Soul Matters: Book Three: Towering Confusion
Chapter 9

Once again, Betty was absent when Phil returned home. He went to bed. Sometime in the early morning hours, Betty crawled in beside him. Phil stirred but didn’t fully awake until his normal time. Since it was Saturday, he started to roll over to catch more sleep.

He figured Betty wouldn’t be up for hours. He’d let her sleep in before their Saturday routine kicked in. The routine was to have brunch out, then separate for the day. He, to play golf; she, to the boutiques and shops of the beach towns.

As he rolled over and found the space next to him was empty. Betty was already up. Hurriedly, Phil jumped up, dressed, and headed downstairs.

Betty was sitting at the dining table, sipping coffee before the patio window, and writing on a yellow tablet.

“How’s Pastor Jones?” Phil asked as he got himself some coffee.

“He’s dead, Phil.”

“Oh, no.”

“He never regained consciousness after they brought him in,” she continued. “The doctor had never seen it before. He said it was like the pastor was in shock, and he didn’t want to wake up and face what shocked him.”

“Who is taking over the church?” Phil asked, sitting down next to Betty at the table.

Betty, however, wasn’t done with the pastor’s odd symptoms. She looked at Phil, and with her mother’s voice demanded, “What did you do to him, Phil?”

Phil grimaced and sighed. He especially didn’t like it when she adopted this tone. For one, it automatically triggered his rebellious teenager-within. If he let himself act from that role, it proved her she was right to parent him. If he remained adult and ignored her condescending attitude, he felt like he betrayed himself. Phil had yet to figure out an adequate response to Betty’s need to put him in this one-down position.

“Well?” she pressed, eyebrows arched over her coffee cup.

“I did nothing to the man,” Phil told her the narrow truth in a level and serious tone. “He was overweight, probably overworked, and whatever else. Maybe he didn’t want to wake up to the fact that he did it to himself.”

“I don’t believe you,” was Betty’s withering response.

“Why?” Phil queried, then answered the question himself, “Because you’re in the same boat with Pastor Jones -- overweight, overworked, and not in good shape.”

She gazed at him, silently chastising him for daring to introduce one of the taboo topics. Then she stood and marched her offended self slowly upstairs.

Phil refilled his coffee cup, cooked some toast, and settled in to read the newspaper. It would take Betty about an hour to get over what he said. Then, if she followed the pattern, she would ignore his boorishness, valiantly rising above it, to unilaterally save the relationship from the rocks of resentment.

As he was finishing the paper, Betty descended the stairs and said, “I’m going out to meet with the committee taking care of the arrangements. I don’t expect to be home until late this afternoon.”

Phil smiled, “Call me if there’s anything I can do to help.”

She started to respond, but thought better of it, and simply left.

Phil waited until early afternoon before heading to Sandy’s house. He felt he needed to let Sandy know the Devil was defeated, and the Universe saved. It was the least he should do. But thinking about it in those terms seemed a bit grandiose.

As he drove up, he was still ambivalent about his role in the whole affair. He resolved to just tell Sandy the facts as objectively as he could.

He finished with, “There was an actual battle, this time. Energy bolts were flying around like it was Star Wars. And that is what I wanted to ask you about -- this subtle energy. You said the Force level was equivalent to ch’i or prana. I don’t know exactly what it is. Nor do I know the difference between Force energy and Spirit energy. And then there’s the energy of the Flesh, which I thought I knew how that worked, but now I’m not sure.”

They were outside soaking in the afternoon sun. On a table between their lawn chairs was a bag of potato chips. They sipped beers, and Phil for the first time in years envied Sandy’s existence.

Sandy took a long pull on his beer before saying, “The energy of the Flesh is basically muscle power, animal power, a raw power fully grounded in the material realm. Your body was probably sore in some places when you got back into it.”

“Maybe not sore, but I was tired. I’m usually refreshed after mediation, but not after these last few episodes.”

