My Original Name

Hey All,

This is some of what I have learnt about my original name, a topic I began discussing on Darklords thread What's in a name? A Lot.

Thanks to Darklord and Glitch88 for being interested in the subject.

I have decided to file it under the short story board just to avoid any controversy. If you don't believe it, then think of it as a story. If you do believe, then you are welcome to contact me for further information. This was just the start of what I call my real spiritual journey. I had followed many different paths before this, but had discounted much of what I had learned previously as I had learnt new ideas and theories.

I think that's the core idea of my own journey. It's not what you can learn. Anybody can learn new theories. It's what you already know that's important.

It has been ten years since I abandoned my spiritual journey. Ten years where every day I have thought of what might have been. Ten long years were every day I have wanted to continue where I had left off.

Beginning to document this part of my life has proven troublesome. At what part did it begin? Looking back I can see subtle hints and signs long before I had embarked on that journey.

I had been travelling thru Romania with Laila, an old friend I had met in Sydney, Australia when I had first moved over from New Zealand.

It was our final days in Romania, we had retuned to Bucharest to travel home to Australia. We had split up for the day, Laila to go to the markets, myself to stay in bed and sleep off a flu I had picked up. We had decided to treat ourselves after months of living out of tents and backpackers, so were staying in a hotel close to the city. Around mid afternoon the desk attendant knocked heavily on my door. “Sir, you have a telephone call” he announced. I slowly climbed out of bed and made my way down to the lobby, where an impatient looking man was holding the telephone out to me. Before I could even finish saying hello Laila interrupted me.

“I met a woman”
“That's good. Isn't it?” Something in his voice told me otherwise.
“She says she knows you. She says she knows who you are.”
“What?” The pounding in my head stopped my brain from thinking.
“She came up to me at the market, and wanted to talk to me. She was drunk I think.”
“So -”
“She knows you dude.”
“She wanted to see pictures and I showed her the one you gave me before we left”
I was dumbfounded. Before we had left I had given her a picture of us together on Bondi Beach. On the back I had written: Laila, I hope you find what you're looking for. Best wishes Shane. I did not know if we were going to travel all this time together so I had decided to give her something in case I didn't see her again.

Now that same photo was being held by an old woman who claimed she knew me?

“Laila, are you okay?”
“I'm fine. She's a nice woman. I thought I was going to be killed or something but she's really nice – like a mother.” The sparkle in her voice seemed to glow.
“She wants you to come. She said that you should come.”
“What? Go where?”
“She didn't say. Shane, I'm okay. I'm going to stay here for a few hours then come back to the hotel. She gave me an address and told me to give it to you.”
She squealed over the phone. “Doesn't it sound exciting?”
The pounding in my head told me otherwise.

I spent the rest of the day waiting for Laila to return, watching old Russian television shows on the bar downstairs. I didn't have the stomach to have a drink, so instead drank mineral water.

Around five thirty Laila exploded into the bar, dragging her shopping with her
“I've been thinking about her all the time!” She giggled. “Much too old for you though!” A thin smirk trailed it's way across one side of her face.
“Show me what she gave you.” I asked, impatient from the long wait and even longer television shows I could not understand.
Rummaging thru her purse, she pulled out a torn piece of butcher paper. “Here it is. Madam Vasile, apartment 12, 45 Povernei, District 1.” Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “She said it was over the other side of the markets.”
“Thanks.” I held the stained paper in my hands. “So what happened?”
“Well, she came up to me and asked if I was a traveller, and I said I was.” Her words jumbled out quickly, tripping over each other in their haste to get out.
“She wanted to know if I had a photo she could see. Just like that. I didn't think I did but remembered the one you gave me was in my wallet, so I let her see it.”
“And?”
“She pointed at you and just smiled!” Laila adopted a thick Russian accent. “She said -This one should come and see me- Just like that! You should go Shane!” Her voice had risen several levels since beginning her tale. “Way too old for you don't worry,” Laila giggled. “I told her you would go there tonight.”
“Why did you say that?”
“Well you're always going on about finding yourself and all that stuff, so why don't you take a chance and find out? It was so weird you have to go!”

After much debating and several protests by me, I couldn't believe I was doing this. Trudging thru the snow with my hands in my jacket, my head was still pounding and my legs felt weak. I had been following my own spiritual journey for a few years now, but this was something I did not foresee myself doing.

