On Earthlings and Changelings

Earth is what I default to. In the word “Earth” there also would be wreathes of other associations such as ecosystems, solar systems, and how what I think is corporeal is really mostly vacuum and energy waves. Still, the strongest aspect or concept offered by Earth is an experience and mindset inarticulable in many other ways, but perhaps it’s corporeality as the basis for reality. Maybe I similarly externalize this in my consideration of Fate as a present and active divinity in my belief.

Earth and Fate are what is left when I have declined and rejected everything else that it is possible to do so to, and even Fate can be a mirror of my own nature as someone with patterns and habits and repetitions who is subject to rhythm and reason.

As I’ve been told, nothing happens in a vacuum (except maybe the literal planet Earth that gets swept around by gravitational forces in what we consider a vacuum of outer space) but there are so many methods to isolate a thing in order to examine it, observe it, and appreciate what we then consider its true nature: immutable, out of context, having evidently survived and transcended its status as a mere product of conditioning or consequence.

This is a given, in my experience and beliefs…and one day, I feel, I’ll be able to turn it on its head.

For now, to me an Earthling means to be subject to these aspects of Earth.

To be human, then, means acknowledging that this isn’t enough. To be an Earthling is inescapable, but insufficient. Maybe there would always be conditions and consequences, even of isolation. To acknowledge bias and try to check it doesn’t mean transcending to some state of being unbiased.

Metaphorically, to grade a lens for the purpose of focusing on something more clearly, something further away, something too small to see with a naked functioning eye, this still manufactures a thing that bends and redirects light energy.

I’ve gleaned condemnations of fatalism and solipsism both, and would consider them both because they are present to be considered…as frustrating as that has been, I consider them polarized notions that form the core of humanity.

To own that center creates the awareness to accept and inhabit the human self, to impact the world. That, to me, is part of becoming a Changeling.

Houyi and the Ten Suns

“Ten Suns” by Hilary Farmer (2009) Link.

I got into a discussion recently where the other conversant expressed the sentiment that good and evil were both needed in the world, in a balance. I disagreed, because to me, good and evil were value judgments: the notion of balance would be good, and imbalance would be evil. We don’t need any evil itself, but it can be confusing when some odd version of evil is conjunct with something such as darkness, which is itself actually…only itself. Neutral. The value judgment put to darkness is not innate.

It reminded me of a story from Chinese legend, about how ten suns rose in the sky one day and razed the earth. Light isn’t good when it does that much harm.

Then again, I also remembered how the people, in their suffering, called upon an archer by the name of Houyi to shoot down the birds that lived in the heart of each sun.

He shot down nine, and was about to shoot down the tenth when this Godly voice bade him stay his arrow and leave a single sun in the sky to grant light and warmth to the earth in a moderate measure.

Part of me is more used to stories about wobbling to find balance, like in “The Otter Fat Wishes” where, as Carl Jung himself said, “Frightful things must happen until (we) grow ripe. But anything else will not ripen humanity.” In the Otter Fat Wishes, the heir had to die so that the king would appreciate him enough to put aside his ego. If this story followed the pattern that I expect, all suns should have been shot down and the world to suffer darkness and winter, and the heroes would journey to earn the sun’s revival with understanding and respect for its part in the grand theme of things. Then everybody would fully understand their duty to keep the balance.

Well, Houyi ripened far more easily: he adjusted right away to the voice of common sense and transcendental wisdom. Leave one sun. Of course.

The need for balance would have been too easy to forget. When the entire realm and all its people are enveloped, inescapably, in a merciless and overwhelming sunlight…then even a little bit of that can be a threat, and a reminder of the worst suffering.

In such circumstances, evil associates itself inextricably with light.

So, I completely understand the impulse to shoot them all down. I wouldn’t even have listened to the voice of the sun God, who brought about all this trouble in the first place with no explanation.

What stayed Houyi’s hand?

Is that in me? I must ponder more on this to find that quality.

On Transverse Thought

Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes is a compilation of folktales with analysis and commentary added. I read it when I was about nine years of age because I didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to. It had fairy tales, so it was age-appropriate, wasn’t it?

