26 Days (Itinerarius of the soul)

F. Guzzardi

26 Days

Itinerarius Of The Soul

©2022 Hofmann & Hofmann Inc.

F. Guzzardi 26 Days

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F.Guzzardi

26 Days Itinerarius Of The Soul

Published in Florida USA on October 2022

Prologue

Rome, Summer 1969

Angela got out of the taxi at Rome Fiumicino airport. Blonde hair, thin face. Her eyes were full of hope; let’s imagine a thread of sadness sufocated by the circumstances. Angela was fying toward a dream that would take her across the ocean to ward of the life she wanted to live. Her mother had stayed at home that day; she did not want to participate in the farewell of her rebellious daughter, the one difcult to educate but so easy to love. She was accompanied by her father, who carried her suitcases as if to protect her daughter’s life or to guard it until her destination, in what would become her new life. New York seemed like the right destination to start over. He followed her to boarding and let out a tear; she kissed him on the forehead like someone who knew she had to return.

Paris, Autumn 1972

On an autumn afternoon like today, Richard Dubois, my friend and editor of the newspaper “Le Petit Parisien,” gave me a book entitled “26 Days”. I read it all in one gulp, and it thrilled me that I didn’t touch any food during the 24 hours it took to read it. That day, I was in my studio in Paris, and Richard asked me if I could do a French translation. I replied that I would need time for an objective assessment and would call him as soon as possible.

In fact, two years have passed since that meeting. In the meantime, I tried to contact the author of the book. That had been written in its frst edition in 1949 by a certain George Speek.

I was hoping to fnd some of his heirs still alive to obtain the necessary publication rights, but my eforts did not have concrete results. So I thought that I would have published it anyway and that, at the most, I would have paid the rights to those who presented themselves to claim.

A year later, I found myself in my bedroom, unable to fall asleep, and I heard a voice coming out of nowhere urging me to leave for New York and saying I would meet George Speek there. The rumor repeated for three nights in a row, so much so that on the fourth day, with a great leap of faith, I took the frst available plane and left for New York.

During the long fight, I went through all the most critical passages in the book. It was a trip to India made by Mr. Speek himself in search of masters of thought. However unrealistic the events seemed, he told them as accurate, and never, not even for a moment, did he let a glimpse of a fctional statement of truth or literary fction.

The hypothesis of the fgure of Christ in the Himalayan scenarios fascinated me. Universal mysticism as a single thought and Buddhist clarity seemed to come from the same matrix, tolerance and compassion. But the most disturbing trait was that that book had taken on such importance in my life that I could not see anything other than what concerned it.

I imagined three possible ways of understanding the book: the material test, the test of the witnesses, and the test of the spirit. Pursuing them seemed essential to me, to know their meaning and reliability, even if I considered proof of the heart the main element of study in my investigation.

My frst evaluation coincided in favor of the veracity of what is narrated in the book. Even if some doubts crept into

my soul little by little. I also believed that it would take several years to reconstruct the work of the Mr. Speek expedition. The masters he met during his journey were located in vast territories covering much of India, Tibet, China, and Persia.

I discovered that the mission also involved men of science who had devoted long years to research work. Some of them decided to stay forever in those places.

Chapter I

New York

“The expression of the ego and its consequences make us what appears to others. Artists, poets, or insane? Figuring out which race I belonged to was a game that took me at times when the desire to live faded...and it happened more often as years went by.”

INew York

Upon my arrival at JFK International Airport, a taxi took me to my destination. I rented a room in a private house that Richard recommended. He received me a smiling woman about ffty, about my age.

“You must be Mr. Dupuy... Jean Luc Dupuy, the famous writer,” she said, introducing herself with the name Marilyn.

“Yes, it’s me; even if I didn’t think I was that famous, especially in the USA!”

“In fact, some mutual friends have told me about you; please let me show you your room; you know, these days I don’t have many people, and on the other hand, I prefer not to have many people around!”

Two rooms on the landing opened onto the balcony with a splendid view of Central Park. The woman pointed to mine, wishing me a good stay.

“Who occupies the other room?” I asked absently.

“That’s Angela’s room, but she’s never there!” she replied.

“Well, I’ll take a hot shower before I walk around town!”

The woman walked away discreetly while I took out of the suitcase the necessary to put in the small wardrobe at the room entrance and in the cupboard in front of the bed. There was a bouquet of fresh fowers on the nightstand and a bottle of Cointreau with two sculpted crystal glasses... and a letter with a short welcome message.

Little by little, the thought came into the spirit that I had no material proof of what Speek wrote, if not the sensation of the existence of a reseau of invisible personalities, one of which had guided me to New York.

I picked up the phone to call Richard, but the lines seemed blocked. I began to write down my New York days in a notebook.

A thought immediately went to my son, on the other side of the ocean, whom I perceived as the failure of my most important activity in this life: that of a father and inspirational guide.

I would have given anything to mend the tear and make up for the absences and gaps in his life. How could I have erased it at all? Rewind the tape?

I was thinking about the difculties of understanding others, and ourselves, which we face every day, and the innate need to know, which pushes us to useless equilibrist exercises.

I took the book out of a suitcase to place it on the bedside table to my right; the bookmark was inserted on page 59, chapter two.

26 Days {II, 59} Ignorance consists in not recognizing or understanding divine thought, the creator principle in its relationship with a man. We can have all the intellectual knowledge and all the possible experience of the things of the world. Nevertheless, suppose we do not know how to

recognize that Christ is the living substance of God, which nourishes the inner being. In that case, we will show ourselves grossly ignorant of the most critical factor that governs life.

There is unconsciousness in asking an ideal and perfect father to heal an illness or relieve us from sin. Sickness is the consequence of sin, and forgiveness or acceptance is his healing. Illness is not a punishment from heaven but the equation of not knowing the deepest self. Man knows that spirituality is the only place to meet God and that the divine is the proper way for all men. The ideals that we perceive in the lives of others will take solid roots in our own life, and following divine law, these will multiply according to their species.

As long as we believe in the power of sin and the reality of its efects, our very life will be dominated by the punishment of sins. If we can respond to all disharmonious thoughts with thoughts of righteousness, we will prepare the spiritual ground for great sowing.

Forgiveness will therefore have carried out a great mission. He will have frst freed the cause and, consequently, the efect because, in the background of the law of forgiveness, there is a deep and shining love founded on a principle. This love can be called the desire to give and give oneself, only for the pleasure of doing so and without the idea of a possible reward other than the approval of divine law: This is the beloved child in whom I place my expectations.”

Someone knocked on the door, and in a moment, my primordial activities related to food and tiredness caused by the long journey came back to consciousness. A man handed me a tray with food and drinks, smiled warmly, and I returned it with the same kindness, plus a couple of dollars in tips.

Sipping my cofee, I thought that, basically, one gets used to everything or fts and that we sometimes don’t for revenge against someone or something. Then even American cofee takes on its whole meaning in the context of life.

After a brief invigorating shower, I prepared to go down to the main hall of my accommodation. Marylin was surprised to see me ready to go out after such a long journey, and I replied that I wanted to see new people.

“You’re absolutely right; sometimes New York can give you an energy you don’t expect!” While speaking to me, she ran her right hand through her hair as if to put back the signs of the years or hide the veiled neglect of someone who has nothing to ask of his neighbor or expects nothing from the male gender.

“Let’s hope!” I replied, “Right now, that’s what I need most!”

I walked to the exit door, bright with hope, as she asked me about my books. “I’ll get you one as soon as I can! I haven’t written for at least two years, even though I have some editorial duties.”

In the meantime, a taxi was taken me to the center of Manhattan, where some friends had invited me to a photo exhibition.

I walked across the three blocks that separated me from my destination. I look at all the windows lit up at night like a child. I observed people and told myself that, perhaps, no other city in the world can be like New York, with illuminated signs that alternate with daylight in a perfect and almost natural symbiosis.

I sat for a few minutes at the bus stop just to watch the yellow cars whiz by in an organized mess. I also wondered if it was not a bit snobbish to organize a photographic exhibition in the middle of the night; it did not matter the author’s talent; a great dose of narcissism was required, a particularity that I believed exclusive to writers or singers.

At the exhibition, I got acquainted with an artist sculptor named Jack. He asked me why I was in the City, and I told him about my research on the book and Speek. In my words, he was enlightened; he had read the book and was very

impressed by it, deciding to take a trip to understand it better.

“I decided to travel to India after reading the book. Like you, I wanted to understand if there was a grain of truth in those words, but I must confess that I did not meet the characters while visiting the places narrated by Mr. Speek. There was that feeling of being close to something that I could not touch, even if I perceived it clearly and limpid in my mind.”

“But what did 26 days mean to you?” I was very interested in his conclusions.

“The meaning? I could sum it up with a short anecdote that gives a sense of the book’s philosophy and perhaps also of India, at least in its rural and mystical part.

In an Ashram in Rajasthan, I met a Master who introduced himself as Krupa Rao. He took me to the nearby mountains to a yogi in a small monastery. This Yogi welcomed me very friendly and asked if I wanted to stay 20 years or 26 days to learn and transcend human thought and enter the ecstasy of samadhi. I was forced to reply that my taxi was waiting for me and that I did not have luggage.

Among other things, my professional and family duties forced me to return to Canada as soon as possible. However, I agreed to stay until the next day and spent a day and a night of exquisite courtesy under his roof.

“He told me he had met Speek and showed documents that recalled his passage in the 1949s.

“I must confess that my journey did not bring me any absolute proof but the intuition that there is a hierarchy of invisible personalities capable of guiding a mortal through hardships.

“In more than one location I have visited, my arrival

was announced in advance. In two places 2,500 kilometers away from each other.

The people who welcomed me baptized me with the same Indian name: Narayana, without any material connection between them. That name means: who seeks to wait for the highest.”

“Interesting!” His words captivated me, “But the Mr. Speek exploration lasted almost two years! How could you concentrate on all his steps in just three weeks?”

“It would have taken several years to get to this information. Still, I returned pretty satisfed and aware of the im- possibility of proving the book’s veracity, and that’s enough for me!”

I thanked him for spending time and gave him my phone number with the invitation to meet again for a cofee. I returned home thinking I was too tired to evaluate the impressions received.

The taxi few from the side of the road and rewound me in the almost surreal atmosphere of Manhattan. The Tunisian taxi driver began to speak to me in French and told me most of his life in twenty minutes. Strange... how happy people are to share life’s pains and beauty. Or it may also be that you always feel a bit lost... when you come out of a vernissage. That man warmed my thoughts and reconciled me with the real world, which consists of small daily eforts, compromises, and other random curses.

I asked him to leave me two blocks before my house so the wind would awaken my senses clouded by a few glasses of vodka. After paying him, I thanked the taxi driver, and he gave me a handshake back. I ambled the short stretch that separated me from my accommodation to catch a glimpse of the frst light of dawn between the skyscrapers and the sky.

I thought the soul could not die, and the poets, artists, and insane people knew it well. Because death wins over reality, over matter, and not over immaterial substances. Here then,

thought cannot be hidden; it cannot be killed. The expression of the ego and its consequences make us what appears to others. Artists, poets, or insane? Figuring out which race I belonged to was a game that took me at times when the desire to live faded...and it happened more often as years went by.

Chapter II

The symbolism of Osiris

“Osiris was born in Atlantis more than thirty-fve thousand years ago. Long after her time, chroniclers will remember her because of her magnifcent works. The descendants of the motherland of men had retained clarity of thought.”

IIThe symbolism of Osiris

At the entrance to my place, a young woman was desperately trying to open the door.

“Can I help you?”

“Yup!” she replied, showing an angelically white face.

“I must have lost the right key,” she admitted.

“You must be Angela?” I asked, looking at her with interest.

“Yes, and... you are Jean, right?”

“And now that we’ve guessed our names let’s open this

She had exaggerated blonde hair, a shade close to white. She must have been in her thirties, no more. I said good night before she closed the door to her bedroom. She replied with a smile.

During the night, I tried to understand the meaning of my trip to New York, which could not be limited to the brief yet fascinating conversation I had with Jack and his stories about the book. I picked up the book and reviewed the chapter of the third journey, the one devoted to metaphysical research.

