The Cauldron By Charles Goodwin Chapter 18

The Founding of Chiron

Chapter 18

The Nexus

‘Wh... where would you like me to put your cases and bags?’ asked an overloaded and somewhat ungainly Justin, visibly nervous at the prospect of being alone with Rebecca for the first time.

Rebecca smiled empoweringly and closed the door gently behind him as he entered. ‘Oh, just over there please Justin,’ she replied pointing to the couch.

Justin placed the two heavy suit cases and the two travel bags where Rebecca had indicated. He stood erect, freed from his burden, and turning to Rebecca, heaved an over dramatized sigh. He felt an almost panic now paralyzing through his temples and flushing his face till his cheeks burned. He was no longer the innocent lamb. Monica had already demonstrated to him the delectable sexual power that women can unmercifully wield over their men.

He’d lost his virginity the previous evening upon the warm sands of Manly beach.

And he sensed that the experience had only been skirting the peripherals of sexual pleasures. He’d only licked the skin of the forbidden cosmic apple and was yet to bite into its bitter sweet flesh. His tormenting priestly sexual phobias of sinfulness and repression cut deep, guilt riddenly deep.

‘God’s a whore!’ he’d said to himself as Monica had lowered her warm moistness upon his genetically programmed and independent, damnable penis. God’s a whore! he’d kept repeating, almost insanely - even as he ejaculated - without intending to blaspheme. Blasphemy is an insult to God. This was more an acceptance, an understanding. An understanding that he didn’t have when he’d first read the ‘shocking’ quote attributed to a respected member of the clergy.

God’s a whore! The whole of creation down to the smallest atom is based on excitable attraction of almost sensual love. A cosmic orgasmic dance symbolized by the Hindus as the ecstatic dance of Krishna. God seemingly programmed the universe as an orgy of virulent creation.

Rebecca still stood between him and the door. And his genetically programmed member was again demanding its independence.

‘Well that’s that. I... I’ll leave you to it then,’ he choked.

‘Not quite. You are not escaping that easily,’ she responded ‘observedly’ beckoning him to her with her finger and with more than a hint of sadistic teasing. Her eyes lowered to his tell tale black hipsters.

‘Justin,’ and it was the soft tantalizing way she spoke his name that made him tremble with added shame and excitement, ‘I want you to come over here.’

He obeyed, sheep like, cursed by his Judas desires.

‘You don’t need to be scared of me. I only want to give you a big hug and thank you for all that you’ve done,’ she whispered.

He momentarily felt the softness of her braless breast against his chest. For a few seconds, she felt the warmth of his erection throbbing upon her mound of Venus. Both realized the other’s trembling, impersonal longing. She kissed him upon the lips and she knew immediately that she shouldn’t have.

‘Thank you Justin for meeting us at the airport and bringing us here. In different circumstances...,’ and then she stopped.

‘I know damn it,’ he replied mumbling. ‘God’s a whore.’

‘I know,’ she replied. ‘Or perhaps God’s a reflection of our own consciousness. This whole absurd play seems but a joke. In each incarnation we are destined to play out our roles.’

‘If... if I ever need to talk to someone about things, may I come and see you?’

Rebecca hesitated but her deepest maternal instinct was fired. The connectiveness with Justin was there. From incarnations long passed perhaps. But it was there. She’d known Justin before. One of the miraculous mysteries of life. The manner and timing in which soul groups continue to reconnect in various earthly sojourns.

She found herself answering in the affirmative. ‘Of course,’ and once again she knew she shouldn’t have agreed to Justin’s request. She kissed him again as she spoke. This time on the cheek. ‘You should leave now. Monica will be waiting.’

Justin nodded with a reluctance balanced with deliverance.

She closed the door after he left and collapsed onto the couch.

‘God, what’s got into you Rebecca?’ She was more startled with herself than angry. ‘You came close to dragging the poor boy off to bed! Your best friend’s fiancée.’ And then she added in her mind. Paul, please come back to me. Hell I need you. I need you inside me. I’m going crazy!

She rose to her feet and ran the bath. As she undressed her mind and fantasies drifted back to the luxurious bath in the Amstel Hotel.

The one bedroom log cabin style flatette was similar in floor layout to a standard motel unit. Scatter rugs part covered the quarry tiled floors. The exposed ceiling beams combined with the rustic timber walls emitted a warm and homely feeling. The wood burning slow combustion heater had pride of place in the lounge and gave testimony to the cold winter nights of the Blue Mountains.

