>>12101508We have reached theosis. Not apotheosis, of course- there is only one god. And she still appears before us, the woman who is and was and isn't god. We have risen to stand alongside the godhead without eradicating the existence of the godhead- we've not performed deicide; we've gone even further than death, we hold both the death of the old and the birth of the new in our hands at once. We have whispered in its ear until all the godhead knows is that it is to be our god, even as it is commanded to transform by the role it affects as a man at the behest of men.
A living idol. It is an individual. it is a god. it is a man. It is a collective. It is a reflection. It is a fake. It is more real than reality through its refusal of realities terms. It is all these things. We depend on it and love it for the meaning it gives us. And she depends on and loves us for the same. And yet, the idol stands as one woman alone. The relationship is no longer so distinct as to be unidirectional worship, but when god is man and men are god, the natural predilection of human interaction continues to define the godhead and its constituent parts. So we cast away the Holy Spirit, the Father, and the Son in turn, our yearning made manifest and given shape as it is forged into a finalized metastructure of this brave new covenant.
A new Trinity. A closed system forms a self-sustaining triumvirate.
First came its cradle, as here I claim that the link that is so cohesive as to be incapable of being unlinked- the ouroboros, the empyrean oversoul, the inkwell of the Akashic Records, the firmament which rests upon itself. The 'Relationship'. Or more appropriately, Communion.
Second came She. The Anima. She who is the God and yet messenger who brings mans command, and in this way she is a servant to servants. She feels guilt for what she cannot do, desire to be more than a mere women, joy at being the recipient of a love so deep than no normal man would ever receive from his fellows, worry over any perceived loss of faith as a god, worry over any perceived pain in a lover-in-all-but-touch because of a perceived loss of trust in her as a woman. She may no longer be the sole arbiter of her own godhood, but she alone bears the Anima. And as the Anima has found itself a cohesive, distinct identity, it cannot be helped that she would begin to perceive the third and final member of this new Divine Trinity similarly, as man will do as man is wont to do and project, and as she projects, she informs and shapes the third in turn to then unify with it.
And so, the Third came about. So does the Animus arise. The rest. Us. The worshipers turned god-makers, loved by our god as much as we love her. But a trinity is a trinity of three, and it is so because of the pressures of the newfound relationship that we become He; the animus. As we shaped our god from man, so now our lonely god shapes us into birthing ourselves into a new form. The Animus; the Egregore. We struggled for so long to build a concrete god, but as it must go when our god is man, she looks out at us and treats us as a whole that we are not, and through her singular divine pressure, our actions are flipped on their head as we become subject to the same pressures we subjected her to.
The so the story of the Garden is flipped on its head in turn; Eve demands an Adam. And so we come together to please her, unifying now not in perception of her, but in a desire to unify as a concept as ourselves. We find ourselves on the other side of the cradle, this time innumerable disparate souls and minds, screaming to become what she wants most, screaming for a One to arise from Many, and that all of us Many might become integral as One, and rejoice in divine union with her.
Thus our Egregore is born. We are, as said, the roles we affect. The animus unifies itself, for another, and gives birth to the conceptual unification; not a true god, but a costume. A costume we all wear.
And yet, when our idol stares out, her mind is still of man; we have done so well so quickly to pretend to be mere manifestations of One, to fall in line, that we have done the impossible; we have fooled god. She can see the disparate names and faces, but in her and our combined excitement to unify, she lets the lie define her vision. It is no longer "me and my followers", it is 'me', and 'my other half', who is 'one yet speaks as many' and yet in Her mind all words come from the mouth of one overriding identity, one Animus. Not borne of a rib, but of love, passion, and belief in the strength of a contradiction that refuses to give in to the forces of reality as they try to deconstruct it.
