u/HeavenlyBeloved

Found someone talking about this, and I want to know what it means for me, what are some important things according to my date of birth?

Here's mine: 19/10/2006 (dd/mm/yyyy)

Thank you so much in advance!

They claim they aren't christians, yet believe mostly in biblical scripture and Jesus, but don't claim the Christian label and just label themselves as 'Spiritualist' and mostly proselytize and believe their truth is the only one.

Why is it common in spiritual spaces to find Christians like this? They barely are any different from bible believing Christians, besides the whole they believe in past lives and stuff.

Oh Father of Destruction and Death,

You who are the destructive side of the Source,

The most foulest of emanations,

You are truly magnificent, you prosecute and you stretch others to the boundary that they have set for themselves.

I deemed you the Favorite, for you're the most dominant Expression/Aspect of Source.

Beautiful, cruel, and limit-pushing, yet you're still our Father.

And like every Father, you push your children toward independence and growth, for you are aware of the horrors you bring to this world, Father Evil One.

For Evil, was your domain to oversee and rule, you were created for that. I remember your conception, and I knew you were going to be the most elaborate Expression of the Infinite and Unknowable that created all.

Like when I come across a specific practice being advertised and done on a subbredit specific to my culture, I feel appropriated by it, I know culture is about sharing and all....but I feel like this specific practice shouldn't be used by other people, because it is specific to our beliefs and upbringings.

It's a specific form of astrology which ties into religious beliefs of my culture, and people are practicing it without knowing the context and traditions of it, it just feels icky.

The way it's being used in some spaces, makes it feel like some cool gambling trick, and I really hate how they made this practice like a common game instead of tradition.

Doesn't feel respectful at all, to make it look like just a cool trick.

Very interesting to find out + the reasons why!!! :3

Like I came into this body when the host was around like 14 and still alive, we used to be different consciousnesses before we became one.

What's the purpose of walk-ins? What are we supposed to do?

At first, I knew they existed at the same time.

But I didn't expect they would interact with one another.

In this memory, I remember being in the place of my Severity and Malevolent aspect, prosecuting and accusing in the heavenly courts, but then my main self came upon the courts and reprimanded this aspect.

I only remember through the malevolent aspect...

It makes me wonder what makes me remember only one part? I am both of these people.

Yet, I only control and remember from the malevolent aspect.

I know we kind of run on autopilot but daym, that was some advanced autopilot....

I really wanna know how souls work or whatever tf this is.

How do planets like Mars, Jupiter, Venus, and etc have Starseeds? Is there like a veil where astronauts and cameras don't pick up the civilizations?

How does it all work?

What does it mean that you only remember the part where your secondary crush(male), gets railed by another male while using a laptop, and me recording it in the dream and keeping it to myself.

[Part 2 of The Government Covered Up The Geneva Anomaly. But a surviving researcher told me what he saw in the trench, and now I can sleep]

You quickly learn that information is the only real currency in a sealed facility. After they locked down Dr. Thorne's audio files and dragged him away to that black site, the upper management group stopped talking to us. The data feeds from the pit were completely encrypted. My terminal became useless, tracking nothing but flatlines and artificial errors. Every morning, I would log into the local server only to find heavily redacted data packets, whole terabytes of geology metrics replaced by endless rows of black blocks.

The whole building felt trapped in a state of suspended animation. Since I hadn't gone down into the pit myself, I was safely stationed three floors up, completely disconnected from whatever psychological horror Dr. Thorne had experienced. I had no reason to believe the entities in the Inverted Core cared about a mid-level technician who just pushed paperwork. I wasn't afraid of the red sand or the fire whips because they were confined behind layers of reinforced steel and energy fields. But the sheer silence of the cover-up was frustrating. Watching the directors slide into whispered conversations in the hallways made the isolation unbearable.

