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ankulometes · 5 years ago

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Albion in The Chiasm

Have you ever experienced the uncanny sensation that perhaps, just perhaps, you are not entirely at home in this world? Do you ever look around and think, “I don’t belong here”? And by “here” I mean: in this world, this particular existence as a whole rather than this or that place or time within it?

Are you ever plagued by a gnawing sense of regret concerning choices taken in the past that have led you to this present? Does it ever feel as though those other paths that might have been seem to appear before you such that they are almost tangible?

Have you ever experienced a sense of dread or foreboding? If you are alone in your home at night, do you ever suspect that there is some alien presence in the other room, around the corner, or upstairs; forever just out of sight and ungraspable? Have you ever seen a ghost? Don’t call the Ghostbusters quite yet.

Maybe you’ve had a strong intuition or a moment of blinding inspiration, as if suddenly the clouds cleared and the meaning of some event or a required course of action was standing before you in brilliant sunlight?

Perhaps you’ve witnessed true magic? I do not mean a cheap conjuring trick whereby some parlour charlatan deceives your senses. I mean a wondrous exercise of such skill and knowledge as to produce a result that is so far beyond your ken that you can only satisfy yourself concerning the reality of its occurrence through recourse to the supernatural.

Doubtless there are those amongst you who believe, rightly or wrongly, that you have lived before in some other time and place. In which case, was that some “other” being or was it something you would still call “me”?

Some physicists have hypothesised that there are a practically infinite number of universes all existing within the same space and time, occupying dimensions we cannot perceive. With every decision, at each juncture, down to the level of a subatomic collision, every possible outcome occurs simultaneously, branching into myriad divergent worlds.

However, bound by the shackles of academic sobriety, few dare to declare openly what they perhaps grasp in their dreams and imaginings: that these universes, this multiverse, is one single vast being that exists within a yet greater realm inhabited by other such beings. It is a creature that we are as far — farther even — from being able to grasp than a single cell or nucleotide of our own bodies is from grasping the complete essence of us.

Nevertheless, there are some amongst us who have a somewhat clearer view of this creature of which they are a part. Some amongst them even have a name for it: they call it The Chiasm. And some few amongst them refer to themselves as The Dehiscent, for they alone are able, in a limited fashion, to perceive — and maybe even traverse between — those regions of the body of The Chiasm that are forever hidden and shut off from the rest of us.

The Chiasm was born with a first decision: to be or not to be; the autochthonic moment of the Big Bang in which our world and all other possible worlds within it came into being. However, what most people forget is that the principle of the necessary realisation of all simultaneous possibilities extends also to that original moment. At the instant of the Big Bang, the multiverse both came into being and remained nothing. It was born and not born. Thus, at its most fundamental level, it is constituted by this profound symmetry between being and non-being; between thing and nothing. For every something that is, there is nothing that is not. Exactly half of The Chiasm is not constituted from this peculiar and ineffable anti-substance which is beyond all matter, even that which we think of as antimatter or dark matter. It is strange stuff indeed.

We humans have some intimation of this “anti-substance” which we can glimpse through a glass darkly. It haunts our very existence. Yet we cannot even speak or think of it properly for, when we do, we necessarily turn it into “something”. Nevertheless, there are those amongst The Dehiscent who can grasp and manipulate this elusive non-material in order to bend The Chiasm toward their own obscure ends.

Whilst things are discrete and countable, nothing is always zero and undifferentiated. Its unified nature, combined with its binding symmetry to the multiplicity of stuff, is what makes it valuable to The Dehiscent who refer to it as The Noth.

As if our inability to conceptualise even half of our own tiny corner of existence weren’t enough, our situation as “normal” human beings is yet more blinkered. Just as blood cells, sent hurtling around the intricate routes of our arteries know little or nothing of either the pumping heart that drives them or the uncountable divergent channels that veer away from their own narrow course, so we are forever skewered by the tip of time’s arrow. To our puny powers of perception, things emerge from the future unseen and recede into the past where they are forever lost to all but memory.

The Chiasm is a physical being and time is its body — its growth, its life, its shape, its form. And also, potentially, its death. From the moment of its birth from out of nothing into the two ligaments of nothing and something, it multiplies and branches ever outward in exponential growth in a process which might, in theory, proceed forever in a manner that renders it effectively immortal (as we think of time). However, as a few amongst The Dehiscent have grasped, matters are not so blissfully eternal in practice.

At some point during the incommensurable lifespan of a Chiasm, things can go awry. The flourishing growth that defined its “youth” begins to collapse. The horizon of possibility begins to diminish. Divergence is replaced with convergence until, ultimately, it collapses into only a single nothing and a single something once more and the whole process begins again in a moment of cosmic reincarnation. Thus, to each other, Chiasms must look somewhat like an ever progressing series of perfectly intersecting sine waves or connected lenses.

Because of this “death” there is an ethical drive or karma within The Chiasm’s existence: what will that one and only one something which remains at the end to define the possibilities inherent of the next cycle be? Will it be good? Or will it be evil? When one lives at the level of The Chiasms, this is an important concern.

The body of The Chiasm is structured and defined by a collection of fundamental particles that lie far beyond the comprehension and detection skills of human scientists. The skilled and perceptive amongst The Dehiscent, on the other hand, are deeply concerned with them. Collectively, they are known as quidditrons: particles of essence or quality that possess neither mass nor extent in any dimension we can conceive or measure. The quantity, position, and interaction of these particles determine what we might think of as the “health” of The Chiasm.

Logons are particles of logical, internal, synchronic consistency that provide any moment from which possibilities branch with structural integrity and strength. They create the joints in the body of The Chiasm and are the bones or scaffold of each moment. They are the critical difference between saying that anything that can happen does happen and saying that everything happens. Moments that are logon deficient are improbable, inconsistent, and incoherent. This lack causes the moment to collapse.

Furthermore, like the tendrils on a vine, logons secure a moment in time by binding to neighbouring branches. In the context of The Chiasm, this is what is meant when one declares that any given moment resides at an equivalent point in time within one thread to that in another. The paths these tendrils create establish synchronic relationships between branches. Or not, as the case may be.

Muthons are particles of diachronic coherence. They form the branches of time and possibility, reaching out between and linking logon moments longitudinally. They forge The Chiasm’s limbs. Much as with logons, a muthon deficiency within a branch that connects two moments will cause it to wither.

Pathons are particles of sentiment or feeling that determine the appearance and sensation of a moment. If logons and muthons can be thought of as the skeleton or scaffold on which the body of The Chiasm is created, then pathons are its flesh. Alternatively, an architectural metaphor might describe them as the bricks, the decor, and the air that fills a room. They interact closely with ethons, or particles of character.

Ethons lie beyond any concepts of “good” and “evil” that we humans might understand. It is perhaps more accurate to say that they have a degree of “charge”; although not in the positive and negative sense like electrons that entails a necessary attraction and repulsion. Within any moment, the particular coalescence and interaction of ethons and pathons generates the motive force that drives a Chiasmic thread or branch, defining its nature.

This momentary reaction between pathons and ethons breeds yet another type of particle known as porons. These we might think of as particles of dehiscence or possibility. They explode outward from each moment, drawing other quidditron particles such that the creation of new branches and new moments occurs as the force of the blast fades.

Thus we might think of The Chiasm as a whole as being like a vast nuclear power generator. The constant and increasing generation and release of possibility constructs time, giving it form. The extent and degree to which this occurs is indicative of its vitality.

Yet the metaphor is inevitably somewhat misleading. All this talk of particles and reactions might lead one into a false sense of security; as if the multiverse of The Chiasm were merely the outcome of some comfortably Newtonian collision of orb-like particles in a void over time in a manner that supplies a reassuringly empirical and linear conception of reality.

The Chiasm is a being. It is as biological and “organic” as you or I. Whether it is conscious or possesses a will is a moot point but, if it does, it is certainly nothing like that which humans possess. What really makes it radically different from us in this respect is that it is eternal. Time as we know it is not a concept that has any meaning to The Chiasm itself: it is an epiphenomenon of our existence within it. One might as well ask you to describe the experience and motivations of the cells of your own body. You may be conceptually aware of them and their processes impact your conscious and subconscious life but you have no inkling of what it means to be a constituent part of yourself.

Despite the necessary metaphors, The Chiasm does not develop over time as such. It doesn’t really “grow” new branches and lens-shaped multiverse segments. Each and every one exists, always has existed, and always will exist in every state of every moment that we think of as time. But that does not mean The Chiasm is static or unchanging. On the contrary, it is in a perpetual state of mutation and transformation that we might think of as being akin to breathing or the flexing of a muscle.

Maybe this is even how it moves through whatever it is that constitutes space and time within its extra-multiversal habitat? Who knows. Regardless of what it means to The Chiasm itself, the ramifications for us are extraordinary. Past, present, and future all coexist simultaneously and, for those who possess the requisite knowledge and skills, can be experienced or traversed after a fashion. However, the act of doing so fundamentally impacts quidditrons, altering or even collapsing local structures.

And this is where The Dehiscent enter the fray.

The Dehiscent, as a few of the English-speaking human-formed amongst them have been known to refer to themselves rather pompously on occasion, are “normal” everyday beings like you and me. Or your cat. Or the worm eating its way through the soil outside.

At the most basic level, a dehiscent entity is anything that functions as the locus of a peculiar configuration of quidditrons over the course of a particular moment or moments. There is nothing in their outward appearance that might mark them as being in any way distinct. Nor are they, like Clark Kent, merely concealing super-strength and supersonic flying abilities beneath a flimsy disguise. Insofar as they are as bound by the laws of possibility as you or me, they are just like us.

Yet they are nonetheless inevitably affected by the coalescence of quidditrons that inheres within them. Most commonly, this might cause them to see or know things we cannot, leading them to behave in ways we don’t understand or do things we believe to be impossible.

The precise nature of the differences they exhibit depends on the strength of the dehiscence they possess and the properties of their existence as an otherwise normal entity. Maybe a dehiscent tree might somehow be able to perceive its imminent destruction but lacks the agency that would render it capable of avoiding its demise. A squirrel in possession of a powerful coalescence of quidditrons might demonstrate an uncanny skill at finding nuts but, as an instinctual animal, remains devoid of the higher cognitive faculties that would lead it to reflect in more depth on what it has learned.

