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The Waters of Sacrifice

The Ash Yggdrasil, F.W. Heine

In the northern tradition of Germanic mythology, there lies a well beneath the world tree, Yggdrasil. Located at the lowest reaches of the Nordic peoples’ understanding of the cosmic order, it sits in the shadow of a root that reaches into Jötunheimr, the land of the giants, associated with the ungovernable aspects of the natural world. The well is watched over by a mysterious being known as Mímir (roughly, “the remember”), whose origin and nature are decidedly obscure, but is noted in the  Völuspá as being potently enlightened (compare the symbol of the character Tom Bombadil in the Tolkien mythos). It is stated explicitly that his wisdom is derived from the influence of the wellwater.

As is the case with many of the themes present in mythology, the character of Mímir’s Well can be understood as being primarily symbolic. The situation of the well in an area that is so suprachthonic, beyond even a material concept of obscurity, and existing on a plane so spiritually devoid of light that it sits beneath the roots of all of creation, is no accident, and can likewise be interpreted as a nod to the nature of Ginnungagap — the primordial state of nonbeing from which all phenomena, both material and immaterial, emerged at the beginning of time. The mutable quality of the water as a force that takes on the shape of the vessel in which it is contained (be it cistern or body), its association with sagacity and freeness of thought, and its place in the structure of the universe, also speaks to the Jungian concept of the collective unconscious: something available to anybody brave enough to descend to the darkest roots of the inner and outer worlds in order to sample its quality. This is a theme also echoed in the symbols of two other wells present at the roots of the world tree in Norse myth, Urðarbrunnr (the well of wyrd), tended by the three Norns, goddesses of fate, and Hvergelmir (the boiling spring), from which all waters originate.

Reciprocity is the highest law of the universe. The material and decidedly positivistic field of physics teaches us that every action begets a reasonable reaction at parity with the original impulse. Hermeticism teaches us, echoed in the outstretched palms of the Magician of the Major Arcana, that there is congruence both “above and below”. Naturally, when the reputation of Mímir’s well aroused the interest of the gods Óðinn and Heimdallr, they were not exempt from this rule. Óðinn, having hanged himself by the neck already in the very fabric of the universe, was no stranger to the doctrine of self-oblation, and cast his eye, a powerful symbol of his sensory relationship with the external world, into the depths of the well. Heimdallr, the guardian spirit of the realm of the divine, whose conservatory nature binds him to the blowing of his signal trumpet, the Gjallarhorn (roughly, “yelling horn”) at the end if the world, likewise sacrifices his ear. Óðinn finds the influence of the well and its curator so tempting, that after his death, he carries Mímir’s severed head around, consulting it for advice.

A similar anecdote, perhaps derived from a common source, comes to us from the part of the Prose Edda known as the Skáldskaparmál (the “language of poetry”), is the story of the fabled mead of poetry, from which Óðinn derives his creativity and aptitude at composing verses. After the war that pitted the two tribes of gods in the North Germanic tradition, the Æsir and Vanir, against one another, peace was sealed by way of  a communal ritual of spitting into a cauldron. The saliva, imbued with the power of the now-united pantheon, grew into a man of considerable wisdom, skill, and intelligence, known as Kvasir, whose name is probably derived from a Proto-Indo-European root, to ferment or crush, *kwh₂et-, a stem that brought us Latin cāseus (cheese) and the Slavic beverage kvass. Kvasir travels among mankind, spreading the consequence of his intellect, and is eventually killed, ostensibly through misadventure, his blood being mixed with honey and turned into mead — thereby ensuring his abilities will last thereafter through the effects of alcohol. This process of beverage-as-currency-for-inspiration is echoed in the Indo-Aryan tradition of soma or haoma, the Vedic botanical ritual beverage, the origins of which are still debated.

