SAGA OF DARKNESS VISION OF LIGHT
Chapter Five - Sharing Secrets
by Dennis R. Cook
"Wait, wait, wait," Steven cautioned, snapping the
power
off before we could move. "I think we have
accomplished enough for one day. Let's not push
our
luck.
We really don't know what we're up against here,
and I
think it would be wise to plan our investigation.
Besides, the fact that there is electrical power inside
this
mountain could mean someone lives above or below.I, for
one, am not eager to make any new acquaintances
that
might find my knowledge about them just convenient
enough
to demand my termination.
"Besides," Old Blackgoat continued, "I am a tired
old
warrior who needs to rest before the evening
service."
"Well," I hesitated..., "perhaps I was a bit
hasty."
After an uneventful return trip to Old Blackgoat's
living
quarters, which, as it turned out, consisted of
a
small trailer, barn, and corral behind his church,
we had
an evening meal which consisted of leftover
pinto
beans, raw onion, goat's milk, butter, fry
bread
and cheese. Revived, we changed clothes and
walked
over to the chapel.
The evening service was filled with an unusual
anointing that absorbed me into a state of semi-consciousness. I soon forgot the turmoil of the
day
as I
entered deeper into the Spirit.
It was about eight P.M. when I began to return
to my
physical senses. I was startled by the
realization that at some point during the service
I had
left my seat and found my way to the altar to
pray.
I had altogether missed Old Blackgoat's call
for an
emergency board meeting after the service, not
to
mention his sermon.
A few men and women were in the process of
adjourning to one of the two church Sunday school
rooms
when Old Blackgoat laid his hand on my shoulder,
and
with a great deal of pastoral care and concern,
motioned for me to join everyone else.
The purpose of the meeting soon became clear to
everyone. Blackgoat unfolded the events of the
preceding weeks; first, about the missing sheep,
then,
what he and Steven had been privileged by the
Lord
to discover, and finally, our findings that
afternoon.
His candor was admirable. So much so that I
marveled at the old fella'. He had concluded that
his
board
members were worthy of knowing about, and
capable of dealing with such anxiety producing
information.
As Old Blackgoat put it, "the reality of the devil."
I didn't know Blackgoat's congregation well
enough
to make any assumptions about them. However,
from
my experience with church board members back in
Palo
Alto, the numb skulls were more likely to endorse
Hindu
meditation instead of skilled prayer. I doubted
they
could be trusted with the truth, and, so did
Reverend White.
I only had one question about Old Blackgoat's
congregation...would they stick it out with their
pastor
if the warfare threatened the peace and welfare
of
their own families?
Steven, maintaining a sincere look of concern
throughout the proceedings, alarmed me by his silence.
I
hadn't realized the depth of his respect and
commitment to Old Blackgoat.
When the question was posed to the enlightened
board
members if any had knowledge of any overt or
covert
Satanist activity, one middle aged Navajo
lady
named Mrs. Begay, who worked as a secretary
at the
local high school, thought she might have some
information to share.
There was a problem, however. She refused the
opportunity to share her knowledge with all of us,
preferring rather the confidentiality of a private
conference with Old Blackgoat. That made sense
to me.
Steven suggested we adjourn and retire to Old
Blackgoat's trailer in order to afford Mrs. Begay and
Old Blackgoat some privacy. The other four
board
members went home.
As we walked toward the trailer, I couldn't
help
but be in awe of the southwestern nighttime sky.
The
stars, especially the constellations, looked as
if
they formed a great hair net, protecting us from
the
tenacious solar winds. "Big sky," the Navajo
called
it. It seemed so inappropriate a label,
why
not,...um, giant, humongous, or awe inspiring?
"Do you think Blackgoat was right in trusting
the
board members with so much knowledge of the
situation?" I queried Steven, as he opened the front
door
to Old Blackgoat's trailer.
"Tough call," Steven reasoned, stopping to reflect
while
holding the door open for me to pass by him.
"I
know I would have done the same thing, though,
even
if it meant losing half my sheep to another
church."
"Now why is that?" I demanded to know.
"Christians in America are too soft. They need a
little sand paper from time to time to toughen
them
up. Too many pastors keep their people on
the
bottle. When a believer demonstrates a little
boldness, and draws a touch of persecution into
his or
her life, every congregation should have enough
mature
warriors to come to the saint's aid, and
give
him or her strength. I don't know of many
churches that have any warriors, let alone, enough!
Christians under the gun, more often than not, get
slapped down by their own brothers and sisters. To
tell
you the truth Joseph, I don't know how many
church
members Old Blackgoat will have left when
this
is all said and done, but I admire Blackgoat
for
giving his sheep a chance to grow into spiritual
manhood, and that is the will of God!"
