Chapter 14

The Providence

We guess that Brigitte had little choice but to go to her parents' house. She had to go there, anyway, because of Grandma's death.

She was quite unhappy about this, because she would have to bear their inevitable remarks, perhaps even their mockery, about her failure, about her «utopianism». Then she would have to face the question of where to go next. Without money, without a place of her own, with just a backpack containing some clothes and her papers.

Finally she did it, and the surprise was great.

«How, Daddy, you said that...

- Yes, she put you in her will. A third of her assets, which she could dispose otherwise than with her rightful heirs. Uncle Albert, the TV repairman, received the building where he has his shop, with six apartments for rent. I myself inherited two neighbouring buildings, and you inherited her country house and another building in town, with three rentals, a shop and an office. You are now a rentier, my daughter.

- But how... This can't be happening!

- But it is. You're lucky, and you can thank her, it is a famous gift she made for you. She was generous. If you manage well, you are safe from need, for the remainder of your life.

- But why me?

- Ah, I have no idea. You know she took care of you.

- This is true, but... but I never thanked her.

- Too bad, it is too late now that she is gone. Anyway, she didn't expected any thanks, since she didn't wanted us to tell you as long as she was still alive.

- I will have to do it anyway. (Brigitte and her father are definitively not on the same wavelength:) I shall try to talk to her in meditation.

- This is what she wanted. We knew this for a long time, but she did not wanted us to tell you. Your uncle, her and myself arranged the sharing. We checked everything with the notary: the buildings are in good condition, there are no mortgages or pending lawsuits, and there are no threats of urban development. You are perfectly free to accept. I ask you only one thing.

- What?

- You have been given a valuable asset, from which you can earn a good income. It was part of our family estate, which normally belonged to my brother and to myself, but we have agreed to part with it, as our mother requested. Since you don't live like us, it will allow you to be more independent. But I warn you, don't squander it on foolishness, don't give it to anyone, especially not to a cult or anything like that!

- Oh, no, I won't! No way!» Brigitte answers vehemently, even though she does not have the same opinion as her father on «foolishness». The discussion inevitably veers into the unpleasant matters:

- I'm telling you this, because that Frédérique fiddler made you for two years, while you lived with him. When I learned that my mother died, I was very afraid that you would give him your inheritance on top of everything else, and that he would then send you away with nothing. Just the next day he called me and asked where you were. The little bastard then told us, straightforwardly, as if it was a perfectly natural thing, that since you were gone, he had taken another woman. Well, I said to myself, Brigitte is safe. You have to admit, it was the perfect timing, right? Chance did well.»

It was the first time Brigitte ever heard her father calling someone that way. He even had a tremolo while uttering the word. To indulge himself in such an excess of language, he certainly had a very low opinion of Frédérique.

«I should have told you from the beginning. When we found out you had a man, your mother and I thought, well, that's life, good for her. But when we heard her on the phone, we looked at each other, and we thought... But that's not possible... This voice which reeked of lies and deceit... Didn't you realized?

- Well... No. It's just that...»

What could be more vexing, when you thought you had reached Wisdom, far above the common man, than to see one of these «ordinary» humans pointing the finger on you for a big blunder, for him obvious... And indeed, if you had met Frédérique, his cunning was very visible... Unless you especially bite into his pseudo-master speech, which «justified» all his behavioural deviations! It was very «targeted», as the adepts of «marketing»...

Without tact, Brigitte's father insists:

«It's that you were too far gone into your dreams and spiritual fantasies, which brought you nothing, the proof. You have to come back down to Earth, my little one!»

A terrible uneasiness takes Brigitte, because of this inextricable mixture: the simple and straightforward kindness of a father, with the narrowness of sight and the heavy prejudices of a materialist. And then, when will he will finally admit that she is an adult, and not anymore his little girl? Obviously Brigitte's misadventure could not happen to him: whose who do nothing are sure to never make mistakes, whose who seek nothing are sure to never get stranded on the wrong road! The trap was on a completely different level than he thinks, and from where Brigitte was, it was almost inevitable that she fell into it. The only solution was to... to fall for it, and then to acquire the necessary qualities of soul to know how to get out of it, and to be definitively free of it! What this materialist does not see, is the discreet but crucial victory that Brigitte won, without even realizing it. She had masterfully managed to... remain herself. At last. To remain a soul... essentially free. What she lost on the limited earthly level, she won a hundred times more, for Eternity! She was only a paper figure, pretty, but without weight, without width. Now she is a person, she is consistent, she radiates her warmth, SHE EXISTS!

She is starting to get a headache from her father's unpleasant and non-cosmic reflections, but he continues:

«Take care of yourself a little, instead of trying to change the world. You haven't succeeded in changing the world.» She knows she should not follow him in these biased discussions, but, stung to the core, she replies, a tremolo in her voice:

«No, I couldn't do it alone. But the world is changing, Dad. It's changing by itself. There's nothing you can do about it. You can't even not stop it.»

- But...

- The illusion, the chimera, it is matter, money. The true reality is the soul. Remember, a shroud has no pockets. On the other side...

- There is no...

- Yes, I have seen it! On the other side, we are rich only with our Ideal and our Goodness. And this, it is worth any sacrifice here.

- Would you throw away your inheritance?

- What for? But I shall find a way to use it.

- Do you have any plans?

- Not yet, but I will.

- Not with a swindler like that other one?

- Oooh that one! He fooled me, but I promise you: once, but not twice. What do say, I couldn't have guessed there were such crooks, mimicking the Good to make us suffer. But now that I have figured out their methods, they have no chances. I can smell them a hundred meters away now!

- I'm glad you learned your lesson. If you don't have any plans, do you even have an idea?»

Hesitating to confide in him, she answers: «Oh, not precise, but it will surely be to make the world a better place, nature, maybe a training centre... But it will have to run properly, no way to do «an experiment».

To her great surprise, it was her father's turn to have a tremolo in his voice: «Well, you know, your mother and I... We wish you success... Deep down, may you be right... Because, for us, to have worked, to have sacrificed all our life to see nothing at the end of the road, it is hard, you know...»

Brigitte remains speechless in front of her father. He is visibly moved, but now he refrains from showing it. For a moment, this man who always was a stranger, always elsewhere than life, has been in communion with her, and through her, with... What sensitive chord has she touched, to move him in this way, him the «rational», the «serious», the «normal»? Is it simply to be thoughtful, calm and calm, while maintaining in the path she had chosen? By remaining herself in spite of life's pitfalls? Would she achieve this result with simply abdicating her father's will? Or if she simply kept silent on her ideals? Ah, the power of Truth...

