Temple of The Grail (48 page)

‘And yet as a knight you killed men
every day. Was your cause more noble than mine? Is it right that a dozen monks
alone see the true intentions of God? Forcing humanity to continue to use false
texts. Come, do not tell me that you do not burn to know the truth of it. I
know that you who have studied Plato, Aristotle, Cicero – you more than
anyone must recognise the value of the written word in all its awesome power
because you know that it can transform the world!’

‘Would it be transformed for the
best, Anselmo?’

‘I have heard you say that you are a
seeker after truth. If that is so, and you have not deceived us, you must agree
that a truth is still a truth, though it is unpleasant, though it may cause
dissension. Christ did not come into this world to bring about peace! His
coming brought only war! And so it is when one manifests an important truth,
many do not accept it, some are too willing!’

‘Tell me one thing, Anselmo. Why the notes?
Was it to satisfy your pride, or to toy with us?’

‘I suppose it was both, really, but
mostly because I knew that if I aroused your curiosity you would find a way
into the catacombs for me. You see how easily I have used you?’

‘So you made those mistakes in Greek
so I would suspect Macabus?’

‘He is nothing but a worm . . . an
insect!’

There was another rumble and the
tunnels shook ominously.

‘And yet, here we are,’ my master
said.

‘Yes, and your taper is running out,
preceptor, here, you had best light my torch . . .’ He moved forward, a strange
look on his face.

Suddenly my master was throwing the
lamp to me, and I caught it just as it was about to hit the ground.

‘Defender of the holy sepulchre! Now
all is clear!’ my master cried with excitement, ‘I will not let you kill us all
with your poisonous torch! The torches!’ He hit his head with the palm of his
hand quite hard and I almost felt the sting. ‘I am a camel! An animal! The
torches are coated with a poison, aren’t they? Something akin to serpent de
pharaon, or perhaps even more deadly. A salt powder that, when mixed with
mutton and ignited, gives off a deadly fume! So deadly that, in an enclosed
space, one dies almost immediately. That is why Jerome died holding something
and why we found a spent lamp discarded on the floor. He must have run out of
taper – just as you did – almost as soon as he entered the false
chamber. Now here’s the interesting part, before it could go out, he managed to
light the torch, which hung on the bracket fixed to the wall. This explains why
he did not have the time to search for a way out of the false room, he died
instantly . . . The silent ones must have removed the torch from his hands so
that none may know its secrets. Setubar knew, however, this was his one knowledge
about the catacombs, and the one thing that he imparted to you. It also
explains why Samuel died the moment he entered the first antechamber. He, too,
must have lit a torch with the candle he took from beneath the statue of the
Virgin! Ezekiel did not die in such a way, because his sight was failing him
and he knew the way without it. You were right, Christian, when you said each
brother knew one thing about the tunnels. Air, Water, Earth, Fire. Air is
knowledge and the library, Water is the organ, Earth is the orientation in the
tunnels and Fire is the poisonous torches. Not only did the cook provide the
silent ones with food, but also with poison from Macabus’ repository to which
he held the keys on most nights, the poison they used to coat the torches . . .’
my master ended proudly.

The youth smiled broadly and clapped
his hands. ‘Bravo, bravo!’ He then moved forward aggressively, and I, with my
own presence of mind, grasped the apple that I had kept all this time in my
repository, and threw it as accurately as I could, hitting Anselmo on the head
and moving him backwards. At that very moment it seemed as though the entire
world above us gave way. The ceiling in the antechamber began to collapse, and
a large section of it, followed by much rubble, came down squarely on Anselmo.

A rock hit my master’s brow and left
a deep graze. ‘Through the door!’ he shouted, shoving me through the aperture
marked ‘Aqua’ and to the ledge before the roaring body of water now filled with
debris.

‘So we will either drown or be buried
alive,’ he said calmly. ‘So many alternatives !

‘I can swim, master.’

‘You can what?’ He turned to me
astounded.

‘My mother taught me to swim, I can
get you across.’

‘Why did you not tell me from the
first?’

‘I was about to when we heard the terrible
sound . . . and then it seemed a little futile, especially since you had so
soon worked out the formula . . .’ I trailed off lamely, not wishing to say
that I had been afraid to mention my ability lest he made me do it.

