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2012-01-01. Sufi Teachers in Disguise.
“Confessions of a Rebel Angel; The Wisdom of the Watchers and the Destiny of Planet Earth.”. – Book 1B. Chapter 9. ~ by Timothy Wyllie
“Perilous Journeys, a Reincarnational Clue, a Smuggler’s Dilemma, Immortal Privileges and Rebellions as Cosmic Theater”
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Confessions of a Rebel Angel. Book 1B. Chapter 9. Sufi Teachers in Disguise.
Böni proved correct in her intuition about Onya. The girl was a natural. The fandors, without exception, loved her as though she were one of them. Within a few weeks of that first meeting with Böni, Onya was spending more time with the birds than on her other studies. As she was playing early one morning with a couple of the young adult birds, she found herself quite naturally climbing onto one of their broad, soft backs. After the fandor’s initial surprise at the unaccustomed weight, the bird twisted her long neck around to fix Onya with a single placid eye. Once again the girl felt the spreading warmth in her emotional body as the fandor empathically projected her pleasure. After that welcome, it wasn’t long before the fandor was taking short flights carrying Onya on her back. Still unsure as to the true motives of the girl, there’d been some clucking from the older birds after they’d seen the pair soaring overhead. Fortunately, this disapproval was short-lived when each of the birds had a chance to carry the girl.
It was obvious that they, too, thoroughly enjoyed the sensation. There were seldom more than half a dozen fandors in the city at any one time, yet after each one had finally flown with Onya, for the first time far larger numbers of the birds began arriving for the experience, and then leaving to be immediately replaced by another bird floating in over the ocean from the southwest. This quick change of opinion among the resident birds, and their call for others to join them, was puzzling Onya until she realized it was something inside her to which the birds must be responding. All she knew about this was the profound feeling of love she had for the fandors and the comfort she felt while being with them. Böni had been watching this unusual progression from the sidelines with mounting interest.
It had been almost 275,000 years since the staff had arrived on the planet and set up their city and some 23,000 years since the fandors had started cautiously approaching the place. In all that time neither Böni nor any of the other staff had ever seen anyone being carried on the back of a fandor. There had been a few humans whom the birds appeared to accept over the years, which is how they were known to be semitelepathic, but they’d never allowed a single person the intimacy of a ride perched on their backs. Not until Onya. This was to launch a new relationship between human beings and fandors, nurtured in the city over the years by Böni and Onya and her growing number of apprentices. Keep in mind that the birds were able to bond so closely with mortals only—not with any of the Prince’s staff, not with the midwayers, and, sadly, not with Böni, the one most hopeful, and the one who ultimately became the most resentful. This raises a point that had long concerned the Prince’s staff.
These one hundred individuals can be best understood as mortals who’ve lived full lifetimes in the worlds of their birth, who have then died and ascended through the seven subsequent planes, or “lifetimes,” to arrive on the capital planet of this System . . . and only then do they volunteer for this mission. The motives of all these volunteers for choosing the challenge of returning to a primitive planet were wildly varied: some sought redemption, some a sexual love they’d never known; others simply desired power, and still others were convinced of their own power to do good. What has surprised many of those who’ve recently come to examine the files on this matter is how the final choice of the hundred appeared to favor those whose reasons for volunteering were—How shall we say?—somewhat murky.
As both Prince Caligastia and his chief of staff, Daligastia, appeared to have been chosen for their independent thinking, among their many noble attributes, so also were the staff evidently selected for rather more complex reasons than were noticed initially. Yet none of this seemed significant at the time. Those chosen for the mission were wonderfully intelligent, superbly trained, and each had the conscious memory of seven “lifetimes” behind them. They would have become aware of the Indwelling God and the Father Spirit during their ascension process and from their time spent in the System Capital, so it was a matter of some surprise to be informed they’d be leaving their Atmans behind. They were all reassured that they would be reunited with their individual Atmans on the completion of their mission.
