Print Friendly, PDF & Email

Search for a word within this document – use the  Ctrl + F keys  on your keyboard.

Leave a suggestion or comment >CLICK HERE<. 

REB2.10- Return From The Wilderness®

2013-01-01.  Return From The Wilderness.


Revolt of the Rebel Angels: The Future of The Multiverse – Book 2; Chapter 10 ~by Timothy Wyllie



A Union of Opposites, Homo Habilis, Gabriel Stern Revealed, and Telepathic Probes.

Revolt of The Rebel Angel

Book 2, Chapter 10

Union of Opposites, Homo Habilis, Gabriel Stern Revealed, Telepathic Probes

Having spent that unpleasant interview listening to Daligastia ranting on about MA’s betrayals I’d retreated quietly out of his presence. I felt he was demonstrating a level of anxiety and self-doubt I’d certainly not seen in him before. I also wondered what would come of those angry thoughts of his about MA’s having set him up. And not only him, but the lot of them; Lucifer, Satan, Caligastia, and all the other thirty-six Princes and their deputies; and the large proportion of the mission-staff on those thirty-seven planets; and all of us watchers, too. Could it be true we were all being manipulated by the very authorities we were rebelling against? This wasn’t good. What I’d seen of Caligastia’s behavior in the past was bad enough.

I feared what would happen if he were to take his deputy’s thinking to heart. The Prince’s pride–and he could be overbearingly proud–would be dealt a terrible blow if he believed he was just another of MA’s puppets. Whether or not Daligastia could handle it, I wasn’t at all sure; perhaps he’d just tuck the whole dreadful thought away. Being of the same Order of Sonship as the Prince, he should be able to effectively screen his thoughts from Caligastia without making him suspicious. Surely, he would know how his Prince would be certain to react? Who would know better?! Such was my thinking at the time, as I made my way across the still-desolated North African coastline.

I assumed the radioactivity, which had poisoned the land for over ten millennia, had decayed sufficiently to permit life to return tentatively to the burnt landscape. Green patches were starting to appear, but there were almost no signs of the previous epoch. The great temples had disappeared into heaps of rubble which were now being covered by the blown sand. Yet, as I moved farther south to the regions less affected by the war, I was able to observe many of the larger animals had returned. I saw large herds of zebra and antelope, but far fewer lions than I’d have expected, until I realized the predators at the top of the food-chain would have absorbed far more poison than their prey. The saltwater marshes and the string of shallow lakes were live with waterfowl and every once in a while I came across small clan groups of a human type I hadn’t seen 195 before.

I’ve spoken earlier about Caligastia’s threat to bomb the people back to the Stone Age and yet these humans bore little resemblance to their predecessors, if that is what happened–and if the effects of the Prince’s war had reached this far down the continent. They were larger, bulkier, with broad faces, large noses and surprisingly thick, protruding, brow-ridges. They had nothing of the grace of the earlier humans. Yet, they stood upright with muscular, well-built bodies that wouldn’t look out of place in a modern gym. Their eyes were brown pools, deep-set under their heavy brows and they seemed to me, as I peered into them from my invisible perch, to contain an odd mixture of courage and sadness.

They were skillful hunters, when they could stir themselves, but they seemed mainly to prefer the safety of scavenged meat. They made use of the entire carcass after consuming everything edible; the skin for leather; the bones for weapons or simple flutes; and were just starting to throw organ meat onto the fire before eating it. When they’ve been threatened I’ve watched individuals from different clans, for example, cooperating in trapping and bringing down a fierce water-buffalo. But, there were never that many of them and they lived simply, in caves, when they could find them; and the rest of them appeared to spend most of their time looking for caves. Fire had apparently long been mastered and the flints used to create the sparks were among each family’s most treasured possessions, passed down through the generations for as long as they lasted.

