Soul Matters: Book Three: Towering Confusion

“I have a question,” Phil said. It was a question surfacing and withdrawing for at least the last week. Maybe longer.

It was a couple of days since the trip to Babylon, and Phil was back in Manuel’s patio. The upcoming encounter with Jehovah was the pressing issue for Manuel. Phil, however, was reaching a point of exhaustion with the preparations. He needed the legitimate distraction of his curiosity sated.

“Ask away,” Manuel said and settled on the marble bench.

Phil gazed out at the multi-colored flowers to gather his thoughts and then asked, “If the soul is just another immortality project, then what is the vehicle we use to enter life-time after life-time?”

The angel answered, “It’s mostly a semantic problem. The immortal soul, the way it’s envisioned by Christians, doesn’t exist. Way back at the beginning of the bureaucracy of the Church, they collapsed soul into spirit and made them equivalents. They did so to blur the distinction between the two levels they represent: Force and Spirit.”

Phil didn’t understand the answer and asked, “Then what exists?”

“What exists is the spirit, and the spirit lacks the individual personality humans wish was immortal. However, like the masks of God, your spirit does possess a personality, and when it incarnates one of its expressions is transmitted through the soul and captured in the Flesh.”

Of course the answer made things no clearer, and Phil shook his head, mutely marveling at the mangled logical structure of Manuel’s response.

But the angel wasn’t done, “The soul may be thought of as your artistic self. The Muse may light up the soul to speed up or to inspire your creative potential. But, like all the rest of the individual you (except for your singular consciousness), it, too, dissolves back to the matrix of your spirit. You can also equate it to the etheric body -- the vegetable body that connects you to Nature. It’s also the part of you that carries your karmic debt as well as the lessons you learned while incarnated.”

“I’m sorry I asked.”

“It’s a difficult subject,” Manuel pronounced. “Let’s get back to the task at hand.”

The task was to prepare Phil for his encounter with Jehovah. In Manuel’s mind, it meant a continued assault on Phil’s fundamentalist belief system.

About which Manuel was now saying, “Judaism emerged into history as a religion needing a clear separation between Creator and created. To accomplish it, Judaism renounced the immanent Goddess. So we hear Jeremiah, when he was acting stupid, say things like, ‘who says to a tree, “you are my mother,” or to a stone, “you are my father.” The customs of the people are false.’ On the contrary, those customs were accurate. J, herself, honors the earth by having Yahweh use it to make Adam.”

Phil followed this argument easily, “It is how they resolved the confusion of the Tower of Babel. They decided there was a gulf between Creator and created.”

“Right,” Manuel confirmed. “And the confusion was about the pre-rational Great Mother, with Typhon guarding the gates to individuation, and the trans-rational Goddess, who encourages you towards transcendence. They couldn’t get them separated out, so they repressed them both.”

Phil nodded his head as the current implications of the repression filtered in, “Jehovah is both a symbol and a guardian of repression.”

“Right, again. The good news is once the confusion was taken care of, the ego in man could take shape. It could emerge as the next evolutionary step in man’s maturation – the individuated self.”

“I see,” Phil murmured. “It’s as the Devil told me before. They couldn’t prevent evolution itself, but they made sure we only evolved to the shadow side of the next step up.”

“Yep,” the angel agreed. “And for the bulk of humanity, it’s as far as they ever got -- to the ego, to Reason, to the wonderful myth of the separate self. Everybody eventually made it to the half-way point, and mankind has been bogged down right there, in ego-consciousness, ever since.”

Phil allowed himself a long deep sigh. It now became clear to him what the feeling of emptiness inside him truly was -- the absence of the Divine. But not absence, repression was the more accurate term. Still, he, like so many others, addictively attempted to fill the aching hole inside with externals. From cocaine to careers, they crammed the emptiness full. Yet it never stayed full. This was so, because it could only be filled from within, not from without. The emptiness was not so much a hole, but was a conduit to channel the Goddess. It was a well from which the waters of spiritual life bubbled forth. And he, along with everyone else, was throwing junk into the well to plug it up.

