Soul Matters, Book 2: Wrath of the Goddess

There was no escape, however. Phil couldn’t just break out of the meditation. The singular door to Manuel’s patio was the only place where he could enter or leave the deep meditative state. He was stuck here, inside Typhon and inside his own terror.

“Well, I can’t do it for you,” Manuel commented. “But the answer to this is in determining what Typhon is looking for. What scent is he following?”

Manuel’s calm finally gave Phil some grounding, and he retreated from his horror long enough to voice a question for Typhon, “What do you seek?”

The question echoed in Typhon’s hollow head, and an answer crystallized out of the energy-field, “I seek those who escape my Mother.”

“How do you recognize them?” Phil yelled back.

The answer was a menacing guttural snarl, “They plot in secret. They pray to other gods. They forget their duties as her children. They think they can escape her will.”

The answer didn’t seem too helpful. Phil stood and looked to the angel for advice.

Manuel, however, was looking out the window of Typhon’s left eye. After a long moment he said, “Uh-oh.”

Phil turned to his own window and saw an angel standing before Typhon. He raised his hand, and the beast stopped.

The dark angel spoke, “I think we need to make this a fair fight. Wouldn’t you agree, Manuel?”

“It is a fair fight, Sammael,” Manuel shouted back.

The Prince of Darkness waved his hand again, and Phil found himself standing next to Sammael.

Typhon now loomed before Phil, a towering breathing living being. His skin was brown, his face was dark and craggy, and his hair was black and ended in miniature dragon heads. Two serpents’ tails glistened beneath his muscled torso; one with exotic colors, the other with an iridescent shimmer.

Phil struggled to maintain himself and not succumb to the fear. Manuel already told him his own fear of evil drew evil to him, and therefore his own fear was the major precondition for a devil to eat his soul. And Manuel just said Sammael was the master soul-eater.

“Well, well,” Sammael spoke. His voice was penetrating, but not in an unpleasant way. Rather, it was intimate and comforting. “You’re the human who has Azazel all riled up. And now you’re playing with my pet. What did you hope to learn from him?”

Phil didn’t know what to say.

“Answer!” Sammael demanded.

With the energy-lashed command, Phil felt compelled, “I’m looking for a way to transcend Mother Earth without repressing Nature.”

Sammael smiled, a brilliant flash of colors entering his aura. Phil attempted to look only at the ground, but he couldn’t. He was drawn into the dark-robed devil’s presence.

Unlike Beelzebub, who was more massive in appearance, Sammael was tall, elegant, but sharp in his contours. He also glowed with a different fire -- etheric, heavenly, and transcendent. In addition, he possessed a kind of regal authority, which Phil recognized as coming from always getting his way. Phil knew executives who operated in the same energy-field.

“Typhon can teach it,” Sammael agreed with him. “But if you learn it, he will tear you apart. That is what he sniffs out when he’s in service of the Great Mother. Did you know he is the father of Cerberus, the Chimera, and the Sphinx?”

“No,” Phil answered. “I missed that part.”

“He is a guardian deity that man must battle to achieve the next level in their growth, but Manuel rigged the game so you wouldn’t have to bet your life on this knowledge. He cheated.”

Once again Phil didn’t know what to say.

Sammael continued in a reasonable tone, “You have a choice, therefore. Attempt to learn this most costly lesson, or submit to me.”

“So you can eat my soul?” Phil’s percolating fear was turning into a kind of latter-day adolescent rebellion.

“I’ll get it sooner or later,” was the devil’s confident retort. Then more strongly, “Choose!”

“I think I’ll die fighting, if you don’t mind,” Phil heard himself say. He added, “What have you done with Manuel?”

“He’s stuck where you left him,” Sammael laughed, and his laughter sounded like oboes and French horns. The lyric sound lulled Phil into a sense of false security -- the sweet paradise of womb-consciousness.

He pulled himself out of it by looking up at the left eye of Typhon. Manuel was there, a white pupil to the blackness of Typhon’s eye.

“I’ll give you a head start,” Sammael said playfully.

Phil turned and ran. As he did so, his teen-bravado devolved back to terror. For even though he had no idea what would happen if his spirit-body got torn apart, he desperately didn’t want to find out. If Gog Sheklah’s hot irons could leave welts on his physical body, what would happen if Typhon ripped him asunder?

He raced among the tall monoliths of retired deities with no plan except escape. Zigzagging his way, looking back at the now approaching monster, he sprinted. Until he ran headlong into one of the monoliths. The impact knocked him down, and he looked up at the statue.

It was a woman with red hair and painted red eyebrows. He realized he knew the description. It was Morrigan -- the Celtic goddess, the Sovereign of Ireland.

Frantically he searched for the door. He found it hidden in the pleats of her red cloak. Opening it he glanced over his shoulder to the approaching Typhon. Phil hoped he had enough time.

He entered the hollow insides, slammed the door shut, and mounted the steps. As he did so, he envisioned himself surrounded by the redwood tree.

