THE JEWEL OF PARADOX
A Visionary Spy Story by Gill Schwartz

I call this substance to be thus transformed:
THE PRIMA MATERIA

 

Chapter One: BALANGPUR

Sitting at the far end of the oak conference table, the cowl of his black velvet robe overshadowing his bowed head, boney hands crossed over his sunken chest, the venerable Abbot intoned the Invocation prayer of St. Judas Iscariot in the tones of a dirge.

Thus began the Order's liturgy of the Investiture of Assignment. "We must hold in mind that, whatever our calling, according to our Teachings, being made in the image of the Creator means that we are both good and evil. 'In this Eternal Paradox is the Splendor,'" he solemnly quoted. "'There is but one Source for All That Is'," he completed after a pause.

"As shadow gives depth to light, so the interplay between creation and destruction, between love and hate is what gives the wondrous depth to life. One feeds upon the other." There was wonder in the Abbot's voice as he spoke the traditional commentary. "All life depends on death. Every thought and every action reveals this. Inescapably. So, as we bless, we destroy. As we destroy, we bless. It is the intention of one's heart alone that is the true judge."

This prayer was the one that had enthralled Jason when he'd first heard it over twenty years before. But, hearing it now, repeated by rote, it rang false, ugly. He lowered his cowl and bowed his head too as if honoring the words the Abbot spoke. But inwardly he moaned and angrily pressed back against the chair's thick cushioning.

Just get on with the mission, Jason silently growled at the Abbot. Give me a job to do. A mission to carry out. That's what excited and mobilized him. The next dare to tease him on. The next death threat to renew his aliveness. He clenched his jaw and pulled at his beard. How much of his life had been played out in just this pose: hunched up, teeth mashed tight, caged frustration and anger.

He looked over at Melissa. Hoping. She sat across the wide table, far down the row of empty, leather-covered chairs. The Abbot had placed her there, Jason knew, to make clear that this was "official business." It had been months since Jason had even seen her. Now, wrapped in the Order's shapeless black robe of ceremony, her cowl revealed no more than her chin and cheek. But a curl of her auburn hair had gotten loose. He could imagine its soft heft in his hand. Hidden though she was, he still felt the longing.

"She still draws you on like a mermaid, " Jason scolded himself.

She was turned from him, remote and chilled, pointedly engrossed in taking notes. Maybe she was just doodling to keep from looking up at him. He never got close enough to tell. It hurt being near her again, finding her so bound and protected by robes and hostility, even sealed away from his sight. Was she afraid he might shatter her brittle shield against him, against what they'd been.

She'd barely acknowledged him with a nod when he came into the chamber and hadn't glanced at him since. When she did look up, her face was set in an impersonal smile, her eyes on the Abbot or out through a window overlooking the Priory's wooded grounds and the distant wide river. Jason wanted to look into her sloping emerald eyes, if even for a moment. That would tell him what he needed to know. But he got no response from her to his beckoning looks.

"Is there a potion more bitter than love turned to venom?" Jason sadly reflected on this phrase from Judas' Gospel.

To distract himself, he turned to watch the shafts of rainbowed light beam down through the stained glass windows across the room. The soft drifting colors were comforting.

The Abbot droned on till the Invocation and Apologia were complete. Then he paused some breaths as he warmed to his role in the intrigue he was about to disclose. With a dramatic gesture, he slid his cowl back. A spasm of a smile creased his gaunt, age-withered face. Dour as always, he rolled his eyes first towards Melissa, then to Jason.

"Let me put it to you this way, my children." He set the mood to expound, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as if to restrain the torrent of his thoughts." We are taught that there is no inherent contradiction between the creation and destruction," he continued in a firmer voice. "Thus, in our ministry, as we bless, we destroy. As we destroy, we bless. It is the intention of one's heart alone that is the true judge," he repeated the counsel solemnly. "Our calling, as adherents to the Teachings of St. Judas, is to carry out our missions with highest regard for this Eternal Paradox." A self-satisfied smile crinkled his face.

