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Aw akening to the Call
Grave Distractions Publications Nashville, Tennessee www.gravedistractions.com ©2012 Gloria Amendola
This is the only authorized edition of this book. All worldwide rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission from the publisher or author. Author takes full responsibility for all the content held within this text. Although there are literary references held within this text, the story and characters are fictional. Any similarities between those characters/situations and real persons/situations is purely coincidence. Cataloging-In-Publication Data Amendola, Gloria The Tower and the Dream: Awakening to the Call ISBN: 978-0-9855991-2-6 1. Fiction 2 Occult Cover Art: Matthew Giorgio Internal Layout: Brian Kannard, Grave Distractions Publications
For more information about this title, visit this title’s book page at: http://www.gravedistractions.com/the-tower-and-the-dream.php
From within the cloak of conspiracy, I emerged onto this earth. I was born in Roswell, New Mexico and grew up during the JFK assassination, the assassination of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy. I experienced Watergate and the Vietnam War, the murder of John Lennon and the horrific tragedy of September 11, 2001. These and other trigger points made me look deeper into the collective drama that was unfolding before me and see a bigger picture. And the picture wasn’t pretty. Truth found me at a very young age and knocked on my door. When the grail cup appeared to me, it appeared for a very specific reason. I just had to figure out what it was. I have spent my entire life seeking evidence of the truth in the material world. Yet I have found an even more powerful truth deep within my own physical being. It’s been a search filled with excitement and adventure, frustration, doubt and disappointment. I’ve had to adjust my thinking and unconscious beliefs that began with my family of origin. At the same time, I found myself challenged to find a way to maintain those very relationships with the people I love. For if I couldn’t embrace love then the truth would be meaningless to me. Truth in all its guises has inched me closer to my purpose; it has revealed a deeper understanding of new possibilities for my soul’s origin. It has nudged me to decode the signs along the way, as I click my heels like Dorothy and make my way back home… But how do we remember what we are capable of – when there have always been those projecting fear and misinformation upon us? Who strive to medicate us into forgetting our true nature, and manipulate life on earth for their own benefit and profit?
Thankfully there have always been the guardians of the grail. Throughout the ages they risked their lives to seal the secrets, and wait it out, so at just the right time, they could reveal them accordingly. Thank God – a god that knows no gender – for the brave souls who fiercely protected this evidence amidst the train wreck of our collective world history. So what does this have to do with awakening to the call? And what of the ancient voices that dare to speak to us again, especially the extraordinary voice of the Magdalene at this time? Could her reflection be an ancient gateway to the Great Cosmic Mother? As this Mary ra diates light upon our darkness, I recall the exact moment that she appeared to me. It was in the year 2000, a year bearing the Roman numerals MM. When I walked through that doorway in time and into the matrix of these wisdom teachings, Mary became the chalice that enticed me to drink from her cup. Thought I had already made the journey to Oz – to find the strength that was inside me all along. But I was about to find out just how much further there was to go… Mary Magdalene’s story is another hidden story of epic proportion. Why do you think did Dan Brown’s The DaVinci Code stirred peoples’ souls on such a global scale? Was that a call to us to remember something that had been buried so long ago? Dan Brown wasn’t the first to propose other theories of the history of Christendom. Take for instance Holy Blood/Holy Grail (Baigent, Leigh & Lincoln), and The Last Temptation of Christ (novel by Nikos Kazantzakis, film by Martin Scorsese). Those were provocative and controversial books that got us thinking about the Jesus and Mary story. What about the inner circle of the mysterious Knights Templars and the Cathars of medieval times? Ever wonder why the Inquisition really took place? How many times do we need to be reminded there are alternate versions of these stories, versions that make more sense than the official accounts passed down throughout time?
