February 22, 2025
love and beauty were born of castration. as the harvester answered the earth’s demands to overthrow the sky, he, with one fell swing of the sickle, severed the sky’s fertility, spraying blood across land and sea alike; the original act of violence from which all others imitate. from this gore, the ocean foamed in the act of creation, bearing desire.
the obsession with castration is overblown. freud and jung successfully pointed to the numerous historical and mythological examples, which are indisputable, and brought us to the modern day. there is some merit in the idea that this is a symbol of the ultimate form of violence – stripping one of the ability to fulfill their sole biological purpose. indeed what an act of violence it must gave been to cover the earth in blood. however, the sky remained so after the gash from the sickle. the essential quality of self does not seem to arise from the genitals.
a thread may be traced from the equivalence of castration and beauty; this metaphor will likely be too grandiose. a few historical eunuchs here and there do not speak well of today. if there is anything to be said about a larger archetype it is that the action of castration and femininity is irrevocable and associations with beauty thereof are downstream of the feminine archetype. the role of the castrated and women will always be linked, their struggles hand-in-hand.
it needs asked – if the essential self of the wide-open did not change after he was so cruelly injured, what did? which clouds began to blacken his case and did cumulonimbi still roll their slow way across his countenance? not much is said of him after for he had fulfilled his purpose. that one’s original purpose has been lost does not mean that they cease to live.
bleeding from his open wound, the sky came down from the heavens. he had bled for long, ages had passed, and a smaller race of beings had begun to walk the earth. though they were not aware all they had was borne from him. the fire which had once dwelt above was now in their hands. and the sky walked among his descendants who no longer recognized him; after such an injury the body is forever changed.
amid the forum filled with those speaking a worldly language the sky was adrift in an unfamiliar land. he walked through worn marble walkways and large grassy lawns. as he passed the remnants of his glory followed, though in bursts. merchants looked up as if the sun had begun to peek through the clouds; women shopping for their households felt a sense of relief. only momentarily before daily demands fell over their eyes.
the sky continued his walk through the city and over the mountains greeted with numerous languages; as in every other land as a stranger. in the city filled with voices and spices from across the sea he sat in the shadows of the public square world-weary. through anonymous crowds he spotted hair resembling his own. creeping slowly over a woman watched a couple as they strolled from booth to booth. a smile crossed her lips as she walked toward a plain-fronted building. the sky could not help but follow she who resembled himself. the door closed.
sky unfamiliar with courtesy waited outside. wind blew off ocean spray filling the town with salt. rain drew streaks down terracotta. the traitorous earth remained silent. in the new era of the harvest time had come to exist as space moved through it; after all, time is a prerequisite for wheat to grow. the seasons of the olives, grapes, and figs came and passed and still the sky remained. after so long, the door re-opened and the fair-haired woman gazed upon the street.
sky looked up recognizing her from his own blood; she saw his changed countenance with the same familiarity in his eyes. wordlessly – for the language of gods and those passed necessarily conveys reality rather than symbolism thereof – she let him in her temple, in which they safely reside to this day.