Soul Matters: Book Three: Towering Confusion
Chapter 8

Betty was asleep when he crept into bed. At least something was going his way.

His dreams were of snakes, but each dream never cohered into any kind of plot. When he awoke to the radio-alarm, Betty was already gone. Phil showered, dressed, and headed for work.

The recent events at the office had created a buzz throughout the building, and Phil noticed the curious looks from a number of the people he passed in the halls, elevator, and the restroom. He didn’t stop for coffee at the downstairs cafeteria.

Finally he made it to the relative safety of his office. He received a reassuring smile from his secretary as he entered. Nodding to her, he retreated behind his office door.

Phil brought his entire focus to his work, which this day had to do with reviews of his team’s performance.

Around lunchtime Betty called. Phil answered, and she told him, “Pastor Jones is in intensive care. I’ve been here all morning with the women’s auxiliary. They say you were the last to see him before his coronary.”

“Really?” Phil feigned surprise. “He did sit down rather abruptly and told me to leave. I hope he will be all right.”

Even to Phil, it sounded lame. Betty seemed not to notice. “It’s touch and go. The doctors give him a 50/50 chance right now.”

She paused for a long moment, “Nan, his executive secretary, is saying some strange things about you, Phil.”

“She’s young,” Phil pointed out. “And I think she’s infatuated with Pastor Jones.”

“Still,” Better countered, “you have to admit you haven’t been yourself lately.”

“Betty,” Phil chuckled. “Who else could I be?”

“Demon-possessed,” she answered. “It’s what Ron thinks, too.”

“Come on,” Phil chided her. “One guy has a heart attack. Another guy gets busted for having an affair. And now they want to blame me, citing as evidence I’m demon-possessed. Don’t you think it’s a little far-fetched? How about they take some responsibility for their situation rather than blaming me?”

“I don’t know,” Betty’s voice trailed off. Then she said, “Bye.”

Apparently the women’s auxiliary was posting a 24-hour a day vigil at the hospital, because Betty wasn’t home when Phil got there after work. He ate a sandwich and left once again for the beach.

Snuggling into the hard-packed alcove on the bluff, he slowly dropped into meditation.

Manuel’s flowers had changed again. This time there was a profusion of pink. Since Manuel wasn’t here yet, Phil busied himself admiring the variety of pink blossoms.

Presently the angel arrived and joined Phil at the flowers.

As they moved among them Manuel said, “The Devil has reached the gates of Jehovah’s Compound. Michael is organizing the angels. But Sammael and Belial are still maneuvering for power within the Compound of Evil. We won’t have their help.”

Since the report was dismal enough, Phil added his own, “Pastor Jones is in the hospital with a 50/50 chance of surviving.”

Manuel shrugged.

They strolled among the flowers for a while before Phil asked, “What do they want me to do?”

“Activate Morrigan,” Manuel said. “Sandalphon will activate Green Man, and Rhamiel will bring Yahweh. But Morrigan, we hope, will be the key.”

“Because she can spread panic,” Phil surmised.

“Right,” Manuel said. “Hell’s legions are already steeped in fear -- it’s why they are in Hell in the first place. We’re thinking it shouldn’t be too hard to push them into panic. Then we can deal with the Devil by himself.”

“Good plan,” Phil commented.

“Especially so, since you won’t have to rely on your own defenses,” Manuel added with a chuckle.

Phil answered defensively, “It takes me a while to get all those circuits of energy running.” It sounded like whining, but Phil didn’t care.

“We noticed,” was Manuel’s droll response.

They wandered over to the magic-wall, which blurred as Manuel waved at it. Soon the white expanse of the archetypal cloud-tops came into view. Then they stepped through to walk among the monolithic statues parked here.

Morrigan was the one in a red cloak, and they entered the hollow-statue she was and climbed to the ledge beneath the windows of her eyes.

Phil exhaled deeply and connected to the energies of the Force, the Flesh, and the Spirit. He was getting more used to these connections, and this time it was quicker. Still not nearly quick enough to save him from someone’s sneak attack, but he hoped the skill would come with practice.

Morrigan awoke.

“Virgnous,” she cooed to him. “You have changed since we were together last.”

Virgnous was Phil’s name in a past-life, or so he assumed. Virgnous was a devotee of Morrigan, and it’s what she insisted on calling him.

Phil answered, “Angel-healing.”

“Yes,” she said. “You have more of yourself available now. What kind of trouble are you in this time?”