Some of the oldest, most well-established institutions in our world have a history of brain-washing people, whether consciously or not. And many believe the teachings of Jesus were corrupted early on, to serve as an emotional belief system for manipulating the masses. Emotions are a powerful thing! It is our emotional response to this betrayal that brings us down so many dead-end streets and ultimately, to the dark night of the soul. But if we can make it through the tumultuous passage of this dark night, we can attune our hearts to our greatest potential – to the light within us – our genetic code – with its inherent instructions and messages, with its amazing abilities of regeneration and creativity, with its super-intelligent design, and with its “God Code” as Gregg Braden calls it. The voices are calling, requesting we summon the courage to stop the trash talk and get quiet, and listen to the Ancients. These voices radiate from the pantheon of gods of many traditions and great teachers – of the Anasazi and the Hopi, from the Elementals of the Earth to the Angels of Heaven, from Isis and Thoth, Shakti and Shiva, Mohammed, Buddha and Jesus, Mother Mary and Quan Yin. The Magdalene stands for the forgotten and neglected female voice throughout time. But something is changing in a big way because she refuses to be relegated to the back of the bus any longer. She is finally rising up! Mary has demanded I listen to her these last twelve years. And I am beginning to understand why she has been so persistent. It’s not just to dream a new interpretation of the Jesus story. It’s that she stands as the Great Initiator of the Ancient Mysteries, urging me to do the Great Work, to process old emotional and behavioral patterns that no longer serve me. And in return, she has pledged to provide me insight and shelter from the storm. What storm you ask? Look around. What do you see? The old paradigm is crumbling and a new one is emerging. Economic systems, political systems, and limited world views are crashing and burning. And in some End-of-Days way, that might be just what we need, since old solutions no longer make sense.
The new paradigm is where I am beginning to live, but its fullness still eludes me. The masters tell me to shed my old skin and enter more fully into the now. This is revelation they say. This is the Promised Land. This is where the water turns to wine… Our technology evolves every minute of every day. New products emerge that reflect the complexity of our awareness and capability. Science is captivated by the variables of quantum physics – where everything exists in the now, in the sacred silence of a second. But the funny thing is – when it comes to organized religion and its reverberating effects – many seem stuck in old belief systems that are still biased towards women, systems still steeped in cover-ups and lies, of distortions and manipulations. Maybe it’s time to remove the masks of our own deception. Maybe it’s time to take that “fantastic voyage” within. If we could reconsider historical and mythical stories passed down through time, and see them in a new light, maybe we just might welcome the inherent power within each and every one of us, no matter the color of our skin, the country of our birth, or the status of our socio-economic class. I cried out in the night to the forces around me. I called out to understand my truth, once and for all. And much to my surprise, many voices responded to my call. But how could I have imagined in that moment, what that really meant? How would I begin to sort it all out? And was I ready to comprehend the depth of such things? Would I be brave enough, or some might say foolish enough, to enter into the abyss? Was I stepping out in blind faith, like the Fool in the Tarot Trumps, memories in a bag thrown loosely over my shoulders? Was my transfiguration about to begin? And was I headed back to Oz?
The Desert Calls Me Back
The drum beats. The white sage burns. We who hold the prophecies hold the wisdom of our ancestors. Even as our people suffered at the hands of the white man, we never disregarded the ways of the Wise Ones. We have never traded our secrets for your pleasures. We hold tightly to our memories, of the shifting of the ages. We know the Creator will move our world into the next cycle. We understand such things because we have not forgotten the Ways of our Mother. We will tell you now of a tale of one who does not remember. But she was given the gift of remembering in a dream. And she decided to allow that memory to call her back to the land of her birth. Her story is a reminder that what has been forgotten can be found. It is an ancient story refashioned for its time. It is a journey to reclaim her spiritual heritage from 2000 years ago, where she got trapped. After 2000 years, it is finally time for her to break free and reclaim the life force she carries, as a vessel of the waters… The Elders It was July 2003. I was exhausted and feeling such an overwhelming sense of loss. I was numb from the past nine months and needed to get away – far away – from home, from work, and from the prying eyes of people that reminded me of my life with Tim. So I found myself traveling back to New Mexico. I hadn’t been to Santa Fe in over twenty years. How could that be? And Gloria Amendola ‡ Page 1
