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:The Grail Flower:

The trials of :JUPITER PRIMUS: move into full swing, and the golden summer is upon us. 

We jog through the nightshade forests below the cold moon


 Stretch mighty and wide upon our awakening, and greet the skyfather in the clear blue sky above 

Like the seeds of spring we stretch and reach for more and more. Towards that golden glory do we strike forever; like those that came before us who fertilized the very earth that willed us to grow.

It is the soil that is home, the earth that cradled us and nurtured us towards higher horizons. 

For is it not true that any good home will eventually hurl you towards the highest heavens? 

Any home that does not do so is not a home for you young warrior. 

Any place you deem to belong the most should never keep you as a sprout. 

If you feel no growth where you are, there is something amis amidst that sacred runic formula (the cracking of :ING:) 

Observe here that very spell.

Observe also this GRAIL FLOWER. A Bindrune containing and representing the growth from home towards the purest of realizations. 

The flow that is able to commence through the sacred structure of the home (OTHALA) is the pathway of the inner hero. 

The flowerhead, and prize being the rune WUNJO (joy) but there also the inversion of this rune; its shadow and shade. True treasures are the ones that give us joy and also strife. The grail is the western NIRVANA, and this rune is its sigil.

Enlightenment upon finding this prize of prizes is unknown to most men that live today, but we can all imagine its form in at least some rough essence.

Unstoppable and fervent is the will of all material growth that strives for the heavens. Trees, mountains, man, fire, etc. This is the magic of :GER: and it will take us ever upwards through heavens and hells unknown.

Ascend higher and higher

So that in your fall you may burn brighter 

Brighter than any who came before 

Lighter so that in your dreams wake you will be reborn again once more

For the thousand trials to strip you bare as Campbell wrote you must first make that step out as the fool. He who searches for the mountain king, and the boons of a million gods. 

Adventure is beyond the imagination, for within our wildest dreams we are always successful. In the physical realm this is never so. You will bleed, you will cry, you will run, you will hide.

You will strive for the mountain top only to reach its roots, and find there amidst the endless echoes of boundless aeons the hollow laugh that rings of the rocks, and you will know it to be your darkest inner shadows.

There is no way for you to survive adventure. You will be sacrificed from yourself to yourself, and you will see the boy you were cast into the furnace, only to return as a man.

The slumbering king (once and future) only emerges when he is needed most, and you will not find him buried in your couch, and amidst the hobbit politics of your current home town.

Struggles unknown, and fears beyond reason await you traveler.

Are you prepared to become a man?

Or will you wither as a sprout.

You need only look to your neighbours to see gelded souls, as you need only look to your gutter to see acorns that will never be oaks.

Do not find yourself amongst them, as comfortable as they might seem in the present.

As you find yourself unable to sleep in the pouring rain of some foregin land, you will think of home, and find yourself laughing at the things you once worried about.

There is a storm in every man, woman and child. 

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I recently had the pleasure of breaking words with an old mentor, and chieftain in his own right.

This is a man of the lycurgan creed. Of the wolf-moon and horned-god. 

He shares his spoils with those who he knows to be true. 

Those who dance around their own fires and howl at the world that has deemed them villains… and all those who dare speak to their ilk. 

This man asked me of Halithaz, and how we grow.

He asked me what this :new way: intends to lead to…

And I gave him the only answer. 

Having known me for many years, he has bore witness to my growth, and aided me whenever needed along that path.

He sees now the torch must pass on, and I intend to do so with the utmost glory.

And he then, with understanding of my cause revealed to me a sacred blade. It came in the form of words.

Not to wound, and not to threaten, but to further arm an old pupil on the same path he took years before. 

They formed as such:

I know you and yours. And I know you know much beyond what you write of. Do not cull your writings to fit inside the heads of lesser men. They will know, or they will not.”

And there we have it.

Advice to crack the heavens.

Advice to melt away the frost of winter, and bring forth the seeds of spring.


:ᚩ: :ᚨ: :ᚦ:


In the damp, frost-plagued earth did my mind and spirit coax new, old, and very powerful seeds towards the surface and forefront of my mind. 

So that one day they might sprout towards the great skyfather that we all shall meet someday. 

If my words become like fleeting snowflakes towards your mind; and they melt too quickly to see patterns of note implanted upon the brain, then I apologize and you are not yet of a similar mind to the rest of us.