‘Never mind, how should we cross?’

‘I shall gauge its depth,’ I shouted,
handing him the lamp.

‘By all means, take your time!’

I sat on the ledge, my legs dangling
into the freezing water, and immediately they were numb. The channel was the
width of three men end to end and when my master shone the torch into it, it
looked black. Saying a quick prayer, I plunged in and found that it was only
waist-deep but with a very strong current that pulled one along furiously. I
called out to my master, who followed me, holding the roll of parchments that
had been hidden in his mantle above his head to keep them dry. Soon we were on
the other side at the door to ‘Laodicea’, leaving pools of water where we
stood, and shaking violently from the cold.

Moments later, we emerged through the
door and I prayed silently: ‘
Te ergo quaesimus, tuis famulis subveni: quos
pretioso sanguine redemisti. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a
malo. Amen
.’

A
lmost immediately we were in a chapel, walking down a long
central nave. It was only as we approached what we thought must be the choir
and altar that we realised that in their place where the ambulatories
customarily led to the arms of the two transepts, there was an elliptical
chamber that could be reached only through four portals.

Timidly we entered through the portal
marked ‘Occidens’, emerging within what we assumed must be the sanctum sanctorum
of the holiest of holies.

A round table top made from smooth
black rock occupied the centre of the room. Upon it lay a boy surrounded by
twelve men dressed in grey or perhaps white, for it was very dark. The twelve
men circled his form, not noticing our presence as we approached, for their
eyes were closed in deep meditation.

The table supported fourteen columns
cut from the same rock, seven on either side. Carved on the capitals I could
barely make out intricate interwoven patterns, perhaps symbolic messages
representing the seven planetary spheres: sun, moon, Mars, Mercury, Venus,
Jupiter, Saturn, that we had seen elsewhere in the catacombs. On the walls
behind the table, so that they appeared between the planetary columns, there
were seven apocalyptic seals. These I could see clearly because they were lit
by torches, and I wondered if the curious odour I could smell all around me was
the strange poisonous gas, but I realised that it was, rather, an unusually
sweet incense that seemed to be burning from an altar nearby.

Suddenly a light bloomed from within
the circle of men, tongues, serpentine curls of cold flame danced at the
centre, and through the form that became golden, I could see the boy
transformed, in total splendour, washed in the clear brilliant light that
illuminated the room. The brothers appeared to lose their original form,
melting into this shining gold that was the boy, their mouths working in tender
whispers. Approaching I saw that the boy was I, or he was me, or very like me,
and I was overwhelmed, dropping to my knees, tears streaming unheeded down my
cheeks.

It was as I knelt this way, the world
reeling around me like a turbulent ether, that I had a sudden powerful desire
to be back in the warmth of the cloisters, to be back in the world of order,
number, measure. But the ground seemed to fall away from me . . . what could I
fasten onto? I felt as if I were hanging by the neck, suffocating with the
world barely a hand’s breadth away with no way of reaching it. Words
reverberated like living things in the chapel. They surrounded me like candles
burning without wicks. I saw the sun descend through the boy’s head like a burning
ball, and he became one with it. He became the sun and his body became the
planets. Microcosm became macrocosm and a blackness engulfed me like a veil
drawn over my senses. A soothing gentle darkness, poetic and beautiful, like
night encroaching upon day, like the coolness of water over a flame. Then the
abyss yawned and I fell into it . . .

T
he day has dawned a brilliant blue, and I sit once again upon
my stool, witnessing the birth of the daystar, the intercourse of all plains;
the above and the below, the
intus et foris scriptus.
And as I grasp my
quill in my gnarled hands, and prepare to set down these last words, I am aware
that I am a mere
corpus imperfectum
whose faculties can scarcely
contemplate, let alone narrate the unknowable, indefinable glory of God.

Last night I had a dream. I dreamt
that I was back at the abbey, listening with impudence to my master’s
discourses. In this dream I experienced the briefest momentary sun on my skin
and the snow on my lips and the wind on my face. I stretched out my youthful
arms and embraced the panorama of nature. I shouted out at the ancient and
venerable mountains and heard their reply. I was young and foolish, frightened,
and filled with wonder. When I awoke I was overtaken by a most profound sorrow
and a terrible loneliness. For I realized I was back in the exile of my
existence, long separated from my dear master, able to see but never touch the
world beyond these stone walls. It was then that I asked God to take away my
spirit. To take from my feverish lips this cup, this wisdom, whose contents
have for so long held my mortal carcass from the abyss of death! But Alas, he
did not hear me! And as it is in all such cases, this morning I am glad, for I
can begin the sanctioned journey to the end.

