Wednesday, June 29, 2016

EC 549
A Happenstance Witness and The Holy Ghost:
Neither a novel or documentary, but for the patient reader
a timely story about the collapse of Modern and Post-Modern Times.
By © Ludis Cuckold
Events 72 Years Ago (17)

There is no water in the lake.” I have come to realize that this means the lake of my dream was in the crater of a volcano. Many lakes form in such places, until the Earth opens her throat to either spit them into the clouds or swallow them.

It has been my ‘luck’ to live in many places that have since been erased or have otherwise disappeared.

The first place is my family’s apartment on the corner of Peace and Freedom streets (Miera un Brīvības ielas). The building received a direct hit at the end of WW2. Due to the confiscation of small businesses by large ‘legal’ corporate business entities and the consequent empoverishment of the population at large, the lot stands empty to this day.

The second place is my aunt’s farmstead, where I survived the years of WW2. Only a stone foundation, a chimney, and a red thread that I have placed around a stone at what used to be the entrance remain there now.

The third place is the refugee camp in Germany, which in later years was transformed into a Daimler-Benz car factory.

The fourth place is the address of 327 Columbus Avenue in Boston, which is no more.

The fifth place is Newton Corner, Newton, Massachusetts, which was raised in a ‘renewal’ project.

The sixth place is in Epping, New Hampshire, where my then wife and I lived, while she did her apprenticeship at the Machester Union Leader

The seventh place is likely to be my present residence in a neglected corner of Latvija, where I live by design in order to learn of the true condition of my country and the nature of its leadership.

What connects the disappearance of all these places is the instability of the ‘culture’ fostered by the city. The situation is well described by the 47th hexagram of the I Ching: “There is no water in the lake: The image of Exhaustion.”

The 47th hexagram instantly triggered the memory of a dream I had when about 23 years old and living on Columbus Avenue, but a stone’s throw from Boston’s Copley Square, Public Library, Back Bay, and Newbury Street with its art galleries.

I dreamt that I was swimming in a lake at dusk. I was swimming toward a young woman who I intended to emprace. However, just as I had reached her and was about to give a kiss, the lake emptied, and I found myself standing naked in the middle of what had been a lake. Where did the water go?

I was given the answer when I found myself running naked down a mountain side. In short, I was following the course the water had taken: at the foot of the mountain, I came to the shore of a sea. The sea apparently was where the water of the lake had run into.

But when I wanted to run into the sea, I was stopped from doing so by a boat that was patrolling along its shore. On the deck of the boat was a machinegun, and the gun was aimed at me.

I awoke and wondered who the young woman in the lake with me had been. Perhaps I have remembered the dream for all these years because I never found her. Or was it Anne, who, supported by her mother, aborted our child, then refused to speak about it? How could I have forgot this?

Now that I think back, I also remember the dream about the blueberry tulip (see EC 542), which emerged from all the blueberry blossoms which had dried up on the forest floor as the household of my aunt had gone to the forest on its annual blueberry picking expedition. I awakened from the dream with a profound sadness, even as I remembered that the dream ended with me coming out of the forest and finding at the edge of it two large tables set for a Thanksgiving meal. In place of turkeys, there were two large orange pumpkins steaming and emitting the aroma of pumpkin and nutmeg.

In real life no such Thanksgiving ever took place, but another scenario has etched itself in my mind.

My mother and her children are being packed by the young German lieutenant—her ever so brief lover in the midst of war—into a truck filled with German soldiers, the truck started to pull away with me still standing on the ground. I scream: “Wait! Wait! Don’t leave me!” and run after the truck. A German soldier on the ground grabbed me by scruf of my neck and the seat of my pants and even as we both ran, literally threw me into the back of the truck. Was the soldier the ghost, the scarab of my father on leave from Astrahan?