But I do so press forward now; for those capable of understanding the ramblings of this soldier of the SUBLIME ARCHON (αρχ-). 

Spring is dead.
Long live the spring!

The time for :I: is dying. 

The feast to come is just beginning to take form. 

I pity those who have not taken the proper Apollonian precautions needed.

The duties required inorder to move forward and earn their Lon Laith within this most glorious summer.


…But do you make the roster?

If you have not prepared, then you will simply not attain the true warmth and might of this glory. 

And no one will be to blame but yourself.

Look to the signs.

Is it not true that the world now splits between those who understand and those who do not?

Is it not true that with every passing day this reality becomes more and more uncanny?

Theseus has entered the labyrinth, and there is no turning back. 

Evil is here my friend. And Yet so is the light. 

Science of the modern era has even heralded this. Only one week ago was there seen a massive solar flare from the great ⊕. 

This inevitably gifts unto all humans of this era the boons, and power of hearty

                                                                 :SOLAR WINDS:

I wish to leave none in the dark and cold. 

Though now me and the others press upwards and onwards towards the :highest peak:

We move to greet the Archon and bask in the boons of what is about to be unleashed upon this great green earth of ours.


If you seek to join us then I urge you to take bedside by this dying spring.

Follow these tasks, and see yourself further prepared for what is to come:

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The Blade of Order

In opposition of the unbridled chaos of the flail, the tempered blade of order stands gleaming

I’ve previously delved into the all too often dismissed force that is chaos and its place in the natural cycle. Its role in the balance between order and disorder. In my last piece, I talked about the flail and its absurd potential for destruction. I also discussed how to utilize it’s chaotic and destructive potential. To direct that potential, and use it to further your own self in a positive, uplifting sense. I’m now choosing to shift the focus into the Apollonian side, and delve into the force of order, it’s relation to chaos, and it’s role along the Halithazian path.

As chaos is the flail, order is the sword. The fusion of order and disorder is the hero seed. 

If chaos is the force which shakes the foundation of everything in our world view, order is the binding force which draws it back together. The storm will not rage forever, eventually the beaming rays of the sun will pierce the black clouds above. The winds are dispelled and warmth, balance and control once again returns to the realm. 

Order within our minds manifests as discipline, control, calculation and execution. We cannot allow the forces of chaos to completely overpower our will for improvement and mastery, and so order comes in as a staunch reminder of our endless journey upward. The sword is the perfect symbol for this from it’s very nature and design. A shining, well crafted blade of steel, pointed skywards in a symbol of masculine potential. A deadly omen of the disciplined hero. 

One does not have to look far to see the use of the sword as a symbol of the hero archetype within the realms of history, fantasy and myth. The sword Gram, which Sigurd used to slay the dragon, Fafnir. Andúril, the Flame of the West, wielded by Aragorn II, heir of Isildur. Or perhaps one of the most well known examples, Excalibur of Arthurian legend. Tales and stories of men of great fortitude carrying these great weapons against imposing odds. Using the blade they carry with them to dispel the forces of evil. Introducing order where chaos has run far too rampant is necessary. The slavering beast with smoke emanating from its nostrils stands above our gallant Knight. As such, so often the forces of chaos can seem equally imposing.

We must train to utilize the blade of order effectively, just as we do the flail. A well-tempered sword is a deadly enough instrument of its own to be sure, but made all the more imposing in the hands of a competent wielder. Introducing order and discipline into your life is the equivalent of arming yourself with your own Excalibur, your own Andúril. It is your steadfast will, weaponized into a thing of regality and excellence. 

You possess the ability in everything you do. This is your time spent training your body in whatever way possible. The effort you put into eating REAL food that’s going to make that training worthwhile. The opening and sharpening of your mind through reading and meditation. These are not dissimilar from the master bladesmith, toiling away in his forge to craft the perfect blade. Just as his quest for the perfect steel is never ending, so is yours toward the perfect version of yourself. This is what keeps you going. 

Chaos is a part of life. It can be truly tempting and truly destructive. It’s only natural for all of us to revel in it’s erotic embrace from time to time, but never let it consume you. Keep a level head of discipline even where it seems there is none. As fun as the flail may be to swing, never forget that the steel by your side is the backbone. It’s the ultimate tool you have for keeping chaos in balance, for smiting the demons ahead. It’s your own personal ascension. 

Who is the man who wields both the Blade of Order and the Flail of Chaos?