“The Devil is attempting to take over Jehovah’s Compound,” Phil told her. “We can’t let it happen or the balance in the Universe will be thrown off.”

“Radically thrown off,” Morrigan commented wryly. “Good would become evil; evil would become good. Mankind would have no way to navigate its way through ego-consciousness.”

Phil wasn’t sure he understood what she meant. But it was moot anyway. The task at hand was to get Morrigan into the game.

They wasted no time moving through the fluid space the masks of God used for travel. In moments they were inside Jehovah’s Compound and in the midst of the defensive preparations.

It was a logistical mess. Michael was organizing the angels into defensive lines, while Jehovah was attempting to assume command of all the forces present -- his own souls, the angels, and the archetypes of Green Man and Yahweh.

Morrigan strode into the unhelpful power struggle and positioned herself in the middle of it.

She said to Phil, “You must take charge here, Virgnous. And you must remind them good people can work together. Evil people cannot.”

Manuel added over his shoulder, “Jehovah may actually listen to you, and Green Man is already one of your allies. Yahweh is a bit of a formal being -- a bit full of himself -- but he includes Aton in his make-up. who was an Egyptian god of compassion. You ought to have no trouble at all.”

“Right,” Phil smiled. “A veritable walk in the park. Okay, I’m going out to see what I can do.”

Phil climbed down the ladder and exited Morrigan’s maternal warmth. The atmosphere he entered was a jolt. Jehovah’s heaven felt cold and rigid. It also felt like he was walking on eggshells. One wrong step and everlasting damnation would be his reward. He shook off the forbidding sense of impending doom and walked out into the growing circle of souls around them.

Michael noticed him and waved his green-cloaked arm to motion Phil forward.

Then Michael called to the crowd, “Silence! The Sarim-appointed mediator has arrived. Attend to his words.”

It was the most formal, and the most exotic, introduction Phil had ever received. He, therefore, imagined himself wearing a three-piece suit.

Phil walked to stand next to Michael. The archangel told him, “Draw energy from Flesh, Force and Spirit to empower your words; otherwise, they will not heed you.”

Phil did so, once again generating the three circuits to fill his chest with their combined forces.

He spoke, “I am a man. Nothing more. I live in this lifetime to make a better world for my children. As a man, I have a choice. I can choose good. I can choose evil. I can choose either because both exist within me. If I choose good, I can have friends. I can feel love. I can feel proud of others for what they have achieved. If I choose evil, I can only have enemies. I can only feel fear and envy. Today I choose to stand with the forces of the good, the true, and the beautiful. If you stand with me, we will defeat the forces of darkness. If we argue among ourselves, we have already lost. If you debate, squabble, and demand dominance over others, you have secured the Devil’s victory. Good people can cooperate; evil people can only take turns dominating each other. The plan of battle we have devised is our best collaborative effort. Each of you has a crucial role. Fulfill your roles and we return the Devil to Hell. Refuse your role, and your pride will mean the end of us all. So, my friends, which is it? Do you stand with me?”

A slow rumble from the crowd turned into a building roar of approval. As it rose in intensity, Phil angled towards Jehovah.

The human lowered his voice to say, “Lord Jehovah, if you obey me in this, I will preserve your existence. If you disobey, you will die. Is that clear?”

Jehovah stroked his full beard and answered in a similarly subdued voice, “You have my provisional support, human, but you must learn humility. I am God.”

“You are a mask of the real God,” Phil pointed out. “You were created to serve mankind. In this moment, you do so by following me.”

Phil stepped back and looked Jehovah down. Around the human were the other three monolithic masks of God. Behind them was the throng of souls currently in the various heavens that made up this staging area for souls between incarnations. Battalions of angels lined the wall of the Compound. They were as silent as statues.

“You defeated me once,” Jehovah said. “But this is a new day. Once we rout the minions of Hell, you and I will have a final reckoning.”

“Fine,” Phil spat back. Then he turned to Michael, “Tell them the plan of battle.”

Michael’s voice rose so all could hear, “The angels will shield everyone from the sheer force of numbers the Devil has brought. We will be on the wall. The masks of God will be evenly spaced out among us. Morrigan will be in the center. Yahweh, Jehovah and Green Man will direct their attention to the Devil. Morrigan will direct her attention to the entire mass. The souls of this compound will not engage unless we are overrun.”

