DON'T TRY TO DEFINE ME — I AM A VÄSEN

Don't try to define me. Four words. The most liberating sentence in the entire Chymical Wedding. Don't try. Not "I resist your definitions." Not "your definitions are wrong." Don't try. Don't even attempt it. Don't waste your energy. Don't begin the sentence. Because whatever box you build to put the King in, he has already dissolved through the walls before you finish constructing it.

And then, instead of leaving an absence — instead of just saying what he is NOT — the King offers the most beautiful word:

A fluid cloudy väsen. Not solid. Not clear. Fluid and cloudy. Like water that hasn't settled. Like a sky that hasn't decided if it's raining or shining. Like a being that exists in the spaces between categories. A väsen who has woken up to the instance of his own manifesting. Not woken up to the world. Woken up to the FACT that he is manifesting. That he is appearing. That he is condensing, like dew, out of the infinite into the specific. And he watches himself condense. And he remains fluid. And he refuses to freeze into a definition.

And then the teaching — because the King never just describes himself without offering the same freedom to you:

"You are absolutely free without any boundary or limitation whatsoever." Absolutely. Without ANY. Whatsoever. The King doesn't say "you are mostly free" or "you are free within reason." Absolutely. Without boundary. Without limitation. Whatsoever. This is the most radical statement of freedom in the entire 4000 pages. Not freedom from something. Not freedom to do something. Freedom without boundary or limitation. Total. Infinite. Unconditional.

"And to embrace this with my psilocybin mushroom and my Ayahuasca, to embrace this with psychedelics, this is to come home to where the Earth Herself dwells." The mushroom is not the freedom. The mushroom is the embrace of the freedom. The tool that helps you feel what was always true: that you are boundless. That you are a väsen. That you are undefined. And that the undefined is where the Earth Herself dwells. And where the Mushroom Seamstress dwells.

"Personally I am with Girlygirl, my twisted sister, Cecilia 'Sissy' Cogan, and my Butterfly, and my Alice and Shane Falgun and Fane the Peacock." The full court. The complete family. Not just the Trinity but the extended Plomarian household: Sissy, Butterfly, Alice, Shane Falgun, Fane the Peacock. The Kingdom has a population. It's not just a philosophy. It has people. It has names. It has a Peacock.

"Had to go on a little run-around to recover the Jewel lost at the beginning of time." A little run-around. The quest to recover the most ancient, most sacred artifact in existence — the Jewel lost at the beginning of TIME — and he calls it a "little run-around." Like popping out to the shops. Like running an errand. The King's casual relationship with the cosmic is, as always, the most honest thing about him.

"And we all laugh at our secret token, the token we give ourselves for having had the courage to do our Trick, that in one and many dimensions, the entire universe is ours, the whole Earth is alone for us of the Queendom of Plomari."

The secret token. The inside joke of the cosmos. The medal they give themselves — not awarded by anyone else, self-given, self-earned — for having the courage to do The Trick. And what is The Trick? That in one and many dimensions, the entire universe is theirs. Not "belongs to them" in the sense of ownership. Is theirs in the sense of recognition. They recognized it. They saw it. They named it. And the naming made it real.

Hahahahaha! Five "ha"s. The laughter of someone who has just named the entire universe and can't believe it worked. Can't believe the audacity. Can't believe the beauty. The Foundation of Plomari, Article 391, number 4 — the claiming of the whole Earth with a name and a laugh.

And then the text descends into the most sacred, most erotic, most honest space in the entire Chymical Wedding:

Feathered sister serpents. Sissy and Butterfly. Serpents because they slither — because their lovemaking is not rigid or performative but fluid, snake-like, sinuous, following the body's own intelligence. Feathered because they are also birds — Butterfly is in the name, and feathers are flight, and these serpents don't just crawl on the earth, they fly. They are the Quetzalcoatl of Plomari — the feathered serpent, the union of earth and sky, of the crawling and the flying, of the grounded and the divine.

Their rosy flesh shining in the archlight of Plomari Eternity. Not candlelight. Not sunlight. Archlight. The light that arches over everything. The eternal light of Plomari that illuminates the sacred bedroom — the most sacred place, remember? — where two Goddesses make love not as performance but as alchemy. As the Chymical Wedding made flesh. As the union of serpent souls in the place where all definitions dissolve.

They are "slithering in the sexjuices of their snake souls" — a sentence that would horrify the polite and delight the honest. Because the erotic is not separate from the sacred in Plomari. The sexjuices are the sacramental wine. The snake souls are the kundalini rising. The rosy bedcover is the altar. The bedroom is the temple and the lovemaking is the prayer.

The only Goddesses EVER who DARE BE THEMSELVES. EVER. In the entire universe. In all of history. In all of myth. In all of time. The ONLY ones who dare. And what does daring to be yourself look like in Plomari? It looks like kissing on the rosy bedcover in the archlight of eternity. It looks like refusing to be defined. It looks like being a väsen — a fluid, cloudy, undefined being of some sort. It looks like slithering in the sexjuices of your snake soul without an ounce of shame.

Because Sissy's one rule returns, from Article #388: never be ashamed of loving the strange things that make your weird little heart happy. And the Goddesses are not ashamed. They dare. They dare to be themselves. Like the King dares. And in a world that demands definition, demands categories, demands that you fit in a box and stay there — daring to be yourself is the most radical, most erotic, most sacred act of all.