Tribulation Woe

Midpoint 2 – Sisyphus

The temperatures at night demanded a heavy sweater and jacket, but Mentor had gone for his nighttime trek without even a shirt. Overhead, the full moon cast a cold glare into the clearing before him, the mountain garden. He shivered, but refused to give into his bodily need for warmth. Besides, it wasn’t as if he didn’t have a layer of insulation that had accumulated over the years. That counted for something in the battle against the needs of the bare flesh.
Mentor recalled the myth of the God-Man which he had rejected long ago in his quest for power and immortality. It was said that He spent time in this very place prior to His being judged a blasphemer for pretending He was God. No doubt He had that subsequent rough morning coming to Him for His deceit, but this place of preparation was good for meeting the spirits nonetheless.
For Paolo Prophet, a meeting with angels, however, wasn’t on his agenda; at least not the pathetic angels that couldn’t help their supposed boss by keeping Him from being nailed to a cross. Prophet – the Mentor to Jude Innocenti – desired the knowledge only available from his dark lord, the one who ironically was also called the angel of light – the Light Bearer. To bring him closer to his master, nights such as this were periodically necessary.
He settled into a meditative pose as the moonlight shone down upon him. It penetrated his closed eyelids and caused a myriad of dancing motes to form into strange and wondrous shapes amidst flashing lights and rainbow bursts.
Mentor was here for a specific purpose. Time was accelerating. The prophetic destiny of the one whom he had shepherded through the years was about to reach fulfillment. How exactly that would occur hadn’t been completely revealed to him, but he’d been given a heightened sense of awareness that now was the time. His hope was that this night would help him see more clearly.
An hour passed, then another. He shifted position, but persevered. Energy began rising from the base of his spine. It radiated warmth to his every extremity as it crept up through his back. Simultaneously with the psychic strengthening, the world opening to him through his closed eyes burst forth as never before. He had taken many psychedelic drugs in his life and seen the spirit world come alive. This was different. It was more intense and real than anything he’d ever experienced.
His breathing deepened. The discomfort of his body fell away. The flesh was forgotten. He became spirit – one with the realm of the beings appearing around him. They gathered at his side and ushered him forward. Willingly he went.
They floated down a golden corridor and came to an entryway unlike any he’d ever seen. Its height reached far above him. The polished wood gleamed like the finest ebony. Gold handles and ornamentation shone like the sun.
One of the beings accompanying him opened the door. It gestured for him to enter. Mentor stepped inside and was greeted by a grand chamber filled with a host of creatures that thrilled him and filled him with fear. They were fearsome in appearance, black-winged, gargoyle-like, hideous. Their mouths gaped to reveal dagger-like teeth. At the end of their winged arms, claws that could rip, tear, and shred flexed and moved to an inner rhythm. A word from their master, and he was finished. The thought made his legs so weak he almost stumbled into the arms of one of the gruesome things.
A dreadful cacophony of sounds arose in the chamber. Whatever the instruments were that created them, the result was discordant noise that grated on the senses. Mentor smelled sulfur and the stench of death. He knew all this that confronted him should have made him nauseous. Contrary to normal human reactions, the sensation of hearing, smell, and even the touch of his feet on the ground in this place, made his heart merry. He looked toward the front of the great room and saw the throne.
If the creatures surrounding him were hideous, that which sat royally sovereign in authority before him was beyond Mentor’s wildest imaginings. He knew his dark lord had been called a dragon, and that’s what Mentor saw. But this dragon! Green and luminescent, shining in such a way that his appearance could only be described as a black hole of such darkness that it sucked him into its swirling depths which had no beginning and no end. Its eyes were blacker than any absence of light could ever be. No mercy, no decency; nothing that could be labeled as good or righteous emanated from it. As it breathed, fire burst from its nostrils, causing a trail of noxious smoke to filter upward.
Even as fear gripped him in the midst of his strange merriment like he’d never known before, Paolo Prophet smiled. What a privilege to be in the presence of the one he worshiped with every ounce of his soul.
The dragon gestured and from behind a mass of the terrible creatures in attendance, came a surprising figure. It was that of a man, godlike, and towering in height over Mentor. He was clothed with a simple white toga. A crown of green leaves graced his head. In the midst of such ugliness, his beauty startled Mentor. It was like a harp player from the philharmonic orchestra jamming with a ragtag hillbilly band using washboards and harmonicas.
A voice resonated within Mentor’s skull. Jude Innocenti is my chosen vessel. In this vision, you see his true nature. He will show you the way to glorify me through him. Obey the word of Jude as you would my every command.
Mentor fell to the ground, his hands outstretched toward his king. “Your will be done, my lord.”
Yes, it will.
The next instant, Mentor was back in the flesh in the clearing on the Mount of Olives. He shivered in the cold and rose unsteadily to his feet.
He was ready to act, however he might be instructed.