

### MERLIN & THE SCIENCE (Volume One)

### PART FIVE: THE HIGH ALTAR OF SACRIFICE

### With eleven original illustrations by Justin Suchley

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Justin Suchley

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**ONE** Surrounding the little ferry, and the quayside – and even the old fishing village called Marazion... A sound of seagulls. Then waves sound on the ferry's hull – crashes of the wind on our ears: we are being carried over sunlit waters. This is Mount's Bay; where, at last, a harbor is reached at the foot of a wooded and crumple-faced sea island. See how its mountainous profile is interrupted with sheer cliffs of granite. Looking up we see that it's crowned, up nearer to the sky, by some kind of old gothic building. After these hours – and when the moon has risen over the island's frightening body, a narrow causeway of granite cobblestones linking Marazion to the island will be shown by these washing tides: and there trudging over it a lonely figure will creep finally onto the island's fortressed foot. A thief in the night.

Dinsul (meaning 'Hill dedicated to the sun') was the Celtic name for Saint Michael's Mount in Iron Age times. In later history, the island was called Carreg Luz en Kuz _(pron; Karrek Loos y'n Koos)_ ; which, in the old Cornish language, means 'grey rock in the wood'. It's situated four hundred yards out from the southern coast of Cornwall; and is crowned by the 15th Century chapel to Saint Michael that gives the Mount its famous outline, which we see there today.

In 1099AD, John of Worcester recorded in The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles ( _1st Century BC – 12th Century AD_ ) that a deluge of seawater created the island by flooding a peninsular and separating its mountainous part from the coast. Although possibly a little far fetched, the story seems to live when we hear that in Victorian times local fishermen used to point out the submerged remains of an old forest on the sea floor close to Mount's Bay. Maybe they were proving the old story to be true in some way? Radiocarbon dating has shown that those trees (mostly hazel trees) were submerged around the year 1700BC. But as for why the island was once called 'grey rock in the wood'... Well, granite is what the island is made out of mostly – granite and slate. Granite does have a grey color; therefore the name 'grey rock in the wood' could have referred to the island itself – rising from a forest of hazel trees near the sea, to be cut off from the coast by a natural catastrophe.

However, the old name could also have referred to a particular rock on the island: to a very unusual rock. A rock (or a very big stone) that had some sort of a significant meaning. There are some very old stories about the Mount that talk about giants: and Cornish legend states that long ago it was inhabited by a giant, called Cormoran. Some say Cornwall's giants are the tribal memory of a big-boned people that became extinct in Britain. The early Celts – although not unusually big in today's terms, could possibly have been seen as giants by the early British tribes. Then there are others that say the Cornish Giants were not people at all, but that they were in fact obscure outcrops of stone; which, over time, were shaped by weather and human hand to look like colossal men. It's believed that Britain's greatest cultural and supernatural event took place on one of these long-forgotten totems... In one famous and complex story from Arthurian Legend, we see Uther Pendragon – a British tribal king, besieged by enemies; and seeking for his young son, Arthur, to be carried off into safety. Uther's friend, the great magician Merlin, agrees to protect the child: and so Merlin hides Arthur away in the forest; where Arthur learns many secrets: until an adoptive family, with an older boy of its own called Kay, agrees to protect the boy Arthur.

Merlin sees that after King Uther's death there will be argument over who is Britain's rightful king; and that many will claim to be so. Therefore Merlin knows that a miraculous event will be needed to rally the people behind Arthur. It is now that Merlin sets a sword into a stone; and then casts an enchantment so that only the 'True King of All Britain' is able to draw the sword out _(the sword here is not Excalibur, which appears later in the Arthurian Myth_ ).

Years later, Kay sets off for a jousting competition, with Arthur as his squire in arms: and on their way Arthur spies an area of ground, where a stone has a sword sticking out of it. Later that day Arthur again happens on the stone with its mysterious sword: and this time he sees that strange words are cut into the shining blade; they read, 'Whosoever pulleth out this sword of this stone is the rightwise king of all Britain'. Arthur pulls the sword out to then slide it back into the stone and creep away; fearing the sword to be some great possession or holy relic. But after Kay's joust, Arthur returns with Kay to the stone; where a crowd has gathered. Merlin is there reading from a scroll that Uther Pendragon has died. Arthur waits with a line of powerful lords and knights seeking to take the mysterious sword and therefore claim the kingship of Britain, and is ridiculed mercilessly. No one can draw the sword from the stone until Arthur steps forward to pull the sword out and then brandish it over his head. Thinking this to be a trick of some sort, the crowd demands that Arthur pulls the sword out again; which he does a number of times: after which Merlin crowns Arthur 'King of All Britain'.

Maybe the most famous of old stories that circle around Saint Michael's Mount like the seagulls is one that gave the island its name. In 495AD, they say, the apparition of a shining being of light was encountered there on some rocky ledge, by a hermit living on the island. For some unknown reason the mysterious hermit said the being of light was 'Saint Michael'; and thereafter the island became known as Saint Michael's Mount. Centuries later, in the mid 1800's, a group of fishermen are said to have witnessed a strange light-apparition of some sort while they rested high among the island's granite outcrops one night: but exactly what it was that they saw remains totally unknown.

No doubt the first experiences of the divine there are likely to have happened in prehistoric times, when the first people arrived in what later became the land known as 'Britain'. Then, in more recent times – but still in the centuries BC, it is probable that the first Druidic, or priestly, groups and individuals were earthly guardians of the latent power existing at the Mount. The reason for this assumption is due to the observable fact that, apart from local hearsay linking the early Druids to the island, various particularly important outcrops of granite there have – in some distant time – had many deep vertical grooves cut into them; as if to allow for the attachment of flaming torches.

Many of these old stories acquired a Christian association – and it's hardly surprising; because the first official building on the Mount was an early Christian monastery (which stood from the 8th to the 11th Century AD) where the first recorded pilgrims came for the healing of numerous ailments; many of which appear to have been cured in the full sight of witnesses present. Again, this is based on the tangible fact of a very old document – discovered in France in the early 20th Century by a certain Canon G. H. Doble, which describes vividly a number of events where named individuals had their sight, their hearing, and also their speech restored during the appearance of some sort of divine manifestation. For example, one account describes a woman called Christina, from the Glastonbury area, who arrived at Saint Michael's Mount on the 14th May 1262, and who 'by the intercession of the Blessed Archangel Michael, recovered miraculously the sight of _her closed eyes_ ' (my italics). Another woman from the village of Gulval, near to the Mount, in the same year suffered from catalepsy and was taken to the monastery on the Mount where she was inexplicably healed.

Other written testimonials also describe these miraculous healings of blindness, deafness, and dumbness.

Of course, the Archangel Michael is the famous 'Being of Light' that appears in Hebrew, Islamic, and Christian tradition; and is depicted usually holding a sword, while slaying either a dragon or maybe a demon. Indeed, Saint Michael's earthly counterpart Saint George is the famous dragon-slayer of old. In Medieval Times the Archangel – along with Saint George – was made the patron saint of chivalry: and Michael is also viewed in religion as the field commander of the Army of God (whatever that actually is). As for the name 'Michael', it comes from the early Hebrew 'Micha El' or Mikha El; which, when translated from those past centuries, was recorded to mean 'Like Unto God'.

In the modern-day vocal utterance that phrase becomes 'It's Like God'.

But the Being of Light has also been described to the world in earlier times of history: and in ways that are different to an Archangel. In Roman times the being of light was known as Mercury – Messenger of the Gods, while to the Greeks he was Hermes as well as Apollo, the god of the Sun. Apollo was the leader of The Nine Muses; and in Greek Hellenistic Times he was known as 'Helios'. He was an oracular god – that is one who speaks prophecy, and he was the prophetic deity present at the Delphic Oracle, in Ancient Greece. Going back even further in time, the early Egyptians called the Being of Light by various other names, such as Atum, Temu – The Complete One, Tehuti, Thoth, and Hamarkos. Worship of 'The God of Light' dominated Celtic Britain as well... Although worshipped as the 'Bright' or 'Shining' One throughout Western Europe, the place that became most associated with the Celtic god of light was in fact Cornwall, where the god's name 'Belenos' was shortened to 'Bel': and the region of Cornwall where we find Saint Michael's Mount was called 'Belerion'.

**TWO** Mercifully that steady Cornish drizzle was starting to fade. Stars dazzled over drifting banks of cloud obscuring the moon. And so much quieter now: with the seagulls roosting for the night, among the rocks and the quaint rooftops and chimneystacks of Marazion. Like when you realize that instead of ten pounds in your pocket you've only got two, I'd been thinking the Science had been completed; only to find I had to do another sequence that'd take three and a half years.

There ahead... The cobbled causeway glinting in the dull light. It was leading on and on towards that fortressed mountain rising from the wet sands. The Mount's westerly side of exposed cliff-faces and rocky outcrops looked whitish grey under that dull light of the clouds: while the easterly side was a lost world of dark trees and deep shadows. The chapel to Saint Michael on its lofty summit gave the island that sinister outline. Meanwhile, on its fortressed foot I could see (from where I was standing on the quayside steps at Marazion) that a few lights were on in the terraced cottages there. So it was definite then: people really did live on the island.

I looked at my watch. Time was running out to get onto the island: twenty-five minutes at the most before the tide returned. Its distant murmur from out there in the dark. It was a low rumble and whisper. But what was that other sound? It was like... The lights of some sort of a vehicle were approaching over the shore. Now I could see it was a land rover; coming across the sands with its lights full on. Then I watched with horror. The car slowed. Then it turned onto the causeway and moved up the cobbled causeway towards the island. I watched the car's red tail-lights as it entered some sort of an entrance there on the island's fortressed foot... Then it disappeared.

"Oh my god!" I whispered.

But there was nothing I could do; I simply had to get onto the island. Hitching the rucksack a little higher on my back I started descending the stone steps. And when I started walking over the hard sand to reach the cobbled causeway I knew I must be going completely mad to be trying this – surely this was crazy? That dull clomp of my boots, the breeze on my ears: the distant sound of waves. They were the only sounds disturbing the intense quiet. I didn't even know where I was going. Where was this mysterious place that I was being led to anyway?

As I walked and the Mount loomed closer, I took the copper rod from my coat pocket and held it out before asking, "Show me where you're taking me to – where's the secret place of power?"

The rod swerved and pointed fiercely towards a huge cliff-face of rock; right up there on the mountainous sea-island's shoulder. It seemed that I was being led to something very near to its summit with that dark castle. But how on earth was I going to get all the way up there? It'd be impossible... Surely? Fiercely the rod pointed while I carried on over the cobbles; and now I could see how this cobbled walkway over the sand... Yes; it entered the Mount's fortressed foot through a high arched entrance, about three hundred yards ahead: obviously where that car had entered the island a few minutes earlier.

I stopped dead in my tracks and narrowed my eyes – it looked like... Was there a gate inside that entrance? My mouth gawped. Was it a shut gate? It looked like the gate was shut. _Oh my god – shut!_ I took a step forwards and craned my neck to see... The tall arched gate was shut! My face had turned to expressionless stone with my eyes wide. So then whoever that was in the car earlier must have locked the gate once they'd gone through. And there was no other way in.

Well that was that. It was over before it had hardly even started. The gate was shut.

I knew it! How stupid I'd been and how right they were – those doubters that had laughed at me for wanting to attempt this: they were right! I'd traveled one hundred and thirty miles from London to stay overnight in Somerset: then traveled the next day another one hundred and twenty miles down to Cornwall; to stay at someone's cottage. When at last I'd got all the way down onto the coast and onto the causeway at Marazion only to be stopped at the last by a locked gate – _how could it be?_

But in a daze I kept walking.

And as I got closer I might have been mistaken but... Was it true? Lamplight flooding out from beyond the gate suddenly made it clear... The gate was halfway open – _is it_ ... No: it was open. The gate was wide open. My mouth gawped again. Suddenly I'd have to go ahead with this episode of the Science. I didn't know what was worse: not being able to get onto the island or not being able to carry on. Tiptoeing through the pebbles tossed up by the waves, and then onto the stone porch, I cringed (with a mixture of exultation and fear) under the high arched entrance of the gate: while as silently as possible I crept through and onto the island...