26 Days {XX, 11} For the departure, its members had gathered in Portal, a small Hindu village. Speek had warned Emile, the guide, that they would arrive without warning to him at the end of the day. When the members came, they were surprised to fnd that Emile had prepared everything down to the smallest detail, as if he already knew Speek’s plans.

Then it was time to leave, and Emile announced to them: “You will go to continue the journey with Just and New, who will accompany you to your destination. I will stay here for a few more days because you will need at least 5 days to get to your frst stop with your means of transport. I don’t need all this time, but I will be there to receive you.” On the ffth day of travel, around four in the afternoon, the members arrived in Asmah. As expected, Emile was there to receive them.

Amazement was in the eyes of Speek and the entire group. They had arrived by the only practicable route, and only the postmen of the town, who traveled day and night, could go faster. Then Emily replied: “Upon your departure, I told you I would be there to receive you, and here I am. I would like to draw your attention to the fact that man is limitless when he evolves into his natural domain. He is not subject to the limitations of time and space. When a man knows himself, he is not obliged to carry on for fve days of walking to cover 150

kilometers. In his true dominion, man can instantly cover all distances, however great they may be.

I left the village where you left fve days ago, only a few minutes ago; my body is still resting. The friends you left in the town will be able to confrm that I was with them until a few hours ago and that I left them saying I would go to receive you here. I did this just to let you know that we can leave our bodies to visit anywhere. Just and New could have traveled like me. But you will understand better as long as we are similar to you. There are no mysteries; we have only developed the powers given to us by our creators. My body will stay there until night falls, then I’ll get it here.”

Ithought Emile was endowed with supernatural powers, but it was difcult to understand the exact meaning of this passage in an earthly context devoid of any spiritual belief. It would be naive to consider it in its purely literary sense. But spiritual evolution also lies in the defnitive abandonment of the body, in life beyond matter. I was overwhelmed by my thoughts when I noticed a woman fgure in my room’s dim light.

“Angela?” I called uncertainly.

The door was open, and ... “I know it may seem trivial, but... would you have some sugar?”

“I’ll go to fnd some for you in the kitchen if you want ...” I started to get up from the bed where I was lying down to read. “No, don’t worry! I just wanted to talk.” She smiled shyly. “Sure, take a seat!” And I pointed to the sofa with renewed interest.

She crossed her long legs, wrapped in a white organza robe. The refections of the lamp in the corner accentuated her blonde hair, which descended along her neck to reach the height of her breasts, covered only by a thin robe.

“Are you writing something?” she asked curiously.

“No, I was studying a fascinating text to understand its details.” I absentmindedly pointed to the book lying on the bed next to where I was sitting.

“I was watching you!” she said with a smile. “When?” I wasn’t the only one intrigued... I thought. “When you got here ... yesterday!”

“But I didn’t see you yesterday! Marilyn told me you weren’t home.”

“Marilyn never sees me!” She smiled again.

I got up from the bed, where I was sitting, to approach her; I was magnetically attracted. She stood up, almost simultaneously, as if recalled by my movement, and came toward me. We found ourselves facing each other in the center of the room.

I placed her hands on her shoulders naturally, and she, on my hips, caressed her face gently, and she stretched out her lips to be kissed while she looked into my eyes with a tacit invitation. I lightly touched her lips with my tongue and began playing with her; her taste and breathing quickened. I covered her breasts with my hand, lowering her dress’s shoulder strap with a slight movement. Her body responded to my touch by moving closer to my writing, initiating an ancient yet eternal dance.

We went through the night with emotional vibrations, the sweat of our bodies, and the lightness of our souls. I was awakened by the morning light that penetrated through the halfopen window while my hand rummaged in the bed, searching for her body, but without fnding it. Her perfume had invaded the room, and I found myself laughing, trying to fnd her hand. A feeling of light loneliness crossed my mind.

I went to knock on her door without getting an answer.

A phone call from Jack woke me from that morning’s numbness, bringing my attention back to something diferent from Angela’s.

“Join me in Time Square; I know a place where they make great bagels with cream cheese and smoked salmon.”

Marilyn, who happened to be on the landing and had overheard the conversation, suggested taking me in the car, and I gladly accepted.

On the way, I tried with professional curiosity to know more about her.

“You are always smiling; I’m sure that even when the world seems to want to collapse, you always fnd a good word. How do you do?”

Her eyes lit up, as happens to someone who receives an unexpected compliment.

“No, that’s not always the case! Generally, I’m dull and quite dark; I must have got it from my father!”

“Was your father gloomy?”

“Not always, but he often was, a bit like all intellectuals are; you probably are too!”

“Did you have a good relationship with him?”

“Rather detached, like a father and daughter of the past, you know what he was like ….”

“Well... here, I think the place is right before us... thanks again! Yes... I mean for the conversation too! What was your father’s name?” I asked, getting out of the car.

“George, his name was George Speek, have a good day, Jean Luc!”

I was amazed, motionless on the side of the road as she

drove away. I thought things were starting to make sense, albeit with scattered meanings. I shook myself from my thoughts and hurried to join Jack, who was waiting for me, sitting at the table in a diner.

“Did you know about Marilyn?” It was the frst question I asked him curiously.

“What, do you mean Speek’s daughter, this is what you mean?”

“Why did you not tell me, and what would be the meaning?” I asked.

“The sense? There is no need to fnd the meaning, if anything, to look for the thread that binds us to each other! The desire for knowledge cannot be stopped, even before physical death; what must happen will happen! There is nothing that can prevent this natural process of things. The thirst for knowledge is a particular form of wisdom never quenched; it never stops. So? How long do you want to stay in the dark, Jean?”

I looked at him almost in fear and didn’t even have the strength to ask what he meant. I had taken a few notes in my notebook and began to read them regardless of Jack’s words. Perhaps also to remove that insidious question from me.

26 Days {XVI} The next morning, Emile comes to say good morning, and we immediately tried to bombard him with a series of questions, to which Emile replied: “I am not surprised by your questions, and I will try to answer you as best I can, although I will reserve some answers for the moments when you get to know our spiritual work better. As you have undoubtedly observed, I try to use language that is congenial to you to explain the basic principles of our beliefs. When we become aware of certain truths and interpret them correctly, doesn’t it seem normal to you that all forms of thought come from the same source? Are we not inextricably linked to the God of the universal substance of thought?

Do we not form a large family? And isn’t every man, every child, part of this family regardless of his race or religion? If you ask me if death can be avoided, I will answer you with Buddha’s words: The human body developed from an individual cell, just like the body of plants and other animals. The individual cell is the microscopic unit of the body. Through a repeated process of growth and division, the very core of a single cell became a complete human being, made up of countless mil- lions of cells. These have specialized given diferent functions but retained specifc characteristics of the original cell. We can consider the latter as the bearer of the fame of animal life. The one transmitted from generation to generation is the latent love of God, the vitality of all living creatures. The ancestral line is unbroken and dates back to the time of the appearance of life on this planet.

Suddenly Jack interrupted my reading, standing up and asking vehemently:

“What are you really looking for, Jean?”

“I don’t know,” I was confused by my friend’s tone, “a meaning to my life perhaps or a meaning to life in general.”

“Do you think he’s perfect for anything?” he asked in exasperation.

I lowered my head, with a gesture of discomfort, perhaps to catch my breath. Basically, I had hoped to fnd the answers to my pain through the visionary fantasies of strangers, and here I was instead, disillusioned, like a child who couldn’t dream.

“Then I want to tell you something!” Jack resumed, urging and raising his tone of voice, “I don’t know what or who guided you this far, but I want to say you one thing: what keeps you anchored to the earth is believing that you are part of it, you are so taken up by your habits, from your routine, from not being able to see the world around you, the millions of souls looking for a way to get out, a door to leave this world on which you are anchored! Think about it, Jean, inside you, this is the key!”

He pointed to me to give more weight to his words. “Yeah, the key...” I thought despondently, would I ever fnd it?

I greeted Jack, thanking him for the invitation, and decided to walk to clear my head. Manhattan can be pleasant if you sip its moods, I thought that basically, my personal history had nothing unique or at least nothing that could justify the turbulence. Yes... a divorce behind me, a very banal divorce! And a son... who hadn’t called me for many years. I also told myself that, I would never leave for India, as Jack did, the truth must be sought within us.

26 Days {VI, 34} Osiris was born in Atlantis more than thirtyfve thousand years ago. Long after her time, chroniclers will remember her because of her magnifcent works. The descendants of the motherland of men had retained clarity of thought. This is the case with many mythological creatures whose exploits have come down to our times. Their message and their works have been classifed as supernatural by all those who did not want to devote the time necessary to deepen their meaning or make the necessary efort to discover that everything is divinely natural for a man who works in the natural domain of self.

After worshiping Osiris, the scribes of the time began to reproduce his features. At frst, his image of him indicated only the symbolism of what he was, then he began to become progressively fxed in the spirit. The idea was utterly forgotten to make room for the idol empty of meaning. The same thing happened with the Buddha; just look at the countless images and statues that represent him, with consequent adoration, without remembering the ideals. A meaningless idol, like all the images and symbols of our time.

Itwas late at night when footsteps in the corridor announced Angela’s presence.

“I thought you didn’t want to meet me anymore,” I told her.

“Why never?” she asked in surprise.

“I looked for you this morning.” I touched her lips with a light kiss.

“I wanted to see New York…”

“Are you here on the holidays”? I asked curiously.

“No, I would have liked to live here!”

“And what stopped you?”

“I can’t understand the world. Indeed it would be better to say that I would like to understand the world!”

“So... we are two! But you are young and ….”

“What do you believe?” She interrupted me as she walked away. “I was a journalist, in Naples, my city, then they told me they didn’t have room for me and my articles didn’t work. In short, there was someone with recommendations... So nothing, depression and long months without leaving the house, then the idea of leaving, starting everything from scratch, and that plane was taken on a summer day, and the tears of my father and my mother ... that still does not give up.”

“Angela, life is a succession of pains, departures, tears. We spend more time worrying about what others think than talking or listening to us. You said you wanted to start over, do it! Your mother will understand; talk to her!” I walked over and touched her cheek with a light caress.

“Then you promise to talk to her!” She exclaimed seriously.

“Why is it so difcult for you?” I relented the speech.

“It’s just that... sometimes we no longer know where we are and what we are waiting for to start our journey, and I’m waiting for something, perhaps a sign that makes me understand the

right time to start mine.”

She turned away from me, and she seemed to get smaller. Then she continued, “I was thirteen, and my father would come home drunk every night, then put the radio on high volume so that nothing else could be heard but his stupid songs, my screams, my pain, the tears, could not be heard. My wet white sheets, my mother washed of the sweat and then the accusations and apologies ...” I tenderly placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her toward me. I saw the tears running down her cheeks. I stroked her hair and was about to tell her a few words of circumstance, but then, I changed my mind and traded them with a kiss on the forehead and a faint smile that was waiting to be returned.

26 Days {II, 55} As long as I remain in my ego’s great silence, pure and incandescent light with her rays will fll every atom of my body. Life, strength, purity, beauty, and perfection will dominate me with all their strength. As long as I can look into the heart of this light and see its liquid, sweet core, of a radiantly clear golden white, which absorbs, nourishes, and radiates the caressing fre of the greatest light.

Westayed talking all night, and I seemed to know her better and better. I watched her features, even when she turned up her nose to tell me things she didn’t like. I thought she was getting to know me better; I also felt she had noticed my shyness.

I realized that time took on unreal appearances, transcending from the material, and everything in the room seemed unchanged to me, as it had remained in the same position for several years. I noticed the details of the paintings on the room’s walls, and I could not give them the right temporal location.

Angela narrowed her eyes, looking for my hand, and I squeezed it gently, accompanying her in sleep with all the tenderness I could. I was thinking of the lightness of living, which is not enough for us, we remain anchored in the search for the

profound, and we do not perceive the principles that govern it.

