Sacha hardly listened.
The problem is that all religious fanatics, or even just deeply religious people, invariably search for a yes or no answer. Their world is black and white, devoid of shades, colours, nuances. They seem totally unaware that heaven is infinite. Not just beyond time and space but infinite in its potential. Nothing, nothing at all lies beyond its scope. Nothing beyond its possibilities. Perceptions of good or bad, of better or worse, are all relative. Only the law of balance seems unrelenting. All extremes fall, sooner or later, dissolve into their opposing components. Only the potential remains. Eternal, unchanging. All else is recycled in infinite possibilities, infinite relationships, infinite attempts to cross yet another horizon, to master yet another unknown.
This alone is the earthly truth. On Earth even truth is relative. There are no absolutes in this reality. The changeability of Earth is complemented and balanced by the unchangeability of heaven.
The religionists claim infallibility. They think they know all the answers. The truth is that no one even knows all the questions. No one ever would.
We all make mistakes.
“Errare humanum est,” Sacha muttered under his nose.
“Then you admit your guilt?”
The long silver beard of the withered rabbi swung forward, as the black suited man was sure he’d caught him. But Sacha had not even heard him. The rabbi adjusted his hat and continued the enumeration of Sacha’s blasphemies.
The other learned men, the witnesses, swayed from side to side in the great outer circles. The rabbi has been close. Very close. How they all wished they were given a chance to ask their own questions. As in LA, there was a circle of red, of white and of black. They were kept well apart by those determined to stick this out together. There would be no infighting within the lower ranks. It was important for Unity. It was good for business. Their fine apparel contrasted greatly with Sacha’s dark shirt and a suit, which had seen better days. He maintained his silence as a succession of speakers took turns enumerating his transgressions.
“Shalom,” intoned the man, in order to silence the murmur of voices that swelled like a wave around the rotunda.
It’s inner peace you must search, my friend. Would Verdi have composed the magnificent chorus in Ernani if Austria hadn’t invaded Italy? Everything has its purpose. Italy is now no longer under the Austro-Hungarian whip, but Verdi’s music lives on. Beauty is often born out of pain.
“And God created the world...” said the rabbi turning to the first page of Torah.
Anyone can create a universe. We all do it. All the time. The universe we live in is of our own creation. Some in our imagination, some in our thoughts. Even animals do it. It is only a question of our perception of reality. But only those we call gods can sustain those realities. That is why, no matter how wrong, there is such an enormous resistance to change. We feel that when we give up our ideas, traditions, our reality will collapse. Not so. They will sustain the part we share with others. We can contribute our own unique perception to that which is. Our universes are transient, ever on the brink of dissolution. A billion years is but a blink of an eye in the Undiscovered Realm. Not even that. We must lower our finger into the outer boundaries of the Far Country before we can experience the transience of time. A billion years is as nothing. This, physical, objective universe which we share is sustained by billions of people in this reality and billions upon billions more in other realms.
“Visibilium omnium et invisibilium...” promulgated a tall man in a resplendent crimson robe. A massive cross of pure gold adorned his chest. He looked like a true prince. An aristocrat.
It’s not teleportation. I never left the podium. I’ve always been visible though not to your blind eyes. Yet in another way, you are right. I was never here. Or there. Or anywhere. None of us are. Our experience of earth-life is but a dream. It is real for only as long as we are asleep. Once we wake up, the reality changes to a state of being, rather than becoming. Becoming, by definition, is transient.
Aren’t we suppose to live our dreams, you might ask?
Of course. But few of us realize that living a dream is still a dream. Once we remember that, our problems are over. Gradually we learn to wake up at any time. We can even sustain our physical body’s awareness, or what we recognize as awareness, while we rise in our true consciousness...
“Thou shalt not kill...” The white robed man enumerated all the commandments from the Book. Later he, too, would count Sacha’s transgressions.
Have I killed anyone? Death, mass death in wars, holocausts, are of little consequence. The body dies, its elements are transformed and metabolized into other living organisms. Including human. The crime lies not in the termination of biological functions––nature strives on eat or be eaten––but in the mental anguish which is caused by this act. Anguish that is brought back embodiment after embodiment, fomenting, often augmenting and magnifying, and generally exacerbating the original error. That is why some Eastern philosophies have postulated that the Golden Age of eons ago had been succeeded by the Silver, Bronze, and now the Iron Age we live in. All three religions teach the expulsion from Eden. We live in the darkness of the goddess Kali. In the last phase of the present mindset. The shelf life of a mindset goes on for countless ages. If it weren’t for the fact that we are immortal, the whole process of becoming would be meaningless.
The conclave of judges was ready to interrupt all statements Sacha might make with quotations from the New and Old Testaments, and from the Holy Koran. Only Sacha hadn’t spoken. Not for some time now.