In our own world, psychiatric wards, political establishments, and company boardrooms are full of dehiscent humans whom quidditrons have either tortured with voices and visions, filled with dangerous conviction, or transformed into sociopaths who lack empathy for their fellow human beings. It is rarely a gift for which one might be thankful.

Through their divergent behaviour, many dehiscent entities come to act like tumours in the body of The Chiasm. All too often, they warp and distort and destroy the horizon of possibility to the detriment of the life of The Chiasm. But others, like white blood cells, are led into a life of struggle against these forces of closure that would, left to their own devices, cause The Chiasm to collapse into a lingering and painful death.

As mentioned above, this struggle appears outwardly like a continual reconfiguration of the body of The Chiasm, as though it were breathing or flexing its muscles, through the collapsing and creation of possibility and moments. The very fibres of its being develop and become stronger or waste away. Entire strands of time emerge into existence or are subsumed by The Noth. They wind around and intersect with or decouple from each other like the branches of some impossibly intricate and complex plant. And, like many plants, it has a kind of centre or trunk upon which the other branches build.

Whilst it may be unfashionably anthropocentric to say so, the worlds of humans are an important part of this trunk or spinal column. As beings in possession of both degrees of cognitive faculty and agency that renders us capable of utterly transforming the regions of The Chiasm we inhabit, humans are very much part of the “brain” of this vast multiverse entity. We do not serve this function alone, of course. But we serve it nonetheless. And the dehiscent amongst us do so especially, even if the result is cancerous.

This brings us to The Dehiscent, with a capital “T” and a capital “D”. They are beings who, for a greater or lesser number of moments, happen to be in possession of an especially powerful convergence of quidditrons that we might refer to as a dehisceme. What this entails in practice is that they are aware of the presence and nature of their dehiscence. It is a rare phenomenon.

When one talks about them using a proper noun, one is always referring to a being that uses language in that way. Which, to all intents and purposes, means that The Dehiscent are human.

A dehisceme does not render such individuals immortal or omniscient or omnipotent — a fact which I imagine many amongst them must find incredibly frustrating. It provides a quantum entanglement that links their interconnected human existences as they spread and diverge through the parallel universes that make up The Chiasm. The link may be stronger or weaker and it might impinge on their consciousness in any number of ways. But where you and I are blindly scattered through every possible outcome, these people can exercise agency and intent to direct their dehisceme carrying existence down a particular path.

Such people may be able to perceive, and even sometimes comprehend, their position within a fair extent of The Chiasm as it extends over our time. They almost certainly have a far clearer view than either you or I possess of the possibilities that are open to them. They might demonstrate an understanding of the consequences of their actions that is so far beyond our own as to often render their behaviour difficult to understand.

Their ability to gain knowledge and act upon it may be so superior to yours or mine that they appear to be capable of things that are nothing less than magical to our eyes. Yet they still remain ineluctably constrained by their situated position, perspective, and nature as feeble, mortal human beings.

Exposure to a wider horizon of experience hopefully broadens their minds. Nonetheless, they remain mortal beings that are born and die in specific moments with only a finite number between them. Their capacity to conceptualise the perceptions made possible by a dehisceme remains bounded by those generally prevalent within the moments to which they are subject.

Yet, even amongst The Dehiscent, those who have consciously grappled with the nature of their dehisceme and learned how to harness its capabilities are few. Most amongst them at least learn how to perceive the presence of a dehisceme in others. Consequently, they tend to be drawn toward one another, which is how they came to name themselves. That said, they do not typically hang out in clubhouses wearing aprons and exchanging funny handshakes.

However, there are countless universes in which those regions populated by human beings are utterly dominated by The Dehiscent. There they use their unique powers in a systematic and coordinated fashion to direct the course of events, seeking the comfort of absolute certainty to stave off the intense aporia that exposure to a dehisceme produces within them.

Although they often remain unaware of the fact, this is precisely the kind of response that makes The Chiasm sicken and wither. As a result, others amongst them are driven in a different direction. Like rebel factions, they splinter off and seek to produce new, healthy growth.

Some disperse, producing entirely new branches that spread as far away as possible from any infected growth. These Dehiscent are like a counterculture that desires to flee from civilisation and create a utopia in the far distant hills. From these seeds, new oppressive regimes of closure tend to develop since all utopians are authoritarians deep down.

Others diverge but, in so doing, bind themselves as tightly as possible to the corrupt limb, seeking to draw away any healthy life that remains within it until the two or more join once again into a single, fertile thread. These Dehiscent are the teachers, the doctors, the nurses, the firefighters, the gardeners, the dissidents, the protestors.

Whichever approach these Rebel Dehiscent choose, their activities constitute a threat to the aims of their kin who seek an end to possibility, an end to change, an end to flourishing growth. To those amongst their number who, knowingly or unknowingly, out of malice or misguided good intentions, desire convergence over divergence. Thus a struggle emerges and a battle across countless universes unfolds between Chiasmic entities who, despite their incredible gifts, usually remain as blind and unwitting in their actions as tumours and white blood cells are in our own bodies.

And that is where Albion comes into the picture.

Winding through the spine of The Chiasm are two threads of particular interest to me. The first, of course, is our own: sick and dying, it threatens to infect and collapse those branches that swarm around it. Things fall apart. The centre cannot hold. Our ways become lost and isolated, dispersed until they collapse into empty nothingness. As the character of our moments becomes increasingly corroded and their structure ever more unstable, our visceral sense of uncanny anxiety grows.

Perceiving our terrible fate, one particular faction of Rebel Dehiscent took action. In a branch of The Chiasm that they keep tightly bound to our own, they have struggled over many generations to draw our wounds so that we might ultimately be welcomed into the healing embrace of their own time.

Appreciating the limits of their powers and the requirements placed on them by their long term goals, they did not disappear into some utopia. They merely took those parts of our world which they understood to the best of their abilities to be a source of sickness and strove to make them better, without breaking so far from our universe that we became abandoned to some horrific destiny.

Some days we can feel them at work. Those are the good days. When right and reason triumph over ignorance and hate. On other days they must suffer for their cause, accepting that to run a course with us means bad things will happen. Their dreams and desires leak through the gaps to inspire us and fill us with hope. Our fears and anxieties flow the other way to produce grief and despair. We dimly perceive their goal of a reunion of our universes into a healthy new flourishing branch of The Chiasm through our imaginings of events like the rapture at the end of time. They in turn must take on our apocalyptic visions of death through fire and destruction in order to remain by our side until the ultimate moment.

It is a world in which, before the dawn of civilisation, fallible gods lived amongst mankind. Where true magicians are at work. A place where people and events known to us only through myth as stories that have seeped through the holes in space lived and occurred for real. It is the site of an invisible war that will determine the fate not only of their own world but also that of ours. A timeless battle fought for the highest stakes in which a single miscalculation could unleash untold catastrophe.

This is the world of Albion. It is not a perfect world. It is not even a better world in any simplistic sense. It has its own stories that are as full of struggle, failure, and loss as our own. But it is a different world, even if it often appears similar to our own. I hope you like it more than ours. I do.

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heliosanthus · 5 years ago

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Eltea: Soul Stealer

“What do you think the essence of one’s life is?”

The girl shivers, narrowing her eyes at the approaching dark clouds that loom over the distant hills like a lurking shadow. The manor is unusually cold today. “The blood,” she replies, “Obviously it is the blood.” She is annoyed at her mother’s question and resumes reading her textbook of medicinal herbs. Currently, she is fixated on a diagram of hemlock.

“Why’s that?”

The girl rolls her eyes. “Father told me,” she says flippantly, “the blood is what circulates all the essentials of vitality.”

“The essentials of vitality?” Her mother’s eyes are crinkled at the edges; she is amused by her daughter’s answer. “Do tell me what those are.”

The girl frowns and tries to recall what she read from one of her father’s books. “Nutrients,” she says finally, “in order to live, one needs nutrients. That’s what I read.”

“Asa, you read far too much,” her mother sighs, “you’ve got too much of your father’s blood in you. All both you do is stick your head in books, hoping it’ll give you the answers to everything.”

“Well, what do you do then? Where else would you find answers?” Now the girl is curious; her mother always seemed to have wisdom beyond her years, but was never seen reading a book of any sort.

“Instead, I have my head up in the clouds,” her mother says, smiling.

The girl narrows her eyes once more, and it is clear that she is not satisfied by this response. “That’s preposterous, you can’t glean answers from that,” she scoffs, turning a page of her book. Then she yelps; the edge of the page had cut a thin line into her index finger.

Her mother, who has been standing next to the window this whole time, rushes to her side. “A cut?” she asks, gently holding her daughter’s hand.

“It’s nothing,” she mutters, although deep inside, she is terribly embarrassed. “I’ll go get something to wrap it in.” She steps off her chair and is halfway across the room when she hears her mother’s words.

“There’s no need my dear, it’s already healed.”

The girl pauses mid step and glances at her finger.

True to her mother’s word, the small cut is entirely gone, not a scar remaining.

/ / /

When I wake up from my dream, I am left in a layer of cold sweat, yet somehow still burning hot. I quickly press a finger to my wrist, checking my pulse. Too fast, I think to myself, it’s still too fast. The room is eerily quiet and I turn my gaze to the bed next to mine—empty.

“Typical,” I scoff. Although I had never confronted her, both my roommate and I knew she was no stranger to leaving during the night. Alexandra Atwood, I mouth to myself, the roommate who I’ve had for weeks now, the girl with no backstory, the girl who never talks to anyone. I’m annoyed at how easy it is for her to get under my skin. It’s not as if I expect her to open herself entirely to me, but as my roommate, she should at least talk to me.

I glance out the window, eyeing the bright moon in the night sky. Well, if I can’t sleep, I may as well take a night stroll.

/ / /

Redmount Academy is situated on an island, quite frankly, in the middle of nowhere. It is not necessarily that the nearest town is far away, but rather that it takes both a boat and a day’s journey on foot to reach the institution. It is the only establishment on the island, which is appropriately named Redmount island.

The academy boasts a number of titles and achievements, but it is known to most as the academy for children of the Bloodline, a number of families who have inherited certain powers throughout the generations—the ability to manipulate the Ether to their liking. In other words, Redmount academy is very much a school for the Ether-bound, or in layman’s terms, mages.