The Abbot was secure in the Order's Rule of Silence governing his audience during this Ceremony as he tediously repeated Teachings they knew well by heart. Jason thought of the recent warnings he'd had on his "culpas" -disregard for the hierarchy's guidance, and questioning his sometimes peculiar means of delivering the Sacrament. Jason studied the Abbot's face with unexpected loathing. Remembering those warnings fueled this resentment festering in him. It had long been suppressed, he realized. The dedication of his life to the Order, that he hoped would bring him fulfillment, had brought only further self-deceit and painful disappointment. And there was Melissa, the love of his life who couldn't even bear to look at him. He got the whole picture. All at once!

"The heart is a diabolical machine", he grimly recalled and understood Judas' warning.

The rainbowed shafts of light splashed across the room, and the large windows held a splendid view of spring-blossoming cherry trees. But for Jason it was a bleak, colorless winter's day.

The blameless heart is accused of defect
because of the lowly substance it must humbly
hold as Prima Materia in my Work.
Regard not the container, but the contents.

"Let me put it to you this way," the Abbot prefaced again, but now with an edge of sarcasm. More of the paradox that persists, Jason presumed. "Our Calling is all well and good, but it has to be harnessed. It must serve some higher purpose." Obviously, an explanation of his “higher purpose” was soon to follow. The Abbot's thin slice of "reality" had its own rights and wrongs, its gods and demons, too.

"When the Order of St. Judas was founded in the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies during the turbulent time of the Crusades, it was natural and honorable to use assassination as a livelihood." The Abbot gave a muffled cough, as if he'd uttered something witty. "When we agreed to move our Headquarters here after the Revolution, it was with the understanding that we would handle those 'situations' that might compromise this government. Or when skill was more important in carrying out a mission than brute force. We are this government's clandestine, quasi-official intelligence and espionage agency," he quoted with pleasure in the words' cadence.

"Doing our job well, we are abundantly rewarded and we flourish. So, we are dedicated to the sacred tasks of this nation's security and the maintenance of its world superiority." He nodded his skeletal head in affirmation. "Our commitment must be to the very spirit of our word.

"So... There is a potentially dangerous and explosive situation we've been called to minister to." The Abbot's heated voice recalled Jason's attention with a start. "We have reason to believe that there is undercover interference with our "Police Action" in Fu-Ping, that originates in the neighboring Kingdom of Balangpur.

"As you know, huge areas of Fu-Ping have been sanitized. Populations uprooted. Towns, forests and ancient monuments -destroyed under the bombardments. Germ warfare and nerve gas took their toll too. Our advisors over there are willing to do anything to help the people of Fu-Ping keep their liberty," the Abbot affirmed with heavy sincerity.

Then the old man laboriously stood up and paced the length of the mahogany paneled conference room, the folds of his robe swirling round him. Jason felt him gesture and expound as if to a room full of listeners instead of just the two of them. "Yet, even though Balangpur borders with much of Fu-Ping, it remains unscathed. When rebel troop cross the border into Balangpur and our planes follow, simply as observers, of course. Nothing works! Guns won't fire. Bombs don't detonate. Laser cannons fizzle. Even the tracking radar blanks out. The nerve!" He shuddered with indignation. "Even early on, you remember, Balangpur refused to let us keep troops and supplies there. That drew our suspicions right off.

"This assignment came to us through unusual channels. When the Military heard that something curious was happening out there, it was thoroughly checked out. In spite of their bureaucratic jealousies and embittered relations, the F.B.I. and C.I.A. joined resources. And in the sophisticated world of spying, with that kind of cooperation, a lot can get done. They made diplomatic inquires, planted undercover agents, intercepted and cryptoanalyized laser messages. They bought off members of the Balangpur government and even obtained informants from the King's Court. But no matter what they tried, they failed. When they realized the assignment was beyond them, with mutterings about magical spells and such like, they passed it on to the Order." His voice hummed with pride, as if this was to be expected all along.