The remainder of the household, aunt Emma including, which left the farm a day later*, did not fare that well. As soon as it got onto the main highway, it was strafed by Soviet airplanes. Two of the horses ‘who’ pulled the wagons of household items and food were killed and one of the wagons had to be abandoned by the roadside. The bullets had come so close to Uncle Karl, that his and Lienītes** shirts were shredded by them. This according to a letter Aunt Emma sent my mother years later. The events took place during very hot, dry, and sunny days about the middle of August, 1944.

*The Soviets had staged a major offensive, which was stopped at the very doorstep, so to speak, of our farmstead. A German counter attack drove the Soviets back some ten kilometers (about 6 miles) whence they had come. The attack and defense cost the Soviets, Germans, and Latvijans the lives of some 40,000 men. When a few days after escaping, the Germans had second thoughts about having a woman with three children on their hands, they returned to the farmstead, I saw a number of burnt out Russian tanks, which German Panzers had knocked out. One such churned up a veritable sandstorm as it roared past our truck on the dusty country road. **Liene or Lienīte, a common Latvijan name for women, was my aunt Emma’s fourteen year old stepdaughter. She had been sent to dig trenches and arrived back home running past Soviet tanks.

I have mentioned elsewhere that Aunt Emma was my paternal grandmother’s youngest sister. She was the kindest woman I ever met: she even forgave me my ‘sin’ of crashing all the household dishes to the kitchen floor as in a panic and with superhuman strength, I pulled a sack packed full with survival gear past it. For reasons that I do not wish to repeat twice, I never saw anyone of my aunt’st household again.

So, maybe it is the Thanksgiving table in the medow at the edge of the forest that my ‘revenge to remember’, if successful (God makes the judgement), awaits. I expect that all my family will be there with all the aborted and unborn children, 36 sheep, 25 cows, 13 horses, any number of hens with a white rooster, a duck and eight ducklings, a number of pigs gone wild, not to mention all the faithful to their home cats and dogs.

This brings to a close Book II of a 2 book series (Book I: Upon Whom the Ends of the Ages Have Come; Book II: A Happenstance Witness and The Holy Ghost. Future entries are likely to take the form of  "Addendums" of short paragraphs of thought as they come to mind and seem worthy to be made a record of.

Saturday, June 25, 2016

EC 548
A Happenstance Witness and The Holy Ghost:
Neither a novel or documentary, but for the patient reader
a timely story about the collapse of Modern and Post-Modern Times.
By © Ludis Cuckold
Revenge to Understand (16)

While my countryside property as it transitions to a wood has become rather run down as far as the cutting of grass is concerned, a teacher at the local school believed it would be just the place to have a graduation picnic. When I explained that I no longer cut the grass, she replied “no problem”, and said that the parents of the children would come and cut the grass and spruce up the place.

I agreed to the idea, and then asked Daisy to join the sprucing up detail. Though I suspected that she agreed, because she knew the teacher from years back, and was curious to exchange stories of experience in foreign lands, I was happy she would for a change be making  contact was with an educated person. The teacher, a young and energetic woman, had spent over half a decade in Ireland, where she had worked as a house cleaner, while Daisy had done similar work in hotels in England for about two years.

The deal had a number of telling repercussions as the 10,000 flies on the floor of my studio proved. They clogged the vacuum cleaner dust bag big time, and hinted that another day of cleaning was in order.

When Daisy agreed to return another day and finish the job, I bought a cake, and—in between cleaning sessions—we had several long tête-à-têtes. We had much to talk about.

More than six years had passed since Daisy had returned from England. After her return, I first met her after she had given birth to her youngest son, and then came to me and asked for work. Our meeting, after some years of disconnection, recapitulated a long chain of old news and entered upon a new chain of events. I learned that her stepfather had again raped her and she had had an abortion as a result. Because she had complained to the authorities, she was assigned a small apartment in the village. I was fortunate enough to be able to arrange to have it thoroughly refurbished (walls blackened by mildew were replaced with new). But I was shocked when Daisy moved in the refurbished apartment not only with her children, but also with her ‘cousin’ with whom she then lived for the next four years. When on one occasion, I asked her how this arrangement served her children, she claimed to be in love with the young man (another episode—the second for Daisy—of a raped young woman believing she had found true love in a happenstance affair) and when asked, said was willing to marry the bloke. Having had his way with her, the stud, a young alcoholic, subsequently moved out. This was a year ago, which year I used to propose that for the sake of her children and in the interests of my longevity, we join our lives, which proposal, problematic as it was due to my age, much to my regret she refused.

