Chapter 7 Box Tunnel and the Archangel

Chapter 7 Box Tunnel and the Archangel
Since moving to the area in 1999 I had frequently used the timber yard owned by Oscar windebank. In my day job I usually work as a furniture maker, my first job in the area was working for Fred Baier and it was through him I first found my way to this antiquated business. Still living in 1940s Britain the old secretary dressed in utility clothing and typed receipts on a type writer. The boss was sported plus fours and was quite aloof, he had a group of slave workers who whilst very helpful to customers despised the management. Located in Box near Bath I would see the entrance arch to Box Tunnel each time I visitted. I was aware of Peter Gabriel's studio due to having freinds working at the Wallhall in Beckington. Another recording studio created by tears for fears but at the time of our mission owned by van Morrison.
By liptons calculations we had already explored the tunnels nearer home to the extent we had walked some fourteen miles underground, through the labyrinths under shepton mallet, beneath frome and beneath Combe down. We broke in to the sealed off Combe down network but now it has been opened as cycle ways by sustains. We had found little evidence of jesse. The odd noises, distant could be heard ensuring we were in the right part of the country and not far geographically off. Even liptons maths can be thrown out by a mistaken planetary alignment. Still the booming subterranian music of jesse travels several miles underground so though a few degrees out we knew we were close. We needed a message. A message from another lifeform.
On a timber purchasing mission I found the timber yard had been bought by peter Gabriel. He also owned the land above containing the entrance to Box Tunnel. As prices had increased I was already warned but on a recy I wandered up the path to explore a hidden machine gun shelter hidden in woodland protecting the tunnels entrance. Looking over the edge of the magnificent arch I did further research.
Box Tunnel is a railway tunnel and part of the great western railway system. It is 1.8 miles or 2.95 km in length and before being built was considered an impossible undertaking. Isinbard Kingdom Brunel thought otherwise and undertook the commission. The land was tunnelable being great oolite on top with fullers earth, inferior oolite and Bridport sand beneath. The great oolite formed 160 million years ago when the area was a shallow, warm sea. This converts to bath stone overtime which is easily worked by masons as is evident throughout the buildings of the whole area. To access the tunnel, Brunel used eight shafts varying from 90 to 300 feet in depth. All extraction and men were moved in and out this way. Being 1836 and 7 this undertaking was entirely lit by candlelight using a tonne of candles a week. 100 lives were lost in its construction largely down to impracticalities in bringing me n to the surface via the eight shaft system. Workers remained underground as blasting took place hence the death rate of one man for every 26 yards of tunnel.
Despite the loss of life, such was the accuracy that when the two work forces, finally numbering a thousand either side, met up, the two tunnels met up within two inches of alignment. The entrance at Box is a large classical portal, the secret corsham end a modest brick structure. Brunel designed it so as to have the rising sun illuminate it on the 9th of April, his birthday each year. His calculations, though close have seen full illuminations on 5th April 1992 and 5the September 1985. Full illumination more normally occurs three times in every four non leap years on April 7th.
By world war 2 the nation needed secure storage for munitions. A side tunnel was dug with large underground halls entering from monkton farleigh. In the 1930s Tunnel Quarry was renovated by the royal engineers as one of the major stockpiles. In 1937 the GWR were contracted to build a 1000 foot long raised twin loading platform where the new tunnel met the original one, and two sidings for the bristol london mainline, branching off just outside the eastern entrance to the Box tunnel. 1.25 miles of tunnel link it. Further, an RAF station was also established using an area of the tunnels. An aircraft factory was also built following the bristol blitz though never used. RAF used it as an experimental department. Today, only the computer control remains, while the dark entrance end is blocked with concrete and rubble. If we were to get in, we'd have to go through Box arch, negotiating speeding locomotives.
In March me and Lipton began planning ready to go through the tunnel for April 7th. I had explained to him all I had learned up in askern and connisburgh and having his maths confirmed regarding jesse, Lipton was exuberant. Immediately he began to draw out his vast geometric mathematical drawings, linking all our subterranian research to date. After two days we were certain. Box Tunnel was where we could find jesse. There was space for his legion to party. Freedom to dance to jesses beat of darkness.
