Brotherhood of the Snake

Introduction

I felt the need to write an introduction to this work of fiction because quite simply, I am not known for writing fiction. Instead I am better known for writing books on ancient mysteries, history, the occult and of course the worship of the serpent. It will therefore come as a surprise to those readers of my previous books that I have entered into the world of fiction in this way and even at all.

The truth is that there are often a great many things that one wishes to say in a factual book and yet are restricted from doing so. One publisher, whom I shall not name, actually forced me to remove whole sections from a book because it pointed blatantly towards the Catholic Church as aggressors, manipulators and downright liars in our history. This fact is not unknown to the Church itself who have often admitted that they have in the past been at odds with various parties throughout the world. They set up inquisitions and slaughtered tens of thousands of perfectly peaceful people; they aided and abetted nation states in the invasion of free countries and stole the land and riches from beneath their feet; they instigated wave after wave of Holy Crusade into the Holy Land and today we still have a war-torn land. The blood of millions is upon the hands of this rich, powerful and supposedly Holy Church. That said, I personally know plenty of Catholics who are members of the Church today because of their own inner spiritual quest and upbringing and much of the Churches past is that, past. But the issue I had was that this factual historical truth was taken out of a book through fear and to me there should be no fear of truth.

The truth is, that mankind’s history is not all about a strange preparation for the coming Messiah in Jesus Christ. This is a peculiar outcome of St. Paul’s influence on the early Christian writings and his allegiance to Rome. In fact, all the evidence of this particular period points towards Jesus being a pretty normal Rabbi, if he existed at all in anyway we would recognize today.

The history of the world is a massive subject and the religious history only part of it. It is this part that I have focussed upon in my books and what I have always seemed to find is that the standard text books never really tell the whole truth. All we have to do is dig a little deeper and we discover that there is more beneath the surface. The true religious history of mankind will be found in perfectly ordinary things and related entirely to survival, the evolutionary instinct and the struggle with consciousness. You see, ever since man began to think for himself and of himself he discovered that his consciousness caused issues of right and wrong, black and white. Over the course of thousands of years he grappled with this concept and his place in nature and developed language, symbols, structures, texts, art, music and religion to come to terms with it. In each stage of man’s progression the peculiar mystics would emerge who claimed access to the Divine (what some today may term the unconscious in touch with the Godhead). These mystics themselves were very often caricatured forms of the ultimate duality – being starkly good and bad and yet powerfully aligned. The rest of man listened to the intuitive sparks of light that seemed to erupt from this hotbed, wrote down the words and utterances and eventually did something very odd with them – they literalised them. By this I mean that man took the words and metaphors literally and in time we really do end up believing that a man walked on water.

Now, in the twenty-first century we have new Gods in the form of celebrities and stars, whether they be film stars or sports stars, they are held up as our new shining ones. This, to me is far worse than in times gone by, for we are worshipping flawed, divided and often, foolish humans. No longer do we at least have the moral guidance of a dogma and doctrine, of a Law or Commandments. Instead we have replaced them with an alpha dominant doctrine of dog eat dog; we have made idols of dragon chasing confused individuals who are themselves being manipulated and used by the power brokers who sit behind the scenes and unwittingly form a new world. These executive producers and boards of directors are forcing us all down a road where the few have and the many do not – and yet all the time they build the desire and inner turmoil in a Western capitalist society that simply must have a world of unseen starving masses to fund the show.

When will the world learn? Who knows, but the fact is that there has been a truth discovered by mankind and the producers and directors in robes who walk the corridors of Churches and Cathedrals has called it heretical. The truth was known for millennia and kept sacred by countless cults, secret societies and individuals. It emerged in time through the seeming nonsensical symbolism of alchemy, hidden and occult, from the unseeing eyes of the literalists. That truth was simple and yet profound in depths that take a lifetime to work through. Gnosis – the knowledge of the Divine in the self; the working through balance in every part of our lives and the discovery of the greatest secret known to man – the true Self.

The discovery of the Self is the greatest treasure hunt we can enter and it is the real core truth of all our fables and tales of journeys and quests. Those who wish to have power over us do not wish us to discover who we are, because it is the most empowering process an individual can do. The discovery that we are individuals will not feed the mouth of the gaping jaw of capitalist greed nor religious intolerance. Instead it gives us what we should have been allowed all along, and in fact had if only we knew it – freedom and will to do what we wish. The individual who thinks for himself is like a rogue particle refusing to be categorized by the quantum physicist.

