Chapter 19

* Soaring *

This time, Gérard, who has to do in Paris, leads himself Brigitte to her little nest of solitude, where she feels a rather urgent need to gather and meditate.

In this spring of 1989, Brigitte was feeling a desire for space, freedom and light. How could she explain this? Life on Earth now seems bland and dull to her, even in Peyreblanque, whose lessons are not so successful they expected.

Worse, they now have a harsh competitor almost at their doorstep: Frédérique and Martine are also doing «yoga» courses in an old priory in the neighbourhood, which they themselves restored with an incredible diligence. And right away they gather more than a hundred participants, where Peyreblanque manages to keep just twenty. Ah, of course, it is not the same quality! They are «tolerant»: the meals are (more or less) vegetarian and organic, but «everyone is free»... In short, woe to the idealist astray in Frédérique's sessions, he would quickly come to doubt himself, because of the continuous insinuations of this false master. The fees also are more expensive too, it seems that it attracts customers. But those who have been there say that Frédérique's «yoga» is very good, that they feel full of super-energy after the sessions. To top it off, it is probably true.

How can we explain this apparent success? It is that the compliments we get from a master always are more gratifying than his remarks or his demands for discipline... So Frédérique rewards much more than he guides, and the customers leave happy. But not better for a penny.

This trick is quite classical in sects and pseudo-spiritual groups (or of any other nature). The leader chooses the members who interest him, the easer to manipulate (For men, the ones with money, and for women, the sexy ones), he comforts them, congratulates them, gives them responsibilities, finds them a gift or some reincarnation. Those who displease him, who ask too many questions, or who refuse to fit into his schemes, he says they have personality disorders, that they must make efforts, sacrifices...

So it comes with no surprise if we find well in sight among Frédérique's followers, people like this Jean-Marie who criticized Brigitte in Peyreblanque, and even sometimes this nasty E. from the old ecology group, who finds Frédérique so subtle and so psychologist that in his presence he even forgets his hatred of the «mystical wackos»...

We suspects that neither Frédérique, nor Martine, has any authorization from anyone, or qualification of any kind to teach a spiritual or psychological discipline, and especially no endorsement from the French Yoga Federation. But in order to avoid being called impostors, they created «their» method, a simplistic mix of postures, bio-energy, primal scream and other group dynamics. And it is «effective», emotions and sensations guaranteed, it «moves the guts», it is «strong», you get worth your money! But does it really help spiritual progress, does it help eliminate our defects, does it awake Love for others or any sense of responsibility? Let us be clear: these pseudo-methods of spiritual awakening, when they do not make their followers asocial or even crazy, are just giving an aura of «mastery» or «liberation» to people who are still as self-centred and profit-making as before. Worse, their egos are strengthened and hardened, so that it is more difficult for them to come back down to Earth with us. Not to speak of becoming really spiritual.

Frédérique the fickle and Martine the «liberated» now seem to form a stable couple, their character flaws complementing each other harmoniously, in a way. They even have a little baby, a very charming boy, who almost never cries, or so sweetly. All their followers keep saying that he is a «child of light», a reincarnation of a master! Gérard and Hélène are really upset to hear that, they who were given the worst predictions about their own children, that they would be anaemic, unfit for life in society, unable to defend themselves, that they would never know how to use a bank account, and I don't tell the worse!

Strange rumours are circulating in the village, that Martine and Frédérique sometimes have terrible arguments in private, of the kind which would irrevocably break up any normal couple. But not theirs, because in a way this devastating violence is part of their conception of life, it fits in perfectly without disturbing anything: no sublime dreams to break, no tender connivance to trample on, no delicate spiritual work to disturb. The only certain thing is that in public they always display a broad, imperturbable smile. Only a few people like Brigitte really know them, but who would believe her?

Frédérique also plays the vegetarian, advocates the practice of vegetarianism, then likes to confuse his students by «partying» over a roast and a litre of wine, as if they were exquisite pleasures that it would be very difficult and very, very, very unfortunate to do without. Martine never takes part in these feasts, but she repeats to anyone who wants to hear her that «she maintains good relations with all those who eat meat», while casting terrible glances at the real vegetarians if ever there are some around.

 

Well, Brigitte, although saddened by all these stories, is no longer affected by them. It no longer concerns her. She feels above it, not out of pride, but because now she sees only too clearly the same psychological mechanism at work, to varying degrees, in all the people she knows. All of them, at one time or another, conceal from their minds some truth which disturbs a little inner routine, all of them set limits to their piece of wisdom, big or small.

In the end, she no longer holds a grudge against anyone, and in the long run she would probably end up forgiving everybody, even Frédérique, and even terrorists and polluters. Now, the energy of revolt and hatred triggered by the visions of evil, even this Brigitte manages to transmute it, in compassion, quite simply. She is now feeling as much sadness for those poor blokes in evil, as for their victims. But this sorrow is no longer a black and painful revolt, it is like spring shower, a balm, a beneficial rain which ends in a rainbow.

What surprised Brigitte the most, is the speed of the changes which took place in her being, and the unsuspected depth of their repercussions. Brigitte has completed Kundalini Yoga, and is in the process of mastering all her energies. This is not what she expected; she was thinking of a state of grace, certainly, or of intense joy. In fact, if she is not permanently inhabited by emotions, they still remain ready to flow out impetuously, while leaving her free, without subjugating her, without making her lose her consciousness. As a constant backdrop to these variable emotions, she feels free, available, pure and powerful at the same time. She bubbles with energy, with sap, at a tension that an ordinary psyche would be unable to bear, but without any nuance of frustration: Poetic and pure desire of carnal or sentimental Love, hunger for beautiful vibrations, desire for creative activity, desire for useful action... She is ready to start, to be enthusiastic...