I must warn those of you who have
followed me thus far that, in the coming pages, my words may begin to sound
like so many demented ravings from the pen of an old and tired monk. A monk,
who has lived too long in exile, surrounded by crumbling walls and trivialities.
But truth obliges me to tell even of the most fantastic things, for truth is
indivisible.

I pray then, for strength to continue
this, my strange and awesome path, to narrate to you, dear unknown reader, the
complexity of that brief instant where the world is hushed and still and the
secrets of the ancients are made manifest to its errant, but faithful servants
– an instant of the purest freedom.

And if you are unable to see the
serene light that bathes the soul with understanding I admonish that you
proceed no further, for we are about to broach sacred and holy things.

Where to begin? Saint Michael protect
me.

O
ut of the darkness I saw the boy
again, only now he stood unnaturally tall, one hand extended in my direction.
His body, translucent, almost vitreous, and his cheeks flushed with love.

‘Come,’ he said, and though I did not
move we seemed to draw nearer, and we became, in a strange way, united, like
two spirits within one soul. I became him and he became me. Terrified, I was
hardly able to restrain myself from crying out.

‘What strange thing is this?’ I
asked, but I was not heard.
Dominus illuminatio mea, et salus mea quem
timebo?
I remember having heard these words before . . . Was it Brother
Daniel who, in his confused state, had said them that afternoon in the north
transept? That the Lord is the source of my light, and my safety, so whom shall
I fear? In a blackness that has no shadows, but is indeed the darkness of the
soul, I became afraid . . . I was now a being whose past was deserting him, and
whose future was not yet written.

Naked as the day I was born, standing
in the midst of nothingness, my soul transported beyond the world that I had
heretofore known, I met the guardian.

Assaulting my numbness, the most
terrible spectral being, hideous beyond description, stood barring my way,
guarding the first portal that was not physical, but spiritual. When he spoke I
shuddered, wanting to look away, and yet I remained transfixed.

‘Behold! You are me,’ he said with
authority, ‘and I am that which you have made! I am the angel of death, but I
represent a higher life that has no end. Enter my threshold and you will be
released. Enter my threshold and you will finally see!’

Then the veil was drawn
and I,
too, in Arcadia
experienced everything! It was as though my being were an
eye, and an ear, for it was through majestic sounds resounding in the vastness
of space, through colours whose essence pulsated and breathed light and air and
water and fire, that I perceived. Through intuitions springing up from the fountain-head
of inspiration I saw . . . and there was goodness and wisdom personified in
every creature, in every being. With total clarity, and transparency, I
observed the sun, not as a mere reflection, but as light itself, shining from
within my own being that was indeed nothing, or perhaps something that I did
not as yet recognise. This light shone into the surrounds, spread open like the
pages of a great book. ‘Have you sufficient oil in thine own lamp?’ Could I
illuminate the darkness with my own spirit light?

I felt a bliss, which none can know
whose spirit has not escaped the mortal shackles of this physical nature and I
no longer feared death whose face now seemed to be joyful and beauteous beyond
description. I rather welcomed it, feeling myself die of tender piety. When I
finally opened my being, like the petals of a rose opens to the first limpid
rays, I beheld, with great reverence, the psalms whose garments were like that
of a vital thought, spinning out wondrous imaginations. From within their
incandescence the martyrs appeared as offspring of these holy words, their many
faces upturned toward the One, whose superhuman form of Christ invaded the
universe, His being resounding in sound throughout space like a mighty trumpet!

I then felt myself arrayed
like a lyre, an instrument for His music, each note a miracle of harmony and
consonance. Upon me
 
He played the seven
tones of the stars, through the twelve tones of my own being!

Ex Deo nascimur

In Christo morimur

Per Spiritus Sanctum reviviscimus

Out of God we are born

We die in Christ

Through the Holy Spirit we are reborn.

