web analytics

Category: 3-eyed crow

Categories
3-eyed crow Racial right

Black bread

On my morning walk to buy a loaf of black bread to go with my salad at lunchtime (in my intermittent fasting I skip breakfasts), I had a thought.

The racial realism promoted by Jared Taylor is doomed to fail. As Michael O’Meara said years ago in one of the TOQ Online essays that were eventually published in Toward the White Republic, it is the poet, not the scientist, who makes nations. Taylor, and as we recently saw even the neo-Nazi G.L. Rockwell, didn’t question the American System. If Homer was the poet whose myth galvanised the Aryan psyche of other times, what would be the replacement myth for the Christian myth that is killing us?

I would like to quote what I wrote in the comments section of my post yesterday:

In one of his recent emails Gaedhal mentions that he went to mass for the death of a loved one and, although he is no longer the Christian he used to be, he still knelt and crossed himself. It is obvious that these are all parental introjects that are very difficult to exorcise despite the tons of rational thinking one throws at them in the process of (pseudo) apostasy. In other words, only by knowing yourself, as the Delphic Oracle commanded, could you really begin to detect the malware that our parents installed in us as children. But that means sitting down to write spiritual odysseys which in this shallow, consumerist age, no one will want to write or even read (except me).

In other words: an Enlightenment-style critique of Christianity will get us nowhere. It is a purely rationalistic critique that doesn’t go to the marrow of why we have believed such monstrous things as eternal damnation. Just as O’Meara is right that mythopoeia is what creates nations, it is also true that the myth in turn, a secular worship of the crucified (black, trans, migrant, etc.), has to be replaced by a new myth. Hitler had excellent instincts on how to create it, but the Christian forces of the Anglo-Americans, and neo-Christian forces of the Soviets, didn’t allow such a transvaluation.

Neither Taylor nor critics of Christianity like Gaedhal will succeed without understanding how the collective Aryan unconscious works. Although the neo-Christian Tom Holland is our ideological enemy, he is absolutely right to say that this collective unconscious is still held captive—possessed I dare to say!—to the archetype that the crucified is nobler than the crucifier. Even these days, on campuses, kids are siding with the crucified Palestinians in the face of Israel’s ethnic cleansing. They are all, of course, neo-Christians and the cross is still their emblem even though Jesus is no longer nailed to it.

This is Neo-Christianity.

I am not saying that this is altogether wrong, insofar as the reaction against Israel has opened a door to address the JQ that was previously closed. But Gaedhal’s approach in my quote yesterday implies that he still dwells under the sky of Christian morality. With the new myth, we would have a very different phenomenon on campuses. Let us imagine, and this is an experiment of the imagination, millions of kids wearing T-shirts of Himmler or other members of the SS who ordered the killing of millions of Untermenschen. In this Gedankenexperiment genocide is not something to be shocked by but to emulate as long as the genocided are non-Aryans.

But what do fans of Taylor and Rockwell do? The more conventional white nationalists simply ignore Hitler, and the neo-Nazis deny that millions of Untermenschen died under the orders of the Third Reich. From my vantage point in the cave, people like Taylor and Rockwell’s epigones seem to me to be very close to each other. To use the metaphor I have been using, they are both south of the Wall. Both ‘reek of summer’ we read in George R.R. Martin’s prose. In fact, they haven’t even crossed it, let alone looked for the raven’s cave far north of the Wall.

I still think Holland’s book (excerpts here) is fundamental to grasping the POV of this site although, of course, unlike Holland, we—Hitler, Himmler, Savitri Devi and I—have transvalued values to how they were thought of before Christian malware took hold of the Aryan collective unconscious. If anyone keeps in mind Eduardo Velasco’s essay on Rome vs. Judea, he will recall that pre-Christian Greeks and Romans didn’t give a damn that Jews were being genocided in 70 c.e. Compare this indifference to today’s holocaust deniers. They are neo-Christian, faux-National Socialists who won’t cross the Wall because they are still adoring the crucified, whether Jesus is present or not on their cross.

Categories
3-eyed crow

Cold

As I came down with the flu three days ago, I have postponed for a while resuming my series on Simms’ revisionist book on Hitler, since it requires special attention. On this day, when I am still suffering from cold symptoms, I prefer to quote what our friend Gaedhal tells us in his latest email:

If Apologetics is lies and distortion—and it is—then that makes apologists liars and distortors.

In my view, Apologists are essentially drug dealers. They supply the brain chemicals that desperate people need, so as to stay sane in this cruel life. Apologists sell dopamine, and other pleasant brain chemicals. Apologetics is not a respectable profession, in my view.

In the same way that there will be an illicit drug trade for as long as people need to self medicate, likewise, religion will exist so long as people think that they need assistance from beyond the veil. Apologists sell a comforting delusion to desperate people. The way to ultimately put apologists out of business is to make people less desperate. As people become less desperate, they become less religious. We see this in Japan, and Scandanavia. However, America is a predatory capitalist hellscape, and so it is no wonder why Americans feel that they need help from an imaginary Celestial Zion.

I saw Michael Heiser doing genocide apologetics… and yet Tabor and Derek Lambert had a memorial service for this scoundrel. The Jewish exceptionalism that we see, today, in Palestine, would not be possible were it not for Christian genocide apologists like Craig, Copan and Heiser.

The fact—as we well know—is that Yahweh deposed Saul because he did allow some goyim to live. David was a man after Yahweh’s own heart, because he would always exterminate the goyim thoroughly. But no: we are fedora-wearing village atheists—according to Heiser’s thumbnail—if we insist on this. Fuck this guy—even if he did die of cancer. Biblical Genocide apologists are the scum of the earth. Heiser’s career translates into real human suffering in places like Gaza.

As Captain Cassidy might put it: if Christianity is an abusive and harmful scam then that makes Christian apologists abusive and harm-causing scam artists.

Technically, I don’t object to what Gaedhal says, but there is something I must clarify.

For a guy who was mistreated by his parents since his teenage years to such an extent that he was left unable to have a career, a good job or even a partner, and who as a defence mechanism decided (to use George R.R. Martin’s fiction) to go into a cave on the other side of the Wall to retrocognitively see the past—his and his parents’ past to understand the tragedy—and to do this until he was half a century old, and only in his fifty-first year to discover white nationalism, it should be obvious that his POV won’t resemble what can be seen on racialist (or non-racialist) forums.

