#metaphysical system

[dreamcatcher-of-pro-endos]

I love you spiritual systems that are also psychological

I love you walk-ins of any kind

I love you soulbonds and charabonds that get upset how they're displayed and treated by their source (ot waste writing term you use) fandom

I love you spiribonds (+ other walk-ins) who struggle to take care of a human body

I love you intrabonds

I love you exobonds

I love you walk-ins who have relationships with non-spirutual headmates

I love you walk-ins who get told your relationships aren't real because you're with a non-spiritual headmate (more directed to our system's walk-ins, but this goes for any out there)

I love you mixed origin systems with spiritual headmates

I love you mixed origins who have been told "you're either a spiritual system or you're not/you can't be both" (or have had thoughts of someone saying these things)

I love you systems/headmates that have spiritual practices and those who don't

I love you walk-ins who wish to see more people like you and get upset when you don't

I love you bondsystems

I love you cosmagenics

I love you gateway systems

I love you metaphysical systems

I love you psychgenic systems

I love you soulbased systems

I love you seelegenic systems

I love you all

[starfilled-galaxy]

Need help/advice??

So we have a new guy but he's like in a super weird state regarding awareness of being in a system and I have no clue how to help him…? He logically is aware of plurality and stuff but he's also suuuuper connected to his exomems and stuff so… I think logically he knows he's a fictive in a system and the place he's in is a plural headspace, but he doesn't fully understand that?

Based on how he is at the moment (and for the foreseeable future), I don't think it would be possible (or helpful? idk it feels like it might make things worse) to try to get him to understand that he's "just an introject" and have him source separate and such But he's also having a really hard time comprehending that there's (fictives of) other versions of him, and just in general where he is (since our headspace looks pretty fantasy-esc) He's almost entirely convinced he's asleep and dreaming, or got drugged or something It's also making him uncomfortable and just… confused in general

Sorry lots of yapping, I'm tired, some of this might not make sense lol But yeah I don't know what would help him be less confused and weirded out when he either doesn't have the ability or the mental stability to understand the whole plurality thing right now

ANTI ENDOS DO NOT INTERACT!!!!

NOTE: We see exomems and our headspace in a more metaphysical way, as if they are real memories/places (because they are to us). We would like you to keep that in mind, please do not invalidate our beliefs. Talking about this psychologically is fine but we'd like you to not use medical or heavily psychological-based terms (i.e. parts language, "pseudomemories," etc)

(sorry for putting this long ass note at the end, we had bad experiences with the last time we asked for plural advice on tumblr, so you know)

[thirdity]

The assumption of a reality beyond our personal, always-mediated experience of it — whether it be a reality of matter and energy that science suggests or a reality purely of ideas and relationships that philosophers from Plato to Berkeley and some contemporary philosophers of mathematics still believe in — is the leap into metaphysics. And because we cannot negotiate the world without assuming it is really one thing or the other, we are always within one metaphysical system or another.

Samuel R. Delany, "Neither the First Word nor the Last on Deconstruction..."

[meduseld]

Severance was already an exploration of the hellish parts of capitalism and wealth and privilege, but now that we know what they did to Gemma it makes them even more ghoulish.

What if they were all Kier's children and never had to suffer even small annoyances and the low, low price was to create an underclass that can never get out or rebel because it is within yourself, quite literally damning your own soul to a Hell of pain and repetition that you will never have to even think about.

Being so rich that you're not just buying more hours in the day, you're buying a life without any friction and you're so hungry for it you'll eat yourself.

[plural-culture-is]

Metaphysical plural culture is feeling like an outsider even in endogenic centered spaces because everything is SO psychologically focused it almost makes it hard to breathe, so you stay closeted from most of the community and only hang out with four or five other metaphysically based systems you trust to be cool about how your plurality works

.

