Introduction From La Strega by Joyce Luciano

The following is from the Introduction of my almost completed book, "La Strega (A Memoir)" by Joyce Luciano. The reason I decided to post it in my Blog and Groups at Facebook.com is to hopefully receive some feedback insofar as memory that anyone may have of their birth. I thought it would be interesting to end my book with some accounts from other people who also remember.

In the summer of 1939, there were several fires in Paterson, New Jersey a few months before my birth.

Toxic fumes from a burning rubber mill, necessitated confinement to bed for my mother or she would lose me. The events recounted here began prior to my birth.

My scheduled arrival on November 18, 1939 was cancelled a few minutes after midnight, October 17th. My mother had eaten broccoli which she thought was causing painful contractions. It occurred to her that the spasms were coming at timely intervals. She telephoned her doctor. By 1:50 P.M. E.S.T., I was born.

I have no conception insofar as to how or why I remember the birth experience which is inexplicable and am comforted knowing there are others who also have full recall of theirs.
It was during my birth that I became acquainted with Diana who eventually informed me, there would be others coming into my life when I was approximately thirty years old.

I did not understand why Diana was there or comprehend the manner she conducted her visits which for me, were comparable to teacher and student. Her wisdom extended far beyond the eternal youthfulness of her face. She appeared to be diaphanous. She had long blonde hair almost down to her waist.

After being with her I would feel a strange emptiness as if something were missing.
A peculiar sensation of being fully disconnected from the world of factual reality or, the everyday world as I had come to know it.

Always present was a longing to be somewhere else, in a place without any name nonetheless, unimaginable beauty.

Diana was a guiding entity prior to my first breath as a living being entering the planet. She was a presence who fit inside the crowded cavity where I was growing. She arrived after I felt a sensation of slipping into space, which I account to the time my mother was losing me.

Diana's method of communication was not in the sense of everyday language, speech, or, even a voice, It was simply, present like a gentle wind on a warm summer night in uninterrupted continuity.

It was programed for a specific time in my life to understand, know that there is a selective process beginning at the time of conception for every sentient being in our dimension.
This knowledge exists inside each of us. Eventually, some people become consciously aware of it, feeling as if they were seeded from a higher source. Others have an indescribable sense that they were placed on this earth with a mission to accomplish yet,have no idea as to what that mission is and will search until it is realized.

The next group senses from an early age that they are not in the right place and have a constant feeling of wanting to go home. They find themselves expressing this and occasionally come in contact with others who also, want to go home.

This contact is a joyous occasion which gives a feeling of rationality and a close link with the other person. Instantly, they recognize each other and with great relief find there is never a need to explain the phrase, I want to go home.

The groups are divided as Progenies. They are the regenerated seeds from those beings who have left this universe when highly enlightened, seeking to leave an imprint of themselves behind for others to utilize.

My Grandma, Mamelle had a reputation back in the old country where she was known as, la Strega (Witch). She was also quite proficient with spells for cures so it wasn’t just a one way street. Grandma was a good hearted Witch.

Fortunately for me Mamelle brought them from Italy to America when she arrived on Ellis Island in 1902.

She did not trust doctors or pills and made daily visits to her daughter Tillie bringing candles, bells, herbs, a yellow liquid, a crumbling old book, olive oil and two wax dolls. All were carefully placed on a makeshift altar on Moms’ big cedar chest at the foot of her bed on top of several yards of white linen.

Faithfully each day, Mamelle said incantations from the Old Book after lighting her candles and anointing four corners of the room with her yellow liquid. Tillie got stronger.

I remember the birth experience but had many doubts as to whether it was some bizarre facet of my imagination or real.

As I matured, with great relief others came into my life recounting their birth experience. In comparison the memory of it is similar.

It is difficult to describe the sounds and sensations. The best I can offer is, hearing a distinctively soothing sound like gentle waves slapping on sand. Then, a sense of soft, colored lights circling all around combined with vague shadows darting in and out. Unintelligible sounds. Something like an extrasensory way of knowing or hearing. Shadow like figures guiding me with a gentle nudge.

