Talking with Her

Stream of Consciousness

Edited by ChatGPT

By Dr. Sabri Bebawi

Within each of us lies an inner child, though some choose to ignore, suppress, or bury this part of themselves. Those who do are not truly free; they are trapped in a world of repressed memories from a time they believe is long gone, yet still very much alive within them. We are all, at our core, a collection of memories and experiences, and these shape us as adults.

At times, these buried memories and experiences resurface in adulthood, becoming vivid and real, sometimes even defining our reality. For some, especially when the memories are unpleasant or related to health struggles, they linger and replay in a relentless cycle. Without invoking the idea of 'victimhood,' it's true that we are all, to some extent, victims of our own pasts, minds, and thoughts. Thoughts often arise from unknown places, leaving us to wonder, "Where did that come from?"

Because of this, it’s unwise to judge others; we cannot fully understand what another person is feeling, thinking, or experiencing. Each of us interprets the world through the unique lens of our own memories and experiences, making every person unique in their perspective.

Religions have largely failed to explain our existence or who we truly are, while philosophy has endlessly grappled with these questions. Plato, for instance, was concerned with the ultimate reality and believed that our world is merely an imitation of a true, ideal world. He distrusted the physical world, teaching that our souls (if such things exist) are prisoners within our bodies.

Philosophers, especially Plato, have highlighted the internal conflicts and tensions within us, suggesting that true peace can only come when these conflicts are harmonized. But who among us can achieve that? Aristotle, on the other hand, believed that without a soul, we are incomplete. However, the author of this narrative finds no comfort in either explanation.

The protagonist of this short novel inhabits a world created by his own mind, with an antagonist that exists beyond the bounds of reality. A significant event upends his life, but no moral judgment is passed. This is merely a reflection—a deeper exploration of the human condition through fictional characters, without any intent to insult or defame any faith, religion, or belief.

THE BEGINNING

California is undoubtedly one of the most enchanting states in the United States, and it’s where I, Andre Besson, call home. I live in a small cottage facing the majestic Pacific Ocean. Often, while reflecting and writing, I find solace in the rhythmic sound of the waves, occasionally stealing a glance at the water as it crashes against the shore.

One late winter afternoon, as the sun was setting, I noticed a shadowy figure emerging from the ocean. As the figure drew nearer, I saw a glow that revealed a charming lady. She continued her approach, and as she got closer, an unexpected sense of calmness and serenity washed over me.

Without hesitation, I rushed to my front door, opened it, and called out, asking if she needed help or if she was stranded. There was no reply, but she kept approaching until she stood at my door. After a brief pause, she entered my cottage without saying a word. Her striking figure, with her long, beautiful black hair, was completely soaked, yet her face had a glow that defied explanation. I quickly offered to get her a towel, rushing to the closet, but when I returned, she was already dry, sitting on the red couch next to my desk.

I wanted to ask how she had dried so quickly, but strangely, I found myself unable to speak. I couldn’t even offer her a drink. After a few moments of silence, she thanked me for welcoming her into my home. I humbly told her she was welcome and that I was glad to help. The atmosphere was eerily calm. I could still hear the ocean’s waves crashing against the shore, but now they had a different rhythm, almost like a symphony or meditation music.

Embarrassed by the state of my cottage—clothes strewn everywhere, papers on the floor, books and newspapers cluttering my desk—I also felt self-conscious about my own appearance. Unshaven, with messy hair, I was dressed only in a short-sleeved t-shirt and underwear, which fortunately covered half my thighs. A catheter hung from my recent prostatectomy surgery, adding to my discomfort. I apologized for the mess, but she quickly reassured me, saying it was just fine.

There was something inexplicable about her—she was beautiful, not much older than me, with a calming voice, large, captivating black eyes, a glowing face, and an indescribable presence. Despite the unusual circumstances, I wasn’t worried or afraid; instead, I felt a deep peace and a tremendous sense of comfort and tranquility. My mind raced with questions, as if I were on a journey to uncover a rare gem or even the secrets of the universe. It felt like a journey of discovery.

