- Excerpt
Anatomy of A Life Possessed
by Maria Ferrara Pema
INTRODUCTION
In the article below, Maria describes how she stumbled
into a living hell of religious possession. Following the article, you'll
find more information about her new book, Anatomy of A Life Possessed.
Prelude to a Life Possessed
by Maria Ferrara Pema
I was born in Poland just when the Germans were bombing and marching
into Warsaw. Their invasion swept away the elegant and gracious life
my parents had known. The war spared none of us. I was the daughter of
a famous Tibetan doctor of aristocratic lineage and a beautiful Russian
mother, one of four children -- and the only girl. My twin brother George
and I were the last to be born.
The war had ended, but there was no freedom in Poland. We had the misfortune
of exchanging one tyrannical invader for another. The only difference
was that the Russians pretended to be our friends. It was a time when
an imprudent word could cause a man to disappear in the middle of the
night and never be heard from again.
So what could I tell people about my background? My father and mother
never even mentioned that I was the daughter of Prince Zasogol, the last
descendant of Genghis Khan, as well as the personal physician to Nicholas
II, the last Czar of Russia, who had even baptized him into the Russian
Orthodox faith -- an affirmation of loyalty to their adopted land.
My father and his great uncle did not look upon their conversion as
an abandonment of their Buddhist faith, for Buddhism honors the truth
and love in every religion. It wouldn't be until years later, after I'd
moved to Italy, that I learned about their extraordinary lives. My mother
encouraged me to pursue dance training at the Warsaw Opera House, where
I embarked on a successful career in ballet.
Once I'd won second prize in an international musical competition, I
was a celebrity, my future in ballet seemingly assured. But I was growing
increasingly restless. I was being oppressed from two different directions:
the Communist regime on the outside and my tyrannical mother at home,
who overshadowed all my attempts to break free. Actually, I don't know
which of the two was the more onerous, but I have the feeling that my
mother won the contest. So, just before I turned twenty, I left Poland
and went to live in Italy, never to return.
I was young and beautiful -- and hopelessly naïve
-- when I arrived in Rome in 1960. And though I had absolutely no idea
how to go about selling myself in a job market -- such a thing was
unknown in Communist Poland -- I was full of ambition and talent. No
sooner than I could have possibly imagined, I found myself working
in the film and TV industry.
This was the era of 'La Dolce Vita,' a time when the city had become
transformed into Hollywood on the Tiber. In those days, I was working
for directors like Fellini and De Sica; at night I was partying in the
cafes on the Via Veneto, mingling with stars like Richard Burton, Elizabeth
Taylor, Maximilian Schell and Roman Polanski. I'd ride through Rome in
chauffeur-driven Rolls Royces and wind up at fashionable parties where
champagne was free-flowing . The days were so heady with excitement that
I barely got any sleep, but of course it didn't matter.
Little did I know how my life was about to change as I embarked on a
journey into the abyss -- a hole so dark and deep, that even today I
cannot see any glimmer of light that would offer me any promise of relief...
Then one day I was introduced to a widower, a prominent lawyer in the
film business named Max Ferrara. To look at Max, you'd never realize
that you were dealing with one of the most astute legal minds in all
of Italy. He served as a legal consultant for the biggest production
companies in Rome, and he was held in high esteem by virtually everyone
of importance in the international film industry. He had gained their
respect as the head of the Scalera film company, which had pioneered
the Italian neo-realist film era, marked by such monumental movies as
Fellini's La Strada, Rosellini's Open City and De Sica's The Bicycle
Thief. Max was truly a renaissance man, for he went on to become a writer
as well who collaborated with many film directors on screenplays.
I was with some producers at the coffee bar in the Excelsior Hotel when
Max joined us. He was thirty years older than I was. I suppose there
will be those who say it was my seeking a father figure, and it is true
that in his presence I always felt protected. However, the age difference
gave Max a sense of confidence that allowed me the freedom to explore
whatever I wanted, without any restrictions. This was very important
to me.
When we married, I believed that my happiness would last forever. But
then, quite without my knowing it, one morning after a particularly wild
party, I awoke to find myself in the Buddhist Lotus position. I knew
this was my subconscious trying to tell me that I was forgetting my dear
father's philosophical roots. The time had come for me to travel to Tibet,
the ancestral home of my father. I wished to learn the secret traditions
of the great masters there. I knew that the awakening of the Kundalini
force in one's body was supposed to allow one to achieve profound knowledge.
This became my dream.
I spent my days studying Buddhism and meditating, hoping that if I practiced
long enough I would achieve a state of greater awareness.
