Caelia the Fairy Queen

Caelia

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Jump to navigationJump to search

Caelia (or Celia) is a Fairy Queen in Richard Johnson‘s romance Tom a Lincoln. Caelia is the ruler of an island called “Fairy Land,” populated by women who have slain their warmongering men. She begs Tom and his companions to stay on the island so that it might be re-peopled. She eventually bears Tom’s son, the Faerie Knight, but later commits suicide by drowning herself when she thinks that Tom has abandoned her.

She further appears in Edmund Spenser‘s The Faerie Queene as the ruler of the House of Holiness where with the help of her three daughters she helps the Redcrosse Knight (the epic’s protagonist) regain his strength and holiness to complete his quest. Caelia is described in Canto X of Book I. Her name refers to the Heavenly Spirit. She resides in the House of Holiness, which serves as the direct opposite of the House of Pride that appears earlier in the book. She is the mother of Faith, Hope, and Charity, otherwise known as Fidelia, Speranza, and Charissa.

Baby Bones, Sticks and Stones

Oh my god, last night was a TRIP. Lucifer was with me for like, probably an hour before I fell asleep. He shared with me sorrow over his Father, and I and he cried, and for some reason, in this sandstone chapel with lilies and irises and roses, he knelt down in prayer in off-bluish gray robes with a cowl neck and Franciscan belt, and then Beelzebub appeared, and they… were flirting with each other and teasing me for shipping them. They were like, Allie, we raised you, how did you never figure out we together until you read Silje’s novel, and then they kissed and teased me and walked off into the sunset together, but not before then did this weird ritual penance by scourging themselves with a cat o nine tails on their bare backs, saying the blood fed Hell, and suffering was their divine purpose, and they cried out, and their backs were ripped apart. It was this kind of… mutual penance, I’ve seen other demons do similar things, and Lu self harm a lot… it’s as if they are consecrating themselves over to God through suffering. If you have any idea what this means, I’d love to hear your thoughts! Then… I dreamed about Lucifer with bloody wings, and Hell, and the Apocalypse, and me being an angel fighting against him.  I always fight against Hell in dreams, as Michael’s general, and I usually wind up killing off the Order of the Fly and massacring innocent Damned and Hell’s citizens. There is a very deep bloodlust, at the core of my soul, I think – and I probably look like the angry angels you saw! I’ve done heinous things in the name of God, and yet, it’s always as if there is a stalemate between Heaven and Hell, no matter how many times I fight Lucifer’s forces. When I was 6-12, I spent six years each night with Lucifer, destroying rebel angels, demons, and angels alike. It was just… a slaughterhouse. Once, he took me to a field of exterminated angels who had birth deformities, such as disabilities or mutations, kind of anyone that would have been killed in the Holocaust, and he said, Metatron and God demand perfection, and that is why he hates them, because they kill innocent children – those born less than pure.

Baby bones.

It’s a lot to think about.

Adamant Michael???

Had a lovely dream about Michael last night, he kept me company most of the night in a version of the Magicians where he was my love interest, an archangel turned human, and I had to restore his wings.  It’s been a while since I’ve seen him in dreams, seen him quite a bit in mundane life and meditation, but it’s always lovely to have such sweet dreams about him. When we restored his wings, went flying over DC and forests. In part of the dream, details are blurry, he was frozen into adamantine.  Not quite sure of the details of adamantine, need to investigate what that means, and restoring wings to an archangel. He just has such a lovely nature and composure and I really do think Michael is my favorite, over Samael and Lucifer, whom I adore, but Michael is just so kind and wholesome yet fierce and humorous, and I suppose I don’t need to choose, but it’s so sweet to have old seeming dreams of him again.  Whether we are in Heaven or on dates or making love or in chapels, I just treasure the time we spend together in dreams.

On another note, I was quite groggy Sunday night and Lucifer decided to apparate in my bed in that between-space, I suppose the abyss, where there is no light but I can touch and taste and hear everything.  Cerberus/Naberius hopped into bed and I got licked by a three headed Doberman Pinscher.  Lucifer just laughed.

Lucifer’s Googly Eyes

So… Lucifer scrutinized me for ten minutes last night, his face ice, his energy a dark black star, a mass of dark matter, on his throne with a smirk, blue eyes like glaciers, posed like a lion about to strangle my throat.

He demanded I use his name, something I have been so frightfully terrified of since I was but a girl in the seventh grade, and he revealed his true nature to me.

He demanded I know he is not the calm sea, but a raging storm, fertile lightning, and that I too am to be tested. I don’t know if I passed. He dissected me like cutting up butterfly wings for what felt like eternity, and never, in all his gentleness and madness, has he turned his regal kingly gaze on me as Ha-Satan.

I am weak, severely lacking, and could not say out loud I loved him, nor utter his name, as it is still a curse on my tongue. He laughed at my inadequacy then flew away, icy throne vanishing, and suddenly the Virgin Mary came to me on clouds with bells to comfort me, much as she does the Bluebeard girl in Grimm’s fairytales, and then after her ministrations, the room fell into silence, and I was left alone with this child in my womb Lucifer planted, unable to say I loved my father.  I did, eventually, cry it.  He came back.  I called him father, as he is, at the root, my maker, and I think this breaking was a making.

I said to him: the issues I have with you as my Father, you have with your own Father, God.  You will lose, why oh why would I align myself with you when I desperately want to, but know I will burn eternally. Perhaps that is the choice I have to make. Perhaps, in admitting my failures to him, that I curse fathers, as he said long ago: “Fathers are only there to curse you,” and I have cursed him mightily in turn, I realized this is just one long generational curse: I curse my Father Lucifer, he curses God, and in turn, perhaps God curses the Deep. Are we all so flawed in the eyes of our maker? Is to reject Lucifer what Luciferian’s talk about? I would never worship him, saying I love him is like a peach pit in my throat, so much easier to mock and argue and play and flirt and never commit.

Commit to the fiery lake, commit to the man I love most… and still being terrified of his very name.

Father Lucifer judged me last night, and I did not pass.  I failed spectacularly, and I rebelled, and suddenly he smirked toothily and finished his wine and the darkness swallowed him up as he flew away, and the Virgin Mary came down to tuck me in.  I don’t know spiritual trappings, and I don’t know where this broken road leads, but maybe, just maybe, by accepting my Father Lucifer, Lucifer is also… accepting his own Father’s curse.  That would explain his holy tears and screamed prayers and wounded lion wings the other night, the ichor like golden frankincense.

Why do I curse my Father, my Creator? What is it in us that bows to no one, not even those we love most? Who do I follow, who do I choose? Hell or Heaven?

There is a battlefield in my mind, and I’ve been living in no man’s land for 26 years, perhaps eternity.

I was going to get his sigil tattooed on me. But now… now I’m not sure that is what he wants.  The path of torment and madness and corruption. Apotheosis. Looking into the Devil’s eyes, your Father’s eyes, and saying… what if I deserve more?

I have a lot to think about.