Suddenly, I introduced myself as Andre Besson and asked for her name. She pondered for a moment before looking at me with her piercing black eyes and calmly responding that I could refer to her as "you," "she," or "her." I was taken aback by her answer, wondering who she really was. I often refer to the divine or the universe as "she" or "her," and I mused silently on the connection.

LOVE AND MARRIAGE

After a brief silence, I stood up to pour myself a glass of wine and offered her one as well. She accepted with a simple nod. I couldn’t help but worry if she was underage; she looked so much younger than me. As I walked to the kitchen, my mind raced with questions about who she was and where she had come from. But I didn’t let those thoughts linger; I focused on the task at hand—opening a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and grabbing two clean crystal glasses.

When I returned, I handed her one of the glasses. These were special, crystal goblets—a gift from a friend in Rome. She took the glass with a graceful elegance, crossing her long, slender legs, and thanked me in a voice that was as melodious as it was soothing. I sat at my desk, facing her, and asked how she ended up in the ocean, whether she was lost after a boat capsized, and if so, what happened to her companions. She raised her glass as if to toast, but I noticed she didn’t take a sip. Instead, she told me that she wasn’t on a boat and had no companions. Then, with a surprising calmness, she revealed that she had been watching me all along and had decided to visit. Startled, I asked how she could have been observing me every day and if she lived nearby. She sensed my unease and gently touched my arm. A warmth spread through my body, a sensation so comforting that it felt almost divine, though I don’t believe in such things. I kept that feeling to myself and pretended nothing had happened.

Trying to steady my nerves, I asked if she was married or had children. She smiled and told me not to be nervous, then asked what the term “married” meant. Her response was swift, almost dismissive. I agreed with her, realizing that I didn’t truly know what marriage meant anymore. I had been married nine times, each ending in failure for various reasons. Marriage, in my mind, was something society and religion imposed on us, not something inherently meaningful. When I asked if she was religious, she responded firmly that she was neither married nor religious, adding that both concepts were creations of the inhabitants of this planet. She stressed that they were not commanded nor condoned by her, a statement that left me wondering what she meant by “commanded,” though I chose not to question her further.

Curious about her perspective, I asked what she thought of marriage. She compared it to a storm—something that blows through, shaking everything in its path, even stripping away the artificial masks humans wear. Marriage, she said, is solitude, where one is laid bare, forced to recognize that they are not a fragment of their beloved, but of the universe itself and at the heart of the creator. She spoke of love as an innate force initiated by the universe, whereas marriage was a construct imposed by primitive cultures.

Her words resonated with me deeply, echoing my own thoughts on love and marriage. As I pondered this, she broke into my thoughts, saying, “Love is irreplaceable and unmatched. It is the celestial love of a mother for her child, enveloped in tenderness. Look beyond Earth; observe the universe. It may seem chaotic, but it isn’t. Every particle in the universe loves one another, working together in perfect harmony. The universe is love itself, though humans have not evolved enough to understand this. Animals do; they see what humans cannot and are at one with the multiverse.”

I was in awe of her wisdom, realizing how profound her insights were. I knew I needed to learn more from her, and about her.

She smiled, brushing her hair back, and looked at me. “You are generous,” she said.

ON HATE

Although it was a lot to take in and reflect on, my instincts as a journalist, lawyer, and teacher intertwined, compelling me to ask more questions. First, I realized I hadn’t offered her a drink, so I asked if she’d like a glass of wine—my favorite drink—while I walked to the kitchen. As she saw me retrieving a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon from the wine rack, she softly replied in her angelic, melodious voice that she would join me for a glass. I, perhaps unnecessarily, explained my love for red wine and admitted, somewhat sadly, that I drank quite a lot of it. I opened the bottle, fetched two clean glasses, and poured generously—more for myself than for her. Handing her the glass, I returned to my desk and raised my own in a silent toast. She raised hers too, without a word. As I took my first sip of the divine wine, I silently wondered if my questions were boring her or, worse, making her uncomfortable.

Sitting calmly at my desk, facing her with my legs crossed, I asked why humans are capable of hate and where these feelings originate.