“Bismillah ar-Rahman ar Rahim. La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah,” recited a man adorned with a beautiful turban. His stern face regarded Sacha with disbelief. Why would he risk his life to make a point, he wondered? Back home he would be dead by now. The Ayatollah would have seen to that.
Indeed the Whole is compassionate and merciful. As for strength and power?
If what so many people regard as God were the embodiment of Power that directs our lives, then such an entity would have to be the most cruel, hateful and uncompromising tyrant the human mind could invent.
In no reality I ever visited have I encountered any such evil. In fact, I’ve encountered no evil at all. It is self-evident that we, and we alone, can give evil reality. And then we build our own selves, our egos and personalities unto the image and likeness of that which does not exist.
Look at the impoverished in Calcutta, Columbia, the cruelties in parts of Africa and so many other countries, cities and groups. Unto whose image have their oppressors been created? Look at the back alleys of your own towns and cities. No, my friends. We alone create ourselves in the image and likeness of our own twisted, perverted, depraved egos. And egos have nothing to do with divine creation. It is what keeps us apart from it...
“...a time to be born and a time to die,” a grave man spoke in a grave voice.
Time is a dimension of only the lower realms. If you are destined for greatness, it might take you a few embodiments to realize it and a few more to do something about it. When you do, it is called self-realization. You realize your purpose. And by the way, we are all destined for greatness. Only greatness is not measured on the scale of material success. That is transient. Ephemeral. Your greatness lies in your indispensability and is anchored in immortality.
The world is set on automatic, but the results of the setting are not always predictable. Yet you are not of the world. You are the creators of your kingdom. In it you will find solace, in it you will taste of pain. Why can’t they understand my words?
No man can deny his destiny. Do you think I have no power to make myself invisible and walk out of here unharmed?
A time to live and a time to die...
Die, die, die, diediediediedie..... Sacha could sense the thoughts of his judges as though they’d been spoken out loud. They reverberated under the dome, resonated in their hearts and poisoned their minds.
I wonder what method they will choose to
dispose of my body?
If we don’t dispose of him he’ll destroy our power... we shall become as nothing... we shall lose everything... we shall be as the masses...
diediediediediedie
He must die. Die. Diediediedie
...you are saying that I must die so that you shall live. But I say to you, that by disposing of my body you will kill the spirit within you.
diediediediediediediedie
If you kill me, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine...
But no one listened any more.
And they wouldn’t have heard his thoughts. There was no point talking out loud either. Their hearts and ears were closed. The decision had been made before the trial began. They’ve studied the evidence of the media. They’ve run through the tapes of hundreds of interviews. The man before them was the most dangerous man in the world. He threatened their welfare. He threatened the seat of their power. Divine power. The culprit has been growing in power exponentially. People were beginning to question the authority of the Church. Of all the churches. They couldn’t wait any longer. The only problem remained how to dispose of this uncomfortable evidence. The doors had been locked. But... walls had ears. They couldn’t kill him and they couldn’t release him. They had to play for time. And guard him well. Very well. He had the power of the devil.
God will help us, others thought. After all, aren’t we doing His work? Aren’t we protecting the Holy Words He’d given us in all the Holy Scriptures? It must be done.
“The trial is over.”
The Chief Prosecutor made the announcement. The presiding Cardinal of the Office of the Holy Inquisition slammed his gavel on a round polished stone blessed with the Holy Water. He also rose to his feet and thrice hit the floor with his staff. This was the sign for others to arise. The cardinal was proud that his ancient Office finally found, once again, a worthy cause. His eyes almost misted when he thought of the good old days when all you had to do was to tie a sinner to a stake and set fire to it. Now? Now there was no justice. He worked all his life for the Church. He pored over the scriptures till his back hurt. The Holy Bible allowed punishing men who broke the Law of God. To punish them without reprieve. And now?
“There is no justice,” he murmured under his breath, and wiped a tear of remembrance. “Oh, for the good old days…” But there were men who would help him. He had contacts. They would need a little money but no matter. It was a worthy cause. A Holy Cause. Money well spent.
He wiped his brow with a silken handkerchief embroidered with tiny crosses.
“…and now the trial’s over. Had they only left it to me, I would know how to deal with such a charlatan. I would have him drawn, skinned and quartered in no time at all. No one would even know. But they? Especially the new generation? The goody-goody do-gooders? The holier-than-thou deacons and acolytes? Some of them were as likely as not listening to the ravings of this madman. Why, some of them even wanted to suspend the office of the Holy Inquisition. My Office! If they had it their way, they would reprimand this maniac and let him go.” He gritted his teeth. “Over my dead body! Not one of them has the guts to carry out justice. They don’t punish the guilty any more. At best, they excommunicate them. Big deal! As if that scared anybody.”
There was utter silence in the chamber. The cardinal glanced as his own colleagues with ill-concealed disdain, as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes.
“They would slap him on the wrist and let him go.” A lopsided sneer distorted his features. “Well, not if I can help it. I, too, have friends. And my friends are higher up. Much higher up. And they know how to keep their mouths shut.”