"Our contacts in Balangpur soon did get a lead, though it was confused and not very credible. Came to us via Balangpur's Court Coffee Maker, I'm told." He shook his head in dismay. "Those unusual incidents all seem to be linked to a character named Plang Mengli, their Court Wizard. He's alleged to have cast a protective spell around his country, to maintain their neutrality, supposedly," he explained with heavy sarcasm. "And there's that political party he's involved with too. The N.U.B. The Nearly Universal Brotherhood. Suspicious sounding, isn't it?

The Wizard had recently been picked up by the media as the newest guru from the East. He was a popular spiritual guide. KWIK Magazine had run a spread of interviews of some of the Glamorous People who came back from the Enlightour he directs with wild enthusiasm.

The Abbot grimaced with disgust. "I certainly hope we don't need to get mixed up with all that mystical nonsense he's involved with too."

As if from another realm,
a new energy is introduced
that helps draw out and disclose
the nature of the Materia I seek.

The Abbot paced and talked. Jason stayed hunched over in his chair, but now was interested with the Abbot's talk of spells and the Enlightour. He was curious. Melissa still seemed busy with her notes. Far, far away. Spells didn't interest her, obviously.

Jason remembered his old friend and quest-companion Phineus. Maybe he could help Jason work through this maze. Last time they'd spoken a few years before, Phineus was a on a grant to study with this very Plang Mengli. That was before the Wizard's notorious exposure in KWIK, when, as far as anyone else knew, he was still just a court official in some god- forsaken kingdom in Southeast Asia. Phineus was drawn to him, as Jason remembered, because of his gifts of cosmic consciousness.

In a Ph. D. program together, Phineus and Jason had been co-explorers in "the human encounter with the sacred". That was back in their late twenties and they still had the courage for their lofty ideals. While their classmates were assembling their doctoral thesis from the experts' web sites, Phineus and Jason yearned for a taste of real awakening. They undertook initiations into the cult of Horus, Guide to the Underworld, in a river-cave in Egypt. They vision-quested into the after-death realms on a shaman's medicine-brew in the Yucatan. Jason understood Phineus' draw to this Wizard.

"And it's not just kooks being taken in by him either. Some of our national figures too," the Abbot grouched. " Statesmen. That famous rock star. Movie stars too. Even some of our scientists. He might be brainwashing them, for all we know. Some kind of religious cult... Drugs... He definitely may be a threat to our national security." The Abbot growled with righteous indignation.

"The matter is of primary concern. Once such things begin, there's no stopping them. Obviously, they need a little reminder of our power. It is an unusual situation, even for the Order. I saw it was calling for you two, Jason and Melissa. Time to concelebrate again." He gave a gaspy chuckle. "It needs the kind of daring you two have always showed. Open minded. Imaginative. Spontaneous. What you two excel in and that's what this mission calls for."

Jason realized that, as an establishment-made man, these qualities were suspect for the Abbot. His conscience and views were shaped by the Order's policies to promote unquestioning action. They held the meat- cleaver of his mind that sheared "right" from "wrong." Telling Jason and Melissa that imagination was a useful quality in this mission revealed just how really scary it was for the old man.

"Spells!..." His face puckered with disgust. "His Eminence looks at this Wizard's actions as Venial Sin." Jason could hear the cutting edge of the Abbot's mind slice down, "For us," thwack, "or against us."

"Some people believe he's a miracle-worker," the Abbot snickered. "But this will show them no one is beyond our reach. As concelebrants now, the Order sanctions you two to go to Balangpur and check this Plang Mengli person out. A confusing situation. It will take the discernment of all your years of expertise. But if you suspect that he compromises our position there -no matter how far-fetched it might seem- you are to administer the Last Sacraments to him. Extreme Unction. Methods at your own discretion."

To the Alchemist, patience and perseverance
give vital breadth to the Opus.
What first appears as conflict may become
an instrument for sorting out and revealing.

So this was the sacrificial lamb to get the Anointing, the Judas kiss of death. So much for "higher intentions", Jason thought. Another down and dirty. Half way around the world to erase someone and preserve the government's political intentions and the glory of the Order. Not that Jason minded the killing itself. He usually got some personal release, even pleasure. A fantasy fulfilled. An imaginary vendetta accomplished. And he delighted in feeling the special cunning and nerve the chase demanded from him.