The fuid of life

The sunrise surprised us, embraced in an almost religious silence, interrupted only by the noises of the housekeeper who passed by to tidy up the adjacent rooms. I went to the kitchen to make a cofee that could support our mood. From the window, I watched Marilyn walking with her dogs, two Labradors, I thought ... not having any familiarity with dogs. She was with a man who conversed, accompanying her on her journey. He seemed to be about sixty years old and had an air that seemed immediately familiar to me, even if I didn’t place his memory in any way. Marilyn, she hardly seemed to listen to him as he continued to talk, waving his hands and shaking his head as if to show a sense of helplessness. Angela joined me in the kitchen, dressed only in her splendor. I noticed the word “Forever” in a tiny design tattooed on her right forearm.

“Forever what?” I asked curiously, hugging her while she poured the cofee into her cups.

“It is a wish: that the right things will be right forever and also the beautiful things, and the people we love, the fowers, the spring days ...” she said with emphasis.

“Wait, it’s love? The richness?” I interrupted her jokingly.

“Love is a feeling of comfort in this life; it exists as a consequence of other things we experience, such as loneliness or the instinct to reproduce ... it is the cause or efect of other disasters!” She looked at me, interested in my reactions.

“Right deduction, and then? What disasters are we responsible for today, regardless of the usual cafeine efect and morning sugars?” I asked with a teasing tone in my voice.

“Perhaps, an excess of optimism caused by the irregular movement of disused hormones?” she replied, allusive covering her mouth to hide an uncontained smile.

And we began to laugh heartily, with the lightness of innocent children, devoid of any inhibition; we laughed as if we already knew everything about ourselves, like consummate lovers who drop crumbs of croissants between the table and bare legs. I savored the sound of her laughter and felt my heart lighter. I could have told her everything at that moment about my emotional state or whispered that I loved her, but she wouldn’t have added any importance to the peaceful fow of those moments. The distance that separates people from their emotional state is an equation of the ego, her most deceptive compromise, the deleterious formula for passion detachment.

Distant music thinned the sense of reality, the abdication of thought, the sinking of the reasons. New York was colored with the refections of spring. I thought that everyone should come to see it at least once in their life, as is done with Mecca or the Taj Mahal because here souls come together in search of hope or a way out of the world.

26 Days {I, 33} When a man comes out of the darkness of his material world, the refned images of the calm beauty of the mental world will envelop him. It won’t take him long to feel the auspicious spiritual hunger. The highest needs will knock on the door of his soul. The interior of the self will become the exterior and can move in a world of cause while leaving out the world of efect. The spirit of man is made up of pure intelligence. This is the reason for his being, and it will not be the testimonies of the senses nor human opinion to obstruct the ascertained truth of the interior Christ, of the son of God within the son of man. Self-discovery will suppress the despair of existence. The spirit is a primordial essence of the human being. The heart is never sick or sad because only the fnite sufers. Infnity rests in a smiling calm.”

Pure spring water

Itwas already evening when a taxi took me to the Bellini restaurant on Columbus Avenue. I tried to mend the passages of my existence, repair the tears, and remove the self-fagellation.

A man approached my table, and I asked him for a glass of Cabernet, mistaking it for the waiter. The man smiled and replied that there was no Cabernet on his day’s menu but that he would do anything to get it for me. Then he sat opposite me, and I asked if I could be of any use to him as a sign of courtesy.

“Are you Jean Luc Dupuy?” he asked in an afrmative tone as if he already knew the answer.

I was struck that he knew my name, but I was even more surprised when he started talking about my son and his existential difculties. I wondered how he knew since I never remember meeting or learning.

I didn’t say anything; taken by my questions, I just nodded my head at everything he said. I was silent as if paralyzed and unable to reply to every statement he made. Something of his way of moving his hands was familiar to me; it reminded me of the man I had seen accompanying Marilyn into the backyard. Meanwhile, the words of his monologue captured all my attention:

“During my youth, I did nothing but imitate my fellow men and the rest of humanity. I believe there is only one way of personal happiness in all situations. I made decisions to get the best of everything for myself. I made selfshness the principle of my life. I gave free rein to all cannibalistic inclinations, dissipating all the vital fuids until my body became an empty shell. I want you to see how an image that can illustrate my thinking!”

I was silent for a moment longer, watching a man appear on the restaurant wall in front of me, the appearance of an old man leaning on a stick, followed by another image of the man sitting in

front of me. Then the man spoke again:

“The frst image you see represents the man who has consumed the vital fuid of his body until only an empty shell can be seen. The second image represents the one who has conserved his energy and essential fow within his body. In my case, you may think I look much younger than the frst fgure, and with good reason. But let’s look at things from a diferent perspective. How many people, during their life, have had the same luck as me in meeting and receiving the help of the great invisible souls? To be more explicit: let’s consider the average length of human life, from birth to what people call death. The child is born and has no awareness of the fuids that carry energy and circulate through the body. In the same way, those who are not aware of their divine being will have no other perception that is not material.”

The man stood up without adding anything else to his words and walked away. Only at that moment did I notice the glass of Cabernet I had in my hands and the shouting of the few people who were sitting at the tables around mine.

When I left the restaurant, I took a quick taxi to arrive on time for my appointment. I got two Broadway tickets and invited Angela to join me in front of the theater. They gave yet another adaptation of the “Phantom of the Opera,” and it seemed an opportunity to leave my mind free to navigate without any direction.

Angela was splendid; I have never met a woman so naturally beautiful, one of those rare women who ignore their beauty and hide it in shy and sometimes funny attitudes. It was a pleasure to watch her. In some ways, she reminded me of my mother, one of the few fxed points of my existence, even if she did not have the same sufering printed on her face, that of the women of the past who lived on refexes of children to be raised or abandoned.

I was surprised to see her arrive pouting; it was the frst

time I had seen her like this, I ofered her my arm almost to support her, and she smiled complacently. We were kidnapped by the play, and we could only exchange a few words at its conclusion. We decided to walk until we were tired, because a taxi in Manhattan always passed by.

The night he lived there embraced, as well as two young spouses or two old lovers. We looked at each other without knowing the right direction to reach our goal.

“I wish time would stop now!” she whispered in my ear. And that the moon would land on the tallest skyscraper and illuminate the rooms. Then one by one, I would retrace all the roads, even the darkest ones, to give my heart to those who want to make it beat faster.”

“Oh ..., but I thought it was me ...” I was taken a back by her words.

“What do you mean?”

“I thought your heart was already beating for me!” I replied resentfully.

“Come on, stupid! You know what you are ...”

“Believe? I’ll tell you... I thought you have the same eyes as my mother...” I played my cards for the conquest.

“Wow! And what more? Your mother must have loved you very much!”

“Like all mother for her children!”

“A mother has no right to be hated!”

“The things of life ...” I spread my arms in surrender, “we are not sure of any love!”

I looked at her provocatively, and she turned her gaze toward the skyscrapers to observe the sky. “What do we owe all this to?” I continued, “We are pieces of glass of a beautiful mirror, placed in a lost corner of the universe!”

“Pretty!” she exclaimed. “Then you also know that we must put the mirror pieces back together so that the light can refect on the entire universe.”

“Already!

As a child, I listened to the sounds of the tides; we lived in Nice. Sometimes my father took me fshing, and we never caught anything, so I soon began to wonder why he would take me to the rocks to fsh in the winter. Once I decided to ask him, he replied laughing: If you are silent for ten minutes, maybe you will understand!”

I smiled bitterly at the memory. “And one day I tried to do it; it was the day of his death. I went alone to the usual place where we went fshing, I was eighteen, and I sat on the rock where we used to go. I closed my eyes and rhythmically regulated my breathing until I felt absolute calm. I listened to the sound of the tides and thought I heard voices and music, and then distant voices and distant music. I retraced my young life in a matter of minutes.

Then the memories brought back my father’s voice and his laughter, his shaving cream, and everything that had penetrated into the pores of my soul. Even his favorite videos of him and the dances with my mother. I thought about how life is uselessly vain, meaningless, despite all our eforts to invent one that doesn’t hurt too much.”

Angela took my hand, stopped our slow walk, and stroked my hair.

“Now it’s late, Jean, there is no end, remember there is no end!” she said heartily. “We are the beginning of everything and ….”

“No, don’t say anything now.” I didn’t let her fnish. “Now let’s take the frst taxi and wait for the sunrise together, what do you think?”

I anxious waited for her response, and she nodded frmly and rested her head on my shoulder like a girl leaning on a pillow to protect herself from the darkness of the night.

26 Days {XIII, 57} You can see God and talk to him, just as you do with your family or friends. Because, in reality, he is closer to you than your most intimate friend is. God does not destroy; God’s love is like pure spring water. His stream is pure and clean but can quickly become muddy along its fow. The clay settles in its bottom, preventing it from fowing into the sea. God does not harm any of the creatures he gave birth to; if he did, it would not be God.

Wewalked and embraced all the way home. A light wind was blowing on that New York night. I remembered an old story my grandmother used to tell me when I was a child. It concerned an American relative who lived in New York and who one day, fnding himself in the center of Manhattan, together with other boys of his age, climbed on a skyscraper and, raising his hands towards the sky, was sucked towards the clouds together with the others. They began to fy, rising between the buildings and the incredulous gazes of passers-by, then vanished into thin air. From that day on, however, Manhattan was never the same. Everyone passing from that place that had become almost magical looked up at the sky, whispering: “God, save us from the darkness” or “God, save us from the dark.”

While I was walking with Angela, I thought of the beauty of being small, of how no child needs wings to fy, because

childhood already lives in the light, that light that is lost over the years and that everyone tries in vain to fnd again when he no longer has. The faculty of seeing because it lives in the material darkness of attachment to this earth. Then we start looking for someone who gives us back our wings to fy, whether a priest or a delightful lover.

Instinct does not erase memories; it weakens them and makes them bearable.

“God, save us from the darkness.”

Angela looked at me in admiration; she didn’t say anything until we reached the landing, where both doors of our rooms were overlooked. She asked me to stay with her for a while, and I agreed.

In the morning, she fooded the room with light, surprising us.

“Why can’t you stay like this forever?” she asked me.

“To know what you really aspire to ...!” I exclaimed. But was it really a problem of unawareness?” Or maybe we don’t even have the right to achieve what we really want! And in the end, things go as they should, in any case.” I answered aloud.

“Do you know that Marilyn is the author of the book you are investigating?”

“Marilyn is the author’s daughter,” I pointed out.

“No! She wrote, recounting the deeds of her that her father told her.”

“What do you mean? Why would she do it by signing herself with her father’s name? “

“Marilyn worked for the CIA. She couldn’t write her name for a security issue. In the book, there are the code names of

the participants in the expedition as well as other information of military value. The book was written during the last world war.”

“Why then entrust this type of communication to a book that anyone could somehow have deciphered?”

“Jean ... but you really haven’t understood it yet? That book has never been on the market anywhere in the world!”

“Thing! So how would I have come into possession of it by divine will?” I asked, confused.

“Maybe, Jean, you can’t see the chance you’ve been given. I believe that few men in the world have received such a great gift as the one you have received.”

“Angela, I didn’t want any of this; I fnd it hard to follow your speech.”

“I think you fnd it hard to follow yourself!” she specifed with a confdent smile.

“I’ll ask Marilyn for more details about what you just told me. But what if that’s not true? I don’t want to break my relationship with the landlady.?

Chapter III

The White Rose

“In Germany, the CIA was in contact with a group of students called The White Rose. Through this group, he sought to obtain information about the anti-Jewish activity of the Fuhrer government. The CIA plan worked for several months before the group’s students were discovered and persecuted. Many of them were arrested and sentenced to death within 24 hours. Others took refuge in France and America.“

III

The White Rose

“Marilyn knows very well about you, she also knows who you are and what you are about to become.”

“I know this well too: I’m going to go crazy!” I answered jokingly as I hugged her. The frenzy of the morning rushed, to save me from my dilemmas, taking me out to buy croissants for breakfast, I found myself among shop windows and people who work in a hurry, eat a sandwich in a hurry, love some unknown love who rushes makes you forget. While I was queuing to pay I promised myself to listen attentively to the messages of my deepest self, the things hidden in the soul that sometimes we fnd it hard to unearth. The fuid of life, this is what governs the world, beyond everything

superfuous in the balance between reality and imagination.”