Bed came early. We weren't going to be afforded
the
luxury of continuing our discussion, or rehashing
the
day's activities, or waiting up for Old Blackgoat
to
fill us in on what Mrs. Begay had to say. 4:30
A.M.
would
beckon us to tend the sheep, and take them out to
graze. I rolled out my sleeping bag and hit the
sack.
Breakfast consisted of fresh eggs from the
barnyard, which I thought was a real treat, along
with
oatmeal, and goat's milk, biscuits and
coffee. Normally I didn't eat breakfast. Of
course,
normally, I didn't rise at 4:30 A.M..
Nevertheless,
that
morning, everything smelled so tantalizingly
appealing, I couldn't resist.
I was glad Steven and Old Blackgoat had moved the sheep
back down to Old Blackgoat's barn and corral
area
after they discovered the passageway of the
serpent. Looking after the sheep, I thought, would
be
much easier, if they were close by.
Trekking across the arid plain, we stopped as
occasion offered the sheep opportunity to munch
on a
plethora of thorny and tender morsels. It was
virtually the most rewarding experience of my life.
I
fancied myself the shepherd David, fearless defender of my flock, destroyer of all ferocious
predators within reach of staff and slingshot. The
Word
of God was my courage, His every promise my
shield. I was a covenant child of His and no
weapon
formed
against me could harm me. I slew my ten
thousands. A lion's tooth was as a blade of straw.
Some
man that King David...poet, conqueror...peace-maker. Luckily, no Goliath came to interrupt my
reverie. Ha!
Arriving at our midmorning resting place I took
note
of the gleaming still water afloat the mountain
valley
lake. Blackgoat pointed out to Steven that soon
the
spring winds would subside and it would be time
to
move the sheep to the mountains beyond the plain.
Smiling broadly, he said, "my sheep haven't eaten
the
broad leaves or nipped the tender flower petals of
the
plants in the high pastures above the gorge in
many
years, but with my new found sons to help, I
believe it is time to return there."
We understood his smile. Tending sheep above
the
gorge would give us the perfect vantage point
and
cover needed to keep watch on events at what
I was
beginning to refer to as "hell central".
Old Blackgoat asked Steven and me if we were
interested in hearing what Mrs. Begay had to say.
Of
course that was an understatement. We both had
been
chomping at the bit all morning long, but
hadn't
let on.
"I'm all ears," was Steven's compact reply.
I, too, turned and waited, anxious to hear.
Old Blackgoat was silent for a few seconds as
if
mulling over the best way to present his topic.
Then,
he surprised both of us, catching us off guard
so to
speak. If I had heard the story from any one
else,
I wouldn't have believed it.
"I know the man behind the sheep killings,"
Old
Blackgoat began. "He is Navajo. The night
Steven
and I first discovered him, the Holy Spirit let me see
his face. I have kept silent until now,
because, as a child, he used to come to my church
with
his mother and father. It has been my prayer the
Lord
would bring him to repentance and not make me be
the
one to silence him. I do not wish his parents to
suffer
the shame of his disgrace.
"I have petitioned the Lord daily since my vision
of him
that the Lord might confirm my vision and
mission by adding another's testimony to my own.
Mrs.
Begay
was the Lord's answer, and I know now it is not
the
Lord's will that this man be permitted any longer
to
work evil before His eyes.
"Mrs. Begay shared with me that she has made
flight
reservations for this man that coincide with
reputed occult meeting periods going back five years.
"Like what?" Steven asked.
"Like Winter and Summer Solstices, full moons, you
know...
"She said he told her when he became principal of
the
high school where she is a secretary that he
often
attended educational seminars in Los Angeles where he
earned
his doctorate and baccalaureate degrees. Mrs.
Begay didn't
think anything of it for a couple of years.
Recently, however, she began noticing the man focus
his
eyes on teachers he wasn't getting along with in
a
manner good Navajos have been taught never to do.
"For a Navajo to focus his eyes in anger on a
man is
to announce one is a witch by calling forth
a
curse. It is strictly forbidden in our culture.
"Only one hanging on to the old ways which are
evil
would be so careless, but I am certain the man
felt
his deed was hidden from all but his intended
victim, a victim naive to the power."
"What is the man's name?" Steven asked.
"Sheolman," Old Blackgoat replied angrily, "Dr.
Sheolman."
Old Blackgoat had given Steven and I a lot to ponder.
Putting all about Sheolman aside for the moment, I
honed
in on the sheep. Old Blackgoat was herding
them
back toward the corral. Steven and I would have to
kick
it in gear if we were to be of any benefit to the
old sage getting them in the pen, but that
got me
to thinking about moving them to high mountain
greenery..., no doubt the sheep would benefit, but
wasn't
it a tad too early in the season? Wouldn't
showing up too soon tip our hand?
"I suspect I'll recognize good ol' Dr. Sheolman
when I
see him," Steven said, as we quickened our
pace.
"After all, the Holy Spirit did let me get
a good
look at his backside."
