Soul Matters Volume Six: Bondage Battleground
Chapter 3

Morrigan had taken Phil on other journeys, and he wasn’t too thrilled about the prospect of another, especially not to the Clouds of Mystery. He knew from Manuel the Clouds of Mystery were what separated God’s world from the created world. Its properties were unknown, except when insane people died, Manuel told him, they went there to be healed before they reincarnated. Phil didn’t know much more than that. But he did know he didn’t want to go to a celestial insane asylum.

Each of his true parents took one of his hands and they began flying through space. As before, space became a liquid-like substance, warping and twisting like molten plastic. It was unpleasant in the extreme. When it stopped, Phil felt his inverted self pop back into shape. But now they were floating in a vast thunderhead.

Clouds roiled around them. Lightning flashed brilliant jagged streaks. The unheard thunder pounded on the shutters of his mind. It was a chaotic, tornado kind of place, and Phil was already ready to leave.

Morrigan’s voice cut through to him as a clear sound in the chaos.

“I wasn’t born here, but your father was. I was an earth deity -- actually three of them, Badb, Nemain, Macha. When humans combined me into one, the Phantom Queen, and renamed me the Morrigan, I came here to be elevated to a mask of God.”

Phil was sure this was important, but he was at a loss for what to say or ask.

“He’s having trouble acclimating, my dear,” Green Man said. “Shall we move into an eddy?”

“Of course. I should have thought of it. Son, hang on for a moment.”

They moved into a white cumulus cloud that stretched high above them, but was bordered by the angry and churning clouds of before. Phil was overcome with a deep sense of peace.

“That better?” Morrigan asked with a sly smile.

“Yes.”

“Good. Listen to your father. He knows this place better than I.”

Phil turned his attention to Green Man who offered a leafy grin, “It’s all here: God’s love, God’s wrath, jealous rage, wondrous mercy, complete healing, mindless slaughter. The thirsty Aztec gods originate here. The sublime Isis was born here. All of us, rays from the same sun, start here or are transformed here. We answer man’s longing to know God, and their longing takes many forms.”

With the tossing churning bedlam surrounding them Phil understood Green Man’s words, and he knew he would never understand God -- the Great Mystery, En Sof. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Green Man spoke on, “On the one hand, God is a mindless creative force. He is also the Great Mind and Architect of the Universe. Beyond these Clouds of Mystery is Nothing. A giant black hole filled to overflowing with the limitless raw Power of Creation.”

Phil found his voice and asked, “Can we ever know God?”

“No. Nor can God know you. It’s his greatest regret. But your need to know one another lives in us, all the Masks of God. As man evolves, so must we. In some distant future we hope to solve God’s problem of unrequited Spiritual Love.”

Morrigan squeezed his hand for reassurance, “But you can fulfill your destiny, my son. All is not doom and gloom.”

“But the nature of God,” Phil began. “Isn’t deciphering the nature of God the answer to Job’s questions?”

“Those answers are a paradox. Should you collapse the paradox, you would glimpse God’s nature. But no one would believe you if you told them about it.”

“I see. It’s why Job left us no answers. But why did you bring me here?”

“So you would know where we came from,” Morrigan smiled. “When Yahweh loosed ha-satan on Job, it was time for mankind to face God’s complexity. In 2500 years, you still cannot. Yet you, my son, will have to face it and resolve it. To do less, ha-satan will eat your soul. And I wouldn’t want that.”

Phil breathed deeply of this place and opened himself to it. Peace was here in this eddy, but beyond was every imaginable energy, swirling in unorganized crashing confusion. God's complexity was abundantly clear.

He supposed the crazy people were in some other eddy especially suited just for them. He breathed in again and realized if this was the interface, the event horizon between the created Universe and the place where God lived, then comprehending much about it was impossible.

Morrigan squeezed his hand again and they returned to liquefied space on their way to someplace else. Phil supposed that now that he knew or experienced God's complexity, his true parents decided he was ready for something else. It was a timeless trip, and when it ended they were in Ireland.

