Star Woman in Love (13 page)

You took my bags and I followed you to your car. It was an old, beaten-up banger of a vehicle, full of all the bits and pieces that had accompanied the previous years of your life. It was in tune with your character. You had to squeeze my luggage on the back seat, among bags of drawings, colours, old photographs, tree branches, clothes, shoes, newspapers and an assortment of rubbish. The inside of your car smelled of eucalyptus. It reminded me of the lingering scent in my bedroom when I was a little girl. Mum used to rub Vicks Vapor on my chest to prevent the onset of seasonal colds. I still equate eucalyptus with healing to this day.

We didn’t speak much on the way. The Silent Language had already kicked in between us. Intuition and telepathy were starting to emerge. We couldn’t believe we were together again. You held my hand for the whole journey, letting it rest on the gearbox, changing gear together. You didn’t want to let go of me, I didn’t want to be let go of by you, now that we’d found each other again. A wide, calm sense of spaciousness stretched out ahead of us. My heart melted into that moment. Time had no meaning at all.

You drove slowly towards the river, along the quays and then back on to your friend Fintan’s house on the North Side. Christmas lights decorated the Dublin streets. The city was enchanted. It was caught between dimensions. Where is that magic now? Nineteen years on, and that source of Light that Ireland’s capital used to be has gone, has become one of the deepest wounds of our planet. But let’s keep our focus on those happy days, and the beauty they held for us then.

Fintan’s house turned out to be a mansion. The entrance faced a road which ran along the coast. The beach was a stone’s throw away. There was a big garden all around the property, with trees, benches, a water feature and a decked area. We put my bags down in the dining room and headed for a place you wanted to show me. Once we reached the beach across the road, we sat on a rock by the water. The waves lapped at our feet in all their hypnotic rhythm. It was cold and my scarf was up to my nose. You took an ocarina from your back pocket and started playing a tune. The long slurred notes mixed with the sound of the waves, the cloudiness of the sky and the greyness of the water. The scene stood still in front of us, bar a dark spot that could be seen as it moved closer. It was a baby seal which was swimming towards us at the sound of your ocarina. You and I and the seal, slipping out of time. A ray of golden light shone on the sand, drawing a line which stretched from our rock over to the house where we would be living together.

“It’s a ley line, Cassandra,” you said.

“I know. It’s our ley line,” I replied.

We sat with the sea a while longer, until the sunset brought darkness so deep we could see the stars in the sky.

“Let’s go back,” you told me.

So we trailed back to the warmth of our joint dwelling. You lit a fire and I unpacked. Unexpected tears welled up in my eyes, and a deep sorrow came upon me. It didn’t belong to me but to you. Our auras had started to merge: I could feel your emotions now. It only lasted a few minutes. I turned to see a blue and red butterfly outside on the windowpane. My mood changed again and joy returned to my heart. I put my face closer to the window to absorb the crystalline energy from the flying visitor. She told me that much learning was ahead.

“You are in the right place, Cassandra,” she said, “and the right teachers will appear on your path. You are going to be trained in natural magic. You will meet your tribe and become the Dreamtime queen of this land. In years to come, there is soon going to be a gathering of highly evolved souls on the land of Ériu. The Game of Heaven on Earth has officially started with your arrival on Irish soil.” 

I didn’t understand much of what was being related to me. The room started to spin around me and I fainted. The next thing I saw was your face. I was in your arms. I forgot many things in that moment. They would come back when the time was right. I reassured you I felt better already, and blamed my swooning on low blood pressure. The truth, however, was that my mind was expanding and processing Light much faster than my body could at the time. Dinner-time soon brought us back to reality, and to that gentle agony called falling in love.

* * * *

Dublin, 16 December 1993 - part one

I’d been in Ireland for two weeks. Although we lived together, nothing had yet happened between us. Not that the tension wasn’t there, or our hearts weren’t hoping we would get down to some action between the sheets. But somehow we kept our urges to ourselves. When we hugged and walked hand in hand, we always tried not to give into our sexual needs. It had worked so far and no physical interaction had really taken place. It was odd, to say the least, and very difficult, given you were a 28-year-old, hot-blooded male, and I was a 25-year-old healthy young woman. But there was more to us than meets the eye.

