While I follow a path of Christianized Alchemy it is enriched by eastern mysticism, esoteric philosophy and science. As such I never proclaim to have all the answers. Every time I do the God of my own Heart reminds me of every Yogi or Priest, homeless man or philosopher that has enriched my journey over the years.
Not everyone accepts our ideology as they were given the same cognitive reasoning that we were. I mean, why should they? At the end of the day we’re all finite beings feeling around in the dark for the light switch. We know what has been revealed to our Spirit through trial and error. As it should be.
Never let anyone tell you your concept of God is wrong or how you choose to serve is irrelevant. Accept everything with a grain of salt. Trust that ancient part of you to know what’s right and good in the world. Some call it intuition, others call it Spirit. There are even people who refer to their Inner Self as the Still-Small Voice of God. Language is like that; it can mess up really profound teachings and sometimes seem inadequate.
Most of all, enjoy the journey. Live each moment in awe of the beauty that surrounds each and every one of us.
((Here’s a link to the last part, Part 6: Nightmare and to the beginning of the series, Part 1: Deal with the Devil.))
“Incorrect.”
You took a second to react to that. “Sorry, what?”
“Y/N believes they have to go back to Markiplier Manor. That is incorrect.”
“But I told you, I keep seeing that room, I can’t get it out of my head!” You stared at the Host, who just shrugged at your words. “You told me yourself that these visions or whatever they are could be of the future, and it’s not like they’re memories. I know they haven’t happened yet!”
“A future.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“The Host recalls telling Y/N that what they see may not happen at all. The future is a difficult thing to read, and even observing it may be enough to change what one sees.” The Host sat forward in his chair, resting his arms on his desk as he turned his bandaged eyes on you. “What reason does Y/N have to go to the house?”
“I told you, I keep seeing it—”
“The Host stands and asks Y/N to join him in the middle of the study.”
“…O-okay,” you said, following the Host to the middle of the room. You almost knocked over a stack of books along the way, but the ego wound his way through the haphazard stacks without any trouble.
“Now the Host asks that Y/N close their eyes.”
“I’ll say it again, what?”
“Whether Y/N believes it or not, not being able to see for one minute is not the end of the world.”
“I didn’t mean—Fine. Now what?”
The Host’s hands rested on your shoulders as he turned you around, and then around again, until you lost all sense of direction and then he let go. You stood there with eyes still closed, knowing that the Host would call you out on peeking.
“Y/N hears the sound of the Hosts’ voice. Can Y/N walk toward it, without opening their eyes?”
“Sure I can, I just…” You paused after one step when you felt the pressure against one side of your leg and heard the sound of a book tumbling to the floor. Right, the stacks of books, all over the room. “Oh.”
“Exactly. Walking forward blindly would result in Y/N tripping and most likely twisting an ankle.”
“Host.”
“That is, if the Host were to let them,” the Host added quickly at the tone in your voice. “The Host’s question is if risking that outcome would be worth it just because someone told Y/N to go there.”
“So I should just ignore these visions?” You crossed your arms, recalling the latest in the series of nightmares. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Is that the reason Y/N wishes to go? To make them stop? Because the Host cannot guarantee that will be the outcome. Going back may even make them worse. Again, is it worth it?”
“I don’t...” Your fingers dug into your arms as you recalled the nightmares, and the memories they came from. It took an effort to speak, but he was patient. “Host, I was in that house for so long, and that door was always there. And every time I saw it, I thought, what if…What if we were wrong, what if we could have saved them, what if they were trapped in there like I was trapped in the mirror, and...I know they’re not coming back, I know what happened. They’re gone, this won’t change anything, but...I have to see that room for myself. I need to. Do you understand?”
“When the Host sees the future, it is not just one. There are so many paths to choose even if someone knows where they wish to go, and at times the Host feels that there is more to lose than just knocking over a stack of books or a visit to Dr. Iplier.” The Host sighed. “But if that outcome is important or dear enough, then it is worth the risks along the way. Of course, like crossing this room, having someone to help you could make all the difference. Y/N will not be going alone.”
