(FAX TRANSMISSION CONTINUED)
A wave of extreme pain gripped Simon as he zoomed in on Greg Riley...panting in panic...hiding behind a five foot high dry stone wall.
Panic so extreme, Greg's long dark wavy hair hung lank with dripping sweat.
It looked like he'd just emerged from a thunderstorm.
Simon soon realised that there was more than one thing wrong. Greg wasn't spraying sweat because he'd lost his glasses. His heart spluttered like a hand clacker.
Greg could see that between the iggly-piggly wall and the cool indifferent green green forest...was a gaping...terrible clearing. Terrible because the last condition Greg needed right now was open space. Unavoidable, this clearing spelt it out clearly...then sloped steeply to an abrupt end. Greg allowed his eyes to glide above the shimmering tree canopy...and out to the jeering agitated ocean. Simon could sense the body weight of Greg's feeling of imminent doom.
`If I can get into those woods...but...there's no way except to make a frantic dash across the clearing...and that could be it! My last gamble! I mustn't think...like this. No, of course I'll get to the woods. Yes...and I know a good hiding spot inside a huge bramble bush. I'll be fine there till dark...then...I'll get down to the cove...find a skiff...and get to Dawlish and...disappear.
Disappear. Suddenly the panic went up a gear. It was not far from being a full moon. It wouldn't get dark...unless it clouded over...and that seemed extremely unlikely. It was a very, very hot August evening...and the sky a sneering blue entrance to hell. Greg's desperate state of mind had eroded all sense of realistic judgement. Slowly it dawned on him that he wasn't in any way prepared for an open-boat sea voyage. All he was wearing was a white cotton shirt and thin summer slacks. Even so there seemed to be no choice.
He wouldn't actually die of cold. Whereas he knew if they found him he was dead. No doubt. `No one who knows me has ever thought I was a paragon of sound judgement. I've always been ridiculously reckless.' Of course his ever growing band of faithful readers adored his well cultivated image. It seemed to the conned-senses `mind', that Greg Riley's recklessness sprang from a noble, fearless generous heart.
Why shouldn't they believe that? The novelist had inculcated this vain notion through novel after novel. Every Riley hero had always risked everything in order to stay true to love...in whatever form the Goddess presented herself. And every novel is centred on the adventures of a Simple Simon character...and how he deals with Clever Dick and the rest of `The Mob'. `So I'm a Greg Riley projection', thought Simon...from his immobile levitated position.
`Without my glasses everything close up is blur…blur…blur. Thank the Lord I've got good long sight...or I'd be finished. When I run for it I'll keep my eyes on the opening into the woods.' Greg forced himself to breathe in deeply...trying to ready himself for his desperate dash for freedom. He held his breath...hoping it would calm down his palpitating heart. His ego wanted to go over the recent events...but Riley resisted the magnetic pull...knowing it would only lead to cancerous doubt...but he couldn't stop another wave of leg-shaking panic as he...clambered over the wall and ran.
Simon then saw the freaked-out popular occult writer racing across the clearing...but with two hundred yards to get to the forest edge...Riley suddenly slipped...and as he almost regained his balance..."There he is!" came a loud female dooming shout...followed by CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Riley careered to a sprawling tumbling mess of a previous life...now totally torpedoed.
"The fucking filthy bastards" Riley mumbled...writhing on his back...oblivious of the impersonal pulsing blue arching infinity. The pain only really hurt for a brief second...then surprisingly...gave way to an indescribable euphoria. He was amazed at how suddenly...every jot of his strength...simply went. Staring into the vastness...he could dimly hear voices and the thumping of running feet.
He felt like he was three or four...falling off his swing in the garden with the blackcurrant and gooseberry bushes. He was back in that un-planned moment...stunned on the grass...with the old green seat aimlessly swaying...and again the vast sky presented an engulfing question. What was it asking him? What did it want of him? Why was it frightening him? But suddenly it became obvious. It was feeding off him. Yes, it was going to swallow him up. He was being reduced to nothing by the impersonal vastness. "Mummy! Mummy! MUMMY!"