I might here remind the reader that I returned to live in Latvija as a virtual agent of virtual America, which was seeking to mate Hal 2000, an Artificial Intelligence computer (of which I was to be a disguise or mask*), with a ‘living’ female. My failure to accomplish my task, largely for reasons of age and failure to win the lottery, was now threatening the Virtual Empire of America. Strange and exaggerated as this may sound, in the course of twenty years of living in what used to be a national community, I have come to perceive America as a real unreal Catholic entity with a theology that makes good use of the killer instinct that governments based on a theology of globalism have cultivated. The Central Intelligence Agency, by no means happy with the trend of my thinking, has implicitly been threatening me with sending a drone with a rocket and assassinating me.

*The use of guileless individuals in hopes that they may become quislings is not an unknown political trick. Indeed, it is likely that Latvija lost its sovereignty due to one of its Prime Ministers being promised a high ranking job in the EU Commission if he but used his ‘legal’ authority to stop the Latvijans from holding a referendum over whether they preferred their own currency or committed to the Euro.

In the course of our talk, I mentioned that her lack of interest in my estate had encouraged me to speak to her teacher friend, about my trying to find some responsible descendant of the ‘proscribed’ (scroll back to p 18, then read forward to p 21) Moravian Church who might bring me into contact with that church. My aim in making such contact was to see if anyone was interested in reestablishing the Church in Latvija, as I have heard that a group of descendants of Herrnhuters existed here (in Liepa), but was led by a Methodist minister. The leadership by latter horrifies me, as I see nothing in common between the two churches. While the Moravian and Methodist churches had cooperated at an early stage of their development, after 1740 each went—for their own good reasons— their separate ways. Unfortunately, in Latvija the idea continues to be propagated that the Herrnhuters derive from the Methodists, which idea is part of ecclesiastical propaganda disseminated by the churches committed to Catholic theology, i.e., the scriptures written by its various branch synods.

Be that as it may, I have contacted some Moravians in the U.S. by email and suggested they might find my blogs of some interest. However, no contacts have resulted. I suspect, that my frank opinions (and skepsis about the reality of Jesus) and the theologically neutered, tame, and misled Moravian Church of today is the reason.

I offered Daisy that if I were to make contact with the Moravian brethren or sisters and elicited interest, I would attempt to assure that her rights to the property (which I deed to her in my Will and do not intend to renege on) remain intact and that by means of negotiations, she would be compensated with such security as is more acceptable to her than a property that provides her with no income other than if it is sold. Daisy made no objections.

I then reopened the subject of a liaison between her and myself, and mentioned the same reasons for doing so that I had given before. I repeated that a liaison would benefit me by potentially extending my life for a few years by giving me reasons for an enthusiasm that has faded and sees no hope of returning Latvija to a sovereign government (except perhaps by encouraging future generations). I explained that I had no enthusiasm for the government of Latvia today and fail to see how it, IT having surrendered the community’s sovereign powers to Brussels, offers anyone reason to remain part an IT, which it has done its provocative best to dissolve. I offered that I had just about exhausted my interest in writing about an issue that I was reasonably sure I had analyzed about right. I suggested for the upteenth time that I could be of some help in encouraging her children to seek higher education, which might prove to be in good stead for them and her.

Daisy’s response surprised me.

