Beyond the Island

by John W. Steele

Chapter 9

Young Brian Mudd is proud of his ability to travel in the astral realms — until he encounters Lord Nagual, who prefers to be called “Max.” Brian becomes Max’s apprentice and finds him a harsh, even cruel master but nonetheless an effective instructor. Meanwhile, Brian is taken with Karen Frost, with whom he feels he has a karmic link. And Brian’s karma is trouble.

The day before I was supposed to call Karen, I decided to take a hike in the mountains surrounding the lodge. I couldn’t escape the voices in my head and they had been growing more violent and threatening. I knew I had to do something to get away from them and that, if I didn’t, they would destroy me. Whenever I brought up the subject of the voices with Lord Nagual, he treated it casually. He told me they were a gift and not to be despised.

As I grew to know Lord Nagual, I became annoyed by his lack of concern over my predicament. I was now totally alone. He was the only thing I had any kind of communication with. I had to accept his teachings on faith. It was his way or the highway, and there was no way out.

It was not until I was well into my apprenticeship that I understood the meaning of solitary confinement. Karen was the brightest star that had entered my world in a long time. And of course, I couldn’t have her. I cursed the gods and hated them for the unfeigned animosity they seemed to hold for me.

Before my encounters with Lord Nagual, my mind had been simple and empty most of the time. I hung out with people that were content on their islands and oblivious to anything but the general consensus of reality.

I longed for the carefree attitude I saw in others and I desperately wanted to be like them. I thought they were hiding something from me. They never seemed to question the established framework of reason and they appeared to be perfectly content to follow a code of beliefs based on hearsay and customs. For a long time, I hated myself for my lack of understanding. I thought that those compliant and indifferent had been born with a form of genius that had not found its way into my genes.

I tried to accept that matter was the only reality, and everything outside validated this hypothesis. But something inside would not allow me to succumb to the obvious. The world seemed hostile and devoid of reason. I could find no solace in its diversions or the mindless forms of amusement that seemed to be what many islanders lived for. I’d burned all my bridges behind me and had become a stranger on the planet.

After my first encounter with Lord Nagual, several voices emerged in the center of my skull. The voices were subtle at first, but as time went by, they became a nuisance and then a nightmare. The voices whispered accusations about my cherished beliefs and questioned everything I said or did. This new perception seemed to affect my eyes as well. I now saw things I didn’t want to see or had been afraid to look at.

Intangible fractures appeared on the canvas of reality and were now painfully exposed. The voices were not kind or compassionate; they were nasty, unmerciful, and filled with revenge. One of the voices grew so arrogant and demanding that it became impossible for me to find any peace in the security of my island. I was now worse off than I had ever been before they began to torment me.

As I grew to know Lord Nagual, he no longer used threatening forms to intimidate me. The only time he revealed himself in a body was when he was annoyed or when he wanted to present a certain shade of knowledge that required a demonstration. Most of the time, he existed as a presence without form or color but undeniably ubiquitous.

One day I sat with him in a place he called Samhanna. It was a state of total emptiness that was so large it had no outside, and so small it had no inside. It was as if an eye had awakened within the center of my skull. I could see forms of life in every dimension. The eye gleamed with diamond-like brilliance, and beams of white and silver light reflected from the multifaceted mind-gem with laser-like precision.

Lord Nagual told me the eye was the center of the universe, and that I was surrounded by eternity. He said all islanders possess the eye but only a few learn how to see with it. He told me I was still too fettered to sense impressions to understand what this meant He said the vestigial eye was a threshold that allowed a wanderer to perceive the limitless vistas and knowledge that exist beyond the dimension of self.

There was no subjective perception in this place, and yet it was pure perception. Concepts could enter here, but without the energy of concentration from which to draw validation, they could not linger. It was the focus of the mind eye that established all reality and beliefs. Nothing existed here, and yet it was the wellspring of all thought.

Lord Nagual told me it was possible to leave the island of self from Samhanna and never return. But it was not recommended, and those that tried to escape the circumstances of their island from this ineffable place were destined to roam for eternity as pure consciousness at the sublime border of oblivion. He said that Samhanna was not meant to be the way back to the Unborn but merely a reflection of the Unborn.