The passion to see the past as it really happened and to let, over the decades, the branches of the Weirwood envelop you to understand not only one’s biographical past but the historical past of Westeros (a metaphor for the West) produces a kind of mutant.

That is why, although technically what Gaedhal tells us is true, I find a fundamental flaw. Gaedhal’s emails will never explain why Christians, or former Christians, have believed such things. Only when one writes one’s psychological autobiography in thousands of pages does one discover why.

I have said that as soon as I finish revising my last book (to which I’ve added a chapter about my mother’s death), I will begin to translate into English what is missing from that psychological autobiography that I have just finished. It is only when someone writes it over the decades that he realises, like the three-eyed raven (‘Bloodraven’), that our parents literally programmed our minds with Christian software.

If those on the racial right weren’t so programmed, but came of age and were made to choose a religion good for Aryan preservation, would the reader believe that these Jew-wise racialists would choose the religion whose holy scriptures were written by Jews for goyim consumption?

Just to ask this question is to answer it! But without a cave on the other side of the Wall, without that long and painful process of initiation into the art of retrocognition, where you virtually leave your humanity behind, without knowing yourself to know the universe and the true Gods, there can be no true wisdom; only mere Gaedhal-like common sense.

In other words, only by knowing ourselves as deeply as this imaginary Bloodraven could one apostatise from the demented religion of our parents. Otherwise, all we have are the semi-apostasies or pseudo-apostasies of liberals (and even Woke folk!) that lead nowhere because they fail to get to the heart of the matter: the structure of the inner Self.

Categories
3-eyed crow

Solitude

Eight years ago I published an entry here under the title ‘Solitude’, in which I quoted some passages from Nietzsche’s poetic prose and then commented on them. I would like to recite some of those quotes and comment on them again, but from a more mature perspective.

Now Zarathustra looked at the people and he was amazed. Then he spoke thus: ‘Mankind is a rope fastened between animal and Overman – a rope over an abyss. What is great about human beings is that they are a bridge and not a purpose: what is lovable about human beings is that they are a crossing over and a going under’.

The lovely thing about white nationalists is that they are a crossing over and a sinking, indeed. But they don’t yet go under completely into the river so the nymph helps them finish crossing it.

‘I love the great despisers, because they are the great venerators and arrows of longing for the other shore. I love those who do not first seek behind the stars for a reason to go under and be a sacrifice, who instead sacrifice themselves for the earth, so that the earth may one day become the Overman’s. I love the one who lives in order to know, and who wants to know so that one day the Overman may live. And so he wants his sinking in his sunset’.

If anyone has read the central book of my Hojas Susurrantes, that dream I had as a child with an impressive celestial ship in the shape of a pencil and my family in the foreground in a bucolic environment, and how as a child I wanted to be in the big rocket that I saw on the horizon more than on that beautiful field day, you should know that a few years ago I transvalued my childhood values and realised that we must be faithful to the Earth since it is through self-knowledge that one can truly know the universe and become the overman.

‘I want to teach humans the meaning of their being, which is the Overman, the lightning from the dark cloud “human being”.’

Racialists are a dark cloud that could give birth to lightning bolts that would split history in twain (Savitri’s Kalki), but they still don’t give birth to them.

‘It dawned on me: I need companions, and living ones – not dead companions and corpses that I carry with me wherever I want’.

My river nymph died in 1982. Where is there someone like her on the other side of the river? It bothers me to deal only with the ghost of a person dead and cremated long ago because today’s racialists don’t dare to cross her psychological Rubicon.

‘It dawned on me: let Zarathustra speak not to the people, but instead to companions!’

I realised for a long time that going to the racial right forums to try to invite them to the other side is a fool’s errand.

‘Look at the good and the just! Whom do they hate most? The one who breaks their tablets of values, the breaker, the lawbreaker – but he is the creative one’.

They hate the hero of the Second World War, who tore up their cherished tablets of Judeo-Christian law. Once you break those tablets you realise not only that the majority of humans have no value, but that they are ranked negatively in the eyes of the overman.

‘Companions the creative one seeks and not corpses, nor herds and believers. Fellow creators the creative one seeks, who will write new values on new tablets’.

‘I do not want to even speak again with the people – for the last time have I spoken to a dead person’.

Below are some excerpts from Robert Pippin’s introduction to Nietzsche’s book.

As noted, the problem Zarathustra confronts seems to be a failure of desire; nobody wants what he is offering, and they seem to want very little other than a rather bovine version of happiness.

For example, those who belong to the racial right aren’t revolutionaries in spirit but de facto conservatives (neo-normies).

It is that sort of failure that proves particularly difficult to address, and that cannot be corrected by thinking up a ‘better argument’ against such a failure.

The events that are narrated are also clearly tied to the question of what it means for Zarathustra to have a teaching, to try to impart it to an audience suffering in this unusual way, suffering from complacency or dead desire. Only at the very beginning, in the Prologue, does he try to ‘lecture publicly’, one might say, and this is a pretty unambiguous failure.

The reminder of the Prologue appears to indicate that Zarathustra himself had portrayed his own teaching in a comically inadequate way, preaching to the multitudes as if people could simply begin to overcome themselves by some revolutionary act of will…

He had shifted from marketplace preaching to conversations with disciples in Part I, and at the end of that Part I he decides to forgo even that and to go back to his cave alone.

As to the latter, I think I should no longer tweet on X (if anyone wants to ask me why, do so in the comments section).

Categories
3-eyed crow Fair Race’s Darkest Hour (book) Science Videos

Carl Sagan’s Library of Alexandria

In 1980, when I was much younger, my dad invited me to watch Cosmos, in his words, ‘the best television show’. And indeed, Cosmos really captivated me. I watched it again last month, but from the point of view of a mature César who has emerged from the cave of the three-eyed raven (cf. the final pages of The Grail).

I have already posted a couple of entries about Cosmos in 2012 and 2017 but now I would like to elaborate on a few points.

In the first episode Sagan introduces us to what will be this thirteen-episode series, and in the opening moments he tells us: ‘Our species [sic] is young and curious.’ So right from the opening moments we hear something that isn’t quite true, in that only the white race [1] has been truly curious, to the extent of having invented and/or discovered philosophy and science. What sense does it make to call sub-Saharan negroes ‘curious’ (Sagan uses the word ‘species’ as referring to all apterous bipeds)? Also, in those opening minutes, Sagan comments: ‘I believe that the future depends powerfully on how well we understand this cosmos…’

This is the crucial error I have detected in all science educators: from a writer of countless popular science books, Isaac Asimov (of whom I own several of his books), to Sagan’s predecessor Jacob Bronowski, and even the society of sceptical scientists CSICOP (now renamed CSI), at one of whose conferences I shook Sagan’s hand a couple of years before he died.