As Riley opened his gob to suck from the lowering cosmic breast...blood flopped out...pumped by each faltering heart thump. As the warm liquid trickled down his neck , Riley heard Sarah scream, "He's not bloody dead...YET!"
Greg tried to focus on the icy speaker...but as he tried to move his head...a fraction...a deafening GONG exploded and reverberated on and on and on
"Please, dear Lord," he begged. "Please grab me from this nightmare." Immediately clarity took total control. "Into thy hands...and not theirs...I command my Spirit...mind and soul." And Greg Riley was OUT...OUT and walking toward the TRUTH…Towards HIM...the BEING OF LIGHT……and then walking through what looked like to Simon a waxworks museum.
Each exhibit was a significant episode in Greg's life. Greg's? Mine!? I see...I was Greg Riley. This was my death...and we're now going into the transition period...where `caterpillar-Riley' emerges as the butterfly Simon. ME!
Simon saw that each of the waxwork tableaux was in fact designed by his own spirit to give him the opportunity to choose between love and power. And as Greg passed through each of his life's experiences, Simon could see Greg becoming `darker' and 'darker'. Every time, Riley went for strengthening his connection to those who had worldly power...and at the same time he continued cultivating the image of a person who had made the opposite choice.
Riley always chose what strengthened his sense of being self-important...but being a Clever Dick...he knew how to look like one who was a humble pilgrim of the Truth! One who was walking the path laid out for him by The Spirit. Perpetually betraying himself...he wrote stories about those who never succumbed to the whirld's temptations.
As Riley came closer and closer...the ugly account of his actual existence seemed to mould his despicable features. Rat-like with darting mean cold eyes. Sly...slippery...never still. The lips grey...stiff...controlled...and cruel. A calculating face dedicated to self-adulation. The whole face an attempt to mask a convulsive urge for revenge. A revenge against his own essence...his own soul. Simon knew without doubt, that as Riley, he had completely wasted his whole life. He was nothing but a cheap fraud.
Sarah Jenkins, and the others who stood over Riley, felt neither shame nor pity to have curtailed his evil trajectory. In fact they were thoroughly enjoying seeing the end. Perhaps it was an ugly satisfaction, but it was the satisfaction of seeing a writhing Hitler being tortured by his Nemesis. But it was not all over. A peculiar light suddenly swept over the doomed creature.
"He's hanging on...the BASTARD!"
Who cares who said it! Riley knew there was no way he could ever win another argument. Through the clotting blood fogging his eyes...he could vaguely make out the blurred figures of his so called `friends'. As the darkness of the fading sky deepened an octave...the consoling euphoria evaporated. Total fear possessed perception. "Lord...Lord Jesus Christos...have mercy on me a ..." BANG! Death's gong GONGED on and on and on and on! The old anchorite repeated the same sounds over and over and over and over and over and over
As Riley's horrible image vanished, Simon flashed on his spiritual C.V. When he was Greg Riley in the after-death realm...he saw that he begged with all his soul to be given another chance to transform his twisted mean essence. Eventually...this genuine desire to transform his character...attracted some spiritual support. In fact two spiritually evolved beings said they would attempt to guide him from the deathless dimension when Simon, (Riley), reincarnated on Earth. But, they explained, the old character-tendencies he had created through his previous incarnations...would act as a resistance to both their guidance and his own resolve to serve others instead of himself.
Over and over they patiently explained, he must never act out the old tendencies. They told him there were other souls on Earth who they would guide him to meet. Finally they told him his future mission had virtue...but little strength, whereas his old karmic self had no virtue but a massive momentum.
So, very, very gradually...whilst still in the spirit world...he had to work on himself. This entailed a struggle to strengthen and orient his will to be of service to the positive life current...the dimension of learning...the development of love.
Eventually, it seemed he was ready to serve the Earth Goddess in her work of helping beings develop their true ego...their soul-seed. To this end, his spiritual benefactors in that spirit realm, energised his future projection...and immediately he felt the overwhelming magnetic pull...to incarnate and fulfil his new dream. His dream of being kind...and generous.
Suddenly he was shocked out of his wits...as he again saw the reflection of the unmistakable horrible mean features of his old self-made character. For a moment he imagined he was utterly doomed...and he'd be fixed like that for ever.