why did the voices in my head keep saying – many wait in anticipation? Who was waiting? And what were they waiting for? I had just buried my uncle. Vincent was like a second dad to me. His loss was hard enough but when it was added to everything else, it just threw me over the edge. I was determined to take two weeks away from the firm and get some rest. It had been years since I did that. So I found a decent rental and made my reservation. It looked clean and seemed like it would be a quiet place to stay. Maybe I could get some sleep and then try and make sense of the madness in my life. And if that didn’t happen, at least if I could get some rest, maybe the madness wouldn’t seem so bad. So here I was on a plane to Albuquerque. Staring outside the window, I couldn’t help but think back to nine months ago, when, in one day, my life changed forever… October 5, 2002 is a day I will never forget. My husband and I were planning to go to a big surprise birthday bash. They were landmark birthdays for my cousin and her husband. But it was also playoff time for the New York Yankees. Tim was not happy about having family obligations all weekend long. He was a diehard Yankees fan. After the party, which was an hour’s drive, we then had to drive to Providence to Justin’s college. He’s my son. It was family weekend at his school, and this was his first semester away from home. I didn’t make up these events but it seemed like Tim thought I did, just to stop him from watching the Yankees. He completely lost sight of the fact that I always watched sports with him. He was just mad about the situation and was taking it out on me. Justin is my only child. He left home that September to major in Criminal Justice. So I was adjusting to the empty nest syndrome, but honestly, I was relieved when he left home that summer because I would finally get a break from his unrelenting teenage attitude. Tim was very edgy that fateful October morning. He was annoyed and I was annoyed he was annoyed. I was on the Page 2 ‡ The Tower and the Dream
receiving end of his punishing attitude, just like with Justin. I made the taco dip, shopped for and wrapped the birthday gifts, and got everything together to bring to Justin what he needed at school. I was so frustrated with Tim and his lack of participation that I almost jumped out of my skin when the phone rang! It was my cousin Vince, calling from the road, somewhere out west. He was traveling to visit some old friends in Colorado, and thought he’d go spend some time in the desert. He is my Uncle Vincent’s son. Vince hesitated and then took a deep breath. He told me to brace myself. Said he had just hung up the phone with his buddy Johnny. Johnny had talked with his dad and it was bad news. For some reason, Uncle Vincent told Johnny instead of Vince or me that he had leukemia and stomach cancer, and had only a few months to live. I knew my uncle made up some lame excuse about his recent hospitalization. He had barely made it to Justin’s high school graduation party. Vincent was pale and gaunt, not the distinguished and handsome man we all knew him to be. But being the kind of guy he was, he came to the party and stayed for awhile. Yet it was obvious to me that day that something was terribly wrong. He said he was fine, and refused to answer any other questions. The day of Justin’s graduation party, I remember my uncle got into a bad argument with someone while playing horseshoes. That was so unlike him and it made me take notice. So many lies were told during the summer of 2002, that even now, I was beginning to feel sick to my stomach recalling all the deception and betrayal. Uncle Vincent was one of those rare people everyone loved. He was always there for his family, in the simplest of ways. Mostly it was just being there, showing up and giving you his support, his attention, his time. Right or wrong, he was invested in his family. He was always there for me, always. Even though he was eighty-one years old, it didn’t matter. I really believed, with all his natural remedies, he’d live well into his nineties. Gloria Amendola ‡ Page 3
On that morning, already feeling edgy and frustrated, hearing the news that my uncle was terminally ill, well, it pierced like a knife! I got off the phone with Vince, having agreed to say nothing to his father until he got back home. That would be another week or so. I called my uncle to see if he would change his mind and come to the party, but he said he no. He was always such a warrior so this wasn’t a good sign. I asked him how he was feeling. He said he was a little under the weather and was going to stay home and rest. I shared the news with Tim. His face went from mad to sad. He had developed a warm relationship with my uncle over the years, and this turn of events just startled him. Tim and I were in a daze as we left the house. The ride was quiet, with a dismal air hanging in the car the entire way there. Tim had grown close to Vincent, and Tim was not close to many people. All I could think about was the news and having to keep it a secret. We made it to the surprise party and acted as if everything was fine. It was a perfect October day at my cousin’s farm in Connecticut – warm sunshine and signs of the abundant harvest everywhere. There were pumpkins and apples and bales of hay by the barn; the leaves were beginning to turn vibrant colors of red and yellow and orange. The day was filled with homemade food, people talking and kids playing, and loving family gestures. Nearing the end of the party, I began saying my goodbyes. Tim and I needed to get on the road and drive to Providence. He had lightened up at the party, and we actually talked to each other without the palpable anger that had been so obvious between us all week. People asked me where Uncle Vincent was. I wondered if they could tell I was hiding something. How awkward it was to dodge the truth, but then again, for whatever reasons, my life seemed a training ground for keeping secrets. Tim and I finally said our last goodbyes and headed out. Page 4 ‡ The Tower and the Dream