Due to the ghosts of the hundred men we wrote to peter Gabriel for his blessing and protection. We figured his response may not come as a formal letter so late one night we took 400ug of LSD and scaled Solsbury Hill over looking Bath. Gabriel's single Solsbury hill describes acid trips he had done to look out across the city. It should be explained at this point, though we had improved our consiousness through heavy use of psychedelics in our teens we had abandoned them. Both of us had been plagued ever since by so called mental health professionals. We were quite unaware at this point that our visions had indeed been real. That inadvertantly we had rendered ourselves shamanic witches, able to cross dimensions. But at this point we were dormant shamans, unaware in any real sense of our capabilities. There was nothing wrong with our minds. Scientologists may talk a lot of shite on most matters however they know the truth about the none science of psychiatry. Our minds were augmented, not damaged. Still, it had been many years since we had taken the sacrament LSD. For sure we had consistently being altering our consiousness with lesser drugs but somewhere we had lost our way. Drifted away from the visionary psychedelics for mere sensation, even escapism. It can be tough being party to greater truths and self medication can occur if one loses confidence. But to commune with Gabriel, this was surely the way.
The intensity of the LSD was of a magnitude we had not expected. Carrying the tape player in our rucksack was heavy work and we each took shifts, sharing the load. We had both expected a milder experience but as we scaled the hill demons began to form from roosting crows. Moving quickly as they swooped down we made our way to the summit hoping for intervention. As we sat the demons seemed to be scared or less confident. Looking out over the city lights one light grew. As its brightness intensified it took on the form of an angel. Resplendent in gold and white feathers. 'Fuck me, he's turned archangel,' Lipton said. 'Fucking right, he has.' I replied, and just in the nick of time. The demons terrified flew away to hang around in darkened corners, they were no match for the archangel Gabriel.
Hovering above us now he looked miffed. 'Quick, play the tape. Appease the archangel.' Though neither of us were fans we had brought tapes of Gabriel's early albums to summon him up. Fumbling around, aiming to play his first solo album, in the dark I accidentally played his duet with Kate Bush, 'Don't give up.' This must be his message to us we realised. We mistook his miffed expression. What he was trying to communicate was the serious nature of our mission. He would protect us from the 100 ghosts but any material problems, trains specifically and rail workers were out of his jurisdiction . It would be several years before my status was upgraded to archangel, I wasn't even an operational shaman, merely a shamanic witch, someone of shamanic faith who seeks out a shaman in times of need. Even then we knew it was the only working religion. Having prayed as a boy I had discovered christianity had broken down. Due to money minded christians God no longer could be arsed answering prayers, not unless the Christian returned to Poverty, as Jesus quite clearly told them. 'It is harder for a fat rich bastard to get in to my fathers Kingdom than it is for a camel to get through the eye of a fucking needle,' we're his exact words. Now, most church goers, vicars even were rolling in it. Not surprisingly God cut off his support. It would be much later we would try resurrect their broken religion.
Gabriel's appearance was breif. Our trip still strong but now free of darkness carried us down and in to Bath where we were able to bring our transcendence under control. Valium can be invaluable at times, as can special brew.
Unfortunately, and rather unhelpfully this combination of drugs caused Lipton to question Gabriel's support. To me it was clear he was in support of our mission. He'd deal with the hundred ghosts of Brunels workers but we must negotiate obstacles in our material domain. Liptons anger grew. He figured if gabriel was now archangel he could control train times and rail workers. Despite my insistence that this was ridiculous, that Gabriel's abilities stretched only to the supernatural, Lipton wrote a second letter, challenging him to a fight, underground.
On April 7th I met up with Lipton. Now sleeping in an unregistered car hidden off road on the outskirts of Bath. We walked in to town to find a toy shop. After his ridiculous choice of deep sea dive action man, a pompous and immodest selection I had periodically voiced my concerns. Finally, accepting my wisdom and the world war 2 connection, we opted for a ww2 commando each. The accurate and sensible choice. Deep sea diver? What was he thinking?
Such disputes were regular occurrences between me and Lipton though I should emphasise, without both of our total commitment to joining jesses army and helping to liberate the nation, none of our work would have been possible. Not once did our faith in the greater curve wane. Lipt on is a mathematical genius on a par with john Nash or Bertrand Russell. Some may ask why he hid himself amongst the homeless. But his shamanic work as a medicine man helped the homeless endure cold winter nights. We knew government agents were on our tail so if he had taken a placement in any achedemic institution he would have been found and killed. We were both on the run, racing against enemy agents hell bent on killing us. Under such stress it is understandable we both developed drink and drug habits. Writing this now, five years later, both of us are cured. I still have the odd drink and of course use sacramental lysergics on occassion but never again will I let government forces inflict addiction on me. John Lennons death has taught us the righteous path and to avoid yoko and reductive drugs.