They’d become quite artful at chipping out stone implements: I saw some beautifully made spear and arrow heads and an obsidian dagger polished to such a smooth sheen the children could see their reflections in the seven inch blade. I could see they valued one another. Although they were a simple people they had spiritual lives. Everything around them possessed life; the earth, the sky, with its clouds that made pictures; the rocks, the plants and trees, all the animals; for them, everything was infused with spirit. In fact, I could tell from their amorphous and immature spiritual energy bodies just how deep was the sense of Oneness they felt with the world around them. When they killed an animal, they believed they were killing a part of themselves; and when they ate the meat they felt they were restoring themselves with the spirit of the animal. When they scratched and daubed animals on their cave walls they believed they were possessing their souls.

They appeared to care deeply for their elderly, frequently nursing them under extremely demanding conditions. They buried their dead in a squatting position with flowers and simple implements for use in the afterlife, following a respectful ceremony. On the whole they were a gentle people. They shared their food generously whenever they had it and it seemed to me they were raising their children with a loving care. But, most of all, they made babies. More and more babies. With good reason, you might think, considering only one in five children survived their first three years. But from my observation, I’m inclined to believe the ever-increasing number of babies was more directly a result of those long hours amorously spent in their comfortable caves. A contemporary anthropologist would place these people somewhere near the close of the Middle Paleolithic Age and most likely label them as Homo habilis.

A contemporary office worker, however, might well think of them an indolent people. They spent, on average, no longer than two hours a day feeding themselves and almost all of the rest of their time safe and happy in their caves. And, of course, they were making babies! So, this was all that Caligastia was left with! A bunch of simple cavemen, their women and children! The clock had been turned back almost half-a-million years. It was as though the Prince’s mission had never been; that nothing still existed of the civilizing ways which the staff had so carefully introduced before the uprising. As nature had once again reclaimed a ruined landscape, so too was a new line of human beings reappearing, a simple, primitive and as yet uncorrupted people. I was happy to see there was no sign of any of Caligastia’s midwayers.

The people certainly didn’t deserve that additional nuisance in their lives! Besides, I imagined these simple people would have been far less fun to meddle with in the cynical way the rebel midwayers manipulated the folk back before the terrible war. Frankly, I didn’t hold out much hope for the future. The people would probably be left alone for a few millennia, but I knew Prince Caligastia and his midwayers were just biding their time and when they came back they’d be returning with a vengeance. However, Caligastia was soon to have another, far more serious, problem on his hands, and one that promised to deprive him of his power once and for all.

You will recall Caligastia’s abortive invasion of Van Asian territories and how, after crossing the desert of the Arabian Peninsular, the Prince’s vastly depleted army became bogged down south of the Caspian Sea. As the centuries passed the survivors settled in the area, expanding south and west into Persia and Mesopotamia, finding the fertile region between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers particularly to their liking. Others mated with the rare nomadic tribes that passed through the area and reverted back to a more migratory life. These were a people who were sufficiently far from the war-zone they had not been affected by it, or the dreadful radioactive fallout and as a consequence were living out relatively normal lives for those times.

The two kings now almost mythical figures who’d led the invasion and subsequently settled by the Caspian, left a bloodline which had swollen over the centuries into a large aristocratic class. The kings themselves were among those who were the direct descendants of the Prince’s staff. I knew the sixty members of the staff who had followed their Prince had been instructed to mate with mortals and have as many children as possible before they died. It had been hard not to notice the enthusiasm with which the staff carried out their orders. I’d no doubt this was one of Caligastia’s reproductive strategies to ensure his influence continued long after the death of his staff. Existing in a parallel frequency-domain and unable to enter the minds of mortals unless consciously invited, both Caligastia and his deputy sorely needed physical beings through whom they could continue their work.

