"And Azazel made known to men the metals of the earth and the art of working them, and bracelets, and ornaments, and the use of antimony, and the beautifying of the eyelids, and all kinds of costly stones, and all colouring tinctures. And there arose much godlessness, and they committed fornication, and they were led astray, and became corrupt in all their ways. And they became pregnant, and they bare great giants, whose height was three thousand ells."
"Then said the Most High, the Holy and the Great One spake to Raphael: 'Bind Zazel hand and foot, and cast him into the darkness: and make an opening in the desert, which is in Dudael, and cast him therein. And place upon him rough and jagged rocks, and cover him with darkness, and let him abide there for ever, and cover his face that he may not see the light. And on the day of great judgment he shall be cast into the fire.'"
True darkness is not pitch black. It's a gray midway between black and white. There are a thousand little dots running around and specks of color flashing around. Blackness only appears to the eye in contrast to a bright spot. In the absence of any contrast, the eye loses it, randomly trying to grasp at any figure to see a shape in the darkness but only fooling itself by its own random visual noise. Lying in bed, he couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed. There was absolutely no difference. "Strange!" he thought. He tried to stare deeper into the darkness to see if he could see anything in his little room. He couldn't. He tried to recognize the true darkness, but too many specks were flashing around.
He found it strange to get used to it. Sitting in his bed, he looked around the room. He knew from the afternoon when he had moved in what he should expect: a desk, a chair, a little commode, and a small carpet. He peered into the space but couldn't see anything. He tried to sense them there. He tried to imagine where they were. However, the flashing specs of color might as well allow him to get lost in the fantasy of seeing dragons and open glens.
He had never been in true darkness. There had always been a little shine under the door or glare from the digits of an alarm clock. He slipped out of bed onto his feet. The stone floor was cold - like from a sleep of a thousand years. His nervous system was jumpy, expecting to bump into the chair. He reached out with his arm into the void of darkness but missed the chair. He almost tumbled. Jumpy to bump into something and jumpy to miss a grip on something for stability. He started crouching with his knees bent low to have a better stance as he fingered his way into the room. He didn't know why but he found his glasses on the desk to put them on.
Then the light in his room shot on in a flash. It stood stable and strong. It was 8 AM. His eyes shut in pain of overpowering light. He rubbed his eyes to get the pain to subside. Even with his fists over his eyes, bright orange was visible. The light made him see his own blood as the eyelids were lit up. Then the pain subsided. His eyes adjusted. He saw the open door to his room. The hallway was outside with all the other rooms of the monks.
Seeing the opening of the door, the thickness of the wall still fascinated him. He had to touch it to feel it. The wall was a foot thick, solid stone. He had never seen a building built that strong. There wasn't a single window in the monastery. From the outside, it looked like a solid rectangular shape. Light was very dangerous to the rare scriptures in this building. Some of the scriptures were so many millennia old that a single flash of light could turn them into dust. When he entered the monastery, he had to hand over all electronics and anything that could produce light. Ostensibly, the thick walls were meant to block all light, but he couldn't help wonder if the true purpose was not to keep something inside from coming outside. There was a feel about the fortification of everything that it wasn't really about light coming in but what was inside from coming out.
When he had made his graduate degree in theology, he had written a paper about the Book of Enoch rather by chance. It had been one of the topics the professor had offered that nobody had wanted. Nobody had heard of it. The Catholic Church carefully picked and modified the scriptures it included in the bible. The scriptures the Catholic Church had deemed too dangerous were locked away. These were called non-canonical scriptures. One of them was the Book of Enoch. It described the life and work of a watcher (a kind of fallen angel) called Azazel. He shared forbidden knowledge with humanity and corrupted the world.
That paper got him the attention of the archbishop, who assigned him to study Azazel full-time. Here at the Mount (a monastery in rural France), he had full access to the original scriptures. He got to examine the different versions of the Book of Enoch. He got to inspect the actual parchment that it was written on for secret clues. A lot of his work was done in a dark chamber, where he felt with his hands and took photos with UV and infrared cameras that could take a photo in a thousandth of a second.
He was still getting used to the particular friar's frock of the Mount. For his lower half, he had a long rectangular, brown fabric with even longer strings at the ends. He'd wrap the fabric around his hips, letting it drape down to the feet. Then, he'd wrap the strings around his belly a couple of times and tie them together. For the top, he had what appeared like a very loose long-sleeve t-shirt that mostly draped and hung down his body. He had a little satchel over his hips for his wallet, keys, and glasses case.
Like that he went into the hallway, where other monks appeared from their rooms and walked down towards the prayer chamber. Gerald, the big-bellied lead monk, hugged him on site. There was a warm camaraderie among the monks as they all struggled together with temptation and the ambiguity of understanding His will. The hug was warm. There was a bit of holding to transmit that Gerald was genuinely happy to have him here.
The prayer chamber had comfortable modern chairs made from wood with upholstery and fake leather. Even though the decorations were auster, all the necessary creature comforts were provided. There was a pitcher with water and glasses. The room temperature was set comfortably. The monks struggling with blood sugar issues had cookies on a table. The meeting was run very professionally. It started on time. The agenda was announced everyone got to read one verse from the Book of Wisdom From Solomon. Facilities announcements finished the prayer meeting.
The one thing that was a little odd to him was a monk standing up at the very end. Olivier was his name. All the monks wore their satchel on the left to make it easy for the right hand to reach for it except for the left-handed monks. Olivier was right-handed and had his satchel on the right. On his left hip was a black taser with silver metal prongs exposed. Olivier introduced him as the lead psychiatrist. He encouraged the assembly to seek counsel frequently. Some of the non-canonical texts had a corrupting influence or traumatizing effect, vivid imagery of the terrible end of times. But why did he and his colleagues need a taser to have a counseling conversation?
While he still looked around the room to observe the monks getting up and choosing the peers whom they wanted to talk to, Gerald came up to him from behind. He could feel warm hands laying down on his shoulders. He instantly felt relaxed by the big soft touch, yet quickly turned his head around to see the big smiling face. The atmosphere of warm congeniality was palpable.
"Come with me, brother! I'll give you the tour," invited Gerald with an injection of energy that wanted to sweep him off his chair.
