daemons

Let's talk about daemons.

 

Daemons, in the 2013-2018 Spectrum timespace, were "incarnated vices" meant to force their heart-host into admitting and facing that vicious reality as being THEIRS, instead of denying and running from it; after all, we cannot repent if we don't know what we're repenting from, let alone if we're denying the fact that we have sinned in the first place. Daemons bring all that front and center. Most importantly, though, is the fact that they are madly in love with their hosts. They adore the souls they are enslaved to, that they exist for and from forever. A daemon is your deepest fears and biggest faults given bones and breath and beating heart, and they love you, but they will devour you if you are not careful. They are inherently dangerous, and they are absolutely indispensable. A daemon can teach you the most radical forgiveness, but they can also falter and fall into a sort of punchdrunk moral relativism, so unable to hate that they forget that their very core is hateful. Their guts are painted black. No matter how soft a wound is, it's still a wound; it's still blood and it's still damage.

 

Rio's Daemon is Lethe Styx. He personifies fear of nothingness/ the unknowable, and the vice of sloth as a result? He is named after two rivers, both of oblivion-- one of thought, one of body.

Rio is prone to intense self-distraction, for the sole purpose of not having to face the silence, trying to block out the river-rush of blood in one's ears.

…
 

Markus's Daemon is Medallion Guillotine. She personifies fear of weakness, and the vice of avarice, arguably. She is named after two symbols of power-- the first to hoard, the second to behead, and both with the ability to destroy life outright.

…

 

Chaos's Daemon is Perfect Chaos. He mentally detached himself from that potential in his soul for so long, and with such disturbed fervor, that Perfect was almost forced to "daemonize."

He personifies unending agony. At heart, it is the fear of (loss? despair?) and the vice of wrath. When grief bores too deeply into your soul, it hits the fires of hell and burns everything to death.

Perfect Chaos himself is an ironic "just deserts" to those who sought "perfection" in worldly ways-- through control, power, and pride. To such people, "perfection" meant becoming like a god, but not like God.

…

 

Jewel Lightraye's Daemon is Dendrite Aorta… or so we've been told. Jewel herself, being the heart of an entire identity bloodline, is paradoxically as unstable as she is invincible.

She is the fear of forgetting oneself??? and the vice of pride.

Jewel's mind and heart are both deemed intrinsic to the very existence of the Spectrum, as is the integrous preservation of both, and as such she has a fatal proclivity to consider herself perpetually innocent. Dendrite exists to tell her, awfully but honestly, that she's not. And that is terrifying.

…

 

Jay Iridos's Daemon is Infinitii Eternos. Ze personifies fear of intimacy and the vice of lust, shockingly so. Ze is named after both heaven and hell themselves, in a sense; the "infinite" potential of "I and I," of two become one, and the "eternity" of "nos," of "us." But whether that unity is of ardor or abuse, remains to be seen, and that is the terror.

 

 

 

What about me, then? Who am I, now, really?

I'm not Mr. Iridos or Ms. Lightraye, even though their hearts are still so close to mine I can feel them in my very ribs. They switch out and front on their own now, separate from the Core function, having held that hierarchal honor in the past and now relinquishing it to… who? Who am I?

I am of their bloodline, inevitably. But what "surname" is mine? Do I carry something new?

The Lightraye purpose of birthing the League, the Iridos purpose of sustaining the Spectrum… I must admit, although those functions still exist and are executed, they are not in the first place mine. When Leaguework is done, I am almost a ghostwriter; I know Jewel moves these hands in her own way. When Spectrum work is resumed-- literally as of Thursday night-- Jay is still front and center, the core that carried what time we forgot, and must integrate to continue onwards.

 

We've moved into an apartment. We've entered an entirely new reality-space. Body care and life awareness are suddenly prioritized. Religion is more fervent and beloved than ever before. Existence has changed on the outside, but what is it inside, now?

The Spectrum has been dormant for years. Now that it is awakening, who am I, within it?

 

I still love Chaos Zero, with my entire heart, God knows I love him enough to die. That is proof that I am a Core, that I am a genuine coeur and love is my absolute foundation.

 

But what is my name? Am I red, or white, or cerise, or even brown? And do I have a Daemon?

I can feel Infinitii is not mine; since Jay woke up, all the hidden love for hir has bloomed again in him. But he isn't tied to Chaos anymore. I am. And… that cannot be ignored. I'm the Prism, now; I'm the heart of glass through which the Light breaks into colors. But it all feels like echoes. There have been so many cores, and they were and are so alive, so real… I feel so empty, and hollow, and wrecked on some level compared to them. Maybe it's bleedover; I am sure there is still so much healing to do, on levels we haven't looked at, solely because innerspace has been closed off while it rebooted.