[noosphe-re]

Furthermore, the very attempt to define how a philosophical work is supposed to be connected with other efforts to deal with the same subject-matter drags in an extraneous concern, and what is really important for the cognition of the truth is obscured. The more conventional opinion gets fixated on the antithesis of truth and falsity, the more it tends to expect a given philosophical system to be either accepted or contradicted; and hence it finds only acceptance or rejection. It does not comprehend the diversity of philosophical systems as the progressive unfolding of truth, but rather sees in it simple disagreements. The bud disappears in the bursting-forth of the blossom, and one might say that the former is refuted by the latter; similarly, when the fruit appears, the blossom is shown up in its turn as a false manifestation of the plant, and the fruit now emerges as the truth of it instead. These forms are not just distinguished from one another, they also supplant one another as mutually incompatible. Yet at the same time their fluid nature makes them moments of an organic unity in which they not only do not conflict, but in which each is as necessary as the other; and this mutual necessity alone constitutes the life of the whole. But he who rejects a philosophical system [i.e. the new philosopher] does not usually comprehend what he is doing in this way; and he who grasps the contradiction between them [i.e, the historian of philosophy] does not, as a general rule, know how to free it from its one-sidedness, or maintain it in its freedom by recognizing the reciprocally necessary moments that take shape as a conflict and seeming incompatibility.

Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, The Phenomenology of Spirit (Phänomenologie des Geistes), translated by A. V. Miller

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

Learning The Pineal Gland : Remembrance ; Soul Mission ; Operating Within The Psyche & Opening Doors To The Astral Realms

The pineal gland is the motion that keeps the consciousness flowing. It is our everyday reality, but yet it is so much farther down the road than we are. It knows the reason we take the steps that we take and move the way we do, yet its the most mysterious of all. Holding the gifts, talents, and skills necessary to move towards your perfect dimension. the thing is, the pineal gland is preoccupied on the imagination as this is how what we see for ourselves comes into fruition. It is the pineal gland that understands the mission. And once its awake, its hard to turn back.

The imagination is where you can get a good grip on how the pineal gland shapes it self in your reality. Do you have a hard time remembering your dreams? Or do you have problems with creating in different outlets such as writing, painting, understand a new dynamic, etc? Writers block? Not sure what to do? Mildly confused? Can't seem to figure out your next move? All signs of a low third eye chakra. These issues come into play when the mind isn't able to focus and expand the mind that way the human brain is meant to.

The Third Eye Chakra is the point where we learn how to see beyond ourselves instead of whats right in front of you. This is where clairvoyant gifts can come in and show itself when the person is ready. Seer abilities, seeing things that aren't 'there' are also signs of a strong third eye chakra.

This chakra needs evolution because as we grow in this lifetime the mind needs to see more and free itself from any restrictions that may have blocked it from undergoing getting the truth & clarity it needs to commit to something.

When our minds aren't able to process what we truly want for ourselves, and actually see the vision for it this is a sign of the third eye being blocked. Sometimes lack of faith shows a problem with the third eye too. Lack of belief that is.

Our beliefs need to be strong in order for the third eye to show you what's true, and what is imaginary. Because in these times, the imagination is what visualization is all about (duh!) but when it's time to come into manifesting.. the mind is also a tool in how to get there.

It is a force for us to remember why we are here and what talents and skills we possess in order to make this world worth living. Create your reality by innerstanding what the mind is trying to confess through the art of storytelling that is your life. The imagination is a key to how your subconscious and unconscious side of your brain works, it is not meant to be soaked into logical formation. It is it's own thing. The more you allow the imagination to expand itself, the deeper the creative expression can form. It is like a child playing, and making things work for itself so that the child can feel alive. That is the imagination. This helps us open doors inside of the astral realm, because our brains form things into our mind in a way that only we could understand it.

Sometimes our dreams can be hidden layers of secrets, codes and messages for us to decipher in the waking of our reality. Again, the imagination is big here, and you've got to appreciate it the way your third eye sees fit. It's all about energy.

Our dreams give us insight on what is going on with us in the subconscious and it helps us see things in a way that in our day to day we aren't truly able to understand. There is an art in understanding and appreciating how these realms we dive into are trying to tell us what's going on around us and even people we know or barely said even a word to.

It is through this chakra we learn that all is possible, and anything we believe is impossible must be sorted out in the mind. Allowing yourself to see through the beyond makes for a master in this timeline, as your gifts will strive for more and triumph through anything you believed to be an obstacle.

[metanarrates]

Saw your post about people not understand interpersonal harm in regards to the new girl post and I'm intrested in your views on it because I really do feel the fandom in general has a tendency of sorting characters into reductove boxes of victim and perpetrator when the reality of the system of power within deltarune is that often times characters will be both.

Take for example spamton, some people will talk about how he sucks and how they dont understand why anybody likes himw hile others talk about how he is a victim of circumstance and his suckage as one might say is simply an effect of that.