A cup now descended from above, and
from it emanated the most sublime and indescribable radiance.

‘This is the Holy Grail that exists
even now in spirit worlds as a gift to humanity that he, who is purified, may
drink of the blood of the Christ and eat of the body, so that it may come to be
one with him in spirit. Let he who hath been chosen come forth, and drink of
the blood, for he drinketh of the knowledge of Christ and the knowledge of
Christ is the knowledge of God and the Holy Spirit.

At that moment the boy tore away his
spirit from mine like a breath that escapes one’s lungs. His being went forth
and knelt at the foot of the Christ who handed him the Grail, from which he
drank.

The voice said again:

‘Let thy temple be such that it may
be a receptacle, purify thy body so that it may hold within it the spirit of
the Christ, that is the blood of his love, and resideth in the Grail. Make it
such that all men know this and feel this in their hearts and souls and spirits.
Be ye a knight of the Golden Stone.’

After the youth had drunk from the
cup, he turned his gaze to me and said these words:

‘Let the Fisher-King come forward, so
that he may know the grave and serious task before him, as guardian of the
Grail! Let him who hath been chosen see the wedding of man and God!’

I was given the golden chalice whose
beauty bears no description, whose virtue has no equal, from whose womb springs
the living water, the myrrh, the hill of frankincense, the bed, the litter, the
crown, the palm and apple tree, the flower of Sharon, the sapphire, the
turquoise, the wall, tower and rampart. From it springs all joy, all sorrow,
all love, all chastity, all virtues combined in one single unutterable,
ineffable, unmentionable, impossible word. The fruits of the garden, the
honeycomb and the milk of the valley. The marriage of fire and water, of good
that becomes saintly through having known evil. Of past, of present, of future,
in which all are but one instant, within one singular moment. The sighing of
planets as they whisper their secrets to the stars whose own wisdom could never
be exceeded. All this I felt as I held the grail, the holy of holies, but I did
not drink from it. I was not yet purified.

I fell upon my face, thanked God and
praised His holy name, but I was beckoned to rise by the boy who was no longer
a boy, but a man, and yet not a man, but an angel, and yet not an angel.

He said, ‘Look! O, brother knight!’

. . . and I saw my life spread about
me, like an immense spectacle of pictures. Before my eyes a world of visions
appeared to pass at a considerable speed, so that I had to concentrate all my
unworthy faculties, not to miss anything. It all appeared to me in a kind of
backward motion. Firstly, my master, Eisik, the monastery, and then further and
further, my father and mother, my earliest memories, and then I returned to the
uterus sanctus
; the dark womb, a germ, a speck, a root, a seed, the bud
and the source of all . . .
Ecce homo!
I became the moon and all the
planets, and the stars were my companions. I was at once inward, and outward.
Diverse and singular. Had I not experienced this before?

Sound echoed now around me and I was
caught in that which first moves and rules all nature in all natural things as
the twelve Zodiacal gates opened up before, but I was barred from the higher
worlds by the greater guardian who keeps the second portal.

‘Behold!’ He said, ‘I stand before
the portal of the higher regions! Follow the white path! Follow thine destiny!
With selfless devotion and sacrifice you must now break the seven seals.’

I broke the first seal and the word,
like a sword came from my mouth like a creative fire.

I broke the second seal and I was the
bull, the eagle, the lion and the lamb!

I broke the third seal and the trumpets
sounded, and I was the thunder of the horses and the calls of their riders.

I broke the fourth seal and the blue
blood mingled with the red in my veins, and I was crowned with the sun.

I broke the fifth seal, and I was the
child born from out of the loins of a woman who had conquered the Moon, but I
was about to be seized by the seven-headed dragon when I broke the sixth seal.

I was saved by Michael, who held the key
to the vanquishing of evil and was able to fetter the dragon and throw him into
the abyss.

When I broke the seventh seal, the
heavens opened up in the great expanse and I saw it all. I saw a Gospel,
written in the clouds. Each moment captured in the minutest detail passed now
before my eyes! I cannot say how long I remained in contemplation of it, except
that I was started by the young man’s voice, which spoke these words as if through
thunder and lightning:

‘What you have seen written upon the
tables of the law is a heavenly script. It is written in the ether and is not
the same as that which is written from the oral tradition, nor is a likeness of
it found as a Greek translation of Hebrew documents of antiquity.
 