Lipton had studied the timetables for the trains running bristol to london and vice versa. He had calculated how long our walk would take yet neither of us knew where, exactly, the World War Two platform and side tunnels to the quarry led off the main box tunnel. Only that it was likely near the corsham end, meaning we must ready ourselves for a good mile and a half. At three miles an hour walking pace that meant half an hour, give or take was all we'd need. The biggest gap in the train timetable meant we should best do this at night however a window between 10am and 10.45am was clear so long as we stuck to the right lines, avoiding the left.
We entered unnoticed, where ing Elvis masks to throw of any railway security, rucksacks loaded with torches, batteries, super strength lager and action men, offerings for jesse should we find him. As we got deeper into the tunnel the coldness grew. Pitch blackness ensued if we switched off our mag lights. We gradually became aware of a rumbling, jesse must be starting up his satan sound system ready to rock. 'We're on' I said smiling at Lipton. Soon it dawned on us that this was not the case. 'The bastard, I knew he wouldn't face me in a square go,' Lipton angrily shouted. In liptons mind Gabriel had sent locomotives, off schedule, to kill us. No one else knew we were there. Never trust an archangel. The lesson quickly learned we made swiftly for the periodical workers shelter, man sized hollows in the tunnel wall. Holding on to each other the train rocketed past driving air and the odd chunk of lifted gravel at us.
This near death experience was our sole real dangerous moment. No demons appeared demonstrating my faith in Gabriel was as accurate as liptons lack of faith. Archangels can be ambivalent to subterranian truth seekers and can never be considered entirely trustworthy on materialist matters. After a further twenty minutes we were on the hidden and abandoned underground World War Two platforms. Old containers were all that remained here but safely off the lines we lay down, exhausted from the train stress and our undertakings. Turning off our torches and cracking a beer each we were plunged into darkness and sensory deprivation.
In total darkness the mind begins to create hallucinations. In this case these proved to be not hallucinations but removal of the veil of fake reality our human consiousness is privvy to. As with plates cave, we only see the shadows of the truth, never the truth itself. Eyes are not windows but send what they detect to the brain that creates a workable map to enable us to negotiate reality. We never see the real. We haven't the physiology. Yet through sensory deprivation the mind is freed of these systems and left alone to invent the truth, and escape the lie world of the straight or grey world dwellers.
Colours first. The fractal patterns. The ephemeral mandalas. The marks of lysergics and tryptamines. These always swirl around shamans, followers of jesse and to an ultimate intensity in jesse himself. At his core jesse is white skinned and some twelve feet in height. This grisly unpalatable to most human minds has forced him to enshroud himself in a swarming fractal blur of colours that shimmy and shift. Much like looking in to space, the form of a man made of night sky yet compacted to eternity by a myriad of coloured super nova, spiral galaxies, much like deep space hubble photographs yet in constant change and flux. That is how jesse appeared to us that morning.
At his side he heald the hand of his wife. A similar deep space and aura of fractal ever changing coloured patterns enclosed his beautiful mistress. 'Welcome boys, we gotta whole loota things to discuss. Soon we'll be taking care of business but first let me introduce my wife, Jane.'
As his legions became clearer in the hallucinatory pitch dark, awash with fractal patterns, he offered his hand. Humbly we shook. To our amazement it was clear to whome he was betrothed. Jane Charlotte Dick.
Philip k Dick was an American visionary novelist whose published works were slipped beneath the radar cunningly disguised as science fiction. In truth his books explored philosophy, metaphysics, theology and altered states of consiousness, authoritarian governments, exactly the subjects me and and Lipton were up against. He took amphetamines in large ammounts for 20 years and was indeed paranoid at times. However he too knew that surface reality was a thin veneer which if peeled away revealed a greater truth.
Jesses missus, Jane Charlotte Dick and Phil were born six weeks premature. Jane, whose visionary skills must have been far greater than Phils was buried alive by government agents much as jesse was. Dick was told she had died but this profoundly affected him throughout his life. If only we had got there earlier we could have consoled him. Tell him the truth. She was alive and well with jesse. The phantom twin would recur many times in his books.
His amphetamine fuelled output of the 1960s saw great works, 'Ubik,' 'The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch,' and 'Maze of Death,' to name but a few.
On the 20th February 1974 while recovering from sodium pentathol used in the extraction of his wisdom teeth, a beautiful dark haired woman arrived at Dicks door. She wore a necklace of a fish. Dick recognised this as a sign early persecuted Christians had used to recognise each other. The reflection of the sun on this necklace caused a beam of pink light that mesmerised him. The beam imparted clairvoyance and wisdom, he also saw it had inyteligence.
