The spirit of a foremother

 

‘“I realised it one morning...’ Anastasia said quietly, and her gaze looked as though it were immersing itself in the past, ‘a morning when Vladimir was not at home in the flat he had rented temporarily. I could not find him with my ray. It was the morning of the day when my foremother went into a dolmen to die many centuries ago. I always think of her on that anniversary I try to talk with her. And she talks with me. You people are accustomed as well to going to the cemetery on a day you remember your loved ones, to think about them, even talk with them. I can do this without leaving my glade. My ray helps me both see and talk at a distance, and they can feel my ray.

“‘On that day I was thinking about my foremother, trying to talk with her as usual, but I could not sense any reply from her. None at all. She was not responding to me. This had never happened before. Then I tried to locate her dolmen with my ray I found it. I shone my ray upon it with all my might. My foremother did not respond. Something had happened I did not know about. My foremother’s spirit was not in the dolmen.’

“Anastasia, please explain what you mean by someone’s “spirit”. What does it consist of?’

“‘It consists of all the unseen elements in a Man, including certain passions and sensations acquired during the period of existence in the flesh.’

“‘Does the spirit possess an energy, analogous to any of the energies we know of?’

‘“That is correct. It is an energy complex, consisting of a multitude of different energies. After the end of a human in-dividual’s fleshly existence, certain of these complexes break up into separate energies, which are subsequently used in plant and animal aggregates, as well as in essential natural phenomena.’

“‘What kind of power do they have? What is the energy potential of unbroken complexes?’

“‘They vary from individual to individual. The weakest ones cannot even overcome gravitational energy — they will later fall apart, no matter what.’

“‘Gravitational, you say? The weakest ones? Is it possible to see their presence in anything at all? To touch it? Feel it?’ “‘Of course. In a tornado, for example.’

“A tornado? You mean a tornado which rips trees up by the roots and overturns things? Then what kind of energy do the strongest ones have?’

“‘The strongest? Well, that would be Him. I cannot fully fathom the strength of His energy.’

“‘Then, let’s say somewhere in between, something average?’ “‘The energy complex of many average spirits already contains a released mental energy’

“‘What would be the strength or energy potential of an av-erage complex like this?’

“‘I already told you: it contains released mental energy’ “‘What does that mean? What can it be compared to? How would you define it?’

“‘To what can it be compared? A definition? Tell me, what is the most powerful energy that your mind, your thought or consciousness can imagine?’

“‘The energy of a nuclear explosion. No, rather, the energy of the reactions taking place at the Sun’s core.’

“‘Everything you have named is equivalent to but a tiny fraction of released mental energy. As for definitions, those

are things you think up yourselves to use in verbal communi-cation with each other. Not a single definition you have ever thought of is applicable here. You can use the ones you are familiar with if you multiply them to the power of infinity.’ “‘Tell me, what is the strength of your foremother’s energy?’ “‘It contains released mental energy’

“‘How did you find out about your foremother? How and where did she die? After all, that happened ten thousand years ago!’

“‘That information — about my foremother who went into the dolmen to die — was passed down from generation to generation of her descendants.’

“‘Did your mother tell you about her?’

“‘I was only an infant when my mother perished. I was not capable of taking in that kind of information. My grandfather and great-grandfather told me all about my foremothers.’ “‘Can her spirit be seen with normal human vision?’ “‘Partially If one changes one’s spectral perception, along with one’s inner rhythm.’

“‘Is that possible?’

“‘The phenomenon you know as Daltonism  suggests that it is possible. You believe it is something beyond the will of Man, that it is merely a disease, but that is not so.’

“‘You said your ancestor, your foremother, was worthy enough to have information about her transmitted from generation to generation over the millennia? What makes this information so worthy, so valuable?’

“‘My foremother was the last from our pristine origins who knew what a woman should think about during the breastfeeding of an infant and had the ability to do so. Civilisation was gradually losing sight of the knowledge people had ten thousand years ago, and it has all but disappeared completely today. My foremother was by no means an old woman, but she went into the dolmen to die in order to preserve all this knowledge of our pristine origins. And when people’s awareness begins to be restored, people will become aware of the need to transmit this knowledge to nursing mothers. And after that they will help each other learn everything. Through her death in the dolmen my foremother learnt even greater truths that women need to know.’

“‘Why did she decide to go into a dolmen? How does a dolmen differ from the usual kind of stone tomb? And why did she not wait until she was old before going into the dolmen to die? Was she motivated by an awareness of her goal, or simply by superstition?’

“‘Back then they had already begun paying less attention to the breast-feeding of infants and women were not offered the opportunity of entering a dolmen, even if they wished to. The ageing leader revered my foremother and comprehended that if he did not accede to her request, the leader-to-be would not listen to her at all, and her intentions he might well dismiss as mere fancy.