A Barbaric Aristocrat? A well-off gentleman leaving his study to go clobber his friends bare knuckled in the cellar?

A Drunken Templar? A trained swordsman of the cross, struggling to undo his piss soaked britches during a night of debaucherous indulgence?

An Apollonian Madman? The musclebound lunatic who drops his rusty barbell onto green grass, freshly cracked White Claw pouring down his stark naked husk?

He could be all of these things, or none of them. It’s your steel, it’s your iron ball and chain. Understand both, and wield them as you will.

Keep your steel sharp, your blade hand swift, and may your target be smitten.

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There is an area at the very top of England that was once known as ‘Yr Hen Ogledd’. This translates into the modern tongue as ‘Old North’ reasonably well. 

It was here that Ida and his offspring of Anglisc blood would fight, settle, and dominate for many generations. 

As you can imagine, there was much renown and glory to be found in the act of conquering amongst these warrior tribesmen. It was not uncommon for particularly powerful and aggressive rulers to gain nicknames. 

There was one amongst Ida’s line that was known to history (according to ‘Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum’) as ‘Flesaur’ meaning ‘The Twister’. 

Fucking hell… 

Imagine being such a man. Imagine being such a barbarous chad that you are remembered throughout time as ‘The Twister’ for your battle ferocity, and ability to ravage and decimate the Welsh. 

What’s stopping you from crushing your opponents and claiming their lands with such power that your deeds resonate well past your death? Well I suppose that’s an article for another time. 

You might be a fine young man. You might be even more than a fine young man, but how are you to withstand the gullet of Cronos/Time? 

How would this man have been remembered if not for the renown and resonance that found its roots on the tongues of poets and in the resonant strings of the bard?

How do you presume to carve a legend out of yourself without the aid of whispers and tunes?

The fact of the matter is that music is simply magic. Songs are spells, and words carry the meaning behind the victors first to final sword strike. They are the psalms that send the peasantry to their deaths in the name of a king. They are the words that plant the seeds of hubris within all inherited crown wearers. 

They are the beginning and the end.

Any man that has not found it so has never been remembered.

Any society that has not valued beauty has settled into a mass of conquerable dough. 

Like veins all across ancient England did the bards and poets flow from kingdom to kingdom, bringing news of perils, victories, magic and power. 

Sagas  from the North demonstrate to us that even well into the iron age did our ancestors understand the weight and power of song. I urge you to read Egill Skallagrímsson’s ‘Head Ransom’ poem for further proof of this.

:THE BARD: is an archetype that cannot be underestimated in any courtroom that wishes to thrive. 

He is your conduit from the self to higher self; from highborn to lowborn; from victor to loser.

The bard imitates the holy psychopomp. He is the wanderer who carries with him the spirit of somewhere else. And he is loved for this, and treated as holy.

Think of rockstars. I’m not even talking about the famous ones. Consider your lowly thrash metal band on the road. They are poor, they stink, they have addictions… and they still fuck. You can take my word for that. 

Fame is granted to those who carry the magic within their heart, and wherever there is beauty there will be music.

:THE BARD: will sing of your many undertakings, he will romanticize in the most important way possible all of your tales, and deeds. 

This Archetype is necessary for your court, for he will remind you of all you have already done, and take those songs with him wherever he might travel. 

The power of Taliesin is paled by no other force within your realm.

And yet he is mocked, along with everything else by the antithesis of Romanticized triumph.

For across the room at his polaropposite position sits the grinning, and fearless mockery alchemist.

:THE JESTER: can make or break you. As Loki storms into the halls of the great one, and insults his way into the events that conclude with the ending of the world… so too does every jester enter his King’s royal court. 

Mockery, and comedy is a spell that many fear far more than they will ever admit. For if you cannot laugh at yourself, and your deeds, and your goals, and your life… then it will all be in vain. 

There is a world of difference in the west from when Christianity went relatively unchecked by any Jester Magic, to when Monty Python decided to throw the molotov into the stain glass of the basilika, and the label on that bottle read ‘The Life of Brian’.

Contemporary Christianity showed its weakness that day, by its lawsuits, and weak death throes upon the cackling band of British Jesters. 

A true king fears naught. And in the sullen court where the King banishes or kills his fool, all will agree in silence that it was the Jester that revealed his crown to be naught but piss and shit.