But now, here he was, truly a seeker at heart, called to kill this Wizard, possibly because the gift he carried was the kind of treasure Jason sought. He felt he was being ordered to betray his deepest yearning, to kill someone who might even help him with his soul's longing. This was self deceit!

According to the Order, Jason was ordained and sanctified to deliver the Extreme Unction. But now he new himself as merely a hit-man for a loathsome band of self-righteous power merchants. He grimaced, picturing himself in a blood-slicked butcher's apron, holding a raised cleaver over this Wizard's neck.

What madness! The thunder bolt struck. Nearly half his life devoured in such senseless slaughter and cover-up pretensions. Now here he was, teamed up with Melissa again, a woman who feared if not hated him, who wouldn't even look at him openly. Was the Order using her to keep tabs on him? Jason suspected as much. Or worse.

He was disgusted with himself, with it all. He felt abrupt loathing as he studied the frail Abbot pause in his pacing to lean against the table and wheeze a few breaths. No, it had always been just the same, Jason realized. He'd just now seen through it, through himself.

The Abbot gave a pretentious cough and gathered his robes about him. The deep folds gathered as if there was no body inside them at all. He nodded slightly, gazing off in the distance, eyebrows arched. "We cannot afford not to be ruthless," he pronounced as he raised his hand in a brief parting sign of blessing to them each. They were dismissed. Jason offered the obligatory bow, but it was stiff and forced.

Though he left without looking back at her, afterwards he waited for Melissa in the posh hallway outside the Chapel. How could he live in such emptiness and not pretend there was some hope, some other possibility, he justified waiting there to himself.

He mourned over imagined conversations with her, explaining, making everything right, that he knew would never be spoken. "Melissa, I ran to get help. I knew you'd be o.k. there. It seemed like the best way to help."Remembering their fiasco in Costa Rica brought a dull ache to his cheeks, as he recalled the fury of her slaps in frustration with him.

He paced, belly braced, choking back sparks of futile anger. He was fed up with the Abbot's airs of self-importance. And now, only after these decades in the Order, did he begin to see its corruption, the deceitful cover- up with archaic costumes and rituals. Jason felt mashed between the Order's grandiose pretensions and the brutal realities it had brought into his life. With the glimpse of self-betrayal he'd just had, he knew this was truth welling up inside him.

Finally, totally disgruntled, he left. Either Melissa stayed to talk with the Abbot privately, or she'd left by some other door.

Though yet crude and vague in form,
Unrecognizable, perhaps, to unskilled eyes,
I see the Prima Materia revealed,
Called to my Opus for redemption.

That evening in his posh but tiny high-rise apartment, after putting on some recordings of flowing Asian chants, Jason lit two tall candles and hoped to rest in their gentle glow. It was time he looked some things in the eye, he was convinced, more vital for him than gazing into Melissa's.

But, as usual, rather than calm reflection, Jason gnawed at himself like a dog ravaging a bone. Why did he join the Order in the first place, he demanded of himself, let alone still belonging to it after all these senseless years? How had he been so taken with its elaborate deceit? And now that he was beginning to see all this clearly, what next? And what was he supposed to do about Melissa? And what was she after with him? All undermining and confusing questions, but somehow, the anguishing paradox of his assignment with the Wizard was the hardest for him to grapple with.

When all this was shredded away, Jason was left with the longing, as always, that longing for some kind of impossible home. From earliest memory, it drove and called him, an ache for a place or a state of being where he would feel seen and cared for. And whole.

There was a nostalgia, an almost-recalled time when it had been his and things had been right. Then it was gone, mysteriously, unexplainably. As if he'd been suddenly orphaned, disowned, exiled out of what had been and rightfully should be his. Because he had been orphaned indeed. To a stick weilding nanny by his gin sotted mother and a distant CEO father. He'd come to believe that his longing would guide him back to his birthright. A fulfillment that he'd intuited and sensed, that would give his life purpose and meaning.

