AFTERWORD

The Implications of Angelic Rebellions

 

Lucifer’s Alchemy, Sufis, Profound Ambiguity, Absolutist Myopia, and Learning to Serve

As I complete this, the fifth volume of my Confessions, I feel it is appropriate to take stock of how we are both progressing with this project. Am I cutting to the core of the issues I want to examine? Am I digging deep enough? Is my narrative of any value to those other than myself? Is Mein Host benefiting from my insights?

And, will I finally ever manage to get to Zandana again?

When I started working with Mein Host on this narrative I didn’t know how it would turn out—whether it would be long or short, detailed or broad based, or what it might encompass. I’d never collaborated before with a mortal, and part of the interest for me is in discovering how the story emerges under such circumstances. I didn’t contain the pattern of the narrative within me, as I might have under more formal circumstances. All I started this project with was as pure an intention as I could muster. This, in itself, has been an unusual sensation for a Watcher.

It was the rebellion, of course, that changed everything for us. It threw us out of our internal equilibrium. Those of us Watchers who were permitted to remain on our planets of assignment were among the most confused. Having been created for our functions in a Local Universe under MA’s jurisdiction, we suddenly found ourselves precipitated—granted as a result of our own choices—into an entirely unpredictable environment.

We were all experiencing unprecedented levels of personal freedom, which in the case of the rebel midwayers turned out to be an indulgence that proved all too tempting to exploit and, over time, to abuse. Prince Caligastia too has appeared unable, or unwilling, to make any constructive use of the increased freedoms accorded by the Lucifer doctrine.

However, whether this 203,000-year period of Lucifer’s ascendancy will come to be considered as a bold experiment in personal freedom or whether the rebel angels will continue to be viewed in the worst possible light and the participants as criminals, the overall impact of the revolution has turned out ultimately to be far harder on mortals than on angels.

In fact, and I don’t say this with pride, I believe I was one of the most fortunate among many others of my kind. Having been created and assigned as an observer to the Prince’s mission prior to the rebellion, my function as an observing angel has been among those least disrupted by the changes in planetary administration. I have since wondered whether the relative ease with which I made the transition, as well as my owning a certain independence of mind (for a Watcher), were both key factors in favor of my ability to fulfill this task and why I might have been chosen for this project.

The fact there have only been two previous rebellions among the angels in this Local Universe suggests that in their very rarity these rebellions must reveal valuable information that is unavailable under normal conditions. If that information demonstrates merely the foolishness of rebelling against the Multiverse Administration, then wouldn’t the details of such a failure be of great value for later analysis?

And if, as I have started to believe, the Lucifer Rebellion may have been sanctioned or even encouraged at the highest levels of the Local Universe administration, then my narrative could have even more value for those participants unaware of the roles they’ve been playing in this cosmic drama. The very fact that I’m permitted to write this extended study of what otherwise might well have remained unrevealed is a sure sign that matters are coming to a head on the planet.

Indeed, if I’m right in my most optimistic vision then this world will soon be assuming its rightful place in our Local Universe of ten million inhabitable worlds.

I’m aware how very unlikely it must seem that a positive outcome could ever be achieved from the deteriorating global situation. That would be true if the planet was a closed system. But I’m sure you’ll have gathered by now—if you don’t already know it—that Earth, like all worlds, is very much an open system. This planet may have been quarantined as a result of the rebellion, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still a vibrant member of a vast and caring Multiverse. Just because the people of this planet have for so long believed themselves alone, the only intelligent life in the Universe, hasn’t meant for one moment that said intelligent life lacks any belief in them.

In fact, it’s the very isolation of the planet and the manner in which mortals attempt to conduct their lives without the constant guidance and supervision of celestials that touches the heart and gains such respect from those you’ll encounter in the afterlife as you continue on your Multiverse adventure. You, who’ve lived on isolated rebel-held worlds are the exceptions. You’ll have the best stories.

