The Book.. Of Gods Who Would Be Men
Jun. 30th, 2022 05:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
joegodaIt started as silence, as most things do. It would be hubris to think that it started on a tiny marble circling a rather ordinary star, and while that might be true, in all likelihood, it was not. There may have been older places with older peoples, on their own tiny marbles, circling their own tiny ordinary stars, but the jury is still out on that one.
On fine winter's day, when the dinner had been eaten and the family had gathered 'round the blazing bonfire for warmth, the eldest of them all stood, creakily and spoke in a soft voice, not so soft it couldn't be heard, but soft enough that very young children curled up in that voice and went to sleep.
It was the first story every told, related in a language that nobody knows anymore and told in a place nobody remembers anymore and spoken to a tribe of people long vanished into the soggy fogs of time.
What the story was is of little matter. It may have been a story about the day's hunt for whatever was being hunted. It may have been a story about the large white ball that hung far up in the night sky, placed there by unseen hands. It may have been a story about how the pinpoints of light in the darkness, far, far above their heads, had once been people, or objects, or animals and were somehow magically transformed and placed where they were by powers both good and evil.
The elder's story fell on open ears and open minds. The story was passed from parent to child, and when that child grew, passed to their children and so on and so on, until that story took on a life of it's on and it began to be believed and retold, and retold and retold.
It was from that one story that all other stories grew. Tiny changes here, large changes there, additions, subtractions, until there was not just one story, but hundreds, thousands, even possibly millions of stories being told, every day, every night. Some were forgotten. Some were not, ever.
The best of them, the strongest characters and most interesting story lines gained a following of storytellers and began to spread across the globe, taking on their own life, growing and growing. Some of these stories became more than stories. They became belief, which is a sort of truth, that may or may not have a shred, a shard, neither a twittle or a twit of fact.
What was once a silence was not, if not a roar, then a very large whisper, echoing out across the cosmos. This whispered roar was not one that could be heard, because, as we all know, in space no one can hear... well... anything.
Thought on the other hand, or more specifically thought with a purpose, known as belief, traveled out, out, and far, far out, in the form of magic known as vibrations, electrical frequencies, and radio waves.
As much as the peoples, plants and animals knew, they were just meat puppets, walking on top of a mud ball, doing the things they did every day and telling the stories they told themselves and anyone who would listen.
The plants, on the other hand, were happy just being plants. They knew better than to say anything at all. Saying anything at all leads to trouble, politicians, advertisements and book banning, and really, who needs that sort of hullabaloo?
These vibrations, frequencies and waves went out, out, and far, far out into the furthest corners of pretty much everything. Sometimes they would bump up against a planet or a moon or a comet or some other something that was just sort of floating there and those vibrations, frequencies and waves might be absorbed, and their travels were ended. The... oh, for the sake of brevity let's call them "VFW" might be totally ignored, left to journey even further on their path, spreading out until they were a mere shadow of themselves. Ghost VFW, as it were. Still there, but mostly not.
There were instances, as any good tale has to have instances, where the VFW met an object, place or thing that neither absorbed them nor ignored them. Instead, those objects, places or things reflected those VFW back, to travel along the path they had come and to end up, spread thin, barely there, hardly a whisper of their former selves right back at the tiny marble from whence they had sprung.
Human beings are funny old creatures. Made of bone, which is a fantastic sort of antenna for VFW, and a brain, mostly water, which reacts to VFW like a mimic and is a really neato transceiver in it's own right. And then there's the whole building blocks of life thing. Genetics! I mean, seriously, if there was any sort of thing around that just cried out "Tinker with me!" it was Genetics. Human beings, oddly enough, are a pretty good receptor of VFW and human beings vibrate with their very own VFW.
The whole thing about vibrations, frequencies and waves is that they are actually the same thing. They are much the same thing as a hamburger is very much a specialized form of a cow.
Harmony and Discord. Two sides of the same coin. One is absorbed and causes the receiver to vibrate in kind, the other causes repulsion and causes the receiver to to vibrate out of kind. If the initial vibrations are exact mirror images, then they cancel each other out, leaving a sort of nul state in their wake.
Thus, human beings are, from conception, transceivers that are in a constant state of Harmony and Discord.
It happens to all of humans, from the state of conception to the end of their life.
With harmonic frequencies, the conceived human vibrates in like, gaining some of the attributes of the other, and passing some of their attributes back. As the conceived human doesn't really have many attributes other than life and a tad bit from either parent, there isn't much to pass back, as well you might imagine.
Discord, on the other hand, either is completely ignored or, in some cases, cancels out certain attributes, as is the wont of disharmonious mirror equals.
What is absorbed is the attributes of those long projected beliefs, finding their way back to the source and finding a home to nestle in, once again. These attributes can lay dormant for a very long time, even past the point of death. Sometimes a traumatic event can trigger the recall of those attributes, resulting in memories that should not be, or dreams that seem so familiar and yet not.
Some times the recall has been called reincarnation, which is a wonderful word. The attributes have become incarnated in a living receptacle and live again to become bigger stories.