When I returned I asked Angela to come away with me, stroking her hair, in a few days I would be back in Europe. She shook her head and took on a serious tone, like someone who has to give up something pleasant because of something. What did I not know and could not guess?

“I wish I could have met you sooner.” She surprised me.

“Maybe now you would have been disappointed in me and would have left me!” I answered her to defend myself from her refusal.

“You males say this to avoid getting involved in serious stories.” She had caught my protection movement.

“And what could be more serious than an awakening embraced by a beautiful blonde-haired woman?” I asked mockingly.

“It’s a Latin myth!”

“One of the few I recognize myself in!” I confessed smiling.

“When a man leaves for an imaginary promised land, he must necessarily give up his world closed in darkness and forget it.” She changed the subject becoming more serious “We must forget the dark and leave for the light. We have only two choices: leave or stay. It is about renouncing old ideas and adhering to new ones with confdence, forgetting everything that hurts. This is the indispensable thing!”

“But the vision of life is an essential and personal point for each of us, we don’t all have the same kind of expectation!” I countered.

“Only the vision must remain in memory if we want it

to materialize. We must remember our goal on this earth, always remember it, so that it will be realized.”

“Yes, of course” I admitted “but to externalize our vision, we must conform to all our ideas, thoughts, our words and our acts.”

“That is the true concentration, devotion, centralism of all forces on the essential. The signal that shows us the love for our ideal, whatever it is. The ideal can only be expressed through one way, love, because it is love that makes it an ideal. Even if disappointments come, one must continue in one’s belief, persevere. It is the exercise of the will, the cry of belief in oneself, the expression of faith, which they direct towards ideal power. An ideal cannot be reached without consciously directing power towards itself, without exercising one’s will.” she explained with conviction.

I was silent for a moment, amazed at Angela’s acute arguments. Not that her subtle psychology surprised me, but I felt assaulted by the vehemence of her words that sank like swords into my soul. I hugged her, as she asked me to do, and we caressed our bodies for long moments, letting the physicality emerge, crossing the boundaries, the fesh in the fesh, until we were confused in a single moan, soul in soul, until to dissolve into a single atom.

I would have kept asking myself the why of things but I could let myself be taken by the consequences of my acts, as basically all human beings do. But this simple meeting of souls in search of comfort, was it not perhaps a way of knowledge?

I thought of letting myself go to the dizzying pace of New York, absorb the consequences, let myself be carried away as if by the wind and fnd a meeting point with myself, before with others. Perhaps it was true that everything we seek is nothing more than a way out of this world in which we are eternally trapped. Perhaps it is the consequences of the acts that force us to stay, years after years, life after life.

“Jean, you must really observe the world!” she told me once serious. “Things are diferent from how you you see them.”

“What do you know about it?” I replied.

“You will understand when you leave this place.”

“Why this CIA interest in the Speek afair?” I asked curiously, remembering her mention of belonging to the secret services of Marilyn.

“It wasn’t her story that interested them but the possibility of destabilizing the Nazi movement. In Germany, the CIA was in contact with a group of students called The White Rose. Through this group, he sought to obtain information about the anti-Jewish activity of the Fuhrer government. The CIA plan worked for several months before the group’s students were discovered and persecuted. Many of them were arrested and sentenced to death within 24 hours. Others took refuge in France and America.”

“How did this story of spies and students end?”

“It didn’t end at all. The members of the White Rose group met in New York and organized the return home with the help of the CIA. The plan was to organize a riot from the German people.”

Chapter IV

The Land of molten gold

“The night took on the colors of the Gobi sunset, magical and intense, some rays of the moon melted from the window, to settle on her hair who observed my features, and followed its small borders with her light fngers.“

IV

The Land of molten gold

The next evening I stayed for dinner with my host, I was very curious to know some details of her father’s life, even if she didn’t seem very inclined to tell them.

“Tell me about him, what are your memories?” I asked interested.

“What do you want me to tell you, you probably know more than I do! I can tell you about it as a daughter, I can say that he was an absent father, but maybe all fathers are. He was born in England to a family that had been trading with the Indies for over two centuries, he began to discover this country already at the age

of 4. He became interested in mystical themes very early on. It was at the age of thirty-seven that he took part in his expedition through Nepal, Tibet and the Himalayas that he relates to in her book. He later moved to California and then to New York where he posted his travel report of him and where I was born myself.”

“Did he ever tell you about the details of the expedition?”

“No, not much. In fact, it was only after his death that I read all of his writings. What do you care to know, what do I think? Are they fctional? I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t know what to tell you. I can only tell you what a father I wanted him to be:

I wanted to see him play with me in the garden, with chains and paper airplanes. I would have liked him to tuck me in or, laughing, to throw me a stufed animal doll to joke.

` I wanted him to make a clown face at me before leaving, wishing me goodnight, to light up my smile in my childhood days when I didn’t want to go to school. I would have liked him to protect me from frst loves or to defend my beauty from the looks of strangers. I wanted to know something about her silences and her remoteness. Here, I only know what I wanted it to be, I tell you even knowing that this is not what interests you. Unfortunately I don’t know who my father was,” she admitted sadly, then continued looking into my eyes: “So Jean? Reality hangs in the balance between dreams and lies and wants to harm us, so we defend ourselves by running away from it. Maybe your research isn’t that important either, just what you really believe is.”

The evening vanished, with more vague attitudes. I left Marilyn to be alone with my thoughts. I walked out in the garden, there were some roses just picked and deposited in a metal bucket with water. A few leaves lay on the path that led to the back of the house in a geometric, almost enchanted order.

Marilyn had kindled questions inside me, what was really important to me? Thinking about it I realized that on that journey what I was really trying to achieve was not a report on the texts of that book but a balance of my life. I paused to think about Marilyn’s emotional absences, and I thought with sadness that they must have been the same ones my son had felt, maybe she was right, maybe all fathers are a little absent, but I didn’t feel justifed for this.

I also remembered the traumatic memories of Angela and her desperate search for the closeness of her mother or at least for her consent, which could have liberated her from life. I considered the relativity of things that are intertwined with each other, and the need, or perhaps the duty, not to interact negatively in the evolutionary path of other souls connected to one’s own.

26 Days {V, 66} The sun had disappeared behind the horizon and the bright sky was a magnifcent twilight that heralded a clear night. It was the frst evening without wind or storms for more than 10 days and we stopped to admire the splendid display of colors with admiration. Such a calm sunset in Gobi, can carry a dream inside, make you forget everything. Not only did the colors radiate and illuminate but they enveloped like a great invisible hand. At times it almost seemed as if the hand wanted to show the extent of the spectrum in a range obtained by a combination of colors. A broad band of white light appeared, followed by a purple that was detached obliquely, and as the purple turned yellow, an indigo and a blue band appeared to its side.

This play of light continued until the whole atmosphere was covered with colors. After a few moments, everything merged into a broad band of white light that became stationary. Then again rays of color fanned out from all directions to gradually blend into a golden mass that appeared like waves of sand, like a troubled sea of melting gold. When we witness a sunset like this, it is no longer surprising that Gobi is called “the land of molten gold”. The spectacle, which continued for more than ten minutes,

vanished into a thin mist of colors that seemed to rain from the sky, like a robe for the night. Finally the darkness came so quickly that some of us wondered how it was possible that it was already night.

Inthe night Angela came to see me as if by magic, I was not surprised, on the contrary I had almost foreseen her coming. She said nothing and neither did I, I was waiting for her and I missed her smile, her lips, her golden hair.

The night took on the colors of the Gobi sunset, magical and intense, some rays of the moon melted from the window, to settle on her hair who observed my features, and followed its small borders with her light fngers.

Then she closed her eyes for a moment, opened them again full of tears and whispered in my ear:

“Sometimes I imagined being a fower, which no longer has a few days of life and immense size, and that a scent of jasmine would open my eyes.” She stopped as if she were still looking for that saving smell. “How nice it would be to be able to look in all directions! I fnd myself immersed in the immensity of my senses that let me fall into the most perverse afections. I feel alone, deeply and forever alone.”

“How can I help you, Angela?” She worried me to feel so broken.

“You have already helped me! Now, coming here. I just want you to call my mother and tell her that I’m fne, that I have forgiven!”

I do not know how long we remained embraced, it almost seemed that our two bodies had entered a single secret harmony, another dimension, a single body foating in the room. I woke up with a severe headache, Angela as usual had disappeared, on her pillow there was a note with a phone number.

I felt the need to call Richard, my friend in Paris, to ask him about my son. From the latest information he had, I learned that he was studying graphics in Geneva and lived in a studio fat in the Vielle Ville.

I knew he didn’t want to talk to me, that’s why I didn’t call him directly. He found me guilty of his alleged failures and unfortunately I was convinced too until some time before but now, I felt diferent, as if some things had changed in my life, or perhaps... I had simply stopped to think. The thought of having missed all the most important passages of my existence began to fade, giving way to a more persistent and concrete doubt than knowledge.

26 Days {XI, 77} We still had a lot of work to fnish before venturing into the Himalayas, and the village of Asmah seemed to us the best headquarters. The companions we had left in Potal with Emile joined us the same day. They stayed with Emile until four in the afternoon; on the day Emile was to receive us in Asmah, and at a specifc time, Emile said he had to go to his appointment.

His body went limp as if he were sleeping. He remained in that position for at least three hours, then gradually became indistinct and disappeared from sight. It was the time when Emile joined us at our quarters in Asmah.

On the next day’s excursion, we reached a village with a temple called the “Temple of Silence.” Only the temple servants lived in the town. It was located above the ruins of another village, entirely in ruins due to ancient epidemics and diseases. Emile, Jast, and Neprow accompanied us and explained that the Masters had found only a few survivors among the thousands of inhabitants. The teachers took care of them, and after the epidemics were eradicated, following the healing, the survivors made a vow to serve God in the way they chose.

The masters left for a while, and upon their return, we found a temple and the villagers dedicated to religious services.

Emile said: “Here is the temple of silence, a place of power. Because silence means power, when silence is part of our thinking, we are at the exact point of power, where everything is a single unity with God. Be silent, and you will be God. Lost power is equal to noise. Concentrated power equals silence. Only in silence can we hear God; can we unite with him and be him. My father and I, we are one.”

Inthe afternoon, I stopped to laze in the family library of the house where I was a guest. Classics from all over the world were carefully placed on bookcases made of wood, perhaps walnut, and without dust as if time had never passed there. It was rare to see a bookcase without dust, or it had never happened to me.

Isaw the fgure of Angela through a crack among the books placed in a bookcase which, dividing the great hall into two parts, hid me from her eyes. She didn’t notice me and was very focused on herself. She moved rhythmically, hinting at dance steps and laughing, with a light smile, as if she were ecstatic. I observed her for over ten minutes without making my presence known. Her room seemed to revolve around her and her blond hair, at times, gave of a blinding light. The season of falling in love, I thought, does not age like our bodies.

26 Days {XX, 90} There is no one more foreign in the eyes of man than himself. If you want to know this stranger, you must fnd his most dangerous enemy and learn how to neutralize him. Only in this way will you be able to fnd your true self. You must go to the place where the eternal fame of God burns, the source of everything; he resides in the most profound silence. And it is there that the purest sanctity of living. God is, therefore, in the soul as much as power, substance, and intelligence. At the same time, he is in the spirit in the form of wisdom, love, and truth. Silence is essential to allow divine thought to make its way through studies and illuminate the conscience.

Marylin’s voice coming from behind, woke me from the spell:

“Jean, I have a serious proposal for you today!”

“Thing?” I turned to her curiously.

“An almond cake with vanilla cream and strawberries, prepared by me, whose fame reaches as far New Jersey and beyond!”

“You are the temptation! How could I refuse?”

“Do not even think about it!” She shouted at me, laughing.

I looked in Angela’s direction again but didn’t see her again; she must have moved away. We sat in the large living room while a waitress served us tea with milk.

“Marylin, what leads us to browse through the miseries of the unconscious?”

“Oh...! Do you consciously embarrass me, or do you think I must be wise thanks to my ripe old age? “ she said, laughing.