The school day is split in halves, with the morning being full of academic classes and the afternoon to master each student’s own powers. Once their four years at the academy are over the student may choose to remain in service to the academy, as a teacher or a member of the Magi Force. Or, they may return home to fulfil their duties as heirs to their families.

Most return home.

It should be stated that families of the Bloodline are typically wealthy, using their powers to service those of higher authority. It is not a surprise that many are close friends with lords, and even the King of Boreal himself. But not Atwood, I think to myself, there are no families in the Bloodline under the name of Atwood.

I gently open the window, now dressed in my uniform, and perch on the window ledge. Outside, it is lightly snowing and I make a note to myself to be wary of making footprints in the snow. Fortunately for me, my room is facing away from the main courtyard, where I know two guards are probably sleeping right now. To make matters better, the roof of the lower dormitory buildings are a small jump beneath my window. With little difficulty, I leap off the window ledge, careful not to make a sound as I land. Looking down, I can already see a pair of footprints leading off to the distance. I scowl. Ms. Atwood’s, I gather. Once again, I ponder what she could possibly be up to in the middle of the night. I have my own reasons, but so far, I have no idea what hers are. Part of me does not want to see her face, but the other part is insatiably curious.

I decide to follow the trail of footprints.

/ / /

The prints lead out of the academy proper, into the thick coniferous forest that surrounds the academy on all sides. I follow the prints mindlessly, my curiosity growing with each step. I wonder where I got my curiosity from: my mother or father?

I look at the snow-flecked pine-needles above me and the moon that is still beaming as brightly as it did before. “How pretty,” I murmur to myself. I take a deep breath of the crisp cold air. It almost feels like home. I could feel the winds of the high alps and the faint smell of wilderness at one’s doorstep.

But my peace is interrupted when I hear the branches snapping and a deep-throated growl. A growl? Redmount doesn’t have anything bigger than the common wolf and even they know to stay far away from the academy. My hands immediately reach for my weapon, but grasp at nothing. A spike of panic flares up. “Fuck,” I swear, “I left it in my room.”

Instead, I slip my hands into my utility pouch, which, thank god, is part of school attire and permanently stuck to my hips. In it, I find a pencil, a few scraps of folded up paper with scribbled notes, and—

“A knife,” I breathe in relief, my fingers closing around the familiar wooden handle. It was supposed to be used to sharpen said pencil, but I was nothing but resourceful wasn’t I? For a moment I ponder over whether I should leave immediately or find whatever beast is hiding in the woods. Then I freeze, realizing the high possibility that Atwood is in the woods. And it’s not impossible that she was the cause of that growl as well.

“This pathetic excuse of a roommate,” I mutter vehemently as I approach the source of the growl, “She can’t greet me in the halls, she can’t tell me shit about herself, god knows what she’s dreaming about in lectures, and now she might end up as a meal to some starving woodland creature.”

I step carefully over fallen branches and twisted roots, gripping my knife tightly. It’s at moments like these where I curse why I hadn't been born into a Bloodline with less passive powers. I hear another roar, this time much louder than before. I nearly jumped in fear, but that’s when I see them. And the sight nearly brings me to a halt.

I stare into the eyes of a tiger.

/ / /

They’re incredibly blue. Almost sky blue, but a tad darker. It reminds me of the colour of the sky back at home whenever a storm was brewing. The tiger is only a few meters in front of me, lying on its side. The branches were so dense that I could not even see the animal’s pelt, which was strikingly white. It was the exact colour of the snow that surrounded it, laced with dark black stripes.

When it sees me the tiger snarls, baring its long sharp fangs. I flinch, but keep myself steady. What on earth is a tiger doing here, I wonder. They are nowhere close to being an indigenous species in this region. A hundred questions race through my mind, and I find myself unable to answer any of them.

My first instinct is to slowly back away from the animal, but there is something about the situation that irks me. In the air, I can smell the faint tang of blood. It is barely noticeable, but I have had years to get myself familiar with the scent. As I lock gazes with the tiger’s eyes, there is something about its blue depths that compels me to stay.

“Good evening,” I say as calmly as possible, “Or, er, middle of the night, should I say.” The tiger is not amused by my attempts at socializing and raises itself. “I’m so sorry to be bothering you,” I continue, my mouth reaching for any words that might come to mind, “But, I really have no intention of harming you.” The tiger, almost seeming to understand my words, tilts its head in the direction of my knife.

“Oh, this?” I scoff, “This is nothing, this is just something I have to sharpen my pencils with.” But nonetheless I drop it to the ground. Keep yourself together Asa, it’s just a tiger, why are you bending to its will? “I guess, I should leave you.” The tiger stares at me for a few more seconds and then lowers itself back to the ground. I take this as my exit but something stops me. Something is still nagging me at the back of my mind. A question that is more prominent when I think about it. Why isn’t the tiger attacking me?

I take a few more steps away before I turn right back around. At my return, the tiger raises itself again, snarling viciously and extending its claws. I look around it, and spot what I’m looking for: a splotch of bright red against the white snow.

“You’re hurt right?” I say to it, raising both my hands in a gesture of goodwill. I have no idea if the tiger understands what goodwill is but I take a gamble that it understands the fundamentals of my actions. If it can understand that a knife can hurt it, maybe it can understand that I can help heal the wound.

The tiger stares at me once more. We seem to be eternally stuck in the middle of a staring contest of sorts. “I can help you,” I urge, and point to myself and then my hands. “I can heal you. My hands can heal you.”

The tiger blinks once, and then snorts, chuffing at me. It slowly lifts its front paw, which was hidden neatly behind its other paw, revealing a bear trap clamped tightly to it. I wince at the sight of it. “That must hurt.”

Cautiously I approach the tiger, closing the gap in between us. I take a quick look at the trap’s mechanism, noting the set of springs on either side of it. Then, with all the strength I had left in my body in the middle of the night, I press down on the springs, forcing the jaws of the trap to open little by little. The tiger, taking this as its cue, immediately pulls its paw away and I let the trap snap shut again.

“Okay, now the wound,” I say mostly to myself. “May I?” I gesture for the tiger to let me see its paw and with reluctance, it does, slowly sliding it towards me. Pursing my lips, I investigate the wound. It wasn’t too deep nor was it particularly large. But it had somehow caught the paw right in the middle, and had pierced through the animal’s foot padding.

It shouldn’t be too hard to fix.

I take a deep breath and let my hands do its work. A faint blue glow emanates from them as I glide the tips of my fingers over the wounds. I have no idea how the technicalities of my powers work, but it does. I suppose Redmount is not the type of institution that would teach me my craft anyway. I picture the muscles located in the paw, and the bone structure beneath it. My understanding of animal anatomy isn’t perfect, but I’ve read enough visual dictionaries to know the gist of what I need. Gradually, the wound fixes itself, the cut closing up and the skin reforming as it was like before.

“There,” I say, “All done. It’s good as new, right?” The tiger is looking at its paw in curiosity, turning it around. It stands up, on all four feet this time, and tips its head towards me. I assume it’s thanking me. I tip my head back in return and suddenly remember what I’m here for. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen this other girl right?”

The tiger is back to its silent treatment, staring at me with no response. “She’s a bit taller than me, very blonde hair. Incredibly blonde, it borders on white.” Still, no response. “She’s my roommate you see, I was looking for her. That’s why I’m out here.” The tiger chuffs again before stepping into a light trot in front of me.

I follow it.

/ / /

“It’s incredible that you understand what I’m saying, or at least comprehend my intentions.” I walk alongside the tiger, but keep a firm one meter distance between us. “I hope I’m not being delusional or anything. I’ve never read about anything close to this.” A pause. “Should I tell you about myself? On the slim chance that you might actually understand me?” Another pause. I’m beginning to think I sound out of my mind by now.

“Well then, where to begin,” I start, watching the snow crunch beneath by feet as I walk. “My name is Asa Wynter. 16 years of age. Raised in the capital city of Etheria, right here in Boreal. Are you with me?” The tiger chuffs.

“My father is a doctor. But not the same as I, no. He’s not of a Bloodline. He’s quite a normal man, just a bit fixated on the workings of the human body. He runs a hospital in Etheria you see. As has his father before him, and so on.” I raise my hands and wiggle my fingers a bit. “But the ether I inherited came from my mother’s side. My parents are quite the pair aren’t they? She’s part of a Bloodline that is, essentially no more, to be honest. I’m the last of the line.” I laugh weakly. “There are other healers with similar powers to mine, but none work in the same way. Technically, I’m not even a healer. Do you know what they called my mother’s lineage? They were called soul stealers.”

At this, the tiger stops in its tracks and turns its head to me. “Oh, you seem surprised,” I say, squinting at the animal’s wide eyes. “To be honest, no one knows this but me and my family. If word got out about the nature of my powers, that would cause a calamity.” I bend down to a nearby flower poking out of the snow. “Soul stealers are infamous in Boralian history. They were called silent assassins, spirits of evil, necromancers, a whole list really. I must keep it a secret from my peers or . . . who knows what will happen to my reputation. I suppose that’s why it’s so difficult for me to . . . socialize.” I shrug. “The closer you are to someone, the more likely it is to spill your secrets. It’s quite lonely really, to have no one to talk to. It’s only been a few weeks so I don’t expect everyone to give me a warm welcome but . . . from one isolated house to another, I guess nothing has changed. Lonely people never bode well alone.” I’m reminded of my roommate again. “Especially with other lonely people.” I gently touch the flower’s petal, feeling its smooth texture. I can feel the vitality that runs through it, the force of life that powers it to live.

And with just a bit of nudging, I force all the life to leave it. It’s easy really. As simple as drinking from a cup. In many ways, it’s exactly the same as drinking from a cup: simply taking in the contents of a vessel. The flower immediately withers, turning into a faded brown in mere seconds. I snap the flower off of its stem, and watch it lying in the middle of my palm. “Do you see,” I say, turning to the tiger, “What I mean by soul stealer?”

Suddenly a strong gust blows the flower away, and I’m left staring at where it once was. The tiger does the same, looking intently at my hands as well. “Life and death are all the same,” I whisper, “it’s just a matter of direction that determines which is which. They are faces of the same coin. Inverses of one another.”

The tiger looks a second longer and then bolts off.

/ / /

That night, after I was left alone, I had found that we were quite close to the back entrance of the academy anyway. I assumed that the tiger was trying to lead me back to the building to avoid me getting lost, especially since the snow had covered most of my tracks. By the time I had climbed back into my room through the window, I had found that the other bed was already occupied. It seemed that my roommate, while I was on my rendez-vous with a tiger in the middle of the woods, had returned to sleep. For some reason, this made me even angrier than before.

