Екатерина Нугманова – Games of the Gods (страница 5)
It helped me figure this out – "he who carries the fire of knowledge between his horns, thickens and dissolves, and gives knowledge." He led me to a very creepy and at the same time curious movie, Atrium. A dangerous movie. He's not for ordinary people, and the knowledge in this movie has killed more than one person. And all because of the merchants and their thirst for profit. Those who wanted to make money by showing the Atrium cinema and those who wanted to have fun by watching this movie were very severely punished. The lives of these people became food for the dark deities.
The fact is that the film involves the summoning of the Duke of Hell, Astaroth. He is a progressive and advocates the development of science and art. In the Middle Ages, a group of magicians somehow summoned Astaroth. Imagine the picture. The magicians summon him and demand to obey. A creature that is hundreds of years old, which has seen the fall, and the development of more than one civilization requires submission. Astaroth punished them for showing disrespect to his person, and those magicians decided to kill themselves.
In addition to summoning Astoria, the film tells about the levels of Hell. Yes, Dante was right, Hell is really divided into levels. Only he described what would happen to sinners, ordinary Christian slaves. And what awaits everyone else?
The main conclusion I made after watching the movie is that the world of the dead is the first level of Hell. So the expression that we will all meet in Hell has a true meaning.
A note on the nature of Good and Evil.
Maria Corelli. The Tribulation of Satan
My son, at the age of eight, inquired about the concepts of Good and Evil, a question that is not uncommon but is more difficult to answer than inquiries about the origin of life. He also sought to understand what magic is, distinguishing between white and black magic. I responded in a manner similar to this:
Magic is an ancient, profound, and perilous art. It is a discipline that elucidates and explicates all phenomena in the world. There is no issue that cannot be resolved through a magical act (ritual). There is no clear distinction between white and black magic; it is simply power, how it is wielded is up to the individual's discretion. One can use a knife to cut vegetables, or they can use it to harm another person.
To elucidate the dichotomy of good and evil, I resorted to an analogy. A fox pursues a hare. The fox has ravenous offspring, while the hare seeks to survive. Who is in the right? My son argued that the fox's children are hungry. In nature, there are predators that feed on other creatures. It is a natural law. The moral of the story is that whichever side you choose, you will be in the right. You could divert the fox, allowing the hare to escape, or you could let nature take its course. The fox will capture and devour the hare, nourishing its young.
In life, it is analogous. The person who is right for you is the one whose viewpoint, perspective, or worldview you align with. Everything falls within your sphere of influence.
Of course, it is convenient to think in terms of patterns and shortcuts, and to conform to the opinions of the majority. However, in doing so, the uniqueness of one's individuality is sacrificed. The individual becomes a part of the gray mass, a member of the crowd, as unremarkable as a simple pencil, capable only of thinking in the direction dictated by their leader. Even if this leader is like a Pied Piper, leading others to foolishness and death, the followers will still follow.
Vision of the future.
Portrait of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.
– How strange it is that ordinary things sometimes inspire us. For example, someone's work or a dramatic story – I once shared my thoughts with my supervisor.
My companion and I were on the veranda one beautiful summer day. The sun was shining brightly, birds were singing and little fairies were fluttering around on the meadow flowers. They were tiny, about half the size of my little finger, and my supervisor loved them very much. He often took them in his hand and admired them. Their hair was golden and their eyes shone like the sky sparkled in the morning sun.
– You know, it's quite possible that someone will tell my story like that one day. Someday, someone will be so interested in me as a writer and as the heroine of a mystical story," -I continued thinking aloud.
–It's possible, even probable, -the Curator replied to me.
The picture changed. Completely transforming the place we were in. This suggests that one picture has been replaced by another. Now we found ourselves in the Curator's Black Castle, for him it was a place and a home and an office and a throne room and even his prison. In the place where we were, there was a desk, which was littered with thousands of folders. The throne is majestic in black, lacquered. Behind the throne was a window that showed a bloody sky. Two comfortable armchairs located opposite each other next to the fireplace. We sat down in them. There was a green flame dancing in the fireplace, and it was warm. There was also a table nearby, on which a decanter with an empty glass stood alone.
– Do you like the atmosphere in my gloomy castle?
– It's creepy, but it's passable, – I replied.
– I don't know how to answer your question. Answering all of your questions is like cutting off the fifth leg of a chair. The design of such a special high-chair may not be able to withstand it, "my interlocutor said, pouring some wine for himself.
–I can give you your case. The book of your life. It describes your whole life. When you were born and when you will die, where and how you lived, what deeds you did, in how many lives of people and non-people you marked. In short, everything. It contains everything you really want to know, – the Curator continued the conversation.
He got up from his chair, went to his desk, and picked up one of the folders. He came back, standing behind the chair he was sitting in. Leaning his body on his back.
While the Curator went to get the folder, I noticed that his clothes, embroidered with flowers and gold threads, had been replaced by a black floor-length robe. And his hair is sun-colored, jet-black, and waist-length. Only his pallor remained unchanged. The eyes of the owner of the Black Castle became black like his castle, without whites and round like a fish's. The change in his image didn't scare me at all. When dealing with demons, you get used to almost everything, and the fear completely atrophies.
I stood up and took the folder from the Curator's hands. Standing next to him, I felt like a midget next to a giant. My interlocutor was so great. I took the folder and examined it carefully. The folder was not a folder, but a black-bound book. And just as I was about to open it, my companion's stern voice immediately sounded:
– Stop. I have to warn you. All those who read their Book of Life were very disappointed, and did not want to live later. Don't read it. It's not worth it. It is better to live life without knowing your future. Knowing the future has not brought happiness to anyone yet.
–I'll take a look.I'm not going to read everything,– I replied.
When I opened the book, I saw something that, for every person, is usually very scary to see.
Ekaterina date of birth September 27, 1993
date of death (date and month blurred) 2055
The curator put his hand gently on my shoulder.
–It's not that bad, is it? You have a lot of time to live a decent life. You will survive pandemics, political regime changes, see a new era, and become one of the survivors of the harvest. A lot can be done over the years.
For example, to raise offspring with dignity. Become an outstanding writer, travel, see the world. To make capital.
–Yes, of course you're right,– I said, coming out of my stupor, boldly looking at my patron.
The supervisor hurried me on. Saying that I would watch faster while I still can.
I opened the book closer to the middle. There were no letters, lines, or sentences in the book. Instead, there were pictures, like video clips. It was like a vision.
And that's what I saw. I was standing in a room with a table next to me and on the table were my statues of Michael and Gabriel, the Archangels. A handsome young man burst into the room I was describing. He had grey eyes, a slender build and shoulder-length black hair. We argued and swore. At some point, he broke down and slapped me in the face. I fell. Then I leaned on the table and slowly stood up. Coldly, without crying, whining or tantrums, I rose slowly. Proudly, looking at the guy, I straightened up. He changed his face. Tears were in his eyes. The brunette fell to his knees in front of me and pressed his face against my stomach. There was something very intimate and desperate about that gesture. I tried to push him away by his shoulders, but he held on tightly.