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Lymene Holy Mother of Divine Grace
Lymene Holy Mother of Divine Grace
Lymene Holy Mother of Divine Grace
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Lymene Holy Mother of Divine Grace

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The book is a novel, mostly in dialogue, between a Swedish pensioner Johan and the strongly Catholic believer, young, beautiful, and vulnerable Filipino mother of many children, Lymene, who is in the Philippines under another name.

Lymene wants to be called Mary because she adores the Virgin Mary of all her heart.

In the hard daily life, Lymene is under the strict control of her father-in-law, the rigorous Catholic patriarch, Father Alberto Notchea, and the whole family, friends, and relatives.

When Johan, whom she has known for many years, this time comes on a quick visit, Lymene is forced by Father Alberto Notchea to wear a chastity belt but still, controlled by a strictly global digitized encrypted system, is allowed to go with him on a trip from the Philippines via Thailand, further across the Eurasian continent to Sweden where, for better or worse, she gets to experience a country in political chaos and with a different moral view than the one that exists in her home country.

On the way back to the Philippines, Mary and Johan fly together over Catholic Poland further into orthodox re-Christianized Russia, where Eurasianism is in a dramatic confrontation with Globalism.

Then, finally, the journey goes via Malaysia back to the Philippines, where everything gets a theatrical and unexpected solution.
ИздательBooks on Demand
Дата выпуска10 нояб. 2021 г.
Lymene Holy Mother of Divine Grace
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Goeran B Johansson

Goeran B. Johansson is a retired teacher who has previously been a leisure politician and has served in the UN forces in Cyprus from 1967 to 68. He has traveled a lot and lived in different countries in Southeast Asia for a long time. Mainly in the Philippines. His primary interests are history, political ideologies, and independent geopolitical analysis focusing on the ongoing global power struggle between the United States, NATO vis à vis Russia, and China within the BRICS and SCO. But also fiction and some of his most recent, read works are, The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov and last but not least The Dwarf by Pär Lagerkvist and The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli. He is also enthusiastic about chess and its strategic thinking. He is a multi-instrumentalist and plays piano, violin, classical guitar, and various accordions at a high level. He is fluent in English and Russian. He has also written two short stories published in Swedish and English, A Swedish Fellow in Asia, published in Swedish and English, and Lymene Holy Mother of Divine Grace.

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    Lymene Holy Mother of Divine Grace - Goeran B Johansson


    Paci Conciliande

    The Betrothal

    In the Chapel of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart Parish

    Dramatics in Bangkok

    The Dialogue in the Stratosphere

    Through Sweden on the State Railways

    In Stockholm

    In Gothenburg and the Surrounding Area

    A Bygone Era

    The Return Takes Over

    In Moscow

    Conversation with Larissa Fjodorovna

    Eurasianism Confronts Atlanticism

    An Encrypted Message

    Holy Mother of Divine Grace

    Locus Praescriptum

    About the Author

    Paci Conciliandae

    I had planned extremely carefully and packed everything; moreover, as usual, far too much in my two trunks; a combined backpack that you could also pull on wheels if needed; Also, a giant trunk which runs on wheels and can be controlled with a light touch where you want it. In the biggest one, I had my violin in a specially designed case, yes, decimated merely, in the sense that it was sawed off at the top to put the violin only. But not the violin bow. Because on the plane, it can happen they do not allow to bring in a violin case in the cabin, as it is eighty centimeters long towards the permitted fifty-four. I, therefore, guarded myself because the case was still sixty centimeters. If they would say no, then I could have it in the trunk; I had placed the violin bow in a hard-wearing PVC tube that just went into the chest on the diagonal, so everything was arranged in detail with the practicality.

    I think of her, the only one, most of the time. She is within me always present, and now I eagerly wait for her to get in touch in one way or another, either through Facebook Messenger or SMS. Meanwhile, in my room at Cleaver Learn Residences, located along Quezon National Highway, a short distance from the internationally famous Filipino Bigfoot film institute, I was busy preparing to check where my money was scattered in various hiding places.

    Cleaver Learn Residences is an English student institution from the neighboring countries of the Philippines. Mainly Japanese as well as Koreans but also Filipinos who intend to serve as so-called caregivers or housekeepers. It usually applies to the Middle East and English-speaking countries such as the United States and the United Kingdom to care for the elderly. Yes, I am undoubtedly seventy-three already, but it is not yet time for me, I think, though it can come quickly! You never feel safe!

    At this particular moment, I was pacing back and forth in the room in expectant hope to see her, the only one, come to visit me here in her new raffish and slightly challenging dress, which she received as a gift from my only daughter in Sweden. It is semi-voluntary extra work I have to supplement my minimum level of European pension from the Swedish state. Moreover, it may well be added that she had promised she would put on the accompanying silver earrings.

