..::The Gnostic Version(s) of the Eden Myth
In the Gnostic view, Eden was not a paradise, but a jungle laboratory where an opportunistic race of alien parasites conducted a series of bizarre experiments in an attempt to produce a compliant strain of biped slaves.
Banished from the stars at the dawn of time, these “archons” (Greek for “rulers”) fled to the Earth where they abducted a caveman named “Adam” and sexually assaulted his mate “Eve,” implanting both with false (or screen) memories:
When they [the archons] saw Eve speaking with [Adam], they said to one another:
“Come, let us seize her and let us cast our seed on her, so that; those whom she will beget will serve us. But let us not tell Adam that she is not derived from us, but let us bring a stupor upon him, and teach him in his sleep as though she came into being from his rib.” [18]
Feared and worshipped as “gods” and “angels,” the Archons depend for their very existence on the energy captured and siphoned from the human nervous system via various control systems - biological and memetic thermostats which allow them to regulate the flow of information and energy through words and images, pleasure and pain:
They say that the soul is the food of the Archons and Powers without which they cannot live, because she is of the dew from above and gives them strength… [19]
Adam and Eve “fell” when the archons programmed them with prohibitions and commandments, changing them from primates living in the eternal “now” to “soft machines” - biological automata at war with their own instincts, parasitized by selfish replicators and paralyzed by double-binds:
Pushed to the brink by a mysterious talking serpent, Adam and Eve partook of the fruit and convulsed with ecstasy as the walls of the Garden fell away to reveal the larger world outside the Garden.
Like lab rats suddenly lifted out of a maze, Adam and Eve could now perceive their own situation clearly for the very first time:
Then their mind opened. For when they ate; they saw that they were naked, and they became enamored of one another. When they saw their makers, they loathed them since they were beastly forms. They understood very much…::..
* * * *
After much cajoling, threatening, pleading and even pushing, Em had finally been able to rouse Homer and even get some food down his goozle. It came back up in short order, too. But, after the first few eruptions, his stomach settled down with peppermint tea, and then soup could be tolerated a little at a time.
After which, he would zone out into a coma-like sleep for hours.
But, at least he was eating something.
She knew the cannabis was helping him sleep, which was needed, and might help make him a little more easy to deal with. She was slowly 'beefing up' his soups with more vegetables and he began eating thicker stews after a few days. It was a long, slow process, but he seemed to be improving gradually.
Em was amazed at how much Homer had changed, though. He wasn't even argumentative; just moaning, 'Go away', was as bellicose as he got now.
But, Em didn't go away.
Jethro was doing better, now that he could escape the house and head into town and round about, while Em took care of things at the homestead. His spirits were up, and he'd even gotten a haircut in town.
'I was beginning to like your Gypsy Davey look!' she told him, brushing his forelock back.
Jethro just smiled. 'You're a lifesaver, Em. The old man is coming back from the dead, I think. Like Dracula.'
'Well, you do have all the bats he may ever need here,' Em replied. Jethro laughed, a real laugh this time. She had missed hearing those.
They strolled together down to the barn and Em tossed some feed to the flock...she'd seen the latest biddies grow from last year's chicks into this years's Plymouth Barred Rocks, and fine laying hens. There was something soothing about a flock of hens. They were social creatures and would follow Em about the place, sometimes roosting upon her arm as she sat reading on the porch.
'It's been helpful for me to just stay here a while with you all, at your place,' Em confessed as Jethro joined her on a hay bale. 'I'm free of my usual demands and routines, and well, it's been a nice neutral zone for me.'
'Em, you are a wonder...' Jethro shook his head. 'I can't see how patching up, cleaning up, pampering and pestering old Homer can seem at all helpful to anyone but him...but, I'm glad, nonetheless. I was about to lose my mind, here alone with him. But now, he's well enough that I think I might risk telling Doc Parsons...'
'Aleister? He is...here, still? In Pankhurst?' Em was gobsmacked. She had assumed somehow, that he'd gone off with Jack who-knew-where.
'Oh yes. He and Diana are still thick-as-thieves you know. No...it was Homer. He insisted none of his friends see him at his worst.' Jethro looked at her tiredly.
'This left it all up to me, alone. Finally, I had to go to Marta and Ernestina; I'd had enough. He needed more help than I could give him by myself...'
Em put a hand on her friend's arm. That great bugger, Homer... Well, so Al was still about! That was good news. 'We need a real doctor to take a look at him, not that Ernestina hasn't done her best! But Homer won't let her do a real examination...'
'Agreed. I'll head down there to Crowley Place tomorrow maybe.' Jethro decided.
'I'll look forward to seeing Aleister again!' Em was surprised how much she wished to talk to an old friend, someone who had known her throughout all the many changes of the years, who had even known Alice...
Still...she wondered of late, where was Jack?
. . . .
A Full Moon in Scorpio shone down upon Nob Hill House.
And an oddly clear night of no fog or cloud cover over the City by the Bay made for a bright evening of long moonshadows.
