The Secret of the Ancient Alchemist

by Yasmin Esack

  He made his way along a paved road that led to the Church of Our Lady of Zion. The Chapel of the Tablet which contained the Ark of the Covenant adjoined the church. As he approached, he eyed the Chapel that was secured by a little else that a wire fence. While he knew he was not allowed in, he was grateful for the interview he had landed with its guardian for life, an Ethiopian priest. Near the church, he caught sight of the tall, lean figure of Father Aman Tarafi. He wore a black robe and a brown linen hat that accentuated his straight nose and dark eyes.

  “I’m Father Tarafi,” the Ethiopian priest said in perfect English coming forward and leading Hart to a wooden bench in the yard.

  “I’m Tom,” Hart replied. From where he sat, he could see the Adwa Mountains in the distance.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Hart?”

  Hart wasn’t sure how to pose his question. He fretted a bit and looked at the mud and brick buildings that seemed to dominate the landscape nearby. Soon, he spoke.

  “I’ve come seeking knowledge.”

  “On what, Mr. Hart?”

  “Matter.”

  “Matter?” Father Tarafi seemed quite surprised much to Hart’s dismay. He already surmised that the man would say nothing of the contents of the ark. He listened as the man continued. “Perhaps, what you seek are the secrets of the Egyptian alchemists. Matter was spiritual and alive to them. They could have made gold from silver. They could have traversed the heavens.”

  “I’m aware of that. Is there anything in your ancient holy books that discusses matter?”

  “Not specifically, Mr. Hart. The notion is hidden in many sayings and parables. I can refer you to the Essene Gospel of Peace. The original, written in Hebrew, is lodged in the Benedictine Monastery of Monte Cassino in Italy. It says very clearly that Earthly Mother and Heavenly Father are one and the same. You will find the divine in the seas and trees but, more so, in yourself. All living things are close to God. What’s also valuable is the Gospel According to Thomas which says the Kingdom of God is spread about the earth but men do not see it.”

  Hart stared back with a blank expression. He knew all that too. He was desperate for a description of the contents of the ark, assuming of course it was the original content, the rod of Moses. But, he was beginning to have serious doubts.

  “Mr. Hart,” Father Tarafi called looking at Hart’s deep concern, “the laws of nature are more important than the laws of scripture.”

  “I certainly believe that.”

  “We only have to look at all the wondrous things that abound. Certainly, we could never create them, not even in our imagination.”

  “According to the Gospel of Mary Magdalene, matter harbors a great mind and we are told to be encouraged in the presence of all forms of matter. Is there anything you can add to this?”

  “Oh!” the priest exclaimed. “I don’t think I can.”

  “No?”

  “No,” Father Tarafi said shaking his head.

  A strong breeze came in from the surrounding terrain bringing with it an invigorating feeling. Fine mist hovered over the mountains, filtering sun on a carpet of grass that covered red earth. The sound of a bus in the distance reminded Hart that the site was a popular tourist spot. He didn’t have a lot of time before crowds started pouring in.

  He turned to Tarafi and looked him in the eye. His question was forthright.

  “So, what does the ark hold?”

  The man recoiled. It was quite obvious he didn’t want to go there but he did answer. “Whatever was handed to Moses, Mr. Hart, will forever remain a secret with us.”

  Hart was disappointed by Father Tarafi’s reluctance to disclose the contents of the ark. He listened half-heartedly as the priest continued.

  “We revere Moses. We take off our shoes before we enter a church because Moses did that when he stood on holy ground. The wife of Moses was an Ethiopian. Have you heard of the Kebra Nagast, Mr. Hart?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “It’s an account of Ethiopian legends. There’s one that says Solomon took Sheba on a ride in a magic carpet, a flying machine. Solomon went to Peru and to Tibet in this machine. It is said that a supernatural force built his temple. The stones would miraculously rise and fall into place.”

  “Really?”

  “Solomon had many powers.”

  “Did his power come from the ark?”

  “I think so. You must have seen the Park of Stelae on your way here?”

