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jewlwpet · 15 days ago

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Alchemy, Gnosticism, and Revolutionary Girl Utena

In many Gnostic scriptures, Sophia, whose name means Wisdom, fell bc she tried to create something through her own "independent thought," without her consort, alternately described as her sibling or twin, who is the Logos/Word of God that was eventually incarnated as the Christ. What she created was a half-formed demiurge that mistakenly thought itself to be the only being in existence & created the "evil" material world. Depending on what version you read, Sophia then either "sunk into matter" (a literal fall from grace) or went down on purpose in order to do damage control.

In some versions it is Sophia who breathed life, spirit, into the two beings the demiurge had shaped from clay, & she who convinced Eve to disobey the demiurge (who wanted to keep humanity in ignorance) and eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, though she was unable to prevent Eve being made subordinate to Adam. At least one text explicitly condemned the patriarchal order as being based on "a lie" (since Eve wasn't made from Adam's rib in this story), despite still portraying it as a consequence of a woman stepping outside her assigned role.

"And the Word became flesh." Like Sophia, it "sunk into matter," but while the "matter" in her case was the entire material universe, Christ was contained within a single human body.

In sum, the narrative is that through stepping out of her assigned role, she brought the abuse of "the world" on herself, and if spends thousands of years atoning, she'll eventually be rescued by a prince she can believe in God's grace.

Carl Jung was very influenced by these Gnostics. He believed that Sophia represented something that existed in every man, and that anyone could become a prince Christ. Because each person is a microcosm of the whole universe--which is an ancient idea, one that the Gnostics probably believed too--he believed that every man had a Sophia within himself, waiting to be rescued, and he could do so by embodying the Christ principle. It's worth noting also that while he believed the psyches of men and women were different, some of the original Gnostics called for women to take on masculine traits and roles--one text even talked about Mary Magdalene being "made male" by Christ, though this is generally taken to be a metaphor).

The idea of Abraxas being a "god above God" who encompassed both the Christian God and the Christian devil is something that Hermann Hesse got from Jung. It's actually an idea that Jung got from reading something that was mistranslated rather than an authentic Gnostic belief. Still, many people have found it compelling.

The Western alchemists also believed in something they called Sophia or Wisdom, often personified as feminine, which, if one gained accessed to by proving oneself worthy, would grant them the power of God (citing parts of the Hebrew Bible, such as the book of Proverbs, as evidence) to live forever, reverse aging, transform matter, heal any disease, and sometimes even to create life. The alchemists' "great work" was often depicted as a "Chymical Wedding" in which the alchemist, or else an allegorical figure representing something within the alchemist, would "marry" Sophia and obtain these miraculous powers.

These alchemists differed from this strain of ancient Gnostics in that, first, they didn't see Sophia as being guilty of anything, and second, they did not view the material world as intrinsically evil, as to them it was the creation, not of a flawed demiurge, but of a perfect and complete Godhead. In fact, it was this act of creation that they sought to replicate on a microcosmic level in their oratory-laboratories.

Jung also wrote quite a bit about the psychological aspect of alchemy and how the transformation of matter represented the transformation of the human spirit.

Incidentally, the idea of a female alchemist was not unheard of even in ancient times, though it was uncommon in practice. There are legends of an amazing Jewish woman alchemist named Miriam (translated as Maria, Mary, etc) who lived in ancient Egypt. I couldn't tell you if she was real or not, but it's entirely possible! The bain-marie was named after her.

Anyway, if you've ever wondered why one of the Utena albums has "Sophia" in the name and what the "I am Sophia; Sophia is me" lines in Astragalus Earth Backgammon (a song from that album) were about...

#revolutionary girl utena #j. a. seazer #shoujo kakumei utena #sku #rgu #anthy himemiya #i could say--have said--a lot more about alchemical metaphors and utena #but im sticking with sophia for this post #this was in my drafts for literal years

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warwickroyals · 4 months ago

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INTRODUCTION - DRAMATIS PERSONAE - FAMILY TREE - LOCATIONS - PART ONE

SUMMARY: The prologue to my long-awaited prequel series, this focuses on King George I, who reigned for over sixty years—the longest of any monarch in Sunderland's history.

WARNINGS: References to pregnancy and child loss, substance abuse, domestic abuse and colonialism

WORD COUNT: 2.9k words

MENTIONED CHARACTERS: King George I, King Louis II, King Louis III, Queen Alexandra, King James II, Prince Arthur (Duke of Albion), King Louis V, Queen Anne, Prince James (Prince of Danforth)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, here it is. The introduction to the long-planned prequel series. This little introduction is completely prose, something I'm getting into more and more, but don't worry: this series will mostly be traditional story posts, with screenshots and everything. I don't want to give too much away, but I will say it's extremely important that it's James writing this prologue. I hope you all enjoy, please tell me what you guys think, huh?

DOCUMENT VERSION

It seems the whole country breathes at George’s command. — Sarah, Lady Turner, Dining Room Notes, 1860, “For the King” Devilish little brute. — Grand Duke Vladimir Alexandrovich, Statement during the wedding of King George to Grand Duchess Alexandra Alexandrovna (April 1861), quoted in Brig. Bernard Sidney’s The Life of King George, Vol. II (1922), p. 164

HE WAS THE tallest man in the room, although he was also the youngest. Below festoons of velvet, he cut the image of a stoic young general, but every now and again he would trace a hand up his neck and tug impatiently at his mustache. It wasn’t as thick as he would have liked; spindly at the ends and connected to patchy sideburns. He had considered shaving, but there wasn’t a chance he would appear bare-faced. Not on this day, not in front of this audience.

Thousands had lined the streets of Woodbine the night before, hopeful to steal a glance of the young man who would be their new king. The previous king had been just as young but sallow and sickly and the one before him a crispy-haired, shrivelled old prig; now the grim, bearded faces of Sunderland’s parliament stared and were stared back at by “the image of virile, fervent masculinity”. At twenty-one Prince George of Glencairn stood at five-foot-ten; he was muscled like a draft horse but had the temperament of a stallion.

