THE Secret life of jeshua
279 pages
English

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THE Secret life of jeshua

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279 pages
English

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Description

Here is the first volume of a long-awaited work: The unveiling of the life of Christ Jesus through the detailed consultation of the Akashic Memory.

After several years of work, Daniel Meurois, best known for his book, The Way of the Essenes: Christ's Hidden Life Remembered, presents here, in the form of an enthralling story, a true initiatory epic as fascinating as it is inspiring. We see through His own eyes.

Throughout the pages, we are invited to share the perspective of Jeshua—Jesus—on the first thirty years of his life. We discover his early childhood in the Nile Delta and what he studied at the Essenian monastery of the Krmel... up to a seventeen-year journey that led him to the Himalayas... to finally return to Egypt and be vested, in the very heart of the Great Pyramid, with the Breath of Life.

Through numerous events and information never before revealed, we accompany the Master, step by step, on the path of his touching unfoldment, a journey that led him, with the help of the Elohim, to discover the cosmic scope of his Mission.

The Secret Life of Jeshua is a disturbing and revolutionary work that will inevitably mark the path of all those who feel the urgent need to rediscover the original and universal nature of the Imprint of Jesus Christ on Earth.

His teachings awaken in everyone a vital need for real, unifying transformation. This book, without a doubt, announces the imminent arrival of a new Breath of Light.

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Publié par
Date de parution 16 mars 2021
Nombre de lectures 3
EAN13 9782896265831
Langue English
Poids de l'ouvrage 1 Mo

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Exrait

Daniel Meurois

According to the Memory of Time
Volume I Seasons of Awakening
The Secret Life of Jeshua By Daniel Meurois Original French title: Le livre secret de Jeshua © 2015 Éditions le Passe-Monde

© 2016 Ariane Books for the English edition 1217, av. Bernard O., suite 101, Outremont, Qc, Canada H2V 1 V7 Phone: 514-276-2949, Fax: 514-276-4121 Courrier électronique : info@editions-ariane.com
Website: www.ariane-books.com

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic or electronic process, or in the form of a phonographic recording; nor may it be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted or otherwise be copied for public or private use, other than for ‘fair use’ as brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews, without prior written permission of the publisher.
The information given in this book should not be treated as a substitute for professional medical advice; always consult a medical practitioner. Any use of information in this book is at the reader’s discretion and risk. Neither the author nor the publisher can be held responsible for any loss, claim or damage arising out of the use, or misuse, of the suggestions made, the failure to take medical advice or for any material on third party websites.

Translated by : Jean Hudon
Editing : Kaia Nightingale, Lourana Howard
Interior design : Carl Lemyre
Cover art : © Greg Olsen

First print : 2017 ISBN paper : 978-2-89626-382-0 ISBN ePub : 978-2-89626-583-1

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We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for our publishing activities.

Government of Québec — Tax credit for book publishing — Administered by SODEC

Printed in Canada
To my sweet Marie Johanne who, for a long time, has so profoundly felt the urgency of retranscribing these words and soul images.

To all those who, no matter their tradition, dedicate their lives to the quest for the Universal Sun.
Preface
How was this book written?
T his book is not a novel… It is the true testimony of intense, real-life, daily experiences, spread over a period of more than two years.
Contrary to what some might think, it does not result from a long series of channelings, but from a large number of readings of what is called the universal “Akashic records.” Here’s how it all started…
In 1971, I spontaneously experienced the phenomenon of disembodiment and projection of my astral body, at a time when I didn’t know anything about this kind of thing. Inevitably, my life and my vision of the world were radically altered. It is at the core of this practice—now long mastered—that I quickly discovered not only the energetic constitution of the human being, but also that of the universe. The latter proved to be particularly fascinating…
Always spontaneously, I have, indeed, been able to become aware of the existence, within this subtle “cosmic anatomy,” of a vibratory field of fabulous depth and richness.
It is a Field of Living Energy, which operates in the manner of an incommensurable “hard disk,” analogous to that of a kind of supercomputer set up by Nature itself… I use the word incommensurable insofar as it records and preserves with unprecedented accuracy everything that happens in any space where Life expresses Itself.
This Field of Living Energy is, therefore, the total Memory of all that has been done, thought, heard, seen, touched, and experienced in this world and in others.
Those who are not familiar with such a notion of Universal Memory will, of course, be tempted to think that this is an unfounded, esoteric doctrine that feeds a form of unbridled mysticism. However, this is not the case because the Akasha—a Sanskrit term that defines both primordial Light and Sound—has been studied extensively for decades by researchers in quantum physics, certainly the best known being Ervin Laszlo.
Personally, I am not a physicist, but rather, a field man, an explorer of the fields of Consciousness, an investigator of the Sacred. It is precisely the real-life experience which this implies that has led me deeply into what I now call “the Memory of Time,” which I consider to be one of the most astounding manifestations of the Presence of the Divine in the whole of Creation.
After forty-five years of incessant experimenting in this field, I have come to understand that the gigantic Akashic records, in which I regularly immerse myself, consist of myriad strata of vibrational frequencies, each of them being continuously fed by the real-life experiences of all beings that are aware of themselves, and this, over time, from life to life.
Let me explain. It seems that every thinking being is endowed with a sort of total camcorder that permanently records everything it does, sees, hears, feels, touches, thinks, and experiences in each of its lifetimes, and that the comprehensive film that this generates automatically flows into a virtual reservoir with its own unlimited storage, at the heart of the Akasha.
The global Akashic Field would, therefore, consist of as many individual memory records as there have existed, and there currently exist, thinking and autonomous life forms. It would act like a universal server, accessible to some people with a sort of individual access code—a harmonic sound—resulting from their mission of Service to Humanity.
It is by developing this approach, this knowledge and these faculties, during these last decades, that I, thus, had the opportunity to extensively investigate the daily reality of the Community of the Essenes of two thousand years ago ( The Way of the Essenes: Christ’s Hidden Life Remembered ), that of some women-disciples of Christ ( Le Testament des trois Marie – The Testament of the Three Marie ), and then to restore, in their authenticity, certain great spiritual figures that marked humanity’s past.
I am thinking, in particular, of luminaries such as Pharaoh Akhenaton ( La Demeure du Rayonnant [*] ) and Francis of Assisi ( François des oiseaux *), whose respective life journeys I explored, to illuminate their unrevealed aspects…
That inner quest has led me to travel to, among other enigmas, the heart of the mysterious presence of Shambhalla on Earth ( Le voyage à Shambhalla* – Journey to Shambhalla ) and to discover its close connections with the galactic civilizations ( Vu d’en haut* – Seen from Above ).
But, invariably, beyond all this, a will behind mine has continually brought me back to the Christic Mission endorsed by Master Jeshua, many aspects of whose Mission have been concealed, and which must now be unveiled.
So this book you hold in your hands had to be born. It is the fruit of a long refinement of the abilities and understandings that have been bestowed upon me in this lifetime. Finally, and above all, it results from the infinitely respectful journey, deep into the personal Akashic imprint left by Master Jeshua, which my consciousness has had the privilege and responsibility to carry out.
May it, beyond the polemics, be perceived as a gift to the new humanity, which more and more of us wish to see arise.