She offered that my search for an explanation for the violence of our times could also have been pursued if I had established a family and had children. She alleged that my single minded focus was in fact but the result of my attempt to revenge all that had happened to mine and myself as a result of Soviet violence. When I defended myself by pointing out that my desire to discover a solution in a rewritten history had no backing in academic circles, and that it was founded on no more than intuition, she did not budge from her position. Her sudden self assurance made me suspect that she had discussed the matter with perhaps her psychologist, whom she ocasionally consulted. As I came to understand what Daisy was trying to tell me was that she had come to believe was that I had foregone a family in order to reconfigure the story of history that no orthodox academician was likely to agree with.

After I drove Daisy home, I went to the online I Ching and asked what it thought about Daisy’s response. It responded with the 47th hexagram. I found the most meaningful interpretation of it in the Image: “There is no water in the lake: The image of Exhaustion. Thus the superior man stakes his life on following his will.”

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

EC 546
A Happenstance Witness and The Holy Ghost:
Neither a novel or documentary, but for the patient reader
a timely story about the collapse of Modern and Post-Modern Times.
By © Ludis Cuckold
3The Mirror of Love (14)

Though Ismene/Eulopa propagate the plague of Thebes by means of their own sense of entitlement to enjoy sex and motherhood, and thereby innocently condemn the males they birthe to death by fratricide*, the act of sex has dramatically changed its position from that intended by nature (at least in the beginning) to one that can best be described as contra naturam. This has dramatically increased the deadly consequences of casual sex, which has the support of our even more contra naturam governments.

*The way that the Face of Glory or Kirti Mucha (see blog EC 545) ultimately destroys itself is by growing out of its forehead two horns, which by means of myth turn into two armed warriors who turn against each other. The Greeks had at least three versions of the myth: a) the two armies that Cadmus set against each other by throwing a stone among them; b) the death of Oedipus twin sons at the Seventh Gate of Thebes; and c) the story of the giants Otus and Ephialtes who kill each other while in pursuit of the Earth Goddess Artemis. A fourth version or d) is of the Indian myth about the bird with two heads and one stomach, which is part of a collection of stories known as Panchatantra. Indeed, this myth of Sanscrit origins was once so well known that it may be whence the story of Oedipus the King evolved.

The vulva, which in female animals is generally located just below the tail that protects it, has in human females dilated forward and may therefore, be approached by the male facing the female. This form of sexul encounter is known as the ‘missionary position’ and is not necessarily favored by all female partners of the male.

Even a cursory check of human anatomy shows several physical anomalies that contradict the missionary position.

First, why does one giggle when someone tickles one’s sides? And why do your sides tickle in the first place? The simple answer is, of course, that when a stallion mounts a mare, his front legs rub her ribs, and this excites her and she becomes receptive. One may also have noticed that animals often stand next to each other and nuzzle each other’s  sides. In short, animals have evolved erogenous zones that the ever harried modern human has taught him- and herself to ignore or overlook. Such as, the nape of a woman’s neck, for example. Making love takes time.

Secondly, why do the penises of human males generally curve or bend upward like a banana? The internet has many sites that describe this as unnatural and give instructions on how to make the masturbator's penis straight. In fact, the penis is bent, because it is meant to approach a woman from the rear and accommodate itself to the curvature of the lower part of her rump.

Thirdly—the clitoris of a female’s vulva is located on the vulva’s upper end (click 1:30). Thus, when a penis penetrates the vagina from a missionary position, it misses the clitoris completely, while there is no such problem, when it approaches from the direction of her buttocks. In fact, the anatomy of the human female illustrates how by encouraging the male to approach her from behind, the female may direct (by hand) the penis either toward her clitoris or vagina or have the male ejaculate in a handkerchief or glove rather than vagina. As most people know, this position, which is encouraged by nature is proscribed by perversely associating it with ‘anal sex’ by misogynists.

If my explanation of nature’s design for the sexual act is correct, then the incredible increase in human population during the last one or two hundred years is due to the ‘missionary position’ and the ‘capitalist politics’ that exploits women for purposes of profit.