I realize this might sound strange to contemporary ears, because for most humans the concept of being indwelt by God is not a familiar, or an experiential, reality. Most people appear to go about their entire lives without any awareness of the indwelling God, and organized religion, on the whole, emphasizes God as “being out there somewhere.” Yet for us angels, as well as for some of the simpler of a world’s intelligent creatures, even if we can’t perceive the Atman, we can feel Its Presence within humans. Recently, as all angels have been encouraged to examine and learn from every aspect of the rebellion—its causes and consequences—some attention has been focused on the reasons offered for sending off the staff without their Atmans. Was it, as M A maintained, simply because the Atmans had no need to repeat what were frequently the painful experiences of accompanying mortals through their lifetimes? Or was it, as some are now suggesting, a subtle way of laying the groundwork for an anticipated future uprising?
Over the years the fandors had been coming and going from the city, Böni had come to realize that the birds were only prepared to tolerate the intimate company of humans. This was confusing for Böni’s council, because they’d assumed their companions—the hundred mortals from whom the staff were cloned—would have been able to establish close ties with the fandors. But this was never to be. Whether it was the companions’ very human desire to identify more closely with the staff by making a point of not flying with the fandors, or if it was the fandors’ collective caution regarding contact with all but the truly indigenous mortals, the companions had a tendency to set themselves above the humans who came for fandor training. In spite of all this posturing among the lower ranks, Böni and her council staff had long harbored hopes that as the fandors came to trust them, they, too, would be welcomed to fly with them.
As the centuries passed, this hope had developed into an obsession. Yet, as the fandors continued to come and go, leaving their mysterious translucent globes, there appeared to be no softening in the birds’ indifference to the staff. And now this little creature, Onya, was making the breakthrough Böni had so much coveted ever since first seeing the fandors! I could see from Böni’s emotional body that it infuriated her, even though she tried her best to keep it hidden from the council. Despite this, there were times I overheard Böni vigorously complaining about the unfairness of it to a couple of trusted colleagues. Long after Onya had died, and after many generations of fandor riders had come and gone, Böni was known for adopting a particularly sarcastic tone when speaking about those humans the fandors adopted as their riders. She called them maladapted, and sometimes even mentally retarded, conflating an empathic simplicity of mind with signs of idiocy in her envious dismissal of their rare gift.
I believe that these harsh attitudes were the result of Onya’s unfortunate death. Despite all warnings, Böni had evidently fallen into the trap of becoming sentimentally over-attached to a human being. So, when Onya disappeared one day while riding a fandor who was particularly devoted to her, and then didn’t reappear by sundown, her mentor was concerned enough to send a couple of midwayers out to find her. Perhaps she’d have done better not to have known what happened, because when the midwayers returned with the sad news, Böni started on what was to become a long, downward spiral. The fandors had killed and consumed Onya’s heart and brain, before ceremoniously laying her remains on a snowcapped peak, sacred to them, in the Atlas Mountains. And herein, too, lay the paradox that so tortured Böni.
The fandors had sacrificed Onya out of love and supreme respect, and they had consumed her organs to become closer to her. “The birds are vegetarians, Caligastia,” Böni said, near hysteria. “Fandors aren’t meant to eat people! They never have. What am I going to do?” “Watch out for your emotions, woman!” The Prince could be stern with his staff. “It’s your responsibility for getting so involved with the girl. Listen, those fandors didn’t kill and eat the girl out of greed or malice but out of the best intentions. You know there’s nothing we can do about that.” Böni never recovered from Onya’s death, so when the rebellion broke out, it was her voice that was often loudest among the complaints about M A’s brutal indifference to the real conditions of life on the planet. Indeed, when the rebellion did blow up some millennia later, and the choice to remain loyal to their mission or to align with their Planetary Prince was presented both to the staff and their companions, Böni was still nursing the grudge. She cited this unfair preference the fandors exhibited for mortals as just another example of how humans were regarded as more important than the staff! “We are the immortals! We should be allowed all the privileges, and yet it’s these wretched humans who get the perks! We’re expected to do this job, but this makes us look like fools!”