 

We'll work on it. I promise. As of right now it is 12:30 AM, I need to be awake at 7, and grandma is still in the hospital, God be with her still.

I must sleep, and pull myself together, however feebly, until morning. Pray that God reveals to me who He wants me to be, in truth, in respect to the entire life He has given me. Pray that He shows me soon, and that I can see it clearly when He does.
 

phone entry 032722

My new name is JOEL LAETARE?????
I've been praying so much about it. God I continue to pray; if this is true, confirm it with Your Truth, please.

But yeah! I went to Mass at NOoL for once this morning-- they're the only folks with an 8AM Sunday Mass-- and everything was UNEXPECTEDLY PINK.
That holy rejoicing, WITHIN THIS PENITENTIAL TIME, is so resonant with my soul. It is joy IN the pain, BOTH of them holy, and UNITED.

"Laetare" is NOT identical to "Gaudete": the latter is still hope for a fullness of Joy in the expectant waiting for it, but it occurs during a time of PROMISE?

ROSE IS NOT PINK!!! IT'S RED FUSED WITH WHITE!!!
THAT is why my resonance shifted to "pink"; THOSE TWO COLORS ARE INSEPARABLE IN MY HEART BUT I KEEP HOLDING THEM SEPARATELY AND IT DOESN'T WORK.
This is why!!

⭐in the Spectrum, boys are LOVERS and girls are CARETAKERS???? It's been GLOBAL in the innerworld SINCE CHILDHOOD but never really "noted" as it was so normal.
Jewel fronting w/ grandma made this point hit home today; she was totally focused on directing her optimistic charm into doting on this dear frail woman.

Rubellite fronting to drive home; staved off bloodsugar panic. She apologized genuinely for her mania, but we reassured her there was no need-- her energy was REQUIRED to keep us stable.

Dinner at 8PM WTF ;______; but God got us through. Prayer works yo. We didn't even get sick!! (Jewel~♡)

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Understanding Colossians 2=  The wisdom and knowledge of God that is held in its fullness Within Christ can only be known through love for God is love.  Therefore by knitting our hearts together in love we are able to know him And understand the wisdom of God in him.  Arguments cannot teach or Understand or reveal these truths of God.

Thinking.

 

I lost almost two hours on hollow pursuits-- adding U2 albums to the League Shuffle Songbank, looking for mentions of God/Christ in the lyrics; and looking through random Tumblr & Twitter pages for the same. But in both cases, I kept seeing ugly things instead: despair, rage, mockery, sex, violence, self-idolatry, crudity, vanity, and other satanic thoughts.

I always feel soulsick after exposure to anything like that, now. My spiritual immune system (pun intended?) has been absolutely militant lately; the slightest infection of worldliness is met with nauseating symptoms and, ideally, an equally forceful rejection of the evil germ. Unfortunately sometimes I just sit here dry-heaving and miserable; there's too much corrosive rot in my gut to expel safely; vomiting it up would burn a hole in me. I know. Sometimes "cutting out everything" in one blaze of sickened rage-- a definite RED function, God bless them, I recognize their hearts-- is too much of a shock to the spiritual body. I'm still a child, in that regard. I am weak; I still have lingering compulsive affections for some of those things, which I once apparently enjoyed but have now developed a debilitating allergy to (My Lent has been following that EXACT course of development on BOTH inner and outer respects). Although I would love to just spit it all up and have it gone, I cannot do so properly on my own. I need help. I need holy medicine. I need the Divine Physician.

I ended up talking to Laurie about it.

She commented that I was "chasing fireflies while the moon is right there," being so used to only seeing flickers of light in the dark that I didn't yet grasp the concept of light remaining constant.

Past Cores-- I think of Cannon in particular-- have lived in horrific darkness, almost perpetually so. It was their default state of existence, punctuated periodically by precious points of light that they desperately clung to and hoped for and sought out in all the wrong places. On some level, yes, they knew they were seeking God, but they did not yet know God. Their searching was therefore always doomed to fall short of satisfaction, to never achieve lasting deliverance, as they were only "chasing fireflies"-- creatures, flickering with dim and finite glow, something that was not intrinsic to their being and limited to successful chemical reactions; the illumination they offered was as unreliable as it was insufficient. Oh it's light, sure, but it's not Light. Yet it was all they knew. The moon was hidden behind clouds, perhaps, or maybe it was too new... maybe they just never looked up.