Carl Sagan was an American astronomer, planetary scientist, cosmologist, astrophysicist and astrobiologist. His words (‘I believe that the future depends powerfully on how well we understand this cosmos…’) remind me of the anecdote of the Greek philosopher who, distracted by stargazing, fell into a hole. The reality is the opposite of what all the aforementioned popularisers of science believe: it is only by knowing ourselves (gnōthi seautón—inscription at the temple of Apollo at Delphi) that we will arrive at wisdom.

The hard sciences, that is, the objective study of the empirical world, can only be wise if we know beforehand who we are. I remind the regular visitor that The Fair Race’s Darkest Hour includes an article summarising National Socialism from its ‘esoteric POV’, to use the term from my last article.

I refer to ‘National Socialist worldview – SS pamphlet’. In just ten pages, perhaps dictated by Himmler himself, we are informed that, for our psyches, the revolution on racial issues will be far more cataclysmic than the Copernican revolution. It is a manifesto (pages 501-510 of The Fair Race) that admirably sums up National Socialism.

Hitler said so too, as we see in these words of Savitri Devi from the book I’m still proofreading: ‘Despite his political alliance with Mussolini’s Italy the Führer was perfectly aware of the gulf separating his biologically based Weltanschauung from fascism, which remained alien to the “stakes of the colossal struggle” that was about to begin, that is, the meaning of his mission. “It is only we National Socialists and we alone,” he said, “who have penetrated the secret of the gigantic revolutions that are coming”.’

It is the scientific study of human races, not cosmology, that will revolutionise the world. Thus, from the very beginning of Cosmos, Carl Sagan puts the cart before the horse. He died in 1996, two years before the first signs of the metastasis of what has now become the Woke monster: a state of mass psychosis suffered by all white nations except Russia, thanks to the warlike barrier that she has just put up (‘They shall not pass’) against the insane Homo-Globo agenda. Despite immense advances in the hard sciences, including astronomy, the egalitarian folie en mass that began with Christianity’s universalism, the founding of the US, the French Revolution ideals, and is culminating now is such that a huge number of whites can no longer even define what is a woman.

Back to Cosmos: A Personal Voyage. After the initial journey in which Sagan shows us the universe on its grandest scale, his ship of the imagination arrives on Earth and here we watch the first bad message of the series. When I was a kid, American popular science magazines only featured the white man in their illustrations. Here Sagan shows us, as he arrives with his ship on Earth, all races without distinction—and the TV producers did it with the first movement of Beethoven’s 7th Symphony as background music.

The first hero in Carl Sagan’s personal journey is Eratosthenes, the chief librarian of the Library of Alexandria, who was neither sandnigger nor Indian, gook or kike. In fact all the heroes of this series are whites: something Sagan cannot say openly out of political correctness. Then, this first episode shows us images of Alexandria, now the second largest city in Egypt, and acknowledges that the city has lost its glory, and that now there are only minarets. But ancient Alexandria was a white-dominated city (I remember a documentary that shocked me when I saw a reconstruction of a North African city in the Ancient World completely populated by whites).

Sagan fails to see the relationship between scientific flourishing and the white race. ‘Our race [instead of species] is young and curious’ he should have said. The scientist Sagan was unable to connect the simplest info of two of his neurons because he lived and died within the Christian Era in which even secular humanists, like him, subscribe to a universalist doctrine.

Sagan then talks about the Library of Alexandria and visits what is left of it since the Christians destroyed the classical world: a dark and dreary basement, without a single papyrus of course. Everything was destroyed! Shortly afterwards the producers of Cosmos reconstructed, with visual effects, the Library of Alexandria: the beacon of the Greco-Roman world. Sagan walks through this reconstructed library and talks about many other great whites who, like Eratosthenes, flourished in that city before the catastrophe that devastated the Ancient World. The scenes inside a reconstructed Library of Alexandria are the best of the series and Sagan will return there in the final episode of Cosmos:

What the celebrated communicator says resonates with the thesis of this site: the inconceivable tragedy for the white race of the destruction of the classical world. It is here, not in the stars, that any analysis of the West’s darkest hour should begin, which is why the masthead of this site remains the translated essay by Evropa Soberana (pages 33-123 of The Fair Race).

If you don’t want to watch the whole TV series, I recommend the first and last episodes of Cosmos as long as you pay special attention to what this guy says about the Library of Alexandria.

_______

[1] I am referring to the pure Aryans. Regarding the hard sciences, this month we will publish a colleague’s article criticising the pseudo-scientific anti-Nordicism of the American racial right.

Categories
3-eyed crow

On the recent mass shooting

Andrew Anglin wrote some paragraphs today that I’ll quote in the comments section of this post. I would add a couple of thoughts.

Firstly, these kinds of lone wolf actions that are not done in concert are very different from going Berserk. Despite the obvious savagery, going Berserk was a concerted Viking action to achieve something concrete in the pre-Christian world.

Secondly, Silicon Valley censorship is to blame for this kind of action. If they didn’t censor our sites, there would be a better chance of channelling this sort of Viking rage more healthily.

Brandenburg v. Ohio was a landmark decision by the US Supreme Court interpreting the First Amendment. The Court held that the government cannot punish inflammatory speech (i.e., The West’s Darkest Hour) unless that speech is intended to incite or produce immediate unlawful action. In other words, it is possible to speak about revolution at the academic level, even if that revolution involves overthrowing the US government.

If Silicon Valley revered the spirit of these laws, there would already be popular treatises and FAQs over the Internet about how to make a revolution in the nebulous future. That would channel a lot of today’s Aryan frustration into smarter behaviour than something like what just happened in Buffalo.

It is possible to convince a young white man not to do something rash if there is a concrete revolutionary plan for that future. But today’s racialist sites, in addition to the censorship of Silicon Valley, are also responsible for failing to provide that outlet, insofar as they are all reactionary, not revolutionary.