The politics of sex likely goes back to the time when the male elites were in haste (to survive their aggression) to do violence to the gentler males of the wood by taking and impregnating  their women by encouraging or forcing them to spread their legs. (Why else thrust spears and swords into women’s places meant only for those who come passionate with love?) It is unfortunate that nature accommodates the male in that he may achieve an orgasm from any position, while the female is limited to one. Then why did the ancient Greek prophet Tiresias say that the female had 9 x more pleasure from sex than a male?

Evidently, Tiresias lived at a time when the main abode of human beings was the wood, and in imitation of the animals ‘who’ they herded, human beings had sex not by confronting each other, but by the male kissing the nape of a female’s neck, whispering in her ears to gain her confidence, massaging her sides, slapping or pinching her buttocks, tickling her anus,  and reaching for her clitoris with his glans penis* by approaching her from her rear. If we count, the pleasure points are 9.

*The glans penis evolved from the clitoris when the original baby in the womb, who is a female, receives a charge of testasterone (as the arguments at the link indicate, this is a highly politicized question) in the 7th  week of pregnancy.

Of course, sex by means other than the hump is practiced by both gorillas  and chimpanzees, and appears has ancient origins. Even so, a recent study indicates that aggressive and violent males create more offspring. The reason it seems is due to the missionary position (as per anatomy click at 1:30), as once the female is forced into this position, she cannot escape the male’s advances, which she may when he approaches her from the rear.

Though the human male appears to have intimidated the female long ago, nature’s ideal lingered on in the human subconscious. Interestingly, the time that human beings spent in the wood may have been the time when the mirror was invented—not of glass as today, but of reflection in a pool of water, polished obsidian stone, or buffed copper or gold. This brings up another interesting story, of how the Goddess Sun, wishing to view Her creation without burning it to a crisp (it had already seriously singed the raven, the crow, and the magpie), invented a mirror, and hung it on the face of the Moon. For this reason, some religious rituals and plays in ancient times may have been performed by the light of the full moon, when shiny objects sewn into costumes or carried by performers/actors may have given rise to a ritual known as ‘Drawing down the moon.’

If we accept the notion that the natural human sexual position is like that of our animal kin, then drawing down the moon (as a mirror) has implications for the sexual act. In effect, the drawn down moon-mirror is placed at the headboard of the bed, and both lovers see each other’s faces as the female carries the male piggyback. As one reporter of a British newspaper tells it—somewhat vulgarly—she is thrilled by the enhancement. On the other hand, if the female sits astride the male facing away from him, she may see only her own face. It may be this position then that later gave rise to the story about the mirror and the witch.

The thrill of seeing the face of one’s lover in ecstasy is nothing new. It was known in ancient times and likely illustrated by the Greeks through the figure of the Gorgon, whose face may be either a bearded male  or fair faced female. She/he was also known as the head of Medusa, who the Greek hero Perseus slew by decapitation. It is my sense that Perseus was no hero, but a Viking or proto-westerner, who had invaded the Black Sea area from the northwest of Europe, raped Medusa and then killed her.

Needless to say, it was western man who made the missionary position a sexual dogma and the Muslims became its fiercest defenders. Or am I wrong? Indeed, I have heard said that women rather look at than kiss a bearded man.

Friday, June 17, 2016

EC 545
A Happenstance Witness and The Holy Ghost:
Neither a novel or documentary, but for the patient reader
a timely story about the collapse of Modern an

By © Ludis Cuckold

2Is Conscsns Intlgnt? (13)

The answer to the question posed by the header is NO! To feel pain—as any pig conscious of being slaughtered will tell—has nothing to do with so-called conscious human beings slaughtering it. Warning! Gruesome murder of pig scenario. The Beast is not the pig, but the humans involved.

No Christian theologian from either populist or academic circles has been as innovative and damning of Post-Modern Times religion’ as Melinda (click 8:50) from Alaska. The angel—if listened to—does more to revitalize Christianity* than all the popes, archbishops, bishops, and lays put together.