The final act of the fool is revealing his severed head to hold your crown, as you sit angrily upon the throne wearing his bell-tethered, and jingling hat.

Like a wild beast the fool might try and find weakness. It is uncomfortable.

Often his jests mimic that of the peasant’s who finds passage through the knight’s shining armor with the plunge of his rusty dagger upon a field of mud and gore. 

It should be understood by all who follow the Germanic tales of the gods that these are tales of the inner world. Odin Wolfhead is a sworn blood brother to the chaos that is Loki Jester. This is the creator befriending the mockery/chaos.

This Archetype is not evil. Its intent is not to destroy, but to discover cracks, and to push limits. It is from the chaos that we might have had the big bang, or the fire that met ice. You must find this jester amusing, and you must listen to him carefully.

He will antagonize, and strip you bare, while the bard only wishes to sing you the songs of praise, and glory.

Both are crucial, and both will balance you whilst you seek entertainment and self indulgence. Meditate upon the jokes, and hum the tunes as you assess your next moves. 

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SCMM III: Court of the Solar King

The inner you is a gnarled figure. He has seen much darkness, and he wears the armor and scars to prove his descent into the darkest areas of your mind and world. 

He is :The Wolfhead King: and he seeks the highest light. 

He searches for the true god. He searches for the :The Solar King: 

He chases him round and round the mortal coil (axis mundi).

In-turn, he often feels like he runs from this figure. For what man can say he has only ever stuck to the path of light?

 We all run, sometime or another. For this is the way of all. We share the memoriam sanguinis of Aragorn.

The good news is that the simple act of fleeing is enough for the inner you to rouse a slumbering conscience. It is not too far-fetched to claim that a character such as Jiminy Cricket can be seen as ‘the guide’ archetype manifest. The wizard, the elder, whatever you like really.

For many of these archetypes that call to us have similar goals and boons to attain from coaxing us into certain paths of thought and memory. It is fallacy to believe them to be one in the same.

It is also important to note the clever trick of Disney to manifest his guide archetype into the form of a bug. For whose conscience does not ‘bug’ them? 

When you run from fate, you understand this is wrong. 

These guide archetypes call for you, and care for you deeper than you know.

Keep them in your court, and treat them well. But also understand that these figures are not always of the same mind.

I speak now of those closest to your ear as you sit upon your sullen throne. To your left stands :THE CHIEFTAIN: and to your right :THE WANDERER: 

For out of all the various emissaries of :Ansuz: these two stand to be the most powerful and effective when your goal is to obtain order and higher-self magic.

It is folly to assume all your archetypes are one and unified in their causes. Though these archetypes stand for similar points in their advice and council, they are themselves opposed, and at odds more often than not. 

Both of these archetypes have your closest seat. They are often the first you meet along your journey or path to kingship. Their goals are the same, to aid you and show you the path towards your fate. 

Yet their means of bringing you there are nothing alike, and in ways are quite opposite.


This archetype should be seen as a seasoned governor. He is familiar with all avenues of leadership, and has pledged to aid you through the art of justice and reason. He does not care to leave anything to fate, and his belief in cultural magic is seen as yet another tool towards garnering favor, and maintaining power. I speak of Earl Haraldson, Rogal Dorn, Roose Bolton, Marc Antony.


This archetype stands for unrelenting fate and unseen magic. He is furtive, and deals in riddles. He is not afraid to toss you into the storm, and his reasoning to do so will never come from his own mouth, but discovered by you after the trial is completed. I speak of Merlin, Gandalf, Odin, Kaepora Gaebora.

These archetypes have guided heroes near and far, and through history, and myth. They are timeless, and they are separate entities that, quite often, are at odds with one another. But as any story will show you (where they are both present) there is an understanding that they are two arms of the same mechanism.

The hero will need them both in order for his teaching to be entirely complete, and for his rule to be truly just.

One must prove to be the axis in which these two wisdom feeders generate their magic. They spin round and round upon the hero’s soul.

More soon. 

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The Chaos Flail

The Chaos Flail 

If order is the sword, then as the symbol of chaos stands the flail. 

As a man of action, I understand the importance of maintaining a degree of discipline and a relatively staunch control over my actions, the Apollonian side of my nature. I am sure most reading this already have a solid understanding of the Apollonian and Dionysian dichotomy in regards to human behaviours, of the balance between the forces of order and disorder (Read “The New Way” by Ioan Eofor for excellent views on this).

