Sixty Moons in India

By Yael Tijou

This story is a novel based on the life of a seer and what she experienced as a child perceiving things that no one around her understood and how she learned after living, studying, and teaching some years in India that it was actually all quite normal.

There are so many different ways of seeing and interpreting things. One seems to judge only too quickly, from one’s own rather limited and conditioned reality, instead of appreciating the positive and negative that lie in all things and thus learning and enjoying life much more integrally.

Mind expansion and positive expression are growing quickly in our day, and fortunately, there is much more understanding and acceptance of clairvoyance, intuition, and telepathy now as we move into the Aquarian Age than there was years ago, when the person in my story was born.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796027457

Book preview

Sixty Moons In India

Yael Tijou

Copyright © 2019 by Yael Tijou.

ISBN:      Softcover   978-1-7960-2743-3

                 eBook        978-1-7960-2745-7

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 Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 04/11/2019

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

795089

Contents

Yaël: A Little about the author

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Many

     Moons

           Ago

              I was told I should

                 Share this story.

        Maybe there are those of you who

           Attain a little clarity and insight

                 From reading it.

                       Maybe not.

           I will do my best for you,

                 Precious stranger.

              As the white doves soar high

                 In the blue sky, a gentle breeze

                    Whispers that it is time to begin.

                       If only one person of all those

                 Who may read this is brought a

                          Little closer to believing,

                                      I am happy.

                       Yours,

                             In Love,

                                   A Dreamer.

Yaël: A Little about the author

Some of her work consists of healing by using astrological data and understanding the meaning of colours and their intensity in the aura and using chieromancy - the science of the lines on the hand. She can understand certain important necessities of each individual and help them obtain or retain their own particular equilibrium. She has treated those with spiritual, physical and mental problems and also those who need a general reading or guidance according to their path and evolution. Yaël uses herbs, Bach Flower Essences, Dr. Scheussleur’s Mineral Salts and simple exercises with Pranayama, the science of breathing and Raja Yoga.

She studied and taught in Delhi, at a centre for the New Consciousness, founded by a Sufi Master, and had the good fortune to spend time with Krishnamurti. Others who influenced her life and work have been the great Sufi master, Hazrat Inayat Khan and The Dalai Lama who she met in the Himalayas, not to mention all the wonderful sages and gurus that she met in faraway places during her years of wanderings with her flute in mountainous and desert regions of India.

Yaël has been practising her work for the last 35 years, having started in Morocco after a strange sequence of events left her with no alternative. She decided to return to Europe and her path led to Ibiza where a small centre for the New Consciousness grew around her. After 11 years she moved to the mainland to live a more retired life in the mountains of Granada where the magnetic field is somewhat similar to the Himalayas, although on a miniature scale.

She spent time in India studying and meditating and endeavours to spend a lot of her life working to bring Good Health, Peace and Love to all those who have faith in the higher energies which flow through her. She also paints and enjoys music.

A note from the author:

Yaël Tijou is my name (given by my mother).

I am also known as Shanti Devananda due to initiation in India and my father, in England, calls me Rosemary Webb.

But it’s all me!

Chapter 1

They called me Joujou. It meant little toy. I was born in Kent, the Garden of England, and this life is supposedly my last reincarnation! I was told this by a master in India when I was 21 years old. (Sometimes I believe such a possibility and at other times I question it!) Life was to take me far from the family nest which was, on my Father’s side of Celtic origin, and on Mother’s side of mixed origin: Huguenots and French Russian Jews, most of whom were exterminated in the Second World War in France. My Mother escaped to England at the outbreak of World War II, though not before seeing some of the atrocities committed against her family. I believe it affected her greatly as she would never talk about it.

My Father’s family were frightfully British; although he smoked Russian cigars and drank Sauternes he was a typical English gentleman and reminded me rather of Sir Winston Churchill. He only went abroad twice to my knowledge: once when I had to be taken to the Alps in Switzerland because of asthma and once to Sweden to present his idea and design for safety belts in cars which were then a new innovation. He brought me back a beautiful, minutely carved statue of a deer, my favourite animal.

Mother was an extremely sensitive and delicate person, and almost, one might say, too good for this world. She was a very fine pianist too but suffered a lot, being so highly strung.

Father wrote endless theories, spouting out at all and sundry. He had a brilliant mind but a feverish desire to control all around him.

