"

You have been in heaven, but all the mysteries had not yet been revealed to you, and you knew worthless ones, and these in the hardness of your hearts you have made known to the women, and through these mysteries women and men work much evil on earth."

Say to them therefore: "You have no peace."'

Enoch 16:3, 4

Henri squinted as he gazed across the New Mexican desert. The El Capitan Mountain range stood holding back the light of a sinking sun. Henri tugged the brim of his hat down to help keep it’s dying rays out of his eyes. He would be heading that direction, all the way to the mountain top.

Henri straightened his shoulders, adjusted the small bed roll on his back and took a swig from his canteen. He put one foot in front of the other. No one said he had to, but Henri felt walking the distance was important. He had to give in order to receive.

The signs were clear, the knowledge from his teachers, invaluable. If he did not falter and showed no fear, by tonight he would be in the presence of an Ascended Master.

He pictured his earthly master, Jean-Pierre, as he leaned over the Ouija board, his entire body quaking with realization.

“Mon Dieu, Henri!” Master Jean Pierre paled as he pushed his white hair away from his face. “He is not in the Arabian desert! The spirits tell me he is to be found in America! In New Mexico. Go to him! You know his name! If you speak it, he will do your bidding,” Master Jean Pierre’s eye’s fairly glowed with excitement. “He will make you powerful!”

Henri’s long strides kept him on a steady course.

Power, oui. How he needed, craved power! Many had scorned Master Jean-Pierre. Others ridiculed his own writings and his descriptions of the strength and greatness of the Ascended Masters. Fools! To doubt their existence was clearly an act of insanity.

But tonight he would pledge his loyalty, his body and very soul to the god Samaqyazeel and all mocking would end.

An hour passed. Henri began his climb of El Capitan with legs heavy as lead.

All is well, all is well, he told himself. I must come to the end of myself. There must be nothing of me left and then the Master will rebuild.

He picked up one foot and put it down, then another.

Henri! Come! It is time for church!

Henri looked about. The memory was so clear he half expected to see his father beckoning him to climb into the family car.

Church, he scoffed. There lay the weakness of all mankind. When his mother died, did God give her back? No. When his father’s business failed, did God give them money? Not at all.

“Those days are done!” he cried in the darkening woods. His breathing deepened. His legs felt on fire. The moon would rise soon and his way would be clear.

The ground beneath him slanted ever upward. “…Keep…keep…going…“ he gasped.

Two more hours past and he kept climbing. The woods with its mountain side evergreens gave way to fields of skree, loose rock waiting to slide out from under him. Henri feared if he stumbled here the incline was so steep, it could be a fatal fall. He planted his feet and took another drink.

Breathing heavily he kept telling himself, “Almost there, almost there…” At last he stood below the summit and stared out across the vista. Brilliant stars throbbed overhead and through out the mountains coyotes began to howl. Far below, the foothills resembled a black, rolling sea.

Henri leaned heavily against the rock face and longed to lie down. Heart pounding, body exhausted, he was almost there. Henri closed his eyes. He could feel it now, the end of himself. A sense of holy dread fell over the area and Henri sensed eyes upon him, watching, waiting.

From above the sound of voices in a low steady, chant. filled him with fear and excitement. Others.

“Why shouldn’t there be others?” he whispered in the dark. “My god can call all of his people…yes…yes…Go. Go to them.”

He gave an exhausted chuckle as he started the climb. “Ah, Henri, you are speaking to yourself now, no? You are surely your own best company!”

Now that the sun was gone the air grew colder by the moment. Henri dug his fingers into the rock, balancing and hauling himself ever upward.

The sound of his father’s voice jarred him.

Henri! Come back! Come home, son!

Henri nearly lost his grip. Startled, he grabbed the rock face and glanced around.

“My father is not here…he is nowhere…” he whispered, pressing his cheek into the rock. “You are exhausted, Henri. There is rest at the top. You are almost there…”

His hands were starting to bleed, but he didn’t care. This was the end of his old life.

A cruel voice from his childhood howled with laughter.

Henri! You dress like a pig!

He gritted his teeth and continued. “Of course I looked like a pig,” he muttered. “We had no money…” he gasped with effort, “…My father no longer cared…Ah! I will show you!”

With the determination of the damned, his body quaking with exertion, his heart thudding, Henri crawled and clawed his way to the summit. What he saw thrilled him.

In the midst of a small plateau, a fire blazed before a large flat, boulder. Circling the fire, were men. Some naked, some clothed in robes, others wore jeans and flannel shirts, all prostrated themselves as they uttered the name of their god, over and over.

“Samaqyazeel! Samaqyazeel! Samaqyazeel!”

The seekers of power!