“‘But the menfolk could not be compelled by their leader to build my foremother a dolmen, and so he gave her his own. The men did not approve of the leader’s decision and refused to lift the stone slab covering the top so she could go in. So the women got together as one and all night long tried to lift the slab of heavy stone. The next morning at dawn the old leader came. He did not do much walking any more, yet still he came, leaning on a staff. The old leader smiled at the women, said some encouraging words, whereupon the heavy slab

yielded to the women’s upward thrust, and my foremother went in.’

“And how does a dolmen differ from an ordinary stone tomb?’

“‘There is not much difference outwardly. But the dolmen, as you call this stone tomb, was a place where living people went to die. The dolmen was not simply a religious structure, as people tend to think today It is a monument to wisdom and the great self-sacrifice of one’s spirit for the sake of future generations. Even today it has a significant functional purpose. And the death experienced in one of these dolmens was not an ordinary one. Actually, the word death is not all that appropriate here.’

“‘I can imagine,’ Boris Moiseevich said. A living person en-tombed in a stone chamber... That is really extraordinary — it must have been an extremely torturous death.’

“‘The people who went into the dolmens did not suffer. The peculiarity of their death lay in the fact that they meditated. They meditated on eternity, and in spirit they would remain forever on the Earth, and even hold on to certain earthly feelings. But the soul of those who went into a dolmen to die was forever deprived of the possibility of material re-embodiment on the Earth.’

“‘How did they meditate?’

“‘You are aware today — especially from the ancient Oriental religions — of what meditation is. And there are teachings today that can help one become acquainted with a small fraction of the phenomena of meditation, but not, unfortunately, with its underlying purpose. And today there are people who are capable of meditating — temporarily separating part of their spirit from their body and then returning it to the body Through the help of meditation in the dolmen, even while the body was still alive, the spirit completely separated itself and returned many times, while the flesh was

still living. After that the spirit remained forever in the dolmen. All alone, it would eternally wait for visitors to impart to them the wisdom of our pristine origins. Even if the flesh succeeded in living a while longer, it was still cloistered. But while it was alive, the spirit had the freedom to travel back and forth between different dimensions, which afforded it the opportunity of analysing at incredible speed (according to your calculations) the truth that was available, as though clarifying the truth for itself.

“‘One who died, or entered into eternal meditation through the dolmen, knew that his soul or spirit would never again be able to take on a material form. It would never again be able to embody itself in earthly flesh, or matter. It would never be able to go far from the dolmen or leave it for any length of time, but it would have the ability to communicate with a particle of the soul of a person living in the flesh who had come to visit the dolmen. And if you talk about a torturous death, about suffering in general, in this case the torture lies in the fact that for millennia now nobody has come to acquire this knowledge. The great tragedy of the dolmens is the utter lack of demand. That same demand for which —’

“Anastasia,’ Boris Moiseevich interrupted, ‘how important do you feel it is for nursing mothers to have this knowledge and ability?’

“‘Extremely important,’ she replied.

“‘But why? After, all, mother’s milk feeds only the flesh of an infant.’

“‘Not only the flesh. It is capable of transmitting a huge quantity of information, as well as a keen sensitivity You must be aware, after all, that every substance includes its own kind of information, its own radiance and vibration.’

“‘Kes, I know But how can mother’s milk transmit sensitivity?’

“‘It can — it is extremely sensitive. It is inextricably linked to the feelings of the mother. The taste of the milk can change

according to her feelings. And stress can even cause the milk to congeal or stop coming altogether.’

“‘Yes, that can indeed happen. It can. And you say nobody comes to visit your foremother? That means nobody’s come over many thousands of years?’

“At first people came. Mainly the generations of relatives and people living there. After that a series of cataclysms began happening on the Earth. People began migrating. The dolmen remained where it was. But over the past millennia nobody has come to visit my foremother to find out... Now the dolmens are all being laid waste. Because people do not know

“‘In the taiga, when I first told Vladimir about the dolmens and my foremother, he said that perhaps he would go visit her dolmen. Then I explained how it was impossible for him to comprehend or feel my foremother’s spirit and accept the in-formation she had to give. Men simply do not know the feelings and sensations inherent in a nursing mother. All these millennia my foremother has been waiting for women, not men, to come see her. But no women have come to her dolmen. And I am the only one to communicate with her, once a year. And on that particular day I wanted to be in contact with her, and tell her something good. But I could not. My foremother’s spirit was not anywhere close to the dolmen. I had no idea why, and began quickly searching with my ray all around, in a constantly widening radius. And then all at once: I found her! I found her! In a ravine among the rocks.