Sometimes, in quiet moments, I really imagine that I remember being born. Then there was the time, just after birth, before I was conscious of material reality. The time I call landing, as the newly born is still floating in its connections with the astral plain. In this period, before one can really focus on anything, I saw the suggestions of lights, auras, colours, forms and shadows. Another of my initial memories following my birth, were the teething pains! Lying in a cream coloured pram, underneath a rose tree in the front gardens of a charming old English country house, a clumsy hand tried to massage my gums but only made those burning pains worse. Why is birth connected with suffering when the world can be so beautiful? To make us treasure new life more? Why do we need a reminder?

Time passed. I landed! Then, unfortunately when I was three years old, I developed severe asthma. The climate in England was too cold and damp and I had the good fortune to be taken to the Alps in Switzerland. I was placed on a stretcher and carried into the aeroplane, father and mother hovering near.

I still have memories of strange, cold, mountain stations; discussions in father’s barely existent German, as he tried to make friendly people understand that we needed a heater, while we waited to go further up the mountain track in an old wooden train.

I spent months recovering, understanding friendship for the first time, playing in between the gnomes and elves in the alpine meadows which were full of yellow and purple crocuses, with two sweet Swiss children Pauli and Gretchen, breathing the pure mountain air and swinging high in the wooden swings, to the sound of the Alpine horn; sleeping in the large wooden chalet and watching the cows as the family brought them in from the green meadows, as I supped on fresh strawberries and cream. What a dream it all seemed after the strict, bleak life in England and perhaps this accounts for my love of the wildness and freedom of the mountains. They call me; I cannot be away from them for long!

One day I was taken for an excursion to a famous toy shop. There was a steep cobbled stone pathway, a large door with a big circular glass, and a bell rang as one opened the heavy antique door. We walked over the wooden floor, listening to all the assorted cuckoo clocks, my mind and heart absorbing the foreigness of it all.

Father and Mother bought a clock and then went into the next room which, on one side was filled with dolls dressed in traditional Swiss costume and on the other a great variety of teddy bears. I closed my eyes and saw them all come to life, running around in front of me, up and down slides and swinging on ropes! My imagination ran rampant! I chose one called Fritz. He was a soft golden bear to go with all the umpteen teddy bears I had at home in England and I dressed him in the typical Swiss lederhosen which I made myself.

At last my recovery was complete and I bade farewell to my little friends and boarded the plane reluctantly for London. The return to England was welcome to Mother and Father but my health began to deteriorate again and I experienced something which I was never to forget.

One cold wet day, dressed warmly, I was put into the black pushchair, hood up, to go shopping with Mother. I loved to hear the rain pattering on the hood as Mother walked along quickly. This was a special day for me, once a week, when we went out together. Arriving at the shop I was put into a trolley and pushed around as Mother purchased endless necessities. She enjoyed this weekly shopping day. The large store was crowded and the atmosphere was stifling. I could not contain myself and tried to tell Mother all I could see. Every person appeared to be a solid yet translucent form of light, colour and energy. Auras pervaded the whole atmosphere. I was overcome with this incredible rush of energy and ran outside for a breath of fresh air.

Mother ran out after me and caught hold of me as I tried to confide in her what I had seen but she could not or would not comprehend and told me not to be a little fibber, giving me a sharp smack on my cheek. What colours? Are you crazy? she said. Something deep down told me that this was to be my secret - that I could share it with no-one, not even with my own Mother!

Way back in my mind I saw corridors full of figures clad in white - I was being asked the aura of each person. It was as if, many lives ago I had undergone part of my training and initiation in ancient Egypt. The Ankh cross or the Key of Life, as it is sometimes known, appeared repeatedly to me as a small child when I closed my eyes before going to sleep at night, and various hieroglyphics too. I was not to realize their significance until years later when I was taken to the British Museum and there, in the Egyptology department, saw these symbols which had presented themselves to me from a far reaching past.

At the age of four I started my first school, The Thames Valley School of Music. On the first day they tried to bribe me with a juicy red apple to stay but on the second day I escaped! When my teacher Mrs. Dainty (who was actually rather fat and far from dainty) blocked the doorway I ran between her legs and out into freedom, speeding over the fields and then stopped by the lock to watch the water and the boats and recover my breath. I returned home naturally to be scolded by my nanny but I was sure of one thing, I loathed the shut-in feeling of the classroom with all the other children. The only thing which made it bearable was the singing which I loved. Then, in those early days, I began to realize the enormous relief to be derived from working with colour and form.

Time passed in a haze. At the age of seven a memorable visit came from a long lost uncle who had, years ago, gone abroad. He returned to England with a Phillipino wife and four children. I was greatly impressed by their natural beauty and my aunt gave me a pair of