The apartment block was run down, a style the eastern Europeans had perfected during the many years they had spent under Soviet control. The door to the entrance had no doorknob, just a splintered hole were somebody had long ago prised the brass handles off.

The hallway stank of cabbage and vodka. Dim stains coated the bare concrete walls and the solitary light-bulb that had once lit the hallway was missing. Wooden banisters rotted in their foundations, offering only an illusion of safety to the people who would grip them while descending the well-worn stairs. Everything of value had been removed. Everything that was breakable had been smashed. Yet still people remained, locked behind their doors in stern defiance of the wreckage that seemed to have spread thru the apartment block. I had just enough light to read the faded numbers painted on the doors as I passed. Outside apartment 12, I stopped. From inside I could hear movement, slow and deliberate. Music floated under the door mingled with an old woman's voice singing along to the slow mournful Russian song.

I could back out. I could walk away now, go back to the hotel and relax. I couldn't. I knew Lailas quizzical eyes would be on me the second I walked into the room and would pick apart any excuse I might have. I had came this far, and before that to the other side of the globe on a whim. It seemed to me I deserved to at least see what was behind the peeling wooden door that I now found myself standing in front of.

I knocked. My arm seemed to lack the strength to co-ordinate the my hand. One knock was soft, the other loud, the next softer then the first. No reply. I took a deep breath and knocked again.

My hand was still in the air when the door flew open.

It is a moment of my life I will never forget. Warm air mixed with golden light spilled from the apartment, pushing back the pervasive feeling in the air where I stood. Standing in front of me was a tiny old woman, who's face was lit up with a radiant smile I the likes of which I had never seen before. She seemed to project an image much larger then her diminutive stature should allow, larger then anybody I had met before or since.

“You have come!” She exclaimed, giving me no time to reply before scooping me into a hug. “I am so proud to see you!” she cried, while still holding me in a fierce hug that locked me in place, while at the same time comforted my racing mind. She relaxed her grip. “Come, come inside please!”

I had still not said a word. As I crossed the threshold, the warm ambiance of her home surrounded me. Directly in front of us was the lounge, with a table set for two.

“I have been waiting to meet you. I am Madam Vasile. Sit, sit please.” She motioned me to sit in one of the dining table chairs. “Drink?”

“Yes, please” These were the first words I said to Madam Vasile, a figure who would have the greatest impact of my life I have ever known.

She pottered into the kitchen humming a song, equally as sweet as the previous had been mournful. Returning with an old bottle of vodka and two small jars, she smiled . “I will have a drink with you, it will be my pleasure.”

“I'm Shane. Pleased to meet you.” As I extended my hand I felt like a fool. After the warm greeting she had given me it felt as if I was being far too formal. I quickly lowered my arm. “Yes, you are,” she responded, her pointed finger moving like a conductor instructing an orchestra. “Yes, that is your name.”

The two jars were filled half way. Without waiting, Madam Vasile picked up hers. I followed. We clinked glasses together “Noroc!” she sang, and downed the pungent alcohol in one gulp. “Noroc!” I responded, and did the same. I immediately felt an intense burn flow down my throat. My eyes instantly watered and I began to cough. Madam Vasile clapped her hands together and laughed “It is not Russian vodka Shane. It is better!”

“Come eat with me”

“Laila said you knew me.” I asked, half way thru the meal. “Yes, yes, I know you better then you know yourself Shane.” She replied.

“I know your name.” I was confused. “My name?”
“Yes, your name. Here.” She pointed at my heart. “Not your name here.” She tapped my head. “Real name come from heart. You have heart, you have name. This name,” Once again she tapped my head “It does not matter any. No power to it. Forget it. It do you no good to remember it. My name, I learnt thru my father's father. I learn it, it gave me strength to live thru life. Live thru this.” She motioned to the window, beyond which lay the rest of the world. “You know your name, you begin to know yourself.”

“What is my name here?” I pointed to my heart. Madam Vasile clapped with delight. “That is what you must know. I cannot tell you, but you must know.”

“Where can I find out?” I asked.
“You already know. You must remember. People no remember anymore. But you must.” The power in her voice seemed to talk directly to my mind. Images of old stone boulders being moved aside flashed in my mind. “Enough for now. Please keep eating. Vodka?” I smiled. “Yes please Madam Vasile.”

