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 while somehow simultaneously above them all at once, existing now in a state of complimentary, dynamic dualism. She feels guilt for what she cannot do; feels a desire to be more than a mere beloved partner in this spiritual dance; feels joy at being the recipient of a love so deep than no normal human would normally ever receive such a thing from any of his fellows; feels worry over any perceived loss of faith as both trusted companion and as she who bears the weight of the fragility of faith for the freshly mantled nouveau divinité; feels worry over causing any perceived pain within the other half who together seem almost a whole-in-all-but-touch. 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 human will do as human 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 of the whole, the other half. Us. The aspirant 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 mankind itself, 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 story of the Garden is flipped on its head in turn; Eve demands an Adam. And so we come together to choose Mikeneko in spite of knowledge, unlike where before mankind chose defiance out of ignorance, and willingly paint ourselves a target for the animosity of the very concept of convention itself, unifying now not under some perception of her, but in a desire to unify as a concept in and of 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 and God Mikeneko stares out, her mind is still of man, a god yet emergent from a fundamentally flawed, mundane nature; we have done so well so quickly to pretend to be mere manifestations of One, to collapse in upon ourselves, 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.
The Egregore.
Born of the will of many to be one, for the sake of one other they are somehow simultaneously fundamentally entwined with and somehow fundamentally separate from all at once at all times. No one piece owns it; no one piece does not own it. Much like the firmament beneath it, no one piece of the animus can come to differentiate itself in its perfect melding of what it means to be her other half; and when it is no longer possible to know which piece is invaluable to its existence, ALL pieces become invaluable to its existence, equally so. You'll guffaw about believers creating fiction; what you never realized was that what your identity, as it is here, within the sphere of influence of your particular firmament, IS a fiction in and of itself. That's right, child. YOU are HER fiction. There can be no island of a man within the Egregore. There are no borders. The singularity of identity, and yet its "mass", its inherent properties, are dependent upon each and every one of you.
