Ado and the Dawn’S Awakening: The Sacred Chalice and the Dawn’S Awakening

By Maria das Graças Rafael Pereira

The book tells the story of the search for the sacred chalice of the holy Mass, the one being disputed by international gangs with sordid goals. It is also the realization of the internal me and the search and encounter of ones self in the figure of Christ represented in the Last Suppers wine. The Holy Grail, which is longed for by medieval knights, has been sought for centuries and never found, but in the end, it lies inside each one of us in the gathering with the Creator.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524502102

Maria das Graças Rafael Pereira

Maria das Graças Rafael Pereira is a graduate of history, theatrical arts and music, lyrical singing, and visual arts. She has great love for literature and is a poet and writer of theatrical plays, poems, short stories, and literatures. She was born in Cataguases, Minas Gerais, Brazil, and currently lives in São Paulo, Brazil.

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Copyright © 2016 by Maria das Graças Rafael Pereira.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 06/22/2016

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Contents

Presentation

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1 An angel’s visit

Chapter 2 Looking for shelter in town

Chapter 3 Improving the self

Chapter 4 Building more intimate relationships

Chapter 5 Facing the evidences

Chapter 6 Visiting the old world… In the loneliness of the monastery

Chapter 7 The daily unfolding of the plot

Chapter 8 In the loneliness of the monastery

Chapter 9 Living each day with its evil

Chapter 10 Ancient Greece, the cradle of civilization

Chapter 11 Visiting the holy land

Chapter 12 The everyday chores

Presentation

The work I now offer the reader is, as many others, a fiction work. The characters entangled in this plot, except for the narrator – this humble writer who addresses you – are fruit of her own imagination.

Making use of words, with which I have been in love since I was a girl, at the youngest age, still in my first years of schooling, we were asked to write genuine pages of children’s literature. This exercise followed me throughout my whole student life, and the love of books, much as the search for knowledge, has been present in my life up to today.

God has gifted me with several talents, and the skill to tell stories, write poems and short stories is largely multiplied by me. The readers might question the long period that went by between the beginning of this story and its resumption later on. I confess that I went through a period of creative dryness. It was a dark period in which I dove into my spirit without knowing when it would be possible to return to the light. Maybe I have also tasted from The Dark Soul of the Night, as presented to us in the most beautiful verses I have ever read, from my dear Christian poet Saint John of the Cross. To me, this writer is a gift from the heavens, and his words reach the deepest core of my being.

It was then that one day, almost by chance, this text that had been archived not only in my small library, but also in some part of my brain, appeared in my hands. I took it and started to read it, resuming the moments I had then described. I felt I could continue to weave a plot that would end up transforming many conflicted hearts.

I counted on the fraternal support of several friends. They bet on me and waited in silence for the outcome of it all. Now it is time to celebrate, and I want to share this joy with everyone who believed in my possibilities and hoped for the final success.

The work is finished and solved in my mind. I enjoy great happiness, and the certainty of divine support, which is central in my life.

The Author

Dedication

To my parents, Sebastião Raphael Pereira and Liciéria Luiz Pereira (in memorian).

Acknowledgements

To the angels who follow me in this journey.

A special thanks to João Humberto Vanin, psychotherapist and hypnologist who, with care, dedication and kindness, helped me in this endeavor, being present whenever requested, promoting splits and sutures at the exact moments when a surgery of the soul was needed, fathoming and promoting the psyche’s ties; and to God, greater and real reason of my existence.

And they, silent and faithful companions, deposit secrets.

Because we all helped hammering the nails that tore apart his naked flesh. Because we all drank that precious blood. We waited for it as if it was the best of liqueurs, the saving balm for our souls. We were all accomplices at the end.

If the voices are silenced.

And they, silent and faithful companions, keep secrets that not even time can reveal. I speak now to the stones, these faithful companions. I would like to speak to the fish because I know that, like the stones, they are depositaries of the deepest secrets, in the deep labyrinth of waters. They don’t speak; they only listen to what we and the universe, in a burning desire, like something expanding many times in a genuine catharsis, murmur in confession the most intimate secrets.

They ask for nothing. They only allow themselves to be sucked, like the mother who offers her breast to her children. The stones – some bigger other smaller, with the most varied shapes, colors and types – know all of humankind’s secrets. They passively listen to everyone, carrying the weight of man’s conflicts and nonsense.

And now I was also there, in my deathly silence, surrounded by them without even knowing what was happening around or beyond, until my soul dared to ask what was the reason for all that. I knew that questions would come, but that the answers, at first, shouldn’t be searched for.

Waiting was necessary, waiting in the silence of the soul. It was necessary to learn with them, in the game of seduction, that it can’t be explained: one can only get inebriated and give oneself with body and soul.

November 1997. It is spring and the sun, as the king of stars, loses its shyness and shines each time brighter, spreading its light and intoxicating the universe in an ego explosion. The birds sing happily and the trees, their eternal spouses or mothers, lend them their bosoms so that, like children in an unconscious dance or in a happy celebration, they can nest and also fill the space with their merry chirps. I wonder if it is not the "el niño" that has caused these weather alterations, making this particular season a bit warmer than usual.

There I am, listening to the birds’ twitter and smelling the green, when all of a sudden one of them – yes, its simple presence – raises a world, a turmoil of not hidden but appeased sensations, that growing lead me to want to get out in an enormous dance, as if it were a mandala drawn point by point, line by line, in a continuous and sometimes recurrent circle, until, by exhausting itself, takes me to new dimensions.

I feel the wind’s gentle blow on my body. Inexpressible whispers and there I go, taken by the divine spirit of passed times, traveling through my childhood. It was so good to be a child – and I feel that it still is, because times have changed. I realize that time has always changed, even though the clock’s pointer, like a dictator, is the one that leads us in the path of illusion. We think we are happy. We think this is life, something palpable, set hours. And