Yolande Villemaire

201201240625There was an ice-storm yesterday night and we were only 40 or so at the channeling: the attendance is usually around 200. It felt quiet and intimate. The topic was joy, how important it is in these times of difficult passages. The medium I met almost a year now, guided us in a meditation where we got in touch with a moment of pure joy in our lives. These sensations in our bodies are sorts of radars leading us to the best choices for our health and general well-being. I was so tired, I might have slumbered until he mentioned how important it is to add a cycle of 90 minutes of sleep at the beginning of our nights and how nurturing joy and being kind to ourselves is crucial in these times of turbulent energies bringing up karmic knots that can be released gently by being in touch with ourselves, not denying what we feel, yet not lingering in the pain, taking hot baths, rocking ourselves and maybe nibbling on a bite of chocolate…He made us laugh, saying some of us might have heard he was saying to feed ourselves on chocolate only and I was now completely awake! There was a longer than usual session of questions and answers. The questions were poignant and his answers so full of nuances, with deep silences and delicate hand gestures, beaming a wonderful smile at times. He keeps his eyes closed until he stops channeling at the end of the evening and it’s a delight to just look at him tune into the person asking a question. I’m getting used to see him in trance now, I remember how weird it seemed a year ago: after all I have known him as a regular little kid when were growing up, on the same street. He can be utterly funny at times: there was a moment of pure slapstick where he would get very animated, his tone staying very gentle and loving but with sweeping movements of his arms, to the point where his assistant, sitting on the other side of the little table where there is always a large vase of fresh roses, got scared he would hit the flowers. She started moving the vase out of his way further and further towards the edge of the table until the first row was shaking with repressed laughter. We didn’t want to startle the medium out of his trance. He got so effervescent when someone had asked about the Year of the Dragon and he seemed to be foreseeing a time of great expansion, an excellent time for creation, a time for love. Joy is going to see us through the narrow passage. As I’m writing this on my electronic tablet in bed, my cat is walking delicately towards me on the down comforter, purring. Moment of pure joy. Going back to sleep now as I came home too late to have my extra 90 minutes sleep. Ah…REST. #timestampPosted 08:55, 24 Jan 2012 on Play as Being Wiki (as Eden) at http://bit.ly/Asbobt

We are on a country road, at night. There are two lights hovering over the road in a short distance ahead of us. He says: «Let’s go there». As soon as we start walking, we seem to be walking in mid-air. Soon, we are going through thin veils of yellow, dissolving like clouds around us. I say: «These are beings!!». I’m marveled! Now horses are running towards us, flowing around our heads, drawing of horses really: I see only the contour of their heads and manes, like an orange line, of fire maybe, like prehistoric horses on caves, on both sides of the road, like they are flowing in from the middle of the night sky over the road. Then, suddenly, the horses are in front of us: I see their bodies now, their galloping legs: they are moving through us. They have phosphorescent blue/violet eyes. I whisper: «They have phosphorecent eyes…». I’m wondering why he doesn’t say anything. Then I hear a sound, not a purring exactly, but a sound made by a cat. I wonder about that sound and then light pours in and all the wild horses in movement solidify into pale fragments of roman ceramics on the ground and I’m wide awake.

Cette histoire commence dans une échelle. Un rayon de soleil illumine l’espace d’une shed, au Québec, vers le milieu du XXe siècle. La petite fille dans l’échelle n’a pas encore trois ans. Elle est enchâssée dans le temps et voyage dans l’éternité, scribe intemporel du côté hiéroglyphe de ce qu’on appelle le réel. Elle tremble, un tremblement de fond qui secoue tout son être. Elle voit jusque dans les profondeurs indigo du Temps. Dans sa robe du dimanche et ses belles bottines blanches, la petite tremble. Il y a, en haut de l’échelle, une voix, une voix qui l’appelle. 

C’est la voix du réel. Une voix qui scellera son destin. Il était écrit qu’il y aurait cette échelle chromatique et ce tremblement des sens qui ferait d’elle une claireaudiente comme sa mère, sa grand-mère et son arrière-grand-mère avant elle. Il était écrit dans la Maison des Rêves des premières nations de ce territoire qu’elle entrerait un jour dans la Maison de Mica de la paix. 

Elle en ferait un jour un livre. Un livre-sphinx comme ce lion de feu tapi dans le désert, protégeant les cités souterraines d’humanités disparues. Elle raconterait des histoires comme elle se l’était promis petite quand il lui avait fallu rendre à la bibliothèque ces petites filles de l’arc-en-ciel qui lui allaient droit au coeur. Ah! pouvoir les suivre dans les passages secrets d’un château comme il n’y en avait que dans les livres quand on avait vu le jour à Saint-Augustin comté des Deux-Montagnes! Elle entendrait longtemps l’écho de leurs pas jusque dans le profondeurs de la Terre et dans les moraines de ses livres d’enfant comme dans les labyrinthes de ses cours de civilisations anciennes. 

Oui, elle écrirait des histoires. Maman lui avait donné, le jour de ses onze ans, un agenda avec sa pierre de naissance et un délicat fermoir doré qu’on pouvait verrouiller avec une clé minuscule en lui disant:«Tiens, tu vas pouvoir écrire tous tes secrets.»

Elle se retrouverait un jour à l’autre bout de la Terre, juchée sur un tréteau dressé pour une lecture de poésie en plein air, à chanter le son du Soi, tandis que le ciel rose se déploierait au-dessus d’une des plus grandes villes du monde. 

extrait de La rose des temps, roman

Photo by Vani (via Christian Feuillette)

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