Prize winner in literature, poet, writer and artist Hermann Hesse,” Selene smiled. “He was interested in psychoanalysis, explored the soul and its states, studied philosophy and compared religions.”
“Sirius can be called the flame of immortality,” said the Guardian. “The souls incarnating under the patronage of Sirius leave a significant trace on Earth. Which one? It depends on the conjunctions and aspects of Sirius, and other passport data. In ancient Egypt, Sirius children were assigned the role of priests.”
“Remember, though,” Sirius warned, “I provide a person with tremendous energy that is difficult to control, even a small action can set off a fire. However, if my energy is not used or is used for evil, the person will be burned or bitten by it. I’m in charge of wolves and dogs as well.”
“Either one serves humanity,” Selene concluded, “consciously sacrificing one Self, for which one will receive fame and recognition, or one is recalled from Earth. My role is not so great, but the support of the Higher Forces is guaranteed to you throughout your entire incarnation!”
“Selene, the planet of Light, multiplies my strength,” the Guardian added.
“That’s right,” Sirius smiled, “Selene and I will try to protect you, Rukh, from the Black Magic. If you become a person emanating Heavenly Light, people will come to you for help. Selene inclines towards altruism, but energy donors attract manipulative vampires, and the Light beings are hated by the Forces of Darkness. The evil spirits will narrow around you in a tight ring, unlikely to leave you alone until you return to Heaven. Joan of Arc, accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake during the Inquisition, had a similar position of Selene. You won’t be burned, but you’ll have to suffer. Possessing extra sensitive abilities and the gift of healing, you can become a white magician.”
“Saint Seraphim of Sarov had a similar Selene,” the Guardian added. “You’ll love nature, it will be reciprocally, animals will obey you. It’s very beautiful on Earth, Rukh! There are mountains, trees, flowers there, the butterflies flutter, the bees work… Well, it’s time for us to go to the Library, to read the book from your Future!”
Library of the Universe
“Wow!” I exclaimed.
“The greatest book depository. Even drafts of ever existing in projection are collected here. And indeed, as one writer said, manuscripts don’t burn!”
“How to orient oneself here and get to the right book?”
“Formulate mentally what you need to find.”
We took chairs in the Reading Hall. As soon as I remembered the title, the book appeared right in front of me. I looked at the cover and read the author’s first and last name.
“Who is this Alice? Do you know her, Angel?”
“Certainly! It’s you.”
“What a surprise! I thought I would just communicate with ghosts. Perhaps the book indicates the cause for the erased memory. Oh no! No!” I exclaimed after reading the annotation. “These are stories written in childhood! The cause can’t be there!”
“All people come from childhood. There is nothing accidental, especially for the soul with Sirius and Selene on the Ascendant!”
The book opened at the story “The Letter”, and I read a mysterious message from the correspondence of third parties living at the end of the 19th century and clearly associated with the Theosophical Society of Madame Blavatskaya. It ended as follows,
“…“Certainly, in my life, there have been also other inexplicable cases related to those who passed into the Other World, but I should confess to you that most of all I have always been concerned about the relationship of alive people, because it is what turns some of us into ghosts…
April 13, 1883”
P.S. The letter was found by the author of the book in the Astral Tablets on April 13, 1994. Underscores remained as in original.”
“What does that mean, Angel? She, that is me, as a child, got into the Astral Tablets, found that letter 111 years after it had been written by a third person to a fourth person, and for some reason published it!”
“Make a request to the Astral Tablets for the existence of the original.”
I concentrated, sent a mental request, and a transparent old paper with intricate female handwriting appeared in front of my eyes.
“Check the date,” the Guardian suggested. “Find the differences between the original and the copy. And note that a few words conveyed not in tracing paper but true in meaning, is not a bad result!”
Return to Athos
Greece
“Finally! I’m here! God, what a joy it is to come back here again and again!”
I was waiting for my luggage at Thessaloniki airport with the anticipation of a cup of coffee on the balcony overlooking the sea in my cozy hole in Ouranoupoli. In August, I used to rent an apartment on the top floor in Nicolette’s house, a 5—7 minutes walk to the ferry to Mount Athos.
Athos in Greece was not only a state within the state, an Orthodox monastic republic on the Holy Mountain, where women were not allowed. Athos was a peninsula that almost entirely had belonged to Orthodox Athos before the war with Turkey. Later, in order to settle the Greek refugees, part of the monastic territory was given to secular Greece with a shift in borders to Ouranoupoli, the city of Heaven (or Uranus, the planet in charge of Heaven), then a small village accessible for everyone. There was an early morning ferry to Dafni (the port of Mount Athos) there, and at 10 a tour ship to the Holy Mountain so that tourists could admire the monasteries from afar and venerate the shrines brought to them in boats by Athos monks. At the foot of the Mountain the spirit was breathtaking! – a huge pillar of Light went up to the Sky.
Oh, if I had been a man, I would have climbed the Mountain, lived in monasteries and … would I have returned? Happiness was to die in the Holy Land!
However, even in Ouranoupoli, you could feel the Gates open, and you were instantly heard in Heaven, every word and thought.
I loved Ouranoupoli. I loved everything there: the people, the sea, the food, the atmosphere of peace of mind and the Spirit of the Holy Mountain. Athos was my love at first sight, and my heart would forever remain there.
The luggage began to crawl onto the belt. Shifting my gaze from one suitcase to another, I noticed an Old Monk. I had met him before, but where and when? However, monks were everywhere on Athos, especially in August, the peak of pilgrimage, when many Orthodox holidays were celebrated, including the day of St. Panteleimon, after whom the Russian monastery on Athos was named, and the Assumption of the Virgin. I liked listening to stories about Athos, when monks, stopping for the night in Ouranoupoli, had dinner in cafes and shared their impressions.
I walked out of the airport building. Outside, as usual, I was met by Kostas, a friend of my friend Dimitra. He grabbed my things, and we were already rushing along the serpentine roads towards home. In an hour or
