Depths of Light
From Earth Will Be Reborn
B Y   M A R C   M A R A M A Y   A N D   V A L   Y O U N G

Opening the Weave
Welcome to the Circles of Love within the One Heart. In one of these, you have a place, one that has been kept open for you to enter. One that you may be aware of, or that you may even have been looking for, but it is your place. You enter your Circle, sit in your place and open your heart, so that all can flow through you. You sit as an equal, in peace, with an open heart. The journey you are about to start on is about taking your place in the Circle and remembering all that goes with re-entering that space. It is a record of a journey that Marc and I went on, but it was always meant to be shared with you.

We had no idea of the enormity of the journey, or the commitment that we had taken on. We simply opened a sacred space and Marc channeled all the beings that came through in the different circles. We did sense that there was an Overlighting Being or Circle, who would gather the beings that sat in the Circle each night, and who would carefully look after us as well. We always felt safe, well supported and deeply loved.

At the beginning of the journey, I felt as if I was an audience to the beings that were coming through, I would listen and respond silently, in my heart and mind. I would stoke our wood fire, which often became very lively, taking on quite a life of its own.

The beings each spoke in their own way and it was the words and inflections that I listened and responded to. When we began, I only had an inkling of my star-connections. Then, one evening, Star-Beings energetically landed with a bump in our tiny front room, full of humor, and any unease that I had simply vanished. Later on, a circle of Star-Beings came through that I had a huge heart reconnection with. Tears of joy were streaming down my face when, at last, I remembered our connection, having forgotten for so long. Gradually, I became more energetically sensitive, as my whole system was opening up, and over a long period of time I started to gain confidence in myself. I realized that I was part of the Circles too, not just an audience, so I took my place in my Circle, which had been waiting for me all the time. And that is why I could greet you the way that I did!

Marc would always do the channeling, but as my system began to open up, I was involved energetically too. Sometimes beings would enter my system, sometimes so that they could feel what it was like to be in a human body, other times it was so that I could feel their energies. Although no names were ever used for any of the beings or Circles, we began to recognize certain energies of individuals and Circles, remembering these maybe months later when they returned. The Angelic Beings were an easy energy to recognize and so were the Tree Beings, as they each have a very special feel, but others were far more subtle, or so new to us that we only began recognizing them after meeting them a few times. People are very interested in the names of the beings and who they are, and at first so were we. But soon we realized that all the beings are coming from Oneness (sometimes in rapid succession!) and by listening with our hearts we could recognize them or know who they are.

Each channeling, which lasted about three hours, was recorded and then transcribed, so a chapter came through each night. Before the channeling, there would be a healing session and we slowly realized that during these times our "Higher Selves" were being introduced to that night's circle. Yet when the session began we would have no conscious idea of who was going to come through. Our daily lives became so synchronistic with the channeling that at times we felt an amazing closeness with the circles and such a thinness of the veils. It was often these magical moments, or the silly or humorous ones, that either reinforced what had been said the night before or were preparing us for that evening's meeting. Always, at the end of each session, there was the beautiful energy of a Storyteller, whose stories were always profound, archetypal and heart warming, pulling all the threads of that evening together. We could both really relax when the Storyteller held us in their loving spell.

Sometimes the Beings would come in easily and the rate of speech would be a steady pace, other Beings took longer to enter Marc's system, either because they were so unused to human form or even so far from physical form themselves. Sometimes it was uncomfortable for us to have such Beings in our systems that were obviously so different energetically to us. During the sessions on the history of the Earth, we came to realize that our bodies' cells and DNA still held memories of those times, which were being released as we remembered, and these were difficult nights.

The journey was full of the expansion and remembering, letting go of the debris that we had clung on to. It was painful and exhausting at times, but also full of joy, with many magical moments. Though we were going through this together, we each had to work on our own "stuff", so we just held each other and were held by the Circle in a loving place, in the One Heart, so we could begin the process of awakening consciously.

