The Oracle I - Here or There: The Oracle

By Joanna M. Pilatowicz

When your dreams creep into reality and insist they influence your reality, you may have no choice but to follow. Jasmin, a young Polish woman with no prospects for either love or consistent employment, is plagued by nightmares about a long-ago priestess, an Oracle, who, as a result of her search for immortality, is cursed. Jasmin's search for a brighter future takes her to the Netherlands, where she finds herself embroiled in a series of adventures and misadventures in both love and work, as well as opportunities for spiritual growth. Although she tries to ignore her dreams, she finds herself powerless against them and the woman who controls them.

 

Curses, past lives, dreams—Pilatowicz weaves fantasy and reality very convincingly. Her insight into the human psyche is brilliant. We wonder: is our life guided by free will or is it dictated by external forces beyond our control? An inspiring tale that will not disappoint. —Simone Z. Endrich, author and former political analyst

 

A captivating, well-written story about entangled realms of obscure ancient mysteries and the contemporary world - where dreams give a glimpse into the core structure of being. —Marcin Dolecki, author of Philosopher's Crystal

 

Joanna is honest artist who has a deep understanding of the spiritual world. She offers the readers a mysterious odyssey, articulating this in an imaginative fashion whilst keeping the reader intrigued. —Dr Marina Johnson, personal performance coach, UK

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joanna M. Pilatowicz
• Release date: Jun 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201733520

Joanna M. Pilatowicz

Joanna M. Pilatowicz is an adult's coach, dancer, dance teacher, choreographer, author, abstract painter, and recording artist. She has lived in Poland, The Netherlands and currently resides in Germany.  Her master thesis, "Expansion Through Dance," explored the concept of using dance as a healing media, positively influencing not only body, but mind and soul as well.  Life in the Netherlands inspired her to write her first short stories, in Polish language, hiding some of observed reality behind the veil of fantasy. As she says, "Passing the borders of reality, I would say I am entering the world of fantasy, dreamland, and paranormal; however it is all still connected to everyday life." "I was always drawn by what's invisible to a human eye. At the same time, probably from a desire to understand my own Self and motives more, I started to write diaries which unfolded in an unexpected way. So I just followed it." "The supernatural creatures in my books and paranormal aspects present there are my own ways of expressing my reality, linking non - fiction with a feeling world as well as adding some sort of higher force to it." "It is my own metaphor for different roles from our so-called subpersonalities that perhaps want to share their story with us, in order for us to grow, explore, experience or have a more fulfilling life. I do my best to follow these inner voices, giving them space and grabbing their message." For more information about Joanna and her passions, please visit: www.ifnotdance.com

Book preview

Prologue

The silhouette of a female figure in a dark long dress moved quickly through the dimly lit underground corridor. The glow of torches, spaced too far apart, barely illuminated the way. The gentle clicking sound of the bracelets and necklaces that the woman wore – apparently generously decorating her body – were easily heard.

All her ornaments were made of precious material. She hated most metals but found copper tolerable. She walked on resolutely, although the tunnel seemed to have no end. Sandals on her feet were adding to the comfort of this journey almost to the afterlife. She knew exactly where she was going – at least it seemed so. This time she was in a hurry, sensing a threat, lurking somewhere in the vicinity. It was not that surprising, many people didn’t like what was happening here. They didn’t know though what and where exactly was going on. They only heard stories.

Dealing with knowledge of all possible kinds and perhaps discovering too much, can be dangerous, even life-threatening. She was convinced, however, that being so good at this work protected her. There was no room in her head to even wonder whether she was doing well. The concept of morality was embarrassingly limiting. There were only possibilities, actions, and results. The fact was that some of the effects were quite frightening in their implications even for her, but they always gave space for improvement the next time. There were also goals, each worth reaching, using exactly as much effort as necessary for its achievement.

The woman began to run. Her intuition told her that the danger was coming. She had received much valuable information that she wanted to use and the risk of losing this precious knowledge was worse than the fear of dying. The need to reach the place of work was stronger than avoiding the loss of something as mundane as her body, a casual shell for the soul, even blocking many skills. Death was merely moving into another dimension, one way or another, and she interacted every day with many of them. That was where, among the other dimensions, it was possible to draw information. Some trips were dangerous and death was the lightest payment compared to other consequences that she could incur while traveling carelessly.

