This is out of context unless the blog has been read in a chronological order.
High summer and not a cloud in the sky. A soft breeze sways the branches of the trees as we walk slowly down the old familiar road. It’s such a beautiful day, but I feel empty. I’m taking a walk with my mother, in the City I was born. Soon we’ll pass The Butterflies. I feel anticipation, it’s growing. It’s weekend today, so the preschool is closed, but I want to enter the grounds so much. I can see the iron gate now, the parking lot surrounded by rose bushes.
”Mom…can we go through the gate please?”
”Fine. But why?”
”I miss Elijah. And…I guess I miss preschool. School is so very stressful…” I lift the not so childproof hatch and loose my breath.
”This is a magical gate. When you step through, you’ll become another person.”
Who’s is that voice? Timothy’s?! How silly of him, if he ever said such a thing! I hated Timothy. Poor bastard, he probably didn’t do anything at all to deserve such wrath! Kids are strange, the things they choose to like and dislike. I sigh and step over the stone threshold. I was almost expecting something fantastical to happen, but everything looks the same.
”I’m home now”.
It’s a small voice, close to my heart. I bite my lip – why do I want to cry? I shake off the feeling and walk briskly forward. Now I’m standing at the edge of the playground. It is so beautiful! The lawn is a stunning green sprinkled with sparkling diamond drops from this morning’s rainfall. Everything here is delightful – the air is warmer, the colors sharper. I just want to stay in this place. Something missing, some part of my soul, has returned to me. It’s such a strong emotion I burst into tears.
”What’s the matter? Bianca, what happened?” My mother inquires. She looks worried.
”I feel as if I lost a part of my soul and it…hasn’t returned to me until now.”
”I can see now you’ve been exhausting yourself with your studies. Bianca, you don’t need to get the highest grades in all the subjects. I’m still so very proud to be your mother.” I dry my cheeks and smile.
”Thanks, mom. I know you are…but thanks for saying so…it’s just…this place. I’d like to meditate here a little, are you ok with that? We’re not in a hurry?”
”No, of course not. I’ll meditate too! There’s a nice sunny spot over there”. Mother walks over to a wooden bench. I’m grateful she’s into meditation, because I really don’t want to leave and I can’t explain why. I sit down, then stand up. I need to explore the grounds, to see every corner where I used to play.
”I’m gonna do a walking meditation. I’d like to do it alone, I’ll concentrate better then. I’ll come back here when I’m done.”
”Okaaayy…aaauuuuummm…”, Mother intones. I wander from one spot to the next – swings, jungle gym, wooden bridge (Elijah the knight runs across the bridge, rescuing me the princess), berry bushes, a cluster of trees (we built campfires here).
This place isn’t as vast as I thought. The truth is it’s rather small..or am I the one who has grown up? I lie down on my stomach on the biggest lawn, studying the outdoor space from a frog perspective. For some reason, I’ve no desire to go inside the kindergarten building. I feel dread at the mere notion of going indoors. Must be because the weather is so lovely out here. No, this is unbearable! I feel as if my heart is being ripped into pieces. Lying like this it’s almost as if I could see Elijah and me playing. I chance a glance in my Mother’s direction. She’s still occupied meditating. I can’t keep it in any longer. I cry and cry, soundlessly. I’m heartbroken. I see us running to and fro, bare feet pounding the grass.
”Before I lost him. Before we were smashed to pieces.”
Whose is that voice? I feel as if I’ve had a love relationship with Elijah. I must be mourning what should have been, but never was. Elijah and I lost contact.
”You don’t know. You don’t know the half of it.”
So tell me! I say to the voice inside my head.
”It’s not safe”.
I notice time has passed, so I get up. I need to do one thing more before we leave. It’s urgent, I must do it while everything is still quiet, before my mother starts talking to me. I haste to the preschool fence and start walking along it. Suddenly I feel as if I’m a princess – a little princess.
”I walk by this fence all the time when they let me out. I hate the houses – they’re like prisons. But I love being outdoors! When I’m here I wait for my prince. I keep watch, because one day he’ll come to set me free. Princes always do – they’re experts at rescuing princesses.”
Who is the prince? I ask.
Several voices shout at once, there’s some sort of argument going on. I focus on the princess.
”I’m growing weak. I can’t walk like I used to. I must grab the fence and haul myself along, I’m too starved. The children want to play with me but I can’t run around, I’m sitting down. I can’t stand up. They don’t understand I’m dying – they’re angry because they think I don’t want to play with them.”
Starved! Nobody starves in the present day – there’s always enough food. Wow. Is this some past life regression? Or am I communicating with a ghost? Maybe someone who lived hundreds of years ago and was really starving…how sad! She talks like a little girl but at the same time, she’s seemingly in love with two boys?! It doesn’t fit together. How could she be a little girl and a teenager at the same time? I’ve almost returned to my mother.
”Wait! An evil warlock put a spell on me. I cannot leave this place – I can’t go over the fence. If you want to talk to me again, you must come here. Please come back, I’m alone and I’m scared! The Princes never came to save me! I died here!”
I still have a hand on the fence. It’s like the Princess knows I’ll be on my way, because she screams:
”Beware of Timothy! If you see Timothy in the City, run! He is the warlock!”
I’m quite convinced I’m a nutcase now. It must show on my face, because Mother looks unsettled.
”Bianca, I’m worried! You’re still crying? What has happened?”
”Thanks God you’re so openminded…” I tell her. ”I think I just talked to a ghost!” I relate my experience, except for the names of the princes and the warlock. Obviously those parts of the story was my subconscious, attempting to insert itself into the past life experience.
Bianca wrote about her encounter with a ghost – in painstaking detail – in her diary. The next day Eric’s mother read the entrance.
If you were born in The Society, you will be strongly encouraged to keep a diary. Especially if you have a Normal Self (an alter unconscious of The Society and the abuse). You must urge your Normal Self to confess her/his innermost thoughts. It’s your older relatives’ duty to read, analyze and report anything suspicious.
She showed the text to Lucio and I, we found it hilarious – was Bianca going to sign up for psychic classes now? But my grandparents, who were also there, insisted on ripping out the pages. It was too close they said. Too close. Grandmother explained it like this:
”Secret memories are like a knitted sweater. Leave one thread loose, and the Normal Self can grasp it. If the Normal tugs on the thread, more and more of the Sweater will be undone, until nothing is secret anymore.”
”What happens when nothing is secret?”
”The Society wouldn’t let you live. I’m sorry.”