He could have reflected on these questions for eons but his train of thought was interrupted by movement off in the distance. Observing it, he could see that, though it was a long way away, it was moving toward him. With its tail of light dragging behind, it appeared to be a comet or an asteroid or some such object but the front of it seemed to be moving, squirming, alive. It moved at a rapid rate and as it did, Frank could see the size and color of the meteor, and that its line would take it right by where he was floating. He could also make out a sound emanating from the object. His first assumption was that this was another peace lord coming to expedite his demise and although he never fully put his guard down, it became clearer as the object moved toward him, that this was not the case.
As it hurtled through space, Frank was shocked and bemused to see a comet the size of a five story building sail on by, and strapped to the front of it was none other than his old mate from Soncorp, Bitchiro, still screaming his lungs out. Nothing had changed in him since Frank last saw him. As he flew by, he suddenly split apart with an agonising crack of his neck and another terrifying scream which echoed across the realms. His carcass dropped by the wayside and a new Bitchiro emerged, all slimy and bloody, still strapped to the front of the comet, howling in pain and begging someone - anyone - to have mercy on him. Though he felt little for Bitchiro, this happening illuminated the questions that Frank had been asking of the omniverses.
He was so caught up in these recurring thoughts that he almost missed the arrival of another creature. This one came silently and in the guise of one in suffering. Its look was shocking to Frank and after all he’d seen, that was really something. By appearance it was an entity covered in pulsating sacks and a complex system of moist tubings. These were spliced with bone fragments and tied up with an explosive mess of sinews and tendons. Above all this sat a ball with a mesh of vagina-like coverings, not unlike the openings of giant clams. Frank was perturbed. The creature was essentially humanoid but completely inside out.
Frank remained wary. The two floated at a distance, contemplating each other. The creature said nothing and refrained from moving for the longest time. Before long, Frank felt a weight come upon his chest. It was as though a tremendous pressure was being exerted upon him. Presently he noticed that a number of local space rocks and planets and other bodies had started swirling about them. At first he thought it was just his imagination but it soon became clear. The matter began to spiral about the two of them with increasing speed and intensity. The creature, clearly now a peace lord, remained in silence but Frank was acutely aware that these cosmic events were ordained by it.
More and more heavenly bodies were drawn in, at first meteors and comets, but soon whole solar systems and even galaxies were spinning around them. It wasn’t until Frank tried to move away that he realized what was happening. He was caught in the centre of a black hole which was forming all about him. The circle of cosmic bodies grew thicker and their orbit faster. Amongst all the energy and matter and warping of time, Frank saw a familiar meteor return, with Bitchiro still pinned to it, pulled back in with his old mate still cracking and splitting and screaming and re-emerging. He was the very essence of suffering by psychosis.
The intensity of the energy was paralysing and all the while, the inside-out peace lord floated serenely, entirely in his element. Frank quickly called co-ordinates to take him away but they fell back in upon him. He called again and again with increasing desperation, but each time they returned to him. Though still increasing in chromosomes, he was unable to escape the energy of this black hole. He was dwarfed by its power. Terror seized him.
Rapidly, the matter pressed in about him with tumultuous clamor, compressing and cocooning him in a large cavern of rock. He was trapped. As the monolithic encasing sealed around him, others suddenly appeared. From nowhere, the octopus peace lord clambered over a rock and sat high and mighty above him. Rising majestically from where the mouth of the cave had been, Dyopatera ushered himself forward. It rubbed its hands together with furious disdain. From behind him, the eagle-headed peace lord strutted near and gave a piercing shrill. In front of him, never moving, floated the inside-out peace lord. Even without motion it exuded an aura of nefariousness. And finally, posturing as lord of all, the dark lord Chin Chin lowered himself on a cushion of air and stood before him.
As though heralding the performances at the end of an act, Chin Chin formally introduced each of his peace lord accomplices to Frank. “Octafacetious,” he said, twitching toward the tentacled entity. Octafacetious spat ink to the floor of the cavern. “Dyopatera I believe you already know.” Frank’s trembling grew. “Accipitridonis,” he sputtered, as the great avian peace lord fixed a steely gaze on him. “And Jonathan,” he said, leaning in the direction of the silent, inverted floater.
Frank slumped to the floor of the cave. He was beyond terror now; beyond fear. Now his only emotion was abject hopelessness. He never wanted any of this. It wasn’t his desire or his doing. He had no idea why he had become the one he now was and now he would never know. How he wished he could return to his childhood. He looked up at these powerful nemeses. They aligned in front of him, each one slowly moving toward him, dripping and drooling with hatred and abhorrence. They said nothing. They didn’t need to. The measure of Frank’s condemnation was now full and they all knew it. As he surrendered to them, a final stab of sorrow and fear overcame him. He wept.
