eonymus
I have always been interested in mysteries. I was not always lucky enough to fathom the strange idiosyncrasies of life that I encountered, but sometimes I was able to uncover the truth about a situation and this often helped me solve other problems that had been deemed unsolvable. Yet, it was not long after I had joined the Hermitage as a young noviciate that I discovered there can be a dark side to uncovering secrets.
As a young novice, I viewed the Hermitage and its occupancy with wide-eyed expectation and innocence. It was the resident Abbot of the time, Abbot Simeon, who escorted me around the Hermitage, and he defined the geographical boundaries in which I was allowed to stay. Noviciates were able to work outside in the fields and gardens, in the apothecary, in the kitchen, and the library which was used for both studying and record keeping purposes. Other places, such as the Abbot’s Study, or the quarters of the 4 Brothers, were “out of bounds” to all noviciates unless they were invited in especially on specific occasions and only the Abbot, and the 4 resident Brothers, were allowed to explore special areas, such as the Cave.
As we walked along the side of the main field where the Hermitage grows its vegetables, I noticed the bottom fence was very overgrown with brambles and ivy. It appeared very dark and depressing and I remember asking what was beyond the deep and gloomy fence.
“That is the private graveyard, “answered Abbot Simeon. “The place where we bury our residents. I will show you the graves and tombs this time, but don’t enter again unless you have prior permission from either myself or the 4 Brothers. It is a place for deep contemplation, and at first, especially, you will be too busy doing other things.”
We walked through a small wooden gate, inlaid with moss where the moisture from the leaves of the brambles had constantly fallen, becoming a source of nutrient for the tiny spores. Once inside the graveyard, the atmosphere soon enveloped you, shutting out the relatively noisy places that reminded you of activity and life. The graveyard, on the other hand, soothed you, made acquiescent, imposing silence upon you, as the dead lay stiffly below the ground. You felt you had to be as quiet and still as they were, with any movement you made being an infringement on their rights to peace and quiet. We moved slowly from grave to grave, with comments only being made infrequently, if the engraving on the memorial stones was so worn it was unreadable. Even then, we spoke in very low tones, almost whispers, and we kept the words to a minimum.
I noticed that there was a grave, overgrown with weeds, situated slightly apart from the rest. I asked the Abbot whose it belonged to, as I could not see any writing upon it. Very reluctantly, the Abbot went towards it, his lips tightly closed, his blue eyes turning hard and steel-like. As we neared the grave, I realised it was a low tomb, with an engraving upon it, but not like any of the others. There was no name, only a drawing of a skeleton, holding a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. The image struck me as strange - why would a contemplative inhabitant of the Hermitage be buried with an image holding weapons usually associated with war? When I asked the question, the Abbot hesitated before answering.
“Elias, there have been people in the past who gave their lives to Jesus Christ, protecting those who wished to make pilgrimage to holy sites by defending pilgrims from vagabonds and thieves. They were called the Knights Templars, and their group was formed during the 11th and 12 centuries, as they joined large crusades to defend the Christian Faith against the heathen races in the holy land. They gave a vow of poverty, chastity, and loyalty to Christ, and it was due to their diligence and support that so many pilgrims were able to achieve their goals, and give reverence to the holy shines.”
He paused, and I was tempted to question him further, but his eyes were staring at the skeleton with such intensity that it felt improper to distract him.
“Many of the Templar Knights were honest, pious men, who kept their vows with great sincerity. But it is said that some of these Templars did not worship Christ, but were heretics, worshipping the devil, and doing many strange acts, not recognised as part of the Christian faith. And the Pope, and the French King at the time, dealt harshly with the Templars, robbing them of their wealth, their faith, and, at times, their lives.”
He turned to me, sadness in his eyes. “Elias, not everyone who comes to the Hermitage holds the same perspective on life, or faith. We come here to learn, to discover, to understand, what motivates us, and life itself. We all bring different experiences and knowledge, and then use that knowledge to further the endeavours of ourselves, and others. Nothing is wasted, and nothing is ignored. We try to learn and understand. Only through understanding can we gain eternal illumination.
“But we must recognise there is a dark side to life. How else would we know when we actually are in the light, unless there were times when we experienced darkness? Some of the brethren here have been known to go to the farthest edge possible within a given field of endeavour, to experience and understand the difference between enlightenment and ignorance. Usually they can use these encounters to advance their inner illumination without any real danger to themselves, but there was one brother, an Abbot of this Hermitage, who fared too close to the darkness, Abbot Eonymus.
