When they arrived in the late afternoon, Teresa was crabby and fussy so Sarah took her up to their room for a nap. Then Sarah joined the discussion about the refugees.
David paced nervously back and forth while Pietro and Matilda listened. “They are flooding across the Mediterranean from Africa and landing on the beaches of Italy and Spain. Middle Eastern refugees are moving through Turkey, making it to Greece, then moving north to get to Germany and Sweden. How is the European Union going to hold together? I think this is the greatest crisis in Europe since WWII. How about you?”
Pietro responded. “It’s much worse: A new element has been added to people’s mobility, cell phones, so almost anything can happen. The European Union eliminated borders, so desperate people would rather die than stay where they are. Meanwhile, where is the United Nations?”
“They won’t do much except have meeting after meeting, committee after committee, while Europe takes the brunt of it. Simon is coming back in early August, thank goodness for that.”
“That’s great news,” said Matilda. “We’ve prepared a lovely dinner, a way to make our worries go away for just a little while. So come David, Sarah, let’s enjoy a good meal. Anna Maria is up in the hall reading in case Teresa wakes up.”
They enjoyed a wonderful dinner. Eventually Sarah settled in with Teresa who never did wake up, and Matilda went to her room to read. David and Pietro went up to the genealogy room where they would not be interrupted to talk more about Europe.
David sat down in his favorite chair and glanced up at the serpent on the ceiling. “Thank you for having us again. As men taking a serious look at the world, we must talk. You are a cherished friend and we have common interests as fathers. I have never been so worried about the future with Europe facing a crisis potentially as destructive as any crisis in thousands of years. How about you? How do you sleep at night these days?”
Pietro studied David’s finely boned, aristocratic face. “Well, you know, David, we Europeans take the long view. We’ve lived through centuries of conflicts over territory, power mongers, and elite manipulation. Our blood-soaked land is locked into the flow back and forth of political maneuvering. Something bigger is always going on, but we can’t see it yet. Are you aware that Islam almost took over the whole Mediterranean in the sixteenth century?” David nodded.
“The West found out then what it was like to be subjected to terror from the cruel and barbaric Ottoman Turks. Like ISIS today, they were inflamed with hatred of the West after being assaulted and brutalized during the Crusades. The battle with darkness began when the Ottoman Turks decided to slay the dragon—the West. Just like today, a monster was unleashed in those days, the worst element of the Piscean Age.
“There were battles all over Europe and the Mediterranean when the West and the East fought for control of the known world. But all that came of it five hundred years ago was exhaustion, economic malaise, political blindness, and hatred of each other. These conflicts were so intense and went on for so long that the worst tendencies in both religions prevailed—brutal killing for God.
“Significantly, these days the majority of the refugees are Muslim, the vast majority of the territories they are moving into are mostly Judeo-Christian, and the refugees have lots of children. Peace will come only if people of all faiths can live together, so the major religions must adopt peace. Maybe they will when enough people realize what’s at stake—Earth.”
David nodded his approval. “Perhaps people will be so sick of violence that they’ll adopt peace as Aquarius comes in. Battles over God have dominated over four thousand years, and at this point many people despise war. I’d like to share something of interest with you tonight. Are you comfortable with the idea of past lives; that we keep coming back to complete our intentions in the world?”
“Of course. There’s no other way to make sense of anything, especially the battles we’re referring to. People just keep coming back to settle old scores.”
“Good, because I’ve just had an extraordinary recall that is forcing me to reconsider everything I’m doing with my life. Have you ever recalled a past life of your own?”
“Oh, yes,” Pietro said in a thoughtful, low voice. “Getting in touch with some of my past lives has helped me advance more easily in this lifetime. Many in my group in Malta have looked into their past lives. I was a pope a long time ago, which has made me sympathize with the power struggles popes have to deal with. Would you like to share what you’ve found?”
“I was hearing such great things about Lorenzo Giannini, so I decided to go see him. He’s an astonishing analyst, no one in New York compares.”
“I’ve never done a session with him, but that’s what I hear from everybody, especially Armando. I credit him with saving Armando; I am indebted to him.”
David looked at Pietro and smiled. “Lorenzo says the client does it all. Well, in a deep trance I found myself in a battered and broken body in a gutter in Barcelona around a hundred years ago. I can hardly express to you how it pained my heart to experience myself that way. But he, the one I was, only wanted to ascend, only wanted to leave his body and go to heaven. His faith in God was astounding; he was absolutely certain God was waiting for him. I think I went into his life because I lack faith. I have no faith, Pietro, none. I don’t believe I’m going anywhere except under the sod.”
Pietro was listening acutely because he could see David was having a spiritual crisis. He said softly, “Experiencing his faith, is that what makes you feel you lack faith?”
“I’ll let that pass for the moment to tell you who this man was because I think what he did during his life was the source of his faith. His wasn’t the faith one has as a Christian, Jew, or Muslim. His faith was as extensive as the universe. This man was the Barcelona architect Antoni Gaudí.”
