There is a being that once was a god. A

god that was once a word.

A word that was never meant to be

spoken.

When it speaks, the world splits.

When it is silent, the world is one.

If you too were once a god, check out

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>> [music]

>> The name came first.

Abrais.

It appears across a scattered trail of

ancient sources scratched into stones,

pressed into the faces of carved gems,

and written into the margins of magical

papyrie.

to speak the name or to possess it was

to access something powerful, something

absolute.

A braus was used. The name functioned

more like a tool than a weapon,

something to be invoked, inscribed,

worn, or buried. It appears on

protective amulets, ritual objects, and

fragments of magical formula passed

between mystics and sorcerers across the

hellistic world. In these early

appearances, the name itself is the

presence, the active force, the ritual

key. Its significance deepened through

numerology. According to the Greek

system of isopsy, where each letter

carried a numerical value, the letters

in Araus add up to 365,

the number of days in a solar year.

This link suggested that name

represented a complete cycle, the sum

total of reality encoded in language, a

power that defined the entire turning of

the world. This association made the

name more than sacred. Arais became a

kind of cosmic formula, a word treated

as a self-contained force. In the

melting pot of ancient Alexandria and

beyond is absorbed the fragments of

older traditions, the astral frameworks

of Babylon, the solar cults of Egypt,

the dualistic tension of Persian

thought. Rather than contradict one

another, these influences converged

within the name which began to represent

something far more complex than a deity.

It became an axis, something around

which beliefs could be built and broken.

The visual representations came later. A

rooster headed figure with serpent legs

and weapons in its hand would become

common in later iconography, but that

imagery was built on top of the name,

not the other way round. The myth had to

catch up with the word. To speak the

name was to insert oneself into the

machinery of the world. To inscribe it

was to define the boundary between what

was chaotic and what could be known. To

wear it was to carry the structure of

time and the illusion of control.

But to understand it fully and without

distortion meant dismantling the

definitions of meaning that kept good

and evil, light and darkness safely

apart.

That was never the intention.

The earliest known teachings to place

Abraxus at the center of creation came

from Basilides of Alexandria, a second

century Gnostic teacher working in Roman

Egypt. In a world saturated with

competing gods and rising orthodoxies,

Baselades taught a version of reality

that was almost entirely inverted from

the mainstream Christian message. For

him, the God of the Bible was an

ignorant force, far removed from the

true origin of all things. The lesser

creator was known as the demiurge, and

he was blind to the existence of

anything above him. He shaped the

material world out of ignorance and the

world that followed was flawed, broken

and saturated with illusion. Above him,

far above him was Araus.

Not a god in the human sense, but a

primary source, the first power, the

force from which all things emerged,

including divine intelligence, speech,

will, and light. Basilities taught that

Abraasus was the origin of all other

powers of everything that held meaning,

motion, and life. From Abraus came a

sequence of spiritual forces known as

aons, vast radiant terminations of

power. These aons gave rise to the

archons, rulers that governed layers of

invisible reality. Human existence was

trapped beneath a towering ladder of

spiritual barriers. Above the material

world were 365

distinct realms, each ruled by a

different archon, each further

separating the soul from the original

source.

The name Abraus was understood to

contain this entire cosmic arrangement.

Its numerological value matched the

number of heavens. It was a cipher, a

single world that held the entire shape

of reality.

To know the name was to gain a key to

the totality of existence as it was

believed to truly be. The physical world

was the lowest rung of an unseen

hierarchy.

And the only way out was through

awareness, through nosis.

Arais revealed, and what he revealed was

a world ruled by lower powers. Each

convinced of its own importance, each

standing in the way of what lay beyond.

To invoke his name was to pierce the

veil. To see that even the god of

scripture was only one small part of a

much larger chain. To learn the name of

Abraasis was to risk everything the

church tried to control. Belief,

obedience, and fear. And those who

understood that no longer needed saving.

Arais exists beyond the categories that

define most gods. It's not shaped by

morality, divided by dualism, or limited

to light or darkness. In Nostic belief,

Araxis is the source of all extremes,

joy, pain, beauty, horror, creation, and

collapse. These are functions of the

same origin, and nothing is excluded.

This stood in direct opposition to the

teachings of early Christianity, where

the universe is shaped by the struggle

between a benevolent creator and the

malevolent adversary.

One offers salvation through obedience,

the other corrupts and destroys.

Everything depends on which side you

serve. A brais generates both sides. For

the Gnostics, it was a confrontation.

If blessing and suffering emerge from

the same source, then neither carries

meaning on its own. A life of joy may

offer no reward. A life of suffering may

reveal nothing.