Daniel Meurois

[*] These books are not yet available in English.
Prologue
This book is the most unlikely of all those that I have ever thought I should and could write. It is also probably the greatest challenge I have had to face so far.
My long-time readers are aware of the diversity of subjects I have been led to address in my past thirty-five years of writing. They also know to what extent I’ve above all made every effort, from the outset, to bring to light a truthful account of the evangelical times and reveal the beauty and the vastness of the Teachings of Christ in their original form.
These accounts, that have followed one another over the years, certainly constitute in large part the core of my writings.
However, after writing the Testament of the Three Marys, I did not see how my contribution in this area could still grow. Not because I felt that Life had led me to cover every possible aspect of this topic—it is impossible when it comes to the impact of Christ in our world—but because it seemed difficult to delve any further into the private life of the key players in that time period.
I could not then contemplate the idea that a new, more intense and more decisive invitation to cross the threshold into the Akashic Annals would be issued to me.
And then, lo and behold, the unlikely came to pass…
One night in June, a very definite and insistent call to write “The Secret Life of Jeshua” drew me out of my sleep. It was the explicit and clearly formulated request conveyed to my soul to look deeply into the akashic memory of Master Jesus as he went through His life… to fully delve into it, to get my heart beating in it and then to draw its sap up to the end of my pen.
For what purpose? I think the answer will be different for each of those who discover this story and who are willing to immerse themselves in it.
Although the Source to which we aspire is unique, our thirsts are multiple. For some, there will, of course, be the historical facts thus reconstituted, since they will be expanded and enlightened in a new and often unexpected manner. But for others, there will be mostly the Light… a Light that I have endeavored to collect with infinite respect during two years of writing, a Light which our world, cruelly lacking Love, so desperately needs… and so urgently too!
Still, this book is not backward-looking in any way. The events and Teachings it resurrects are indeed timeless because they are fundamental and archetypal.
Their essence, everyone will understand, is finally more than ever topical because it throws an amazing “living bridge” between the Divine and the human.
However, above all, this book has been intended to awaken this forgotten but constantly evolving Christ that is within each of us. Beyond faiths and beliefs, it has no other purpose than to stimulate the true sun of our soul.
Thus, these pages are not meant to perpetuate nostalgia, but to call for Peace and Happiness in the Present Moment. It’s for all of that and out of sheer Love that, from where He is, the Master Jeshua undoubtedly wanted to simply offer the content of His own memory to the women and men of today.
Be assured that I fully appreciate the great privilege and responsibility of serving as His channel.
Initially, this book was planned to be a single volume, but along the way and because of the abundance of the material, it became clear that a second volume would be required. It is sometimes so with certain works which are beyond the control of their writer and take on a life of their own.
Now that the first volume of “The Secret Life of Jeshua” is completed and ready to take off, I hope above all that I have been worthy of the confidence placed in me so that what must grow may do so.
– Daniel Meurois
There are pictures, faces and words that have often visited my soul during my life from that time period. For years and years, I had no idea to what they referred. Their echoes reached me along the paths traveled, as if from another world. They were always the same… A kind of tender and sacred refrain, but steeped in requirements and with sometimes cruel accents. I could see myself in a gathering, sitting on the ground of a large space surrounded by pristine stones, by light and water. All eyes were turned to me. Eyes of softness and strength. Looks also imbued with inflexible wisdom. Some were from men, some were from women and all were also loaded with words so fraught with interrogations. “Thus, it might be you… Do you accept this weight, Sananda?” Then, invariably, I heard myself answer, “yes,” immediately overwhelmed by a surge of joy as well as of fear. “Jeshua, yes, that’s it… Yes, I will inhabit this name, this body and this lifetime…” Everything always stopped there in an indescribable emotion, like a nostalgia of the Sun…
Chapter I
I Was Not Born in Judea
I was not born in Judea, as some have claimed, but in the very heart of Galilee. Our village was insignificant, so insignificant that he who would become my father preferred to have me born a mile away from his small dry stone enclosure.
On the side of a road frequented by merchants and their herds of donkeys, toward the sea, there was a modest bethsaid [1] offering everything a traveler could need. Half embedded in the rock, it had been built a long time ago by members of the Community [2] my family originated from.
It was a refuge for the sick, the needy and those who had no place to go, for a few nights stay. There were no donkeys or oxen at the mangers, but sheep and goats roaming about here and there, as in the surrounding hills.
The place was not so poor, though. I have often revisited it. A stream ran a few steps from its walls, the grass was plentiful and there was an abundance of inviting olive and fig trees.
There were many people at my birth, far more than my parents would have liked. To tell the truth, the man who had agreed to be my father, Yussaf [3] , was a respected man, not only in the region but also as far away as Jerusalem.
Over time, people came to believe that he was a carpenter. However, our houses were so simply designed and built that they had little need for frameworks worthy of the name. Here, as often happens, the symbol quickly supplanted the facts.
In truth, if my father worked with wood, it was more in fashioning tools of all kinds, tables and benches, and sometimes carts, too.
But that was of secondary importance in his life. Before anything else, he was one of the main priests in our Community. I do not mean just in our village, but in the broader community whose members were found here and there in our country… the Brotherhood of Essania. That is why people often came to consult him, and why we bowed to him.
During his youth, he had been given by the Elders the responsibility of the temple our Fraternity maintained in Jerusalem. It was long before he wed Meryem [4] , my mother. His wisdom and his strength had quickly made him stand out from many other men.
Just like my mother’s, his gaze deeply met mine from the first days of my arrival in this world. On my small mattress stuffed with straw and under the ocher-lined linen fabric used to cover my infant body, I have often seen him lean over as much as he could to better see my face and seek I knew not yet what…
“Yussaf, Yussaf…” he then murmured.
Yussaf, Joseph… this is what I was meant to be named, the same name as his.
As for my mother, I remember she looked at me as if I was not “real.” In my consciousness that was barely out of another space, I guessed her astonishment and questions. They were, I think, similar to mine and reflected a plunge into the unknown.
Very quickly, I realized that my arrival aroused genuine interest. There was much discussion around me, too much for the taste of my parents, who often were using ploys to hide me from the eyes of others.
Just a few weeks after my birth, I became aware of an unusual activity under our roof and then, one morning, at the crack of dawn, I felt two hands gently tearing me from my sleep to immediately wrap me in a large piece of fabric.
My memory has preserved all this as a treasure… even the sensation of crisp air that gripped my face as soon as my father had crossed the door with me in his arms. The mantle of the night was still sparkling in places above us. My eyes got lost in it…
A few steps toward I didn’t know where in the dark… and a donkey began to bray, then two, then three… all those in the village, it seemed!
Did my infant body instinctively start crying? Perhaps, because I immediately heard the sound of my mother’s voice and felt her hand softly touching my forehead.
Then there was a little jolt and I found myself at the bottom of a straw basket attached to the side of an animal. I immediately liked the slightly musky smell emanating from it. It was warm and soothing, almost maternal, amid some voices that began to mingle with those of my parents.
They were whispering, but still, I remember having felt a sort of frenzy inside them.
We were leaving… no doubt about it. Behind my eyelids that were closing on their own, I immediately knew.
The bumpy road finally woke me up. Through the veil that had been put over me, I saw the daylight and felt the heat from the sun. Once again, my body must have shed tears and started screaming. I then recognized the breast my mother was offering me… and went back to sleep.
Obviously, I cannot say how many days thus passed, moving on trails and steep paths, among olive groves or across the stony ground of some desert plateau.
I especially remember the late afternoon when we stopped near a sheepfold. A trickle of water crept between the stones and the short grass ten steps from its walls. It was its babble, I think, that fixed those moments in my memory.
I had just been put on a big wool blanket… and, for the first time since we had left our village, I realized that my parents were not the only ones taking care of me. We were a small group of five or six people. We also had two donkeys and a mule. I saw that my basket was being detached from it, a sign that we were going to spend the night there.
As the night fell, brows became knitted, especially those of my father; then people started talking seriously around me.
It was at that moment that I began to stare at all the faces that my eyes could see in the amber light surrounding our camp. I did it reflexively, or through unconsciously resuming an old habit of my soul.
Of course, I had only just come back in this world and my thoughts were barely emerging, but I wanted to see.
I was not seeking the eyes, no, not even the looks that always speak behind them. I just wanted to find that little flame which sparkles and dances over the head of every human being, and which sometimes illuminates everything and reveals the meaning of their lives. It was there, in everyone… it spoke of recognition, of family.
It is only after that moment that I knew for sure that I was among my people, among those with whom I was going to embark on the greatest of my journeys.
That night, this immaterial vision thus brought me the certainty of being rooted, but also that I had many unanswered questions.
Where was I being taken? Obviously, I didn’t know, or at least, I had forgotten when I took the leap. Yet I was somehow aware that this was something important, and no matter how small I was at the bottom of my Moses basket, this certainty stirred in me, for the first time, a sense of happiness. We were traveling where we were meant to go, and that was just fine.
Our stopover in a tiny bethsaid, located a short day’s walk from Jerusalem, was also just fine. Meryem, my mother, was exhausted, I realized, so it was decided that we would be staying there for as long as necessary.
It was primarily a shallow cave, like many others found in this area of Judea. In fact, it was an old shepherd’s shelter, which those from Essania had turned into a modest place of rest.
Lost among the small limestone hills and caressed at this time of the year by a warm wind, the bethsaid offered a more pleasant roof than all those my people could have found in Jerusalem.
Half asleep on one of the flanks of our mule, I still remember the scent of the wild grasses that led up to it.
This is where the official story wanted my birthplace to be. In truth, we lived there scarcely more than ten days before resuming our journey south.
This is also where my eyes met another gaze that, throughout my life, meant a lot to me… one of these “old eyes” that are easily etched in the heart when you truly meet them. It was those of a man with the same name as my father… and therefore, as mine too.
Years later, when I was old enough to understand what had happened, I learned that this man was from a nearby village called Ha Ramathaim. [5] Although he was a member of our family, he had many possessions and so had kept his distance from our brotherhood. He wanted us to stay at his house, for the news of our journey had come to him.
Yussaf of Ha Ramathaim [6] even had a few words with my father about it because the location of our bethsaid had been, according to him, badly chosen by our people, for it was on the territory of an ancient warrior cult. [7] It could not therefore, he said, be propitious to us.
Nevertheless, things must have gotten better because it was decided that my uncle, Yussaf, would join us for the long journey still ahead of us. With him came two camels and a mule that facilitated our advance.
I do not know exactly how many weeks our journey lasted. I kept, above all, the memory of a never-ending heat bath and almost continual prayers that rocked me from dawn to dusk. There were also these endless discussions every evening, sometimes around a campfire.
Without grasping the meaning of the words exchanged, I still felt I could understand the essence of what was being said, and I could not help but wriggle about in my mother’s arms. Yet she often stayed away from the conversations, as if they bored her, and she preferred probing my eyes when I refused to sleep.
One day, amid the jolts of the road we seemed to relentlessly follow, I realized that we were passing by an immense body of water. It was so wide I could hardly make out the far shore, seemingly dotted with date palms.
I didn’t know, of course, that it was the Nile, but its sight was instantly sweet and familiar to me… so familiar and carrying so many memories that, moments later, I could not hold back some sort of deep anger.
It suddenly took over my whole infant body and my tears were difficult to stem. They were responsible for so much pain… such as being stuck there on the side of an animal, wrapped in suffocating clothes, unable to get up and run to the water of the river, soak my feet in it and feel its coolness.
I was totally trapped. The voice of my father and falling asleep from exhaustion were the only means to escape my prison.
Then came one morning when it was said we had to cross the Nile, a delicate operation with our animals. We delved in amid a crowd, the sound of oars slapping water, the flapping of sails in the wind and the wailing of dromedaries, and yet everything went like a dream. I was finally set down on the sand, the best gift I could have had.
There was some palaver, chants rose in the distance… then our small group quietly resumed its walk.
I had been tied to my mother’s belly with a piece of canvas. Having my face turned to one side, I could sometimes get glimpses of the scenery amid which we moved. That was another gift…
I saw small dunes, poor mud houses, a well close to the ground and then, suddenly, something bigger, sturdier. Near a thin curtain of greenery loomed what looked like a precinct… a temple.
[1] A small dispensary and hostel.
[2] The Essene Brotherhood.
[3] Joseph.
[4] Mary.
[5] The name Ha Ramathaim has been translated as Arimathea. This village, where Joseph of Arimathea once lived, today corresponds to that of Er Ram, located in Palestinian territory, about eight kilometers from Jerusalem, near Bethlehem.
[6] Joseph of Arimathea.
[7] The name of Bethlehem, in Judea, would not mean “House of bread” but would instead come from Bet Lahamn, the Canaanite god of war.
Chapter II
Av-Chtara
W hen for the first time, that moment came back to my mind, I realized that something in me knew what that meant.
Yes, it was a temple. However, it was not the construction that I identified through my eyes blinded by the sun, it was the kind of discreet and eloquent light that only the Sacred can emit.
Slowly, we got closer to it. At first, some people showed distrust upon our arrival, as I was told many years later. As a result, entering the premises was not so simple, if only because none of us really spoke the language of the place. My father had the idea of ​​showing the eight-pointed bronze star which permanently hung on his chest at the end of a string, and then the ring adorning his right index finger.
Upon viewing them, someone went to inform one of the priests of the temple, who hurriedly came and let us enter in a first sweltering courtyard. From there we were lead to an elevated terrace in a corner where a large tent-shaped canvas had been installed. It was indicated that this was where we would stay because the rooms adjacent to the sanctuary were modest in size and were also under repair.
We had, indeed, somehow managed to stay there for several days before I got the feeling that something was happening.
Meanwhile, my father and uncle, Yussaf, were regularly coming and going between another area of ​​the temple and our tent. They seemed worried and whispered most of the time while waving in front of their face a kind of large dried leaf they were using as a fan.
One night, lying on the still-warm stone floor of our terrace, I saw them both repeatedly pointing to some star clusters in the depths of the sky. This seemed to make them happy and had the effect of attracting to them the few other people in our group whom I did not yet really know. During such moments, my mother would just smile, as if the comments of the men had no importance.
Finally, a day arrived, maybe two weeks after our arrival, when things took a different turn. For the first time, I saw arriving at the corner of our terrace a tall and austere-looking man, markedly different from those who came to visit us sometimes.
After bowing for quite a long time to my parents, he asked them to follow him. He spoke our language well enough.
The next moment, I was carried away in my father’s arms. After going down a set of stairs, we began to navigate a maze of narrow corridors on the walls of which a multitude of forms were engraved. The air was stuffy.
We finally stopped in a small courtyard enclosed by wooden columns and an ambulatory. It was in the shade. We sat on the carpets covering the floor.
I remember the rolls of palm leaves and the dried clay tablets that were laid out in the center. Like that of so many other things that I could not then identify, their meaning was not unknown to me, especially that of the tablets. Mysterious symbols and drawings had been hollowed out in a seemingly random yet, in fact, very clever fashion.
Immediately, I was placed on the floor in front of them, as if I was going to be able to understand something in them. Apparently, I laughed.
The priest, so tall and dignified in my eyes, who had brought us there, then launched into a very long speech, or rather a very serious explanation. While his voice resonated strangely inside of me, I followed the finger of one of his hands moving precisely and slowly above the carved symbols.
I learned later that he was talking about death and birth, disintegration and resurrection and that he was referring to the return of a Yoshi-Ri, [1] and that the place we were in was considered to be possibly his grave.
At that moment, all eyes apparently turned toward me. I only recall that the soles of my feet were carefully examined before being coated with a very fragrant yellow substance.
When this kind of ritual was over, the same priest, still very serious, began to very cautiously unfold one of the scrolls of palm leaves that were set out on the carpet. I remember watching him placing on it two round stones painted with enigmatic red symbols so it would remain wide open on the floor.
This scroll was filled with a multitude of small, very careful drawings. In some places, the use of colors made it incredibly attractive, so I stretched my arm toward it in an instinctive desire to touch it. Immediately, I felt my father pulling me back to him to prevent me from doing so, but the priest must have gestured to him to let me continue. I was told that, strangely, it was not the colors that had then really caught my attention. It seems, my hand stopped on a drawing with earthy hues and which only the austere-looking priest seemed to understand what it meant.
As for me, all I clearly remember is the word that this man then uttered with excitement: “Ush-Tar! Ush-Tar!” [2]
My uncle, Yussaf, immediately rejoiced upon hearing that.
“Ush-Tar! Ush-Tar!” he in turn repeated.
My parents, meanwhile, remained silent and even pensive, I believe, as if the name that had just rung in their ears was heavy with consequences and made them a little scared.
Long litanies were then recited under the wisps of frankincense smoke which a young priest was endeavoring to drive up in the sky. I fell asleep among them, huddled against my mother’s womb, in peace without understanding the source of that peace.
When I surfaced from my sleep, we were standing on the highest terrace of the temple. It was the first time I could contemplate the extent of it, with its walls and its five or six small secondary temples, modest and mostly devoid of ornaments. They were in the image of the desert, its human extension within walking distance of the Nile’s blue ribbon which, like an umbilical cord, was connecting us to Heaven. We were at Niten Tor [3] .
Much later, as an adult, I returned to this place, through making my soul travel there. It was vaster, and sculptors were busy adorning the columns with the face of a deity whose attributes were those of a cow. [4] As for the small temples enclosed within its walls, they had also become more beautiful and many women, rich or poor, crossed their doorways to give birth there. I wish I could go back there… It was both a gentle and solemn place.
The day after the name of Ush-Tar was evoked, I was taken into one of these small buildings.
That moment is still engraved in my mind… The first light of dawn barely tinted the sky.
What seemed to me like a great number of priestesses were singing some very spellbinding songs. As soon as we entered, my mother was asked to pass me around among them from arm to arm.
Fascinated by the light blue veil covering their faces, I remained unresponsive, as if a part of my being was consciously the serene spectator of what was being played out there.
My mother finally took me back and then we were led into another room where, in the center, other women were stoking a brazier mounted on a metal tripod, the smoke escaping through a circular hole in the ceiling. The air, laden with all kinds of perfumes, was almost unbreathable.
Fortunately, we were continuing on our way to a third room.
As soon as I was taken inside, I felt that its atmosphere was particularly solemn. Around a majestic white cow, there were three men and a woman. All seemed very old to me because their faces had a texture similar to old wrinkled and weathered leather.
They all wore only a long white linen loincloth adorned with a scarlet border. A cord, scarlet too, hung from the right shoulder to the left hip… the mark of their priesthood. As for the old woman, her face and chest were entirely covered with ash.
My eyes could not help but dwell on the beautiful big cow that seemed to be the object of attentive care. Its two huge horns had been covered with gold, while its neck was decorated with an impressive necklace of pink flowers.
Attached to a small stone pillar, the animal did not move, probably accustomed to the ritual to which it was central. We waited in silence in front of it.
For long moments, the ceremonial seemed limited to a few psalmodies; then, finally, the priestess began to circle the cow at a rapid pace while sprinkling it with water.
She did maybe five or six laps. Again, no reaction…
Suddenly the officiant stopped, put a hand between the horns of the animal and started wavering as if she was suddenly feeling faint. The three priests then stepped back and, imperturbable, let her collapse on the ground.
Showing no surprise either, my parents and my uncle, Yussaf, had already moved a little aside. Meanwhile, my mother held me in her arms, my back pressed against her chest as if to invite me to lose nothing of the scene. I still felt the warmth of her breath caressing the top of my head…
In one of the rooms we had crossed before, the songs quickly gained in intensity, joined by the deep pounding of a drum…
At one point, finally, the old woman began to gesticulate on the floor, and then to utter snatches of guttural words. One of the priests then knelt beside her to hear better.
And then everything happened quickly. I remember crying when he came to forcibly take me from my mother’s arms and put me on the floor slabs near the woman, who continued to struggle while making seemingly disjointed sounds.
A hand immediately gripped my body. It was one of her hands…
As soon as she touched me, the priestess in a trance suddenly became silent, as I also did. A relatively long silence thus ensued in the room, a silence the old woman finally broke through distinctly pronouncing two or three words.
Straightaway someone began to shake frankincense above us, still lying on the ground, and then one of the priests carried me away, gently this time, toward the bottom of the naos [5] where he laid me down facing a few objects and clay tablets similar to those of the previous day.
With my face to the ground, I heard his footsteps move away, then those of other people… and, finally, a door creaked and closed with a sharp bang.
Everything was confused. In the darkness, I could barely see anything. Where were my parents? For the first time, I could not feel their presence. Fear, however, was absent from my soul.
Was it the proximity of the objects and tablets that stimulated my burgeoning curiosity, or was there something more profound that stirred in me? Probably both.
When a soul first inhabits a body, it is, in truth, the time of a strange marriage between flashes of lucidity emerging from its own past and the uncertain backdrop of the present moment.
I only remember having been immediately magnetized by a small metal vase with a long wooden handle and by one of the clay tablets scattered on the ground.
Amid many signs engraved thereon, I noticed the representation of a man flanked by two spread wings. It is this image that attracted me and really fascinated me. I crawled up to it, laid myself on it, and then pulled toward me the long-handled jug vase.
I still vividly remember how incredibly well I thus felt, fulfilled somehow, imbued with tranquility and even joyful. These moments lasted a long time, or so it seemed, and I definitely enjoyed them.
When a priest, along with my parents, came for me, I had managed to sit up on the floor and was busy performing very precise movements with both hands, as if to caress the Invisible. I was traveling somewhere in me, so far from everything that I did not even feel the arms that lifted me off the ground.
All I remember from the rest of that day are confused images emerging from the mists of consciousness. The feeling of wholeness and bliss that fleetingly took over me while in front of these objects dissipated while my body fell asleep snuggled against my mother’s soft chest.
I only vaguely remember being seated and held on what must have been a sort of stone throne, facing a gathering of singing men and women… Then nothing else… until a difficult night of insomnia spent in the arms of my father, pacing back and forth on our terrace.

