Chapter 2

Munich is a city that reveals itself to the visitor only gradually.
As, during the icy  winter, the gorgeous Munich women slowly remove
ever more layers of clothing, in its steamy, super-heated, mid-winter
restaurants and cafes, so also does the city to the new visitor. So it
was not until the second month that I began to identify the importance
of The Englischer Garten. That large garden, situated in the heart of
the great city, was a place of fantasy, of modern-day myth.  That
summer it seemed to me all of Munich was enveloped in the
emotionally-charged aura emanating from that place.

In an area where the Isar floods a huge swathe of verdant deep space
has been set aside. There a superb play of light and shadow has
developed, evolved from the start, as the Englischer Garten was always
a serious undertaking. First conceived in 1789, serious planning of
the garden went on for 9 years, right up until construction began in
1798. As a result, today’s visitor is confronted with seventy-eight
kilometres of roads, and bridle paths, that lead the energetic through
several hundred acres of woods and meadows, and lakes.

If arriving to this other-land via the Southern entrance the statue
“Harmless” provides scant assistance. Far better to find the way
speedily to the Chinese Tower which, inexplicably contains a Munich
Beer Hall that accommodates more than 7,00/0?. From there the visitor
can venture on by rickshaw, or carriage, bicycle, or on foot, to the
garden’s countless entertainments. The Free State of Bavaria is the
keeper of this magical place where The Temple of Apollo and The Lake
House welcome visitors every day of the year, and the ancient
Children’s Carousel. Split in two parts, the Sudteil and Norteil, all
the Garten is alive; with more than sixty birds species, and hares,
rabbits, foxes, squirrels and hedgehogs. There where the Schwabing
Stream plaits its way for more than eight kilometres, throughout the
Garten, often alongside walkways, one can see countless large, and
fat, fish. It was on one of the one-hundred bridges that I next
encountered Morgana.

It is a long-defended tradition that many large-dog loving Muncheners
exercise their hound in the Englischer Garten. One sunny morning the
previous week I had walked quite a long way through the Englischer
Garten, as I headed to a coffee date with a friend at one of the many
Garten kiosks. As usual I was, in my walk, on my ‘coffee’ quest, and
as I stepped onto one of the 100 bridges in the Garten, it was with
dreamy anticipation. Yet suddenly I saw a young horsewoman rapidly
approaching, an enormous dog running free at her horse’s side.

I had only a second before girl, horse and dog also mounted my bridge,
and clattered past dangerously close by me. Angered, I turned to look
after them. At that moment, from out of a wooded incline there emerged
two mounted police, a man and a woman officer, and as with a roar the
girl’s dog took after the police horses  the policewoman momentarily
lost control of her horse.

Though the girl quickly dismounted she took, deliberately it seemed,
some minutes to call her dog to heel. During that time the dog nipped
at the heels of the policewoman’s horse, which shied and then bucked,
kicking its heels out, aimed for the dog’s head. The actions of the
dog forced  the horse to spin tightly around on the soft turf. Once
called, the dog instantly obeyed, returned and dropped, panting, onto
the grass at the girl’s side. Though it was clear the striking blonde
policewoman was shaken, she quickly drew herself together. She
produced bulky forms mysteriously from a saddlebag under her shapely
thigh, all the while furiously berating the girl, and demanding name,
address and other information.

I watched this elaborate pantomime and saw the girl received terse
instructions and a copy of the notice created by the officer. I
noticed the handsome male officer only languidly rode closer to the
pair when the matter was completed. Upon his approach the girl drew
off her riding helmet and shook out her magnificent hair. Then I
realised who she was, as the police rode away. I continued on my path,
which now came over a rise, close to where the drama had taken place.
Morgana stepped suddenly from the shadows, into the sun and looked at
me familiarly in an unsettling way “What did you think of my dog? He
is marvellous, isn’t he?” she asked, as if it were the most natural
conversation in the world.

I blustered, said lamely “Your dog created a dangerous situation.”
Morgana looked fondly at her dog. “But that was the whole point, don’t
you see?” I looked at the huge dog, lying there by here side, its
tongue still lolling, felt I had not heard her correctly “Sorry, but…
what did you say?” She smirked “I planned the event – those police are
always very punctual, ride down through that wood on Tuesdays and
Thursdays at precisely the same time. The only unknown factor today
was you.” Thinking nervously of what may of happened if I had been
closer to her I said “Why would you plan something like that?”