With nothing further to say, the angels moved to the top of the wall. Phil ran to get back inside Morrigan. All four masks of God floated up to join the angels at the battlements.

Through the window of Morrigan’s eye, Phil could see the seemingly endless mass of the Devil’s army. Near the center was the black banner signaling the Devil’s location.

Phil turned to Manuel, “What will the energy bolts do to those souls?”

“Put them into shock, like I told you already,” Manuel said. “The ministering angels will be busy when this is over.”

“Virgnous,” Morrigan’s alto voice spoke. “You will have to provide me with energy -- a constant stream of Force energy. There are too many for me to do this alone.”

“Okay,” Phil replied and settled himself to the task. Imagining himself on the step of his staircase, which was his connection to pure Life-force energy, he drew it into himself. Compacting it in his chest, he released it through his heart. The stream of energy became a river as he relaxed into its flow.

The atmosphere within Morrigan became enriched with the vibrant energy of the Universe. It was known as ch’i, prana, or simply the Force energy that makes all living things alive.

Morrigan transformed the energy Phil fed her. She let out a screeching war cry, and terror shot out of her hands and eyes. A palpable wave of panic washed over the Devil’s multitudes. Phil could see it as a gray cloud filled with lightning. It expanded as a shock wave, a tsunami of fear gathering momentum as it spread.

Phil saw souls falling to the ground as the panic hit them. They crawled in disoriented circles. It seemed the day was already won.

However a whirling pillar of sand appeared around the black banner. The Devil was counter-attacking. The pillar gained momentum as well, heading towards the wall.

“Djinn,” Manuel said. “They fear loud noises, Morrigan.”

“Thank you, angel,” Morrigan said in a clipped tone and launched her screeching war cry again. The sandstorm began to disintegrate.

Then energy bolts pierced the swirling field. The bolts converged on the black banner of the Devil. These bolts from Jehovah, Green Man and Yahweh flared against a protective shield of some sort, and the Devil fired a salvo of his own. His salvo flared against the blocking shield the angels created.

At this point, Michael’s battalion spearheaded an attack through the souls of Hell. From Phil’s perspective, it looked like the protective shields of the attacking angels repelled the panic-stricken souls, bouncing them backwards.

Meanwhile, the mortar battle of energy bolts continued back and forth. And Phil continued to channel Life-force energy to Morrigan.

“Let’s go,” Manuel said. “Michael is calling us forward. He can see the Devil.”

Morrigan leaped from the wall, and her giant strides brought her to the point of Michael’s spearhead in no time. The other masks of God were close behind.

Before them, however, a column of fire appeared. Taller than anything on the field, it looked like a flaming tornado.

“What’s that?” Phil exclaimed.

“Metatron,” was Manuel’s smiling answer.

The tornado descended from a chaotic sky and encircled the Devil’s black banner. All fighting stopped as the combatants watched the fire-tornado until it died down to a burnt circle.

Morrigan continued forward until Phil could see the tall, stooped form of Metatron facing the Devil. The fire-column was now a ring of embers around Metatron and the Devil.

Metatron was speaking, “I am charged with the task of sustaining mankind. You are subject to me by Divine decree. Return to your Hell, or I will send you to oblivion.”

The Devil looked a bit disheveled, and his loyal lieutenants were staggering around in singed shock.

The Devil complained, “It’s not fair. I should have won. All those souls are rightfully mine, Metatron. Give them to me.”

The elder replied, “As I stayed the hand of Abraham when he was about to kill Isaac, I now hold back the forces of your destruction. Return to your Hell, or I release them.”

“It’s not fair!” the Devil shouted back in petulant humiliation as he lifted off the ground and flew back to Hell.

Immediately angels appeared to minister to those souls on the field of battle. One by one, each soul was transported back to Hell.

Phil asked, “How did he do that?”

“Who?” Manuel responded.

“Metatron. How did he come up with a tornado of fire?”

“Practice.”

They stood for a while and watched as the ministering angels efficiently cared for the myriad souls who were staggering or wallowing on the field.

“Virgnous,” Morrigan spoke. “You have been too long away from me. You must visit more often.”

“I will,” Phil promised. He didn’t really feel any guilt about not visiting his spiritual mother, because he realized each visit would challenge more of the reality he was trying to preserve. On the other hand, she, like any mask of God, could only come to life with the energy of human beings. Phil vowed to himself to return periodically just to visit, because keeping Morrigan strong would be beneficial to him. Besides, he liked her.

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