Mother of Montsegur

By Gaye Wilson-Smart

Can the past ever be healed? Can the Great Mother of the ancient past ever be fully revealed?
Seven Priestesses have an ancient karmic debt to heal which will take them through various guise and relationship, either within their previous Cathar lifetime, at Montsegur, or else in worship of the Mother Goddess at Avebury. By travelling through Mother Goddess Portals, at both Avebury and Montsegur, the truth of the Church of Mary and John, (sometimes known as the Cathars) from twelfth and thirteenth century France, has to be revealed.
These spiritual people followed in the path of the Holy Mother which ultimately took them beyond their fear of death through the flames of Montsegur.
IN THE PRESENT: Penny re encounters Phil ~ a man from her past ~ in a state of ill health and once he has half recovered she persuades him to go with her to a psychic to unravel their relationship from the past. The psychic takes them back to their lives in the thirteenth century, as Gilbert and Cretha, who follow the teaching of the Church of Mary and John.
Mattie and Jo meet at the centre for abused women and form a strong friendship which takes them on a holiday leading through Rennes Le Chateau ~ a place which reveres Mary Magdalene ~ and on ultimately to Montsegur where they find themselves experiencing the Goddess Portal. As they pass through they find themselves back to their previous Cathar lives as Simone and Isobel.
Janey is a famous singer who takes a holiday, close to Montsegur, and is also drawn through the time Portal to find herself amongst the Cathars, as Melisande, the one person above all others who has to escape from Montsegur for, as she is soon to learn, she is a descendent of a sacred bloodline going all the way back to Mary Magdalene.
Kash and Senta are struggling through their present day lives and find their way down to Avebury. Here they move through the standing stone gateway through a different Mother Goddess Portal. In the past they arrive at the `passing over of the dead` ceremony, in Avebury, in the ancient past in reverence to the Mother Goddess. Here Kash becomes Istafa and Senta returns to be Feriangeles, the High Priestess who leads the ceremony.
IN THEIR PAST LIVES a great learning evolves of the teachings of those who comprised the Cathar Church of Mary and John. For this belief all were due to die at the hands of the Inquisition, in the fires of Montsegur. Now the ultimate secrets of the true faith are gradually revealed through the core belief in the Holy Mother Divine. The truth of how Mary of Magdolum began this teaching, in the first century, following her encounter with John the Baptist emerges together with the discovery of the sacred essence used by John in his baptisms. The Knights Templar also appear as we explore their own sacred belief in the Baptist with their reverence to Baphomet.
But the great secrets, precious objects and Melisande must escape from the castle of Montsegur. Gilbert de Bonnet, Cretha and Isobel will accompany her on her journey as they lower themselves down the castle walls to ultimately flee through the forest.
Once more they have to enter the Goddess portal only this time in reverse to arrive through time in the present day although still in Montsegur. At the same time Istafa and Feriangeles enter the portal at Avebury which enables all six to arrive together in present day Montsegur. Yet Simone has been left behind although her presence is crucial to re-form the sacred circle once again of the seven former Priestesses.
Once they do re-connect in the name of the Holy Mother Goddess, lessons of love, forgiveness and belief are finally learned to release the karmic debt for ever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gaye Wilson-Smart
• Release date: Jun 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310945663

Gaye Wilson-Smart

a magical author who delves into the worlds of ancient history, science and cosmic wisdom to provide answers to the everyday problems of life such as: what happens on the other side of life? and how do we make life fair?

Book preview

Seven Priestesses of the Great Goddess Astarte are seated in the cave of Her temple, placed in the shape of a fractured ring

Their breath is held, pupils dilated in fear and all the while fearsome screaming reaches down to them. The Bull Warrior paces above as he guards their only route of escape.

`Recant and be free you foolish women. Cast off your abysmal belief in your Mother Goddess for She does not exist. Nor do you have the many lives of your belief. The Great Bull God Misma dictates after death merely oblivion awaits.

`Come out now, recant and I will set you free.`

Dark unfeeling stone surrounds, the flame now stilled.

There may be oracle pits, circular chambers, triathlon pillars, but there is no other route of escape.

Mythology tells of how a large Goddess, suckling her young daughter, built Ggantija in one day, one night. Indeed the two temples of Ghantija show the shape of a Goddess and her daughter in their cloverleaf trefoil floor plan.

The temple as a whole represents head arms and legs of the deity, Astarte, who was said to have fallen from the stars to earth.

Now seven priestesses: Magda, Cressine, Sorma, Dami, Leoni, Samil and Klee have finally made their decision. They have been trapped in this cave for three days and nights and are growing weak.

