Soul Matters, Book 2: Wrath of the Goddess

Then the blurring of the ages began as he fast-forwarded through time. Just as abruptly, he stopped and found himself in his spirit body astride a large raven. They were gliding over a pastoral scene of what Phil assumed was the Emerald Isle.

“At this time, the Celts live in many villages and towns all the way to the Black Sea. We are traders, craftsmen, miners, but most importantly we cultivate and nurture the land.”

“You grow crops,” Phil restated as he noticed he was dressed in simple pants and a tunic that reached his thighs.

“Nature abhors mono-culture. Our farming practices mimic nature. Woodlands surround meadows. Those meadows we use for our crops. The woods become our source of honey, nuts, and game. We manage it all following nature’s wisdom.”

Phil could see what she meant from his aerial view. Mixed crops on the plains, irrigation systems from the rivers, and manicured forests bordering the lowlands.

Small structures clustered at strategic points on the landscape, and a stone fortress stood watch from the highest hill.

Phil was reminded of the Amerind. Before the European invasion of the Americas, they grew beans, squash, and corn together for apparently the same reason the Celts grew what they grew. They managed forests and wildlife in a similar manner. It was even thought the Amazon rain forest was a managed eco-system.

This was what transcend and include looked like in reference to Nature. No longer imbedded in the rough 'now' of Eden, no longer subject to Mother Earth’s endless cycles of birth and death, the self-aware Man could befriend nature and work with it for mutual benefit.

It was an idyllic scene, and yet Morrigan was uniquely known as a warrior goddess.

“It’s so peaceful,” Phil began. “What is there to war over?”

She chuckled. “We are a contentious lot, Virgnous. Clans contend over land, cows, and power. Did you know the rise of Rome was sparked by our clans defeating the Romans?”

“That defeat pushed them to build their legions?”

“Yes. We also drove into Greece and not finding it to our liking left. The Spartans learned war from us.”

“Caesar claimed he defeated you,” Phil said.

“The Gallic Wars were much later. He did defeat us in Gaul. The clan structure made it difficult for us to join together to face full armies. Caesar accomplished his goal through taking on each clan separately.”

They flew toward the sea and circled to follow rivers inland. It was much the same wherever Phil looked. Peaceful communities engaged in the business of using the bounty of nature but leaving nature better off in the exchange. He viewed it as a 'caretaker' culture, which contrasted sharply with the 'development' culture he was a part of.

Then they circled lower and landed by a hut in an oak grove.

“There is someone here you might benefit from talking to,” Morrigan said as Phil dismounted. The raven shrunk back to normal size and cawed loudly.

A spry, grey-bearded, elderly man in a brown robe exited the hut.

“Morrigan,” he called back. “What have you brought me?”

With Morrigan still in his head somehow, Phil could easily understand the elder.

“I’m Virgnous,” Phil introduced himself. “She said I might benefit from talking to you.”

“Call me Don,” he replied and asked, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No. I’m caught up in an adventure in spirit that I hardly understand,” Phil admitted with surprising honesty. He felt at ease with Don and didn’t question why.

The raven made galuping and croaking noises as it nodded its distinctive head.

“Well,” Don said as he turned toward the small cabin, “sit over by the fire pit. I’ll fetch some mead. Talking is thirsty work.”

Phil moved to a well-cleared area with a rock-lined fire pit and benches surrounding it. The fire was out, but thin ribbons of smoke said the fire had been banked. Hot coals under the ashes waited for renewal.

Don sat next to Phil and placed a jug between them. Then he handed Phil a cup with no handles. Don poured it full and filled his own.

“For every death-rebirth we go through, there is a challenge,” Don jumped right in. “A crawling child has the challenge of learning how to walk, for example. Your death-rebirth process, which I can see you're going through, doesn’t have such an obvious challenge associated with it.”

Phil frowned at that introduction. He could see the logic of a mid-life crisis equating to a death of a way of being in the world. He said as much to Betty the other day. Kids were gone, career had peaked, and all the goals of twenty years ago were fulfilled. Now what?

Don went on, “Elderhood requires that we close the loop. We mentor youth. We guide the clan. We connect them, or at least remind them, of their Divine origins. And that’s the challenge. How do you accomplish that task from within the limitations of your current incarnation?”

Phil sighed. “I have no idea. I didn’t even buy into reincarnation until recently. I live in a culture that is materialistic, scientific, engaged in ‘forever’ wars, and we develop the land rather than take care of it.”

Don sipped from his cup and commented, “Must be a humorless place.”

“Humorless, easily offended and quick to polarization, committed to the blame game, and driven by insatiable greed.” The litany poured out of Phil before he could censor it.

“Why did you take this challenge on?” Don wanted to know.

“I’m not sure I did. I mean, at some level I know I chose it, but I don’t remember doing so.”

Don chuckled. “Yeah. It’s a tricky business dealing with the Divine. But you must have a goal.”

“Well, I don’t, but the angel assigned to me claims he must teach me how to navigate the realms of spirit before he is free of me.”

“Well, that makes sense, at least. What have you figured out so far?”

“Not much. My current predicament has to do with defeating Typhon while preserving my connection to Nature.”

“Since you’re with Morrigan, I can assume you managed it.”

“It appears so, but this adventure began as a way for me to learn about how and why God punishes us. I haven’t figured that out.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.” Phil sighed again. “I haven’t had time to sort through all that’s happened.”