In all of these paradigms, there is a common theme of sacrifice, of appendages that represent connection with the material world, of old grudges being laid down for common good, and the balm both of creativity and alcohol serving to unite pantheons and inspire humanity both. Not even supernatural beings are permitted to receive wisdom as gratuity. Certainly, you are not permitted to receive inspiration for free. The internal process of invigoration that allows us to transform our inner feelings and perspective into tangible results, artistic or practical, are not spontaneous (though they sometimes may seem to be), and cannot be created from nothing. Before the external work to spur results into existence is undertaken, inner work must be undertaken, and inner work must start with a catalyst that comes from without, however obscure or unconscious its origin may be. There can be no blood from Kvasir without the impetus of the spit from different mouths, there can be no wisdom without the removal of the part of the ego that thinks it already possesses the awareness to see what takes place in front of its face.

 And likewise, without the courage to descend, in the Jungian fashion, to the depths of the darkest places of the world, whether they be war or the reaches of the mind lowest and closest to the proverbial roots of the tree, there can be no opportunity for these gifts to be received. As the Medieval alchemical maxim was applied to the psyche of man by Jung himself, in sterquiliniis invenitur, or, put simply, “in filth, it will be found”. That which one seeks is often derived from its situation in the darkest, least tolerable places. These are the only waters from which the mead of life can be made:

The waters of sacrifice.

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Solar Punks of a Sunlit Sigil: Blessings of the Darkest Night 🜨

Before there were Gods, there was but one.

Before there was a middle-realm, there was but ice and fire.

Before there was spring, there was winter. 

Before there was light, there was an unimaginable dark. 

Before there was rebirth, there was death.

Before there was freedom, there was oppression. 

We need no science to explain this. We need no logic to wrestle with this deeply embedded truth. 

Chaos is not the opposite of Order. Order exists in many forms, and it is the nature of all things to adapt to the order of its time, or risk rebellion against such. 

It is the duty of youth to rebel against this state of stagnation.

As many books as religions might burn; 

As many truths a government might withhold from its peasantry;

The way of all things reminds us of this noble law, for it is the immortal call to arms. 

Winter is the end of a dynasty and era. 

It is the final motion of the earth as it completes its annual cycle.

It is the pantomime’s final act as the old clings to life before finally letting go in a bitter fall towards the unknown. 

What this leaves is the burning hearts of youth as they climb to the top of the charred mantle and claim the realm for themselves. Their new ideals were destined to usher in a new ‘perfection’. 

‘I’m the son of rage and love. The Jesus of suburbia’

Said Billie Joe Armstrong as he sung a timeless anthem to the youth of the modern world. 

Yet what he truly chants is the same timeless story that even the seasons scream to us. 

This is Baldr as he cries out for his fate to unfold. For he is literally the son of RAGE (Odin) and LOVE (Frigg).

Yet Baldr faces no true danger, or so he thinks. Like many youthful souls we believe ourselves to be immortal, and we also have an inherent venom for the safety we have been provided. 

It is often the thing we see coming the least that takes out the youth in their blind attack upon the world (i.e living the highest/most energetic life they can)

Rebellion in youth is an exhaustion of easy life, for it is nothing that our blood remembers. We are inherently hardwired as a people to undergo stress in order to become something more. 

This is Zeus as he trains to conquer his father Cronus.

The myth of Saturn / Cronus, father of the Greco-Roman Pantheon, is deeply troubling for any youth to digest because it is the cannibalistic oppression of the new from the upper hand for their paternal master the old

Zeus is the only son left after his father devoured all of his powerful, noble, and talented offspring. 

It is the darkest night that yields no hope. 

It is the soil which refuses to be harrowed nor house any seed the farmer plants to feed his people.

“City of the dead

At the end of another lost highway

Signs misleading to nowhere

City of the damned

Lost children with dirty faces today

No one really seems to care”

I imagine very vividly Baldr singing and understanding these Green Day lyrics the same way any punk might have when it was first heard by their ears. 

It speaks to the way the divine youth might see his surroundings. Especially now within this Kali Yuga. The world has turned to ratshit and concrete. The youth understand this.

Odin himself conquered the old state of the world as Ymir walked in solace between the ice and fire of two unkind worlds. 

The three brothers clearly said ‘how very boring this is’. Where the old simply strides. The youth juxtaposes them with an obsession with turning raw materials into useful and powerful new forms. 

