CHAPTER ONE LIFE AMONGST THE ANCIENTS.

I have been since the beginning of beginnings, remember always being...  I am here to break down the myths and shake off the bullshit that has been thrown on the icons created of my long haired, bearded incarnation in Nazerath, that one life among lives that predate humanity....  sent by a Holy Creature of PURE LOVE to a answer the prayers of a distant speck of dust that had grown alive, and was producing souls of the pecular type that fiill their heads with too many words to connect with God.  On this planet there is one, and in His time, where everythiing is happening at once,  he has sent me here for the tiniest of splintered seconds to answer your prayers...  and much more.  Plan within plan within plan.  A different mission for every life I led, be it to advance shamanism, to lead a revolution, learn what it is like to be the lowest slave, the highest king..  mostly a protector in life, medicene and war... mostly war, for the history of this beast, these humans. 

I choose while in soul on high which life I will lead, for reasons that are forgotten when I become a human.  I have only glimpses throughout my life that I am supernatural, incidences I can dismiss as nothing, until finally God's time comes, and I remember who I am, who I have been....  the times of this awakening vary greatly, and sometimes I let the people around me know, and sometimes, like a secret madness, I give them no more than  hints that there is reason to celebrate even the death of an enemy, not for vengance, but because they had gone to a better place.   I have been famous people, Socrates, forced to drink Hemlock for corrupting the youth with my ideas, which still shape this planet, as does the words of Jesus.

From my visions and what I read of the shape of the planett, I am here now for the great destruction, the mercy kill before everything goes to hell and you slowly die off from a destroyed atmosphere, become cannabilistic, have no reason to live -- not to mention your slaughter of other species and plants, who also grow souls.  The time seems over, and this is what I do...   I have been on many planets, tried to steer them through this period with sustainable options, appear when they are possible, though this planet seems to have no desire to head toward them...this planet rushes to death.  I am death.  A font of fire and lightening can fly from my physical form and decimate this planet, leaving only me alone standing in a circle of fire...  offering a last goodbye to the earth, as the souls of the planet dance in delight in the stars above.

Look around your solar system, all planets die.  Look out in space for years to find planets that might be habitable...  there are many inhabited planets, though there are many more who have died out long ago.  SOME, I was there.  Some I brought down with my miracle.  Others my work since their lives began led them to the proper path for ten thousand years of peace before I leave... this is always my goal, though God often has other plans.   I am here to take your pain of feeling alone in the universe, and point into the sky, and say THERE IS A GOD OF LOVE UP THERE... though I know how hard that is to believe in this dark cavern of pain.


I have no memory for time on the larger scale, when I think of all the lives I have lived there is a blur of images going by so quickly that I do not have time to give them a name before more are coming at me...  I can stop the flow and see a certain period of my life, they are the ones that come back to me because they are the ones needed, NOW.  I care only for History that has flown into the present and shaped the world;  the rest of what has passed are interesting knick knacks for mental shelves . . .   I used to love to read histories of long forgotten cultures... now, unless they have echoed into this time, natural selection tossed them out.



I start this novelization of my stories both true and seeming true, an untrustworthy narrator from the start, suspicious to many because of my past, which has led some people away from religion, at this time in history.   I am just telling my story... and hope you find it interesting, the drama and the characters compelling.   Yet, I will not always offer you the solace of a fictiional dream.  This book contains the memoirs of a man who has been used and abused and helped and honored and degraded by the greatest minds of our times.  Some are hidden away, others are not going to be written down, but there are enough of them throughout this book that I hope some readers will realize that when I write of the Shadow War, I am writing of a real phenomena.   I do not have all knowledge about this war, and am blind so blind always blind to what was kept from me.  And more was than I learned, still....

I have made many enemies in this world by refusing to go along, by rebelling against the elite, for thinking for myself in a time when this has fallen out of fashion, and people seem to be hive minding themselves into certaiin camps, usually rivals to another camp...

I REGREAT TOO much to express... mourn too much to express...  and care too much to express about what has happened so far.... in this book you will read of domestic slaughters, you will read of revolution half hidden at least to me, though the world knew what was happening, I sat at the center of the storm, The Christ who was not ready yet to preach.  I learned through my time in intelligence that there are controllers of this planet, and they can be messed with, fought, and defeated, by bringing together certain alleigences around this planet.  This was done for me, but I did not understand enough to lead at the time, as was someone's plan, and makes me feel like shit for how I was used.  I had all these high ideals about what I was doing, battling the Romans, giving a real thorn into the side of politicians from someone who had been given a lot of power in the secret world.   They created  church in the name of the creature that they told them I was....   I WAS APPALLED to think that the horrible way I acted had inspired violence and mayhem and cults across the world.