Deep down, Brigitte understands what is going on with her father. He has just seen his mother leaving for what he thinks is nowhere. His children are grown up. At his office, goodbye promotions, they put him in a corner, waiting for a retirement for which he has no plans. At his age, the ripe age, the age of bilans, he feels a kind of frustration, the impression he missed something essential in life. His voice no longer has the feel of certainty which supported and reassured Brigitte when she was a little girl. For the first time she notices that he has white hair on his temple.

Finally, it was time for this conversation to come to a positive end, because in addition to her well-confirmed headache, Brigitte now feels like if she was full of soot. She has no intent whatsoever to start a business, she even feels offended that her father thinks such a thing... But how to explain him, how to tell about these simple and wonderful Universal Laws of Mutual Aid, which seems to be a chimera on this so deeply sick Earth? As long as whoever would attempt them would be the designated target for parasites and profiteers, encouraged by the irony and complicit passivity of all the others?

The father has ended with the discussions. Does he know that? His emotion has somewhat reconciled him his daughter. He says, «Well, it's time to prepare the meal. To celebrate your return, we are going to make a vegetarian meal. What should be prepared? Lettuce and grated carrots?»

She giggles: «Oh, no, Dad, you're not going to do that to me, just serving me a salad! I'm so hungry!»

Finally, the evening ended happily, and Brigitte could go to bed in a room which once was hers, but which her parents had since rearranged into a more intimate living room than the common room. There even is a turntable and classical music records.

She can finally let herself go to sleep. Except... At midnight, the upstairs neighbours finished their movie. From her bed, Brigitte hears the flush, the sound of urine in the toilet. Tonight it is a fighting movie: «Did you heard the scream he uttered? Terrible! I like those fight scenes. It's catchy, dynamic, especially with the music.» But now the upstairs neighbours have a VCR, and, long live progress, Brigitte had been fighting for two hours to fall asleep, against a backdrop of battles and murders!

 

 

 

Brigitte had to stay a little longer than expected in her parents' house, where, against all odds, she finally found more comfort than criticism.

She also found back her older brother Robert... Ah, he is no more coming home late now, and his parents know that if he went out every night, it was not to pursue some love affair. Or rather, he did have a lover, but she was actually a very demanding mistress, called... heroin. He stupidly let himself to be discovered, with remarks on the ransacking of Brigitte's student room, when the parents had carefully avoided telling him this story, plus a few other details that could not abuse a father or a mother. Robert had had the strength to break, but he keeps an indelible memory of the adventure: he now has the death in his blood, which can take him any time, in three months, in five years.... But the very first thing Brigitte noticed, as soon as she saw him, was that she could now meet his gaze, without him automatically getting lost in the vague, as in the past. Fellow readers, why must some of us so stubbornly refuse the light, that it can enter our souls only through terrible wounds?

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Still, Brigitte's parents' cold, old-fashioned atmosphere soon become a burden to her. So she quickly ends her stay, after resting, and quickly goes back out at large, like a wounded bird who leaves as soon as his wing can carry him again.

So, a few days later, in the train, on her way to the notary and the inheritance, she realizes what is happening to her. Her compartment neighbours must think she is not very talkative, but in reality the most contradictory thoughts jostle in her head.

At least now she is sure that she is not pregnant with Frédérique. That, and to no longer feel the body of her ex-lover against her, is a huge weight suddenly falling from her shoulders. The prospect of a child without a father, or worse with an incapable father, was completely unbearable for her. What an horror, twenty years of being tied to his escapades, his blackmail, his trials, with the child as an hostage...

She can also consider herself fortunate not to have inherited any sexually transmitted diseases from Frédérique, who, during his luxury cruises, certainly had some adventures with wealthy passengers...

As for her depression, all what remains is great fatigue, which is dissipating. If she recovered so quickly, it is well because the cause was only her situation with Frédérique.

 

If she is still not sure precisely how she will use her freedom now, at least she is in any case safe from material misery. This is certainly less important, but it is also a heavy, dark and useless burden she is now free of. Without being rich, at least she will be able to live normally, without wasting all her time «earning a living», an odious expression which she always felt was the height of cynicism and contempt for human dignity. (As if we had to account to others of what life offered us!) Instead, she can even consider carrying out some project useful to society, an additional, unexpected but welcome freedom!

But there is a malaise in this regard. What is her inheritance? «Real estate», not money. (The money she earned with August is now exhausted) That is to say, she will live on the rent paid by three families. For her who so much criticized «the lazy ones» who live without doing anything, on the shoulders of poor people who work hard to rent a polluted and noisy apartment... She can't help it. A shame invades her, a kind of disgust. As long as she was at her parents' house, subjected to their continual chatter, this uneasiness had remained diffuse. But now its source is all too visible. Brigitte finds back her own mind, facing the greenery drowned with beneficial rain, which drifts past the compartment window. Her conscience is openly rebelling. She even thinks of refusing the inheritance. No, that would be silly: she only has to sell the rental building. And then there is Grandma's house...

Only then does Brigitte realize what awaits her.

GRANDMA'S HOUSE!

The smiles, the smell of pies!

The joys of her childhood!

Her first realizations!

The inviolate sanctuary under the roof!

And she is the one who...

She finally realizes what a beautiful gift Mother Grand gave her. Real estate! You bet! Details. The true legacy is Grandma's love, which she will continue to show beyond death.

Financially, the old house isn't worth much. Spiritually it is priceless. It is filled with wise vibrations, with the Love which allowed its occupant to bear a life of sacrifice and sorrow.

Mother Grand's legacy is one of Brigitte's roots. What a sumptuous gift! And once again, she can't thank her, she is still too late... Anyway, what can she say? It is beyond flat formulas...

 

The notary confirms that everything is fine, as her father told her. He is a young man, who just took over this office. On his shelves, computer diskettes stand besides seventeenth-century parchments. «A model inheritance» he says with a smile. «You are in luck!»

The only small inconvenience is a loan to be paid off for another year, for sanitation conforming. This limits Brigitte's income, but only for a short time.

Brigitte spends the evening at her uncle's house. Then, the next day, he takes her to the Grandma's house. All along the way he doesn't say a word, as a careful driver, because the September rain lashes the windshield. They move forward, raising sheaves of water, in a landscape where the grey of the sky makes the greens of the forests and the reds of the brick farms vibrate intensely. The names of the villages and hamlets, as they approach, have the flavour of the Happiness of Childhood...

Finally, moved, Brigitte contemplates the silhouette of the ivy-covered house, emerging from under the trees on the path. Without taking care of the rain, she runs under the little marquee, and waits there for Uncle Albert to open the door for her. There is a subtle and invigorating scent of geraniums here, although none of these plants are visible.

«Here, I give you the keys, now that you are at home...»

A common gesture, but how symbolic: the big grey iron keys pass from one hand to the other.

She opens... She has the feeling that the short vestibule still smells of pie. The common room, with its wood-burning stove, is in perfect order, impeccable. As if «she» was still there. Only the kitchen cupboard and the storeroom are strangely empty. Hey, they arranged the bathroom. This is why they are working on it. Better so, she keeps a bad memory of showers with basins, and the toilet can.