Odin conquered there with his brothers and used the giants bones and flesh to shape the world you now read these words upon. Or so it is said. 

Where Ymir used his body, organs and lifeforce to simply exist for himself for aeons, the three divine brothers sacrificed his selfish form and blossomed him through a spell of rage and love into the world that now exists. 

So you see, there is every reason to burn a sunwheel in the heart of winter because of such tales gifted to us by earth, time, space and blood. 

To burn a fire in the heart of winter is the ultimate rebellion against the old. 

It is the ‘fuck you’ that man has always given to the foliage that the old become when they have clung to this realm for to long. 

For if the conqueror sits for too long, he will always see himself become the conquered. 

The spirit of youth and rebellion is the highest power that has ever existed, and it is a power that is fleeting for those who become too wise too soon. 

The Koryos conquered in chariots of fire, and a noble pursuit of manhood through chaos.

The chariot wheel burns forever.

As we ignite this symbol we keep the rebellion alive.

The rebellion against stagnation. 

The vegetation is stagnant, and we are the scythe of the reaper deep in the heart of winter. 

Go forth and conquer, go forth and raise chaos upon the dormant and dark. 

We spring forth from the maypole/Saturn/hagal and create powerful patterns that continuously multiply and conquer more space.

This is our duty to the flame of youth.

Photography taken at Oathbloods ritual 2021 by S.Riley 

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To worship the Indo-European Gods is to commit to a life of oaths and power. 

These oaths are fashioned by your own will.  

Oaths are an exterior aspect of your truest self. 

They are a tangible symbol of one’s character, and worth. 

Oftentimes they are more you than even yourself; for what people speak of you is far more powerful a force than what you believe yourself to be.

If a man cannot uphold his oaths in this life, then he is no man at all. 

Oaths are broken only by death lest you fall to lesser standing amongst your equals. Which I proclaim again, is no standing at all. 

If no repercussions come from such a case, then you have found your equals at rock bottom. 


From Latin Iūpiter (“father Jove”), 

From Proto-Italic *djous patēr (literally “sky father”) (cognate with Ancient Greek Ζεῦ πάτερ (Zeû páter, “father Zeus”)), 

From *djous (“day, sky”) + *patēr (“father”), 

From Proto-Indo-European *dyḗws (literally “the bright one”), from *dyew- (“to be bright, day sky”), and *ph₂tḗr (“father”). Doublet of Dyaus Pita.

The sky has always been of the utmost importance to humanity. 

Our ancestors navigated into the unknown via the stars, sought to communicate with the Gods and fates through their random trajectories and positions. Some even believed that the sky in-itself to be something of a holy realm that will forever impose itself unto the fertile earth in which all things spring forth from.

I speak to the legend of the Æsir and Vanir is such a sense.

The sky is overtly masculine in every way, and we have always understood ourselves -as a collective- to be the children of the in-between. 


Upheld by the greatest of all trees or perhaps the Irminsul. 

To worship our Gods is to understand that our oaths to them and to our eternal victory come before all other things. 

All jobs

All territories

All women

All peers

All laws

All eternally bow to the oaths we take to our most powerful of Gods. 

We have for too long forgotten this.

Not only are these Gods alive and well within our blood and spirit, but they await us patiently in the glorious future victories that we need only summon into fruition.

I am here today to demonstrate to you one of many rites. 

The following ritual (audio file found above) is tailored to invoke the powerful and hidden secret of your blood-given right to connect with the mightiest of our Gods.

While the thunder, striker, skygod, and supreme king has existed within all of our peoples traditions, it was by this following name and mantra did he so grant the fury and fire of Empire to the sons of Romulus.


Repeat this name loud and proud.

I dare you to discover the primal magic of these words for yourself.

They are fire.

They are power.

They are passion.

They are ours.

This is a name that has not been uttered nor worshiped properly for thousands of years.

I dare you now to search across the internet for a place that can tell you, let alone show you how to properly work with our Father.

You will find nothing more than fables. 

You will witness nothing more than common wiccan misconceptions. 