Yes, he immediately doubted all he'd just been through in the spiritual dimension...and thought he'd merely turned his attention away from the moment of Truth for a while...but now was again being forced to see the reality of who he was.
It was plain to see that his life had been an articulation of total selfishness...and NOW his future would be made out of this horrible condition. It was the only fate available to him. Only beings as ugly as himself...as hypocritical as himself...would ever come anywhere near him. What demonic realm was he heading for? " Lord! Lord!," he screamed, is there no alternative to what I've created? How can this essence ever change? How can I avoid living out its inclinations...its sordid desires?"
"Wake up...stupid! Remember where you've just been. Remember what you planned to do. This image of you...represents the characteristic of the material...out of which you must form your new incarnation. This is the base material...out of which it is possible to create a golden thread."
Simon, the incarnation of Greg Riley, remembered the very first time in this present lifetime...when a clear choice was presented to him...to either act out his horrible mean essence...or put into operation the intention he had formed in the Spirit realm.
He must have been about seven at the time. The occasion was the junior school sports day. He had felt incredibly anxious...sweating buckets...hurrying rather than running. In the maddening heat, the swirl of spectators blurred into a menacing vast mouth. He was so scared he didn't think he'd make it...yet he was desperate to win this egg and spoon race...and he was actually just in the lead...with twenty yards to go...when trying to run he tripped! Splat!
When he finally got to his feet...he hesitated to pick up the hard-boiled egg. Feeling shattered he saw Sarah Jenkins...the winner...bathed in glory. Immediately he was tempted to pretend he didn't care that he'd completely failed. But actually...he stood rooted to the spot and cried his heart out. Thank God! Thank God my soul broke through the Riley pride. Simon could re-feel that old event. It was a crucial point, dispelling the lie that he was doomed to live within that mould.
Then that miraculous moment when Sarah Jenkins...her long, loose jet black hair shifting in the breeze...and her pure white ankle socks emphasising her shapely sun tanned calves...came over to the crumpled little Simon...and offered him a taste of her winnings...a big box of liquorice allsorts.
It was a truly brilliant moment. He fell madly in love with her. Her sweet voice intoxicated him...especially when she sang `we will rock you, rock you, rock you'. In fact, it seemed, looking at it now, that he had come close to fainting. Delirious with bliss, in the woods near Alcon Cove, they had mingled their blood whilst sucking each other's bottom lip. God, was that passionate?
Sarah! O Sarah! Simon shuddered. To think that that was Sarah's voice? That she was one of that sinister group who had murdered Greg Riley…ME! That my only real love...slayed me!...And WHY! Was it because I pretended to be who I wasn't? Pretended to know what I didn't. Did Sarah Jenkins and the rest of her fellow occultists...murder me because they were convinced I had become an agent for the disguised negative forces from Orion?
It seems that Sarah and her admirers, had come to believe that the Orion Crusaders had provided Riley with his obscure information...and thus provided the inspiration for his clever mind-bending novels. That's not to say that Riley himself wasn't disturbed by the Orion influence in his work. It was just that he couldn't resist spectacular routes through the dimension of imagination. The Orion psychic position in mental space...gave him...distance. Distance from the fate of ordinary mortals.
Riley fell for exotic exits...every time...always leading him into labyrinths of self-justified arrogance...always ignoring the advice still kindly offered by Sarah. Riley just couldn't stop promoting himself as the cult figure with his hot sexy fore finger on the occult pulse. Using the negative powers he'd been taught how to absorb, circulate and direct...he attacked every public figure and organization where he detected signs of hypocrisy.
How naive he'd been to believe that he could have deceived his Anchorite teachers. How damming that he should have tried. I mean...what had he imagined he was doing...engrossed in perpetuating a whirld of lies? Lies made to appear as important unveilings. He had first grabbed the intellectual limelight in the twenties when he attacked the Roman Catholic and Anglican Churches for not revealing the truth about Lucifer's mission to humanity.
In Riley's first major occult-based novel "The Garden of Lights"...Lucifer confides to a fellow angel that he, Lucifer, believes God the father is actually a gangster. Lucifer explains that he came to this conclusion after meeting The Mother.