From the hallway, the stairs go up to...

The room where Brigitte once slept, remained as it had always been, with the high brown wooden bed with thick blankets.

Luckily the uncle has stayed downstairs, where he is foraging for who knows what. For now Brigitte opens, with her heart beating, the door of the sanctuary...

The door creaks a little, of that so familiar noise that Brigitte had heard so many times, without it loses its charge of emotion.

An almost naked room, wallpapered in pale mauve, walls and ceilings, with an attic window, symmetrical to Brigitte's room but larger. A country wardrobe, a table against the wall, a chair, all in waxed brown wood. No bed. No personal belongings. Anything that might evoke death had been carefully removed. So nothing unpleasant, and Brigitte feels fine. A subtle, undefinable scent seems to emanate from the walls themselves. No doubt incense was burned during the ceremonies. On the slightly faded wall, the shadow of a cross... The Spirit is still there.

Brigitte would later know that this crucifix, to which Grandma placed a great value, went to her father, «who needed it much more than Brigitte.»

 

 

The silence is complete, except for the soft whisper of rain on the tiles.

 

   There is an envelope «For Brigitte» on the table.

 

   For a moment she contemplates it, as if it was not a concern for her.

 

Then, with her heart beating, she decides to grab it, and sits down by the window. An inaudible drum roll... Brigitte has a strong feeling: after this reading, her life will be changed.

The long, harmonious and beautifully calligraphic writing of Grandma runs over the paper, leaning sharply to the right as if to get to heaven faster.

 

«Dear Brigitte, my beloved little girl... I decided to write you this letter today, because it has been a long time since I have heard from you by your hand.

«You know that times are hard for people today, and that they must understand many things if they are to have a future in this world.

«It pains me, you see, even though for me life is coming to an end. I wish, like you, I could have helped the world to think, to understand. But I am so ignorant.

«You, you came to my house, and I must tell you that it was one of the rare moments of Happiness in my life. If only all young people were like you! You could have stayed forever, if you wanted to, but you are a little bird of the future, free, and I had no right to hold you back. I didn't say anything, but when you left, I cried.

 

«I have an important decision to take, but I'm still hesitating.

«I'm leaving you for now, your loving, loving Grandma.»

 

Brigitte put this first sheet down, a tear in the corner of her eye. Ah, she was a balm for her Grandmother... Who did not even told her, above all respectful of her freedom!

She hesitates to continue, as if she was going to violate some secret. But an inner call pushes her. What decision is it? The inheritance? Or some still unsuspected strange secret?

«My dear granddaughter, I have to tell you a secret. In any case, if you see me alive again, do not ever tell anyone. Besides, I do not want you to know it before I leave. Who would understand that, in this world where the truth is taken as madness? Will you understand that a modesty holds me back?

   «I must speak to you about the dreams.

   «It is Him who requested me.

«I hesitated a lot. Dreams, you will think, are only chimeras. And often they are so. But sometimes they are otherwise.

«It already happened so from time to time, long before you were born. But it mostly started when you were still a little girl, and you came here for the first time.

«How can I put it? A kind of Jesus. Oh, my daughter, I never knew if He was the real one, from Galilee. Probably not, how could I deserve this? But He was a good Jesus. He made me feel confident, in the Good, in the hand of God. He was very kind, very gentle, but still with something strong, like in the Gospels.

«I dreamed of Him, many times. Or rather it was He who came into my dreams. It is strange, and yet it is.

«To tell you all what He told me? I could not. For one thing, often He did not speak. He smiled, and you knew what He meant, and I could not repeat it. Anyway, it always was simple and beautiful, and very wise. Afterwards I felt full of light and joy.

«He helped me a lot, you know. Often the dreams lasted a long time, He spoke to me, but often, when I woke up, I did not remembered what He said! But I was happy about it, and full of impulse for the Good, this undoubtedly is the main thing.

«He was blond, bearded, always dressed in a dress like Jesus, but dark blue, with some sort of gold embroidery on the sleeves.

«Sometimes He had an angel with him. She was all in white, with Her hair also all in white, but curly. She never spoke, but you could feel an incredible kindness when She was there, with a scent which stayed with me for days.

«Once, I asked him where he was coming from... He did not answered. He just said he was an angel or a wise man, and that His home was the Universe.

«Well, this was nice and everything, but how do I know it was not a deception?

«So, without me asking, He started announcing visitors, or mail. And He never was wrong.

«But it could have been some devilry. So He told me about the people in the village, the family... He would tell me how to talk to them, and often I would manage to reconcile them, those who were angry against each other. He even paid attention to the rabbits, and he would tell me how to treat them well and make them get along with each other. He talked about them the same way as people, without making a difference. He was the one who told me about the ears, remember? Holy Lady, I had a lot of rabbits in those days, it was a lot of work.

«Then, as He was a real Jesus, I asked Him why He came to me and not to the others. Then He told me that all people have a guardian angel, but not many can hear Him. As to listening at him, there are very few... So the guardian angel does not bang his head to the walls for nothing. He watches, he waits for his time. He does not like this, you see, but what can He do about it?

«So this is how, my daughter, for twenty years this Jesus has been coming to see me in my dreams. He has also guided me for the garden and even told me about the sawdust toilet. They think of everything, up there!

«That we can never praise Wisdom and Divine Goodness enough!»

 

Moved but not surprised, Brigitte poses this second letter. No doubt her grandmother was spiritual at heart, despite her poor culture. But to regularly see spiritual beings like that is a rare opportunity, which she probably owed to her great modesty and inexhaustible goodwill.

The third letter begins without a preamble. It becomes more of a diary than a correspondence.

«My dear Brigitte, it is done. I have written my wills, at the notary office. The building in Rue X... and especially my dear house will be for you. At least I'm sure they'll be in good hands. But I must explain.

«When I met the Father, it was in the thirties. We were a little happy, just a little. I remember back then, we were already talking about living without money, it was the Distributive Economy, and the mondialistes. There was the Duboin, and the others. And the Front populaire, which was a great hope for us all! I wanted to do something, to participate, but when you only have the communal school as an education...

«But I was quickly disenchanted. The Father, he was greedy and skinflit. And by the time we could not divorce like we do now. Oh it is not nice, you will say, the divorce, but an unhappy marriage is not nice either. And then there was your father, and your uncle. We had to take care of them.

«And then there was the war, the occupation. No more talking Distributive Economy, much less mondialsation. All of them arrested, they were all taken! Even the Esperanto ones went to the camps. I myself was very close when they came to interrogate me. You guess why people do not talk so much about these things nowadays. This is why. What terrible times! Even if we did not interfered, we never were safe. There were hostage-takings, people rounded up, snitching, and misery. Plus the profiteers, the shame. If it happens again, Brigitte, do not get involved. We all thought, in the family, that after the Germans leave, it would be much better than before. Bah! Bah! Do you really believe that those who sacrificed themselves, who endured the horrors, were for a world where people only talk about unemployment and pollution, with their mouths full, while the others, far away, they die of hunger?