    I was just about to grab the mighty trunk when it beeped in one of my phones; a Samsung Galaxy J100ML where I have my Philippine SIM card. In the other mobile, a Sony Xperia Z2 with a few years on the neck, but of very high quality, I have a mobile bank-ID and my Swedish Fello SIM card, in case any of my clients that I am a Legal Guardian and Trustee for, would like to contact me during my monthly stay in Southeast Asia. However, one cannot wholly rely on mobile banking working abroad; once it happened, when I arrived from the Philippines to Thailand and would pay the room, both bank-id were corrupted. So, I could not log in and activate my Nordea Visa Gold or Swedbank / Handelsbanken's Mastercard. So, a severe money crisis would have arisen if I did not have three physical safety boxes for my three banks. I could have been forced to sleep under the sky in the worst case. Likewise, I always have several pays as well as credit cards scattered in different wallets in different places, yes, yes, I must reluctantly admit that I am starting to be uncertain of my memory nowadays, so I write it all up in my Microsoft Office 365 Excel plan in one of my two laptops.

    An ASUS K 52 F and a faithful servant, an IBM T-43, complement each other positively, and I am bringing them when I travel a long distance, like now, 14 000 kilometers in three rounds. In Thailand, Arlanda Bangkok's first phase is the worst, so I spent the night resting after a strenuous twelve-hour flight. The next day, the journey went from Bangkok to Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia, and finally, I reached the Philippines and Cebu in the Visayas. On both of my laptops and mobiles, I have passwords. But no matter how you guard, you still run the risk of forgetting the password to the computers, which happened to me once when I was in a room with her during the heat of the battle; I have known her since October 2008, so it is approaching ten years now.

    I snapped up the Samsung and saw it was she who I had in mind since last year. She wrote in a text message that she was sitting in a taxi and was already away at Marina Mall, a few kilometers from my hotel room, so she wanted me to wait because she wanted to inspect my nose, she said. Ha-ha, yes, she has a fondness for that one; I know this more than well.

    My only one is called Lymene but, she wants me to call her Mary because it is her first real name in her secret double name; She says she would like to be contacted by that name because the Holy Virgin Mary is her role model in everything.

    I waited for what else I could do. I wanted to see her now. It seemed like an eternity, but suddenly I heard her typical three knocks, which have an unmistakable rhythm and dynamic strength. I had listened to them now for years, especially after midnight, around the early morning, outside my bamboo hut in Marigondon, when I previously lived here more or less permanently.

    I carefully opened the door, and when she entered the room, it was as if she had come from an alien planet. But it was indeed here on Earth, and she, if any, is down to earth in her whole self. She carried a small child in her arms. It shone like a halo around her face and her neck. She wore a rosary and a crucifix.

    The dress she wore was of the minimal kind in her scope. But it was excellent on her otherwise rather slender body. Its color was a mix of a gray-white mixture. The pattern as such, in itself very interesting in its intricacy, which fit in perfectly with the lady in question who is also superbly cunning in her distinctive ability to treat and capture her victim's interest, went into waves in beautiful frills, which in their places completely transparent revealed her naked skin. At the bottom, in the vicinity of the strictly private area, a man, in this case, poor Johan, destroyed in the solitude of Sweden's loneliness, could barely discern anything at all. At the top, between her clean face and waist, the dress's border went utterly in line with her swelling bust, which was challenging throughout its substantial striking weight. The other visible parts of her skin shimmered shiny in a beautiful treasure. Her lips were indescribably beautiful, as well as sensually moist, as she spoke gruff English, where she appeared in front of me in the middle of the room. While in such a typical Filipino fashion, she rocked the baby by taking one step to each side in a steady but soft rhythm. Then she grasped the rosary, grabbed the crucifix, kissed it gently, made the cross, and began the apostolic creed. Then she read the Lord's Prayer and, finally, Hail Mary. But when she came to the final order, "Holy Mary, the Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and in our time of death," then I felt such an immense affection for her apparent vulnerability. As I always, inexplicably, yes, just as a universal geostrategic magnet has been drawn in combination with her beautiful figure. Through the years, it felt like from the middle, depressed emotional, conscious, and or unconscious, as some insufficient translucent protection against the outside world.

    – I come from a Catholic chapel located in the neighborhood where I live, and I go there every day to pray for my small children for us to have food on the table, began Mary.

    – But, dear Mary, I interjected in surprise; I do not even know where you live after all these years we have known each other. You are just popping up here and there in various rooms in which I happen to find myself. So, what shall I think of you?

    – But Johan, you know how it is. I live only for my children, and I cannot invite you home to my house, because if they see such a wafo¹ there, they will not feel sorry for me anymore, and help me, Mary replied.

    – Do you mean in the house along Sudtungan Street in Basak, Lapu Lapu, where you can stay for free owned by the man's father who gave birth to your children and pays for both foods various other supplies? I asked headstrongly.