In comparison the reality is much more intresting, spamton is in a weaker position of power that leads to him to be taken advantage of, but his response to that is deciding the only way to nwver be victimised again is to become the victimiser (or become an enabler to other victimisers like in snowgrave)

Bro thinks he can win at capitalism, he thinks he's a temporarily embarrassed billionare, he thinks if he just becomes powerful enough no one can hurt him

(Its no coincidence to me that this is the view of other characters aswell, such as chara and susie)

What adds more complexity to this then, is not only can all characters be responsible for causing harm aswell as be harmed is that they can be that way regardless of action or inaction

As seen in the new girl post, susie is the one who took action that harmed kris, and noelle's inaction is what allowed kris to be harmed.

Regardles whether you take action or not youre still a participant in this system of power, and you are now unable to seperate yourself from it

Many people have come to conclusion that by playing this game, by our presence, by our *action*, in this game as the player we are causing harm, but reminder, if we give up, if we fall into *inaction* the world is blanketed in darkness

Some people only focus on the former and conclude that the only winning option is not to play, but as shown by the latter inaction will just lead to another loss

There is no winning within deltarune's systems of power, and i think thats the point

Anyway if i had infinite time i would like to make a youtube essay on the topic because man i feel like a lot of people ignore this aspect of deltarune, granted im not 100% confident in my conclusions here but i feel like im onto something

yeah! you totally get it! deltarune is a game that depicts entrenched systems of power and characters will react to the harm they recieve in those systems in various ways incl. hurting other people! there is no winning! and you've hit the nail on the head with spamton - it's honestly SO refreshing to see a nuanced opinion on his character because of what you've just described.

i think wrt the new girl post - a lot of people are also taking the interpersonal harm described as being serious & unrecoverable? like, oh, noelle is a bad person and irredeemable for watching it happen and not taking it that seriously, or toby fox is writing susie ooc for being mean to kris and then later becoming friends with them, and like...

it's a plot point. that susie is a character who acts like a bully out of demonstrably bad personal circumstances. she's heavily implied to be neglected to the point where she's food insecure. it seems like no adults are looking out for her. she picks on kris because she feels insecure by them seeming unintimidated by her. this is the beginning of her arc. she learns to be kinder afterwards. she is, like you described, acting within a world that has made her feel powerless and alone, and is trying to gain power in an immature and mean way so she won't be hurt anymore. it's not irredeemable behavior lol

and tbh. kris doesn't seem that bothered. that's not to say bullying is okay - it isn't - but i honestly feel the fan reaction is kind of overblown? noelle doesn't take it that seriously, imo, partly because kris doesn't seem to take it that seriously. there could be hidden complexities involved and maybe they are much more hurt than they let on, but I don't like the idea that this renders noelle and susie forever bad people? they're kids, they fuck up sometimes, and it seems like kris is pretty happy being susie's friend even after that. if there's lasting harm, I feel like the narrative is going to be able to unpack that. I don't understand the discourse most of the time here.

i guess sort of my end statement here is that a lot of fandom, esp in deltarune, tends to parse "interpersonal harm" as "always serious irrecoverable damage that forever victimizes the one harmed, never forgivable, never understandable as an action taken within a broader context of a character's circumstances, and never capable of being grown past" which is just ridiculous to me on multiple levels. we're talking about a high school bully saying rude things to another teenager, not about someone murdering someone else's dog or something like that. it's teen movie stuff. honestly the discussion is slightly embarrassing.

[ehlnofay]

Pax should have said no.

Damn it all, they should have said no. Should have said go to hell and fucked off back – stop contacting me, sort out your own shit – but they didn’t, fuck knows why, and now they’re stuck here.

(They know why. They know exactly why; absolutely anything would be better than fucking off back to Cyrodiil. What’s for them there?)

But there’s nothing worth staying for here either, and now she’s crammed in between strangers on a long table, everyone dressed in fabrics she’s never seen with dyes so saturated they seem almost gory, eating stuff that isn’t food and talking loud enough to make her want to hurl a glass into the wall. It’s bizarre. The woman next to her, ruddy-faced and bald, wears a headpiece that shines like the sun the Isles doesn’t have; the other side is taken up by a stranger in a bone-white porcelain mask who has not moved but to swill the wine around in their glass. There’s scarcely room for Pax’s chair. It all feels like such a baffling pantomime of aristocracy (she's known the real thing well enough – feasts and toasts and luxurious gifts she had no use for, and if she doesn’t stop thinking about it she actually will throw a glass), bright colours and rich settings and a god taking offerings at the head of the table.