After those events, our family did not stay more than three or four days at the temple of Niten Tor. There were frequent ablutions on the banks of the sacred lake at the rear of the buildings, lots of flowers were thrown into the water and also many lively discussions in the shade of the date palms that grew there.
Years later, when I was old enough to understand, my father and my uncle, Yussaf, solemnly gathered for the occasion, explained to me what had then happened in Niten Tor, in the Land of the Red Earth. [6]
Long before my birth, many signs had been given to my parents, leading them to suppose that the soul who asked to come through them was very old and carrying a singular destiny, with the ability to manifest a multitude of changes.
The news was immediately circulated among the Elders of our Brotherhood and it was therefore resolved that, very early, I would be subjected to a comprehensive examination by some priests and then to various tests, so that my soul might eventually be identified.
The temple of Niten Tor, with its famous wise men and dedicated ever since its beginning to celebrating births, was the most suitable place for such a ceremony. What the cult celebrated there was not in line with that of our people, on both sides of the boundary; the true Ancient ones, the “Desert Elders” as we called them, saw well beyond earthly appearances. They knew the truth that, at their apex, all human souls speak the same language and venerate the same Sun.
So, after the Stars had been studied at length, after the essence of the very old tablets had been carefully scrutinized, after a priestess had uttered a name fetched from the Memory of the Invisible, and finally, after my soul, through its infant body, had unhesitatingly recognized, among many objects, a vase meant for the offering of Fire and the silhouette of a winged man, an announcement was made.
It was said that through my person Zerah-Ushtar [7] had returned to this world to reawaken it according to the law of the One. As such, and as I watched everything with a faraway look, tied seated on a stone seat with a scarlet scarf, I was finally proclaimed to be Av-Shtara . [8]
After this announcement, it was quickly decided that we were going to stay some time in the Land of the Red Earth, not in a particular temple but here and there, moving from community to community. The goal was to pull me away as quickly as possible from the mists of Forgetfulness, to entrust me to master teachers, to the Desert Elders and to therapist-priests.
They would have the task of rekindling my ancient knowledge and make the faculties of my soul grow faster than what the nature of this world normally allows.
The journey of our family was to be extended “for a while”… but, in truth, it was stretched to five full years.
It has left in me the imprint of a rather difficult journey. I lived with the recurring feeling of suffocating in a too-small body and dependent on everything, with the certainty of understanding much without being able to know, and to tell… A test of internalization and forced patience which was nevertheless for me a truly fertile experience.
Moving from communities of therapists to small brotherhoods of priests, from hermitages to villages, we lived in this way, making our way from the eastern bank of Thebes to the Nile delta.
The seal-shaped ring that had been given to my father by way of recommendation was not useful for long, as I was told. The news of the presence of a young Av-Shtara and his family moved faster than we from nome to nome, [9] and therefore every door was open to us.
It is, however, around the city of Alexandria we stayed the most. The masters and teachers who could adequately begin my instruction were more numerous there than elsewhere.
I know that I first had to learn to recognize the function of the various ritualistic objects that were constantly around me, and then to master as soon as possible how to use them.
So one of my first big and significant thrills was, while I still could not stand on my legs, to succeed in waving a small incense burner above a makeshift altar set at ground level. The smell that emanated from it made me proud; it got me closer, it seems to me, to that sort of dignity that I carried in my soul, but which didn’t yet know how to express itself.
So it was the gestures, especially the sacred gestures, which stimulated my consciousness and my memory, and probably also pushed my body to stand up very quickly.
In fact, I could still not speak and yet, already, I showed myself able to perform a few simple rituals.
Blessing an object, a place… making an offering to the Fire, to the Water… offering rose petals to the sunlight every morning…
All that was sheer happiness for me. At least, it was so until I noticed that these actions and this state of mind that were so spontaneous for me attracted an ever-increasing crowd of onlookers.
I remember hiding myself from them as soon as my legs were strong enough to carry me. I then always found a way, almost joyfully, to make what seemed to me like good banter so as to be on my own… and quietly rejoin my Father, the one in Heaven.
Yes, it is at that early period of my life that the “idea” of the Father, of His Principle—for lack of a word I could pronounce—quickly arose in my heart. The gestures I loved performing brought me closer to Him… Awoun [10] … Awoun was all I was certain of, and also just about all that motivated me.
My parents, meanwhile, witnessed this with the greatest discretion and also the most beautiful humility, despite the marks of respect and even honor that were constantly lavished on them. They rendered services to the best of their abilities and they would even sometimes officiate according to the rites of our culture.
As for my uncle Joseph, Yussaf of Ha Ramathaim, he had to leave us immediately after our stay in Tor Niten. He was the head of an important trading business and owned boats at Joppa. [11]
This was the time when, little by little, I realized that those in our small party who had remained with us in the background since we left the village were four of the sons that my father had from a first marriage which had left him a widower.
Two of them, the older ones, left us shortly before our stay near Alexandria. They had the mission of spreading the news about us in Galilee.