Sandy nodded and rose to retrieve another beer. When he returned he continued, “The Force energy, as you’re calling it, is what acupuncturists manipulate with their little needles. Or yoga practitioners manipulate with their postures and breathing techniques. Even the American Indians were aware of this energy and sweat lodges were used to influence it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It seems every culture in the world has a word for this energy in their languages, except English. In Polynesian mythology, it’s called ’mana.’ In Australian Aboriginal mythology, it’s ’maban.’ In Egyptian mythology, it’s ’ka.’ In Finnish, it’s ‘sisu.’ In Turkish, it’s ‘can.’ The Greeks and the early Christians called it ‘pneuma;’ while the Romans and later Christians called it ‘spiritus.’ For the Hebrews, it was ‘ruah.’ The Norse people called it ‘seid.’ The Druids called it ‘Awen.’ And the Mystery Schools called it the etheric body.”

Phil drank deeply of his own beer and rose to get another. “I didn’t know this.”

“Most people don’t. I mean, if there isn’t a word for it, then how can it exist? Right? It’s one way the English-speaking world maintains a materialistic focus and denies spirit.”

“But what does it do, or represent, or whatever?”

Sandy smiled at Phil’s ignorance and answered, “The science of it suggests that ch’i flows along the fascia according to the meridians mapped by acupuncture. UCLA Medical Center claims to have evidence of this with the experiments they’ve conducted.”

“But what is it?”

“As Manuel told you, it’s the Universal Life Force. In Chinese Medicine they say our bodies condensed out of this energy. Sort of like when you have a bolt going through the wall of a house. If the outside temperature is below zero, the bolt on the inside of the house will condense water vapor into ice. So, too, with humans. We are each of us a Word made flesh. Ch’i condenses around God’s intention for us to exist, and the etheric body comes into being. The physical body, then, has a template for its creation according to its genetic code, which uses the etheric body sort of like a garden bed.”

The idea, so easily spoken and so clearly logical, was, however, a jolt to Phil’s rational mind. Whereas, he could very easily relate to what Sandy was saying, it was also radically at odds with evolutionary science. Well, maybe not at odds, but definitely out of the ‘scientific’ box, the materialistic frame of reference.

Before Phil could even formulate his response, though, Sandy went on, “What I learned at the seminary -- probably one of the most important things I learned -- was not to underestimate God. Therefore, I do not doubt we have the complex biology we do. I do not quibble with evolutionary cycles, the age of the Universe, the apparent random appearance and disappearance of various species of flora and fauna, or with nature selecting for adaptive genes. I can even accept the Universe is merely a giant recycling project. But I do believe that each and every thing is here because God blessed it and gave it permission to be.”

Sandy seemed to be saying the mystical and the scientific could co-exist. This wouldn’t be much of a stretch for the mystics of the world, but scientists would have a hard time accepting Sandy’s mystical definition of existence. But then, so would the fundamentalists.

Phil found he had no real choice but to accept it. He now knew something about the subtle realm, the ch’i field. It was dynamic, operated off its own logical principles, and did form a partnership with the material world.

Sandy was finishing off the potato chips and his beer. He went to the kitchen for more of both. When he returned he smiled as he prompted the next topic, “And how is all that different from the Spirit level?”

“Well, it feels different,” Phil replied. “Force energy is kind of raw and dense. Spirit energy is more refined. It’s at least as powerful, I suspect, but it’s not as coarse feeling.”

“Good analogy. What do you think this difference means?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Spirit energy cannot take form as anything separate. It has no individuality; nor can it inform or power anything individual. It’s a state beyond the ego or any separate entity.”

Although this answer satisfied in some obscure way, Phil knew he was an individual in his Medicine Area, or when he was off getting himself tortured in Hell, or trapped in a past-life, or any number of adventures he’d been on so far.

Sandy was smiling as he waited for Phil to protest. Phil grinned at him, “Okay, I give. What’s the trick? How can I be an individual awareness and not be an individual?”

“I gave it to you. The ego. If you’re not identified with your ego, then you’re not really an individual in the sense I’m talking about.”

“I’m in Observer Self when I’m running around with Manuel. Is that it?”

“Pretty much. You have awareness of yourself as separate, but if you were to meditate on this separation, it would quickly implode. You’d see that like a wave on the sea, you’re separate as a wave form, but you are also the ocean – the Brahmin-Atman metaphor.”

Phil grinned back, “I get it. Another paradox. I’m not really separate even though I have individual consciousness.”

“Yes. And the energy available to you at this level is as you say, highly refined. It’s not available for the ego, though, but when you can channel it through the Observer Self, it has enormous power at the level of pattern -- the archetypal level.”

