| Tallinn, Estonia, the
country we left behind |
|
|
| The Savior, by Andrey Rublyov |
|
At the Sheremetyevo border stand, customs officials asked us to open our suitcases.
There were only presents inside, a couple of Asian khalats-quilted robes that are the
national dress-some underwear, socks, shoes, toothbrushes and other mundane items.
Nevertheless, they still went through our belongings five or six times. […]Then
something incredible happened. |
At the next stand, an expensive old genuine icon fell out of an open suitcase.
The heavy object made a loud crash, and precious stones flashed through the air. People
were stunned!The Soviet atheist regime considered these icons national treasures and
forbade anyone to take them abroad without special governmental permission. There was no
permission whatsoever because this icon was wrapped in men's underwear. I said to the
official still examining my luggage, "My dear, over there valuable icons are falling
out of suitcases but here you are busy with my khalats!" The official gave me an
angry look but let us go.
There was just one more passport control. A nice young soldier checked our travel
documents promptly. He had a brand-new American computer. This high-tech object on the
Russian border confirmed that New World toys were already invading the Soviet Union. We
were obviously late, and the computer seemed frozen in its search. We were alone in the
hall with its high ceiling and glass walls. I was very nervous. Vladimir took my hand and
whispered, "It will soon be over." Sure enough, the computer blinked and the
soldier told us to go ahead.
We raced to the plane. They had already closed the entrance, but a worker was still around
and he kindly slipped us through the passengers' tunnel. I remember thinking how magically
the Russian icon had come to our rescue. If it hadn't fallen in time, and if customs had
kept us a minute longer, we would have certainly missed our plane. It was God's hand that
guided us out of that country. The plane was departing. We had passed the point of no
return. I tried to compose myself and suppress my sobs.
The Lonely Executioner
Upon my arrival in this country we received political asylum almost immediately. We lived
in a small guesthouse with an alley entrance. My son Vladimir and I were at the beginning
of our American journey. Vladimir soon found a job at the Pacific Design Center as a
sample clerk and I began my job search. A couple of friends promised to help us get
settled but they merely delivered their used clothes and old chairs that had been chewed
by dogs. We were so frightened and embarrassed that it didn't occur to us to throw them
away. And now, in addition to all the stress, the ugly chairs we didn't need ate up all
the tiny space in our guesthouse. Amazingly, these people who gave us castoff items still
considered themselves grand benefactors and wanted my respect. One of them, lady Eleanor,
felt free to call anytime she found it convenient. She kept me on the phone for hours
until I finally snapped. I shouted something terrible and threw down the receiver.
After my release of emotion, something strange happened. I stared into the big mirror on
my wall and instead of seeing my own image, I saw a man! I wondered had I gone crazy or
had I just penetrated a different reality?
I knew that man! It was me! I had met "him" back home in Tallinn, the capital of
Estonia. The mirror image looked like an artist, renowned for his paintings of naked
women. He was rich and famous and his work was popular, but his paintings always made me
wince. Instead of beauty, I saw death without knowing why. Now, with his image as my own,
I went through the mirror and walked into an ancient temple where human sacrifices were
being made by an unknown cult.
A ceremony was about to begin, yet I wasn't part of the cult. I was a warrior who had been
taken prisoner. They had captured my family. They forced my wife to betray me and she had
become a member of their cult. She was the queen of blood. She was wearing a light red
gown and a red headdress with antenna-like spikes adorned by rubies.
Another connection with the past also became clear. In my present lifetime I recognized my
"wife" as my friend Urve Arrak, an Estonian leather artist. In 1989 we both came
to the United States. Here, she began to paint red flowers. Many of them looked like
stains left by running blood. This is remarkable because Estonians usually avoid using
red. It reminds us of the Soviet occupation. Although she doesn't like the Soviets, she
cannot keep the red color from intruding into her art. I think it reflects her vague
memory of being the blood queen and wearing the ruby headdress. She may believe in
reincarnation but she certainly doesn't believe in my vision. But in spite of her lack of
faith, Urve mailed me card samples of her "Red Flowers" series to illustrate my
story, "The Lonely Executioner." My daughter was also a captive in that ancient
temple. In the present day, the same entity came to me as my adopted son.