«You know, the Father died quickly, before the children were grown up. But he had a building in town. The one where your uncle Albert has his shop. I lived off the rent from that building. Oh I know, you will think it is not nice, but who would take me as an employee? I do not know to do anything, only pies and the garden. So this is another reason why I had to do with this.

«It is at this time that the Jesus started to appear. He was my only support in life, apart from you. He told me that they had a project for the building up there, that I could do good with it if I wanted to. He even pointed me to the right notary, not the crook, the other one.

«Once I was alone, and the kids gone, what could I do with all this money? I entrusted everything to the notary, and you know how those people are, they know how to deal with money. Little by little there were the other buildings...

«I still thought that funny, that the Jesus made me do business like a rich lazy bum. Often I did not agree, but He told me that later the world would be more receptive to Goodness, and then beautiful souls would come along, who would have much better to do than to slave away at polluting nonsenses, and that they would know what Good to do with this wealth. And then, to do it my way, He himself pointed out at tenants, not families with children, but money people, asleep, without emotions. And it always worked! The notary was aghast.

«Still, I wanted to house one or two penniless retired folks, for cheap. Well, this is good, the Jesus said.

«He warned me, the Jesus. When you were born, He told me you were a beautiful soul. But He immediately added not to tell anyone, not even your mother, and especially not you. But now, I can tell you, He was right: you are a beautiful soul.»

Trembling, Brigitte poses the third posthumous letter of this noble wounded soul, born too early in history, stuck in a too heavy body, with a poor fallow piece of intelligence. Her vibrant sincerity had brought her a tear, which gently descends on her cheek. How ungrateful she was! Ah, how she regrets having taken her down! But the Grandma seems not to have held any grudge against her, for her clumsiness.

 

The rain is still whispering gently on the purple mansard's roof. From time to time, the uncle stirs up tools in the bathroom below. He turned on the big stove, and hot air comes to Brigitte's feet through one of his ingenious heat recovery and ducts system. She guesses that, always helpful, he took advantage of the trip to tweak his installations. Does he know that his work has a cosmic purpose?

The fourth letter shows a more blurred, irregular handwriting.

«Ah Brigitte, how the passing of time costs me now! You have been gone for so long, and if the Jesus was not giving me regular news of you, I would think you were lost with this Frédérique of doom. How can I understand that? I experienced this too, on my side. We believe in a man, we take him sincerely. We get into the game of love, until above our head. We dream that our man will make us live a better life, closer to God, closer to the future... And then nope. Rats.

«Yesterday, I almost goofed up. I barely avoided to say your father the name Frédérique, even though he never mentioned it to me. What have I done, me poor woman, to be entrusted in such secrets? The Jesus told me everything, that you had an account to settle with him. That you had to go through this, too bad for the breakage, but this account was far too important. That afterwards you would be better, that you would be much more yourself than before. But the trouble is, no one can know when it will be over. You are a soul, free...

«He told me things about you, that I do not quite understand. You guess, I do not know anything about astronomy and all the scientific things. For a girl in my age, it was good enough to have a school certificate.»

Brigitte feels strangely disturbed. What relationship she has with astronomy? And who told the Grandma about Frédérique? How could she know if her parents did not tell her? Especially not from herself, who never thought of only writing to her grandmother, since she was with that Frédérique who was taking her whole life. So it was «the Jesus»?

She goes on:

«He told me that you are not from Earth... How can I understand that, since you are there, like us, on Earth? He explained to me that souls are eternal, but that the body changes, dies and is reborn. Ah, that is not what they told us in the catechism!»

How can Brigitte feel at such a reading? Disbelief? Stupor? Not from Earth? Why her? What is so special about her?

«So you are not from here. Deep down I am not surprised, it is obvious that you are not from here. You are sensitive, sincere, idealistic. The tricks of the world have no hold on you. No matter how many times you wade and fall in the mud, you always get up clean. You pass by, and one day you will leave like a bird in Autumn, towards your true world of Sun and Happiness, and as for Saint Exupery your body will never be found.

«In any case, I understand what are showing the paintings He made me do when you were there. He told me they are very important for you, that they would open your eyes.»

Brigitte remembers seeing Mother Grand painting, yes. But, we remember, she was not supposed to show her work until later...

 

The fifth page is still covered with this noble handwriting, but as if scribbled, the lines wander and even get tangled at times.

«Excuse me, my Doe, for this writing, but I can hardly see anymore. Oh, how I cannot wait the end, now! The Jesus showed me the place awaiting for me on the other side... It is too beautiful, I can hardly describe it to you... Like a white light which floods everything... I am happy, happy already!

«Ah, if it was not for Frédérique, I would have left already. But I have to wait a little longer... It would be terrible if he got the inheritance... What would he do with it? And you, poor thing, what would become of you?

«In any case, everything is ready. The house is in order, with a nice modern bathroom, and everything is arranged with your uncle and father, for afterwards, for you. They don't really understand me, but at least I am sure they will do what I requested them to do. The Jesus told me so. All what is missing is you.

«I shall only ask two things of you.

«The first is mostly to be yourself. Please, Doe, keep being the little Brigitte who dreams of a better world! Remain the little Brigitte who seeks the Truth, who does organic gardening, who does yoga, as I saw you do. You did not talked me about it, but the Jesus told me what it meant, so I let you do it. What you have inside you is the essential, the rest is just wind. On the other side, only ideals and honesty count. These are the only things we take with us, but how precious! The rest is rotting in the grave. Human life is so short, that we have to go straight to the point. Especially since you are going to have money, and believe me, money attracts crooks like dung attracts flies. The most dangerous ones are not the thieves or the crooks, they are the ones who will come to you with their pucky mouths, and whisper to you: «A little more like this, a little less like that, to be more credible, more realistic...» as they say in their media-techno-thingies. Oh! May the Devil take them away!

«You will understand, of course, that my gift is not money. It is the freedom for you to live your life without suffering the immoral law of money, without wasting all your life earning some. It is the means allowing you to serenely accomplish the mission you chose as a little girl. He shortly explained me, I did not quite understood, but it is beautiful, and I am happy to be able to help.

«The second thing I am asking you is for your brother. You will probably know that he got himself into such a trouble.

«The Jesus told me about your brother. The Jesus told me you would be able to handle it. Tell him everything. Show him these letters, tell him everything you know that you never told me, states of consciousness, the free mind and all that stuff that is gibberish to me. It is weird, you know. Drug crushed so many people, or made them crazy. But it broke his shell, blew his pride out of his nose, and now he understands. He is paying the high price, but for the Truth no sacrifice is too much, are they? So go on, I had such a hard time seeing him like this.»