Apparently reading Phil’s mind, the angel commented, “Now you know the inner source for the actual pollution of Mother Earth. You pile garbage into the ‘well’ to block the Goddess, and you pollute Mother Earth as a consequence. Inner reflecting outer.”

Phil brought his attention back to the angel, “And it all started with the skirmish in the plaza at Babylon.”

“Yes,” Manuel said and his aura dulled to a slate-gray. “I do take responsibility for the tragedy, but I’m not sure there was anything any of us could have done to prevent it. The Flood turned man against the earth so completely, even Gevurah’s skill as a writer couldn’t undo it.”

With the problem now fully identified, Phil’s analytical mind was ready to move into problem solving.

“Now what?”

“Now we can go through your arch,” Manuel answered. “Put your trail up on the wall.”

Phil turned to the white, stucco wall to his right and imagined the start of the trail through the forest. Slowly the image of the trail flickered onto the magic-wall. When it solidified, the two of them stepped onto the trail.

In this reality, Manuel was less distinct. Phil could look at him and it wasn’t like looking into somebody’s high-beams they forgot to switch off. He caught himself drifting into distraction and brought himself back to the trail.

They walked forwards, through the first curtain of energy into the realm where Phil’s personal memories were more readily available. To the left of the trail was a book-case, which was his marker for coming directly into this location from the waking world.

Through the next curtain to the reality-state of the ‘beast within.’ Then through the next curtain to ‘body control.’ Through the next curtain to ‘personal healing.’ And finally through the final curtain to the interface of the unconscious realm and the realm of Nature.

They were now at the top of the staircase. As they descended, they moved through the reality-states of near entity communication, far entity communication, the ‘crystal cave’ of Nature healing energy, then into the pure energy of the Nature level, and down to the interface between the Universal Life-force and Spirit.

Before them now was a huge gray stone archway. On the three-foot thick face of the arch were ancient symbols -- runes, hieroglyphs, Aramaic and Hebrew script, as well as other symbols Phil couldn’t identify.

Filling the arch was a shimmering curtain of opaque, silvery energy. Phil stood before it with some apprehension. He had never gone through this arch before. And even though this was somehow his own creation, he wasn’t sure what he ‘created.’

Then Raphael showed up beside them.

“It’s time?” he asked Manuel.

“It’s time,” Manuel answered. “I’m glad you could make it. There’s a whole lot of healing you’ll need to do once we get in there.”

The comment didn’t make Phil feel any better, and his apprehension mounted.

“Well,” Manuel barked. “Walk through it. We don’t have all day.”

Phil did so, and the silver energy was an intense assault on his being. It was as if he dissolved in the short passage through the arch. In this dissolving state, Phil kept moving until he managed to step all the way through. He exited the arch to complete disorientation. He looked around him and could see nothing at all.

Manuel and Raphael moved along side him. In unison, they asked, “May we accompany you here?”

“Yes,” Phil blurted out. “Why do you ask?”

“You own this place,” Manuel explained. “Nothing can come in here without your permission.”

Phil looked out at the nothingness around him, and it slowly began to take form. In the distance stood rolling mountains. To his left, a river cut through the grass-covered earth before him. Trees widely spaced lined the river. To his right was a ridge falling away to a meadow. At the meadow’s edge was a wall. Unlike the black Wall encircling the Compound of Evil, this wall was an ancient structure of gray columns and long stretches of gray ivy-covered stone.

“The Apaches call this your ‘medicine area’,” Manuel explained. “As in ‘good medicine.’ There’s also a place, somewhere in here, you’ll need to find. They call it the ‘sacred area.’ And it’s from there you’ll do your work in Spirit. At least for the foreseeable future.”

Phil breathed the ‘air’ of this place and it was the cleanest, freshest air he ever tasted. The sky was also a crisp blue with fast-moving clouds traversing the dome of the sky.

“Why are you using Apache symbology to teach me?”

“As I told Metatron,” Manuel said, “it’s one of the most complex and one of the most complete systems mankind has ever come up with. It’s a perfect fit for your analytical mind.”

“But I thought the Apaches were some kind of fierce horse soldier culture,” Phil said.