“I was trying to embarrass you, of course!” I answered, laughing, but then I went back to listening seriously. “Sometimes we look for answers that do not belong to us, I mean, we could experience the pleasures that life has in store for us, and instead, we are there trying to know, to understand. But understand what? Reality is the moment we live, here now, in front of this hot cup of tea, the heat that I perceive between my fngers penetrating through my sensory impulses into the cavity of my nostrils.

Nothing more, nothing less. Awareness of reality regardless of the degree of need. Yes, it would be nice, but what are we looking for? Each of us does not seek the truth, but only the consent to his own statements, without which he would even be able to lie to himself to prove himself right. He does not even realize that time passes, and that one tries, throughout one’s life,

to give meaning to things. But which is it? Can we really know? “

Marylin spoke quietly, and her manner gave me a certain tranquility. Of course, I could have argued that life has no real meaning, or maybe it does? I should have just talked about how confused my mood was.

Then the evening crept between our talks, and our meeting turned into a candlelit dinner. Every gesture of Marylin, every word, seemed to connect deeply with my unconscious. I predicted the timing and the extent. At times I saw a part of me in her, the less rebellious one, more calm and attentive to the reading of events. I poured her some red wine, and she touched my hand, thanking me. Emotions gave way to the questions we were waiting for each other. The feeling of “déjà-vu” took hold of me. I recognized in advance every moment, every word, and every gesture of hers that remained permanently stationed in me.

Our meeting was interspersed with the euphoria of a Cabernet Sauvignon bottled in Chateaux can give. I had time to tell her some gallantry that is used to say when you do not want to disappoint the expectations of the other. I stopped on her eyes, and she looked down and held out her hand to me.

I accompanied her into the room, and I was about to close the door on my back when she asked me to leave it open and invited me to go out and reach my room. I didn’t say anything; on the contrary, I smiled before saying good night. She took my hand to explain:

“I’m not like that.”

“As well as?” I asked her.

“As you think.”

“You’re right; maybe I drank a little too much!” I tried to justify my behavior.

“You don’t have to apologize; it’s just not what I want.

Do you know what happens deep down in people’s souls?” she took a lower tone as someone talking about something very personal “I no longer have the courage to see happiness around me, but I don’t regret it. I have found my meeting point, the abdication of my truest being. I can’t shrink and confne it to a corner due to a temporary bed gymnastics. Excuse me.”

I said goodnight, apologizing again, and she invited me to breakfast the following morning and, smiling, accompanied me with the eyes to my room.

I sank into my bed with an unusual frustration; how could I have misrepresented Marilyn’s intentions? I had risked ruining everything by assuming something born only from my mind, but I wasn’t even too angry with myself.

Chapter V

Dijkstra’s ethics and Majorana’s misontropy

“At the resumption of the journey, Ettore carefully examined the medal received and showed it to Emile, who recognized it as a coin that was in progress in the territory of Gobi a thousand years earlier and which was currently used by the local population as a talisman.”

VDijkstra’s ethics and Majorana’s misontropy

“What about your New York stay?” Marylin asked me if I was interested.

“Exciting would be the least! I would very much like to meet people who have had contact with your father. Could you let me meet someone?”

“I don’t know, I know the names of some people he used to hang out with, but none of them are still alive that I know of, except maybe her Indian masters. But I think it would take longer

to authenticate his account than it took for the expedition.

The masters he talks about in the book are scattered over a vast territory, and metaphysical research has covered a large part of India, Tibet, China, and Persia. The mission involved seven men of science, renowned for their research, who had dedicated their lives to it. They were, therefore, people used to accepting nothing as valid a priori; when they left for that trip, almost all were completely skeptical.

But they returned thoroughly convinced and converted, to the point that three wanted to return to those places to stay there until they became masters and performed the same deeds.

They begged my father not to publish their names in case he wrote the memoirs of the trip. This is why the characters shown are not the real ones.”

“So you know the real names of the expedition members?” I asked, thrilled. She hid behind a smile.

“Did I say something funny?” I asked, smiling too.

“No, it’s just that it’s a pleasure to converse with you, and this makes me smile with pleasure.” She looked at me warmly, almost caressing me with her eyes. “My father promised that he would conform to their wishes and would not have them appear in any ofcial text with their real names. Among the conditions imposed on the members of the expedition, there was having to accept a priori as an indisputable fact only the events they would have witnessed.

They would only have to ask for explanations after frst having entered the experience’s heart, received the lesson, and lived and observed their daily life. They had to accompany the masters, live with them and keep with their own eyes every event that took place. They would draw conclusions only after evaluating the facts and considering the illusory of which they had been fully warned and prepared. This is why my father

wanted the readers of his book to behave in the same way, free to believe or not believe, at their convenience. “

I sipped my tea and listened carefully. I hardly heard Marylin’s voice, but I saw her lips move, and I projected clear images into my mind, like in a movie.

“I would like to know the actual names of the participants in the expedition to have some more details. If I’m not mistaken, it happened around the 1940s, and it’s incredible how modern and current everything looks. “I commented raptly.

“Maybe in some library, you will be able to fnd news about the expedition, but I very much doubt it; my father was cautious not to spread more information than was necessary! I met some participants; I remember one, in particular, Ettore; he was Italian, very young, and with a lively look. He was a scientist, a physicist. But I could show you a document if you want; it’s a letter my father sent to his brother Brad, who was on the expedition. It contains all the names of the people who were supposed to leave with my father. My uncle Brad decided to stay forever in those places, together with that Italian I mentioned. “

For a moment, I was speechless, struck by what he was telling me; there was a document with the actual names of the participants in the expedition! I was infamed with curiosity, and I asked her to send me a copy of the letter. She gave it to me the same day. With the document in my hands, I sat at the desk in my room while the sunset from the window calmed the souls of the birds in the trees, heralding a peaceful evening. Marylin had bothered to type the text as it was not legible due to the handwriting, but in reality, I only focused on the original version:

My dear Brad, as you know, the time to go has come. I have just received confirmation from the people I had invited to our trip, except some who preferred to give up. We both know how long it took us to finalize the undertaking, but now that we are ready to begin,

I feel rewarded for all our efforts in this expedition. Unfortunately, there will not be some of the famous scientists that I announced to you, and this is because of the political problems that are going through in some European countries. I enclose here the list of participants who will do us the honor of following us in this enterprise. Please hand it over to the Indian embassy and request the conduit passes that will allow us to cross some inaccessible regions. The departure is scheduled for 30 September 1938. My respects, George

List of participants

ALDER, Kurt - Chemist - Königshütte (Germany) - July 10, 1902

CRICK, Francis Harry Compton - Molecular biologist, neuroscientist - Northampton (England - United Kingdom)June 8, 1916

DIJKSTRA, Edsger Wybe - Computer scientist - Rotterdam (Netherlands) - May 11, 1930

FISCHER, Ernst Otto - Chemist - Solln (Germany)November 10, 1918

GOULD, Gordon - Physicist - New York City (New YorkUnited States of America) - July 17, 1920

MAJORANA Ettore - Physicist who studies neutron massesCatania (Italy) - 5 August 1906

These were the names of the scientists invited to follow the expedition. I put the document back in a drawer and mechanically walked toward the house’s living room. Marylin seemed to be waiting for me. I asked her how she was, with a more conventional than exciting pace.

“I thought you were resting. Would you like to drink tea?” she asked thoughtfully. I nodded in agreement as I sat on the sofa by the window.

“Can you explain to me the presence of all those illustrious scientists following the expedition?” I asked, absorbed.

She was silent for a few moments and then served me her tea, taking a seat in the chair in front of me.

“The US government contacted my father about his experience exploring the eastern continents. They gave him an assignment and told him it was a peace mission, and my father accepted; he was sensitive to those causes. In Europe, the regimes of Stalin and Hitler sought the fnal solution to the confict, the weapon of destruction that would allow complete control over the planet. Some American scientists were close to the resolution, and other Europeans were already beyond the fnal solution. It was a question of recovering these minds from Europe with the excuse of joining them in the expedition to the East to make them lose their tracks. “

“So the expedition was just an excuse?” I ventured. “Not exactly, or instead, she was not born with this purpose, my father had been working on that expedition for years, but in his main project, the scientists were not foreseen, of which we speak now, but simple experts in spiritual matters. My father accepted the proposal thinking he was working for a just purpose.

He worked for over a year before he was able to contact and persuade the scientists to leave. But what happened next, on his return from the expedition, was not what my father expected. The American government forced the scientists to stay in the United States, at least those who returned from the trip, with the request to work for them to produce innovative weapons. They remained, forced to save themselves from the war that was beginning to involve the old continent.

However, two of them did not return from India and were not involved; they were the Dutch computer scientist Edsger Dijkstra and the Italian physicist Ettore Majorana. My father, gratifed by the patriotic accolades for his expedition, was very ashamed of what he had caused. He blamed himself for the exploitation of those men of science. After the long journey, he retired to write the account of the expedition and made no reference to the characters who accompanied him.

He locked himself in that room where you stay. Back then, there was the same furniture, decor, and even a bottle of sweet liqueur, which he loved to sip. To shake him from his life, almost like a hermit, came once or twice a week his friend and lover Sally Anderson. She was a brilliant and beautiful woman; they had met six years earlier, a few months after my mother’s death. She adored my father, and I liked her a lot too. The only time I saw them argue was when that Italian scientist arrived, the young one I mentioned earlier. Ettore stayed at our house for two weeks. He was diferent from the other scientists who landed in New York the following days, and my father did not hide a certain sympathy for him.

They had long conversations in Italian, one of the languages my father had spoken very well, and sometimes they spent whole nights on the garden patio smoking and drinking, talking about everything. My father gave him a Saint Bernard puppy which later stayed with us for over ten years. “

“Why did it seem diferent to you?” I interrupted her.

“I mean, he was a young scientist with high hopes, but who in reality had not yet achieved anything concrete, at least so the chronicles of the time say!” she smiled as if to reproach me at my naive statement.

“Ettore did not return from the expedition, and Edsger

Dijkstra also remained with him, another scientist, a genius. They had in common the permanent doubt that he inhabits excellent minds. My father left them, at their request, in a remote village in Nepal.

A few years after the end of the world confict, people testifed that they met them in Argentina and others in Venezuela. I don’t think it was them and neither did my father. The CIA’s plan was for them to be lost so that the European despots could not have any advantages but that they remained at the disposal of the American government. The decision of the two, however, was unexpected. Ettore made it clear several times, even before leaving. My father was trying to get him to continue looking for him, and he replied that he would not stop, but he wanted to do it his way.

During the three years of travel, they found themselves in a Rajasthani village near a river; they decided to camp near its banks and thought they would face the crossing the following morning. There were no bridges, only a large rope that crossed the stream at the height of a few meters.

The porters accompanying them had no difculty letting themselves slide along the leather cord. The signifcant problem was being able to ferry the horses and mules. Ettore lent himself and helped them to build a rudimentary means of transport made with leather and large rings that favored sliding, thanks to which the crossing ended without signifcant problems.

For the continuation of the journey, they no longer encountered serious obstacles up to the destination base, a camp of nomadic bandits. Those people, contrary to what was said, were very kind to them, so at the expedition’s departure, the band leader gave Ettore a silver medal in the size of an English shilling, on which was imprinted a curious inscription.

The bandit explained that if they were attacked by some rival gang in the desert or in the mountains, it would be enough for them to show that medal as safe conduct. His family had held

it for several generations and attributed an inestimable price to it but wanted to see it in the hands of Ettore as a sign of their esteem for him. What had caused that infatuation of the bandits’ leader for Ettore has never been understood? Still, my father believed that the charisma of the young Italian had played an important role.

At the resumption of the journey, Ettore carefully examined the medal received and showed it to Emile, who recognized it as a coin that was in progress in the territory of Gobi a thousand years earlier and which was currently used by the local population as a talisman.