Green Man spoke, “It’s Beltane. The year is 562, and we are at the monastery of Clonfert. Brendan the Navigator is conferring with the monks about his next adventure. He has something to say that will help you.”

“Actually,” Morrigan broke in, “it’s Ita’s words you must hear.”

They approached the monastery. The church was Romanesque, a humble wattle and daub dome-like buildings flanked it. In a nearby cluster of oak trees a group was gathered. Most of them were gray-robed monks, but one elderly woman stood among them.

Morrigan shape-shifted into a crow, and Phil changed with her. They flew to a limb of the oak tree above the group. Green Man disappeared into the trees.

The old woman started and looked around. Eyeing the two crows, she smiled and nodded. Then she focused on the group before her.

One of the men facing her was saying, “I did all I knew to do, Ita. Why could I not find the Isle of the Saints?”

“Brendan, you impetuous boy, why didn’t you consult with me before you left?" Ida asked as she rearranged her gown and shifted to sit on a large boulder. "You sailed in skin boats. The Isle of the Saints will not let you land, for no spilt blood can ever touch it. Build your boats from wood. Then the Isle will call you to it.”

Ita was tall, stiff-backed straight, even when sitting, and her graying hair lay down her back in a long braid. She wore a gray dress and a green tunic over it.

She glanced again at the crows before continuing, “You have before you a paradox, Brendan. Blood is life, but no blood is allowed on the Isle. Christ shed his blood to atone for Adam’s Sin, but was it necessary?" She paused to let that sink in. Then she noted, "Isaac was spared. Why not God’s own Son?"

Again, she paused and stared intently at Brendan. Then she leaned in to ask, "What does the Isle represent? You must answer these questions before you set sail.”

Brendan pushed back his cowl. He was ruddy faced and strong looking, and he wore a Celtic tonsure. His hair was shaved in front from the line of his ears, while the hair at the back of his head grew to his shoulders.

His blue eyes glared at Ita, and he exclaimed, “Does it really exit? Is the Isle yet another metaphor? Why do I search for something I cannot find?”

“There are witnesses to your words, my boy," she cautioned him, and her eyes moved to the crows. "They bless you for struggling with your doubts. Calm your mind and know what is in your heart to know.”

Brendan glanced furtively around until he spied the crows. His brow furrowed with concern, and he challenged, “Nemain, are you here for one of us? If so, let it be me. Spare the others.”

Morrigan cawed and shook herself.

Ita interpreted, “She is only a witness today. Her soul-friend honors your quest. Now, answer my questions.”

Brendan calmed himself, and soon with a changed voice spoke from the deep center of his being, “The Isle is Paradise. It is before the Fall. Jesus’ blood could expiate no sin, because none had been committed. God cared for man as a mother would for her newborn babe. Man brought out the best in God back then. We seek to find in ourselves these qualities that will once more bring out the best in God.”

Brendan stopped and slowly shook his head in dismay. “How can I return to my innocence?”

Ita quoted Jesus, “You must become like little children to enter the kingdom of heaven.”

“But how?”

Ita smiled and quoted Proverbs, “When he marked out the foundations of the earth, then I was by him as a master workman. And I was daily his delight, rejoicing always before him, rejoicing in his habitable earth. And my delights were with the sons of men.”

Brendan sighed long and deep. “Of course. Sophia. The Shekhinah will fill our sails. The Holy Spirit will guide our journey. The Paraclete will give us comfort so we may release ourselves. Our innocence can be loosed from human bondage with her help.”

“Careful, my boy. Do not cast your humanity too far from you, for through your humanity you do God’s Will.”

They returned Phil to his Sacred Area. He thanked them and released them with the promise he would call on them for aid in his own quest. Then he sat next to the nearby gentle waterfall and tried to incorporate all he saw and heard.

Sophia was intimately bound up in this adventure. So was an unpredictable God; indeed, an unconscious God who acted out his impulses without any kind of self-reflection. If Phil followed the clues in Job, this God was threatened by doubting followers, sensitive to negative remarks, in love with himself as the Supreme Being, and oblivious to Satan’s wiles. What kind of God was that? And how could he use Sophia as his ally for protection?