For this thought piece I’m going to choose to focus on the latter. Chaos is an interesting thing. Chaos is the raging hurricane, it’s the tornado across the plains, it’s the bull in a fit of rage goring any unlucky enough to stand in its way. At the same time, I would argue it’s not only beneficial in controlled circumstances, but essential. 

  The sword stands true as a powerful symbol of order. The blade glistens as it points to the sky. Its inspiring presence is immediately recognizable as one of virility, of vigor. Its counterpart I will liken as the flail. The flail is a weapon as frightening as it is chaotic. It’s an absurd weapon, one that despite it’s intimidating aura was grossly impractical. The weapon is more entertaining fiction than anything and was rarely, if ever, used in actual combat historically. For that very reason however, I’m choosing it to represent chaos in a purely symbolic sense, so I implore you to keep that point in mind for the duration of this article. The morning star twirling around one’s head, the rattling of the chain. Its strike is devastating, for either the target or the wielder. Therein lies the nature of chaos. It is unpredictable, dangerous, and at its core absurd and almost comical in the sense of the damage it can inflict. At the same time, It invigorates, it sharpens the senses, it makes us feel alive. 

Where chaos becomes what I would consider to be detrimental is when it gains complete control over order. In human beings this manifests in a number of ways. Mental illness, violent abuse, addiction. The alcoholic man has completely caved to the forces of chaos. His Dionysian side now embodies his entire being as he descends further into disorder with every swig from the bottle. Chaos is rampant not just in our human microcosm, but in the world around us. Storms rage across the oceans, wildfires burn and blot out the sky with their smoke, and earthquakes shake and crumble that which our civilization has worked so hard to construct. 

Chaos is necessary. It is the second half of the whole, and must be respected and understood. It can consume an individual, destroy them if poorly understood, or uplift them if it is effectively controlled.  If you are to take an average person, and put a flail in their hands, and tell them to use it effectively there’s a good chance you’ll be making a mistake. There’s a good chance they will end up caving in their own skull before they even have a chance to hit the target. They must train themselves in the technique to swing it properly, armour themselves sufficiently as to avoid injury. Even so, the risk of the flail, due its very nature, is great. Someone who has trained with such an instrument is still at risk. No matter how adept you may think you are with this infernal device, you still run the risk of taking yourself out simply by using it. With the rattling of the chain as it twirls in air like an iron beacon of destruction it exudes the essence of chaos. As a force of disorder and destruction, it can be harnessed and used by a competent wielder to powerful effect. 

The wielding of the flail stands as the metaphor to us as individuals embracing the chaotic sides of ourselves, using it to uplift ourselves to greater levels without allowing it to consume us. Giving in to the chaos of your anger will result in damage to not only yourself, but those around you. However, by using it, harnessing it and learning to direct it in such a way that it becomes a motivating force, It gives you a reason to change things, a reason to improve an area of yourself that may be lagging behind. You wield the flail in times of grief, where you are overtaken with sadness, and rather than simply giving up and resorting to either a bottle or various other empty pleasures, you swing it around your head and use it to inspire yourself. To make yourself realize that it is your duty to keep swinging it to honour those that came before you. 

The Sword and the Flail. The duality of both weapons and their symbolism are icons of what us individuals along the good path hold close. Our discipline, our control, our tempered steel is in balance with the cumbersome, challenging destructive force of the morning star. But approach with caution. When swinging the chaos flail, you must take care. You must take the time and the initiative to understand both its potential for growth, and for self destruction. 

Keep your chaotic nature in check. Learn how it benefits you, and where its potential to destroy you lies, and learn to redirect its force into one of growth and betterment. 

Raise your flail arm, may your star strike true. 

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The Cycle of Sigel I

The best things in life, so agrees every man of mettle, are those that cost: that have been paid in toil, that have been dear in silver, sweat, blood, time, brains & broken hearts. Ask Christ on the cross, Alexander in his saddle, Admiral Nelson belowdecks or anyone that ever threw money at pink sheets: the spoils of war and love come wound-resplendent, inseparable from the pain of costly dealings. There is an endemic belief in the modern world, however, that adversity and difficult circumstances are, by necessity, exclusively tragic in nature. Even mundane obstacles are considered in a vacuum; the loss of a job, the conclusion of a romantic relationship, an injury: these are situations that must be skirted around, are to be endured and winced through rather than metabolised as part of a greater initiatory process. Speaking generally, there is no consideration for the actual influence that these situations might have over an individual, his internal state, his behaviour, or consequently the hero’s journey that they might be contextualised within.