Sometimes the recall of those attributes can bring what is diagnosed as madness, multiple personality disorders and, in milder cases, fragmentation of an individual into more than they appear to the outside world.
This is how Gods are born.
On fine winter's day, when the dinner had been eaten and the family had gathered 'round the blazing bonfire for warmth, the eldest of them all stood, creakily and spoke in a soft voice, not so soft it couldn't be heard, but soft enough that very young children curled up in that voice and went to sleep.
It was the first story every told, related in a language that nobody knows anymore and told in a place nobody remembers anymore and spoken to a tribe of people long vanished into the soggy fogs of time.
What the story was is of little matter. It may have been a story about the day's hunt for whatever was being hunted. It may have been a story about the large white ball that hung far up in the night sky, placed there by unseen hands. It may have been a story about how the pinpoints of light in the darkness, far, far above their heads, had once been people, or objects, or animals and were somehow magically transformed and placed where they were by powers both good and evil.
The elder's story fell on open ears and open minds. The story was passed from parent to child, and when that child grew, passed to their children and so on and so on, until that story took on a life of it's on and it began to be believed and retold, and retold and retold.
It was from that one story that all other stories grew. Tiny changes here, large changes there, additions, subtractions, until there was not just one story, but hundreds, thousands, even possibly millions of stories being told, every day, every night. Some were forgotten. Some were not, ever.
The best of them, the strongest characters and most interesting story lines gained a following of storytellers and began to spread across the globe, taking on their own life, growing and growing. Some of these stories became more than stories. They became belief, which is a sort of truth, that may or may not have a shred, a shard, neither a twittle or a twit of fact.
What was once a silence was not, if not a roar, then a very large whisper, echoing out across the cosmos. This whispered roar was not one that could be heard, because, as we all know, in space no one can hear... well... anything.
Thought on the other hand, or more specifically thought with a purpose, known as belief, traveled out, out, and far, far out, in the form of magic known as vibrations, electrical frequencies, and radio waves.
As much as the peoples, plants and animals knew, they were just meat puppets, walking on top of a mud ball, doing the things they did every day and telling the stories they told themselves and anyone who would listen.
The plants, on the other hand, were happy just being plants. They knew better than to say anything at all. Saying anything at all leads to trouble, politicians, advertisements and book banning, and really, who needs that sort of hullabaloo?
These vibrations, frequencies and waves went out, out, and far, far out into the furthest corners of pretty much everything. Sometimes they would bump up against a planet or a moon or a comet or some other something that was just sort of floating there and those vibrations, frequencies and waves might be absorbed, and their travels were ended. The... oh, for the sake of brevity let's call them "VFW" might be totally ignored, left to journey even further on their path, spreading out until they were a mere shadow of themselves. Ghost VFW, as it were. Still there, but mostly not.
There were instances, as any good tale has to have instances, where the VFW met an object, place or thing that neither absorbed them nor ignored them. Instead, those objects, places or things reflected those VFW back, to travel along the path they had come and to end up, spread thin, barely there, hardly a whisper of their former selves right back at the tiny marble from whence they had sprung.
Human beings are funny old creatures. Made of bone, which is a fantastic sort of antenna for VFW, and a brain, mostly water, which reacts to VFW like a mimic and is a really neato transceiver in it's own right. And then there's the whole building blocks of life thing. Genetics! I mean, seriously, if there was any sort of thing around that just cried out "Tinker with me!" it was Genetics. Human beings, oddly enough, are a pretty good receptor of VFW and human beings vibrate with their very own VFW.
The whole thing about vibrations, frequencies and waves is that they are actually the same thing. They are much the same thing as a hamburger is very much a specialized form of a cow.
Harmony and Discord. Two sides of the same coin. One is absorbed and causes the receiver to vibrate in kind, the other causes repulsion and causes the receiver to to vibrate out of kind. If the initial vibrations are exact mirror images, then they cancel each other out, leaving a sort of nul state in their wake.
Thus, human beings are, from conception, transceivers that are in a constant state of Harmony and Discord.
It happens to all of humans, from the state of conception to the end of their life.
With harmonic frequencies, the conceived human vibrates in like, gaining some of the attributes of the other, and passing some of their attributes back. As the conceived human doesn't really have many attributes other than life and a tad bit from either parent, there isn't much to pass back, as well you might imagine.
Discord, on the other hand, either is completely ignored or, in some cases, cancels out certain attributes, as is the wont of disharmonious mirror equals.
What is absorbed is the attributes of those long projected beliefs, finding their way back to the source and finding a home to nestle in, once again. These attributes can lay dormant for a very long time, even past the point of death. Sometimes a traumatic event can trigger the recall of those attributes, resulting in memories that should not be, or dreams that seem so familiar and yet not.
Some times the recall has been called reincarnation, which is a wonderful word. The attributes have become incarnated in a living receptacle and live again to become bigger stories.
Sometimes the recall of those attributes can bring what is diagnosed as madness, multiple personality disorders and, in milder cases, fragmentation of an individual into more than they appear to the outside world.
This is how Gods are born.