Böni’s passionate speeches carried the day, with most of the staff involved with animal husbandry among the first of the sixty staff to defect and align themselves with their Prince. Others of the staff also had their complaints. Lut and her colleagues at the Board of Health turned out to have been suppressing their frustration with the “almost impossible conditions” they were having to deal with every day as well as the “arbitrary limitations” placed on them in their ability to cure and heal the natives. Many a new strain of virus had already appeared among the natives, often decimating populations and over which the council had no control. Not being permitted to use medical techniques too far in advance of planetary culture, Lut and her colleagues frequently found themselves powerless to prevent such widespread suffering and death.
They claimed loudly that it was an insult to their calling. Lut, in particular, determinedly expressed the belief that she could be of far more value if she were only allowed to accelerate the pace of medical research and applied technology. This argument also persuaded Nod and her entire Council on Industry and Trade to follow Caligastia on his promise to permit unlimited technological progress. With Tut, and her commission on tribal government, their grievance had more to do with their constant frustration at the lack of social progress. They blamed the natives’ instinctive fear of change and their terror at any innovation that challenged their superstitious traditions. This obstructionist resistance to the staff ’s counsel was also the seat of Tut’s anger at seeing so much of her careful diplomacy constantly thwarted by uncontrollable tribal violence.
Others among the staff were simply unable to comprehend that their superiors—these shining, brilliant, Descending Sons at the helm of the mission—might be guiding them in a wrong direction. “Surely a System Sovereign and a Planetary Prince must know what’s really happening behind the scenes—they must know something we don’t.” I heard this sort of comment whispered around the city during the seven lunar years in which rebel and loyalist alike nervously awaited the decision of the recently replaced System Sovereign as to their fate. By this point it was known that at least half the administrators and the transition angels assigned to this world, of which I count myself one, were aligning with Lucifer and the rebels. Of the hundred humans who had contributed their bioplasm, a surprising majority stayed faithful to Van, the member of the staff who emerged as the leader of the forty who opposed Prince Caligastia’s support of Lucifer and Satan.
It was a nervous time indeed. We were all on edge as different members of the staff stood in the central plaza arguing their case for or against the principles of the Lucifer Rebellion—some pleading for loyalty to M A’s time-tested methods of planetary upliftment; others advocating just as vociferously for their policy of enlightened self-government, free of the stern and arbitrary oversight of M A. There was this powerful sense so many of us were feeling that we were wasting our time and energy, that we could do a great deal better on our own than under M A’s yoke. Yet I don’t believe any of us expected what the Prince would do next. The arrogance of Caligastia’s claim to be God of this world horrified some of the staff, while his supporters insisted on how much more effectively they could control the natives if their Prince was accepted and worshipped as the great God.
Since the staff had already found that the fear of God was an effective tool for prodding recalcitrant natives, the Prince emphasized how much more could be achieved with a real living God present on Earth. So the situation stood, the energies in the city swinging wildly from one extreme to another during this tumultuous period. There was tremendous excitement among the rebels. We all felt it. We were being swept along on a splendid new enterprise. Some even talked openly of being encouraged by the Mother Spirit to take this radical action. This was something I’d felt at the time but had never really spoken about since. While it was happening, when we were hearing that reassuring Voice, we tended to dismiss those unable to hear the Voice as perhaps being less spiritually advanced, just as they, in turn, accused us of being deluded or fraudulent in our claims.
This seven-year period of waiting drew to an end when all those involved with the mission made their choice clear as to whether to follow Prince Caligastia or remain true to M A and the original mission statement. It was the most important decision any of us would ever make. I should make it clear that because Lucifer was the System Sovereign, the rebellion he inspired occurred mainly on Jerusem, the capital planet of the System. In this way the conflict on Jerusem was relatively short-lived, effectively ending when Lucifer was deposed and replaced by Lanaforge as System Sovereign. However, the real effects and consequences of the rebellion were far longer-lasting and affected the thirty-seven planets that aligned with the rebels in ways that sill reverberate to this day. Even before the Prince’s arrival, this world was known to be particularly difficult, and in spite of the staff’s efforts during the almost 300,000 years prior to the rebellion, progress had never been rapid or rewarding.