But she had been patiently learning for a long time, and was now certain of her actions; perhaps too sure. It seemed to her that she had gotten to know already – and completely –  everything worth knowing in the field of traps, those on a physical plane and in this non-material one. She had always managed to escape, to the fury of the creatures left behind, stealing what was needed to continue to work, and never, ever leaving a trace. The data, which caused her haste, was important. The last experiment did not end well. Genetic manipulation resulted in the conversion of a slave into something like a zombie. That was definitely not meant to happen. The body of the slave survived unscathed. However, his eyes became large, white, and appeared to be dead. It had been quite a frightening sight.

Not to mention what happened with the soul. She had to find it. How far had it managed to walk away? Was there a chance to bring him back? She really liked him. Tall, dark-skinned, handsome, and a very devoted man. She had to try, and she had to get there now because she finally knew what to do. And he trusted her and now waited for her help. Death at this moment would thwart her plans and prevent her further work, as well as the repair of the slave.

She maybe could ask for the assistance of a friend, the necromancer, she started to consider that unwanted thought when ...  

Something within her made her run faster ... As fast as she could ...

The absence of further burned torches stopped her. She realized she had just stepped into the darkness where panic was creeping in. This should be avoided. Danger stood before her in a human form.

Be damned! With a female’s voice, a dagger sank into the runner’s body. The first blow missed the heart, but it was enough to weaken the already compromised woman in black, who lost her balance. The second blow reached the heart and stopped any thought about having a chance if only she could see the attacker ...

She didn't make it.

Death approached fast. She was aware of dying and leaving her body. What remained was awareness and knowledge. The old woman bent over the body of the deceased.

Cursed forever, through many lifetimes you will suffer. The quiet whisper sounded powerful and unrelenting. You will talk, but no one will listen; they will laugh at you. On any road you choose, there will be obstacles you cannot overcome. Your abilities will disappear for many thousands of years, and you’ll have no friends, no love, nothing but mundane, hard existence. Maybe you will be desired, but no one will love you. You will finally be weak and see how it is to be as lonely as a human being can be. There will be no more prosperity for you. Unpleasant to any ear voice was gaining now more power. You will be in torment, but everything around you will look normal. And you will forget. You will lose almost all your knowledge and power. Your name will be erased from history, and no one in the books will ever mention you. You will be replaced by one of the highest priests. Ramses won’t comprehend what happened; he won’t even notice.

The soul knew that the curse would work. No one would ever know. Nobody would remove it. She hadn’t seen it coming. Many other things she also did not foresee. Now it was time to leave. But to where? A man who believes follows his gods. She didn’t trust the gods. She had a choice and therefore didn’t know where to go. For the first time, there was no goal, there was no clarity and no sense of action.

She did, however, perfectly know where not to go ...

Chapter 1 ~ A Too Realistic Nightmare & Holland Welcomes

Jasmin woke up almost screaming in the middle of the night, finding herself sitting in her small, comfortable, yet very narrow bed, tears running down her face. This nightmare seemed to be not only frightening but quite real. She always had strange dreams. She could divide them into two categories: symbolic but senseless, such as production of a protective shield from butter, and the real ones, which had been proven to happen the next day. That always caused a confusing feeling of deja vu, a strong conviction that it had already happened. She couldn’t remember some dreams until they were literally happening, or someone’s gesture triggered her memory that she had already experienced something similar the night before. She’d never planned to deal with dreams, having other things to do. In her opinion, she barely coped with reality, so there was no need to complicate everything even more with sleep hallucinations. She tried to be normal, whatever that meant.

The last nightmare was one of many that definitely violated the boundaries of normality provided for in the modern world, and it had felt extremely real. It was as if she was the woman in the dream, as if she, Jasmin was stabbed. Her own body was not strangely throbbing at the place where the dagger entered the dream body. She needed someone to talk to, but she usually dropped that idea immediately upon thinking it because what was there to reveal, except to bore someone with a horror story comparable to Freddy Kruger’s series of horrors? A blessing in disguise was to confide sometimes in Eusebius, who was regarded as a man deeply pious and endowed with the gift of healing. She had learned a lot from him, more from observations than conversations because he was not a very talkative fellow.

