Soul Matters: Book Three: Towering Confusion

“It was just that simple,” Phil reasserted to Sandy the next day. “I said a bunch of stuff. Jehovah’s followers began faltering. He realized he was outmatched and went home.”

They were out back in lawn chairs at Sandy’s home. The sky was turning reddish -- a sailor’s delight, Phil recalled. Sandy’s craggy face was stuck on smile. Phil waited to hear why.

“You under-estimate yourself still. You’re telling me, ‘I said a bunch of stuff.’ The stuff you said broke their ranks, Phil.”

“But it looks like it made matters worse. You see, I told Jehovah his whole agenda was about lust. The Devil picked up on the idea and is demanding all of Jehovah’s worshippers for himself.”

“Lust is a cardinal sin. It’s why I think it’s a better term than greed -- although greed is a cardinal sin as well.”

“The Devil’s point, of course. He’s enlisting the aid of the forces of Chaos -- whatever they are -- and the heavenly host is freaking out again. They’re not a tightly-wrapped lot.”

Sandy took it in as he slurped his beer. After a long moment of silence he spoke, “The forces of Chaos in biblical times were the dragons and ocean monsters the various gods defeated.”

“Yeah. They said today we call it entropy. The balance of yin and yang keeps it at bay.”

“Interesting. If the Universe sits in a pocket of entropy, and only balance separates us from Chaos, who keeps the balance?”

“We do. Humans keep the balance. Angels assist in the task.”

Sandy frowned and muttered, “We’re in trouble.”

“No. The balance can be numerical, or it can be a function of transcendence. Dark angels are good at keeping everything in numerical balance.”

“And if it goes out of balance?”

“Well, the Universe loses to entropy.”

“It’s all gone?”

“I guess.”

Sandy rose to get another beer. He came back with a beer and a bottle of tequila.

“You’re into some serious shit, Phil. And I, for one, am not too happy the fate of the Universe rests with you.” He knocked back a mouthful of tequila and offered the bottle to Phil.

“Well, that’s not me under-estimating myself,” Phil said with a chuckle. “And, luckily, it’s not just me,” Phil went on as he took a small sip of tequila. “There’s the Sarim -- the angel committee ruling heaven.”

“Okay. Tell me again how you just said stuff to Jehovah, and it worked.”

Phil went over it again, this time adding in the comments from the two angels. Sandy considered the report for a while, but eventually said, “I think I get it.”

“I’m glad somebody does.”

“Phil, we probably have lived dozens if not hundreds of lives. It’s considered a blessing in the East we don’t remember them. Although, in certain lives we got it mostly right. In those cases, we formed links to the Divine -- faith-based connections that seem to serve us in future lives. It’s why certain things are easy this time around. Anyway, your True Parents are deities you have a connection to. They can feed you information.”

Phil caught the point. “What I said to Jehovah was prompted by Green Man, even though the angels said it was I who powered Green Man.”

“I think so. I hope so. You’ll need all the help you can get.”

At work the next day, Phil’s mind wandered to the coming ordeal. What Phil knew about the forces of Evil amounted to what Manuel told him. In sum, evil folks could not work together. They lived in a dog-eat-dog world of continuous competition. This was not only true for humans, but for fallen angels as well. Therefore, the power-grab by Belial, another high-ranking Prince of Darkness, seemed consistent with what Phil knew. It couldn’t have come at a worse time, of course. But then, any coup is best accomplished during times of crisis. His own company did it in its own acquisitions -- waited for a crisis, then took advantage of it to buy a struggling company out.

Phil’s office phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He answered, and Pastor Jones responded.

“This is getting out of hand. You must come in, Phil. I’m sure we have your demon on the run.”

Phil frowned at the phone, “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Phil,” the pastor commanded. “This has gone as far as I’m going to let it. Come to my office this evening.”

Pastor Jones hung up. Before Phil could recover from the phone call, Ron Dobson came striding unannounced into his office.

The VP didn’t stride well, Phil noticed. Ron’s gut overhung his belt by many inches, which probably threw his center of gravity off, thus affecting his ability to stride well.