After a few more breathless steps further on I'd crept into a high-walled and cobbled area on the Mount's foot. A few cars were parked here and there: and that silver land rover that I'd seen... There it was: and the engine was still warm. Clearly, people were there on the island. Never the less, all was intensely quiet. Moving as quietly as I could I took another step forwards – the rod swerved fiercely over to the right. It was pointing. I followed around a corner and onto what looked like the flat beginnings of the harbor front. The rod was pointing fiercely straight down the façade of a long terrace of white-washed cottages. Even from where I was standing in the shadows, I could see that quite a few of those cottages were occupied because most of their interior lights were on.

Luckily all of their front curtains were shut.

Gritting my teeth I started the desperately careful creep past... the front... of those cottage windows – if someone heard the slightest sound and flicked a quick glance out from behind a curtain they'd frown, tap on the glass, ask me what I was doing there, and then order me off the island. Sweat trickled down my back. Pebbles were everywhere at my feet, and I had to watch out and not accidentally kick one... as I followed... in the direction of where the rod was pointing. If someone took even a peep out of their curtains now.

Another sea breeze blustered on my ears – the rod twisted viciously to the left and pointed rigidly down an alleyway separating two terraced cottages. I ducked into its welcoming dark to crouch down quickly and think about what to do next. At least I was hidden in the shadows – but what now? Everywhere was so quiet. I looked at my watch. Twenty-five minutes to eleven. I slunk deeper into the alley's dark and followed all the way down to its end where I met another alley – the rod twisted viciously and pointed to the right. Silently I followed.

"Show me which way to go – show me how to get out of here and onto the island... Please!" I whispered.

But the rod was twisting all over the place – _what?_ And then I realized. Of course! My mouth gawped open and twisted while my eyes widened. Suddenly it seemed that I was suffocating. I had staggered into a maze of walls and alleyways. How could the Intelligence possibly know how to get me out of this – how? I really had gone completely mad after all – I knew it! I watched with despair as the rod swerved and swiveled in every direction. It was hopeless. Clearly I was trapped. The only thing I could do now was think. Just try to think.

That high edifice where the rod had been pointing earlier, as I'd trudged along the causeway... How would I ever get all the way up there? I couldn't even get out of this maze of alleyways and walls. _Never mind about that now... Just think... Think!_

I could see that further up ahead there was a high wall. Looked like it might be seven maybe even eight feet high. I slipped the rod into my coat pocket, hitched the rucksack a little higher on my back; and then as quietly as I could I tried running at the wall, and then struggling up to its top: but... Too high – no! I dropped down again. I froze. Just in case anyone had heard me: but nothing. Not a sound.

Would someone hear me – surely they'd hear me?

Climbing that high wall was going to be impossible with a rucksack on my back. So I crept on silently.

Now I could see another high wall in the gloom. It had a door set into it. I could see that the door showed some sort of big silver bolt. I reached out and then slid the bolt to one side. It glinted in the moonlight! The door pushed open. Into another heavily shadowed area of walls and gates. Opposite me now there was another wall. And this time not quite as high as the others so far. As quietly as I could I ran and jumped at it. Got a good grip on the top. Pulled myself up. Scrambled onto its top and then crouched there gasping for a few seconds. So far so good. Now at least I had a chance of escaping this secret hell. Carefully now... Very slowly and carefully I crept along the top of the wall; while trying to see whatever was down there on the other side. But I couldn't see anything down there because of the deep shadow. Near total darkness. I had to know what was down there. Glass roof? _Maybe._

Looking all around me I could see that my only option was to jump into that dark. Nothing else I could do – _here goes!_ I jumped. Fell... Into the dark... Dropping down into sheer dark and onto... Straight onto hard grass – thank god! Lawn of grass. Pulled legs in as fast as I could – huddled into the shadow of the stone wall.

Think about what to do next. So where was I now?

At first I couldn't see anything in the dark. But then as my eyes accustomed to the deep gloom of that completely shrouded moonlight – it looked like... In a few more seconds I could see that there were tables. Actually they were benches more like. They were set out on a big wide lawn. Suddenly I knew what this was. I was squatting in the shadow of the café lawn – that's where! The café lawn – of course! But circuiting and enclosing the lawn entirely – like another impenetrable wall – there was a thick high hedge. How on earth would I get over a hedge like that? I was trapped in a new prison – how would I ever get... D-r-r-r-r-r-r the mobile in my d-r-r-r-r-r breast pocket shattered the silence d-r-r-r-r-r-r quickly as I could while cursing d-r-r-r-r-r-r how could I be so bloody stupid and not turn the damn thing off d-r-r-r-r-r-r I managed to get it out of the pocket and turn the damn thing _off!_

I tried not to laugh – _how ridiculous is that?_ Of all the times someone chooses to phone me they phone me now! I wondered if anyone had heard. But nothing. Not a sound: no, nothing. So I was trapped in the café garden's shadowy and silent world. Straight ahead: high hedge. Beyond that far hedge straight ahead: dark woods. Beyond those dark woods: the foot of the Mount itself. Therefore I had to get beyond that far hedge and into those woods. If I could do that I'd be safe.

I got up and crept over to my left and inspected the hedge there. Tried somehow to tussle my way through it, but... Nah! Too much noise – no. Impossible to get through without too much noise – how was I going to do this?

I slipped the copper rod from my coat pocket and lifted it in the gloom, "Show me the way out of here please!"

The rod swerved fiercely in my fist and pointed straight over the lawn. It was pointing rigidly over towards a distant dark corner of the hedge: maybe three hundred feet away. Quickly now I followed over the lawn – past the tables, over the lawn, over to the dark corner where... _No!_ I stood there while my mouth dropped open. My disbelieving eyes were like white ping-pong balls in the gloom. Stunned absolutely by what I was looking at.

Oh my god; something really was moving the rod after all.

The rod was pointing straight into what was quite a big hole in the hedge – certainly big enough for me to get through. Quickly, quickly I got the rucksack off my back, shoved it through the hole, heard it crash onto leaves and twigs, and then scrambled through it myself. Incredibly I was in! I was into the woods at the foot of the Mount – I was in! That nightmare maze of alleyways and walls – it was all behind me. I had to find the secret place of power!

**THREE** Inside slices of dull moonlight the copper rod swerved in my fist, to then point viciously towards that distant cliff-face of rock.

"It's up near the summit, isn't it?" I whispered.

Meanwhile, I was still down on the island's foot; and the minutes were ticking by.

Now I crept deeper into the woods beyond that high hedge, while the heavy rucksack on my back snagged. Tugged and scratched in the low branches. Boots crunched the carpet of ivy and leaves: snapped twigs.

"Sh-shut up!" I whispered: moving forwards with more care this time.

Creeping through the dark like this a dangerous possibility was growing that someone on the Mount would either see or (most likely) hear me. Numerous granite boulders dotting the wood's shadowy floor. They made me trip and stumble forward. I should've felt terrified alone in the dark woods like that; but instead I felt safe – protected even, while stumbling. Tugging my way through the dark. Suddenly... Fell to my knees... Started crawling... Clawing... Desperately up through ivy... The undergrowth. The ground... It was rising upwards steeply. Sweat was sliding down my back; and I was crawling almost vertically up and up – how long would this go on? First it was jumping down alleyways and up over walls, then clambering through hedges; and now I'd be crawling like this all the way up to the summit.

"This is ridiculous!" I whispered through gritted teeth. _Look at me – I'm like a bloody commando!_

Suddenly my hands blundered onto something level. It was made of bare earth – like a shelf cut into the side of the slope.

"What is it – a shelf or something?" I whispered.

Moonlight filtering down through the trees showed a path cut into the steep incline. Somehow I'd crawled blindly up onto a path.

"Oh thank god for that!" I whispered again.

Dragging myself up and onto that path; I turned over with the rucksack still there on my back. Stared up through the trees at the moon. What on earth would they think of all this – those people that I call 'friends and family'? I could see their faces. Meanwhile, I kept on lying there breathlessly in the shadows and under that white moon. Now they'd be quite convinced that I really had lost my mind. _Come on – time to go!_ And the path was waiting; so I clambered back up onto my feet.

Clearly I was being led in the direction of that high rocky edifice that had seemed so impossible to reach from down on the sands. And it was good to be no longer crawling but walking this time. Bigger trees overshadowed this path on either side; from where I could hear the in-coming tides crashing on the rocks below. The air was thick with that exciting smell of pine and cedars. And although the moon had by now broken free of cloud, and was shining through the branches overhead; down on the path it was dark and shadowy... with the rod still pointing fiercely up toward something near to the summit. A sheer rigid fierceness pointing the rod told me that whatever was waiting up there... It was clearly very powerful – the rod twisted fiercely to the left, what? I lurched to one side – the thing: was it alive! Seven feet high and arching over me from the side of the path – an outcrop of stone: sheer-sided and completely flat on top. It looked like a mini volcano. Another couple of seconds and I stood there stock still. Then I reached out. Touching its dark, shiny surface. In the moonlight I could see that all around the stone's collar... Many vertical grooves... How strange. What on earth were...? They were cut long and deep enough for me to run my fingers in.

I looked at them in the moonlight.

Someone had cut these grooves into the tall stone – but why?

I crept around its wide base. What a marvelous thing! And it seemed to be alive somehow. The rod curved in my fist; and pointed further on into the trees beyond the tall stone: where, bubbling and trickling through the rock, a spring was making that sweet sound of water. An atmosphere thickened the shadows and dazzled the moonlight even brighter. The Intelligence was showing me a place of great significance.

"Is this where we're going to do the first episode of the second sequence?"

The rod twisted outwards with an imposing force, _'No!'_

So then why did it lead me there? Suddenly I realized. It was showing me the in-coming focus of power. This stone was where the forces entered the Earth to then rise at the out-going place of magic; where I was being led mysteriously up to. I looked at my watch. Eleven forty! Time was ticking.

I stared at the copper rod, "Never mind this – you have to show me the place of power." I hissed. "Come on – show me where it is. Now!"

The rod swerved fiercely to point onto the path again and up; towards something near the vicinity of the castle. Booming sounds of the sea... They were getting louder. And there the path was cut from the island's granite bones, not soil. Up ahead near the castle's dark shape something monstrous waited; over that shifting and dramatic sounding sea thundering far below the half-hidden moon: the undecided mists. With the tall, dark, and imposing castle at my left shoulder, I was entering the area of the Mount's summit. The sea's crashes... Breezes. Everything blustered suddenly. I followed into a rocky little tunnel of slabs and crags of dark slate; where, after a few more steps, I stood stock still while my eyes lifted and my mouth gawped.

An electrifying scene was there in front of me. Like the beginning of an adventure story. The island's granite bones were shimmering and echoing in the night's boom as they formed a lonely edifice high over the sea. But it wasn't this place or the sea winds blustering over its weather-beaten stones that brought gasps. A startling profile of rock. It was a colossal giant – possibly twelve feet tall. I saw its elongated-backwards head and gaunt hook-nosed face.

"Look at its flat head!" I whispered.

The giant's black silhouette against the purple-blue of the night sky dominated an arena of stone outcrops that were all rising up through the steep grassy banks. Gusts of sea wind. Blasts of crystalline air buffeted my face – another swirl of breezes messing with my hair. Stepping from the shadow of granite and slate walls, and with my mouth slack and half open, I staggered – mesmerized and like a child overwhelmed, out into washes of moonlight over silvery-grey faces of rock. Proud even aloof, the great stone ruled from its grassy rise. And gazing up towards the lofty prow of its head, I walked right past the foot of the stone colossus and the rod swerved viciously to point straight at it – _this is it!_ The Intelligence was saying.

And it had to be it.

I stood at the foot of the stone totem and looked up. A huge petrified man with a receding forehead, a shallow chin, and a strange resolute mouth: who, from his high point on the island, stared out over the crashing and booming sea far below. Overhead, clouds were breaking. Suddenly a rich light was filling the granite outcrops – I gasped at the sight of it. The white granite stones were glimmering with an otherworldly fire under the moon. They looked alive. Then the clouds drifted. They dulled the moon again. Darkening the rocks to dream. The stone totem's colossal body was misshapen and topped with a huge elongated-backwards head; the absolutely flat crown of which looked like a platform.