 

Feverishly, Brigitte grabs the last page, with huge handwriting, drawn with great difficulty. She no longer hears the rain, does not anymore see the purple walls, does not even feel her ankylosed legs.

«THE JESUS CAME AND SAID THAT IT IS DONE, YOU ARE FREE». «I CAN GO IN PEACE TO THE PARADISE OF LIGHT. I AM SORRY I DIDN'T SEE YOU DOWN HERE AGAIN. BE YOURSELF AND COMPLETE YOUR MISSION. TO ETERNAL LIFE, TO GOD, YOUR GREAT MOTHER.»

 

Brigitte feels a little stupid in front of the empty envelope. This shocking posthumous correspondence stops there. This ending is like a second death. What a deeply moving strangeness, to discover this totally unknown side of her grandmother! What a poignant regret not to have known her in this way during her lifetime... Perhaps it was not possible, for some reason she will always be unaware of. Ah, how this little everyday world is only a small part of a much larger, much more meaningful existence, beyond all pettiness!

But one thing is beginning to worry Brigitte: What mission Grandma is talking about? What did her Jesus tell her about it? What about the paintings? What are they about?

 

Not before stretching out, Brigitte went down the stairs, with the sensation of having stayed in the room for ten hours.

Downstairs she finds the uncle, busy putting away his tools. He is a very typical uncle, handyman and affable, with moustaches and some rascal nephews.

«Here you are, Brigitte. Grandmother insisted that the bathtub be finished on time. I could not, because of work, you know the tune. But there you go. It is done. There were some letters for you on the table, I guess she confided in you. She talked about them all the time, about those letters, and she was very anxious for you to find them.

- Yeah, that was... Very good, but very personal.

- Okay, I won't insist.

- There are some paintings, too, I'd like to see them.

- They are in the table drawer.»

The uncle follows Brigitte, but she is too absorbed to be bothered by his presence. And then he probably saw them already.

In the table drawer are two watercolour paints in a beginner style, a little smeared. What is this grey circle on a black background?

 

OH NO! IT'S NOT POSSIBLE!

 

And yet it is.

The planet of Brigitte's dreams.

Everything is there, the kinds of grooves, in their place, the craters, also in their place, although their perspective is wrong. And most importantly... The four-pointed yellow star, the pink heart, exaggeratedly magnified. Incredible. Her grandmother painted the same planet, and even the same symbol! But Brigitte never, ever talked to anyone about it! On the background of the sky, the Grandma also glued school stickers, made of silvery paper, to make stars. Remember that when the Grandma painted these pictures, Voyager 2 was somewhere between Saturn and Uranus, so Miranda, the Moon of Uranus with its strange herringbone pattern on its surface, was still unknown, and could not have inspired Brigitte's dreams or Grandma's brush.

The second painting is identically framed, but on a dark blue background. This time it represents a blue planet, with six green continents regularly arranged. «Like the corners of a nut,» says Uncle Albert prosaically. He realises that Brigitte is terribly moved, flabbergasted.

«How are you?

- I am fine, but...

- Is it, uh... good, at least?

- Absolutely, but so weird. Just watch.»

Suddenly inspired, Brigitte runs to get her dream book, feverishly searches for the right page, puts it under the nose of this uncle she does not really know.

«It's the same planet, apparently.

- Yes, but this is my dream book. I NEVER shown it to ANYONE. How could my grandmother paint one of my dreams?»

The uncle doesn't answer, but he backs away, suddenly realizing he is facing one of those unexplainable phenomena, irreducible to anything physical science knows. Brigitte thinks that, for him, who lives only for technology, only for the company he is running, it is a revelation, thunderbolt in a serene sky... But in fact, it is the confirmation of a suspicion he already had, the concrete confirmation of things he had heard without really believing them. And what will happen, when he will see the pictures of Miranda, the Moon of Uranus...

«Do you know, Brigitte, that my mother said some very curious things at the end?

- What do you mean, curious?

- At times she wasn't quite herself, because of the illness. She was a little delirious. She talked about Jesus who came to see her, about Brigitte's planet, about the paradise which awaited her... She said you had an important mission to fulfil for Humanity, and other things we didn't understand. But when she was conscious, not a word about all that. The family and myself said to each other: «No, it's the end coming, her imagination is working, nothing to worry about. Still, however, when she spoke about Frédérique, or what happened to your brother... We didn't wanted to spoil her last moments with those stories, so we didn't told her. So we wondered... Did you really never told her?

- No, never!

- Oh, yeah. That's already strange enough. But now, with this story of her painting your dream, it's hard do believe! There is something under there. You must know more about parapsychology than we do anyway.

- Well, she speaks of that too. But she doesn't give me the key. I don't understand what this mission thing is all about.»

Curiously, this person, who she thought was passionate only about electronics and commerce, now reveals a warm and human side that she did not suspected, that he probably was carefully hidding himself. He pours out his heart about his mother:

«It's incredible! She stayed up until the end! Her house always was spotless. Since we couldn't come every day, we had made the telephone installed, so that she could call if she felt bad. But she was careful not to do that! Still, I am sure she suffered in the end. We said to ourselves, for God's sake, why is she clinging around like that? Then one morning I called her, but there was no answer. I went at once, and found her in her bed... She had cleaned everything up, tidyed everything. Just she left the mop by the bedside when her legs couldn't carry her anymore. So she went to bed. And you can't imagine: she was smiling. But you should have seen that smile! She looked like an angel. Even her wrinkles were gone. She had her hands folded over her chest, and seemed quite happy, even ecstatic. I tell you, it was a blow to both of us. Poor us, if it is so nice up there, what the hell are we doing here?

«And then you show up with your dream story. There definitively is something down there.

- I'm very astonished, too. But not surprised.

- Tell me, Brigitte, and the uncle lower his voice as if somebody could hear them. This story of a mission. I don't know what it is about, and it's probably none of my business. But in any case, don't ever tell anyone about it.

- I won't.

- Some people were sent to the madhouse for saying stuff like that. It is a criterion for psychiatrists, you know. Be very careful, my little niece. I do not want anything like this to happen to you. Because (he lowered his voice again, as if they were speaking of shameful thing) it would never occur to me to think that you were crazy.»

 

The conversation with the uncle ended very late, with all the details and references to the books to read. In fact, the uncle had been interested in spiritism in his youth. But, passionate with his work, separated from his teenage friends, and taken by his family, he no longer cared much about these things. But now they suddenly reappeared, like a fire we thought it was extinguished, but which unexpectedly flares again. The essential questions are written in the human heart, and our gaze is automatically drawn on them as soon as we detach ourselves from the futile whirlwind of the false life. As for the answers, they are visible just a little higher up. Raise that same gaze a little higher...