At least, Pax thinks, no-one tries to talk to him; they’re too busy fawning over their lord. Which is probably to be expected; but it all feels so strange, so unsettling, the way they all lean in towards it like flowers turning to face the sun, like seaweed dragged at by the inescapable pull of the tides. They grow towards it through the cracks in the air, matter moving toward the inevitable centre, as if they can imagine nothing more than this.

(Even more unsettling is the way it responds in kind, listening attentively to anyone who speaks to it, leaning in as though to kiss them, as though to swallow them whole. All hell, why did Pax agree to this? Why did they come?)

(They should have told it to fuck off. Should have said no way, I don’t want to help you, don’t want to get involved in anything you’d need my help for. I don’t owe you anything. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t want anything to do with you. I’m done.)

(Pax is done. Pax is sick to death of all this shit; doesn’t want to deal with this, the vaguely described problems of a god that picks people apart like it’s unravelling a thick yarn shawl. Doesn’t want to deal with anything like this. He’s had his fill of gods.)

(Why is he still fucking here? Why did he agree to this? This is no better than eating in that weird fucking inn in town. This is no better than –)

(That’s a lie. It’s a bit better than Cyrodiil. Just as much a shithole, but it pulls the rug out from under him often enough that he doesn’t have time to think too much.)

“Not hungry?” says a prowling voice, coiling catlike into the plaits in their hair, and Pax jumps enough to jostle the masked bastard sitting ramrod straight next to him.

He looks up.

At the empty placemat across from him sits a figure veiled in gossamer, glittering in the glow of the lit-up lichen on the distant throne; the fabric of its endless shawls pulls apart at the ends, peeling away from itself, shedding patches like iridescent insect wings every time it shifts. If Pax squints, they can see through it to the grand marbled wall behind.

She glances back at the chair at the head of the table, where something lounges, eyes dripping gold, intricately carved cane laid across its knees; its too-many fingers are laced with the hand of a man whose gown blooms floral. Flatly, she says, “What the fuck?”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Sheogorath asks, pouting; she can hear it laughing down the other end of the table. “It’s a proper feast. We pulled out all the stops.”

Pax shifts their eyes away to peer down at their plate. “You have served me worms,” she says. She flicks the dish with a fingernail. “In jelly. With flowers.”

“Larva, actually,” Sheogorath replies. It’s still at the other end of the table. It doesn’t seem eager to explain this. When it smiles, the gossamer falls away; its whole face splits in half.

It’s all so fucking stupid. Pax takes a deep breath – in through the nose, ignore all the odd spiced smells, and out – and does not yell at it, or try to hit it, because she’s gotten herself into a situation where that’s not really an option, because she’s a fucking idiot. Why didn’t she just say no?

(She knows why.)

The Mad God’s teeth flash bright as the ornate silver cutlery. Its chair scrapes back from the table. “It melts in your mouth,” it tells her, eyes glittering, “but I won’t make you try it. Walk with me?”

The figure still sits at the head of the table, snatching something from someone’s plate, always, always laughing. Its limbs sprawl like tentacles, like the silken threads of a tapestry, to encompass the whole room. The dinner guests stare as though bewitched, bedevilled, beguiled. Not one of them is looking at Pax. If he were to drop dead with his face in the food his corpse would not be discovered until sunrise.

Pax sniffs and shoves his chair back from the table. He lets Sheogorath (the second Sheogorath – but it must be, what else could it be?) lead him through a narrow door into some winding hallway, the walls lined and rimed with ornate coloured-glass windows. (It’s so much quieter. Still as garishly bright, but Pax is getting the sense that that is inescapable, here; the clothes they wear, as crumpled and covered in travelling-grime as ever and startlingly out of place against the odd jagged finery of the dinner party, seem unimaginably dull in comparison. Everything seems unimaginably dull in comparison.) Outside the windows, they can catch glimpses of the city – its winding, lamp-lit streets, the jumbled mess of its architecture, the sky arcing above it like a child’s attempt at watercolours. Pax wants to smash it, tear it down.

There’s no sun here, but still it’s night. The sky has shifted to purple and black.

“Isn’t it nice?” says their companion; when they look back, it’s nothing more than a shifting impression in the stained-glass window, a series of hairline cracks. It still manages, somehow, to smile at them.

