2013-01-01. A Terrible Secret.
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Revolt of the Rebel Angels: The Future of The Multiverse – Book 2; Chapter 11 ~by Timothy Wyllie
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Revolt of The Rebel Angels.
Book 2, Chapter 11.
The Prince’s Paradox, Divided Loyalties, High-Class Call Girl, and the Deva’s Dream.
I hadn’t noticed it before, but then I hadn’t been in Caligastia’s presence for many millennia: the Prince was starting to smell really horrible. The odor seemed to permeate the reception chamber; not an odor of the material world, hard to describe but redolent perhaps of burnt or decomposing flesh. And yes, of course watchers have a sense of smell. We are especially sensitive to what you might call ‘psychic odors,” the smell emitted by a being as a result of her or his thoughts and actions.
Mein Host discovered he possessed this faculty quite by accident in his early twenties, although I don’t believe he attributed it to the psychic work the community were exploring, since I never heard him talk about it to anyone in The Process. It happened inadvertently on a #137 bus while it roared down London’s Baker Street. As the conductor moved steadily up the aisle, taking money and punching tickets, my ward tells me he became aware of a truly horrible smell which seemed to be emanating from the man. Looking around he could see no one else in the crowded bus appeared to be aware of the stink.
There were no wrinkling of noses, no suddenly averted eyes, no hankies held to delicate nostrils. The smell became worse the closer the conductor came. Yet mysteriously for Mein Host, it seemed to disappear entirely when the man was actually standing beside him punching his ticket; and it picked up again as the conductor moved further up the aisle. This suggested that it wasn’t a physical smell–it wasn’t something the conductor had eaten. It was this, and the fact that other people hadn’t been aware of the smell in the bus, that first made him aware of psychic odors.
This, he tells me, has been confirmed in a number of similar experiences he has had over the years, and has been extremely useful in discerning something of the inner nature of the people he has meet. The Prince’s eyes were watching me intently while he gestured for me to stand before him. I knew he was telepathically ‘scoping me out. I did my best to keep any thought out of my mind of my distaste at the stink that hit me on entering. “Well?” I heard the derision in his tone. “Well? I know you were there with Daligastia. So what are your thoughts, watcher?” His deputy had evidently been in contact with him about his doubts. There was no need to respond. “You think I did not know this, watcher?” The tone was demanding, turning boastful. “I, who am God of this world!? Do you believe that your God would not know the true wickedness of the Administration? Do you understand now the real depth of our revolution?”
He picked up on my confusion immediately. “It was as Prince Lucifer told us. M A will say anything to discredit us. They have cursed us as traitors. They have accused us of insanity. And now you believe that M A were setting us up? Am I correct, watcher?” I was no less confused. I still remembered that sweet encouraging voice that whispered in our minds of the freedom to come. Surely . Caligastia’s voice broke through again, softer this time and with an edge of his sardonic humor. “And if she did? What then? You take no pleasure in paradox, watcher, do you? You are still young.” This was getting too complicated for me–watchers, as you may have discovered for yourself, are not complicated creatures. My previous encounter with Daligastia’s bitter resentment had been painful and obviously must have colored my thinking. Yet, here was the Prince taking the whole affair as a joke. “Not a joke, watcher!” Rather sternly. “But, can you not see the paradox?” Clearly, I couldn’t. “Think deeper, little sister.”
Was that something like affection creeping into his tone? Affection from Caligastia? Now that was a paradox! That was a real oxymoron! Yet, he still sat slumped in his throne, his face an expressionless mask; but it was those eyes which continued to bore into me that informed me more than anything he might have said. I was clearly a disappointment to him. Wait a moment, I thought; had he really expected me to understand all the intricacies of System politics? Me, a simple watcher? Whether or not our revolution was one of M A’s false-flag operations and we’d all been deceived; or if the administration itself had been duped by their senior elements who had grander plans in mind; or whether, as M A would have it, we were all just a bunch of rebellious villains who needed no supernatural encouragement from a mysterious “voice” to rise up against the authorities; these covert motives mattered little to me at the time! All I knew was our great revolution wasn’t working out as I’d hoped it would.
Was I really expected to know what was happening on the higher levels? Was that my blindness? My stupidity? As I said before, all this behind-the-scenes maneuvering was way above my pay grade. Prince Caligastia stood up for the first time. He seemed to regain a little of his old nobility as he loomed over me. “It is true, watcher. This matter is more complicated than you can know. A paradox, I called it before. I trust there will come a day when you will more fully appreciate the essence of my dilemma.” This was a vulnerable side of the Prince I’d never seen before. It hadn’t occurred to me that he might have a dilemma, or indeed show any reservations, for example, about his claims of divine authority. His voice continued before I had the chance to realize he was likely trying to manipulate my sympathies. “I have reviewed your papers on Zandana’s progress with interest, but I would have you remember that my destiny here on Earth is very different from my Lord Zanda’s. You will find no deeper understanding by comparing our two worlds.”
