The Shroud Codex - Jerome R. Corsi [121]
Castle’s mind raced to anticipate what was going to happen next. Bucholtz had said an event horizon opened up in the tomb where Jesus had been laid to rest. She said the Shroud of Turin had rested above and below a levitating Jesus in the tomb, such that the burst of brilliant light that marked his passing into the next dimension would leave no distortions in the image, negating the idea that the image had transferred from contact with the body. Castle realized Bartholomew’s body was positioned for the transition.
The radiant light from the blue event horizon line began penetrating every square inch of Bartholomew’s body; his body was transfiguring into a light-created being. Rapidly disappearing from sight were his flesh and blood. Almost imperceptibly, a rumbling noise arose as if from a distant horizon. Just then thunder could be heard in the hills outside Turin, and even though the windows in the private chapel had been covered to prevent light from entering, flashes of lightning seemed to penetrate the coverings and burst around the room.
Looking around, Castle could see that everyone in the room, including himself, was being covered with electricity that looked like the luminous plasma of St. Elmo’s fire. It surrounded them and danced in a continuous coronal discharge from a source unseen.
Just then, Bartholomew’s eyes opened and he called out to Anne what sounded like “Mother, please join me. We are returning home.”
Puzzled at what Bartholomew meant, Castle looked to his side, where Anne had been quietly positioned since they entered the room. He was astounded to see her moving forward toward her brother, as if she were in a trance.
Looking at her closely, Castle could see that she too was levitating and that she was walking with her feet about one foot above the floor.
Castle strained his eyes to comprehend what he was seeing, but Anne seemed to have exchanged her twenty-first-century clothes for the veil and robes common to Jewish women two thousand years ago.
Bartholomew stretched out his hand to receive Anne. The moment the two touched, a burst of illumination filled the room. Castle and everyone else in the room felt the pulse pass through their bodies as if an electric shock had hit them. Forcibly, he and the others were thrown to the ground. The rumble of thunder and the flashing of lightning filled the private chapel as if all Heaven had burst loose and its energy was pouring forth in waves pulsing through every cell of their bodies. For what seemed an eternity, the vibrations made every tissue of bone and muscle in Castle’s body quiver as if he were going to burst apart.
Then, as quickly as the event began, it was over.
Gone was the brilliant illumination.
Gone also were Father Bartholomew and Anne Cassidy.
Those on the floor, including the pope and the cardinal, moved slowly, their bodies aching throughout from the surges that had penetrated them. Castle was beginning to understand they had been hit by translucent, pure impulses of irradiant energy.
“What happened?” was the inevitable question, with the only answer being the pathetically inadequate “I don’t know.”
Father Morelli was the first to recover sufficiently to notice the only tangible evidence of the transcendent phenomenon they had just experienced.
“Look,” Morelli said, struggling to stand. “The Shroud—the image has gotten brighter.”
Castle’s immediate reaction was that the inexplicable splendor of pure light had rattled Morelli’s brain. But then he looked for himself. Sure enough, Morelli was right. The reddish brown lines that had previously defined the image of the man on the Shroud faintly to the naked eye had darkened decidedly, showing much more definition in the figure. The wounds now stood out in great detail,