The singularly robust genetic complement delivered by the Avalon surgeons, when they created bodies for the staff, had remarkable staying power just as long as the bloodline remained uncontaminated. The hereditary gifts of the bloodlines descending from the Prince’s staff were profound and continue to have their distant echoes today in some of the royal lineages of Europe. Intermarriage with “commoners” over the last few hundred years has guaranteed these bloodlines have been thoroughly adulterated; but some forty-two thousand years ago, when there was still a memory alive of a time superhumans walked the earth, these ancestral genetic lines were demonstrably powerful. Well-developed individuals in these royal bloodlines were physically larger and stronger, with gracefully formed bodies and finely chiseled features. They were extremely long-lived many hundreds of years, in some cases with bodies so healthy they rarely succumbed to disease and when injured, their wounds healed with bewildering speed.

Many of them were perceived as magical beings since they possessed some limited telepathic ability, as well as a facility in what has recently become known as remote viewing. Caligastia had made it his business to follow and nurture these bloodlines within his territories, using his midwayers to help pave the way for the vast fortunes and the power bases designed to serve his ultimate purposes. However, he’d been so disgusted with the performance of his expeditionary forces and was till smarting from the failed invasion so many thousands of years earlier, that he’d chosen to entirely ignore what the survivors were doing in their campaign against the settlements. Since the passing of time meant little to Caligastia, he still thought of those in his invasion force who survived as traitors and cowards. I believe it was by holding this grudge, and forbidding 204 any of his midwayers to even spy on them, that Caligastia so misjudged the survivors’ expanding numbers–that is, until they finally arrived in Mesopotamia to build one the most lasting and powerful of the great antediluvian civilizations.

Then he was forced to take notice. Some of skills developed under Caligastia’s regime–before they left for the invasion–were passed down through the generations, and now large sandstone buildings were starting to be built, clustered together where the two great rivers drew closest. The boats that plied those waters also broadly followed a design once perfected ten millennia past by West African shipwrights. Yet, by expanding west into Mesopotamia the people were also straying unknowingly into a region traditionally dominated by Caligastia’s increasingly baleful presence. Since the war that the Prince had directly instigated and which had slipped so tragically through his fingers, Caligastia had been rendered relatively powerless. Another being might have felt crippled with shame at the terrible crime he’d committed, but if Caligastia felt any shame, he was far too proud to ever admit it. His machinations had resulted in laying waste to a vast swathe of territory, from deep into the African continent, to encircle the Mediterranean, including much of southern Europe and stretching as far east as the current Turkish/Persian border, and he’d remained unmoved.

Yet it was unavoidably obvious to us watchers that Prince Caligastia had effectively destroyed the very beings he’d taken such pleasure at manipulating. I received some insight into Caligastia’s thinking when I was required to report to him soon after I arrived in Mesopotamia. I’d had more dealings previously with Prince Daligastia since watchers fell under his command, but Prince Caligastia was still my titular superior so I had no choice but to attend him in his grandiose palace close to the eastern coast of the Mediterranean, in present-day Palestine. He’d created this fanciful structure, with its translucent walls, its impossible cantilevers and topless towers, with his powerful mind. The palace floated free of gravity in a subspace frequency-domain available to celestials. The arched halls reached as high as the nave of a Gothic cathedral, yet there were no columns supporting the ornately sculpted ceiling. Like an M.C. Escher drawing, freeform staircases angled up and down without logic in the vast internal space. Light filtered dimly through gaps between the heavy crimson drapes, the tops of which reached up into the arched roof.

Yet, for all Caligastia’s efforts to impress the rare visiting celestial–and I knew those occasions must have been rare enough these days–the palace was a tawdry affair. The attempt at magnificence was ostentatious and unseemly given the appalling effects of Caligastia’s governance. The atmosphere inside was tinged with a gloomy red and when I had a chance– the Prince had kept me waiting–to drift up to look more closely at the bone-white, molded, ceiling panels I’d admired earlier from a distance, what I saw confused me at first. They weren’t at all the abstract sculpted forms that I’d first believed, but a living bas-relief of a mass of slowly writhing naked human beings locked in endless sexual congress. It was then I heard the Prince’s voice in my mind calling me down to his reception chamber. This turned out to be a more intimate room clinging to the side of the main hall, its glazed floor revealing a void falling away into darkness beneath me. It was a most unsettling feeling. It didn’t really help me to know that it was a deliberate effort to throw the visitor off balance.