“To see what would happen, of course.” She regarded me with some
surprise. I said: “But, the police booked you – and your dog. That’s
not a very good outcome for you.” Morgana shook out a red silk ribbon
still entangled in her black hair “Um, no? They will let me off. I
know. Brutus is only two, and I will claim he is still immature, still
being trained. And… I’m young too, eighteen, and I’ll be so contrite –
they like that.” She smiled to herself. “But what is your point?” I
asked, horrified. “To master that female.” I was puzzled “Who?” She
smiled indulgently “The policewoman.” I asked “What on earth for?” I
was now equally amazed and horribly fascinated. “Because I WANT TO!
Because she and I have met many times before and this time I wish to
achieve my own outcome to our meeting, and I shall” she continued
thoughtfully “and today I also made that man really look at me – for
the first time.” Morgana was indeed magnificent standing there in the
early morning sunshine. She was impeccable, wearing a man’s red shirt
and black riding breeches, boot and gloves.

With that she mounted, called her dog to heel and slowly, thoughtfully
rode off. I went on to my coffee thoroughly confused and distracted.
Her words seemed to echo something Pathan had said yet I could net
exactly say how. Morgana was playing a dangerous game, for no good
reason that I could perceive, and I wondered if Pathan was aware of
this side of her character. I thought I would ask him as soon as there
was an opportunity. However, Pathan had left me a message that as he
wanted particular sound and film crews to record our event it would be
another day before the first session could take place. By then I had
forgotten Morgana again.

As Pathan wanted a special atmosphere to the sessions and also because
they would be recorded Pathan said our meetings would be by
candlelight, and that we must all dress formally. That night, while he
looked even more like a fashion icon than ever I was supremely
confident in my own locally-designed, tailor-made suit. Pathan’s
sessions finally began on a glorious early evening where huge banks of
thick candles already glittered and guttered in a benign summer breeze
that came in from the open windows. Pathan’s rooms were filled with
perfume from enormous arrangements of roses in every imaginable
colour. As he and I waited for his other guests, Pathan suddenly spoke
of Morgana.

”Morgana is an ‘old soul’, and thus one who remembers her travels
outside that beautiful body, face, that you and I perceive and Morgana
is also a dark, negative being. Now incredibly learned, she  spurns
the light and returns here only to use her considerable powers
destructively.  Her mother and sister both are experienced travellers
and sadly they too destroy the journey of life wherever they can.
Together they form a triumvirate of extreme power.”

Pathan’s speech disturbed me enormously, and brought fresh doubts
about his undertaking that I had now agreed to enter into, Yet I had
given my word and so I had to continue. Now Alexa arrived and Rose
shortly after and we four sank into modern, corner seating. Then two
highly decorative young individuals arrived, together, both tall and
black-haired.

Velveta and Daemon were the youngest in our group of six, in their
early ‘20s, vital, alive and very much in love. Velveta wore a long
brown velvet figure-hugging gown that showed purple hues as she moved.
Rose was clothed in sulphur-yellow crepe-de-chine satin, and Athen her
signature black and white. These elegant creatures contributed to the
blaze of colourful flowers in the room. Velveta’s entwined her
hour-glass silhouette around Daemon who wore an elegant dinner suit.

Pathan stood up and said: “Welcome! It’s time we began.” As he spoke,
fresh lemonade, and rhubarb juice, water arrived in large pitchers,
and crystal tumblers appeared. “Tonight we begin by asking Velveta to
speak of her experiences. Everyone, remember we are filming and
recording…. all OK with that?“

Velveta, reclining on a sleek modern settee, said: “Now, today – at
this stage in my life….  I remember – as a tiny child, being joyful as
I experienced whole constellations of stars looking down on me, and
remote events of the Universe evolving around me. As I floated about,
somewhere, somehow. When I was a little older, these occurrences
continued. However, at that time often I arrived in dark, and shadowy
places… and in all these experiences I still had no control over
events, or when I would return to my physical body. So I often felt I
was in an awful ‘bear trap’ of some sort where I was completely
paralysed, and afraid. There was no joy for me in this.”

Daemon nodded, said softly: “ Now sometimes we choose to return there
together, Velveta and me, into the dark, the caves with the shadows…”

Velveta continued: “Later, in my teens, when I had learned some
control, I could sometimes – but not always – direct the course, of my
dreams, and these other events. Now I can choose, but not always, when
and to where to go and what to do when I arrive.

In the candlelight Velveta’s blue eyes were bright and as she leaned
back and out of the light her full red lips shone.

Pathan said “Velveta, you have also had other, more recent experiences.”

Velveta stayed in the dark, and her head lowered, yet her eyes looked
ahead. Her long hair, covering the back of the settee, caught the
light as she moved, raised her hand to her head. In a soft voice she
began again: “Last year, not long after I arrived to Munich from
Australia, a huge man attacked me, on the street, at night. He tried
to kill me, and he almost succeeded. This was in Schwabing, of all
places, where no such event has occurred for over 30 years.”