Our ancestors had many thousands of years to think this process through and told us in many ways how to access this freedom, we just lost the will and knowledge to see it. Discovery of self, love and compassion in balance, these are true words, not buy now pay later or confess thy sins and say ten Hail Mary’s.

This book is a tale that may be taken literally or esoterically. You may see only the story of a man and his exploits or you may see the journey of the soul, but whichever way you take it, I hope you enjoy it.

At the end of the book I have included a Timeline for those who wish to look a little deeper into the history, which underlies this novel. Further reading on the subject may also be found in my books and DVD’s Secrets of the Serpent, Gnosis: The Secret of Solomon’s Temple Revealed, Gardiner’s Forbidden Knowledge: Secret Societies, The Serpent Grail and The Ark, The Shroud and Mary.

Prologue

It was early morning and the sun was peeking ever so slowly over the tree-lined horizon and bringing the first vestiges of warmth back into the cool air. In just a few thousands years this beautiful island in the Mediterranean would have no trees left, as man in his drive to build would reduce the landscape to bare rock and rubble. But for now the trees swayed gently in the breeze and the birds on their way to Europe from Africa danced against the prehistoric skyline. Occasionally a predator would swoop down to the ground and take up a scurrying lizard for breakfast and a murmur would emerge from the woods as it gracefully and effortlessly flew out of site. Then all would fall silent again, leaving the faintest sound of insects in its midst.

The sun, even at its height would fail to penetrate the depth of the forest, but at this time of day it sent shivers of gold through the higher branches. Every now and then the golden threads were broken as something nudged the trees from within the dark places.

They had been here for millennia, living in peace and harmony with their surroundings. Taking only what they knew would soon return and returning care and attention where needed. They had no desire to destroy, overpopulate or dominate. They simply wanted to live in peace. Where they had come from, most had long forgotten, but they knew that this place was better. Their folk tales spoke of a violent past, of wars and famine. Their nightmares told them that they had escaped some distant land, evading a great hate. All they cared for now was to realise their hopes and dreams of living harmoniously with one another and their environment, in balance.

They were led by one known as Abraxus, a strong and patient individual, who metered out wise words and goodness. Nobody could argue with Abraxus, for he always knew what was best. It seemed to many in the community that he had always been there. Even the older ones remembered him from their childhood and tales of his immortality were strong amongst the ordinary minded. But recently he had appeared to be failing in his magical ability to fend off the ravages of time. His green eyes were growing pale and clouded. He ate less and less and would sleep more. There were rumours that soon he was to choose a successor and move on to the other realm. And yet in private he complained of nothing and spoke little that would give his position away. And so the community went on, as it had for longer than anyone cared to mention or even knew – except Abraxus. He knew, for he had been one of the originals. He had come as a child with the first settlers and established this place as home. Then as new children came along the originators split and wandered the world to find new homes. Eventually his parents died and he was left as the eldest, with the knowledge of his ancestors. They had come to a remarkable group decision – to forget the past and live for now. And this was how the history of this secretive race was lost; this was how they lived in harmony, because they knew no hate nor malice and resented nothing. Instead they had all they could eat and drink and never had to farm or trade. They were taught lessons of being one with the world around them from birth and they respected the power and beauty of nature.

But Abraxus knew things would change. He knew that a life so humble and perfect simply could not last forever. In the dead of night every year as the mid-summer sun settled down to sleep, elders from the scattered remnant of a lost race would converge in the islands of the north. The journey would take them a matter of days from wherever they resided, for within their many secrets they held the power of navigation. To the others in the group this was called the time of rest. Great and wonderful celebrations would be had by all and the woods would be alive with joy. They would hum beautiful tunes and the young ones would dance around sacred ancient trees, singing in harmony to the great mother. But as the separated groups around the world all sang of love and peace, the elders gathered in a solemn mood this last time. A new life had emerged, a new consciousness and it was a divided mind that the elders were picking up. You see, this ancient race were in-tune with the vibrations of the very universe itself, just as a bird can sense the magnetism of the earth. They could sense the moods and changes of nature and they could sense imbalance. They knew that this was the greatest threat their race had faced since they had escaped their original home. But they also knew they had time to prepare. And yet what they would do to prepare was now simply beyond them. Any concept of fighting was out of the question. Nor would they try to stop this new emergence of life. And so they simply did nothing and watched the progress. But Abraxus did do something alone that nobody would ever know.