In any case, back then, we didn't know God... not well enough, at least. Yes we were religious, and yes we did pray, but even that matched the rhythm of the fireflies: erratic, feeble, almost artificial. It wasn't personal. We recognized light, absolutely, but only as light-- not as a reflection of some greater reality, not truly. I think we idolized those small reflections... every glimmer we could grasp, we pressed so tightly to our heart, that our arms were closed to the Cross.

I jump immediately to that because it's the bottom line. In our suffering, our hope was always for deliverance, but it got stuck in the sparkles? Like, we thought we could collect enough of them to overpower the darkness still suffocating us. That was our conception of God; this was proven in CNC when we flat-out slipped into a sort of pantheism.

But ironically, the more glitter you hoard, the darker the shadows stand behind it. After all, those trinkets you are treasuring-- where are they getting their light from? Batteries? Phosphorescence? Mirrors? In any case, it's not inherent. We failed to recognize that. All the gold in the universe won't save your soul, and no amount of glamour will stop the march of death.

Every firefly will fall to the ground in time. Then what?

Well, then you have to look elsewhere. That's when you notice the moon.

Laurie symbolized the moon quite insightfully; that, too, is not God. But it's much closer to Him, because it DIRECTLY reflects the light of the Sun. Nothing else does that so completely or definitively-- we only perceive it by that reflection. The very identity of the moon-- all its beauty and power-- comes from its relationship to the Sun.

Now we can take that metaphor further, but now isn't the time. I'm sticking to what Laurie said to me, concisely but with enough kick to send me reeling. Everything she does is a gutpunch and I love it.

But that's the moon, too, and THAT was her point.

There is nothing wrong with fireflies or moons or any other lovely thing in God's Creation. But it's HIS. It's not Him.

For us, we stopped chasing fireflies when they disappeared into darkness and in our soul's desperation we turned our eyes heavenwards, and saw a genuine glimpse of God.

...There are only two things in all the world that can be the moon in this respect, and they are arguably identical at heart... religion, and love.

Religion itself can be an idol. Ritualism holds no salvation. What we require is relationship, with God. But we can also just seek relationships without God, which will become our religion if we are not careful. We become lunatics, eventually. The yearning will drive us insane. It's unsustainable. We cannot live on photos of food. We need the Bread of Life.

One day, even the moon will lose its splendor; a cloud will appear, a storm in the night, and its glow will disappear behind terrible turmoil, lit by brazen bolts of cruel new light, shouting out their arrival with awful pride; their light is blinding, not guiding, and it burns everything they touch. False teachers arise; lies swallow up the sky-- religious trauma and sexual abuse turn the moon black and cold... and fear reigns, and we are more lost than ever. We are wrecked. That was 2018, for us.

Well, then what?

Then we wait for dawn.

But we cannot know the dawn exists until we have first endured that awful night... and we cannot welcome the sunrise until we have forsaken all the other lights we have walked by. Even as we still struggle in the dark, we will continue to fear and seek lesser luminaries until we take a leap of faith and hope for what we cannot see but know MUST exist. "There must be something other than this," we plead, and the ache is echoed by all hurting humanity. We've seen enough reflections, enough facsimiles. We know that they do not satisfy. We feel sick and groan with pain, and our only lifeline left is faith. At some point, a switch must flip, touched by a lover or a hymn or a firefly-- and suddenly trust with our very soul that there is hope.

And we wait, in the shadow of the Cross.

But the dawn reveals itself to us. It cannot be forced or imitated. It must solely be hoped for, sought after, focused upon, believed in.
And one day, we will see a promise rising in rose on the horizon, and we will wonder, and we will rejoice, because if we have truly been seeking God then our inmost being will recognize His Face there, at last, at long last, the

That's where this metaphor ends. You can only think and type so much before it gets exhausting, and the wisdom of children prevails... simple, pure, and true.

What I'm trying to say is that my heart-- our heart-- will never be happy until it sees the Son.

But yeah. Hence the internet illness.

The only cure is Christ. Light Incarnate. Hope fulfilled. Tangible joy. He is everything. He is the Sun that never sets, even when it looks like it does in this world of night. But it's only an illusion, thank God, thank God-- because when we no longer live "in the world," well... then we realize that it's always "daytime" in space, so to speak. And we ascend there, to the heavens, when we die to the world with Him, joining Him on the Cross.

No more symbolism, haha. Childlike faith only now. My brain hurts. Let my heart speak instead.

Christ is the only Light & Food I need, and the only Light & Food I want. Everything else is empty. I don't mind. I have Him.