The minute we were alone in the car, his attitude immediately returned. I pleaded with him to tell me what was wrong, but he was so agitated, he couldn’t speak a word. All he did was shake his head and roll his eyes. So I finally dropped it and just got quiet. Sometimes his temper scared me. He never got physical with me in any way, but he still scared me at times. So I was relieved to tune into the Yankee game on the radio and drive, with no further words exchanged between us. We met Justin on campus. Then the three of us drove over to the hotel and checked in. We were staying at the historic Providence Biltmore Hotel. Rooms on this big weekend were expensive and scarce. Tim was clear with us he was staying in the hotel room to watch the rest of the baseball game. So Justin and I walked around the city and made our way to one of the events on campus. He was so happy to be away from home that there was no crappy attitude. I saw a glimpse of the old Justin and breathed a sigh of relief. After the event, when the auditorium emptied, I asked him to stay seated, that there was something I needed to tell him. Justin stared at me with a look of concern. He had already lost two grandmothers and a great-great aunt, so he had experienced the death of family members. He accepted the news about his great-uncle’s cancer, but the look on his face spoke volumes. It just hurt. He grew up with his Uncle Vincent always around, since he was six years old, after we had moved back from Florida. After awhile Justin and I made our way back to the Biltmore. I could see the TV in the hotel restaurant; the Yankees had lost and were out of the playoffs. That wasn’t good, Justin declared. Tim was already agitated. I had seen him act crazy in the past when the Yankees lost and worried what this might trigger in him now. Justin led the way up to the room. Once inside, he jumped on one of the beds. Yah, he was a college freshman, but he was still Gloria Amendola ‡ Page 5
a boy at heart. Turning around, I could see the look in Tim’s eyes, and it just didn’t feel right. I reminded him it was only a baseball game. That wasn’t the right thing to say and it definitely didn’t help. The three of us got cleaned up and ventured onto the crowded downtown streets, trying to find a place to eat. But every restaurant was packed with a long wait. It was a crazy busy Saturday night with the WaterFire celebration in full swing. So we came full circle, and ended up where we began – the restaurant at the Biltmore Hotel. Eventually we got a table. Justin was oblivious to the tension between his stepdad and me. Maybe he was high. He certainly was eager to return to campus and get into Saturday night party mode. Justin was thrilled when dinner was finally served. He ate quickly then asked if he could call it a night. I realized then and there that he was growing up and finding his own way in the world and the last thing he wanted was to hang out with us. Tim and I walked Justin outside, to the front of the hotel. “Don’t you want us to walk you back to campus?” I asked. “No mom. It’s just around the corner. I’ll be fine.” And with that, he said goodbye and vanished into the mist of the dark downtown street. By this time I had reached the boiling point with Tim. Maybe it was the realization with Justin, but I was no longer in the mood to tolerate his nasty behavior towards me, his unexplained antagonism. I had a bad feeling about his behavior, but enough was enough. We made our way back to the hotel room, and I wanted answers. “What is your PROBLEM, Tim? You’ve been impossible to deal with all day! All week! What the HELL is wrong with you?” “Nothing.” “Oh, c’mon. You haven’t been right for days.” “I’m fine.” “No, you’re not.” “Yes I am.” Page 6 ‡ The Tower and the Dream
“Yah right.” “Leave me alone.” “What in God’s name is your problem?!” I screamed out in total frustration. “Don’t worry, Marta. Really, you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” Tim said. “Anymore?” “Yah.” “Really?” “Been thinking…and…well…” “Well what?” “I don’t think I want to be married anymore.” Tim finally made his shocking proclamation, flippant and unexpected. Sitting at a desk a distance away, I turned around and looked in his eyes; he looked away. Startled and shocked and hurt, I managed to ask him if he was having an affair. He said no. This was so totally unexpected. How long had he been thinking this? All week? All month? All summer? I composed myself long enough to grab the room key and head out downtown, away from Tim and the sheer panic of the moment unfolding before me. The streets were even more crowded than before, as people made their way down to the river to experience the grand spectacle of the WaterFire celebration. The city was vibrant and alive. But everything was moving in slow motion for me. Was it just a bad dream? If I could just get to the river and splash some cold water on my face, maybe I would wake up from the nightmare of this day and everything would be like it was last week. Had Tim met someone else? And if he did, when did he find the time? When could that have happened? We were always side by side, always doing things together. When could he have found the time to be with someone else? Who was she? Was it someone in his office? Why was this happening?