“No, of course not!” There was absolutely no way you would go back to that place alone.
“That was less a question and more an observation. Y/N may open their eyes now. The Host has finished making his point.”
You opened your eyes and watched as the Host threaded his way back over to you, taking the time to think. You already knew one person you could ask, but it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else come along. “Host, would you go with me?”
The Host paused, his head dipping toward the ground as he considered. Then he said, almost sadly, “The Host cannot.”
“That’s okay, I just thought—” You were about to say you thought he could use some fresh air and time outside, but going back to Markiplier Manor hardly seemed like a fun kind of outing.
“The Host hopes…” The Host stopped, considering his words. “The Host hopes that Y/N gets some rest soon. He has found that Chefiplier has tea in the kitchen cabinets that helps him to relax when bad dreams keep him awake which Y/N may find useful.”
“I’ll give that a try,” you said. At the door you turned around and added, “Thank you, Host. For listening, and the advice.”
In the kitchen you found a half-cleared disaster area that started with something in one of the sinks that burbled and gulped when you looked at it and spread to a disturbing yellow liquid splashed across one of the counters that oozed slowly toward the ground in thick strands. A mop stood straight up in the middle of the pool gathering below it, as if the substance was not only strong enough to keep it from falling over but could rip the mop out of the hands of whoever had been desperate enough to try to clean it up. The whole area had been roped off with probably more hazard signs than were necessary, or at least you hoped so.
Fortunately, there was more than one sink in this massively oversized kitchen, and you could at least get some water boiling for the tea the Host told you about. You took a moment to pull out your phone and, with a guilty look at the clock, send a text message. You hoped it wouldn’t wake him up, but part of you suspected that he wouldn’t be asleep even at this hour. As you were picking out a cup, the back door opened and two superheroes came stumbling into the room.
“Y/N! Good to see you,” Silver Shepherd said, waving as he led Jackieboy Man to one of the clear counters and propped him up there.
“Hey—Are you okay?” you asked, looking especially at Jackieboy.
He shrugged, one hand over his left eye, the other bracing himself against the counter. You could already see a bruise forming under his fingers and there was a rip in one of his sleeves. “You should see the other guys. Right, Silver?”
Silver laughed, but you couldn’t help noticing that his lower lip had a split in it. He handed a small towel wrapped around some ice to Jackieboy and said, “Here, try this.”
Jackieboy pressed the wrap against his eye, wincing a little as he did so. “Didn’t expect to see anyone up so late. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just a bad dream,” you said. “Do you two need to go see the doctors?”
Both men immediately shook their heads, speaking over each other as they reassured you they were okay.
“Barely even a fight,” Silver added last. “These guys didn’t know what hit ‘em when both of us showed up.”
He puffed himself up, and before long he and Jackieboy were going over the fight piece by piece, laughing a lot for two guys who were almost tossed off a rooftop. You listened while you sipped your tea and breathed in the heavy steam. It seemed to be helping calm you down at least, so there was that.
You glanced down at your phone when you felt the vibration and saw the words, Only because you asked, Partner.
You smiled just before the phone vibrated again with a second message: Go to bed!
Well, there was only one way to respond to that.
You first.
Jackieboy made no secret of sidling over to peek at your phone and grinned at you when you turned it away from him. That’s how you missed the brief surge of static across the screen as the words jumped and scattered before settling back into place once they were read.
“Ooh, texts late at night, I know what that means,” Jackieboy said.
Silver pressed both hands to his mouth with an exaggerated gasp. “Y/N, do you have a secret someone?”
“Uh, no, it’s not like that.”
“You know we’ll have to meet this boyfriend and/or girlfriend of yours,” Silver continued, wagging a finger at you with one of his oversized gloves. “I don’t think I can approve of someone texting you at this hour of the night, keeping you up on a school night.”
“A school…? I texted him, about a thing tomorrow.”
“A thing?” Jackieboy said, nudging Silver as he did so. “Sounds pretty serious to me.”
