The Games ended with the final performance, which included dancers supporting a main singer. I tried to imitate one of the dancers in my living room, imagining myself on stage in front of many people. It was in that moment that I realized something extraordinary: the dancer was being powered up by something from within. It had lifted her up into a heightened frequency, and the part of her which is normally hidden to the public (an image came to me then, of her wearing a tracksuit in her spare time) was now being expressed as a whole. There was an union of opposites, private and public, inner world and outer manifestation. She had briefly taken me to her world, because she loved to dance, and she was fulfilling her dream to dance.
But by the time of the Lillehammer Games, my own frequency had dropped significantly. When the world is dark... I began worrying that, as sung by a local singer in the role of a newly maturing woman, I was losing touch with my "childlike universe". This universe was made up of my ability to see what I (at the time) termed 'parallels & connections', and to feel emotions from things other people normally didn't think much about. I guess the privacy was exciting in itself - knowing I had a secret. But these emotions tended to fade in time. Besides, no-one else would participate, and when they did, it was clearly temporary. They would humour me for a while, or even believe some of the things I shared with them - but eventually they'd move on without really having understood what I was trying to explain. In some cases they even repudiated such bonds. I thought perhaps I demanded too much for myself - but even when I threw myself into their magical world, helping them sustain it without asking for anything in return, it eventually fell apart. Nevertheless, I continued with my 'Voipici' philosophy all my life.
I decided to own up to these feelings. At first I wrote these feelings down for my principal teacher, who was to look after us in school and who had asked us what we love/hate about ourselves. For me, it was like this: I loved what I knew inside, but I hated that I could not hang on to it in such a way that I would integrate it into my life. She replied I didn't need to worry, because if at that time I already knew how to balance my dreaming with having a full life, I would always know. But the truth was there was so much I didn't know yet. My constant success, although I had wanted it to clearly represent my involvement with the dreamworld and my love for pure knowledge (from which formal knowledge is easily derived), backfired: everyone misinterpreted my actions as being fuelled by ambition, and that connection I craved was pushed further away. Only very few were able to recognize that there was something 'else' at play.
Privately, I tried to understand how people lost touch with their childhood world, and how they afterwards dismissed its knowledge as something shameful for their adult life. Adults could not be seen to be interested in cartoons. Adults could not be bothered to interpret the finer shades of meaning in a poem. They needed to be practical and realistic. As a result, their world was always full of grey and worry. Whenever I tried to remind them of anything 'from within' (which to me represented light and love) they became very sad, worried for me, or angry with me. So what was the point of "living life", as they called the process? This 'life' seemed to only mean falling away from everything that was true. They also seemed to know very little: I expected to be taught by them, to be given feedback on things that mattered to me, better myself and learn new things, but I always knew more than they did. I experienced much sadness due to this, but eventually I accepted that I had to find the way for myself. Like a modern pop song says, perhaps all the doors seem closed because you need to open the one that leads to the perfect world.
This was the time I decided to honour my Path. Close to you is where I will stay. This has meant trying to maintain higher consciousness within the bounds of material life. People I have met since have been awed by "how many things I know", and have assumed I read many books and "work hard" and, worst of all, they have assumed they themselves could never achieve what I can. This has been a neverending source of amusement for me, because on one hand you get people telling you your "artistic streak" is useless in this world and on the other there are those who perceive it as some sort of godly feature, out of reach by commoners and a source of personal money and power. In truth, both of these extremes proved to be the foes of my happiness as a human being. So here's the real story.
|Sabin Bãlasa, Luceafãrul|
I had read the poem "The Evening Star" (or Lucifer/the Light Bearer) by Mihai Eminescu, a poem inspired by an old Indo-European legend to which Eminescu stapled 19th century ideas about the fate of the genius. Around the same time, I had heard a song - which then became the hit most associated with the Revolution, or freedom - "Good Evening, Beloved".
Intuitively, I could tell the two poems were communicating the same thing, and it was around this time that my aches began - the aches caused by having touched the Cosmic. This combined physical and spiritual longing, pain and desire is called "DOR" in my native language, a word which has no direct connection in any other modern language but which from the Cosmic point of view can be related to an Aspiration for the alchemical "Gold". Go for the gold that you carry within.
I don't remember who explained it to me, that the Evening Star was in fact the Planet Venus, but I was amazed at this play between the levels of reality. I decided to "sneak up on it" one evening. I waited until it first appeared in the sky (to "catch first light" as it were), and I sent it the following thoughts:
|Evelyn de Morgan, Evening Star Over The Sea|