I felt deeply troubled about the voices and I took this opportunity focus on my fear of them. “Why are the voices tormenting me?” I asked.

“It’s natural to fear the voices,” he said. “The only reason you hear them is that your island is beginning to dissolve, and they’ve been set free. In many people, the voices remain so deeply buried that there is no awareness of them.”

The diamond light began to dim, but I knew I had the Nagual’s attention so I continued with my inquiry. “I don’t understand. Sometimes I think they’re trying to drive me crazy.”

Suddenly, I was falling through a long smooth tunnel. The walls of the tunnel were composed of a lustrous bead-like substance and adorned with orange and yellow geometric patterns. I emerged from its vortex and landed on my seat. Before me was a vast ice-crusted desert made of large red and black oval-shaped pebbles. The desert steamed, and the pebbles were alive and breathing, like a field of giant, semi-transparent clams.

Without missing a beat, the Nagual continued with his discourse. “Look, pork chop, here is how the wheel rolls for a wanderer. Every meatball that fragments is assigned at least two allies. When confined to an island, you refer to them as guardian angels. I like to call them allies, but neither term is entirely appropriate. It’s the benevolent allies’ duty to protect the island from unforeseen disasters and misfortune.

“The two positive guardian angels sit on the right shoulder. Your guardians are Camille and Roger. The quality of a wanderer’s beneficent angels, and their apprentices in the spirit world, has a lot to do with how long an islander lives. But remember, only the Lord of Death can accept a life that has prepared for the lamentation. Allies have no power over this.”

I felt somewhat dejected by the Nagual’s disclosure about my allies and I wished he’d not revealed this to me. “I have a feminine ally?” I asked.

The wind began to pick up, and a gentle breeze drifted across the desert of shelled creatures.

“You sound disappointed, pork chop, and I don’t understand why. It’s a great privilege to have a female ally. They don’t choose to aid just anyone.”

“That may be so,” I argued, “but I’ve always felt like I was a real man The idea of having a feminine guide doesn’t appeal to me.”

“That’s because you’re stupid and somewhat mentally unbalanced. A female ally is a tremendous asset. They tend to be more alert and pragmatic than many of their male counterparts. A female angel can see in every direction at once. They’re more concerned and sensitive than male allies, who are sometimes preoccupied with acts of bravado that have little to do with the welfare of the apprentice.

“But as usual you think you’re so important that everything that doesn’t fall into the regimented ideals of your perfect little island is somehow inferior.”

I thought about what Max said and how easily I became annoyed over the tiniest of things that didn’t correlate with my idea of perfection. I knew Max had hit the target and I remained silent.

“It helps if you understand allies are no different than meatballs in some ways. And many a proud or lazy angel that became lost in the rapture of self is now incarcerated in a sack of meat. It’s almost inevitable at first. At the beginning, the line between angels and men is tenuous at best.”

“If the voices are my friends, why are they so hostile?” I asked.

Max let out a heavy sigh. “I think perhaps you are the most stubborn apprentice I’ve had yet. I’m beginning to wonder if your skull isn’t made of cast iron. What you’re referring to is called the curse of perception, and once it is awakened, it cannot be denied.

“When an apprentice seeks liberation, the voices are horrible and have driven many an unprepared or delicate wanderer to self-destruction. That is why a Nagual can only work with an apprentice who can withstand the intensity of the voices.

“The benevolent angels torment you because they like you. They want to save you from the ignorance of conditioned existence, and all the paths lead further away from the Unborn.

“But you can’t become complacent just because you’ve got powerful allies. The downside is: the more responsible you become, the greater the power of the adversaries assigned to destroy you. The wrathful deities sit on the left shoulder. Their only purpose is to find your weakness and use it to ruin or kill you. The voices of the wrathful angels are often sweet and beguiling. Their greatest joy is to charm you from your will and destroy your reason.