“I see. When I combine these three energies within me, I speak to each level of existence.”

“Except the Void, but it’s understood. It’s the matrix for all of it. As such, it’s always there surrounding us.”

Phil let the comment pass because he wasn’t sure he could contain any more paradoxes today.

Betty was still out of the house when he returned from Sandy’s. Phil decided to check on the situation in angel-land. He went to his study, sat on the leather pillow and brought himself into a deep, meditative state.

Manuel was in his patio and fussing over his flowers. Today they were sparkling in shades of yellow.

“You know the saying about Freud,” the angel began. “He was half right.”

“No,” Phil said as he dressed himself in cut-off jeans and tank top.

“Where he was right is the current way humans re-enact the Tower of Babel tragedy,” Manuel went on. “It’s what he called the Oedipal Complex.”

“I’ve never understood what it meant,” Phil said and joined Manuel at the flowers.

“They scramble it all up with stuff about the libido and id,” Manuel clarified. “The Oedipal and Electra Complexes are really pretty simple. When you’re born, you are a singularity. You know yourself as ‘whole.’ It’s true for the infant the same way it was true for the pre-Eden hominids.”

“You tried to get me to understand this before,” Phil said. “The stages of childhood we go through now were actually stages of human cultural development in the past.”

“Yep. And the Bible comments on those developmental challenges to some degree -- at least, as it traces development in religious terms. Gevurah, of course, was the absolute best at this, as I also told you. Her treatment of the whole story from Creation to Moses is a literary masterpiece.”

“What does Freud have to do with it?”

“Well,” the angel started again, “when a child figures out he or she is male or female, it feels like they lost half of themselves.”

“From Oneness to Duality.”

“The child attempts to reclaim wholeness by owning the mother, if a boy, or the father, if a girl.”

“But not in a sexual way,” Phil said. “They would be too young to have any concept of sexuality.”

“Yep. In due time, the child figures out he or she can’t have the opposite-gendered parent. Once a child figures this out, he or she aligns with the same-sex parent with the idea of learning how to get a mate someday in the not too distant future.”

“Okay,” Phil declared. “It makes sense. But how does this recapitulate the Tower of Babel?”

“It’s the faulty training program the child follows,” Manuel said. “Rather than indicating to the child the sought-for Wholeness is inside, the Western child is encouraged to participate in the confusion of the angst-self in competition with the feared ‘others’ to get a mate out there in the real world who will somehow complete him.”

When put this way, Phil could finally understand what the Sixties Revolution was all about. They rebelled against this conditioning, because his generation intuited the sought-for goal lay somewhere other than in the consumer trance and finding a soul-mate.

“Somewhere other than deifying the ego,” Manuel pointed out. “The consumer trance is a result, not a cause. A soul-mate is a projection, not a reality.”

Another flash of understanding hit him, and Phil voiced it, “When they tore down the Tower, they refused to accept the ego as a means to Wholeness and turned the ego into an end in itself.”

“Gevurah was a master of understatement,” Manuel murmured, obviously still in awe of the story of J.

“My God,” Phil groaned, “what suffering we gave ourselves. The wars, the greed, the whole sorry story of man -- all because of it.”

“Yep,” Manuel sighed. “Once the ego was deified, you were screwed.”

“How do we undo it?”

“You tell me,” Manuel laughed a mirthless laugh. “Angels have been trying to figure it out for eons.”

“Well,” Phil harrumphed, “what’s beyond the ego? Whatever it is, we just promote it.”

Manuel truly laughed now and answered, “Trans-rational states of consciousness. But to the rational ego, they all appear to be irrational states. They would see your promotion campaign as selling them insanity. It’s why a majority of Boomers regressed back to the known comfort of fundamentalism. Once there, they could use reason to justify mythology.”

Phil sighed in acceptance of this fact. Indeed, he had done it himself. Not wanting to pursue this topic any further, he changed the subject, “How are things going here?”

“Well, the good news is,” Manuel drawled, “everybody is back in their respective compounds. Sammael prevailed against Belial, so the fallen angels are back to work. The bad news is Jehovah has filed a complaint against you.”

“A complaint?” Phil echoed. “Who could he file a complaint with?”