There were no ordinary people among the captors. They were all priests or shamans, men of
knowledge or sorcerers. My daughter and I were the only outsiders and we were unwilling
participants.
The priest told me to put a pair of large, pointed artificial teeth in my mouth in order
to perform a sacred blood-rite. I had to bite the willing sacrificial humans on their
necks to open their veins! The sacred blood must flow freely. The cult needed it. I obeyed
because of my daughter. She was only 14, so I hoped we would somehow escape before they
reached out to claim her.
She was wearing a tight black dress, striped in yellow, orange and green. It had a funny
tail. She was also wearing a pair of artificial teeth but they were black. She was
supposed to follow me and mock my every move and gesture, especially when I bit the
victims. In her role as jester, she had to sing funny songs and make people laugh in order
to overcome the gloom of the biting, the flowing blood, and the dying in the name of God.
When she sang and danced, the tail would swing back and forth. The priests feasted their
eyes on her with lust. I hated them. They pushed me and I had to bite. The victims were in
long white dresses. I hated them, too. They came here voluntarily and I couldn't
understand why. There were female and male victims, all very young and all drugged. I
despised them and they despised me. Our hatred and anger were sealed by blood for
millennia to come. I had to bite them in the presence of my daughter. Her eyes bulged in
terror and she stopped singing. I fell suddenly into a black unconsciousness.
I returned to the present time, weeping, yet feeling some relief.
Some in the crowd appeared comfortable with this opulence; others did
not. We were two classes huddled under one roof. An invisible wall seemed to separate
one from the other. Although I had to accept belonging to the world of the deprived I felt
more comfortable with the opposite world. As Tamura put it, "You are poor, but you
think like a rich person because you were on the top of your world back home, and this is
your problem here!" Looking at all that opulence I had the strange and unfounded
feeling of having been here before, but the growing motley crowd made me forget it for a
while.The Bel Age Hotel conference room was filling up. Janet and I had good seats near
the center with an excellent view of the stage. The medium was greeted with loud applause
and then the demonstration began. Just as in his televised appearance, Van Praagh
immediately focused the audience's attention. And again, he achieved this with only his
words. There we were, hundreds of us, listening to one man talk about spiritual reality.
This in itself was mesmerizing.
James Van Praagh related how in his teens he began to hear voices. He would glance around,
surprised to find nobody there. "I am clairsentient," he explained, "which
means clear-feeling. I feel the emotions and personalities of the deceased." He
added, "I am also clairvoyant and I am clairaudient. The first means clear-seeing and
the second clear-hearing." This inborn gift of clear sensation enables him to work as
a medium. Here on earth, the vibrational frequencies are much slower than in the spirit
world. In order to make contact, we have to increase our vibrations, while the guides must
slow theirs down. On earth, only trained psychics can usually interpret the signals picked
up in this manner.
Van Praagh said he had guides with him to help with the session. He had no control over
who would come through. Messages from the dead would be given and we were asked to speak
up if we recognized the details. The demonstration of clairaudient communication with the
other side began. I was struck by the simple and mundane content of the messages.
Van Praagh asked the audience, "Is somebody here whose garage door is broken at
home?" There were at least ten people with this problem. "Please, give more
details," the medium asked the entity on the other side. The entity obliged, and the
medium continued: "Inside, at the left, there is a tipped-over bucket with white
paint-the paint is dried out." The owner of the garage with the tipped-over bucket
and broken door happened to be sitting in the last row of the large audience, but the
transmission of the message was perfect.
James Van Praagh moved about the audience, passing along words of reassurance from the
world of spirits. After several beautiful and peaceful messages, there was a dramatic one
involving an entire family. Members of that family occupied almost a row. They had lost
their son in a street fight. The message produced disturbing details, as well as the names
of people responsible for the murder. From the spirit world there was no cry for revenge.
On the contrary, the family was asked to stop crying and was given assurance of the son's
other-worldly well-being. The boy's mother, a small, thin woman, broke into tears until
her cry became a howl of despair. It reminded me of many Russian women who had been
notified of the loss of their sons in World War II and Afghanistan. I also remembered
their heartbreaking demonstrations through Moscow in the perestroika days when mothers
were finally allowed to come out and cry in public. A mother's grief is universal.