The colored lights faded in and out then changed into a silver cord that connected to the top of my head. I had no sense of time and suddenly felt as if I was being pulled up, choking to breathe, then a loud noise of metal hitting on metal followed by a brightly lit room. Not physically seeing the room but feeling the change of light.

Two presences were sensed for only a short time buzzing near my ears. Quite abruptly they were gone. It is difficult to describe but not uncommon to remember. Many people recall and fully understand these presences.

Mom always said, "right from the beginning, when we brought you home, you would be laying in your bassinet staring into space, smiling at someone. Your days and nights were mixed up. You slept all day until dark then were wide awake usually falling asleep around 5:00 A.M."

Life was primarily a blur until my fifth birthday when I met Diana again. She either came out of the sky and brought me into another dimension or vice versa, this is something I will never know with any certainty or even try to analyze.

It was spring. I remember flowers beginning to bloom and going to kindergarten. Every day at noon, the school bell rang. A few minutes later, my brother Anthony who was in seventh grade, appeared and escorted me home from school.

We walked down a long hill taking the same path, each day. The school was built at the highest point of Sandy Hill and abutted Sandy Hill Park.

Anthony never knew where I went or how I slipped past him. Neither did I. The walk home was almost a straight line from the top of Sandy Hill to our home.

Market Street was far to the north at a distance of about three blocks. A busy intersection, strictly off limits for he and I to cross the street without Mom or Dad.

Somehow, I was standing on the opposite side of Market Street. I didn’t know how I got there or when I crossed the street. I was just there.

I began running very fast in an attempt to get back to the other side. I had never crossed such a busy street. The last thing I remembered was walking down the stairs of my school.
Reaching the opposite side of the street I ran into the Park. Afraid to slow down but not knowing why. Suddenly I felt something hovering above my head. Not daring to look up, I ran like hell.

A strong wind whirled overhead. Landscapes, people, trees passed by with barely any motion. The sun began disappearing. It was getting dark making it increasingly difficult to find my way home.

I felt it was still afternoon and should be light but instead the darkness increased.
There were thirty stone steps to walk down when exiting the park.

Our house was on a dead end narrow street. About twenty feet from those steps that I could barely see because everything around me had become complete blackness.

Unable to see I felt the familiarity of our backyard by the smell of the flowers. Then screamed, "Mommy, Mommy, I can’t see, Mommy, I can’t see, where are you, it’s dark outside."

Somewhere I heard my Mother’s voice saying, "there’s the sun Joyce see, its still shining, look."
She cupped my chin in her hands tilting my head up. She tried to calm me down. She gently stroked my hair, hugging me tightly.

Slowly she pulled my eyelid down. Mom said, "let's see if there’s a piece of dirt in your eye." She asked if I felt that there was something in my eye.

I was blind for three days. The doctors told my parents it was hysterical blindness. They wanted to do more tests.

There is no recall of these tests only fragments of the constant questions I was asked.

In my later years, mom said, "the doctors told Dad and me that you were too intelligent for your age." This remains an enigma.

How can a child be, too intelligent for their age?

They were further informed, I had a very vivid imagination. All five year olds have vivid imaginations!

My cousin Dolores swore to high heaven the Bogey man lived under her bed. Cousin Carol was afraid of Jack Frost on her bedroom window, she thought he would snatch her away during the night.

The doctors wanted to try hypnosis. My parents refused. No medical or psychological reason was found.

On the fourth day, I was awakened by bright sunlight streaming through my bedroom curtains. It was over.

Despite several attempts over the years, I have never been able to acquire or view one single copy of my records from the hospital.

A few weeks later a series of nightmares began. They spilled into the waking state consisting of strange visions of future and past events.

We went to the family doctor who sent us back to the hospital. Mom was instructed to leave "just" a little night light on in my bedroom all night. (By five years old, I finally had gotten my days and nights right and went to sleep at 8 P.M.).