As soon as the deep contentment touched him, he began channeling Force-energy into the statue. Swirling amber clouds of energy filled her. And Morrigan awoke.

Phil was at the top of the ladder, and he looked out Morrigan’s right eye. Not fifty feet distant, Typhon was slithering towards them on his two tails.

“Help me!” Phil cried out.

“From snake-man?” was the alto response. “What’s he want with you?”

“My soul.”

“Are you one of my people?” Morrigan required.

Phil started to say he was not, but answered instead, “Virgnous. Of the Isle of Iona.”

“Then let us do battle!” she shouted with some glee.

As she raced forwards, the energy within her changed. What was once rich earth energy morphed into uncontrollable panic. Phil remembered in his readings this was how she usually engaged in combat -- not actually fighting, but engendering fear in her opponents.

A rich red wave of panic shot out from her hands like geyser bursts, and the panic-stream struck Typhon in the chest.

He howled and turned to flee, but Sammael appeared before him and commanded he fight. Typhon turned back towards them, but his advance was more cautious.

The energy inside Morrigan changed again, and ravens distilled out of it all around Phil. Hundreds of them manifested, and they set up a ravenous chatter. Phil got out of their way as they raced out Morrigan’s eyes to attack. The raven-attack slowed the beast even more.

Then Morrigan changed shapes. As she did so, Phil remembered Morrigan was renown as a shape-shifter. She was also associated with the horse. Repositioning himself at the window of her eye, he saw Morrigan had taken the form of a unicorn.

The energy within her stabilized to a throbbing love of battle. She charged the beast, aiming her single horn at his chest.

“Die!” she screamed.

Belatedly Phil thought to brace himself for impact. He dropped to the ledge and sat with his back against the inside of her cheekbone.

The collision slammed his head against the hard interior, but he didn’t lose consciousness. Instead he stumbled to look out the window.

Morrigan was retreating, pulling the horn from Typhon’s chest. A red gas-like substance escaped through the wound. As the gas left his body, Typhon slowly returned to his statue form.

Sammael walked in front of the statue of Typhon and said in a clear princely voice, “Very clever, Morrigan. Now give me the human. He has no meaning for you.”

Morrigan shape-shifted back to herself and answered, “He is under my protection, demon. Be gone.”

Clearly Sammael didn’t like her answer. His aura flashed crimson, and he raised his hand to strike.

As he did so, however, a group of angels appeared. They surrounded Sammael. All of these angels were encased in bright auras, and the aura of one angel was like a kaleidoscopic rainbow.

That angel spoke, “It is forbidden to attack one of God’s faces.”

“She did it!” Sammael protested, pointing to Typhon. “She attacked Typhon and rendered him useless.”

“They can fight among themselves,” the angel said, “but we are at their command. You know this, Sammael. If you seek a different outcome for this feud, there are proper channels for it.”

“Fine!” Sammael shouted back. “This isn’t over, human. I promise you.”

Sammael disappeared, but the other angels remained. In another moment, Manuel appeared among them. Phil stayed where he was. He felt safe here with Morrigan, safer than he could ever remember feeling.

The same angel spoke, “This will come to the Council, Manuel, and internal affairs is already building a case against you. But we don’t know what to do with the human.”

“I don’t know what to do with the human either, Gabriel,” Manuel said. “I’m making it up as I go along. I could use some help with this project, rather than side-trips to the Council of Punishment.”

Upon hearing the angel’s name, Phil said to Morrigan, “I must talk to them.”

“I’ll stay with you,” she confided in her alto voice. “I’ve never trusted angels.”

Phil hurried down the stairs wishing he could just beam himself around like the angels did. Exiting through the door, he hurried to the group of angels.

“It was me,” he shouted. “Gabriel, it was me the night you visited Columcille.”

The angel Gabriel turned to Phil, and Phil blinked away the brightness of angelic presence.

“I was Virgnous. I was hiding in the alcove.”

“I remember,” Gabriel said. “You continued to believe in the old ways until your death. How is it you are here now, under these circumstances?”

Phil approached closer and answered, “I’m not sure, but I think I was Virgnous in a past life. Why I’m here is anybody’s guess.”

Gabriel’s aura changed dramatically then, blues to purple to ultra-violet. And he spoke in a resounding voice, “The Lord of the Elements and the Sovereign of Ireland are your true parents.”

Then his aura emptied of color, and Manuel told Phil, “The rainbow-thing happens when he’s making ‘revelations’.”

Manuel refocused on Gabriel and said, “I don’t know what’s going on. Phil doesn’t know what’s going on. It doesn’t seem he is important this lifetime, but God is going out of his way to help him get it.”

“Perhaps so, but it won’t protect you from the Council -- or Raguel. I’ll do what I can.”

Without further comment the group of angels flew off into bright sky. Phil was left alone with Manuel and the hulking form of Morrigan behind him. Off to the side was the shattered form of the Typhon. What was also shattered was Manuel’s plan for Phil to learn how to transcend and include Nature.