We have said many times on this site that it isn’t time for direct politics because the darkest hour of the West means that almost all Aryan males, the normies, have gone bananas. It is time to become pupils of Bloodraven (an obvious allusion to Odin, because George R.R. Martin’s fictional figure was, like Odin, one-eyed and surrounded by ravens). There, in Bloodraven’s cave, he would learn to develop paranormal retrocognition: see the historical past, especially the destruction of the Greco-Roman world by a Semitic cult and the holocaust of Germans committed by the Allies after 1945.

If, moreover, as even seen in the TV series, Bloodraven’s pupil learns to open his third eye and see a couple of glimpses of the future, he won’t see exactly the shadow of a dragon flying over King’s Landing, but how the collapse of the dollar of that Westeros capital will set that city on fire.

The pupil with the power to move through time—the real historical past and glimpses of the future—will shed his psychic skin. He will mature. And through that maturity he will realise that it is futile to strengthen the System by the intemperate actions of isolated lone wolves.

I know that’s a lot to ask hormonal teenagers and youths who want to go Berserk immediately. ‘I don’t want to be like you, a mummified old man fused to a tree’, the pupil said to Bloodraven. He replied that he wouldn’t be; that there was going to be a war, and that the pupil will have a future outside the cave.

But before all that, the pupil must learn.

Categories
3-eyed crow Kali Yuga Souvenirs et réflexions d'une aryenne (book) Third Reich

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 83

The leaders who have led, or will lead, some phase of the eternal struggle ‘against Time’ after the limit point where a last great recovery would still have been possible—after what Virgil Ghéorghiou calls ‘the twenty-fifth hour’—, haven’t been able and won’t be able to leave behind them anything in this visible and tangible world, except a handful of clandestine disciples.

And these have, and will have, nothing to look forward to—except the coming of Kalki; or the Saoshyant of the Zoroastrians, the Maitreya Buddha of the Buddhists, the glorious fighting Christ as expected by the Christians at his ‘second coming’,[1] the Mahdi of the Mohammedans, the immortal Emperor of the Germans surging forth, armed, from his enigmatic Cave at the head of his avenging Knights. He who returns for the last time in our cycle has many names. But He is the same under all of them.

Now He is known by His action, that is, by His victory over all, followed by the dazzling dawn of the next cycle: the new Satya Yuga, or Age of Truth.

The defeat in this world of a Leader who fought against universal decadence, and therefore against the very meaning of Time, is enough to prove that this Leader, however great he may have been, was not Him. He may well have been Him in essence: the eternal Saviour, not of ‘man’ but of Life who ‘returns’ innumerable times. But he was certainly not Him, in the ultimate form in which He must reappear at the end of every cycle.

Adolf Hitler was not Kalki, though he was, essentially speaking, the same as the ancient Rama Chandra, or the historical Krishna, or Siegfried, or the Prophet Mohammed, the Leader of a true ‘holy war’ (i.e., of a ceaseless struggle against the Forces of disintegration; against the Forces of the abyss). He was, like every great Fighter against the current of Time, a Forerunner of Kalki. He was, still in essence, the Emperor of the Cave. With him the latter reappeared, intensely awake and in arms, as he had reappeared before in the person of various great German leaders, especially Frederick II of Prussia, whom Adolf Hitler so revered. But this was not his last and final reappearance in this cycle.

In both cases he had awakened to the sound of the distress of his people. Carried away by the enthusiasm of the action, he had, with his faithful barons, dashed a few steps out of the cave.

Then he returned to the shadows, the Omniscient Ravens having told him that it was, despite impressive signs, ‘not yet the time’.

Frederick II founded the Old Prussian Lodges, through which the more-than-human truth was to continue to be passed on to a few generations of initiates after him. Adolf Hitler left his admirable Testament, in which he too exhorts the best to keep their blood pure, to resist the invasion of error and lies—of the counter-Tradition—and to wait.

He knew that the ‘twenty-fifth hour’ had come, and long ago. At the age of sixteen, as I have already mentioned, he had a premonition of his own materially useless but necessary struggle.

As a German, as an Aryan, a man conscious of the excellence of the Aryan race, although he was an integral part of it, he was eager to defeat the world arrayed against him and his people. He was striving with all his strength, with all his genius, for the building of a superior and lasting society, a visible reflection of the cosmic order, the Reich of his dreams.

And he was striving against all hope, against all reason, in an inordinate effort to stop at all costs the levelling, the dumbing down, the disfigurement of the most beautiful and gifted variety of men; to prevent forever its reduction to the state of a mass without race and character. And he struggled, with all the bitterness of an artist, against the shameless destruction of the living and beautiful natural environment, in which he rightly saw an increasingly patent sign of the imminent victory of the Forces of disintegration.

His irrational confidence in an in extremis salvation using the ‘secret weapon’; his feverish expectation, under burning Berlin, of the entry into action of ‘General Wenck’s army’, which had long since ceased to exist, are reminiscent, in dramatic absurdity, whatever Christians may think, of Christ’s attitude in Gethsemane, praying that the chalice of suffering, which he had come to drink to the dregs, might be removed from his lips.

Adolf Hitler—since he was a combatant against Time, whose kingdom, if it belonged to the eternal, was also ‘of this world’—clung to the illusion of total victory and, despite everything, of an immediate recovery to the end. He clung to it, I repeat, as a German and as a man. As an insider, he knew that this was an illusion, that it was ‘too late’ already in 1920. He had seen it, on that extraordinary night on top of Freienberg in 1905. And the real leaders of the ‘Black Order’—in particular those of the Ahnenerbe, aware as he was of the inevitability of the cycle that was nearing its end—were already preparing, before 1945, the clandestine survival of the essential, beyond the collapse of National Socialist Germany.

And we who follow them and him also know that there will never be a Hitlerian civilisation.

No, hope no more to see us again,
Sacred walls that could not preserve my Hector.

I remember this verse that Racine puts in the mouth of Andromache, in scene IV of the first act of his tragedy of that name. And I think that the grandiose parades to the rhythm of the Horst Wessel Lied, under the folds of the red, white and black swastika standard, and all that glory that was the Third German Reich, the nucleus of a pan-Aryan Empire, are as irrevocably past as the splendours of prestigious Troy; as ‘past’ and as immortal, because one day Legend will recreate them, when epic poetry is again a collective need.

He who returns from age to age, both destroyer and preserver, will appear again at the very end of your cycle, to open to the best the Golden Age of the next cycle. As I have recalled in these pages, Adolf Hitler was waiting for it. He said to Hans Grimm in 1928: ‘I know that I am not the One who is to come’, that is, the last and only fully victorious Man against Time of our cycle. ‘I only take on the most urgent task of preparation (die dringlichste Vorarbeit), for there is no one to do it’.

