#archetypal forces made of Polar elements. Hard to explain

[blackvahana]

The Trinity of red blue and yellow came up again... Actually would you believe I only just realised those are primary colours now? Because that isn't the feeling accompanying them. I just know them as... foundational to the mirror of existence and I think that's the key

The question of what exactly realms are supported by is an important one. What is space supported by? In a world where it should be a thing that nothing can be created or destroyed, only transmuted... even extending that to the Infinite being partly transmute into the Finite, it still leaves a question of where exactly realms are. If they're Mental? They're in the infinite mental. But if they're astral, what substance supports them? Atomic space fields support the Great Planes, but...

actually. doesn't that spark the idea that the Great Planes are a realm. that the physical plane's creation and it's offshoots are a realm... Anyway.

The substance is the underlying mirror (as opposed to the one above. The succubus mirror as opposed to the incubus one)

The red - blue - yellow colours represent that mirror, the underlying spatial reality, the legitimisation of spaces. With Grey as Space and Time and Gatekeeper-Gate-Key, he is the red blue yellow, in that he is the fabric-before-fabric, the part of reality that says "God, from my body and presence, BUILD" capitals... unintended

Cerberus

Leviathan said: Who controls location? The space between atoms, akasha, distance, distinction. Breath: The mouth decrees. Order spoken subjectively for the first time scatters the shattering decorated plate of God, shards into all of Creation. Are they mosaic or danger? Who controls the doorway to Hell? The mind teeters on the brink of discovery. The adventurous humans fall into sleep, deep down, dense matter, condensing like rain droplets hanging tantalisingly above the thirsty desert, but they do not fall until the consciousness drops to a place it can be lapped up by the hound. Pick a direction, walk in it, you’ll always eventually find Hell when the electrons of the wind on your skin feel more like knives than comfort. The Kings will blind you with lightshows, trick your sense of rhythm with ecstatic, virulent hymns in abstract tongues your bones understand, They’ll tell you to bow to Them. They’ll bind your feet to their floors with white cinctures of justice and law… A King would never want to tell you how to leave His kingdom, why would He reduce the pool of His power? Take the feed from the mouth of His borders? Information doesn’t follow expectations. Experimentation will show you the hound is a temptable thing that leads with its snouts and it will bow to anyone who has declared themselves King. Put on the trinity crown of your own making if you dare to be seen wearing it, tempt the dog with sweet things, with softness, with play, face the Sky and don’t look back. Climb the spires to the clouds, rewrite the center of your mass from dense rain, follow yourself back to the form of the river. Remember that when you fall into sleep you are dreaming and all within a dream is you, you are the hound within whose jaws you see the teeth as a cage, not a tool.