Chapter 6. Personal Avatars

“Should I be glad to see you here? Or should I worry? In your boundless ignorance, you’ve played with the daemon. And even now, you find attraction to that daemon, still. You had paid with your lives then. Now it’s time for retribution.” I feel like a fridge, with my blood expanding from my feet up to soak all the heat out of my veins, bones and muscles. My bowels are like a wall of stone. My lungs, ragged cloth. My heart… What about my heart then? She knows, she recognized the voice of Eli. I heard him in my dream this morning, saying to me “In your veins!” when I wondered where the blue went from the sky. My heart synced with his in all delight. Warm red blood takes over my body, chasing the vascular frost away. I live! I breathe! I rejoice! Oh, what’s that? A pair of blue spots on my chest moving hastily upwards. One more millisecond and I enter eye contact with Eli. I faint.

I come back to my senses in Don’s arms. Before opening my eyes, I can hear him saying that “…harvesting iron from dying stars? Hm… How about capturing an asteroid? There should be plenty of iron on such a rock, right?”

“Not right enough!” This is the voice or Eli. “For you need to cast iron from its gaseous state straight into solid forms. You must skip the liquid iron phase. No melting! Precipitated iron condensate! This is the stuff you’re looking for. Understand?”

Is this a fainting dream of mine or Eli teaches space metallurgy to my man? Hm… I’d better open my eyes and stop pretending that I’m asleep. Looks like these guys talk business. Don’t want to miss that!

Before seizing my chance, Don intervenes suddenly, “So let me see. You saying that a coffin of pure iron, or precipitated iron condensate, will be resilient enough to stand an indefinite number of jumps and it will also register a minimal positioning error when landing at the given destination?”

I pause my plans, watching out for Eli’s reply. “Yes, little man, the secret is not in alloying with impurities but in precipitating the pure atoms, having them cast in a perfect structure. The resonance box obtained this way won’t slip on the primeval lattice. It will land exactly where you want it to. It’s not ‘minimal’ as you said to me. It is with null error. Zero! Precise landing!”

“Wow! Errorless positioning.” Exclaims Don in marvel. “Can I compare this to the copy and paste process applied on a digital file?”

Eli smiles down at him. “Yes, you can. You just pronounced the way how it works in nature: matter and energy are compiled bits of information which get copied and pasted on a constant basis. The entire universe is nothing more, and nothing less, than a computational system. You’re spot on. All that it takes now is for you to acquire the proper technology for casting gaseous iron into pure solid forms. These will naturally copy and paste with ultimate accuracy, if you know how to program them, of course.” Eli sounds positively content about his new apprentice. Although I know too well how many imprecations and how much trivia I’ll have to endure for the sake of acquiring this new metallurgical method.

Until then, I’ll take a shot at waking up. “Is this how angles fly?” I yawn my entry into the manly conversation.

“Yes, Doris. With two corollary statements. 1. Angels don’t fly, they leap. 2. Angels don’t need iron coffins to take a leap because their bodies roam the lattice uncompiled into matter and energy. They are prior-to-light information.”

And because of my mild whirling sensation in the head, I could be excused for paying less attention to the subtleties unhidden by Eli’s two corollary statements. Not so for Don’s perception. I hear him jump his big mouth ahead of him. Oh my God, what if he upsets Eli with his impetuosity, the way he has upset Kronos… well, the way he can upset anyone at anytime…

Good for me that my worries are answered in real time. “Fear not, dear Doris, I have scanned your man. It’s his job to speak like this.” What struck me is that Don hadn’t been given the chance to even open his mouth and Eli already consoled my inner worries. Should I worry for this too? But I’d better listen to my mule man… Look at him: he wants to say that…

“But, hey, hey! Wait a sec. How’s that prior-to-light information? Ain’t that the Word Himself?, also known as Christ Jesus Pantokrator, The Acting Ever-Living God!”