You will not even find proper pictures of this most powerful form of our holy striker. 

There is fear in the hearts of his enemies, and there is a need to keep his knowledge stifled. 

So I spit at this notion, and call forth the power that once was.

I directly challenge the notion that our true spiritual father should be kept in the shadows and shackles of ‘Myth’. 

It is beyond myth.

It is our eternal father calling us home. 

Furthermore I spit on the notion to confine ourselves to history.

We are not them and they are not us.

We must move forward and rekindle this fire with the embers.

My creation is based on, and not confined to the past.

May you find it beneficial.

Now, go forth and find him.





Let it be known that the men who founded this organization lived through a time of social decay and an unimaginable deterioration of morals, spirit power and dignity. 

Yet they saw that greater men had lived and triumphed through darkness immemorial. 

It is the energy and duty of our blood to move forward into the unimaginable darkness and conquer there. 

We are the Halithaz. 

The heroes that challenge chaos-eternal. 

We have always been and shall always be. 

Against any foe and any chaos that chooses to rear its many heads over and over. 

Whether within the stars of eternity or within the social hierarchy and machinations of bureaucratic jargon.

 We will find it time and time again.

And we will defeat it forever.

To the Halithaz and blood of the Koryos that has sought to commune with his highest of Chieftains;

To he who denied to wither under the watch and rule of lesser powers within an age of death and decay.

To he who saw the lightning within his dreams, and felt the milk of the wolfmother upon his lips;

To he who longs for eternal glory;

Let yourself now be washed of all dross and dirt found within and out of the mortal body and soul; gifted to you by the will of your blood and kin.

Let it be known that this rite was founded and practiced two thousand, seven hundred thirty-seven years after the death of Romulus Rex, first Halithaz to erect an altar of victory towards the glory and power of Jupiter Feretrius.

The initiate will begin by washing their hands in a bowl of pure water. 

The initiate will enter the dark room, cave, grove or mountain peak of their choice.

Upon their first step within -after beginning the ritual- they shall bow their head and touch two fingers of their right hand to their forehead and let their hand drift towards the primary altar of their chosen place of worship. This might be an idol, the stars, an oak tree, a stone, or storm. 

This greeting shall be done twice or four times. 

No more and no less. 

They shall walk towards the chosen spot in which they intend to kneel during this sacred reconnection towards the highone.

The initiate will then sit in silence and meditate upon the dark and cold, and remember the cave of Psychro in which the skyfather was once raised within. They will listen to the voices they hear within and without their head as they meditate upon the darkness.

Until the initiate truly believes they understand the necessity for darkness, they are forbidden from striking the illuminating candle of their choosing.

Fire is a forbidden fruit of illumination for those who fear the dark, and obsess over the light.

This is a primary law to the Halithaz.

Once the understanding is reached, and the three trees within the initiate understand this state of the world, the rites might begin. 

Holding the match, unstruck in one hand and raised high above should the initiate speak these words loud and honorably: 


It burns forever

The initiate might light the match and therefore the necessary light needed to begin the ritual.
This might be a fire, a candle, many candles, etc As long as they are oriented with a fixation on symmetry. 

With the Idol or focal point now illuminated, and greeted by the initiate of whatever time and place upon this powerful earth, might the initiate now stand and spread their arms wide in the shape of the Algiz rune of the Germanic peoples. This is a symbol of invocation known to all forces, and by far the most powerful that we remember. 

The initiate will then kneel, and speak these words: 

“By the will of my blood and forebears do I come here before this holy site in the ____ season of this _____ year after the death of the misled. 

To the spirits and majesty that here witness me, I, _____ of the tribe ____ do so now invoke the eternal majesty of our mighty sky father.


I know you as Father. I know you as King. I know you as the highest of all Gods and powers of this most unfathomable state of consciousness and opportunity.

I beckon thee to witness me and my tribe’s actions henceforth within this time of revival, within a world of ruins and lesser forces.


I am your spearhead

I am your striker

I am your will manifest

And I preserve the flame of people’

The initiate will then state their offerings towards the supreme, and give an offering of blood towards the renewal of these ancient vows. 