Van Praagh answered questions from the audience. I was intrigued by an answer to a
question about suffering caused by AIDS and cancer. Van Praagh had a hunch, suggesting
that before an entity came to earth and picked a body for incarnation, it had agreed to
undergo some suffering in order to cleanse the earth's aura. The AIDS or cancer patient
was supposed to take in negative energy and transform it through his terminal illness.
Therefore, Van Praagh suggested people should respect these souls, as their pain
ultimately helps humankind.
There were many questions about reincarnation. Van Praagh answered, almost jokingly, that
according to his psychic friends he had at least two European incarnations-one as a
vagabond artist and the other as a King's jester. Who can tell? If there is truth to it,
then this may explain Van Praagh's success: two or more lifetimes as a street artist who
literally worked for food might now help him stand before big crowds, delivering messages
from the other side. Maybe there were more significant lifetimes required for opening his
clairaudient and clairvoyant abilities, each a moment, a glimpse from a vast mosaic of
past and future lifetimes unfolding in the space-time continuum, where time as we know it
doesn't exist. As the demonstration progressed, an intense, heightened energy accumulated
in the room. Instead of a message from the other side, I received more pictures from the
past.
I knew I was in ancient Egypt. Above me were turquoise skies. In front was a turquoise
pool with crocodiles in a sprawling courtyard surrounded by palaces and temples. The
stones and ceramic tiles were spotless beige and cream. Here and there were patterns
created by light blue, pink and green semiprecious stones. Everything was perfect,
expensive and not for commoners.
Nobody was in sight. Somehow I knew the Pharaoh and his family were present at a ceremony
in the temple. Someone--maybe a guard, maybe a family member--stayed behind to watch the
temple entrance. I recognized the sentinel as James Van Praagh.
The vision continued. The heat of the sun was almost unbearable. The guard looked around
but nobody was in sight. Then he left his post, approached the pool, took off his sandal,
and submerged his foot into the water, cooling and rotating his ankle, teasing a sleepy
crocodile. I knew these giant reptiles were sacred. If someone were caught committing such
a sacrilege, he would be killed instantly. I was worried about whether he made it back to
his post safely. I needed more energy to see the outcome of that situation but my vision
became fuzzy and the images vanished. I found myself back in the Bel Age Hotel. To my
surprise, James Van Praagh sat in a chair, took off his shoes, crossed his legs and then
rotated his ankle repeatedly, copying the gesture of the guard in my vision.
Was this a coincidence, or did it confirm the truth of what I had seen? Was this glimpse
of eternity revealed so I might see the roots of the medium's spiritual training?
According to many sources, the Pharaoh's family members, personal servants and especially
guards, who were appointed exclusively among nobility, went through the most advanced
esoteric training. They learned exercises to transmute emotions from joy to anger, from
one extreme to the other, at will. There were exercises for separating emotional energy
from mental energy, for controlling out-of-body traveling, and opening at will the upper
chakras for taking in heightened energy. Our inactive upper chakras serve to protect us,
as heightened frequencies may burn an untrained body. Maybe that vision meant that in
ancient Egypt the jester, the artist and the medium were already transforming.
I realized that this spontaneous vision stemmed from that night's energy. I had tuned into
it accidentally. Later, at a private session with James Van Praagh at his home, I had a
chance to share this vision with him. To my surprise, he confirmed his own belief that he
had one important incarnation in ancient Egypt, but not as a guard. "You'd better
train yourself," he encouraged, "because this is what you'll do the rest of your
life. You will be around for a while, so take care of yourself," he concluded. So
far, daily worries kept me from a chance to submit myself to any systematic esoteric
training.
In the Bel Age Hotel, Van Praagh ended the meeting by channeling further messages to
individuals from their loved ones. Three hours of demonstration quickly passed. When the
crowd poured out of the hall, the mood was different. There was an increased lightness and
the invisible walls between people seemed to melt away. Such emotions were rather
miraculous since the theme of the event was death. Instead of despair, people felt
release. The closest thing to this experience is theatrical catharsis, as in Hamlet. The
play speaks about death and betrayal, yet the production evokes feelings of lightness and
joy. After the demonstration the energy of lightness was still there: people almost flew
out of the hall. I was so carried away that I didn't notice a chair in my way and stumbled
over it. While gaining a foothold my hand grabbed the oval, metallic back of that chair.