The uncle sleeps on the dining room couch as usual. Brigitte has gone up to her old bedroom. She can't believe it... Everything happened so fast, and in such a strange, unexpected way... She hadn't decided anything, everything fell into place, like a perfectly arranged and masterfully executed plan. And she has nothing to add... Who would have imagined that the little black letter waiting for her at Frédérique's house was the prelude to such an upheaval!

The rain had stopped. Only every now and then a drop still falls into the zinc gutter, and the surrounding trees are slowly dripping. As usual when she arrives here, her head buzzes in the great silence of the night. But this time she doesn't hear the familiar creaking of the door as Grandma pulls it... She will never hear it again.

 

The next day, Brigitte sleeps in. Not because she is lazy: she is really stunned with everything which is happening to her. But she has another reason too.

She takes advantage of the softness of the bed to meditate. She has to do it all over again, the physical relaxation, the breathing, the mental relaxation. She went rusted with Frédérique, who was constantly upsetting her schedules and her resolutions.

What does she meditate on? The Grandma, of course.

«Grandma! Grandma!»

She does again the mind emptiness, because she knows that putting herself in a state of demand, of feverish expectation, is the best way to get nothing. Peace, and what is to come will come. It is not easy to keep in this state. Non-waiting, receptivity. What is to come will come. If nothing comes, it is that there is nothing to see. It does not affect us. Parasitic images pass, the past, trivial stories. What a fight in Brigitte's head! But quite the opposite of attacking these parasites, the matter is of detaching oneself from them, not attaching any interest to them, letting them pass without clinging to them, as if even their disappearance does not matter. But this is much more difficult than to attack them.

...

...

 

...

...

A landscape of milky vapours and iridescent mother-of-pearl, with a hint of pink, a splendour bathed in light on all sides, without any shadow...

Grandma is there, standing in the middle of a pearl garden with porcelain flowers. She is dressed in a long white dress, very romantic, full of lace. Her barely pink hair, all woven with strands of pearls, undulates around her silhouette. She has a dreamy, floating gait, which Brigitte had never seen before, but which is so much her own... Her face is very clear, fine, noble and smooth, without a single wrinkle, like when she was a young lady, deliciously haloed with the fashioned blur of those old photos from the 1910s. She seems to smile at Brigitte, tries to talk, then changes her mind: the essential cannot be confined in words. She tilts her head tenderly, stretches out her arm, and the folds of her dress, without weight, accompany her dreamily. She shows something important, the eye drowned in subtle light, then the soft vision fades away...

      Brigitte jumps out of her bed!

   Ouuuaaaaah!

      What fantastic beauty! What enchantment!

   What unimaginable vision!

         Wich power of Love radiates from her!

   She saw... She saw her Grandma!

      She did it!

Even without any concrete proof, she is perfectly certain that the vision is real. It was a mental image identical to all the others, but which imposed itself on her with much more strength and sharpness than those images that the imagination creates in superabundance if we let it wander. Above all, it vibrated on much higher octaves. And it did not matched what she would have imagined. And beyond all the arguments, she feels it... She is moved, all stirred up.

What surprises her most is the ease with which she managed to capture it. Is it due to the freshness of death? Or to her very personal bond with her grandmother?

Will she tell her uncle? No, she already said enough. It is too personal, too intimate. How to unveil this ineffable wonder to this man, whose vibrations are still coarse, despite his honesty?

 

Still in bed, Brigitte is taking a bearing.

She was fearing to find herself without resources or living place. In any case this petty and unfair problem is solved. The Jesus... The angels... Surely they arranged this for her. But of course: the Grandma said so!

How is she feeling, from this? Gratitude, of course. Contentment? What a responsibility! Why are they doing this precisely for her, when so many sincere and upright humans are left in a chronic misery? When half the world even not get enough to eat? There is only one explanation: the mission. Surely she must not fail, in this mission. It must be of the utmost importance, for angels to indulge into guiding the hand of a notary. This is definitively not their usual level!

What could be this mission about? It is a mystery! Surely it has something to do with the protection of Mankind. She aspires to take part in it, but this goes back to her adolescence. Not her childhood. She has no memory of any cosmic destiny at that age in her life. She was a very ordinary little girl, just more sensitive perhaps.

Not knowing more, she looks at the last problem: what will she do now? She has no idea, apparently. A stages centre, some kind of ashram? An organic farm? No, more like an Ashram, there are more people to meet, more hearts to light up. But the trouble is, she does not feel like a guru soul to run a centre. She would rather like a team, without a leader, of responsible and idealistic people. But for the time being, the team is rather thin...

Well, this will be as for everything else. Trust the angels, who did their job so well so far. If she does not know, it is probably because she doesn't need to know yet, or that the necessary information will be revealed in due time.

While waiting for that, the best thing she can do is to take care of herself, meditate and work on her harmonization with the universe. She needs to catch up for two years. This work will come in handy anyway, whatever happens.

On these invigorating conclusions, she jumps out of her bed, gets dressed in a jiffy, all dancing, without neglecting to carefully redo the bed: it is a sign that she is in a good mood.

Entering the dining room, she finds her uncle having lunch. He is taking his time today.

«Good morning!

- Good morning, Brigitte. Ah, we sleep well, here, a treat. If you want, the bathroom is spotless, you can go and inaugurate it.

- Thank you. Thank you. Do you know, Uncle, that your work has a cosmic meaning?

- Oh, you're kidding!» And they both laugh heartily.

Discreetly she takes a look at the uncle's menu: black coffee, white bread, non-vegetable pâté, ham. It is real time for her to get to work.

 

 

 

Brigitte's first outing is for the tenants of her building.

A fashion store from where a constant, frightful mechanical beat emanates from... (the «music» of those years)

Upstairs, a financial adviser with his office all upholstered in old leather. He never listens to music of any kind. He calls Brigitte Madâme, and signs her papers with the seriousness of a banker. But wait, you will see that he is the least annoying.

On the second floor, the hairdresser from across the street lives alone, in an indescribable mess, full of hideous hairdressing models and porn photos. He greets Brigitte by calling her, mocking and lustful, «My hippie landlady», which immediately exasperates her more than anything else. She would keenly slap his face! Paying his rent will be his punishment.

On the third floor, the manager of the store downstairs, slim figure all dressed in black, all in quickly invests and niche market to exploit... And who all night long still listens to the same infernal music.

Finally, in the attic, the only luxury: this brave heart of Jeanne from Grandma's village, who is spending her last happy days here, not far from her grandchildren. Fortunately, she is deaf, and is not disturbed by the din below. Her rent is symbolic: Grandma never raised it in the ten years she has been here. And with Brigitte, she may have to wait a long time. In any case, this money will go to the Abbé Pierre, Brigitte cannot keep it for herself, even with a fully warranted mission order.