The initiate will then state that theirs is the will of the Halithaz, which is the archaic word for hero. Their associations with the thunderous force, and power of his eternal skyfather will therefore be bound through blood and gifts of treasure and good food. 

The initiate will henceforth bring all gains to the feet of this sacred space, whether by word or by literal offering. 

Through sitting and repeating the mantra of his name 


The initiate will reach a state of trance wherein they will find solace in meditation, and can transition into a state of silence. 

Within the silence the initiate will be greeted by positive and negative thoughts alike, and they are to work through them all until there are none left to conquer. 

The initiate will then say his name some final nine times.




And conclude the ritual by bowing their heads and touching two fingers to forehead, letting them drift towards the sublime icon four more times. It is then that they will greet the night once more by extinguishing the candle or light source. 

They will sit for some time longer, and then finally exit the ritual space.

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Into the Agoge

Insofar as any of us are aware, we are blessed with only one life.

If you’re a frequent reader of this site, I am able to assume that you possess an inherent desire to distinguish yourself from the men around you through your deeds and their consequences.

If that doesn’t sound like what you’re after here on earth, I advise you to stop reading and save yourself the time and energy — this article and the corpus to which it belongs is not for you.

Becoming a man worthy of the esteem of your peer group is not an easy task. Cross-culturally, the rites that separate boys from men, and men of status from men cut out of more ordinary cloth, are primarily distinguished by sacrifice, hardship, and the triumph of the self over the experience of suffering.

Naturally though, for those of us living in the west, the vast majority of even the most mundane of these structures have disappeared. In a world too cowardly to worship the flame of tradition, a society that has shaken the ashes of the fire out and scattered them on the wind, many of us still feel the draw to the principle of initiation. 

We choose pursuits that are familiar to our blood memory in their nature of triumph-via-ordeal: we form tribes, join gangs, and compete at martial arts that award us belts that represent our competence.

But unlike those who came before us, who were part of an unbroken lineage of men experiencing manhood in a traditional way, long before the advent of modernity of the social changes brought about by the restructuring of the world in the wake of the Industrial Revolution and the wars of the early 20th century, we are missing vital context.

Consider, for example, the concept of the Spartan Agoge – the system used to prepare men for war, the highest and most virtuous condition of their society. This graduated system of cultivating qualities that met the standards of the city state began when boys were as young as seven years old.

What is the consequence of this? Men of Sparta, effectively from the beginning of their lives, were trained to understand the caliber of man to which they ought to aspire;  they were raised with the quality of being estimable as an achievable goal.

For those of us who were not brought up drinking the black broth of Sparta, the But zōmós, we are left to contend with the inner condition that must be addressed before we can begin to measure up to the external rites of initiation that we hope to undergo.

As adult men, alive and kicking among the ruins, beyond the death of a society that values the qualities that make men great cross-culturally and supra-chronologically, it is imperative that we make holy the mind and the spirit before attempting to adhere ourselves to a standard that exists outside of ourselves; as always, the exoteric is downstream from the esoteric, and that which one experiences materially must be tempered by the law of the interior.

Naturally, we must construct for ourselves a kind of internal Agoge, a remedial balm for men born swaddled in the polyester palace of irrelevant A.D., and commit ourselves to it fully.

In order to understand what this must look like, we must look to the structure of coming of age rites externally, or more specifically what context informs them

While we cannot hope to actually enforce any real processes of sacrifice, hardship, or the triumph of the self over circumstance in an exclusively internal sense, without actual experience, and call it holistic life transformation, all of these values of the external must be mirrored within: the principle of self-denial and temperance, the principle of intentionality-that-precedes-triumph, these can be cultivated spiritually and intellectually regardless of external circumstances.

I am not suggesting that you live in your head. The process of the Agoge and the myriad cultural practices that echo its purpose in countless human cultures may be downstream from the internal transformation that comes with preparation for initiation, but they are still highly, highly important – especially within the context of a man who wishes to increase the efficacy of his manhood.

