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Let’s review what we’ve said so far.

The universe as we’ve explained it is the division of God throughout—or the inclusion of God within—the created things. The passages that allude to the notion of “The Verb” tell us this, and thus the different scales and states of matter point to the existence of Planes (Physical, Astral, Mental, Buddhic, Spiritual, Divine, Aeonic) which vary in the density of their respective energies. Having said this, it is more than clear that what we’ve tried to illustrate is a theory of spectrums that has its place between the Planes. I will insist that in order to understand the rest of these writings, the importance of this concept cannot be overlooked.

We cannot be faulted for thinking of the Planes as static models—separate from each other. But if we kept this visual example, we’d have problems explaining how things from one Plane interact with another. In adopting a theory of spectrums, we would then be taking into account the appearance of those objects.

Having the Planes interact with each-other in a spectrum means there’s a bit of everything within the objects we know—in a similar sense to the “we’re made of star stuff” phrase. Galaxies, stars and planets all share this proximity, just as much as we and any other sentient lifeforms do. When it comes to this case, the seven-plane-spectrum replicates within individuals as a seven-gate-spectrum we know as Chakras, but I’ll refer to them as Gates.

These gates are whirlpools of energy-typologies which link a being with the Planes that come before them. Under the scope of spectrums, the relationship between the body and its gates seems difficult; how can so much be woven into so little? Naturally, the gate-spectrums don’t suggest an equivalency of energy in the bodies that host them—but rather that they channel the various properties of other Planes through these gates in their respective scales. We cannot expect the same performance or output out of two objects with different qualities when it comes to these terms.

If we’ve paid close attention, then we also know that thought and ordinary matter share particles relative to space-time and force-heat. It is upon this discovery that the magic of this world creates its bedrock. Thought, as we’ve described it, makes use of these particles for its imagery; it is only natural, then, to assume that if the mind’s reach for thought was extended beyond the body, other objects could be manipulated as well.

If we want to comprehend this better, we must look no further than the words imparted by one of Arthur Schopenhauer’s biographers—who’s philosophy molds a good deal of these writings:

“It is a perennial philosophical reflection that if one looks deeply enough into oneself, one will discover not only one's own essence, but also the essence of the universe. For as one is a part of the universe as is everything else, the basic energies of the universe flow through oneself, as they flow through everything else. So it is thought that one can come into contact with the nature of the universe if one comes into substantial contact with one's ultimate inner being.

Among the most frequently-identified principles that are introspectively brought forth — and one that was the standard for German Idealist philosophers such as Fichte, Schelling and Hegel who were philosophizing within the Cartesian tradition — is the principle of self-consciousness. With the belief that acts of self-consciousness exemplify a self-creative process akin to divine creation, and developing a logic that reflects the structure of self-consciousness, namely, the dialectical logic of position, opposition and reconciliation (sometimes described as the logic of thesis, antithesis and synthesis), the German Idealists maintained that dialectical logic mirrors the structure not only of human productions, both individual and social, but the structure of reality as a whole, conceived of as a thinking substance.

As much as he opposes the traditional German Idealists in their metaphysical elevation of self-consciousness (which he regards as too intellectualistic), Schopenhauer stands within the spirit of this tradition, for he believes that the supreme principle of the universe is likewise apprehensible through introspection, and that we can philosophically understand the world as various manifestations of this general principle. For Schopenhauer, this is not the principle of self-consciousness and rationally-infused will, but is rather what he simply calls “Will” — a mindless, aimless, non-rational urge at the foundation of our instinctual drives, and at the foundational being of everything.”

It is now that we enter new territory with our content. Instead of thought shaping out objects within the vicinity of experience, the force that acts here is Will. We’ve a few reasons to suspect this: the original translation within the passage of Genesis that speaks of man’s likeness to God, for example. It is here that we’ll note that man is not like God in appearance, but in action. Man creates, and in this he is like God—even if man and God’s creation does not compare. The translation is that of continued creation, not as something static. The Greek physis, not the Latin natura.

With these new ideas in mind, the world we’re trying to outline here is a competition of wills. The strongest wills determine the conditions for every other living being. This isn’t new to us, at least speaking in a social level. But perhaps what we’re trying to get at also involves a material sense: the strongest wills dominate the perception of objects around us. It sounds simple enough, but this is mostly due to our image of a conscious will. The type of will we’re interested in is the collection of different types of will—that of the body that reacts without the consent of its host, the one exerted without mental distraction; all of these are pooled into a greater category we will call the Conatus, a concept developed by the philosopher Baruch Spinoza which will be modified here.

Similar to Schopenhauer in the panentheistic view (yet vastly different), Spinoza sees the universe as God himself, and considers it erroneous to attribute him some form of personhood. Doing so would be humanizing God, which is hardly conceivable (in his opinion) for a deity. His system for God is our title: God-or-Nature, in Latin Deus sive Natura. In a way, it expresses the all-encompassing nature of God and locates our existence within him—which is parallel to the system we’ve described in earlier writings.

Like the Gnostics, we’ve also included a system of Aeons in this world theory. We’ve said how God separated himself throughout creation, and in a way imply that it is his matter that composes the known world. In a system that assumes the competition of things, however, we must also assume that some objects are infused with a higher quantity of matter than others. Aeons express this advantage, as mindless clusters of God that inhabit certain people. They cycle throughout life, and as a host passes, another is born.

The idea is straightforward. The world is composed of competing wills, with what we call ‘nature’ assuming the most consistent one. What holds us from exerting the changes we wish upon objects are the gates that regulate our will. The will, the conatus, that nature upholds is an impersonal one. When a person’s gates are unlocked, however, their will flows outward like a field that overlays that of nature. This then proceeds as the following formula: changing one’s perception effectively alters the objects they experience.

We see this all the time. An architect perceives things differently from a medical doctor. They prioritize details in a different way. Ergo, what constitutes the importance of an object for them not only differs, but it makes the same object different. Their will transforms the object. A water bottle that is thrown at us, for example, stops being ‘just’ an object and transforms itself into a threat. In order to do this, however, the person’s will must override the object; if two forms of will clash with the same degree of intensity, the object will not be transformed.

In the same way that there are Aeons, there exist fountains and wells of energy among the lands which bypass the initial restraints the gates pose. It is through these that people have forged Regalia—mediums that allow communication with nature’s will. Though these can be any number of items, they need to be tuned to their user. Cities like Pleroma and Paralipomena are such examples of being built around wells of energy. This sort of technology, however, only allows for the manipulation of qualities and not objects in their entirety.

It takes practice to unlock one’s gates, we know this much. Carl Jung once said the West is incapable of becoming spiritual again—we can apply this phrase to what humans are in the world of these cities. Worries, fears and material priorities prevent many from utilizing the power described here. Aeon hosts, for example, were thought to be born with their gates unlocked—yet they’re not exempt from clogging them in a similar manner to those of the general populace. A better description might be that their respective Aeons ‘push’ those gates open, allowing for their will to seep through the infrastructure of reality without posing inherent control. The gifted that do not polish their talent are aware of this; they influence their surroundings without much effort, often without explanation.

With this, the forces that move the world of Pleroma and Paralipomena become clear. The phrase that implores one to know thyself—as said by Socrates and Plato—in this context sheds much light. In knowing oneself, the gates that keep a person from the rest of nature are opened, and their will becomes the will of nature. In this world that patrons a contest of wills, only the strong witness the manifestation of their desire. We are now ready to accompany the future heroes in their awakening.

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