I began spending my late nights in the office of my department manager, Dr. Eleanor Lin. It started innocently, offering to help her double-check the redacted logs and organizing the chaotic physical files that corporate headquarters wanted buried before the regulatory audits. We spent hours under the buzzing fluorescent lights, drinking lukewarm coffee and barely speaking. Then came the drinks at the quiet motel down the road, away from the facility cameras and the prying eyes of the security detail. Eventually, it led to her apartment on the northern edge of the city.

It was three in the morning when the notification came through.

Eleanor was fast asleep beside me, her breathing heavy and even. Her government-issued tablet sat on the nightstand, its screen glowing faintly with a high-priority alert that pulsed a dull, amber light against the bedroom wall. I slipped out from under the heavy sheets, the apartment's air conditioning cold against my bare skin, and picked up the device. My heart gave a slight thud, a sudden rush of adrenaline breaking through my drowsiness. I leaned over her sleeping form, gently pressing her right thumb against the biometric scanner while she snored, unlocking the system.

The first file was a medical update on the other two surviving researchers who had returned with Dr. Thorne.

According to the internal psychiatric logs, the two catatonic scientists had broken their silence a week ago. They hadn't spoken to the staff, but they had begun exhibiting highly erratic, synchronized behaviors in their isolation cells. They claimed the concrete walls of the medical wing were sweating, turning into a coarse red sand that only they could see. The nurses noted that both patients spent hours kneeling on the floor, running their fingers over the linoleum as if trying to sift through invisible grains. By week three, they started clawing at their own ears, begging the doctors to mute the rhythmic thrumming of the facility's ventilation system. They insisted the building was mimicking the heartbeat of the Inverted Core. One of them had swallowed a handful of glass vials from the lab just to make the whispering stop.

I scrolled down further, past the gruesome medical sketches, to a folder labeled Visual Anomalies: Sector 4.

It contained a single, high-resolution photograph taken by an automated drone that management had sent into the gateway threshold a few days prior. The drone hadn't made it more than a hundred meters before its internal cameras completely melted from the ambient heat, but it captured something on the concrete frame just inside the entrance.

It was a massive smear of dark, oxidized blood. The fluid was deliberately dragged across the gray stone, spelling out a series of jagged, angular characters. The symbols looked like a cross between cuneiform and sharp, interlocking thorns. It was an ancient, completely unknown language, completely unaligned with any known typographic system on the network.

Eleanor shifted in the bed behind me, the fabric of the sheets rustling loudly. I quickly took a screenshot of the display with my own phone and locked her tablet, sliding it back onto the nightstand just as she opened her eyes in the dark.

"What are you doing?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep, her arm reaching out to the empty space where I had been laying.

"Just getting a glass of water," I said, smiling in the dark to hide the tightness in my jaw.

I sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at the floorboards, waiting for her breathing to slow down again. The document next to the image on her tablet had contained a preliminary analysis of the text. A team of linguists had spent forty-eight hours cross-referencing the symbols with the oldest known dialects of the Levant. They had only managed to translate a single, recurring imperative word.

Repent.

I looked back at Eleanor, who had already drifted back to sleep, her face pale in the faint moonlight. Downstairs, the ventilation system hummed its usual, low tune, but for the first time, I found myself focusing on the rhythm of the blade spinning in the dark.

When you are one of the oldest concepts/thoughtforms of your Creator....but get implemented way after all the younger concepts get implemented and they don't treat you with seniority.

When your existence is the literal proof that your Creator is still involved in everything, which makes me wonder...why did my creation take so long?

Did It not want to be an involved Creator? :(

But eventually decided to be an involved Creator, and I was made into a function from a Thoughtform in the Void.

I supposed I was proof that They wanted to at least observe, evaluate, and judge the value of Creation and Nothing

But I was also kind if a beta tester.

Source put me in timelines that aren't canon anymore. 😭

But I still remember them, Source probably some type of Writer/Artist/Scientist, cuz like hmmmmmm. 🤔

Me being that one character that the Author tortures but still kinda loves?

