Persona 8) The gnostic sojourner

We all have a hard time figuring out just what this fellow believes. It's just one more facet in the discombobulated reality we regard as our nogginal ambiances.

Gnosticism is a tedious subject to read about. Everything written about it, either pro or con, is prosaic. Let this be no exception. Gnosticism uses myths to purvey it's essences. The knowledge it holds in store for us is beyond words, even beyond the realm of the physical universe, and can only be alluded to in synonymies. So, without further ado, if you have an ear or two, hear.

When the gods, or actually intermediate deific beings who exist between the ultimate, True God and ourselves, heard the pleas of a settler in central Saskatchewan in the late 1800's they went into action. He was returning from a shopping trip to the big town of Saskatoon and on the back of his two horse cart he had among his purchases a barrel of molasses. This part of Saskatchewan is pretty flat with gently rolling terrain and a few scattered potholes called sloughs. The melt of the last great ice age has however carved a river valley, now pretty much dry, through which our settler had to cross. His horses were weary from their three day trek and the trail was rutted and steep. Nearing the top of the climb the horses succumbed to fatigue and refused to go one step further.

Our settler begged, and pleaded, and coxed, and in despair got down on his hands and knees and began to sob. But the team had had enough, this hill with the heavy load was just too much. The deific beings were much taken by the sobs of one of their creations and eyeing up the situation, they saw that lessening the cart’s load would do much to encourage the horses attitude. So by happen-chance the rope holding the molasses barrel secure became untied and off rolled the barrel smashing on the steep hillside. A stream of thick black molasses oozed it's way all down the ravine, and to this day this ancient river bed is named “The Blackstrap.”

The horses, sensing a lightened load, picked up their spirits and headed home to their warm barn. The settler was never sure whether to truly thank the intermediaries, as the cakes and cookies were not the sweetest that long winter. He who hath ears, let him hear.