The furnishings were basic but functional. Communal dining took place at any one of the several canteens so the kitchen offered only a sink unit, a microwave and a small stove. Upon the wall hung a picture of Wakonda presumably left there by a previous occupant. There was no telephone or television in the unit however a phone could be connected upon request.

The bedroom had two single beds. Rebecca was forewarned at the accommodation office that she should expect to have to share the unit with another female within a few days.

Twelve such attached units were built in a row. The cabins were financed by donations from those who could afford to pay. Many community members, having sold their houses in suburbia, had donated part or all of their monies to the various building projects at the community. Approximately half of the members lived in Chiron permanently, the other half visiting regularly as time permitted.

Everyone of all ages from eight to eighty, to the best of their ability, was expected to share in the maintenance and running of the community. A nominal charge was levied for the electricity but the accommodation and meals at the canteens were free.

Rebecca had read in the information booklet given to her upon registering, that the community already had a well stocked library, an administration building and of course the school where she hoped to teach.

The three hundred or so log cabins were seemingly placed at random up through the secluded valley for approximately two kilometers and were interconnected by tree and shrub lined pathways and bikeways. Justin’s unit was at the furthest end near the market gardens which left Rebecca with the sneaking suspicion that it was Wakonda’s intention that she be parted, at least for the time being, from Monica.

Families with younger children were allocated to the larger three and four bedroom units which were situated closer to the school and children’s playgrounds. A central shopping centre, also staffed by volunteers, was open between morning and evening darshan. Alcohol, meat, drugs and tobacco were forbidden within the community grounds.

Chiron was a learning centre as well as a meditation and healing centre. The free courses on offer covered a wide variety of subjects, ranging from the metaphysical and theosophical to alternative medicine and natural healing. Art and craft courses were also predominant. The courses were interlinked. As an example, the various crafts included meditation lessons so that a student could learn that mastering and practicing a craft was in itself an act of beauty and meditation. The accent on all courses was ‘doing’ and ‘experiencing’ rather than mere theoretical study.

Rebecca also noted that the community was run by a Central Trust headed by a 12 person volunteer Council personally selected by Wakonda. With her passionate pro-democratic views, she found it odd that Chiron’s hierarchy and office bearers were selected rather than elected.

The booklet explained,

Wakonda has stated that

‘Whether you are called upon to serve on the Council or serve in the canteens, know that you are each serving God equally.

In the celestial realms, no task or service is adjudged the ‘highest’ or ‘lowest’. Your measure of humility and loving service offered, is the only yardstick of spirituality.

Elections will create competitiveness among you and all competitiveness creates conflict. All conflict, however subtle, is a form of violence.

Know that in reality each of you is already ‘all that is’. Your ego is like a momentary wave upon an ocean foolishly believing it has individuality.

Seek not high office except the high office of the spiritually awakened.

Your consciousness is truly infinite - your ego personality finite and illusory. You are made in the image of God.

Serve always when asked, with an open heart without any trace of ego or self and you will be rewarded with bliss unimaginable.’

By 5pm Rebecca was unpacked and ready to make her way to the Mandir for her first darshan. Justin had advised her to take a cushion with her as the grass tended to be damp in the early evenings and mornings.

Outside, the darkening shadows from the surrounding mountains now eclipsed the remaining sunlight. The still air felt cool against her cheeks and ears. Her fingers trembled a little and she wondered if the shakes were bought on by the mountain freshness or the sobering anticipation.
A family of magpies warbled their unique greeting to her from the gum trees high overhead. In contrast, other community members, strolling towards the Mandir, politely ignored her existence.

The charged energy of Chiron was mesmerizing, haunting, almost supernatural. She felt that she was a million miles from nowhere - perhaps in an alien world - alone but strangely, not lonely.

And as she neared the Mandir her breathing became heavy. Her knifed edged emotions were razor tipped between ultimate excitement and ultimate despair. Her lingering doubts and misgivings were mounting. The visions - were they but hallucinations brought on by a frustrated mind that wanted to believe so badly? Did that same mind create the string of coincidences? An example of Jung’s synchronicity perhaps?