It’s not. The sky is a shadow and the flamboyance of the palace is scraping at their spine. “Sure,” Pax says flatly. When she flexes her fingers, the bruising staining the base knuckle of her thumb aches.

Sheogorath looks at her – an ancient man leaning on a stick, a flickering painting, a bloody corpse, a little girl in velvet-red skirts, a breath. In its mercurial shifting she catches the flowery blossom of the man at the table’s collar, an unpleasant glimpse of her own braided hair, the smell of sulphur. It tips its head. She can’t focus on it anywhere but for the eyes.

“You don’t like my dinner parties,” it announces, as though it’s a revelation, a tragedy; its body crumbles like sea cliffs slowly eroded by the ways. It’s annoying – bloody obnoxious, and incomprehensible, and kind of weird that it noticed, that it would even care. (She’s never liked dinner parties. Nobody ever commented on it before.)

I’ve had well enough of them, Pax could say, or no, I don’t like you, but it’s the fucking Mad God, Daedric Prince of – Pax doesn’t even know what, he’s never known much about this shit, only that it’s well worth avoiding. Prince of the mad and the missing and the foolish, of breaking and breaking and putting yourself back together backwards. She should have said no, but she didn’t, and who knows what would happen if she went back on that now?

It's slinking closer. All that stay static enough to make out are eyes and teeth.

“Pax, yes?” it says, soft-voiced – a hand lands on his arm, small and dry and shivering, the skin as thing as a mouldering leaf. “You have no obligations here. If you want to be on your own, be on your own. We’ve plenty of space for it.”

Pax’s eyes narrow. He does not jerk away from it.

In the light of the coloured sky, the coloured windows, its face is phantasmagorical. “If you don’t want to be here,” it continues – still so skin-pricklingly gentle – “then your hand will not be forced. I’ll speed your way home if you wish.”

They can’t help but twitch at that. It’s setting their teeth on edge. (It’s lying – has to be. After its ages of coaxing them in, meting out information, not telling them where they were until they were on its doorstep, it would not give them the chance to leave.) Rough, still covered in road-grime, Pax asks, “Why should I believe you?”

(None of them have ever given them the chance to leave.)

Sheogorath, a figure of hollow skin and bone, inclines its head. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Pax,” it says. Its eyes are wide and bulging, whites on full display like a frightened horse; it grins again. “Others might. But we’re not a monolith. We’re not even especially similar.”

Pax bites down on the flat edge of their tongue. “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

The light coming in through the windows flickers. The Mad God turns to meet it.

“I’m the youngest,” it says, its voice glittering like mist on the air. “Did you know that? I don’t remember the world without you in it.” Its form spasms, volatile, wings and limbs and eyes like a snail’s on stalks sprouting and choking and subsiding back into its mass. “I’m closer to you than any. I understand, almost.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Pax repeats. She’s gritting her teeth, tonguing at her gums where two are missing. Are two devil-gods not enough to deal with for a lifetime? Is there really going to be more of this now, too?

Rolling through the air like smoke, the voice says, “It will.”

Pax presses purple-green knuckles to her mouth. Her teeth dig into the soft meat of her lip.

Sheogorath turns to face her, hair moving as though blown by the wind, as though tugged by the tides. It sighs. “You don’t believe me,” it says. Its tongue pokes through its teeth. “That’s perfectly fine. Clever, even. But if you want to leave, all you need to do is tell me so.” It pauses, then; the train of its strange, gnarled crown shifts over its shoulders when it moves its head. “Or just leave. The door is still open.”

“You’d be fine with me just leaving,” Pax rasps around his knuckle, “after weeks of not leaving me alone?”

(Of begging him to come, poorly-hidden agitation giving way to blatant franticness, half-swallowing the fear that choked its face in every mirror it spoke to him through. Of begging him still, after he got here, after he met it – begging in a roundabout manner, casual as anything, its every motion reeking of fear. Its abject terror when he turned to leave. You’ve come this far. Why not hear an old man out? Pax told it that it wasn’t an old man, that he didn’t give a shit either way, and it slid through a child, a monster, a sulphur-burned body coughing blood, his own shuddering form in armour he hasn’t seen in months, and it said please.)

(Regained its composure, its gentleman’s face, immediately afterward. But it – the Mad God, unknowable, inconsolable – said please. Pax still doesn’t know what to do with that.)