Mother Grand has done her job well: Brigitte is really sure not to screw anyone. In any case, nobody honest... She can pocket her rents without shame. Still, it is because she has a mission, otherwise she would sell this old building right away.

This problem of conscience solved (or at least appeased) she has to take care of herself. Presentable clothes. She has to go back to her parents' big city, because it is hard to find, between the scribble fashion and the classic greyness. Fortunately a woman can now dress more or less as she wants, which is still far from being the case for a man.

The only luxury she allows for herself, and even then it is for meditation: a cassette player, and enough to feed it. Kitaro, Vangelis, Jarre, Klaus Schultze. For the Deuter, Aura, Iasos, Aeoliah and others, she has their addresses, but at that time we had to order them directly from California, and this takes longer. Ah also pictures of distant planets, Jupiter and Saturn, galaxies and nebulae, plus a few books.

She won't have to take care of Grandma rabbits, Grisou and Patapon. When she arrived, they were gone. Probably her father and uncle solved them in their own way. Better not to ask what happened to them...

The time to settle down, to collect leaves to cover the garden before winter, to paint a little here and there, alternating with periods of meditation and reading...

 

The lower rooms keep their original purpose: cellar, bathroom, kitechen-dining room... Upstairs, Brigitte's old bedroom keeps this function. There is another small room, which can be accessed through a low corridor, where her parents used to sleep: it will be the guest room.

The former room of the Grandmother remains... a sanctuary. All that she needed was to put curtains on the dark wooden furniture, to convert the table into a shelf for music and incense, plus a large round straw mat in the middle, and another for yoga to meditate lying down. Right in the middle, a tiny coffee table makes a small altar, with a white tablecloth and a candle, which she lights as she enters and blows it out when she gets out (You don't blow out a meditation candle).

The ritual reflexes learned at Peyreblanque come out quite naturally, and Brigitte undertake her work quite seriously.

It must be said that during this period, Brigitte meditates easily, with a quiet and powerful Enthusiasm. She reaches quite high levels, which she holds, and thus builds up a small personal egregore.

 

Redoubling Enthusiasm for her meditation, she feels an energy at the level of the loin... It curiously begins when the intestine has just been emptied: the vital energies function without being encumbered by our categories or our prejudices! Brigitte has not yet any idea of what this is all about, and unfortunately we have to stop at this point to publicly describe certain aspects of her inner work, because it is dangerous to venture into this new field without knowing it.

Indeed what is traditionally called the rise of Kundalini will really release considerable energies acting on the body and especially on the brain, finally giving the possibility to truly purify, at the base, all the nervous engrams, conditioned reflexes and neuroses of all kinds, at the level of the neurons themselves, by the direct control of the mind, precisely on the nervous energy which had locked them to start with. This fantastic self-organizing power, this ingenious algorithm which from a raw mass of cells and a little love makes the brain of Einstein, Leonardo da Vinci or Gandhi!

That such a wonderful and moving creative force usually gives only the mediocre results we know, comes from the fact that the vast majority of us live under the almost absolute control of our neuroses. They dictate our opinions and convictions in their entirety, even though we believe that we choose them freely: this is undoubtedly one of the greatest illusions of the human condition! All our fine arguments only justify a posteriori these erratic choices, and only in our own eyes! What psychologists call «rationalization». These unhealthy processes deprive the self-forming mechanism of direction, and leave it running around in circles with no usefulness, without being able to integrate new information, despite all the suffering this can cause. Thus each new fact is classified as «good» or «enemy» depending on whether it supports or contradicts the pre-existing opinion, depending on whether it produces a rewarding or a disturbing emotion. And this, instead of being used to build a Wisdom which can only be beyond any personal interest, beyond any clan or artificial convention. And so the brain of almost all humans is bound to the tenth, hundredth, or even thousandth of its fantastic possibilities... Even Brigitte was limited in this way until recently. Let this energy serve the mind, even indirectly, and the widest horizons open up... However, the mind alone has no power, it must use the intellect and emotions, and this is why all the true spiritual exercises teach us to use them in the service of the mind, not to eliminate them. And when I say emotion, I am not talking about a vague ethereal ecstasy, I am talking about intense and physically experienced emotion! On the other hand, we must carefully eliminate any attempt for our ego to take the power, as well as any interference from external dis-realities. Indeed, giving them such means would quickly lead to disasters.

Such a power is the only key to a real and complete liberation from all psychology and an authentic inner Realization. With all the dangers that such a great power implies, if this process loses its spiritual control. It cannot be a simple «spiritual experience» for lovers of strange sensations, or for seeking power over others. Kundalini Yoga is not taught much, or reserved only for those who deserve it. But it can also reveal itself spontaneously, to those who know how to make good use of it.

Brigitte does not realize it yet, but she is guided, benevolent beings come during her sleep to give her massages and other cares. Sometimes the memory remains with her when she wakes up, in the form of strange and delicious shivers...

Ah, if she knew that some of these beings are such dear friends of hers...

She is not at the end of her surprises.

It is a pity we cannot say more, because she is finally entering a wonderful and exciting world.

 

In the sanctuary's cupboard, she found Grandma's watercolours box, and other drawings. Sketches of the two paintings. She had made up for her lack of training with unfailing patience and exquisite gestures. Try to start painting at seventy-five, with hands that for a lifetime had to wash clothes by hand in the icy water of winter?

 

One of the sketches of the blue planet bears this inscription, in schoolboy letters of different colours: «Eolia» but curiously it does not appear on the final one. The final one also bears (she did not noticed it at first) the four-pointed star and the heart, but it is very small, on one of the continents, as if to indicate a special place.

Grandma also painted, in the run and probably on her own initiative, about ten landscapes in a naive style, nicely coloured, without shadows and full of sunlight. Most of them are Earth-like, but perfect, full of flowers and pretty little houses, and mountains, which she had never seen in her lifetime. There even is one in Japanese style.

But one of these paintings is an exception. The large white sheet is just washed with a pastel brush, pink, peach, or mauve. Brigitte recognizes the vision she had the morning she arrived, in meditation. So this is not a dream either... This landscape of light, mother-of-pearl and porcelain is not so well rendered that in reality, the flowers are not so powerfully arranged, but it is indeed the right thing...

During the first month, from time to time Brigitte feels the sweet presence of her grandmother, during her meditations in the sanctuary. It is as if she was there, sitting next to her, in silence, as she sometimes did while she was alive, sewing by hand. But of course if Brigitte opens her eyes, she cannot see anything. Once she manages to stabilize this feeling, by not clinging at it. Then, to her surprise, an image suddenly appears in her mind: the room as it is, but all around her, even behind her. Ah! try to make a mental image behind you.

But these presences and other phenomena suddenly ceased, and have never happened again since. Where is Grandma gone?