In an instant they were granite. All of them. Frozen mounds of black quartz. And in the same instant, any semblance of evil was expelled from the cavern. Frank had no idea what to make of this. He was beyond understanding anything at this point. It was pure intrigue for him. He rose to his knees and leaned toward the figure that had been Chin Chin. He was so utterly granulitic it was as though his whole existence had never been in the first place. Frank looked from one face to another. Eyes that he could never have looked into before were now cold and impotent and lifeless. He was still bathed in sweat and his hands continued to tremble. Though the immediate threat to him was gone, he remained damaged from his battles, weary, and devoid of any passion.
A small light flickered from the mouth of the cave beyond the granite figures. Frank looked to it and it proceeded toward him. Unlike any of the presences he had recently experienced, this one was benign. Frank knew this innately. It moved slowly, effortlessly, gracefully, passing between two of the statues, and approached Frank. It was a light of untouchable serenity, beauty and power. Its presence and movements were captivating. Though it had moved nearer to Frank, it was at the same time back where it had first appeared. Yet it was a singular presence. And though it was nearer, it was no larger proportionately than it had been when more distant. It was a beautiful white light. So beautiful. And it gave off a warmth that immediately put Frank at ease.
He knew with absolute certainty who this was so his question was wholly redundant.
“Are you God?”
“I am.” The voice was kind and warm and powerful and frightening all at the same time. Though ancient, it brimmed with youthfulness; and though majestic, it carried both geniality and levity. It was, more than anything else, a voice of authority.
“Francis,” the voice spoke.
“Please call me Frank.”
“I will call you Francis.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I am calling you, Francis.”
Francis fell on his hands and knees. “Go away from me, God. I’m a filthy man.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Surely there’s someone else more suited to a calling.”
“This is the way it’s always been. I use the weak, the infirm, the poor and the filthy to do my work.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You are to go to the rejects, Francis. You are to go to the losers, the lost and the lonely; the small and the simple; the crude, the gross and the offensive.”
“But God, I have so many questions. There’s so much I need to know. So much I want to as
k you.”
“I can make time.”
“Why is there so much darkness and evil out there? If you are a good and loving God, why is there so much pain and suffering? I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it and it’s really bad.”
“It is chosen.”
“By whom?”
“By those with choice.”
“I didn’t choose for Sergeant Benson to beat me and kill those people.”
“That’s what he chose.”
“So who chose for those typhoons to come through and destroy people’s lives, or those earthquakes in the polar realms that wiped out whole communities?”
“Where I am, there is order. Where it is willed, I withdraw, and where I withdraw, disorder follows.”
“And the Wretched?”
“The surface of the Sea of the Wretched is sealed from within.”
The Great Voice continued. “Francis, how would you know good if you had never known evil? How could you know love if you’d never known hatred? How could there be peace if there had never been torment. Everything has its place and time and purpose. Even suffering.”
“But where did all the suffering come from? Didn’t you create everything?”
“There are kingdoms which are not of my Kingdom. There was once harmony in the omniverses. But some chose self over community and rebellion over harmony. So now rebellion must run its course. The foolishness of rebellion must be seen in all its folly and all its suffering. Then I will restore harmony to the omniverses again.”
“So, who’s in ultimate control then if there are other kingdoms?” This worried Francis.
“The omniverses are my chalice. There are many chalices in my sitting room and there are many rooms in my house. You know nothing, Francis, other than the knowledge I allow you to have. You have no chromosomes other than the ones I allow you to have. You have only ever visited and known the realms of rebellion. The realms in which people and entities rebel against me and against each other. But there are other realms, Francis, many other realms which are good and light and wonderful. But you cannot know them, Francis, not yet.”
“When will I get to see them?”
“I can’t say.”
“You can’t say? But you’re the Ultimate God. If you can’t say, then who can?”
“You, Francis. Some things I simply leave to others. This is one such thing. It’s up to you.”
“What do you mean?”
No answer came from the flame.
“Why won’t you answer me?” Francis paused before a flood of questions poured out. “What’s going on here? Why are you holding out on me? Why am I stuck in the dark ends of the omniverses? Why is there rebellion across them? What is my part in all this? Why have I been put through such hardship and misery?
“Enough!” The voice thundered around the stony womb. Be silent!” The command cut Francis to the heart. He stood before the flame, head bowed and eyes lowered.
“Who are you, Francis?” The great cavern had become as a cathedral and it was filled with otherness.
“Were you there when I flung the omniverses into their positions?
Do you know how many omniverses and dimensions and realms there are?
Can you travel them all and record all their secrets?
Surely you know, Francis?! Do tell me!”
Where were you when matter first formed and spirit first arose?
Were you there when I hung the lights in the Dravidious realms?
Have you even seen their splendor?
Have you considered how they were birthed and why they shine so brightly?
Were you there when I created the fierce Ramnatharal that governs the Silus dimensions?
Were you there when I breathed into the gentle Flittingmore, with its delicate wings, and set it on its perches?
Can you count the colors in its wings?
Can you fathom the structure of its patagium?