"From what I just heard, Steven," I joked, "we
might
all be better off if we never get another look
at his
front-side."
Old Blackgoat looked dismayed.
"Cheer up," Steven said, "the Lord may yet save
Dr.
Sheolman. Our job isn't to send the man to hell,
just
stop him from bringing hell to anyone else."
"And just how do we propose to do that?" I
asked.
"Carefully," Steven laughed. Then added, taking
a more serious tone, "It's clear
to me
Dr. Sheolman hasn't been working
alone. He's probably receiving money
from a
person or persons with which to carry out his
portion of a plan that encompasses far more than
either
of us could ever dream of."
"I suspect you're right," I said, a tad more
enlightened. Let's talk as we walk," I added,
pointing out that Old Blackgoat and his herd of sheep
were
starting to pull away from us again.
"But now Steven," I continued, getting back to the
original subject, "how do we stop Sheolman? I
mean, like
agape,
or what..., combined prayer..., fasting? This guy is
more
like a
Pharaoh, a man god. He isn't going to repent if
the
Lord fires a lightning bolt up his aaa, uh,
rear
end. Steven, answer my question, how
do we
stop Sheolman?"
"Sheolman's not the problem, Joseph," Steven said.
"You're missing my point. The better question
would
be,
how do we stop the force behind Dr. Sheolman?
We're
going to see to it that Sheolman gets what he
deserves no matter what. That is our Christian
responsibility. After all, we still have laws in
this
society.
We could have taken the FBI to Sheolman's
mountain last month and shut the operation down,
but
where would that have left us? I mean, think
about
it, if Sheolman could drain the faith
out of
the blood of a lamb, don't you think someone
else
could do the same?"
Steven had a point.
"If we shut Sheolman down, there will just be
someone standing there ready to take his place," Steven
added. "No, if we want to serve God right, we
need
to shut this program down at the source."
"Then how do we do that?" I said, still
perplexed by the fact he wasn't getting to the point."
"I have a three part plan in mind," Steven
said,
as we approached Old Blackgoat's sheep
corral, "but let's help Old Blackgoat put his sheep
up,
and maybe eat a little lunch before we get into it."
I could see why Steven unnerved some people. I
figured the sheep could wait. I wanted to hear his
plan,
but had little choice in the matter. Sheep,
one;
Joseph, zero.
Old Blackgoat's corral was tidy. At least I
didn't
have to roll up my car windows or put a clothes
pin on
my nose like you do driving past the stock-
yards
on the outskirts of Amarillo, Texas.
I surmised that those Amarillo stockyards must
have
saved the lives of many a sleepy eyed truck
driver. I could just imagine that once awakened by
the
putrid smell, the awestruck trucker didn't get
dreary
eyed again all the way to Flagstaff!
No, Old Blackgoat kept a tidy pen. I only had
to
scrape one reminder off my boot before lunch.
Lunch consisted of sliced ham, corn bread, butter
and
goat's milk. Steven seemed a little disgruntled
that
there
wasn't more to feed his above average frame, but
I knew
he was thankful God had given him the opportunity
to
fast, even though the morning's outing had given
us
both appetites that couldn't have been satisfied by
a
basket full of Big Macs.
I did like the idea that the meager meal didn't
leave
too many dishes, since the chore of clearing
the
table fell to me.
"Ok," I yelled, as I shoved the last clean plate
back
up in the pantry, "let's have your plan, Steven."
"Yes," Old Blackgoat bellowed from the bathroom,
"I'd
like to hear it, too."
Steven and I sat down at the kitchen table and
waited
for Old Blackgoat to come out of the bathroom.
Because of the compact size of the trailer home the
kitchen was the only room where three people could
sit
and not knock knees. The kitchen table seated
four.
It was the ideal spot for a powwow.
Once Old Blackgoat was seated, Steven began his
analysis. "We couldn't have a better target for
our
investigation," Steven said. "The fact that our
satanist happens to be a public figure means we can
easily
pinpoint when he will be working late. In
the
very near future he will have to attend a board
meeting or an athletic event of some sort. When
that
day
comes we'll give his mountain hideaway a visit.
"Blackgoat," Steven said, "you find out from
Mrs.
Begay the earliest date Dr. Sheolman has been
scheduled for evening duty regardless of the nature.
Be
sure and tell Mrs. Begay to call us if for any
reason
Dr. Sheolman finds an excuse to wiggle out
of his
obligation.
"One more thing," Steven said, "Easter is coming
up,
which means Dr. Sheolman has made plans to attend
another seminar in Los Angeles. From what I've
read,
satanists never miss Easter because some unlucky soul gets
to relive our Lord's crucifixion. I want
you to
find out the airline and the time of Sheolman's
departure.
"Joseph, you and I are going to book ourselves on
that
flight with Dr. Sheolman, and see if we can't put
a few
more pieces of this puzzle together."