Brigitte, after contemplating the sheets covered with wonders subtly mixing the beauties of the past with the dreams of the future, looks at the brush... grabs it.

She has a lot of time. Her first try is as clumsy as Grandma's, but she likes it. It reflects the harmonious world she is dreaming of. During her next stay in town, she will have to buy better materials, brushes, gouache.

 

Curiously, Brigitte's dreams remain ambiguous, although less so than when she was with Frédérique. The trouble she felt with him was most certainly due to their distorted relationship, especially that frightful sensation of hidden dirt, or horror which could come from underground. This feeling has not completely disappeared: probably there are still other problems in Brigitte's mind, which need to be cleared up. Besides, she would do without dreaming almost every night that she goes back to live with Frédérique... Why would she do that? No doubt, what she thought she was living with this man was an image of the real life she aspired to. To see this image slipping away was a shock... And she dreams of finding, not Frédérique personally, but the vibrant warmth of the deep communion with another being.

Brigitte has placed the two planetary paintings on the wall of the sanctuary. She often contemplates them, trying in vain to penetrate the mystery they evoke.

Brigitte's planet? Eolia? Aeoliah? She listens to this music, contemplates, but the two stars remain silent. One night, however...

(Music: LOGOS, La Lune des Sages: Altaïr) Brigitte dreams. She floats, incorporeal, a simple point of observing consciousness. The little grey planet is in front of her. A little further away, a vast blue globe floats, without details, impenetrable. Seen from here, the yellow star is barely visible, a small spot tarnished by time.

Now begins a formidable tracking shot. The grey star is getting bigger and bigger... Déjà vu, but still as powerful and moving as ever... The view from space becomes landscape, the vast yellow cross is there, the pink heart in its centre grows bigger, the pyramid becomes visible... Still with a theatrical slowness, it comes to a standstill near the impossible construction, which is probably not higher than twenty meters. All around, traces, like rubble... déjà vu?

Suddenly a mound is stirred up. The yellowish snow opens up, spreads out. A frozen shape emerges, crawls, unearths itself...

An ultrasonic scream pulverizes the last crust of frost, which spouts out on both sides, falling back in a graceful slow motion several tens of meters away, without making any dust volutes, for lack of air.

The object appears new and simple as a child's toy: a bright yellow cylinder with rounded ends, mounted on red caterpillar tracks. In front is a bulldozer blade, also red. There are no visible hints of engine, cabin, camera or detector of any kind on this machine, which is no longer than one metre.

The little robot bulldozer awakened from a long sleep, alerted by what unknown signal? What task is it undertackling? Without delay, it diligently pushes shovels of ice in front of him, and gathers them at the foot of the building. No doubt it is setting up a ramp to a sealed door, that Brigitte only notices at this moment, on the side of the pyramid, a few metres above the ground.

It is an understatement to say that Brigitte wakes up moved, her heart beating. Outside, the Sun is shining bright, but there is a strange silence. What time is it? Why did she wake up so late? The alarm clock marks two fifteen. In the morning... What she took for the Sun suddenly disappears, and the darkness of the night takes over again.

 

Strangely enough, she goes back to sleep immediately, so that when she wakes up in the morning, she wonders if the strange light was not just another dream...

 

Brigitte is not anymore astonished. Intensive meditation probably does a lot, but at this point, it is not headlights calls from the sky which will add to the mystery.

You have to understand the state of consciousness she is in. She is right up there with the mystery. She is penetrated by the acute awareness of a more subtle reality, but essentially more authentic than the daily life appearances. Powerful forces are at work, travelling through the universe. Somewhere a role awaits her. Elements that she does not know are coming into place. She is beckoned: is she ready?

What will her role be? What gestures will she have to perform? If she is not told, is it simply because she is not expected to do anything for now, just to be herself, to be in Harmony, when the time comes?

At times she feels powerfully supported.

But at others, humanly speaking, she doubts.

 

The dreams of the little yellow robot comes back several times, but without this powerful feeling of reality. One night, Brigitte is on the ramp, which is built little by little. The robot arrives... and stops in front of her. It emanates like a consciousness, a greeting. Is what she thought was a robot really a mechanism like those on Earth? Is what she thought was a dream really a dream?

In any case she is still having no more clues on the meaning of all this. What is in the pyramid? Where are those two stars? What do they have to do with her destiny? What is her mission? Who are the sweet and powerful presences that she sometimes feels around her?

One evening it is especially clear. She just went to bed, and is thinking about something else. It is as if somebody is gently calling her. She feels it. It is really a presence, as if someone was lying right next to her! Surprised with such a familiarity for a mystical entity, Brigitte goes into meditation. Of course she does not pick up anything with her senses, but in her heart, in her soul she feels. She tries to capture an image. An extremely intense violet light floods her. The aura... She sparkles between the deepest indigo and the purple, an intense enchantment, a purity, a sidereal depth...

This powerful and ineffable sensation maintains itself every day which follows, decreasing only gradually.

Oh, she would like to confide! But with whom? Following Frédérique's fiasco, she lost the links with all her «spiritualist» friends. Only her uncle and, more rarely, her parents visit her. For a while she cherished the hope that these people would admit her goal, her ideal, even without sharing her experiences. At least she is not in conflict with her family, who seem to have a kind friendship with her. They do not contradict her, they are ready to help.

But this friendship soon becomes ambiguous. Insidiously, his father and sometimes even his uncle talk about her sanctuary and her vegetarian practice as whims, that it will soon be time to stop. On the uncle's part, it is probably mere parroting, but her father seems to have an idea in mind. He visits her without warning, for a thousand excuses, forages into the rooms, and is always looking for precisely those discussions that Brigitte prefers to avoid. She even finds him once in the sanctuary, and must get angry so that he promises never to enter there again!

Perhaps the uncle, a bit of a spiritualist, would have been receptive to some of the things she told him. But if her father comes back to demolish this work, it is probably better not to continue... Oh, when will these humans be clear and simple? When will they remember the day after what they decided the day before?

Like many other humans, his uncle wakes up in jolts, goes back to sleep for a few years, progresses in small steps... As for his father, his rare crises of Sensitivity are of little benefit to him: his soul is still far too weak to be able to stabilize this state, or even only to understand its value.

 

 

How long the days are, when we do not have a precise occupation!

Her works finished and the garden ready, Brigitte cannot fill her time with painting. And no way to sit in lotus all day long either. The garden is all planted. And the little paths around it have nothing left for her to discover.

It is true that her mystical life is intense at the moment. But, more concretely, something is missing. A goal to which to devote the energies which are bubbling within her.

She has a feeling of being cut off from the world. No one knows what is going on, and she has no one to share with. The world continues without her, for better or for worse. She is at full throttle, but she is disengaged.

Brigitte has everything she needs to be happy. Or almost.

She is bored.

She would like to be useful at something.

She is longing for...