Was it a childhood dream? A myth emerged from his deep mind? Guidance from a celestial helper? He knew it transcended his day to day reality, but he could never tell its source for sure. Though his longing was undefinable, formless, beyond expressing, Jason knew it was more real and constant than most other things in his life.

On the expeditions he and Phineus made over those years of wandering, searching, wherever they stayed, Jason eventually found that it was never the teaching or place that he'd sought. Because the longing was still there, inside him. How much of his passion for Melissa, he wondered with deep misgivings, was about that unfulfilled longing too?

He saw how that longing had possessed him, left him at odds with himself, formed partitions in his psyche that separated and isolated huge parts of his being, parts that somehow became inaccessible to him. Reduced by this disabling mystery, the forces and circumstances in life felt overwhelming. This seperation left him alien. Suspicious of others, trust became the most fearful option in situations for Jason. Tight control seemed his only assurance of safety, and aggression his one dependable shield. These were his only options to deal with life's threatening turmoil.

Now he recognized that control and defensive aggreassion fed into his self-fragmentation and thus magnified his longing for wholeness. That unquenched longing, and the barbed shield he wore to protect his vulnerability, were the signal symptoms of his plight.

Jason's bright and curious mind had draw him to investigate several paths he'd hoped might give him some insight into the workings of this dilemma and, hopefully, find a way to heal or escape it. Popular psychology and self-help books encouraged him to accept or to explain away his dilemma. Other, goal oriented approaches, advised simply dismissing all that didn't further his worldly goals. None seemed to fit, but through his studies and his journeys with Phineus into the human encounter with the sacred, Jason suspected that his homesickness might be quenched by a spiritual awakening.

He discovered his namesake, Jason of Greek mythology, seeker of the Golden Fleece. Like that hero, Jason's quest to regain his birthright through illumination also drove him across the world to experience exotic adventures and hardships. He recognized that this went well beyond his personal need. He was moved by a primal call within his being.

But Jason's every quest to fulfill it ended as another cause for inner doubt and division. He found only systems and teachings that distorted as much as they showed. Lopsided, fragmented glimpses, not real portals into the Mystery. His life was strewn with the ghosts of shattered fantasies and self-delusions. And so, back he would slide into feeling life was an abyss of uncontrollable happenings and unforeseeable batterings.

There is an Alchemical Procedure used, though not favored,
That awakens reluctant energy and interest.
This might help the subject of my Opus
Open to the needful: Sacramental Wounding.

It was a despairing time when he felt all his studies and explorations had failed him that, still driven by this desperate questing, he responded to the Order. He'd seen their adds for staff in a few professional journals over the years, and the promise of adventure and good pay suddenly sounded like what he needed.

At that first meeting with the Abbot, it all seemed very different. The Abbot's gauntness struck Jason as ethereal, even saintly. His fixed intensity of purpose seemed founded on some deep certainty Jason coveted as a means to quench his longing. Jason recalled how he was startled into a hopeful questioning at hearing the Abbot first intone the Invocation of St. Judas, that, later that evening, was answered and fulfilled as Jason read from Judas' Gospel, "The Way of Endarkenment." The thirst and nectar merged and brought him a healing peace.

He still had a copy of that Gospel, he knew. Somewhere. Searching, he found it at the back of a closet in a dusty stack with other long-ignored treasures.

* * * * *

THE GOSPEL OF SAINT JUDAS: ENDARKENMENT

There is a Way of Darkness
As there is a Way of Light,
A Descent to the Source
As there is the Ascension.

Shadow defines the face of the One
That would otherwise be flat and lifeless.
The Lover's kiss is torment
To the heart as well as bliss.
The Maker's clasp can crush
As well as bring to creation.

Pray, do not simplify this Mystery.
Do not fear-sunder the Whole.
Dip your being deep into the Wonder
Beyond choice, into the waiting revelation,

From birth, I, Judas, craved union with the Eternal Beloved,
as did my brother Jesus. Though we both were pulled by this
same soul-longing, He was drawn to the Way of Light,
and I to the Way of Darkness
to counterpoise the Mystery and fulfill Holy Prophecy.
Thus, made in His Likeness, our two natures honored
both sides of the Wholeness.