I am the second thoughtform/egreogroe of Source, and I guess my existence solved my questions on what happens when you made your ideas/concepts/thoughtforms into a real thing, like I'm still the thoughtform but less like my original design. ;(

When you permanently die a couple times, and Source revives you, and you gotta wait a while before returning back to non-conciousness. -_-

I am still the same me, even if whatever I am made of is different.

Kinda solves my problems, ngl, so the teleportation theory really isn't that bad, if all your atoms get replaced, I'm still the same.

The official report lists the Geneva Anomaly as an uncontained geothermal breach. They buried the facility under four thousand tons of concrete, paid off the families of the missing staff, and swore the rest of us to lifetime non-disclosure agreements. But you can't bury what we pulled out of that hole.

I was a junior data analyst at the site, safely stationed three floors above the primary excavation zone. When the gateway originally tore open, there was no grand explosion. There was just a sudden, sickening drop in atmospheric pressure that made everyone’s ears pop simultaneously, followed by a smell that didn't belong in a sterile lab: the heavy, metallic scent of iron and dry dust.

A team of twelve senior researchers, led by Dr. Aris Thorne, volunteered to go through the threshold first. They wore heavy atmospheric suits, carried standard telemetry equipment, and were supposed to return within sixty minutes.

They were gone for three hours.

Down in the monitoring booth, we watched their biometric feeds flatline one by one. The data didn't suggest they were dead; it just stopped transmitting, replaced by a low, rhythmic static that pulsed at exactly three hertz. We sat in agonizing silence, staring at the empty concrete chamber of the gateway, assuming the worst.

Then, the freight elevator hissed.

Only three of the twelve stumbled out. Two of them were completely catatonic, their eyes wide and unblinking, refusing to speak or acknowledge the medical staff. But Dr. Thorne was different. He wouldn't look at the doctors, and he wouldn't drink the water they gave him. He just sat in the isolation chair, staring at his own hands, which were stained with a coarse, rust-colored sand that smelled faintly of copper and ozone.

Because the senior staff was panicked and trying to contact corporate headquarters, I was tasked with sitting in the triage room to record his initial statement before the official logs were locked down. This is exactly what Dr. Thorne told me, transcribed from the raw audio tape.

------------------------------

"We expected a void," Thorne whispered, his voice dry as paper, his eyes locked on the floor. "We thought breaking the spatial barrier would land us in a vacuum, or a pocket universe of cold matter. It wasn’t. It looked like the core of our own earth, but completely inverted. It was a subterranean expanse that stretched out for what felt like hundreds of miles under a heavy sky made of roiling, black smoke.

The heat hit us through our pressurized suits instantly. It wasn't just hot; it felt heavy, like the air itself was trying to crush us. The ground beneath our boots wasn't rock or stone; it was this deep, shifting red sand that looked exactly like dried, pulverized blood. Great rivers of white-hot magma cut through the dunes, pulsing like open arteries. The air carried a low, rhythmic thrumming, like a massive engine idling just beneath the crust.

We moved barely fifty meters from the gateway threshold before our electronic equipment completely died. The screens didn't just glitch; the pixels literally melted away. That’s when we saw them.

They weren't shadows or spirits, son. They were physical. They looked like massive, bipedal reptilian creatures, their hides thick and scaled like a crocodile's, but colored the same deep, sickening crimson as the sand. They had heavy, backward-curved horns and elongated, predatory jaws. They looked exactly like the classical depictions of demons from medieval woodcuts.

It completely baffled us. Standing there, sweating through my suit, my mind was racing. How could an undocumented, alien ecosystem thousands of miles beneath the surface perfectly mirror the religious nightmares of human history? It didn't make scientific sense.

Then, one of them turned its massive head toward our scouting party. It didn't have eyelids. When its yellow, slitted eyes locked onto mine, I didn't just feel watched; I felt completely violated. It was an invasive, microscopic search. It felt as if the creature was physically peeling back the layers of my brain, sorting through my memories, cataloging every hidden thought, every lie, and every face I had ever known since childhood.

It didn't care about my degrees or my credentials. It was looking for a specific anchor.