“I don’t know how you managed it,” Ron thundered as he slammed the door shut, “but your ass is mine!”

Phil stood and pivoted around the desk to keep it between him and Ron. Phil’s secretary opened the door, and Phil yelled to her, “Get security.”

Then he asked Ron, “What is this all about?”

Ron lunged clumsily around the desk and said, “The church newsletter.”

“What about it?”

“It had an announcement of my engagement to Ginger,” Ron said through clenched teeth. “It went out to thousands of people -- both mailings and emails. How could you do this to me?”

“I didn’t do it,” Phil shouted at him. “I’m not computer literate. Ask my kids.”

Security arrived, and Ron was escorted from Phil’s office. In the aftermath, Phil gave a statement to the security officer and tried to downplay Ron’s behavior. It wouldn’t do to tell anything remotely resembling the truth.

The whole process took a half-hour or so, and Phil left the building as soon as he could. All he could think to do was go surfing.

The waves weren’t great, but the ocean was its own comfort. He lolled in the swells thinking Manuel’s tactics were elegantly simple and brutally direct. If only the angel could do his job without Phil in the line of fire, the whole thing would be great fun to watch.

As things stood, though, Phil was in the line of fire. Somehow he would need to make this right with everybody. But how? Telling them about Manuel was not possible. Blaming someone else might work. There were those who lusted after a VP position. Which of them could he frame for this? The most computer-savvy one, he decided. The new guy in IT, for example.

He would have to start a rumor. He could do it tonight with Pastor Jones. Add to it with Betty. She would make sure his secretary had the inside story. From there it would spread. Pretty soon a witch-hunt would be on, and he would be in the clear.

“Phil,” Manuel chided him. “You’re getting stupid again.”

The angel sat his own surfboard not three feet away.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I stopped by to let you know Michael is preparing a party for the entities of Chaos,” Manuel explained. “And I show up just as you are strategizing a thoroughly disgusting yuppie plot.”

Phil’s cheeks reddened all the way up to his high forehead. He didn’t answer Manuel’s accusation.

The angel, never at a loss for words, went on, “They always translate the Buddhist saying as, ‘Life is suffering.’ But it’s not what ‘dukkha’ means. A better word in English is ‘sour.’ Life is sour, flat, uninspired, droll, or unhappy. When life is sour, you’ve got two choices: grab onto more stuff, or grab onto Nothing.”

Phil wasn’t sure of the relevance of Manuel’s mini-lecture, so he said, “I can’t lose my job. I need it to get my kids through college.”

“They’ll be fine,” Manuel assured him. “In fact, they would be even better off if you were a role model for what’s really important.”

Phil had no answer to that low blow. He sat on his surfboard in the rolling sea.

“You know why life is sour?” Manuel continued. “Because the ego knows it will die. It’s an angst-producing thought. Then the Upanishads added the little ditty, ‘Where there is other, there is fear.’ Now what you’ve got is an angst-self freaked out by all those ‘others.’ I wouldn’t trade places with humans for anything. As I told you before, we’re still scratching our heads over God’s comment, during Creation, about Man being ‘very good.’ What was he thinking?”

Phil let out a deep sigh, “I’m supposed to meet with Pastor Jones tonight.”

“Should be fun,” Manuel smiled. “You might ask him about his Cayman Island account. It somehow ended up as a donation to UNICEF.”

Phil slowly shook his head in disbelief; then started laughing.

“I don’t think he knows about his own generosity yet,” Manuel added. “I’m sure he will eventually approve of helping the children of the world. What do you think?”

“He wants to exorcise you,” Phil said once he stopped laughing.

“Exorcism,” Manuel smiled. “If he tries it on me, it will bounce back and nail his resident satan. I might show up for the fireworks.”

The comment caught Phil’s attention, “People have guardian angels and a resident satan?”

“Of course,” Manuel replied. “You remember ‘satan’ is a title. It means ‘adversary,’ and everybody has one.”

“But, why?”

