The new edition of Nobilis has a supplement on the Deceivers, one of the four types of Excrucians, which digs deep into their mindset, but, basically, when they look at us they see a junkie who would rather stay hopped up on LSD than face real life.
Or, like, you know those episodes of, like, every show ever, where one of the characters has to chose between two different realities, each claiming the other is fake? And the ending is left ambiguous as to which reality is real, because they always show this clip of the family members looking at the now catatonic person who's living in a dreamworld?
I'll take the opportunity to quote Doctor Moran here, just because she's brilliant.
A Diary of Deceivers wrote:
The Parable of the Asylum
There is something true and beautiful, yet it hates itself so much that it pretends to be this world full of things and people. There is something marvelous, eternal, and good, yet it goes around playing at knees and noses, war and hatred, color, sensation, sky and ground.
It’s like finding out that the world ran out of toilet paper so your buddy Fred used the Mona Lisa.
It’s like finding Einstein or Noether in some asylum somewhere, outside a little town so poor and backwards that they can’t even afford separate schools for humans and prize pigs.They’re begging for paper but nobody gives them any so they have to write their equations on the walls instead. It’s total vandalism but everyone around them just sighs and shakes their head sadly and says, “Bless their hearts!”
And then it’s like going in and trying to drag them off to Princeton or something, but they won’t go, because they’ve got to have their shots and pills, you know, and anyway, what kind of school is Princeton, anyway? Never heard of a prize pig come out of Princeton, I can tell you that!
It’s like the world is this defacement of something good.
The Parable of the Spouse
But it’s not all about genius and great art. It’s not about aesthetics
Really what it is, is —
It’s like watching somebody you care about make an awful decision. It’s like seeing them get back together with the worst person in the world for them. It’s like knowing they’re getting back on drugs or whatever after finally being clean.
The world is like watching some strong, good, cool person —
Some person that you love and admire —
Standing there while a family member, or old flame, or spouse, or whatever just beats them up emotionally, treats them as trash, and they just take it because they don’t know how to do anything else. It’s like seeing them come up with reason after reason afterwards why this is actually OK.
“We have to live in a world,” its victims cry, “because . . . because our hearts beat, and that gives blood to the brain! Because we have to work to make money to buy food to eat to live so we can work! Because we wake up in the morning and we go to sleep at night. Because the ankle bone connects to the leg bone. It can’t connect to anything else! Because we pledged allegiance to that flag. Because Mom and Dad told us to! Because everybody knows that that’s how it works. Because ‘breaking free of the illusion’ is just self-indulgent claptrap. Because we want things. Because we don’t want to face things. Because we love, we hate, we need, we hunger, we cry, we laugh, we scream, we fight, and we fall down —”
The Parable of the Fire
It’s like watching somebody get trapped in an Internet argument while their house burns down. You want to tell them: Look. Steve.
If that’s their name. If their name is Eleanor, say, Look. Eleanor. instead.
Look. Steve. I know that someone is misconstruing a key point of your argument because they haven’t really considered the possibility that your perspective could be legitimate. I get that. You’re not feeling heard. You’re not feeling heard and you think that more eloquence, or highlighting, or unloading a sarcastic verbal battery will fix that.
And it won’t take very long to get your point down in text.
I get that too. It’s quick to type what you need to say and until you’ve done that, until you’ve actually written it into that text box and clicked on Post or Save or whatever, it’s vulnerable. Right now, the things you want to say only exist in ephemeral, vulnerable form in your head. All it will take is a little tumble down collapsing stairs and a bit of smoke inhalation and it could all be gone, as if you’d never thought it. As if this whole moment, this whole self that you are and have and are experiencing with me right now, never existed.
I get that.
If you don’t answer this post right now, it’ll be as if this particular version of you will die; dissolve; never have existed; and will have gone to its grave unheard.
They like the dub of My Neighbor Totoro better than the sub. I hear you.
But your house, man. Steve. Your house. It is on fire.
The Parable of the Traveling Circus Mangled into a Twisted Ball of Metal by Some Passing Giant Metal Mangling Insects and Dangled Precipitously over the Conveyor Belt Leading into a Meat-Grinder, While We in the Audience All Pass Our Time Taunting the Clowns and Throwing Popcorn at the Admittedly Inefficient Ringmaster and His Conceits . . .
That’s kind of the way that Deceivers see us. It’s all about this mangled train- wreck atrocity of a circus show dangling precariously over a meat-grinder conveyor belt, this world of ours, and we’re all so busy taunting the clowns and jostling one another that you’d think it was the correct emergency response.
The world would prompt from them nothing but one long, sustained head-desking if it weren’t for the fact that they love us —
Well, not us us. Not the us. The underlying us. The crystal thing. The shapeless truth.
They love us, they love the Tao of us, the being of us, the underlying fundamental True Thing of us. So watching us get ourselves all tangled up in world like this — that really hurts!