Like his predecessors, George wore no crown, although the jewelled medals sewn into the breast of his uniform made up for it. His thighs ached, the hour’s long procession had been unforgiving on horseback, and his feet—crammed into knee-high jackboots a size too small—would need to be iced later. George’s crown advisers were in no better shape. They could hardly stand, evidently weakened by age and exhaustion, covertly blitzed on opium and whiskey. Propped up on walls and chair backs, they were a stark contrast to their young sovereign; a half-dozen gout-ridden and barrel-bellied statesmen with an average age of forty-eight. From the peanut gallery, elected members of parliament swayed impatiently. One octogenarian senator dozed off. George’s prime minister merely looked bored. This was the third enthronement ceremony in just under a decade.

There was no crown, no orb and sceptre, no archbishop, no holy oil. There wasn’t even a Bible. Yet it was undeniable that the figure perched before them all was . . . king. Not king through holy ordinance, but secular, constitutional law. When he spoke his voice was strong, maybe a bit high, but determined. Determination had carried him this far, it had carried him to the throne—well, determination and luck. Luck that his intrepid father had sailed to England and fallen in love with the daughter of an earl, luck that his mother hadn’t died giving birth to his sister, luck that said sister hadn’t been a brother.

For many in his sprawling family, George’s luck had translated to tragedy: a fatal bout of tuberculosis, countless stillbirths and miscarriages, an ocean liner swallowed by the sea, the death of a son, and the birth of a healthy baby who’d done nothing wrong but be born female. Secularism aside, it felt like fate, the line of succession had branched off, meandered, and sometimes split, but now it led solely to him, the eldest surviving grandson of Louis II. King George.

There were tragedies on George’s end, too. His sister resented him, his mother had been a smothering, oppressive force for most of his life, and his father had died within a year of his birth. Aunts and uncles plotted against him the moment he left the nursery. George had come into the world red and roaring, shrieking so hard the doctors feared he’d suffocate. It had been a hellish August morning, during a heatwave so intense candles melted from their sockets. George recognized the circumstances of his birth, he believed there was an inherent fire in his veins that would never bleed. As he grew the anger stayed with him and he channelled it to set his determination and wrestle for the throne. Now, the baby who screeched throughout the night, the boy who threw his toys about and stomped his feet, the young man who told off his professors was king, sitting on the throne, trying not to tug at his mustache, trying to look the aloof commander-in-chief.

Despite himself, George wondered about his mother. He longed to see her but could not. She was not at his side or even in the audience. She was back at Woodbine Castle. George’s uncle Louis III had banned women from the enthronement ceremony over forty years prior. He’d wanted to rein in his flighty, obsessive mother, his corpulent sisters, and his loathed second wife. Prevent his enthronement from looking like something “imagined by Christine de Pizan.”

It is often forgotten how much George relied on the women in his life. On the throne, he may have embodied a red-blooded machoism, but he was raised almost exclusively by women. His temper he accredited to his mother. His wife Alexandra served as his secretary for over fifty years. Of all his children, his “pocket self” and protégé was not his first-born son, but his eldest daughter. Yet we give these facts little thought. For that, George himself is partially to blame. To walk the streets of Warwick, now and then, is to be reminded of how obsessively George propagandized throughout his reign. Exit out the rear of the Royal Alexandra and there he is in bronze, seated under an ornate ciborium, flanked by the Virtues. He’s planted square in the middle of Wellington Street, standing proud on his pedestal, gazing sternly into the horizon. At Greensboro Park, his muscular figure is on horseback, sword hanging at his side, reins gripped by kielbasa-sized fingers. The grandiosity was clear, and perhaps some of the mysticism, George was still erecting monuments of this nature well into his seventies. Self-aggrandizing, yes, but George was a fervent believer in his own cult of personality. When he injured his leg in 1903, he declared that he would rather be shot than appear in public with a walking stick. If the king was weak, so was the whole country.

However, the Cult of George has allowed myths to pop up, so many that they often blot out the facts. Perhaps the most damaging, yet pervasive, is this: George stood alone; he was the infallible strong man who single-handedly dragged Sunderland out of the dark ages and into modern times, and that he implemented a form of harsh, but ultimately necessary, Caesarism in the name of collective good, not only as head of state but also as the head of a family, as a husband and father. The idea that strong, fearless men are needed to induce prosperity is a long-standing one, often repeated and associated with many world leaders, from Shaka Zulu to Winston Churchill. Yet it has attached to George with particular vigour; so much so that basic facts about him—his alcoholism, his proneness to tears, his bouts of jealousy—seem unbelievable. Alongside George, the man who lived and breathed, is a second mythical George, one that dominates this country’s pop culture and political discourse, fitted with nationalistic imagery, waiting to be rolled out at just about any crisis. He is astoundingly resilient: the real King George died in 1921, but Mythical George seems to be immortal. We have all been subject to his skewed memory, and it will take a great deal of work to cut through the hyperbole and reach the real George.

It is important to understand that Mythical George did not spring up by happenstance, he is there by design. Even in the decades following George’s death, the task of promoting his image did not stop, it was simply transferred into the hands of his descendants. No greater example of this can be found than what occurred in the spring of 1970. That April, the Americans launched the unsuccessful Apollo 13. Times were changing abroad. The previous month, Rhodesia had cut ties with the United Kingdom to become a republic. Big changes on the horizon at home, too: the same day Apollo 13 splashed down into the Pacific, James II of Sunderland was diagnosed with an aggressive form of lung cancer. And just two weeks later, on a tiny plot of grace-and-favour land, a ninety-eight-year-old man prepared to commit one of the most grievous acts of censorship of the twentieth century.