"Is this the secret place of magic – is this it?" I whispered.

The copper rod swerved in to almost touch my chest, _'Yes!'_

How could it not be? Now the rod swerved unceremoniously in my fist; and though the sheer magnetism of the stone was pulling me back, the Intelligence was never the less leading me away over the weathered stone floor of the strange arena – over the rising steps that led up, up and further up onto a flat expanse under the castle's sheer rising walls; where a secret place hid under the castle's windswept foot. There, the rod pointed at last to a sort of burrow in the earth – big enough for me to huddle in against the sea winds; and where I could shelter and wait for the moment of power to rise, in about three hours' time. Meanwhile, those tides were returning; to make Saint Michael's Mount a frightening prison where now I'd be trapped for over ten hours. Far below my boots that black sea was an endless world of deep water. Sometimes I swore that strange creatures were moving under the surface of the sea. I knew a monstrous thing would suddenly lift its head from the waves to watch me with its fiery and bulbous eyes: but always there was only the sea wrinkling and glistening under the moon.

And when I looked up I gasped. A monumental halo of cloud. It was surrounding entirely – and high, high up – the cragged sea island like a... It was a magnificently formed circlet of shining white. It was a miracle! A holy circlet of dazzling white. It was encircling entirely the crown of this ancient sea island. I stared and stared – how could it be? And the moon was that dazzling crown's one shining jewel.

Meanwhile there I was out in the world's night over the sea somewhere: hiding from a ghostly face that might be watching from one of those dark windows of the high castle. And all in the hope that by going there and sitting on the top of a colossal stone the poison would be forever banished from the forces of the Earth and so from the human mind: and the world would be saved! Had I quite possibly gone mad?

Slowly the hours did pass: and I was able to doze occasionally in the huddle of a hole in the ground. I remembered what had happened earlier in the day... Motoring along the A30 towards Exeter on the way to Cornwall. The loud knocking near the front axle of my car, and the steering wheel wobbling in my hands, and my stopping in a motorway lay-by to call for assistance. The mechanic on the side of the road saying, "Who put this front wheel on? You put the wheel on back to front. The nuts that tighten the wheel to the hub are meant to sit into those dimple-things – see? You put the wheel on the wrong way round, my friend. There's a garage down there. Take the first side road and follow the signs. You'll have to get two new front tyres before carrying on 'cause the other one's just as badly worn, if you have a look. Sorry about that." Watching him climb back into his van. Watching him drive away. Despairing that I wouldn't be able to get to Saint Michael's Mount before the returning tide. Five increasingly wobbly minutes later taking a side road towards that garage. Half an hour later saying 'thank goodness for mobile phones and friends with credit cards'. Then finally crossing over into Cornwall with 'I Am the Resurrection' by The Stone Roses blasting through the car's speakers.

Maybe an hour later, an old gate had been hidden behind branches and green tendrils; while I walked up through the shadow of overhanging trees and hedges to the quaint little front door of a cottage, barely two miles away from Saint Michael's Mount. It was like I'd stumbled into a chapter from 'The Lord of The Rings'. Inside, low overhanging beams were hung with cups and pans: while on the stove something was cooking for dinner. But when I finally said goodbye to the kind woman who'd let me sleep in one of her beds and eat some of her food – then watched her disappear behind me in the dark I knew I had about forty-five minutes to get onto the Mount before the tide swept in again: thus cutting the island off from the mainland until about eight thirty that following morning.

It all seemed a world away as I waited for the moment of power to rise; while the sea breezes dashed against my face: and, far below my boots...

Those waves crashed on the island's rocky toes.

**FOUR** "Ten minutes 'til the moment of power!" I whispered through the sea breezes. Quickly now I shoved the rucksack into a crevice where the wind wouldn't catch it; then lifted the copper rod in my fist to ask, "Take me to the secret place of power."

Further down the stone steps and over the rocky outcrops leading back to the arena of stone where the stone totem waited... There the atmosphere had changed. Was I no longer alone? It seemed I was being watched by a silent gathering. A wide company of invisible people. The atmosphere had thickened to resonate with an overwhelming yet inaudible sound. And when I stepped down at last into the arena itself... A high ceremonial atmosphere filled the sea air. _'Come!'_ It seemed to say, _'Now is the time – come!'_

There the giant stone overshadowed its rocky domain above the sea. Had its indomitable and flat-headed body now become a platform of sacrifice – and was I the one to die? It seemed so. Carefully creeping, now, towards the tall totem with the copper rod held out in my fist – the rod swerved. Something was there and the rod was curving – the rod swerved fiercely again around... I could see them in my mind as if they were shifting in and out of shadow. Fifty of them at least! But these were not the tall sentinels. They were all standing at the foot of the stone. Were some of them hacked and covered with blood? Were they the dead of different centuries?

They all seemed to be waiting? _But what are they all waiting for?_

At last at the shadowy foot of the stone the rod swerved away fiercely to one side. It was pointing straight towards a series of little stone steps that had been shoved and hammered into the steep grassy bank. They all led up to the stone's shadowy shoulder. With my head bowed instinctively, I slowly, reverently, breathlessly and somewhat terrified, I followed on up. Maybe I'd come to the island as a fool. Yet now I would die there on the stone as a king. For that is the nature of true sacrifice. As I reached the last step the smell of cedars tingled in a murmur of the salty sea; and the sea wind stung on my face – at last! I'd arrived at the secret place of power.

"This is it!" I whispered, and dropped the little rug on the stone's flat head to finally get down cross-legged there, and wait for the moment of magic to rise.

The sea's boom and crash echoed through the woods from below. Overhead the stars were glittering patches of fairy dust: while the moon was still a single shining jewel. That immense cloud-formation encircling entirely the island's crown – it was like a fantastical halo. I marveled at it. How could it be? Was that colossal circlet of white cloud a common phenomenon? Or was it something unique?

And what would the local fishermen say about it if they saw it? Maybe they'd say, "Ah: it's just a normal thing: don't get carried away, boy."

Something rumbled under the stone giant – _what the heck was that?_ A resonating power was cocooning everything in layer upon enveloping layer of some sort of invisible light. Was the stone giant coming to life? And the sea was fading behind symphonic ringing sounds that were drowning the sea's roar with exploding suns billions of silent stars spinning planets. Surely the flesh dripped from my skull like hot wax? An increasing pressure was the ringing sound. It was in my ears. It was in my head. It got louder. Something was ballooning in my neck. My eyes were shut, but I could see it was a silvery orb!

It was like the sea was crashing inside my throat. I wanted to say 'what is it?' but I couldn't speak.

My ears were filling with ringing sound. That silvery fat orb was morphing. My face was expressionless like stone. Body was upright like an iron statue. Motionless on the stone totem; with my face melted and gone. A dazzling white horizontal beam – thick as a man's arm – was expanding through my skull – _how long is the weird thing now?_ It seemed to have morphed out from that glowing orb in my throat – to become the dazzling-white beam. It was five, maybe it was six feet in length – and now thick like an iron girder. My mouth gawped as the cross-beam of white-hot energy pushed further out through each side of my head into that ringing sound.

Judder. It seemed like something was actually moving down there under the stone. Was something alive and – jolt! _Did something hit the stone just then?_ A fierce... Was the-whatever-it-was – had it hit the base of the stone? Rumbles from under the giant stone – it was... The stone was shuddering – I could feel it. Rumbles again. Something was moving. Down there and it was not the sea – it was something else. Judder... My eyes opened. I stared forwards. _Something definitely hit the stone then!_ It was coming up – _oh my god!_ Something terrible was crashing up through the stone – _what is it?_ I could feel its frightening power. I couldn't move – couldn't get out of its way! Surely it would burn my brain – _you are in big trouble here!_ It was crashing up through the stone. Crashing and slicing and exploding and – _can't get out of its way!_

My head tilted back as the stone thundered I watched the huge thing rising a giant column of luminous power was rising I was inside it engulfing my body surging upwards crashing and – _thing might burn my brain: kill me!_ Symphonies endless motionless sound titanic thing shattering the night as it continued to rise and to rise – a colossal column of energy shaped like the blade of a ten-ton sword was rising a magnificent blade-shaped magic crashing upwards through the stone through my body as it fused into and then sheared straight through the shining white cross-beam splitting skull – _how can this be?_ A giant blade of white-hot and silvery phosphorescence surging majestically higher, higher, and higher into the night sky with the horizontal beam of white-hot power!

A supernatural sword was towering up from a giant stone. It was all too fantastic and real. Yet real in a way that I could never have imagined. Overhead the stars filled the sky and the sword towered up into those stars. How tall was the majestic thing now – fifty feet? Seventy? It was difficult to say. It was extending up through the stone totem; higher and even higher into the night sky.

My eyes widened while I said, "It can't be! It can't."

A universal power was exploding inside the Earth's fabric of thought while waves blundered and boomed on the island's rocky toes.

"Look at what's happening!" I whispered, "The sword in the stone!"

I was terrified the incredible thing would burn my brain or shatter my nervous system: but there was nothing I could do except watch while the giant sword deafened my ears through my flesh – through my bones. _What about all of those people out there sleeping in their beds?_ Even if I told them they would never in a million years believe me. They'd think I was insane. And maybe I'd agree with them? My head tilted back into the shadow of the coat's hood. And my mouth gawped open. Eyes stared upwards... The giant sword of power! Body was a burped-back spasm. A soft drizzle had started to tappety-tap on the hood of my coat; and I could hear the sound of that crashing sea. But the great sword was still there. What did it mean – this wonderful thing? Why had it risen – why? _What does it all mean?_

And as it seemed to have reached its fullness of height the voice of an Amazon woman – from nowhere a woman said right into my ear, "Well! Who'd have thought it?"

My mind had vanished completely – that is, the usual babbling nonsense voice of the body echoing in the brain: it had vanished. All that was left was me: and the straightforwardness of my own thought – perfectly clear! Logical. Lucid. So there really is no death: because I am not my body and I am not the brain. I am consciousness: and consciousness exists independent of the brain. Somehow I'd...

Was I somewhere outside of my body?

**FIVE** Slowly and gently my body rocked forwards and backwards, forwards and backwards; while the sword was fading at last. Face was turned to the stars; bottom lip jutting upwards in a closed grin of smug joy. Soft drifts of drizzle tapped over the coat's hood. I was in the middle of a whirlwind. Swirling all around the stone – a whirlwind of... What was it – love? Was it a storm of romance? And as I closed my eyes this time I jolted with shock – _what?_ How could I still be seeing the same stars, the cloud, my knees jutting out from under the coat with my eyes closed?

I stared dumbfounded yet my eyes were firmly shut.

And that storm of something kind and good became louder and louder – was it a hurricane? I could even hear it roar.

As I looked and looked there was part of the night sky; an area of the blackness that was very near to a bright star that had an atmosphere that... Near to that strange star. It had a different atmosphere. What was that part of the sky – it seemed to move? Was some of the blackness moving near to that strange star? Or was it a planet? It was brighter than all of the other stars – what? _That was the strangest thing – how_ ...

The thing, in a split second. Silvery sheet... Unfolded suddenly out from that blackness – just over an arm's length away now. Smooth. Dull metallic – it's like thin metal. It was right there in the night sky. A rectangular sheet of silvery-grey metal had unfolded so suddenly from something I couldn't see that was near that bright star! I stared in shock and disbelief. It looked like a rectangular sheet of completely solid metal: big as the top half of my body. Approximately three feet away.

_And what just happened then?_ I didn't see how the main central area of the metal sheet had disappeared. So that now it was a rectangular frame. Like a metal picture frame. Inside that frame there was nothing but the night sky. _How can I be seeing this?_ I wondered. _My eyes are closed._ I was fully conscious. My eyes were closed. And I was looking through a metallic frame at the night sky. But something was suddenly inside that frame – vivid and bright; something was moving: it was a shifting mist of golden light. Lustrous and dazzling; it was a light-cloud of lustrously golden mist – I was mesmerized. A moving and swirling mist of shining golden light that shifted and morphed.