The terrible sadness bouts of her past are only memories. Nothing remains of them, not even ashes, not even this kind of convalescence or greyish anaemia which poisons the end of many novels. Her whole being is reinvigorated and warm, clean and new as a baby, exactly as if these black moments had never existed. A magical sun which erases all stains down to the smallest trace...

Above all, she has clear access to all the parts of her being, whether physical, energetic, sentimental, intellectual or soul. Never has she been so lucid, so conscious of her inner states as of the subtle vibrations which emanate from other humans or from nature. This subtle sensitivity particularly exposes her to all the ugliness of cities and of humans, which she feels intensely, but without losing her means. She can when she wants shiver with delight just for a bird trill or a melodious chord, for a smile or a child's chirp. What a pity then, when her human brothers just keep on chattering about cars or money, making noise and passing by besides all these treasures, all these wonders offered to them, when all they have to do is to put there their fake roles, their fake problems, stop running away from life in their hobbies, and open their eyes, open their hearts. For whom does the bird sing?

Despite all this, Brigitte is now bored. She longs for the real life. She sighs. Why is she still on Earth? She thinks it is because she has to help her brothers, out of Love. Modest as only an Eoline can be, she is still far from imagining that she is really not of this world, that she is expected elsewhere, that no chain, no duty holds her here any longer.

Brigitte dreams more and more often of her little elves. Even if she does not ask for them, these dreams keep her going, almost every night. She sees herself among them, a discreet little brown haired imp dressed in dark blue. She talks about her life on Earth with the others, who seem quite astonished by the strange scenes she describes.

 

So, on a beautiful spring day, Gerard's old car runs happily on a forgotten country road.

«It is certain, Brigitte, that we would save a lot of time with a valid epistemology of spirituality. Look at the other day, Jacqueline. I was talking to Paule about vitamins, and she got into the discussion just as I said the word «cyanocobalamin». She said, «Oh, that must be a very toxic swinery.» I asked her in amazement, «What makes you say that?» And you know what she replied to me? «Oh, just an intuition, you know.» I was left totally aghast. I did not dared to answer her, I just told her she was wrong, that it is a vitamin. In fact, she just heard a complicated name «chemistry style», and, as for her chemistry equals pollution, this association of ideas was made in her mind: cyanocobalamin must be a pollutant. What do you want me to say? It never was an intuition, simply an association of ideas, a pure cerebral mechanism. It is really frightening, that people are so lost and ignorant about spirituality, that they take for intuition or mediumnity things which are nothing more than seductive ideas, psychological mechanisms, fantasies, prejudices, vicious phrases which induce ideas without having expressed them openly. This is how we end up with guys who talk a whole bunch of nonsense about spirituality, completely imaginary, suffering which makes you evolve, that eating animals purifies them, that UFOs come from the centre of hollow Earth, that wine is a spiritual drink, and so on. And besides, everybody takes these people for masters. But, Brigitte, you are asleep. Excuse me.

Brigitte: - No, no, not at all. You are perfectly right, but I was tasting that beautiful Sun. It has been a while since we have had some. Too bad we are in a car instead of in the garden.

Gérard: - It is funny, you gave me the idea, and now it looks as if you don't care. But it doesn't matter, I shall carry on.

Brigitte: - Yes, I am interested. But I see that in the last two or three years, fewer people have been coming to see us, as if fewer people were trying to become awakened. Spiritual awakening is no longer so fashionable. The energies seem to be going into the life of society. Important and beneficial changes are being prepared in international politics, in economics.

Gerard: - Not sure.

Brigitte: - They do, because they are already inscribed in people's mentalities. There will be readjustments. Politics follows the level of the masses.

Gérard: - No wonder if it is flying low, then.

Brigitte: - Well, of course it is still low, but it is rising. It is indeed the first time in the history of humanity that we can feel the level rising from one decade to the next, even by so little.

Gérard: - In the meantime, attendance at our courses is not increasing. We still don't have half of last year's bookings at the same time.

Brigitte: - Well, these courses are for an elite group. Remember the vision which underpinned all the action for a better world since May 1968: an elite of enlightened people leading the way in creating an ideal small society. In fact, for lack of people truly realized to be able to live in an ideal society, all the movements of this style failed and remain ignored. But today it is the society at a whole which is moving forward.

Gérard: - Not very fast yet.

Brigitte: - But this progress still owes very much to all these movements which failed in the world of appearances. In reality, through their irreplaceable experience, they have advanced the archetypes of humanity which underlie general mentalities, to the great benefit of all.»

Strange, thinks Gerard, this propensity Brigitte has for some days to discuss international politics and the destiny of humanity in this way.

 

They talk like this about this and that, until they arrive at Brigitte's house. Gerard continues on his way, and she finds herself alone in her little house. She must quickly prepare the garden for the next planting. But she is not having the heart to do so. Why?

She feels something lacking. Yet, at the level she is at, all her feelings are turned upside down, in a joyful tension inciting to action, to contemplation, to life. She is now in a state of grace which allows her to deeply taste the joy of existence. Happy? This already goes beyond simple happiness. However, she is unable to find a direction for it. At this high level, are there still difficulties to be solved, purifications to be carried out? Well she still is a beginner who does not know much about it. What in the eyes of ordinary humans already appears to be great Wisdom could be only the first beginnings of a child, from the point of view of higher entities.

The only activity she enjoys is painting. From her whole heart, she launches herself into rapid watercolours of her little paradise, pencil drawings of the marvellous faces of the imps, of their smiles, of their grace. She feels them, she sees them.

After some days, when a small pile of coloured sheets has grown on her table, she suddenly stops and contemplates. Oh, why she did not practised drawing before! Her fingers still betray her. At least she thinks so, because what they have written on the paper already speaks clearly to the sensitive heart. A little more work and they would even move hardened hearts.