‘Wakonda, please I beg of you, don’t ignore me completely. At least give me some sought of sign of acknowledgment of my arrival.’ Her desperate whispers drifted into the ethers.

‘Rebecca! Hey there Rebecca!’ The voice was American and familiar. She stopped and turned.

‘Well hi. I arrived here yesterday. I called at your unit but must have just missed you. Remember me? I met you at Heathrow.’

Rebecca expressed her surprise. ‘Of course I remember you. You’re Lynette from the CIA.’

Lynette anxiously looked around. ‘Hey not so loud! I don’t want it advertised.’

Rebecca’s voice lowered. ‘But what are you doing here in Chiron? Have you news regarding Paul?’

‘Well yes and no...’

‘Is he all right?’ interrupted Rebecca impatiently.

‘He’s disappeared. Heinrich Ravenscroft attempted to murder him by blowing up his helicopter.’
‘Oh my God, no!’ Rebecca’s heart stopped. She slapped her hands upon her cheeks in horror.

‘No don’t worry. He managed to escape to Zurich. We provided Paul and his four companions with false passports. Soon after that, Don reported that Paul and the others simply disappeared.

Don thought they might have left for India.’

Rebecca’s mind whirled. ‘You said his four companions? Who were his companions?’

‘He left the Austrian Headquarters by chopper with Don and a charismatic Romanian named Bashar.’ She hesitated. ‘Plus of course the pilot.’

Rebecca frowned. Her intuitiveness began to gnaw at her now fired curiosity.

‘So that makes three. Who’s the fourth?’

Lynette replied with a measure of reluctance. She sensed Rebecca’s suspicions. ‘Paul was traveling with a young woman named Sonia. I understand she was one of the Syndicate’s scientists.’ She paused before adding pointedly, ‘But if I were you, I wouldn’t presume that Sonia and Paul were having an affair.’

Rebecca snapped angrily. ‘Lynette, don’t patronize me. I can tell by your voice that you know damn well that Paul was fucking her! If Don is still connected to the CIA, I’m sure he’s filled you in on all the sordid details!’

Lynette had trouble countering Rebecca’s forthright attack. She needed her co-operation. But how much could she risk disclosing?

‘Look,’ she said at last, noting the tears in Rebecca’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded patronizing. I truly didn’t mean to. Perhaps I underestimated your intelligence. Paul’s literally been through hell and back. He’s been drugged, lied to, and used in the most cruelest of fashions. Apparently he’s undergone some sought of dramatic personality change. I can only ask you not to judge him until you know the full story.’

Rebecca choked back the tears. Her heart thumped with both anger and acute pain. She answered bravely. ‘What is it you want from me? Surely you didn’t fly all the way from England to Australia to tell me that the man I love has ran off with another woman?’

‘I was hoping that Paul might in some way contact you. We need to talk to him, urgently.’

‘Contact me! That’s a joke. In the circumstances I hardly think that’s likely.’

Lynette’s face became despondent. ‘You’re the only lead we have left.’ She took a deep breath before continuing. ‘The Syndicate is about to announce the formation of the New World Council. Paul, or should I say his double, is expected to make a series of announcements within days. These insane announcements will ignite this world into virtual civil war.’

‘Paul’s double? I don’t understand.’

‘He has a double. From what I’ve heard the likeness is uncanny. We still don't know why Heinrich originally went to so much bother about Paul’s adoption. But it seems that his intention was always to destroy Paul one way or the other.’

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed quizzedly. ‘I still don’t understand why you need Paul. Surely he can be of no use to you now.’

‘Don’t you see Rebecca? There are various options. As Heinrich’s son, Paul could speak out publicly against the evil of the Syndicate. He might even agree to lead the armed resistance. Or alternatively, we could eliminate Heinrich and secretly dispose of Paul’s double. That would clear the way for Paul to retake his place on the World Council. Only this time he would be on our side. There are many possibilities!’

The unease within Rebecca mounted. She still felt protective of Paul and Lynette’s solutions seemed both naive and suicidal. Her response was slow and deliberate. ‘I understand that your motives are sincere, but tell me this, how can you be sure that you are not playing into the hands of some powerful, supernatural evil force? That you and your friends at the CIA and yes, even the Syndicate, are being used to bring anarchy and chaos to this planet? A destruction of society so complete that the Earth would be plunged into an eternal dark age of evil.’