“Our friends on the Council of Punishment,” Manuel answered. “Jehovah’s charges against you amount to extreme arrogance in your dealings with him. He is supported in this by your other old friend, Pastor Jones -- a new arrival in Jehovah’s heaven.”

“So what if I was a bit arrogant?” Phil shot back. “Where’s the crime?”

“Remember when we created your ‘rooted self’,” Manuel explained. “I told you nothing could protect you from your own arrogance. The reason is because arrogance is the supreme stance of the deified ego. It is evidence of a false god. Or, more precisely, it’s evidence you turned yourself into a god. There is no way to protect yourself from the consequences of such an act.”

“But I didn’t do it,” Phil said, then added, “Besides, it was Raphael who told me about arrogance.”

“Fine. All you’ll have to do is prove it to the Council of Punishment.”

Worried now, Phil asked, “When?”

“Whenever you want,” Manuel answered. “We could go right now.”

“You’ll go with me, right?”

“Sort of have to,” Manuel grumped. “Raguel named me as a co-conspirator.”

Raguel was the head of internal affairs and a long-time bureaucratic enemy of Manuel. It still amazed Phil the angel bureaucracy harbored the same dysfunction as bureaucracies on Earth did.

“Let’s go, then,” Phil said with a sigh. “I’ve got the time. Betty is supposed to be gone all day.”

Manuel put his hand on Phil’s shoulder, and they headed to the hub of the wheel. The Council of Punishment met in a different domed building at the center of the angel complex by the Sarim headquarters.

Arriving there, they flew through the roof to a circular room with a dozen thrones at the perimeter. Desks were in front of each throne, and angel scribes arrived and sat at the desks. The center was a large, empty, marble floor. A circular mosaic dominated the floor. It was known as Samhamforae -- the 72 names of God.

As they landed on the floor, Manuel gestured towards the scribes and said, “I let them know we were coming.”

A moment later, Raguel flew in. His dark, shoulder-length hair seemed always in motion. His chiseled face, by contrast, seemed frozen into a perpetual snarl.

Raguel spoke, “Council of Punishment, please receive us.”

The angels of punishment appeared in the twelve thrones one at a time.

Phil braced himself for the combined effect of angelic presence, but it had little impact on him. He wondered again about this. Was he just getting used to their presence, or was it a consequence of the healings Raphael performed? He didn’t know, but it was nice not having to flinch every time an angel showed up.

The head of the Council, Kezef, spoke, “State your case to the Council, Raguel.” Kezef was elegant in his ceremonial robe. In the past, he tried to protect Phil from the over-zealous Raguel. It hadn’t worked, but Phil was grateful for the way he ran the Council of Punishment.

Raguel floated up and began to slowly turn to face each of the angels in their thrones. As he did so, his strong baritone voice said, “Once again, we have before you Manuel, an archangel who is present, and the human, Phil, who is also present. The charges are a series of blasphemies against Jehovah and one of his agents, Pastor Jones. Pastor Jones is now in Jehovah’s heaven having been murdered by Phil.”

“Phil does not have the energetic signature of a murderer,” a council-member interrupted. “Blasphemer, perhaps. Murderer, no.”

“Call these two complainants to witness,” Raguel countered, “and hear their stories.”

Another member cautioned, “We cannot refuse orders from a mask of God, Raguel. If Jehovah orders us to punish Phil and Manuel, we would have to. Justice, therefore, could not be served.”

“I know,” Raguel snapped back. “I have already secured a pledge from Jehovah to refrain from dictating to the Council. He will only provide you with evidence.”

“In that case,” Kezef said, “call them to witness.”

The angels at their desks joined hands. Their auras flared together, and moments later Jehovah and Pastor Jones appeared in the chamber.

Jehovah wasn’t nearly as tall in this place. He stood about ten feet high, though. He dwarfed Pastor Jones, who was currently flinching at the power of angelic presence.

The pastor was robed in white and still possessed a corpulent body, immaculately coifed hair-do, and his own commanding presence.

“Lord Jehovah,” Kezef said, “you understand the rules of this court. You may not order us to do your bidding. Do you agree to those terms?”

“I do,” Jehovah’s voice boomed. “The case against these two is compelling enough on its own merits. Therefore, I will abide by angelic tradition and merely be a witness for the prosecution.”