Their journey continued for another two days until they reached the destination where the camp was planned for the winter. By that time on the expedition, the other scientists had abandoned the voyage, according to instructions received at the expedition’s departure to return to the United States. Only Ettore and Edsger disobeyed orders and decided to stay with my father for the rest of the journey. “

“All this is fascinating,” I interrupted curiously, “but you have not yet mentioned the alleged encounters with the divine personalities described in the book. Your father talks about encounters with Jesus and other legendary prophets. How can this be rationalized? “

“Faith!” Marylin replied, “Only faith can rationalize the irrational. My father’s book is not presented as an essay or a travel report but is an esoteric text. I do not know what is better to believe and think it is challenging to understand the features. Let’s take, for example, some very successful religious books; what makes you feel that they are accurate accounts of the life of this or that prophet? There are passages in the book that make you understand some truths of faith, but in other chapters, you will read of facts made by men.

26 days {xx-34} The healing temple was located in the village of Gobi. It is said that from the very beginning of its

construction, only words of peace, life, and love were expressed in that place.The vibrations were so powerful that most pilgrims there were healed almost immediately. It is also said that the words of peace spoken over the centuries could cancel out every disharmonious and imperfect word pronounced. This would demonstrate what can happen within us if we only emanate positive messages. We should all try to use only words of love for each of our earthly acts.

The temple was the destination of pilgrims seeking to be healed. The local masters used to meet at specifc intervals to dedicate themselves to people who wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to get educated. They also explained that the temple is a tangible thing located in a specifc place, symbolizing the religious center, the individual Christ. All the churches of the world should be represented equally.

Then Emile took the foor and explained to us: “This is where the suggestion that leads to the idolatry of the past takes over. Men tried to represent their Gods by carving them in wood, stone, and gold. Then when the image was given shape, the ideal became past. We must therefore have the vision, love, and idealize what comes from within and not give tangible forms to idolatry for the purpose we want to express.

The most common aspect is making the person who expresses our ideal become an idol. Now, the defned standard should be worshiped, not the personality that represents it. We should look within ourselves because if we count on others, we make idols of them instead of expressing our own ideals. The people of Jesus saw only one thing of him, which provided for their material needs. We look for this in our idols, which provide for our earthly needs ”.

Chapter VI

Disgrace the father

During the month of September, we decided to meet in the Gobi desert, with all the other members of the expedition to continue together to the assumed place of the three ancient cities reported to us in our archive.

VI

Disgrace the father

Towards the end of the week, I received a visit from Jack; I was surprised, even though I had sensed that we would talk more. He was very nervous; he gave voice to some refections on the passing of time while I observed him, counting the frenetic steps with which he delimited the spaces, moving in a geometric back and forth. But I wasn’t ready for what he told me.

“I was 19,” he began to tell, interrupting his walk in the room, “and I had just returned from a vacation in Florida with my friend Robert. My father, he lived in North Caroline in Charlotte. He was a highly respected Lutheran pastor with a large following of the faithful. He is now retired.

That day, Robert and I returned home when it was almost dawn, and I let my friend sleep with me, as had happened before. During the night, my father came into my room with some of his friends; they seemed drunk. They began to insult Robert with explicit, homophobic references. Then with horror, I saw one of them take the strap of his pants and wrap it around Robert’s neck, who was sobbing and asking to stop.

I screamed, asked my father to make him stop, and in response, he slapped me, then another, and then kicked me. I watched in terror as my friend’s eyes went out, and my voice broke in the frozen tremor. “ He looked at me, shocked. “My father kept beating me while I begged him to stop. I repeated to him: you are my father! My father! How can a father do this to his son? Can you tell me, Jean? How can he? “ He put his head in his hands in a desperate motion.

“I’m sorry!” That was all I could manage to say in one breath while I was deeply grieved for him. I saw him cry and looked for his eyes to console him through that contact. I told a few more sentences, and in the silence that followed, I wanted to make him feel my closeness in that moment of such infnite pain. Was it because of all the violence he had sufered that he had gone to look for answers in India? Had all that pain set him of in search of answers?

Then he resumed speaking with a tight smile, more like a grimace, which appeared to distort his expression:

“We went to Miami, and Robert loved surfng. We were young, bold as only young people can be. Free, we were free. And I would like to rediscover that freedom, I would like to be

able to fy again, and instead, all the weight of the world is on my shoulders; I feel the pain, the weight, and all the loneliness! “

26 Days {XI, 45} During September, we decided to meet in the Gobi desert with all the other expedition members to continue to the assumed place of the three ancient cities reported to us in our archive. The two related documents trace these cities’ origins to more than two hundred thousand years. Their inhabitants benefted from a very advanced civilization; they knew the arts and crafts and worked iron and gold. The latter metal was so common that it was used to make plates and shoe horses. It is said in the documents that this person had complete authority over the forces of nature and powers conferred directly on them by the gods. In fact, this legend (if it is a legend) is very reminiscent of Greek mythology. If the maps in our possession are correct, the great empire of Uigour covered most of Asia and extended to Europe to the current French coasts of the Mediterranean. The cities were located on an immense, very fertile plain and populated by a colony from the motherland. The description of this empire under the dynasty of seven kings far exceeded the splendor of ancient Egypt. Even before the time of the seven kings, the tablets described this country as far more prosperous than Egypt.

People governed themselves; there were no wars, diseases, or slaves. A Supreme Director gave advice on the directions to take, and the people trusted. The tablets narrate the advent of the frst king, who usurped the role of the Supreme Director to install himself on the throne and command.

Jack had recently left, leaving me confused and full of questions. I poured some orange liqueur into a glass and lay down on the bed, looking at the emptiness of the ceiling. It often happens that we observe the world from the wrong refection. Then we take responsibility for it, good or bad as they may be, trying to hide the error behind false appearances, smiles, and artifcial looks. The sins of the fathers on the shoulders of the children, the pains of the children in the eyes of the fathers. Was I a bad father too?

Sometimes I wanted to get out of my body and look at it from the top of a sunset or a drizzly sky.

The wind was blowing lightly from the window, and it almost sounded like it was making the sounds of bagpipes. The thought of her chased the image of Angela; I thought that, although I didn’t know anything about her, I felt her so close that I thought I had always known her. I was drawn to the taste of her skin, eyes, and hands. I wanted to spend time with her, but it seemed that I only met her when my soul strongly wanted him. As in a dream, at that moment, without any perception of reality, I could feel the vibrations of her hands and the heat of her body against mine. I could stroke her hair without feeling any tactile sensation. It was like an emotional dream, a succession of elements that my soul struggled to put back together. For a moment, I felt like a victim of my own thought; I couldn’t distinguish the real from the imaginary, but wasn’t that what Speek told in his book?

Where does the real begin if not in what we seek?

The actual answers are only what we expect; the imaginary is imperceptible and confusing. The journey of being, or at least of my being, had begun some time ago, but I did not know the details.

The wind stopped knocking on the window, perhaps it had exhausted his suggestions, and I was waiting to consume my day conscious of being.

Jack’s words rang in my mind: “How long do you want to stay in the dark?” Maybe we are condemned to stay there forever, or perhaps we don’t want to go further because it is that beyond that scares us and makes us feel alone each in the multitude; that’s what we are, a variety of lonely people and Speek knew it very well when he wrote about reality. And the unreal, leaving the reader free to imagine its boundaries.

Chapter VII

The door to infnity

I believe it comes into the life of all mortals, a time where all the doors can be seen open, as well as for us on this superb April morning, with all the possibilities that can be reached and joined between of them.

VII

The door to infnity

That night I invited Marilyn for a walk in Central Park. Walking, we lived the magic of nature immersed in an urban context; we contemplated the enchantment of nature with the games of the wind on the dead leaves to act as a carpet for our steps.

“My father was a stranger to me!” she confded, softening her face with a slight smile. “I believe that every soul, yes, in short, every person, who goes through your life, must necessarily leave something that remains, even through time, even through death. And this is what I regret about him, the absences, not being even an iota of what he was for countless people!

I think every human being has the right to a guide, whether a father or a mother, someone you can count on, someone you can talk to, as I do now with you, to be able to confde in things that cannot be fed either.

To our closest friends, and that sometimes we do not dare to expose even to our personal judgment. “ His words did not surprise me; on the contrary, I felt a certain embarrassment due to my not-clear family situation and the conficting relationships with my son. Then Marilyn turned her gaze towards the pond adjacent to the path where we were walking; she stopped to observe a fock of birds and shook my hand.

“How I wish I could fy like this! Protected by the fock, following its trajectories, at the mercy of the wind, protected by the friendly and robust wings of those who know how to stay close to me. I would have liked, except that there never seems to be time for essential things, which are also the simplest ones! “

“Yes, I believe so too!” I whispered in a faint voice.

The sunset seemed to want to wrap everything in her womb; I hugged her and thought about how beautiful it was to be there, even without answers, indeed with other questions to add. I thought of my life that, despite having crossed the ocean, I had kept the same problems and that the demons you carry inside never leave you, even when you run away. And I, was I running away from my life, or was I looking for its consequent drifts?

“Take care of yourself!” She told me, accompanying her sentence with a light caress on my face, and I deposited

a kiss on that same hand, looking tenderly into her eyes.

26 Days {IV, 32) It comes into the life of all mortals, a time where all the doors can be seen open, as well as for us on this glorious April morning, with all the possibilities that can be reached and joined between them. I want all readers of this book to abstract all prejudices for a moment and see if it is possible with their own eyes.

I am not asking you to believe; I am asking you to understand the diference between the description of this journey and the fact of being here, at the feet of these masters, listening to their voices. It would almost seem that if we wanted to boldly advance through the door, we would be masters of our destiny and the realization of our thoughts. But despite everything, we hesitate. Because?

Is it because our faith is not total? We allow traditional ideas to pull us back in our spiritual progress and close the door we want to cross. After that, we can say that the door was closed because it was destiny, knowing fully that our future depends only on us.

It had already been two weeks since my arrival in New York, and it may be time to go. I had an abstract but widespread idea about the meaning of that trip, even if the details and certain incomprehensible aspects escaped me. I was thinking of Jack and Marylin and Angela.

And Angela came to meet me in the early afternoon. She was sitting on the stairs like a little girl, playing with her blond curls, and like a little girl, she ran to me and jumped into my arms.

“How are you? I really wanted to see you ... I missed you! “

“I just went around browsing the beauties of Manhattan!” I answered, squeezing her in my turn as I brushed her lips.

“I think I’ll leave in two days,” I confessed.

“Do what you have to do!” She said, accompanying me to the door of my room. I invited her in, but she said no; she said it was late.

“Late for what?” I asked.

“I would like to carry you in my heart if I have the strength. Call me every time. I dare to listen to the sound of your words whenever you want to talk to me. Feeling your hands on my body whenever I feel like it, caressing me with the lightness and passion of a pianist who plays his music on the keys, reminding me that we will never die in the heart of those who loved us. “

It slipped out of my arms, along with the daylight, and I stood looking at the empty room, the blankets on the ground, and the sheets full of notes and phrases recovered here and there. I looked out the window and saw Marilyn, who saw and returned my gaze. Her step was light; she seemed almost to fy from one side of the garden to the other, handing out food to the dogs. I thought I had never seen her so happy before.

I also noticed a man sitting at the foot of a tree; he must have been her friend because she was smiling and waving his hand, inviting her to sit next to him. Marilyn smiled back and continued to feed her dogs. The man picked up a book and continued reading until the green of the vegetation swallowed it.

I felt like winter air, the smell of homemade cakes, and the mufed sounds when it snows. I thought about the cycles of life and how everything is renewed, and nothing ever dies, at least in our minds. The divine spark that makes us diferent but at the same time similar to other living beings. Believing oneself close to God more than any other animal species. Against the similarity of matter that acts on the same principles for all species.

26 Days {XI 22} In the universe of which our earth is a part, there can be no more than nine planets simultaneously that revolve around the central light. They evolve according to a constant cycle that involves several phases: birth, consolidation, expansion of the orbit, maximum speed and gravitation, explosion and disintegration. Finally, the re-assimilation into the central sun awaiting a rebirth. The sun collects data from the ethereal substances of the elements that will be sent back outside the solar core. This continuous renewal produces new births of matter. Without this process, the ninety-one universes and their respective central sun would have been consumed long ago. Everything would return to the infnite that contains the existence of all substances.

Chapter VIII

Awakening

There was a time when man was fully aware of being the central nucleus of the universe. He lived in full awareness of his inheritance and his space in the world, in a state of mind that you call heaven.