  Hart had. The park was Aksum’s treasure consisting of granite obelisks that rose seventy feet. One that had fallen was one hundred and ten feet. It was newly erected to mimic a tall building.

  “It is said the obelisks were built with the power of the ark.”

  Hart stared at Father Tarafi. His calmness and poise told him he truly believed what he said.

  “You’ve come a long way and I hope what I’ve told you would help you understand supernatural matter.”

  “It does. I also believe supernatural matter exists in other worlds. What you have may be the only evidence of it.”

  “But, I cannot reveal the contents of the ark.”

  “I understand,” Hart sighed. “Look, Father, I know that Ethiopian Orthodox Christians consider apocryphal texts to be more important than canon texts. Is there any text that explains the interaction of mind and matter, anything at all of an inner realm?”

  Tarafi smiled. “None that I know of, Mr. Hart.”

  “It’s written in two gospels that a seeker of truth will be astonished and then, he will marvel. When he marvels, he will find rest.”

  “When you come to know yourself, you must first recognize what is in your sight, then, what is hidden from you will become plain to you. Isn’t that it?”

  “What does it mean to you? Why should a seeker of truth marvel? Tell me.”

  Father Tarafi was silent but Hart spoke again.

  “We’re connected to outer worlds via a realm in us, aren’t we? We don’t pay attention to it because we don’t understand it. We don’t understand it because it’s about matter.”

  Tarafi sighed now. He looked at a pair of lovebirds that had landed on the adjoining fence. With a couple of tweets, they flew to a branch. He turned and spoke.

  “Two thousand years is a long time. Things could have been done that can’t be done today. People communicated with beings in other worlds back then. Isaiah and Enoch did. In a sense, that was a marvel, wasn’t it?”

  “The laws of Science do not change, Father Tarafi.”

  “Our evolution has, surely you must know that.”

  “I do.”

  “And, our world has evil. We live in dark times, Mr. Hart.”

  “Marvels don’t quite die. The transfiguration of matter is certainly one. We die but, do we have to?”

  “We die because we live in dark times. Our inner light is dim. We can’t perfect our minds and our bodies even if we wanted to.”

  “No?”

  “No. Mankind must await a golden age, when evil will be destroyed.”

  “And, what about our future? Do we become better creators? I assure you, if matter can be supernatural, so can the mind. I believe we’re headed to an extraordinary future, I really do. We’ve yet to understand that matter and mind are inter-connected. We need to accept that the universe is in us, a magnificent kingdom within. Now, that’s a marvel, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I will not doubt you, Mr. Hart.”

  There was something elemental and wise about the Ethiopian priest, Hart thought. Father Tarafi was probably fifty-five and would spend the rest of his life guarding the secrets of the ark.

  “Can you at least tell me something about the rod of Moses? What was it made of? Do you know?” he asked.

  “It came from a tree and empowered by God. There isn’t more I can add.”

  Hart got up and took a last look at the landscape from where he stood. There was a feeling of greatness being in a place of ancient history, he thought. Ethiopia was certainly the land of
the proud, a spiritually advanced society, a place never colonized. Like most, Tarafi seemed complete. He needed nothing. Thanking him, he headed down the road he had walked up.

  Chapter 39

  He took a short flight from Aksum to the capital city of Addis Ababa, bent on finding evidence of supernatural matter. Hart wondered deeply about how a branch of a tree could be transformed to pure energy, a force that parted a sea. The staff of Moses was first mentioned in the Book of Exodus. There were so many accounts of its power and use that he didn’t think they was fables.

  He took a broader picture of the whole affair and, in that frame, he sealed his personal doctrine forever. Matter could and did harbour a great mind. The ancient message from the universe was crystal clear to him. He didn’t need to speculate any further on the possibility of a divine force being bound to the elements of nature. It was real.

  He didn’t expect to find the rod of Moses or of Aaron’s either, for they were long gone along with their powers. Still, he had no idea of what Father Tarafi was guarding. He did it so diligently he didn’t think his task was merely an act of worship. How much was actually hidden in this land, he wondered, and would he find any of it?