"Hate is the opposite of love," she began. "People hate because they cannot give of themselves. They may give up their wealth or possessions for recognition, but they do not truly give of themselves. Humans often struggle to offer love without expecting something in return, not realizing that the act of giving love is its own reward. Sometimes, it’s a matter of self-reflection—they don’t love themselves and project that onto others. To hate is to suffer from a lack of confidence and self-worth. All beings on Earth seek love and warmth, but sadly, only a few are capable of genuinely giving love, and some of those who do are insincere. Most humans form friendships for a specific reason, whether it’s a need for companionship at the time or a desire for the wealth of those they befriend. But this isn’t love, because once those reasons disappear, so do they."

Her words resonated deeply with me; they mirrored what I had long believed, and it was comforting to know I wasn’t alone in this understanding. Yet, her assertion that hate is a form of self-reflection disturbed me, so I interjected. "I don’t believe you can hate. You don’t hate; you simply don’t like or subscribe to certain ideologies because they don’t represent who you are."

I made sure she knew I agreed with her, and for a moment, she stared at me with sharp, deep eyes that seemed to pierce through me, bringing an unusual sense of peace and harmony. It felt as though a heavy burden had been lifted from me, and I was floating in a state of bliss. Despite my racing thoughts, I composed myself.

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she took a deep breath and confided that the state of the world often left her despondent.

"I watch in silence and sorrow," she continued. "Politics around the world is driven by greed, self-indulgence, self-righteousness, and a relentless hunger for power. All of it is in vain. Humanity fails to learn from its mistakes and remains oblivious and unconscious. Politics breeds wars; wars create devastation. Though not intended to be so, humans are on a path to self-destruction."

ON DISAPPOINTMENTS

I listened to her with unwavering attention. Her wisdom resonated with me in a way I had never known before. As I reflected on her words, a question formed in my mind:

"Who are you, my lady? Your words strike like lightning; with each flash, you illuminate my understanding, soothe my soul, and elevate me to a realm of divinity."

Humbly, she responded, "I am deeply honored by your kind words." Her modesty only added to the enigma. My thoughts raced, struggling to comprehend who this woman was. Yet, despite my uncertainty, I found solace in her presence, enchanted by her aura. Her words inspired me to seek more answers, to quench my insatiable thirst for knowledge. However, the question of her identity lingered, gnawing at my curiosity. Ignoring the tangled thoughts in my mind, I pressed on, eager to learn more.

I realized that this was a rare opportunity to delve into the mysteries of humanity and our existence on this planet. I couldn't let it slip away. My hunger for understanding drove me to absorb all I could from her. She seemed extraordinary, one in a trillion, or perhaps more. Yet, the question of who she truly was remained unanswered, haunting my thoughts. Suddenly, I asked her about joy and sorrow. "Why do we sometimes feel joy, while at other times we are overwhelmed by disappointment? I often find myself trapped in feelings of regret."

She responded with calm assurance, "The more disappointment fills your heart, the more it prepares you to experience bliss. When you feel joy, look within, and you will see that what once caused you sorrow is now the source of your comfort. If you delve deeply into your soul, you will discover that what you perceive as torment is, in fact, rapture and wonder. You are not alone in your wondering; many have sought answers to the same questions."

Her philosophical insight left me breathless, filled with awe.

ON CONSCIOUSNESS

I expressed my gratitude and then asked her about consciousness, awareness, and knowledge. I confessed that despite having read many books on the subject and even writing two of my own, I still felt that my understanding was limited and insufficient. She reached out, gently rubbing my left knee, and said, "Consciousness, awareness, and knowledge reside within your heart, but the noise of your thoughts drowns them out.

True knowledge is found in the heart and requires silence to be heard. You already know the answers within you; however, never believe that you have found the ultimate truth. What you have discovered is the path to truth, a path your consciousness must continue to follow. Your self-knowledge is boundless and ceaseless, but be careful not to build walls of material things or shield yourself from what is known. Only then will your consciousness be free to follow the path to true knowledge, and only then will you achieve awareness."