The story begins with a life I call from the Ancients, a term that for me covers most of the humans I lived as, this civilization business is all new to me.  The precepts of leadership, what I do in every life, changes drastically.  Ths book will primarily be about what is happening now, then fictionalized into a future that holds dramatic interest to me, and plays with my primary belief system... the end of the world.





I am standing by a bonfire, the trees around us glow red in the flames...  we are silent now, after dancing for hours preparing for battle.   Dawn would bring our attac on an unsuspecting village a few miles from our camp.   This army has followed me for almost twenty years, and when our food supplies grew low, we took what we had to.  We were known for leaving the villages enough to get by, at times I had even sent food back.   I never let the armies get out of hand.  Ruled brutally, as the times required.  Off to my right are two villagers who my people have been cutting slowly to death.  They have bled out now, released from the horror of being part of my ways of always winning.   My soldiers will be given a compound, created by the wizard, to make them half crazed as we go into battle...  moving fast, not needing food,  seeing red everywhere, our enemies as hellish demons.  

The people in my tribe have come to rely on me too much.  When my father was alive I could hide behind giving him counsel, but now the people here knew I was a supernatural creature, and tried to make me a God, as many warriior kings had done before, though I was always, even then, aware of my FATHER, a creature by whom I was too humbled to ever declare my self the greatest of Gods...  this worship of theirs was taking away their free will, dulling their leaders...  they depended too much on me and that meant I was taking their free will.   I did not think like this then, my thoughts were almost as primitive as those around me.  I sensed what I was doing and knew, as I had been told by God ten years before, that I would die in the battle after the miracle.

The miracle had come when the enemy murdered my Father.  An anger such as I had never allowed myself to feel came over me on the battle field, the sky over the enemies army turned black, and lightening began to crash down everywhere there was man or beast opposing us...   Over in seconds,  my soldiers fell to their knees before me and begged me not to kill them... for a reason I was not sure.  Then their fears began to life and they looked up into a sky clear and blue, and then at a battlefield where the attackers, coming for our harvest, lay burned and blackened...    a cheer went up then.   They asked me if I had been studying under the wizard, and I could not lie... said No, though I watch him closely.  This was answer enough for them.

Now they were going to arise at dawn and go into a battle with a creature they think they can rely on to protect them... if he does this to the tribe, when he passes on to a new life, they will be slaughtered, their warriors unprepared, their strategists without the inspiraton of knowing they wll die or be enslaved if they lose. Their families taken from them, the life they cherish over....

This group has killed those from the tribe they caught hunting.  There had been raids by both sides when they were starving, and even times they had worked together, when one truly had plenty.  The bad blood was enough to bring death to his hunters, though his father would not allow them to respond in kind, unless protecting themselves.  HE ruled a much larger land than this fool, rebel village.   Then they were walking in a narrow ditch, not knowing the tribe had was going to declare war by killing their king.  Then overwhelming them on the battlefield, out numbering them five to one... not expecting that the son's king had a secret awakening a few years before, to a series of lives he had had led and a God above all the gods his people spoke of, as THE GOD OF MANY MASKS once more finished his long education of being a human in the tiime.  The miracle surprised him.  He had no control over bringing the fire from the sky, or the flooding waters that fell so thick they drowned gasping for breath....

Five Holy men had been assigned to hm by his father.  They all knew that he had known the day of his death for ten years...  they were having a hard time believing that this could happen, after his display of a miracle.  They sat at his feet, wondering what he would talk about on this, what he claimed would be his last night,  He has not slept.  Spent the night before with his wife and children, enjoying theiir company one last time... this night he was too interested in getting his last glimpses at the life and times he was living in.  He would forget all these people who meant so much to him.  They would be replaced by other souls, though some came back to live around him again and agaiin...  usually animals.  He had also been given the role of keeper of the tribes tales and history, by default, he turned out to be the best student, and was good at making up his own tales.  In the style of the times, he told tales based on the Gods and mythical beasts they believed in.  He was beyond believiing in any of them as more than props, pale substitutes for his father, indeed.

