It is the eve of St. Catherine’s feast, the 24th of November 1984.
Nine years after my mother Katina entered the hospital, succumbing to
a massive coronary heart attack, I have a strange dream:
I am at the end of an unexpected trip, in an unknown place. I stand in the white
marble hall of a temple. There are no windows, just a stream of soft iridescent
light which pours from nowhere and embraces everything. The hall reminds me of
a Turkish hamam, only without running waters or hot steam. As if it were a dry
cleansing bath of light! … Or a “baptism” of light… Around
me are people of all ages, wearing sparkling, white, toga-like robes.
I detect, at the back, a half-open thick metal door. Someone signals me by hand,
invites me to come close. I advance, stride through the gate, and go down a few
marble steps, to a passage-way inundated in a soft filtered light and adorned
with flowers. At the end of the corridor I see another door.
As I approach, the heavy door opens by itself. Suddenly I am engulfed in a blinding
light! When my eyes adjust to the brilliance, I see, in front of me, a fairy
landscape: green mountainsides, lush woodlands, sweet-scented flower-carpeted
hills, waterfalls that tumble in an hypnotic rhythm, glinting brooks, and, far
away, a long broad river that shimmers under the sun as it laps at misty, fading
shores.
No houses, huts or buildings anywhere. Only people—people of all ages:
men and women, young and old; young girls and teenage boys; children large and
small. Alone, or in small groups, they walk, talk, perform various activities.
All are smiling; all appear happy. I hear laughter, some of it loud. Children
dance in circles. Young boys and girls run after each other with shouts of joy.
Others bring baskets full of fragrant flowers or luscious fruits to dress the
tables for a country feast. Clay pitchers are filled with fresh water…
Suddenly, my mother is by my side! She is young, beautiful, happy—very
happy! Her lips part in a bright smile, and her black eyes twinkle from an unspeakable
joy and inner peace. Her whole being is vibrating with an indescribable beauty… She
embraces me with that tender gaze that was so much a part of her. She finally
speaks in a low, soft, soothing voice: “You see? We are all blissful and
carefree, here! Are you relieved now?”
I whisper, in wonder, “But then, life continues?”
“
Yes, Life continues!”
I look around. “It is so beautiful! Why do they forbid us to come?”
“
Nobody forbids you to come. The door is always open. However, one has to be ready
to be able to step in. And once one is in, there is no going back. In reality,
there is nothing to stop us from going back. But we know well that we should
not.
“
And why not?”
“
That would disturb the order of things! Everything has its time. And only those
who are ready can come here. That is why we don’t communicate with your
world.”
“
And me?”
“
You must go back. You are not ready yet. You will return here later…”
As we talked, we had retraced our steps back. I again stand at the threshold
of the flowered corridor. I step through. My mother stays on the other side,
below the blinding light.
I force myself to walk towards the white marble hall—the temple, perhaps,
of spiritual catharsis.
I wake up with a feeling of indescribable peace.
Was it only a dream? Or a message from the hereafter?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Erato Sahapoglu is a Canadian of Greek Origin, born in Istanbul, Turkey. She lives in Brossard, Quebec, with her engineer husband. This is Erato’s fourth appearance as a contributor to Spinetingler Magazine. Her story, Melek, is also included in our print anthology.
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