Lynette stared stupefied. Perhaps it was the energy of Chiron that gave potency to Rebecca’s words. It was as if a sudden fracture had appeared in her conditioning. A hairline fracture allowing a flash of brilliant light, like a laser beam, to shine through and awaken a slumbering inner knowing buried deep within her consciousness.

She tried to laugh as she spoke but her laugh was hollow. ‘You don’t honestly believe that the... the devil is behind this conspiracy, do you?’

Rebecca answered somberly. ‘Why do people so readily believe in Angels and Guardians and life after death and so conveniently dismiss the possibility of the existence of the lower Masters of the black arts. Why naively assume the existence of the higher without the lower?’

Lynette shrugged. ‘Yes, but the devil...’

‘Can’t you see! The devil is just a word, a convenient label we place on the description of evil.’

Rebecca paused then added. ‘Look, all I am saying is that there must be another way. To rush headlong into civil war is suicidal. Tens of millions, possibly billions, are likely to die. The very core of our society will be destroyed.’

Lynette remained silent. The situation suddenly seemed hopeless. Rebecca’s words had made her realize that which ever path of action was taken, the result was likely to be catastrophic. There would be no winner in this final conflict.

Rebecca began to walk towards the Mandir. Lynette followed aimlessly still deep in thought.
It was a few minutes before Rebecca spoke. ‘I’m hoping to receive an audience with Wakonda. I’ll ask him what course of action Paul and I should take. Do you intend to stay in Chiron for a while?’

‘I’ll be here for at least a week. I have regular contact with my department so I’ll be able to keep you informed of any news of Paul.’

‘Thank you. I’d appreciate that.’

They parted, agreeing to meet for tea the next evening after darshan.

Rebecca now walked briskly. The delay had been inopportune. The crowds were gathering and she desperately wanted to obtain a front position at darshan. With a sense of bewilderment, she made her way around to the front of the Mandir.

The perimeter of the Mandir was now cordoned off with ropes. Volunteers with blue sashes over their shoulders stood on guard every fifteen metres or so.

‘No miss you cannot enter this area yet. Please, join a line on the lawns over there!’ The male volunteer’s voice seemed authoritarian and unfriendly. A tone pitched with that mechanical coldness that often influences the voice after a phrase had been repeated a hundred times or more.

Rebecca nodded and ambled across to the fast growing lines of hopeful devotees already assembled on the grass. She mentally counted the lines. Twenty five. And as she made her way to the rear she approximated that there were so far, about eighty or so people in each line.

Volunteers were busy walking between the seated queues asking people to keep their voices to a whisper.

Rebecca hesitated. Which line should she sit in? A teenage girl brushed past her and sat at the end of line three. Rebecca quickly squatted down behind her.

‘Excuse me, this is my first darshan, why did you choose to sit in this particular line over all of the others? How does the system work?’

The young girl’s brown eyes looked wise beyond their tender years. ‘I always sit in line three. If Wakonda wants me to be near the front, he will ensure that this line is one of the first to go in to the compound to be seated. There are twenty five numbered brass disks in a bag and the first person in each line gets to draw a number from the bag. Each line enters the compound in sequence to the number drawn.’

‘So it’s not first come first serve?’

‘Oh no, absolutely not. If they allowed that, so as to be seated at the front, many would never leave this area from one darshan to the next. Community life would be in shambles.’

Rebecca understood immediately. The thought had already flashed through her mind that in future darshans she should arrive at the Mandir a couple of hours earlier to ensure a good position. But it wasn’t to be. She was now just one of the multitude. A lone individual amongst several thousand hopeful people. Each soul desperate to be near the living Master. Each ego carrying the almighty burden of its own fears, worries and afflictions.

The teenage girl noticed her despondency. She clasped her hand caringly. ‘Try to be patient. I’m sure Wakonda will acknowledged you when the time is right.’

Rebecca wiped a tear from her eye, feigned a weak smile and nodded.

Line seven. Go to line seven. Her inner voice prompted silently. She glanced around. The lines had by now almost doubled in length and was growing longer by the second. A sense of panic began to engulf her.

Line seven. Go to line seven.

In an instant she jumped up and scrambled to the rear of line seven. She sat gingerly upon her cushion. Without warning, exquisite meditation music began over the speakers.

The mumbling in the crowd died.

Total silence. It was six o’clock. darshan was about to begin.