I offered her another glass of wine, picking up the bottle and pouring some into our glasses. Conversation with her was profoundly rewarding and enriching. I had never encountered anyone like her before. Her wisdom, her knowledge, and her ability to express her innermost thoughts were utterly captivating. Two hours had passed since she entered my cottage, and time seemed to have flown by, as it often does when one is deeply engaged and intellectually stimulated. I was undeniably both intellectually and emotionally invigorated.

ON WINE AND MYTH

There was an unseen barrier between us, one I couldn’t articulate at the time. I felt her presence, a force so powerful it seemed to resonate through every cell in my body, every atom around us. It was overwhelming; I was overwhelmed. My mind was consumed with thoughts of who she might be, but the calmness she radiated stilled my restless inquiries. I surrendered to the moment, embracing what was happening without fear or hesitation. I took a sip of my wine, letting its warmth ease me into deeper contemplation.

I raised my glass to her, and she mirrored the gesture, though she remained silent. “May I ask more questions?” I ventured, my voice tinged with nerves. She nodded in affirmation. “I find great pleasure in wine. What do you think of it?” I asked, curious. Her response was surprising: “If you were to harvest the grapes yourself from your own vineyard, you would discover that each sip of wine carries a melody, a song from the heart of the maker to yours. So, when you drink, it’s not just wine you taste; it’s the music of the soul.”

Her words lingered in my mind, and I reflected on their meaning. Wine, then, is a melody that brings peace and joy to the heart. Perhaps this is why Christians use wine as a symbol of Jesus’ blood. Why wine and not water? This thought seemed so peculiar that I asked her, “Is that why Christians use wine as the blood of Jesus?” She responded, “Remember, I told you I am neither married nor religious. I have never commanded such rituals. Man created these symbols out of a hunger for power and control. Myths arose because people struggled to express the inner truths they glimpsed. It began with cave drawings, symbolic attempts to capture what words could not. That is all I have to say on the matter.” Her voice carried both compassion and strength, and I felt no desire to stir up chaos. I let the subject rest, considering my next question.

I took another sip of wine and refilled both our glasses. There was something about her presence, the way she looked at me with those sharp, sparkling eyes, that felt surreal. I wondered if I was drunk, given how much wine I had consumed that day, but I didn’t feel intoxicated. I questioned whether I was dreaming or hallucinating, but before I could delve too deeply into those thoughts, she interrupted, “I know you’re wondering if you’re drunk, dreaming, or hallucinating. I assure you, you’re none of those things. You’re here, now, and I am as real as the ocean before you. I am real. I wish I had visited you sooner, but there is so much to do, and many others like you seek my help and answers.”

I interrupted, “Who am I? Can you tell me who I really am?” She reached out and touched my arm with her long, gentle fingers. “Son,” she began, her voice tender, “your question comes from the depths of your heart. Why do you ask who you are? Don’t you see that you are part of a vast, interconnected system? You are an integral piece of the universe, alive within its vastness, and it lives within you. Imagine yourself as a cell within the body of God. Just as cells divide, die, and regenerate within your body, so do they in the body of the multiverse, the body of God. You are a cell in this grand being.”

I interjected, “So, are you saying there is a god?” She swiftly replied, “I use words you and others can understand. There is a universe in which you live—or rather, it lives within you—and there are other universes, a multiverse, all interconnected and in harmony. Humans call this multiverse God. Those who believe in God often do not realize that they live within the heart of this vastness, and it lives within their hearts.”

