Yes you can. See the old Marks. A Phylactery is also a case or a chest which holds a Holy Relic - it's a Reliquary. So tracing the denotations thru their root it goes like this: the Greek word "phylax" [phylax] meant guard. So a Phylakterion was an Amulet which was used to "safeguard." The Romans ripped off the term and over time it swelled to include: the 2 Jewish Boxes worn at prayer, the inscribed scroll, and a chest to hold a Relic. All tied to the concept of warding off Evil and attracting the Graces, the Muses, and god's sunny face. The gods and their myths grow just like the roots of words - thru Conceptual-Metathesis and Analogy, thru thievery and exappropriation, thru organic growth and exfoliation. Language is part of the Natural world and therefore subject to all those laws of evolution and growth. All that Halakha. Ideas like this were going to get Baruch Spinoza thrown out of the Jews and his books banned and burned by successions of historic fascists who cannot have people thinking that life is Natural at all.

As far as Biography goes, Spinoza's life has holes in it. And his death is riddled with them. Geschichte will tell you that Spinoza died in February of 1677 from a "lung disease" probably connected with his gig as a Lens Grinder - all those tiny pieces of glass hanging onto his brachae. And Geschichte will go on and say that the philosopher was buried at Nieuwe Kerk in Den Haag after a funeral attended by "illustrious persons and followed by 6 coaches." Followed indeed. Barber Perfect and his Krew were right behind. It begs the question why a Christian Dutch Church would bury an Apostate Jew in their midst but those are the type of details which Geschichte is never very good at clarifying. Heilgeschichte cracks the nut but that is neither here nor there - right now. Right here it is enough to note that History also records the odd fact that Spinoza's body was stolen before the burial and that the only thing interred that cold February day in 1677 was a pine box with a few pamphlets and books enclosed. Geschichte says no more on Benedito de Espinosa's last remains.

Barber Perfect does. And he has a Branching story of a vault in Basel and treachery from his "brother" Pooler Jones and then the Miraculous Translation of Spinoza's Bones from Switzerland to the greenery of a hill in Ireland called Beltany Tops with its Phylax of Standing Stones in a large Circle where they would wait . . . snug in a hand-carved wooden coffre which was, itself, snug inside a metal coffre and wrapped in leather skins, cinched in belts with buckles upon which someone had once engraved: Gott Mit Uns. But branches like this cross the line where Geschichte shifts to Heilgeschichte. Where fact meets Metaphor. Out there on the leading edge of Chaos where the Creative fucks, farts, and dies. Leaving its bones to History.

It's the Old Wound, Arthur tells Merlin as the Dying Fisher King yields to the Land which he, himself, embodies. It's the Old Arrow - not Cupid's, and not Death's cold Flèche, but god's - the Arrow of his Intentions, his Necessities. It's the Old Dragon, mothafucka - that's what Spinoza had discovered. Which is why Barber had him poisoned and then took his body and why Kenny La Roche took it back.

Shhh! Says Harpocrates. We need to keep these things sub rosa. If everyone knew that god was a Monad and that Monkeys were too where would we put everything else?
Run your cursor over Harpo to see where Spinoza is not. From here on in you have been warned about Emptiness.
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