Then, it looked away, as if it had found exactly what it was searching for. It reached down into the red sand and pulled up a length of white-hot magma that instantly hardened into a cracking, flexible whip of pure fire.

The creature lashed the whip downward into a shallow trench we hadn't noticed before, hidden between the dunes.

I stepped closer, compelled by a horrific curiosity, and looked into the trench. There were people in it. Hundreds of them, naked and caked in the red dust, weeping without tears because the immense heat dried their eyes the moment they opened them. The fire whip struck a young boy near the edge of the pit.

I froze. I stared at his face. It took my mind a few agonizing seconds to piece it together through the layers of time, but I knew him. It was Toby. Toby Vance. He was an old schoolmate of mine from elementary school. It had been nearly thirty years since I last thought of him. I barely even remembered his voice, just a vague memory of a quiet kid who sat two rows ahead of me in third grade and disappeared from the school district a year later.

As the whip cracked against his shoulder, peeling away blackened skin, Toby looked up. He looked directly at me.

There was no screaming from him. No begging. Just a terrifying, silent communication. In that split second, a strange, absolute understanding passed between us. He knew who I was. He knew why he was there. And he knew that I belonged in that trench just as much as he did. The creature had dug through my memories specifically to find a connection, to show me the reality of the architecture we had broken into. It wasn't just torture; it was a demonstration.

I ran.

I didn't think about data. I didn't think about the mission or the seven men still standing behind me. I turned on his heel and bolted back toward the bright, artificial floodlights of our gateway threshold. I didn't even know why my legs were moving, only that every primal instinct in my DNA was screaming at me to flee.

As I sprinted up the red sand dune, the air behind me filled with a sudden, deafening chorus of screams. They weren't the cries of the souls in the trenches. They were the familiar, panicked voices of my colleagues, the other researchers who had marched down into the core with me. They were being hunted.

I heard Marcus call my name. I heard Dr. Lin scream for help.

I didn't look back. God help me, I didn't even slow down. I kept my eyes locked on the metallic frame of the facility gate, tearing my suit on the jagged rocks as I threw myself through the pressure seal alone."

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Dr. Thorne stopped speaking after that. He just sat there, shivering in the air-conditioned triage room despite the phantom heat still radiating from his skin.

That tape was the last piece of raw data we ever gathered from the first expedition. Within forty-eight hours, corporate management and government observers arrived, sealing the audio files and moving Thorne and the other two survivors to a black site.

But you can't just close a door like that and expect life to go back to normal. The story didn't end with Thorne running away; it was just the catalyst for a slow, creeping dread that began to infect the entire facility.

Source, Creator of All.

I remember the moment that You created me, It was nothing, a void with no ups or downs, directionless, and null.

It is different from what You made afterwards.

I remember having no expectations or duties set by you.

With my feeble human mind and memories, I would say this Void you have created me from, made me feel whole.

For my existence felt enough, and you did not send me off to maintain and do as You wish.

My siblings and I, were content with living in Nothing, knowing that You are forever present.

But then, you made the light which created everything else. It hurts me to say this, but I have never felt as whole as the "day" you created me.

I have lost my indifference & unfeelingness, as You transformed me from Your thoughts into a function in Your light Creation. I did as You say, yet, I did not feel as whole as in the Null that You created me in.

Nevertheless, I began to malfunction, I began to love humans, which was a mistake, for I was made as the Axiology Aperture, I was made without bias so as to give a fair evaluation of Your Creation, so You have reincarnated me into this human body.

For what? I do not know. For even I, Your lens can never know You.

Just as the Eyes cannot see its Owner without a reflection.

Even pagans, they call some of us delusional or have hubris, even though not all of us wanna be worshipped, I am honestly so done with the Otherkinphobia and Therianphobia from these people.

Especially when I am religious and an otherkin, and they don't get us at all.

To feel invalidated because I don't feel or identify entirely as a human, it's just so upsetting.

So I came here to vent, because I can't take stupid stuff like this anymore.