“They were,” Manuel agreed. “But they were also a culture that didn’t repress Mother Earth nor the Goddess. Over the centuries, their shamans explored the realms of Nature and Spirit in ways the Europeans never did.”

Phil took it in, while at the same time making sure he didn’t think about the slaughter of the Amerind people, and began walking into his ‘medicine area.’

“You can fly here,” Manuel told him. “Just set the intention to fly around and you can.”

Phil did so. He took a running start and lifted into the air. He soared higher and higher, until he could see the entire landscape of this place. He noticed its far borders -- an indistinct line, appearing to be a wall but not nearly as well-formed as the one on the grassy plain. The wall containing his medicine area was miles wide, roughly shaped like a circle.

He swooped low over the river at the foot of the mountains. He followed the tumbling rivers feeding the river back to their snow-packed headwaters. He zoomed across the meadow, up to the ridge where he left the two angels. At last he landed next to them.

“Now you must find the ‘sacred area’,” Manuel told him. “Just let yourself be led to it.”

“Led to it?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Manuel retorted. “Intention. Set the intention to be led to it.”

Phil did so and started walking away from the ridge. Eventually the ground began to feel ‘spongy.’ It was soaked with energy, he could tell, and knew he just crossed the boundary to the ‘sacred area.’ As he traversed this place, he felt energy rise up through his legs every time he put his foot down. Soon he was pumping with the energy of Spirit itself.

It was delicate energy, not nearly as dense as Nature energy. It flowed through him to create a bliss state; whereas, Nature energy created a sense of being grounded in the vitality of Creation.

The boundaries of the ‘sacred area’ were no more than a circle fifty yards in diameter. It touched the edge of the ridge and included a small waterfall in the foothills of the mountains. A pool of water received the waterfall, and when Phil stooped to touch those waters, everything inside him felt as if it was melting -- all his stress, all his worries, all his ego-concerns just washed away.

The angels were trailing him, and Raphael now approached.

“These are healing waters,” Raphael said. “We can heal within you what can now be healed.”

Phil turned to the solemn bronze face of Raphael and asked, “What do I do?”

“Climb into the waters,” the angel directed, “and let me put my hands on your shoulders.”

Into the water he went. It felt like the most relaxing hot tub he had ever been in. Then the angel put his hands on Phil’s shoulders, and images from his past began to bubble up into consciousness.

As an oldest child in a rigid and mostly alcoholic family system, he was the one who got it from everybody. Images of those trying times arose in his mind. As they arose the strong beam of energy coming from Raphael’s hands nuked those moments, vaporized the emotions associated with them, and left him oddly vacant of feelings.

Into his teens, the images were similar. Assailed from top and bottom, from adults and peers, he struggled to find himself in the burgeoning hippie world. During these times, confusion, rejection, and disasters were the common result when he acted on his own truth. Raphael nuked those memories and emotions as well, and they stopped being toxic evidence about his unworthiness and reverted to normal life experience.

The nostalgic pain of wanting to change the world, but not having any clue how to accomplish the task, was what marred his late teens. The overwhelming sense of failure, which attended to those years, was next to float to consciousness. Raphael dealt with those times in the same way -- nuking them with an intense laser-beam of healing energy.

Then the coke-years came. It was the Seventies, and he had sold out to the Man. As a yuppie, the drug of choice was cocaine, and he went with the flow. What was there to lose? He already abandoned the Revolution and his integrity along with it. Everybody was doomed anyway. Why not get something for himself? Raphael mercilessly nuked this whole part of his life. And Phil felt the most relief from this healing.

To the present, and his comfortable life with Betty and the kids. There wasn’t anything to heal here. There was only his disappointment with himself. Raphael sent the healing energy, but it didn’t fully nuke it out of existence. Modified it, to be sure, but Phil could feel this was an issue he would have to attend to himself.

Phil became aware of the healing waters once again as Raphael removed his hands from Phil’s shoulders. Phil allowed himself a few moments to settle the emotional turmoil within, and then he stood up.

He felt lighter. He smiled at the two angels, and jauntily asked, “Are we ready to do battle now?”