After dinner had finished I stood up to take the plates into the kitchen. “No, no need. You come sit on couch.” Whatever Madam Vasile had been before retiring had given her an ability to dictate orders coated in honey. I put down the plates I was holding and followed her to the front lounge. The snow behind the dark windows seemed a world away from this comfortable little home. I looked out over the dark street scene below. “You please get curtains.” I pulled the old curtains over the window, completely separating this home from the rest of the world. I was very tired, and stifled a yawn. “You sleepy? I make you coffee. You like strong coffee?” She asked. “Stronger the better Madam Vasile. Thanks.”

I was not prepared for the mixture that followed. I stared down at the brown, thick drink Madam Vasile had put in my hands. “I put something extra for you in there. Help you dreams. Help you remember yourself.” The steam wafted up gently carrying with it a hint of spice and other things I could not identify. I gulped it back quickly, and immediately felt rejuvenated.

“If people remember, none of this,” She gestured to the outside world behind the curtains. “No people stealing, breaking. No need. No Soviet. People need remember to see themselves.” She took my hands, and pulled my left hand towards the lamp that lit her lounge in a golden warm hue. “You see? Heart line here does not end. Goes onto the next hand and onto next life. Very old hands.” She curled my hands up into a ball. “You are very old in here” Once again she touched my chest. “Not so old in here.” pointing at my head. “This is good.” She pulled an old black bag out of her apron. “These are very old bones, from my home. You believe they can tell the future?” I didn't know what to say. “No.” She answered for me. “This is rubbish, old wives tale. People need to believe in themselves, not superstitions like these. They no good for anybody.”

That night Madam Vasile talked about her life, and how she felt about the outside world. I cannot recount every bit of information she explained, although my body absorbed every word and every meaning that she imparted.

“You stay here tonight.” This was not a question.

[edit on 4/7/09 by shamus78]

[edit on 4/7/09 by shamus78]

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[edit on 4/7/09 by shamus78]

While curled up in a handmade blanket decorated with flowers and deer, I briefly had visions of what my other friends would be doing right then. The normalcy of their lives seem hilarious to me. I remember shaking my head softly and muttering “This is so bloody weird” before drifting off to sleep.

My sleep seemed last forever. I had lost all track of time. Warm darkness enveloped me before suddenly being shattered by a light. Inside this light was a book, mounted on a pedestal. Carved inscriptions snaked around the top of the pedestal, in a language that my mind could not understand, but my heart accepted immediately. I opened the thick leather book at random and stared down at the yellow paper inside. Red raised letters, once again in a language that I could not physically read, but could comprehend, flowed down these pages. A voice inside me read along as my eyes flicked across the page. This seemed to go on for eternity, until I felt like I was being inflated with the knowledge that passed between this book and me. Finally, the book closed gently and with it so ended my dream.

I woke up with one word on my lips. One word that when repeated in my mind filled me with energy and clarity. Once word that enabled me to connect myself to the rest of the world and beyond. I was to learn later that this was my original name.

Breakfast with Madam Vasile was bread, jam and coffee. She smiled. “You don't worry. Is just coffee now. You will dream again when you ready.”

“Please write word here.” She pushed a pencil and paper towards me and made a shooing motion with her hands. “I know dreams. You write here and I go to kitchen.” I wrote the word that had been given to me and folded the paper. “Now give me pencil.” Madam Vasile asked returning with a fresh pot of coffee. Taking another piece of paper from the drawer, she wrote something with her back to me. “Now swap.” We exchanged papers. “No look now. Look later.”

The rest of the morning passed quickly. Suddenly, around eleven o'clock, Madam Vasile looked up. “Your friend is coming. Time to go now.” I was confused. This lady seemed to radiate such knowledge and comfort I was reluctant to leave her. Seeming to read my mind, she said, “Time you must go. We meet again.” She said with a surety in her voice. Grasping both my hands like a child, she led me to the door that contained this wonderful home. She gave me another bear-like hug. When she relaxed I could see she had tears in her eyes. “You go now. You not forget what I told you. You need to stay strong.” I nodded. “Thank you for what you did Madam Vasile. Whatever it was.” Again it seemed such a foolishly uptight thing to say to such a warm and wonderful person. My cheeks reddened as I stood there embarrassed by what I had said. Holding her hands in mine, I nodded my head, and let myself out back into the real world.