Manuel snickered, “Stupid, Phil. We’ve been over this ground. Hegel said your end is your purpose. And Man’s ultimate purpose is to achieve compassion in order to balance the Universe. Ha-satan is there so you know you actually made it past your egos to the real Destination. They embody the test you have to pass -- or fail, as the case may be.”

“Okay,” Phil sighed. “What about Pastor Jones?”

“Whatever you want to do is fine with me,” Manuel said. “I’m more concerned about your teaming up with Michael.”

“Why?”

“Because it is the plight of Man to seek Spirit in ways that prevent him from finding It. You included,” Manuel answered. “You do not have a conscious enough grounding in Spirit to face Chaos.”

The explanation went right over Phil’s head. Consequently, he replied, “But you’ll be with us, won’t you?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Manuel said with some sarcasm. Then he and his surfboard disappeared.

Phil caught a small wave, then paddled the rest of the way to shore. Stripping off his wetsuit, he dried off and headed for his car. He was as ready as he could be for facing Betty and then Pastor Jones. Michael would have to wait his turn.

Pulling into the semi-circular driveway, Phil stowed his gear in the garage. After rinsing off both the wetsuit and the board, he entered the house and headed for the shower. Betty wasn’t home yet, so he could take a long hot shower.

When he emerged from the lavender-hued bathroom, he saw her coat on the bed. The time had come for the first showdown.

He dressed in jeans and a blue knit polo shirt and headed downstairs. The staircase swept down in a graceful curve. To his right was the living area. Before him was the front door with adjacent kitchen, a separating bar and a kitchen table with chairs. He found Betty in the kitchen.

“Hi,” he said. “Heard from Ron?”

Betty slammed some pots around, and suds splashed up to land on her flowered apron. She didn’t answer.

“You know,” he said and sat at the bar, “I have no idea how any notice gets into the church newsletter.”

She slammed some more before turning to him and demanding, “What’s going on with you?”

With the question hanging in the air, she burst into tears and fled the room.

Phil helped himself to some cashews, tastefully contained in a petite cut-glass bowl, and figured it was probably best if he ate somewhere else tonight.

Calling out to Betty he had a meeting with Pastor Jones, Phil left the house.

It was a short twenty-minute drive to the church. However, it took another ten minutes to find Pastor Jones’ office. Phil had to weave through the Children’s Ministry buildings, the meeting hall, the church proper, the auxiliary cottages, main rectory and servants’ quarters. At length, Phil wandered up a concrete walkway, edged in roses, to Pastor Jones’ private office. The sign on the door said to ‘Come In,’ so he did.

The receptionist was a stunning brunette with smooth features and a thin waistline. She wore a black sheath dress and moved with the stiff animation of a statue and spoke with a matching voice. Coolly she directed Phil to a sofa and said she would announce his arrival.

Phil sat, feeling like he was in a school office waiting to see the principal. He sat in such offices more than once as a kid and a teenager. His classmates reveled in their uncanny ability to escape punishment, but not Phil. He was even blamed for things he hadn’t done. It seemed once he acquired a reputation as a troublemaker, trouble gravitated to him.

“He’ll see you now,” the secretary said in her flat voice, and her sultry dark eyes dripped with disdain.

“Thanks,” was Phil’s cheerful response.

He entered the ornate office. Busts of Renaissance heroes cluttered the room. A small bookshelf held a few volumes, which were surrounded by miniature sculptures. Other, rather gaudy, religious themes peered down at him from their canvases. The overall effect, to Phil, was as if he had walked into the Coliseum. And he was the sacrificial meat these spectators were here to enjoy.

“Let’s get right to the point,” Pastor Jones said from his cherry-wood desk. It, too, was carved at the corners with gargoyles and scrollwork.

The pastor reminded Phil of Beelzebub. Massive frame, dark, hooded eyes, and his glad-handed friendliness belied a terrible purpose.

Phil decided to sit in one of the hard-backed chairs facing the desk. As he did so he asked, “The point being what?”

“Your immortal soul,” was the sonorous answer as the pastor leaned back in his plush black leather chair. “God has appointed me as a shepherd to His Flock. It is my sacred duty to bring you back into the fold.”