*Christianity—a dead in the water faith for a very long time. The near death experiences (ndes) that have the potential of revitalizing it are being denied by the Eclisiastical and secular establishments for all its worth. For this reason, while Resurrection continues to be promoted by the Churches as a real possibility, nde—though part of the experience of thousands—continues to be denied. By having the courage to tell that after death we rejoin the one and only Ego or God, Melinda does two things: a) denies the idea of individualism that attaches itself to our mortal bodies and seeks immortality; b) makes death in defense of God a real phenomenon again, because it is no longer feared.

Christianity likely evolved as a tool with which to check and mitigate the effects of newly arrived consciousness and language on the no less new ego. Self-sacrifice was one of the means of social self-control that religion (belief in a superior intelligence) found useful. Unfortunately, this tool was abandoned as soon as the ego, after proclaiming itself resurrectionable, discovered the effectiveness of violence and pain in forcing others to become subjects and slaves. God is sufficient unto Himself. He does not need a “government” of risen dead, to replace Him.

The problem of consciousness in our time is to try bringing the berserk egos of the violent ones back to sanity. There are many ways to try do this. Stalin tried to do it by killing the allegedly violent ones. It did not work. Others say leave it to God. It does not appear to work either. The problem is critical as one of the most powerful nations of our time, the United States of America, is promoting a culture of violence by teaching that ‘freedom’ to thieve and exploit is to capitalize on intelligence.

Such intelligence has nothing in common with morality, but is entirely dependent on simple mathematics as a tool for accountants of accumulated capital. The U.S. has been successful in its self-righteously legalistic* and violent culture by making good use of the tools used by elitist governments (Holy Roman Empire—of Germany, France, Spain; Great Britain, etc.) that preceded its own. Its beginnings, rooted in Catholic Christianity, have by our day turned Christianity into a ‘fundamentalist’ dogma that serves the secular government better than it ever served or serves God.

*’Legal’ is a concept invented by writing, a device useful in turning any living being into a ‘thing’, even as ‘legalization’ is legitimized by a Court, which is a beastly Thing or Juggernaut sometimes also known as a Robot**. **Robot (rhymes with Lobot) stands for lobotomized intelligence. While writing appears to be a useful tool, its unfortunate byproduct is ‘legalized’ repression and denial of the spoken word, which has been turned into a synonym for a ‘lie’.

Even as I write, NATO—a military organization created by U.S. and European elites, both—is threatening Russia with military maneuvers that could well be a thinly disguised Barbarosa II. Washington and Brussels need to have a ring put in their nose and it given a hard (and painful) jerk.

What is this ‘ring in the nose’? I will use psychologist Carl Jung’s image for it—the Uroboros.

Once come into being, Uroboros evolves into yet another being known as Kirti Mukha. This being (well known in ancient times) is almost unknown today, though the story of King Oedipus (a western version of the story of Kirti Mukha) is the founding story of Europe. Here’s, briefly, the story:

The first act of the Uroboros—after God created it—was to grasp its tail in its teeth and begin to devour itself. It did this because God the Creator, Who had also created Eurobora, took such pleasure in his creation of the feminine that He hid her from Uroboros. Euroboros, finding no pleasure in being created a standalone, wished to return to his Creator. In effect, Euroboros wished to die.

After devouring his tail and body, Uroboros ate his way to his face, which he could not devour. Not surprisingly, what had heretofore been pleasure, turned into rage of one hungry. For this reason the Face of Euroboros and its contortions became known as The Face of Glory.

Because the Face of Glory was ready to devour everything that came its way, God made it the guardian of the gates of Heaven. God was happy to leave Euroboros (life manifest as become dead) let Him have His pleasure with Eurobora*.

*Eurobora—may at first have been a She who created God, who later claimed to be the God of Creation and Her, Eurobora, as well.

