The Harvest

by John David Krygelski

  Mario’s eyes continued to bore into the eyes of his most ashamed and nervous bishop. As the last words were spoken, the bishop began to sob, immediately attracting the attention of the others around the table. While the others looked upon the man, Mario said, “Richard, as I stand before you, I feel nothing. There is no contempt, no anger, no disgust. I feel nothing because I know with absolute certainty that Elohim has peered deep within you, plumbed the very depths of your heart and soul, and judged you. You will live out the remaining days of your life knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that He has reserved a very special punishment for you, a punishment which will last an eternity.” The defeated bishop did not look down. He continued to allow Bonavente to pierce into his soul through his eyes, as the words impacted like a sledgehammer.

  The Cardinal finally released him from his stare and looked around the table. “That is what is in store for not only one man, but for any others within our Church who have fallen, who have decided that their sacred vows made directly to God, our Father, meant nothing.”

  Turning back to the silently crying bishop, Bonavente said, “Richard, leave us.”

  As the shattered man slowly and unsteadily rose from his chair, Mario said to the group, “And any others? Any among you who now know there are no secrets, only truth?”

  Mario saw that there were many whose eyes remained steady and clear, whose posture was held erect. This made him happy and proud. As the denounced bishop slowly walked from the meeting room, three others rose without comment and followed him out. There was little surprise in the faces of the others.

  After the massive doors closed behind the four who departed, Mario continued, “I only have one other comment to make before we leave this most painful topic. All of you must search your own hearts, minds, and souls, looking for knowledge or suspicion which you denied. The betrayal of our Lord, our Church, and our parishioners over the years has not happened without some of us suspecting the truth. For those who suspected and did nothing, do not be satisfied with the inevitability of punishment for those who offended. Your silence allowed for there to be more victims than would have been exploited had you spoken.”

  With the import of his last words being absorbed, Mario saw some of the remaining bishops lose a bit of their self-assuredness, some of their pride. “We are all blessed by the privilege of being judged by a forgiving God. The time for confession is now. The time to end the behaviors and the patterns of denial and obfuscation is today. The time is this moment, the time to clear the slate and live each second of the rest of your lives in a fashion which will make you proud to someday stand before Him and receive His judgment.”

  Smiling at last, Mario said, “We must begin. We all have much work to do.”

  א

  As the morning line of sunrise continued its traversal around the Earth – the fields, villages, towns, and cities were each seasoned with new arrivals, new yet old. For this day saw the return of the Chosen once passed and now reborn. Some re-embodied souls had departed but days, weeks, or only a few years before. Others, who now returned, came back to touch a soil they had not felt in hundreds or thousands of years.

  They all returned to the bodies they had once possessed, yet not the bodies as they had been on the day of their deaths. They were now restored to their prime or, for some, the prime which they had been denied through the cruelty of injury, violence, or disease. The ancient ones returned to a world absent of a loved one or even an acquaintance among the living. Others, more recently departed, saw this day as a time for reunion – a chance to see and hold those they left behind, a chance to spend a few more hours basking in a love they had sorely missed and offering the same joy to those who mourned their loss.

  It was a time for reconnection and reconciliation, a time for clarification, a time for loved ones to speak words which were intended and felt but never spoken while they lived. Some of the reunions were untainted bliss. Others were bittersweet because the departed were to depart yet again, and the still-living subjects of their love did not bear the holy mark and were destined to remain behind.

  Those who returned did not bring with them secrets from beyond for they had none to bring. In the time since their deaths, they had been bound to the Earth. Some had borrowed a glimpse of the world through the eyes of the living, but the majority had merely waited for this day. It was a wait without impatience, for they discovered that without a body – a body requiring food, sleep, and stimulation, a body which aged as years passed, a body tuned to the rhythms of the Earth – time meant nothing.

  It was a day for sharing only answers taken to the grave, for explaining mysteries they had left unsolved, and for living men and women, who only held childhood memories, to interact as adults with the parents of their parents. It was a gift from God, an added reward to both those who had waited and those who were still alive. It was a reminder of the tapestry of life, the intricate weaving of threads which had produced the individuals as they were, as well as their connection to all others who came before.

  As mankind mingled with its own roots under the shell of the gray sky that day, a reaffirmation of history, an internalization of the fact that each person was but an extension of the past, swept across every continent like a global breeze, warming everyone it touched. This reminder caused a transcendence, a rising above the daily and the mundane, offering a perspective long absent. For those who would awake the next morning in their homes, in their own beds, they would find that they had changed. No longer would they be cursed by the petty or distracted by the superficial, for they would have learned that there was a larger scheme, a grander scope for their existence than they had ever dreamed. The first time for many, they would grasp as a reality the temporary nature of their stay on Earth, followed by the potential for an eternity beyond. The trivial and the temporal, long granted far too much import in their daily lives, would be once again appropriately relegated.

