Ekstasis – The Return of the Sovereign Heart

Synopsis

Together, they are the keys to humankind's original blueprint. Apart, will they find each other through the pages of time?

Mona Devek is driven by an innate knowing. As a walk-in from birth, her life's unfolding twists and turns serve to awaken her to her potential and identity and to reconnect her with an ancient star tribe. But when she publishes a work of fiction detailing her spiritual quest, something inspires her to fill in the blanks left by her as-yet-unseen interdimensional lover.

David Wilkins is a firm atheist and has long given up on happiness. Devastated by the tragic loss of his wife and child, the former award-winning film director shelved an unread book his sister shared on account of its uncanny similarities to his own life. Then on one transatlantic flight home, he finally flips it open . . . and by the time he reaches the last page, he is no longer the same person.

As Mona uncovers more about her true origin and her reason for incarnating, she discovers that the entire free will of human beings is at stake. And as David's creativity resurfaces and he plans a return to directing by making a movie of Mona's best-selling novel, he is shocked when he learns that the author he has grown to love is in a coma.

Can their spirits rejoin in the physical realm and save humanity from oblivion?

Ekstasis: The Return of the Sovereign Heart is the inspiring first book in the Ekstasis magical realism romance series. If you like a visionary and metaphysical adventure, with relatable paths of healing, where trauma and loss are transmuted into love, then you'll adore M. I. Dugast's journey into the soul.

I

Air France, Flight 72, January 3, 2016

“May I have your attention please? This announcement is for Air France Flight 72, destination Los Angeles. We regret to announce that this flight will be slightly delayed. Please stand by, and we will give you an update as soon as possible. We apologize for any inconvenience caused. Thank you.”

A low grumble traveled through the passengers sitting together in the business lounge. No doubt some had important appointments to get to on the other side of the Atlantic. David had just finished work so he did not mind. He drained his coffee and stood up, giving a woman at the table near him a polite nod as he grabbed his satchel. Time for a stroll. He threw his jacket over his arm and walked away swiftly as she carried on with a begrudging monologue about the delay.

He sauntered down the corridor in the direction of the main shopping area.

“Look, Mum!” screeched a kid, belly down on his skateboard, “I’m Batman!”

David jumped aside to avoid the young hero who flew straight past him, arms outstretched, grinning gleefully. David smiled conspiratorially. The airport floor offered an ideal skating ground—perfectly flat and immaculately clean. Who could resist?

The next passenger wasn’t so lucky. Riveted to his phone screen, he did not see the incoming missile that stopped only when it met his shin. “Sorry!” the young boy’s mother called from a distance, securing the baby-sling strap across her chest before she broke into a small jog. “Peter! Get off the board right now!” She gave the furious man who was rubbing his shin an apologetic smile, and he walked off grumbling.

Alanna and Levi flashed through David’s mind. Levi would have been sixteen this year. Although David’s heart still ached, and he expected that it always would, he had learned with various degrees of success to convert grief into love whenever he thought of them. He sent them heartfelt thoughts and slipped into the nearest shop for distraction.

Christmas had been a challenging time of the year since he lost Alanna and Levi, but he eventually got around to visiting his sister, Jenny, for the festivities—largely for her sake and for that of his nieces. However, the end of 2015 had been busier than most. The overseeing of the building and final touches on a villa in Malta had demanded all his attention, and he had promised Jenny that he would stay with them for a full fortnight once he got back to LA to make up for his absence.

Besides being kept vaguely in the loop by Jenny, he had completely dropped off the film scene, both acting and directing. And along with it, he had dropped his alias second name, Wilkins. He had firmly decided to leave it all behind: Too many memories. His change of career—architectural design, his younger self’s choice—had been instrumental in getting through his grief, and since he had been away from the public eye he had taken a liking to moving about the world anonymously.

The English section in the newsagent’s was relatively small, with a handful of best sellers from authors he had never heard of. He was browsing the shelves when two women bustled in. One of them was talking animatedly, at high speed, in a mix of French and English—a kind of Frenglish that amused him as he seemed to be able to understand most of it. He instinctively moved up an aisle to be in closer hearing range and picked up the first magazine to hand.

The woman ferreted around the bookshelves, using her index finger as a scanner. “Here it is!”—she pulled a book out victoriously—“It looks like the last copy too … Meant for you!”

Her friend flicked through it with an unimpressed pout. “Mmm. Maps to the Sovereign Heart, Mona Devek. Never heard of her.”

“No, I know. She’s a new author, but you’ll love it! Ericka, the heroine, uses the adversity in her life to awaken, to find out who she is, and who her spiritual guides are, and then we realize that she’s … she’s …” The woman paused to take a breath, her tone leveling out, “well … I don’t want to say too much, but … it’s like reading parts of yourself. It’s empowering. And magical! It gives you a boost, you know?”

Her friend’s forehead was pleated in concentration, her lackluster demeanor a stark contrast against her friend’s effervescent joy. “I thought you said it was a love story?”

“Oh it is … very much so!”