Rebecca observed that the volunteers were not permitting any latecomers to the lines. She was to be the last on line seven.

An elderly female aboriginal began offering the bag of numbered tokens to the person sitting at the front of each line.

Rebecca’s pulsed raced with anticipation. ‘Line seven. Oh God please let line seven in first.’

The graceful lady having completed her task of distributing the tokens now stood at the head of the assembly.

‘Number one, please rise.’

The members of line three excitedly rose to their feet.

Rebecca screamed internally. The line she’d just left was the first to go in to the compound.

‘Oh no! Wakonda, you sadist, how could you?’ Rebecca felt shattered, shell shocked. And even as she muttered her curse, she noticed that towards the front of line three stood an ecstatic Justin and Monica.

‘Number two please quickly follow.’

Line eight along side of Rebecca now stood up.

‘Number three...’

‘Number four...’

Within moments line number seven sat alone on the grass. Tears streamed from Rebecca’s eyes in a torrent of misery. A second later her line now also quickly rose.. The whole line that is with the stark exception of Rebecca. She remained on the grass motionless. Her disillusioned face buried in her trembling hands.

The very last person on the very last line.

‘You bastard Wakonda. Surely my ego didn’t need that lesson. For God’s sake why? Why? Why?...’

‘You do not wish to receive Wakonda’s darshan?’

Rebecca gazed up through her tears. The plump Aboriginal elder who had distributed the tokens stood in front of her.

‘My name is Melissa. I am the sister of the seer Karadra. Why do you sit out here alone on the grass?’

Melissa emitted an incredible spiritual energy. Her beautiful soft brown eyes were the most maternal Rebecca had ever experienced.

Rebecca broke down. She choked out the words between the sobs. ‘I’ve come all the way from Amsterdam to be here. I’ve had incredible visions and experiences from Wakonda. And now at my first darshan he insults me in the most cruelest of ways.’

The Aboriginal elder held out her arms in a gesture of pure compassion. ‘Come now lady, stand up and let me hug you. I heal with my hugs.’

Melissa helped Rebecca to her feet and immediately drew her to her large bosom. Wave after wave of womb like healing, peaceful energy engulfed Rebecca. The old Aboriginal seemed like the Divine Mother incarnate.

‘Haven’t you heard it said that in the father’s house the last shall be the first? A good mother will always take care of the youngest child first and the oldest last. See this as a symbolic honor.’
The soft words were like a healing balm to her tortured soul.

‘There’s so much I don’t understand,’ sobbed Rebecca. ‘One minute I’m on a spiritual high and the next it feels like I’m crashing into the pits of hell.’

‘Those experiences will keep on happening until you can accept ‘all that is’ as an observer, unattached and undaunted, with equal fortitude...’ Melissa stopped and then pointed to the Mandir. ‘Rebecca look, the Master is about to appear.’

Rebecca instinctively turned and gazed in the direction of the Mandir. At the exact same time the penny tumbled. She didn’t shift her gaze, nor did she dare to blink, but she felt compelled to ask the question. ‘Melissa, how on earth did you know my name?’

The answer was proffered in the most ‘matter of fact’ of voices. ‘The same way you knew Paul Ravenscroft’s name in Amsterdam. We Aboriginals are not strangers to mystical dreaming, you know! There ... There is Wakonda.’

Rebecca could make out a white robed figure, his arms extended, on the veranda of the Mandir. The colorful devoted multitude sat fanned out on the grass before him.

Melissa spoke in a reverent whisper. ‘Wakonda will walk from left to right in front of the crowd and then back again to offer his darshan. Once he steps down from the veranda he will be difficult to see from this distance. Perhaps you should ask your prayer of him now.’

Rebecca didn’t hesitate. Her monkey mind still demanded proof. She still desperately sought irrational validation. A validation more of her own ever changing sense of reality rather than any proof of Wakonda’s saintliness.

She whispered out loud. ‘Wakonda, I need to know that you know I am here. Please give me a sign by showing me your aura.’

The energized power of what instantaneously followed made Rebecca flop to the grass. She clasped her hands together in utter devotion. The torrential outpour yet again streamed from her eyes.

‘Oh my God, my God!’

She’d expected perhaps a glow. A golden auric hue around his head as depicted of the saints in paintings by the old masters. But this was more. Far, far miraculously more.