But the encounter with the tiger leaves me wondering; I feel compelled to answer all those questions I asked myself back in the forest. After classes, I take a quick bath and immediately head to the academy’s central library, armed with nothing but my notebooks, a few pencils, and a (new) sharpening knife.

The library is mostly empty, save for a few senior students and a handful of staff. The rows of shelves are illuminated with nothing but the shortening wicks of candles and upon stepping into the room, I can almost smell the presence of knowledge and wisdom. Although, in reality, it is simply just the smell of mold and aging paper.

Being no foreigner to the library, I direct myself to the animal section, and scan the shelves for anything that might sate my curiosity: encyclopedias, journals, paintings, anything. By the time I’m finished, my hands hold a stack of texts that nearly reach my eyes. I drop the stack onto the nearest table and set myself to work.

/ / /

“How did you do that?” the girl asks, amazed. “What kind of medicine did you use?”

“I didn’t use any sort of medicine,” the mother objects, “I have no talent for that sort of thing. That’s up to your father to do.”

“Then what did you do?” The girl marvels, scrambling back to her mother. “You must teach me. Then you should teach father, he would love to know.”

“I’ve already informed him Asa,” the mother says warmly, although the girl can sense a smidge of . . . sadness in her tone. “He knows everything that he needs to know about this.”

“Then what is it?”

The mother shifts, drumming her fingers on the table. “It is not healing exactly.” She ponders for a second, as if in deep thought. “Asa, may I borrow your pencil?”

The girl gives up her writing utensil without a moment’s hesitation, ready to inspect whatever diagram her mother was about to draw. But no drawing was made at all. Instead, the mother balanced the pencil on her index finger.

“Do you see how this pencil is perfectly balanced?” The girl nods. “Think of this as the life force in one’s body.”

“The essence of life?” the girl brings up.

“Yes,” the mother smiles, “the essence of life.” She tips her finger to one side. “When there is too much on side, it’ll push on that side more, yes?” The girl nods. “And if I do the same on the other side, the same thing occurs, right?” The girls nods again. “However, if you tip it too much, if the balance is disturbed in a way that cannot be repaired, then—”

The girl watches the pencil clatter onto the table.

“—the life is no more.”

/ / /

“Are you awake?”

I wake up to the sound of someone snapping next to my ear. I bolt up, adrenaline flooding into my blood. “My apologies Mrs. Greenway, I was lost in research.”

“Terribly sorry, but I’m not the librarian.”

I lift my eyes off the table and look to the person next to me. I nearly choke on my own spit. “Ms. Atwood, what are you doing here?”

My roommate frowns. “I could ask the same of you. It’s almost curfew.” She pauses. “And why do you call me Ms. Atwood, just call me Alexandra.”

“Yes, well, Alexandra, I was just doing a light reading. Some of us do not like sleeping in class but instead prefer the company of textbooks and equations.” I hastily get up and scramble to organize the mess I made.

Alexandra glances at the books I was reading. “Tigers?” she asks, “I may sleep a lot in class but I don’t recall any lesson on jungle animals.” Both her tone and expression tells me that she is highly amused from finding me in this state.

“Yes, well, this is just—”

“Neat drawings,” she interrupts, eyeing the diagrams on tiger anatomy I made.

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Thank you,” I reply, my face obviously flushed.

“I mean it,” Alexandra says, fixated on the hasty notes I jotted down before I fell asleep, “No wonder your marks are so high.”

Not used to compliments, I attempt to segue into a new topic. “Why are you in the library this late then Alexandra?”

My roommate shrugs. “You weren’t in our room. I asked around and the others told me that you’d probably be here, nose-deep in some books.” She has the hint of a smile on her lips. “I suppose they are right. Your reputation precedes you, Asa.”

I say nothing and focus on stuffing all that I can into my knapsack.

“I’m sorry.”

I freeze. Did she do something to our dorm room? “For what?”

She helps carry a few books in her arms. “For not talking to you.”

I deflate a little, reminded of my loneliness again. “Ah, well, it’s not that big of a deal. I was just worried about what you found about me so repulsive.”

“I don’t,” she exclaims so suddenly that I’m a bit taken aback. “I don't find anything about you repulsive. I swear. I’m just the kind of person that doesn’t talk much to begin with. But it appears that you are the same as I am.”

“I am?”

She nods. “You are.” We reach the library doors and I’m surprised when she opens the gargantuan oakwood door with one arm. “And I’ve learned that when you put two people together who both like to tend to themselves, it never results in anything good.”

I laugh. “Who taught you that?”

Alexandra looks me in the eyes and gives me what may be the first smile I’ve ever seen her wear. “Someone I met recently.”

Although I don’t voice it out loud, all I can think about is how incredibly blue her eyes are. It’s a familiar blue. Almost sky blue but slightly darker. Like the sky on a stormy afternoon.

Where have I seen that before?

#my writing #writers #short story #snippet

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storykeeper-wra · 7 years ago

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"Freedom”

The Storykeeper had set foot in the room that the Knight took residence in, their quiet conversations and sharing of light intimacies led to him revealing a book upon runes that caught her eyes, "This is not one of my most cherished. But, it is fundamentally sound and has been useful..." He explained one of his most useful magical techniques was derived from the runes within the pages, a smirk upon his lips, one of absolute cruelty, the promise in his eyes.

His aura pulsed wildly for a moment, and even in her, that buried feeling from his memories chewed at her, wanting her to know the same; the joy of demolishing ones moral with a sweep of the hand. Of crippling the enemy so effortlessly.

With his influence so deep, he witnessed his visage in her own as those memories and feelings clawed themselves free, her tattooed hand moving to clutch at her chest. It bubbled up, the sadistic glee as her own aura flared to greet his, more of that innate corruption revealing itself.

"You understand this. Even if you hide it... your soul can see the joy such power can bring... tell me... what do you see yourself doing at that moment?" The Dread Father inquired, eyes upon the woman.

"In that moment?" Storykeeper whispers back to him, "Letting go... No longer sitting here and holding back, being what others assume of me. Ice freezing their blood as their screams fill the air until their very hears burst from the slivers of ice and shadow shredding the muscle. I want them to fall one by one as the others watch on in horror and helplessness before they too succumb to this fate..."

Pride nodded his head slowly, eyes drifting shut, "That is not just mere words coming from you. It is settled in your very being. It is part of you. You feel more aware, more alive, having spoken it aloud, no?"

"I do..." She murmurs, "It wasn't part of me until recently, I've never felt such things... these feelings and sensations." Part of her was horrified by the words that had left her lips, a small voice screaming in protest as she continued to speak, "Many view me as glass," There was a pause, choosing her words carefully, "I want them to learn that I am not so fragile."

"Something you should not have to remind them of... you are not fragile, my Keeper. And yet, they believe you to be. To see you as the weak little damsel." He had reached out, taking hold of her wrist and guiding her hand up. "They believe you unable to even defend yourself. Merely the one who holds the book hides behind the mask, listens to the tales. But you see it... deep down, do you not? The power that stretches endlessly within you.." He was calling towards it, seeking that deeply seeded energy within her to come out.

Storykeeper met his gaze before her eyes drift to her hand, "I choose those things not out of weakness..." The Keeper bows her head in a nod, as it rose from the depths to answer his call. Her eyes drift shut for a moment only to open in their true luster of unillusioned gaze as the power began to collect in her outstretched palm between them.

"No... you do so because you wish them not to see it. You wish to keep the control you have..." He cooed, leaning inward. He wrested her attention, and she could see the flickers. Every so often, no longer did she see the Elven form he chose, but the skeletal monster, the Lich that she cared for so much, before it reverted back. "You can feel it... how easily it responds. How quickly it seeps to the surface. It wants you to allow it to have freedom."

Her eyes met his, there was no revulsion at the sight of the skeletal creature she'd given herself to, "I want to give it freedom..." she whispers to the monster.

"Let it flow through you... like a river. Not like a waterfall. Let it remember the path it is meant to take." He whispered in return to her, slipping his fingers to rest right against her own, still feeling the flow of it.

She relaxed, slowly and bit by bit feeling it grow within her before flowing free, at first it made her nervous, anxious even but then it felt natural. Following the path as it began to spread from her fingers and over his own. Slow and steady like a deep river, it called to him like always, reaching out for his aura. For him.

"You see? You believe you need to restrain it. To contain the very energies within you. But it calls to be let go. To be released into this realm of ours." He called to her, entirely calm, easing her magic so that it flowed more freely. His essence, the tendrils of it that had been left within her purposefully, had latched into her being and slowly twisting and adding to it all.

"But what if I lose control?" She whispers, even as this happened, as she inhaled, embracing it all so eagerly. It almost effortless as the illusions she weaved for herself.

"You will not. You hold a fear ingrained in you. That the loss of control will swallow you whole. That it will consume you... fight it. Make it all understand that you are the conduit, and it listens to you," Pride assures her.

At first, there was nothing but then it felt like an eruption. It pushed at his own aura within the room as her illusions shattered like glass being broken it was audible and made an ear twitch. A swirling mass of shadows and ice danced in her hand so beautifully as she began to smile then grin.

Pulling back slowly, the Lich's expression morphed into one of dark amusement, a look of pride that had been ingrained into him, by her acceptance and actions. Pulling away from her, he had taken hold of her wrist and guided her to stand. "You see it now... when one relinquishes their fear, anything is possible..." Slowly, she felt his weight press against her back, lips brushing the tip of her ear. "You are infinitely more beautiful when you refuse to fear anything."

Her own eyes were aglow up with a pride of her own, barely aware of herself standing or much else until she felt his weight. She was always so acutely aware of him, but wasn't one always aware of Death? Her ear gave a twitch as his lips brush the tip and she exhales, "I am?" She whispers, leaning back into him, relaxing. It felt so natural.

"Yes... They may see you fragile. That you cannot hold your own. I will never see you as such." His hand skimmed along her abdomen.

She gives a faint nod, her breath coming out in pleasured sigh from his delicate touch, "I know... but you saw that in me before even I did..." A small smile on her lips as her eyes drift close.