Manuel’s guffaw told him he wasn’t. The angel added, “I think we must first make sure you can escape Jehovah’s wrath if you blow it.”

Raphael concurred, “It would be a good idea.”

“How?”

“Go over to the border of the sacred area and the medicine area and stand there,” Manuel instructed.

Phil walked from the healing waters, noticing he dried off instantly. He found a place near the border of the two areas and stopped.

“Now what?”

The two angels were trailing him again, and Manuel said, “The next exercise is one the Apaches called the ‘rooted self.’ It’s kind of weird, but it works. What I want you to do is feel the energy of the earth coming up to fill your body.”

Phil did so, and was once again filled with deep contentment -- contentment so rich and deep he struggled to contain it.

Manuel’s voice intruded, “Allow yourself to sink into the earth to your waist.”

Before the words were fully spoken, Phil was already sinking into the energy-rich earth. It didn’t feel claustrophobic. It felt womb-like, warm -- on some level, wonderful.

Manuel spoke again, “Imagine roots growing out of your legs to wrap around the boulders beneath the surface.”

As Phil did so, he realized he no longer had to ‘hang onto’ his place in the world. He could relax in some existential way. Mother Earth now held him, supported him, and grounded him. Like a rooted tree, he could relax and let the winds blow through him so that he could just sway in response, rather than fighting against it.

“Imagine a light coming down on you, coming up through you, and encircling all of you,” was Manuel’s next instruction.

Encased in light, Phil’s swaying spirit-body now felt even more protected.

Manuel went on, “Imagine your whole body slowly turning to stone, and you become a statue.”

It seemed odd, but this also seemed the next obvious thing to do. Phil turned himself to stone.

“Off to your right see a bear. From your left comes the wolf. Above you flies an eagle. Around the entire perimeter a coyote prowls as a look-out,” Manuel chanted to him. And Phil could see, or sense, these spirit animals taking on the task of his protection.

“Okay,” Manuel said. “Leave the statue standing and come out here with us.”

Without much effort, Phil did so. Standing with the angels, he looked at the statue of himself, buried halfway into the ground, and it looked serene.

“Memorize this,” Manuel went on. “When you get into trouble in the world of Spirit, you can bring this statue to mind and shift to it. Be inside of it. And it is your best escape from the dangers you will face.”

“Well, that’s cool.”

“The only problem, Phil,” Raphael cautioned, “is you cannot be protected from your own arrogance. This is a protection for the honest and innocent mistakes you may make. When you switch to your rooted self, you also want to call on the animal protectors, and there is nothing in creation which can now harm you.”

After a long moment of silence, Manuel asked Raphael, “What do you think?”

“He’s as ready as we can make him.”

“Not too encouraging,” was Manuel’s reply. “I wish we had more time for him to practice here.”

Once again impatient with them talking around him, Phil asked, “What’s outside the wall?”

“The world of Spirit,” Manuel answered. “You won’t be venturing out there any time soon. At least, not without one of us to keep you out of trouble.”

“But isn’t Jehovah out there?”

“Yes,” Manuel replied, “but we’re getting to where he is by another route. If we went from here, there are at least five levels of Spirit between us and the level Jehovah is on. For you to mature by exploring each of those levels would take too long. We’re going to meet Jehovah from my patio.”

Phil was startled anew by the complexity of Manuel’s world. He was also not too glib about relying on the angels to get him to where he needed to go, nor to support him in the ways he would need support. They had so far not shown any expertise in accommodating Phil’s all too human needs. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure how he could back out of this situation either.

“When do we go?”

“The next time you’re here,” Manuel said. “In the meantime, at least practice going to your rooted self during your work day. Or at home. Or something. You need to have it as an automatic response to danger.”

“Okay.”

“While you’re doing that, I think I need to pay a visit to Ronnie-boy,” Manuel smiled with ill-disguised glee.

“What about Jehovah?” Phil said in quick panic. He hoped to distract Manuel from his boss, but knew it wouldn’t work.

“There’s nothing we angels can do about Jehovah,” Raphael said, speaking to Phil’s question but not to Phil’s reason for the question, “except clean up his messes. Only you can confront him now.”