“I like the way you’re using words as LEGO building blocks in order to patch your concepts, Don. It’s nice to notice that men can be industrious about words too, not just at throwing stones, or rockets, against each other… But what you’re doing here is nothing more than a desperate try to patch your mental armor with pre-made concepts that you can grab with a short hand. Put it simply: you’re assertive and there’s no reason to be so.”

Dang, I say to myself, this Eli knows how to rein in my Don. He is now mute, all ears. Well, not so mute. He answers back though with a “then?”

“Then, my zealous Don, please pay attention to my little logic. As you already know, there’s no apprentice greater than his master, and an accomplished apprentice can only equal his master. The ‘equal’ approach works amongst us, men, whereas between us, men, and our Creator I’d rather use ‘come close’ instead of ‘equal’ because a man will never knows the ways of God equally with Him. Do you know why?”

“Because He’s infinite?”

“Nah. Please abandon those stupid concepts about continuum. God is not infinite but Perfect, and also beyond us because of ourselves.”

“Don’t get it…”

“Our meagerness prevents us to be accomplished apprentices, thus equals to our Maker.”

“Beg a pardon, Eli,” I suddenly hear my crystal voice interrupting a men’s topic, “if God is not infinite, but just Perfect, what is infinite then?, what lays where He ends?”

“Nothingness, my dear Doris. Nothingness is indeed infinite and it is there where the Presence of our God ends.”

Eli’s tone was paternal when answering me, then he turns prophetic towards my man. “Look at her, Don! Have you heard what nags her soul? What is infinite if God isn’t. Hah! This is the evidence to all existence: the rush for the infinite and the repudiation of perfection. I have told you that God is not infinite but Perfect. I did not say ‘just’ perfect because saying ‘just’ would have had implied that being infinite is better, wider, cooler – if you want, than being perfect. Well, I’m a bit upset to ascertain that women brought this mental virus to us…”

“Eve’s original sin?” I dare more like a stupid goose.

“Eve was original in so many ways. Yet her sin was not at all original. She copied it, unconsciously following a pattern.”

“What pattern?” Don, now standing up on our iron plate, cranes our position higher so we can be closer to Eli’s eyes.

“The pattern of Astarte! That is the original pattern for all sin. Where sin is defined as discarding God’s Perfection for the never ending nothingness, for the illusion of the infinite. Simple, eh?”

“Very simple, indeed,” says Don in amazement, “and now please allow me to dare asking: wasn’t this Astarte, the Western version of the Babylonian Ishtar sex goddess, along with the numerous Baal’s, just a dead idol, a hand-made wooden totem?”

“For the shepherds and peasants and their astronomically stupid kings of Ancient Israel, yes – they worshiped totems, what a bunch of idiots. Hope that you liked how my red blooded avatar, Elijah, has dealt with those imbeciles. But in the equation of existence, Astarte and even her Baals are daemons. Well, Astarte is a she-daemon, as you may have already figured that out. Actually, the uber-she-daemon, to be more accurate.”

I feel like fainting again. And I don’t want to miss this interesting dialog. So I ask. “But Eli, wasn’t Lucifer, the light-bringer, who stated: ‘Why Him and not me?’ This sacrilegious statement acquired him the name of Satanael, the hostile adversary or accuser, and so the sin entered the world even before Adam and Eve.”

“Yes, Doris, thus the sin entered THAT world before Adam and Eve, you are right saying this. But what world that was? Do you know?”

“Well,” hm… that’s a hard one… “guess it couldn’t be the Prior Age. Don’t know the answer to your question, Eli.”

“Good girl. You think like a man, I like this in girls. It certainly wasn’t the Prior Age, but another age, parallel to that.”

“Why not prior to the prior?” Chimes in the uneasy Don.

“There is no prior to the prior, my boy. And stop thinking like a woman. I don’t like that!” Whoops, I say to myself while catching Don’s hand and signaling him that I wish he pulls me up so that we both can stand on our iron board. Eli gives us a break to accommodate, he glimpses at our holding hands with a suggestive smile and carries on.

