Even with the imposed reality that surrounded her, Sybil Vaughan was able to empower herself, change her thoughts and heal her heart. She was born to make a difference but she could only do so when she realized that, this difference was her. This is the true story of a woman whose resilience made possible her transformation. Are you willing to keep reproducing the past as your present, or, are you ready for inner change and a life where the possible future is the only present there is?
While I Was Learning To Become God
gives an overview of the book:
It was a time of great transformations. Sybil had decided to be born in one of the most turbulent epochs of recent history, the height of the Vietnam War. The hippies and LSD were responsible for showing, for the first time, that one could live on love and peace. And despite excess and addiction, they opened the human mind to the possibility of other realities and other dimensions that none of the wars and their victims had allowed us to imagine.
I came into this world in the midst of daydream and tragedy, pleasure, and pain. Mankind landed on the moon, or at least I’d like to think that it did and it wasn’t staged in some studio in Las Vegas! Kennedy and Martin Luther King were assassinated, the Beatles were the only ones teenagers wanted to listen to, and Woodstock left its mark on the hearts of a generation that longed for the change which had not yet taken over the world. Doubtless, there were lots of Supermen and Wonder Women but I don’t know in what attics they were hiding. I cannot speak much of those days; I was in diapers, a baby whose fontanel had just closed as its brain was switched on. But I picked up from them the yearnings of those who came before me, the yearnings to establish a new order despised and misunderstood by those who still do not realize that they are asleep.
She was three when, suddenly, she fell gravely ill from an acute pyelonephritis which left her life hanging by a thread. From a tender age, Sybil confronted the duality of the world with its two extremes. Such a fragile mind, trying to own so many vivid details. When she tries to recall that time, perhaps she remembers more of the “other side” than this one. In those early years, her dreams were connected to an ethereal world where she lived through a pitched battle, between the forces of evil that only wished to annihilate her and the forces of light which revived her and kept her heart beating on nights from which it seemed she would never awaken. One should give credit to the nightmares children have. She would feel life and death at the same time, but life, which she so passionately wanted to live, was stronger. Forced to fight against the dark knights, little by little, her fears led her to build a nearly impenetrable armor; her timidity was so apparent that her mother, Cassandra, feared that she might be a deaf-mute, since she refused to utter a word. While all this was happening, she felt very weak; she was not a hardy girl and looked, for a long time, like an Ethiopian child suffering from famine. Her head was much too large for her body and her ribs stuck out of her skin. She paid little attention to food but did not care; the light from the other side nourished her deep inside. At that age, she could not defend herself and did not even understand the fight she had been thrust into. She only knew that her angel— that beautiful, enormous angel with cobalt-blue eyes and shining golden hair— was always by her side and he protected her.
He was like my other dad or mom, or the two in one. The love of that angel reached beyond all the limits of the universe. With a single word of his, I felt that my body was completely illumined and my human nature had vanished; that angel was the essence of pure love and at the same time the essence of the security all of us look for. My angel was the light leaping along behind me, so that he wouldn’t lose sight of me and would be able to save me from the shadows.
Her grandmother, Ofelia, made her say her bedtime prayers every night before going to sleep. In addition to the Lord’s Prayer and Hail Mary, she also taught her the Prayer to the Guardian Angel. Thus, the angel remained nameless until she became an adult; he was simply her guardian angel, who was always there when she needed him. Why give him a name if he came unbidden? The secret was to think of him, to keep him in her mind, and he would immediately respond. Like everything in a child’s world, it was easy and simple.
Her little piece of heaven was the island of San Andrés, where she spent the first thirteen years of her life. Her father, Dylan, a mild, bohemian Welshman with glassy blue eyes, had arrived in Colombia at the age of twenty-four to work for an oil company. Crossing seas and continents, he bravely followed the promptings of a heart which told him how to make his dreams come true. He met Cassandra, Sybil’s mother, in Cartagena and they lived there for several years after they married, during which they had three children, Betrys, Glyn, and Sybil. Another two were meant to embark on the Welshman’s adventure, but they were stillborn, one three years before Sybil was born and the other, three years after. Her mother still remembers them with nostalgia but she wonders what that period of her life would have been like if they had lived. They were poor enough with the three who survived.
Note from the author coming soon...
"A big, daring, manic-depressive stew of book that noisily announces the debut of a talented — yes, staggeringly talented new writer."