ON WAITING

I took another sip of my wine and refilled my glass and could help but noticing that she had not touched her glass I did not comment. Something about her presence and her looking at me with her sharp sparkling eyes felt unreal. I thought I might have gotten drunk from the wine I had been drinking most of the day, but I did not feel drunk. I thought I was dreaming or hallucinating, but suddenly she interrupted those feelings and said: “You are fine, and you are neither drunk nor are you hallucinating. I assure you that you are fine. You are in the here and now and I am as real as the ocean before your eyes. I am real. I wish I had visited you sooner, but there is so much to do and there are many inquisitive beings like you. They need my help and seek answers. I intersected and asked: “Who are we people?” She reached and touched my arm again with her long and soft fingers and said: “I see that your question comes from the depth of your heart. Why do you ask who you are? Aren’t you aware that you are an integral part of a single system described by a well-defined physical structure, generally with a common origin and even interacting with one another. You are a part of the universe within which your very being is confined. This multi-verse is alive within your soul, and you cannot be separated. Imagine yourself a cell of God’s body; just as in your own body, cells divide; cells die, and other cells are generated. Cells regenerate in animal’s bodies, so do they in the body of God. You are but a cell in the body of the multi-verse, hence, the body of God.” I interposed: “So, are you telling me that there is a god?” She swiftly replied: “I am using words you and others can understand. There is the universe in which you live, or rather it lives within you; and there are other universes referred to as ‘multi-verse. They are all interconnected and exist in harmony. Humans view this multi-verse as God. So, those who believe in a God, they do not realize that they live in the heart of God and God lives within their hearts.”

I was speechless; her words combined with her charming persona and delicate demeanour were strikingly calming. Night has fallen upon us though it felt as if she had just walked in. We must have been talking for hours, but I did not feel the time. I was somewhat worried that if I take a glimpse at my watch to see the time, she would be offended or she would want to leave. I did not want her to leave. She knew what I was thinking, and she queried: “Am I interrupting your writing? You seem anxious. Perhaps I should go.” “No, please don’t; I am enjoying our philosophical and enlightening talk. I can talk with you all night. Shall I open another bottle of wine?” I asked and enthusiastically awaited her response. She nodded her stunning face indicating agreement. I picked up another bottle of wine, opened it and came back. I poured some or a lot of wine for me. I raised my glass to salute her, and she did the same.

As she was taking a sip of her fresh glass of wine, she precipitously asked: “In addition to reading and writing, what do you do most of the day?” I explained to her how dumbfounded I was she had asked that question because I was thinking along the same line. That lady must have had access to my inner thoughts. I did not know who she was, and I felt an unnerving intuition that she was just a ‘She’ without a name. “That is exactly what I was going to discuss with you. What do I do most of the day beside reading and writing? Mm! I wait. I always wait. From the time I wake up at dawn, I wait for sunset. After sunset, I wait for the night to sleep; in my sleep, I wait for the sun rise. I get up and wait again. In between, I wait for my nurse; as you can see, I have a catheter because of a prostate surgery. I wait for my housekeeper, and I wait for my caretaker. After that, I wait for sunset. The cycle repeats itself. I am always waiting. I also wait for my pension check; I wait for my social security income, and I wait for my bills to be cleared by my bank. I am always waiting. And now, I am waiting for my return to before my birth. “I detailed.

She looked at me with passion and sorrow. Her beautiful eyes were tearing; she took a sip of her wine and exclaimed: “Let us see, now. Why do you burden yourself with so much waiting? Things will happen on their own time, and you cannot control that is which beyond your control. Don’t you think that you cannot change the things you cannot change and must accept them?” “Yes,” I replied “But I do not have the wisdom to know the difference between that I can and cannot change. Can you instruct me on how to acquire such wisdom?” She reluctantly replied: “Wisdom is within your soul; you will need to search and find it. You were born with that wisdom like all the animal kingdom. You lost it in your evolutionary process; however, you can regain it by strength and perseverance. Perhaps it is consoling to know that you are not the only human who feels so dejected. Many of the humans with whom I conversed feel the same. You are not alone, son.”

It was after midnight in California. From my windows I could see the streets calm and noiseless; there were no cars, no people. As the wind subsided, the trees were calm, serene, and still. Even the ocean was calm, and the waves made no sound. It was as though all living things had gone to sleep, except for Her and me. She turned her neck to her left to take a glimpse of the ocean outside and she said: “I must bid you farewell now. My time to depart has arrived. Now we ended another day and sunrise shall find you where sunset had left you. The time with you was transitory, but my presence shall remain with you until I return. Remember, in your search for the truth, the truth shall uncover itself to you in a silent and purer voice.”