Prince Arthur, Duke of Albion was the last surviving child of George I. Save for a small retinue of servants, he lived alone. His wife, a Danish princess, had died twenty-five years prior. His younger son had sided with the Nazis during World War Two, a shameful scandal that still cast deep divisions within the royal family. Arthur lived on the fringes of upper-class society, his refusal to denounce his Nazi son made him an outcast, but James II didn’t have the heart to cut his great-uncle off entirely. The old duke received a “generous” allowance from the crown, one “befitting a veteran and Prince of Sunderland.” The rest of Arthur’s income came from the Royal Archives. In the last half-decade of his father’s life, Arthur was his unofficial secretary, a job no one else wanted. Throughout World War One and a bit afterwards, Arthur had directed his ailing father’s communications. Outgoing letters were written in Arthur’s hand, and official correspondence passed through Arthur before being handed off to government ministers. In his spare time, Arthur took on the arduous task of organizing his father’s extensive dairies, under George’s direction, Arthur edited, translated, and revised, but most importantly, he omitted. Arthur continued this effort after his father’s death; throughout the interwar period, huge swaths of George’s diaries were rephrased or completely removed. Ultimately these amended documents were shipped off to the Royal Archives for preservation, and the originals were stowed away.

Now, in the early 1970s, Arthur was a weak old man sitting on a mountain of historical documents, shaken by the announcement that James II was dying, and contemplating his own mortality. He knew what he had to do, but there was one lingering wrinkle. So, for the last time, Arthur took to his desk and wrote. In a move that could only be described as calculated, the old duke did not address the letter to James II. Jimmy was a “lame duck,” as Prime Minister Randolph had called him, so Arthur wrote to the next in line. The twenty-four-year-old Prince of Danforth, the future Louis V, although Arthur addressed him as “Loo”:

You may not know that I am my Father’s library executor & as a result I have in my possession a great deal of his documents. Most of them I have transcribed and passed along to the Royal Archives, but a select few remain. They are in his own hand, written mainly in English but also German & French. A long time ago, before you were born, I compiled these papers into a book & I have looked after it ever since, but I can no longer deal with it given my most recent illness. The book contains sensitive personal details; intimate letters between my Father and Mother, his more melodramatic diary entries, and even jottings of his sexual proclivities, if you can believe it. All this to say, they are of little historical or biographical value. No one has been as devoted to protecting my Father’s memory as I have been, and I can assure you the archives have done a thorough job of accurately preserving his legacy. Everything of importance has long been accounted for. I beseech you to grant me permission to destroy this troublesome book. I’m deeply worried it will fall into the wrong hands once I’m no longer around.

The letter never reached Louis. It was intercepted by the Woodbine Castle librarian who, alarmed, passed it on to the Keeper of the Royal Archives, who in turn forwarded the “inflammable letter” to Louis’s grandmother, Sunderland’s Iron Matriarch, Queen Anne. Appalled, Anne motored to Arthur’s estate and begged him not to do “this terrible, terrible thing.” She was too late. By then Arthur had suspected the foul play and he’d quickly burned the book the previous night. This hasty decision forever warped George’s historical image.

Arthur died later that year, but his portrayal of his father has stayed with us. Some glimpses of George’s original writings exist in a handful of biographies that pre-date Arthur’s stint as secretary. The truth of the matter is that through his editing Arthur revealed more about himself than he did his father. The George found in Arthur’s revisions is less emotional, less vulgar, and overall more rational than the real deal. This George didn’t have any pointed thoughts about foreign leaders and all his political opinions were sanitized, perfectly neutral. Arthur scrubbed away paragraphs that made his father seem “indecisive, delicate, or depressive.” Gone are George’s insecurities about his masculinity, his yearning for a father-like figure, and his paternal hardships. Correspondence with his male friends was wiped away, with the excuse that it wasn’t historically relevant. Left behind is an aloof, vague, husk of a man, one that could affect the image of stern, robotic patriarchy, but is otherwise devoid of emotion or personality.

Mythical George shifts and changes from person to person, be they a monarchist or republican; critic, or admirer; or even George himself, the function of Mythical George changes drastically. To one person he might be a genocidal imperialist who sought to expand his blood-thirsty regime, and to the next, he’s a brilliant innovator who detested violence and criticized the horrors of American slavery. For the royal family, however, the role of Mythical George is simple: mass approval. With every bolstered myth and half-truth, every omitted paragraph, the royal family becomes flawless, the perfect family. George was a strong, capable protector and Alexandra was Aphrodite reincarnated. Their marriage was harmonious and their children were dutiful and well-behaved. No one acted selfishly, everyone was a philanthropist, and everything they did was for the benefit of “the country.” Members of the royal family were polished porcelain figurines, unswayed by money, sex, or vice. All of this was, and continues to be, bull.

Novelist Leonard Kane believed three dominant world leaders shaped the nineteenth century: Napoleon, Queen Victoria, and King George I. George was certainly dominant, sometimes to the point of being overbearing: he was a bully, prone to emotional outbursts when things didn’t go his way. He was often rude towards people he didn’t like and at the very least brusque towards those he did like. He treated his children like possessions and manhandled his wife, reducing her to tears on more than one occasion. He dissolved parliament, censured MPs, and threw out prime ministers once they became too bothersome. He scoffed at the suffrage movement and loathed over-zealous social reformers for their rabble-rousing. Millions died during his reign through war, disease, and famine.

Yet behind these glaring faults was a man with a keen sense of duty and justice. He loved his family and defended them passionately, with his brusqueness came an unwavering sincerity and dedication. He educated his daughters as thoroughly as he did his sons. The King abhorred racism and championed civil liberties so fiercely he was considered a radical by stiff-necked European conservatives. He survived four assassination attempts, three strokes, and one world war. He remained on the throne while his ruling relatives were toppled by unrest and revolution. By the end of his reign, no other figure was as universally loved. The infirm and elderly believed he could heal with a touch, enlighten with a word. One Saanich woman travelled over 3,500 kilometres across fifty-two days, from Vancouver Island to Warwick, to speak with George for half an hour. Under George’s watch, the industrial wheel got spinning. George was five years old when the first electrical telegraph was sent, by his death telephone lines were slung across the access road leading up to Rockcliffe Palace. The soggy bogland that surrounded the palace would become dominated by skyscrapers lit up by electricity, flanking bustling streets packed with pedestrians, automobiles, and streetcars. From his momentous reign sprung feminism, populism, communism, fascism and a profound rethinking of social norms and the balance of power.