In the first instance, the ethers about her appeared to become finer, misty. Then light, streams of celestial lights, like multi colored high powered search lights, began to emanate out from Wakonda’s body. Blues, purples, golds, white, reds - colors reaching high into the sky, an oceanic aura reaching out and illuminating the auric fields of the crowds before him and beyond.

The hallowed love energy disintegrated Rebecca’s mind. For a brief moment in space time her heart merged into the totality of the incarnate Master. She experienced an imploding expansion of consciousness rather than a raising of consciousness. A teasing hint of the near unlimited potential of those who are created in God’s image.

Wakonda stepped from the veranda and out of sight in front of the assembly. Rebecca’s will regained mediocrity. She blinked. Reality refashioned itself back to the limited norm. She gazed up at Melissa incredulously. ‘How does he do that? Did you see what I just saw?’

Melissa gave a knowing grin. ‘The environment does not create life. Life or consciousness creates the environment Our Dreaming is consciousness at play with creation.’

Rebecca shrugged. ‘Is anything real?’

Melissa shook her head playfully. ‘No such thing as reality. Only Dreaming!’ She paused before adding, ‘I go now. Next darshan you sit in same line and visualize your own Dreaming.’

‘Visualize your own dreaming.’ As Melissa walked away, her words resonated within Rebecca’s mind. ‘God it seems like I’m one step from insanity... or perhaps enlightenment...’ She began to giggle almost hysterically. ‘It would be just my luck to be locked up in a sanatorium and become enlightened. An enlightened being walking around with a would be Napoleon and a Hitler. It would be enough to drive even a saint mad.’

But then her irrational murmuring died and she clambered to her feet. She felt drained, washed out and hungry - and miserably alone. The spiritual roller coaster once more descending into the black abyss. The light had yet again been switched off.

She wondered dreamlike back past the Mandir without glimpsing at the silent awestruck crowds.

The canteen was deserted. A fragrant warm smell of spicy lentil soup and roasting vegetables filled the room. A sign on the counter advised that during darshan visitors were welcome to help themselves to soup, tea or coffee and sandwiches. At one end of the long room a combustion fire was glowing. The four rows of wooden planked tables were set in readiness for the evening meal. Pictures of Wakonda, Christ, Buddha and Krishna adorned the walls together with beautiful two metre high Aboriginal spiritual dot and bark paintings.

Warm... Cozy, and yet...

Shivering. Rebecca poured herself a mug of soup. She noticed her fingers were trembling. She was shivering. From her clenched jaw all of the way down her torso to her knees, she was shivering.

Shivering. Not from the cold for her face felt feverishly flushed. Nor from fear because at that moment she cared not whether she lived or died. Even in death there exists a level of certainty, of hope or martyrdom.

Shivering. No, this was shivering brought on by stark uncertainty. A mental disintegration rather than a mere mental breakdown. An ego personality facing up to its own gradual annihilation. Even in insanity personality flourishes.

And to live in illusion is a form of insanity.

Personality is partiality. Personality is limitation. When partiality dissolves the illusion of personality also dissolves.

The limitless stranger within Rebecca was demanding utter surrender. The inner Godly imaged genie demands total annihilation of the ego.

Rebecca nervously downed two sandwiches. She fully expected that once darshan was over, a stampede to the canteens would occur. She felt a nagging impulsion to escape to the solitude of her cabin before the hungry hoards arrived. She gulped the last of her soup and before making her exit grabbed two more sandwiches to eat later that evening. She found herself stumbling mindlessly back to her cabin.

‘Help me! You must help me!’

Rebecca was fearful that her first night in Chiron would prove long and hallucinatory. She well expected a restless night and her expectations were to be fully realized.

The hours ticked by in slow motion.

Tossing. Turning. Nightmarish graphic visions of cities burning - bodies burning - digital echoing screams - tauntingly interlaced with the repetitious scene of Paul’s helicopter exploding.

And there was that pleading pathetic voice.

‘Help me! You must help me!’
‘Help me! You must help me!’

She found herself reliving the demonstration in Amsterdam. Haunting nightmares, interlaced by the repeated gruesome apparition of the young woman shot through the eye by the rubber bullet.

A terror filled impression ingrained on her subconscious ripe for exploitation.

‘Rebecca help me! You must help me!’