Inside, a lone candlelit shadow passed by the study windows. It was nearing high-moon, and Daryl had made certain that he would be undisturbed this evening.
Although Daryl wasn't quite Scorpio, he wasn't quite Sagittarius either; even his birthdate of 11/22 was an in-between birth time for a man who lived neither in the past or present, or here nor there; on the 'cusp' it was called, astrologically speaking.
Still, good enough: he felt mainly Scorpionic in most things, and he felt especially so tonight.
His birthday was fast approaching, actually. Daryl truly did not wish to be reminded; it only drew attention to the reality of being out-of-time, which he was; but to live one's life time-out-of-mind was such a challenge in itself that the less one dwelt upon the whole anomaly,
the healthier one was. Helped to keep the jackals of insanity from howling around the old brainscape.
'Right.' Daryl had allowed the fire in his study to burn down to near coals. The Cup still sat upon his desk, beside the Box to its right. Daryl had felt the Box to be more male or dexter, whilst the Cup, of course, had to be sinister, or on the left-hand or feminine side.
He pulled the shades down all along the study windows and lighted a tall white candle situated between the two objects upon the desk.
...Jachin and Boaz.
Not sure about the outcome as yet, he had endeavored to prepare for What Dreams May Come: a derringer in his vest pocket, a knife in his boot in a special sheath sewn into the side leather, firecrackers and matches had proved useful in the past, he'd found...as well as secreting a small stash of petite gold ingots in his moneybelt and a mini-taser in his longcoat, with a light length of rope, fishing line, a flask of brandy, a rain poncho which could double as a small tent, a space-blanket and various high-tech weaponry and communication and transportation devices went into a small backpack, along with, lastly, a compass.
'So I'll know where I'm going...' Daryl whispered, wondering how it could possibly help in a situation whereof you knew nought.
'Here we go...' he breathed, stepping up to the desk, and inside the chalk circle he had drawn around it, which was also lined in a circle of salt.
Putting his right hand upon the lid of the Box, then, with his left, grasping a handle of the Cup, Daryl took a deep breath, and began to intone Latin, in a sonorous baritone...
Almost immediately, the fire went out. As did the candle, snuffed by a ghost wind.
As Daryl recited the incantation, the wind picked up,
blowing his hair and ruffling papers lying upon a table.
The wind began blowing harder, Daryl had to raise his voice to even hear himself speak; he spread his feet farther apart, bracing himself against the blow.
Just as he was thinking that perhaps this hadn't been such a grand idea after all, and maybe it wasn't too late to stop the ritual, the wind began to circle Daryl in the tight space within the chalk and salt perimeter, and as it blew about him, seemed to cocoon him from the feet upwards. As the whirlwind flew about his head, and covered him from tip to toe, Daryl's voice could no longer be heard, and then, a second later, he could no longer be seen...
. . . .
A pastoral scene greeted Daryl.
And looking oddly familiar to him, he thought, although as yet he couldn't fathom why.
Grassy hills of manicured greenswards against a rather aquamarine blue sky hit Daryl with the brightness of a sunny summer's day. Forgot sunshades, Daryl sighed, pulling down the brim of his cap; although he was glad enough that thus far, this was only a minor regret.
The bucolic scenery was snaked through with compact dirt pathways; copses of trees dotted the hillsides and some small wooded areas showed here and there in the distance.
Daryl sniffed suspiciously. Nothing. He could smell nothing of growing things, no flora or fauna, and heard nothing...no birds. No insects, no sound of wind.
It seemed like a stage set to him. A hologram, perhaps? He decided to strike off for the wooded patch yonder.
Eventually, Daryl entered the small wood. Birch trees, a few rowan, some ash, not many...
Daryl stopped, thinking: Birch, Rowan and Ash...Beth, Luis, and Nion.
The first three Letters in the Alphabet of Trees. This got his spider-sense tingling, he mentally remarked to himself; an Enchanted Wood. Or someone, somewhere, whoever created this holographic world, knew a bit about the Mysteries.
A winding path led on into stands of oak and fir. Still, Daryl was uneasy, looking around and over his shoulder. It all seemed too quiet, too...unreal. He'd seen forests in Europe picked clean of firewood, but this was rather pristine. Like a golf course, somehow; it had that cultivated, artificial feel.
Daryl slowed his pace, but still, the only sound he heard was his own footsteps on the pathway. He stopped, gazing about him.
Though he could hear nothing, nor see any movement, he still felt as though he were being watched.
Slowly, nervously, he resumed his pace along the path warily, with one hand hooked in his vest pocket holding the derringer.
He had just convinced himself that he was truly all alone in this strange, unreal world when he suddenly felt a hand on his arm.
Whipping the gun from his pocket he turned, crouching, about to face the unexpected.
Unexpected was right. But not unwelcome.
'Athena?!' Daryl asked, straightening, as he put the gun away.
Athena looked at the gun. 'Keep it out. We're going to need it.'