So enjoy sitting in your circle again, greeting old friends and beginning to remember who you truly are. You will always be lovingly supported and, though it might not feel like it at times, you are never alone. May you have a magical journey to meet your magical self!

From Heart to Heart, within the Circles of Love,
Val Young

From Chapter Four

This is from one of the earliest nights, when a Circle of many different beings spoke in turn, and here are two of their voices. This was also the first night that, to our surprise, a Storyteller began to tell a story...

I AM DARKNESS, yet I come from the Light, for I am created by Light. I am shadow, yet I flow from the One. I am coldness, for I shun the warmth, even as I seek it. I am hate, born of a wounded heart; I am bitterness, born of disappointment. I am narrowness, who strayed from the wide path. I am sorrow, grown old in a young heart; I am grief given with love; I am love lost. I am sadness, I have no friends. I am loss, I come after.

I bring no comfort... yet I bring a gift. I bring no warmth, yet I bring a wisdom. Though I am not easy to be with, I have a beauty too, if only you, or I, could see it. But I am blind to myself, so I am Darkness. Yet I have my place and that is my comfort and, somewhere in the darkness, I know that I am loved. But my coldness is that I cannot feel it, I do not know its warmth. I know not its light, but I have my time, and within my time I shine, darkly. I illuminate the light with my bright shadows. I am the hidden sister of the Light; I am the other hand. Each hand senses the other in the dark and when they reach out, they touch each other, yet know each other not.

For one sees but the darkness, and the other is the darkness. But there is One who knows both, who knows their wisdom; that is the One I seek. For light seeks light, light seeks dark, dark seeks dark and dark seeks light. And in the dance is time made; in their movement is space created. I am your sister, as all are one and I make no greater claim. But I ask to be known, to be recognized and remembered. For I am loneliness, most of all.

I AM A SISTER of the Darkness, a Priestess of the Light. I am guided by the Light, and I guide my light through the pools of darkness. I have known the darkness, as I have known the light and I know each seems equal in the points between, when we have darkness on one side and light on the other. When we are at the center of the scales; on the one hand darkness, on the other hand, light. We wonder which will over balance us, as we begin to topple one way, then the other. For the darkness can seem so heavy, so almighty, so deep and powerful; its majesty and strength can seem unconquerable, its mystery unfathomable, yet somewhere we know that a small candle can illuminate the darkness; a beam of light can reach out into darkness and find what lies hidden there, though it seems but a weak beam.

So we know, deep within us, that light can find what it wishes to find in the darkness. Darkness can be a sister or brother, a companion or friend; then it too can be guided through the paths it has created. We can find the star-lined path picked out in the dark of space. And the burning stars shine all the brighter for being surrounded by the dark; for the darkness is illusion, as all is illusion.

We can see, with the eye of our heart, through the darkness. We can pierce its depths to find our way through it and thank it for its guidance as we go, as we wander through the shadows with the stars to guide us above, or beneath our very feet; or we peer ahead to a pinpoint of light that will guide us through. We are also learning to know the darkness, to know its velvet depths that conceal the light.

There, hidden within its deepest depths is the source of the light itself. When you tear away this fabric of illusion, this dark veil, you will be dazzled by the light that was there all the time, like the Sun behind the clouds. You will laugh at your own fears and terrors, knowing now that you created these illusions so that you could learn to discern, to guide yourself through the valleys of darkness, out beyond, into the infinity. For beyond what seems like boundless night is the infinity of infinities; the Life of Forever, the Love everlasting of the Creator of Light and Dark, of you and I and the One that we are.

The Man By The Lake
There once was a man of infinite patience who waited by the circle of a lake.