Gloria Amendola ‡ Page 7
He was the one who was relentless about us getting married. Make it official. I really didn’t want to make that commitment again, but he made me feel guilty that we would be setting a bad example for Justin. We needed to make a formal commitment, he insisted. He constantly reminded me that his love was forever and always; he even had it engraved on my wedding ring. And now, in this surreal and unexpected turn of events, he didn’t think he wanted to be married anymore! I wandered the streets for a very long time, asking myself painful and ridiculous questions. Never thought this would happen with Tim. Would never have agreed to get married again, if I knew this was coming. How could he do this to the woman he said he would love – always and forever? It felt mean and careless and I felt like throwing up! But I just kept walking and walking and walking. I had lost track of time and where I going. And before I knew it, I was walking alone in a very dark alley. There was trash and dirt and that unmistakable smell of urine. I looked up, only to realize I was dreadfully lost. I was light-headed and queasy, and now I was scared. Up ahead was an ominous, ragged man lurking in the shadows. I immediately called on Archangel Michael to protect me, to get me out of this mess, through this dark passage, and back to some semblance of safety. My angels had never failed me before, but this day was so full of tragic moments, I wasn’t sure what would happen next. It seemed like days since hearing the bad news about my uncle’s leukemia, even though it had only happened hours ago. And Justin was in his own world now, a world that after eighteen years hands-on parenting, clearly didn’t include me. And then, out of the blue, Tim declared he didn’t want to be married anymore - with such conviction, it seemed like he must have made up his mind months ago. I was certain he had already found someone else. That possibility made me weak in the knees. A huge sword had pierced my heart three times on that
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day, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to live anymore. It was just too much. To this day, I’m not sure what really happened in that dark alleyway in Providence. I remember being flat out on the ground and the homeless guy kneeling beside me, shaking me. I woke up and then started to sob uncontrollably. I could smell the stench coming from this poor man and couldn’t believe he had his hands all over me. He was either trying to console me or he was about to assault me. Shit, I’m in trouble, real trouble here. I gasped. He kept shaking me until I got up the courage to ask him to stop. And much to my surprise, he did. Then he told me something strange had happened while I was asleep. This dirty, smelly, solitary man told me he saw a bright light surround me. It scared him and he tried to run away but his legs wouldn’t move. He said he didn’t want to leave me there but he didn’t want to get blamed for hurting me either. He said nobody would believe him if he told the truth of what happened. But no matter how he tried to run away, he said the light had a hold on him and he just kneeled beside me, wishing I would wake up. And this is where it gets strange. He said an angel appeared there in that dark alleyway. The angel was very tall and had huge wings, he claimed. This guy said the angel told him not to leave me, but to stay with me until I woke up. He said the angel told him it wasn’t my time to die, wasn’t my time to leave this earth. The man then said the angel told him – to tell me – that there was something important I had to find. And that the angel would appear again and tell me more when the time was right! When I was finally able to calm down and focus on his words, I saw truth in his eyes and was relieved to realize he was as scared as me. Maybe he was even more afraid of me than I was of him. No more words were exchanged between us, just the blank stares of two people who fate had thrown together. Somehow I composed myself, stood up and got my bearings. I thanked him for listening to the angel and staying with me. He Gloria Amendola ‡ Page 9
stared in disbelief and then disappeared into the night. Slowly I found my way back to the river, past the festive celebrations, and back to the Biltmore Hotel. Not sure what awaited me, but at least I was breathing and walking and in one piece. Amidst the chaos of this traumatic day, an angel appeared to a homeless man and gave this poor stranger a message for me. I was in a state of shock but in my heart, I knew that on this day, my life had changed forever and things would never be the same…
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