Over time it will become more generally understood that the original cause of the deplorable state of the biosphere as well as the suffering of so many on this world were set in motion by events over which humans had no control. The result being the chaos and corruption supported by agencies operating behind the scrim of reality. This has been the global reality for the long Dark Ages since the time of the angelic rebellion.

I fully realize this might be a bitter pill for an independent person to swallow. And it must be a shocking realization to know how profoundly affected life has been by unseen entities with dubious motives. Yet this knowledge can also do much to lift the pall of guilt, fear, and remorse that can so weigh down the collective human psyche and the World Mind.

My ward’s worries in this matter are necessarily greater than mine, given that he is currently wearing a mortal body. His concerns for the shocking state of the biosphere are the concerns of a material being for a material world. But I can report some progress in this department over the course of our delving progressively deeper into this collaborative narrative. The book he wrote (without my direct collaboration) in 2010, The Return of the Rebel Angels, gives some insight into the challenges a human being faces in shedding the emotional armor and the habituated negative thought patterns gathered during a lifetime on this planet.

I would be remiss if I didn’t comment briefly on my interview with Lucifer in an earlier volume of this narrative.

I found to my surprise that I wasn’t cowed by his “nefarious presence,” neither did I find him insane, nor unduly prideful, as he’d been painted by MA’s propaganda. Although he had spoken then of his revolution as a preparatory stage in an act of planetary alchemy, he’d closed my mind to the memory of his revelation, in fact, until the time I came to record my encounter with Lucifer in this narrative. I can only think the timing of this is significant, and, as a consequence, I have been freed to speak about the deeper currents I believe to be running occulted beneath the angelic rebellion.

Now that I’ve had a chance to factor into my narrative what I’d remained ignorant of for all those millennia, I feel the structure of this convoluted interplanetary drama coming into clearer focus.

Here I need to be cautious not to get ahead of myself, because the final act of this drama, the act in which all will be revealed, is yet to come. It is also not an event that is mine to predict. What I am able to say at this stage is that all of us, mortal and Watcher alike, are in for the most sublimely glorious time of our lives.

But not quite yet.

And what of Mein Host?

We’ve left him at the end of this volume as a thirty-one-year-old man having just moved to New York City. He is, by any conventional standards, in the prime of his life. He’s never broken a bone in his body and hasn’t had a serious illness since his childhood. He throws himself into whatever interests him with considerable enthusiasm but is clearly still caught firmly in Mary Ann’s web. He hasn’t yet woken up to how much he has given away his personal power to this woman he believes is the incarnate Goddess.

He continues to believe the Process Church is a Mystery school and Mary Ann and Robert are his “Sufi teachers.” He accepted them as being disguised in the manner described in Idries Shah’s seminal book, The Sufis, which he’d read shortly after it came out in 1964. It had been a hardback copy of The Sufis that had fallen on his head, unpropelled by human hands, from the top shelf of a bookshop in Nottinghill Gate, which impelled him to buy the book. Even back then he wasn’t so dense as to ignore such an obvious sign.

Idries Shah’s understanding that Sufism is an ancient path of universal wisdom, one that preceded Islam and transcends individual religions, clearly touched my ward deeply. Shah’s emphasis that Sufism is adaptive, appearing in different guises in all cultures throughout human history; that Sufi teachers will appear unannounced whenever necessity demands it; that Sufism can be a psychological, secular path to wisdom—all this and more—had led my ward to the conviction that Mary Ann and Robert were indeed his teachers.

And herein lies the ambiguity.

I’ve no doubt Mein Host, at twenty-four years old, was completely sincere in his belief that Mary Ann was his Sufi teacher, just as he later came to believe she was the incarnate Goddess. Yet, as I’m sure by now you will have discerned, I didn’t share his revelation. I have already noted that his companion angels (whether they shared his belief I never discovered) appeared to have supported his rejoining the group after his two-year hiatus back in the early days.

I believe it was this conviction—that Mary Ann was his Sufi teacher, and, as such, he was bound to her as an initiate in a vow of obedience—that permitted him to rationalize some of her more egregious behavior.