Both sincere and relentless in our efforts,
yet, while Jesus needed journeys to far-off
lands to delve into their high teachings,
I sought about me in the shadowlands
of human nature for my truths.
I attended to the cries from a neighbor's wife
at his harsh words and abuse. And I heeded his moans
of despondency -drenched in wine- at her endless dissatisfaction.
At his utter aloneness. I heard the shop owner's moaning prayers
in despair at his workers' sloth, and felt their weeping hearts
embittered with lives of endless drudgery and despair.
I noted the High Temple Priest's barbed condemnations.
And his parishioners' disillusion that even one wrapped
in a cloak of holiness had a heart as bitter as their own.

I prayerfully attended to all this till my soul knew
that the hurt and misery also served Divine Purpose.
That Shadow, as well as Light, held key to Its totality.
I also, as Jesus did, sought and studied ancient wisdom texts.
But while He aspired to the high and spiritual ones,
I went into the bowels of the mystery teachings.
I penetrated though dense metaphor and contorted logic
that bewildered my temporal mind, till I finally came to grasp
the significance of these apocrypha.

Following the heterodox practices of meditating
in graveyards and the ritual breaking of commandments,
I escaped my hand-me-down mind.
I came to understand that each being's daily pain,
as well as the catastrophes of war, famine and pestilence,
also have roles in the outworkings of the Divine Impulse.
All are veiled Sacramental Woundings.
They eternally persist, in one form or another,
because the Lord of Creation
births Darkness as well as Light,
suffering as well as joy,
from the selfsame Splendor of His Face.
In this Eternal Paradox is the Splendor.
There is but one Source for All That Is.

Could Adam and Eve and their progeny have
found fulfillment in the delight of serving Divine Purpose
had they stayed cozy and cared for in the Garden?
Could their hearts and souls have
learned to hunger and thirst for Him
without sacrificing their walks
through the Garden together at sunset.

I too became a healer and a teacher, known and honored
even by some who honored Jesus.
But my way was not merely to banish the affliction.
It was to honor the Maker's Hand,
even in the bitterest of pain and sorrow,
to journey with the one afflicted into the redeeming
hell of their own Sacramental Wounding.

The Book of Job was my main source of teaching.
I found his story an awakening example for many
to witness how God, with Satan's help,
used suffering and humiliation to transform Job
from a self-righteous man into one living
in God-awed righteousness.
My counsel often was: "Be grateful that you are brought
to have your face in the dust. Understand,
this is not a curse but a revelation."

Jesus, of course, became far better honored than I.
Painless healings and promises of casting out their woes,
drew the masses more than my call to their wholeness of being.
Though my dear Brother and I knew from early on that my Way
was as Holy as His, I became, in name at least, His disciple.
But always, if He spoke of a way beyond suffering,
He looked at me with downcast eyes
in a grieving that none but I could comprehend.
I loved His wise stories. And never did I mock Him.
for I loved and needed my brother Jesus
as the One whose soul carried the complement and
cure for my own Dark Knowing.
He saw pain as affliction, even when ordained
I knew it as calling and initiation.
His release from life's torments was forgiveness.
My resolution was in all embracing acquiescence.

"If you have truly given your heart to God,
you must do what you are called to do," he assured me.
Our love and comprehension of each other made
the inevitable all the more tormenting.
Though I carried out the dark and bitter task,
we both recognized from birth
that it was also to fulfill Holy Prophecy.
Mine too was a self-sacrificing act of love
to open the way for the Kingdom.
He knew this and kissed me as seal
on the fulfillment of our pact
when I brought the soldiers to seize Him.

* * * * *

Re-reading this preface to Judas' Gospel reawoke Jason's passion for the inclusive vision Judas held of the Divine unfolding. "In this Eternal Paradox is the Splendor."

He walked out on his balcony, feet barely touching the floor. This was the "Dark Portal" that had fascinated him, the mystic possibility of bringing together those madly disparate parts of himself. His own paradox that persists -the maimed human self raging for revenge and the innermost soul that craved union with the Eternal Beloved, as St. Judas spoke of.

