Is the Newborn Baby a Blank Slate?


In her books, Dutch author, Sylvia Lucia, shares her spiritual development from infancy including pre-birth memories and memories of the Spheres. Here is an excerpt in English from Sylvia’s first book White Sun Garden Nostalgia:


During my life I often had special experiences that I would like to share with those who show an interest in my story.

As a child I never mentioned it and, with the benefit of hindsight, I am glad I did not. Maybe I knew, deep inside me, that I should not relinquish my ‘secret’ because as a child I could not have coped with the response I am getting now.

My secret was that, from my earliest days, I had conversations with a man with a goatee who told me he was my companion and he said he did not live here on Earth but in the spheres.

Something that had seemed so natural to me in all those years appeared to others to be a new door opening and raising many questions, questions to which they expected an answer from me. And I do not have the answers; I do not know why this happens to me.

When I grew up I never brought it up in my family because in those days that was not done. At this juncture I will not discuss my contact with my family, simply because it is not relevant. At the time they never knew anything about my spiritual trips.

For many years I was afraid to tell my story, as I presumed many people would believe me to be insane.

I did not want to be insane, I just wanted to be normal.

Once I started to come forward with the person I really am and which aspects also play a part in my being apart from the outward appearance, a flood of response was released. Yes, sometimes I see and feel my companions who I simply call my friends.

But, once I started telling people about it, they began to call me paranormal. To me it is a detestable word.

The term paranormal to me seems so emotionally charged. Obviously people start getting great expectations. Paranormal fairs, Reiki-courses and anything called paranormal has very little in common with my special experiences.

I myself call it sensitivity.

And why one person possesses that type of sensitivity and another person does not is a question I cannot answer either. The phenomenon called leaving in the usual books I prefer to call spiritual trips. What is called lucid dreams in the usual books I would rather call spiritual dreams.

Not because I want to be a trendsetter or different. No, to me these are icy words for something as overwhelming and special as I feel deep down in my soul. But to avoid the risk of confusion I will call spiritual trips leavings in my story.

My friends do not free my path of every boulder, even better, they are loving, but consistent in saying they are my lessons and any answers I can find inside myself.

Since I came forward, people ask me questions such as, “What do you see in me?” Or “Is this friend really the right one?” And, “How many children will I have?”

I do not know either and sometimes I am annoyed because these questions are about a luxury problem.

Myself, I never received an answer to such questions for, after all, life will show if the friend is Mr. Right and how many children you will bear.

Yes, indeed, occasionally I get visions of things, but not every day and not because I call them up. They either appear or they do not.

I also received reactions, orally or by e-mail, saying I was mentally disturbed or a devil.

Other people began to see me as a kind of guru, which I am definitely not and never want to be.

I do not know the answers.

I am just as scared as any other person of the things that might happen to me. Sensitivity certainly does not imply you are all-knowing.

The question that kept me busy for a long time was

“What is truth?”

After all, who can confirm that what I experience is true? Who determines whether it is fantasy or dreams? Well, I fail to possess that knowledge. To me they are true. In the case of leavings I experienced as real I did not really need any confirmation.

Serious doubt I felt during the moments I sensed them but did not ‘actually’ see them. When I started thinking about this I got confused. What was truth really?

Suddenly a memory flashed through my mind of a radio interview with an astronomer who said:

‘I ask myself if God exists. Can we prove it scientifically? Can you prove that your neighbour across the street exists? I see my neighbour so he probably exists. If my neighbour next door also says that he can see the neighbour across the street it becomes much more likely the neighbour across the street really exists. When I am at the office and I ask myself if the neighbour across the street is really there, I have fewer means to determine if he is there or not. Is everything outside my field of vision really there or is it only there when I can observe it?’

My experiences are exactly the same.

In my book I would like to share my experiences with you hoping and anticipating you will read them with due respect.

Respect for other people’s truth is the initial step in accepting each other. ~Sylvia


It seemed the rain would never stop. The sky was a grey blanket and a lonely cyclist ventured out through the pouring rain on the sea bank. The waves were blown over the pier by the strong wind and scattered into a million drops.

Deep in thought the farmer filled his pipe standing at the window and his eyes searched for his cattle that had sought shelter under the tall trees at the edge of the wood.