One incommensurably harder than he will accomplish the final task—the task of rectification—on the ruins of a humanity that believed all was permitted because it is endowed with a brain capable of calculations, and which largely deserved its fall and its loss.

__________

[1] The Deuteria Parousia spoken of by the Greek Orthodox Church.

Categories
3-eyed crow August Kubizek Catholic religious orders Souvenirs et réflexions d'une aryenne (book) Swastika

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 66

It is curious, to say the least, that this extraordinary episode—which, apart from its own ‘resonance’ of truth, is guaranteed by Kubizek’s ignorance of the superhuman realm—has not, to my knowledge, been commented on by any of those who have tried to link National Socialism to ‘occult’ sources. Even the authors who have—quite wrongly!—wanted to attribute to the Führer a nature of ‘medium’ have not, as far as I know, attempted to use it. Instead, they have insisted on the immense power of suggestion which he exercised not only over crowds (and women), but on all those who came, even if only occasionally, into contact with him; on men as coldly detached as a Himmler; on soldiers as realistic as an Otto Skorzeny, a Hans-Ulrich Rudel or a Degrelle.

Now, it is ignorance of the first elements of the science of para-psychic phenomena to consider as ‘medium’ one who enjoys such power. A medium is the one who receives, who undergoes suggestion; not the one who is capable of inflicting it on others, and especially many others. This power is the privilege of the hypnotist or magnetizer, and in this case of a magnetizer of a stature that borders on the superhuman; of a magnetizer capable for his benefit—or rather for the idea, of which he wants to be the promoter—to play the role of a ‘medium’ to the strongest, the stalest, the most resistant to any affecting.

One is not both a magnetiser and a medium. We are one or the other, or neither. And if we want to include some ‘para-psychic’ in the history of Adolf Hitler’s political career—as I believe we are entitled to do—then the magnetizer is him, whose power of exalting and transforming human beings, by the mere spoken word, is comparable to that which Orpheus exerted, it is said, by the enchantment of his lyre, on people and beasts. The ‘medium’ is the German people, almost all of them—and some non-Germans throughout the world, to whom the radio transmitted the bewitching Voice.

The episode mentioned above, of which I have translated Augustus Kubizek’s account, [1] could very well serve as an argument in favour of the presence of ‘medium gifts’ in the young Adolf Hitler if these so-called gifts weren’t contradicted resoundingly, precisely by the astonishing power of suggestion which he didn’t cease to exercise throughout his career on the multitudes and practically all the people. Indeed, Kubizek tells us that he had the distinct impression that ‘another I’ had spoken through his friend; that the stream of prophetic eloquence had seemed to flow from him as from a force alien to him. Now, if the adolescent speaker had nothing of the ‘medium’ about him; if he was in no way possessed by ‘an Other’—god or the devil, whatever; in any case not himself—what then was this ‘other I’ who seemed to take his place during that unforgettable hour on the summit of the Freienberg, under the stars, and to substitute him so completely that the friend would have had some difficulty in recognising him, hadn’t he continued to see him?

Understandably, Auguste Kubizek didn’t ‘dare to pass judgment’ on this. However, he speaks of an ‘ecstatic state’, of ‘complete rapture’ (völlige Entrückung) and the transposition of the visionary’s experience onto ‘another plane, tailored to him’ (auf eine andere, ihm gemässe Ebene). Moreover, this recent living experience—the impression made on him by the story of the 14th-century Roman tribune translated and interpreted by Wagner’s music—had been, the witness tells us, only the ‘external impulse’ which had led him to the vision of the personal as well as the national future; in other words, which had served as the occasion for the adolescent’s access to a new consciousness: a consciousness in which space and time, and the individual state that is linked to these limitations, are transcended.

This would mean that the ‘other plane to the measure’ of the young Adolf Hitler was nothing less than that of the ‘eternal present’ and that, far from having been ‘possessed’ by an alien entity, the future master of the multitudes had become master of the Centre of his being; that he had, under the mysterious influence of his initiator—Wagner—taken the great decisive step on the path of esoteric knowledge, undergone the first irreversible mutation—the opening of the ‘third eye’ which had made him an ‘Edenic man’.

______ 卐 ______

 

Editor’s Note: Are you finally beginning to understand the metaphor that I have used so many times on this site (the symbol of the three-eyed raven)?
 

______ 卐 ______

 
He had just acquired the degree of being corresponding to what is called, in initiatory language, the Little Mysteries. And the ‘other I’ which had spoken through his mouth of things that his daily conscious self was still unaware of, or perhaps only half-perceived ‘as if through a veil’, a few hours before, was his true ‘I’ and that of all the living: the Being, with whom he had just realized his identification.

It may seem strange to the vast majority of my readers—including those who still venerate him as ‘our Führer forever’—that he could, at such an astonishingly young age, have shown such an awakening to supra-sensible realities. Among the men who aspire with all their ardour to essential knowledge, how many are there, in fact, who grow old in meditation and pious exercises without yet reaching this level? But if there is one area where the most fundamental inequality and the most blatant appearance of ‘arbitrariness’ reigns, it is this.

God places his august sign on the forehead of whoever pleases him;
He has forsaken the eagle, and chosen the birdie,
Said the monk. Why did he do this? Who shall tell? Nobody![2]

There is no impossibility for an exceptional adolescent to cross the barrier opened to the mind in search of principled truth, initiation into the Little Mysteries. According to what is still told in India about his life, the great Sankaracharya was one of these. And twenty-two centuries earlier, Akhnaton, king of Egypt, was also sixteen years old when he began to preach the cult of Aten, Essence of the Sun, of which the ‘Disc’ is only the visible symbol. And everything leads us to believe that there were others, less and less rare as we go back for the cycle in which we live the last centuries.

If, on the other hand, one sees in Adolf Hitler one of the figures—and undoubtedly the penultimate one—of the One who returns when all seems lost; the most recent of the many precursors of the supreme divine incarnation or of the last messenger of the Eternal (the Mahdi of the Mahometans; the Christ returned in glory of the Christians; the Maitreya of the Buddhists; the Saoshyant of the Mazdeans; the Kalki of the Hindus) or by whatever name one wishes to call him, who is to end this cycle and usher in the Golden Age of the next, then all becomes clear.