“No doubt you are wondering why an image, and not his name, is carved on the tomb. The image on this tomb represents death. The sword represents being prepared for the future. The shield represents the protection of what is past. The eagle represents his spiritual heritage. By choosing to study subjects concerning the dark side, he agreed to undertake, on behalf of us all, the dangers these subjects bring. There are few capable of doing such a thing, and to pursue it as much as he did demonstrated an arrogance none of us can afford to gain.”
He stopped talking, and his expression changed. More determined he gently touched my arm and signalled that we must return to the Hermitage. We began to walk with a stronger stride. I stumbled over the my new grey habit as we moved over unfamiliar ground. We were almost at the main entrance to the Hermitage when the Abbot stopped, and turned to me, his eyes kindly, friendly, sympathetic.
“I know you are interested in the unusual things in life, Elias. It is one of the things I was told about, and had to consider carefully, before agreeing to accept you as a noviciate here. Such a thirst for the curious, the unexpected, can be very helpful, even admirable in the contemplative life of learning upon which you are not embarking. But you need to curtail the excesses of this thirst. I would hate to see you succumb to the dangers that beheld Eonymus. Perhaps we were meant to see his grave today, as a warning to be remembered.”
I never forgot that day, and it did have an impact on how I learnt, and how far I was prepared to go in order to learn. But I was still curious as to what Eonymous had learnt, and how exactly he died.
For several years I was kept busy, learning the everyday tasks required to keep the Hermitage functioning. I spread my time between the garden, the fields, the apothecary, and the kitchen, but was happiest in the library, browsing through the large number of books which had been gathered over the years. The collection was varied and vast, covering all sorts of topics; some of the publications were from outside sources, but a large number had been created by the Brothers themselves, with many of the noviciates contributing articles towards the Hermitage Chronicles.
I did glean some of the facts surrounding Abbot Eonymus’s death. He had been found dead in his room, lying in the middle of the floor, within a large circle which had made with salt. It is recorded in the Hermitage Chronicles that Malcolm, one of the noviciates who was responsible for the maintenance of the kitchen resources commented, “I wondered where all of the salt had gone to! I even asked the Abbot about it but he said I must be mistaken. In fact he became quite agitated when I tried to tell him I had checked and double-checked the supply. Who would have believed he would be the one who took it!” Apart from the circle of salt, other items were said to have been in the room: several candles, burnt down to different positions marked on the wax, were situated around the room; a stone sundial had been placed inside the circle, and Eonymus was lying next to it, his body curled around it, “a bit like a snake” another witness said; he was holding in his hand a jade gem that had once resided in a marble statue of an eagle which had stood at the entrance to the Hermitage; the small window had been covered up with a dark cloth; strange symbols were daubed around his room and, to one observer, were glowing with a strange light; a small bowl had been knocked over and a pool of water had slithered its way towards the body; Eonymus’s clothing was stained red, with someone commenting it was blood - a dead hen was lying on a desk, just outside the circle with a quill pen, parchment, and a small thimble of red liquid placed next to it.
No-one knows how Eonymus died, it was assumed he had died of a heart attack. However, it was clear that he had been performing rituals of some kind, usually associated with the dark side of life. As he had been the only one to take any interest in this subject nobody really understood what he had been trying to do. After the body was removed for burial, the items believed to be associated with the death were bound up, and placed inside his room. Everything else that was associated with his work in the Hermitage was removed, with all his writings placed in the Library, then the door of the room was sealed, permanently, with strict instructions that no-one, not then, or in the future, was to open it. And so it remains, closed, unused, unnoticed by those who have come to live here since. I always wondered what else lay inside. Perhaps the record was incomplete? Perhaps I could discover what it was he was working on, what he was trying to accomplish? But it was to be wishful thinking. The door would never be unsealed, and the truth always lie dormant.
That did not stop me trying to investigate further. I looked at all his writings, but noticed that they did not go beyond his early days as a Brother. All of his time as Abbot is missing. I did ask Brother Sepharus if he knew what had happened to Abbot Eonymus’s later writings, but all he would say was, “Nothing was ever found. Everyone believed there must be a parchment or a book somewhere, with the rituals written down, but no-one ever found it.”
When I talked with Brother Ranulph he commented, “I think someone did find a book somewhere,” he mused. “Yes, they did, but it was blank. It was thought he had been intending to use it - he liked to have lots of quill pens on hand - but his death prevented him.” Further questioning did little to enlighten me about this book, or where it could be found, and I had to leave this part of the enquiry alone.