With no divine preference, the world

becomes exposed.

Only the weight of what exists. This is

what made Araxus terrifying. It left

punishment and justice

indistinguishable.

Without moral certainty, the entire idea

of order begins to break down. What

remains is power without explanation,

permission without restraint. There were

no altars to Abraasis, no commandments,

rituals, oaths,

only awareness.

To understand this force was to

recognize that every law, every comfort,

every fear came from the same source,

and none of it offered safety. The soul

once it seized it moves outside the

boundaries those systems enforce. The

gods we worship and the demons we

condemn are reduced to fragments,

incomplete expressions of something far

older.

This is where morality ends and where

the presence of Araus begins.

On ancient carved gems often worn as

protective amulets, the name abraasis

appears alongside a figure that defies

categorization.

a rooster head, a human torso, legs

formed by coiled serpents, one hand

holding a whip, the other holding a

shield. The image is functional. Each

component encodes a specific force.

Together, they form a complete

expression of power. The rooster head

represents time and awakening. It marks

the transition between night and day,

carries solar meaning, and signals the

return of light. In the iconography of

Abraasis, the rooster marks the

beginning of movement. It announces the

cycle. The serpent legs tie Arais to the

thonic, the world beneath the surface.

Serpents have long been linked with

knowledge, danger, and regeneration.

They represent the grounding in primal

forces, wisdom that coils rather than

ascends. Legs made of serpents are built

for anchoring. Araus moves through

instinct as much as intellect. In one

hand, Abraus holds a whip, the power to

command, drive, exert force without

negotiation, a tool of motion and

domination. In the other, a shield, a

symbol of containment and resistance.

The whip extends control. The shield

maintains it. Together, they represent

the ability to push and to endure, to

dominate and to withstand,

all in the service of order.

This hybrid form reflects the influence

of multiple creatures. The serpents and

solar motifs recall Egyptian ritual. The

use of animal-headed beings echo Persian

iconography. The abstraction and magical

intent align with helenic mystery cults.

They converge. The image of Araus

operates across them. It is a glyph, a

symbol designed to be used, something

that could be worn, invoked, or pressed

into an object. The goal was control.

The image of a brais functions like a

circuit. Each part carrying a charge,

each element completing the pattern.

When Carl Jung encountered a brais, he

was confronting the total structure of

the psyche. In the seven sermons to the

dead, a set of esoteric writings he

claimed were dictated by inner voices

during a period of psychological crisis.

Jung placed Abraasus above both God and

devil. A power that contained all

opposites without favor and without

mercy. To Jung, Araus was the truth

behind the mind's illusion of

separation.

It is psychic, the unconscious, the

self.

Araxus appears at the threshold of what

Yume called individuation. The process

by which a person integrates all aspects

of the psyche, especially those that

have been buried, repressed or split

off. In that process, the figure of

Abraasis becomes the archetype of

wholeness. It destroys the moral

boundaries that keep the ego intact. It

erases categories. It forces the

individual to confront the terrifying

possibility that the soul generates its

own gods and its own demons. Where

Christianity taught salvation through

obedience andnosticism taught liberation

through knowledge, Jung warned of

something else entirely, the

transformation through annihilation.

When the opposites within are no longer

at war, they collapse into one

unbearable truth that everything you

are, love, hate, or fear is part of the

same invisible field.

Arais is what happens when the mind

meets that field directly. A vision that

burns away illusion and leaves only

total awareness.

Araus represents a contradiction as a

single unified force. It gathers

creation and destruction into the same

movement. It draws good and evil from

the same source. These qualities operate

together, shaping reality as expressions

of one underlying current.

In the presence of Araus, familiar

divisions lose their authority. Meaning

shifts. Identity loosens its edges. The

mind encounters reality without fixed

reference points. For some, this

experience produces fear. For others, it

produces transformation.

Both responses emerge from the same

confrontation.

Araxis brings awareness to the surface.

The self encounters its full range at

once. desire, violence, compassion, and

insight appear as parts of a single

psychological field.

The separation that once allowed order

dissolves, and consciousness adjusts to

a wider frame of experience.

This figure matters now because the

modern world reflects the same

condition. Belief fragments, identity

multiplies, truth shifts shape depending

on context.

A brais expresses this state with

clarity. It shows a reality shaped by

tension rather than resolution.

To engage with a brais is to accept

complexity as a permanent condition. To

remain present within contradiction, to

carry awareness without retreat into

certainty.

This is the paradox Araus represents and

it remains active.

To speak his name is to end the game.

There's no God coming, no devil waiting,

no heaven above,

only you.

And the thing that watches back when you

say

a Braxus