George was the most famous working man of his generation, equal parts flawed and accomplished. When we allow him to be buried under a mountain of myth and nationalistic sentiment, we are unable to accurately assess his reign. The accomplishments become indistinguishable, a mass of congratulatory propaganda that serves no purpose outside of peddling the Cult of George and Sunderlandian national pride. Worse, the flaws become permissible, a footnote that can be glossed over. Further, we also forget the man behind the legacy, the husband, the father of nine and grandfather of forty. George struggled with issues many modern men face; he grappled with bouts of depression alone, drowned out his innate anger with alcohol, suppressed sexual frustration under the gaze of an emotionally distant spouse, struggled with work/life balance, and felt confined by social expectations that are now forever associated with him, embodied by the everlasting sceptre of Mythical George.

George’s life was embodied by love, loss, and crushing perseverance in the face of family conflict, personal illness, and political strife. Above all, his life was characterized by defying the odds. What we truly forget is that George wasn’t born to rule. He was first a lonely orphan born in a rundown and understaffed palace, named George, after a British monarch, only because he was denied Louis. He had to fight for the throne, and then bend it to his obstinate, fiery will. It was George’s determination and resilience that moulded the modern world.

His Royal Highness Prince James, The Prince of Danforth August, 2015

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bestiarium · 1 year ago

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The Ndamathia [Kenyan mythology; African mythology]

The Kikuyu are a somewhat lesser-known ethnic group located mainly in central Kenya. These people have (or had, I am uncertain whether this religion is still being practised) a religious ceremony that was held every few decades and was connected to a creature called the Ndamathia, a creature associated with rainbows. It was the Ndamathia which made rainbows appear in the sky.

This being was a giant aquatic snake-like reptile of incredible length (said to be as long as the rainbows it created). At the end of its enormous tail grew magical hairs that had potent medical properties.

A complicated procedure was required to harvest these hairs, however. First, the creature had to leave the deep rivers in which it lives. This was done by summoning it with a special ceremonial horn, and when the Ndamathia was on land, it was distracted by a beautiful girl. The monster was dangerous, however, and had to be drugged with powerful medicine, which was administered by splashing it on the ground before the girl (which was traditionally done by the same young girl). The reptilian creature would then proceed to lick up the water containing the drug.

In addition, the girl was covered in castor oil (which is made from beans of the castor plant) to make her slippery. The idea was that if the monster tried to grab the girl, she would be too slippery to hold and she would escape from its maw.

The Ndamathia then followed the maiden away from the water, but as it was an incredibly long creature, it took multiple hours of walking before its tail finally left the water. A group of warriors was waiting patiently for this moment and jumped at the tail as soon as it was on land.

Each warrior plucked as many hairs as possible. Even though the Ndamathia was under the influence of medicine, plucking its tail hairs caused it great pain and the creature would become furious. It immediately returned to the water at great speed, so the warriors had to hide after plucking the hairs. When the giant creature arrived, it would find nobody and decided to go back to the depths from which it came.

As the story goes, the girl who acted as bait to lure the creature away from the water would have an important position in Kikuyu society when the ceremony was over, as she was regarded as a heroine. The priests would then slaughter an ewe, a bull and a male goat. They would then proceed to cut the skins of the ewe and the goat into ribbons and dip them in a liquid consisting of the blood mixed with the stomach contents of the slaughtered animals. The hairs of the Ndamathia were tied to these ribbons to make bracelets, which were to be worn by the elders on the ankle and wrist. When this was all done, a giant celebration would be held.

When Christianity established a foothold in the region, the missionaries tried to convince the indigenous people that the Ndamathia was actually their version of the Christian devil, and the creature was villainised. This made an impact on the indigenous folktales that is still visible today: the Kikuyu’s translation of the Bible translates ‘devil’ as ‘Ndamathia’.

Sources: Hazel, R., 2019, Snakes, People and Spirits, Volume 1: Traditional Eastern Africa in its Broader Context, Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 567 pp. Kenyatta, J., 1978, Facing Mount Kenya: the traditional life of the Gikuyu, African Books Collective, 260 pp. Karangi, M. M., 2013, The creation of Gikuyu image and identity, in: Revisiting the roots of an Africna shrine: the sacred Mugumo tree: an investigation of the religion and politics of the Gikuyu people in Kenya, p.24 ch.2., Karangi, M.M. (editor), Lambert. Karanja, J., 2009, The Missionary Movement in Colonial Kenya: the Foundation of Africa Inland Church, Cuvillier Verlag, 227 pp. (image source: Steven Belledin. The image is card artwork for Magic: the Gathering and depicts an unrelated seamonster, but I chose it because it fits with the description and I rather like the illustration).

#Kenyan mythology #African mythology #aquatic creatures #monsters #mythical creatures #mythology #bestiary

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artpollsblog · 2 months ago

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Round 2 - Set 70

Please click on the image to see the art completly.

Left: Virgin Mary in the Rose Garden 1898 by Albert Edelfelt

Description: painting of a young woman (the virgin Mary) doing embroidery, behind her are red roses behind them a city.

Propaganda: I love this expression, she does not look serene and otherworldly she looks like a teenage girl murdering me in her mind

Virgin Mary in the Rose Garden 1898 by Albert Edelfelt. Accessed through Wikipedia Commons. (Link to the artwork here)

Right: Christ and Mary Magdalene 1890, by Albert Edelfelt

Description: painting showing Mary Magdalene on her knees with her hands clasped looking up to Jesus Christ standing in front of her, Jesus is reaching toward her, they are at a lake, with birch trees with yellow leaves growing around them. Mary wears a Karelian ethnic dress from eastern Finland, Jesus wears birch-bark sandals.

Propaganda: Not based on a bible story but by the poem "Mary Magdalene's Journey by Water" by Elias Lönnrot. I actually love how finnish the landscape and clothes are - obivious taking a story and planting it in a different setting is a complicate matter, where power dynamics play a large role, the original context for the stories of the New Testament was the middle east, but the stories also became part of the life of people elsewhere and they interpreted the stories based on their lived context, and I think that is a very interesting stuff.