The advice was inadequate. Sixty-two years later, the nightlight remains lit. I am unable to fall asleep in total darkness. Presumably it is reassurance that I still can see.

Sometimes I find myself agreeing with my Grandma who never trusted doctors.

Diana’s visits continued with me still feeling afterward as if something was missing. Strange feelings of not being here, began when I was six years old.

My mother was startled the first time I complained, "I feel like I’m not here." "But you are here, right here Joyce, you’re standing right here in front of me," she would say reassuringly. "No! No! I feel like I’m not here and I want to go home. I want to go home now!"

The strange sensation of coming in and out of my physical body occurred several times a week until I was almost sixteen. I never discussed them with anyone, except Lucy who also knew Diana.

Lucy and I met in a plain, windowless, white room. There were a few wooden chairs pushed neatly against a wall. We were not schoolmates. The only occassion we saw each other was in that room.

Neither Lucy or I had any conscious memory of walking or driving to that room. We only recalled a pleasant sensation of floating up then over a trail dotted with tiny stars. We called it the star trail. Minutes later, we would find ourselves seated on the wooden chairs in that room still feeling stunned.

For me, these trips began to occur after my hysterical blindness. I do not know when they began for Lucy. She would never talk about them.

We were completely different personalities. Lucy was a shy little girl who needed someone to take the initiative and coax her to talk. As a child of Libra with Aquarius Rising, I seldom am at a loss for words. With Mars on my Ascendant, always willing to take the initiative and be assertive. Perhaps we were not paired by chance.

The first time I saw Lucy, she was lying on the floor in the fetal position sobbing soulfully .
"Don’t be scared, it’s okay. They don’t hurt us here. Pretty soon we’ll be back home you’ll see. It happens all the time so don’t be scared," I said in an authortive tone.

With tearful eyes she looked up straining to comprehend who or what I was.
A moment later questions flowed like a rushing waterfall.

"How do you know so much, why aren’t you scared, I didn’t do anything wrong, why are we here, where’s my mommy? What time is it, I want to go home."

Her rapid speech startled me. I needed a few seconds to compose myself.

Ultimately in a disapproving tone of voice I asserted, "because I’m not (scared), I’m a big girl, and I already told you don’t be scared. You’ll be home pretty soon, so stop crying!" My harsh words brought a frown to her face however, she stopped crying instantly.

Lucy stood up. She smoothed down her pink cotton dress, then pushed back her long, blond curly hair with both hands. She drew a deep breath then said, "My name’s Lucy. What’s yours?"
"Joyce. I’m almost six. How old are you, where do you go to school," I inquired.
With a puzzled look on her face she said, "your hair’s red but your eyes are brown."

"So what, my Daddy’s got brown eyes too and his mommy’s hair is red, I snapped.

"Oh, she said, well I don’t go to any school yet, not until after the summer’s done."
That statement would have meant Lucy was nearing five years old. Although I never knew her age, I automatically took the lead. Most of my lead time was spent keeping her
from crying.

Depite our illogical initial conversation, I like Lucy instantly. Admittedly, I felt exceptionally sorry for her because she seemed quite defenseless.

Reassuring I informed her for, "your Mommy’s asleep and real soon she’ll wake up, just like my Mommy does then everything will be all okay, just wait and see!"

Seconds later Diana appeared in the room. She ushered the ten of us in pairs to different rooms.
Aside from Lucy and I, there were always ten other children in that room. I have no conscious recollection as to what their faces look like. Only a blur of bodies along with an awareness of other's in that room. Customarily they were seated directly opposite us.

Several adults were always present. They acted in a similar manner as Diana. The atmosphere was comparable to teacher/student relationship.

There is a good possibility reading these events may trigger hidden memories surfacing from the dimly lit corners of your mind.

© La Strega (A Memoir) By: Joyce Luciano. All Material Contained Herein, 2007
All Rights Reserved 2007 whether written or implied. All Text and Content is owned by Joyce Luciano.