Suddenly the mist was not a mist.

"It's like god!" I whispered. Then I rebounded in the shock of saying 'it's like God'.

'It's like god' might have been a name I was calling the funny skeletal-looking human that the golden light-cloud had turned into. It was looking back at me through the frame: with the stars all behind it. There were no eyes as such; merely black, perfectly round, quite small holes where its eyes should be. Ghostly. Spooky-looking. Shining one. I was looking at it. And it was looking at me. It was looking at me: I was looking at it.

The frame was an open window; where the lustrous golden light had transformed into a shining human; looking back at me with the same shut-lipped grin of smug joy.

It was mirroring me exactly – but why?

"I've been looking for you all of my life," I whispered like a long-lost lover. I rebounded in the shock of saying that as well _how could I have been looking for something that I'd never seen until now?_

Looking at the being I thought of the word 'ghost'. It looked like a skeleton but with lips; and covered with some sort of dazzling perfectly golden flesh. The head – oh my god such an exquisite head: so elegant. Bald. Elongated right back and back into the shadow of the night sky. The forehead surprised me – it wasn't like the classic alien's head; in that the forehead was actually quite shallow. Yet it extended far back into that deep shadow of Space. The word 'holy' drifted through my mind. Somehow the being was man, woman, and child all at once: indeed it was the very essence of human. Its cheeks were like the chubby cheeks of a cherubic baby. The shoulders were elegant and strong. In fact – rather like a human skeleton – it was androgynous and ageless. With a funny little pixie's nose – upturned and pointed.

I stared and stared at the golden lusciousness of the being's perfect flesh. It scintillated far deeper than the burnished death mask of Tut-Ankh-Amun. It appeared to be made from all of the light of the universe; because all of the colors were there – creating that scintillating golden dazzle: like cosmically polished gold, if there were ever such a thing.

I couldn't see all of the human's body – only the upper body – abdomen, chest, shoulders, arms, neck, and all of the head; framed by that metallic frame. There were no ears at all: and for eyes there were just those two ghostly black holes.

It smiled back at me in the exact same way that I was smiling at it: with that same smug joy. How very strange! Why was it smiling at me like that? The word 'angel' passed through my mind. I'd never seen an angel before. It was angelic as it looked back at me from those stars: but what sort of an angel was it?

This was the most perfect being there could ever be: it really was god-like.

I wanted to have a closer look – I wanted to look into those empty black eye-sockets and see what was there: was anything there? I leaned forwards... and as I did so the being also leaned forwards in exactly the same way. It leaned forwards a little more – exactly like I was leaning forwards – and we both came face to face right up close. In some ways it was as if I was looking into a mirror. The eyes were very close to mine: and in its eyes... in its eyes – _oh my god!_ A galaxy! Inside each empty eye-socket – a galaxy! Oh my. A galaxy in each eye a ga... All I was seeing was the night sky and its stars. The being had vanished – gone!

Jolt! Shock of electric through my body – the strange rectangular thing had vanished: and with it the holy being of golden light. _Where...?_ How long had we been looking at each other? It was at least five minutes, for sure: it seemed like just less than ten. That storm of romance was still swirling around the stone but it was starting to fade: leaving me, once again, rocking gently forwards and backwards; in a sort of contented glow.

I was sure the being had been in front of me for about the same amount of time as the sword had been there. Oh, I could hear the waves crashing on the island far below: and that smell of pines and of cedar trees was mingling with that salty tang of the sea. There was no doubt about what I'd just seen – my mind had been given too much time to make its usual mistakes and to go through its routine of sudden recognition and then instantaneous disengagement that always takes place when seeing extraordinary things. Yes, my mind had gone through all of that while looking at the being – it had gone through all of that. But the being had remained: watching me with those empty black eyes – and smiling that exact same smile... as me. Why had it been doing that? I didn't know.

And all of a sudden I realized I was alone.

The sound of waves was further down below and beyond that swish of the trees. Breezes blustered on my face. That salty tang of the sea! But the world was no longer a place I wanted to be. A soft drizzle had been falling on and off for some time: and now I had to make a shelter and try to get some sleep. In a few more minutes I knew there was nothing left: and so I stood up... to let the copper rod point away from the stone. Soon the Intelligence was leading me up and over the island's various stone steps and rises: and all the way back towards the shadow of the castle.

When the morning finally did come, and I'd stashed my gear into my rucksack and was ready to leave, I once again went and stood on the stone totem's head: from where I watched the tide gradually expose the beach wave by wave: thus leaving me free at last to return back onto the mainland. From the totem's flat head, those white-washed cottages of Marazion seemed to be no more than a stone's throw away. And the gulls had returned at last to stab the morning air with their cries. Clearly, the sea was washing away from the shore down below and beyond that fortressed gate: where the terraced cottages and the various other old buildings form a line in front of the cobbled causeway. I'd be off the island in ten minutes or so.

But now I was remembering the tapping of drizzle on that little tent affair I'd set up in some hidden place near the castle: where there had been such terrible dreams. Blood-covered men staggering about either during or after some sort of battle – ghosts, maybe: vivid memories trapped in the fabric of the island. I wondered _were they even some of the people that were waiting all around the stone?_ One man with a prominent ginger beard had stared wildly with one eye through half of his face covered in blood.

Then suddenly I was back on the stone's flat head, and glad to hear the seagulls calling again; and to see the sky turning into grey.

**SIX** In the decades of a distant history – and long before when the Sword was located at Dinsul (the place that today is called 'Saint Michael's Mount'), those vast energies used to swirl up through the waters of a lake: according to the Intelligence, that is. And forty-eight hours after my adventure on the Mount, the Intelligence had also communicated that it wanted all of those energies shifted away and inland; to where an old bog fills the hollow of an obscure valley: and where long before these modern times there used to be a secret and silent lake. Therefore it made me wonder _does this have something to do with the lake of Arthurian Myth?_

After The Battle of Camlann, the mortally wounded King Arthur knows that the great sword, Excalibur, should be returned to the magical realm from whence it came. He orders Sir Bedivere, one of his closest knights, to take Excalibur and cast it into the waters of a sacred lake. Bedivere takes the sword; but, on approaching the sacred lake, he fears that Excalibur is too great a treasure for Britain to lose. Thus he returns to his king after first hiding Excalibur so that Arthur might think that the task has been done. When King Arthur sees Sir Bedivere he asks, "What happened at the lake?" For Arthur knows that some miraculous event will certainly take place upon the casting away of the great sword of power. Bedivere lies, and says that there was nothing but the lapping of the waves. Thus the king knows Sir Bedivere failed in his task; and orders him to return to the lake and throw the sword in. For a second time Bedivere goes and fails to throw the sword into the lake: thus hiding the sword and returning to Arthur, whereupon he is asked again by the king, "What happened at the lake?" Sir Bedivere says that there was nothing but the sword splashing into the water. Arthur becomes angry and chastises Bedivere; before ordering him to return to the lake for a third time and cast Excalibur in. Sir Bedivere returns to the sacred lake and finally throws Excalibur out over the water. But just as the sword is about to go down a woman seems to be there, as her arm is lifted from the dark waters to catch the sword – then brandish it three times before slipping back into the lake's hidden depths: thus taking the great sword Excalibur away with her forever.

There are a number of locations that researchers of British mythology still name as possible locations for the famous lake of Arthurian myth, such as the evocative Dozmary Pool, near Bodmin Moor in Cornwall; where several Cornish legends are centered. However, in 1869 – when the lake temporarily dried up, a search for the legendary sword revealed no sword but numerous Neolithic arrow heads.

Then another location some see as being the famous lake is Berth Pool – near Baschurch in mid Wales; which is close to where long ago the Kings of Powys were buried, in the 7th Century (that being the time in history associated with King Arthur). In that distant time it was wild fenlands surrounding the Celtic burial mound that is today called The Berth; where, according to local custom, a Celtic prince was buried: while his men were buried in the nearby long barrow.

All that remains of those fens now is where some believe Excalibur was laid to rest, in Berth Pool. In 1906, somebody found a 1st Century cauldron at Berth Pool; which most likely was some sort of Celtic votive offering that had been thrown into the water: for to the Iron Age Celts it was customary to throw precious items into lakes or ponds that were considered sacred. In 1942, the excavation of a dried up lake in Anglesey, North Wales – called Llyn Cerrig Bach, uncovered one hundred and forty four Celtic antiquities that, over a period of several centuries, had been thrown into the lake as offerings to some long-forgotten divinity. Therefore, it's never been too difficult for archaeologists to make the connection between the Lady in the Lake story and the old Celtic customs.

But maybe a search for the lake is pointless because the true lake of Arthurian Myth has disappeared? Maybe all that exists there today... Is an obscure marsh, like the Intelligence was saying? And if my eyes were telling me the truth then it would seem so. Because as I clambered over and through another crumbling stone wall there it was, opening out in front of me: a long but relatively shallow valley. And down in its wide hollow, rustling and whispering in the breezes of a December afternoon, the brown expanse of an old bog. Even from where I stood – maybe three hundred feet up on the shoulder of a valley rise, I could hear the bog's various rustling grasses: and the occasional metallic choke of a pheasant's call. Pretty soon I'd have to be battling through those tussock-grasses down there in my search for the secret place of power.

I lifted the copper rod and watched it swerve to then point fiercely in my fist towards a thing out there in those rough grasses below. Following the grassy slope I noticed immediately how a big meandering red-brown scar in the earth snaked its free-and-easy way down, down the valley side, and down onto the valley floor; to where sparse woods fringed the old muddy shores of something like a strange and indefinable memory that long since had vanished. Maybe there once really had been a lake down there after all? It was certainly very boggy and wet, as far as I could tell from up there in the breezes. And as I stumbled and slipped my way further and further down the grassy fall, I stopped to look at what was clearly the remnant of an old pond. It was surrounded by deep pocks and sucks from cattle-hooves in the mud: and it was quite clearly where that serpentine scar had for a moment cut through a level shelf in its descent before continuing its lazy fall into that waiting marsh, below.

At first I didn't realize what I was looking at, but then... Suddenly I realized _was this winding furrow actually a stream, once upon a time?_ And when I turned to look back up the steep incline – trying to find the origin of that serpentine furrow the cloying atmosphere chilled my blood. There it was. Up there in the valley-side were two meticulously stoned-in mouths – two tragically blocked-up openings, out of which spewed the deep scar. It did seem to suggest that those two gagged mouths and the red-brown gully that poured out from them both were the dried up memory of some deep and rushing brook. And looking around I could see other valley-side holes with their descending furrows.

So then!

Stumbling now; I could smell the marsh and its ominously thick air while I slipped further and further down into the valley's hollow. Birds were silent: even the wind was still. And when I touched the lower reaches of that valley side, where the ground was leveling out and becoming softer and decidedly softer underfoot – and where a border of low trees fringed the edges of that flat expanse of wild grass; I could see how generous clumps of bulrushes and endless clumps of bog-grass were powerful evidence that a huge amount of water lingered out there.

Standing in a sudden freshening breeze I wondered – _could it be?_ Blocked-up holes, from which meander remnant scars of powerful streams that furrow their serpentine way down and further down to where there is today an old marsh covering a valley floor. I scratched my head: it was obvious – _surely?_ Was I in fact looking at the remains of a dead lake? It seemed so. Today a watery marsh of reeds and rough grasses choke a valley's hollow; but centuries ago it is possible that a rather different scene was out there. Back in that time all of those rushing brooks would have been tumbling full: and instead of slipping down a bare valley side I would have tripped down through dark woods; before descending onto the shores of a quiet lake.

And there I stood.

As had happened in the old story, I also had come to return the magical forces connected to The Sword.