A bear skin covers his back, breaches and boots of buck skin cover his body.  He is warm by the fire, though the tiime is cold as all hell to him.  He pulls the bear skin around his body, wishes it could cover his feet.  The ground is too cold to sit down, frozen.  Over on the westerrn horizon the flimsiest of whte light begins to outline jagged cliffs and soft mounds of mountains...  they would eat stale bread, drink mead, take the wizards drug... paint their faces as the mind expanding potion began to work the magic of battle...   He was going to wait until the fighting was over...  first, he would make sure they won... then....  he told the monks in their red robes exactly how the next day would go, could see the entire battle, and how he would go near a wounded enemy, one who had already been run through after the fighting to insure their death, and the corpse would rise with a knife and stab hiim thru his back ribs, into the heart....   He was ready to go, as always, though he hated the idea of getting stabbed, and the pain of dying... hated leaving the people he would never know again, who would no longer exist to him when he came back, wherever that would be.

He told the monks how to keep the religion iinspiring the people, and why the wizard, a scientist, doctor... was not the enemy of faith.  Healing is not something I do.  To usurp God's decisions, ones I cannot understand, is not my way.  He takes you all in the end, and how he does it, and even what happens between your birth and death, are things I can barely change... though my Father can at any second do that which is unthinkable to me, too horrifying or humiliating or....  God does not look at our flesh as somethiing we enjoy being in, because he is right.   Hard to imagne wth that survival instinct we all have in us.

I will have the monks begin waking the tribe soon.  The drinking and dancing started so early that they have slept long, as he planned.   They would cut themselves, bring on the pain they would have to ignore in battle right then..  We would be covered in blood and paint when we ran into their village, torches tossed on their thatched roofs,  driving the families into the street, where none were shown mercy.

We cut them down, man woman and child, and they could barely put up a fight, most had not had time to gather their weapons... they did form into units, were broke up all trying to keep their families alive, leaving us small units to cut down...  in half an hour all you heard were screams, all you smelled was smoke, all you cared about was that it was over and you had won, and your fallen were few.   His men thank him for the victory and he tells them, in an almost tearful voice which shocks them, YOU DID THIS, NOT ME...  you have to remember that.  You protected this tribe, not me... I was just a part of it.

They would not listen to me, I was the holy man, humble...  I had fought in the wars, but the monks my father brought to teach me had all fallen at my feet, and asked to study under me.  They were around me enough to see all the small miracles that took place in my life....  things came together in ways they never should have for me... I cannot remember them, though many from this life I live now come to mind.   They told me the women who were following me could not get pregnant and this was predicted in the bible... I walked over to the bible, opened it to this passage....  I had never known of this before.

I lead the fight, the slow trek silently through the forest, to the hills looking down on the pitiful small and squalid little village.   We lived on dirt floors, cold all winter, lice and fleas all over us, baths fatal in the winter....  an accident of a swim in the summer.   Dirty faces and hands.  Our clothes stank and we were just used to the stenches, did not notice them.   Woman and babies died too often in child birth.  We grew old fast.   The diseases were rampant, wiped out entire villages, woods...  mountains of people.  

During the battle I was as hellion as the rest of the tribe,  not feeling the deaths of the families I beat with my club with spikes carved into the sides, cut with my knives...   I remember looking out from the eyes of the flesh that I was within, cannot see much of myself, though I see my hands as the blood covers my arms and weapons, the feeling of the club hitting the side of a head and the crunch of the skull giving and my satisfaction that this threat was over...   when they were all cut down, my men went thru stabbing the wounded and the dead, making sure that there was no one left alive.  

I found myseelf looking over at the man who would kill me.  His throat had been slit after he had already mostly bled out.  I would bring him back to life to be my executioner.  I had decided I would not face him, let him come up on me from behind and act surprised.  My people would believe as much.   If I fought him in any way they would expectt me to cut him down.  They would think for themselves afterwards.  I missed them, worried about them.... even though I knew the absurdity that I would forget them in a moment, and probably never think of them again.   I ONLY SEE ONE face in my memories.  The warriors are helmuts, and long knives and torches and clubs....  I see one face of an enemy boy covered in dirt, looking at me defiantly before my knife goes deep into his chest.  From behind me I hear my death getting up, walking toward me... far off a soldier yells a warning at me and I shake my head no on touch my ears...  the knife strike takes my breath...  the pain...  feel my heart trying to beat...  stopping as I slowly fall down to the ground, a smile of relief on my face that they are too far to see.

I am soul again.  Unaware of being anything more than warm curiosity... below me is a gorgeous blue and white planet...  as I look at it a gravity pulls me down fast and then I am being born again, pulled from the warmth of the woman into a cold room, colder than I have ever felt, with bright lights... a blur.   I learned what happens between my life with a reoccuring dream, coming to me over and over, telling me I was a soul in a body.  I did not take it seriously at the time.  Like way too much in life, the small miracle brought me comfort when a time came to show the humans I AM SOUL, not body... by riisking death over and over... trying to get across that this life is worth losing for causes that save the tribe.