Dawn was breaking. The half light in the room falsely promised a reprieve from the incessant ordeal.

Yet the eerie voice remained.

‘Rebecca help me! You must help me!’

The apparition appeared before her at the end of the bed. Ghost white other than the blood still oozing from the facial cavity. Her arms outstretched as she repeated, ‘Help me! Rebecca you must help me!’

Rebecca sat up in the darkness, her track suit top, the only garment that she wore, soaked in perspiration.

‘What do you want with me?’ she stuttered.

‘Look at my face Rebecca. Look deep into my face.’

Rebecca recoiled. ‘Your voice... Your voice has changed. Who are you?’

The phantasm before her mutated. ‘I told you, you would never escape from my power, didn’t I?’

The Satanic Black Magician of her visions stood before her. The same hellish panther face. The same blood dripping eyes.

And that morbid enslaving glare once again stared into Rebecca’s petrified eyes.

‘You and your bastard offspring are dammed!’

Rebecca trembled uncontrollably.

The voice was the same evil monotoned whine. ‘You will never... never escape from my power, Rebecca.’

‘Leave me. Go away!’ she spluttered but her words sounded pathetic and wilted.

Marduk sneered. ‘Paul has already betrayed you. Sonia alone knows how to truly please Paul.’

‘No... No I don’t believe you!’

A hint of a cracked smile crossed the monster’s face.

‘Oh yes you do. You know well of your own inadequacies in the sexual domain. Your pride inhibits you.’

Rebecca’s attempted protest was little more than a gaggle. Her lips felt parched and uncooperative. She felt her eyes locking onto Marduk’s in some hypnotic spell.

Marduk slid to the side of the bed and glared over her.

He touched her on her third eye with his index finger. She instantly fell back onto the pillow. A sudden paralysis coursed through her body.

Marduk hissed. ‘There you see, you cannot move, can you Rebecca?’

And the magician was right, short of her terror filled eyes she was unable to move a muscle. She felt his icy touch. Her senses were if anything, heightened. But her brain refused to accept her will to allow the movement of limbs or torso.

The black magician’s icy hand slid up under her drenched track-suit. She felt her moistened breasts being fondled, squeezed. He pulled back the sheet and glared at her nakedness.

‘You can see now how vulnerable you are. You are completely at my mercy. Personally, I am beyond the desire for simple sexual gratification. I transmute the mass sexual energy of my followers into power.’

Marduk paused and sniffed the air. His eyes stared into the ethers. Rebecca suspected a hint of agitation in his eyes. His features refocused on Rebecca.

‘Where was I. Oh yes! On the other hand, I could select a half dozen or so of my followers to teach you the art of sexual pleasures.’ As he spoke his hand slid down Rebecca’s stomach and between her legs. His long inhuman fingers probed her vagina. ‘Like most arts, proficiency in sexual matters is a learned experience. Sonia has been fully trained in the art of sensual pleasing. Without such training you will have little hope of ever keeping Paul out of her bed.’

Her jaw locked and anger exploding, Rebecca had little alternative but to scream telepathically. ‘You pathetic, hideous creature! how dare you? The power of love binds Paul and I. Love will prevail above all our weaknesses!

Marduk feigned disappointment. He probed deeper. ‘Ah, how melodramatic. Such unconvincing clichés. Perhaps it would be closer to the truth to say that you think, because you carry his bastard in your womb you have a hold over him. Mmm?’

His grizzly features leaned to within a few inches of Rebecca’s face. She felt the sulphuric breath on her cheeks. And she also felt the intense pain deep within.

His voice hissed with an alien viciousness. ‘A simple abortion would so uncomplicate matters – do you agree?’

Rebecca’s heart thumped, then froze. Marduk was about to destroy the precious life force she carried.

She directed her internal screams at Wakonda.

‘Wakonda, for God’s sake, how can you allow this to happen?’

‘Wakonda will not help you!’ sneered Marduk, moving to the end of the bed and unceremoniously spreading her legs. ‘You are closer than you realize to becoming your own master. You have been pushed out of the nest and now you must learn to fly,’ he paused before adding, ‘Or die! Fly with me and I promise you the pleasures, and treasures, of the Universe and all it’s innumerable dimensions.’

Marduk took a long tubular stainless steel instrument from his cloak and held it aloft. ‘This will be a messy job. You may of course bleed to death in the process.’