“Mara, the lord of illusion, wants to keep you as his slave and will hand-pick astral thugs, assassins, and powers that will vex and befuddle you every second of every day you are confined to your island. Many of the wrathful angels are highly advanced, and if they fail to seduce you, their punishment is far worse than Tyreus. The only desire of the wrathful deities is to imprison you in their world that they may free themselves from their hellish existence and fetter you in their lowly stations.

“Make no mistake: the downfall is abominable beyond comprehension. Once the dark side emerges, the lowest vibrations are the most powerful, and to advance in the lower realms requires great cruelty. When the gate of ignorance closes behind you, it shuts out the light. The progression through the levels of Hades continues for many an eon.”

I shuddered when I considered the ramifications of the Nagual’s explanation. But I had to admit I’d often felt that my life was a battle and that there was a force in the field of my awareness that wanted to destroy me. I knew this force was not the spirit of death, but something malevolent and cunning.

Max began to hum the tune “Oh Them Golden Slippers,” and I felt a surge of anger over his apparent complacency and smug attitude towards the mess I was in. “So how do these ally things destroy you?” I asked.

A mammoth geyser erupted from one of the clams and shot a hot spray of yellow slime into the sky. The fountain of goo dispersed in the air and descended like a sheet of rain, splattering on the shells of its comrades.

Max stopped humming. “Lookie there! That must be a breeder!” I sensed a tone of wonder in his voice. He seemed totally delighted by the biological display.

“What about the allies, Max?” I asked impetuously.

He didn’t seem concerned about my turmoil, and when he spoke, his voice was relaxed. “When the wrathful deities decide the wanderer is prepared for the downfall, they destroy his mind.

“Sometimes they provide him with gifts of power or fortune, but the purpose of the gifts is to arouse discontent and pride. The wrathful deities may charm the frag with a temporary illusion of authority or importance, but all this is just a way to fatten the sheep for the kill. Once an islander hardens his heart against the will of reason revealed by the voices, he is lost, and his life is little more than an illusion within an illusion.”

Max paused for a moment. I wanted to speak but I felt like a ball of cotton had been stuffed in my throat.

“A Nagual is allowed to share knowledge if the apprentice is prepared. Unfortunately, you’re slow on the draw, but I’m going to give you a little charm that will aid you in our journey. One of the malevolent allies on your left shoulder is an ingenious fallen angel called Nestor. His apprentice is a spit-dribbling idiot named Moe.

“Moe does all the bull work and is responsible for creating vexations like headaches or placing a nail in the path of your vehicle so you’ll get a flat tire. But Nestor is deadly. Everything he does is calculated and manipulative. He may act only a few times in your life but when he does, his objective is to kill or ruin you.

“Don’t be fooled by Nestor’s impish appearance. He derives great pleasure in tormenting you, and despite his innocent countenance, he is quite formidable. It would be a great honor for him to bring you down and force you to take his place in his hell world. He’s nearly outsmarted you in the past, and your only real hope to survive his assaults is to rid yourself of him completely.”

I had caught glimpses of Nestor on my astral journeys. He was a cherub-like slob. His ponderous belly hung below his waist and partially concealed his stunted gentalia. I’d heard his childish giggle whenever I was occupied with Lord Nagual in study or contemplation.

Though Nestor looked like an overgrown infant, I knew he was filled with hatred and jealousy. His negative influence over me never ceased. I wanted to ask Max more about him, but he used the force and pressed hard on my temples.

“I’ve already shown you how to get rid of him,” Max said. “He is a liar and a coward. That’s really all you need to know. You have his name and his number. The law is clear about this. A Nagual can do nothing for an apprentice that he will not do for himself. Nestor is a punk. That’s all I can tell you.”

I knew it would be foolish to inquire further about my nemesis. I thought about the incredible realms that existed just outside the island. A question bubbled up from deep inside. I blurted out, “Allies, demons, deities, dimensions, powers, hells, and lord knows what else. None of it makes any sense. It sounds to me like the entire cosmos is nothing but a giant circus!”

“Not good, not bad,” Max replied. “But you must remember the circus is dangerous, and the decisions you make in the grand illusion affect your future circumstances.”

He paused, and a rumble of laughter fell from the sky. “The island is cosmic comedy, pork chop, and you’re the star of the show.”