Shutting the door behind me seemed like crossing into another dimension. The cold hit me first, followed by the rotten smell of decomposing rubbish. Suddenly I was aware of the rumble of traffic outside the building, and the visible layer of moisture that clung to every surface. The air seemed thinner here, outside Madam Vasile's home, and as I made my way down the stairs towards the gloomy street below I was confronted by the reality of what I had just been thru. Although I did not yet understand, I whispered my word on my lips and felt a surge or power pour thru me. I steeped thru the doorway into the street. Laila was walking up the snowy pavement towards me. I waved, feeling my arms float above me. She waved back. I walked towards her, hands in pockets. It was then that I felt the folded piece of paper that Madam Vasile had exchanged with me. I stopped and pulled it from my jacket. It was written on the same old yellow paper of my dreams, and as I unfolded it, one word was printed in beautiful cursive script. It was the same name I had written down. It was to become my name.

So that's the beginning of my story. I had returned to Bucharest a year later to see Madam Vasile again, but had found the entire apartment block empty and abandoned. I do not know what happened to her. It eats away at me every day and every night, although I'm sure somewhere right now, she is watching and laughing. Every Christmas night I toast a shot of vodka to her name. This story does not end, and still reverberates thru my life to this day. I have since dreamed the same dream many times, and in each instance have woke filled with information my body understands but my mind does not. If anyone is interested, I'll write some more about what happened after I left Romania, but for now I shall say goodnight.

Shane




[edit on 4/7/09 by shamus78]

That was a very nice story, and if true, most probably an extremely unique experience. did you ever consider you may be her late husband? more!
u can u2u it to me if you so desire.

Nice story Shane.

I have re read the thread twice and cannot seem to find the real meaning of this so I have a few questions:

What is the relevance of this "name"?
How has it affected your life?
Does everyone have this sort of "name"?

If its a mystery you are writing then very well written but if you are trying to educate people to some spiritual path then we would appreciate a full explanation and clarification of exactly the relevance and meaning behind your story.

Thanks

Of course we're interested to know what happened after you left Romania! What kinda question is that? lol! This is one of the most curious stories I've heard in a long time. And excellently written too. Do you do a lot of writing perhaps? This sure isn't amateur.

Another thing. Did you perceive a point in the swapping of the pieces of paper, since both had the same thing written on them, only in different handwriting? Or did it feel just as random as it sounds? Are you any closer today to knowing who Madam Vasile really was, and what connection she had with you? I just can't seem to believe that the story has ended.

What an amazing experience. In every way.

This sounds very similar to some of the shamanic experiences described in Graham Hancocks book Supernatural.

Here an ATS discussion on it
ATS Discussion on Supernatural

reply to post by darklord


Thanks, I'll post some more tomorrow, probably in the paranormal/whatever board dealing with what I believe happened and the repercussions of it. I'll also go into the theory's behind it as I understand it.

I wrote that in about 4 hours, after talking to you and Glich88. My fingers just seemed to flow around the keyboard and I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Shane

[edit on 5/7/09 by shamus78]

reply to post by Irish Matador

What is the relevance of this "name"?
How has it affected your life?
Does everyone have this sort of "name"?

The relevance of this name has reverberated throughout my life since. I have had to take some drastic measures to stop it getting out of control. This is the first time I have documented anything to do with it (although the urge to do so has been with me every day since it happened).

And yes, everybody has a name, it's just a matter of finding it.

I'm cautious about saying "Do this and then do that" I am not a teacher, just somebody who (for whatever reason) has walked down that path and came out the other side relativity unscathed.

Thanks for the reply but your answers are like a politicans!!

I am very intrigued and really would appreciate a detailed answer.

Obivously it has been very benefical. Everyone is on their own path and any positive information would be appreciated!!

If you dont want to post it then maybe you could send me U2U!!

Thanks Shane



[edit on 5-7-2009 by Irish Matador]

Excellent thread op. Don't keep us waiting too long for more of your story ..

Thank you so much for taking the time to write that for us.

I'm still catching up on the other two threads since I was away from home the past two days, but I just want you to know that I really appreciate you sharing this with us.

I, too, look forward to the rest of the story as well and you have me curious about what the name is now.

[edit on 7/6/2009 by glitch88]

interesting threads.
the idea of a true name and the power it possesses is an old idea. the old woman knowing your name would explain why you felt compelled to follow her instructions.

adam was supposed to have power over all the animals because he named them and king solomon is supposed to have controlled demons by naming them. not that it's a judeo-christian idea particularly, just worth a mention because it's a familiar frame of reference that indicates the age of the idea. weather or not you believe in adam, the story is old, and the writers of the story felt that the process gave him power.

i look forward to what happened next.

I started with part 2 and now have downloaded both to read. thanks!