Cross-culturally, mythology teaches us to consider hardship in a very different way. The motif of the hero is inseparable from the motif of the ordeal. In reality, it is impossible for the hero to rise to any higher station without the experience of significant trial. When tragedy is considered as tragedy-for-tragedy’s-sake, as opposed to an opportunity for self-alchemy, the ascension of the heroic type is simply not feasible. Man gazes upon the heroic figures that populate myth with the same transfixment that sent the eyes of our earliest ancestors skywards to study the stars, we look back into the annals of para-history and archetype to the liminal places so like the heavens where men of legendary calibre dwell still— but will we elect to be spectators? Will we speculate, with our lives divorced from the principles of the figures we revere, scarcely ever attempting to understand, let alone emulate, the spirit that informed the marrow of Troy? Do we wish to embody the principles that empassion us, or sit, cross-legged, like boys on the floor of a world ripe for our taking, leafing through binders of baseball cards labelled “Sigurd” and “Musashi”?

To attempt to make sense of the exceptional, to digest the legendary in its myriad forms at its leanest extent, it is only necessary to consider the element of initiatory tribulation as one of the three primary dimensions of the Cycle of Sigel (which can occur many times over the course of the hero’s life). Consider the shape of the Anglo-Saxon rune sigel ᛋ (the sun, perhaps a sail, also victory), whose three strokes each represent a distinct stage:

  • Beginning from the bottom right side of the glyph, the initial phase is known as The Hero Seed: bogged down by the mundane rigours of ordinary reality, the germinating hero is compelled by some external force to begin the slow journey northward into the mysticism of the self, and through this inner transcendence, ascend to a higher ideal. This phase can be represented symbolically by the rune ēðel ᛟ (the estate, the home) – this is a foundational phase that is decidedly closed off to the possibility and potentiality of the non-ordinary experience, made visually apparent in the crossed strokes of the glyph.
  • At the intersection of this stroke with the second one, the hero begins to experience the second phase of his journey: The Fall, or the summary ordeal that can be understood as a catalyst for literal or figurative rebirth. This is Gandalf’s death at Khazad-dûm, or the dishonouring of Achilles at the hand of Agamemnon. Note that this stroke of the glyph not only doubles back on the progress made in the initial phase of the journey, but also moves the hero laterally away from his former path, thereby severing his connection with the previous mode of thinking. This phase is mirrored in the value of the rune nyd ᚾ (need, distress) – this represents the redemptive and requisitory nature of the purifying fall from the ordinary into the final phase. The transverse stroke of this rune shows well the obstacular nature of the tribulation in what many heroes have assumed would be a linear way.
  • The third stroke of sigel represents The Ascent. The hero, now reborn and fundamentally altered, continues northward on a path that is identical in orientation to the initial one undertaken in the first phase, but influenced to such an extreme extent by his tribulations, that the first and third phases are better seen as being simply parallel to one another rather than continuous elements of one experience. This final phase can, under certain circumstances, become the catalyst for the hero’s return to the first phrase to complete the process anew, as Cú Chulainn’s slaying of the hound that became his namesake was a catalyst for his ascension-and-further-growth. This phase can likewise exist as an element of finality at the end of a hero’s life, as Bēowulf’s ill-fated battle with the dragon. This third phase is represented best by the manuscript variant of the rune gēr ᛄ (years, harvest), the very shape of which shows the continuation of the destined path surrounded by the “champion’s glow”, or lón láith.
Detail from the stave church of Hylestad, Norway, depicting the hero Sigurd locked in battle with Fafnir the dragon

With the substance of the Cycle of Sigel being understood, the most minute and most crucial element of the heroic process can be understood and internalised by extension. With the acknowledgement that each stroke of the rune forms an indelible and functional portion of the hero’s development, trial must be endured with the judiciousness of a cæsar, with the careful battle-serenity of Indra locked in struggle with the serpent Vṛtra. 

The next piece in this series will discuss, in detail, the first stroke of the cycle in significant detail. Where, how, and by what measure does the hero begin? What is foundational to that which is transcendent?

Nyd byþ nearu on breostan;

ƿeorþeþ hi þeah oft niþa bearnum

to helpe and to hæle gehƿæþre,

gif hi his hlystaþ æror.