VIII

Awakening

It was late at night when I started packing my bags for the next day. I was sorry to leave, and I was missing some critical pieces and would have to try harder to fnd the key to them. On the day of my departure, I found no one greeting me; strangely,

Marilyn was also missing. I had already paid my bill in advance when I arrived and thought I could call her from the airport to say hello.

The taxi was waiting for me outside, and the driver helped me load my luggage. I had traveled about 5 miles when I realized I had forgotten the briefcase with my notes and other vital documents concerning Speek's life.

At my request to return to my accommodation, the taxi driver gently turned around but strangely led me to the parking lot of a hotel near Marilyn's house.

I asked him, with amazement, why he had brought me there, and surprised, he replied that it was there that he had picked me up with my luggage. I could have recovered my forgotten briefcase at the hotel reception.

"But is it safe?" I managed to stammer in a daze; I felt confused.

"Yes, I accompanied you almost every night to this hotel for two weeks!" He replied, piqued, looking at me as if I had gone mad.

I put my hands in my hair and clenched my fsts like someone who wants to wake up from a nightmare. I noticed that Marilyn's house was across the street, just across the street from the hotel, and I thought the taxi driver was confused.

I got out of the car and started walking at an increasing speed towards the house. The garden was well cared for, as I had left it, the small trees on the sides of the path and the fountain, the white door, with a golden plate next to it, which I had never noticed before, with the words: "Save kids Speek foundation."

I opened the door frantically, and a young woman came up to me, politely asking if she could help; I replied that yes, I needed help and asked if it was possible to see Mrs. Marilyn Speek.

"I am sorry to give you this bad news; Madame Speek died in 1968. Are you a friend of the family?" He looked at me, trying to fgure out who I was, and waited for me to absorb the news before starting to explain, "Now the house has been left as a gift, as was his wish, to his foundation that raises funds for abandoned children or families in crisis." She had a polite expectant smile as if she expected me to ask more questions.

I thanked and apologized for the rude raid and walked out from what I was sure had been my home for two weeks. Then I retraced the path in reverse, in a state of confusion that increased with each step up to the hotel entrance.

"Mr. Dupuy, fortunately, you are back! "she greeted me with a relieved smile the receptionist, increasing my dismay. "Here is your briefcase; we found it in yourroom; we would have contacted you shortly to warn." I took the briefcase, upset, and with a conventional "thank you," I went to the exit, where the taxi was waiting for me patiently; I apologized to the taxi driver for the delay. I remained silent for the rest of the journey while my mind was frantically retracing all the stages of the stay.

I checked the notes I had kept in my briefcase. Nothing was missing, and among the papers, I also found a letter signed by Jack with his father's address and name. It was like a shock; I asked the taxi driver to stop at the departure for North Caroline; I took the frst plane to Charlotte without asking myself too many questions; I was at the mercy of the sensations and with a lucid determination that I had not felt for a long time. I took up accommodation in a hotel near the airport; I managed to fnd a room even though I hadn't booked; the porter was very kind and showed me how to get to my destination at the address that Jack had pinned me.

26 Days {XX, 23} There was a time when man was fully aware of being the central nucleus of the universe. He lived fully

aware of his inheritance and his space in the world, in a state of mind that you call heaven. Then all, almost all men, gave up this divine gift; today, most of them are entirely unaware of this divine inheritance, which is the true nature of humanity.

What man once was can go back to being so again. This principle governs the succession of lives and events perceived around you. This manages your life and those of all existing creatures because they all possess the same energy as you.

Science will someday provide compelling reasons to claim that matter does not exist. All value can be reduced to a primitive and unique element that contains innumerable universally distributed particles, all in perfect balance, which response to vibratory infuences. Defned impulses give life to the initial action of a creative power that can reassemble an infnity of this universal neutral substance particles and provide the shape of the desired object. This power does not arise only from particles; it is more signifcant and, at the same time, linked to particles. We cooperate with the vibratory system through thought and defned actions and select its particularities. By the logic of its deductions, physics will be obliged to associate itself with this vision.

Scientists will then recognize the presence of a misunderstood power because it is inactive. But it is inactive only because it is misunderstood. When a man understands and communicates with him, he will have simultaneously materialized the application. He will see that this power is capable of delimiting specifc zones to implement specifc universal cosmic energies. This implementation leads us through a logical evolution and the construction of a material universe with all its manifestations. Since everything happens logically, each stage must prepare the foundation for the next step. When one progresses in perfect order, in complete harmony of thought and action, there is complete harmony with power. This opens the door to infnite possibilities of selecting methods given the end. The distribution of life and energy is regulated by a cosmic progression in a predetermined order.

As you perceive it, the universe is not made of matter as you think. Your defnition of matter is wrong. The universe is spiritual because it comes from the spirit. This is a fundamental logical statement. All living beings in this world are part of the tremendous creative substance, which allows us to know that there is nothing other than the principle of God that flls every space. As you realize this principle, you will be this principle. This does not mean that you will have to go to a secret place to isolate yourself as a hermit; you can stay in your room, in your home, in the calm, even amid your business, your work. When you realize this principle, life will cease to be an uncontrollable whirlwind that drags you wherever it wants.

Chapter IX

The house of Tom Seender

After the separation of the ten tribes, the main kingdom was known under the name of the House of Israel. The other part of the ten tribes took the name of the tribe of Judah. Not all members of this tribe were from Israel.

The

house of Tom Seender

The taxi stopped in front of a greenhouse, immersed and almost confused with the vegetation. I asked the taxi driver to wait and headed for the house door. I rang the bell, and after a few seconds, a girl came to open the door.

"What can I help you with?" The young woman asked. "I was looking for Jack Sender's father."

Oh, Tom Seender? He is not here now; I am the housekeeper, I take care of the house, yes, in short, of the cleaning, I do the food and all that is needed. But you can fnd it in the Lutheran room, near the school. "She waved at me to a building that didn't seem too far away.

"Thank you, my name is Jean Dupuy!" She didn't answer but closed the door gently.

I went to the church pointed out to me by the woman; there were few people inside; the meeting must have ended, or maybe it hadn't started yet; I went to a small group of faithful and tried to call: "Tom Seender?"

An old man turned his gaze to me; he must have been over 70, with his hair still thick and an Irish red color.

“I am a friend of Jack!”

The man looked at me with interest, greeted the company politely, and invited me to follow him toward the exit with a nod.

We headed toward his house without saying a word, and in the short journey, his gaze met mine several times as if to say or ask while maintaining silence.

The interior of the house was littered with photos and antiques. I stopped to look at pictures of a child, and when I asked if Jack was that child, he nodded. He invited me to sit in the armchair near the freplace, facing him, while the woman who had opened me earlier ofered me some tea and homemade biscuits.

“Where did you meet Jack?” he asked, looking frmly in my eyes.

“In New York, at a photographic exhibition. We met a few times.” I didn’t want to say too much about myself. I wanted to know where Jack was instead.

“Yes, Jack loved photography and also traveling.”

Why was he talking about it in the past tense? Was it like he was dead to him? Did he i magine I knew what had happened to his friend?

“I never thought he could commit such an act. Yes, I mean, I did everything to give him Christian education and values, but he was a rebel, a free soul, as he liked to call himself. He went on a trip to India with a friend, and when he returned, it was no longer the same. He drank and had inappropriate attitudes

in front of the community. He questioned the sacred biblical teachings and did not have a woman; in fact, he preferred men, forcing me to remove him from home. He destroyed my reputation, and I could never forgive him for it; I hope God has mercy on him!”

“Did Jack have a friend, I mean a close friend?” I wanted to put him in trouble.

“No, I don’t know anything about this!” he answered, disturned by my question, then continued, “His mother died giving him life, and he burned her to give it to the devil! This is the truth!”

“Where is Jack now?”

“Jack committed suicide in a friend’s house, found a gun in the basement of the house, they heard a shot, only one, and found Jack on the ground with a bloody face.”

I was thrilled; I had only seen him a few days before. Was that why he had given me his father’s address? To make me share in his sad fate?

“Didn’t you ask yourself the reasons for the gesture?” I looked at him with an expression of heated accusation.

“He was certainly in the grip of alcohol or some other destructive substance; he often spoke of a mother planet where we will all have to return someday to establish our true essence.”

I felt a grudge ignite and burn inside me; how could that man speak like that after he had destroyed his son’s life?

“What about your life, Tom? Who did you give it to? To which God?”

He looked at me defantly for a split second; he had

sensed my hatred, but then he cleared up and gave a fake smile:

“You see, Jean, how everything can appear empty or perfectly clear in the mind of those who cannot see. He will tell you a story that will perhaps help you see reality in its purest state.

The wise man perceives the creator principle within himself. He has a vision of infnite possibilities of him. He becomes aware of the world opening up in front of him because he knows that the creator principle is internal; he perceives the desires of the heart and makes them ideal, a form that molds the power of the substance to fll it with it. When it follows the rules and laws of nature, everything takes a visible form, and there is no darkness.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Tom. Do you want to talk to me about your God? Of your creed.” He interrupted me, reaching out to stop me.

“No, let me fnish frst; after all, we just met, and we will probably never meet again in this world!

Translators of the original biblical texts have introduced many nonsense and false prophecies into your bible. Some errors arise from a lack of un- understanding of the primitive characters and symbols on the part of the translator, but these are understandable. But most of the errors are cowardly lies deliberately told to mislead the reader and denature the original house of Israel book.

“The primitive name was Is-Rael, which means the Crystal race, the pure white race, the frst to ever inhabit this planet, the roots of all the others are hybrids. Most of the biblical distortions were introduced in the second century of the Christian era. The massacre of the most essential texts was committed in the books of Daniel, Madras, and Nehemiah. The false presentation extended to Joseph’s early works and other books. All to obscure the previous events and the data known at the time.

The Israelite race has its direct lineage in the Aryan race; they employ the same chronological system. We have preserved it in its purity.

This allows us to discern the false and its substitutions. We have a complete and original Jewish chronology. We know that the story of Solomon and his women and other kings, educators, and advisers of the ten tribes of Israel, were completely distorted.

“After the separation of the ten tribes, the main kingdom was known under the House of Israel. The other part of the ten tribes took the name of the tribe of Judah. Not all members of this tribe were from Israel. That is why it is a mistake to mention Abraham, Isaac, and Jobbe as Jews. The Israelites were not Jews, but the Jews formed a tribe of the Israelite nation. When the tribe of Judah left Palestine to scatter around the world, they called their members Jews. The Jews of our day are the descendants of the tribe of Judah, who returned to Palestine after the liberation. Many of them had mixed their blood with that of the countries that had hosted them. The people who nowadays take the name of Jew do not have even a third of their blood from the tribe of Judah.”

Who is God?

He stopped to look at me as if looking for any reaction in my eyes.

“Continue, Tom, it seems interesting to me, but I don’t understand; what can it do for me?” I challenged him.

“Maybe to observe the world, Jean, to open your eyes and look, tell me what you see now? You live in Europe, and you do not know that, at this moment, you are treading on the motherland soil of the Is-Raelites. This is their primitive land!”

The woman entered the room and gently handed the tray to serve two more cups of tea. I looked around ab- sorbed, observing the objects and furniture that adorned the house. There was a cupboard with family photos, Tom in some wearing a military uniform. I noticed that there was no photo of Jack as an adult as if they only wanted to remember him as a child. The dog was watching me from a corner of the hall, half curious and bored. I felt tired and, at the same time, invaded by a the mental energy that made me highly lucid.

I decided to say goodbye to that man; I couldn’t get anything from him, and maybe that wasn’t even what I had to do. I thanked him for his hospitality and the time he gave me when I got up from my chair.

He accompanied me to the door and wished me a good the trip, he added:

“Hey Jean, Jack killed himself over 20 years ago; God protect you!”

26 Days {XV, 35} Who is God? Where is the God within you? God is not an external being to be inserted into you and then made known to the world. God is the power that you create with the activity of your thoughts. This power is dormant within you until your thoughts realize their existence; then, it will signifcantly grow in you, and you can present it to the world and share its splendor.