The monster again turned his grotesque head to one side and appeared to sniff the ethers. The satanic eyes flashed vehemently into dimensions unseen. He turned smirking. ‘So Rebecca Childs, your decision is now required. Your soul for the life of your child.’

‘Your soul for the life of your child.’ The vicious words echoed through Rebecca’s being.

‘Your soul for the life of your child.’ Marduk repeated with extended hellish veracity. ‘I will have your answer now!’

Rebecca’s mercurial mind flashed. Hell, he’s offering me a choice. Why? He’s agitated – I feel an agitation – as if the energy of Chiron only affords him a limited dimensional spatial opportunity. There must be a limit to his power. He cannot override my will. That’s it – this monster’s power has limitations - especially here in Chiron. Instantaneously a vision of Melissa appeared in her mind’s eye. Those beautiful brown eyes now seemed even deeper – divinely beautiful – a vision through crystal clear windows to an unlimited soul of celestial love.

The old aboriginal was clearly smiling as she spoke. ‘Rebecca, no such thing as reality. Only Dreaming!’ ‘Visualize your own dreaming.’ ‘Refuse to accept his dreaming.’

Rebecca heeded the call.

‘I don’t do deals with the devil!’ Rebecca answered at first meekly, apologetically. Yet as she formed the words in her mind, a stubbornness born out of pride, almost arrogance, arose and seemed to empower her will. ‘I don’t do deals with the devil!’ she repeated, but this time her lips moved and she was now able to utter the words.

‘I don’t do deals with the devil!’ she screamed, sitting straight up on the bed and covering her legs. ‘How dare you threaten me. Can’t you see that your very existence only strengthens my trust in God.’

A pregnant split second pause. A momentary standoff between a master of the black arts and an awakening aspirant.

At shutter speed Marduk was gone – vanished. Even if only temporarily - he was gone.

And just as Rebecca’s chattering monkey mind began to attempt to attribute the horrific episode to perhaps yet another psychotic dream, Melissa now appeared at the end of the bed standing there in her bright astral body in the exact same position where Marduk had stood.

‘No such thing as reality. Only Dreaming!’ ‘Visualize your own dreaming.’ she repeated beaming.
‘He sensed you were there all the time – is that why he was agitated?’ asked Rebecca clearly relieved.

‘Oh yes – he knows I am the astral watch dog of Chiron.’ She answered chuckling.

‘Watch dog – surely you mean the protector?’

‘No Rebecca, Chiron has tens of thousands of protectors – legions of Guardian Angels with especially granted powers are here to protect Chiron. They are working both in unison and individually. Without them Chiron would survive only about the time that a guided missile would take to obliterate us. These coming tribulations are inter-dimensional. Chiron is a spiritual conduit or channel between the physical and spiritual realms.’

‘What I can’t seem to understand,’ asked Rebecca thoughtfully, ‘Why can’t this evil tyrant be stopped? As naïve as this may sound – why does God allow his existence?

Melissa’s reply was steeped in the esoteric. ‘Firstly know that it is easier to create a new universe than to change a person’s heart. A being’s true-self, both in power and potential, is only limited by ignorance of Self. Secondly, evil as an energy, is created by the continuing combined awareness of evil in each of us. That is, when evil exists in consciousness – evil exists. It is simultaneously created. The magicians of the underworlds harness this energy to empower themselves. Once the apple from the tree of knowledge is tasted or experienced there is no turning back. We simply cannot un-know!’

The room darkened. Rebecca observed that Melissa’s astral body was now fading. Rebecca had a thousand and one questions but such questions would have to wait.

Melissa’s last message that early morning to an exhausted Rebecca was both telepathic and prophetic, ‘Go back to sleep for an hour or two my child – I am sure some of your prayers and questions will be answered later today!




Copyright 2004 – 2006 © Charles Goodwin. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, storage in a retrieval system or otherwise, without the prior express written permission of Charles Goodwin.

All characters - other than obvious historical figures - in this book 666 The Cauldron are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Prospective publishers with expressions of interest are invited to contact Charles Goodwin at *

The Secrets Of Wealth Creation Revealed | Testimonials | ZenSayings | Resource Forum |
Free Ebooks | The Adsense Gurus | The Gold Vault | Contact Charles Goodwin

Copyright © 2004 - 20011 Charles Goodwin. All Rights Reserved.