Out there in the middle of that marshy expanse there was a straggling tree: and the copper rod I was holding out in my fist was pointing fiercely towards that tree: or at least to something that was somewhere very close to it. Oh dear. I really was going to have to somehow battle my way out into that quagmire after all. Meanwhile those steep sides all around the valley's hollow... I looked at the silent surrounding hills that by now were all around me, feeling rather hunted for some strange reason: as if I was being watched. Very, very intently watched. My eyes became slits while I looked here and there at those surrounding hills. They seemed so close. They seemed to be threatening. _Is someone watching me?_ But apparently no one was there.

Snagged and tugged by branches, I pushed through a fringe of low trees rising from the muddy shore of that flat bog; to take my first step out onto its stinking and oozy morass.

At first, only shallow bog-grasses and drier clumps of wild grass were crushed underfoot. Every few minutes, blizzards of little birds shot by overhead. The metallic choke of a wild pheasant shattered the only sounds: they being the breeze on my ears and that deep suck and squeeze of my boots in the increasingly perilous bog. Also the silence... It was everywhere. And some ten feet further on, where the rushes grew thicker and higher, the sucking ooze turned abruptly into the beginnings of a far more watery bog.

I was starting to sweat with fear. _This is getting ridiculous and I'm not even close!_

I lifted my head and stopped for a second. Somewhere further out there, amongst a sea of high reeds and bulrushes, the secret place of power was somewhere out there – I could see that straggling tree. Then continuing on into the reeds, finding a solid footing was turning into a game of suck-it-and-see; while the reeds crunched and bent in thick clumps underfoot. On the previous night, the Intelligence had tried to communicate that where I'd be going would indeed be wet: but I hadn't reckoned on it being this wet. My boots were sinking alarmingly; with smelly brown water swelling and then swirling all around my ankles. Holding the copper rod was tricky, because all of those thick high reeds and bulrushes had to be pushed aside with one arm, while the other arm was keeping my balance. Yet that balancing arm was also the arm with which to hold the copper rod.

It wouldn't be the first or last time while doing the Science that I said to myself out loud and between gasps, 'Must... get... _fitter!'_

Overhead, a flock of starlings gusted and swirled in that rising and lurching mid-air dance. I could hear them chirruping. They twisted in the sky like a black cloud of smoke. And all the time the Intelligence was pointing the rod doggedly out towards that not-so-distant area of the marsh; because by now I'd probably covered over a third of the distance. I looked at my watch. Ten past two. The moment of power would start in about twenty minute's time – the copper rod turned in my fist. I was approaching the outskirts of a huge spiral in the Earth's field: right where the marsh was growing deeper and boggier. It seemed I was being led into the softly swirling core of the secret place of power.

"Is this it – is this the secret place?" I whispered.

The rod twitched inwards fiercely to say _'yes!'_ Before turning again, on that huge spiral that was leading me in.

But this time it wasn't so easy. Boots sinking in then sucking on the boggy broth. One arm held out keeping balance and pushing back the great banks of rushes as well. A brown stench thickening the air: clogging my nostrils. Horror-of-horrors I could see through a dense bank of reeds a horribly pond-like area was a few feet ahead – right there among the rushes: and by the reactions of the copper rod... "Where's the place you want me to sit down?" I whispered, as if someone standing on one of those hills might hear me. The rod swerved and pointed fiercely at that little pool of dark water. It was maybe four or five feet beyond.

My face twisted, "Are you pointing the rod at the incoming centre of power?"

The rod twitched inwards hard, _'Yes!'_

I closed my eyes and shook my head, "Then show me where to sit down."

After another sinking step nearer to the little pool the rod twisted inwards to say _'there!_ ' Lucky I'd gone to the marsh with a plastic bin-liner. I ripped it open and laid it over the clumps of bog-grass, before getting down in those rustling reeds. Boggy black water trickled down the back of my jeans – swirled into my earth-clogged boots: while all physical discomfort was unexpectedly vanishing... Something had whispered into that fathomless cavern beyond my ribcage.

Cocooning kindnesses were already a relentless downward flow – an empty black energy-tunnel going down into the marsh. A gravitational pull was turning my inside into a mysteriously dark tunnel. There was nothing scary about it at all: rather, it was overwhelming in its gentleness and safety. I'd experienced a similar event at Chard Beacon, earlier in the year: but this was something else. An engulfing downward power. A purely feminine atmosphere. It made the exterior world vanish: leaving a gentle world. Down, descending down: down into a mysterious black hole. Swirling below. Down, relentlessly down. A dark tunnel of force flowed relentlessly down through my slowly stiffening body and into the Earth. It was like being in a womb.

All that is woman ruled the day.

My mind was struggling desperately with that strange nothingness – and why? On every episode of the Science thus far there'd been some sort of vivid manifestation – either a sword, or a winged sun, or a giant column of power, or the Grail: but with this? Only an endless downward flow. A dark emptiness that enveloped me. It was a solid comfort. I opened my eyes and looked at that quiet pool of dark water, only a few feet away. That was where the power was focusing. _Maybe I should actually sit there – I mean so what if I get soaked?_

I stood up in the reeds and lifted the copper rod, "Do I need to move nearer into the power centre?" I whispered.

The rod swerved outwards, _'No.'_

"So then am I alright where I am?"

Now the rod swerved inwards hard, _'Yes!'_

That world of hushing reeds was all turning various shades of orange and gold: meaning that the daylight was starting to weaken. Meanwhile, great plumes of dark energy – gusting and swirling in the skies beyond the many other twittering little birds thundering by in straight paths over the reeds were starling-clouds. I looked at my watch: three thirty-five in the afternoon. In maybe in as little as two hours' time the marsh would be engulfed by darkness. My head tilted back slightly as I closed my eyes inside that continuing endless flow. That giant tunnel of black emptiness continued its relentless movement down and down into the Earth. And somewhere in that ruthless downwards flow I sort of disappeared.

The marsh was not a marsh anymore but a black void where I was no one. I had become a single eye that watched and stared into nothing. But it wasn't nothing. How could nothing be so like home? How could I be so free inside nothing – _what is this place?_ Far behind – somewhere in the past, there might have once been a big brown marsh. A smelly place. Lovely but cold. Inhospitable. A wonderland, for sure: but not for me. This blackness... This was my home. This place of death: where even though there is nothing... I am.

For how long was I there? It seemed like hours and hours. And when the world started fading back into my mind – bringing with it the rustling reeds and the pond water down the back of my jeans and... That cold and smelly swirl of dead water filling my boots. I opened my eyes. Looked at my watch. Three forty-eight. Only twenty minutes had passed. _Has it finished – is it over?_

Squelching and with knees stiff from the encroaching chill, I stood up again in the ankle-deep pond-water and lifted the copper rod, "Has the moment of power passed yet – is this episode finished?"

The rod swerved outwards with an imposing force, _'No!'_

Was I being urged to sit down? It seemed so. I got down again and shut my eyes among the long shadows. Engulfing me again, that relentless downward power. My skull was tilting back. Face twisted and frowned. Spine was hardening into steel – _what is this?_ Mouth was curving upwards at both sides: opening to become a black hole. With head tilting further back, eyes opened to see the darkening sky... A sound. A strange sound. Giggling up – exploding. Upwards from the shadowy swamp and out through my ribcage grotto.

Womanly joyful laughter! It was ecstatically a fountain! Silvery bubbling-up bubbles burped back my head-wards under late afternoon light sky – tearful hot liquid squirting from nostrils and out of ears made the big nostrils wonder where this strange hilarity-squirt was coming from; while chilly-bummed in pond water and face-flushed delirious from the nostril: and the cheeky finger of Jobe poked the laughter through my left eye-ear bubbling up... from the bog! Was it not the Amazon woman's laughter gargling my head back further – she whose voice I'd heard in my ear during the rising of the sword, on the Mount? And somewhere in the middle of all that absurd laughter I knew it... _It's done!_

The forces of the Sword had shifted away from Saint Michael's Mount, to return – after all those centuries. They had come back to this lonely place that since a time long gone had been made into this old and empty marsh.

As her laughter cooled, and I lingered inside her shimmering echo, I wondered where all of that delirious joy had come from. I looked at the reeds swaying in the late afternoon breezes: but they were giving me no answers. It was time to solemnly leave, and so to lurch and squelch and curse my lonely little battle back to the shadows of the tree-lined shore: and look again over the whispering expanses of reeds and rushes... And see in my mind's eye the lake, which long ago was surrounded by tumbling brooks and eddies that chattered and laughed down darkly wooded hills. Maybe, while standing there in the gloom, I'd even feel the terror (or is it the thrill?) of when this place was a frightening world to reach; and breathtaking to encounter suddenly. Brushing out from deep wooded shadow. Gazing wide-eyed over the secret silent water: shivering with horror that a dragon of some kind lurks in the depths of that lake. And never for one moment ever dreaming to guess that an Age would come when some future generation would clear away the forests, drain these ancient lakes for agriculture, and cause this magical location (and many other places like it in Britain) to disappear.

But would they ever make the forces of the Earth disappear?

Maybe the returning of those forces – back to the valley and its lonely marsh... Maybe the Science had made it so that the lake and its darkly wooded hills will one day – and in some unimaginable century, return?

**SEVEN** My adventure on the Mount had started at night, on November the 25th 2004: it ended, of course, in the early hours of the following day; November the 26th. By the late December of that year I still had no idea what I had encountered while sitting there on the stone. Incredibly, it would take nearly eight years of questions, a wealth of further experience in the Science, and seemingly endless twists and turns to even begin to understand what had happened there. These following dialogues are composites from numerous conversations with the Intelligence, which took place over those eight years: culminating, of course, in the final understanding about what the being of light – the so-called 'Archangel Michael', truly is.

This first dialogue took place in the attic in Somerset, in December 2004; approximately two weeks after my encounter on the Mount. At the time I was still communicating with the Intelligence by using not one but two copper rods: "That was a very strange thing that happened on the Mount and I still can't work out what it was – do you know what I'm talking about now?"

The rods twitch between a 'yes' and a 'no' answer, _'Yes – no'._

The tone of my voice hardens, "Do you know what I'm referring to here?"

The rods both show that same answer, _'Yes – no'._

Eyes narrow, "I'm talking about that being of light... Or whatever it was – do you know what I'm talking about now?"

The rods both swerve inwards and almost cross, _'Yes!'_

I nod my head, "So then... What was it? Was it a living being of some kind?"

The rods both twitch in and out again _, 'Yes – no'_.

Shake my head slowly yes and no – what does that mean? My eyes narrow, "Okay then I'll just ask you straight... Did I see some sort of an extraterrestrial being that night while I was sitting on the stone?"

Once again the rods twitch in their 'yes' and 'no' position, _'Yes – no'._

"Are you saying that what I saw was a being that came from a planet that is not this planet Earth?"

The rods both seem to be locked in this 'yes' and 'no' answer, _'Yes – no'_.

Hesitation: voice hardens again, "You keep saying yes and no... Are you joking with me now, or something?"

Suddenly the rods both swerve outwards, _'No'_.

Another hesitation, "So in other words... There actually is an answer to this riddle... Is there?"

The rods both swerve inwards, _'Yes'._

Outside in the Somerset gloom of a winter early evening there's a familiar sound of crows, "Once upon a time someone saw the same thing as I did... Didn't they?"

The rods both swerve inwards again, _'Yes'_.

Facial expression has changed, "They saw the being of light on the Mount as well – is that correct?"

The rods both swerve inwards, _'Yes'_.

"Was it in recent years when that person saw the being of light at Saint Michael's Mount?"

A sudden change of energy makes the rods both swerve outwards, _'No'_.

"You're saying that it was long time ago when that happened?"

' _Yes'_.

My head turns away slightly to one side while I stare at each rod pointing forward from my fists, "There's a disagreement over the exact year when it happened. Some people say that the person who saw the being of light there... saw it in the year 395AD. Is that the year when the being of light was seen on the Mount... by the last person before me?"

The rods both swerve outwards _, 'No'_.

Eyes narrow again, "Was it actually in 495AD?"

The rods both swerve inwards to almost touch my chest _, 'Yes!'_

I wait while the rods both straighten and point forwards again before asking, "And was it a man that saw the being of light back then?"

They bob inwards hard, _'Yes'_.

