushes me, whispering.
D: we are sposed to wait qui-et-ly.
K: I will be quiet.
I promise.
K: Where are the others you came with?
D: They went out. They will come back.
K: did they tell you to wait?
She looks doubtful.
D: no. but Jesus is still there so I can't leave him alone. Somebody has to be here if he's out.
She points to the monstrance on the altar. Shades of St. Clare are a tolling bell in my mind, remaining at vigil all night, lying on the cold stone floor. Making herself ill with fasting and mortification. So ill that she remained in bed half her life. Thinking quickly, I realise that I need someone to stay here in her stead so I can take her to the Children's Centre.

I look up, towards the vestibule, and  - I am in tears - striding in from the brilliant sunlight is Claire, my HS, dressed in the white and beige clothes of St. Clare's first days as a nun, her hair all covered. She reaches us and gives me a sparkling glance, before coming to sit in the chair before the child.
C: hello little one! What a nice girl to sit with Jesus for me! I was busy, but now I am back and you can go home with your neighbours here.
She gestures to Joe and Maggie, who don't look in the least like my childhood neighbours.
The child looks up at Claire in awe.
D: you are a sister!
Claire nods.
C: I am an enclosed nun, that means I don't leave my church and have bare feet. See?
She lifts the hem of her gown and shows a slender, aristocratic foot. The child giggles, as was her plan.
D: We play nuns. My friend and me.
C: That's very good.

There is a pause. The child is frowning. Claire is very good with children, I begin to see. Like Sister Luke in The Nun's Story, like Maria von Trapp...
C: is something wrong, little one?
D: The mass was very wrong today.
C: What do you mean, wrong?
D: The old priest was facing the wrong way, and speaking English, and there were guitars instead of the organ, and they stood instead of kneeling, up there -
She points to the altar rail.
Claire glances at me. I'm feeling it too, confusion, outrage, grief. This isn't what I came here [to the Roman Church] for. I came because it reminded me of Assisi... and now it's ruined. A thousand years of tradition, ruined for lucre. Claire thinks at me: 'It was no different in Assisi. That's what we were about, protesting.' To the child she says, sweetly,
C: that was just a special Mass. They will go back to the right way next time.
She pats her hand.
C: But YOU have been here such a good girl for a very long time, and you should go home and have your lunch. Maybe even some ice-cream -
She looks up at me, and I nod.
C: You can go with my sister Catherine here and she will make sure that you get home safely.
I nod, smiling at the subterfuge.
K: Yes, Mother.
D: Okay.
The child speaks with determination.
D: But they better not ever do that again, 'cause it was wrong. It wasn't special or holy, and everybody was talking like a picnic.
Out of the mouths of babes. She gets down from her chair and I take her hand.
K: Let's go have some nice ice-cream now. Thank you, Mother Clare.
Her eyes are laughing.
C: don't be too long, my extern sister, or Agnese will lock the door.

We go out with Joe and Maggie into the brilliant sunshine, and quickly over to the Children's Center, where we deposit the child with the Matron. She is soon sitting in the refectory with some others newly arrived, and eating the promised ice-cream. I ask the Matron,
K: What will happen when the infant gets to her age?
Mn: Oh they will be merged. All the fragment-selves are merged until there is wholeness. You needn't worry.

***
I come from a very Catholic family on my Dad's side. That imprinting, along with my experiences as a religious (nun, priest) in former lives, was strong enough to draw me toward the Church as a tiny child, even though my adoptive family were non-religious Lutherans. I was so drawn that I announced my desire to become a Poor Clare at the age of 15. Because living barefoot and silent, getting up at 2 AM and working at a labourer's tasks is what every teenage girl thinks is bliss....

My sense of 'wrongness' on that fated day when Vatican II came to the parish was enough to cause a break in my psyche, and it has been a battle ever since with the Church, at least in my mind. I agree with Joseph Campbell, who said in his interview with Bill Moyers in The Power of Myth:

There’s been a reduction, a reduction, a reduction of ritual. Even in the Roman Catholic Church. My God, they’ve translated the Mass out of the ritual language into a language that has a lot of domestic associations. Every time…that I read the Latin of the Mass, I get that pitch again that it’s supposed to give, a language that throws you out of the field of your domesticity. The altar is turned so that the priest’s back is to you, and with him you address yourself outward [gestures upward with his hands] like that.

