Centuries ago I was Morgann. Albeit I am neither immortal nor a supernatural creature of any kind, I am now an urban legend. For I am something else. I am a soul that gained awareness of its existence; a wandering soul inhabiting various bodies throughout their mortal life. A soul longing to be reunited with its soulmate. Like the fairytale, you know, “Once upon a time…” And the rest of the story unfolds, sometimes with torments, but always with a happy ending. Only that is not how it turned out for us. So maybe we should try another story line that would end better this time. Let’s say, “Twice upon a time,” maybe?
Anyway. This is what I am.
Centuries later, this soul eventually ended up in my body. Now I feel I can speak on Morgann’s behalf, for I’m him and he’s me. We’re one.
Fearless and hopeful, when Morgann’s body died, his soul began its journey. His body was no longer of use but his soul had lived on, intact, searching for her frantically. Her? Well, that would be Deirdre, a powerful medicine woman accused to be a witch.
Some witnessed my encounter with Deirdre and what followed, back when I was still Morgann. I, Morgann, a monk working on the now infamous Book of Kells. Witch or medicine woman, I couldn’t care less because right from the start I had that gut feeling she was the one for me, even as I had simply stared at the river of shiny black hair falling down to her back. It was meant to be. Kismet. Yes, we were undeniably soulmates. Twist of fate? I have no idea but that was how connected our souls were and still are, somehow. What was Deirdre doing here that day in the monastery? I didn’t dare ask. After that, I was already too involved to search for more explanation. My fate was sealed and so was hers. When we were introduced, we grasped at once that we were made for one another as long as we lived. Too bad we hadn’t foreseen our time together would be shortened by greedy people. Hopefully she was resourceful and found a way to escape our fate.
Let me tell you about us. What did we do wrong?
Well, when you’re a monk, there is no such thing as falling in love and breaking the vows of celibacy but I did. When you’re a medicine woman, there is no such thing as engaging in a passionate relationship with a man, and not just any man but a monk.
So the medicine woman was accused of being a witch for her medicine involved plants, charms and casting spells as well. Truth be told, she was a witch. There was no doubt about it.
Morgann was born in Ireland in the 8th century. When exactly? Not sure. Nobody was good at keeping tracks around that time. For some reason, though, centuries later I had a dream about the encounter that changed everything; it happened in the year 813.
Shameless, Deirdre and I broke all the rules. Deirdre had been paid to write what she knew about strong medicine and spells. I was one of the chosen script monks who wrote the book in calligraphy with her, for years.
That meaningful book didn’t belong to us. It was theirs. So meaningful they ended up referring to it as poisonous when I’d rather call it visionary. Who were they? The sleeping partners; narrow-minded judgmental people who started to get scared of her. Of us. They needed to destroy us. Deirdre didn’t realize their attempt until it was almost too late for us.
But we had to stop them once we had apprehended their genuine intentions. Their goal was plain and simple, yet we were too blinded by our love to see it right from the start. They were seeking eternal life. But it didn’t work that way. None of them ever figured out how to cast the right spell at the right time on the chosen person.
When it got out of hand, people’s imagination was already at work. At once, word-of-mouth spread the tale that soon became legendary. Why? Well… who could believe in our true fate? A soul that lived on until reunited with its soulmate, come on!
Soon enough, our legend started. Our peculiar story and the supposedly poisonous book were referred to as the Black Angel Book.
Over the years, I’ve heard and read several versions of the legend. Fantasies. Although the major events were accurate, many alternate views existed throughout the centuries, on how we died, what was the content of the book. But I’m the one who remembers it all.
Unbelievable for the human mind but still, so far from the actual truth. Their wildest imagination couldn’t fathom what we lived through and what we experienced each and every time our human bodies die.
Because they did kill Deirdre and left Morgann for dead. They were the ones who should have died that day. They needed to control us. All this for a damn book, written by a witch and her lover monk. Those men were thieves. Granted, they were the ones who ordered and paid for the book. Yet this book was their way to steal the essence of Deirdre’s knowledge. A book that held the key to health, youth, love, and much more. Unfaithful men who didn’t know anything about its power.
That was why we stole their precious book and ran away with it to hide. Who did they think they were, trying to play God? No one should be granted eternal life. The irony of all this was that, in a way, we played God, too, not accepting death when it was about to knock on our door. It was too unfair. We didn’t deserve this.
Foreseeing our impending tragic fate, Deirdre fought for us, protecting us, to make things right again. How? Gifted Deirdre cast the spell that enabled our souls to eventually be reunited. She couldn’t bear for us to be apart, and neither could I.