He paused, giving me a chance to absorb the implications of what he was saying. Was he claiming that Earth was being primed to be a special world? Or did he believe it was him who had the special destiny? Or was it simply his own grandiosity speaking? His face softened for the first time during the interview and I remembered how seductive he could be when he was in his prime. In those moments I wondered if I’d misjudged Prince Caligastia. He must have been aware what I was thinking, yet he wasn’t responding with his customary anger. I felt his kindness warming me as he spoke again in my mind. “I called you here, watcher, because I need your witness.” My astonishment must have leaked through. Caligastia needing me? I didn’t think he even knew I existed among all the watchers who served him. “It is as I suspected. M A is trying to interfere with our plans again. It is more serious this time and my midwayers cannot penetrate their shield. I have no wish to make myself known.
Which is why you are required for your witness. You will, of course, report directly back to me. I will make my appearance when the situation demands it.” I recalled from the training lectures back on System Headquarters that there would come a time when M A would place the second of its missions down on the face of the planet. Not a lot was described of their purposes in coming here, which I thought was odd at the time. And if Caligastia viewed this new mission as a hostile action on the part of M A, then I didn’t rate their chances. “I was informed you would understand.” Those cold azurite eyes held me in their gaze. Who me? Understand? Understand what? He appeared to overlook my querulous questions. My self-doubts were of no concern to him. He knew I would have to do his bidding. “This mission is a direct interference with my world. I was not informed of its arrival.
It is one of M A’s power-plays and it is an insult to us all. I have been in contact with Prince Lucifer. He instructs us to be rid of them as soon as possible. I have decreed that they will be taught a lesson that M A will not quickly forget.” The edge was back in his tone. His statements shocked me. My head ached with the impact. And, did I really understand? Who ever would have informed him that I did? “Do not be concerned.” His voice softened again. “You will find what I am looking for. Search carefully along the coastlines of both great seas; that is where reports of unusual activity have been observed.” I felt the interview drawing to a close. “I will expect you to report back to me, and only me.” I must have seemed puzzled since I’d always presented my evaluations to his deputy. The responsibility for watchers and midwayers had long been delegated to Daligastia and the instruction to sideline my immediate superior took me by surprise. “To me, only.” He emphasized. “I do not wish Daligastia to be involved in any way, nor do I desire him to know my plans. And, should you be approached for information by any but me, I expect you to stay well-shielded. And silent.”
Prince Caligastia took a step back and sat once again in his baroque throne. His eyes were no longer on me and seemed blank and defocussed, as though he were reflecting within on how he was plotting to outwit M A and rid himself of this troublesome intrusion. I bowed my head and started backing away. “Go! Little sister. Be on your way with my blessings.” And with that, said in a remarkably gentle tone, the Prince slipped back into himself. In a thought I was out of his phantasmagoric palace and was soon relishing the freedom of my own limitless realm. As a watcher assigned to the original mission, and one who had chosen to follow Caligastia into the uprising, I’d no choice but to obey my Prince. I would scout out the mischief and report back as instructed. I had no idea of how much trouble I was about to get in and how confused and further divided my loyalties were going to become.
I was mightily relieved to be out of Prince Caligastia’s presence. The stink took some time to wear off so I took the opportunity to relax, not wanting to take its remnants with me on my investigations. I knew I had to carry out the Prince’s instructions, but as time has passed and I’ve seen something of the disaster Caligastia has wrought on the planet, I felt no longer required to leap to attend to his every little whim. The Mediterranean Sea, especially along the North African coastline, had changed radically since I’d last seen it and evidently as a result of the war. Natural events would change the shape of the sea many times before it will finally arrive at its present form.
I watched pods of dolphins numbering in the thousands moving as a single being, leaping together in rhythmic arcs that appeared from the air like a great loom weaving the ocean into a turquoise sheen. Islands appeared under me like shark’s teeth piercing the surface, surf frothing around the base of sheer cliffs like chiffon skirts. I found myself more drawn to the islands. I chose Crete for my brief spot of rest and recreation. I liked its wildness. It hadn’t yet been settled by mortals and I felt a natural resonance with its magnificent White Mountains on the western side of the island. I soon found a harmonious place, a perfectly circular plateau, beautifully grassed and contained by high rock walls, broken only where the Gorge of Samaria starts cutting down through the mountains to the sea. I took my time. I lay down for 20 years, cushioned by the thought of the friendly grass beneath me.