“Virgnous,” Morrigan’s alto voice boomed. “What do you seek?” Her voice carried with it the overtones of an indulging mother. The impact of it almost made Phil weep.

Phil turned to the majestic but overwhelming figure of Morrigan. Standing before her twenty-foot tall form, he could see her timeless beauty. Her face was freckled, and a long white neck supported her collared red cloak. Beneath was a white gown with a golden belt below the bodice. Her auburn hair fell in long curls past her shoulders, and her full mouth was smiling at him -- smiling like a mother eager to indulge her favorite son.

Without fear or hesitation Phil answered, “I wish to grow up, Mother, but not leave you behind.”

“I release you to your destiny,” she intoned, “with my blessing. All I ask is you share with me your triumphs, and allow me to console you in your losses.”

“I swear it,” Phil said, choking back another wave of tears.

She smiled again and slowly turned back to stone. As she did so, her blessing hit Phil full force. It dropped him to his knees.

“Well,” Manuel sighed, “so far, so good.”

Phil turned to look up at the angel, “Didn’t you suspect Sammael would know it if we started playing with his pet?”

“I figured he’d be busy,” Manuel answered. “Besides, I didn’t think it would take so long.”

“And what’s with this Council-thing?” Phil went on as he stood up. “Are they going to send us to Hell again? Do you have a plan? A defense attorney? Anything at all to keep us out of trouble?”

“That would be: I don’t know, no, no, and no.”

Phil groaned in disgust, “This is the second time you’ve led me into a trap.”

“I’ll do better next time,” Manuel smiled, and his aura eased into warmer colors.

“I think I’ve heard it before,” Phil grunted.

They began walking across the monolith-strewn landscape, back to the entry point.

After a long moment Manuel said, “You don’t have to go with me to the Council.”

“Yes, I do,” Phil snapped back. They walked a few more paces, and Phil’s voice softened to ask, “Why are they hollow?”

“The masks of God?” Manuel clarified. “Because they have no life except what human’s give them.”

Phil thought for a moment and concluded, “They are monuments of condensed belief, or something.”

“More like ‘worship’,” Manuel corrected. “And if I say worship is projected Self-acceptance, then it’s what all the masks of God really are. Of course, En Sof has to approve of them, but in the end, they are part of the feedback loop man creates with the Divine.”

The answer served to confuse Phil once again, and he walked in silence until they reached their point of entry to the archetypal realm. Then they shifted back to Manuel’s patio.

Phil stood in the patio, surrounded by flowers, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. He was still in one piece, and he discovered an answer to the complex problem Manuel gave him to solve.

To be certain, though, he asked, “The Typhon is conquered by accepting the Great Mother, but appealing to the Goddess she also is. Right?”

Manuel sat on the bench as he replied, “Not quite. You’re making the pre-state into the trans-state. Morrigan embodies both, but she’s an exception.”

Confused again Phil waited for an explanation.

“Think of it in two ways,” Manuel continued. “First, when mankind as a whole was escaping the Great Mother; and now when each individual must do it. Long ago, you not only had to escape the Great Mother, but all her priests, the tribe, and your own family. They all served as Typhon does -- to bring you back to your duties.”

Phil caught on, “Now we repress the whole thing during our teens as a precondition for adulthood.”

Manuel agreed, “In this age, which treats Mother Earth as a whore to be plundered, you must fight against Reason’s priests, tribe and family to preserve the Goddess.”

Phil came to sit next to the angel and said, “Morrigan is my symbol for it.”

Manuel clapped his hands. “Well done. You connected the dots. She is one of your Self-projections.”

“But she seems to real and so completely distinct. She’s an individual that lived long before I was even born.”

Manuel sighed and dropped his clapping hands to his sides. “Just when I thought there was hope for you....”

Then Raguel, the head of internal affairs, appeared in the patio. Robed in darker clothes than Manuel, his face was chiseled as if from granite. His aura flashed in oranges and yellows, and his black hair flowed around his face constantly in movement.

“You have one day to prepare yourselves for Judgment,” he told them.

“Hey,” Manuel protested and stood to face Raguel. “It all worked out in the end. No harm; no foul. Whatever could you charge me with?”

“A long list of infractions,” Raguel’s flat baritone sounded. “Misuse of property. Appropriation of another’s property. Defying orders from a superior. Mismanagement of intentions. Shall I go on?”

“No,” Manuel sighed. “I get the point.”

“And, you,” Raguel turned his authority on Phil. “You will need to deal with Sammael.”

Phil refused to be intimidated, “What? He’s a sore loser?”

“He claims you cheated.”

Phil laughed, “Right. He is a sore loser.”

“Be that as it may,” Raguel countered, “as a Prince of Darkness we defer to his word.”

Then Raguel disappeared.

“Before they forbid me to advise you,” Manuel said in a conspiratory way, “just as you filled Morrigan with energy, she can do the same for you.”