For then, naturally, he was an adolescent and before that, already an exceptional child: a child whose sign, a word, a nothing (or what might seem ‘a nothing’ to anyone else) was enough to awaken his intellectual intuition. So, it is not impossible to think that, from the school years 1896-97, 1897-98 (and partly 1898-99), which he spent as a pupil at the Benedictine abbey of Lambach-an-Traun, in Upper Austria, the magic of the Holy Swastika—a powerful cosmic symbol, an immemorial evocator of the principal truth—seized him, penetrated him, dominated him; that he had, beyond the exhilarating solemnity of Catholic worship, identified with it forever.

For the Reverend Father Theodorich Hagen, Abbot of Lambach, had, thirty years earlier, this sacred sign engraved on the walls, on the woodwork, in every corner of the monastery, however paradoxical such an action may seem ‘without counterpart in a Christian convent’.[3] And as he sang in the choir the young Adolf, nine years old in 1898, ten years old in 1899, had ‘right in front of him’ on ‘the high back of the abbot’s chair’, in the very centre of Father Hagen’s heraldic shield, the ancient Symbol now destined to remain forever attached to his name.

It is natural, then, that he should have been aware very early on, in parallel with his opening up to the world of Essences, of what had to be done in this visible and tangible world, at the eleventh hour, a ‘recovery’; or even only to suggest one—to sound the last, supreme warning of the Gods, in case the universal decadence was irredeemable (as indeed it seems to be). And, as Kubizek reports, there is every reason to believe that this was the case, since even at the time of his extraordinary awakening the future Führer spoke of the ‘mission’ (Auftrag) he was to receive one day, to lead the people ‘from bondage to the heights of freedom’.[4]

__________

[1] There is a French edition of Auguste Kubizek’s book Adolf Hitler, mein Jugendfreund, published by Gallimard. Unfortunately, the original text has been shortened. The most interesting passages of this story are not included in the translation.

[2] Leconte de Lisle in the poem entitled ‘Hieronymus’, in Poèmes tragiques.

[3] Brissaud : Hitler et l’Ordre Noir, page 23.

[4] Kubizek: Adolf Hitler, mein Jugendfreund, page 140.

Categories
3-eyed crow Ancient Greece Ancient Rome Chess Sponsor

Formalising the study

These days the World Chess Championship is being played between the world champion Magnus Carlsen (Norway) and the challenger Ian Nepomniachtchi (Russia), organised by FIDE (International Chess Federation). In the picture we see a red-haired chess Grandmaster commenting on the game played today, with pictures of the old Soviet-era world champions. Note that the USSR flag doesn’t bother the fans. As I have already said, the idol of my adolescence was Alexander Alekhine who had to flee, even as world champion, to Portugal after the defeat of Germany (Alekhine played several tournaments under the auspices of the Third Reich). We can already imagine a Nazi flag, with Alekhine’s picture, in a retrospective account of chess in the 1930s commented by the same red-haired master…

In The Human Side of Chess I said that I might play another FIDE tournament after sixteen years of not playing tournaments endorsed by the FIDE. But chess is no easy matter: one has to keep up to date, during preparation, with books on the latest opening analyses, where the authors often make use of computers. And it is true that I bought some books since I translated The Human Side of Chess into English. But those are not books that can be read like a novel. Rather, they resemble the maths books we had in junior and high school, when one had to do lots of exercises to assimilate mathematical concepts.

It seems to me a crime to spend so much time in chess when I should be acting as a priest of the fourteen words. I don’t mean I’m going to abandon the project of playing next year, but in an ideal world one would have to relegate the study of chess to a minimum. And this made me fantasize this morning what I would do if I had a special sponsor who would send me, for about a decade, enough money to order books to honour the sacred words.

My mind flew to the Open University of the UK (OU) books on the history degree, or rather, the classical studies degree. On this site I have translated the texts of a Spaniard on Sparta and Republican Rome. But formal study requires not only the basics of a BA (I wouldn’t have to formally subscribe to the OU, just order their books), but more specific studies about Sparta and Republican Rome.

Largely, studying chess is nothing more than a lack of funds, since one spends tons of time digesting a single chess book; it’s cheap to study this game at the amateur level. On the other hand, studying history is more expensive. Unlike the metaphor I have been using on this site, that of the three-eyed raven who in an inhospitable cave on the other side of the Wall can see the past paranormally, in the real world one needs not only the money to have a good collection of the Loeb Classical Library, but the time to read them, the security of sustenance and a roof over our heads. That is the only way to ponder what the Aryan race really was in the pre-Christian world.

There is something else. Recently I was thinking that, given that Christianity and secular neochristianity are axiologically the same, a neologism should be coined to encompass these two concepts in one. Upon reflection, I remembered the term ‘Jew obeyer’ which I first used on this site in 2018.

Indeed: Christians obey the precepts of the Jews who wrote the New Testament, and atheists indirectly obey them, albeit wrapped in the ideology born with the French Revolution (‘human rights’, etc.—cf. what Savitri said on anthropocentrism in today’s other post).

The only way for the priest of the 14 words to prove definitively that Christian ethics and the ethics of Western atheists are two sides of the same coin, is to steep himself in classical culture. In an ideal world I would inherit the fortune of a relatively wealthy man. With the proper funds it would no longer make sense to study, even a little, chess as long as I could ‘see’ the past through my classical studies.

After a few years of studying the classics, the question of whether there was anything like these ‘Jew obeyers’ among the Aryans of pre-Christian Europe would begin to dawn on me.

Presently, it seems to me that there was not: that there was nothing so much as an egalitarian hysteria where the last (the poor, the blacks, the trans) will be first and the first (the proud Aryans) will be last. My working hypothesis is that all this madness that has metastasised in our secular world today had, as its first cancerous cell, Mark’s gospel as we have been saying on this site when talking about Richard Carrier’s book. But we would have to be as sure of that as Carrier is now about Mediterranean religion in the first centuries of our era.

If I can’t do that formal study, it would be great if someone else could do it in the future. The premise that the ‘ethical’ system that is killing the Aryan originated from the mental virus of Christianity can be formally addressed by studying pre-Christian Europe.

I would like to use this post to thank a sponsor who sends me a fixed amount per month. If I had more such sponsors I could surely abandon the couple of chess books I am reading for a better cause.