Months and years passed thus in practice and studies, in the desert setting, under the scorching sun or in rooms with ocher and lime walls, sometimes in underground locations.
I was taught the cycles of life, those of nature as well as those of humans. I was also taught the sacred words by which one talks to the stars, and even to remain awake when night comes and one must pray to stay in touch with the Sun, this Father whom I always secretly call.
When my fifth year was over, I could speak well the language of our people and of that region of the Red Earth. Besides, both were quite similar.
An event marked the end of our life in the Nile delta. Even though having not been its initiator, I had at least been at the center of it. It took place in the middle of a wonderfully starry night while we all slept on the terrace of a quite nice clay and straw brick house. This happened in a community dedicated to the art of ointments.
As usual, I had insisted on sleeping alone in a corner of the space offered to us. I do not know what aroused me from sleep but I was attracted by a strong shimmering glow over me, in the starry vault. I immediately thought it was that emitted by this star which, according to my parents, was protecting the people of Essania. [12]
However, this explanation did not satisfy me because the light was, it seemed to me, much more glittering and should not have been exactly above me. So I sat in the corner of the wall where I used to take refuge. I didn’t have time to do more nor to wonder any further, as I immediately saw a kind of ball of fire fall from the sky and strike me at lightning speed. No shock, no pain, and no fear…
The humble night scenery from our terrace had dissolved… I was standing alone in the center of an expanse of ​​fresh and wonderfully immaculate light. My breathing was suspended and I don’t remember having made the slightest movement.
A few brief moments passed thus, without any thought or even any emotion and then, little by little, a Presence emerged from the virgin light. It moved closer to me until I could perceive its human form. Not enough, however, for me to distinguish its features.
– “Awoun?” I asked within myself with the spontaneity of childhood… “Awoun?”
I received a smile. It was followed by silence… then a voice aroused inside of me.
– “No… not Awoun… Awoun does not exist… He IS… and He lives within you, Sananda !”
I think I was unable to form any thought in response to that claim.
After another pause, the voice then resumed.
– “I am sent… to caress your heart, Sananda. To caress your heart and tell it to extend its roots in this world. Nothing more, for the time has come. The Sun is now high enough in your Sky for you to learn to speak with your words to yourself. Do you understand?”
Yes, I did understand… but it was not through the words I heard or their images that I grasped what it was all about. It was what was behind them, all their implied meanings that revived in me the memory—although confusedly—of the course of my path.
My soul had thus responded with its own words, in a burst and without any need to articulate any thought.
The light and its Presence then immediately vanished as if they had been sucked by the canopy of Heaven. I was again leaning in a corner against my wall and I felt far more than simply alive, animated by an incredible need to breathe deeply.
I remained there until dawn and did not move at all until my mother stood up and walked in my direction.
– “Yussaf?” she whispered. “What are you doing there?”
I didn’t know how to reply. I just got up and walked toward her so she could pour a little water on my face with a pitcher as she did every morning.
She never knew what I had just experienced. Independently of my will, the moments lived and the words received were sealed in me. Meryem had, however, the attentive eye of any true mother because, after we went down in the lower part of the house that was lent to us, she asked me again.
– “What is it that you have in your hand?”
– “But… nothing…” I replied most candidly.
While saying this, I realized that my left hand was actually closed, as if it held some object. I immediately opened it, without thinking.
In the center of my palm, there was a small crystal. I brought it close to my face and I saw that it had an extraordinary limpidity. I had to rush outside and to admire it under the rays of the morning light. I had never seen anything like that.
That morning, I silently thanked my mother for not having questioned me any further. She was able to accept that I had a secret.
Was this the effect of the luminous Visit I had received? Was it the stimulating influence of my little crystal? Anyhow… the same day I made clear to my parents that I was yearning to return “home,” in this land of Galilee they often mentioned to me, but of which I then had no conscious recollection.
Without having really thought about it, I used the words that overflowed from my heart… and these words were welcomed for what they were: true and necessary.
My master teachers made no objection. They knew that their role was coming to an end.

A few days later, after my parents and my two brothers had made their last arrangements and accomplished some final rituals, our modest caravan started toward the north.
I don’t really know what was triggered in my mind when I saw our dromedary and two donkeys setting off toward the desert road. It was the most intense joy I had ever felt, and the accompanying feelings of freedom and fullness were so powerful that I think I felt a few tears discreetly welling up in my eyes.
There was no question for me that anyone would put me on the back of one of our animals. I truly felt I was now a man and I wanted to walk! Of course, the stamina of my body soon began to show its limits…
Little of this return journey remains in my memory. The trip was peaceful, sometimes punctuated by checks from some Roman soldiers stationed on the outskirts of villages.
Until then, I had never really become aware of their presence or of the power they exercised. It was a discovery. But it didn’t hold much of my attention despite the comments of my family. I was too busy with what was going on in my heart, which felt like a birth to me.
Once we were out of the “great desert” [13] and we had started to get closer to Jerusalem, I was already no longer the one who had grown up around the Nile. Something had exploded in the center of my chest and this “thing” gave me the feeling of no longer having enough room in me to love everything that my eyes could encompass.
Everything seemed beautiful and infinitely worthy of being worshiped… and so I did not understand why I had been taught that the world was divided between Good and Evil.
It was the only question that ran through me from time to time because even the most innocuous of the faces encountered on the roadside spoke to me only of the Presence of Awoun. I had no merit in this; it was so…
As for my enigmatic small crystal, I had placed it the middle of a carefully folded piece of linen and then stored it at the bottom of the bag that hung beside me. I didn’t even dare look at it for fear of losing it forever!
The day we arrived in Jerusalem didn’t count more than any other in my eyes, except for the fact we found there my uncle, Yussaf… of whom I had kept only a very vague recollection. We spent two or three nights at his home, to share and rest. When we left him, I immediately missed the kindness in his eyes and the strong smell of musk that characterized his neck and beard.
Missing someone… It was the first time that I discovered the true depth of this feeling. How could it exist and persist in us when the world seemed to me so beautiful and so perfect? Would my wonderment ever come to an end
It is in this frame of mind that my eyes finally settled, on a mild afternoon, on the top of a hill dotted with humble houses.
I will never forget the exclamation of my father and how he then kissed the ground.
We were back home…
I was moved too but, perched on my donkey, I already sensed that I would not be writing my story there for very long…
– “Awoun… Father,” I heard myself whispering, “plant me where I need to be and lend me Your Words.”

[1] Yoshi-Ri or Osiris. Along with Isis and Horus, Osiris is the central deity of one of the main trinities of Ancient Egypt.
[2] This is the name that later became “Ishtar” in Persian, a name associated in this culture with the planet Venus, the star par excellence.
[3] Today, it is called Dendera.
[4] The cow Hathor, one of the expressions of the mother goddess Isis. Among other things, she was famous for assisting women to give birth.
[5] The Holy of Holies of an Egyptian temple.
[6] “Land of the Red Earth” was the name given to Egypt by the Essene initiates.
[7] Zerah-Ushtar, better known under the name of Zoroaster—or Zarathustra—the prophet who reformed Mazdaism to found the monotheistic religion of Zoroastrianism, around the year 1000 BC, on the current territory of Afghanistan.
[8] Av-Shtara: that is to say, in Sanskrit, Avatar; in other words, “incarnation of the Divine.”
[9] The nomes were administrative divisions within ancient Egypt.
[10]  Awoun: Aramaic word designating the heavenly Father.
[11] The current port city of Jaffa.
[12] The planet Venus, also called Moon-Sun, or Ishtar. See The Way of the Essene: Christ’s Hidden Life Remembered by the same author. Destiny Books.
[13] The current Negev desert.
Chapter III
My First Steps in Galilee
O ur return to the village was the occasion of a rather touching celebration.
Although my instructors from the Land of the Red Earth had been very demanding and sometimes even hard on me, I was still accustomed to people being considerate toward the small Av-Shtara I was supposed to be. So I was a little surprised when I realized that all eyes were turning to my mother instead… or more precisely, to her feet.
Indeed, in the moments following her arrival in the narrow streets where we would live, and as soon as she was recognized, Meryem could no longer take a single step without someone covering the ground in front of her with a veil, a robe or a simple piece of fabric.
Quite obviously, my mother was eliciting a respect, and even a veneration, whose extent had eluded me so far.… Only three or four people—women—conspicuously turned away from her.
I didn’t understand all that was happening, but it made me happy even if I was experiencing a strange feeling, that of not really knowing what to do with my own person. However, very quickly, what had begun with a spontaneous ritual of extreme deference took the shape of a small ceremonial feast.
An old man, who seemed to be the leader of the community I was discovering, absolutely insisted that my mother sit on a low wall. While they still didn’t let her set the soles of her feet on the ground, they started sprinkling her with scented water and laying flowers in front of her.
When this was done, the same old man presented her with a cup from which a quite vigorous flame was shooting up. Meryem slowly skimmed it with her hands several times and then began to whisper a prayer, as if she was perfectly accustomed to officiate in this way. She was offering a blessing, of course.
Someone then gestured and we all sat on the ground while a platter was handed round among us; it was full of barley soaking in milk and honey. We had to eat some to share the moment; it was the custom.
It is only from this moment that my father and I began to attract, in spite of ourselves, a little attention. In a corner in the shade, we had found a small pile of stones, which gave us both a semblance of comfort.
– “Oh Yussaf… so that’s him, that’s your son,” cried out someone. That’s the one who was born just before your departure? How did you name him again?”
– “We gave him the same name as mine… Yussaf.”
I remember having done my utmost best to avoid speaking. I meant to say no… that it was not quite that, that it was not my real name.
My father must have sensed that I was stiffening because he immediately pressed on my arm. So I kept quiet.
This started a discussion about me, to which I didn’t want to listen. So I slipped through the group and left quietly the tiny square of our village, to be with the children of my age. I thought I would be better with those I had seen running on the steep path that wound up the hillside. Finally, I didn’t go to join them; I stopped on the way at the sight of some purple flowers that grew in abundance in a land dip.
Without thinking further, I walked toward them. They were so beautiful! I had never found such flowers where I previously lived.
Already, I had the clear perception of a Force, an Intelligence steadily striving to sprinkle our path with discreet but talkative little signs. These were often the elements of what we call our décor… the shape of a cloud, the cry of a bird, a rustle in the grass, an unusual light… or an unexpected smile.
That day, it was flowers, simple ones, and the child that I was heard a kind of appeal tinged with tenderness rising from them.
So I sat on the short grass, facing their expanse, and I discovered a bee foraging on them. This made me want to touch it. So I gently put my finger in front of it, convinced that it would get on it.
I was so convinced of it that this is what it did, as if my skin was a natural extension of the carpet of flowers over which it was fluttering about. How then could I resist the pleasure of approaching my face? How could I also resist the joy of talking to it?
Yet, in truth, it’s not from my mouth that words came out. It is from the presence of the bee that words, or rather talking images, began to emerge, like so many limpid beads.

– “Stay still and watch… I am what you are… I harvest the sun.
Happy and close to me is the one who can lift the masks to contemplate the light and harvest it.
Happy and close to me is the one that has the simplicity of wonderment.
Be filled with wonder, read behind the shapes, harvest and then offer yourself through the Sun.”