Trouble is oppressive to the heart;

yet often it proves a source of help and salvation

to the children of men, to everyone who heeds it betimes.

Anglo-Saxon rune poem, “nyd”.

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:Cult of The Solar King:

You are not a man, but a living world of interacting archetypes, struggles, Gods, and beasts. 

Any fool can look at the waking world – our collective cosm built by all – and see problems with it. It’s no secret that many are miserable, and much injustice still runs amok. 

This is easy to say, and there is no kickback from me claiming this.

 Anyone can say “Yeah dude, the world’s gone crazy.”

But, until you realize this single solitary factor, I guarantee that you’re doing nothing but making it worse; so read carefully. 

Chances are, your world is burning.

I mean the true world, the world within yourself. Because when all the cards are down, that’s the world that matters most to you. It’s where you rest, it’s where you shit, and it’s where you eat. In other words, it’s what constructs the immediate physical realm that you operate within. 

More importantly, it’s the realm in which your ideas, and choices spew forth from.

Here’s the thing.

Your world’s forests are not burning because you are too weak. It’s cities, towns, and hamlets do not starve because you are too stupid. It’s rivers do not run black because it was a frail world destined to fail.

My friend, your inner-world is in turmoil because it awaits the return of the Halithaz. And if you haven’t been paying attention, that’s the :Hero:

The carrier of the shining blade, whose blow, whose touch, whose existence will liberate the land. 

– Joseph Campbell –

Within your inner-self resides many archetypes. Depending on who you are and how you were raised, certain powerful pieces might find themselves ruling your inner-realm. 

Some are far more desirable than others. I shouldn’t even have to give examples. 

What I will do is tell you that you must find your grove, and sprout the seeds of your life’s most important principles.

You must guard these with your life, and tend to them often.

This should now be the holiest, most powerful area within your mind. It is from this area you must construct a castle; and from there a Kingdom.

All must spread outward, and mimic these sacred trees. Lest your kingdom be built on lies. 

It could be that you already had a kingdom. I do not judge. I just ask you reclaim it now. 

The peasants will find out, and your less-desirable archetypes will find your weaknesses. Once more throwing your kingdom into ruin. 

The inner you is a gnarled figure. He has seen much darkness, and he wears the armor and scars to prove his descent into the darkest areas of your mind and world. 

He searches for the true god. He searches for the :The Solar King: 

This is your lowest self, understanding he is worth more.

This is your lowest self, taking to the throne in hopes of the resurrection of your highest hopes and dreams. 

What I’m about to reveal to you are personal archetypes that I have found to be paramount in the courtroom of the Wolfhead Rex. You will notice many things about this. But first, I will let you observe.

This is the courtroom, within are the powerhouse archetypes that have existed in Gods and men since the dawn of time, and most certainly before. It is up to you to find your Wolfhead Rex. You must be the light that proves to him God exists. 

He will hear the call of :The Solar King: and he must take to his rightful throne in the kingdom of ruin. 

He has much to do. The Cult of The Solar King must assemble. Next time I will tell you of their roles. 
More soon.


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Incarnating Gods

The much spoken of Golden Age, Satya Yuga, Lemuria, or Eden is the state of ancient Man in which his actions are instinctive and automatic but not mechanical. They “knew and were” those luminiferous Titans of bygone eras, those beings not bound and limited by Time or the curse of Man’s modern self-awareness. We must think of D.H. Lawrence’s “I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.”

The keys to Atlantis, to Agartha, to the Warm Oasis, to travelling back – against time – is such: “set thy heart upon thy work, but never on its reward. Work not for a reward; but never cease to do thy work”. To act in accordance with the shape of one’s nature. To draw from the surrounding earth all requirements in the immediate and eternal “Now”.

The occult, religious, esoteric, and otherwise fanatical schools of thought, temples, and philosophies are rife with countless restrictive dogma which serve to alienate and differentiate by means non-conducive to the health of the physical body; we recognize that while there are undoubtedly other bodies and other planes for the Seeker, the physical body is still of substantial importance (why else would We, He, She, or They incarnate here otherwise?) and must be well nourished, trained, sculpted, taught, and honed. Perfected.