Categories
3-eyed crow Parapsychology Souvenirs et réflexions d'une aryenne (book)

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 27

The future, whether personal or historical, is as impenetrable—as impossible to experience—as the past. We can at most, by reasoning by analogy, or by letting ourselves be carried along by the rhythm of habit, deduce or imagine what it will the immediate future be like. We can say, for example, that the road will be covered with ice tomorrow because it has just rained this evening and then the thermometer has suddenly dropped below zero centigrade; or that the price of food will rise because the strikers in the transport services have obtained satisfaction; or that such and such a shop, ‘open every day except Monday’, will be open next Thursday. On the other hand, it is totally impossible for any human being to predict what Europe will look like in three thousand years’ time, just as nobody in the Bronze Age could imagine what the same continent will look like today, with industrial cities in place of its ancient forests.

This does not mean that the future does not already ‘exist’ in a certain way, as the only set of virtualities destined to be realised, and that this ‘existence’ is not as irrevocable as that of the past. For a consciousness freed from the bondage of the ‘before’ and the ‘after’ everything would exist on the same basis, the future as well as the past, in what the sages call the ‘eternal present’, the timeless.

To predict a future state or event is not to deduce it from known data, at the risk of making a mistake (by omitting to take into account certain hidden, even unknowable, data); it is to see it, in the way that an observer, seated in an aeroplane, grasps a detail of the earth’s landscape, amid many others that he apprehends together, whereas the traveller on the ground can only distinguish it in the course of a succession of which he himself is a part, ‘before’ one detail, ‘after’ another. In other words, it is only when seen from the Eternal Present that what we, the prisoners of Time, conceive something as a debatable possibility that it becomes a real fact: a ‘given’, as irrevocable as the past. It is a matter of perspective—and of clairvoyance. Even when viewed from above, a landscape is clearer for the observer gifted with good eyesight. But it is enough that he stands above to have a global vision, that the man on the ground lacks.

History relates that on 18 March 1314 Jacques de Molay, before going to the stake, summoned ‘to the tribunal of God’ the two men responsible for the suppression of his Order: Pope Clement V, ‘in a month’, and King Philip the Fair, ‘within a year’. Both men died within the time allotted, or rather seen from the perspective of the eternal present by the last Grand Master of the Knights Templar. And more than eighteen hundred years earlier, Confucius, when asked by his disciples about the influence his teaching would have, answered that it would ‘dominate China for twenty-five centuries’. With a margin of fifty years, he spoke the truth. He also had, in the same perspective of the sage who rose ‘above time’, seen from beginning to end an evolution that no calculation could predict.

But I repeat: the wise man capable of transcending time is already more than a man. The future, already ‘present’ for him that he reads, remains, in the consciousness subjected to the ‘before’ and the ‘after’, something that is built at every moment in prolongation of the lived present; that becomes at each moment present, or rather past—the ‘present’ being only a moving limit. It is unalterable, no doubt, just like the past, since there are rare consciousnesses that can live both in the manner of a present. Nevertheless, as long as it has not become the past, it is felt, by the man who lives on the level of Time, as more or less dependent on a choice of all moments. Only with the past does a consciousness related to Time have the certainty that it is given, irrevocably: the result of an old choice perhaps (if such is believed), but that it is too late to want to modify, however we go about it.
 

______ 卐 ______

 
Editor’s Note: A time in my life I was involved in parapsychology, which includes the purported study of retrocognition and precognition (before George Martin wrote his novels, I really wanted to become a sort of Bran). I entered the field as a believer and came out sceptical. Now it seems clear to me that parapsychologists have not demonstrated the reality of retrocognitive or precognitive phenomena, or even that there are psychics or gifted people who have had these powers.

But I still love to play with the idea even if it is pure fantasy. The ultimate truth about Time is unclear, and while parapsychologists have failed to scientifically prove their claims, that doesn’t automatically mean that extrasensory cognition doesn’t exist. It just means that there is no reliable evidence yet.

Anyone who wants to get acquainted with the subject could start with sceptical books like Nicholas Humphrey’s Leaps of Faith: Science, Miracles, and the Search for Supernatural Consolation.

Categories
3-eyed crow Ancient Greece Ancient Rome Philosophy of history Souvenirs et réflexions d'une aryenne (book) Tree

Reflections of an Aryan woman, 25

Perhaps the notion of the irrevocable ‘existence’ of the past is of little consolation to those tormented by nostalgia for happy times, lived or imagined. Time refuses to suspend its flight at the plea of the poet enamoured of fleeting beauty—whether it be an hour of silent communion with the beloved woman (and, through her, and beyond her, with the harmony of the spheres), or an hour of glory, i.e. communion, in the glare of fanfares or the thunder of arms, or the roar of frenzied crowds, with the soul of a whole people and, through it and beyond it, again and again, with the Divine: another aspect of the Divine.

It is possible, sometimes, and usually without any special effort of memory, to relive, as if in a flash, a moment of one’s own past and with incredible intensity, as if one’s self-consciousness were suddenly hallucinated without the senses being the least bit affected. A small thing—a taste, very present, like that of the petite Madeleine cited by Proust in his famous analysis of reliving; a furtive odour, once breathed in; a melody that one had thought forgotten, a simple sound like that of water falling drop by drop—is enough to put, for an instant, the consciousness in a state that it ‘knows’ to be the same as the one it knew, years and sometimes decades, more than half a century earlier; a state of euphoria or anxiety, or even anguish, depending on the moment that has miraculously re-emerged from the mist of the past: a moment that had not ceased to ‘exist’ in the manner of things past, but which suddenly takes on the sharpness and relief of the present, as if a mysterious spotlight directed the daylight of the living actuality.

But these experiences are rare. And if it is possible to evoke them, they do not last long, even in very capable people of evoking their memories. Moreover, they only concern—except in very exceptional cases—the personal past of the person who ‘revives’ such a state or such an episode, not the historical past.

Yet there are people who are much more interested in the history of their people—or even that of other people—than in their own past. And although scholars, whose job it is to do so, succeed in reconstructing as best they can, from relics and documents, what at first sight appears to be the ‘essentials’ of history, and although some scholars sometimes astonish their readers or listeners by the number and thoroughness of the details they know about the habits of a particular character, the intrigues of a particular chancellery, or the daily life of such and such a vanished people, it is no less certain that the past of the civilised world—the easiest to grasp, however, since it has left visible traces—escapes us.