Christ and Mary Magdalene by Albert Edelfelt. Oil on canvas. The art is 216 × 152 cm. The art is currently at the Finnish National Gallery (link to the art work here). This version was accessed through Google Arts and Culture (link here).

#image decription #albert edelfelt #finnish art #finnish artist #1890s #19th century #painting #oil painting #christianity #elias lönnrot #mary magdalene's journey by water #poetry illustration #book illustration

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erkauberscream · 6 months ago

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"sir, there's a christianity in your murdergame" - on religious motifs in End Transmission -part 1/2-

- a christianity? just one?

- just one.

- a singular christianity. a singularity, if you will.

Okay so I finally decided to write down my thoughts on the biblical motifs found in the End Transmission chapter. They mainly come from the Book of Genesis, but you'll have to forgive me for not quoting specific verses, especially since I've no idea which version to use. For context, I grew up Catholic, and thus most of this stuff feels fairly obvious to me. None of this should go into any sort of deep Bible lore, in any case.

I promise it'll all make sense in the end. Huge thanks to my bae @whispy-witch, who brainstormed this thing with me and is currently translating it, my co-player @triopse who's responsible for my obsession with this silly murdergame, and @blue-jacket-blues, who prompted me to finally write baby's first meta.

With that out of the way, let's start with the thing that tipped me off.

1. The Fruit

That's probably the most obvious one - Gabe's first memory in "Existence", the part where he asks if he can eat a fruit he found on Dvarka.

(is2g immediately clear the guy is an engineer and not a biologist. Gabe is like a fucking cat, this clone is gonna land on a new planet, see a fruit, ask "can I eat it?" and not wait for an answer. he probably chews on foil too.) The answer is obviusly no. The fruit is forbidden... at least for now. In the Book of Genesis, first people were allowed to eat everything in the Garden but the fruit of one specific tree and were told eating it would cause their death. The reasoning Gabe receives is similar:

2. The Garden of Eden

Not much to say about this one. The Garden was supposed to be an ideal place for humankind... and boy, the way Dvarka is described sure sounds like a paradise, eh?

(let's all agree to ignore the way Toba Landing map looks in-game. maybe the Entity fucked it up, bc this shithole is far from how I'd imagine heaven on Earth)

3. The "Eve"

tldr Eve was tempted to eat forbidden fruit, which resulted in humankind knowing right from wrong, good from evil, and being banished from the Garden - to the dangerous outside world.

Guess which little freak gets to be Dvarka's Eve...

Hux gaining sentience can be easily interpreted as an Eve allegory - though in this case it happens by accident, by him touching an alien crystal in ancient temple. (The fact that was specifically a temple feels meaningful as well.)

He gains knowledge about the meaning of death and, what's more important, he's able to judge his own actions, describing them as "clearing - no, destroying" the remnants of ancient civilization.

This may be a reach but my qpr (who hates horror and know all the dbd stuff only from me by proxy, the poor thing) pointed out the fact that the first thing Adam and Eve did after consuming the fruit of knowledge was to cover their naked bodies...

...similar to Hux' whole quest of creating himself a new body.

What also feels important to notice is that Eve was created to serve Adam - much like co-bots were constructed to serve humans.

And talking about Mr First Dude...

4. The "Adam"

So with all this in mind, you may ask: where's Adam in this methaphor? And I think I may have an answer.

Eve shares the fruit of knowledge with her husband. Only one person beside Hux had a contact with the alien crystal... and it was through Hux's data.

This person was Gabriel.

(btw it's funny that to this point Gabe was only trying to stop Hux through non-violent means, even after seeing him holding Sarah's fucking head. All it takes is one look at some alien code and our boy Soma is fighting for his life while also trying to kill the murderbot with fire. That's growth, baby!)

Anyway that's all for now. I decided to leave the last bonus point for the next time, as it's not connected that much to the Book of Genesis. I'll probably write part 2 in a few days or so.

#dbd #death by daylight #end transmission #dbd meta #gabriel soma #hux a7 13 #my stuff #writing

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mastercrownmonday · 7 months ago

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Without further ado (Kirby reference?!): new Mistilteinn pfp!!! Magolor Soul banner is still on the way.

If you don't remember (and I wouldn't blame you), the subject of this pfp was decided in March with a poll. I haven't really commented on the results yet—so if you want to see my thoughts and ALSO discover the lore behind my love for the Master Crown, read on, because it has a whole lot to do with this titanic and terrible tree!!!

Here are the results for your reference. There were 48 votes:

I guess I was slightly? ish? surprised Mistilteinn won; I had my not-so-strong bets on Magolor Soul, which came in second. But hey! The ranking was a nice surprise, because clearly the BEST Master Crown is the Master Crown, pure and simple—without some... begrudgingly hijacked, weak-willed catboy wizard in the mix.

I didn't vote officially, but I did ask myself the question: which Master Crown is best!? And I think, if I had voted... I might have gone with the tiny, classic version. (I guess that's why I had to sneak it into the pfp anyway.) I mean, it's so cute! I am sure it would never become a literal accessory to any sort of evil!

If I remember correctly, @katlynthecat bravely arrived on the last day of voting to represent the OG MC. I was happy it got at least one vote, so special thanks to you :)

I was also pleasantly surprised that every form got a vote. Even the cutscene-exclusive Crown shards (which is actually a really cool form imo. it's ominous: inexplicably moving and spitting out a magic aura but showing no other signs of life. spooky)!

With all that in mind, I still don't know if I could pick any one of the Crown's forms as the true overlord. The tree has the most historical significance, though, because the Kirby buzz that RTDLDX caused is what got me seriously invested in the series again (I've been a longtime fan off and on).

Clearly, I was a weakling in terms of Kirby extended lore expertise, because at that point I knew nothing about RTDL and I had never heard of this Magolor character. He seemed popular though. Wonder what his deal is.

...OH! So that's why everyone jokes about the fandom having trust issues from multiple adorable offenders. (I did already know all about Marx. Gotta love that guy.)