She looks at the door that she had painted on the wall, in memory of those in Yanathor's ship.

How many times had she contemplated it like this, hoping to see it open!

Then she had made of it as with the other desires: a joyful tension which does not expect to be satisfied. This evening, however, the door, a simple oval of paint on a brick wall, suddenly inspires her a languorous expectation. Not the haunting, painful frustration she had felt at first. A joyful expectation, as if of an imminent, certain joy, a feeling that ordinary people only feel at the approach of great events such as a wedding or a liberation. But no impatience, no expectation is tarnishing the joyful energy which is offered. It is the door which does that, but whether it opens in five minutes or in a hundred years does not matter. Yet how could a simple image...

Hey, but...

 

 

IT OPENS!

 

 

Brigitte, who does not yet have complete control over her new state, cannot help but leap and scream! Stupefaction! Jubilation! At last the veil which separates all Humans from the true living universe is torn for her!

 

What was just a moment earlier only some paint, had took the depth and velvetiness of a mauve sky, from which emerge, fluttering in their so charming way...

 

Brigitte makes a series of joyful cries, and her heart beats so fast that she has to slow it. Here she is invaded by surprise, a divine emotion she did not expected, which pierces her with delicious needles, jostles her, capsizes her like a wave of the ocean.

 

Here is the real Reality coming in. And how beautiful it is! Oh! But they fly! «They have butterfly wings!» Brigitte exclaims aloud, clapping her hands, laughing and crying in the same time, like a little girl. And they are beautiful! What ineffable grace emanates from them! Happiness lives in their eyes, in their smile, in their every gesture! Pure Wonder! Poetry incarnated! Ineffable kindness! They are... They are... Ooooh! Ooooh! OoooOOOOOOOOOh!!!!!

 

Brigitte stood up, shivering with delight, her heart overflowing. She jostles her chair without even hearing it fall. She feverishly clears a place on the table for the exquisite creatures who just entered.

There are six of them, the friends and the Gardeners of the Souls.

Sélina and Sélinao, Anthelme and Elnadjine, Adénankar and Milarêva, little lutins as tall as a hand. Imagine the surprise to see such beings arriving!

Slowly they settle down among the gouaches and pastels. They are at ease to fly, despite the atmospheric pressure lower than on Aeoliah. No doubt Yanathor had very discreetly arranged this problem, as well as for translations and other interplanetary incompatibilities.

Brigitte contemplates them, her lips trembling, upset. They are now sitting in lotus, in a semicircle facing her. Unforeseen joke: they are so intimidated that none of them dares to speak! It is well from the Eolis! Luckily Brigitte is so deliciously delighted that she forgets to have stage fright too.

«Well, now... Good evening, who are you? She says with a singing voice and all stirred up with pleasure.

- Hello, Friend Aurora» begins Adénankar, who is less shy. His smooth voice is as sweet as a delicious balm. It sounds deep although in fact it is three octaves higher than those of humans.

- Ho... How, you too, little imp, do you call me Aurora? Why do you call me that?

- Well, I... Because it is your name, your deep vibration, we always called you like that, since you were born. Don't you remember?

- All I remember is that Yanathor called me by that name, too. Yanathor: Do you know him?

- Yes, he is the reason we are here, and why you are here.»

Elnadjine, who took the rubber eraser as a seat, floats her generous hair, waddling poetically. She says: «It makes me laugh, you call 'little imp' the Gardener of the souls!»

- Well, I don't know who you are. You look like imps, but you are...

- We are... (Adénankar pronounces this word with a pompous, science-fiction-like emphasis which makes his friends laugh) ...extraaaterreeeestrials!

- Actually, I kind of suspected that.

- We are the Eolis, and our cosmic mother is the beautiful planet Aeoliah...

- What are you saying? Aeoliah! But Mother Grand, the dreams...

- So, this is it.

- Well yes, look at the wall behind you!

- Yes, this is our planet! We recognize it perfectly! This is the picture your grandmother painted, inspired by her guardian angels. She should have left Earth much earlier, but she accepted the mission to prepare the ground for yours. Good woman, and brave!

- Do you know her?

- No, we haven't met her. But we do know that she is now in a plane of pure light, studying important teachings for an upcoming incarnation. And this time, no way to stop her studies at the end of primary school, she will have to reach a high level in international law. No doubt she will be the companion of a great head of state of the twenty-first century, perhaps even a president of the United Nations. Her role will be to abide in a perfect and complete loving union with him, with the culture, knowledge, Sensitivity and Wisdom that such a role may require. She will be his energy complement, without which no one can properly assume such responsibilities. Even us, the gardeners of the souls of Aeoliah, do so. This is my companion, Milarêva. She seems to have disappeared behind me, but without her I would be nothing.

- Aeoliah! What a beautiful name... Poetry, cheerful light, pure colours, a gentle breeze, crazy freedom, a very moving background, Poetry again...

- This is exactly what it is! But you know how to hear the vibrations of sounds! And... you dreamed of us! It must be thanks to Yanathor.

- Yanathor, who is he?

- Ah! Yanathor! He is the Cosmic Guardian! The Galactic Justicier! The Reparator! The Space-Time Knight!

- Wow, all that. And he came to repair me?»

They clearly hear Yanathor's nice laughter behind the door. No doubt he is listening intently to this interplanetary exchange of small talk, which lasts only some minutes. Then Anthelme asks for a piece of paper and grabs a pencil. «I don't know if I shall be able to draw something with this pole, but at least you will be sure that this time it was not a dream.»