"I experienced an invasion of my mind by a transcendental rational mind, as if I had been insane all my life and suddenly I became sane."
Throughout February and March Dick experienced further visions he referred to as 2-3-74 (feb March 74). Geometric patterns of lights much like jesse and his legions are enshrouded in, breif pictures of Jesus and Ancient Rome. A visitation from Thomas, a Christian persecuted by Romans during the first century. Phil refered to the transcendental rational mind as Zebra, God and Valis. These visions are described in 'Radio Free Albemuth,' 'Valis,' 'The Divine Invasion,' and the uncompleted 'Owl in Daylight.' He had many theories such as being taken over by the prophet Elijah. Whatever had visitted this was unquestionably first hand religious experience few are lucky to have. A fuller list and description can be found in the 'Exegesis of Philip K Dick.'
All his books assume reality is not fixed, everything is a matter of perception. There cannot be a single, fixed, objective reality as the ground underfoot shifts. Largely pessimistic at the world his books find salvation in humanity. His two themes, in essence were, 'what is real?' and 'what is human?'. Never confuse Dick with other science fiction for his books were some of the greatest books of the century in any genre. Though plagued by mental illness his output was prolific. Never fully appreciated during his life his work has found posthumous respect from those who were too thick to get it while he was alive. Philip K Dick influenced my work as he did Mark E Smith and countless other artists. His over ground Renaissance somehow stole him from us.
Though pitch dark I could hear Lipton arcing his hands, drawing out geometrical calculations. Later he explained as jesse gyratory powers were in the area of twenty times that of Elvis, so his wife, Jane, was twenty times the visionary of her twin.
This made perfect sense. Who else could have the mental and physical strength to couple with jesse. Their children we were later to meet were conceived as earthquakes destroyed cities, tsunamis ripped societies asunder, such was the power of their coupling.
Inequiped to tolerate blind walking jesse and Jane led us by the hand through the haze of psychedelia. Their army were ready and seemed to stretch to infinity as he led us through the World War Two underground labyrinth. Visions unseen by common man overcame us as Jesse triggered the sounds. Subsonic booming opened up to synesthesic colours as we saw the dark rock and roll of the underworld. This was no music of mere sound but played on all senses. Liberated of any sense of self both Lipton and I broke in to dances, a shamanic outpouring as the masses formed group consiousness to jitterbug, jive or bop as each free soul saw fit. No MDMa could deliver such freedom of self, such immersion in the music, such oneness as we became music.
Throughout this ceremony of subterranian joy a steady flow of information flooded our brains. Our instructions began to be imparted. It was explained to us as top or overworld beings we could never stay with jesses legion. Our bodies would wither and die. Our tears were inconsolable. It would take over two years to accept this. Jane, caressed both our heads. She had lived above, albeit briefly and understood our distress, yet she pointed to jesse. Jesse looked down and forced us back in to the moment. Our greatest moment. Our sole chance to dance alongside jesse in an hour of rapture, joy, sheer ecstasy. Still but neurons of the group consiousness of jesses legion, still notes in this most dark and beautiful of music, still fractal colours we were given cloaks of ether. A halo of star lights, fractal colour patterns would forever be around us. These were his gifts, rewards for our mission. To have died in the glory would have ben righteous. Yet jesse said there was more. He had plans for us. I shall explain in later chapters what he tasked us with but for now enjoy this ephemeral moment.

Was it hours? Was it days? Neither of us knew. Jesse left us on the underground platform. As we came round from our transcendental experience we barely spoke. Neither of us felt right in clicking on a torch but we must. So taking the lead i killed the darkness and returned us to the musty tunnel air.
Taking our action men from the rucksacks, un boxing them we sat them down. Juju reminders for any future explorers. We left them sat on the platform, backs to the wall.
Walking the mile or so back was a mixed feeling. In a way having witnessed such glory all future life may be a let down. Yet we had seen. We had instructions.
Daylight was fading as we exited in silence. Each deep in thought. The experience was to cause a two year hiatus in our missions such was its magnitude. Both of us knew we must recover from the addictions incurred in finding jesse. Both of us had a period of pestering from mental health professionals to follow. Lipton left the area to go feral in the Welsh borders. I was ill recovering for six months before returning to work as a furniture maker.
During this period we both reshamanised but we're not in communication. It was too much to discuss. A lot to take in.


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