The bee flew away and I recognized in it the Breath of Life, which I wanted to be mine. I kept a full measure of it in my chest and then, without further collecting my thoughts, and with all the candor of my age, I put my hand back on the carpet of purple flowers.
I made a small bouquet, then walked back up the footpath that led to the village. The little impromptu party was continuing, but my mother was staying apart from it. In the company of a few members of my family that I didn’t know and, as always, with the same old man, she was standing under a stone arch that served as reinforcement for the walls of one or two houses.
Without saying anything, I immediately offered her my bouquet and she received it with a smile in her eyes, without saying anything.
– “Many of us want to meet you tomorrow, Yussaf,” then said the old man, leaning slightly toward me, his right hand over his heart. “We just discussed it with to your father.”
Being quite tired, the next day came quickly. Frankly, I was a little lost. There were so many new faces to discover or to bring out of the mists of my memory, like those of my two older brothers who had accompanied us up to Niten Tor… a long while ago.
While walking as dignified as possible with my parents between the poor village houses and their small gardens, the gaze of many children of my age sought to meet mine. Was I seeing my future friends? I started wishing it ardently, while not knowing exactly what the word “friend” actually meant.
For, indeed, I had never had a friend, someone my age, or close, to share little secrets, to whom I could show my crystal piece so full of light.
It was not the idea of ​friendship that was foreign to me, but its experience, what it would mean for me every morning at dawn.
I had already noticed that, sometimes, I felt a twinge of sorrow when I saw groups of children playing in the dust on the bank of the Nile, half-naked and running one after the other, shouting loudly.
Was I so different from them that I could not have the opportunity, even for a moment, to wonder if one of them was going to become my friend?
The feeling of being different, thus caught up with me that morning and it hurt a little bit because I didn’t know if I could entertain that hope… and even less if it was right to do so.
Meanwhile, I kept telling myself that my name was not Yussaf and, somehow, the resulting loneliness was also related to that.
A name is always a doorway. The one I was given at birth, I confusedly felt, made me smaller. But what soul can know the value of free breathing without having first fully lived in its proper shell?
Finally, a little before reaching the fragile walls of dry stone enclosing our village, I noticed a group of men standing in front of an old building with a flat roof and white walls, which differed from the others by its larger dimensions. This was where we were going.
Everyone exchanged greetings, arms crossed over their chests as was the custom, and we even kissed. Then the signal was given to enter the building, at the foot of which five or six chickens were pecking the ground.
Moments later, we were a dozen, seated in a circle on a clay floor, around a container laid on three large stones. Dense, fragrant white smoke was billowing from it and rising toward a rough hole made between two beams in the ceiling of the room. My mother was the only woman in the meeting.
Someone started to sing a prayer, as it should be in such circumstances, and then we all added our voices to it. I knew that prayer well. It was quite short but intense.
My father had taught it to me, explaining that it was proper to the Brotherhood of Essania to which we belonged. Alone, he declared, it was enough to differentiate us from all those of our country.
Years later, I understood that the word “differentiate” had been gracious in his mouth. Although steadfast in his opinions, my father was gentle and never wanted to dwell on this kind of discreet and tolerated rift that existed between the faith of our Community and those that taught in the synagogues.
When the last ritual word was uttered, there was a silence… I looked up and realized that almost all eyes were turned toward me with a mixture of curiosity and, I think, an obvious suspicion.
Some throat-clearing noises were heard here and there, and then the same old man who had distinguished himself yesterday spoke.
– “Let the Nameless be my witness… I pray that from this place, only come out words of truth. May we be enlightened because we are all concerned.”
Then, conspicuously turning toward me, he immediately added with a benevolent and yet emphatic tone:
– “However, young Yussaf, you probably have already realized that these words are intended primarily for you…
“We are eager to know you so as to fully welcome you among us, Yussaf. You have already traveled a lot… Tell us who you are… in truth.”
I remember I briefly had the impression of being accused of something that was unknown to me, then my head became a little numb. It then seemed that a Force, whose presence within me was unknown to me, wanted to push me to open my mouth without even having time to realize the extent of what I was being asked.
– “In truth? Can you tell me what the truth is, Venerable? Because in reality, none of my teachers until now has taught it to me.”
I surprised even myself by saying this and immediately perceived discomfort in those present.
– “So you don’t know what truth is?” suddenly responded the old man, visibly upset.
– “I know it is not in the head, Venerable. That’s why I cannot speak with words that are born in this part of the body.”
– “And where is it then, if it is not part of the things we have to learn and understand?”
– “What I see of it speaks to me in my heart, but not with words. It talks to me with…”
– “With?…”
– “With the smile of Awoun…”
Again uncontrollable throat-clearing noises went up from everywhere.
– “If Awoun smiles to you… what can you tell us about Him? What do you know about Him? What have you learned from your masters?”
– “My masters have taught me nothing about Him. They taught me words, and put images and prayers in my head. For this I thank them. Similarly, I honor them because, through them, I could recognize what was coming from my heart and what was not. Through them, I realized that all that exists projects a reflection, and that I did not want to content myself with that. Through them, I also saw that Awoun can reflect Himself in our head… but not in our heart because He is wholly there.”
– “Do you claim to understand what Awoun’s truth is, Yussaf?”
– “I claim nothing, Venerable. I know only to live and feel.”
– “You are clever but… you still have not answered my first question: Who are you?”
– “I do not know and I do not concern myself with that. When I listen to the smile in my heart, He first tells me that my name is not Yussaf and I understand that it’s true. For the rest, I do not know the words that would be appropriate to talk about me. Only Awoun will be able to say…”
– “ Will be able to say … Do you want us to believe that He intends to speak through you?”
– “I do not want you to believe anything. I just wish everyone could feel what I feel.”
– “Don’t you think you’re setting yourself high, Yussaf?”
At that moment, I felt the hand of my father pressing firmly on my knee, as if to order me to shut up. I could not stop myself from looking up to him and watching him intently.

A murmur went through our small audience.
– “Now, who are you? What can you say of yourself to want to play with words like that?” snapped the old man, in order not to lose control of the situation.
– “I am Yussaf, son of Yussaf, who was sent to the Land of the Red Earth to be taught there.”
– “Well then… That is true, at last!”
I should have stopped there, but the Force that was in me was preventing me from doing so.
– “That is true, Venerable… but by letting you hear what you want, I’m not saying the truth… because what is true is but a small reflection of the truth.”
The words that came out of my mouth had a strange effect on the old man. They seemed to suddenly calm him down, as if they had been charged with something that compelled him to look inside of himself.
No one else broke the silence either; not even a whisper troubled the singular stillness that had just settled. Only a few insects fluttered in the dark.
Finally, it was the old man who raised his voice again, speaking much more softly, though. He spoke to my mother who, until then, her face fully veiled, had remained silent.
– “Is that really your son, Meryem, who was the topic of every conversation ​​as soon as he was born? We couldn’t help but stare at him… I was there… I remember! So much has been said, you understand, especially after your departure.”
My mother merely nodded to say yes.
– “Well…” said the old man, trying to carry on. But no more words came from him.
As for me, I felt the need to go toward him and bow down so he might bless me with his hand. That’s what he did without hesitation.
A large, heavy, warm hand showed that the man was good and that he was accepting me as I was, in the Brotherhood. As I was, yes… and that “as I was” stayed with me for a long time after that, reminding me of a difference that was often heavy to carry.
All this ended our assembly that morning, except for my father who, at his request, remained there for a long while, along with two or three Elders of the village.

A few days passed… They were delicious… Being accustomed to follow lessons or to respond in a thousand ways to the demands of those who had taught me from dawn to dusk, I discovered the taste of complete freedom.
For the first time in my life, I could frolic wherever I saw fit without having to report to anyone about my doings, my actions and my thoughts. So I walked and ran through the valleys, the rocky and thorny terrains, the small fields and the olive groves that formed the landscape around our village. It was exhilarating because I could talk without limits to the sun, the clouds and the trickles of water that sometimes ventured between the grass and stones.
Soon, of course, I met children of my age. Their place of spontaneous gathering was a rudimentary well at the bottom of a trail.
Some of them were entrusted by their parents with the task of filling small clay jars and bringing them back to their houses. I regularly saw my older brothers there when they were not in the fields, along with a few other boys, including a certain Simon, the son of the potter. Simon amused me because he made a point of imitating his mother by always trying to put a jug on his head.
This period of wonder regarding my new freedom was, I must say, fairly short. It was like a whiff of fresh air… the time of a too short breath that turned into an interrogation in my mind.
In spite of all my wishes, despite the games to which I did my best to participate, a kind of opaque veil apparently persisted between the other children and me. Maybe I was scaring them… I thought so, and my walks then became more solitary, while my heart was overflowing with images and hopes for which no words yet existed.
Two weeks went by this way. It was the month of Elul. [1] In the family home that my parents had finally found, our life was reorganizing itself.
A young woman was helping my mother sort dates in baskets. Listening to them, I came to realize that she was not her sister as I thought, but a daughter that my father had also had from his first marriage, and she was thus my sister, instead. Just how big was my family going to get?
It’s in connection with this discovery that, at the end of a beautiful day, I saw my mother contemplating the sky in the chiaroscuro of the door. I had never seen her with such a round shape… Immediately, I ran to her and put my hand on her belly.
– “Meryem?” I said, trying hard to catch her eye. It was the first time I called her that and not “mother,” as I had been taught.
– “Meryem?” I repeated.
She did not even seem surprised. She first merely ran a hand through my already quite long hair and, while holding her back, she crouched down to talk to me.
– “His soul joined us when we were still in the Land of the Red Earth, Yussaf. Soon, it will be with us. We taught you how these things are, right?”
– “Yes… I was taught that our soul is like a drop of water falling on the Earth… when the Earth is calling it and needs it to grow all that we see. Then as the sun heats it up, this drop of water becomes light and goes back to Heaven… until the Earth calls it again. So there you have it… We are a bit like the rain; it’s not very complicated to understand. It is not complicated at all, except…”
– “Except what…”
– “Except that it’s not always true that the drop of water becomes light… then I wonder how it can, indeed, go back up.”
– “It’s because the sky is a kind of earth too, and it needs to get back the water it gave. So when you think it goes up… perhaps it rather goes down to Heaven… Do you understand?”
My mother’s answer confounded me. I had not thought of that!
– “It is not surprising,” I thought to myself, “that so many people have so much respect for her. She knows so many things.”
“Going down to Heaven.” I remember that this answer plunged me into a disturbing reflection. Why was it not Meryem who had taught me?
– “Going down to Heaven…” I don’t know how long these words swirled in me. It was important that I understand their exact meaning. They reminded me of this kind of statement that could have sprung from my lips during that famous morning when I had been invited to speak before the Elders of the village.
– “Oh…” I then wondered to myself, “if I could still be inhabited by this Force that took hold of me that day…”
I needed to isolate myself, to dive into my own lake.
– “Going down to Heaven.” How can we go down to a space which extends above us? Should we say “ascending to Earth” when we come into this world?
At the bottom of a steep path, I found a small depression in the terrain sheltered by a rock among the scorched shrubs and fragrant plants. I decided to make it my cocoon and to pray for understanding.
I remember that, for a time which seemed very long to me, nothing happened. I was there, like a little ball, curled up on myself in my linen tunic covered with dirt. Had Awoun forsaken me?
Suddenly, my eyes stopped on an ant that was scampering under a leaf. I thought it was funny to realize it was not at all bothered to see the world upside down in this way. It was this innocent reflection that caused a shift inside of me.
And what if, this time, it was I who thought too much in my head without caring about what my heart knew? And if my heart understood that our “down” was perhaps an “up,” or rather… what if there was neither up nor down, but just a circle, just a loop that we have to learn to view as… a swirl of dust in the desert?
So, little by little, sheltered by my rock, I realized that perhaps we understand life the wrong way and that there was some sort of secret…
Yes… a secret… But what was a secret, if not a truth offered to our will to discover, our ardent desire to become… greater?
And doing so to enter “somewhere,” in another space. Otherwise… such a secret means nothing, and it has no reason to exist!
On that day, as I remember, I felt I had made an important discovery. The disconcerting remark from my mother, and my observation of the movement of an ant under a leaf, forever altered my perception of the meaning of our lives. They contributed to the restoration of my deeper sense of self.
“This is it,” I thought, as I was leaving my shelter at the foot of the rock… Why does hardly anyone see that we go up to the Earth to grow? Why did even the Elders who taught me put so much emphasis on the poorness of this body and this world? Had they stopped in their path?”
These somewhat clumsy thoughts, which I could not pursue further, certainly marked my first burst of independence. If there were doors to push, I would push them, without delay… and not just for me!