Yet death didn’t suffice. Our souls—mine at least—needed to learn their lessons first; be purified in order for the process to go right. Apparently I had to redeem from all my wrongdoings: monk having a lover, and a witch nonetheless? A monk who dared to defy God by trying to be reunited with his loved one… A higher force sent my soul straight to Hell after Morgann’s body died. It took another couple of lifetimes for my filthy, rotten soul to be cleansed and set free again. Free to inhabit a human body again, and again, and again. Fulfill its purpose, at last. What happened to hers then, I have no idea.
What I’m aware of is that now I have a duty to carry on with the fight she started. Until we are finally back together.
What’s my life? Traveling the world from one body to the next haphazardly, discovering a new body one life after another: new country, different culture, new language, different color of skin, new hair and eyes, different height and weight but I’m always a male. That is how I figured out that Deirdre’s soul always inhabits female bodies. Each time I learn to experience a better karma, read the signs, pay attention to women around me. I need to be able to recognize her. Somehow. My soul remembers it all, hers doesn’t. But how will she remember who she was, who we were? Will seeing me be enough? Will I need to trigger her memory? Will she accept me as I am now? I’m clueless.
I found it amazing how she mastered such a strong spell and cast it, knowing she wouldn’t recall anything, once her body became lifeless and her soul would inhabit another body. But that was a risk she was willing to take. She had faith in me. She understood I’d find her in another timeline. She understood I’d find ways to reboot her memory. One way or another. Obviously I’d have to see beyond what meets the eyes since neither of us would look the same.
She had faith in me, so I have no choice but to have faith in me, too. Maybe I’d meet her in this life or the next. The trick is, well, I’m not sure of how the trick works since up until now I have had no such luck and my quest will keep on until I do. One life after another.
I guess I’ll be drawn to her but that has happened to me before. I had been drawn to someone, I mean, yet none of them were her. There’s a thin line between being drawn to a girl because I find her attractive or because she’s the one. Let’s hope that when I find the one I will also find her to my liking but that’s not even a given. This is so strange to envision oneself with someone merely because it’s fate. But then again, when you meet someone you’re attracted to, you often think fate put her there. I’m still debating on how this will unfold.
I keep my fingers crossed and wish that I’ll be attracted to her and she will also be attracted to me. After what I consider a prerequisite—but that might not be the case—I’ll have to explain the unexplainable. Will she listen and understand? Will she be scared and run away? Will she feel pressured, sensing that her attraction to me is due to the spell? Then she might believe she’s trapped and she’ll reject me. Is there an easy way to tell her that fate is at work and not a curse? This is madness. This is so confusing. What if she’s not attracted to me at all? What will I do then? Is that even possible? Can I make her fall for me no matter what, once I have identified who she is? Reach out to her. But what if she doesn’t believe me or worse, if what I am freaks her out? What then? Find a way to make her believe in me. In us. There is no way to find a logical way to deal with this when logic isn’t involved.
Quite a challenge, but otherwise this would have been useless. The risks she took for us, my quest, everything. I need to play my part in the story. I’m not afraid by the quest anymore; I’ve been playing this game for too long now. As surprising as this urban legend may be, I have got used to living this way. I have a purpose in life, which is more than most men can say. I have appreciated learning the workings of life, one lifetime after another. It took several of those lifetimes for me to comprehend the most basic principles of soul’s journey. Such as, once the body it inhabits dies, my soul has to find another. A newborn, with a suitable karma. That part can take a great deal of time. Once my new body is found, my soul slowly awakens. I learned the hard way that I would gain awareness of what I am day by day. Little by little. Bits and pieces. Until the soul fully grasps its purpose, once again. One life at a time. Over and over again. Only then can my soul start the search for its soulmate. The tragedy is between death of the previous body and this no man’s land, there is no way we could be reunited. More time lost. How many opportunities did we miss already? You know what? I don’t care. I have all the time in the world to find the body in which Deirdre’s soul is hidden.
I’ll manage to find her, sooner or later. The world gets smaller and smaller, after all. I can travel the world or broaden my research on the Internet—although I’m sure I need to find her in real life at some point rather than hook up online like I did several times before—using whatever help I can get in my quest. Then I can start fighting for what I believe in.
It’s that next step I’m curious about since I don’t know how to play it. There are no rules. And what I am led me to lose my faith in the goodness of mankind long ago, I never lost hope. So this cannot be useless.
Meanwhile I need to do my best to give enough thanks to this higher power for this second chance. Our second chance. It is going to be even better the second time around. I am going to offer her a new storyline. Yeah, “Twice upon a time” sounds quite all right. Not a fairy tale, this time, but our new life together.
I am no longer Morgann. She is no longer Deirdre.
I love her. She’s my life. I am going to find her and make her mine. Whatever it may cost me. She shouldn’t fear me, right? Even if she doesn’t remember us yet. Even if she doesn’t have enough faith to believe this urban legend is real, indeed. I’m compelled to do this for her. For us… because that is why she cast that spell, that is what she wanted. And she’ll be mine, once again. She has to.
© 2015 Hope Irving