And here is Anthelme twirling around on his sheet of paper, sketching and finishing an exquisite vision of a small, brune, inconspicuous Eoline. Brigitte is quick to recognize who she is in her dreams... Her two elbows on the table, her ecstatic face at the level of the sheet, she contemplates these ravishing creatures, their charming faces, and, oh surprise, the delicious perfume which emanates from their bodies... Beyond words and gestures, their presence radiates a kindness that Brigitte never experienced to such a degree, plus a very curious mixture of childlike candour and profound Wisdom...

With a gesture of goodbye, they fly away again and return to the door with the simple word: «Tomorrow, same time!»

And the marvellous oval of sky becomes again a banal painting on a slightly irregular wall.

Brigitte-Aurora remains motionless for a long time, mute to the depths of her soul, in a kind of ecstasy that only certain privileged humans have been lucky enough to experience. Then she gets up, and goes to feel the wall, which she finds very solid, very thick, like any good wall conscientiously doing its job as a wall. Could it be that what she feels, which seems very tangible, very objective, is really just a... convention? But no matter how much she pushes on it, that convention seems to be well established, and without her opinion.

The room, the light, the pastel walls, everything now seems different to her, nimbed with a dreamlike surreality, glittering with beauty, with life... Even these banal objects, brushes, rapidographs, radiate the wonderful presence they have encountered...

 

Then Brigitte-Aurora suddenly becomes Brigitte again: Wasn't she the plaything of a kind of hallucination, a dream? Wasn't this some unexpected and perverse effect of her daring spiritual practices? Was she right to so profoundly change her personality? Without knowing whether she would not expose herself to some unknown and incomprehensible danger? Is she losing her mind, or worse, losing her soul in some parallel universe as seductive as illusory? A diabolical carnivorous soul-sucking flower? She remembers some scary UFO stories... The pure joy which inhabited her a minute before suddenly gives way to a dreadful doubt. She leaves this room and rushes to the kitchen, where she finds a more familiar world. She warms up with a remnant of soup with a very Earthly aroma. This room has remained as it was in the time of Mother Grand, the built-in furniture being untransportable: the sculpted sideboard wall, the brown oak panelling and shelves, the large enamelled stove. This décor had a rustic charm which invited respect, but Brigitte would have preferred more clarity, more simplicity. Finally, this evening, this furniture, for so long impregnated with quiet vibrations reassures her. Sitting at the wooden table, in front of her empty soup bowl, she starts to meditate again.

With the dazzling speed which characterizes meditation mastered for long, she replayed in her mind the memory of these moment spent with the Eolis. She checks everything. Nothing is wrong. This is how Harmony, the Divine Life emanating from beings, should be seen. This is how she visualized it in any case. All the vibrations, all the auras, everything was in order. Even what emanated from the other (invisible) side of the door. As for those delicate figures emerging from the wall... Since this world is basically an illusion, why not? Unless it is simply to be seen there as a manifestation of the transcendental technology of the Cosmic Guardians.

Curiously, Gerard's words come back to her: «the notion of spiritual proof is the pivot of the new epistemology... Physical science studies matter, it therefore asks the opinion of matter, through a physical experiment: it is the material proof. In spirituality, it is the Spirit that we study, it is therefore the Spirit that we must ask for advice! By an experience of consciousness: It is the spiritual proof.

«No material proof is possible for the Spirit, any more than in mathematics. Worse, any premature material proof creates the risk of offering a grip for the inferior mind, for egocentrism, which can then seize spiritualist concepts and use them for their materialistic or egoistic ends... This is called spiritual materialism. Spiritual knowledge, with or without epistemology, can only be entrusted to those who deserve it, to those who will know how to respect it, by making good use of it.

«The true proof is to be sought in the depths of our soul. Spiritual teachings, Poetry, Truth, must awake in the depths of our being a feeling of adhesion, an aspiration, first vague, and then ardent.... What the Cosmic Intelligence wants, are vibrant, positive, active, cooperative, flamboyant beings! Paradise is not for those who flatly follow the rules of morality, it is for those who are madly in love with the Good, who burn with impatience to see it established, who cry and sigh when evil rages... Even if the eternal truths upset our lives, our habits, our beliefs... Even if the person who introduce them to us is not a model... Truth often chooses the handicapped, little people, children, savages, gentle animals such as birds, frogs or koalas as its custodian, while it carefully avoids powerful people, eagles, idols, cult leaders...»

Spiritual evidence! But of course! Was what she experienced earlier «real», in the material sense of the word, or a kind of dream, a synthetic scene? It doesn't really matter. What matters is to know that it is indeed the expression of the True Life of the Spirit. And to the unfailing purity of the vibrations, to the height of the feelings and the Humility of these beings, she has no doubt about it. They are indeed a confirmation of what she hoped for, and even beyond...

Just that for the conduct to follow, Brigitte-Aurora would like to know if it was an illusion, an imaginary scene, a cinema of some kind, or if she really received the visit of sentient beings, living in some other region of the Creation, who manifested themselves, in flesh or in image, for some mysterious affair that they would have to accomplish with her. For this, she would need... a material proof! But how silly, she thought to herself, the drawing left by Anthelme! She does even not bother to go and check it, because now she has fully recovered confidence in her memory.

And it must be said that she is falling asleep. She goes to bed, and that night she no longer dreams, remembering only a pleasant, clear, pink ecstasy, without discernible cause or particular events.

 

The next day, when she jumps out of her bed, first of all, she rushes into the sanctuary room, to find on the drawing table her Eoline portrait left by Anthelme.

Oh surprise, in fact her own drawings bear the comparison with Anthelme's. They are certainly less skilful, the vibrations are not so well rendered, but they are the right ones!

The whole day passes between the kitchen, the garden and other drawings, in a joyful and feverish expectation: did not the wonderful little creatures warn that they would come back?