Now they’ve turned the altar around; [it] looks like Julia Child giving a demonstration—all homey and cozy. They’ve forgotten what the function of a ritual is: it’s to pitch you out, not to wrap you back in where you have been all the time.

I have been mistaken for a Fundamentalist Catholic because of this preference for the old ways. But it really goes back to immersing oneself in sacred space, back to Francis and Clare, and my Ancel in the Scriptorium at Salisbury (also in the Middle Ages.)

That fateful day in 1966 brought me into as much conflict with the Church as Francis and Clare ever were, or even Ancel in his small, local way. And into conflict within myself, because I felt that I had to Stand Vigilant against the incursions of the profane into the sacred. So much that I have been stuck there for almost 50 years, even though I do not believe in the dogma of the Catholic Church as promulgated. Passionate rants against the wrong turning of Vatican II - its good intentions, but bad application - clearly gave people the impression that I was a card-carrying member of the Society of St. Pius X. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Now, I can let St. Clare sit vigil. I no longer have that burden, taking me away from my tasks now. Clare can do it. I, this self, does not have to.

Retrieval: Preemie Self

I am in the EcoVillage, preparing to go retrieve some fragmented parts of the present consciousness. In the common area, I put out the intention and ask that any of our community who is willing and experienced who wish to come with me show up. To my surprise, Franz and Madame show up their Joe and Maggie guise, complete with hippie-ish clothes and jewellery. They are, in a manner, my 'parents' There, and better than anybody I suppose to come with me.

We travel down to the Recreation area, with its park like broad lawns and sunny vistas then down towards the Midlands. At the border Joe asks me in which order [of age] I wish to do this. I signal that I should like to do it in chronological age, and we progress over to the Rest Centre.

There in the quiet, calm sanitoria-like setting, we go to a plastic crib where a tiny infant is crying. It is very small – no longer than my hand – and a maroon colour. It is extremely premature, and looks almost like an alien. It is very upset, but its noises are gurgling and squeaking, rather than the squall of a full-born infant. This is my infant self, I recognise, frozen in time on the day of my sister's death, 19 March, 1963.

I feel VERY emotional, feeling all its grief and abandonment, as the only person it knew in this world is gone. I find my hand over my heart – a very frequent gesture of mine when distressed. ['why does the Minister hold his hand over his heart?' - Pearl Prynne, The Scarlet Letter]

M: you can pick her up.

Joe smiles encouragingly. I feel an intense longing for my sister. I can't do this alone.

K:I want Amy!

Amy appears, in bohemian attire, with her dark blonde hair unbound in fuzzy spirals. She puts her hand on my shoulder and nods. Carefully, I pick up the tiny baby, poor little baby self! And bring it near. I pick up the little blanket – the size of a dinner napkin – and put over it. I have always hated hearing little babies cry. I talk to it, and so does Amy, and sway in the way every mother does with babies.

K/A: hush little baby! There's no need to cry! See, sissy is here with you! You are not alone! You will never be alone any more! You will be taken care of and Sissy and I will visit you often!

Joe and Maggie are looking on with loving expressions, and though I am pouring tears, I feel the attention of the tiny baby shift, and I look at her.

She is looking at me with very dark, indigo eyes with silver streaks. She has no lashes or brow yet, nor fingernails. But she is aware, and gazes at me intently. I know that she has understood me.

K: What do we do now?

I don't know if I am supposed to take her to my parents, the staff here, or what.

J: Everything is ready to go, all her little things. You can bring her to the Children's Centre right now.

The Children's Centre is where those who have died as infants or children go to 'grow up' and continue on their lives here. They are cared for by older people, and are largely removed from the Education centres, but are sometimes seen in packs on the lawn of the recreation area, like an eternal manifestation of Neverland (except they do grow up). I am overcome again with emotion. I have always loved 'Peter and Wendy'... Another resonance! Leading back to that day of death, when I had to soldier on alone here.

But she is alone no more. And never will be again.