My eyes slide away to look at the sky darkening beyond the attic window before sliding back to watch the rods again, "Was he doing something on the Mount like what I was doing on the Mount?"

The rods both swerve to point forwards and go stiff. Nothing... No answer.

My forehead wrinkles while I ask, "What I'm saying is... Was he also doing something like the Science?"

Suddenly the rods both swerve outwards _, 'No'_.

Eyes had narrowed while both corners of my mouth turn down: head turns away slightly to one side, "Was he there simply by accident, so to speak?"

Now the rods both swerve inwards, _'Yes'_.

Some sort of intensity has (apparently) entered the attic's deepening shadows – expression of my face changes, "Did he live on the Mount?"

The rods both swerve inwards again _, 'Yes'_.

"History says he was a hermit living on the Mount – is that correct... that he was a hermit?"

The rods twitch inwards hard, _'Yes'_.

Hesitation; then my voice sharpens, "So then did he see the being of light purely by accident?"

They twitch inwards again, _'Yes'_.

"You mean to say that he just happened to be at the right place at the right time?"

Now the rods both swerve inwards, _'Yes'_.

I seem to back away slightly from the rods while I stare at them glinting in the gloom, "Was that pretty much why I saw it? Was it mere luck that I saw the being of light?"

The rods both swerve inwards again, _'Yes'_.

Hesitation. My forehead wrinkles, "So then did I see it because I was on the Mount doing the Science?"

Now the rods both swerve outwards, _'No'_.

Eyes narrow, "You're saying that I saw the being of light not because I was doing the Science... But because I just happened to be at the correct place at exactly the correct time for me to see the being of light?"

The rods both swerve inwards, _'Yes'_.

Hesitation again, "So you're saying to me that I saw the being of light by pure chance – is that correct?"

' _Yes'_.

I turn my head so as to look over to my left and through the attic window again. Then another change of facial expression makes me hesitate for a couple of seconds before turning to stare at the rods, "So then what... Is it an alien?"

The rods both swerve outwards, _'No'_.

Shadows in the attic have changed: it seems night is approaching, "Some believe it to be an Archangel – is it an Archangel?"

But now the rods both twitch to then point forwards rigidly and twitch again, in and out... in and out, _'Yes – no'_.

My eyes widen in the deepening gloom, "Then is it an angel?"

The rods both do it again, _'Yes – no'_.

A shift of facial expression is followed by a lighter tone of voice, "So do you want me to define exactly what I mean by the word 'angel'?"

Suddenly the rods both swerve inwards, _'Yes'_.

"I suppose I mean a divine being that comes from God – is that the being of light?"

The rods both twitch in and out in and out; as if to say, _'Yes and no'_.

Hesitation: then, "So does the light-being come from... from something evil?"

' _No'_.

"Does it come from something good?"

The rods both swerve inwards, _'Yes'_.

My head turns slightly to one side, "Is the being of light an actual living being?"

Once again the rods twitches in and out, _'Yes – no'_.

My eyes narrow, "Are you saying that it is a living being of some kind?"

The rods both twitch in and out, _'Yes – no'_.

On raising my eyebrows slightly I ask, "Are you saying that the being... is not actually a living being?"

' _Yes'_.

My face appears to have frozen in the same expression, "So the being of light is not actually a living being – is that correct?"

The rods both swerve even harder inwards, _'Yes!'_

A thought flashes in my mind, "Hang on a minute – I think I know what you mean. I don't know why I'm asking you this but... was a living being somehow connected to the being of light?"

The rods both swerve inwards again, _'Yes'_.

Some sort of intensity has changed my voice even more, "Was the living being a being that was smiling while the light being was there?"

' _Yes'_.

"Are you referring to somebody other than me?"

' _No'_.

Another hesitation: then, "So you're saying that there was a living being associated with the being of light... and that living being was me – is that correct?"

The rods both swerve inwards and cross, _'Yes!'_

"Are you saying that I'm the being of light?"

Suddenly the rods both swerve fiercely outwards, _'No!'_

One side of my mouth curls upwards while I nod and speak at the same time, "Right. No. Obviously not. I didn't think so."

In the very early hours of Tuesday 14th August 2001 – three years and three months before my journey to the Mount, something very strange appeared in a giant wheat field directly adjacent to the Chilbolton Observatory, near Wherwell in Hampshire, England. It could be seen at ground level that a large area of wheat had been flattened; but it was only later that day (during an aerial investigation by small airplane) when it was discovered how the unusual effect was actually not the result of a night storm, as had been earlier surmised. A gigantic pixilated image – created by numerous deliberately and artfully graduated clumped shafts of wheat – was clearly visible; and, indeed, was photographed from the air and also at ground level.

It showed an androgynous human face inside a rectangular frame.

Later on, the entire formation was measured to be 145 feet wide and 186 feet long.

Five days later, and just a few hundred yards away from the face (but still in the same field) another image appeared. It was created in the same manner of numerous graduated standing clumps of wheat; and was measured to be approximately100 feet wide and 240 feet long. It appeared to be an exact reply to a coded message that was sent out into the stars twenty-seven years earlier, on the 16th November 1974, from the Arecibo Observatory in Puerto Rico. The coded message (which when deciphered from binary code created an informational image) had given many details about human life on Earth, i.e. a diagram of our physical appearance, details concerning our biological structure, a diagram of our solar system, the human population number at the time, and even the mechanism used for the transmission.

The message in the wheat was an exact copy and a fully comprehensive reply; but with completely different information.

It showed a diagram of a three feet and four inches-tall being with a large head, that the population of twenty-one billion existed over three huge planets and moon of an unknown solar system, that the basic element of their bodies is silicon. It also illustrated the method of transmission as identical to another complex wheat image, which had appeared one year earlier almost to the day (on the 13th August 2000) on exactly the same spot as the message.

It was maybe two months after that previous dialogue, in 2004, when I happened to see a photograph of The Chilbolton Face for the first time: and immediately I recognized it to be the same being as I'd encountered while I was sitting on the stone. Even the rectangular frame it had appeared inside was depicted clearly as well. The only differences between the face in the wheat and the being that I saw were the facial expression, the angle at which the being was looking at me: and the fact that in the wheat image all we see is the face close up; whereas from the stone I was able to view (and scrutinize for approximately ten minutes) the entire head and the entire upper half of its naked body as well (which is saying something, because the head was big).

But how could the being's image materialize in a field of wheat in England _three years before_ I saw it for real on Saint Michael's Mount?

The years passed: and during those years the answers to all of the questions that circled around this very strange episode on the Mount would sometimes seem to appear before flitting away suddenly, like ghosts. This next dialogue took place in a flat in Stoke Newington ( _North London_ ) four years after that first dialogue; by which time I was using only one copper rod in my communications... It was in the autumn of 2008, and the explanation for what had happened on the Mount remained as infuriatingly elusive as ever: "I know we've already talked about this many times, but just to make sure you know what I'm talking about I'll ask you again... Are you aware that a few years ago in a wheat field in England there appeared a huge image of a face inside a rectangle? Did you know that?"

The rods both swerve inwards, _'Yes'_.

I stare intently at the copper rod, "The face in that wheat image... That's the being that I saw, isn't it?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

Hesitation: I turn my head slightly away, "And next to that image of the face there was another thing that appeared in the wheat – another image of something. Do you know what I'm referring to here?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

My facial expression hardens, "Was it a circle that appeared?"

Now the rod bobs fiercely outwards, _'No'_.

"Was it another face that appeared?"

' _No'_.

My eyes narrow while I ask, "Was it some sort of a message that appeared?"

Suddenly the rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'._

Eyes widen: faint smile tickles the corners of my mouth, "It was a message, wasn't it?"

The rod swerves inwards again, _'Yes'_.

"Strange thing is that the message appeared right next to the face... and the sword appeared right next to the being of light – in terms of time period that is. Would I be incorrect to think that those facts are in some way... meaningful?"

The rod swerves outwards, _'No'._

I tilt my head back slightly from the rod while I ask, "So then would I be incorrect to think that the sword is actually some sort of a message as well?"

The rod swerves outwards again, _'No'._

An atmosphere seems to thicken the air, "So then is the sword in fact some sort of a signal?"

Now the rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'._

My facial expression has changed, "It really is a signal... And what about the message in the wheat? Did the message... Did it come from this Earth?"

The rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

Hesitation again: but then, "Did it come from another part of the universe?"

' _Yes'._

My eyes narrow while my forehead wrinkles, "The message came from another civilization of this universe, did it?"

' _Yes'_.

Beyond the living room window there is the sound of pigeons roosting in a big tree, "That idea would frighten a lot of people on Earth – do you know that?"

The rod points forwards and twitches in and out... in its 'yes' and 'no' answer, _'Yes – no'._

The sound of children is in the street below, "This other civilization that sent the message... Are they a friendly civilization?"

The rod swerves inwards fiercely to almost touch my chest, _'Yes!'_

My eyes narrow, "Are all of the civilizations that exist away from this Earth and out there in the universe... Are all of them civilizations that are friendly towards human beings on Earth?"

The rod points forwards and goes rigid: neither a 'yes' nor a 'no' answer.

A sudden thought flashes, "Oh I remember... We had this discussion already. You made it clear that when I'm talking to you about this I should make a distinction between the word civilization and the word colony – is that correct?"

The rod swerves inwards _, 'Yes'_.

"That I should use the word 'civilization' when talking about the Goddesses and the Gods and those beings that swerve them. And that I should use the word 'colony' when talking about those universal beings that do not serve the Goddesses and the Gods – is that correct?"

The rod swerves inwards fiercely, _'Yes!'_

"So you're saying that some of the universal beings existing out there away from planet Earth... some of them are very bad for life on Earth – is that correct?"

The rod swerves inwards with an imposing force _, 'Yes!'_

My forehead wrinkles, "These very negative and dangerous colonies... would they be the so-called 'Grey Aliens' – the ones that say they are from 'Zeta Riticulum'... yes or no?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

Hesitation: then, "I'd like to return to talking about the civilization that is behind the being of light that I saw on the Mount..." Suddenly a thought flashes into my head, "This is going to sound strange but... Do they have something to do with human beings on Earth?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'._

"Are they something to do with being the creators of human beings on Earth?"

The atmosphere in the living room has changed in some way, while the rod swerves inwards again, _'Yes'_.

Hesitation: then, "In other words... they are something to do with the creative power that is, in fact, the true thing that people call 'God'."

The rod swerves inwards to almost touch my chest, _'Yes!'_

"I mean... Are they the actual creator of people on Earth?"

Suddenly the rod twitches in and out, _'Yes – no'_.

Hand holding the rod is trembling slightly: I ask the counter-question, "Are you saying that they did not create human beings on Earth?"

Now the rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

"Then are you saying that they did create human beings on Earth?"

The rod swerves outwards, _'No'._

Another thought flashes, "I think I know what you're saying... Are you saying that the civilization of little beings with the big heads that are friendly to Earth... They are in service to the creator of human beings on Earth – is that correct?"

The rod swerves inwards hard, _'Yes!'_

"How did the creator actually do that, is what I'd like to know. How did something create people? Let me ask you this... Is the thing that did actually create human beings very clever?"

Again the rod points straight forwards and then twitches in and out, _'Yes – no'_.

Eyes widen, "I mean to say... Is it very intelligent?"

Suddenly the rod swerves fiercely inwards, _'Yes!'_

Another sudden thought flashes, "Is the creator of human beings a group of beings?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

"But is that group of beings also one collective thing... all at the same time?"

The rod swerves inwards fiercely hard, _'Yes!'_

"And what about the little friendly beings... Do they serve these creators of people on Earth – yes or no?"

The rod swerves inwards again, _'Yes!'_

Outside the living room window the afternoon light is changing while I ask, "So then... when they serve the creators of human beings did they come in spaceships to Earth?"

The rod turns outwards with force, _'No'_.

A thought flashes into my head, "Do they come to Earth... in a similar way as the way they came to me on the Mount?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

Hesitation: then, "You mean... they come as some sort of... of what – is it just an image that I saw?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'._

"You're saying that it's an image?"

' _Yes'_.