"The perks, of seeing more than just one world. It allows me to see both sides of things. You need to embrace this side if you ever intend on moving onward. Otherwise, it will cripple you, and never will you continue to grow. Always will you be looked down upon. But you know this. You see this now." The closeness of the woman did not go missed by him.

The Keeper listened to his words, they made sense. Each time they met, more and more sense was made. Clearer. "I want to be free to grow... I don't want to be seen as that creature to be protected. I was fine long before them and I'll be fine after their stories end... I want to embrace it wholly."

He nodded against her. ”We will make this a reality, my Storykeeper..." His hands smoothed along her front, feeling the material of her dress just barely, ending just beneath the swell of her breasts, and then traveled downward. He knew she could feel it akin to his claws running along her very soul, touching the magic that echoed within her being. "... Can you feel me, Keeper? Feel how deep my touch resonates to you?"

A shuddered gasp comes from her lips at the feel of his hands, for all that it mattered she may as well have been nude in his grasp, "Yes..." She nearly purrs out, seeming to just melt against his larger frame tilting her head back to gaze up at him, her eyes swirls of the magic she holds in her.

"This... is what I know of you. I am able to feel this power that wished to be drawn forth. And now, you have. Just like the soul you have promised me." He fell silent, settling against her. If he did anymore, he was certain she'd nearly overload with the power he was drawing from her... not that it would be a horrible sight.

She smiled softly, leaning up to brush her lips along the underside of his jaw, her energy bristling along where her lips had traveled, "Thank you..." Her attention wholly upon him and the power moving beneath her skin. Everything felt alive, that if she wanted entire cities would crumble and it made her chest nearly burst with joy.

"You are more than welcome..." He trailed off. She was pleased, and he had done exactly what he needed, to properly awaken her. She was ready to face the world, and he swore he could almost 'feel' terrible for this damned Hammer. They had sought to chase her first, and then turned their gaze upon him, without realizing that the very woman they wished to save, was utterly devoted to him.

She turned to face him, hands flat against his chest leaving trails of energy as she runs her fingers downward. She'd destroy anyone who tried to even remotely harm him. Friend or foe, they'd cease to be for wanting to harm her Knight, "I owe you so much...." She admits.

"You already have found a way to repay me for such." With a free hand, it touched at her cheek, before he spoke once more. "I intend to continue researching and working through the tomes I have here. If you wish, you are welcome to remain here for the evening."

She leaned in towards his touch that she seemed to constantly crave, eyes closing as she smiles, "I'd like that... To remain here, that is."

Collab with: @ebonconclave

#[Price She Paid]#[The Knight Pride]#[The Keeper of Stories]

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fallschirmjager · 6 years ago

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Toward the Undivided - Sacred Sex, The Hermaphrodite, and the Dual Nature of God

The roots of sacred sex are ancient. Down through the centuries it has been practiced in many lands at many times, both openly and beneath the cloak of secrecy. Chroniclers who refer to the rites of sacred sex are often vague both as to the details involved and the rationale behind it all. Most seem in agreement that the motivation behind sacred sex was an attempt to somehow achieve union with the divine, or awaken I within the participants a spark of the divine. Christians, however, were almost unanimous in their appraisal of sex practiced in conjunction with unorthodox beliefs: it was the Devil's handiwork, plain and simple.

This notwithstanding, perhaps the most interesting and compelling rationale for the evolution of sacred sex comes from within the context of Christianity itself. Christian mystics, such as Jakob Boehme, Leo the Hebrew, Scrotus Eriugena and Franz von Baader postulated a thesis based on a unique interpretation of the Book of Genesis. According to the theory, since God created man in His own image, Adam must have originally been a hermaphrodite, a creature combining the attributes of both sexes. The original Fall occurred not when Adam and Eve exited Eden, but when God robbed Adam of his original unity by creating Eve from out of him so that he wouldn't be alone. Therefore the sexual impulse comes from an instinctual yearning in man to try and recapture something of the essence of his primordial condition. According to Franz Von Baader: "The higher meaning of sexual love, which should not be identified with the instinct for reproduction, is nothing other than to help both man and woman to become integrated inwardly (in soul and in spirit) in the complete human or original divine image." This notion, bizarre and eloquent at once, has recurred in varying guises, from ancient times to modern times. We see glimpses of it in ancient creeds such as the qabalah and alchemy, as well as in more modern practices such as sex magick. And its wisdom was echoed in the words of Christ when he stated, "I am of the undivided", or, "When you were one you became two. But when you are two, what will you do?" What indeed! Though none of these Christian writers ever gave detailed descriptions of the techniques one might utilize to become re-integrated in "The original divine image", there are some hints. At least one of them mapped out a series of energy centers within the human body which man could tap into to achieve this state. And although he stopped short of indicating the means one might employ to tap these sources, his map showed striking similarities to the locations of the chakras in the Hindu Yogic tradition. It is therefore safe to assume that these early Christian mystics had some fundamental understanding of the principles underlying the practice of Tantric sex.

The word "hermaphrodite" is a conjunction of Hermes and Aphrodite, a union of the masculine and feminine aspects of God. The symbolism of the Hermaphrodite and its central significance to alchemy is well-known. Its importance to occultists in the guise of Baphomet is likewise well-known. Those familiar with Plato will recall that in his Symposium, he contended that humans descended from a primordial race "whose essence is now extinct" - a race of hermaphrodites. The race was powerful, yet arrogant, and when they rebelled against the Gods, they were in turn cursed and split in two. According to Plato, "From such an ancient time love has goaded human beings, one toward another; it is inborn, and seeks to renew our ancient nature in an endeavor to unite in one single being two distinct beings, and therefore, to restore human nature to good health." He added that , "... this was indeed

primitive nature when we constituted one unit which was still whole; it is really the burning longing for this unity which bears the name of love." This is echoed in Genesis 2:24, which says, "For this reason a man will leave his father and mother to be united with his wife, and they will become one flesh (emphasis added.)"

Whether Plato actually believed in a de facto race of hermaphrodites or merely referred to their myth metaphorically is not important. What he cites as being the mystical genesis of love echoes the secret doctrine of esotericists from time immemorial. It is the same gnosis preserved by Hermes, said to represent the wisdom of a forgotten race of antediluvian Gods. And apparently, it may well have constituted part of the secret doctrine of Christ as well.

The Gospel of Thomas was part of the collection of Gnostic gospels known as the Nag Hammadi Library, which were lost until the mid-20th century when they were discovered in Egypt. In The Gospel of Thomas, Christ teaches a doctrine very different in nature to that adopted by mainstream Christianity. Some Orthodox Christians deny the validity of this Gospel, while others embrace it as a very beautiful text, as important (if not more so) as any found in the New Testament. Scholars argue back and forth over whether the Nag Hammadi books were essentially Christian texts aimed at a Gnostic audience, or essentially Gnostic texts aimed at a Christian audience. A third possibility exists, especially in regard to The Gospel of Thomas. What if what this book contains is in fact closer to what Christ actually taught? Could this Gospel retain some fragments of Christ's true doctrine as it existed before it was sanitized, edited and doctored to suit the political agendas of those doing the editing? It's certainly an intriguing possibility.

The author of The Gospel of Thomas is said to be Christ's own twin brother Thomas, and it is to be assumed that if any of Christ's disciples were to truly grasp his teachings, who would be more likely a candidate than his own twin? There is much in The Gospel of Thomas that would have invoked the displeasure of the fathers of the early church, such as Christ's admonition that he was "everywhere" and not to look for him in a building. Even had the rest of the gospel passed muster at the Council of Nicea, that line would surely have been deleted. A lot of the text is fairly straightforward, but certain passages are bizarre even by Biblical standards. Or perhaps, in the Biblical context. For example:

"Jesus said to them, When you make the two one, and when you make the inside like the outside, and the outside like the inside, and the above like the below, and when you make the female one and the same, so that the male be not male, nor the female female... then you will enter (the kingdom.)"

This is very explicit. Very specific. And not the least bit Christian. It speaks of an initiatory process of Gnosis, a process that requires no churches, no holy men, no prayers of forgiveness. And it should have a familiar ring to students of the occult, for it is very similar to words contained in the Emerald Tablet of Hermes:

"True it is, without falsehood, certain and most true. That which is above is like that which is below, and that which is below is like that which is above, to accomplish the miracles of One Thing. And as all things were by the contemplation of one, so all things arose from this One Thing by a single act of adaptation. The father thereof is the Sun, the mother the Moon... the power thereof is perfect." "True it is, without falsehood, certain and most true. That which is above is like that which is below, and that which is below is like that which is above, to accomplish the miracles of One Thing. And as all things were by the contemplation of one, so all things arose from this One Thing by a single act of adaptation. The father thereof is the Sun, the mother the Moon... the power thereof is perfect."

Not only do Christ and Hermes seem to be coming from the same place, it's amusing to note that Christ is far more explicit in his use of Hermetic symbolism than was even old Hermes himself, the putative father of the alchemical arts. Christ was clearly invoking the archetype of the primordial hermaphrodite, inferring that the state of unity it symbolized was a prerequisite for (or synonymous with) "entering the kingdom." Elsewhere in The Gospel of Thomas, Christ tells his disciples, "When you make the two one, you will become the sons of man..." And still elsewhere he says, "I am he who exists from the undivided." Although such esoteric teachings don't appear elsewhere in the officially sanctioned scriptures, they are certainly in keeping with some aspects of the Judaic tradition from which Christ emerged, and seem to figure prominently in the traditions and symbolism of various groups said to have been custodians of the secret doctrine of Christ.

From the Zadok priests of the Temple of Solomon to the Knights Templar, and from the Freemasons to the Rosicrucians, all employed symbols representing the union of opposites, and the balanced union and equilibrium of male and female force. A brief overview of the symbols used by these groups

should reveal a stiking consistency of fundamental outlook

Symbol of the Zadok Priests

The X worn on the forehead of the Zadok priests of the Temple of Solomon was symbolic of the union of the chalice and the blade. The chalice, as receptacle, was a female symbol. The blade, as phallus, was a male symbol. Even the Temple of Solomon itself was a qabalisitic symbol, its pillars of Jachin and Boaz representing the equilibrium of creative force and destructive force.

The Seal of Solomon I

The Seal of Solomon represented much the same thing as the Temple of Solomon: an equilibrium and intertwining of opposites: in this case light and darkness, or spirit and matter. Spirit is associated with the masculine principle, matter with the feminine.