They fear what they have to do yet not one of them would ever agree to submit to the God of war. Better by far to die in the arms of the Great Mother and return to Her realm to prepare for the next incarnation than to allow the warrior above to oversee their slow death. At a nod from Magda the action is taken, flints stab, blood flows and this current life has to end.

PART II

2: Penny and Phil, Present Day London

I`m out shopping, facing the crowds, regretting every step of the way since I always hate that overwhelming feeling of too many people around, interfering with my energy from the outside in. I`ve been told I`m clairsentient or an empath which means I can`t take other peoples` energy en masse.

The pounding rain is not helping. My car`s not working and I`m rushing to get to the bus stop, pushing my way through the crowds, briefly noticing rain splattered coloured reflections sweeping the pavement, echoing light from the shops. Yet the rain is constant and unremittent, determined to soak me through my thin raincoat, washing down my face, bedraggling my hair.

The umbrella has given up, waves about vaguely trailing from my hand, my mind`s intent on catching my bus, I`m hardly aware of anything else. Conscious mind control takes over, forces me to break into a semi run which I didn`t want to do any more.

`Penny, Penny...!` I don`t consciously hear my name called in amongst the hubbub of taxi hooting, people chattering, cars and lorries trawling their way in a stop start parody of how driving ought to be.

Besides I`m nearly at the bus stop and concentrating on experiencing a wave of relief that I might catch my bus and get out of this drearily soaking rain. `Penny, please, please.....`

This time my peripheral awareness forces me to pay attention to something familiar just beyond reach. His voice does strike a chord somewhere inside, a trace of memory, familiar recognition of this voice but not with this anguish.

I stop so suddenly the man behind careers into me, hitting my head with his umbrella spokes, tangling my hair still further, this feels like a physical assault. `Hey watch out, what are you doing you stupid woman,` he uses aggression as a form of defence but after all it was my fault.

`Oh I`m so sorry,` in the old familiar way I take all the blame as I always do though he must have been following me too closely, `I just thought I heard someone calling me.`

I have to be free from this man`s fierce energy, to turn away, to reach out to the source of that voice. `Well you should watch where you`re going, someone could have been hurt,` he`s still trying to dominate my attention but I need, have to pull away immediately. Anyway I was hurt, that umbrella spoke dug into my head though I`m not aware of anything except this voice.

`Yes right,` I pull out of the man`s line of direction, go against the on rushing crowd, peering through the gathering gloom and rain battered air to find there is a huddled shape in a doorway, could the voice have been coming from there?

It is, he is, it`s him, this is the familiar shape and form of my beloved Phil, a presence in my life from so long ago. Phil huddles beneath an incompetently sheltering coat which still allows him to be rain lashed, trapped in nature`s veil.

`Phil, Phil what in hell`s name has happened to you?`

I`m bending down, reaching out to try to find any trace of that man I once knew. Where are those kindly benevolent eyes once having shared deeply loving looks with me?

The rain trails disconsolately but fails to hide the deep bags of exhaustion and ill health which shroud those eyes. I am overwhelmed by this sense of him being battered and abused by life which has left deep scars in his energy.

This was once a man so hopeful, so upbeat and positive about life, determined, loving, compassionate and oh so kind. `I was never more glad to see anyone in my life than you, Penny, bless you for stopping.` But his voice is tortured, no more of those stirring tones, now he can hardly speak at all.

`What is it? Are you ill?` My thoughts run scared at the sight and sound of him. He could be dying, life holding by a thread and my husband only recently exited life.

There it is, that oblique sadness reflecting across his shadowed eyes. `Yes I`m afraid I`m not too good,` ever the man of understatement, `perhaps you`d better leave me here?`

How could I? You wouldn`t do that to a dog or a cat far less a man you once loved although I do realise that if I involve myself in any way with him then this is bound to bring some sort of pain given the state he`s in. `Don`t be stupid, can I get you home? We`ll get a taxi, I`ll take you back.`

Even speaking the words brings the realisation that he doesn`t have anywhere to go back to. I can feel the heavy sense of dread my words lay on him and I can almost touch his total feeling of embarrassment at what he has to say next.

That fleeting spasm of hope which spun through him on seeing me again now so quickly dowsed and the light`s gone out. `I don`t have anywhere to be, no home, nothing.`

Agony crests his words and he feels great pain both mentally and physically. Yet Phil feels so desperate what can he do despite being reminded over and again about how aeons ago I ran away from a relationship with him and went off and married someone else.

He never understood, loved me so much, has probably never recovered from the hurt involved in being with me but right now he`s not in a position to choose. `Don`t worry though.`

`Of course I worry and you are coming home with me.`

`I don`t want to be a nuisance.` He`s lived his whole life behind the mask of pride though it`s done him no favours. Yet how can he now beg charity from me of all people? His voice though, it turns my heart.