  Word of this miraculous return spread among the living as would a wildfire, fueled by the electronic dissemination of the news, made chaotic by the myriad uncertainties. A great number of those alive, learning of the miracle, were instantly filled with the hope of once again seeing a love, long lost. Their urgency sparked a frenzied search, yet they knew not where to look. They were aware that only the Chosen were to return this day. Because of their love or because of their capacity for denial, they believed that their own beloveds would be among this group. For too great a portion of the multitudes, this remarkable day would bring only frustration and a renewed sense of loss and sorrow, brought on by the inescapable conclusion that not only did they not bear the mark, their departed loved ones were also not among the Chosen.

  It was a day of emotions ranging from profound disappointment to unbridled joyousness as great minds and great leaders of history, who were among the Chosen, returned. Unencumbered by the ability or the urge to seek out friends or family long ago departed, these men and women – who, in their lifetimes, had changed the world, founded powerful countries, created philosophies, or initiated disciplines – seized the opportunity to view the fruits of their efforts.

  For a few, they discovered that an immense and stalwart tree had grown from their seeds, planted and nurtured numerous years ago. For a myriad of others, the evolution of their thoughts, words, writings, and deeds had produced something unrecognizable – a grotesque subversion of their ideal. It was a bitter irony for them to find that their own words, spoken or written many years before, had been twisted in support of ideas, concepts, rules, or laws which were anathema to the archetype. For them, it was to be a day of setting right the wrong, as they spent the precious hours seeking out the current practitioners or obtaining a forum from which they could re-explain the original intent and disavow the appalling reinterpretations. With the commotion of distractions permeating this day, touching nearly every living person on Earth, they were to find their exhortations falling upon deaf ears. The eager media, enthralled with the munificence of opportunities, dut
ifully recorded the rantings of Jefferson and Franklin, Gandhi and Lao Tzu, and all of the others. There would be time enough to listen when this day had passed, when the departure was complete.

  As many of the living and all of the returned immersed themselves in a revelry of discourse, interaction, and embrace, a darker force coalesced in the hidden recesses of the community of mankind. The dense, gray blanket surrounding the planet seemed to serve as a metaphor for a festering evil, as it honed its stratagem and prepared for the eruption of violent devastation that was to be its gift, wrapped in paper and tied with a bow, for this farewell event.

  As was so often the case on Earth, the evil hearts could not suffer the happiness within others. Each smile or laugh, and all of the tears of gladness shed, screamed out a demand for opposition and eradication. Every moment of happiness triggered the urge to expunge it, then to replace it with sorrow, guilt, fear, or dread. Love or friendship would need to be surgically removed, anger or hatred transplanted in its stead. Tranquility would always be shattered by a cacophony of noxiousness, meditation and introspection wiped away by cloying distraction, hopefulness displaced by despair, optimism supplanted by depression, peace and harmony superseded by strife. It was the destiny of the good to build, the obsession of the evil to tear down. On this day of renewal, this time of a rebirth of faith, no positive influence could go unchallenged.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Elohim left his room and walked the corridors until reaching an exit. The guards assigned to protect him did not notice as he walked past. The cameras dedicated to observing his every move did not register the excursion. Leaving the State building, he walked unrecognized and unfettered among the throngs who filled the sidewalks and streets of Washington, D.C., as he made a journey to the Potomac. His countenance was not clouded by the impending turmoil, nor was it brightened by the flood of love coming to him from all corners; it solely reflected the deepness of his thoughts, the gravity of his contemplation.

  Reaching the river’s edge, bounded by concrete instead of soil, he bent and dipped his fingers into the cool water, feeling the energy of the Earth. Stooped at the man-made bank, apparently lost in thought, he did not acknowledge the phenomenon as the air about him began to shimmer and sparkle, the illumination swirling and growing in intensity until he occupied the epicenter of an island of pure white light. All of the physical objects around Elohim were washed of their color, overwhelmed by the brilliance.

  At the moment when the whirlpool of light seemed to match the radiance of the sun, Elohim lifted his fingers from the water and stood to face those around him. Standing closest was Michael the Archangel. The intense blue of his eyes, more than a match for the light which surrounded them like a halo, was the only color visible. The whiteness gradually subsided, returning the river bank to a normal state.

  “The time for our journey is near,” said Elohim.

  “It is,” acknowledged Michael.

  “He wishes to somehow prevent us. I can feel it.”

  “I know.”

  “But we do not know his plan.”

  “Over the centuries he has learned quite well how to conceal his intent from You.”

  “From us all.”

  Elohim looked down, overcome by sadness. “How did this come to be?” he asked Michael.

  “Lucifer has been both the corruptor and the corrupted. Before our brother encountered man, he knew no jealousy, no envy, anger, or hatred. Before sharing the first heart and mind, he understood the reasons for his lot. It was only through the lens of man’s perspective that he began to feel wronged. It was that which led him to resentment, a path inevitably leading him to where he is today.”

  “The heart of man is truly a double-edged sword,” said Elohim, eyes remaining downcast, “capable of the most magnificent love as well as the most malignant hate.”