What does Brigitte-Aurora do with this desire? She turns it into a joyful energy which waits for nothing, but remains ready to offer itself, to rise to other levels of its being, in a creative joy which always inhabits her and radiates on others. So that day, Brigitte-Aurora passes it on in a motionless celebration, in a purifying energy which animates her fingers for even more successful portraits of her visitors.

And when the evening comes for the appointment, it is almost... with regret, so much she feels good! Brigitte-Aurora has cleared the table, laid out a doily and some flowers to welcome her guests.

Just like the day before, with a delicious slowness... The wall fades, the purple sky reappears... How lucky she is to experience this! She who had tried for years to make her pencil levitate, without ever getting the slightest result! How she would like her friends from Peyreblanque to be there, to see with their own eyes... But no, she said to herself, everyone must live his life, carry and maintain his inner flame in the ordinary conditions of human existence, and it is only when one is sufficiently pure and realized that...

But why her, Brigitte? Is she pure and realized? What a surprise that would be! Honestly, she did not expected it! She still hesitates, still refusing to find any particularity in her little person, when everything seems to prove her wrong. It would be so unfair to the others, if she alone could...

Now the delicious creatures are reappearing...

Adénankar and Milarêva, followed by Anthelme and Elnadjine, but tonight Dulcine and Asteron, the mountain Eolis, come in the end. Dulcine is that blonde in a thick hair blanket, whom we already met in Irizdar or with the soul rescuers. They just stayed in the village to raise their beautiful little girl with fire hair, freckles and fatal black eyes, named Ambo-Auréa. But she is not with them tonight.

«Sweet Aurora, do you remember me? Starts Anthelme, without preamble.

- Uh... (clears throat) No.

- It is all right. Yanathor warned us. Your Earth memory only recorded your memories from Earth. Those from before, back home, will return later. We, we remember very well, you were Aurora, the gentle Eoline, you were the one holding the comb, at the weave.

- The weave? I like the weave.

- Ah! You do, sure! We had to see you, the cloth was going, with Aurora! It was flowing!

- Which fabric?

- The fabric of our clothes. Look at this.

- It is so thin. We can't even see the threads!

- You had a past life with us, Adénankar says. And in this life you were very happy.

- And... Why am I on Earth, then? And why do you come to see me? Do you... The mission?

- Little by little, say the grave voice of the Gardener of the Souls. Not so many questions for tonight! We came to reconnect with you. Don't worry about your mission, everything you need to know will be revealed to you when the time comes. What we have to tell you tonight can be summed up in three words. (He is waiting for the approval of his friends): WE LOVE YOU!

- Ah, but I...

- Shhh. We have loved you for a long time. As you probably understood, the one Anthelme has portrayed is you in Eoline, as we knew you when you lived among us. You were born among us, for the first time you were living an incarnation, and you were a very joyful, young, virgin and pure soul. You loved this life very much, you entered with all your heart into the vast game of bodily existence in this universe, on our beautiful planet Aeoliah. How did you come to Earth? That, Yanathor will tell you himself, soon. He will also tell you what we have to offer you. You will see, it is very kind. But it will be up to you to accept... ...or to refuse. He may even, if you think it would disturb you too much, erase from your memory the...

- NO!

«No, it is too beautiful, you understand, it is part of me, it is the culmination of my life... I don't want to lose that!»

The Eolis smile, then Adénankar says: «Well, we are to leave it. Anyway, it will be done as you want it. In the meantime...»

Milarêva, who had remained discreet, suddenly flies and lands on Brigitte Aurora's shoulder. She looks for an acquiescence, then goes under her hair, for her jungle.

Brigitte-Aurora has a little cry of surprise, then she bends over and puts her face on the table, extending her neck where the light and energies radiating from Milarêva's hand are flashing forth. Brigitte-Aurora can't help but moan, when delicious shivers and powerful waves of delight run through her body. Then she stands up when Milarêva's flies away, stretching her all languid body.

«Ooooh! How powerful! But... (laughs) The whole inside of my head is clear now! Ah! How nice! I am meditating without even needing to...»

Adénankar comments: «Well, this is a nice gift my companion gave you! But you should know that she did not needed to be present in flesh, she could also do it in the astral. But it is more difficult for you to take advantage of it, especially if you are distracted at the moment she does it...

- But you are a true healer, what is your name?

- Milarêva» answers, intimidated like a little girl, she who is more than an angel.

- What a beautiful name! An ethereal poetry which barely holds on the Earth! A white grace! And a kindness! Your perfume is not like the perfume of others...»

Suddenly, Milarêva looks away, while her friends laugh sweetly. «Oh, Aurora, says Adénankar, don't you remember that when we talk about body perfume, it is a love play? Look, look: She is all enchouvired now. Come, Mimi, my angeline, come in my arms.

- Oh, excuse me, I... I didn't knew, and Brigitte blushes even more than Milarêva. So, you... you have love games, then?

- Tch Tch, it is a surprises.

- I guessed: I have a lover waiting for me.

- Ooooh

- Aaaaah

- Hmm.

- I saw him in a dream, he is also chestnut brown, in an indigo dress, discreet and nice. He is not smiling because he is waiting for me. His heart beats with hope that he will find me soon.

- Hey, hey.

- Ah, you won't tell me anything. But my heart hopes and waits. Sweet miniature lover, I am coming soon! Ooooh! What impatience!

- Hey, we know you have a great desire.

- Aah! How do you know?

- Well, we have been watching you for a while. Yanathor he has got really big telepathoscopes in his ship to see deep thoughts from space. At first it was not pretty, we thought Boo, that's not possible we must help her, but little by little it has gotten better. It must be said that you did everything you needed to do, and now It is nice enough for you to be able to come back home.

- But how can I do that? Me a big asparagus among all the little Elfs? How can I live with you, eat, work? How will he find me my lover?