While the group remained silent, there was sudden tension in the room.

“At the outset I felt no pain. Do you know, I did not realise he had
smashed my head with a rock. I think his blow had caused me to
half-pass out. Unaware of what had happened, I thought I must have
fallen. Then, he seems to have seen I was still moving, and so he next
tried to suffocate me.

But, in his haste his fingers slipped. His nails tore at the roof of
my mouth and created the first pain I felt. With that pain, I was
suddenly transported outside myself, I was behind him!

Yes, I could see what he was doing, to me, how I lay half on the
street half on the pavement, and how he bent over me, knelt in front
of me, how he also was half on the pavement, half the road.” Velveta
paused reflexively:

“This attack was happening to me – and yet I was observing the event.”

Her gaze was faraway as she continued: “ I saw the back of his big,
close-cropped head. I observed his powerful back and shoulders. I
realised he was suffocating me so much I couldn’t breathe. I observed
the horrible contortions the lack of air caused my body to make .”
Velveta took a deep breath:

“Yet, then, as this all must have been in just a fraction of the same
time, it was also pain of his fingers in my mouth that then pulled me
– back – into my body, into my life here – and that was when I bit his
hand very hard.”

Velveta continued: “At the trial he begged my forgiveness. Since then,
in some very strange way, I feel bound to my attacker – that the event
was not, and is not still, subject to the normal physical laws of
time, space and place. Now some of my life is overtaken by this
matter, and although it feels dangerous, very dangerous, this man and
I have met again, but not in this world and only with Daemon beside
me.” Visibly affected now, she looked at Pathan, who motioned the
cinematographer to cease.

Rose and Athena rose in unison, gathered up Velveta and all went to
the bathroom. Pathan threw open the wide doors to the balcony and then
we men went outside to smoke.  “Daemon, you are next.” said Pathan. An
astounding blue colour had suddenly appeared from dull cloud cover,
and I looked at Daemon framed so well in his dark suit against the
azure sky. Daemon smiled, rather shyly, I thought and said yes, ok,
although he had stage fright. We talked for a little while longer,
finishing our cigarettes and admiring that excellent dusk, before
re-entering the room. The technicians had all in readiness.

The girls had returned, laughing. Daemon stood by Velveta, taking her
hand and appeared to brace himself before he began: “Velveta has much
better recall than me. I do remember some events clearly though – I
know that as a young child I could decide to get out of my body
anytime. At night I went off to observe events from up in the air. My
bed was my companion! It made me brave and when we had many
adventures, it was always with me,  a modern, Swedish 4-poster! We
would fly, incredibly fast, to distant corners of the earth. Yet I
always knew my body was sleeping, below, safe at home. Each time we
returned I always told my grandfather all about my adventures, who
simply nodded. Just recently Velveta found an old picture book about
the children who fly away on this 4-poster bed…. He paused: My bed? It
stayed behind, with my childhood – and yes, I still have it!

As I grew up I began to deliciously anticipate my travel, I had a
sense that somehow I must have deserved it, as these adventures always
felt like a reward, and so I was always in a happy state of readiness.
In this way, I learned about many different ways of life on this
planet, but the bed and I were always only the observers, unseen, and
we could not land. Then, in the last few years I began to see that I
could go completely away from this earth. After a while I met others
who also could visit the other zones I had found, and then in one of
these places Velveta and I met – my greatest reward.

It was some time before Velveta and I met in this world. Now we
together explore  and work to understand this other, important part of
our lives.” Daemon smiled at his audience, straightened his jacket,
and checked his tie in an embarrassed fashion.

Pathan said: “The path you and Velveta have chosen, Daemon, is a way
to our race’s collective, but largely forgotten unconsciousness. You
are re-developing lost skills, and seeking paths generally forgotten.
Your goodness allows your search into the eternal stream of great
change, which leads directly to the universal ocean. There all our
ideas, hopes, dreams gestate; like great fish. They must be caught –
but gently found and brought, intact and vital, into the general
consciousness. These are not gifts and we must fight with them, as
they contain the very keys to life, and love, and it is dangerous –
particularly for you – as you will attract evil.”

The group visibly relaxed, the recording once more ceased, and as I
considered all that had been said, I confess my views were challenged,
as I had to think why events such as these occurred, to everyone, it
now seemed. These thoughts made me extremely uncomfortable;
nonetheless, I was fascinated by the process I had been plunged into,
and really could find no fault in the process.

Daemon and Velveta were first out on the balcony where they embraced,
in the dark, with the lurid lights from the street below reflecting up
onto their faces and bodies. Pathan stood next to me as we walked
outside: “Your turn next, James… if you are ready?” From the balcony I
looked down at the lights and the street. There people in elegant
evening dress were hurrying or strolling by and I felt suddenly in
another world. “Yes, I believe so.” I said. Refreshing juices were
served as we stood there and I gulped mine down and headed inside.