Lucifer's angelic listener is totally derailed. He had never heard before any mention of a mother!!!. This...Lucifer elaborately explains...is because God the gangster...murdered her...and kept her ghost exiled...so that none of her children, (all of the angels) would ever discover the truth of their origins...or the true character of their father. Lucifer went on to say that he had searched and searched for The Mother...and had eventually discovered her ghost in the Silent, Silver Apple Orchard.
She explained to Lucifer that she was locked in the past and she could only re-enter
life through the majority of her angelic children desiring her return. In other words
she needed a vast amount of LOVE. Despite what had been done to her by the father, she was in no way bitter or resentful. In fact her ghost seemed very peaceful. She told Lucifer that the peace he felt was the consequence of his own awareness of the real beauty of life.
Despite the atmosphere of wonderful peace, The Mother revealed to Lucifer the father's fall into a life of perversity and crime. The fall began when the father started taking an unhealthy interest in the sex life of human beings. According to The Mother, he soon became a voyeuristic pervert secretly peeping on people screwing. Her death was the consequence of The Mother warning a couple that they were being sucked out by the father. He not only murdered The Mother...but the couple and all whom they had told. Where their ghosts were she had no idea...but she went on to say that she was pretty sure that the father had developed a taste for burnt flesh and believed that he had probably murdered millions by now!!!
Of course, Lucifer--not as bright as we have been led to believe-- assumes that his angelic `friend' is totally convinced by Lucifer's peculiar account. In fact, more outraged than freaked out, the obedient angel reports Lucifer to the Palace goody-goody eunuchs.
Luckily for Lucifer he got the whiff just in time...and made himself scarce...and pretty much out of reach...by seizing the golden opportunity of incarnating on Earth as Jesus of Nazareth. And as all honest clairvoyant readers of Greg Riley's novels know, Lucifer/Jesus soon began his task of attempting to liberate simple honest souls from the grip of the father's Mafia empire. Time after time, Jesus demonstrated the direct way of stepping out of the father's false mental whirld. But as Riley makes it very, very clear, very, very few wanted to junk their yuk. Riley in is wrath, makes the reader feel that he or she is also one of the junkies hooked on mafia mental-prison-routine.
So, even though His attempts to wake up the Middle-East were not a raging success, His efforts were still much too much for the father! No sooner the news got back to the palace...the boss gave the immediate order for the chop. But...the ghost of our murdered Mother managed to contact Jesus and so warned him of the father's plans.
Then, after much deliberation in Mary Magdalene's garden, Jesus hit on a fantastic strategy to undermine the father's criminal grip on life. He decided He would allow himself to be the canvas on which the terrible, monstrous character of the father would be forever revealed...until that certain day when the father would finally beg for forgiveness from humanity.
So, before his planned `betrayal' and cosmic acupuncture on the cross, Lucifer/Jesus explained to his pretty confused, slightly enlightened mates, His reason for deciding to go through the ordeal they would soon witness.
He said that unless they saw for themselves the ugly, perverted ways of the father, they would never be convinced enough to enlighten the world. He clearly warned them that whoever was brave enough to do the same as Him and spill the beans, would almost certainly suffer the same fate as he was about to go through. He said he didn't expect many would follow him, but those who did could join him and The Mother in helping to create a new fabulous existence. A brand new ever fresh existence in which only positive, creative souls would be allowed to live.
Are you surprised to hear that the novel precipitated an insane uproar throughout the English speaking whirld, which led Greg Riley to write `Against the Odds'...a series of scatological essays attacking both the academic and religious fraternities? It was in 1943 that he arranged to get this work published privately; a necessary manoeuvre as he was still in prison at that time for being a conscientious objector. (Riley, anticipating arrest, had ridiculed the authorities by riding to the prison gates on his battered two-speed Dawes bicycle. Egged on by thousands of his cheering fans...he rode bolt upright with both arms thrust upwards in a show of celebration).
These essays established his reputation as an anti-establishment...anti-war intellectual to the point that he became a cult hero...a perspicacious magician...who could see through the Establishment's camouflage. Naturally, the Church....Academia...and Whitehall...all...avidly wished to eliminate this evil...genius.