- Ooooh, oooh

- Shhh

- Mm-hmm hu-hmm hu-hmm

- But you're going to make me boil with impatience!

- That's what we are here for.

- And tonight, well, you're boiling enough.

- Then we are to leave you alone.

- Good evening, little Aurora. See you soon.

- Good evening, little Eoline. Tomorrow, same time, for the third time.

- Good night, little Eoline, I think Yanathor has lovingly prepared a little present for you.

- Well... Good night!»

Before Brigitte-Aurora had time to react, they flew away with a last, more than friendly wink, and disappeared in the bluish mist. But it takes a while for it to become a wall again. Confused voices come in, strangely high-pitched. What happens? Suddenly a blue hand emerges, holding... a dish. A salad bowl, filled with a tropical fruit salad with the sweetest flavours: lychees, mango, papaya, banana, and others she does even not know.

What else can you do but get up and seise the dish? It is true that she is hungry, and the wonderful and pure vibrations of her visitors demanded to harmonize with the best fruits of Earth.

The blue hand quickly withdraws, and the wall becomes an ordinary wall again. Brigitte-Aurora runs her fingers over it again, the bowl in the other hand, incredulous and ecstatic like a little child who would go and touch a cinema screen without understanding.

She deliciously revels in Yanathor's kind gift, full of friendly and touching attentions as palpable as the fruits themselves.

What impatience! What hope! For Brigitte-Aurora, everything is like a progressive revelation of what should always have been, a restoration in order after an incongruous error. What happens is natural. But it is too much, too much joy to contain, it is too strong, now! It is exploding everywhere!

When she goes to bed, she voluptuously dreams that she is already with her lover, she thinks of him, what he will do, what he will say... But she still knows so little about him, about his unknown world!

A little later, she remembers the strange prophecy of her former friend Roger (see chapter 3): «I dreamt you with a lover, but he was as big as a hand». How could he know?

That night she dreams abundantly of small Eolis, she sees them in their gardens. She arrives, she is already one of them, and somewhere the discreet chestnut haired Eoli awaits for her, she looks for him and goes to find him... With an intense feeling of reunion, of misunderstanding which dissipates, of error which fades away, of things which return to their place.

 

The next day, Brigitte-Aurora faces an unexpected ordeal: she has to do some shopping at the village grocery store. The musty smell, the fake rotten chemical food, the provocative belly of the grocer, the two teenagers who gesticulate frantically on the square in front of the store, shouting «moped» three times a sentence, all of this seems so incongruous to her, after what she has seen. She might forget, like when you have got the wrong film, you turn off the projector and put the reel back in its box. But in this strange mess, there are... ...souls. Who do not seem unhappy with their fate. They are souls who are still infantile, still asleep... And in their unconsciousness, like babies still pooping in their diapers, they excrete THAT... This strange world, these displaced, dis-natural dis-realities: cars that with their noise depoetise each fifty hectares of countryside, an already anaemic air, a jumble of electric wires, filthy cobwebs in the sky, cries behind the border, and the radio which vomits satanic music even more horrible than anything it had ever heard... (Note: it was in 1989, and we heard really horrible stuff)

Souls... She might forget this strange illusion of an inverted world which will soon disappear from her sight. But there are souls... Little children crying, lost in this cold reality... Big adults who also cry because they have been broken and treated like children... Beings who search as she searched, and who bump as she bumped in the dark after illusions, and who bleed and suffer as she suffered...

How to forget that? She cannot. By leaving the Earth, since apparently this is what is being offered to her, would not she fail in her duty, would not she leave behind her a debt? Would not she be behaving like an upstart, a privileged person? Why would pure beings offer her this temptation? Is it a trap? Is she still facing some kind of ordeal? Should she refuse? Stay on this Earth to help other souls to evolve? And win by this gesture of Love what she could never deserve by fleeing cowardly? Remain on Earth at least as long as her body lives, leaving it to Life itself to set this duration. Fulfil the mission that SHE had given to herself: to help the world and its inhabitants to become better, to the best of her abilities. Thus, she would go to Aeoliah with her consciousness in Peace...

But isn't she, by refusing, taking the risk to miss a unique opportunity, which would never be repeated? Doesn't she have some more important destiny to fulfil elsewhere? What a dilemma! And she has only her conscience to answer... Ah, if she at least knew what the proposed mission is, she would know better what to do! She would have to ask... But they won't answer her.

Aaaah!

 

When the evening returns, she waits for the Eolis to show up. With the firm resolution to tell them of her hesitations.

Ah! Barely has she had time to see the section of wall fade away, that two big birds spring up! They make a nice noise and scatter the few papers on the table. But they are so beautiful that Brigitte doesn't even pay attention to those details.

But how beautiful they are! They're as big as storks, with shorter necks and shorter beaks. Their plumage, smooth during flight, is now ruffled, forming a kind of crown on their head, iridescent, like butterfly wings, in a fairy tale of brass and gold: birds of fire!

They now settle down quietly on the meditation mat, folding their large legs under them. One carries a scroll, the other Algénio and Liouna, who come to join Brigitte-Aurora on the table, in the small nest of flowers she has prepared.

«Hello, Aurora!

- Good evening, little elves. What is your name?

- Well, Algénio, and she is Liouna.

- Algénio!

- Do you know that I too lived on Earth before I became an Eoli?

- Aaaah?

- It was in the Bronze Age, so it has been a while.»

Algénio tells briefly of his former life on Earth, then how he was saved to be reborn on Aeoliah.

- But, tell me, Algenio, wasn't it a kind of escape, to leave the Earth without thinking about those who are still there?