Instead, I tried to learn as much as I could about the items needed for black magic rituals, and even grasped the rudiments of the art, without actually performing any of the rites. I felt it was better to be forewarned and if necessary be able to be forearmed, should any trouble from the dark side erupt.
There was one special dream which kept recurring. I had originally dreamt it when I was a child, but now it had returned, with additional images, making me even more fearful.
I found myself in a large religious building - as a child it had been a church but was now the main hall of the Hermitage. I saw a man in a cleric’s habit and he told me to go to the baptismal font and look into the water. I did so, and saw 12 faces, each one different in formation, but clear in their visual detail, and I knew they were the faces of the 12 apostles. I went back to the man, believing I had done all I was supposed to do, but he told me to look into the font again, and when I did so I saw the glowing face of what I knew to be the Christ. I could not distinguish His facial features properly but nevertheless I knew who He was. I returned to the man and saw him, with several other men wearing clerical clothing, standing in a semi-circle between two pews, with the end people closest to me. One of the men was angry and asked the first man, why I had been given permission to go back to the font. The reply was, “He is one of us”. The first man then came towards me, an object in his hand, and gave it to me. I looked at it. It was made of old wood, in the shape of a cross, with a wooden figure of Christ tied upon it. As I looked the figure moved position, staring at me with penetrating eyes. It spoke to me the following words, “Take me to those who desire to see the Christ!”. I asked the figure if I had heard the words correctly, and repeated the phrase in my mind. The figure replied, “You heard” in an almost harsh voice, and I turned, holding the object out in front of me, walking into the distance. As a child I had woken, unafraid, actually elated with emotion, and it was this which had influenced me in joining the Hermitage. But now, something was being added to the dream. As I turned away, the wooden object I was holding changed into one made of bone, and the figure became that of the skeleton, holding the shield and the sword. The change was so dramatic that I would find myself sitting up in bed, feeling very frightened, sweat pouring off my face
To combat the fear I began to hang garlic around my room - a well known symbol to ward away “evil spirits”. I also prayed earnestly every night to the God of Light, leaving a small candle lit during the dark winter nights. As the dreams began to diminish, I relaxed, becoming confident with the information I had learnt, and managing to control my level of involvement with the dark side.
Once I went into the Cave - I was now one of the 4 Brothers within the Hermitage - and I was surprised to find a piece of parchment, old and ragged around the edges. It had nothing written on it, and, when I enquired of one of the others if they knew where it had come from, they could not tell me. Brother Ephriam asked me whereabouts in the Cave I had found it. I answered, “On a ledge, right at the back, under a stone.” He was surprised but immediately replied, “That is where Abbot Simeon used to pray. I was gently rebuked once when I accidentally disturbed him. Apparently all of the Abbots go there to pray, once a year, as a form of memorial to our co-founder, Blazzick and the unknown seer.”
What Ephriam said was of great interest, but I knew I could explore it no further. Abbot Simeon was no longer with us, and our present Abbot, when he was one of the 4 Brothers, continually advised me to find a practical outlet for my interests in the enigmas of life, warning me that too much introspection, especially on the dark side, would hide the light of truth. I knew he was right, but I still found it difficult to let this mystery go.
Looking at the piece of parchment, I remembered, some methods I had used as a child to create invisible writing. By using lemon juice, or some other citric acid, instead of ink, write what you want to say on some parchment. The wetness of the juice will be visible long enough to read what you are writing, but once it is dried the parchment will seem as if it has never been touched. Then later, holding the parchment in front of a lighted flame, the heat will quickly change the areas where the juice has been written into a dark brown, whilst leaving the rest of the parchment its original colour, and through this it is possible to make invisible writing visible again. As a matter of curiosity I decided to do this with the piece of parchment I had found, and I was surprised to see words suddenly appear.
I pondered on the ideas outlined in the parchment. I could not help looking at the childlike innocence of the original words, and the profound yet simplistic perception written next to them. Why hadn’t I thought of these ideas before? The parchment doesn’t give all the answers. It is only a fragment of the “blank” book Eonymus had made. What ideas I have managed to work out, are so profound, that I believe Eonymus was right to keep it secret, hidden from public view. I can understand why other brothers have been reluctant to pursue this research. It does upset one’s perception of life, and is not always easy to rationalise with what society believes it sees and does. Perhaps “ignorance is bliss” in some circumstances, but for me, the genie of knowledge is out of the bottle and it is impossible to return it to its original prison. All I can do is hope to keep it under control a little, with common sense, common prayer, and the light of enlightenment which guides us all.
If you wish to see the image, please touch the word Skeleton highlighted earlier in this essay.