Pietro expressed surprise and curiosity. “That’s compelling, David. What a fascinating connection. How did that feel? Gaudí is one of the great artists of all time. Seeing his work put me in touch with the highest levels I’ve ever attained. The faith you felt in him is totally accurate because Gaudí was profoundly Catholic, the essence of Catalan spirituality that reaches back thousands of years into the Paleolithic.”
“True. But during the short time I melded with him, his creativity is what put him in touch with God, not his Catholic practice, regardless of what he thought. It was as if he was profoundly Christian before Christianity existed, connected with the geometrical structures that made it possible for Christ to incarnate as Jesus. Gaudí’s geometrical field was Christ. When I melded with Gaudí, Christ was back on the Earth. Can you imagine that? And I’m a Jew!”
Pietro could see a diamond crystal behind David that was oscillating so fast it was popping light out like a beehive of photons. “I don’t know what you mean because I haven’t felt anything like that. What does that mean to you, what does that do for you?”
“I have a different body, a body in another dimension. I’ve always been profoundly woven into this dimension, maybe too much so because I enjoy my pleasures so much. Gaudí seemed to be hardly here, more alive somewhere else, the place his art comes from.”
“David, I wish I knew more about this. The only person who talks this way to me is Armando, who also seems to be in other worlds a lot. Like Gaudí, he brings things back from those worlds. Maybe that is what it means to be an artist. Does this inspire you to be an artist?”
“I don’t think so, although this experience might help me understand my daughter and your son better. In the session, Gaudí wanted me to go to La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. That’s what he wants of me. He wants me to go there so that he can be there, which would make me his conduit, and I can’t wait. Just feeling the way I felt in Lorenzo’s office makes it worth it to go anywhere to feel his energy again. So, once Simon gets back, I’m going to take them all to Barcelona. Then I think I will understand myself better.”
“How fascinating; what a great experience that will be. It’s worth pursuing
this to access something you’d otherwise not be in touch with. Speaking of getting in touch, Matilda is going to miss me and we both need some sleep. Thank you for sharing this, David.”
“Thank you for listening, it helps me make sense of things. I’ll tell you what happens. I’ll write you if I don’t see you.”
PART THREE
Platonic Solids
21
Majorca Dreaming
During an early-August afternoon, Formentor Beach on Majorca was deserted except for Armando and Jennifer, who were allowed to enjoy the beach anytime because the family had sold their land to the hotel a hundred years ago. The beautiful intimate beach was reserved for the guests of the resort hotel next to their villa, yet they were napping during the hot time of the day. The cares of the modern world melted into the hot and pristine sand as the pure and clear water soothed their minds. They were sharing a picnic lunch under the coolness of a large pine tree growing on the edge of the hot sand. Armando studied her alluring profile as she stared dreamily across Pollenca Bay watching the ferry leave for Menorca.
“Armando, darling. I love everything we’re doing—dinner at the Barcelo Hotel, exploring Alcudia and the Pollenca Port, and our time in the sun and sea. But I also love to visit old churches and archaeological sites. Do you like to do that? Is there something special like that within a short distance of our villa?”
“Ah, my pet, I have to be careful with you,” he said as he slid his index finger into the top of her bikini to brush a pert hard nipple. She shivered and waited for his answer. “I made sure the Catholics didn’t snag you by keeping the priest away from our wedding, but I also have to be careful about taking you to Catholic shrines. This island is steeped in the old Catalan Catholic mysticism. The people to this day perform very intense rituals, for example reenacting Christ’s crucifixion on Good Friday. They still believe in the old religion. Yes, there is a place nearby that moves me deeply. I’ve always thought I responded to it because it was a pagan sacred site long ago. If you go there with me, you must promise me you will not let the monks steal you away from me.”
“I’d love to go there, please. Monks will never get me. But why does it move you so?” she murmured kissing him lightly on his dewy neck while stroking his shiny black chest hair. He put his hand behind her neck and pulled her in for a deep kiss making her body sway into his. “I haven’t thought much about it; I just feel very quiet and devotional there. It’s wonderful to meditate in the chapel where there is an exquisite Black Madonna found in a field hundreds of years ago by a young boy named Lluc—Majorcan for Luke. He was tending sheep and goats for his father when he noticed a strange light in tangled bushes. Half buried in the ground was an exquisitely carved small figurine of the Madonna and Jesus with black faces and hands. He took it to the priest at the nearby church, who put it into a special niche.
“Word flew all over Majorca about the find, but when pilgrims came to worship her after walking for days, the niche was empty! The boy rushed back to the meadow, found her again in the same place, and brought her back to the priest. He put her back in the niche, but the following day she was gone again, and this happened a few more times. So, finally the priest built a small chapel right on the spot where she was found, the chapel for La Moreneta, the little dark one. People have made pilgrimages to her chapel for eight hundred years from all over Majorca and beyond. Stories like this of the Black Madonna being found, moved, and disappearing to where she was originally found until a chapel is built on the spot are common all over southern France and Catalonia, signs of a genuine Black Madonna. There are ancient burial sites and caves around La Moreneta’s chapel, a sacred site for thousands of years.”
“I would love to go see her. When I was in Paris, I visited many Black Madonnas and they fascinate me. I saw a beautiful one in Tarragona Cathedral near Barcelona. When can we go?”