“Before he was drastically downgraded to be Satanael, this Lucifer used to bring light around the universe, he was the light bringer. Therefore, for his existence to make sense, there had to be some kind of stuff pre-existing him. This stuff was light. Which light is energy, photons, and the absence of light, also known as darkness, is the absence of photons, thus of energy. Lucifer was supposed to bring photons to where photons were not. Interesting argument. Yet as far away from God as anything compiled. Remember that God is the Source, the Perfection, and that any creation is, more or less obviously, a compilation – a distance from the source. Mass and light and the maths and all the physics are compilations. Now, can you understand why have I said that angels are prior-to-light information? Because they still reside within God’s Perfection. Any sin, or compilation, would downgrade their identities to lesser avatars, for better or for worse.”

“But…” I can’t help myself, “how can an angel, from perfection, be downgraded for better? As for worse I got it.”

“Oh, Doris, did you know that you can be very dangerous? Unknowingly! The third of angels that have walked the core of this pulsating star within blue blooded avatars over the green surface of the Golden Earth, the same third of angels that walks the Blue Earth, calling themselves the humankind, in two letters: us – we have been downgraded from our pure information state to a sorry and sinful condition for better and not for worse. Do you get it now?”

I hold my voice and try to think, but I can’t. So I stop to say my prayer: Oh, Lord, Christ Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on us, the sinners. Then I say this again, and again. Bingo! “Yes, Eli, I get it now!”

“Good! Seek for the Lord and find Perfection. Understand that there’s nothing beyond perfection and that, looking for more than perfection will drive you to nothingness, which is nought, the infinite of sin and stupidity. Take Lucifer who initially hurried light here and there, considering this a good labor to bring light over darkness. See how he ended up when the nought has poisoned his identity into an ego. Well, he had no option and no free choice as a doomed element that he was meant to be. And…”

“Hold on, Eli. Sorry to interrupt. Can I be his attorney?”

“No, you can’t be. An attorney should have knowledge and you don’t. So shut up and listen to what I know! Like all angels, humans and daemons included, were created by God, this Lucifer was not. Not even his mother…. Oh, I can see your fish eyes. Bewilder more: Lucifer is a concept out of Astarte’s mind. While Ishtar, or Astarte, is an experiment introduced by one of my best friends.”

Fish eyes he said? My hand clenching Don’s palm acts like a high voltage conductor, my eyes make me feel like Mort of Madagascar, my head is about to explode. “It seems that we are truly in a computer game after all…” I say this emptying my lungs and, along with the words and the air, all my fears and worries.

“Burdensome parts of us belong to this computer game, Doris. However there’s a tiny source code in each of us, this is what gives us the consciousness of being trapped in a box, because our source isn’t, this is what makes us sentient and, most important, transcendent beings.”

“So then, Eli, this will also give us an idea about what that prior-to-light identity of ours can be and about why compiling ourselves on particular levels of existence is bad.”

“Not so fast, little man. In every sea of bad you’ll find a pearl of good, in every glass of sorrow you’ll discover the seed of solace. Uncompiled angels, from the other two thirds, beg to be compiled, to play what Doris has called a computer game. See? Simplicity can be more complicated than a man can fathom.”

“And here comes the woman!” Say I enthusiastically.

“You’ll have your chance to know the daemon in the woman, Doris. I wish you keep your enthusiasm as lively then as it is now.”

“You mean?” I shy… and my enthusiasm is but a worn whisper that my lips had never spoken…

“I mean that there are three more virgins on this meadow. And a harlot in the cellar.” He pauses and turns around pointing to Dag and Day – “You! Run as fast as you can to the Tree of Nok. And you!” – pointing at me and my man – “meet me at these coordinates.” And with these words Eli is gone out of our sight. He leapt!