He hoped to catch a fish he knew was there, somewhere in its depths. He had heard the stories of its breathtaking beauty, of its wonderful colors, of its grace as it swam and its great size and strength. If only it could be caught, he often thought, how delicious it would be. What a wonder of a fish! And well worth the wait. It was said to be the only one of its kind and had fallen into a deep sleep long before. There it rested, safe and dreaming on the bed of the lake, its beauty hidden in the murky depths. It was said this magical fish would rise to the surface one day, but only if the right person could awaken it.

Only one thing could attract its attention in those murky depths, the lure of a colorful feather. Only then would it be reminded of the forgotten world waiting above, and it would begin to rise and shine, awakening as it rose to the bait. So the story was told, but only a few believed it now. And only one of those few was willing to wait long enough to be a witness to its truth. It would take one with rare dedication and patience, but now one such man sat on the bank, his mind fixed on a single purpose.

So he waited, day in, day out, with a rod of wood, an unbreakable thread and a baited hook. At his belt, was a knife to gut the fish. The hook was baited with a bright feather, which he hoped would attract the fish's attention and spark its curiosity... someday. He had attached a heavy weight to it and flung it into the water, sensing it sink down until it was touching the very bed of the lake, its muddiest depths, where no other fish could live. At the lake's edge, he waited, day after day, through the long days and longer nights, forgetting his family and his friends, losing interest in the rounds of daily life, waiting for the fish to rise to the surface. He waited at the ever-shifting edge to catch a glimpse of its beauty, for the flash of a fin to break the surface, for a hint of something moving in the depths, some movement to give him hope. But there was never even a tug on the line. Never once did he catch even a glimpse of the fish. Crouched there, as if ready to pounce, he stared into the waters until his eyes grew bleary and tired, until he would lose consciousness and fall asleep.

By night, he tied the thread to him, so that if the fish awoke while he slept, they would awaken together. Whenever he woke up, the man would at once be on the alert, resuming his duty, waiting for the fish to appear. Standing amongst the reeds, holding the rod, with the thread twined between his fingers, waiting for a tug, a sign of life, he became sensitive to every subtle current. Yet, still, the sign he expected never came. But something seemed to keep him there, to keep his hope alive. Sometimes he did feel trapped, and a feeling came that he must escape this place and give up on his quest. He would start to think the stories were fanciful lies, that he had been hoodwinked, that there was no fish there at all. Yet, somehow, he could not leave because he still believed, in spite of everything, in spite of catching nothing.

Days and weeks passed and, as he grew paler and thinner, others worried about him. Friends brought him food, while his family came often to plead with him to leave and come home with them. Others tried to entice him back to the old social life he had lived, but, still, he stayed and waited. The presences of the big, mossy rocks that stood above the surface of the lake had become as familiar as old friends and, with them and the trees that ringed the shore, he seemed to have all the friends he needed. But there were lonely moments and he was often stiff and tired now. He knew, nevertheless, his belief was stronger than fatigue. Yet he doubted himself often. Why did he want to prove this mythical fish existed? He could not explain why to anyone, even himself. His muscles ached, his clothes had become dusty and ragged during his long vigil, waiting through all weathers. Every day, he had tasted disappointment, and he was afraid that it would make him bitter.

Then, one morning, he woke as he had done on so many mornings before and again looked into the lake expectantly, with hope rising in his heart. He scanned its surface and its depths until, once again, every inch, every ripple and tiny wavelet was examined. There was nothing to see but the lake and its reflections, the pure beauty of the lake he had come to know so well. He let himself relax then and began to enjoy watching the lake, as he had watched it each day and so come to know it deeply. In the gentle whispers of the waves, he followed the conversation of wind and water, reading their messages written on the writhing surface. There had been special moments that the man and the lake seemed to have shared. Moments when it felt, just for an instant, as if he was part of the lake, or the lake was part of him. As he sat there, gazing at the lake, he slowly came to realize that what had been keeping him there was not the fish, this fish he had never seen, but something else that made the hope rise in his heart. Something burned within his heart, which had sustained him through his lonely vigil.