. . . .
Hurridly, Athena took Daryl's arm and led him down a cliffside into a tumble of boulders. She gazed about her, taking stock, then eased herself along a rock wall into a slight crevice, wanting Daryl to follow.
Easy for a thin woman, he thought, but, taking off pack and coat, he managed to wriggle through the opening.
Inside was a small cave, tall enough to stand upright, but not leading back very far that Daryl could tell. Still, it was dry and well-hidden from the outside; one didn't notice it at all.
'I can't believe you are here,' Athena told him, looking grim. 'Jack is gone.'
Daryl certainly hadn't planned on that particular lacuna.
He glanced about and saw a rock outcrop somewhat usable as a seat. He sat.
'Tell me. When? How?'
Athena sat on a flat boulder nearby. 'As nearly as I can estimate, he went missing about a week ago. But, Daryl, I must tell you something we discovered here, about this place.' Her beautiful tired eyes bore into his searchingly.
He knew it. Here it would come: the snake in Paradise... 'I'm listening.'
'We stayed rather to ourselves at first, just to get the lay of the land and all. We observed from afar, slept in the woods and caves, ate fish. One good thing: the water is drinkable. There are some good things here, on the surface, at least, like climate control.`But, once you know otherwise...'
'Athena: what happened to Jack?' Daryl's patience was thinning.
She frowned at him. 'I'm coming to that.' She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, sighing. 'You don't know what we've been through, here...' At last, she grasped a stick, began drawing in the dirt.
'Alright. We observed the people here for some weeks. They do appear to live somewhat above ground; their dwellings are mostly built into the hillsides, like rammed-earth or hobbit houses, you know?'
'Not a bad sort of ecologically sound architecture,' Daryl commented.
'Right,' Athena shot him a wry look. 'Well, there was another reason for that, we found. Their houses are all interconnected with an underground system; that's why topside, one sees no transport devices. They have a sort of rail-system also underground, subway-like. This connects all those who have access to the outside.'
'But, far below the surface, you'll find the real underground; and it is there where you'll find the pens of those who have no way out.'
She stared, frowning at Daryl, her eyes blazing. 'This, I believe, is where Jack may be.'
Athena leaned her head back against the cave wall.
'Daryl, the underground prisons are still in use. Nothing has changed, there. That is where the people are kept.'
'But, the people you and I, we all saw, out walking about freely...' Daryl began...
'Those...were NOT people, Daryl.' Athena sat up, her eyes bright with tears.
Daryl stood, came over to Athena, sat beside her, taking her hands. 'Tell me.'
'It took a little while, but we could tell there was something a bit 'off' about them. They seemed...' she waved a hand off in the distance, '...like the rest of this place: a little too perfect? Too pristine. Unreal.'
'Did they speak English?' Daryl tried to remain practical.
'They did. Later we found they were programmed with many languages. They were not humans, but a mixture of hybrids with cloned replicants, as in Bladerunner. The hybrids are a mix of various alien races with human. Oh, it had been centuries in the making, this takeover from within...'
'What do you mean, exactly, Athena?'
'What I mean, Daryl, is this: this is not our timeline.
Not 2076. All this here, is post-post-apocalyptic. Daryl,
here, it is 2101. The twenty-second century.'
Athena studied him, pain in her eyes. 'And humanity,
has lost the planet.'
. . . .
Daryl didn't know what to think. Focus on Jack.
'When did you last see Jack?'
Athena sighed, staring off toward the crack in the cave wall. 'About a week ago. He said he was going to try to blend in and find a way to get groceries and maybe medical supplies, if needed. He headed for the nearest settlement,' she inclined her head westward, 'but he never returned. It is my belief, that he was found out, and is now being kept below.'
'I wonder...' Daryl mused, '...What do they keep the people for then? Slave labor?'
'Oh, yes. As always.' Athena regarded him seriously, 'This has always been a prison planet, Daryl. Think of it: we all have only been slaves, wage slaves. And when computers took over, we became slaves to machines. These so-called Hybrid Overlords, are more machine than bioenginering. When a machine becomes smarter than the people, is there a contest at all as to who will win?'
Daryl sighed. Where was the High Council in all this? Or the renegade warriors of Axelis and Yeats and Thelene's rebel faction? Bugger it, Daryl decided...if they had ever had any power to offer aid, surely it would have come long before all of this happened...
'But I don't think that is Jack's fate,' Athena continued matter-of-factly, 'I think they want him for...something else.'
'His mind...' Daryl frowned, clinching his fists.
Athena shook her head. 'Oh, no. Not even Jack's beautiful mind. No, a human mind is too primitive for them. They would only wish to use it for some base electrical experimentations. A meat machine...
'No. What they'd want from Jack...is in his genes.'
Daryl turned a pained look upon Athena, who had now risen. She took his hands, 'And, of course, yours also.'
. . . .
WATCH LISTEN AND LEARN!!
"It Ain't Necessarily So"
Satchmo and Ella
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