“Do you ever wonder,” Phil began and leaned forward, “what Jesus meant when he said if you do as he has taught us, you will become greater than he was?”

Pastor Jones’ thick eyebrows arched, and he solemnly responded, “It means we will be raised to glory with him.”

“So we don’t take this statement literally,” Phil suggested and lifted his own eyebrows.

The pastor frowned, “We’re not here to discuss theological fine points. We are here to rid you of a demon.”

“What if it’s not a demon?” Phil queried. “What if it truly is an angel who is helping me discover what it means to be a child of God -- to have a Divine nature -- to be in the world as Jesus was?”

The pastor slammed his meaty hand on the desk, “It can’t be, Phil. Think it through. Why would God send an angel to you? Why would this angel harass Dr. Loreen, or Ron Dobson, or perhaps even me? All of us walk with the Lord. No, Phil, the evidence is in, and you have brought a demon into our lives through your satanic practice of meditation.”

Phil smiled a thin smile and told the pastor, “The root word ‘medi’ is the same Sanskrit root for medicine. Both have to do with health. Medicine for the body; meditation for the mind.”

“Preposterous,” the pastor burst out. “You dare speak of Sanskrit profanities here? In God’s Presence? To me, God’s appointed agent?”

“I just thought you ought to know the original meaning of the word,” Phil’s smile shifted to a crooked one.

“Phil, I want you to sit there while I pray over you,” the pastor’s voice changed to a more hypnotic resonance. “We will rid you of this demon, right here, right now.”

Pastor Jones stood and raised his eyes to heaven. His expensive suit shimmered in the afternoon light that came through the window. His elegantly coifed dark brown hair didn’t move as his gaze went skyward. Then he began semi-chanting a long prayer for guidance and power.

Phil didn’t bother to listen, because he felt himself shift to his Sacred Area. Not the rooted self, he noticed, but to a spot where he could look out across the meadow to the distant wall, which separated his Medicine Area from the world of Spirit.

Hoving into view beyond the wall was Pastor Jones. He stood, or floated, outside the wall. Phil moved closer to see him more clearly. Around the pastor, who now sported an ornately embroidered white robe, an aura of energy was taking shape. The aura slowly became more radiant, more intense, more charged with power.

Eventually, the energy reached some kind of critical mass, and a white-hot bolt lanced towards Phil. However, the bolt of energy hit the wall and rebounded. It struck the pastor full in the chest -- in what Phil recognized as the heart chakra.

It must be true, what Manuel said. Nothing and no one could enter his Medicine Area without permission.

Phil jolted back to the room as Pastor Jones collapsed into his chair.

“Get out,” he commanded, but his voice had lost its resonance. “Get out and never come back.”

Phil rose and exited the office. As he did so the secretary hurried in. Phil assumed the pastor buzzed her from his desk. Absently Phil wondered what the consequences of a spiritual heart attack might be. On the other hand, he didn’t want to stick around and find out.

He climbed into his car and started for home. However, he soon realized that destination might not be the best place for him right now. He altered course and headed for the beach.

There was a spot on the bluff overlooking the beach he found a long time ago. Not really a cave, it was more a hollow with a ledge. Around it grew scrub brush making it mostly invisible from below and above. He grabbed a jacket and scrambled there in the failing light. He sat to gaze at the moonlit ocean.

In moments, he was into a deep meditation and bounced into Manuel’s patio.

Manuel arrived moments later, “I didn’t expect you here so soon.”

“Pastor Jones threw me out,” Phil explained. “It was as you said. His exorcism rebounded on him.”

“You could see it?”

“I shifted to the Sacred Area,” Phil told him. “He was outside the wall. When he shot energy at me, it bounced back and nailed him in the chest.”

“I told you it was all about compassion,” Manuel chuckled. “Maybe he will benefit from this.”

“How?”

“The heart is many things,” Manuel began. “Its natural state is open, with compassion flowing out of it to connect you to others, to connect you to yourself -- especially your orphaned parts, and to connect you to your Higher Self. But fear closes the heart. Fear of death, fear of loss, fear of your own unworthiness, and on and on. Fear is conquered by courage -- specifically, the courage to do the right thing. Then the heart reopens, because the right thing is always compassion.”