The two women carried on chatting about their past dreams and ordeals, and although David didn’t want to eavesdrop, he couldn’t help being drawn in. He had long since quit directing, but the director in him had not quit him. The gamut of emotions exchanged between the two friends was enthralling, and it made him curious about the book.

He waited until they purchased it and made his way to the counter, trying on his best French. “Would you happen to have another copy of the novel those ladies bought, please?” he said with a smile.

“Bonjour, Monsieur,” replied the cashier pointedly, without looking up, irritated that anyone would miss out on the most basic of greetings before they started asking questions. A pet hate of his. “Maps to the Sovereign Heart? I’m not sure …” he replied tautly, disinclined to make an effort when the person he was speaking to hadn’t made one.

This job was no more than a means to an end, a way to finance his film studies at EICAR, the Paris International Film and Television School. He wasn’t paid to go the extra mile. He took his time clearing a strand of greasy hair from his forehead and nearly died on the spot when he recognized his customer. David Wilkins. One of his favorite actors and film directors of all time. There was little he could do to stop a beetroot tidal wave rising to his face. “We just had a delivery,” he mumbled, pointing behind him and taking the opportunity to dive headlong into a pile of boxes behind the counter. “I’m almost certain there will be some in there. Do you have a moment?”

“Yes, I do,” David replied. “That would be great!”

The cashier sliced through the brown tape of all six boxes and rummaged through them frantically, not really seeing what he was looking at for a few seconds. I can’t believe I’m serving David Wilkins! He had been much too young to see Aquilon come out on the big screen in 1995, but he hadn’t missed 3 Degrees Closer, the film that earned Wilkins Academy Awards for Best Picture and Best Director in 2000. The film, as well as Wilkins’s absence at the Oscars that year, had made headlines, all the more memorable because of his personal tragedy.

Wilkins had disappeared from public view just before his nomination and had remained invisible ever since. Fifteen years later, his legendary talent had not been forgotten, especially among aspiring filmmakers. The extensive media coverage, and intrusive shots in sensationalist tabloids, had etched him in the memory of his fans.

The cashier cringed, thinking how impolite he had been. Maybe if he could find a copy of that damn book he could redeem himself. The opportunity for an autograph—or perhaps a selfie!—was right at hand. Unfortunately, there were no copies to be found in any of the boxes. He pulled himself together and gave the film director his best smile. “I’m so sorry, but we don’t seem to—”

“Attention all passengers of Air France Flight 72, destination Los Angeles. We are pleased to announce that this flight is now ready for boarding—”

“No worries,” said David. “I’ve got to go now. Thank you for taking the time to check. Au revoir!”

“Have a pleasant journey, sir,” replied the defeated cashier cheerlessly. “Mr. Wilkins,” he mumbled to himself.

Once onboard, David settled in his pod by the window, glad for the privacy of the Première cabin. He closed his eyes for a few seconds. This year is going to be different. That thought had crossed his mind several times in the past few months, and he didn’t really know what to make of it. Would it really be different? How exactly? Or was it just wishful thinking? He was well aware that his loss had left scars that had not healed, even after all the years. Beyond acceptance, he had not been able to fully forgive himself. Losing Alanna and Levi had been unbearable, and at first he had wanted to die—or at least to disappear. Because if there was one thing worse than grieving, it was grieving in public. His main support at that time had come from conversations with his sister, Jenny, a couple of close friends, and an amount of counseling.

Jenny ran a literary and talent agency, Krown & Barundis, with her wife, Nicoletta. Between Nicoletta’s structural planning and organization, and Jenny’s flair for talent, the agency had taken off and by now was a great success. David had part-funded their venture, and although he had accepted to be made a part of it, he opted to remain a silent partner. Over the years, Jenny had attempted to reel David back into his film career, but he always insisted it was something he wanted to leave behind.

Ultimately, time had been the biggest healer, and when he resigned himself to participating in the world again, it was his former interest in architecture that he pursued, and he began drawing houses to distract himself. One day, a friend who was visiting spotted a draft lying on the table and asked David if he would design a house for him. This heralded the beginning of a new career, and although he kept it a word-of-mouth enterprise, it had been as satisfying as it was unexpected. In the past ten years, he had designed thirty-two houses, each inspired into creation with the owner in mind and christened with a one-off signature piece or feature built in to evoke their individuality.

With the completion of each project, the thought—not quite a wish—wafted by that one of his houses might become an edifice of love, a home to a new relationship. One day maybe. But each time he quickly stifled the idea. In the past ten years, he had occasionally dated but had wanted to keep things light, casual. That way, no one had to suffer too much. It was safer. More responsible. Or at least that had been his intention. Unfortunately, it had resulted in the opposite, leaving him and the women he dated unfulfilled—and them brokenhearted—which was the last thing he wanted. For the past while, he had stopped dating altogether. His work had always been his survival mechanism, and he decided to make it his exclusive focus. His mind was clearly still at odds with his heart, and he wondered if that would ever heal fully. Love hadn’t turned out so well for Alanna and Levi, or for himself, and there were no parts of that he wanted to reenact.

This year is going to be different.