The Mad God, now, shrugs. Taps at the hairline cracks in the stained glass windows. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” it says, one pair of hands braiding something intricate into its beard. The hand on the glass slips down. “I told you. I do need a champion.”

“And I told you,” Pax bites, something aching and ugly surging in their gut, “not to call me that again.”

A smile, bloody-mouthed and beaming. “But we will abide,” says Sheogorath, and digs its fingers into the cracks of the stone. One brick slides loose, mortar dug up under its nails. It offers it up.

Pax licks their teeth and takes it.

The brick shivers, momentarily – crumbles, in their hand, like sand slithering through their fingers, and left in their palm is a hardy slip of bone. Spiked and sprawling, carved with intricate patterns; it arranges itself around an oval of empty space, the perfect size for four sharp-knuckled fingers.

“You can always leave,” the Mad God tells them, and for a moment it does look so very young and strangely, staggeringly hopeful. “But give it a chance. I think you could love the Isles, if you choose to.”

[occultasacra]

OCCULTALUCE

सिस्टम Mixed media 2023 (Lic.: CC BY-NC-SA 3.0)

[minotaurmerkaba]

[thirdity]

Each given system is in itself part of the enslaving snare of delusion; in other words, as soon as I avow one philosopher or system (e.g., Spinoza or Schopenhauer or Kant or Anaxagoras or Parmenides or Gnosticism) I have become again or more ensnared, as I am by this spatiotemporal world itself; it is as if the eidos of Truth is exploded and splintered like all the eide. And all the Selves and Souls. [...] Of course this means that I can never come up with the whole, true, complete explanation/answer. I can re-collect and re-collect, do better and better, but never completely make unified the eidos of Truth.

Philip K. Dick, The Exegesis of Philip K. Dick

[thegreateyeofsauron]

it really says something that the most popular video game adaption of d&d ever left out the alignment system entirely and nobody even noticed

(it says that alignment is shit)

[xenodelic]

#literally some of our earliest system members are the 2 deer that were on noah's ark <- hold on a sec. that's awesome. say more

So, alot of our early system members tended towards archetypal and symbolic identities, rather than more individualized identities. They would have titles that reflected their role or archetype, such as "Crybaby" or "Bad Kid", rather than personal names.

We have had both traumagenic and metaphysical system members from a very young age. Typically, when we have dissociative splitting, we almost always split fragments. The fragments that begin to integrate, historically have done so through metaphysical means, by finding a sort of cosmic role to fit themselves into, and solidifying their identity around that. This is how we got members such as the 2 mentioned above, who have ties both to our trauma and to an archetype that resonates with them.

We were raised southern baptist and have a lot of religious trauma from that. We were heavily fixated on the story of Noah's ark as a child, and particularly feared what we were taught was an example of G-d's wrath and punishment of humanity.

The dissociative fragments resulting from religious trauma eventually formed into a number of different system members. Eventually, "Buck and Doe" formed. They served as a sort of spiritual protector, helping us be less fearful of G-d's wrath by being an example of the beauty of creation and rebirth that can follow from destruction.

They are not normal deer by any means however. They are unnaturally tall, ethereal, and they always move in perfect sync with one another. This ties into our personal beliefs that the earliest deer were in fact, not entirely of Earth origin, and were vessels for alien DNA to intermingle with Earth's lifeforms. (Which is itself thematically connected to the horror trope of beings that are Not Deer, i.e. the Ritual). But that's a whole post on its own!

[malachitelibrary]

Preliminary Vampiric Energy System Notes

“Vampire” is an incredibly broad term that can be used to refer to beings that feed upon the energy and/or blood of others.  This post will summarize observations I have made on the energy systems of human vampires through direct energy reading.  Basic Definitions:  Psychic vampires are a type of energy feeder who need to source their energy from other living beings. More information is in…

[philosophybits]

Fathers of great ideas tend to be very careless about their progeny, giving very little heed to their future career. The offspring of one and the same philosopher frequently bear such small resemblance to one another, that it is impossible to discern the family connection. Conscientious disciples, wasting away under the arduous effort to discover that which does not exist, are brought to despair of their task. Having got an inkling of the truth concerning their difficulty, they give up the job forever, they cease their attempt at reconciling glaring contradictions. But then they only insist the harder upon the necessity for studying the philosophers, studying them minutely, circumstantially, historically, philologically even. So the history of philosophy is born, which now is taking the place of philosophy.

Lev Shestov, All Things Are Possible