Phil thought on this for a while before saying, “Pastor Jones’ heart was locked up in fear.”

“It’s a function of the ego, Phil. Separate self, fear of others, you know, all the stuff I already told you about.”

Phil nodded but wanted to know, “Will he be alright?”

Manuel laughed, “If not, he’ll be joining Jehovah’s multitudes.”

It didn’t seem a comforting thought. But Manuel did have a longer view on human existence than Phil.

Changing the subject, Phil asked, “When do I meet with Michael and the entropy beings?”

“Might as well do it now,” Manuel said. “You’re here.”

Manuel closed his eyes for a moment and his body went rigid. He opened his eyes and said, “Let’s go.”

“What did you just do?” Phil asked as Manuel put his hand on Phil’s shoulder.

“Told Michael we would meet him there.”

“Meet him where?”

“It’s known as the primal sea, or the pleroma, or just the boundary between the time-space continuum and entropy,” Manuel answered. “It’s a pretty weird place.”

They flew out of the patio and beyond the huge, wheel-like structure of the angel compound. Before them there soon appeared a black disk in the gray light. Without hesitation, Manuel flew into it.

A moment later, Phil could see planet Earth below them. Manuel explained, “It’s how we ‘physically manifest.’ The disk is one portal between our world and yours. It’s sort of like a wormhole.”

Manuel headed away from Earth at an accelerating rate. In no time, galaxies were whizzing past them, until the uniform texture of space began to feel crumpled. In fact, Phil felt like he was on a surfboard in a really choppy ocean with cross currents, undertows, and irregular surf.

“We’re here,” Manuel announced. “The primal sea.”

Within moments, Michael arrived. He floated serenely in space, his green robe rippling, and he immediately called out, “Leviathon, Behemoth, come to a council with us. I am Michael, the Prince of Light, Herald of the Shekinah, Ruler of the Fourth Heaven, and an archangel of the Throne of God.”

Michael’s voice echoed across the crumpled space like a rock skipping over water. Phil knew there was no sound in space; therefore this must be some form of telepathic communication. Still, it seemed the laws of physics wouldn’t work here the way they did in the Universe. Either that, or other laws were in effect when one was operating in one’s spirit-body.

As he was pondering these physical facts and their relationship to the spiritual realities Phil was coming to know, there was movement in the primal sea. Phil’s curiosity gave way to a nameless terror. It seized his heart, making it hard to breathe.

Manuel’s hand tightened on his shoulder, and the angel murmured, “These beings also feed on fear. Brace yourself with the knowledge: what you do here benefits all mankind.”

Phil closed his eyes and forced himself to a place of compassion for his children, their children, and everybody’s children.

When he opened his eyes, two massive beasts floated before them in the primal sea. They looked like giant serpents with crocodile jaws. One sported prominent horned structures on its head; the other did not. Phil assumed one was male; the other, female.

“Two angels and a human,” a hissing female voice commented. “What brings you here?”

“Justice,” Michael answered.

“It doesn’t exist in our ocean,” the male voice proclaimed. “There is only food.”

“Then we battle,” Michael rejoined. “And you will lose even more of your territory.”

A hissing laughter rolled from them, but Michael went on, “We know of your alliance with the Christian Devil. The alliance shall not stand.”

The pair rose on their tails like cobras ready to strike. The male snarled, “Prepare to die.”

The serpents seemed to grow is size, and their belly scales glowed iridescent green. The brown scales on their backs lifted, and the male’s horned structure flashed forward, a webbed circlet around his neck. The fingers at the end of tiny arms were talons that clenched in anticipation.

Both Michael and Manuel began to glow. Their auras filled with light brighter than Phil had ever seen.

As he closed his eyes to it, Manuel barked an urgent command, “Connect with Flesh, Force and Spirit, like you did before. Do it quickly.”

Soon Phil’s heart was bursting with the combined energies, and he opened his eyes. He now had an aura swirling around him with interwoven changing colors.