“Well. Let me say, first, that I am a skeptic. Yet what I have
remembered has amazed me. I recall that, since my youth I have had an
experience, a repeating dream I call it. It is so familiar to me that
it feels like a part of me. Yet now I see perhaps is is not a dream in
the regular sense, and to some extent it is continuously changing,
growing as I grow. Now that I am mature (and some would question that,
I know) I must race the dream. All this I have only realised since
Pathan brought up the subject with me, not so long ago.

When I first remember this dream I was playing in the midday heat with
visiting cousins. We lived in one of the remotest, desert regions of
Australia, and my cousins were all very agile, lively, they loved
physical games. So we were playing a very fast type of hide-and-seek.
It was during high summer, very, very hot as most northern Australian
days are. We were sprinting all over the little mine settlement and I
decided to hide in a T-chest, which was a special type of box that
regularly arrived at the mine. An extremely strong wooden structure,
nailed together with metal strips and lined with thin paper made from
pure silver, (a precursor to today’s aluminium foil) it was built to
preserve exotic tea leaves during their long journey from Asia. These
boxes were so light a tiny child could lift them and carry them
around. These were entrancing place to play in, as the silver paper
reflected back strange, distorted images and was hot to the touch.
Later they told me I was three days unconscious with heatstroke.

Yet it seemed but a few minutes to me. I remember, firstly, the heat,
the sweat running down my back and through my hair – and the silver
paper – rustling, shimmering, kaleidoscoping colours around me, and my
heart beating so hard with exertion and excitement… then suddenly,
stillness, and speed. I realised I was flying, incredibly fast,
through white, but empty space towards a very bright white light. I
remember a strong feeling of anticipation of something wonderful, and
as I approached the light, I saw it was really entirely composed of
rings of soft colours, like a rainbow on a rainy, misty day.

As I was absorbed into this light I found it slowly revolved and that
I had arrived into a small and beautifully formed open boat. I
relaxed, sat back onto soft cushions and then realised that the
structure was a huge and beautiful eye – around which I was travelling
in the little barque. I craned this way and that, but saw only the one
eye. I also noticed a number of beings, different, attractive, yet
quite undefined in shape, and then realised I could not see myself
clearly. Yet I was quite unafraid.

It seemed to me these beings were quite similar to me and they moved
around, came together and moved apart, and they also arrived and
departed, at whim. So I experimented, first attempting to jump from
the boat, but that did not work. Then I tried thinking my way to the
place where I saw others, and this worked. So I floated, slowly, up to
another being, and when I arrived I somehow knew that this was a close
cousin of mine who had died the previous year. We were about the same
age and I had missed him terribly after he died. When we met there he
knew me, and so we just floated about, effortless, in a warm stream of
others. Occasionally a  shock would run through our group, and dark,
cold beings would cut swiftly through, but they were as a part of the
rest, as night is to day. That floating about was one of the most
wonderful experiences I have ever had in my entire life.

I remember I assumed I would stay there forever with my cousin and the
others, I was so happy there. With my lost cousin there beside me I
felt as warm as I did when visiting my grandparent’s house, and there
received their loving embrace.

Yet suddenly I was back with my family.” There I ended my tale,
exhausted and once again covered in sweat. Pathan put his hand on my
shoulder and remarked that such an expenditure of nervous energy was
enough. “James,” he said, “here and there other lives, those we have
been most close to, and who die, call to us. They cannot easily return
to this physical plane, and sometimes those people, for good or bad,
may find us and act as our guides. Also, those you meet may be
addicted to power, and this can cause the new traveller great
difficulties. In your case your cousin only wants the best for you. So
you have a marvellous friend – in this different, expanded dimension
of life. I will discuss this matter further with you. You will find
him again and without too much difficulty.”

Tea was then served. We sat around with the technicians who told us
they were pleased with the recording quality they had achieved – and
that there would be no re-shooting required. What relief I felt at
that.

In the late summer weeks thereafter, Pathan came and went with a
plethora, it seemed, of strange and colourful characters. Pathan’s
staff, and his drivers, expanded to accommodate a 24-hour schedule,
for now his new friends were welcome at all hours. The enormous
building was spotless and the garden manicured to perfection and from
my new, and much larger quarters, I sometimes watched as he and his
guests arrived, and later departed. Yet he did not see me at all, and
neither did he see any other of our six. I realised I still did not
know where, or how we had previously met, and although I had plenty to
occupy me I felt strangely let down.

Chapter 3