Home About Books Blog Cipher Contact
Home About Books Blog Cipher Contact

But unbeknownst to anyone then on the earth—including Danyal and his fallen brethren, every time the door to the Light of Creation was opened for an empty union, for a false heart, or especially with violence and against someone’s will, a soul cried out in the vastness that was the heaven, into other dimensions, and did not go unheard.

Indeed, the Watchers who had not fallen—those who had chosen to remain in their own dimension, as well as the higher ranks of lofty angels, all heard the souls of unrest and knew a time of great trouble. They saw clearly, that even though Danyal bestowed upon the people a blessed knowledge, that that knowledge was being ignored. The lofty angels observed Danyal’s great efforts to curb the abuses to no avail.

Enoch, in his now lofty position, also heard the unrest—which confirmed for him his naming of the world as corrupt, as well as his naming of the Watchers and their offspring as responsible for that corruption. But then Enoch heard a wailing as from the edge of the world and knew at once the voice to be that of his son Methuselah, he went at once.

Methuselah had traveled all night, over the hills and up into the mountains to stand upon the edges of their lands, in the face of the two standing stones, the place where he knew his father Enoch to have come many times before he disappeared forever, and cried out for his father to answer him.

“Please, it is I, Methuselah, your son. And please, do not be angry that I have called you, but I need to know the truth. You, who are now among those who reside in the heavens and know of many things, please Father, for the sake of my own son Lamech, I need to know the truth!”

“Methuselah,” Enoch spoke as he appeared before his son, a man seemingly now made of light before he became solid. “I have heard you.” Then Enoch embraced his son and bade him, “Speak. Tell me what is wrong.”

And there on the mountain Methuselah told his father Enoch how his own son Lamech—who had since grown to adulthood and taken for himself a wife—had just run to him with wild eyes and an anxious tale.

“Lamech’s wife Bilanos,” Methuselah began, “has just brought forth a child. But it is a wondrous child, white hair, white skin, pale eyes, a child whose birth made the rooms of the house shine like the sun, and from whose mouth came the tongue of angels.

“And my son Lamech condemned his wife Bilanos. He thought the child to be the offspring of a Watcher, and not his own! My son Lamech was frightened. And he condemned his wife. He said, ‘You have known a Watcher! This cannot be my son!’”

“No Lamech!” Bilanos wailed. “Remember my pleasure, our souls as one. I swear to you. The seed is yours. No Watcher or Son of Heaven has known me.”

In a rage Lamech promised, “I will find the truth. I will call for my father Methuselah to call upon his own father Enoch and learn the truth.”

So Methuselah related the story to his father Enoch.

Word of the miraculous birth traveled fast, and when Danyal heard tell of it, he went immediately to confront Semyaza.

Rushing headlong through the length of the city in the middle of the night to the dwelling of his brother Semyaza, Danyal burst into his brother’s rooms, his garments a flurry as dust billowed in shadows, and angrily condemned through clenched teeth, “Did you do this?”

Semyaza, stunned to see his goodly fair brother in his own house, the flame of two lamps fluttering nervously, knew immediately what Danyal was referring to.

“I’ll grant you this, Danyal,” Semyaza began with so much heartache that his brother still held him with such contempt. “I tried, but … the unborn child had already been touched, and by …” Semyaza cringed, making his mouth to twist horribly for that which he dared not surmise aloud.

“What happened?” Danyal asked anxiously.

“The unborn child’s soul,” Semyaza’s lips tight as tears pooled in his night-blue eyes, “met mine like a wall of stone and as much as stared me down while saying, ‘I will refrain from injustice.’”

Danyal was stunned, his mouth falling open, his hands suddenly hanging limp and numb at his sides, and stared in horror and barely uttered, “He knows.”

“That was my first thought.” Semyaza sadly uttered. “And now we shall know his wrath. But I fear I will be the one to bear its greatest burden. Because our Lord will not be bested by me … nor anyone; you know that.”

And tears rolled down Semyaza’s drawn face, his beauty not diminished in the least, in fact all the more heightened in the flickering lamplight.

“I’m sorry, Danyal,” Semyaza wept, not only for the unanswered nearness of his beautiful brother and the open realization of all he’d really lost, but also his part in the whole miserable affair, his meaningless revenge on Jared and the mess it had now grown into. “Please, forgive me. My soul is so heavy. You cannot know. Please, my brother,” Semyaza cried.