Thousands and thousands of years passed by. Abraxus was now long since gone and his memory a distant and mythical one. The final group of the forgotten race on the small island in the sun-trapped Mediterranean were only occasionally seen emerging from the waters or disappearing into the caves. The new violent life-form that their ancestors warned them about had taken possession of the earth and destroyed their natural habitats. They built great structures and ripped the earth apart to take out rock and metal. They sent species after species into the dark hole of extinction and now they hunted the children of Abraxus.

An old, fat, pale skinned man dressed in colourful robes stood on the edge of the northern shores of the small island with a great staff in hand. He ordered his men this way and that. Soldiers bearing the cross and wielding large swords dispersed along the embankment, cutting off any escape for the remnant. They could see them as dark shadows beneath the blue sea and they knew that it would be a matter of time before they had to surface. A dozen or so soldiers ran down to the shore and started to throw spears and stones; their fear of this ancient race showing on their faces. Fear, it seems, bred hatred and now hundreds of years later the hatred had grown to such an extent that secrecy and devil worshipping propaganda had taken hold. This ancient race were hated across the world and the Lords men would erase them from memory.

Suddenly a spear struck and a child of Abraxus raised his head above water and stared into the eyes of the one who delivered it. The soldier was transfixed, stuck to the spot like standing stone. He saw into the deep green eyes of the ancient race and he saw nothing but pity for himself. He fell to the ground and clutched his hands together, praying to his god for forgiveness. Before him the tall, elegant demon let out one final ancient hum of love and slowly sank beneath the waves. Around him his brothers and sisters let out a cry that sent shivers down the spines of the shocked soldiers. The water seemed to bubble with their loss. But the man on the hill raised his staff and soon there were hundreds of heavily armed men thrashing around in the waves. Paul would have his way.

Further down the coast and later that night a bedraggled old man sat staring out to sea. He tossed stones in as he drank foul wine from his leather bottle. His eyesight wasn’t so good these days, nor his hearing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, but he cared less. His wife had died some months before of a strange disease that made her skin boil and explode. He had sat and watched her die and in that instant he had both lost the will to live and aged decades. The only thing that kept him alive were his two children, Lazarus and Mary. They were hardly old enough to know what had happened and it broke his heart every time they asked when their mother was coming home. Little Lazarus, only just able to walk, would go to his chair before the window and look at his father with wondering eyes. Mary was now old enough to help around the house and she assumed the womanly role as if by pure natural instinct, but she too would still lay a place for her mother at the meagre table. Every time he looked into her eyes he saw his wife and it was all he could do to fight back the tears. And so he would settle them in bed and bring a bottle of consolation down to the waters edge – as if one day she would walk from the sea like some resurrected Venus.

Tonight was no different. Here he was drowning his sorrows in the cheapest wine he could find and ill afford. He stared blankly out to sea as the pale blue turned to dark blue and then black. The stars opened their eyes and watched their reflections dance on the simmering liquid landscape. But tonight the sea would set before him a surprise. As he took another swig of wine he noticed out of the corner of his eye the gentle waves break apart as if Neptune himself were coming ashore.

Startled he dropped the bottle and stood quickly to his feet as a large dark character emerged from the deep, drooping a little as if hurt. It was too dark to see his features, but he was very large and stunk like a ships rat. The old man’s mind ran raced wondering what on earth this apparition was. Could it be Lucifer? He crossed his chest. Could it be some monster from the sea? He crossed his chest. Then he realised, it must be a sailor, shipwrecked out to sea – that, or he had simply drunk too much.

He decided on the shipwrecked sailor scenario and showing a kind of mercy few had shown to him, he ran down to help the poor man. Once there he placed his arm part way around the giant and struggled to help him up the shore and back to his humble home.

They moved slowly and silently, neither speaking a word. The old man assumed the giant