ON LONLINESS

I was dreading her leaving me alone. Though I have always been alone, but never as lonely as I have been feeling lately. I often try to convince myself that being lonely while alone is much better than being lonely while surrounded by others. I had been there, too. I requested that she speaks of loneliness. “Oh!” She interposed as though she had known what I was thinking. She continued: “Loneliness is a feeling humans get when their need for rewarding social contact and relationships is not met. But loneliness is not always the same as being alone. In the multiverse you are never lonely. Like pain, the feeling of loneliness is self-chosen. You might think you are lonely, but you are surrounded by books and words of wise men and women; you are creative, and you write. You possess a great gift that is creativity; your subconscious mind and your conscious mind are in partnership; you create. That is a gift. Loneliness is but an illusion.”

Her wise words stroke me hardly; it was true what she explained, yet, I still felt lonely, but not while with her. She spoke: “Remember that you are an integral part of the multiverse, and you are part of all that which govern that multiverse, which is expanding endlessly, be aware you are part of it all. This great galactic wilderness that appears chaotic, is not. That is where chaos meets order. You are living within that order. You are never lonely. Look and marvel at the stars that are dead and born, and the planets around you; they are speaking with you, and showing you the secret; how can you be lonely? It is unimaginab

ON SCIENCE

“Please, stay a little longer,” I implored. “Don’t leave me now, not when I’m in this state. You’ve unlocked my imagination, and now I’m lost in confusion and wonder. I need you to speak to me of science. Is our blue planet, Earth, really five hundred million years old? Is our sun truly twelve thousand million years old? Please, enlighten me.”

She responded, “Yes, curious one, that is true. You are a part of everything, a link in the chain of evolution. Don’t waste your thoughts on who created the universe, for you will soon find yourself asking who created the creator. The answer is hidden within the multiverse itself, and there will come a time when you’ll know. But for now, it’s too early to go beyond your origins. The truth will be revealed to you when the time is right.”

I realized she was right; every culture has its own creation myths, but they belong to the realms of mythology, religion, or folklore, all subject to interpretation. So, I asked her if God is the sum of the laws that govern the multiverse. She smiled and replied, “Your inquisitive mind is on the right path.” That was all she said.

ON AGING

I wanted her to stay longer, much longer, so I asked about aging—the process, the reasons, and why it happens. This question had haunted me; I was aging, and I wasn’t handling it well. My spirit felt youthful, but my body stubbornly refused to cooperate. I hoped her wisdom could help me find some peace.

"I understand," she said, then continued, "When humans are young, they see the elderly and feel a mix of fear, revulsion, and denial. They don’t realize that they too are aging and will one day be just as old. This is the natural order; all things must age and die, even the stars in the sky fade away. Humans need to accept this truth. As they embrace life’s journey, they must also embrace its end, for it is the journey that matters."

I thought to myself, I can embrace the journey, but aging? Aging had made me weak, unable to do the things I once loved.

I shared these thoughts with her, hoping she could guide me through my concerns. With aging came diseases whose names I couldn’t pronounce, and a deepening sense of isolation—yes, loneliness, though she had spoken to that already. I had reached a point where I no longer recognized myself. The mirror reflected a stranger, someone my soul didn’t know. It was overwhelming; I constantly asked myself, who am I?

She comforted me, saying, "You see yourself differently than you did when you were younger. But you are the same being. Time, which is just a concept, has passed, and you mistakenly believe you’ve changed. No, you haven’t changed; you are still you, and you will remain yourself until the time comes to journey back to the place before your birth. Only then will you understand the secrets of the multiverse and the true reasons for your journey."

ON SOCIALIZATION

I wanted her to stay longer, much longer, so I asked another question—this time about socialization and relationships. It seems to me that socialization has become shallow, lacking purpose and significance. With modern technology—mobile phones, the Internet, and artificial intelligence—humans have turned into machines, not so different from the devices they use to communicate. Perhaps millions of others are lonelier than I am.

She responded, saying:

"One speaks when one is not at peace with one's own thoughts. Conversing or reasoning with others happens when one can no longer bear the solitude of one’s heart, so words become a substitute. In this process, the ability to reflect and ponder quietly suffocates. Many people seek conversation and cling to others out of a deep-seated fear of being alone."

Sabri Bebawi Copyright © 2023

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