The truth is that, almost without exception, even those of us who have lived unbelievably difficult lives by modern standards have still grown up with the guarantee that we might coast by living a life of astronomical inaction by historical and mythological standards, so is the mediocre narcotic curse of the modern world. Unlike those Hellenic youths who were born and raised in the martial culture of the Spartans, even the keenest among us are ignorant to the principle of true initiation, and must be prepared through an internal process to reap the greatest benefits from our commitment to our commitments in the material world.

Is the jiujiteiro an athlete, or is he a monk whose devotional walking meditation consists of exercising his physical prowess on the mats against his teammates, drilling endlessly until his limbs move as seamlessly as the gears in the transmission of a precision machine?

Is the strongman akin to a hydraulic press, diffidently moving chunks of rock around for the simple, absurd purpose of picking them up and putting them down, or is he the focused manifestation of Indra exerting himself over the cosmos, he who so conquered the rain and thus brings it to earth?

It’s an easy choice, a simple dichotomy – the tyranny of the mundane or the transformative power of material allegory.

We in the west, alienated from antiquity and the spiritual and intellectual contexts that prepared the heroes of old for hardship, we have no choice but to accept the challenges available to us in modern life (physical training, mountaineering, et al.) with the cloistered aggression of a furious anchorite, and find transformation therein, or otherwise join or develop an honour group in which we construct our own.

But through this mosaic of smaller rites, through the tapestry of Agoges that we might expose ourselves to, with the wisdom and judiciousness of a Cæsar flashing behind our focused eyes, we can hope to make savage the body, sharpen the mind and the spirit, and live at the potential of estimable men: the path to which only initiatory experience can unlock.

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Baptism of the Lightbringer

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. This man came for a witness, to bear  witness of the Light, that all through him might believe. He was not that Light, but was sent to bear  witness of that Light.

[John 1:6] 

Meditate on death. 

It feels to me like we’ve all been saying this in some way shape or form for years now. The  importance of reflecting on our own mortality and the uncomfortable truth that our time here must end  sooner or later. It’s been popularized by countless internet icons in various overlapping circles of  influence. Huge social venn-diagrams of crossovers with hashtags and mutual followers and we all  share and re-post these cool sounding, tough, packaged phrasings with pleasing aesthetics like a sharpie sketch of a pointy iron gauntlet holding a flail, or Arnold (perhaps not so much now) with laser eyes  and VHS glitch filters. But are we sincerely in our heart of hearts considering not just the fact that we  will die, but if it must end sooner than we would like, and that we might have to make that choice? 

I discussed recently with another pastor at the church that I attend whether the spirit of  martyrdom still had a place in our world of 2021. Given the ubiquity of martyrs throughout the expanse of time and place, throughout myth and legend and history of every great faith, there seems to be a lack of martyrs in the same sense today. A cold grey zone, an intermission, an age of lead. An epoch marked  by a foreboding absence of the kind of Heroism that truly sets our hearts ablaze with indignation and  the love of true purpose. The Tibetan monk who self immolates, or the man of Tiananmen square.  Even Aragorn’s final charge on the black gate; “for Frodo.” We love this. We may shed a tear, even for  the fictional instances beset with triumphant solemn music. But if or when the axe draws near, while  we have many things to live for – do we have something to die for? Or are we “the voice of one crying  in the wilderness”? 

The unpleasant truth is that given the current climate that is settling in for a very dark night,  even if we collectively marched with vigour and purpose to a symbolic Black Gate of the “Empire of  Nothing”; let’s say a storming of Facebook, or Google, or a pharmaceutical headquarters, or the capitol  building. Well, we’ve seen how that plays out and how it is broadcast to the masses in our perpetual  information control campaign. I do not strive to deliver black pills to any of you – quite the opposite –  but this sobering truth can and should inspire in us not hopelessness against the shadowy hydra of “the  system” but empowerment to begin making an impact around ourselves on comparatively smaller  scales. We have been cursed by large media to believe that we as a lone pilot must take out the death  star. And while history and myth is saturated with individual Heroic figures that perform titanic deeds,  they must be taken as allegory, digested, and assimilated into our life circumstances. The alchemical  transformation from written word and scripture, into inspiration and awe through our emotions and  thoughts, and then into concrete action is the miracle. We reclaim Satya Yuga first within ourselves. It  is an internal, unseen hidden process akin to the cumulative gathering masses of hydrogen in the  expanse of the vacuum of Ginnungagap until finally, under the gravity of their collective weight of  congregation, the birth of a new heavenly body – a god – ignites and illuminates the void where before there was only darkness. 