[1] This month corresponds to the zodiac sign of Virgo. It is ruled by the planet Mercury.
Chapter IV
It Was at the Bottom of a Small Valley…
A few weeks later, our family grew. My mother did not even have time to get to the bethsaid, as was customary. An old woman of the village took me out of our house and then closed the door behind me. Everything happened in silence…
My father had just run back home from the fields to say that I now had a little brother. I particularly remember the moment when he introduced him to me by sitting with him in his arms on our doorstep.
– “We will call him Judas,” he said in my ear in a tone of complacence.
– “Judas?” I muttered, “then that is good…”
I didn’t want to know anything else; it was not necessary.
“That is good…” meant for me that it was right.
I still see myself slowly passing my hand over the still wrinkled forehead of Judas, and then running away while elbowing my way through the few people who were beginning to cluster around us.
Much of the remaining day, I had to remain alone, amid the hills surrounding our village. It was hot and the piercing song of the crickets mingled with the bleating of the sheep hanging about in the bushes.
– “Judas…” I kept telling myself that name. It sounded strange to the ear of my soul, just as if it was the first piece of a mosaic being set within me.
I loved the mosaics in that time… Their principle fascinated me. I had discovered one made by a Roman in Jerusalem, during our brief stop at my uncle, Yussaf’s. I liked them because to me, they seemed to express what is in the image of our world… made of so many things, and yet bringing us back to Unity.
In a confused way, Judas, barely born, was stirring up an indescribable force in me. He moved me, through making me happy, and yet I could not explain why to myself. That afternoon, I unwittingly forgot about the lesson the old leader of our little community was supposed to give me.

Zerah—that was his name—seemed to expect me, seated on a low stone wall, when I finally came back to the village. His head half covered by a large brown linen shawl, the Elder was openly reciting a prayer. When I was about three steps away from him, he stopped.
– “So, Yussaf, son of Yussaf…?” he said, without looking at me.
I couldn’t find anything to say, but I stopped while my eyes settled on his feet. He was not wearing any sandals and clearly, those feet had walked a lot. Very much so… I could not help but kneel before them and cover them with the palms of my hands.
– “Who are you, Yussaf?”
What was I to answer? It was still the same question coming back and, this time, it triggered a sort of pain in my soul, a strange rip tinted with joy and pride.
– “Who I am? I am…” And then suddenly, I found a way to evade the question. “Now… I am the brother of Judas…”
Zerah began to laugh softly in his abundant and long, reddish beard while laying a hand on my head, as if to tell me to get up and continue on my way. But I didn’t want that. Something was compelling me to stay put, something similar to a stream that had to run, no matter what.
I wanted to tell the old man that I loved him, without knowing why, just like that… I, who barely knew him and had even been treated somewhat harshly by him. However, such things were not to be done, my father told me one day. This was not allowed between men… And then he made me understand that, among us, certain words were deemed too feminine, and that men should keep them within themselves.
– “Get up,” murmured Zerah Yussaf… while relying on one of my shoulders to stand up from the low wall. “Anyway,” he added, “I think… I think I don’t have much to teach you.”
I wanted to respond… It was so against the order of things that had been instilled in me!
– “No, do not protest, Yussaf. I don’t know exactly who you are, but what I can guess is sufficient.”
Zerah and I took a few steps together through the narrow streets of our village. Despite his slightly limping gait, he was upright and proud.
– “You see, Yussaf, my soul is still young even though my body starts to hurt, but… but I know that there are small parts of it that are getting hardened… like a piece of old wood that dries out and can no longer sprout buds. Something changes, I realize it. One would like that everything remains frozen, but there is nothing one can do about it. Here, look…”
And, saying this, Zerah pointed to the back of a tiny house from which emanated a sweet smell of wood and of bread being cooked. He pulled me toward it.
In the middle of a modest space paved with a few flat stones, there was a small earthen oven half-buried in the ground. Embers were visible in it and a little girl about my age was carefully watching pancakes.
– “You understand… not so long ago, we cooked all our pancakes in the sun, quietly, in the morning… and when the sun wasn’t warm enough, we ate those that remained from previous days. We lived a good life.
And then… one of us who was traveling came back from Joppe, saying that we had to build kilns in the ground. I was among those who did not want that. Frankly, I felt like a guardian! Just like when you came with your parents and we found ourselves in the company of all the Elders.
I was suspicious… not because I am old, but because we are often made that way. We sometimes prefer to break rather than move. It’s the same thing with the Romans; we do not like them, but many fear what would happen if they left.
If what your father told me about you is true… you risk unleashing a storm and then…”
I remember Zerah did not finish his sentence and that left me with a strange feeling. Which father was he talking about?
– “You also hear Awoun?” I candidly asked.
In response, Zerah firmly took me by the shoulders, placed me in front of him and stared at me for a long moment. I did not know how to read his eyes behind his bushy eyebrows.
Finally, he hugged me briefly against his long robe and, without saying anything, pushed me before him in the alley.
Zerah then didn’t utter a word until we got to the small enclosure that encircled our house.
– “You know, Yussaf… many things were said here when your parents left with you immediately after your birth. There was gossip. It is mainly for this reason that you left the village while the Star still shone in the sky. So, some have claimed you preferred to run away and that everything else were just pretexts. Your father will explain all of this to you one day…”
Zerah left me with these few words, letting me join the group of men and women who were still crowding around our door, out of curiosity, duty or affection.
My return went unnoticed. It was exactly what I wanted… Using the only rope and wooden ladder this house had, I went up on our terrace. I wanted to better dive into the tenacious joy the arrival of little Judas had planted in me, which wouldn’t go away.
When a week later, my father performed the Bret Milah ceremony [1] as custom would have it, it had still not gone away from my heart.
In truth, this period was for me one of great transformation. Every night, I was visited by eyes that I could not identify, but which, deep down in my heart, I knew about. I was certain that among these were those of my new brother… not his newborn’s eyes but his soul gaze which, like a guiding thread, made me exclaim inwardly: “But where are you all? Where are you?”
Then, weeks and months passed by, filled with peace, but also with questions. Everything was of concern to me and I questioned everything, as if everything could answer me.
Without realizing it, I managed to get closer to the children of my age. They were like spurts of light and it amused me, while confronting me with a riddle whose meaning still escaped me… “Why are they them and why am I me?”
Through mingling with their group to play under the olive trees or applying myself to domestic tasks, these questions sometimes gave me the acute feeling that I was touching something very sacred, and it also gave me the vertigo of Infinity.
That was the whole issue of the difference, and therefore, of the separation, whose considerable extent was already obvious to me.

One day, when I had appointed myself in charge of guarding the sheep that belonged to everyone in our village, I saw coming toward me seven or eight of my playmates. In their repeatedly patched linen robes, they seemed somewhat mischievous. There was little Jacob, Elijah, Levi, Simon, the son of the potter, and then the girls, too, but I stayed away from them out of respect for one of those old unspoken social conventions that persisted in that time.
It was at the bottom of a small valley, where the grass was thicker and where huge broom trees projected a soft shadow. The air smelled of mint…
– “Well, Yussaf!” said Elijah to me. “Will you come with us to the brook? We saw strange lizards there yesterday…”
– “I have to keep the herd all day… My sheep will scatter…”
The small group was only two steps away from me.
– “So what?” retorted Elijah mockingly. “They will not get very far. We will help you gather them once we are back.”
– “I heard that there are stray dogs at the moment; then you understand, if they take one of them, my parents will be very saddened and ashamed…”
– “You will tell them you didn’t know…”
Elijah’s answer gave me a sudden feeling of unease that I never knew could exist. For a moment, I found nothing to answer. The young boy had drawn before the eyes of my soul a door, about which I had never thought, but which I could not push open.
– “You could do that, Elijah?”
Elijah just shrugged his shoulders. Then, after a brief hesitation, he turned back, taking along with him the little band of friends. Only one didn’t follow them, the son of the potter…
Simon even came closer to me, as if he was ashamed for Elijah and wanted to be forgiven for being there.
– “He is always a bit like that,” he said, obviously not knowing what to do. “He is not bad, it’s no big deal…”
– “No, it’s no big deal…” I repeated. But deep inside of me, I was troubled. In an instant, it was a certain image of our Brotherhood that had been shaken, the image which my parents had given me for years, that of a community where everyone was true, simple and honest. In my child’s mind, I had idealized it and now, suddenly, I was freeing myself from a kind of dream…
– “Do you prefer that I leave you alone, Yussaf?”
I nodded yes.
– “I must speak to my Father,” I then added.
– “You know he’s gone to the city with others this morning…”
– “Never mind.”
– “Ah…”
Simon then went away without another word. I saw him quickly walking up a steep path, turning back toward me, then disappearing behind the broom trees. I knew he could not understand, but I had an intense need to be alone.
After having gathered my sheep, which had begun to scatter, I sought a place with plenty of light, then laid down on the ground, my eyes directly facing the sun.
The idea to stare at it had suddenly come to me, as if it was a perfect reflection of the Father to whom I absolutely wanted to talk. It didn’t matter if that was going to hurt me… More than ever, He had to hear me!
I remember I was both so troubled and so moved that the beating of my heart had become most prominent in my chest.
Unsurprisingly, after a few seconds, I had to close my eyes because of the burning sting of the light. On the bottom of my soul, all I could see was a huge black dot. It was painful but I wanted to let myself slip into it, to get myself sucked into it… I easily succeeded…
And then everything immediately went as dark as the darkest night in the depths of the Earth. I had lost touch with my body, and the idea that perhaps Awoun wasn’t going to talk to me made me discover a sudden feeling of anguish.
Where was I? Was I going to come out of this darkness? Had I been a fool to hope to get closer to my Father when and how I would decide it.
A thousand questions surged within me, swooping down cruelly on the space hitherto inviolate of my self-confidence, from where I saw the beauty of the world.
Then, gradually, it seemed I could see more clearly…
From the darkness, there emerged something that spoke to me, that started teaching me… maybe simply some part of me emerging from some deeply buried place…
– “Did you recognize Elijah? You probably believe he was merely bearing an invitation to lie. And yet, Sananda, he was primarily the messenger of thy Father. Often, one does not see the messenger coming! He knows how to conceal Himself.
“Verily, life is replete with messengers… and their message is always the same: Learn to read your way and then write it as you know it should be read . Unify everything, for everything builds you!”
I sat up at once. My eyes were still burning, but what lived behind them was limpid. A part of me had aged in mere moments.
Yes, it was there… That was why I had come into this small valley with all those sheep! Not for my soul to touch the existence of the lie, but to recognize my Father in every crease of what was coming toward me.
The image of the mosaic was resurfacing. It was telling me that we are all essential and we all serve a purpose for each other. Whether we are shadow weavers or sail raisers, our lives are intertwined, as we teach one another according to an Intelligence that is immeasurably beyond our grasp .
I cried that afternoon because I realized that, for a brief instant, I had almost cast Elijah out of myself, and pushed him outside of my heart for having shown me how a soul can begin to limp.
In truth, for me, this was a moment of great awakening and I did not want to bring my sheep back to their fold, without being able to fully thank little Elijah for what he had been instructed to stir in my consciousness.
I remember that, while hanging around with them on the steep path leading to the village, I enjoyed embroidering a little story tinged with a simple wisdom. Many years later, it came back to mind, and I then offered it to those willing to open themselves.
The seasons went by… As Judas was growing up, I took part in all the work of our village, still enjoying every opportunity to take refuge within myself. It was not intended as an escape, because the universe being gradually formed in my soul seemed to me to be just as tangible as the other one, that of sowing, of harvesting, and of the thousands of daily chores of a tiny community.
I also did everything I could to get closer to those of my age, even though I was aware that some people said I was pretentious because I was the eldest son of Yussaf and of an ancient Dove [2] of our people.
– “Do not worry about this, move forward!” urged my Father. “Differences always hurt, but it is what makes the days and men.”
Finally, over time, I also chased away this inner resistance that made me stay somewhat far from the girls. It happened naturally, through playing the game of “stone.” [3] There was little Rebecca, with her face covered in freckles, Bathsheba, Myriam, whose father wove our clothing, and then also Martha, who loved to milk the sheep…
My life might have continued like this; I could have grown up and, in turn, become a priest for our Community, just like my father or old Zerah…
Sometimes, I wanted to convince myself of this but, from the perspective of my six-year-old self, I was well aware that it would never happen. Yussaf and Meryem knew it, too. They had repeated to me a few times, as a matter of fate, that I was like a chrysalis containing another chrysalis. That made me smile…
All of this was confirmed by an important event, one of those events that mark a still-young life, through confirming a singularity it already knew.

