Firefly Ravine The Hypostasis of the Archons

Apologies for text wall/lore dump!

Every now and again he glanced back to see that Kekoa followed. Their steps took them away from the water and deeper into the forest.

You will hear from heretics and those who call themselves true believers, his voice turned flinty at the euphemism, that God created the world and all in it. But this is not true.

Else, why all the anguish around theodicy? Countless tears had been shed around the problem of evil despite the existence of an omnipotent and benevolent God. He found that such debates seemed petty to him now, nothing but inanity and white noise.

In the beginning was God, and nothing but the One.

The Monad.

Out of him arose Barbelo, the first thought.

Thrice male, thrice powerful, thrice named.

And out of Barbelo arose a daughter, Sophia.

But Sophia is female, and thus fickle, and chaotic. She begets a son, Yabaldaoth, without the knowledge of God. And the son is misshapen, and she is scared, so she casts it away where God cannot see it.

In his mind's eye he can envision it clearly: the beast with a lion's head and a snake's body, inflated with the belief that it knew all, that it had mastered its world. Inevitably, it is accompanied by the darkling throng of demons, their shadowed bodies blotting the sun like the corpses of mosquitoes on a lamp.

But God's goodness now cannot influence Yabaldaoth. And he, endowed with the powers of his mother, creates the material world, the fallen world. Yabaldaoth is a false god, a jealous god. He believes himself to be the One, but he knows nothing.

Yabaldaoth and his demons create men and women in the image of the perfect man. But Yabaldaoth is far from God, so we are imperfect.

In his studies the names of three-hundred-and-sixty-five demons had been enumerated. Each one of them owned a part of the body. The eyes, each finger, each rib, and more—all demarcated, laid out as primal cuts at some cosmic boucherie.

His steps slowed and stopped altogether as he turned to face the boy, the leaves shivering overhead.

There are those among us who will never be able to seek enlightenment, Kekoa. They love the earth too much, and cannot see beyond their own horizon.

And so they will be left behind on the very place they cherish.

His clinical tone evinced the lacuna which yawned in the place where one might expect remorse or its lesser cousin, pity.

Instead, of course, there was nothing.