I had the curious sense that the mountain was trying to tell me something, yet as I dreamt on I could never quite grasp what it was. It kept slipping through my fingers as I moved in and out of dream states. And, yes, angels need to sleep and dream in much the same way as you do. It’s an arena in which entities of many different species can interact in what you might call a “virtual reality.” Companion angels, in particular, use Dreamtime to train, or minister to, their mortal wards. As I lay there, half-aware of your world, no animals disturbed my peace; small highly-colored birds bobbed and fluttered in the long grass; clouds of midges, their millions of tiny wings refracting sunlight into scintillating rainbows; only the eagles soared and circled on the updrafts wafting up the gorge as the land cooled at night.
What was it the mountain was trying to say? The images were so strange; ancient things, incomprehensibly old, even by standards of eternity. I dreamt of sea creatures, so ancient and so enormous, who moved languorously through the abysmal depths; of their extraordinary transformation as the millions of years past; of their immense patience and the cosmic message they’ve waited so long to transfer to the beings they hope will emerge. I dreamt of their small clan and of the love connecting them as they fell down through the inexhaustible wastes of time. I saw them living and dying many millions of years later; of their great bodies fossilizing into the massive undersea mountain ranges that became their burial sites. I watched them easing their great bulks onto the land, moving so imperceptibly slowly that they could be mistaken for the landscape itself. What it meant, I’d no idea. Or indeed, why the White Mountains were singing to me of that particular song.
Then, another long song started in Dreamtime. I recognized in it the dreaming of the Rock Devas. I felt their long, slow, telluric rhythms; the sudden explosions of volcanic lava; the mountains thrust up and buckled by colliding tectonic plates; the glaciers which gouged deep into their flesh. Then, I started catching images of the profoundest ennui, a weariness born of the ages, a sense of ancient restlessness, as though aeons of stability desired more from life. And so it was that the Rock Devas dreamed the plants and trees; they carpeted themselves with meadows and forests; they dreamed of many colors and flowers blossomed; and with the trees and flora came the Nature Spirits to care and minister to the natural world. I was drifting in and out of Dreamtime, trying to make sense of what I was being shown.
Next, it was the Plant Devas dreaming, and theirs’ was a yearning for mobility, for a release from their rooted capture by rock and earth. In their dreaming, their desire to serve a higher purpose was recognized by the insects, the birds, the fish, and all the animals that live off the plants and grasses. And now it was the animals dreaming of their gods. Their pack leaders transformed before their eyes into jackel-headed immortals striding through the Dreamtime; the fish dreamed their Oannes; the lizards dreamed of their reptilian gods living in underground cities; snakes dreamed of dragons; birds dreamed of the great beyond.
Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming; everything around me was dreaming of life, glorious, radiant life. It was as I lay there entranced by Mt. Volakias’s epic creation dream that I slowly became aware of some unusual activity emanating out of the gorge. After trying to ignore the curious sounds, my curiosity got the better of me and I moved closer to the edge, where I could see the cliff on the other side of the gorge rising precipitously from the valley floor. Yet, it was what seemed to be appearing on the rock face that galvanized my attention.
I was still drowsy, but it seemed to me the faults and fissures in the wall of rock were almost imperceptibly reconfiguring amid a violet mist of midwayer activity. I could see they’d already molded massive petroglyphs in a hieroglyphic language known only to them. I lay quite still and silent on the rim of the canyon, staring up at this enormous bas-relief, enjoying the thought of the long grass tickling my nose, and not quite believing what I was seeing. Who could these midwayers be? I had rarely seen any of Vanu’s small contingent on this side of the world. Being outnumbered four to one by Caligastia’s forty thousand plus active midwayers had apparently made penetration of Caligastia’s territories as good as impossible. So, it must have been part of the Prince’s group. And yet that didn’t make sense–Daligastia was known to keep a brutally sharp eye on his midwayers, continually fearing their defection. Although, for a midwayer there is no leaving the planet unless taken off by M A, Vanu had always made it clear that he and Amadon would welcome any rebel midwayer prepared to forsake the rebellion and change sides and join them in Lemuria.
However, until all forty thousand, one hundred and nineteen, rebel midwayers would be removed some thirty-eight thousand years later, only a very few were known to have actually taken up this offer and defected over to Vanu and Amadon. One of the ways I’ve observed that Daligastia was able to keep such strict control over his unruly midwayers lay in keeping them constantly busy. They were given no time no reevaluate their cause and were tacitly encouraged to believe they were separate individuated godlike beings who lived to control the human experiment. I knew this was how they thought about humanity–the human experiment. I believe it affirmed their sense of detachment and upset the fragile balance all beings experience between service to others, or service to self.