[1] Circumcision.
[2] A guardian of the Fire in the Essene Brotherhood, a sacred role, with ritualistic functions entrusted to certain little girls, until they reach marriageable age.
[3] A game similar to that of hopscotch.
Chapter V
On Mount Tabor
I remember that the hot season was ending. All of nature was scorched by the sun and the roads became more dusty than ever under our bare feet…
Every day, I saw little Judas grow like wild grass spreading in all directions. So, to appease his cries as soon as evening fell, I had grown accustomed to bring him with me on the roof terrace of our house.
Together, we watched out for the appearance of the Star of our people, the one that protected us and sometimes murmured where to go.
Where to go, yes… Despite my young age, that was the question already haunting me.
Old Zerah was right, I was only too aware—without being able to name it—of this Wind that wanted me to move.
Besides, everything was moving! My older siblings were less present; they had to work hard, and sometimes traveled to other villages or to the shores of Lake Kinneret. [1] Little Simon, [2] himself, the son of the potter, was no longer there to catch me among the bushes; he disappeared one morning… They had brought him to a school, I was told.
It was during one of these glowing sunsets spent on the roof of our house that my father came to sit with me for a moment, while Judas playfully threw me pebbles.
Still covered with the earthy color of the fields, Yussaf seemed particularly serious. Under bushy eyebrows, his gaze still sought to smile to me.
– “My son,” he said, “listen to me… In two days, I’ll take you with me for hours of difficult trekking, a day’s walk away from here. There is a mountain there that we will need to climb… It’s called Mount Tabor, and for our people, it is more sacred than any other.”
– “Who else will come?”
– “No one… but an Elder will wait for us there. It is for you that we will do this trip, you understand? I cannot tell you more now.”
And indeed, Yussaf didn’t tell me anything more. Strangely though, he had tenderly taken my hand while he spoke to me, something he never dared to do.
What my father told me, immediately had the same effect on me as a rising sun… like a sigh of relief that meant to me something like, “At last…”

Thus, at the appointed day, when the first rays of dawn shone over the horizon, my father and I, half asleep on the back of a donkey, went through the olive groves on the rocky trails of Galilee.
Although fascinating to my soul, which was thirsty for the intensity of life, the day seemed endless, especially since my young boy’s pride had quickly, once again, dictated to me to walk as much as possible.
– “What is Mount Tabor, father? You still have not told me. We cannot believe that something is sacred simply because we are told that it is…”
I can still hear the laughter that my reflection triggered in him.
– “You are right, Yussaf! But still… too much is said about that mountain for there not to be some element of truth to it.”
I looked up… Mount Tabor was now there, like an enormous mass of almond trees and hardwood crushed by the heat under the last rays of the sunset.
We made a stop at its foot and slept there after sharing a few figs, some cheese, and flat biscuits. We each had our big brown linen veil hemmed with ocher, and two or three boulders provided us with a kind of rough shelter… That was all, but everything was simple.
I now just had to listen to my father, if he would teach me or tell me a story of our people, and then the next day, we would naturally find the path that would lead us to the side of the mountain.
– “Listen, Yussaf… From what our people say, Mount Tabor is not only one of the most sacred places on Earth, but also one of the most mysterious. Each month—or during major festivals—fires are lit there in memory, according to the Elders, of what once happened there.”
– “And what happened there?”
– “It is written on some old scrolls which I could see in the desert that, in very remote times, Light clouds came there to meet some of our own. These clouds were inhabited by Presences that we consider divine. You know their names… We call them Elohim. For us in Essania, they are the Word of the Nameless.
It is also said that, for a long time, these Presences have taught us. Then one day, they stopped visiting us… So to pray for their return, the Elders of that time began to make huge fires at the top of the mountain. It was probably to tell them, “Do not forget us…” But nothing helped… That’s how some of us began to write on stone and palms so that nothing would be forgotten of what had been entrusted to them.”
– “The Light no longer comes, then?”
I remember that my father stopped for a moment before answering, long enough for me to realize that I already knew the nature of what he would say. It was registered there in my heart…
– “Sometimes, Yussaf… Sometimes it comes back, very discreetly, when there is no fire that burns… At least, not anywhere but in the breast of some men.”
– “If I cannot see Elohim, then why do you bring me here?”
I did not get an answer. My father gave out a little grunt, half amused, and then, with his rough hand, forced me to lie down while pulling my piece of linen over me.
How could I sleep? I knew without knowing… I knew without understanding or even touching inside of me images that could be sufficiently exact.
Exhaustion, however, got the better of my body… When I woke up, my father had already prepared a drink with herbs and he was pouring a bit of oil on the remains of a flat biscuit.
– “I found the trail; it is there behind those trees,” he said.
We exchanged a quick glance and then, after we put a bit of water on our face, hands and feet, we both prayed to the Everlasting out loud, as is required. It was the key that we absolutely had to turn within us to begin any day.
I still see us taking the narrow path of Mount Tabor, pulling our donkey behind us and throwing furtive glances toward the summit we had to reach.
Soon, it no longer appeared as high as it first seemed to me, so I started to contemplate all that greeted us that morning: small gnarled trees, thorny ones, the dried flowers now escorting us, then that sweet valley which still seemed to slumber down below. I did not say a word, but my heart throbbed more than usual.
My father, too, remained silent. I could only hear his slightly hoarse breath.
At one point, however, as we were about two-thirds into our climb, he stopped after watching hesitantly a big protruding boulder. He looked all around and then finally laid eyes on me. I understood that he was very moved.
– “I do not know if it’s here,” he whispered. “We will pray…”
I, too, was moved. There was “something” tugging at my soul and rising from the ground we were walking upon. So I sat next to my father in the sun; like him, I pulled down my veil over my face and then I called the prayer in the order as it took me and so I would not merely recite it.
– “Father, Father, Father… Awoun…” I quickly heard rising in me, like a sob escaping my bowels.
I knew nothing of what could be in this call that didn’t want to end. Behind my veil, under its sultry air, I had only the feeling of stretching an arm toward the sky, waiting to be lifted up to Him.
The call finally faded on its own, in the manner of a fire that has consumed all its wood, and then a long silence settled. Not a breath of wind, not a rustle of insect…
Suddenly, I felt a hand on my right shoulder, that of my father putting his arm around me. It made me raise my head and lift my veil.
A man of great stature stood a short distance from us. As a sign of greeting and prayer, he had his arms crossed over his chest, exactly like those of Essania. He also had their abundant hair and long white robe. After a slight smile on an intense and sun-burnt face, a quick tilt of the head toward us, the man asked us to follow him, without any explanation…
For the first time since we had left, my father looked really happy and even relieved, as if he had just come out of an uncertain area of ​​his soul.
Behind the one who had become our guide, the ascent of Mount Tabor seemed even more difficult for me. Regularly, the man made us leave the path to follow steep paths on the slopes, on which our donkey struggled even more than us.
Finally, long after my thoughts were suspended, we reached the top of the mountain… Surprisingly, many shrubs were still in bloom. In my child’s heart, I received this as a blessing. The Beautiful could only be the seal of the Divine…
The luxurious space in which we were then asked to move ahead was incredibly flat, quite like an altar decked with flowers, set up by nature as an offering to the heavens. There were wild roses in abundance and all kinds of species that I did not know. Then, the ground became gradually rockier, and then a bit chaotic, until we saw a small pile of rocks.
It was toward it that the man we were following was taking us. Stone blocks were positioned there in such a way that quite large gaps were created between some of them.
We had scarcely arrived near them, when our guide pointed out one of them. It seemed large enough for a man to hope to enter it, at ground level.
– “It is here, my brother… Can you follow me? My name is Elphas…”
My father nodded quickly, while telling me to lie on my stomach. I had to follow, while crawling, the man leading us into a kind of dark and narrow corridor under the pile of rocks. Despite the memory of the long hours I had experienced in the underground rooms of the temples of the Land of the Red Earth, it was the first time I really had the feeling of penetrating in the belly of the Earth.
Behind Elphas, whose presence I soon could no longer even distinguish, I imagined that we would soon reach a sort of small cave where the three of us could sit and where things would be said to me that no one else should hear… However, that’s not what happened.
I remember that we, indeed, found a cavity where we could gather and catch our breath, which had become short. It was like a refuge where, through a ray of light that managed to sneak between the blocks of stone, we could quite easily see each other’s faces. However, this was not our final destination.
Indeed, the eyes of my father seemed to be inquiring, as if the place did not correspond at all to what he had been told.
– “Are you OK, Yussaf?” he whispered in my direction.
I replied to him with a broad smile. Wherever we were, wherever we were going, I was happy to be there. I felt so close to myself or to this kind of… secrecy that had always invited me to perceive myself in such a beautiful intimacy… with everything!
A slight scratching was heard in the dark. It was Elphas, who was energetically wiping the dust off the ground with his hands. It seemed like he was looking for something.
Moments later, I understood that he was clearing the access to some kind of trapdoor. That was it… a wooden door, which was apparently very heavy to lift. It was hiding a metal grate.
We saw Elphas tilting it with a sharp movement, then after a brief moment, we observed him carefully disappearing into the total darkness of the ground. He did not have to beg me to follow him.
In turn, I went down into the darkness. Under my feet, I soon found a flat stone, then two… these were the perfectly polished steps of a staircase.
I started to walk down one step at a time, groping my way ahead, hands stuck to the rocky walls and guided only by the breath of our guide, who already seemed to have taken a small lead.
The darkness in which we were descending was extraordinarily dense. Still, I felt it to be very much alive, so alive and “luminous” in its essence, that a part of me became almost feverish.
– “Yussaf?” I suddenly heard, while we kept endlessly going down.
– “I’m here, father…” And as I was thus answering him, I had the strange feeling that I was fully an adult speaking to another adult. The six years of my body no longer meant anything. They had evaporated, to leave all the room to my expanding soul.
Finally, we reached a flat space that was apparently quite large, judging by the noise our steps made. After deciding to hold each other’s hand so as not to get lost there, we moved obliquely until we could touch again the rock face. According to Elphas, it was a crevasse, a vertical cleft wide enough for a man to slip through.
It is through it that our journey in the dark could go on. Fortunately, the passageway quickly expanded and we found ourselves in another space that was probably more extensive and higher than the previous one.
– “Let us sit down, my brothers…” simply said Elphas, in a stentorian tone that was amplified by the echo in the room.
I remember letting myself happily fall on the ground, immediately seized by the perception, under me and behind my back, of a rock as smooth as marble.
It was obvious that we needed to pray once more, or at least to silence our questioning, in order to receive what was to be.
Two thousand years later, when I revisit these hours so secretly kept in the depths of my memory, I see that they were among the most penetrating and most decisive of my life in that time period.
As I had been taught, I had always prayed with my eyes closed. I was also told that it was the best way to make the sun of spirit rise up within oneself. This time, though, in this so special space in the bowels of the Earth, my eyes would not close.
In fact, they could not. Instead, it quickly seemed like I was staring wide-eyed, trying to tear open the fabric of darkness, or sneak into its weft, to finally emerge within its hidden light.
An indefinite time went by this way, my breathing suspended, until slowly, very slowly, a glow, insignificant at first, started to rise from the heart of the night. It seemed as if it was the darkness itself which wanted to give birth to the light.

