|
|
Since I was about 8 I've always considered the figure of Voltron as my personal guardian, the defender of my own universe. The Blazing Sword is some sliver of the self that is so pure that it can, without fail, dispatch any threats. It is for this reason that whenever I've tried my hand at magick that I've envisioned Voltron as my ward, ready to slice the shit out of anything that would attempt to fuck with me in that exposed state. Voltron is rife with religious iconography, from the cross on his chest to the Herculean lion headdress to the pentagram on his belt to the aspect of the horned god from paganism to the Hindu face of Krishna to the wings and sword of God from an Enochian archangel.
Now, however, as I've been developing the Vladimir J. Baptiste, Jr. fictionsuit, I got a message the other evening as I was laying in bed falling asleep: Baptiste is NOT a new expression of myself. In fact, it is the "porting," to borrow a computer term, of an earlier idealized self that has been with me since I was at least 2. In its original (and still existent) form, this personality was totemized by a small Snoopy doll I received on my 2nd birthday, which I have always referred to as "Junior." Snoopy is an expression of the lighter aspect of Loki and Coyote and Mercury, the trickster god who takes on many an alternate identity, all of which are completely real to him despite the mundane trying to make itself known to him. In fact, Snoopy, of all the Peanuts characters, is the most fully realized individual, and has the fewest hangups, lives an unassuming life of opulence (remember the Van Goghs hanging over the billiard tables in the den of his doghouse?) and is anything but that role that he would seem to have been handed by life.
And so, it became obvious to me that rather than any archetype of a jetset playboy or swinging bachelor or international man of mystery, I have for about a year been slowly attempting to change myself into Snoopy. If you needed any further proof, the all-white wardrobe when I am Baptiste, topped by the silver aviator goggles, should probably shore-up that argument.
So... am I the only one who's come to terms with the fact that I'm trying to change myself into a cartoon character as the aspect of a godform, or has anyone else experienced this also? |
|
|