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Gabriel Ari

@biblicalfigure

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prophet of the end times 𓃬
somatic therapist • @thepureartof.sensing
a candle is made to be entirely flame.

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symptoms of being an angel: a) cold feet b) suffering in separation c) downloads of divine will d) only comprehending positive speech e) intense dream life f) cute g) wanted to be a winx fairy as a child h) never broke a bone in their life i) bearing an angelic name by @biblicalfigure

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17 days ago

hey chat what is this aesthetic called? by @biblicalfigure

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2 months ago

очень необычно зайка taken in Tallinn, Estonia by @biblicalfigure

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3 months ago

poison transmutation ☠️⚗️🍸🧬🦂 by @biblicalfigure

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3 months ago

июльские изнывания и очень нишевое творчество by @biblicalfigure

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3 months ago

un continente no cabe en Él
pero Él cabe en mi pecho
y mi pecho ocupa su amor
y en su amor me quiero perder taken in Lisbon, Portugal by @biblicalfigure

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4 months ago

performative male photo dump taken in Lisbon, Portugal by @biblicalfigure

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4 months ago

電撃 / dengeki /
a lightning struck me.

it brought me to my knees before my parents - young, unarmored, still not bearing the weight of their mistakes - innocent, yet somehow already broken. their story was tragic before it even began.

my family was heavily religious, yet somehow we always struggled to reach God.
perhaps in the same way we always struggled to reach dad.

for us, God was the Judge, the Jealous God, the Consuming Fire - and rarely the Redeemer or the Father. the overwhelming overlap between fear, awe, and devotion was the living pulse of our home. my mother’s vain sacrifices for a distant figure who never held her still hold a strangely tender place in my heart.

sometimes it feels like carnal terror is the most intimate thing we ever shared. by @biblicalfigure

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a year ago

/ Psyche loved a god she could not see. Each night, he came to her in darkness; his voice, his warmth, his nearness real—yet the law of their love was that she could never look upon his face. And for a time, she accepted this mystery. She lived suspended between knowing and not knowing, between touch and vision.

One night, unable to bear her own unknowing, she lit a lamp. And as the flame revealed Eros—pure beauty, pure desire—a single drop of oil fell and woke him. Psyche has seen him too soon. Wounded by betrayal, Eros flees.

Psyche is cast into the wilderness to learn how to love as a soul, not as a dreamer. Aphrodite—love’s mother and the keeper of maturity—gives her four impossible tasks, each one an ordeal of integration.

To sort the mountain of seeds is to learn discernment: to find order within chaos, to let instinct and patience show the way.
To gather the golden fleece from violent rams is to approach power without being devoured by it, to take warmth from life’s fires without burning.
To draw water from the river of death is to touch the underworld, to face the exhaustion of living, and yet carry back a drop of spirit from despair.
And to descend into the underworld for Persephone’s beauty to face mortality itself—the mystery that strips away pride and leaves only soul.

Psyche endures each trial not through might but through yielding—through her willingness to feel, to listen, to be helped by forces greater than her will. Even the cosmos bends toward reunion.

In the end, she opens the box meant to hold divine beauty. But what lies within is sleep—obliteration. Only when she falls into deep stillness does Eros return, brushing death from her eyes.

She wakes up changed. And so she is taken to Olympus—not as mortal yearning for god, but as soul reunited with desire.

From their union is born a daughter named Voluptas—the quiet Joy that arises when love enters and elevates the soul.

/ new moon at the final degree of Libra by @biblicalfigure

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a year ago

~ In the beginning, before the birth of light, there was Nyx — Night herself, eldest daughter of Chaos and mother of all things that move unseen. She was not evil, but absolute: vast, fertile, unknowable. From her black wings poured Sleep, Death, Destiny, Desire, and Dream — the hidden scaffolding of mortal and divine consciousness.

Nyx does not rule a kingdom as Hades does, nor a heaven like Zeus. She is the atmosphere in which boundaries dissolve. Even the gods fear her, for they too must pass through her when they rest. Beneath her veil, the living and the dead, the divine and the forgotten, drift close enough to hear each other’s breathing.

From her womb arise the Oneiroi, countless spirits of dream — children of Nyx and Erebus [Darkness], shaped from the thin matter between thought and form, bodies woven of vapor and reflected light. By day they lie still, like seeds under frost. By night, Nyx releases them to drift upward, bearing visions to mortal minds.

Some pass through the Gate of Horn, arising from the soul’s necessity — messages of guidance, healing, and revelation. Others pass through the Gate of Ivory, dreams of illusion, the bright masks of fear and longing.

Among the Oneiroi, three are known by name. Morpheus, shaper of human form, walks in the likeness of loved ones, mentors, and strangers, letting the soul converse with itself through their faces. Phobetor, or Icelos, the frightener, crafts dreams of beasts and monsters, teaching that every terror has a pulse, every impulse a purpose. Phantasos, the dreamer of landscapes, creates visions of stone, water, flame, and cloud, through which the world itself breathes texture into our bodies.

To the ancients, Nyx was not an absence of light but the matrix from which all form arises. Even the sun, when it sets, returns to her to be reborn. So too must the soul descend into her realm, unmake itself in dream and sleep, and emerge each dawn slightly altered, polished by mystery. taken in Coja, Coimbra, Portugal by @biblicalfigure

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a year ago

schizoid diaries by @biblicalfigure

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a year ago

~ take care of your anima guys taken in Berlin, Germany by @biblicalfigure

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3 years ago