We are hydrogen atoms, alone and adrift we do nothing and can offer nothing. It is only through interaction and collective power that we hold any sway over the course of our world and the void. It is  only in numbers that we can be a hydrogen bomb – implosive and irresistible, opening gateways to  worlds never dreamed of even by the greatest of utopians. 

Each of us is as John, a witness of the Light. But we individually are not the Light. It is our  interactions, our influence, and our collective force that creates the Light to illumine the shadowy expanses of our worlds. We are Lightbringers, Lucifer and Prometheus, who steal or free Light or Fire  to the benefit of collective Mankind. These figures are indeed individuals, cast about the archetypal  records of the cosmos and passed down to us to pull together us individuals in a united force as sole  atoms are to the unfathomable mass of fire, plasma, and lightning that is a Star. And we will be  punished; chained to the Caucasus, our crowns split by Michael to illuminate the world. For the power  to forge a star was not supposed to be granted us, that which lies with the creator, and we wish to share  that power with our fellow man. Zeus knows all too well that the Titans can be dethroned, perhaps he  has gleaned it from the woven work of the Fates. The wheels turns, Kings are cast asunder, new  empires built, new emperors and Gods crowned. 

I wrote in my earlier article “Incarnating Gods” that our goal here is to forge a vessel into which we may “lure” or “entice” archetypal Gods into, imbuing us with miraculous insight, temperament, and abilities. I still hold this to be true, but as I also said that while Christians will never be Christ, they can only aspire to be as Christ-like as possible in this life, we will never as individuals attain that flawless  archetype we strive to entice. It is the congregation of men and women coming together, collectively  striving for a similar archetype – in service to the same God or Gods – that enkindles the Holy Spark of that Deity which is carried glowing within us all into a mighty conflagration that can consume the high  ramparts, castles, and fortresses of the existing empires of the world. None of us can truly know the  critical mass that is reached in the void of space whereupon the hydrogen ignites under the pressure of  their own gravitas, but once that threshold is passed, once we cross the event horizon, there is no  slowing or stopping that irresistible and insatiable force. Only once the newly birthed star or God has  reached the ferocity ordained by it’s own fate is it then constrained under it’s own gravity once more  and stabilized that it casts it’s own Light out into the cosmos as a beacon to all ships navigating beneath the icy waters of the void with all lights blazing, calling them home to join the blinding brilliance of the new cause. 

How will we tie these symbols and metaphors into our daily lives, and will we be martyrs for a  new cause, a new path, and the new light of a newly born God? 

Consider first, as I will paraphrase here the work of Massimo Scaligero, that we do not see the  Light. What we see is the dying of the Light. The Light of the cosmos extinguishes itself upon contact  with our retinas; dying so that we may see. The Light is the original martyr, the Light cast forth from  the hearts of stars is chained to the rock of our consciousness through the heavy shackles of our  perception so that we may see and bear witness to the beauty of existence. Only death can pay for life. 

The Greek word that we translate by witness is martus. There are three words of the same  derivation: to witness – marturein; the act of witnessing – marturia; the testimony (in an objective  sense) – marturion. The original meaning is that of a witness in a law court; namely, someone who has  direct and personal experience of events in which he took part, or of persons he met, and who certifies  in court as to what he has seen or heard.  

But in ancient Greek usage and already in the time of Plato the words martus, marturein, and  marturia were also used in a wider sense, as an expression of personal conviction without this  conviction’s being necessarily based on “factual evidence.” 