`Oh Phil you could never be a nuisance, that`s it then can you get up, can I help and we`ll get a taxi?

Every movement so painful, his cough frighteningly fierce and hacking, restricting his chest and preventing him from being able to take in easy natural breaths.

I`m reaching down to help pull him up by the arm but even so the whole procedure is one of acute effort on both our parts, his more than mine. Pain strums through his chest and he can hardly breathe, the pain throbs through his legs, even his head. He`s so clogged up inside, knows he probably has bronchial pneumonia and just feels so ill he`s not sure he will make it to anywhere.

`I`m so sorry about this Penny and your husband won`t like it if you turn up with me.` Should he have said that? He`s too weak to know what he`s saying right now, feels too ill.

I still feel the sadness. `No, there`s no husband any more, Phil. There was, but he died.`

He hears, echoes my sorrow, tries to keep his own heart protected from the threatening jealousy towards that one lucky man who was married to me. Why wasn`t it him? But no, he can`t allow his thoughts to go that way. So much went wrong, he has struggled through such anguished relationships.

`Oh forgive me, Penne, now I`m just adding to your pain,` although just looking at him, seeing and feeling the state he`s in is already doing that more than he knows.

`Come on, let`s go home,` he finally relents and leans on me so heavily I`m taking most of his weight which isn`t doing my back any good. But I have to move him out nearer to the edge of the pavement where we stand helplessly, two bedraggled bundles of confused emotions. Taxis flash by, each one occupied, so many impersonal lights in the rain determined to reject us just when we really need help.

I`m despairing, traffic whirls, rain lashes and he`s so heavy I`m swaying with the weight of him forcibly pushing me down into the pavement. We wait for seeming hours whilst he coughs from deep in his chest which sounds like a gurgling confused mass of blocked up energy. Eventually one lone taxi driver sees my hand hanging in the air, and pulls up at the kerb.

I`ve never been more grateful and Phil even manages to climb into the cab himself without too much pushing.

Finally we can sit back wetly exhausted and talk.

`Oh I`m so glad to see you again, Penny, you were the last person on earth I could ever imagine as having come to my rescue. ` Every part of him reaches out to me.

`You shouldn`t need rescuing, you silly old thing. What on earth have you been doing with yourself and why were you sitting in a doorway in the pouring rain, in a state?`

His eyes are shadowed, heavy lidded, weary, trying to summon up some kind of energy which is clearly beyond him. In fact it`s the dread of having to admit just why and how he has ended up like this which tightens his chest still more, making breathing so difficult, almost beyond him.

A wealth of emotion colours his vision, torturing the look he tries to share with me. `I`m afraid I...` the coughing takes over, breathing grows more ragged still, forcing the taxi driver to call over his shoulder. `Is he all right? Should I be taking you to the hospital?` He shouts over the rattling of the glass dividing us from him.

`Should we, Phil? He`s right you sound so bad, we`d better take you to the hospital which isn`t far from here.`

But Phil immediately clutches my wrist. `No, Penne, no please no. I`ll never come out of the place again!`

The terror and urgency hold on to me and I know I can`t do this to him, I`ve let him down enough before. `Okay then, no driver could we just go to the address I gave you please?`

Looking at Phil he is now suddenly fast asleep.

3: Past Separation

We struggle in, shuffling like a pair of old timers, Phil has to wake up but only through layers of reluctance. I feel every inch of the effort he has to make even to be helped through the door and up the suddenly steep seeming stairs.

Fortunately the spare bed is made up with clean sheets so now I can help him peel off the outer layers of wetness and uselessly unprotective clothing. Leaving him propped against the chair, I scrabble around in the wardrobe and do come up with an old dressing gown of someone or other`s which we manage to wrap around him.

Then it`s a case of helping him climb into bed, turning up the heating and trying to ignore the worry about his pale tortured face. `I`ll get you a hot drink and some food, hungry?`

`Mmm, just a bit,` he`s battling between his pride and his exhaustion, Phil just wants to fall into endless sleep but has to be aware of his body`s needs.

`Right no questions tonight, I`ll get the doctor out tomorrow for some antibiotics. We can talk later.` I do need to know what`s happened to him but have to be practical and helpful and yet by the time I get back upstairs with an egg on toast and a steaming drink he is fast asleep again.

Leaving both on the bedside table as I can`t wake him.

That night is bound to be infinite and long with my having to hear his tortured coughing echoing through the wall adjoining my bedroom, each cough demanding I should go in and check on him but equally telling me not to disturb him.

But I do, of course I do, and each time find him asleep, brow furrowed, coughing his way through that deep and troubled sleep.