- Ah! It is bothering you. Well, it is normal, universal laws do indeed make you want to help those who are in a bad way. It even is a kind of duty, although in this case the word «duty» should not be taken as a strict obligation, nor as a formal law which violation would automatically lead to a punishment. Especially, we do not have to sacrifice our own destiny, if it is indeed elsewhere. And especially not in your case, you can leave the Earth without remorse, since this opportunity is given to you. It is rather the Earth which owes you, for all the light you brought to them. This is especially true for you, since your place is among us. You felt it in your dream! In any case, we have absolutely no intention of forcing you into anything.»

Liouna continues: «You shall discuss this in detail with Yanathor, the Reparator. He will tell you everything you need to know in some days. And you will decide with him. In the meantime, look: we have brought you some pictures of Aeoliah. They are in the scroll. I go untie it.»

Brigitte Aurora finally discovered what the world of her guests looks like, with the colours of the Eoline vision...

The first ones represent scenes of the village's life, the poetical pumpkin houses, mushrooms and all the flowers of the Eolis. How Brigitte is ravished about these marvellous visions!

«Look, here you are, you were growing cotton. And here is the weaving.

- Hey, but It is crowded.

- The weaving, it is a big party for everybody. And you, how did you liked it! Look, you are amazed, radiant.

- Ah! I always liked it.»

Brigitte contemplates, in wonder, the sumptuous nature of Aéoliah, the strange pink mountains, the superb forest, the birds... She admires, silent, holding her breath...

«Ah! You would be happy to come back, then.

- Oh yes, it is so beautiful, and everything is poetic, full of grace, the herbs, the flowers, the faces... All these gestures are simple and pure, it is like dancing, and the eyes shine with joy! Happiness! How Beautiful! How moving!

- There, you are in the bath, in the stream.

- But I am naked. How big the drops of water are! And the flowers! But... But... But... You can even smell the perfume! Ooooh, this perfume, it vibrates so deeply in me, like a wonderful memory...

- Oh, Aurora, you remember your perfume!

- It is as if it brought back moving memories... But I can't relate pictures on it.

- It was Yanathor who gave us these pictures, he took them while travelling in the past. With Yanathor, there is nothing to be surprised about.

- But, uh... This is a duck in the background!

- If you want, call this bird a duck. We call them dudunes. They are very kind, look, this one is smiling.

- That is true, I believe. Aaah! How poetic and nice everything is with you!

- Poetry is the basis of Aeoliah.

- But this is fantastic! I am looking at pictures from another planet, and they are unimaginably beautiful! And you are talking me about going there to live with you! Oh no, this is too much!»

Brigitte-Aurora, drowned by too much emotion, lets her head go on the table, between her arms, and bursts into tears. Sobs of joy, surprise, happiness...

Algenio and Liouna look at each other, a little bewildered.

«Sweet Aurora, excuse us, but...

- Oh no, don't apologize, answers Brigitte-Aurora, her face dripping with tears. But it's too much happiness all of a sudden... These photos... Why me?»

- Because you were our dearest friend for so long!

- But I...

- And we all love you. And we are waiting for you in our wonderful world, your place is all ready for you, whenever you want to join us there». As if warned by an inaudible signal, the two Eolis suddenly get up and prepare to leave.

«Little Eoline in a large Earth body, it is time to part. We would stay longer, but you must not be too moved. You have been in our hearts anyway, always have been, and even more so now. See you soon.»

As Brigitte looks on, they take the scroll and reload it on the backs of the firebirds. The latter had remained sitting there quietly, friendly, motionless, or smoothing each other's neck feathers with little cooing sounds, a bit like hens. They methodically unfold their large legs, spread their wings, their plumage becomes smooth and aerodynamic again, and, with the Eolis on their backs, they fly away again.

«So long, little Aurora»

Brigitte-Aurora thus spends the rest of the evening, her head between her arms, on the table, raising her eyes from time to time towards the oval of paint in front of her, which, this time, shimmers faintly as if to remind her of the extraordinary presence...

 

The next day finds her reassured, though still undecided about fleeing from Earth. Divided between the temptation of the peaceful and unblemished Happiness offered to her, and the fear of doing wrong by abandoning the other Earthlings to their fate, Brigitte-Aurora still does not know what to decide. On Monday, Gerard will come back to get her. If Yanathor has to come, he will have to do so before she returns to Peyreblanque.

During these few days, therefore, Brigitte is in the grip of a growing impatience. What to do with all this energy? She gardens, draws, meditates. She works on herself: her body becomes lighter, easier to carry, her mind clearer, her heart purer, her joy more limpid.

Two or three times, she meets people from the village, or her neighbours, who notice the strange inner joy which inhabits her, the light in her eyes. A few discreet questions arise, which Brigitte-Aurora eludes. Ah, how she would like to answer! How she would like to trumpet the marvellous news! She leaves! She has repaired everything, everything accomplished! She is going to Heaven! She is leaving the boarding school, the prison, she is going to find back her family! Sometimes she feels that people would understand her, that they would simply answer her: «You are lucky! We are staying here. We better get to work if we don't want to repeat the class again.» Of course, Brigitte-Aurora says nothing, but she wonders if, faced with such an essential and inescapable fact, touching on the very purpose of existence, her neighbours in the village, beyond all the narrow prejudices, would finally understand very well what is happening to her, and would congratulate and envy her. But Brigitte-Aurora does not try it. A modesty imperatively incites her to keep silent, as do all those who have totally fulfilled their being and accomplished the whole earthly existence, without ever we heard about them officially, and who one day left this earthly existence, discreetly, without anything ever being known about their extraordinary destiny.

It always is the best who leave first, after a nasty saying. But deep down, what could be more normal? You would not want the good guys to be the ones left behind. Earth is no longer for them. At least not the Earth we know now.