Hey... wait a minute. Is the boss of Magolor's game mode... the very artifact that consumed his soul? That's pretty metal. I guess it's sapient? A living little conglomerate of hatred, back after over a decade to torment the fandom darling? Though it would earn no thanks... no acknowledgement... it crafted a perfect, Bible-referencing hellscape for Magolor's torment, returning long after time had forgotten its days as the big bad to prove to theorists once and for all that it was alive, it was autonomous, and it was angry!?

...I had to respect that. I respected that a lot, actually. I liked Magolor but I liked the Crown even more. (That renewed passion for the Kirby series is actually what brought me here to Tumblr!)

For a little comparison, here are some of my first drawings of the Master Crown (circa June last year?) compared to this most recent one:

In the left image, you can actually see the first inklings of Master Crown Soul! 😳 It didn't take me long to start cooking up some ideas to flesh out its backstory, and I think the design and themes have come a long way since then. (some of which anyone interested will eventually get to experience in all their glory via my fic. prommies)

In summary: thanks for growing on me, Mistilteinn, and congratulations! It's a great day to be a tree-hugger :)

#kirby series #important #master crown monday #mistilteinn #mistilteinn kirby #master crown #void termina #two dark overlords #the blog just reached 100 followers so i figured it was as good a time as any for an exposition dump #so yeah! thanks to you 100+ crown enjoyers!

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talonabraxas · 9 months ago

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“The seat of the soul is where the inner world and the outer world meet. Where they overlap, it is in every point of the overlap.” — Novalis 1772 – 1831 CE

Solar Temple Talon Abraxas

Tiphareth – Beauty

“The Sixth Path is called the Mediating Intelligence, because in it are multiplied the influxes of the Emanations; for it causes that influence to flow into all the reservoirs of the blessings with which they themselves are united.”

Spiritual Experience: Vision of the Harmony of Things. Mysteries of the Crucifixion.

To enter into Tiphareth is to enter into the realm of Limitless Light. It is the Limitless Light because this is the mind that realizes that all our motivations, all our goals should be aligned with the greater Truth we have found at Yesod. Tiphareth is essentially a more stable version of the experience at Yesod, and is a state of being that we need to work on and refine many times until it is perfected. Thus, Tiphareth is the natural completion of the realization at Yesod.

It is the mind with the unfailing determination to pursue the spiritual path. It is the Limitless Light for it will ever be dispelling the darkness, driving back the frontiers of delusion, and ever forging new ground for the journey. It is what is known in Buddhism as the “turning-about” or in the Bible as “metanoia” the Greek word that has been poorly translated as “repentance.” “Metanoia” actually means a transformation of our being, a transformation to one that is focused purely on the spiritual quest and not on worldly attainments.

Tiphareth is the Sephirah with the largest number of paths linked to it. It is the center of activity on the Tree of Life, and is the center of the Noble Eightfold Path. The paths radiate from it like the spokes of the wheel that symbolizes the Noble Eightfold Path, and the paths are depicted in exactly the correct clockwise sequence as outlined by the Buddha.

Tiphareth is also known as the Mediating Intelligence because here is the powerhouse, the engine room that will propel us forward, the place where the influxes of the Emanations, the realizations, are multiplied. The second line in the Yetziratic text passage tells us how this is done. The words “it causes that influence to flow into all the reservoirs of the blessings with which they themselves are united” is a description that the paths centered around Tiphareth take a circuitous route.

This primary circuit flows from Tiphareth to Chesed, then from Chesed to Geburah, and back again to Tiphareth. The blessings originate from Chesed, and flows to Tiphareth via Geburah. Tiphareth then causes this influence to flow back into Chesed and the cycle repeats. The circuit has to be traversed many times, each time refining further the spiritual qualities of Tiphareth until it is finally ready to take us up into the World of Yetzirah. When ready, it does this by opening two long paths that reaches upwards from Tiphareth to Chokmah and to Binah, the paths depicted, in the Noble Eightfold Path, as Right Intention and Right Meditation. In all of the paths linked to Tiphareth, Tiphareth plays the central role, the role of the Mediating Intelligence.

The primary circuit involving Tiphareth in Assiyah represents the first of the Three Principles of the Path in Tibetan Buddhism: the determination to be free. It is the determination to be free from the vicious cycle of suffering of unenlightened existence. It is thus the commitment to take the spiritual path, the will to climb as long as we see to climb, higher and higher, until our chains run out of length and fall away behind us. This then is the Limitless Light and is the process of unveiling the first of the three Veils of Negative Existence, Ain Sof Aur.

The Spiritual Path – 6

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angeldiied · 9 months ago

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Father. Is that what you are? Are you a father? I think you're more. Perhaps some sort of saint. Perhaps, after all, an angel. Perhaps, after all, God. The Bible says, ‘Do not make for yourself an idol.’ The Bible seems to be against idols, against icons. We are all sinners, Father. Even the church. Even the Bible itself. And you, Father? And you, Cas? How much sin and how much holiness is in you, do you know...

I haven't read the Bible. My mother read it to me, and even then, just the children's version. I remember the story of Adam and Eve. After all, who doesn’t? The Garden of Eden, paradise. Let’s imagine that our world is Eden. Crazy, I know. But let's imagine.

I think you’re the forbidden fruit in it. I think it’s not just for me.

I saw last week at communion how young Alfie looked at you. You think you're guiding him to the righteous path? I believe you’re driving him mad.

You shouldn’t know this. But here I am, reading a prayer, not to God, but to you.

I imagine your face if you saw me on my knees with folded hands. Dean Winchester? Never in a million years.

I'm going crazy.

I dreamt of wings recently—white feathers splattered with blood. As if something was being cut. As if wings were being cut.

I fear for you, truly, I fear. I saw young Alfie’s gaze. But I couldn’t see my own. I think there’s something terrifying there. Maybe demonic. Though if I’m a demon, a snake, I probably wouldn’t bite the forbidden fruit, because it’s not for me.

But I’ll tell you—it is for me. It is for me. I will kill, I will seal the sin, I will kill Alfie to get to you first.

