Saturday, July 09, 2011

Birds of a Feather and the Playthings of the 12/ Part 2

By Brian George

In my own travels, I have often met with snake-beings and with bird-beings, who, as the guardians of the dimensions they inhabit, must first determine if we have any right to be there. To this end, they inspire fear. They torture both our bodies and our intellects, in order to resuscitate our memories. They may cut us, piece by piece, apart—to remind us of how we were originally put together. For this reason I have little patience with many of the current crop of conspiracy theorists—such as David Icke and Michael Tsarion—who have demonized these inter-dimensional helpers, and portrayed them as the dark oppressors of our race.

At the very least, it is counterproductive to demonize the energy of the Snake, which is, after all, the energy of Wisdom. One could even view it as a kind of psychic suicide. "It is we who are the good guys! Those bad Reptiles from Orion are the ones who are ruining the neighborhood!" This is little different from saying that the Jews killed Christ, and that this is why Christians have been forced to act so badly. This sort of "reasoning" never ends well. Fears projected into other-dimensional realms will still return to make us stupid.

The true enemy of any paranoid is the energy of his or her subconscious mind—or, to be more blunt, his or her tendency to systematic extermination; some prehistoric insult cries out to be avenged. To the one side, those with 12-strand DNA, an army of the Evolved. To the other side, the League of Aborted Fetuses from Orion. For it came to pass that Eugenics had not yet seen its finest hour. The New Age did not begin in 1985. It is more likely to have begun around 1885, and we ignore at our own risk the occult actions of the “Superman”—as revealed by the last century, bit by contradictory bit.

There is the Superman of Nietzsche and his later Fascist incarnation. There is the Superman of DC Comics and the Superman of New Age antediluvian nostalgia—oddly similar to the Fascist version. There is the real Superman and his almost exact duplicate. For our purposes there is very little difference between the two—except that one may kill you and the other one may not.

In any event, it is towards him that all archetypes converge. He is the shadow of the Apocalypse; the fulfillment of our dreams. It is he who whets our appetite for omnipotence. He prompts us to reclaim our birthright, and, at the same time, takes back what he gives.

The Superman that we think we know is not at all as user-friendly as he seems—at least not on purpose. He puts on the Collective Unconscious like a telekinetic glove. An alien stares from behind large eyeglasses. He is not from the USA, or from the labyrinth that the birds once hid beneath Antarctica, or from any place in the solar system. 

He is nothing if not terrifying, as dark as he is bright. His gender is in doubt—the result of one or more mechanical appendages, of one too many transplants gone berserk. He is the stranger born to Chaos and Geometry; an experiment hatched in the depths by the Sitra Achra; the child of an imploded sun, now black, whose arms turn backwards.

It was he who appeared to the Gnostics as Abraxas.

He is the god who falls; the Dawn Star; the master of intoxication; who has been transformed by the taste of human blood; whose heart is good; whose memory is clear. He is the afterbirth of a catastrophe; the flowering of a dream that the Thule Society first planted in the ocean; the alchemical child of Reich Youth Leader Baldur and a test tube. 

There is no way to disentangle the threads of the conspiracy against us. Luckily, there is no real need to do so; its beginning is not different from its end—which is the record of our own projections. Encyclopedic knowledge does not offer any real protection against the Shadow; the magic force of Maya turns one conspiracy into thousands, and then each one of those thousands into several thousand more. 

(Illustration, Brian George, Archetypal figure with bow and lightning arrow, 2004)

New posts every 2-3 days in my blog Masks of Origin

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