It is only found in the cloud libraries
of God!

‘Who are you?’ I asked.

‘I am the incarnation of John the
beloved of Christ Jesus. Before that I was Hiram Abiff, and before him Joshua.
I have again been raised from the dead after three days and I too have seen it,
all the wisdom of the world is contained in it in a Christened synthesis. Now
my initiation is complete, never more will a man need to die before he can see
into the Imago Mundi, for I have returned with the Gospel, the mystery of the
Grail – the mystery of how through Christ’s sacrifice men will one day know
how to transform evil to become gods…such is the mystery hidden in your
grandmaster’s seal.’ He added.

But I was thinking other things! The
mystery of the Grail was indeed the mystery of eternal life, but not of the
body, it was the secret of the immortality of the spirit, an immortality gained
through knowing the Gospel of Christ! This was the dying and becoming, the
initiation from the lowest to the highest!

‘I must leave you now,’ the boy said,
‘but Ruach will live within you here below, as an eagle lives within and yet
above, in the stirring of a prophetic wind.’

And the wind stirred around me and it
became a great roar, which forced my eyes to open so that I realized I was back
from the vision and in the chapel and that my master was lying prostrate at my
side. I had no time to think on the marvels I had seen for the chapel began to
collapse all around us and the walls were crumbling and rocks tumbled from
above. I could no longer see the table nor the twelve who had encircled the boy
lying upon it.

In the tumult that I likened to
Armageddon, I concentrated on helping my master to his feet, and together we
ran. But along the way he lost his gospel parchments, which scattered here and
there in the debris. He made to go after them, but the world shook with such
ferocity around us that we barely managed to escape the chamber before the
entire roof collapsed.

Once in the central nave we ran
through dust and rubble to the aperture and I fumbled trying to open it, for my
agitation made me clumsy and awkward.

‘Hurry, the whole thing is coming
down!’ my master shouted near my ears, but I barely heard him over the great
noise. Suddenly there was a violent movement, a cataclysm, a shattering. It was
indeed the end of the world! An underground thunder then burst open the door,
splintering it, as if it were only touchwood. For a moment I stood perched on
the edge of the channel, not ready to die inside its cool depths.

‘Jump in!’ my master cried, ‘It
should carry us to the outside!’

‘But master, you cannot swim!’
Looking around I found a large piece of the door and handed it to him. ‘Here,
hold on to this!’

‘Good boy! Pity it is as we are about
to die that you start to think with your head.’ He smiled, ‘Go!’

An instant later I found myself being
taken by the body of water, as it rushed with haste into an infinite darkness.
It was so cold that I could no longer feel my limbs. The churning rose higher,
threatening to overwhelm us, for it seemed to be gathering speed with every
moment, and I assumed that we must be coursing down a steeper incline. Ahead of
us rocks had fallen into the channels, and these we had to avoid by turning our
bodies in this or that direction. More than once I nearly lost my talisman, but
I held on tightly having faith in its protection. My master must have bumped
his bad leg, for I heard him yell out, ‘Damn the Count of Artois!’ several
times and I thanked God that he was all right. Around us the walls contracted
with an awesome power and presently, somewhere in the darkness ahead, a light
seemed to draw nearer. Finally it was upon us and I closed my eyes thinking
that it must indeed be the great light of heaven. It was, however, the light of
day, whose relative brilliance seemed a thousand times brighter than the sun.
The mountain was expelling us from out of its loins and into a rocky stream.

Into its depths we plunged. I
surfaced moments later, but I could not see my master, so I dived into the
numbing coldness that stung my eyes and looked for him. There, lying among
rocks and weeds and things that live in the watery element, was his form,
easily discernible in its white mantle. Taking hold of his habit, I pulled, but
he was heavy. I concluded that he must have hit his head and so I pulled again,
but something was impeding me. I moved around in front of him, not looking up
– lest I see his mouth open, his eyes in a deadly stare – and found
that his waist rope had become caught beneath a stubborn rock. I released it
and was able to pull him out into the air, dragging him to a nearby bank where
I turned him on his front and gave his back a sharp slap. He coughed violently,
and slowly came to his senses. I rolled over, dazed and weak.