I don't believe in God. But I feel possessed by all this nonsense you preach. Maybe it's the little silver cross on your chest—so modest. Maybe it's to blame. Maybe it’s your lips that read the psalms—those are shameless, Cas. A peach. I’m telling you—they're forbidden.

I want you to fear me. I really do. Kill me instead. There’s a shovel behind the church, I’ve already dug my grave, just cover it with dirt, please. Yes, right next to the parish, I know. I want to be close even after death. But dead, I’m not so... sinful, not so dangerous. You’ll either kill me, or I’ll pluck you from the branch of that damn tree in that damn Garden of Eden.

I want you to grow in me.

With life, grow, Cas. Because for now, you’re just a disease. You’re just temptation. You’re just tears on my cheeks, my madness, my hatred for the world.

The prayer is finished.

I dream.

You’re walking barefoot on the sea sand. It clings to your feet, to your heels. You’re walking, and for some reason, your feet are wet, that’s why the sand clings so persistently. You’re holding a crucifix in your hands. It dangles on a silver chain. There are handprints on your neck. Mine. And you’re murmuring prayers for forgiveness—to God. For me.

God won’t forgive me, God doesn’t exist.

I only have you. And you have that damned cross.

You would die if you heard me curse.

I like your church. It’s not tall, but it tries, it stretches to the heavens, breaks through it with its domes like a spine. Drives you mad with church bells. Curses everything around during thunderstorms and lightning, like a branch of hell on earth.

I like it. You’re there. Your broken wings are there. Blood instead of stained glass, feathers on the icons.

You. On the altar.

I. Holding the cross.

I touch you.

How good it is that you’re alive, write down my prayer. Please. It’s everywhere. Write it down. Write it down.

Whisper it like your last breath.

Take another breath. Wait. Stay with me.

You see? I'm on my knees again, for you again, for the second time in my life. Tell me the story of Jesus Christ. Tell me, I’ll listen. I’ll carry you in my arms, carry you down the Via Dolorosa. How good it is that you’re alive, that I didn’t touch you, well, almost.

My angel. I’ll bring you back. You’ll get everything, you’ll get the heavens themselves, I swear.

Can you imagine, someone told me—that I’m God.

Can you imagine, someone told me—that you’re mine.

Do you believe it? Will you say it back?

"Yes, I think you’re God. I think I’m yours."

#destiel #castiel #supernatural #dean winchester #deancas #fanfic #spn #destiel fanfic

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 6 months ago

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A Fool Despises Discipline

A fool despises his father’s discipline, but one who accepts reproof is smart. — Proverbs 15:5 | Tree of Life Version (TLV) Tree of Life Translation of the Bible. Copyright © 2015 by The Messianic Jewish Family Bible Society. Cross References: Proverbs 13:18; Proverbs 15:4; Proverbs 15:6; Proverbs 15:32

Read full chapter

Proverbs 15:5 in all English translations (for comparison)

#child #father #foolish behaviour #discipline #correction #despise #prudence #Proverbs 15:5 #Book of Proverbs #Old Testament #TLV #Tree of Life Version Bible #Messianic Jewish Family Bible Society

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staticofthetv · 1 year ago

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I did it for Knives, now its his brobro's turn.

Edit: I'd like to apologize for what comes next as I wrote it in one go while hyperactive

Vash's design in tristamp is just as interesting to me as hundred spoons is for very similar but not quite the same reasons. Part of it is still the subverting expectations by having the arguably more angelic character have a darker colour scheme and look like something you wouldn't want to come across at any time of day. With both twins their looks very much align with how they view themselves, knives is pure and angelic and vash is dirty and demonic by comparison.

While it's not a traditional demon look I'd still argue that vash does look it. The most obvious is his iconic red coat, but also consider the massive form he becomes when knives fucks with his head. Yeah it's hauntingly beautiful, especially when you see it from our perspective as the audience but when you look at it from the perspective of the regular people on gunsmoke, that thing growing out of July would absolutely be demonic. It's dark in colour, it's sprouting random flowers (this is important), and most importantly its tearing the city apart.

Focusing on the actions during the fight first, I think it would make sense for the people witnessing it to think Vash is the demon and Knives is the angel trying to save the city. Partly because of Vash being blamed for everything Knives has done already painting him as the bad guy no matter what's actually happening and also the widespread broadcasting of the eye of michael teachings.

Moving onto the flowers and why I think they qualify as demonic. One of the most popular things in modern media that have Lucifer, satan, whatever you wanna call him in it he's the perfect picture of hotness. Everyone wants to be him or be with him, and this makes sense for his purpose in life! He's supposed to tempt people into sin so him having an ass so hot he could tempt even the most devout does hold ground in a portrayal. This fake beauty to hide the hell lying in wait I think is how the people on gunsmoke saw Vash. Even from the audience perspective tree Vash is still kind of a perversion of the classic angelic beauty but for a different reason. Vash is being torn apart mentally in that scene, the amount of anguish is unimaginable. Angels aren't supposed to feel pain like this, they don't get affected by the actions of others. In response his gate basically goes into overdrive to try and protect him but (and this is kinda theory kinda not) Vash's gate isn't like the typical plant gate. The pain he's experiencing isn't angelic and so the physical results of it look like a distorted imitation attempt.

Even then going with the classic version of the devil in media, who in the nicest way possible usually looks like he belongs under a bridge trying to trick children into crossing so he can eat them, I still think fits vash. Having him look so human, especially when put next to Knives, gives off the feeling of ugliness. I'm not saying he actually is, he's very much a pretty plant, BUT it's exactly like comparing a human to an angel. Plus if we look at his scars the feeling of him being less than builds up more. Again I'm not saying scars are ugly, this is an analysis of religious imagery and how I think it lines up with what's written in the Bible as a loser with baptist religious trauma and my own scars to show for it, I just wanna make that clear. The physical appearance of Vash, when compared to Knives at the end of the series very much gives the devil standing next to an angel and it ties into how each twin views themselves once again. Vash's self esteem is already so low it's in hell, he doesn't see himself as beautiful, pure, angelic, whatever. This is reflected in his appearance, he makes an effort to look human and fit in with others because the he sees himself as no better than the worst of them. Meanwhile Knives is touting about with as much angelic energy as his murderous little soul can muster because that's exactly what he thinks he is. An angel, or God himself, with a holy mission of creating a new garden of eden for plants.