I wanted most of all to meet a lama -- a holy man -- who would help
me attain Nirvana. When I was told that it wasn't necessary to travel
all the way to Tibet or India to find a great holy man, but that such
a man was a pastor of a parish church outside of Rome, I didn't hesitate.
I wanted to meet him at once.
It didn't make any difference to me that I knew practically nothing
about Catholicism, since I grew up during the communism. My god was the
Kremlin, my father was a Buddhist, and I vaguely knew who Jesus Christ
was. As soon as I was within sight of the small church, I experienced
a sense of fulfillment and inner peace that I'd never felt before. The
atmosphere in the little village of St. Vittorini was mystical. I was
drawn back to the church again and again until one day I finally summoned
the courage to go inside.
The pastor of the church was known as Friar G. He made for an imposing
sight: he was tall and heavy-set, with a round red face and small yellowed
teeth. He was clearly uneducated and unschooled in any manners as well.
In fact, he could be surprisingly vulgar and prone to insulting his parishioners.
Nonetheless, there was something undeniably magnetic about his personality,
and people turned out in great numbers to attend his masses. Friar G.,
I soon learned, had inherited his position from a charismatic -- and
controversial -- priest named Padre Pio. Padre Pio was known for his
stigmata, and he was recently declared the last saint of the twentieth
century. Some critics, though, believe the stigmata was not miraculous
at all, but a symptom of hysteria. Father Pio was also accused of having
sexual relations -- he called it 'fusion' -- with a number of young women
whom he adopted as his 'spiritual daughters.' At one point in the 1930s,
he was even expelled from the church, but was ultimately reconciled to
it years later.
In many ways, Friar G. was like Father Pio; he
too, had the stigmata and acquired a cult of personality. He had gathered
around him an entourage of loyal followers, many of them naïve young foreigners who offered
him unquestioning devotion. He also managed to raise a great deal of
money from his parishioners -- but not for a worthy cause such as feeding
the starving masses of Africa or Asia. Instead, he wanted the money to
help build an enormous church which he conceived of as a monument to
himself. As for the poor, "The good God will provide for them," he frequently
declared.
This I would learn in time. In the beginning, I could only see the light
and not the shadows surrounding Friar G. Over the next few years, I was
to return again and again to the church, its positive energy feeding
my belief that my kundalini would open and I would at last experience
true knowledge. But unfortunately, my life took a decided turn; I found
myself setting out on a path that took me far astray.
I heard that many Indian gurus as well the so -- called saints in Christianity
have the ability to take into their body the sickness of others and cure
them. I began to suspect that the priest was using my body for this purpose.
After awhile, I began to feel as if Max's illness was being transferred
to myself, as if I was being made weak so that he could gain strength.
In time, though, I suspected that I was mistaken about the cause of my
infirmity. Perhaps, I thought, it wasn't my husband's illness I had taken
on but that of another member of the church. There was a paralyzed young
man named Paolo who'd heard of Friar G.'s success and was hoping for
a miracle for himself. Without realizing it, I'd let myself be taken
over by Friar G.
And now, as I soon discovered, there was no escape. As my physical condition
worsened, I realized my body was no longer my own. Yet, even with this
knowledge and the terrible pain in my body, I could not prevent him from
filling me with the paralyzed boy's malady. His telepathic communication
was like a battering ram in my brain.
Despite my pleas, he would not stop. He took possession of me. I was
barely living; I'd become like a sleepwalker, no longer capable of thinking
for myself. I was forced to abandon my studies at the university.
Actually, this man has lived my life against my will. I can't describe
how devastated and disgusted I felt because of my impotence in the face
of his cruelty.
Increasingly desperate, I went from one church to another, praying for
help. But there was only silence. I even sought out exorcists appointed
by the Vatican, all to no avail. Friar G. let me know that there was
no point in praying because he alone was my only source of help. He'd
become both my tormentor and my savior.
I needed to understand what was happening to me. I pored through books
on medicine, on religion and metaphysics. I saw that what had befallen
me had been inflicted on others, too; I began to understand how such
exploitation goes on and why it continues.
I have written a book, Anatomy of A Life Possessed. I
believed, that by writing my story I could help others in avoiding any
kind of possession. I am certain of the necessity of telling any and
all, to inform everyone who will listen of the perils of possession.
Copyright ©2002 by Maria Ferrara Pema. All
rights reserved. Please feel free to duplicate or distribute this file
as long as the contents are not changed and this copyright notice is
intact. Thank you.
Copyright (c) 2005. All Rights
Reserved. Please feel free to duplicate and distribute this file, as
long as the excerpt is not altered and this copyright notice is intact.
Thank you.
Author Profiles 