"The being of light is an image?"

' _Yes'_.

My eyes have narrowed, "But isn't it an actual living being?"

Now the rod points forward and twitches... in and out, _'Yes – no'_.

"Ah yes, I remember..." I nod and then widen my eyes, "You said that the living being associated with the being of light is the person who is seeing the being of light – is that correct?"

' _Yes'._

A police siren is rising and then falling while I say, "Hang on a minute.... This is weird... Is the being of light an imprint of some kind?"

Fiercely the rod swerves inwards, _'Yes!'_

Eyes widen again while my mouth drops open, "Oh my god – it is, isn't? It's an imprint – is that correct?"

The rod swerves inwards again, _'Yes'._

"Is it an imprint that comes... from somewhere?"

' _Yes'_.

"And it does something – is that correct?"

' _Yes'_.

I turn my head away slightly to one side while I ask, "It does something to the person that... sees it – yes?"

' _Yes'._

That atmosphere seems to have become even more intense, "It changes them in some way – is that correct?"

' _Yes'._

My hand holding the rod is trembling slightly, "Does it make them evil?"

Suddenly the rod swerves outwards, _'No'._

"Does it make them good?"

Confusingly the rod swerves outwards again, _'No'_.

My eyes narrowed again, "Okay-y-y... But it definitely changes them in some way – is that correct?"

Now the rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

My facial expression has changed, "So then does it make them... human?"

The rod points forward and twitches in and out, _'Yes – no'_.

"Yes and no. Strange answer. Yes it does and no it does not make the person that sees it human."

In the four years following November 2004, whenever I communicated with the Intelligence about the Being of Light I always reached a degree of understanding before hitting some sort of a psychological wall. Clearly I did have a lot to learn. The following dialogue was actually a composite of quite a number of communications that took place in the flat in Stoke Newington ( _North London_ ) in 2009, "A few days ago we were saying – you and me were saying... that the being of light is something to do with a group of intelligent civilizations of the universe that actually serve the creators of people on Earth. Is it correct that we were saying that?"

The copper rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'._

Outside the living room window, the street below is sleepy in the afternoon quiet while I ask, "Okay. And the being of light... Is it from a civilization of beings that are small and have big heads?"

The same force swerves the rod inwards, _'Yes'._

"So then are they aliens?"

But now the rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

"You're saying that the little beings that come from another part of the universe... and that have big heads... are not actually aliens – is that correct?"

Now the rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

I nod my head once before asking, "Do they look like what I saw on the Mount?"

Unexpectedly, the rod points forwards and starts to twitch in and out, _'Yes – no'_.

My eyes narrow as I ask, "They have big bald heads – yes? Heads that are very beautiful and sort of elongate backwards and not upwards like people on Earth always depict them to have – is that correct?"

Now the rod swerves inwards again, _'Yes'_.

"And sort of upturned, pointed noses – yes?"

The rod swerves inwards again, _'Yes'_.

Hesitation: then, "And you are saying... that they are definitely not aliens – correct?"

' _Yes'._

Forehead wrinkles while I wonder then what the heck are they? Then that thought flashes again, "And are they... the origin of what is truly human here on Earth?"

With that same confident force the rod swerves outwards, _'No'._

Eyes widen suddenly as a flood of thoughts surge through my head, "Ah yes – hang on a minute... I remember now... We were saying a while ago that these particular little beings are not the other alien beings that are dangerous to people and to life on Earth – is that correct?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

"And that the beings that originate the being of light... they serve the creators of people on Earth – is that correct?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

"So does that mean that in many ways these mysterious creators of people on Earth are even more human than people on Earth – correct?"

The rod swerves inwards again, _'Yes'_.

For a couple of seconds I say nothing and stare at the rod pointing forward from my fist, "So then what are they like? Are they very kind?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

"And very intelligent?"

Fiercely now the rod swerves... inwards, _'Yes!'_

The sound of a double-decker bus rumbles down the main road at the end of the street outside while I ask, "But I still don't understand... What do you mean when you say that they created human beings? What does that mean – that's what I want to know? So is it true that you cannot tell me the answer to that question?"

Blithely the rod bobs outwards hard, _'No'_.

My eyes narrow, "Are you saying that you cannot tell me the answer to that question?"

Again the rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

"And these creators of human beings... Do they look different from the little beings that serve them?"

The rod swerves inwards hard, _'Yes!'_

My eyebrows flick upwards once before I ask, "Okay. So the being of light whatever-it-is... Does it have something to do in particular with the actual creation of human beings?"

Suddenly the rod points forwards and twitches in and out, _'Yes – no'_.

My facial expression changes, "So then... were human beings created in another sort of way?"

The rod swerves outwards, _'No'._

While my eyes are fixed on the copper rod my head turns away slightly to one side, "That's odd. What does that mean? Are you saying... that the method of creating human beings... was a similar method as to what happened on the stone?"

Suddenly the rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

Another thought flashes, "But hang on a minute, hang on... What are we calling human here? Because my ideas of what it is to be human could be different from your idea of what it is to be human... Would you agree?"

The rod bobs inwards hard, _'Yes'_.

"So then... Does being human have something to do with walking around on two legs?"

Now the rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

"Is it that we can cook and we can eat?"

It swerves outwards again, _'No'._

"No maybe not: some animals do prepare their food in a way I suppose. I think that's what you're saying there... Is being human something to do with a psychological thing?"

The rod swerves inwards with force, _'Yes'_.

I fall silent for a couple of seconds before asking, "You're saying it's to do with the psychology?"

The rod swerves inwards again, _'Yes'_.

Eyes widen as I ask, "Are you saying... Are you saying... That it was some sort of psychological effect that came to Earth and created human beings?"

The rod swerves inwards again, _'Yes'_.

Something about the atmosphere in the living room has changed – as if suddenly I am not alone, "That would actually make sense. I don't know why I'm thinking this but I'll ask you anyway. I think I might know what's going on. I think... Oh my god – is it? Tell me if this is true. Is it true that these creators of people on Earth... From where they are they sent some sort of an imprint into the forces of this Earth... and therefore into primitive beings on Earth that were capable of receiving the imprint. And that was the beginnings of human life on Earth? Is what I said there correct?"

' _Yes'_.

"And the imprint that brought humanness to Earth was the being of light – correct?"

Unexpectedly the rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

A strange expression distorts my face, "It was something else then that made us human, was it?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

A noticeable intensity is gripping the rod while I continue, "Was it some other sort of human image that was projected into the Earth somehow?"

The rod swerves inwards again, _'Yes'_.

My eyes widen with a sudden thought, "Are talking about the human archetypes now – that they are what was transmitted to Earth that created humanity on Earth?"

Fiercely this time, the rod swerves inwards, _'Yes!'_

"Are you saying that the goddesses and the gods... That they are some sort of original human identity – is that correct?"

' _Yes'_.

My hand gripping the copper rod is trembling slightly, "Oh my god... That they projected into the Earth long ago some sort of a living imprint... And from that point on this thing that people on Earth call 'God' started to be present here on Earth. Is that correct?"

The rod swerves inwards and crosses, _'Yes!'_

Hesitation: then, "And were they – the goddesses and the gods – were they... somehow projected to Earth... by the intelligent beings with the big heads?"

The rod bobs inwards hard, _'Yes'._

"Are you joking with me now about this?"

An imposing force swerves the rod outwards, _'No'._

Head turns slightly to one side, "Are you being false in any way at all... when you say that the goddesses and the gods were somehow projected to Earth... by a civilization of intelligent beings... that are small and have big heads?"

The rod swerves outwards again in that same way, _'No'._

"Is the civilization that the Goddesses and the Gods come from... Is it a very long way away from this Earth?"

Shockingly the rod swerves inwards and crosses _, 'Yes!'_

My forehead wrinkles and the corners of my mouth turn downwards while I wonder _so then what on earth is the being of light – what could it be?_

New information was certainly filtering in, but slowly: and it was that vital piece of information about the human archetypes – the so-called 'goddesses and the gods' – being the origin of humanness on Earth that became some sort of a turning-point in all of this. I should say at this point that any line of questioning I undertook came from various understandings and insights that had occurred previously: in other words, the questions I asked were always entirely subject to the knowledge I possessed at the time. After all, we can only ask the question according to whatever we happen to know or to not know: and that was part of the problem. How was I ever going to find the answer to the riddle until I knew what question to ask? It was indeed a sort of 'catch-22' situation: where I couldn't find the answer until I'd reached a point where I actually had an inkling of what the answer might be. This, of course, is why it took so long for me to finally discover what the being of light actually is.

By the time of this next dialogue, which took place in Stroud ( _Gloucestershire, England_ ) in 2011, I had been clawing my way up the sheer face of understanding for approximately seven years. It was now that I had a sense that the seemingly impossible summit was not too far away, "We seem to have established – or, at least, you have told me again and again since we've been talking about it... the goddesses and the gods are human archetypes that were somehow transmitted to Earth by a civilization of the universe – is that correct?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

"And the human archetypes are blueprints – if you will... that embody an aspect of humanness. Is that in anyway false, what I just said there?"

Shockingly the rod swerves inwards again, _'Yes'._

Eyes narrow, "What? That they – ah... Wait a minute... I should have said 'are the human archetypes blueprints that embody everything of what it is to be truly human' – is that correct?"

Now the rod swerves inwards to almost touch my chest, _'Yes!'_

Gentle rain is on the bedroom window, "And that would mean that the human archetypes – the goddesses and the gods... Each one of them is an aspect of humanness – correct?"

The rod swerves inwards again, _'Yes'_.

My face turns slightly to one side, "When we say humanness... Do we mean the greed and jealousy and anger and... you know... the wars and everything that people do – is that humanness?"

With an imposing force the rod swerves outwards, _'No!'_

My facial expression remains unchanged, "So then when we say 'humanness'... do we mean wisdom, and strength, and justice, and freedom and intuitiveness... those sort of things?"

The rod swerves inwards with that same power, _'Yes!'_

My eyes are now fixed on the rod pointing forwards from my fist, "Okay. So then... Before those truly human things entered primitive people on Earth was there a divine presence connected to the Earth?"

The rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

Hesitation: then, "I have to ask you... Did a divinity of any kind create the Earth?"

The rod swerves outwards again, _'No'_.

A sound of jackdaws is outside in the trees, "Did a divinity of any kind create the universe?"

The rod swerves outwards again, _'No'_.

My forehead wrinkles while my eyes narrow, "So then did the universe... create itself?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

The rain has faded while my fist holding the rod is trembling slightly, "And did the Earth create itself?"

' _Yes'_.

Something about the room where I am has changed, "And did human beings create themselves?"

The rod swerves... to point straight forwards and then twitches in and out, _'Yes – no'._

"You're saying... the people on Earth did create themselves... but they also did not create themselves – is that correct?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'._

My eyes drift away from the rod to look beyond the bedroom window where dark woods are on the far side of a small valley, "That's weird. They did but they did not... create themselves. I don't think I understand that... at all." Suddenly a thought flashes, "Oh, wait a minute: do you mean... that the essential humanness of people... The essential humanity that does exist was created by the divine – yes?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

"But that all of the greed and fear and brutality and ugliness and jealousy and sheer nastiness of people... That was created by people alone – yes?"

Suddenly the rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

A strange atmosphere seems to be closing in, "Do you mean... that something else created all of that horror?"

The rod bobs inwards very briefly but rather vividly, _'Yes'_.

Uneasiness makes me wonder what's going on here? "But it's people that fall into the trap of all of that... horrible stuff – correct?"

Now the rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

My eyes widen, "But the divine... It didn't put all of that garbage there... did it?"

The rod swerves forcefully outwards, _'No'._

Suddenly I realize what the strange atmosphere might be, "Did the weirdness and destructiveness of human beings come from a negative presence that exists in the universe?"

The rod bobs inwards, _'Yes'_.

"Are you referring to the so-called 'Grey Aliens' that some people on Earth talk about – the ones that say they are from Riticulum?"

' _Yes'_.

"Do you wish to continue talking about this subject?"

The rod twitches in and out... in and out, _'Yes and no'_.