To bear witness to creation is to make a martyr of the Light, to behold the Passion of the Light.  Without this first sacrifice we are left in the void with naught to illumine the cosmos. The word  Passion is from the Latin pati, which simply means “to endure” or “to suffer.” The Ouroborous must  feed and be extinguished, forever undulating in realms above and below or day-to-day perceptions.

Every day we have undertakings and work towards goals in which we extinguish elements of  ourselves forevermore; we open some doors on the path of our lives and others close. Common  perception we have all experienced as we trade one potential path of life for another and may  sometimes reminisce of times in hindsight where we can recognize that was a indeed a hard fork in our  path. The ways behind us can never be revisited and the forks ahead of us are beyond comprehension;  the plethora of infinite quantum possibility jittering and jostling in that Schrödinger-esque eternal state  of potentiality. For eternity is unused time – time in reserve of paths untrodden through each round,  stored and set aside for the Gods who are not bound here or now. 

When we choose to pick up weights, to run, to read challenging material, to eat better, to gather  and laugh with friends and family, to turn ourselves into more instead of withering and shrinking away,  we close doors that lead down dark paths to dark ends. They are things that bolster our lives and enrich  the world as our own internal Satya Yuga slowly kindles, ignites, and casts that radiance outward. It  

does not necessarily usher our friends and family through the same doors that we walk, but it does open that door for them and offer them to make their own choice to enter or not. Some will join us, some  will depart from us, some may rejoin us later on the path higher up the mountain having found a  different route to similar vantage points. But these concepts here are reliant upon our living, what of  our dying? 

Just as the extinguishing – the passion – of the Light is the only principal by which we see –  bear witness – it is only the extinguishing of a Life lived with vigour, absolute Love and conviction that is the ignition and detonation in the heart of what will shortly be a new star, a new God, or an atomic  blast that reduces irreconcilable differences to ash in the wake of the new path – all of the above. Only  with endings are there new beginnings. When we begin to glean that the end of our golden thread of  Fate is within sight, what will our impact be and how will it echo past the end of our perception? In this short article, I do not have an answer, because I am not you. We may share aesthetic ideals, we may be  friends, we may never meet. I am just a man at the end of 2021 who feels the weight of the end of an  era bearing down like the unfathomable gravity and heat of a dying star going red giant and engulfing  planets as it’s internal atomic stores burn out. This end will only be a new beginning – the beginning of  a better age. 

As these witnesses – these martyrs – of the Light which is collectively emanating from more  and more of us, a tidal wave is coming down. It has long since crested the horizon and is towering over  us. Not just a tidal wave of water – for that is not our baptism. It is the tidal wave and the baptism of  Spirit and Fire as the Son of Man returns as Kalki atop the white horse with bronze feet and the double  edged sword for a tongue. We are born perfect and continue to strive for perfection; the re-attainment  of Eden, Paradise, Heaven, Hyperborea. Thus, we are not required to undergo the watery Baptism  symbolic of the drowning of the imperfect human with original sin, washing away his or her flaws for  we recognize that as Muhammad Ali once said with the conviction of Grace: “God didn’t make NO  mistakes when he made me the way that I am.” 

As this tidal wave of Spirit and Fire comes to cleanse this time and place, the Black Gate opens  and the hordes of Mordor pour out, we take a deep breath and dive beneath the turmoil and find that  there is an odd calm – “for Frodo.” We do not know if we will hold our breath long enough to resurface but we see others who have taken the same plunge and gain encouragement that should our breath  elapse, should our constitution not be enough to endure this passing of eras, that our friends and  families will be our witnesses that we did all that we could. That we lived beautiful, unrelenting lives of desire and drive in honour of things far above and beyond our individual lives. Some of us will drown  under the weight of this wave of Spirit and Fire. There is no way around this. What is important is that  we are here – and will be there – together beneath the flames and when those of us who resurface on  the other side are blessed with the manna of ancients with an iron rod in our hands and crowned with the Sun, that we rebuild in honour of those who chose willingly to dive in with us. They were  extinguished so that we might see. Those who are martyred are the Light, we who survive are not the  Light, but sent by God to bear witness to the Light, and thus will be John of the New Way.