Eurobora (whether Creatrix or created) did not enjoy the advances of God. Though God loved her, Eurobora perceived His advances as rape, and sought to escape.

Eurobora was aware that Euroboros, her destined mate, was devouring himself. She also noted that as Euroboros excreted the devoured matter of himself, it turned into an old man, whom God did not mind becoming the eunuch of his harem. In fact, though of excrement, God, wishing to prove how nice He really was, let the eunuch, known as Europapa into Paradise.

It was not a good idea.

Europapa was not as aggressive a dragon as Euroboros, but the very opposite—a well of tears from which flowed a river known as The Wound or Rehta or Lethe*.

*Rehta = wound in Latvian; Lethe = ?wound in Greek. I realize this is not what Wikipedia tells what Lethe means,  but then my tracing of words is based on such pareidolia as results from the shifting of sounds among consonants, such as L to R or V to B.

Eurobora felt sorry for the Old Man, which is why she came to visit him and comforted him by stroking his beard. Such kindness made Europapa fall into a happy slumber*. This made God jealous and to keep Eurobora from visiting the Old Man, God turned her into a cow, who for that reason could come visit Europapa only when lack of intimate companionship made him want to copulate with anyone or thing.

*Some forty or fifty years ago, I read a book by the psychologist Erik Erikson, the name of which book may have been “Identity and the Life Cycle” or “Ghandi’s Truth”. Erikson mentions that as Mahatma Gandhi grew old, he was on occasion seized by fits of shivering, which only an embrace of the women of his ashram could still. I am reminded of this story as a similar kindness of a younger woman at my age would stand me a no lesser favor.

Europapa’s desire for Eurobora, which arose just before sunrise, turned him into a white bull and he wasted no time mounting her.

As a consequence of their secretive love affair and nocturnal meetings Eurobora conceived and bore a daughter. In memory of her and Europapa’s elopement from God’s ‘Paradise’, conceivably imaginable as the Cave of the Minotaur*, she was named Eulopa. Others came to call Eulopa Caprice or the Golden Calf. The latter, because the girl grew up as an orphan (Eurobora had to bear her while on the run) possibly in Spain, where she became known as queen Isabella I or reina de El Dorada. No doubt, her name today would be ‘la emperatriz del Entitlementa or la emperatriz de lecho (my use of de lecho derived from derecho).
*Mino- or Mini = an old word for number ‘One’; as in “Ini, Mini, Mani, Mo” or One, Two, Many, More.

The founding story of Thebes may derive from a version of above myth of Euroboros and Eurobora and the Creator God’s sense of entitlement to the feminine. The ‘sense of entitlement’ (a synonym for stealing) explains the Deus ex mahina of the play Oedipus Rex Rewritten, the story of which begins with the King of Thebes, one Laius, falling in love with Iocaste, who as a whore (along with her sister Meirope) is plying her trade in Corinth, a city on the other side of Mt. Cytheron in ancient Greece. Unbeknownst to the king, Iocaste is pregnant when she marries him. She is carrying Oedipus, conceived from an unknown father. But the King accepts the story that the child is his, which sets the stage for Iocaste to exercise her sense of entitlement on behalf of her son. To accomplish this, she is ready to kill King Laius, her cuckolded husband, after which deed she marries her son, who—through this ‘legalism’—becomes King of Thebes.

The story and myth is a sticky one and kaleidoscopes forward into a tale that sees the entire household of King Oedipus killed. The dynasty of the king Cadmus ends*, when his two sons (Eteokles and Polynices) kill each other at Thebe’s Seventh Gate. The only one who escapes death—though not the tragedy—is Oedipus youngest daughter Ismene, who we may compare to aforementioned Eulopa—she who escapes to reincarnate the plague in another time, even our own.

*The multiple deaths that visit the Court of Oedipus is a story teller’ device to indicate that the cause of the deaths is of one and the same Ego, i.e., the Ego of the Euroboros and Kirti Mukha.