He knew from his reading that Sufi adepts were widely recognized for treating their students in unconventional and frequently confrontational ways that are difficult for outsiders to understand. He was also aware from his entheogenic journeys prior to joining the Process how deeply traumatized his subtle-energy bodies had been by his childhood terrors of the falling bombs. He was aware too that he was turning in to a hard, cynical young man by his early twenties and that he’d been using entheogens to try to break his head open.

At the time he’d joined Mary Ann and Robert in 1964, he acknowledged that his experiences with LSD and mescaline had shown him all too clearly how emotionally damaged he’d been in his early years. Acid had opened the doors of his self-perception, but he must have intuitively known that he was going to have to find another, more pragmatic, way of healing himself.

It was precisely at this point in time that he manifested the Process in his life. In the six subsequent years of community life that led up to his move to Manhattan in 1971, Process life had allowed him some remarkably effective abreacted therapy, although he wouldn’t have had the therapeutic lingo back then to describe what was happening to him. It seemed to me that he must have known intuitively that regardless of whether the Process was the authentic Mystery school he believed it was, and Mary Ann his Sufi teacher, or if it was all pure fabrication, was of far less importance than the benefit he felt he was deriving from his Process life, as well as the talents the experience had drawn out of him.

And yet, whether the woman was an authentic teacher, or a savvy dominatrix with a grandiose self-regard; whether the Process was a genuine Mystery school, or a manipulative cult; whether Mein Host was benefiting from his life in the community; or whether he had fallen victim to systemic mind control—what has been accomplished so far is that an emotionally armored, cynical, self-involved young man has been able to wholeheartedly give himself over to something greater than himself.

Although it appeared that my ward had given away his power to a vain and capricious woman, he had learned to serve. He’d been subject to arbitrary punishments, and through this he had learned to submit. His head had been filled with theological rhetoric, so he had the opportunity to discern truth from nonsense. He was living without personal money or possessions and had thus discovered their impermanence. He had given up the many choices and responsibilities of a regular adult life for the one overriding decision to be in the Process, and he was learning the value of simplicity.

Like everyone else in the community, he worked seven days a week, between sixteen and eighteen hours each day, and he hadn’t had a vacation for six years. His only free time was on Thursday afternoons and evenings. He clearly enjoyed pushing himself to the limit.

When he was promoted from “prophet” to “priest,” he was given power over those beneath him in the hierarchy. He learned to wield that power with delicacy and wisdom. He’d been bumped to the bottom of the newly forming hierarchy when he’d rejoined the Process after leaving for those two years. This diminution, although obviously intended to humiliate him, had allowed him the experience of serving at the behest of high-handed bullies who took advantage of their power over him. His obvious value to the community permitted him to quickly rise back up the hierarchy to a position of authority, but with those years of disgrace behind him, he understood how to treat those below him in the hierarchy with fairness and respect.

I have no doubt that at this point he felt completely devoted to Mary Ann and committed to a life in the Process Church. I know he wasn’t deeply moved by the church’s developing theology, but he told himself he was not there for the theology; he was there for experience and for the Goddess. He showed no sign of wanting to leave, as he had once before, because he now believed he was being given opportunities to face challenges that would be unavailable to him under normal circumstances. When someone from outside the group suggested, as they sometimes did, that one day my ward would leave the community, he would firmly dismiss any possibility of that. He was “in the Process for keeps,” was how I heard him express it.

Yet the deeper truth of this was one that my ward would not understand for many years. As with so many of the young European men and women with any imagination who were growing up with memories of the Second World War, only to then find themselves under constant threat of atomic annihilation, my ward had never given any serious thought to his future.

It was this feeling of personal helplessness and imminent disaster that lay beneath much of the behavior of susceptible young people during the 1960s and 1970s. Some fought against their sense of personal impotence by marching with the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND) against the war in Vietnam and American military aggression. A large number turned away from the world to become beatniks and hippies. Too many gave themselves over to mind-numbing drugs and an easy escape. Need I add that many of these young people belonged to the wave of rebel angels who incarnated in mortal bodies in the middle of the twentieth century? And, while all this unrest was rising to the surface, the unthinking majority closed their eyes, denied the rapidly deteriorating environment, and settled into their lives of quiet desperation.