Finally, the space where we were fully revealed itself. We were in a sort of cube topped with a dome, and everything was so white, so pristine, simple and beautiful that I felt tears welling up in my eyes, not out of emotion, though… just out of wonderment.
It took me a while to realize that we were not alone. The slender silhouette of a man stood out from the wall opposite to the one which we were still sitting against. He was watching us…
Was it really that of a man, for that matter? In truth, his presence was evoking both masculine and feminine qualities.
Almost straightaway, the being stepped toward us. He had a bronze-colored skin and his long hair was the most fair of all those I had seen before. But it is not these details that touched me right away.
My eyes almost rushed toward his, so much so that I still heard myself say from the depth of my chest: “Why… but why?” No gravity was detectable in the sheer intensity of these eyes… They only spoke of strength, tenderness and an inexplicable closeness…
– “Sananda… Does something in you remember me?”
I could not tell… However, the name by which the Presence had just called me instantly stirred so many areas of my soul that it prompted me to immediately get up, as if I was suddenly filled with an unexpected dignity.
– “This moment is, therefore, the right one. You were hoping for it as much as we did… Now, follow me!”
I didn’t have to take more than a dozen steps behind the being, whom I only then noticed was wearing a long pale blue gown. He stopped near an object which I had not noticed until then. It was a kind of alabaster block more or less soft, fairly narrow and whose height evoked that of a small seat.
– “Sit down, my brother…”
I was in a state of total abandon and since no thoughts or questions really managed to organize themselves in my head or in my heart, without hesitation I sat astride on the small immaculate stone block. I think my feet were barely touching the ground.
A long sigh immediately rose from the bottom of my chest and I remembered that my father and this man named Elphas had to be there somewhere, observing everything.
I tried to look for them but the light now emanating from the place had become so bright that I could not find them. Had they slipped quietly behind me to stand alongside the tall blonde presence whose hand I now felt on my neck?
I should have felt warmth on my skin, but on the contrary, the longer his palm pressed on my neck, the more a cool, fresh sensation was spreading into my body. It was growing so intensely that it became numbing. I had never experienced that! And then, in a split second, I felt a sharp, distinct and precise tear at the base of my neck for a length of about one finger. I was certain that a blade had cut a deep gash in my flesh.
I felt no pain, though; just the feeling that my tissues were bared in this part of my back, up to the bones of my spine and perhaps even to their heart. There are probably no words that could convey how such an incision felt.
The image of “something” that had just been torn apart up my back was that of a deep gaping wound, affecting my soul as much as my body. An icy breath was trying to rush into it and was suspending any possibility of reaction from me…
What was being done to me? I wasn’t frightened or even anxious. I only experienced the discomfort of a sort of petrification.
At one point—although time then no longer meant anything to me—I felt tingling in the center of my head. It came from a very specific point, a center from which a golden light quickly spread to permeate my entire inner space.
And this light was filled with a voice…
– “Sananda… May your source thus free itself even more! Do you still accept the outpouring of water that will flow out from it?
“Henceforth, the door leading from you to us and from us to you will be fully open… Mark out and call out the presence of Elohim and Elohim in the Invisible will be there, even in the visible.
“Now, here is the name we give you and which will become yours when you will know its day has come. Your soul has chosen this weighty name, vowing: ‘Yes I will inhabit that name, this body and this life.’ Do you remember these words uttered by you? And after that you were told: ‘You will be called Jeshua.’ Do you remember?” [3]
The voice stopped there, and in the complete silence it suddenly left me. I found myself sliding down the center of a whirlwind of an even more permeating light. Its living and mute substance carried me away, and I could not resist it. So I fell… from so far away…
Once again, I was seated astride my little stone block… There was still no one in front of me, but I immediately regained the acute sensation of a gaping wound in my upper back. However, very delicate fingers seemed to make every effort to close it back, with love, with joy…
A love and a joy so deeply moving, that I instantly made them mine. They made me want to get out of my seat.
– “Wait, my brother…”
The strength of the request dissipated any desire to resist it. So I closed my eyes and continued for a long time to feel what I still imagined to be fingers caressing the nape of my neck.
My mind, thus, started traveling… a bit longer. It contemplated my soul and more than ever, made it aware of the bridge between worlds it had to cross to once again tread the soil of this Earth.
“Oh, yes…” murmured the spirit in me, “there are lives where we have the duty to be more alive than in others…”
My eyelids finally opened… The white light was still omnipresent, as well as the sensation of cold. I tried to gather my strength, to regain my breath, and then I left my alabaster seat.
Without thinking about it, I turned around, convinced that I would find myself face to face with the being dressed in blue, my father and Elphas. And yet, no… there was nobody but me in the light that would not end, as if it had absorbed everything. Not only was I alone, but all traces of the walls and dome had disappeared. No matter… I was just fine that way; the cold itself was fading away, or so it seemed to me.
Mechanically, I ran one of my hands near the top of my back. Now I felt a slight burning sensation there. However, my skin appeared to be perfectly intact. It was as if no operation had been performed.
Had I been dreaming? This idea briefly crossed my mind. However, despite my age, I already knew very well what belonged to the dream world and what was outside of it because its essence was simply too real.
– “Sananda,” I then heard again, “Sananda… you will learn even more… the dream, that’s the world you’ll find, as soon as you get out of this place.
“At this very moment, you stand at the border between realities, where the earthly one is porous and embraces the soul’s reality, where the forms are constructed and where the forces are distributed. [4]
“We now ask that which is more awake in you the following: Can you understand what you have just experienced? For… between what a soul has chosen and what it is able to accept, there is the interplay of freedom. Are you free?”
I sat up and my eyes stopped searching in the immaculate depth of the light. Never had I been asked such a question!
– “It depends,” I replied out loud… “It depends on whether you talk to small Yussaf in his tunic, or if it is to me that you speak.”
– “You know who we are speaking to…”
– “Then why such a question?”
– “So you may contemplate your freedom and weigh it up.”
– “What did you make of that freedom, you who have just opened the flesh of my back? And then… how should I call you?”
– “Choose! Elohim is both one and multiple.”
– “Just like Awoun?”
– “Elohim is the servant of Awoun’s Angels.”
I remained silent for a moment, almost frightened by the aplomb with which I was hearing myself asking my questions. I couldn’t help it though, because it was not Yussaf in me speaking, it was…
I searched for the name that had been given to me by the voice of the Light while the top of my spine was a gaping wound… In vain, I could not recall it; it had to be coiled at the bottom of my being, like a secret still to be preserved.
– “Is ‘Sananda’ what you are looking for?”
I remembered that name, even though I did not know to what it was corresponding exactly, and why it was attributed to me.
– “No, of course… it’s the other one,” continued Elohim. This name took refuge in the silence to better return in its time.
– “So why did you give it to me, if it was meant to immediately escape me?”
– “So it may prepare the door for which it is the key and better imprint it in you.”
– “But if I know how to call my Father from the depths of my heart, why would I need a key?”
– “Because your Father needs hands and Elohim provides Him his. Because you, too, chose to offer Him yours…”
– “Why would the Everlasting need them? Is He not everything?”
– “Go beyond words… It is our image in Him which asks for that; it is that which outlines all the necessities.
“What have we done with your freedom, did you ask? We just gave it back to you more fully… so your ears and voice may be further relieved from the weight of this Earth. We did not take anything away from your being, nor did we add anything to it . We have simply activated one of the centers of your luminous body… at your request!”
– “Did I ask you something?”
– “No words were needed for that… One night, you called us with images born of your heart. Do you remember that little crystal that we’ve given to you a while ago near Alexandria? It was a sign of our response, an indication of the first conscious renewal of the bond that unites us. As for the second one… you just experienced it.
“You are freer than ever now! You are free to call us or not, to listen to us or not each time the path will shrink…”
“Each time the path will shrink…” Hearing these words stirred a deep emotion in me and I mechanically placed my hand in the center of my chest. My crystal was still there, very real in the canvas bag that my mother had made and which was hanging from my neck.
Yes, of course, I remembered… Its presence sometimes reminded me of my wings, sometimes of my roots.
– “One day you will no longer need it,” resumed the voice, “as roots and wings will merge in you.”
Then, before subsiding and tenderly vanishing, it added a few more words for my soul alone…
Was it over? I felt a twinge of sadness when the light gradually lost its intensity, thus allowing the large cubic space and its cupola to reappear. With a quick glance, I took them in. Their brightness seemed dull, compared to the one that had just receded.
I looked around until I could find the silhouettes of my father and Elphas. The two men sat, motionless, still leaning back against the smooth stone that constituted the room’s walls. Between them, there was an empty place, one that certainly was mine. Neither of them had, therefore, moved. Had they, then, perceived nothing, seen nothing, heard nothing?
I recall that my steps were unsteady when I approached them. In fact, my whole body was trembling. I had to lie down… I closed my eyes, then my father covered me with his linen shawl and insisted that I eat a dried fig. I was exhausted and I could hardly realize what I had just been through.
When I finally managed to open my eyelids and tried to sit up, all light had disappeared from where we were. The total darkness that prevailed when we came in had taken over once again, so as to preserve the mysteries.

The journey which brought us back to the light of the day seemed much faster than on the way in. In fact, flanked by Elphas and my father, I felt my way back in a state of overflowing, or exaltation.
The top of my back was still also a bit aching. I had the impression it was still penetrated by a cold and persistent air flow.
– “Does it hurt, brother?” asked Elphas, as soon as we reached the open air and heat from the top of Mount Tabor.

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