For those three days of holiday, the small beach, forming an even smaller bay cut off from the world by two miniature promontories, was my retreat from myself. You reached the beach by a rough staircase that started as wooden steps but half-way down became mere ledges cut out of the rock, with a rusty iron banister to hold on to. Every time I went down the old steps, especially the ones cut out of the rock, I left my own existence behind and found myself.

Occultists, at least some of them, say that there are supreme moments in the life of the soul when, by way of an emotion or a fragment of memory, it recalls a moment, an aspect or just the shadow of some previous incarnation. Then, since it returns to a time which is closer than the present to the origin and beginning of all things, it feels a sense of liberation.


When the findings are this fortuitous, it would be foolish to doubt the power of the Sortes Virgilianae