"Then I think I'll quickly change the subject..." The atmosphere in the bedroom has changed: it's as if a dark cloud of some sort has passed, "So returning back to what we were saying earlier... When you say that people also created who they are as well... Are you talking about the simple physical and mental development of human beings?"

With an imposing force the rod swerves inwards, _'Yes!'_

"Okay, I see. I know what you're talking about. Humans have developed through their own ingenuity and dexterity and whatever." Shadows have deepened as the winter afternoon is reaching towards early evening. A cockerel crows in the garden next door while I ask, "So then... what is the being of light? Amongst all that we're saying here... What does the being of light have to do with all of this? If it isn't the essence of humanness on Earth – that is, if it isn't the goddesses and the gods... and therefore it isn't what we might call 'God'... and if it isn't even actually a living being... Then what the heck is it?"

These dialogues do offer an accurate overview of what amounted to hundreds and hundreds of communications with the Intelligence, from 2004 to 2012: but my compiling them together in this chapter does make it appear sometimes that there were sudden and inexplicable leaps in my understanding. Of course, there were these sudden leaps, which are depicted as the 'flashes of thought' that occasionally interrupt the flow of dialogue. These jagged moments of sudden, unexpected insight were electrifying experiences of having an answer appear suddenly in my head, and then being in the perfect situation to verify that apparent insight immediately as either true or false. However, most of the questions that you read here were asked only because various insights had taken place already in the days and weeks previous.

At the time of that previous dialogue it was November 2011; meaning that seven years had passed since both the sword and the being of light had appeared, on Saint Michael's Mount. However, it was two months later – in January 2012, and while in a flat in Stoke Newington ( _North London_ ), that the truth about what actually is the being of light – the so-called 'Archangel Michael', finally emerged.

"You said a few days ago that the goddesses and the gods are some sort of living projection – or imprint of some kind... that entered the psychology of primitive beings on Earth a very long time ago... And from that point on what truly is 'God' existed on Earth. That is correct is it?"

Immediately the rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

Outside the living room window – over to my left – the street down below is quiet while I ask, "When I say the name 'Carl Gustav Jung' and that Carl Gustav Jung was a very famous psychoanalyst that lived here on Earth a few decades ago... Would you know who I'm talking about?"

But the rod points forward and then twitches... in and out, _'Yes – no'_.

Eyes narrow, "Carl Gustav Jung? The famous psychologist?"

After a hesitation the rod suddenly swerves inwards, _'Yes!'_

The copper rod seems to be gripped by a new energy while I speak, "He talked about The Unconscious, didn't he?"

The rod points straight forwards and then twitches in and out, as if to say _'not sure what you mean by that – be more clear'._

Eyes narrow again, "When I say 'The Unconscious' I definitely do not mean – you know... being an unconscious idiot that just blunders around not knowing what the hell is going on: and all that sort of dreadful nonsense. No. When I say 'The Unconscious' now I'm talking about that eternal resource where a person can find ultimate wisdom, and beauty, and strength, and... you know: qualities that are truly divine to a human being. These precious things that a person needs to make a real success out of their life. That is what I mean here in this conversation when we say 'The Unconscious'. Do you understand me now?"

The red swerves inwards, _'Yes!'_

"So then was Carl Jung incorrect when he said that The Unconscious is where we find the human archetypes?"

Now the rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

Hesitation: then, "So is it true to say that The Unconscious is in fact... what really is God?"

The rod points straight forward and twitches... in and out, _'Yes – no'_.

My head turns slightly to one side, "Are you saying 'yes and no' because it depends what I mean exactly when I say the word 'God'?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

I nod once before carrying on, "Okay, so then let me ask you... Is the Unconscious the creator of the universe and the Earth and all life-forms?"

The rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

Voices down on the street below break the silence while I ask, "And is The Unconscious the creator of human beings?"

The rod twitches in and out, _'Yes'._

My hand holding the copper rod trembles slightly while I ask, "Okay then; so let me ask you this... Therefore does the true humanity exist in The Unconscious?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

"And has The Unconscious always existed on Earth?"

Suddenly the rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

My eyes widen, "So then.... Hang on a minute... Was The Unconscious somehow projected into the primitive creatures on Earth... so that they in time became what we call 'human beings'?"

Fiercely the rod swerves inwards, _'Yes!'_

Another hesitation: then, "And so The Unconscious... Was The Unconscious transmitted to Earth by that civilization of friendly little beings?"

The rod bobs inwards hard, _'Yes'_.

"Meaning they didn't come to Earth in spaceships, did they?"

The rod bobs outwards hard, _'No'._

My eyes drift away from the copper rod to look at the boughs of a big tree beyond the living room window... before drifting back to focus on the rod pointing forwards, "They didn't need to."

Abruptly the rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

"So then is that how people on Earth were created – by the Unconscious somehow being transmitted into creatures on Earth?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

The sound of a double-decker bus rumbles along the main road at the end of the street outside, "And that's how human beings were created... is it?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

"So then, in effect, the civilization of little beings... They are the creators of human beings on Earth – correct?"

The rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

Then a sudden thought flashes, "Do you mean that they somehow projected to Earth the goddesses and the gods – the human archetypes – who in fact are the creators of people on Earth? Is that correct?"

The rod swerves fiercely inwards, _'Yes!'_

"Meaning in effect that the human archetypes are the true God of people on Earth – correct?"

With an imposing force the rod swerves inwards, _'Yes!'_

My mouth has gone dry while I ask the following counter-question: it is my attempt to test somehow both the Intelligence and the verity of the rods, "So then what about the being of light? You said it was definitely not an imprint of some kind. Am I correct in thinking that you said that?"

The rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

One side of my mouth turns upwards, "I know, I know... I'm just testing you to make sure you're still listening to me... So then the being of light is actually some sort of an imprint... is it?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'._

Facial expression changes, "Does a person become special or something when that same person sees the being of light?"

The rod points rigidly forwards and then twitches... in and out, _'Yes – no'_.

Sound of a pigeon is outside the window, "When that person way back in 495AD saw the being of light... Did he go mad?"

Now the rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

The corners of my mouth curve upward slightly, "Did he understand what he'd seen?"

Now the rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

"Did he think he'd seen an Archangel?"

The rod sort of bobs inwards hard, _'Yes'_.

I lift the rod a little higher before asking, "And is the being of light an Archangel?"

The rod swerves forwards again and twitches in and out, _'Yes – no'_.

"Ah, we're back to that again... You're saying 'it depends what you mean by an Archangel'. But you said it was an imprint. So then it must actually do something. Does the imprint actually do something?"

Now the rod swerves inwards. _'Yes'_.

That friendly atmosphere in the room where I now stand seems to have thickened, "The imprint does something for the person that sees it – correct?"

' _Yes'._

My eyes narrow again, "Why did the being of light have a big bald head? And that pointed, upturned, pixie nose? Why? Is it because... it's what the intelligent beings who serve the goddesses and gods actually look like?"

' _Yes'_.

A sudden thought flashes in my mind, "The being of light... It was superimposing something onto me, wasn't it?"

Fiercely the rod swerves inwards, _'Yes!'_

"Oh my god... That's why it was smiling like me! Because what I was seeing... In a way it actually was me..." My mouth gawps open for a second before I carry on, "But I was also seeing an image of the intelligent beings at exactly the same time! That's why! That's why the being of light looked as if it was alive! Because I was alive! And the image... or implant... was being imprinted... onto me! No wonder it was so confusing. Let me ask you something... Does the implant look like the intelligent beings because it comes from them?"

The rod points forwards fiercely and then goes rigidly straight. Neither a 'yes' nor a 'no'.

Hand trembles slightly, "What I mean to say is... Like when a manufacturer leaves a mark or symbol of some kind on their product... Is that why the imprint looks like the intelligent beings?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'_.

Another vivid thought flashes in my head, and so I realize finally – and after all these years _oh my god so that's why I said 'it's like God'_ ('Michael' in the ancient Hebrew) _when I saw the being of light! I said it because the image is a literal image of those that serve the creators of human beings – the true 'God', in other words._ That gentle sound of a pigeon is outside the window again while I ask, "Does the imprint do something special or unique?"

The rod turns to point forwards... and then in twitched in and out, _'Yes – no'_.

"Do you mean it's something special or unique... to me?"

The rod swerves inwards and crossed, _'Yes!'_

I stare fixedly at the copper rod as it swerves again to point forward, "One thing I've been noticing... and it's ever since I've started to be aware of what happened there on the Mount... is that... I seem to have no barrier between me and you anymore – or at least the barrier is incredibly thin. At least for the first thirty years of my life it was always like I could never hear you. And because I could never hear you... I was confused. I hurt a lot of people. I even walked away from someone that I utterly adored because of my confusion. I led myself into situations where I was listening to people I should have been avoiding... I was associating with people and with lifestyles that were poisonous. I was also very, very insecure. But now... Everything is so different. I know exactly who I am... and who I most definitely am not. Whenever you give me messages – whether they be in dreams... or just in my waking thoughts... I person be more and more at one with The Unconscious... doesn't it?"

Shockingly the rod swerves outwards, _'No'_.

I turn my head slightly to one side and narrow my eyes while I ask the deliberate counter-question, "So then that is not what it does?"

But instead of giving any answer, the rod swerves and then points rigidly forwards... to then go absolutely still. It's as if the Intelligence is waiting always notice what you're saying to me. What you're telling me. The wisdom of what I should do next in my life – exactly what turn I need to take and what I need to avoid... It is now so abundantly clear. And I don't ignore it anymore. It doesn't pass me by unnoticed and unrecognized. I am no longer a bucket with holes in it! Things that are precious to me no longer slip through my fingers, so to speak. Does what I've said there have anything to do with having the being of light implant?"

The rod swerves inwards fiercely, _'Yes!'_

"It makes a for something to happen.

Face seems to be frozen, "Does it do that or does it not do that?"

Suddenly the rod swerves inwards with great force and nearly touches my chest, _'Yes!'_ Then the rod straightens forward again.

I wait for a second: then, "Were you joking with me just then?"

The rod swerves inwards again, _'Yes!'_

"Just then... When you said 'no' and then made the rods point forwards like that... Were you forcing me to understand for myself what the imprint does?"

The rod swerves inwards, _'Yes'._

I stare fixedly at the rod while it points absolutely straight ahead, "So then was I in any way incorrect... when I said that the being of light is an implant... that comes to us from an intelligent civilization of the universe... and makes the receiver increasingly at one with The Unconscious?"

The copper rod swerves outwards, _'No'._

A sound of children is in the street below, "So that is what it does... Is it?"

With an imposing force, the rod swerves inwards to almost touch my chest, _'Yes!'_

Anyone who saw the Chilbolton Face from the air – and also its image in the photographs that were taken, all said the same thing as I did when I saw the face for real: they said 'what is it?'

The face was quite androgynous and ageless – exactly as I had found when being in its immediate presence. It was the perfectly anonymous human face: and exactly like I had done at first, the many observers also espoused various theories as to what it might be.

However, one fact about it is undeniable, and it is this... when literally face to face with the being of light we do say 'It's Like God'; or 'Michael', in other words.

So then why do we say instinctively that it's like god?

Could it be that The Being of Light is a device that both originates from and represents intelligent universal beings that serve our true creator(s) – and who are, therefore, 'Like God'?

It seems that the being of light is a unique device capable of connecting directly and vividly a person's conscious mind with all that is most wise and beautiful; which Jung had named 'The Unconscious'.

It all seems too fantastic; and yet could it be?

Also in volume one of Merlin & The Science
PART ONE: An Apprenticeship in Chains and Dragons

PART TWO: Voyage to Another Core

PART THREE: The Friends Have Come to The Vortex

PART FOUR: A Road Ends at The Tor

PART SIX: Earth Beats The Drum

To find this entire series by Justin Suchley click here...

<https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/sucherz12>

About the author

Justin Suchley lives presently in England; where he is now writing volume two of Merlin & The Science. To connect with him online...

<http://www.facebook.com/pages/Merlin-the-Science/317708681629467>

<https://twitter.com/#!/MerlinTheScienc>