“‘Vladimir was lying on the rocks unconscious. And my foremother, her spirit, was bending over Vladimir, taking form as a conglomeration of invisible energies. I realised then what had happened. I had known even earlier that Vladimir was looking for guides to take him to the dolmens located far away from the main road. But he could not find any No one would volunteer to accompany him. And so Vladimir decided to go into the mountains alone. At one point he fell off the path into a ravine. He was wearing ordinary shoes — not suitable for mountain hiking. In fact, he did not have any mountain gear at all.

“‘He wanted to be convinced that the dolmens really existed, he wanted to touch them. And so he went into the mountains alone. On my foremother’s memorial day he went to the dolmens located far away from the road. My foremother did not know why this poorly equipped person had come into the mountains. And she kept her eye on him. And when he slipped and started falling, she suddenly... Like a supple mass of air her spirit swept down to his side.

“‘My foremother saved Vladimir’s life. While he did not actually strike his head on a rock, the many bruises he received in the fall caused him to lose consciousness. My foremother used her supple air mass to hold up his head, as though supporting it with her hands, and waited for him to regain consciousness. That was why she did not speak with me. Even when Vladimir’s consciousness returned, she still did not go back to her dolmen. She remained in the ravine down below. She stayed to watch as Vladimir climbed back up to the path.

“‘Later I realised that my foremother was actually on the path, since stones began rolling out of the way. That was her doing. She had taken on the form of a supple breeze, sweeping the stones away from the mountain path. She wanted to help Vladimir in his descent. I very much wanted to do the same. And so I began to ever so quickly move along the path with my ray, so that it wouldn’t be so wet and slippery and Vladimir could get safely back to the place he was staying and treat his wounds.

“‘Once Vladimir had climbed back up from the ravine, he sat down on the path and examined the sketch one of the archaeologists at the Novorossiysk Museum had drawn for him. Then he got up and started walking, with a limp. But

not downward, along the dry path that had now been cleared of stones, but the opposite way: upward. I was shocked at this unexpected turn of events, and I believe my foremother did not immediately grasp his intentions either. At this point he left the path altogether and clambered through a thicket of thorny bushes.

‘“I realised he was trying to reach my foremother’s dolmen. He succeeded. He sat down on the portico in front of the dolmen, at the edge of one of the stone slabs, and began unbuttoning his jacket. His arm hurt and it took him a long time. When his jacket was completely unbuttoned I could see he had a bouquet of flowers underneath. Three little roses. The stems of two of them were broken. The flowers had been damaged when he fell into the ravine and struck the rocks. Some of the thorns on the stems were blood-covered. He placed the damaged roses on the dolmen’s portico and lit a cigarette. And then he said:

“‘“Too bad the flowers got smashed. These flowers are for you, my beauty You must have been a real beauty, just like Anastasia. You were smart, and kind. You wanted to tell our women all about breast-feeding children. Only they have no idea you exist. And the fact that your dolmen is so far off the beaten path makes it difficult for women to get here.”

“‘Then Vladimir took out a shallow little flask of brandy and two little metal goblets, and pulled out a fistful of squashed candies from his pocket. He poured brandy into the goblets. He drank one of them, placed the other on the dolmen’s portico, covering it with a piece of candy, and said: “This is for you, my beauty!”

“‘Vladimir did everything people do today at cemeteries when they come to see their loved ones or dear friends. As for my foremother... Her spirit kept sweeping around him in the form of an invisible energy mass. She was distraught, and did not know what to do. She tried to show some kind of response to Vladimir’s words, tried congealing the air into the shape of her body, but her outlines were transparent and barely noticeable. Vladimir did not notice them. He could not see or hear anything. She kept on trying her best to explain everything to him, but could only sweep back and forth in frustration.

“At one point her air mass lightly touched the goblet sitting on the portico and overturned it. Vladimir thought a random gust of wind had done this, and joked:

““‘Hey, what’re you up to, my wayward friend — spilling expensive brandy like that?”

“And my foremother’s spirit fell still in a corner of the dolmen. Vladimir poured some more brandy, placed a little stone on top, and then put another piece of candy on top of that. And again he started talking, as though to himself: ““‘We need to get a decent pathway in here. Just wait a bit. There will be a proper path to your dolmen. And that way women will come to see you. You will tell them everything they need to think about in breast-feeding an infant. Indeed, you must have had very beautiful breasts.”

“‘Then Vladimir started his descent. It was late at night when he got back to the place he was staying. He sat for a while alone on the sofa in his cold apartment, binding his wounds and watching a videocassette. Someone had given him a tape to watch which had been copied and passed around by people in various places.

“‘On the tape there was a speaker in front of a large audience made up mainly of women. He was talking about God and how strong the spirit of a righteous Man could be. Then he started talking about me. He said I was an ideal woman — a role model to which people should aspire. He said that I had great strength of mind and spirit and that I was aided by the forces of Light, and that now, once I became familiar with the lives of people in the usual world, I would be able to help them.