What is it that you know, Francis?
What do you know that is hidden from me?
Where has your understanding taken you?
Share with me your wisdom!
Show me the vast riches of your knowledge.”
Francis slumped before the flame. He had never felt so small and foolish in all his life.
“Do you dare question me, Francis? Are you doubting my justice? Are you putting me on trial?” Each of these questions echoed around the chamber. Not one of them fell to the ground. Francis stood still before the flame. He wouldn’t move, not even to lift his head. The voice addressed him once more, rich and kind.
“I am putting you on a pilgrimage, Francis. I’m calling you into service. I have equipped you with multiplying chromosomes for the task. You can’t earn your way from here and you can’t go it alone. You can only prove yourself to me. Your commission starts now.”
“But how can I go? I’m not …godly. I’m a filthy man, Lord. It’s all I know. I’m not worthy.”
“Take off your shirt, Francis, for you are on holy ground.” Francis obeyed without hesitation and stood before the flame.
“Be still.”
Suddenly a powerful wave of light burst from the flame and passed over Francis. It didn’t just roll over him so much as it rolled into him, caressing his heart and restoring his mind. This wave was Peace and it relieved from Francis not merely his current fears, which had been many, but any fear he had ever had. His fears were not forgotten but they were no longer of any concern to him. They had no hold of him. And in their place was appeasement. It was as though the flame had wrapped his heart in a mantle of comfort and laid him down. Francis recalled the peace he had received from the tree effigy. What he was experiencing now was the same gift, only greater. This peace felt infinite to him. It delivered him. He found his rest.
Francis continued to watch the flame. It aroused such appeal in him. Though gentle, it emitted an impregnable strength. Another wave of light burst forth from the flame. This wave was an even more brilliant white than the first, and as it rolled through Francis he began to sob uncontrollably. It brought healing and wholeness. This wave was Forgiveness. Francis saw all the filth, all the hypocrisy, all the selfishness and hatred, all the vengeance and wrongdoing, the gossip and slander, the destructiveness, the foolishness and the theft; he saw all the good that he had left undone, the kindnesses left unextended, the care denied, and with one wipe, it was all lifted from him. He was clean and whole and he barely recognized himself for it.
Though it filled him with ease, it also presented him with challenge. It wasn’t possible for him to receive this without also extending it. Memories of the Indonesian military pulling him from loved ones and gunning down innocents, Sergeant Benson’s constant torments and his killing of the Soncorp employees, those who had abused him, stolen from him, hated him and hurt him. He had to forgive them all. To a man. The wounds were so deep. He had been so wronged. But he had to let go of it. He had to forgive them, proffer them wellbeing, wish them well and pronounce blessing upon them. Francis fell prostrate on the floor. His heart was ripping in two. He then released his prisoners and in so doing freed himself. “I forgive you,” he said weeping. “I forgive you all.”
Immediately another burst of light was emitted from the flame. This wave carried a pale yellow hue and it washed over Francis and filled him with assurance. This wave was Hope. Francis had never really known this, not in its pure form, and it took his mind beyond ease to give him expectations he had never before known or considered. Old anxieties and paranoias became fading echoes which vanished into the thin air of that cavern and were replaced with the certainty of goodness to come. He savored a deep satisfaction and allowed it to consume him.
Francis was beside himself with happiness and contentment. But like a guest who enjoys the first course without realising there was a second to come, he rose as though matters were somehow concluded. The flame moved right up to him. Francis could feel the warmth of the tongues on his face. Once more a wave of light blew out from the flame, th
is time a throb of orange-tinged luminosity. As it moved over him, he broke into fits of laughter. This wave was Joy and it was like a consummation for Francis. Now free of fear, guilt and hopelessness, Francis was filled with an unspeakable joy that could only be expressed in roars of laughter. It made the smutty giggles of his Okinawan days appear as churlishness. He rolled onto his back holding his sides and let his guffaws fill the cavern and echo across the realms. His laughter rang out as though it were a victory cry and, far from exhausting him, this great laughter only served to strengthen him. He lay on his back and felt the tears of joy roll down his temples. He had never known such delight.
Yet God was not done with him. Another burst of light shot out from the flame, this time with a strong blue candescence. As it washed over Francis, he jumped to his feet and stood erect before the flame as a subject stands and awaits knighthood before a sovereign. This wave was Power and it brought to Francis an equipping and an authority of which he could only ever have dreamed. Previously, as his chromosomes multiplied, he felt powerful but only as a frog feels powerful beside a flea. Now he knew what true power looked and felt like; he understood its gravity, and though it remained largely veiled to him, he knew that his power had a purpose and his might was for a reason. He felt deeply humbled.
A sixth wave came over him from the flame. This one had a green tint. It was Providence and its swell assured him that beyond his purposes and deliverances and personal healings, he would never want. He would always be provided for in every capacity, physical and spiritual, as would those who shared in his service. Francis rejoiced in this.
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