 

As the days go by, Brigitte Aurora has a strange feeling. As if everyone was listening to her. As if, beyond her small, motionless village, the whole world was thinking of her, sighing at her expectation, astonished at her hope. She feels observed, listened to. No doubt she would not have paid attention to such an unusual sensation if, perhaps looking at the newspaper for the last time, she had not read a news statement by a politician, taking up almost word for word, (between the usual political gibberish) the wise thoughts Brigitte-Aurora had had on the same subject, a few days earlier. And he was not the only one, there were others, though less obvious, and also a remark from the grocer.

But it is not so much at the level of ideas that this movement is taking place. It is mostly at the level of feelings, and of the soul. How can we imagine this? As if she was being interviewed, with the greatest kindness. As if the world came towards her, notebooks in hand, gleaning a little bit of Wisdom, a splinter of light. For her, who always lived in rejection and forced «marginalization», this reversal is unexpected, to say the least. Of course, this is not in the world of appearances, but in the world of the Spirit, as if the best of all human beings came to her, to rejoice and to be nourished by her light, before it disappears from their sight.

Brigitte-Aurora realizes with surprise that she suddenly finds herself, very discreetly, very indirectly, but still a little bit, master of the World. What a strange situation! The very idea of a master of the world always shocked Brigitte: What for? As if the world could not be master of itself? Of course Brigitte has no real power over events, and if she did, she would not necessarily use it, because Freedom is one of the essential cogs of the Earth School. But the share of goodwill which always exists in humanity, is listening to her. Her name will never appear in any official history book, yet her modest contribution will remain forever inscribed in the book of life...

Far from finding there some narcissic pleasure, Brigitte-Aurora feels rather embarrassed with this unexpected responsibility, and tries to use these few days at the best, meditating on her work, meditating while sitting or in her bed, harmonizing herself at best with the universe, with the Divine Life in her, talking as gently as possible with the few neighbours she sees, putting herself in Inner Poetry for all the daily activities. Never has she been so conscious, so enthusiastic! Even giving love to all seems easier to her, even though God knows how it is not always easy! This is what Brigitte's tremendous energy is all about...

In this final moment, Brigitte-Aurora feels a kind of nostalgia. It is just that... The Earth is so beautiful, still. In this month of spring, the birds say their prayers wonderfully in the morning, and the flowers open in one day in the lawns and garden. In a sky so blue, in a countryside so tranquil that you can hear the sap bubbling in the branches, even evil seems to be no more. Everything is normal... This True Life for all beings seems within reach. A smile, a gesture of goodwill would be enough... Evil would evaporate like rain when the Sun comes, and all humans and their animal brothers could finally taste this Happiness so sweet that only their blinkers prevented them from finding it. It seems to Brigitte-Aurora that everything is now simple, that maybe it would only take a few words to trigger it all off... But she knows that this will most probably not happen. Hence a first source of nostalgia.

And there is... Peyreblanque. How would they take her disappearance? How would they grieve? A lifetime, like this, broken, cut off. For them, it would be like death, only worse with the uncertainty of not knowing what had become of her. And all the drawings, her gift? All this spiritual work, in the end, which will not lead to nothing useful to help humanity. Farewell, the so graceful smile of the Eoline, disappeared, buried in a cardboard box, in a trunk that no one will ever open, or still worse, in the fire, in the garbage can. And Mother Grand's inheritance, which cost her so much, it will have been of little use, it would be auctioned to the first person coming along, to do of it a shoe box house with TV blaring...

 

On Friday... on Saturday... Still no Yanathor. On Sunday morning, Brigitte-Aurora starts to worry. She had read, like many others, stories about UFOs, where extraterrestrials suddenly appear in the lives of random people, sometimes several times, promising them to come back, to show them extraordinary things, to take them away... Promises which never come true? These witnesses then continue an ordinary life, with the strange memory of their experience, which they don't know how to integrate, which had left a huge hole in their lives...

And what if this marvel she had a glimpse of, so true to what she expected, was only a projection of her own mind? Made tangible by some unknown phenomenon, but condemned by this simple fact to never become true?

For her, it would be a cruel disappointment, coupled with a complete uncertainty. She would even doubt her spirituality. Where would be the top and the bottom in the universe? But, well... Would not these stories of UFOs, these witnesses, just be the apparent apex of a larger, invisible movement? People who had nothing more to learn on Earth, disappearing discreetly, or simply dying in their beds, to be reincarnated elsewhere? Dying on one planet and being reborn on another would be the normal transportation means in this universe, used massively and routinely by the vast majority of beings of good will. No technology is needed to explore the universe, everything is within the reach of the most humble savage... So what would be the role of spaceships like Yanathor's? Would UFO witnesses visible to Earth society simply be too talkative «fails»? Or are they simply there to… testify? And so they would stay on Earth for this purpose?

It is in this state of doubt that Brigitte watches the hands turn, the Sun going down, passing the hour when the Eolis visited her... The wall stubbornly remains a painted wall, and nothing more.

She can't change anything: how could she join her friends by her own means? This wall is so hard... Perhaps the very existence of the wonderful world she glimpsed at, is holding only by a fine thread, an abstract power, over which her will has no control. Would a tiny variation of some cosmic wind be enough to send it back definitively to the rank of the lost illusions, like those marvellous dreams to which our awakening puts an inescapable end, without any hope of finding the thread again some day? Who could revive an interrupted dream? Will she ever see the smile of the little lutins again?

Regretfully, Brigitte goes to bed. What else can she do?

Once in bed, she goes into meditation. And, as always, she feels that everything is in order, in perfect agreement with the Universal Harmony. The little characters are totally sincere, and their attitude is quite natural, if we admit that they cannot reveal everything to her all at once, that they want to gradually accustom her to the truth. And they are only too right, she already is quite enough overwhelm by her emotions.

She falls asleep at an indeterminate hour, only half undressed.