  He moved through the city’s maze skipping across mud that settled from heavy rain. Packed with shops and coffee houses, Addis Ababa was a culture clash of Italian cuisine and Ethiopian culinary delights. Hart opted for a wood-fired pizza at Ristorante De Bruno.

  He sat outdoors, gazing at the many lanes that cut through the city, and, then beyond to the green hills that reminded him of Scotland. He browsed through a map looking for a path to Laibela and hoping to get to the monastery of Abba Garima. The Abba had arrived in the fifth century and had penned a three hundred and fifty page gospel.

  Five hours later, he was in Laibela facing ten steps leading to a church cut from rock. He ventured into the Bet Medhane Alem and soon met a priest who held a cross in his hand. He wore a white turban and a purple satin robe. An amicable man, he smiled and held out his hand as Hart approached.

  “I’m Father Belele. You must be Mr. Hart. Tarafi told me that I should expect you. You have an interest in our ancient manuscripts. Am I right?”

  “Yes, and thank you for taking the time to talk to me. The Septuagint, Father Belele, the Greek version of the Old Testament, the Books of Enoch, Jubilees and Meqabyan all feature in your religion. Do they mention anything about supernatural matter?”

  “The Jubilees is best known for its prediction that Man would live a thousand years in peace. I’ve never seen anything on matter, Mr. Hart. Only the hidden gospels reinforce the idea. The kingdom of God exists in the physical world. It is in you and outside you. The blood that runs in you comes from earthly mother. Over the centuries, many of our documents got lost. European conversion wiped out a lot. Our revered philosopher, Zera Yakob, lived in a cave for years in the sixteenth century in Aksum. He claimed God and nature were one and that our soul bears the power of God.”

  “Our matter changes, decays, breaks down.”

  “We do to,” Belele reminded.

  “That’s my point. I believe there’re places where matter is permanent and I believe this was discussed in the Gospel of Mary Magdalene. Actually, I’m looking for the missing pages.”

  “I really don’t think you’ll find them.”

  Accustomed to hearing that, Hart sat on the ground and leaned back on a column of granite. With his hands around his knees, he peered through a stone window. He could see the countryside that spread for miles in the distance. If he could choose a place to die, it would be here, he thought, for he had never before felt so serene. He was miles from civilization in an ancient monastery that was cool, peaceful and kind.

  “Ancient Ethiopia extended to the Upper Nile,” he said. “The ancient Ethiopians taught the Egyptians all they knew of religion and they even built their pyramids before they were locked in war. The Nile Nubians built temples and cities. They were wise in many ways.”

  “They carved petroglyphs, Mr. Hart. Mankind will find rest says the Book of Enoch. According to the Ge’ez version, we know that, through a portal, Enoch came to a realm of eternal peace where years of joy multiplied, a place where nothing died.”

  “Do other volumes substantiate this?”

  “Four is of the Secrets of Nature and five is the Book of Celestial Physics. There’s also the Book of Dream Visions. They are all missing text.”

  “Aramaic fragments of other books were found among the Dead Sea Scrolls, isn’t that so?”

  Hart was knowledgeable, Belele thought. “You’re referring to the Book of Giants, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “Why does it interest you?”

  “The book was used extensively by Manichaeans.”

  “Manichaeism was nothing but a hodgepodge of Christianity, Buddhism and Zoroastrianism.”

  “It was once the most widespread religion in the world. Did you know that? It survived from the third to the seventh century.”

  “This religion really intrigues you.”

  “Its leader, Mani, claimed he had a divine twin who instructed him in self-realization. He pointed out that the Zoroastrian God, Ahura Mazda, was originally a man. He was the only one to embrace the Gospel of Thomas when most dismissed it. He wholly embraced the Book of Giants. Why would a religion endorse the Book of Giants if it were about demons and fallen angels?”

  Belele sighed. “The Giants were offspring of the sons of gods and daughters of men. They were men of renown.”

  “What else do you know, Father Belele?”

  “They lived long. Enoch himself live three hundred and sixty five years.”

  “Did they live long enough to perfect their minds?”

  “Probably.”