As yet, the Adversary, ha-satan, hadn’t made his appearance. It would surely come. It would be a vicious attack, hitting him where he was most vulnerable -- his blind spot. If he had accurately identified the blind spot as female spirituality, maybe he could prepare. It was more likely he would never see it coming.

“There you are,” he heard Manuel call to him. “May I enter?”

“Of course.”

Manuel marched through the gate in the wall and flew to sit next to Phil.

“It’s begun. You are commanded to appear before the Sarim.”

“On what charge?”

“Don’t know. Even Metatron is closed-mouthed about it. Must be important.”

“No kidding,” Phil drawled. “Shall we go now and get it over with?”

“Sure. Give me a minute to let them know.”

Manuel went completely still, and Phil knew he was in telepathic communication with the Sarim, the Ruling Council of Heaven.

Then Manuel put his hands on Phil’s shoulders and they flew out of the Sacred Area, over the plane of all spiritual memory, through curtain after curtain of energy, which Phil assumed separated the levels of Spirit Phil had yet to explore, and finally to the realm of Physically Manifesting Spirits, the home of the angels.

The space-station-looking structure came into view, and they flew through the roof of one building at the hub. The Ruling Council of Heaven awaited them.

The Sarim, Phil knew from before, was made up of thirty angels who ruled the seven heavens. He’d met some of them, and they constituted a diverse group: Raguel, the minister of internal affairs; Michael, chief angel of the Lord; Raphael, the angel of healing; the Twins, Irin and Qaddism; Haniel, the head of the angelic orders of Virtues and Principalities; Camael, head of the Powers. Soqed Hozi was also there. This angel was in charge of the balances in the Universe.

The Sarim meeting hall was an oblong auditorium. Many of the members of the thirty-person ruling council were already in attendance. They were seated on thrones arranged in a large oval at the center of the hall. Rows of seats were behind them; people were gathering. Across the domed roof was a sky with clouds, diffuse sunlight, and kaleidoscoping rainbow swirls. In the middle space, surrounded by the thrones of the Sarim, was a lawn with ground-hugging flowers in a riot of colors.

Then a voice boomed, as if from a loudspeaker, “The Sarim Council is convened. Hear ye, hear ye. All those with special business, present yourselves for disposition.”

“That’s us,” Manuel said and pulled Phil forward. They entered the oval space and stood on the lawn. During the ensuing long pause, Phil looked at the Council members and didn’t like what he saw. They were grim-faced and serious, except for the Twins. Irin even smiled at him.

Metatron spoke, “As with our problems with Jehovah, Phil, you have set something new in motion. Shamanic law, karmic law, and all other laws pertaining to this kind of situation demand you deal with what you inaugurated.”

“What is it this time?” Phil said as solemnly as he could. Then he remembered to dress himself in a suit and tie.

“An ancient evil has stirred. Echidna the hideous mate of Typhon and the daughter of Ceto has awakened. You must defeat her.”

Phil, of course, was clueless. Manuel, though, moved beside him and addressed the Council.

“So that’s what this is all about? Female demons. I suppose you’ll have him face Lilith next. But they are not Phil’s responsibility. They are probably more God’s problem than even ours. What logic makes you think you can lay this at Phil’s feet?”

“He awakened them,” the Archangel Michael affirmed in a clear and unwavering baritone.

“When? How? I’ve been with him on every journey except one.”

“To Babylon. Yes, we know,” Metatron said. “He stood in Divine Presence while he was there. Scribes were under God’s inspiration, and Phil asked questions, demanded answers, and God has replied. The shadows of Sophia are his to defeat.”

Manuel turned to Phil, “Did you?”

“I guess so. Insights and questions were running through me --”

“Your first lesson was about intention, Phil. When you travel the world of Spirit, thoughts are things. How could you be so stupid?”

Qaddism interrupted, “It’s a small matter. These entities need to be defeated sooner or later. Phil’s actions, whether stupid or merely unconscious, have announced him as the one who will face them. We must help him prepare.”

“Or we could offer him up as a sacrifice so they return to the Deep,” Raguel proposed.

Metatron replied, “Mankind can offer sacrifices; angels cannot.”