It was already dawn as I wandered through the streets of Charlotte in a confused state; I hoped that walking would bring some clarity to my thoughts. If any policeman had seen me wandering like that, he would have asked for my ID. Luckily he found my taxi driver, who came over and motioned to get on. I returned to the hotel and lay down on the bed, picked up the phone, and mechanically dialed a number written on a piece of paper as if under hypnotic efect. Across the ocean, a voice replied: “Hello?”

“Yes, ma’am, are you Angela’s mother?” I asked with my Italian dusting of.

“Yup! Who are you talking about?”

“My name is Jean Dupuy, I’m a friend of her daughter Angela, and I just wanted to tell her that Angela is fne and happy. She begged me to tell her that she forgave and loved her infnitely. She also told me that she would like to start her journey, but she wants her to be happy and remember her every time she makes the donuts she loved, every time you gaze at the stars on the waterfront, and that one of those stars a day will light up just for her. Here, I just wanted to tell you this, and I know very well that we don’t know each other and that...”

"Thanks..." Across the ocean, a sobbing voice thanked me. Then nothing else.

She had made me happy to meet her, even if only for a few moments, but she had already closed the communication. I turned on the cofee machine mechanically and fnally felt more relaxed.

It was almost dawn when someone knocked on my room door. I was surprised to fnd that it was Tom Seender's housekeeper. She apologized for the intrusion and the time, but she seemed to have something important to tell me. I sat her down and handed her a cup of cofee which she politely refused.

"Jack was a close friend of mine! He told me everything about his life and that day, maybe he drank more than usual. He had been obsessed with a book; he hadn't been the same since he returned from India…""

"What do you know about that book?" I interrupted her, realizing that it was Speek's book.

Here the pieces of the puzzle returned to their place, and

all that information traveled in my mind, putting everything I had experienced in the last few weeks back into the correct sequence.

"Thank you, you have put some order in my thoughts. Can I ask why you continue to work for Tom Seenders after what he did to Jack?"

"Because I live with a killer, you mean?"

"Yes, I don't understand?!"

"Perhaps to testify to him daily, the existence of God, the God of him that he loves so much. This is the most terrible of the punishments I can infict on him in the name of his son!"

"Yeah, maybe that's it!" I answered, accompanying her to the door; she went away, greeting me with a gesture of the head that made me understand the respect I had to show for her choice.

Chapter XI

The wings of tears

If a man knows himself, he will be forced by his own will to discover all the hidden resources of his being, his dormant faculties. Man is Trinitarian in the unity of him made up of spirit, soul, and body.

The wings of tears

Ithad already been 26 days since I arrived in the United States. I had a scheduled fight back to Paris via Amsterdam, which would leave at 6 the following day, but I instinctively decided to change it for one to Geneva.

Something signifcant was calling me there. Everything I had learned on my journey told me that I had some unresolved things to which I could still give a diferent solution.

My son was waiting for me at the airport. What I had in front of me was a man who had grown up while I was not there. He had something deeply known to my being in his eyes, and maybe it was because of my infnite fatigue or the pleasure I had in fnally fnding him in front of him that I did something he was not used to. I deposited my bags on the ground and hugged him tightly. Initially, he was stif and surprised, but then he returned the hug and looked at me almost with concern.

We reached his car after customs procedures, and while driving, he was chasing words to tell me everything that had happened to him in the last period. He was so enthusiastic that he infected me; I smiled and felt an emotion almost close to tears as he told me about his love and his disappointments, and it seemed that time had stopped.

I photographed that fragment of a moment inside me; I wanted it to remain and remind me of our meeting again while we were stopped at a red light in the rue du Rone, between the illuminated shop windows and the rain that created small abstract fgures on the windshield.

Then like a raging river, my words came for him, I began to apologize for everything, even for things that perhaps never happened, in a paroxysm of justifcations, and there my son burst out laughing, overwhelmed by my explanations, and inside, he tore the emotion from me to feel him so close that he caused me an infnitely sweet pain. I burst out laughing, too, and reminded him of the old songs of Frederic Francois and our travels to Sicily. We continued to tell each other about ourselves even once we returned home, in front of the improvised dinner, between a glass of wine. We remained to talk all night, sitting on a sofa to welcome us and the dawn surprised us again, laughing.

He asked me how long I wanted to stay, and I couldn't answer. I tried to answer forever, but I was still not ready with him to show my wishes with so much authenticity.

Instead, I did another thing; I stayed to share his successes for the rest of my life, and at the pinnacle of his professional career, I met what would become his wife and then his son. My nephew was, for me, the extension of afection so deep that it made me return to the primitive pleasure of belonging. With him, I could openly do everything that had not been possible with my son, and I felt I paid the price of an emotional ransom that I carried with me after past guilt. He also managed to give me the ability to talk about myself; with him, I succeeded right away,

and unable to do so with my son, I began to write about myself so that it would remain a testimony of my journey and my awakening.

A simple chronological search led me to discover that Angela had died on the day of her trip to New York, a terrorist the attack had blown up the plane where she was boarded.

Angela had reserved a room in the house of Marilyn, who also died many years earlier following an illness. Her father's house had become a fundraising center for orphaned children, ac- cording to the will she expressed.

Jack had committed suicide following the murder of his partner at the hands of his father and other accomplices. It had all happened for a shocking and causal connection, a series of events designed to make everything ft together in an apparent and sharp form.

The last pieces of the puzzle became part of the design that fnally showed a unique meaning: I had crossed the ocean to look for something that had permanently housed inside me and that I had not been able to see until then. Then time few up to my illness, which forced me home, prevented me from speaking, and restricted my movements.

I understood that I had reached the journey's end and did not mind; I had seen and heard voices and people of great inner beauty. I had loved and received love, hated and received hate. I had deluded myself into knowing, discovering myself ignorant, and ignoring the true meaning of life that resides in giving, accepting, and listening to the people around me. I had learned from the fesh of my fesh the pleasure of giving. And fnally, I was learning to die like all things in the world, being inevitably part of it myself.

26 Days {999 II} Since God's Trinitarian nature is spiritual and not physical, we should consider the Trinity within us mentally rather than materially. A wise man should engage in the exercise of knowing himself, for there is no higher knowledge than that of the ego. If a man knows himself, he will be forced by his own will to discover all the hidden resources of his being, his dormant faculties. Man is Trinitarian in the unity of him made up of spirit, soul, and body. When he is in a state of spiritual ignorance, he tends to think on the physical plane, which is the lowest plane of his nature.

Epilogue

When you were born, I had been living in your father's house in Geneva for a long time. He and his wife, Guendalina, your mother, have hosted me since I returned from New York. I used to take you around the parks, and you will undoubtedly remember when we used to go fshing at the lake or skiing in Zermatt. You will also remember when I frst fell ill, and you cried in the hospital, begging me not to go or leave you alone. If you are reading this, I had to leave you even though I never wanted to.

The origins of man are not earthly; rest assured, did we land on this planet by chance? Perhaps! We are paying the price for our mistakes or have escaped a natural catastrophe.

The inhabitants of this world do not have exact origins. We don't all come from the same place, but what brought us together on the same planet remains a mystery to me. Animals and all other living organisms are the true natives of the earth; we are only intruders even if we have usurped its resources. We are a foreign body in the planet's ecosystem, and it can be seen simply by observing the state of things in all their essence.

Animals and all other living organisms are the true natives of the earth; we are only intruders even if we have usurped its resources. We are a foreign body in the planet's ecosystem, and it can be seen simply by observing the state of things in all their essence.

Maybe we lost a war, and this is our exile, the same fate of all hominoid races, so alike but so profoundly diferent in their ethical and behavioral structure.

But even if we can't say exactly which part of the universe we originate from, we know that this is our home now, and we are progressing quickly, so much so that we can sense part of the future we are destined for.

Here, this is what I wanted to tell you on your eighteenth birthday, and I wanted to write this short diary of my life to entrust it to your father because I knew that I would hardly survive until your majority. I added these words together with the book I talked about, it is the same one that my friend Richard gave me 30 years ago, and I want you to know this:

We are the essence of God; we are part of it; we are God. We are the gold of Gobi and its desert. We are the aridity of the brigands and their surprising deeds of generosity. We are the water of the Ganges and its tributaries, the ruins of cities hidden within us and their rebirth, we are Emile who travels in time-space, we are the killers of our children and their guides, we are the bearers of objects that cross the river on a rope, we are men and women who await the dawn bivouacking at the foot of a mountain or along the banks of a river. We are the light of God expanding and manifesting or reincarnating.

To Marc Dupuy, with love and forever. Geneva, March 4, 1998

Appendix

Appendix

Marc walked towards the bridge "du Mont Blanc" with a frm step; he had tears in his eyes and an unusual calm. As soon as he got to the center of the bridge, he took the book out of his backpack and took a few steps backward as if he wanted to run. He noticed a man sitting on the bank of the river, looking like he was fshing, and approached, intrigued by how he was shaking his head and waving his hands. The man smiled, returning his gaze, and nodded his head to join him.

Marc approached at frst hesitantly and then with a frm step. He sat down next to the man who remained silent and invited him to do the same. He suddenly saw his life as in a movie, with all the steps from birth to that moment. The man grabbed his hands and joined them, then began to recite a kind of prayer in a language never heard before, and the boy remained silent while the man sang his song.

26 Days {xxc 122} Behold, this man returns to his kingdom. It doesn't matter how long you fnd it for calm and harmony to be established. It may be thousands of centuries before the perfection of his primordial nature is re-established and allows the smooth process of evolution in the religious context. Here is now, the man who maintains his communion with the infnite and can aford to wait until the time is ripe for the manifestation of all universes. Only those who have kept the consciousness of their previous experiences will be able to contribute to a more perfect, more lasting state of things. Here, this man will not be able to fail in his path because his existence is the most defned among all the others. The error will therefore be absent from his horizon and from his consciousness. The infnitesimal becomes the infnitesimal of all forms.

Marc woke up as if from a dream, slowly stood up, and looked for the fgure of the man who had disappeared from his sight. Then he threw the book towards the waters of the Rhone, and for an instant, the river seemed to glow with gold, with golden sparks that changed color according to the inclinations of the wind. Then a sudden rain and sunset were seen only in New Delhi or the Gobi desert. The boy watched for a moment as the colors spread across the sky. Then he walked towards the center, crossing the second half of the bridge, where a man stood in front of him to ask him:

"Are you Marc? Marc Dupuy? "

The boy watched him without answering, intrigued by the strange movement of his hands.

The man took a book out of a bag, the same book that Marc had thrown among the Rhone feets, and handed it into his hands, asking:

"So Marc, how long do you want to stay in the dark?"

The man went away, and Marc followed him with his eyes until the image merged with a crowd of tourists.

He stood for a moment looking at the book he held in his hands, then continued on his way across the bridge, on the other side of his life, as if at the beginning of another journey towards infnity.

Before getting lost in the same crowd, he heard a mantra recited by the wind, which accompanied him for a short stretch of his initial journey: 26 days, man ... 26 days!

26 Days {II-22} Behold, the immortal man, ageless, eternal. This man is nothing in the world without light because only his divine self can carry out his ascension.

Author

Fabrizio Catalfamo (F. Guzzardi)

Writer, publisher, and founder of Hofmann & Hofmann Publishing, as well as of the Italian American magazine “IM Italian.”

Born in Syracuse (Sicily) in March 1962 he leaves his native Italy at the age of 22. In search of a life closer to his spirit than him, she will spend a few years in Germany, therefore, a good part of his life between France and Switzerland. In the 90s, he spent a short period in India, immersed spiritually in a culture closer to him.

In 2014, he arrived at a series of circumstances in the US. New York and Florida become the states where he divides his time between work and family.

In his period USA, besides publishing other Italian artists: Roberto Sironi, Susanna Casubolo, and Mariagrazie Pia, published some works in diferent styles. From the book of poems with Melina Palumbo: “Silent love” and before that, “Hermeneutic of the evident,” 26 days,” and “The sick love.”

Note

The quotes from the book 26 Days are freely inspired by the 1950 book “La Vie des Maitres” by Jean Colombella in its French version.

26 Days was published for the frst time in the Italian language in 2018 by F. Guzzardi.