Finally the sexual tension became almost palpable, to the point where we were beginning to feel awkward about it and would flee from any possible temptation. Like one night when you were sitting next to me on the sofa while we were watching the telly. It was particularly cold. You threw a blanket over us. Only our faces were sticking out. Protected by the privacy of the woolly cover, your hands started caressing my legs under the blanket. At first I froze. Then I turned to you to hug you. That cut your attempt short. We kept watching telly but I could feel your energy beside me, all pent up like a pressure cooker. I had already learned how to recognise your erections from sensing your energy. They made the atoms in and around you dance to the Sound of Creation, hitting the targets of my heart and my womb in perfect unison.

Another night you came back late from a rendezvous with fellow artists. I was in my bed, fast asleep when I detected your presence in my room. You were drunk and free from inhibitions. By then you were coming to the end of your tether. You wanted to make love to me. Your loins were on constant alert for the opportunity. I opened my eyes and saw your silhouette against the light from the corridor. You came in. I could feel your hunger for me: it woke me up and was starting to draw me in. I could have told you to stay. But our Union wasn’t meant to happen randomly. All I could do was whisper: “Goodnight, Oscar. It’s late: go to bed.” Another opportunity had been offered to me only to go out of the window and disappear into nothingness. Creatures like us are meant to mate only under special circumstances. There is always more to sex than meets the eye. Nevertheless, my womanly side was longing for physical love.

Finally the right time arrived for our first sexual merge. Our bodies would join, at last, a couple of weeks of longing later. The moon was full that night. It was mid-December, the sixteenth day of the month to be precise. I had just started my PhD at the country’s oldest college. I walked through the University grounds breathing in the cold and staring at the sky. The perfection of creation was obvious everywhere I looked. Magic seemed palpable. An ancient memory was stirring inside me from a time without time, from a place far away. I was in love and I knew that you loved me. Wholeness was calling us.

That afternoon I had left you a message in the kitchen before going out to work. My note was on the table with two rose quartzes on top of it. I wanted you to find it on your return home from a couple of days in the country. You had gone on a walkabout with a friend of yours who was over from Australia. I loved the way you had friends from all over the world, and how you referred to everybody as ‘my friend’. As soon as you found my note, you phoned me. I was in the middle of the lecture I was giving on Norman Ireland. The hall was full of inquisitive students. My mobile rang. Normally I would keep it on silent. But I was expecting your call. A whirlwind of joy danced in my chest the moment I saw your name appear on the display. I apologised to my students and dashed out to take your call. Your voice made me happy the second I heard it.

“Cassie, I’m back. Got your message. I’m going to come over to Maynooth to collect you from work. I’ll meet you at the main gate at seven. We can go for a drink and then back home. I need to see you. I’ve missed you loads...” 

You said all these words in one breath.

“Missed you too, Ozzie,” I said. “See you later then.” 

There was sweetness in our voices I had never heard before. We were turning to gold as the Light in both of us was rising simultaneously. We were approaching our Intimate Encounter. Everything and everybody pointed to that direction. All we had to do was to go with the flow. Time itself had started to befriend us. It was impossible to resist the attraction of the love intertwining our souls. It finally felt right, and it would be easy too.

* * * *

Shambhala’s Observation Centre monitoring Ireland,

16 December 1993

Earlier that day we had decided to follow Oscar and his friends on their way to the Hill of Uisneach. We observed him and the two other men as they climbed up the hill and through the fields to reach the Cat’s Stone. Their pace was solemn and their gaze focused. They were visiting the sacred site that marks the centre of Ireland, both geographically and spiritually. Uisneach is the mystical navel of the land, the heart chakra of the country. The two men who accompanied Oscar in this shamanic mission were Shane O’Halloran, a world-famous Australian musician of Irish descent, and Peadar Ó Caoinmh, an emerging young artist from Cork. Oscar called them his brothers.