The Templar Cross

The equilateral cross of the Knights Templar is also a representation of the intersection of masculine force with feminine force: the former represented by a vertical line, the latter a horizontal

symb

The well-known square and compass of Freemasonry is another symbol of the conjunction of masculine and feminine principles. The square is used to draw a square, a male symbol. The compass is used to draw a circle, a female symbol. The circle contained with a square thus represents, yet again, the same equilibrium of opposites. And some believe that either emblem of the Masons is patterned after, or indeed suggestive of, the Seal of Solomon. Alternate explanations of this symbol exist wherein the symbolism is precisely the opposite, yet the ultimate meaning is identical.

The Rose-Cross, or Rosy Cross assumes many forms, but again, the symbolism inherent is identical. The cross is a male symbol, the rose female. This emblem, however, is far more specific in its iconography, the cross representing Christ, and the rose Mary Magdalen. Besides representing her, however, the five-pointed rose often employed is also associated with both Venus and Lucifer.v

The Fleur-de-Lys is the pre-eminent heraldic emblem of French royalty, and is said to represent a lily, symbolic of Davidic descent. While flowers in general symbolize the female reproductive organ, the lily is even more suggestive of a vulva than most. But unlike most flowers, the lily possesses a phallic rod which thrusts forth from its interior, making it uniquely hermaphroditic in its symbolism.The Fleur-de-Lys is the pre-eminent heraldic emblem of French royalty, and is said to represent a lily, symbolic of Davidic descent. While flowers in general symbolize the female reproductive organ, the lily is even more suggestive of a vulva than most. But unlike most flowers, the lily possesses a phallic rod which thrusts forth from its interior, making it uniquely hermaphroditic in its symbolism.

All of these symbols have additional layers of meaning, and many can be explained in alternate terms as well For instance, it has been pointed out that the Rose-Cross, or rosa crux, was a deliberate misrepresentation of what was originally called the ros crux. Rose means rose, but ros actually meant dew, the substance which the ancient alchemists claimed was able to transmute base matter into gold. Rosicrucians took advantage of the confusion between the two terms to consciously camouflage their true intentions in an ambiguous, seemingly unthreatening icon. And both interpretations, ultimately, are equally alchemical in nature. In fact, all the symbols discussed could be understood in an alchemical context: they all represent an integration and transcendence of opposites, and a conjunction of male and female principles.

Why would Christ tell his disciples to make the male like the female and the female like the male, so that the male wouldn't be male, nor the female female? And how were his disciples to accomplish this feat, this blending and union of male and female? Simple: sacred sex. In what more direct manner could man or woman experience the essence of their counterpart and achieve (if only briefly) union with it? Modern readers are undoubtedly familiar with this concept as it applies to Tantra and Western sex magi, but believe it or not, it constituted part of many traditions that pre-dated Christ. Many examples could be cited, but the tradition closest to Christ and with which he would have been most familiar was orthodox Judaism itself. The Zohar says, "The Holy One... does not choose to dwell where the male and female are not united." And elsewhere, even more specifically:

"The King (God) seeks only that which corresponds to Him. Therefore, the Holy One, blessed he be, dwells in him who (like Him) is one. When man, in perfect holiness, realizes the One, He is in that one. And when is that man called one? When man and woman are joined together sexually..." (Zohar 111, 81a.)

The Jewish mystics of Sabbatism practiced a "messianic mystery of awakening" which for them was akin to the Great Work of Alchemy. For them, woman was "a door of God, through which one enters into God." The coming of the Messiah, they believed, happened on a purely personal rather than collective level, and could be occasioned via sexual union. Salvation was not some external condition granted by a Savior, but occurred only through a direct experience of God based on personal Gnosis. Sabbatists believed that direct knowledge of God exempted them from strict adherence to Mosaic Law. It was precisely such an attitude on the part of Christ which lead to his eventual downfall. Personal Gnosis could be gained only through sex, the union with man's "other half", woman. Sabbatist Jakob Frank said that "all the Hebrews are in great ill luck because they are waiting for the coming of the Savior and not the Woman."

The words of Christ from The Gospel of Thomas are completely resonant with those of Jakob Frank, Hermes, Plato, and that which is found in the Zohar. In fact, all these seem to constitute a single doctrine, existing on a continuum. In the West we find their echoes in alchemy, in the East, Tantra. And wherever such ideas are to be found, we find also the figure of the Hermaphrodite, often as God. The androgyne of alchemy is well-known, as is the qabalistic figure of Adam Kadmon. In India, we find the Tantric God Hari-Hara: half Vishnu and half Siva. Hari is a Hindu name of the sun, Hara is a feminine version of Hari. This figure, in one guise or another, recurs in many cultures. But where did the archetype originate? Seemingly, at what is generally believed to be the dawn of monotheism.

In 1353 B.C., Amenhotep IV became Pharaoh of Egypt. Soon after ascending to the throne, he ended a 1,700 year tradition of worshipping many gods, and instituted a new era in which one universal God would replace them: the sun god Aten. He changed his name to Ankenaten, meaning "Servant of Aten", and proclaimed himself as a living manifestation of God on Earth, the Son of the Sun. He closed the temples at Egypt's religious center of Thebes, and shifted the nation's spiritual focus to the Temple of the Sun at Karnak. He and his Queen Nefertiti presided over outdoor sun worship at sunrise, noon, and sunset. By doing away with hundreds of gods (and the priests who presided over them), he cleared the way for a more direct experience of the one universal God whom he proclaimed. And in so doing, he also set the stage for the acceptance of his own role as the representative of that God, a living divinity on Earth.

The principle of Aten went beyond mere sun worship, such as the later manifestations of Sol Invictus and Mithras. For the Egyptians, and Ankenaten, Aten was the all-encompassing principle of creation itself, and was both masculine and feminine. As a result, this concept is reflected in statues of Ankenaten, and he is depicted as a hermaphrodite, sporting a beard, but with breasts and wide hips. This is interesting on two counts. First, and most obviously, this would appear to be the earliest known example in which a hermaphrodite is used to symbolize God as a union of masculine and feminine symbols. Secondly, and perhaps more significantly, how is it that such an esoteric concept and symbol could survive Ankenaten's short reign to re-emerge repeatedly in diverse cultures across the globe? After all, Ankenaten only ruled for a mere 17 years, some 3,350 years ago. After his reign, the Egyptians were anxious to return to the worship of their old gods, and were eager to forget about both he and Aten.

Some scholars claim that Ankenaten's doctrine was preserved by Moses, who may have been one of his high priests. Indeed, there is circumstantial evidence in the Bible to lend credence to such a claim. Exodus states that Moses was Egyptian, and Acts states that he was 'learned in the wisdom of the Egyptians." Even Sigmund Freud in his book Moses and Monotheism suggests that Moses may have been an Egyptian with high status in Ankenaten's court. Others (Laurence Gardner among them) go further still, and insist that Moses and Ankenaten were in fact the same person. Though such a supposition may initially seem outlandish, Gardner (and indeed others) give a surprising amount of seemingly credible evidence in support of the view (too much, in fact, to recount here). If true, this could go a long way towards explaining how groups of Christian and Jewish mystics could later adopt doctrines so bizarre as to bear seemingly no relation to orthodox Christianity and Judaism (i.e. God as hermaphrodite, sacramental sex, etc.) It could further explain the migration of identical concepts to all parts of the civilized world. And although Ankenaten is said by Egyptologists to have died in 1334 B.C., it's interesting to note that his body has never been recovered.

In addition to the more modern notion connecting Moses to Ankenaten, there is a theory that dates back to the middle ages equating both men with the legendary Hermes. And there is even an inscription in the tile work of an ancient Italian cathedral that reads: "Hermes Mercury Trismegistus, contemporary Moses."

If Moses was synonymous with Ankenaten, and Ankenaten was synonymous with Hermes, this could definitely explain the similarities between the Emerald Tablet and what Christ said in The Gospel of Thomas. It has been shown that much of Moses' exoteric doctrine (the 10 Commandments, etc.) is a recapitulation of material found in the Egyptian Book of the Dead. Could it not be possible that he also passed down the esoteric doctrine of the Egyptian Mysteries - the secret knowledge of the Pharaohs?

According to legend, Ankenaten was the second incarnation of Hermes, and was in possession of the Emerald Tablet containing the secret gnosis of the ages, which was passed down to him by Thoth (the original Hermes.) It further states that Moses;' sister Miriam smuggled the Tablet out of Egypt during the Exodus. While it's impossible to determine definitely whether or not Moses and Ankenaten were one and the same, what's most important to the scenario is that Moses would seem to have had intimate knowledge (and perhaps possession) of the Emerald Tablet. This would go a long way toward explaining the overwhelming similarities between the esoteric doctrine of Hermes and that of Christ. This doctrine, as you'll recall, was said to have represented the secret teaching of a forgotten race of Gods, and was preserved by Hermes after the flood. This is interesting, because the ancient Egyptians felt they were descendants of Osiris, a god who came to Earth from the heavens to teach his secrets to mankind. A similar myth existed in Sumeria, a civilization which predated Egypt and was said to have exerted a profound influence on its culture. Ever increasingly, certain scholars are beginning to suggest that this oft-repeated tale is something more than a mere myth, that someone had to have given such cultures as these some kind of secret knowledge which allowed them to accomplish feats which cannot be replicated today, even with the aid of modern science and technology. The arguments in favor of such a premise are both numerous and well-known, and hardly bear reiterating here.

Whatever forgotten race taught the ancients the secrets of metallurgy, building, astronomy, sacred geometry and the rest, also taught them a fundamental understanding of life and of God. Glimpses of this understanding can be seen in the primary principles behind alchemy, the qabalah, Eastern Tantra, and Western sex magic. It represents an ongoing thread that weaves its way through esoteric traditions in both the East and the West. We see it encoded in the dominant religious symbolism of cultures across the globe, virtually hidden in plain sight. Throughout the centuries, it has been a Royal Secret known only to the elite of any given epoch. From the rulers of ancient Egypt to the rulers of ancient Europe, and from the architects of the Renaissance to the founding fathers of the United States, this gnosis has constituted the central axis around which their world view was ordered. It has remained a jealously guarded secret, its custodians recognizing that its wisdom was intended only for an elect few capable of inwardly grasping its full purport. For all lesser men, incapable of either fully understanding or judiciously applying the doctrine, it was destined to be at best confusing, at worst ruinous. As far as is known, this Royal Secret was only ever proclaimed publicly for a short period of time during the reign of Ankenaten (some 17 years beginning in 1353 B.C.) It proved disastrous, and perhaps taught subsequent bearers of the secret that esoteric doctrine as exoteric public policy (or state religion) was simply untenable. Consequently, the doctrine was veiled in the esoteric language of symbol, folklore, and such mythical archetypes as that of the primordial man as God, the hermaphrodite. In these various guises, the Royal Secret has weathered the centuries, surviving all manner of suppression, persecution, and inquisition. As library after library of ancient wisdom was consigned to the flames by various orthodoxies, the sacred gnosis was never vanquished. And for those with the ability to peer beyond the veil of myth and symbol, it remains their unique inheritance.