Strange experiences of paranormal phenomena, as some would call them, taught her prudence and respect for knowledge, which was not considered a science. But she tried not to give those issues more attention than she had to. The only environment that might welcome her with open arms was considered crazy, and she had heard different disparaging remarks about such groups from those who perceived themselves as normal. She did her own research on these esoteric societies and realized that rarely, or hardly ever, among these people existed the so-called concept of common sense. There was some logic, but it was a completely different one. So often she observed similar people, proud of their ability to perceive something more, lose touch with reality, choosing to orbit somewhere in their self-created fantasy world. While their mind was in heaven, their body remained on earth, giving the impression of passivity and a suspicion of schizophrenia. They claimed that they were not flesh and the body is not important. According to Jasmin’s thinking, there was an error somewhere, but it worked widely and well as an excellent manipulation of the crowd. Since so many people think the same way within one group, one cannot see any differently.

The natural human urge to adapt to new conditions did the rest of the job. She considered this as a collective psychosis of secret societies, though she could not deny that a lot of those unexplained things were happening to her. It was therefore interesting, but still, she kept a safe distance from any paranormal groups. The only thing that was left after these experiences with the unknown was a passion for symbols: Runes, she liked painting in her spare time.

Once, she had quite a lot of customers who bought her pictures at one of those special esoteric fairs. Selling wasn’t her idea. A friend persuaded her, recognizing that Jasmin had a talent. She, however, didn’t see that, barely believing in her own Self. That friend possessed a gift for conviction, and keen Jasmin agreed to the project. Unfortunately, misunderstandings made them part and the friendship faltered. Since then, Jasmin didn’t do anything more than decorating a room with images and symbols which, according to the esoteric traditions, were attracting everything that every human always tries to improve, gain or maintain: love, health, wealth. How trivial it sounded. Jasmin did wonder why she was painting these symbols. Something within her apparently motivated her to do so. From watercolor on paper, she eventually moved on to acrylic paints and worked on canvases. These changes, however, were slow and were happening in those moments when she was in a state of inner peace, the mood usually so unnatural for her. Her everyday personality she characterized as a certain nervousness, actively doing things until exhaustion. These states of calmness, experienced while painting, were a relief from the daily tension, not even noticeable anymore. By most of her friends, she was perceived as a perfect specimen of inner peace. She never contradicted that impression.

Although the night still reigned outside, she stood up and intended not to go back to bed. She had no desire to continue the repertoire of her own subconscious mind creating another portion of nightmares. She decided to kill time and continue her effort to learn English. For the special mood of the night and better effect, she lit a candle and sat close to the desk. Soon fatigue seized her, and her big blue eyes misted over, her eyelids began to fall heavily, and her head came dangerously close to the book. Another moment, and her nose would rest on the English textbook. Her ambitious plan would have to be postponed until the morning.

JASMIN HAD DREAMS TO fulfill, and quite a few wishes. Until now, almost all of them were marked with the label: unsatisfied. Their realization would need a big miracle, not to mention a huge effort on her part. Wonders were present in her life, but all were rather minor. There had been no great miracles, which ran counter to what she’d hoped. Instead, great toil, an effort for usually a long time, was followed by a poof of fate and appeared as a small miracle – extremely proud that it deigned to grace her with its presence, – or a big nothing entered her life, probably amazed at what it was doing there.

She was counting on something to correct her path and that the current of the river of life would pull her along. Everyone ends up somewhere. Unfortunately, her twenty-fifth birthday passed, the stream of existence flowed, and she had the impression that she was the only one left on the shore, amazed that others succeeded but she did not. Of course, there were some achievements, but somehow they seemed to be so far away from the top of the hill she had once planned to climb. Friends began careers and were increasing their earnings, while her activities in these areas were much more modest. As time went on, her lack of satisfaction only grew and caused more disappointment.

Her emotional life was also unstable, but interesting and sometimes on a grand scale, as confused as a mixture of storms with long periods of boring wind still. Experiences full of soaring flights were usually topped off with a painful fall. What was usually left, should be labeled: attention, a veteran of love after another flight, currently in a state of collapse.

Youthful infatuation passed away a long time ago. Besides, there weren’t so many and then romanticism gave way to realism. At the age of twenty-two, she’d decided it was time to choose a handsome, healthy object, as decency requires, and gain experience in the field of eroticism, moving with the progress of civilization, not to be left somewhere far behind again. The closer twenty-five came, however, the caution grew, other needs didn’t allow for randomness, and so resulted in loneliness. The loneliness became a faithful companion seemingly for centuries, perhaps even millennia. After all, she reminded herself periodically, man does not know himself totally; maybe that’s true with the concept of reincarnation. If yes, then a man barely knows what he forgot and if it was worth it.