I heard many people comment to one another at that time that everything they had previously held secure was disappearing, just dropping away. These were people who bent themselves into the shapes expected of them by their factories and offices, who mindlessly manufactured weaponry, or who worked as office drones for soulless corporations—people who found their solace in alcohol and the repetitive patterns of hive life.

It was a time primed for communities. Some groups headed for the hills and ducked their heads; some tried to start over on isolated islands; a few took up opposition to the established order; while many others either took up religion, or entirely rejected it.

The Process was unique in this respect. They appeared to greet the end of the world with enthusiasm. “Another day nearer the end!” I heard Mein Host joke more than once, and with some relief, after a particularly demanding day. The propaganda issuing from PROCESS magazines and books explicitly celebrated the final times of a brutalized and corrupted civilization as well as a welcome conclusion to what they referred to sardonically as “the human game.”

Process propaganda was making a convincing case for the end of the world and many of them were absolutely sure it would be soon. Surely within their lifetimes, but somewhat to their credit, they were never foolish enough to fall into the trap of predicting a particular date.

A psychology degree isn’t required to understand that the very absolutism with which they held this conviction is a clue that they were projecting their own fear of death and their desperate sense of helplessness out onto the collective. It was this innate sense of catastrophobia that Mary Ann was able to stir up into a mutually agreed upon reality amongst her followers. This was Sigmund Freud’s Thanatos Principle on steroids, a death wish taken to the absurd extreme of welcoming the end of the world and reinforced by the belief that they alone possessed the ultimate truth. A belief like this, when it’s held with such fervid certainty—as many prophets of doom before Mary Ann have discovered—can weld their believers into a tight-knit community determined to prove it’s correct and the rest of the world is wrong.

Mein Host may not have bought into the theology of the Process Church, but he spoke with considered passion about the end of the world and the death of the human species. In his case, it wasn’t thermonuclear devastation that so concerned him but the seemingly inexorable destruction of the nature world.

What my ward couldn’t have known that cold winter of 1971, with all the excitement of the prospect of a life in New York City opening up before him, was that in less than two years he will die. He will have the near-death experience that will change everything. He will encounter a Being of Light exuding love and wisdom. He will be informed he’s completed what he’d come to do and he will be given the choice to continue or to return to life.

It won’t be a simple or easy journey, but after returning from his NDE it will be with a quiet certainty in the reality of the afterlife realms, the knowledge that each mortal life has profound meaning and purpose, and an awareness of the part angels play in human life.

It will take Mein Host another four years after his NDE to finally release himself from Mary Ann’s web, leave the community and start his new life. He will take what he learned from his NDE and start what will become a thirty-year personal exploration of the hidden presence and influence of non-human intelligences, namely cetaceans, extraterrestrials, devas and nature spirits and angels, gaining knowledge and growing in confidence as his encounters unfold.

I watched this transition with mounting interest and supported him in my own quiet way, as I knew his growing familiarity with the unseen realms would work to ease the path to our eventual relationship. But that will be some years in the future and my ward still has much to explore and experience of the depths and heights of his own nature before we will both be fully prepared to embark on this unique collaboration.

Thus, as this volume of my Confessions comes to a close, I bide my time. Ever the Watcher, I wait and observe my ward’s life play itself out with a growing sense that he will indeed survive long enough to undertake this project. And he’ll give me a rough ride of it, I can tell you!

Although these coming years—thankfully now free of Mary Ann’s influence—will be an emotional roller-coaster ride for me, he will need this wide variety of extreme experiences to fully come to terms with his angelic identity, albeit once a rebel angel.

In the next volumes of my Confessions, my faithful readers may well find my ward’s experiences and insights increasingly helpful in furthering your own spiritual awakening. By no means all are rebel angel incarnates, but all are participating in the great awakening.