In the first essay " Organised Poison", Riley blew up the foundations on which the idiotic scientific community took its stand:- the sterile Big Bang Theory. In the opening sentence Riley took the creeps by the scruff of their necks and shook the shit out of them. "The Big Bang", he wrote, "did not signal the beginning of our universe, but the end of a perverse whirld devoted to anti-spiritual single-minded atheistic materialism."
If Simon had ever felt he possessed an element of originality...it was not now. He felt sapped of self. It was now clear that his mind-set had been shaped by Riley. No wonder Arnold didn't want to know. His mind was old...stale. And it was too late. He was being forced to swallow a cosmology he could do without.
Riley spared no detail in elaborating the way the creator of the now exploded whirld...had never really entered into the whirld he had created. Harry Manic was the name Riley gave to this loveless god. Manic's method of control was to remain in time-space...even after he'd created his space-time universe. Being invisible...(out of phase)...to his flesh and blood creatures...he was able to play (disgusting) tricks on them.
According to Riley...the only purpose for that now non-existent universe was KICKS! People were made for kicks. And not a single person understood his mad creator's purpose...and of course, no one knew the deep shit Harry was in...as a consequence of denying the existence of Central Intelligence...who in the first place...had granted him the permission to create his whirld.
Harry's yardstick to every one of his creatures was `obey...or vanish!' But of course, this heavy yardstick began to weigh Harry down. Even so...he refused request after request from Central Intelligence...for permission to enter Harry's space and inspect his set up. He not only refused to comply...but he created condensed energy barriers around his universe...which of course, cut him off from his needed life-energy source.
Simon knew what was coming. Harry compressed and compressed and compressed his universe...till it was reduced to a single molecule of space-time...which he split with one mighty blow of his time-space axe. BANG! Trillions upon trillions upon trillions of terrified...hate-filled particles of revenge...zinged towards our eternal dimension of love-consciousness. " Yes", wrote Riley, "Love has been invaded by hate...by the scattered fruit of Harry Manic's demonic strategy."
As usual, Central Intelligence was slow to analyse the situation correctly. They took the Big Bang to be nothing more than Harry's raspberry reply to their repeated requests for transparency. So myriads of conscious souls were suddenly attacked by the sudden onslaught of these raging particles of intense hatred. (Today these poisonous particles are called `bad thoughts' or even just `thoughts').
Anyway the poor victims of this hostile force thought they should defend themselves by walling themselves off...with condensed light! And that was exactly what Harry had had in mind. These walled off souls became incapable of seeing what was going on. Grouping together to ward off the hellish feeling of ultimate isolating coldness...these self-blinded beings, crushed themselves together to form the suns and planets...exactly according to the blueprint of the old...now exploded...Harry Manic universe.
But...Riley maintained...not every soul followed the herd and lost its connection to Central Intelligence. A few, remaining open to the true life current, developed enough strength to move beyond the gravity exerted by the mass.
Eventually, Central Intelligence decided that the only way to deal with the Harry Manic Virus, was to bathe it in radiant love. This meant that the souls who remained free and healthy...were asked to perform the duty of allowing viral thought forms to pass freely through their cleansing auras. Each soul who agreed to do this work of depolarizing the hate filled thoughts...became a cell in the liver of Central Intelligence. How many times a thought had to pass through a conscious soul before it became neutral...depended not only on the virility of the thought...but also of course, on the quality and strength of the conscious soul's astral body.
Riley then emphasised that at the present there were only a very ,very few conscious souls on Earth...who were prepared to carry out the work required by Central Intelligence. Of these few...there wasn't a single priest...vicar...philosopher...or scientist amongst them. Almost everyone on Earth allowed these Harry Manic thought particles to take up lodging in their minds. And why? Because every sucker believes that these extremely poisonous particles can supply valuable information!
"You idiots", wrote Greg Riley, "Why won't you grasp that you are being used to construct Harry Manic's `new' prison-universe out of your indestructible eternal consciousness? You think that because the term `virus' is used in the practise of medicine you understand what it is. The medical term `virus' deflects people from finding out what is the most potent virus attacking human life. That virus is the foundation of spiritual negativity. It is a negativity disguised as science, religion, education, technology, economics, statistics, politics and...common sense!
