By Ioan Eofor
“Comeback to me now my forebears
rush through the briar and brambles
dash through the thickets of merrywood
stay there with me for a while”
“Show me the signs and the secrets
sing me the songs of our people
humble me through your bright majesty
bless me from treetop and steeple”
We were born into this world like seeds tossed into a roaring fire.
In every sense, we can see the waking world for the chaotic amalgamation it truly is. Like a lump of clay, we bend and shape all things as we can. Yet all manner of intelligence has been gifted this power to shape. Big or small, smart or dim; all can move this cosmic giant anyway they please before they are sent elsewhere.
In truth we carve god out of the world. But too often do we forget -with our simian brains and eager spirits- that this place, and that god are more than capable of bending us in turn. For as we create, so also are we bent. We are this world, and the world is also us. But what this world is, and what we are… is a similar question to what is the exact shape of a river.
We only make sense in movement.
Anything else is a romantic picture of what was.
And so, we were seeds.
That was our last static. We were nothing and then we were planted. I refer you to this simple runic formula. I describe this to you now as ‘The Cracking of :ING:’
Look! Do you see it? Where once there was stagnation there is now flow. This is the magic of all things. This runic formula is the tale of life. What is next you might ask? But who is to know, and who should care.
Rush towards that answer if you wish, but do so beautifully and foaming with passion. We were encased, and now we are not. Who is to tell in what manner we might grow; in what manner we might flow?
A tree that grows by a house is shaped by the house, a river that flows through a city, is shaped by brick and mortar. But I tell you now that we have more ability than the river, and we have more decisions to make than the tree. We were born into this world, as part of this god, but you choose your place of growth, and you alone command your manner of flow.
The average person’s current flow is frozen within an ice age of discourse. The lack of physical connections, and the acceleration of technology has left us all far too susceptible to the frozen winds and blinding storms of our individual natures. And so we no longer move, but rather comment and gaze at this chaos realm and blame those who describe its features we cannot see from our frozen perspective.
The anger we feel for our fellow ape and how they might perceive this chaos in regards to our own description of that very same beast is the curse of stagnation. How dutifully we stand by our personal descriptions, and by those similar descriptions for those around our vicinity. Scattered we are frozen, but together we scream. Endlessly clamoring about what it is we must change before we have carved out that utopian apollo; our rebirthed savior.
This is folly.
The god grows and is shaped by all things. In this way it is more powerful than you; you cannot chop down centuries of growth. You cannot carve the face of true light from one of true chaos-immortal’ built through the power of endless human fraternization. Go to a preschool and tell all the children to draw the face of ‘mommy’ on the same canvas.
But the power you possess to change all things is -in turn- the same power possessed by the acorn to sprout a new forest; far far away from the woods you have deemed sick. The woods you so wrongfully believe to be the gods face/power. Those woods you hate are not that gods only face, nor is it truly a power of anysort that you need worry about. That river of poisonous thought will not poison all, simply don’t drink from it yourself. It’s not the only artery of this Ymir.
It was the folly of the first men to believe Odin and his brothers truly killed the giant. For he lives cosmically through all, and this has always been. When the mystics of the blackforests came back from their fungus trips amidst the stars, they wished to tell us of the three brother’s victory not as a static point, but as a power gifted to all of the father’s sons. Do not forget this. It is power, it is magic, it is might, it is triumph.
Apollo does not attack Dionysus head on, he chases him endlessly round and round the pole, as does Dionysus in turn. They understand that this is the formula of movement and flow.
I tell you now that the modern world is sick, and destined to be trampled and stuck in mental-traffic. Your fellow apes do not understand the flow of all things, and instead try to combat all things that they hate through brute force alone. This is not the way. On all sides of the fight, we are not understanding.
The Day exists through the night, and the night exists through the day, and we must understand that this is also an endless flow, and an endless chase towards the unknown.
Up up up!
The Ningshizidian Staff demands our ascent; if we are to go beyond.
We must ascend the axis mundi through this formula, or see ourselves trampled by the ugly god of the static present, for that god is one of the abyssal void, and he was birthed by us all. He lurks down below our climb, he wants you to look down. Do not be so foolish.
The magic, and the deep capabilities that will come back to us in the form of song and secrets, after we have become in tune with this formula will teach us that this new way has always been there. Like the secret path Tolkien spoke of that he never went down. Like that one path through the woods you might see, and appreciate more for being a mystery.
The new way exists within our minds, and I bring you now to the grove in which the path sprouted from. Clear away the wreckage and understand that you will take those first steps, and see that this has always been. This is the path of the Halithaz, and it demands that you try your very best to become lost. Only then will you find the way. This path will take you away from all things, and bring you to a place where you might see potential. Where you will feel overwhelmed by the thoughts of what could one day grow strong in this new piece of land.
It is in that area of our minds that we should sprout three seeds of ancient trees. At the dawn of all things they should come to watch the golden age ascend upon the horizon. The birds shall sing and the morning air shall charge across the realm,
when those trees will grow strong.
They will dance with pride in the realm, and bask in the golden light of the new dawn.
Each of them, sacred to the blood in our veins.
Each of them powerful.
Powerful, not only within their own right, but triumphant in their unity together.
They will stand proud on that land. And you will go forth knowing that their roots were sprouted and anchored in the old world. Through chaos and the highest madness did they ascend and break through to the golden dawn.
This is the new way.
And it is ancient.