    – But Johan! You insist on claiming things like people, preferably my envious countrymen, trying to imagine you all the time. I live in a small, insignificant room ordered by an aunt, a Samaritan, working within the Catholic Church that helps me. My children's father is a very moral man with great integrity, in a very high position within the Philippine city administration, and an idol interpreter of patriarchal Catholicism. He doesn't even want to deal with me, who are poorly groomed. He stays on his edge; sits in his palace-like chalet of the villa; eating foods that we poor can only do in a dream. But he purposely helps me because I, as the exposed single mother, take care of his grandchildren, and I do so of my whole soul. He was supposed to be out of despair, even furious, if he learned that I'm here with you Johan this time, Mary replied extensively.

    Mary shaped her lips the same way as the first time I met her nearly ten years ago in a hotel room in Buyong in Maribago, which ended in an exceptionally morally questionable means. Yes, even provocative, if by provocation, we mean a highly active erotic challenging process. For the explicit purpose of merely losing oneself, within the conservative Catholicism, strictly banned extramarital animal activity.

    But Johan! I don't recognize you anymore. You did things without a report in the past, but nowadays, you seem delusional, as if you somehow lost interest and enjoyment of life. Is there anything that worries you especially? How have you had it in Sweden during the last year? Asked Mary.

    – Sweden, yes, yes, I replied thankfully, since it was within me that stage was played since our first meeting. You understand in Sweden, for good or evil, is State Feminism ruling.

    – Feminism!! What is this?

    Mary looked like a physically shapeless question mark, yet again she made that irresistible tearing lip, which I could never resist. What incredible authenticity there was in her answer! What helplessly unpredictable facial expression she raised! I have never seen such an apparent naked and unprotected surprise in my entire seventy-three-year-old life. She never even seemed to be confronted with the phenomenon as such. For that reason alone, I decided to try to explain to her what feminism is. We might be able to develop some dialogue in that regard, where we could set feminism, if you will, against conservative Catholicism because I knew how closely tied, with or against her will, Mary is to the same.

    I was suddenly struck by Mary's proposed behavior when we were just about to deal with the soul-searching. She seemed to have in some inexplicable way discovered and known of my inner volcano of suppressed emotions. Suddenly, she came and stood right in front of me in the ready position, still with the baby in her arms and with the rosary and crucifix around her slender neck. I was just about to open my mouth in an awkward query phrase, but I could not do that before she resolutely, indeed almost bluntly, straddled my legs, still rocking the baby in her arms. Her bust appeared tempting, though well protected and hidden inside the upper part of the dress, while the lower part had gone up along her slender thighs, which were abundantly covered with dark hair. She occasionally rocked with the little still in her arms, in a way that inevitably stimulated some parts of my cluttered body, until I suddenly couldn't resist, and it came to a firework display of physical convulsions. I felt as if I had been sent back a few decades in the time of the immense power of Mary's passionate embrace where we became one flesh.

    ¹ Wafo in Cebuano or Gwapo in Tagalog means elegant or handsome.

    The Betrothal

    Later on, I met Mary at Moon Café in the large department store, Gaisano Grand Mall, next to Marigondon Road in Basak, Lapu Lapu, to celebrate our new engagement. We had already agreed on this meeting the day before. I had therefore already bought a couple of reasonably lovely, rather expensive silver rings at Unisilver on the second floor of the department store. With which I was now about to cover our so bare respective ring fingers. I sat in anxious anticipation to see her glimpse past outside the large panoramic windows, which look out onto the department store's central part with its swarms of people swarming around in the various shops.

    While I closed my eyes for a while and dreamed of seeing her revelation, I fantasized whether she would be dressed as usual in some scruffy tight skirt or even distinctly cut off worn fringe-edged jeans, which she often used to wear.

    Suddenly, it felt as if the air, yes, the whole room, was vibrating, and I was reminded of a previous earthquake I experienced in Marigondon Beach a few years ago, not far from here. When I desperately opened my eyes, she stood there in front of me. Little fragile Mary! Single mother responsible for several Philippine charming toddlers. She had a large bag in her hand and was dressed in dense, gray-blue, tight-fitting jeans, probably of the Tiger brand, which smeared around her noble part. It may well be implicated in this context that Mary is progressing like a real tigress, always on the chop with sharpened claws and playing melancholy eyes and a tricky smile over her full-bodied moist and almost over sensual lips. Above the jeans looked up, half a half-transparent blouse in Miss Selfridge Petit style, with a soft color mix between pure yellow, yellow-orange, and light greenish-yellow. Under this blouse, I could distinguish a bra model, a la the type Eva's underwear. With a full cup that was supposed to cover the bust in its entirety. But in Mary's case, this was doomed to fail for the simple reason that her figure is so swelling full, so it instead reshaped to the extent that it crawled out of the whole cups and lay down to rest as well as two firm-ripe mango fruits. The restaurant where we were was empty of people. Not even a waiter was in the vicinity. Still, one had already served a wedding dinner consisting of an appetizer with different types of fresh vegetables and the main course in the form of my and also Mary's favorite, which was crispy dried dangit with garlic rice. Each mango shake was also served in shiny crystal glasses.