“‘He said a lot of nice things about me. And then, all at once... He said that I had not yet met a real man. And that the one I had been in contact with was not a real man. Indeed, others had been saying earlier that there was a young man in Australia who was worthy of me, that he and I would meet, and then I would meet a real man.

“And Vladimir, he... You see — he was sitting all alone there, listening to this. All this time he was trying with one hand to bind the wounds on his legs. His other hand still hurt too much from the bruises. I reached out to Vladimir at once with my ray I wanted to warm his wounds, and chase his pain away And to tell him... Somehow tell him... Even though he never hears me when I speak to him at a distance, I thought, well, this time it might work out... Yes, I thought it might work out this time since my longing for him to hear me was so strong. I wanted him to hear how I loved him! Only him. And only he — my dearest — only he is a real man.

“‘But I got burnt and thrown back on the ground. Something was preventing my ray from getting through to Vladimir. Once again I quickly aimed my ray at the room where he was sitting watching the video, and you know what I saw? There in front of him was this invisible energy mass — my foremother was kneeling right in front of him. Vladimir could not see or hear her. He just kept watching the tape. In the meantime my foremother was warming the wounds on Vladimir’s legs with her breath, as he was pouring this terribly painful cologne on his wounds. And my foremother tried speaking to him, but he was unable to hear.

“‘My foremother is so strong in spirit that nothing invisible could penetrate her. Any psychotropic weapons trained on her will explode. She will hardly pay them any attention. In any case any attack will be repelled. And there was no way I could interfere. I could only watch...

“‘I watched and began thinking ever so quickly. What had happened? How did a situation like this come about? Why was the speaker saying such things? Did he want to help me? Was he trying to explain something? If so, what? Why was my ray so drawn to Vladimir? Naturally I was afraid that Vladimir might take offence at the words “not a real man” and that he would be jealous of another over me. And then suddenly... O, how painful it was! It really hurt. After Vladimir had heard the whole tape, he simply sighed and said: “Whaddya know, a real man! In Australia, I heard, eh? They are going to meet. Maybe then they will give me my son.”

“‘My ray began trembling. It was as though everything had somehowgone dark. Abu see? Vladimir was not jealous. Naturally that is not a good feeling — jealousy But I wanted to see him jeal-ous, at least a little. Just a teeny-weeny bit. But here was Vladimir handing me over to another with complete indifference.

“‘I could not restrain myself and started to cry I began asking, pleading with my foremother to tell me what I had done wrong. What mistake had I made? Where had I transgressed? She did not reply until Vladimir had finished binding the last wound. Then she told me sadly:

““All you had to do was love, daughter dear. To think about what was good for your beloved without elevating yourself in the process.”

‘“I tried to explain that I did really want only what was good. But once again she quietly said:

‘““Aou wanted something for yourself daughter dear — pictures, music, poems and songs! It will all come to pass — your dream is powerful. I know It is for everyone and for the one you love, too, but now it will be more and more difficult for you to obtain earthly love. Abu are becoming a star, daughter dear. People may admire and love a star as a star, but not as a woman.”

“‘That was the last thing my foremother said. I lost my sense of self-control, I screamed and tried to explain, to argue

that I did not want to be a star, that I simply wanted to be a woman and to be loved! But nobody could hear me.

“‘Please help me! There is a lot I now understand. I am not afraid for myself — I can take care of myself. But it will take Vladimir much longer to understand... And in the meantime listening to that kind of talk is leading him away from Truth.

“‘The distribution of that cassette must be stopped. It suggests to people, including Vladimir, that I am some sort of ideal role model, a star, and that someone else instead of him ought to be with me.

“T am not a star. I am a woman. I want to love whom I myself want to love.

“‘My path is not determined by me alone.

“‘I was mistaken. I dreamt things would work out so that people would talk about me, dedicate verses and songs to me, that artists would draw me... And that has all come about.

“‘Whenever I dream, my dreams all come true. And this one has, too. I am grateful for the verses and songs. I am grateful to the poets. But I was mistaken all along. That was how I dreamt it. The poems are needed! But I was not supposed to become a star.

“T wanted all that so Vladimir would look at the images, listen to the songs, and remember. So he would remember me. But I did not know this when I was dreaming it. Now I realise — I am becoming a star. Everyone looks up to stars. But it is a woman they love.’

“Anastasia, do you realise what you’re asking for? There’s no way to stop a cassette from being distributed, especially when it’s one people copy themselves. That’s not something you can control. Nobody can.’

“‘You see? Ton cannot. But Vladimir... He is an entrepreneur. And even if it is said to be uncontrollable, he could still do something. But he does not want to do anything. He is resigned to the assumption that I am not a suitable mate for him.’”