Inheritance, in fact, may be the operative word in describing the transmission of this sacred wisdom, because a central theme that recurs in the sagas relating to the Royal Secret is that its guardians have been descendants of the forgotten race, and presumably genetically predisposed to comprehending it; as though its legacy lives on in their ancestral memory. And let's face it, ancestral memory (however submerged or unconscious it may be) is one of the defining attributes of man. It guides him in his choices, his actions, his likes and dislikes. It causes him to feel a deep resonance towards certain things, ideas and symbols, even if the reason why is unknown to him, or not readily apparent. Likewise, it engenders in him a complete lack of resonance for countless other things, ideas and symbols. He never questions why certain things simply don't interest him - he instinctively understands that they aren't for him.

Though modern man has lost virtually all conception of ancestral memory, the ancients no doubt understood the fundamental power it exerted over the psyche of man., which could well be another reason why they distilled their esoteric teachings into archetypal symbols that would not only serve to preserve the doctrine, but to trigger the ancestral memories slumbering in the blood of future descendants of the forgotten race

Further Examples of the "Two as One" in Myth and Legend

Laldaboath

The Goddess Sophia (emblematic of wisdom) gave birth to Ialdaboath, a being with the head of a lion and the body of a serpent. In ancient Egypt the same word that signified "lion" also signified the sun. And as the lion's mane echoed the sun's blazing rays, he was king of the beasts, just as the sun was the King of the Heavens and the Earth. The serpent was terrestrial rather than celestial, and identified with darkness and shadow. Consequently, Ialdaboath was a union of both, and was said to exist "part in fire, part in darkness." Some Gnostics equated Ialdaboath with the Demiurge.

Abraxas

Abraxas was a Hermetic Gnostic deity, depicted with a rooster's head, human torso and serpents for legs. The rooster obviously crows at dawn, and represents dawn, the sun, light. The serpents represent the inverse of this. Abraxas was the one who divided into masculine and feminine aspects, giving birth to Aeons, alternately good and evil. Each Aoen in turn gave birth to further good or evil Aeons, until such time as there were 365 of them, constituting the wholeness of the plenoma.

Naassenes

The Naassenes were a Gnostic sect who believed that the original Adam was a hermaphrodite. The word "Naassene" is rooted in Naas, Hebrew for "serpent", and the group revered the serpent of Genesis for advising Adam and Eve to take the fruit from the Tree of Life.

The little interrogations of Mary

A Gnostic text referred to by Epiphanius, in The Little Interrogations of Mary Christ takes Mary to a mountaintop, produces a woman out of his side, and proceeds to have sex with her! This is said to be symbolic of Christ's role as a "second Adam."

Eros

When the black night was impregnated by the wind, it produced a silver egg: the moon. From this egg was born Eros, a god with four heads and both sexes.

Arsenothelys

A word by coined Simon Magus to denote the Primordial Man. It is a conjunction of the Greek words for male and female.

Syzygy

An alchemical pair conjoined of a union of opposites.

The Ark of the Covenant

According to certain scholars, the cherubim on the Ark of the Covenant represent the two anointed messiahs that stood on either side of the Throne of God (which the Ark was supposed to symbolize.) On the right-hand side stood the Archangel known as Michael, on the left, Lucifer. Supporters of this theory maintain that Michael represents the masculine aspect of God, Lucifer represents the feminine aspect, and together the two symbolize the dual nature of deity. The feminine nature of Lucifer, they claim, is the reason why "he" is identified as Venus, the Morning Star, and has been synonymous with characteristics traditionally deemed female, such as instinct, beauty, pride, and of course, temptation.

Deus

The Latin word for God, Deus, seems to retain a vestige of the ancient understanding of the dual nature of deity. In many languages, the word denoting "Two" has either a spelling or a sound very similar to the word Deus, for instance, deux, dos, dua, deuce, and so forth. This becomes even more explicit when examining the specific terms some of the countries apply to God. For example, the French Dieu echoes deux (two) very closely, and the Spanish Dios is derived from the word dos by the mere addition of an "I."

#toward the undivided - sacred sex the hermaphrodite and the dual nature of god #rose cross #fleur-de-lys #hermaphroditic

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bornfromscarletcords · 6 years ago

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Wolf Of Hearts

(A hypothetical conversation between characters from stories I have written.)

Faris and August taking a break from training.

August: So someone called my dad Cupid, care to explain what that was about? Faris: Oh, that. Well, from how I understand the situation it started long before I was born, in a place where people indulged in the more interesting aspects of their personalities. Your father was in a cynical mood. August: I thought that was his default setting. Faris: This led him to offend what at first appeared to be an irrelevant party. As their conflict evolved it came to your father's attention that the entity before him had a peculiar interest in the subject of love. He considered himself a caretaker of it, some might have even called him a lord of it. August: Or a God of it. Faris: So you’ve heard this story? August: Bits and pieces, but please, continue. Faris: The entity demanded that your father make amends in some form. The entity stated that he could just curse your father but he would show clemency if he served him instead.

August: Dad, serve?

Faris: There is no shame in the sacrifice of assisting another. Some might consider leadership to be one of the greatest services of all. Your father knew this, and being of a perverse humor at that point he decided to indulge in the entities devices.

August: I’m sensing a twist of some sort.

Faris: Twist might be an understatement, it was more akin to a thousand and one necks snapping. Your father, clad in the armors of amor, courtesy of his beguiling patron, set out serve the hearts of the world, and woe to those who would stumble upon his path. The general nature of the dispute between your father and his rather...resilient adversary, was that your father expressed disbelief towards the existence of Love, and if it did exist it was only in lies, destructive desires, crude attempts at control, etc.

August: That sounds like him, but he really didn’t believe in love?

Faris: Your father has experienced much tragedy in his life, even without considering the...gruesome entanglement he had with his own parents . The ridiculous nature of these events occasionally softened their melancholic effect but sometimes they only further embittered him. He had just lost more of his children and a human woman who he had become close to perished when he tried to change her into a wolf. He knew that relationships with humans could only go so far given our longevity but the added disturbance that even those who shared our nature were not immune to the world’s cruelties troubled him greatly. I don’t think it was a coincidence that he encountered that...creature, where and when he did.

August: That sounds...spooky.

Faris: You should have seen your father in his first week of service. He carved out a “hunting ground” and set about to test the hearts the lovers and the loved. His intention was to prove to his patron that people were not capable of true love, and if it couldn’t be found, or produced then it didn’t exist.

August: He aimed to do this while serving the God of love?

Faris: Alleged God, and your father was a deeply troubled man.

August: Was?

Faris: Some might say the depths of these troubles were only rivaled by the bitterness which had grown far and wild within his own heart. Perhaps he sought to terminate his service by eliminating the legitimacy of his patron, or maybe he wanted to torment the being and change it to his liking. For if love existed, it had scarred and tormented your father across the world. It owed him its suffering.

August: A thousand and one necks snapping, indeed.

Faris: Your father’s field of execution…

August: “Execution” as in the completion of tasks.

Faris: You wish. Your father’s field soon began to attract people (and other personable entities) which radiated strong feelings of desire and passion: envy, lust, greed, etc. There he worked to expose the hypocrisy or blatant falsehood of these subjects.

August: That’s f****d up….How’d he do it?

Faris: With the truth, mostly. The arsenal of blessings, (or curses depending on how you look at them) burdened upon your father by his patron allowed him to alter these emotions of “passionate desire” however they only worked to the extent that these feelings already existed within the subject. Amongst other things he was also allowed to delve into the shape that their “love” took in their minds and bring it out into or as a physical plain.

August: That sounds a little monstrous.

Faris: They were worrisome, monstrous times...So scary...So so Scary. Anyway so your father would often reveal hidden feelings at inconvenient times, or attempt to lead people astray with their own potent, yet disastrous yearnings. For example, there was a couple who were very well connected to one another. The man was a little distant and the woman a little too cruel but in general they were one of the better matches he had seen in a while. Still your father, dutiful hunter that he was, couldn’t help but sense something was amiss in this pairing, so using his tools and a bit of his own talents he examined some of the woman’s yearnings as well as well as some of the man’s doubts about his love. Using these he created, (or attracted) a suitable person who embodied the best of (or worst of depending on how you looked at it) these qualities. The result was, well, your father is a very adept hunter. The woman began to stray in the other man’s direction while her original partner’s doubt’s deepened and twisted like a gordian knot. Believe it or not these were actually some of the lucky ones. Sometimes your father would personally intervene, and to see him cloaked in the aura’s of love, soaked by moonlight, his hot blood all but setting the air to ripple…

August: Alright I get it, damn.

Faris: Well anyway, he would haunt the minds and bodies of those he visited in such a way and his hunting ground was suitably haunted in turn.

August: Like, as in ghosts.

Faris: Well yes, he was killing a decent amount of those he beckoned. Well, to be fair, many killed themselves, unable to live with/without what they had experienced. I believe he took a particular joy in eating the hearts of those who failed his tests. There were so many hearts. I believe he even had a favorite scythe he would use in his “missions” which might be the reason some people say he bears a resemblance to the “God” of Death, but that’s a whole other can of worms. Soon the ghosts began to cling to the place, though I suppose some might have just been more elemental or emotional spirits. Occasionally he’d let a person go if they promised never to love again or to forsake the concept altogether. When your father considered his point made he called to his patron requesting to know what he thought of his work.

August: Yikes.