    - You look so surprised, a little frightened, Mary said, as she gently sat on the armchair.

    - Yeah, well, maybe that, I exclaimed a little awkwardly in what I was trying to tie up my feelings.

    Mary sat opposite me and looked at me with her eager, verdigris green eyes, and I picked up two silver rings. I put one on her right ring finger, and she put the other on my right one.

    After that, we kissed, and applause came from the restaurant's bar counter, where suddenly all old familiar waiters were curious and looked at the simple ceremony.

    – Johan, I want us to pray a table prayer according to our Catholic tradition, Mary said with a definite tone in the voice.

    As I already knew very well how firm a believer Mary is and that she is weak and alone responsible for her children's survival, even though I consider myself to be an atheist, I did not want to hurt her by saying no. Therefore, I endorsed with tenderness.

    – Yes, my dear. We prayed according to Mary's wishes in English: Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.

    After the meal was finished, we prayed together according to the same tradition: We give Thee thanks, Almighty God, for all Thy benefits, who livest and reignest world without end. Amen. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

    Mary continued urgently as she observed my respectable embrace of her request, suggesting a visit to the Chapel of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart Parish ², located not far from where we sat.

    – You understand I don't know, but I´m a little uncertain about you because I think I know you are not a Christian, even if you said earlier you are both baptized and confirmed. But it was in the nineteenth century in Sweden within the Protestant Church, and it is some difference between it and our noble Mary cult glorifying Roman Catholic ditto. No matter what, I would like to show you our noble Catholic religion, for it is, as you know, the world's most significant Christian church with well over a billion believers. Here in the Philippines, we would not manage without its help in need; for the distress that is what I live in every eternal day, Mary said with melancholy in her voice.

    In the last paragraph of the Catholic speech, I could easily question as an atheist and was on the point of immediately protest and argue, but I did not want to hurt the fragile Mary, so I said:

    – Yes, my love! Then we go to the chapel you just suggested.

    When we got out from Grand Mall and pushed into the crowd, we went to the best looking of all the tricycles; Mary with her big bag and me with my Ecolac laptop backpack.

    The tricycle took a treacherous journey along Marigondon Road, through the three-way junction with Ibabao Street. The BSM Express Hotel is like a good plump in the otherwise typically Filipino mud of concrete and sheet metal shelf. The trip in the tricycle continued along Marigondon Road, which goes through Marigondon Crossing where you turn left to Maribago and Buyong, further past Soong towards Mactan and Punta Engano. If you turn right, you come to Cordova. If you continue straight ahead, you come to Kalubihan, where there is an exit towards Blue Reef and, further on, the internationally well-known and elegant Plantation Bay where the World Cup in tennis took place several times. Finally, as a destination, you arrive at Marigondon Beach.

    Mary sat next to me and suddenly she called to the driver that we were at the goal.

    I gave the driver a fifty peso note because it was a unique ride where only the two of us went to a specific target.

    ² Our Lady of the Sacred Heart Parish. Located in Marigondon, Lapu Lapu, Philippines.

    In the Chapel of Our Lady of the

    Sacred Heart Parish

    After jumping out of the tricycle, which stopped just next to the area entrance, a sight met where the mighty chapel rose about ten feet up towards a clear blue sky. It was light gray and conical in shape and built-in compact cement. Some type of surface-bearing beams extended along the sides, from the lower part of the roof to about forty-five degrees angle up the top of the chapel, where a cross neatly sat.

    Mary, anxiously carrying a bag in her hand, and I, who took her hand, hiked through the wide gate and took us vigorously into the very spacious bench-filled hall. It's mighty well-cleaned, not to say pedantically polished blue-gray floors of any tile-like stone material; it could be marble, felt so steady when you walked there with slippers on your feet. An approximately two-meter vast stretch reached the altar in the middle, which glimpsed about thirty meters further on. Filipino, rough-cut, heavy, solid, and super-steady bamboo benches stood by the sides for certainly several hundred people.

    When we arrived at the altar, we could discern Jesus Christ, nailed on the cross above a red felted armchair, and just to the left of him stood the Virgin Mary statue in her beautiful light blue mantle, where the sleeves lined up in the pink silk-like fabric. She gently held the baby child with his pious, secure face in her arms. It was a touchingly strong contrast to first look at the Jesus Child who was so alive and, at the same time, looking into the altar, seeing Jesus Christ crucified. Up ahead was the priest prepared to give communion.

    – Johan, I would like us here

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