  “The era before the biblical flood wasn’t a period of darkness, was it?”

  “It was an enchanting time when men mingled with angels. Men traversed the cosmos.”

  “Do you think such an age would come again?’

  “The Book of Jubilees is better known to us as the Book of Division and it’s an account of divisions of time on earth. The Jubilees were revealed to Moses by angels on Mount Sinai. A new kingdom would come to earth signified by transformations in the physical nature of the world and the behaviour of men. Man would live one thousand years.”

  “Does the book have a date?”

  “No. There isn’t more I could add, I’m afraid. Our oldest surviving text is the Abba Garima Gospel which I know you seek.”

  “What can you tell me about it?”

  “The Abba Garima Gospel is kept hidden.”

  “Where?”

  “In the Abba Garima Monastery, which is secluded and difficult to get to.”

  “You’re saying I can’t get to it?” Hart was starting to feel futility.

  “Hardly likely, Mr. Hart.”

  “Your ancient monasteries were fashioned after a Gnostic sympathizer, Pachomius. Is there some reason for this?”

  “Our monasteries were built by saints who believed humans were both God and Man. They led austere lives of prayer and service. The Abba Garima Monastery was built for Abba Garima by King Masqul.”

  “Why did King Masqul do that?”

  Belele came forward. “Garima performed miracles. He healed the sick.”

  “What did he write in his gospel?”

  “I don’t know the contents of the Abba Garima Gospel. Not many do.”

  “One of the oldest books of Christianity and you don’t know what’s in it? How come?”

  “The book has healing powers. Only the privileged can touch it in case something goes wrong.” Belele could sense Hart’s anguish.

  “How did the book acquire healing powers?”

  “Nobody knows.”

  “Did it come from Abba Garima himself?”

  “I cannot say.”

  Hart turned and looked at his Tag-Heuer watch. Time was moving fast and he had to catch his flight back to Addis Ababa. He’d be stuc
k in Laibela if he didn’t. He got up and dusted his trousers, disappointed that he would not get to the Abba Garima monastery or be able to search its ancient gospel. He was sure the Abba had written something about the miraculous power of supernatural matter.

  “Thanks, Father Belele, for talking to me. I appreciate it,” he said moving to the exit.

  “Wait, Mr. Hart!”

  “Yes?” Hart’s blue eyes rested on the man’s round face wondering why there was such urgency in his voice.

  Belele smiled as he recollected himself. “I believe the missing pages of the gospel will explain supernatural matter and, truly, I wish you success in finding them. I also know you’re a close friend of Julius Olsen. We want the date for the new age, more than anything else.” Belele’s eyes didn’t hide his deep concern.

  “He’ll find it, Father, and soon. I promise you.”

  Hart walked up the steps of the Bet Medhane Alem into open air. In the distance, he could see the outline of the Abba Garima Monastery. It was set high, a structure of wood and mud lying on bare rock. He badly wanted to see the gospel, he thought again, but the task daunted him. No one was allowed in. A gust of wind blew his flowing Gabi into the air as he stared hopelessly at the ancient monastery. There was no point in trying, he finally conceded.

  As he continued along a trail, a bullet whizzed past his left ear. Hart wasn’t sure of anything as he gazed around. The open land was devoid of humans and a vulture circling the air was the only sign of life. He sped up a steep hill as a second bullet hit a boulder in front of him. Hart ran as fast he could until he reached the top of a hill, every muscle in his body aching. In his frenzy, he slipped and began rolling towards a slab of steps. Bleeding from his wounds and very fearful, he pulled himself up and scampered down the wooden staircase. In the distance, he could hear the sound of a third shot being fired. At the bottom of the staircase, he collapsed.

  It was a while before a vision of a man in a pope hat and white gown appeared. In his hand, he held a glass of water.

  “Are you ok?” The Head of the Ethiopian Orthodox church asked.

  As Hart’s vision cleared, he realized he was on a chair with a cloth on his head. The drink of cool water awakened his senses. Hart looked at the face of the mysterious man whose eyes sparkled with wisdom. A faint scent of incense permeated the air.