I sometimes think that a revolution was inevitable, for even I could feel that trouble was brewing under the surface. Something had to burst. I admit it, the rebellion seemed like a supreme blessing at the time, a stroke from heaven; it was something entirely different, a chance to finally get it right— for the staff to be able to have a free hand in accelerating the upliftment process. Most of us found it all too easy to go with the flow. It wasn’t until the final ruling came down from Lanaforge that the true reality of what we’d managed to get ourselves into dawned on us. None of us in the city waiting anxiously for the proclamation from Lanaforge could have anticipated the consequences. Although it was generally known that there’d been a couple of previous rebellions in this Local Universe, detailed information on them wasn’t made available, and the uprisings were used mainly as cautionary warnings in the sociology courses at the Melchizedek universities.
Unbeknownst to us at the time, there were a small but growing number of Melchizedek instructors who were proposing the revolutionary theory that angelic rebellions were becoming a necessary evil. In a well run and benign Local Universe, they argued, having as many as three rebellions must surely suggest they carry far more levels of meaning than originally believed. The Melchizedek Council has long held that the balance of the good, which can be ultimately reaped from the many repercussions of a rebellion, far outweighs the evil done in that rebellion’s name. I had heard from another Watcher, so I can’t guarantee its veracity, that a smaller group took the more provocative stance that rebellions, however unpleasant for all concerned, have their valuable place in the overall management of the Multiverse.
While not actively supporting rebellions, this group maintained that it was preferable to regard them as a necessary counterbalance to the endlessly smooth operation of Multiverse affairs. Interestingly enough, although I wasn’t to hear it until much later, this group of Melchizedek were also predicting many more revolutions in the future, as this long Multiverse cycle draws to a close. Some even went as far as to theorize that angelic uprisings and the subsequent system wide quarantines that are invariably put into place create the appropriately challenging planetary conditions to toughen up the volunteers for the next major mission—although I’ve heard only rumors as to what that next major mission might be. None of this philosophizing, however, would have mattered one bit to us. We were full of righteous energy, convinced that we were going to create a whole new society. When the news came down that this world, along with this entire System of planets, was to be quarantined, we welcomed it.
We applauded our isolation. Finally, it would allow us to put Caligastia’s plans into action for far higher levels of individual freedom for the staff, for the midwayers, and for the humans. The isolation wasn’t going to affect those of us Watchers as much as the others, especially the sixty staff aligned with the Prince, all of whom I knew could barely wait to practice their newfound freedoms. We had often heard Caligastia declaiming outside the central Temple, speaking through Nod or Lut or another of his followers, on the value of personal responsibility. They’d openly accuse Van and the loyalists of being dupes of a paternalistic bureaucracy—a “nanny state,” as Nod might have called it. They demanded to know how the natives were ever going to grow up if members of the staff were always there to protect them.
They charged the loyalists with deliberately fostering unnecessarily high levels of codependency with human beings, insulting them even further by sneeringly suggesting the cause of this was the staff ’s own codependency on their superiors. Nod seemed to particularly relish calling them cowards, loyalist patsies who were incapable of making decisions for themselves. “And how do you think you got this way?!” Nod would challenge them rhetorically. “Can’t you see that you’ve lost your edge? It’s been yes sir/no sir for so long you’ve forgotten who you are. At this rate we’ll be stuck on the planet forever.” It was a convincing message for many of us.
I am a Watcher Angel and my name is Georgia.
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The following is an excerpt from the Timothy Wyllie’s book series on rebel angels, specifically an account as described by the angel referred to as ,’Georgia”.
Click on book to view more at Amazon.com.
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