The verdict was a foregone conclusion. The Churches spoke with a single voice. That was what Ecumenical Union was all about. You make your decision, then you go through the motions. The Cardinal had been a young cleric, still reading law at the Universitad di Roma, when he’d learned that you never ask the accused a question to which you didn’t already have an answer. And the answers to all questions were guilty. Guilty as charged. There would be no point wasting money of the prosecution otherwise. They told him, there were other, more worthy causes. He wasn’t quite sure about that.
Normally the jury would retire to deliberate. But not here. Here they were guided by the Holy Ghost. Here the guilty would be taken out and wait the pleasure of his betters. But it wasn’t necessary. Each of the man sitting at the judges’ dais had already reached to their left for a black skullcap. They held them in their carefully manicured hands ready to cover their aging heads. The verdict would be unanimous.
The chief prosecutor hit the floor with his staff three more times.
“You have been accused of blasphemy, of corruption of the Word of God, of misleading the children of God by leading them astray. May God have mercy upon your soul. How plead you?”
The lengthening silence was interrupted not by Sacha’s words only by his laugher. The question had to be asked. So the protocol demanded. The inquisitor took a step forward and asked again.
“Do you have anything to say before judgment is rendered?” He could hardly contain the rage mounting in his voice. His face now matched his scarlet robe and skullcap. It didn’t help. Sacha was laughing even louder.
“He’s mad...”
“It’s the devil in him...”
The room was replete with whispers. Some on the outer rim stamped their feet.
“Why are you laughing, my son?” This was the chief judge speaking. The word ‘son’ was adding insult to injury. Then he turned on his own audience.
“Silencia,” he barked.
And, except for Sacha trying hard to hold back his laugher, the chamber once more sunk into silence.
“There is nothing in the Hebrew, Christian or Islamic scriptures that allows you to kill me. By what authority do you intend to do so?”
After the outburst of laughter Sacha’s voice rose barely above a whisper. Yet everyone present heard his every syllable.
“You will kill me if you find a way to do so with impunity.”
And Sacha closed his eyes again. For him the burlesque had run its course.
“La comedia e finita,” he muttered. He almost laughed again.
The three presiding judges donned their black scull caps.
“Let the Will of God be carried out,” they spoke in unison. Only at this moment none of them had any idea how to get rid of this pest. What an ungodly nuisance.
I wonder what dad and mother are doing? I’m glad none of this was televised. Not for general release. They probably still wouldn’t understand. Nor would Alicia. Wonderful Alicia. Look well after my Debbie, Grandma. I know she’ll look after you in return.
I love all four of you. And Joan. I’ll look in on John for you. You were both so kind to me. I’ll miss you, too. I shall miss you all. That is the problem with this reality. As I once told Alicia, grief is the price we pay for love.
It won’t be long now.
The twelve men in fancy suites rose simultaneously, their jaws set in stern grimaces of the responsibility they carried on their shoulders. In fact, they had nothing to do. They were there in case the judges failed to reach a conclusion. It had to be unanimous or by the majority of jurors. But the judges had done their duty. Inspired duty.
One by one the ecumenists filed out through the door behind the raised podium. Except for the three tiers of witnesses, Sacha remained alone, smiling. He was glad they didn’t call any more witnesses from outside. It will be easier for them to overcome their karma. Although, most probably, the Office took their depositions beforehand. To cover their tracks—if necessary.
“You poor, poor people. You have no idea what you have done,” he spoke in undertone but those in the nearest circle heard him. A strange shiver passed over their spines. As though they’d walked over a grave.
The question was... whose grave?
And with these words Sacha raised his consciousness to the Undiscovered Realm retaining but the most tenuous link
with his physical form. A silver cord so fine as to be almost meaningless, though necessary that his destiny might be fulfilled. Yet even this modicum of life that remained with his physical body was enough to cause a solitary tear to form in his eye and flow slowly down his sallow cheek.
Even his body was crying for his accusers.
Chapter 25
The Destiny
From a great distance, an airplane, or a passing spy satellite, he would look as though he were resting. Perhaps sunbathing? Lying spread-eagled, virtually motionless. His body was indeed relaxed, though his arms and legs had been secured to the stakes driven deep into the hot desert sand. Only at the hub of all three religions could they really count on each other’s support. After all, here, except for political struggles, most of the time they’d been cooperating with each other. Lately.
That is why it is called the Holy Land.
Only the top echelons of the Triune knew where Sacha had been taken. They couldn’t trust their own rank and file. They would never have agreed. They’d grown soft. But the men at the top knew their responsibility. They wouldn’t kill him, of course, but with God’s help, nature would take her course. For now, the important thing was that Sacha be taken out of circulation. Let things cool off a little, they said. Later... well later, we shall see, they said. God acts in mysterious ways.
Sacha- the Way Back Page 32