Faris: You don’t know the half of it. Frederick expected a fight for his life with an enraged and powerful entity, or a chance to savor the sight of a weakened almost non existent shade of the creature he had originally encountered. What he received was something like enthusiastic applause. The entity appeared, perhaps a little different than how he first appeared. Depending on who’s telling the story, this time he was adorned in the image of wolves. He embraced your father wholeheartedly and smiled a devil’s smile as he called him a “True Beast Of Love”

August: I don’t understand.

Faris: Neither did your father at first, but like him you soon will. The entity explained that your father had challenged his subjects completely, like an unstoppable force hell bent on pushing their hearts to the limit. He weeded out those too weak to handle the awesome power of his domain and or taught the most crafty/willful how to better maneuver the minefield which is intimacy. He changed them, and made them face the worst of what they were, potentially strengthening their best portions and expanding their potential. The entity himself felt like he had been truly exercised by the ordeal and in your father he had found a worthy match. Then he told your father that a greater test awaited still, a test of his own heart. The telling gets a little obscure here but it appears as if the entity reached across space/time and spawned spectres of the loves of your father’s lives. Those that occurred and were gone like, his children, their mother’s, his human friends long deceased. Those that still existed like his pack, his ideas, and his creations. And those he had yet to discover like you, your mother, this world he now calls home.

August: He saw me?

Faris: Perhaps, I’ve heard that he saw a child bearing his resemblance who he at once felt an adamantine need to protect and care for even if his own happiness and life needed to be sacrificed for it.

August: Wow!

Faris: Wow, indeed. your father might have even shed some tears in this moment caught between euphoria and sorrow as all that he cared for was so close yet so beyond his reach, no matter how close his hand danced towards your frames. He admitted to the entity that when they had met he had begun to think that the love never existed within him, that he had only been fooling himself into thinking that his vanities, and selfishness had a greater meaning to them. The entity then told your father that he enjoyed werewolves, because even if you bend them until they break they’ll unbreak and come back more bad a*s than before. He said hearts had that similar property, though it sometimes took them a while to realize this. Your father said that werewolves could take a while too. The entity then said that love shared many similarities with the idea called faith. Both were all but useless without being tested. Tangible signs could prove elusive or even non-existent partly because they were not entirely meant to be easily grasped. At their more fundamental origins (or destinations) they existed within the essence of people’s lives; from their daily routines to their most epic adventures. They were sparks which could be grown into firestorms of holy sunlight or damning infernos. It all depended on the person who nurtured them. Failure in these things didn’t necessarily make a person unworthy and just like how an atheist could commit the most charitable, compassionate, and almost divine of acts, a person who rejected love with every fiber of their being could be it’s greatest champion, even if they didn’t know it. The entity concluded his speech by saying that your father’s service was over if he wished it and that he would soon be leaving him. Your father then asked the entity if they would ever meet again.

August: And what did it say.

Faris: “How the f***k should I know, you’ll feel me regardless.” Then it was gone, faded away like morning mist. Though, it wasn’t the last time your father worked towards its betterment. You could say a very warped alliance had formed between them, and this closeness may be why people occasionally address your father with “lovely” titles. And before you ask, yes I’ve seen some of his acts in the entity’s name and they are...it has a very peculiar and horrifying effect on him.

August: It can’t be all bad.

Faris: Perhaps, I think it was the entity which guided him towards your mother, it seems to be unusually fond of her, or at least their relationship. If it likes her I suppose it is redeemable, crazier than a cuckoo bird in a nut factory, but redeemable.

August: What about my dad’s other mate, Lillin?

Faris: If that wasn’t the work of the lord of death, then I’d swear the devil himself had brought those two together.

#wolves Love Eros Irony Hunting Strength Smithing

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naiasonod · 8 years ago

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Elder scrolls.

Most of the worst wars and deadliest conflicts that have ever transpired in Nirn have been for the sake of dominion, control and primacy. Very nearly everything destroyed and everyone slain was brought to their ruin in the conflicts that perpetually arise over matters of power and control.

In no other place or thing has the very essence of the power and control sought by very nearly everyone been embodied more literally than in the Elder Scrolls.

For the seeming chance to literally write history, or perchance even to rewrite history as it has otherwise happened, some would stop at nothing, sacrifice everything and consider nothing above or beneath them for the mere chance of claiming such.

Many lack the sort of resolve required to seek that sort of power, just as most lack the insanity and/or vanity required to believe themselves worthy of it...but it is still a lust that burns, even dimly, in the hearts and souls of very nearly everyone and everything.

Some call it darkness or otherwise objectify it in villainous terms, though it is not so simple as that, and should never be treated so shabbily as a topic by anyone interested in actually examining such matters.

Lust for the seemings of power and control offered by the Elder Scrolls has left our unintended wonder of a world in ruins, however. That can neither be disputed nor denied by even the rankest fool with a single glimmer of a clue as to anything that's ever transpired in the world beyond the tip of their nose.

Every single civilization that has come and gone has fallen under the weight of the lust and greed for greater control, more total dominion and greater authority...and unfortunately, the Elder Scrolls have featured in most of the worst of those conflicts.

I tell you true, journal mine, that I have never observed a more tangible and ridiculously blatant declaration of contempt for mortal life than I perceive to be engendered in the Elder Scrolls. One could not name a deadlier trap that has ever been placed directly into the hands of the immortal and mortal alike.

It is not what the scrolls say that is the problem. Neither is it the risks inherent to reading them directly.

It is what they seem to promise that forms, all by itself, the foundation of most of the woes that have ever actually plagued Nirn.

They offer the power to change reality, some of them. They offer knowledge that cannot be possible to know unless the future is as static and pre-ordained as the past, yet neither the future or the past are static at all, which yet other Elder Scrolls make pointedly clear.

They are, in the simplest terms, 'Break Reality' cards...and pretty much every civilization has reached for that power to not only break, but control reality and change it, invariably more in their own favor and likeness of function and nature.

The conceit of the Immortals and their obsessive worship of their own reflections is no less present in the mortal. Its just that mortals are far less individually capable of acting upon that vanity, expressing it or, quite often, even cultivating it in the first place.

Look to a lofty noble that has been served and obeyed from their earliest memories, however, and you will often find a creature of vanities, egotism and megalomania. We are, every single one of us to the most meager of peasants, the children of the Eldest...and they are vanity, egotism and megalomania incarnated and personified, each in their own unique fashions.

The Elder Scrolls put power mortals rarely have the wisdom and never have the need to use right smack in the middle of their business. These things were not put here by mortals, of course. They were not created by mortals.

If I scattered terrifically powerful magical scrolls amongst children, and made sure that they were both incredibly powerful and relatively easy for those children to use, what sort of fool would I be?

I'd think myself a negligent fool...or a malevolent one that actively desired the obvious outcomes.

Malevolence is, to the great surprise of most, rarely intentional. It does not, in fact, require intention at all. All it requires is arrogance, and arrogance is in no short supply amongst the mortal in particular.

The Elder Scrolls intrigued me once, long ago. I was fascinated by them once. I yearned to know what they taught and to seek to understand what they imparted.

And then I saw what their presence in the world amounted to. I saw what was done with them, and what was done just for the chance to confirm or deny the rumor of one.

It is a common enough debate amongst interested scholars, where they came from, what they are, who or what precisely made them and why. I fear that I take a dimmer view than some upon the why at least, and my view is informed both by what they are, insofar as my abilities allow me to perceive them...and what their mere presence cannot help but cause, invite, incite and inspire wherever one is known to reside.

Whatever they truly are, I do not blame them for being that...but someone put them here. There is a reasonable theory that they are 'left-over bits of the stuff of creation itself', and I certainly can't declare that to be wrong with authority...but is that what they are?

I don't know what they are. Not truly. I know very well what happens because of them though. I know what people do to seize them. I know what they become in the minds of the many.

Is that the fault of the many or the Elder Scrolls? The many, I should think. Give a knife to a toddler and it is not the knife's fault when the toddler destroys things and injures themselves with it.

But who gave these penultimate knives to the toddlers? Who or what unleashed these intoxicating curses that offer the illusions of power, dominance and certainty into the realm of the mortal?

They are that, in function if not in fact; curses. I've known many that coveted an Elder Scroll. Some of them had truly noble, even altruistic purposes. Some thought they they could make the world a better place for many with such power and knowledge and perhaps even the means to literally write the future or rewrite the past themselves.

Nothing seems truly beyond the scope or measure of what Elder Scrolls can wind up causing or changing.

What has power like that and could manufacture and scatter such things in the first place?

Why would they do so?

The toddlers didn't give the knives to themselves. They cannot make such things.

Who made these truly terrible knives and left them where toddlers would not only be able to reach them, but were guaranteed to eventually do so?

There's only two fundamental ways it came about; accidentally or on purpose.

So, was it negligence or malevolence?

I doubt I'll ever know. Either way, the only wise thing to do with an Elder Scroll is walk away from it and lean not upon it for knowledge, for wisdom or for understanding.

Seek those yourself by your own power, your own merit and your own ability. You might inebriate yourself on imaginings and delude yourself with fever-dreams of what you could be or do with the power of the Elder Scrolls at your fingertips, and if you are a fool, you will heed those imaginings and those fever-dreams.

Many fools before you have. Their ends are well documented, and fascinating as the scope and scale of those ends often is, the ends themselves have precious little variation.

You will be the plaything of fate, if you become the toy of an Elder Scroll. Destiny will use you like a pen to write some story into reality that will be utterly beyond your capacities to grasp in its extents or comprehend in its extremities. You might even get cast as the hero of that tale, whatever it is, if that's what the Elder Scroll in question 'does' at all, as not all of them have so done.

The point is simple; you will no longer be your own creature. You never will be again. And chances are very good that you will have fought and sacrificed much for the illusory privilege of making yourself an enslaved plaything to fate's self-amusing whim.

What truly astounds me is that there have been no shortage of those that knew this, fully recognized that they would never again be their own creature, yet promptly manufactured as many corpses, betrayals and ruins of whatever was in their way to claim that 'privilege' irrespective.

So very many knew well enough what I write here to be more accurate than less, and couldn't have possibly been less eager for it irrespective.

Its a fundamental difference between myself in my essential nature and these myriad others, though despite frequently cogitating upon it, I have no more explanation for why now than I did at any point prior.

Why do so many others want the blasted things when its so tragically obvious what it amounts to?

What sort of person must one be, to covet that kind of power and control sufficiently to ignore the mountainous evidence of how it doesn't yield much of either to anyone at all in the end?

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