We know it indirectly and in bits and pieces, that our investigators try to put together, like a game of patience in which half or three-quarters of the puzzle are missing. And even if we possessed all the elements, we would still not know it, because to know is to live, or re-live, and no individual subjected to the category of Time can live history. What this individual can, at most, know directly, that is to say, live, and what he can then remember, sometimes with incredible clarity, is the history of his time insofar as he himself has contributed to making it; in other words, his own history, situated in a whole that exceeds it and often crushes it.

This is undoubtedly a truer story than the one that scholars will one day reconstruct. For what appears to be the ‘essence’ of an epoch, studied through documents and remains, is not. What is essential is the atmosphere of an epoch, or a moment within it: the atmosphere that can only be grasped through the direct experience of someone who lived it: one whose personal history is steeped in it. Guy Sajer, in his admirable book The Forgotten Soldier, has given us the essence of the Russian campaign from 1941 to 1945.

______ 卐 ______

 
Editor’s Note: This is absolutely true. One of the reasons why I prefer lucid essays like the one by Evropa Soberana on the Judean war against Rome (the masthead of this site) to the scholarly book that Karlheinz Deschner wrote about that epoch, is that Soberana transports us to that world—as in another literary genre Gore Vidal’s Julian has transported us to 4th-century Rome. Academic books are extremely misleading in that they don’t transport us back in time. We desperately need the visuals of what happened. That’s why I like the metaphor of the last greenseer, Bloodraven: the man fused to a tree that could see the past.
 

______ 卐 ______

 
He was able to put in his pages such a force of suggestion, precisely because, along with thousands of others in this campaign of Russia in the ranks of the Wehrmacht, then in the elite Grossdeutschland Division, it represents a slice of his own life.

When, three thousand years from now, historians want to have an idea of what the Second World War was like on this particular front, they will get a much better idea by reading Sajer’s book (which deserves to survive) than by trying to reconstruct, with the help of sporadic impersonal documents, the advance and retreat of the Reich’s armies. But, I repeat, they will acquire an idea of it, not a knowledge, much in the way we have one today of the decline of Egypt on the international scene at the end of the 20th Dynasty, through what remains of the juicy report of Wenamon, special envoy of Ramses XI (or rather of the high priest Herihor) to Zakarbaal, king of Gebal, or Gubla, which the Greeks call Byblos, in 1117 BC.

Nothing gives us a more intense experience of what I have called in other writings the ‘bondage of Time’ than this impossibility of letting our ‘self’ travel in the historical past that we have not lived, and of which we cannot therefore ‘remember’. Nothing makes us feel our isolation within our own epoch like our inability to live directly, at will, in some other time, in some other country; to travel in time as we travel in space.

We can visit the whole earth as it is today, but not see it as it once was. We cannot, for instance, actually immerse ourselves in the atmosphere of the temple of Karnak—or even only one street in Thebes—under Themose III; to find ourselves in Babylon at the time of Hammurabi, or with the Aryas before they left the old Arctic homeland; or among the artists painting the frescoes in the caves of Lascaux or Altamira, as we have somewhere in the world in our own epoch, having travelled there on foot or by car, by train, by boat or by plane.

And this impression of a definitive barrier—which lets us divine some outlines but prohibits us forever a more precise vision—is all the more painful, perhaps, because the civilisation we would like to know directly is chronologically closer to us, while being qualitatively more different from the one in whose midst we are forced to remain.

______ 卐 ______

 
Editor’s Note: In my fantasy that such a thing as the Wall existed, and have the last greenseer as our tutor, I imagine that I would spend an inordinate amount of time visiting ancient Sparta, and other cities where the Norse race remained unpolluted for centuries. I would visit all the temples of classical religion not only in Greece but in Rome, trying to capture through their art the Aryan spirit in its noblest expression.

But above all I would pay close attention to the human physiognomy of living characters before they mixed their blood with mudbloods.

Only he who actually sees the past as it was, has a good grasp of History.

The saddest thing of all is that pure Nordids still exist, but the current System is doing everything possible to exterminate them (as in Song of Ice and Fire the children of the forest was a species on the verge of extinction).

______ 卐 ______

 
History has always fascinated me: the history of the whole world, in all its richness. But it is particularly painful for me to know that I’ll never be able to know pre-Columbian America directly… by going to live there for a while; that it will never again be possible to see Tenochtitlan, or Cuzco, as the Spaniards first saw them, four hundred and fifty years ago, or less, that is to say yesterday. As a teenager, I cursed the conquerors who changed the face of the New World. I wished that no one had discovered it so that it would remain intact. Then we could have known it without going back in time; we could have known it as it was on the eve of the conquest, or rather as a natural evolution would have modified it little by little over four or five centuries, without destroying its characteristic traits.

But it goes without saying that my real torment, since the disaster of 1945, has been the knowledge that it is now impossible for me to have any direct experience of the atmosphere of the German Third Reich, in which I did not, alas, live.

Believing that it was to last indefinitely—that there would be no war or that, if there were, Hitlerian Germany would emerge victorious—I had the false impression that there was no hurry to return to Europe and that, moreover, I was useful to the Aryan cause where I was.

Now that it is all over, I think with bitterness that only thirty years ago[1] one could immerse oneself immediately, without the intermediary of texts, pictures, records, or comrades’ stories, in that atmosphere of fervour and order, of power and manly beauty, that of Hitlerian civilisation. Thirty years! It is not ‘yesterday’, it is today: a few minutes ago. And I have the feeling that I have missed very closely both the life and the death—the glorious death, in the service of our Führer—that should have been mine.

But one cannot ‘go back’ five minutes, let alone 1500 years or 500 million years, into the unalterable past, now transformed into ‘eternity’—timeless existence. And it is as impossible to attend the National Socialist Party Congress of September 1935 today as it is to walk the earth at the time when it seemed to have become forever the domain of the dinosaurs… except for one of those very few sages who have, through asceticism and the transposition of consciousness, freed themselves from the bonds of time.
 

______ 卐 ______

 
Editor’s Note: ‘I saw your birth, and that of your lord father before you. I saw your first step, heard your first word, was part of your first dream. I was watching when you fell. And now you are come to me at last, Brandon Stark, though the hour is late’…

‘Time is different for a tree than for a man. Sun and soil and water, these are the things a weirwood understands, not days and years and centuries. For men, time is a river. We are trapped in its flow, hurtling from past to present, always in the same direction. The lives of trees are different. They root and grow and die in one place, and that river does not move them. The oak is the acorn, the acorn is the oak’ (Boodraven to his pupil in George R.R. Martin’s A Dance with Dragons).

[1] This was written in 1969 or 1970.