Joe leads us over to the attendant's area, where there is indeed a little case and an old fashioned little blue dress (very like to one I dressed my own daughter in at her first visit from her godmother.)

Amy and I dress her and wrap her.

A: like playing dolls

She is smiling.

I thank the attendant for caring for her and we go out the side door near into the brilliant sunshine. In a moment we all four of us are at the Children's Centre, where the gate attendant is waiting, smiling.

CCA: we were told to expect you!

They look at our 'little dolly' [Claire's phrase for ME to George!] with a smile.

CCA: such a pretty girl! Oh don't you worry, she'll be fine! Patricia was here too when she came, isn't that right, Amy?

I turn, and Amy is beaming, nodding and smiling and teary with happiness.

A: Oh yes! They took such good care of her, Claire! You'll see! She'll be so happy!

She hugs me, and shows me that Patricia is waiting in a little English Cotswolds cottage in the residential area in 5 [the 5^th Dimension, F32]

A: when she is grown she and Patricia can live together, just like it was planned there!

She hugs me again because I am crying.

CCA: You can bring her in and see that's she's settled.

I look at Joe and Maggie.

Joe: We'll be right here.

Amy, the attendant and I go into the main building, which isn't at all like the horrible school that swallowed up Sarah Crewe in A Little Princess, which is what I was slightly afraid of [another resonance!] but is cheerful and full of light and flowers, with children running up and down the halls and stairs. I look in one of the rooms and the children are all happily working on projects, like a Montessori school.

The Matron comes out from her office. She is young and pretty, with dark hair and a flowing white dress and jangling bracelets.

Mn: Hello, Claire! Hello Amy I'm so glad you came! And this is the little one!

She comes and looks, smiling, then says to the attendant,

Mn: Thank you Jezriel! You can go along now. We'll be fine.

She looks at me.

Mn: You understand that we don't isolate the babies here? Come I'll show you our nursery!

We follow her to a back room on the ground floor, which is very sunny. The babies indeed sleep all together in large cribs on the floor, like playpens, full of soft blankets and toys. The very little ones are kept in smaller beds, also on the floor, by twos and threes.

A: so you see, she shall indeed never be alone or lonely.

The Matron explains the daily routine, which includes music and colours and interaction with animals once the babies are old enough. There is exercise, and walks in prams in the sunshine, and continual loving interaction by the attendants, some of whom are young, some of whom are soft doughy grandmotherly types.

Down the hall, I see the dormitory for the slightly older children. Again, it is on the model of group beds. Matron says,

Mn: because our experience shows that is what the children want, until they are well into their teens.

After viewing the classrooms and other dormitories, the petting zoo and garden, I am satisfied that my little baby self will be well-nurtured. But the time has come to leave her here and I am finding it very difficult, despite the assurances.

My mother appears, in her beautiful Kim Novakesque guise.

K: I know how hard it was, Mutti!

She smiles and embraces me.

N: I know, sweetie. [That is what I call my own children...]

She is teary too, looking at the little baby as she last saw her.

N: but she will be all right here, and you and I and Patty will visit.

At her voice, the little baby looks up, transfixed.

N: See, she knows me.

She touches the little head, then kisses it, gesturing that I and Amy should do the same.

We do and Mutti says to the Matron,

N: There you are now, Marisa. I think we are ready.

We all look at each other, Mutti Amy and I, three grown women, and I realise that we haven't done this before, haven't been together since those long ago days. Many embraces and loving tears later, Amy and I hand over Baby Self to Marisa the Matron, who treats her very gently and lovingly, and we turn to go.

At the gates, Joe and Maggie are right there, as promised.

They greet my mother warmly

J/M: hello dear Natalie, you look so well. It's so nice to see you again!

They all exchange embraces, chatting happily.

Then Joe turns to me.

Joe: So, little one, are you ready to go back now?

He looks across the fields towards the Eco Village.

Joe: the gathering will be going on when we get back, and you and Amy can share your success with everyone.

He is smiling broadly, encouragingly.

Maggie takes up my hand

M: You did splendidly!

She squeezes my hand hard.

I bid farewell to my mother and the four of us move quickly over the landscape towards home.