I hadn’t actually seen Prince Caligastia for many thousands of years by this time, preferring Van company on the other side of the world, and the planet Zandana when I was able to get away from this world altogether. Yet, there was no avoiding it, when my master called, I had no choice but to attend. And I had to admit, I was shocked at his appearance.   I remembered the Prince as a shining presence; even as he was proclaiming his divinity, he was beautiful to behold.    But, as a human being is said to have the face they deserve by the age of forty, so also had Caligastia’s appearance changed in ways that reflected his increasingly criminal behavior. His face, which I’d recalled as finely-formed and ascetic, now looked bloated. His long golden hair had thinned out and lost its sheen and hung limp around his shoulders. The piercing blue eyes had a terrible darkness in them and had sunk deep under a brow once admired for its nobility.

He was slumped in an elaborately carved throne when I entered, that huge head lolling obscenely to one side, but I caught the gleam of his eyes watching me as I approached the throne and made my salutations. If it seems curious that my description of Prince Caligastia is not dissimilar to that of a human being, there is a very good reason for it. MA has always regarded it as essential that those celestials most intimately connected with mortal beings should have bodies recognizably similar to them. This is as much for the celestials benefit, in that it allows them closer identification with those they care for; as it is for mortals, who feel far more secure when they see celestials have familiar humanoid forms. It should also be evident by now that although each frequency-domain may have its own “physical” laws, within each frequency-domain those laws function interdependently with the senses of the creatures existing within that domain.

So, while the Prince’s floating palace was a manifestation created purely by Caligastia’s mind, as I stood there facing him on the throne, it all felt as solid and real to me as the world Mein Host inhabits feels to him. Yet for all that, I knew my thoughts would be transparent to the Prince’s telepathic scrutiny, so I maintained my silence until I heard him again in my mind. Telepathic probing has its limitations: the thoughts of a conflicted mind reveal nothing but conflicted information. When thoughts are spoken and put into words, a certain resolution is reached. A telepathic probe has to deal with raw, unfiltered data, so unless a subject’s thoughts are extremely focused and any conflict surrounding the examined issue is resolved, such a telepathic scrutiny is best considered a broad sweep, merely lighting up general areas of mental interest.

I was aware I was still emotionally invested in our revolution working out successfully so that everyone wins. Despite the disorder caused by Lucifer’s act, the Multiverse, as I’d experienced it, has always seemed to me an essentially benign affair. It wouldn’t function as smoothly as it does if there wasn’t an overall movement towards goodness, truth and beauty. So I still held out hope even at this late stage–that we could somehow reverse the decline; that Caligastia might shine again; that somehow it would all turn out for the best. Running counter to this increasingly hollow hope was my disgust with all the terror and mindless brutality I’d witnessed at the hand of Caligastia’s leadership, or the crimes committed in the Prince’s name. The truth is that I had no idea which of these two different streams of thought would be the one which dominated; which he would use to berate me.

For I was quite certain that was why I was there. I’d been aware for some time that Caligastia never much liked me watchers tend to be considered spies by those with as much to hide as the Prince and, besides that, I was sure he would have taken note of my prolonged absences. I tried to distract my mind by thinking that the Prince would be wanting news of what I’d observed of the new blossoming culture in Mesopotamia. But, within moments, I could tell from his telepathic tendrils that his interests lay somewhere else entirely. He seemed to care nothing for my optimistic observations: it was that session I’d had with his deputy Daligastia which had so alerted his interest. No. It was more than mere interest. The Prince was obsessed. And he was angry.

I am a Watcher Angel and my name is Georgia.

Print Friendly, PDF & Email
Email this to a friend
Twitter Tweet
Share on Facebbok
WhatsApp -Share document