In any case, that was when and how I caught the idea that, in fairy tales, the main character’s parents tend to be dead before the call to adventure if they aren’t going to be antagonists in the story. This wasn’t a realistic representation of reality: niceness isn’t fatal. This wasn’t a moral demonstration. If it was an artistic choice on the part of the teller and retailers, then the cliche would eventually be enough to put audiences off…wouldn’t it?

The prevalence of this trope, as Estes explained, was in its symbolic value: that of the turning point of self-actualisation, when a person realises that their value system is different than their parents’. Stories represent this shift through the death of the good-and-perfect parent, and often the introduction of the wicked step-parent. In some extradiegetic life, supposedly, they are the same person or the same idea of authority figure, but the psyche of their child tends to make some distinction or else acknowledges the shift through understanding the event of an in-story death.

How, then, would an extradiegetic death be symbolised?

It could be by some grand natural disaster that ends all existence or life as we know it. Or it could be by the fall of a single leaf. Death could even, confusingly, be symbolised by death.

So goes the transfer between the corporeal world and the otherworld.

The nature of any given focal point in the otherworld, too, is (from what I’ve observed) not only mutable but multi-dimensional. How the word “fae” can retain its meaning when applied to all of the following: to the powers of order, to the powers of disorder and madness, to the liminal beings interacting with humanity, to personifications of non-people entities, to people on the other side of some insular idea of people that somehow still remain people but in some other reality, to beings who speak in a language like the sound of bells and that were born of the laughter of newborn humans, and to miniature humans that grow out of flowers and have butterfly wings, to corporeal human beings who claim bloodline or inner nature that is fae…is a mystery that I can respect.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t know what I’m doing, unless I’m doing it wrong. I find out by doing, translations, transliterations, interpretation, creation, and all the warp and weft of fabrication.

An Aeon in Fairy

This is a story that I believe:

Once upon the fae, there was time. The great royal houses ordered this aeon in the realm of the Fairy, and it was they that ensured each single moment would last exactly one moment, and those of the past would precede the present.

As this order is long gone, perhaps it continues still. Not even the fae can keep the way to keep the past in the past in the past, after all.

Yet, let us tell of the past…

Twelve great royal houses put lights in the skies above the Fairy, and knew the songs that would move the lights in their turn.

(In this aeon, light and song were the same.)

These songs cast light upon the four races, the two sexes, and the harmony of the hierarchy. Under this aeon, each fae had their place and purpose as permitted by the royals. In this aeon, ability and permission were the same.

So it had always been, so it is, so it ever will be—

—but this is no more, and without order there is nothing.

Yet, let us tell of the now…

The great houses are gone from Fairy. The folk that remain cannot agree on whether this was in a sudden moment, or a gradual fade. The folk that remain do not even have rumors why to accompany this loss.

Lesser nobility claim lineage, but a claim is all it is. They are gentry, lords and ladies, not Emperors or Empresses. While the gentry promise order, there are no lights in the sky, and there is mostly silence where there was once mostly song.

The flora of Fairy now move and kill to feed, when they had (once upon an aeon) been as tamed by the light as the people were tamed by the great houses.

The people of fairy now consume what they will, and intermarry, and gender themselves however they will, in contrast to when the great royal houses once ensured the purity of each race through rations and breeding.

Few of the fae sustain the traditions of the lost royals, because such an order was all they knew and therefore all they remember (even if they know not the whole of it, elsewise nothing should have changed.)

Few of the fae dare to tell tales of a time before the aeon, as if a time before time were possible. Such fae tell of races were once numbered innumerable, and that one of four would not be as pure as the great houses told. Such fae have the ability to tell outside of what permissions they were given to tell, in a world without permission, and thus: they are evil (at least, to those with loyalty to the royalty.)

Most of those that remain have light of their own, songs of their own, for they have grown hearts in the bleakest of tragedy: the end of the world as they know it.

Nothing can come from this. Fairy is doomed.

Yet, let us tell of ever after…

Glamour is the light and song.

Glamour is the heart and name.

Glamour is the sobriquets and masquerade.

There are no myths in the Fairy, for the Fairy is the myth.



This was a story that I believe.