And Danyal, unable to bear seeing his once-beloved brother Semyaza in such pain, and forsaking his anger, his years of disregard, commensurably pulled him into an embrace, held him strong and true, and felt the center of his being swell with remembrance as Semyaza rushed to hold Danyal too, but so tightly, yet sorrowfully, so full of remorse. All at once summoning Danyal’s memories of the oneness they had known even before they had fallen to take on the skin of men. And Danyal was taken over by a degree of such relinquishment, such solicitude, all of it washing over him and through him so fast that every wrong Semyaza had done was forgiven in an instant.

The love Danyal still held for his brother could not be stilled: the feel of him in his human arms, his magnificent body so close to his own after so, so long, had him lifting his face from the embrace, his eyes betraying as much. And without intention, without his even realizing it, his breathing turned ragged.

As Danyal looked into Semyaza’s beautiful eyes, he saw there the love that could never die, that could never cease to keep them apart. And their lips met. There wasn’t anything either of them could do but succumb to that love and fall headlong into a degree of earthly lovemaking unlike either of them had ever known.

But in their rapture, in the climax of their love, was an even greater revelation: they were fully and consciously aware in the sea of light that was the Light of Creation, two souls as one, but entirely aware!—just as in the beginning, just as it was before they fell, to talk and be as tirelessly as they would; all while holding onto love’s physical embrace. Indeed, what they two of divine origins experienced together in a man’s skin, so far surpassed any unions they had ever known with a human—even, Danyal had to admit, with his beloved wife Sharon, that there was no denying its import, or its necessity.

And though Semyaza had certainly known coition with others of his brothers, he did not love them as deeply as he loved Danyal. Therein lay the proof.

The depth of their love enabled the truest connection to the Light of Creation, and was observed without reproof by Danyal and Semyaza. Hence, they both knew quite through and through that they would be making love again … and often.

Even as Semyaza answered Danyal’s unrest, so Enoch answered his son Methuselah’s.

“There has been no deception,” Enoch declared to Methuselah. “The child is Lamech’s in truth and without lie, and only such because he is a gift from the Lord of the Heavens to the world of man. He will be the one to console the earth on account of all its woes. He will survive all that corrupts the earth.”

That’s when Enoch told his son Methuselah of the judgment set forth against the Sons of Heaven and their offspring, revealing every horror to come, and the fire and deluge that would answer every iniquity upon the earth; for all was known to the Lord of the Heavens of the cohabitation of his Watchers with the children of men, of their unlawful offspring via miscegenation and their ensuing corruption.

Yes, all was known to the Lord, but again, his day of rest was not yet done, and Adam still lived. Hence, the hand of judgment would not yet be lifted against the unrighteous.

Then Enoch went further in revealing to his son Methuselah every secret thing, the cyclical truths foretold in the tablets of heaven, all he had been shown by the lofty angels, the accomplishments in the future, as well as the multitudinous generations of even greater wickedness and distress that would follow upon the earth, ages and ages, until the Day of Days when after the great cycle, generations of righteousness would finally erase every trace of evil and violence, when all iniquities and kindnesses would at last be weighed and a balance found; for the laws of the universe, Enoch promised his son, were based entirely upon cycles of balance.

Things go up and things go down. Light cannot exist without darkness. Joy cannot exist without pain. Freedom cannot exist without oppression. We are no longer so innocent so as to just be. The fall of the Watchers saw to that. And for future men, in the Day of Days awareness will be the key.

“Now, please go tell your son Lamech that the child born to Bilanos is his. And tell him to name the child Noah.”

Enoch then, unbeknownst to the Lord of the Watchers, bequeathed a gift of wisdom to his son Methuselah, indeed a gift from the remnant of the human than remained in him, a gift of his own creation: his every written testimony regarding the workings of heaven, and the secret place in the earth wherein he wanted them lain.

Methuselah did not understand, for his father Enoch had handed him a crystalline stone about the size of his thumb.

Enoch instructed, “Take this record from its hiding place in the twenty-seventh Jubilee, my son, and give it to Noah, that he may then keep it to the glory of the truth.”

And Methuselah knew then, that in the twenty-seventh Jubilee the punishments for the iniquities of the Sons of Light would come.

Copyright 2012 - 2016 David David Kernan. All rights reserved.

Go to DDKBooks Back to CHAPTER SIX