There was that thought again. Unsure as to its provenance or exact meaning, it jiggled his solar plexus. All the more unsettling because it felt as though, somehow, the change had already begun. He wished he hadn’t said anything to Jenny during their Christmas video call a couple of weeks before because she had all kinds of spiritual concepts at the ready to explain what he might be going through. Jenny believed in something greater than the reality at hand, and they’d had many conversations about it over the years. David had no interest—not after what he had lost.

Later in their chat, she asked if he had gotten a chance to open the parcel she’d sent him that summer and looked disappointed that he hadn’t. Luckily, David’s nieces, Sam, who was fifteen, and her twin sisters, Crystal and Sophia, almost half her age, and Nicoletta had joined them at that moment, providing a timely diversion. David didn’t kid himself that he was off the hook: Jenny would no doubt assail him with all kinds of concepts when he got home. He would listen, because he loved her and respected her. Her beliefs had seemed to help her when both their parents died. But they did nothing for him.

If anything, the idea of a world he couldn’t see unnerved him. He liked things he could bank on. Certainty. Facts. Solid reality. Life had taught him that the best-laid plans did not always yield the sought results. Far from it. His work was the exception. It was a safe and easy outlet into which he could pour his creative passion and emotional energy and one where the results were congruent with his original intention. There was a beginning, a middle, and an end, and nothing had to die or disappear in the process. Quite the contrary. His work resulted in a beautiful, tangible creation that lived on.

This year is already different …

Really? How? In terms of reopening his heart? He had promised Alanna that he would do so at some point, but would he ever be really capable of it? It certainly would have been his wish too if things had been the other way around—if Alanna had lived and he had died. The way things ought to have been.

“Good afternoon, sir. Would you care for a glass of champagne?”

“Good afternoon. No, thank you. I’ll just have water please.”

As David sipped his glass, absently looking at a few lost cottony clouds, Jenny’s package came back to mind. Only for her asking during their recent call if he had opened it, and him taking immediate action by throwing it into his carry-on bag while they were talking, it would have been left behind in Malta.

The long flight from Paris to LA would be the perfect opportunity. Even if the book wasn’t totally his taste, it would probably still be an entertaining read. Jenny had a legendary flair for talent and wouldn’t have signed up the author otherwise. He unglued the top of the bubble-lined mailer and pulled another parcel out of it, which made him smile as it had a letter sellotaped on top of it, titled “Read me first.” Placing the parcel on his lap, he couldn’t help but notice that it had been wrapped roughly, which was unusual for Jenny who had a taste for neat, visual excellence. He detached the envelop, opened it, and a sweeping glance at the note informed him that it had been scribbled hastily. Doubly unusual. It was dated June 2015.

Hey David,

As per your preference, this is a galley proof of the book I mentioned to you back in March. Please bear with it, even if it doesn’t immediately appeal. I don’t pretend to understand how or why exactly, but I do feel that somehow there is something for you in it … Maybe it’s connected with what you’ve told me about your sense of things being different for the upcoming year?

I have to warn you that you’ll find one of the characters’ lives has uncanny parallels with your own, and please know that I am sorry about that as it may make some parts difficult to read, but I’m compelled to share it with you.

I can’t wait to have you with us and chat about it.

Speak soon, love you!

xxx Jen.

David sighed as he remembered his original reticence about reading it, but nonetheless tore the brown paper open with curiosity, and gasped in surprise. Before him lay a copy of Maps to the Sovereign Heart by Mona Devek.

“Wow!”

Feeling immediately self-conscious, he took a discreet look around. The first-class cabin was only half full, and the other passengers were busy guzzling champagne or had their headsets on. Synchronicity was another one of Jenny’s far-fetched concepts David did not adhere to, although on this particular occasion he had to give it to her. It was undeniable! A hint of amusement flickered about his face. He’d never hear the end of it if he told her! It wasn’t like she needed any encouragement. It was just a fluke, he decided, perusing the back cover. The blurb was in keeping with what the woman in the shop had said about the book.

“More water, sir?”

“Yes, please.”

“May I get you anything else?”

David gave the flight attendant a warm smile. “Well, if a coffee isn’t too much trouble at this point?”

“Certainly. I’ll be right back,” she replied in a soft and poised tone, only too delighted for an additional opportunity to interact with him. He was older than the pictures she remembered, with some white hair at his temples and a slightly more rugged look, but it only added to his appeal. Famous or not, his intense dark-brown eyes, beautiful smile, and easy style, all complemented by his athletic build, were very attractive. And he was so courteous too! Out of all the new and more established celebrities she had ever served, David Wilkins was by far one of her favorites.

David slipped his shoes off, pulled out the leg extension and settled comfortably before he opened the first page.

Maps to the Sovereign Heart

Mona Devek

0 Profectionem

Are you ready? ask The Elders.

I am, I reply, wishing my smile was braver. Yet it expresses my true feelings: a mix of anxiety and anticipation, largely overridden by determination. All of it is about to fade, so there is no point entertaining any of it. The Elders have briefed me extensively, explaining that I will forget everything: my own identity, them, our home, and my beloved, almost … but not quite.