“Thank you,” Kezef said. “Raguel, please proceed.”

“Lord Jehovah,” Raguel began, “please recount for us your interactions with Phil, a human who is present in this chamber.”

Jehovah drew himself up to a pompous pose and began his litany of Phil’s blasphemies. There were the times when Phil was allied with Morrigan, with the Green Man, and when Phil stood before Jehovah prior to the battle with the Devil. Jehovah colorfully embellished these tales to paint the picture of Phil as gratuitously insulting and belittling Jehovah at every opportunity. Phil had trouble keeping himself from interrupting Jehovah and calling him a liar.

Next Pastor Jones was invited to speak, and he told the tale of Phil’s apostasy, of the pastor’s concern for Phil’s soul, and of the pastor’s final night on Earth when the pastor gave his life in an attempt to save Phil from himself. And now, he was suffering from shock and could only remember bits and pieces of his last days on Earth.

Finally, it was defense’s turn. Kezef said, “Manuel, what do you have to say to these charges?”

Manuel floated up and slowly turned before the Council. He began his statement with laughter. Speaking through his humor, he said, “Have you ever heard a lamer story? Phil and I are running around saving heaven from their arrogance, and they say we’re out of line? This is beyond stupid. It’s absurd. I mean, where were you guys during the fight? You were there. You were there when we were getting Jehovah back to his Compound. You were there when we fought the Devil. You were there when all this was going on. You were a part of the forces bringing heaven back to normal. And who led those operations?”

Kezef interrupted Manuel’s rant, “Manuel, the rules of law demand we set aside what we know and only go on the evidence offered. Do you have any evidence to counter the charges?”

Manuel thought for a moment, then said, “Jehovah may have been disrespected during the course of our operations, but not blasphemed. Pastor Jones attempted to exorcise me, and you know what happens when that happens. He killed himself by not recognizing whom he was dealing with. In short, whatever happened to either of them, they brought it on themselves.”

Manuel floated back to the ground.

Kezef then directed his attention to Phil, “I’m sorry you are once again before us, Phil. Please tell us your version of these events.”

Phil glanced down at the floor to gather his thoughts and noticed he was still dressed in cut-off jeans and tank top. He quickly outfitted himself in a three-piece suit.

Then he looked up to Kezef and said, “Manuel is basically right. We did our parts in the recent upheavals. We didn’t use those crises to engage in any vendettas. We merely did what needed to be done. What I would like to add to Manuel’s account is Green Man coached me, as did Morrigan, on how to handle Jehovah. I followed their prompts.”

A long pause followed Phil statement. Presently Kezef said, “We will enter into our deliberations now.”

Silence came into the room -- a deeper than normal silence as the Council called in the Void. All thought ceased in Phil’s mind, and a profound sense of darkness invaded the room. It was a warm darkness, a womb-like warmth, in fact, where all Phil was left with was the knowledge he existed.

At length, the Void receded, and Phil knew Sophia, God’s Wisdom who lived in the Void, had spoken to the Council.

Kezef said, “Phil, you will face Jehovah in mortal combat. If it’s true you have not blasphemed, if it’s true you have not acted from arrogance, you will prevail.”

Phil frowned at the sentence, but didn’t offer any response. He was too stunned to know what to say.

Kezef was still speaking, “Manuel, you will be bound to Pastor Jones and aid him in recovering from the effects of his attempt to exorcise you. Should Phil prevail in his duel with Jehovah, you will be released from your task.”

Jehovah’s voice boomed out again, “I thank the Council for its judgment. As the aggrieved party, I name the time and place: Three days hence, at the center of my Compound.”

Then Jehovah and Pastor Jones disappeared. The angels of the Council also started disappearing. Raguel flew out through the roof. Pretty soon, there were only Manuel and Phil in the room.

“A duel?” Phil said in disbelief. “Am I in a bad western movie, Manuel? What is going on?”

Manuel tried a jaunty smile and answered, “It’s actually quite ingenious. If you haven’t been arrogant, then you will be able to protect yourself. If not, well, you’ll be zapped into shock. Your physical body will go into a coma. In another twenty or thirty years, your body will die. Then you may come out of the shock -- or not -- and you’ll get to reincarnate -- or not.”

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