No one sees that their minds are being used as factories to produce more strains of fear-filled virus. Instead, these de-humanised robots daily reward each other for being dead...tools."
Riley in his summing up of "Against The Odds" states that human consciousness is being used by Harry Manic to reform his old universe out of a different SUBSTANCE. The substance of eternal love. He said it was not that hard to grasp Harry's aim. Just like a sculptor first makes a form out of clay in order to later caste it in gold or bronze.
At this point, Simon started wondering whether Riley really was Simon's last incarnation. Immediately, it dawned that it was Harry Manic who tempted Lucifer to rebel against the Father...which precipitated the Father's fall...into gangsterism. Nowadays of course, the Church is so out of touch with spiritual reality...they lump Lucifer and Ahriman together and call it Satan. And who but Harry Manic is behind this theological absurdity?
It was now clear to Simon that Ahriman had successfully corrupted both Riley and Sarah's group of sorcerers. It was Ahriman operating in negative time-space...who had encouraged Riley into his arrogant, outlandish behaviour. Yes, it was definitely Harry Manic who had persuaded Riley that writing about the real universe of love...was the same as living in it.
Harry had persuaded Greg against actually serving others. Instead, the gullible novelist had swallowed the bait that his real function was to be an exciting icon of freedom in a whirld of uniformity. His job to inspire worship not of petty gods...but of real fearless souls. Sarah Jenkins...Riley's one and only real love...had fallen for the same cheap trick. She and her group had been led by Harry to believe that liquidating Greg would benefit the positive universe. Both of these...?...old lovers...had been tricked into believing that it's possible to project truths from a self-righteous position.
Greg Riley...on the way to becoming Simon...had been more than lucky that he hadn't ended up in negative time-space. Greg was allowed to move on because the Master of Cruelty and Guile believed he could make further use of his talent. Harry considered that Greg had done a good job in making it seem that intelligence was beyond the reach of Mr Bloggs. All Riley's heroes die standing up for Truth...meaning Truth is not livable. That's the submerged message.
So despite the fact that Greg really did believe in the true universe of love...Harry tricked him to transmit `you've got to lie to survive'. Yes, Greg had believed in real love...but he'd always thought that he was too complicated to demonstrate his conviction.
The truth was that all his life he'd yearned to be Simple Simon...and although he'd made a good start in that direction whilst under His Majesty's `care'...it wasn't until the Home Office let him out a few weeks before the war ended that he achieved his goal...beneath the hail of Sarah's bullets! For who, but Simple Simon, would be concerned with the number...of shots?
Five. A las cinco de la tarde. Yes, he got five in the afternoon. Five wounds in the afternoon. But there was doubt. It was a staccato spray. It could have been four...or six...or even seven. No...it was five. A cinco de la tarde. The rest was death and death alone. A cinco de la tarde. Yes, death laid eggs in the wound...at five in the afternoon. Yes bones and flutes are ringing in my ears. Five! Five! Five! Five! Five! A cinco de la tarde!
So, pretending Greg had been a Nazi collaborator, Sarah Jenkins had fired up the home guard...three of whom were members of her occult group...to hound Riley...and murder him. But of course the khaki uniformed group felt no shame as they stood leering over the sprawled mess of a man. No, as they pointed their six rifles at his head Sarah noticed he was still...ticking. (It was at this moment that Greg entered the reality of that old frail anchorite monk. It was that story, that image, that creation of Greg's which saved Simon's soul...from the desire for revenge...and gave him the strength to open an eyelid...and focus on Sarah's deathly white...marvellous face...and...blow her a last... breath forgiving ...kiss...before her ugly gun BURST FIRE!!! But he'd gone before her blow.
Simon gave out an enormous sigh. None of the five bullets had come from Sarah's barrel! By dying before she fired, he'd saved Sarah from becoming a murderess. "Rest now," whispered the Goddess as Simon's bare feet re-felt the soft pile of his radiant Afghani rug.