Based on what we see during Vash and Knives confrontation when Vash loses his arm and also the plant lore that was revealed recently, Vash has a gate that takes. I don't know if this can be considered theory because Vash's gate has acted like a blackhole multiple times. This ties into my thoughts on the coat and glasses changing colours after he returns from being trapped while still relating to the main point of Vash having demonic energy, I promise.

In the plant lore 1/3 its stated that the power that takes away was sealed away for reasons. Presumably it hasn't been seen in long enough that even the people aboard the SEEDS ship didn't know much about it or don't have any experience with this power. Knives very clearly lines up with the power that brings in his motivations and manifestation of his gate. He's bringing material into the world, he's bringing the planet to a new age, he's bringing the plants to Eden. Vash however is the other side of that coin, the power that takes away. Based on the name alone this power would be considered demonic. Add in the fact that it quite literally manifests as a blackhole and it's very clearly not an angelic power. Vash has stated himself he can't bring anything into the world, only take from it in the form of needing to consume resources to survive. And when under severe emotional distress the distorted imitation of angelic power, also known as demonic power because that's exactly what demonic power is, comes out as a form of instinctual self protection.

It's now late enough and this post is long enough that I'm not sure it makes sense anymore, enjoy fellow tumblr people.

#trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #AND HES LITERALLY CALLED A DEMON/DIABLO #knives is angel #vash is demon #at least according to religious imagery #their actions show the opposite but thats the whole point #i spent an hour writing this instead of going to bed #if only i could write with the same amount of energy i put into this for my assignments #millions knives #hes here too #but only to prove a point #god help me i need sleep

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stygiansun-totaleclipse · 11 days ago

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First of all, mil perdões for the bible this will be, take your time (tho not as long as I imagined after how much rambling I cut) this also took longer to write than I imagined, I was tired, still am, end of semester rush, someone send help

[Inhale] Ok, cachorrada gringa, move over!

Feeen, you partially foiled my plans with offering fruit/food to these people, but I'll list it anyways because saco vazio não para em pé (empty bags can't stand by themselves, a classic amongst older folks), starting on my house cause why not, we got too many plants in this backyard, many of them have fruits! The passion fruits are threatening to take over the pitangueira (another fruit tree! Pitangas look like tiny little pumpkins, idk what they taste like tho cause selective eating), and on the opposite side of the backyard we have a grape vine and a jabuticabeira, oh so popular here in south, jabuticabas are little black fruit with a white interior and make a little "pop!" When bitten, there's raspberries, a banana tree, and a small pomegranate tree who hangs on for dear life whenever it gets a fruit. Don't like these options? No worries, I live a few houses away from a fruit market, and there is also the supermarket nearby. I also know of a few simply divine bakeries in my area, pães de queijo for whoever wants them, and Kieran, meu amor, our entire cuisine is based of off "simple yet filling dish any social class can make", dont worry about a thing! I'd go on to the flowers we have here, but my dad would probably do a much better job at talking about plants than me

Onto fauna! Birds 👏 Bugs 👏 Reptiles 👏 Mammals 👏 Fish and mammals who look like fish👏 Oh Parim, Ember, Nihm, L, Kieran, I got you covered, querides (unofficial neutral version of queridos/as)

Im sure we all know the gracious macaws and the stunning toucans, but theres beauty to be seen - from afar - in the quero queros on the fields and so, so many more beautiful birds in here. Need i talk about the bugs? Nihm, Ember, where there is plants there is critters, and I'll take the greatest of joys in looking for them with the two of you, and speaking of Ember! I was so happy so see someone else who loves reptiles, and oh boy do i have them, to the common Lagarto Teiú to the most stunning snakes, Caninanas(btw I kinda imagine the Snake of Fate as a caninana), true and false corals, Rainbow Boas!! And how can i talk about our fauna without mentioning the Lobo Guará! (Manned wolf), my long legged beauty, which is not actually a wolf! And we all know the mighty Jaguar, but have you ever seen the grumpy but also goofy looking Jaguarundi?

I'll be honest idk that much about fish, but I think Kieran would have fun learning about the electric ell and the boto (don't think they'd be a fan of his folk tale tho)

A beautiful combo of both fauna and flora I think is very overlooked is the pantanal, seriously, I dream of that place since I was 9, but this ask is more than long enough, so ill just leave that as homework.

Is it cliché to talk about the beaches? It is cliché to talk about the beaches, and I despise sand with a passion only matched by my hatred of mint and of loud noises, soooo, sorry Kieran, but I guess we can still go to the one beach here in the south that I hold dear to my heart. Other than talking about beaches, oh my gods, you gringos are sleeping on Minas Gerais, holy shit, what a gorgeus place, I wanna go there again, I have no words about it other than its the most beautiful place I've ever been to

Uuuuuhh, yeah, that's it, I'm sure there's more, but I can't think about it now. I also may or may not be a little embarrassed knowing there's one or two more Brazilians here (but also what should I expect, we're everywhere)

Anyways, hope ya have a good day!

Very jealous of all your pretty fruit trees (and fruit market 👀👀)!!!!! My parents have a peach and a cherry tree (best cherries I’ve ever had) and come spring/summer it’s always awesome to have lots of fruit! We make peach salsa. :D 👍❤️💖💕

I love snakes too—the caninana looks very pretty! And I can’t get over that grumpy Jaguarundi‘s face lol. I had someone else mention the boto rosa to me too—very horrifying 😰.

I looked up pictures of Minas Gerais and now I’m so very jealous 🥺🥺 it looks gorgeous and I want to go there rn ✨🌈 Brazil seems very lovely! ❤️ Lots of cool flora and fauna and food the ROs and sibs would for sure enjoy! :) 💕

#sste asks

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