Following that thought, it was easy to wonder: Is it possible that a course is indeed involved in this? She thought for a moment before she fell asleep, coming back to a so well-remembered dream. Maybe it was me in that dream. Can the transmigration of souls and rebirth actually make sense?

The night is a magical time. It’s easier then, to have faith in almost anything. It is only the morning’s light that a man dares to scoff at night terrors.

THE HOT SUMMER IN WARSAW had just started and Jasmin had just finished another season of working as a dance teacher. People, like the weather, were slowing down, although the busy city almost never allowed that. This was a vacation time for many, a relaxing time for some working businessmen on weekends, but it was nothing like that for a twenty-five-year-old woman. She was sitting close to her desk in the small room of her parents’ apartment, unable to move, overwhelmed by thoughts that were taking up most of her energy.

Compulsively, she started to write in her diary, trying to capture the fog of sentences in her mind ...

I feel so old, done, and tired. I recently obtained my Master’s Degree at one of the best universities in Poland, I have other skills as a dancer, I have this little job so I can teach but I don’t see any positive perspectives for my future here. Nothing! I had to move back to my parents’ cause I could hardly manage on my own, so I need to save some money. But for what? This won’t buy me even the smallest, depressing apartment in the city.

The phone rang, but she wasn’t in a hurry to pick it up. Somehow, reaching for the buzzing object was an enormous effort.

Hello? She eventually answered.

Hey, what’s going on? Konstancja, her aunt, had a cheerful voice. We have got a contract here for another four years! So, when are you coming to the Netherlands?

Oh, I’m actually free, Jasmin said as if surprised by her own voice.

Pack yourself and come! Konstancja didn’t allow her to think too long. We have three floors; all upstairs is free.

You know, it is not a bad idea at all. Jasmin couldn’t believe her own words flowing out of her mouth as if beyond her control.

The decision was made, and three days later she was sitting on the bus not knowing how long and exhausting a trip it would be, almost twenty-four hours. Her family picked her up from the central station of The Hague and they all continued to the small city of Rijnsburg. Jasmin was planning to rest, get some sun, and – eventually –  find a job.

You’re welcome as long as we’re here. You can find a job and maybe you will stay.

Konstancja’s family lived in a three-story, typical Dutch house with huge windows that would have served well for window-shopping displays. The first thing Jasmin wanted was the sea. The whole family willingly consented, and soon she was running on the beach with five-year-old cousin Bernadette, feeling a sense of happiness and madness. They differ only in one aspect: Jasmin didn’t wallow in the wet sand like Bernadette. She wanted to but refrained. She suspected that type of behavior from a young woman of her age wasn’t appropriate.

That night, she fell asleep almost immediately. New experiences, awakening hopes for something good, and waiting for the adventure had drained her.  She needed to rest. But her dreams had other plans ...

She sat in the church, which felt overwhelming, not so much because of its size but rather its grim atmosphere. Something very wrong lurked there, but the crowd of people around seemed not to notice. Prayer was muted and without conviction and the faces of many were grotesque and empty. Their dead eyes had no luster, like zombies walking on the orders of someone and executing someone else’s command. This is scary, Jasmin thought, and all of this is in a temple called the House of God.

People got up, knelt, walked, and all their movements were monotonous, heavy, and passive. They looked at someone standing behind where Jasmin was sitting, slightly concealed in the aisle of the church. She could feel the evil emanating from there. She knew she should not turn around because whatever had happened to the others would happen to her. How she got there, she didn’t know, she only sensed imminent danger behind her. Moments later, she felt his attention turned to her. The threat was reaching its climax in Jasmin’s consciousness. The tension was increasing. He watched her, and she stubbornly stared at the floor right at her feet.

I must not look at him,  she kept repeating in her mind.

And whom do we have here? He finally asked. We know each other well, don’t we? You’re only human,  he spoke with contempt.

She knew she had to flee the church and began slowly backing away. Up the stairs. Up the stairs. She repeated the thought stubbornly.

He didn’t like that she’d figured out how to block his control with her thoughts.