“Push it out to shield us,” Manuel instructed.

Phil did so, creating a thick light-bronze energy-shield between them and the beasts. Energy, then, lanced out from each angel. Michael’s beam hit the male, while Manuel’s hit the female. They recoiled, squealing a hideous screech. Then fire shot out of their mouths. Phil’s shield blocked the blast.

This exchange of energy bolts went on for an indeterminate time. Phil was disoriented by the conflict and struggled to hold his attention on his one task of maintaining a shield. It flared and rebuilt, and the energy he was channeling seemed inexhaustible. Even so, he grew weary as the battle continued.

“Enough,” the male called out.

The ensuing silence and abrupt end of the conflict also caught Phil by surprise. He didn’t release the energy shield, though.

The male went on, “The alliance is broken. We will not help the Devil.”

Michael commanded, “Bring home your hordes.”

“For how long?” the female whined.

“Until I say you can release them,” Michael directed.

“It can’t be long,” the female said with urgency in her voice. “They must eat. If they begin to starve, they will eat us.”

“We will make haste,” Michael promised. “Do it now. I need to see them returning home.”

The pair began a series of calls, which sounded to Phil a lot like whale-songs. Within minutes, wraithlike serpents began appearing around the beasts -- obviously, their spawn, but they were not nearly as huge.

Michael said, “When it’s time to release your children, Rahab will let you know.”

“Hurry,” the female pleaded.

The trio raced back to Earth, through the black portal to the celestial world. They flew with purpose to Sarim headquarters.

“It’s done,” Michael told Metatron.

“Very good,” the elder said and gazed at the hologram. “The Devil is one day’s march from Jehovah’s compound. Intercept him and let him know he has lost the ally who would have made the difference. Maybe he will turn back since his triumph is not assured.”

The three of them flew to the Devil’s position. He was marching across the white wilderness of the archetypal fields. Thousands followed his black banner.

They landed before the throng, and the Devil approached alone. He wore a dark suit with a flowing redlined cape.

“Welcome,” he leered at them. “You’re a bit early for the show.”

Michael approached him saying, “The forces of Chaos are recalled. They will not be fighting for you. Return to your Hell before you lose your existence.”

The Devil’s face twisted in fury. He swirled around, stomped his feet, and raised his hands to strike.

The angels’ auras flared again into brilliance. Reflexively, Phil reconnected with Flesh, Force and Spirit, but too late.

The Devil’s searing energy-bolt came straight at Phil’s chest, and Phil shifted to his rooted self.

He hid inside the statue and called to the wolf, the bear, the eagle, and the coyote. Soon, he felt their presences, and his terror began to subside.

It was a confined space, inside the statue, but Phil did not feel claustrophobic. He felt protected -- safe and secure in a world of imagination. The irony of that thought caused him to giggle, and so he released some of the stress that had been mounting for the past few days.

Soon thereafter he heard Manuel’s voice, calling from a distance, “May we enter?”

“Yes,” Phil shouted back.

“You can come out now,” Manuel told him.

Phil emerged from the statue and walked over to the angels. They stood at the edge of the bluff overlooking the meadow.

“I guess the Devil isn’t going back,” Phil said with a heavy sigh.

Manuel laughed, ”I guess not.”

Then Michael, who didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor, commented, “You must practice your defenses. The next battles will be more dangerous than these little skirmishes.”

Phil scratched his balding head, “What would have happened if that laser beam hit me?”

“Your spirit would be trapped here,” Manuel answered. “Your body would go into a coma, but your spirit would also be in a kind of coma. Well, it’s more like shock. It would stay like that until your body died, or until you came out of the shock.”

“What have you gotten me into?” Phil demanded as the answer sunk in.

“Not me,” Michael corrected him in a preemptory way. “You set this in motion. It is up to you to deal with the consequences of it.”

Phil wanted to protest the unfairness of this spiritual law, but decided against it. It would be a useless exercise.

Instead he asked, “Now what?”

“Go through the arch, up the stairs, to the beginning of your trail. Then shift back to your body,” Manuel told him. “You’re no longer stuck going through my patio to get home.”