“We could withdraw our help,” another angel offered.

Manuel glared at him, “Are you out of your mind? The balance must be kept. We are bound to help him. Ha-satan is bound to oppose him. Phil deserves the best we can give him.”

The debate continued. At one point, Irin caught Phil’s eye and winked. Phil remembered their conference. The Twins claimed Phil was a catalyst for change. Some would welcome it; others would oppose it. Their prediction was fulfilling itself in this lofty chamber. Even so, Phil was reeling from the consequences of his rambling thought process while pursuing the history of the female scribes.

Manuel was ending the debate with some heat, “If none of you will help, I will. If any of you want to aid me, fine. If not, I’ll go it alone.”

He grabbed Phil’s arm and pushed him forward. As he did so, one of the angels behind them muttered, “With Manny’s help, we’ve secured the human’s defeat.”

Manuel let the comment pass, even as some other angels chuckled. They flew out of the Council hall and back to the angel’s patio.

When they alighted amidst the flowers, Manuel grinned at Phil, “You know, they’re right. I don’t have much of a track record of success. Eden, the Tower of Babel, the Nephilim, the Watchers, the Flood, and a few other minor miscalculations you don’t know about. I sure hope Raphael will help us.”

Phil wasn’t sure about the celestial etiquette for reassuring or consoling someone who had been so thoroughly embarrassed by his peers. He stood mute and began to consider the enormity of the jam he was in. He knew a little about Lilith, but he knew nothing at all about Echidna, other than she was Typhon’s mate. He’d faced Typhon once. He didn’t want to do so again; nor, truth be known, did he want to think about dealing with his mate.

Manuel interrupted his thoughts, “I’ll set up what protections I can in your world. You need a crash course on Echidna. Apparently, you meet her first; then, if you win, comes Lilith and whomever else. Go research it.”

The easy part was tracking down the mythology. Echidna, as the mate of Typhon suggested, was half-nymph, half-snake. Between them, this gruesome couple spawned every major monster in Greek legend. Luckily those had been killed along the way, and Typhon was a lifeless statue on the archetypal plane. But during the battle for Earth, Zeus spared Echidna’s life, banishing her to Arima, a deep cave.

It seemed too straightforward. Phil dug further and found a Hebrew equivalent, Naamah. She was the mother of demons and sister to Lilith. Asmodeus was her son, and he was in charge of gambling, prostitution, and the casino business.

The myths, as with all myths, pointed to deeper drives in man. Phil knew this from, at least, his encounter with Typhon. He stood guard over self-awareness. Every child who broke the symbiotic bond with mother defeated Typhon; for it was Typhon’s job to reclaim all life, to bring it back to the unconscious whole -- the chthonic Great Mother.

What was Echidna’s job? What did she represent? Was it the same for Naamah? And if he defeated her, what was the prize? Female or yin spirituality maybe? He didn’t have a grasp on that yet, much less identifying the challenge or test to achieve it. He was at a dead end.

He closed his laptop and stumbled off to bed. Tomorrow was soon enough to make a plan. His dreams, though, compromised his sleep. Demons came and tore at his flesh, bite by painful bite.

He awoke to the phone ringing. Becky wanted to surf. Maybe that would help, he hoped, and he met her at the beach. It was mostly sunny with medium surf pounding the coast. After a few hours, they retired to the breakfast café.

“How’s your friend doing with her priest project?” Phil asked once their coffee was poured and their orders taken.

“As good as can be expected,” Becky shrugged. “I have been hanging out with her. She said something yesterday that got my attention. Women are hard-wired to chase after completeness; while men pursue perfection. Women are inclusive; men, exclusive. What do you think?”

“I think you’re a breath of fresh air. Female spirituality is the complementary opposite.”

Becky smiled and lifted her hands in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

“Perfection is a sterile goal, a dead end. You define the ladder, but when you get to the top, then what? Completeness includes and accommodates everyone but isn’t selective. It’s why a Father-god must embody moral perfection, but a Mother-goddess can have good children and bad.”

“Is this important to you?”

“Very.”