Don sipped his mead again, and Phil took his first drink. The mead was sweet but also tart. He liked it.

Don spoke, “We can only progress down our spiritual path when we are incarnated. Here we embody good and evil. Here we have choices to make. We also have within us a destiny to attempt. Our drive to succeed at something comes from that. You could also say it’s the goal you set for yourself before you incarnated. You don’t remember it, of course, because of reincarnation amnesia.”

“That makes sense.”

“I’m glad you’re following the logic. It’s a rare treat for me, and I’m also glad Morrigan brought you by.”

Phil was pleasantly surprised by the response. He was usually confronted with Manuel’s sarcasm and Sandy’s despondency.

Don went on, “Your destiny is an intention that draws to you the training necessary to fulfill your destiny.”

Phil started at that idea. It smacked of the early comments his parents offered him, ‘You made your bed, lie in it.’

‘You brought this on yourself, so deal with it,’ was a frequent admonishment. They used it to promote his allegiance to the status quo.

Don must have picked up where Phil’s mind was going, because he pointed out, “Remember some mistake or disaster in your life that, when you looked back on it, you were glad it happened.”

“I can think of a few.”

“It’s those I’m talking about, not the ones where other people set you up to fail.”

“Okay. I see the distinction.”

“Then there are the ones where you know you’re doing the right thing, and you get into worse trouble when you push it.”

Phil snorted a laugh.

“Been there, I see,” Don smiled. “Not a fun experience, and that’s where patriots turn into terrorists. It’s a big temptation.”

“I quit the job.”

“Better choice.”

Phil and Don sat and sipped for a while as Phil thought about what Don said. His initial take was he lived a life of bouncing around, letting fate mostly take him wherever it pleased. When things got scary or confrontational, he left. It seemed he avoided life – or more accurately, he avoided becoming a victim of life.

“You cannot escape your destiny,” Don finally said. “The world conspires to present you with the choices that lead you to fulfill it.”

“But I can fail at it.”

“Not really. On the other hand, you can sabotage it by actively refusing it.”

“Choosing its evil twin.”

“Yes,” Don said as he raised a bushy eyebrow at Phil’s word choice. “What’s more common is people just sit down and refuse to go any farther.”

Phil smiled. “I don’t think I have that option.”

“Morrigan demands the best from us.”

“She gives her best in return,” Phil acknowledged. “It’s only fair we do the same.”

“Remarkable,” Don muttered. “You see Morrigan as a soul friend, not as an object of worship or as a deity to placate. Yet you do not understand God’s punishment. Is that knowledge lost in your time?”

“It is seen in the simple terms that at the End Times, good people go to Heaven, bad people live for eternity in Hell.”

“Remarkable,” Don reiterated. “This world is heaven or hell. It is ours to transform. As it transforms, it gives us the means to further our spiritual journeys.”

“And if we refuse that vision?”

“You cannot do so – not in the long run.”

The raven cawed once more.

Don stood and said, “It was a pleasure, Virgnous.”

Then he raised both hands, his palms facing Phil and intoned, “May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm on your face; the rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.”

“Thank you,” Phil told him and mounted the now-giant raven.

They soared high this time until Phil could see the entire island.

“Who was he?” Phil asked.

“A druid,” Morrigan answered. “One of the best of this age. He has an irreverent streak I always enjoyed.”

“That’s why he could see me in my spirit body. He’s a holy man of some sort.”

“I helped with that.”

“I appreciate that you took me here. I’m much more settled now. That was an awful experience being trapped in Balbira.”

“He was you. I take it.”

“Yes. In a past life.”

“Do you still seek gold, sex, and power?”

“I did for a while, but not any more.”

“If so, then you understand the punishment of the gods.”

The scene blurred again, fast-forwarding for much longer. When the dizzying ride ended, both Phil and Manuel were lying on the grass in Manuel’s patio. Flowers surrounded them. The gurgling fountain welcomed them.

Phil rolled to his side and began laughing. Whereas, Manuel stood and shouted, “That was terrible! The worst experience of my life. No wonder Raguel hates me.”

Then, in a demanding tone, the angel spat out, “What are you laughing at?”

“I figured it out,” Phil said in a triumphant voice, shouting at the clouds overhead. “Punishment is settling for less. Gold, so you can buy time; sex instead of bliss; and we sacrifice others to appease the Angel of Death in the hope he will pass us by.”

Finishing the short list, Phil continued chuckling. And from this well of relief came the phrase, ‘Death, where is thy sting?’ Phil knew the answer. The ‘sting’ was neutralized by Morrigan’s smile. Yet, the ‘sting’ was poisonous for those who refused the Goddess, and that was God’s punishment -- a fit punishment for living a life ruled by fear. It was the punishment of ‘natural consequences.’

Phil finally rolled to all fours and stood. He was still smiling as he spoke to the angel, “You prepped the priestess, didn’t you? You told her what to say.”

Manuel, though, was still a bit grumpy, “Yeah. They ordered me not to tell you anything, but they didn’t say anything about someone else. But afterwards, I found the delights of wine. I guzzled gallons of it. I am now thoroughly disgusted with myself.”

Phil started laughing again. He concluded with, “Wait until you sample some micro-brews, or a good scotch. Do you have a hang-over?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

Phil laughed again until his sides ached. As his laughter subsided, he knew tomorrow he would be shopping for a surfboard.