“It’s not—I mean, it is, but it’s not…” You paused when you saw both men cracking up. “I hate you both so much right now.”
Silver waited until you finished your tea and went back upstairs to say to Jackieboy in a far more serious tone, “That was a pretty bad hit earlier. How’s your eye doing?”
Jackieboy removed the wrap and blinked a couple of times. For one second it seemed like his eye was completely bloodshot, but when Silver moved closer to take a better look there was only the bruising.
He gingerly touched the area around his eye and then shrugged. “I’ve felt worse.”
After you left the study, the Host went back to his desk and sat there, waiting in silence for the knock that he knew would soon come.
“Come in, Google.”
The blue Google unit entered the room, careful to shut the door behind him as he did not wish to be overheard. He walked across the room, taking a calculated path to reduce encounters with the stacks, until he stood at the other side of the desk and looked down at the Host. The Host could hear the android’s system whirring loudly, a sign that he was…not upset, that would be a human emotion. Just having difficulty processing.
“I have been analyzing my data records since I returned to the house,” Google said, not bothering with an introduction or any niceties. “I can not find any cause for the van fire earlier today, and seeing that my memory banks are…insufficient, asking for your assistance seemed to be a logical choice.”
The android said the word “insufficient” like it hurt, and the Host knew that the last several hours had been a debate between the four units on whether or not to seek outside help.
“The fire that damaged the Barrel was caused by a glitch, a spark that ignited the grease,” the Host said.
“I did not glitch,” Google said, his hand coming to rest on the desk as he leaned over the Host.
“The Host did not say you were the source of the glitch.”
“Bing,” Google muttered.
The Host opened his mouth to correct him and then stopped himself. Instead, he asked, “Does Google still intend to repair the van?”
“It is doubtful if the ‘Barrel’ is worth this unit’s time and energy,” Google said. “Holding on to that van is sentimentality on the part of Markiplier and Y/N, a human defect that prevents them from simply making the most efficient choice of getting a new vehicle.”
“Some things can’t be fixed…” The Host said to himself, quietly, and shuddered.
“…I did not say that,” Google said. He scowled when the Host turned his head toward him and added, “Just that it has no rational value.”
“If the van has no value, then why did Google offer to repair it in the first place?” the Host asked.
Google narrowed his eyes. He knew that the Host only asked questions when he wanted someone else to say it for themselves. “Because this unit finds it more convenient to achieve my directives when Markiplier and Y/N trust me. Today’s error will only make that more difficult, unless the Host knows another way.”
“The Host does know that Markiplier’s house is currently empty, and will continue to be so for several days. That is, if Google truly believes the van can be repaired.”
The Host listened, sensing the android’s processing as he took in this information. It lasted longer than he liked, and the response was not the cocky answer he had hoped for.
“Perhaps I can spare my other units to look into it. This information is…appreciated, Host.”
The Host nodded and waited until the door shut behind Google before he leaned forward on his desk and buried his head in his shaking hands.
One outcome, only one where this was all worth it, and he could feel the pits lurking on either side of the path to get there.
((End of Part 7. Thank you for reading!
Here’s the link to Part 8: Return to Markiplier Manor (Again)
Pull the all in, then push everything out. Become open, a temple, return, be a little more transformed, a little purer, a little more divine. Chop wood, carry water. Closer. Deeper. Nemo returns.
‘There are many ways up the mountain, but each of us must chose a practice that feels true to his own heart. It is not necessary for you to evaluate the practices chosen by others. Remember, the practices themselves are only vehicles for you to develop awareness, lovingkindness, and compassion on the path toward freedom, a freedom of spirit.
As the Buddha said, “One need not carry the raft on one’s head after crossing the stream.” We need to learn not only how to honor and use a practice as long as it serves us - which in most cases is a very long time - but to look at it as just that, a vehicle, a raft to help us cross through the waters of doubt, confusion, desire and fear. We can be thankful for the raft that supports our journey, and still realize that though we benefit, not everyone will take the same raft.’