The three lads were carrying frame drums, sage leaves and prayer stones on their trail. They were ready to enter another dimension. A soft mist emerged from the ground. They would soon embark on a journey into Dreamtime Ireland, in the realms of Ériu, the ancient goddess who gave the country its name. She was the daughter of Emmas of the Tuatha Dé Danann. The Tuatha were the ‘people of the goddess Dana’, a clan of divine stock who are considered, in legendary terms, to be the fifth race of people to settle into Ireland. Shamans like Oscar are fully aware of the symbolism in mythological stories. These tales belong to the Dreamtime, a time out of time where the geological features of the land are at one with the stories being told. Many shamans and artists, however, are not aware that they are in fact the modern-day descendants of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and that fairy blood runs through their veins.

The three men reached the Stone and prepared a bonfire. Drumming and chanting, they invoked the four directions, the above and the below, and all of their ancestors and descendants. Sage was burnt as they wove slow dances around the flame. They put the stones they carried, one for each prayer they were sending to the Sky and the Earth, in a pile or cairn. Then Shane rolled a joint of Tibetan hashish. It would help them get the vision they needed. The smoke from the fire and the mist from the ground made the air thick and white.

A rolling mist descended onto the top of the hill, and down to the road where they had parked their car. Invisible Beings gathered behind the Cat’s Stone creating a vortex to open a portal to the fourth dimension. Stories and dreams from this dimension could now filter through the Veil of Forgetfulness and manifest soon into the lives of Cassandra and Oscar, and the whole planet at large. Spirit guides, animal totems, fairies and archetypes could move across the two dimensions more freely. A Magical Birth was quickening: many higher Beings didn’t want to miss it.

The energy was impetuous and pulsating. The beating of the drums grew louder and faster. More creatures filtered in: devas, fairies, genies, spirit guides, masters and ancestors. Oscar could see them, and not for the first time. The men stretched their arms out, shaking their hands as if they were turning into eagles ready to fly. Oscar fell on his knees, and then collapsed on the ground with both his hands on his chest and his face in a grimace. He was in pain and he was possessed. A giant lizard materialised out of nowhere and landed on his leg, protecting the young man and raising his frequency. The seizure subsided and finally disappeared. Oscar opened his eyes and saw Peadar and Shane who were lying on the ground, contemplating the blue vaults above them.

* * * *

Dublin, 16 December 1993 - part two

The moon was big and ripe in the evening sky. A host of stars punctuated the darkest climes. You were standing by the gate, leaning on a lamppost. Your heart was so bright it could have lit up the night. I gave you a quick peck on the cheek and jumped into your car. Your frame drum was on the back seat with bundles of sage and an open map. We drove in silence for a few miles and stopped near a small pub. We entered. The usual punters turned their heads and stared. Greetings were exchanged. We ordered Guinness and sat at a table by the fire. I was ecstatic.

You talked a lot in that pub.

“The night before my father’s death four years ago,” you said, “he’d stormed off to a pub. My mum went looking for him. And just as well she did. They had an argument that night, that’s why he’d gone out drinking, as usual. Normally she would hold a grudge and nag constantly the day after. But that night she just wanted peace. She wanted to be with the man who had been her husband for all those years... Her alcoholic husband but her husband nonetheless... So she collected dad from the pub, took him home, undressed him and helped him get into bed. He mumbled while falling asleep. She wrapped herself around him like a young bride.

She woke up early the following morning and brushed a kiss on his forehead. He opened his eyes to greet her with a smile. “I’ll make breakfast”, she said before rushing downstairs to the kitchen. Scrambled eggs and mushrooms fried in the pan, bacon and rashers turned brown in the grill. She wanted to start afresh. I know my mum. She hoped that day could mark a healthy, new beginning. They could do it. They had a great life together, two wonderful sons, and they were wealthy and loved. Dad’s problem was cultural more than personal, she kept telling herself. It didn’t have deep roots. It could be eradicated easily, that very day.