When Jason joined the Order, he'd persuaded himself that, with this Gospel as a guide to exploring this shadow side of the Divine Unfolding, it could be a means for these opposing sides of him to find reconciliation. He sensed that would fulfill his longing.

Because the Order demanded a lifetime binding vow, Jason had pondered on all this till he'd felt some confidence before joining -though he wasn't yet aware of the full extent of his "sacramental" duties. But he knew even so that joining could only be a blind leap of faith.

"Yes," he sighed, looking out over the high-rise range stretching out around him, "that was why I joined. My ineffable longings! I guess it made sense back then, " he halfheartedly consoled himself. The endless, disjointed buzz of activity suddenly was unpleasant and he turned to go back inside. "But it sure seems like a major miscalculation from here."

Now, rereading those Gospel verses after some twenty years, Jason looked at the slim leather folier in his hands and realized how much of their wisdom had been lost. What had happened to those cherished possibilities it had awakened in him? He'd ended up as badly deceived as the Order was. It was a blasphemous deception, Jason angrily confessed to himself. We deceived ourselves by corrupting Judas' high aspiration of merging the Irreconcilables into justifications for our vulgar ambitions and appetites. We took his homage to the Wholeness of Being as license to indulge our basest greeds. Robes and litany could no longer hide that stench from him, Jason knew.

Even Judas' cherished Invocation had become mere jargon, part of that endless treadmill going round and round in vicious futility. He peered down through his bedroom window at the wide boulevards seven stories below. Rolling ropes of light glinted off the rain slick streets. Streams of white headlights flowing one way. Sharp-red back lights flowing the other. Endless comings and goings. Unending futility. Just like the Abbot's liturgy. Just like my life, Jason concluded.

He'd driven himself into all this in vain desperation, he admitted. He'd joined the Order with wild fantasies of its connecting his most alien parts and took Melissa with the self-taunting dellusion that she was the woman with heart enough to truly care for him.

If the disposition of the heart was the real guide, as the Teachings assured, his was certainly guiding him through some hell-realms.

Prima Materia, still in its amorphous form,
Possesses both potential affliction and sacrament
-either a cruel and base gesture or an act of heroism.
Pivotal to how it appears, is how it's held.

Then, with a startle, the whole scenario shifted and struck Jason from a quite different point of view. This Wizard coming to him now when wizardry was just what he needed to save the shambles of his life. This just might be the marvel Jason had yearned for?

Phineus could help him get some perspective on all this, Jason felt sure. He'd always been a kind of guide for him. Though it was near 2 a.m., urgency drove him. After a few rings, Phineus brightly answered his cell- phone as he was waiting to board a plane for Peru. Though he was excited to catch Phineus setting off on another questing journey, it reminded Jason how far he felt from his own soul journey. Without giving details, he asked Phineus for his impressions of Plang Mengli.

Phineus was walking down the ramp way as he assured Jason of his confidence in the Wizard. "Plang Mengli is a great teacher. A true Wizard! And, yes, Jason..." he aswered with enthusiasm as the roar of the jets grew louder. Jason heard the stewardess greeting people in the background. "If he offers you the Enlightour," Phineus exhorted, "the way you can get through it safely is..."

The cabin door closed and the cell phone went dead. "What? What?" Jason pointlessly hollered at the silence.

So there it was. The picture was complete. He was under the Order's decree to possibly assassinate the man his friend considered a special teacher. That's how far from his own truth Jason had fallen, how self-sabotaging. How could his honest intention in seeking his birthright have brought him to this, more at odds with himself than ever. He was s scared to imagine.

That night was worse than usual. Even though he took extra pills, the flames in his gut woke him often. They licked at his soul, using it for fuel.

The next morning he woke to find this FAX:

Jason. Arrangements made.

Meet Melissa at 5:20 P.M.

Flight #333 to Balangpur.

For the greater glory.

Maximus III, Abbot,

Society of St. Judas.

 

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Copyright Nathaniel Schwartz 2010