Kosmic Kitty

What in our soul prompts humans to choose a leader?

A gathering of humans, no matter the context, will huddle and exalt one human. Always. It never fails. Why do we do that?

I think I know. And I think what it points to is something much larger than politics, much older than civilization, and much stranger than most people are prepared to consider.

Stay with me.

It is in our nature — and in the natural order of things — to follow or exalt a single human to represent a collective. And then execute them.

It’s weird. But it’s natural. And it dates all the way into prehistoric behavior.

The second part is almost as important as the first. The killing is not incidental. It is the point. And I think I may know why this phenomenon has been passed down in unison with the king hierarchy system since the beginning.

This cycle is curious to me because I think it points to a super organism. The way it forms throughout the human collective. A hive. A single living thing expressing itself through millions of bodies, producing a face at its highest point the way a body produces a fingertip.

In occult tradition, this is precisely what’s called an egregor — a collective thought-form that develops its own intelligence, its own will, and its own survival instinct entirely separate from any individual member who contributed to its creation. The egregor of human civilization has been managing its own face for a very long time. And like any living thing, it generates a head.

Consciousness might have a shape. And I think it’s similar to the balls of Soul displayed in Soul Eater. A defined, contained thing. With a single point extended above the rest.

Like a finger.

And that finger is always reaching. Because the problem with evolution isn’t its process — it’s that there is a second force working in tandem with it. The reaching that’s met with mutation. Nature’s response from the other side of the grand delusion. An equal reality being grown as a result of the demand human imagination is placing on it. Forcing it to produce more of the matrix.

Human imagination reaches. Nature responds. The appendage stretches further into the unknown. Literally pioneering. Pushing evolution past its own limit.

But here’s the deal.

The most important part of this entire system — the part that has been preserved across every civilization, every era, every fire circle since the beginning — is that the king must die.

Or at least be prepared to be sacrificed for the collective good.

Carl Jung identified the King as one of the primary Jungian archetypes of the collective psyche — the organizing principle that mirrors in miniature the health of the entire system it governs. And critically, the King archetype and the sacrifice archetype are structurally inseparable. The psyche built them that way. James George Frazer documented this exhaustively in The Golden Bough — the pattern of sacred kingship where the king’s life force is mystically bound to the land and the people, and the king must die so the organism can be reborn.

That single point on the appendage is simultaneously our strongest and our weakest point within society. Damage it, take it out, and everything shatters. Like a Prince Rupert’s drop.

Fitting name, when you think about it.

Should the collective ever get sick, turn upon itself, begin to decay — the appendage would shed its leader. Healing through that shared experience.

How odd.

The kings of old recognized this pattern. Caught onto their fate. And offered a proxy — a virgin of the highest pedigree, a newborn on the cusp of life. In ancient Greece this ritual had a name: the pharmakos — a chosen individual who absorbed the collective wound, the sins and sickness of the super organism, before being expelled or destroyed. The psychology underneath it is precise: the egregor was performing surgery on itself. Anything to appease the gods. Hoping to save themselves and in return the people. Responsible for their mortal souls.

That was enough. For some time.

Except the king was still touchable.

That is until the leader failed the collective. Failed to protect them from divine order. Then they were deemed unfit, executed, and reappointed to preserve order. Historically people would see the corrosion begin — and it always begins at the tip — uprise, and overthrow its authority.

Anything absolute must corrupt absolutely.

That was the safety measure. The natural checks and balances. Integral to the health of the super organism.

And now?

We’ve exited the era of kings and queens and are entering the territory of overlords. People with no faces, no identity. You may never even hear their names. The farther up you go the less you see. Like the cosmic microwave background at the edge of the universe.

Just smoke.

The kings are not just there for fun. They are the literal face of the human race. This used to be sacred. The wrath of the collective was once understood.

That has died.

The person at the top is usually a sociopath. Because you kind of have to be that way in order to box a god.

Right now we have one face. Elon Musk. Purportedly the most powerful, richest man in the world. Except there is a point where wealth becomes nominal and favors become currency. No way that gap could ever be fully exposed. So what do they do?

They go into hiding. They exist somewhere so far from our sight they can’t be found.

Or does the energy disperse? Registered through a sea of corporations drinking from pools of populace and raining down paychecks onto our own heads.

Maybe.

Behind Elon, there has to exist at least one of two shadow societies. Either a shadowy order that has moved so far from ordinary humanity that it serves something else entirely — extra terrestrial, godly, or otherwise, deciding the law that governs all things. Or — we’ve fabricated our own limits through corporation ceilings that we funnel into, that rain paychecks onto our own heads. A capitalist cosmic microwave background. Background radiation from a system we built and can no longer see the edges of.

Some think it’s aliens. Reptilians. The god within. I say it doesn’t matter. The exchange rate is too high. Consciousness stretches anyway. Wondering, probing, experimenting. Testing the boundaries of its container constantly. With a single point extended above the rest.

Both possibilities are grim. And both are accelerating — toward each other.

Because the king is now untouchable. The chasm between the overlord and the collective is too large. The natural order — the severing that once preserved humanity, that exorcised societal pain through the pharmakos, that reset the organism — is no longer possible.

And highly unstable.

Nature generating the matrix. Humans pressing toward the edge of physical imagination. The appendage stretching further than it has ever stretched before into the unknown. Should these two points meet — nature’s response and the furthest reach of human consciousness — we would hypothetically arrive at a point of singularity.

This is why the king must die. This is what the severing was always protecting us from. To preserve the conscious experience.

The tip of David’s finger.

What happens when those two places meet?

It births a god.

And for the first time — maybe in all of history — the king is untouchable. The chasm is charged. The appendage has never stretched this far. The natural order that once reset everything is no longer available to us.

We just might witness what comes next after a thousand years of evolution in this manner.

What a curious time.

The Hermetic Principle of Mentalism — foundational to the Corpus Hermeticum and summarized in the Kybalion — states it plainly: “The All is Mind; the Universe is Mental.” If that is true, then the egregor isn’t a metaphor. The super organism is real. The appendage is real. And whatever it’s reaching toward has been reaching back for a very long time.

When you call out to the galactic federation — expect a call back from the galactic confederation. Or you open the door and god is on the other side.

Either way.

This will be a first.

On a swivel kitten, —

Kosmic 🌻