“Tomorrow would be great. The Monestir de Nostra Senyora de Lluc is only about 20 miles from here, nothing, a pretty drive. The monks serve a great lunch, and we might be able to hear the choir practice. The number of pilgrims who came to see the Black Madonna grew and grew, so Augustinian monks built a hermitage around the original chapel a few decades later. Dedicated to Our Lady of Lluc, La Moreneta has remained in place at the heart of the hermitage emitting her power. She will grab you if you don’t watch out!” As Armando said that, he remembered how much the Black Madonna moved Claudia many years ago.
“Oh, how wonderful. I can’t wait to go. La Moreneta, how intriguing.”
They pulled into the empty parking lot at 9 a.m. and left the car. Armando took her hand and smiled because he was happy to be returning to a special place with his bride. His face beamed with happiness, since just driving up the mountain to the monastery made him feel otherworldly. “I brought you early because the Els Blauets—the blue cassocks boys choir—will be practicing at 9:30. We will sneak into the Minor Basilica and listen to them as if we’ve come to pray. At noon, busloads of tourists will arrive from Palma de Majorca, but we will be hours ahead of them. The choir stops practicing as soon as the tourists show up.”
The front entrance to the monastery was plain, yet when they went into the courtyard, a striking Baroque façade, the Minor Basilica, was in thrilling contrast to the simplicity of the hermitage, like an ornate antique in a plain stone room. Their eyes adjusted to the subtle golden light as they slipped quietly inside the church. The opulent interior stunned Jennifer. The walls and the area behind the altar were laden with beaten gold, the high dome painted with colorful saints framed in gold, looking down. La Moreneta brought a lot of money to this hermitage, or is that Templar treasure on the walls? The only source of light in the basilica was the sun beaming through a large circular opening in the top of the dome like the Pantheon in Rome. Dust motes sparkled like snowflakes in the wide beam of light, a pathway rising to heaven. Approximately forty cherubic boys in periwinkle blue cassocks filtered in slowly. Jennifer could hardly contain her joy as she congratulated herself for marrying Armando. The choirmaster tapped his wand, raised his arms spreading out his brown coarse robe, and snapped his neck—go! Luscious tones of the “Salve Regina” in perfectly toned high voices filled the basilica vibrating the thick red jasper columns of the nave. Her chest expanded so rapidly that she was afraid she would start sobbing.
Armando watched her discreetly from the side as she became radiant, her face absolutely still as her skull bones expanded with the otherworldly voices filling the golden beauty. Yes, this is the golden world, the reason I love this place!
They sat there in heaven for over an hour listening to the early medieval version of the “Salve Regina” followed by Pergolesi’s “Stabat Mater.” After the choirboys filed out, they crept discreetly into the La Moreneta Chapel with Armando holding her hand firmly. No one was inside, so they went to the first pew right in front of the Black Madonna. They sat for a moment and then Jennifer whispered, “She looks Flemish to me with her beautiful courtier’s dress and broad face. But how could a Flemish Madonna end up in a field around here?”
“Yes, you are right, and since she has been here for eight hundred years, she is not a fake.” Jennifer kneeled and looked up to see her better, while Armando sat behind enjoying his own private thoughts. I remember Claudia’s face when she first saw her. She was filled with adoration as light surrounded her head. I remember feeling rejected when she wouldn’t talk about it. Obviously it was too sacred, possibly too feminine?
Jennifer studied the small exquisite figure, the Madonna with a broad face with enigmatic eyes and a slight smile as if she knew a secret she would never tell. She simply gestured with her right hand, palm open and up, to the infant she cradled in her left arm. The child also had a Flemish face and gestured with his right hand, palm open and up, to an open book he held in front of his chest. These two open pages displayed the Alpha and Omega—the beginning and the end—as if her child’s presence was eternal. White-faced cherubs embroidered in the cloth behind La More
neta stared down at the mother and child. She is the great mystery, the Black Madonna. Makes me wonder whether she is Mary Magdalene with her son, Judah?
La Moreneta
Chatty monks graciously served them a simple healthy lunch and water from a nearby natural spring. Jennifer was the first to speak. “When we explored Pollenca, I was fascinated by all the cultures there—Phoenicians, Romans, Vandals, Arabs, and Templars. I was most intrigued by the period when the Knights Templar took control and built their church, Nostra Senyora dels Angels, just before the date given for La Moreneta’s chapel. This can’t be just a coincidence since many Black Madonnas were found in places in Spain and France that were frequented by the Templars. The Templars could have lost her in the field, or maybe somebody stole her from Nostra Senyora dels Angels? Anyway, today has been wonderful, so beautiful. I am eternally grateful to you for bringing me here.”
“This has been a lovely and special day that takes my mind off what’s going on at home. My father is meeting with some distant Medici cousins as we speak, the ones who control the foundation that runs the Medici chapels in Florence. He actually thinks he can talk them into displaying my painting in one of the Medici chapels. I can’t imagine it happening, but it’s worth a try, especially since my father is so taken with the idea. As for my feelings, if the first public introduction is not smooth, the possibilities for this painting will be diminished.”
Revelations of the Aquarian Age Page 21