“Well, I’m glad I brought it up, but I still don’t get it.”

“Eros. Feminine spirituality is grounded in Eros. Connection, relationship, values. It’s what’s missing from Yahweh in the story of Job: the love of mankind is remarkably absent.”

“Whatever,” was her response.

Phil started laughing as he recognized Becky had just spoken Yahweh’s secret name.

The topic turned to Becky’s shamanic training. She ended their lunch by informing him she was enrolled in a junior college class on Zen Buddhism.

She explained, “I need more skill with meditation.”

“It helps,” Phil agreed as they left the café.

Phil knew he possessed a critical piece of information. Now he needed to figure out how to use it. If Eros was the prize, in the sense that it was a capability gained, what was the test or challenge to gain it? He struggled with an answer as he drove home. Once there, he plopped down on the cushion and hurried to Manuel’s patio.

The angel was already there.

“It’s Eros,” Phil blurted out. “Echidna defends Eros. There is Typhon, who guards individuality; Echidna must guard community. Both try to drag mankind back to the unconscious Whole. One must evolve into gaining individuality within a consensus community."

Phil blurted it out, and then sat on the marble bench and thought the next thought through before saying, "Echidna was never killed, nor was Naamah, which I figured out was the Hebrew equivalent; so, I can assume she’s been actively distorting community for millennia.”

“Sounds about right,” Manuel said as he tended his flowers.

“How would I defeat her?”

“Our old friend Raguel got it right. She is satisfied with sacrifice. The old god-kings knew this. They ruled for one year, from Spring to Winter, then they were sacrificed to the Great Mother.”

“What’s the other choice?”

“Reciprocity.”

“What?”

“I’m not good at this. I guess it’s time we asked for help. Asmodeus can answer you better than I can. Let’s go talk to him.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. But I’ll ask Raphael to go with us.”

They flew to the Compound of Evil, though the gates of the mile-high black Wall, and into a desert. They alighted in a city surrounded by sand. Raphael was waiting for them.

“Put on a hat,” Manuel told Phil.

“A hat?”

“It’s the custom,” Raphael elaborated. “Asmodeus sees you’re wearing a hat, he knows you’re here to do business.”

Phil dressed himself in desert robes with a modest turban. They marched through the city to a central plaza, then into the tallest building fronting the plaza. This building, like the others, was slim concrete, steel and glass. The city itself sparkled with subdued elegance.

The reception area was chrome, glass and cherry wood. Behind a curved counter, beautiful women in sheer dresses busied themselves.

“May I help you?” one asked. Her sleeveless thigh-length dress was light purple. Patterns on the sheer material hid some parts of her, but served really to accentuate her raw feminine beauty.

Manuel smiled, “Asmodeus. He’s expecting us.”

“Of course. Michelle will escort you.”

Another woman, apparently Michelle, signaled them to follow, and she led them down a corridor to a spacious conference room.

Asmodeus was stout, tall, dark-skinned with short cropped graying black hair and a thin beard. He wore an expensive suit. The striking feature was his dark eyes. They were restless, bounding to each of his guests and back again.

“What is it, Manuel?” he demanded without preamble.

“You know what it is. Echidna has been loosed from Arima. Your mother is free and she threatens the balance.”

“This is the human?” Asmodeus asked his restless eyes landing on Phil.

“Obviously,” Raphael said, his bronze aura flaring with impatience. “He needs your guidance.”

“Can’t help you. There’s a contract out on the human. Sammael himself ordered it.”

Raphael smiled, “You never liked Sammael, anyway. He slighted your mother in favor of Lilith.”

“True enough, but I don’t want to oppose him.”

“But if you had to because you lost a bet.”

“I don’t lose bets.”

Raphael pulled out a pair of dice and handed them to Phil.

“Roll the dice.”

Wondering what might happen if he lost, Phil tossed the dice on the conference table next to him. A three and a four were showing.

Asmodeus grabbed the dice and rolled snake eyes. He glared at Raphael, “Are these loaded?”

“Only in the sense I prayed over them, asking God’s Will be done.”

“Okay. But we can’t do it here. Follow me.”

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