  Michael, feeling sorrow for his father, replied, “The souls You place within each and all of them, from the moment of birth, are slaves to their whims.”

  Closing his eyes and exhaling slowly, Elohim said, “What a price we pay.”

  “And what a reward we may reap,” reminded Michael. “The joining of the eternal soul with the living body has been Your greatest miracle.”

  “And my most horrendous mistake.”

  “Mistake, my Father?” said Michael, concerned. “Would You sacrifice one of the Chosen in exchange for banishing a thousand of the others?”

  Elohim, at last, looked up, staring into Michael’s eyes. The angel could see the spark of cheer as his father recalled each of his Chosen.

  “You are right. I would not.”

  Reaching up, Elohim gripped the shoulders of Michael, feeling his strength. All of the other angels gathered around, each reaching out, each touching, until all were joined together in this most divine contact. Every one of Elohim’s first children shared in his love, his power, and his grace. After minutes, they all released their grips and lowered their arms.

  “We must not allow him to stop us this day.”

  “I know,” answered Michael, speaking for all of his brothers. “But he is stronger than all of us. For these past thousands of years we have given so much, and he has taken so much. His strength has multiplied as ours has weakened.”

  “We must find a way.”

  א

  The object of their dread, within his host, sat motionless in darkness, engorging himself with the myriad of thoughts, feelings, and sensations of his subjects, those who had allowed or, indeed, invited him in. He closed his eyes, insatiably drinking in the flood. If the torrent which flowed through him had a color, it would be the blackness of pitch. If it had a texture, it would be the viscosity of molasses. If it had an odor, it would be the stench of rot and death, mixed with the acrid bitterness of bile and sulfur. The essence of this raging river of input was uncontaminated by the slightest trace of beauty, of contentment, of any positive emotion.

  Despite the enormity of the tidal wave he received, his furor grew as even the smallest contribution to the stream was removed, sidetracked by the blandishments of Elohim or his faithful. Lucifer despised his father and abhorred his never-ending seduction of mankind. His unabated rage was exacerbated by frustration, the frustration born of ignorance, for Lucifer did not know where his father was, nor did he know his plan.

  His ability to extend the tendrils of his being into a vast segment of the multitudes allowed him to feel all that was sensed by each, as if it were happening to him. It did not permit him to differentiate the individual sources. Nor did it allow Lucifer to obtain the knowledge each person under his sway possessed. Although connected to millions of eyes, he, in effect, could not see through them. And he, in effect, could not hear through the plentitude of ears. For the input he derived was blended and merged in the channels and rivers which led back to him, intoxicating him with its intensity and mystifying him with its details lost. It was the cacophony of a billion voices all speaking at once, not in the uniformity of a choir, but in the chaotic babble of life, producing only a roar for his ears to hear.

  The incessant barrage of sensation was his addiction. Maintaining it, increasing it, magnifying it had become his life’s work and his obsession. No amount was ever enough. Through the ages he had made two discoveries. His first discovery was that the more intense the life experiences of his network, the more vibrant was the flow. A calm, tranquil life lived by those supplying him was not nearly as satisfying as a life of intensity, strife, and challenge. The second discovery was that he could increase the volume by increasing the number to which he was connected. Without Elohim’s gift for seeing all, Lucifer discovered, developed, and nurtured an alternate means for finding those willing to allow him entrance.

  It was a long, tedious process, beginning as direct contact with a few. Knowing Elohim would steal them away if they were to his liking, Lucifer had no choice but to lead them down a different path or lose them forever. His first efforts were clumsy and obvious. So overwhelmed by the sensori
al gifts which accompanied being human, his behavior had been anything but discreet. Those first possessions, quickly noticed by others, were squelched violently as the loved ones of the possessed sought the aid of priests who cast him out.

  Lucifer soon learned the value of discretion, as well as discovering his ability to connect with additional souls. It was with this new discovery that his influence upon the world began to multiply exponentially. What first began as a sampling, a tasting of what each individual had to offer, suddenly became a feast, an embarrassment of riches.

  Other than seizing a person for himself, his only connection with mankind was through souls, those foul little creations of his father. Initially, his only use for the souls was as a conduit to men and women, as a means to usurp the product of their existence. Once their hosts died, he had little use for the disenfranchised entities.

  However, he soon discovered that each stranded soul, having no hope to ever join the father, remained attached to him – attached but with nothing to offer. As time passed, more of these stranded souls were created. For Lucifer, it was delicious irony. The father created the souls and sent them to Earth to reside within man, with the purpose that this new, symbiotic form would rejoin him. Yet, if they strayed, if they did not live up to his arbitrary standards, he banished them to an eternity of emptiness, as he had banished Lucifer. He first addicted them to the connection with man, then cut them off and allowed them to drift, mindlessly, senselessly, when the body died. Formerly one-half of a whole, they were now drifting and severed entities, discarded by the one who professed to love them, left with only an unquenchable thirst for what they had lost.