Probably no less troubled than mine, though. It was me, the guilt still strides through me because I`m bound to have to know inside that it has all been my fault. I was the one who abandoned him all those years ago. Why? Why? I loved him, knew I loved him yet there was always something inside, some deep indefinable part of me which refused to allow me to relax into a relationship with Phil. Every time I`d found myself melting into the cosy warmth of him, something had always told me, some inexplicable inner voice had always told me not to trust this loving kind understanding gentle man. What was wrong with me? Why had I been that way?

He does appear to be slightly improved by morning though his face is tinged in grey with his chest heaving every time he takes a breath. I`ve already called the doctor and they will come though he doesn`t want them..

`Hello you,` I whisper as I put my head round the door, feeling this patient must be treated gently.

He is so grateful, great waves of thankfulness and relief build in him. ` It is you, Penne? I haven`t dreamt all this then?` His voice growls huskily from the damage coughing has caused to his throat and every word is loaded with the emotion of years of pain and lack.

I almost want to melt into the emotion I hear but try to be practical, rush over to the edge of the bed and sweep the curtains aside to see his face more clearly.

`Yes, it`s me and I`m not a dream, I`m flesh and blood. Let me prove it to you,` I lean over the bed and reach out to stroke his face to reach through all the matted dark hair.

`We`ll get all this hair off your face as soon as we can, and see that gorgeous profile again, Phil. Maybe I shouldn`t ever have left you to fend for yourself in life, look at what a mess you`ve made of it,` but I immediately regret my words.

`I wish you hadn`t, too,` he wants to cry, what`s going on with him, why can`t he pull his emotions back into shape? He feels so out of control, overcome, overwhelmed, `if only you`d always held on to me and never let go, then it might have been all right.` He really does believe this.

His words cut through me, lifting the guilt again inside me. `Phil, I......` I try but he presses his finger to my lips.

`No, don`t say anything, not now, it`s just so incredible to see you again ~ to watch the glow of your face and to see how beautiful you are, still ~ not like when I`ve seen your face surrounded by flames.`

His words cut directly straight through my own most recent dream. `Flames ~ what flames?` Something inside constricts with the memory, shadows leap out at me.

`Oh don`t take any notice, it`s the drugs they gave me,` he says, dismissively, no longer sure of himself in any way.

`What drugs and who gives them to you?` I have to know more.

`The hospitals ~ that`s partly why I don`t want to go back. I seem to keep ending up being given cortisone. Maybe this is what gives me the bad dreams, more like visions.`

`Your face,` he says so softly, his words grazing whilst caressing as the memory crushes its way through him again, `was always involved in them. I`ve seen your face, over and again in dreams, every time there are these flames behind you.`

Each time I just need to reach out and save you from those flames, but I never manage to save you.........never quite get there but to meet up with you again is just unbelievable!`

His voice caves under the weight of memories and emotion pounding him.

`But that`s...so odd, it`s almost exactly what I`ve been seeing in my dreams, recently. Not you, I`ve never seen you in my dreams but I have seen the flames and sensed the horror of being burned alive. It`s all been so real, almost tangible, hanging on to me when I wake up, suffocating me, the smoke has been choking me.`

`Oh I`m so relieved that you`re all right, not burned,` he`s gently stroking the skin on my arm, filled with this sense of relief which partly takes the pressure off his chest just for an instant. `You really are the answer to my prayer.`

And this must have been my prayer, too, as it feels so right to be with him again.

He wants, yearns to tell me how much he`s always loved me but hardly dares utter the words, couldn`t cope with another rebuff, though there`s this feeling inside that he might not have long, time could be short, is this the time to tell me? Something holds him back.

Suddenly, despite his ill health and lack of breath I don`t care, I just have to reach over and pull him towards me, needing to kiss him, feeling the familiar warm touch of his lips again........it`s been so long!

Though such a kiss can`t last! Too soon he just has to struggle to free himself, needing to pull the air back into his lungs again and yet, once the coughing has finished, the first faint tremblings of gratitude`s smile erupt from his face.

`Thank you,` is all he can manage to say through words which hold such an intense air of vulnerability.

`For what?` I`m surprised.

`Oh I`ve wanted to kiss you from the first moment I saw you again, yesterday, but didn`t have enough lung capacity!`

`Well you didn`t!` As I laugh he tries to laugh with me which only sets him off again, creasing into a coughing fit.

When he`s quietened down, and the atmosphere tries to adjust, I reach out and clutch his hand, loving the feel of him and trying to fight the regrets of the past which now tell me to never let go of that hand again. `I do think it`s important about us having the same dream though Phil. We need to know why?`

`Oh my Penne, you always have to know why about everything, don`t you?` He reaches out to trace the contours of my cheeks and chin. `This is such an attractive