He realized, with a start, that it was love. Was it a love of something he had never seen? A love of something he knew to be there, beautiful and strong, unique and wonderful? He looked again into the circle of the lake and saw no fish, but the lake itself, the lake he had grown to love, rippling and shimmering with light that glinted off its surface. He was thirsty now and he bent down to drink, to quench his thirst as he had done every other day. He dipped his hand into the lake, making his hand into a bowl and took from it enough water to slake his thirst. But, as he brought the water to his lips, he saw his own face reflected in the little lake in the palm of his hand. For a moment, he did not recognize himself, it was so long since he had seen himself in a mirror. He knew that he looked different now - or looked at himself differently. Yet he could see himself as the lake saw him; for the lake saw him with the eyes of love, with a deep peace. The lake saw him as a lover sees the beloved, as one who is beautiful and patient, one who would wait long, long hours in search of something never seen, but only known within the heart.

He found he could not bring himself to drink the water, so he stared at the reflection in his own hand for a long time. Finally, thirst overcame him and he drank. His reflection disappeared and the crystal water flowed down into him, refreshing him. When the water of the lake entered him, he felt, for the first time, truly at one with the lake. Now, when he looked again at the lake, he saw himself reflected in its movement, in its surface and its depths, in its inner life, its peace and stillness. He was one with its waves. When the wind blew across its skin, it also caressed him; each wave that flowed through the lake flowed through him too. Now, the ripples on the face of the lake were the wrinkles in his own smiling face, each silver flash was a glimmer in his own eye. A single tear of joy fell from his eye and melted into the waters with an almost invisible ripple.

The man untied the thread from the rod of wood and planted the rod in the soil amongst the reeds. He looked down at the thread, which he had held onto so tightly all that time. He loosened his grip on the thread and opened his hand, letting the gentle waves of the lake take it from his fingers. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. His body relaxed, his mind widened, his heart opened to the beauty all around him. He stood up and looked out over the lake, feeling free and content. He took a step to the very edge of the water then he stepped into the circle of the lake. He waded in deeper and deeper until he began to float and the lake embraced him. With his face to the sky, he stretched out beneath the blue veil, resting on the surface of the lake like a dreamer on a soft, watery bed. Far below him, in the murkiest depths, something stirs. Deep within the heart of the lake, something shimmers into life, something glows and flashes into living light.

The man floats in the bowl of lake with the Sun high above him, warming the water. He feels a sudden pull from below. He takes a deep breath and disappears beneath the waves. In the swirling waters around him, light is rising and colors are appearing, taking the flowing form of a great fish, yet the man can sense so much more within this light that has risen from the deep of the lake. Her form is more beautiful than he could ever have imagined, and her shimmering scales flash in the sunlight as she circles him, making a circle of light in the clear water. Her movement creates a liquid spiral, with him in the spinning column of water, like the spindle in the center. He is spinning slowly, enjoying the beauty of this moment, with her colors reflecting on his skin, feeling like a fish-man himself. She touches him with her fins that wave like wings through the water, their bright feathers caressing him. Together, they dance in a flowing, spiral dance, deep into the lake. The knife he has carried falls from his belt and disappears into the murk and mud.

Finally, he rises to the surface for air, and he notices her glow in the water swimming out in a circle around the lake. A bright wave ripples through the lake, then all is still. The man slowly drifts to the shore. He walks from the water and stands on the bank, looking with new eyes now, more awake than he has ever been before.

That day, he returned home. As he turned to leave, he knew that, though he was turning his back on it, he and the lake were one and he would hold it within his own depths forever, as the lake held him in its heart. And the secret held within it would live within him. As they moved apart, love brought them together, and there was no distance between them now.

From Earth Will Be Reborn – A Sacred Wave Is Coming, channeled by Marc Maramay with Val Young. Available from bookshops and online, published by O Books, ISBN 9781905047802. Reprinted with permission. To order, click on the thumbnail below.