If there had not been such a downpour he could see as far as the village, but not today. Today it was a small, overcast world.

The farmhand passed the window, panting, pulling the heavy cart with milk cans. The racket of the rambling milk cans on the cobblestones could hardly be heard in the fierce wind. The church tower in the distance could not be discerned due to the dark,  frightening sky. It seemed as if the village could easily be swept away from the earth.

In this violence of nature the Gaasterland village with its spire in the centre and the cozy cottages  round it seemed little more than tiny cardboard doll’s houses.

While the woman next door brewed up her coffee and put her laundry on her clothes horse in front of the freshly poked up fireplace and the butcher across the street prepared his meat with resounding slaps, I was born in the house on the square, on a Friday morning in one of the many typical Frisian villages.

The rain hit the windowpanes with gusts of wind while they were wrapping me up in flannel cloths and the smell of fresh coffee drifted through the house. The clock on the mantel ticked as if nothing had happened.

Apparently I cried for a day and a night.

I had a red spot on my forehead that turned into a big lump and did not disappear until three days later. Some people are born with a caul, but I was born with something like an eggshell. Because of curious looks I was made to wear a small bonnet outside.

The house faced a small square. On the square stood the butcher’s house, my paternal grandmother’s small house and there was a street leading into the village. Further down there was my other grandparents’ garage.

My  grandmother’s house was a comfortable, cosy place with old box beds where one could smell the old paraffin stove. In the spacious deep cellar dried sausages were kept. Next door there was a carpenter’s shop producing a constant flow of sounds, sawing and hammering. Behind the house there was a meadow belonging to a farm at the other end. It was quiet in the village for there were not many automobiles.

My first memories go back to those days.

I still remember I was lying upstairs in a cradle with white sheets and the sides covered with white lace and that I felt ‘that man’ standing behind my cradle: a man in white clothes and wearing a goatee.

We talked with mind power and I did not even think that was strange.

SYLVIA-Lucia-pre-birth memories-cosmic-cradle

I was not a baby, I thought like a ‘spirit’. I desperately tried to remember in that tiny body of mine where I had been living before.

I had been somewhere, but I could not remember where and it had to do with the man with the white goatee.

‘Let go of it,’ the man said, ‘there is a law saying your memories fade away and you make a fresh start.’

For a moment I thought I would panic. Vaguely I knew that, where I had come from it was very comfortable and that I did not at all feel like making a fresh start ‘again’.

But there was no way back.

I realized I lived in a body but I also knew I was not an ignorant baby. But there was even something inside me sensing I still had memories from earlier times, that I had not made a fresh start.

But I could not talk and so I was unable to tell people about it.

I told my companion I believed I had been awake long enough. And, since I heard my mother coming upstairs, it occurred to me I might as well start crying. It was the only way to make it clear I was fed up.

The companion smiled and I felt his love, but also his pleasure when he said: ‘You still are a spitfire. You have not changed a bit.’

I stuck to my original intention and started my wailing serenade. But nothing happened and my mother did not pay any attention.

For a moment I kept quite to hear what the footsteps were doing. Alas, they did not move in my direction.

I wanted to look over the edge of my cradle, but I was unable to lift my head high enough. It felt like a great restriction and it made me feel desperate and frustrated.

Again I started crying and again nothing happened.

I decided I would go and have a look.

Indeed, I easily managed that, I could go and do as I liked, although there was somehow a link with my small body. I could leave my body and look around and that is what I did.

Through the wall I saw my mother walking on the landing with a light blue laundry basket. And that was not all; I could even catch her thoughts. I heard her think: ‘Just wait a while, there is still time, I will put the laundry away first.’

My attempt had failed, I even felt slightly disappointed. I returned to my body in the place where my companion still sat smiling at my doggedness.

‘She did not fall for it, did she?’ he asked, smiling. Annoyed I looked in his direction and went to the bedroom window to look outside.

A strange awareness came over me.

People living on the earth apparently believed that a baby ‘knew nothing’.

I ‘knew’ I had lost my memory. I ‘knew’ that before I had become a grown-up. In some mysterious way a switch in my head had been turned and so I had forgotten practically everything.


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