Midwayers are introduced on all inhabited worlds in their early stages of proto-civilization–their primary function being to serve the Prince’s staff in their long-lasting task of supporting generations of planetary mortals in their climb from their animal natures, to the higher spiritual values of empathy and mutual respect. Following the uprising, Daligastia’s midwayers had become increasingly self-serving, until the atomic war had rendered them harmless, the human genocide having deprived them of their playthings. All that happened over ten millennia past and now the rapidly growing new human settlements centered around Lake Van, spreading into the Balkans and central Europe, were starting to repopulate North Africa.
Into this mix came the migration south of natives, unaffected by the radiation and retreating from the cold in the frozen northern regions. All this movement among the descendants of those who survived the war also led to frequent clashes between the Neanderthal tribes moving north from Central Africa, much to the latter’s disadvantage. Regardless, a small number of Neanderthals managed to make their way into Europe and slowly evolved a primitive cave-dwelling culture. I knew Daligastia had put his midwayers back to hard work, requiring them to attach themselves to the dominating individuals, families, and clans, emerging in the newly-found cities as the ruling classes, the priests and the military, as well as the rich traders. The midwayers slipped all too willingly into their roles as household gods, with their promises of wealth and protection for men and women who were sadly unaware they were falling into Prince Caligastia’s web.
Perhaps this digression will serve to inform the degree of my astonishment in observing what was being incised on the rock face in the Gorge of Samaria. They clearly had to be Daligastia’s creatures, and yet somehow they managed to break loose long enough to create this magnificently precise petroglyphic summary of what I took to be their historical memory. As I observed all this activity from my perch in a frequency-domain imperceptible to the midwayers, it came to me that I was seeing something new. I could sense they were operating outside Daligastia’s command structure and were exercising their individuality in far more creative manner than I’d ever previously believed possible in that species.
I’d seen the way some midwayers derived pleasure from playing with the clouds, forming and dissolving them into immense vaporous animorphs and constantly shifting simulacra, but molding their designs into solid rock was of a far higher order of difficulty. I believe it was in those moments that I first formed a strange and new understanding about the nature of life on this world–life on all sentient levels working here. I felt there was something fundamentally paradoxical about this planet–perhaps it was the same paradox about which my ignorance Prince Caligastia had teased me so recently.
Yet, oddly, it felt more like a blessing to me. I saw that however severe was the inevitability of the planet’s downward spiral, there will always be individuals and small groups drawn from every race and sentient species who will find artful ways of challenging the dominating destructive forces of their eras. I realized it was the rebel element in me that was now starting to rebel against the rebels. Of course, this was the very paradox that was bothering the Prince. He must have understood by now that any efforts by him to produce an advanced civilization were bound to end in disaster. And for reasons he was still too proud to admit, he would likely have been carefully picked out of thousands of contenders to be the primary agent of this world’s downward spiral into isolation and technological savagery. I saw the unfortunate dilemma into which both Princes Caligastia and Daligastia had unwittingly fallen if M A had indeed set them up.
Whenever they placed their energies and the considerable power of their midwayers into proving M A wrong by attempting to create a viable human culture, that culture would invariably descend– sooner rather than later–into chaos and bloodshed. On the other hand: If the Princes were to be as expressive as they really wanted to be–and both maintained an unrelenting fury at M A’s dismissive and condescending attitudes–and if they then focused their influence on making life on the planet as progressively intolerable as possible, wouldn’t they then be merely serving M A’s more basic purposes? After a while I drew away from the gorge’s rim to sink once again into the long grass of the sunlit plateau. I felt almost overwhelmed with all this new information. I was relieved to find the mountain was silent–I wasn’t sure I could handle any more Dreamtime sagas right now.
It was also probably the first time in which I actually relished being a watcher. I am merely an observer. I’m unable to make anything concrete occur in your material reality. I watch; and I report. That’s all. While I can be held responsible for my choices and decisions, surely I cannot be blamed for any of the multiple disasters brought on by the active meddling of Caligastia’s proxies in the affairs of mortals. As I was congratulating myself on apparently avoiding any moral responsibility for the appalling state that I saw as the inevitable destiny of the world to come, I recalled with a jolt Caligastia’s instructions. I could feel him getting anxious about me.
Well, I remember thinking, I’m only going to observe. Observe and report. Even if I have no choice but to share the feelings of those I observe, I create no effect on them. The sole exception to this fundamental injunction has been the rare occasion when I’ve been required to intercede–by simple misdirection–in some of Mein Host’s incarnations at which I was present. Thus, it was in this uncomfortably ambivalent frame of mind–which persisted throughout my search of North Africa–that I finally stumbled on what the Prince had instructed me to find. It was on a slim peninsula extending out from the eastern coastline of the Mediterranean. What I found surprised even the seasoned watcher I felt I was becoming. That’s how little I really knew about how much more seasoned I would have to become before winning a mortal incarnation. In the Prince’s words, I was still a “very young watcher.
I am a Watcher Angel and my name is Georgia.