The same instant, the feeling returned of having seen similar chairs before. Now, after
the demonstration, in the air of heightened energy, I recalled the place-Berlin! The only
difference was that in the Berlin conference room, the chairs were covered with red
fabric. There were five filmmakers from Estonia in the room with these chairs. Of course,
we did not pay attention to the color of blood, betrayal and aggression. Probably we saw
it as the color of love and success. We were too blinded by excitement to see the lurking
danger.
This recollection shook me out of my state of complacency and put me back on the search
for answers.
|
Selina
Monologue of my deceased employer |
That night a surprise was waiting for me. I heard a familiar English-speaking voice. It
was Selina, the woman I worked for shortly before meeting Lucy.
Vladimir had asked me to help out a contractor who was moving to Las Vegas. |
Selina, his mother-in-law, couldn't stand the idea of moving, and needed somebody to
help her through the nightmare of saying goodbye to her past. Her premonitions were
justified. After the move she lived only a couple of months before dying of a heart
attack. She was 82. Before she left, I met Lucy in her apartment. Even if Selina only came
through to talk about Lucy, I cannot help sharing some details of her transition in her
own words.
Selina, I cannot believe it's you. Thanks so much for coming through. How are you?
"I am sorry for Lucy. I wanted the best for you. It was me, the stupid old woman, who
arranged that meeting in my apartment so you could meet her and be hired by her. I had no
idea they were so stingy, so rich and so stingy. Disgusting!"
Selina, you were the greatest. You set up the meeting with my karma people.
I decided to change the subject of our session.
Describe your arrival on the other side.
Selina ignored my question-it looked like she had something important to tell me as well.
"You and I have been in a position to help each other for many lifetimes. As a Roman
soldier you helped me in Egypt. I had poison in my system and you called the doctor and
saved my life. This was why I put you together with Lucy. I wanted the best for you."
Don't worry. Everything worked out fine.
"Oh no! That stupid woman doesn't know what she created for herself. You did the
right thing to leave her. One day her daughter will also understand that she was wrong,
too."
Tell me how you arrived?
"My heart stopped on my way for a glass of water. I was alone and I fainted and I was
gone. At the beginning I didn't comprehend the transition. In my mind I was still looking
for a water glass. Harry was there and I thought that he had come to help me find that
damn glass and help me get the water. And I said, 'Harry, how did you get here?' And he
answered, 'No, dear, you made it here!' And we laughed, and hugged, and I didn't give a
damn where I was, in this realm or wherever-I was with Harry again. Harry [the manager of
a condo complex for middle-class people, mostly retirees] always wanted a bungalow of his
own. He was fed up taking care of other people's needs. He wanted something for himself.
"But on earth we couldn't afford more comfortable living, and he was ready to work
for a better bungalow. It is in a good area. There are many people like us. We are not far
from the sea, with plenty of sun and dry, white sand. There are flower beds, and a lawn
around our bungalow. We have a beautiful view. I don't have to clean all the time. It
stays clean over here."
What do you do with all your free time?
"I read. I was always fond of reading but never had time on earth. Somehow it slipped
by me. I missed books and intellectual life. I have all the time I want now that I am not
working. And I am so happy not to work like crazy all the time. All my life I worked hard.
You don't know that. You saw me at the end when I was already miserable and did nothing. I
still want to rest and enjoy the beauty. They say I may choose to do something but I don't
want to, yet. I still enjoy being a woman. I want to be a woman and study fashion and I
want others to be beautiful and happy. And I like a good chat. At concerts they all
gather, you know, the Jewish girls, and we discuss ladies' fashions.
Interestingly enough, I never thought of my time with Selina as work. Her sharp mind and
sense of humor made communication enjoyable. She taught me English and improved my
pronunciation. I wasn't quite sure who should pay whom for the services. I had the feeling
that we had met before, but at that time I had no past-life recollections.
Selina came through two times more, asking me to contact her daughter. Finally, I found
her daughter on the Internet and mailed all of Selina's messages to her. The daughter did
not respond and I never heard from her again. Selina also did not visit me anymore.
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