It is known by certain schools of thought that a “new” or different soul, angel comes to incarnate within a physical body every 7 years. This body will be chosen, again, by how well it suits the needs of the entity that comes down to incarnate here. If we harbour beliefs that an immortal and eternal soul, angel, archetype, or Vira comes down,  into a physical form to experience this life here, then we naturally conclude that they must select a body most befitting to their tasks set to accomplish by the thread of destiny of which they – and by extension we – are acutely aware.

We seek to offer perfection. We offer to the Gods who watch from above, from without, from “over there” – as if on the edge of a fountain – a perfect, supple, lean, mighty physical body. Because we understand the importance of this. We understand the undeniable, flawless, perfect natural beauty that arises from the murky quagmire of modern humanity when the laws of nature are again met and the necessities of these biological bodies that are a part of our greater selves are met; when We embrace the power of our physical bodies not for the desires of vanity, but out of a knowing and a will to create the Superman.

We do not care for the “latest study” and it’s supposed findings. There is no need to waste time and effort scouring the depths of the internet for articles claiming this or that benefit or detriment that an isolated compound, enzyme, or nutrient had on a collection of microbes on an agar dish or cells in a test tube. It is the most powerful affirmation to our understanding of nutrition and the sculpting of the body to look to actual, whole human beings living in accordance with their beliefs on how a human must or should live. The effects of their lifestyle and dietary choices will make abundantly clear whether such eating and performance habits lead him towards the slobbish and unfit body of modern metropolitan human as he descends ever downward, farther from his golden ancestry; or towards the bronzed, lean, strong, and sculpted body the Gods wrote into his very being for him to achieve.

Will the person who reads these words be ready to offer to the Gods a fleshy vehicle that is unsuited to their needs? Will the body they inhabit be unable to perform tasks, deeds of strength and overcoming? We ask which God wishes to come down, sacrificing His immortality to rot away in a flabby, weak, slow, disgusting physical body, poisoned by the modern world, starved of the needs this body pronounces in no ambiguous terms that it requires – if only we can interpret the cries. Denied the physical trials that are not available to the immortal Gods, that wilful suffering and sculpting of the self, the Gods will simply select a more suitable body into which to descend and bless by awakening new centres of awareness in that elect.

Like the sculptures of Breker hidden within marble, like the God within the Exernsteine, like the countless Giants and Titans sleeping within the high snowy peaks the world over, the flawless shape of Man hides away beneath the weakness of his own domesticated modern self. It needs only be extracted, and once we are aware of what our bodies are capable, we are pulled irresistibly towards any and all paths and possibilities to excavate this. It is instinctual and impulsive. Deep within our being, We understand that Man is something that shall be overcome. But we also understand that a foundation is required. We understand that perfection is achieved from the bottom (where we are currently stuck) upwards, back towards the Mount of Congregation in the sides of the North, neither by ship nor by foot to be found, up the Spinal Column, ascending always.

Our modern, physical world is the bottom rung. It is the first step towards reclaiming Paradise. If our physical bodies are not first perfected, how have We shown the Gods that we are deserving to be given the raw marble of our higher Bodies with which to sculpt? Does the sickness-riddled, flabby, blotchy, pale recluse deserve the higher existences and realms when he has not embraced and loved all the possibilities of this world first? When he has not exhausted the possibilities of this physical body? When he has not shown he is willing to push to the absolute limits this sacred physical body – an iteration or tool the Gods have left us – to the absolute limits and beyond? To cry to the skies: “MORE!” Knowing that We will always make the most of the gifts given us, the Gods smile, and become tempted themselves to allow us that sacred “more”.

The Gods themselves are not bound by time, not limited by our perception of its passage. In the Golden Age they would come down, or in, and return. They interacted with our luminous ancestors in our remotest history. They could “visit” within what is a moment for them, what is millenia for us, countless worlds, bringing gifts and tidings from Above or without, which was also here, what is now beneath, or within, hidden.

But our worlds are not immortal and eternal, and are subject to involution and decay. The Gods, again not being limited by what we perceive as Time could see this. They knew their children would fall, would descend and forget their illustrious origins. They could see up to a certain point of our era, but they can no longer see us. The modern age is enshrouded by a dense fog. A choking, obscuring cloud  into which they cannot peer, and do not often deign submerge themselves into. We are no longer visited by the Gods at ease.

But they have not left us without hope. Knowing this involution would take place, the Gods hid within humanity the keys, tools, or weapons to our own redemption and return to their rightful kingdoms. Torches to light, to send a beacon across all of existence, time, and space, back to them, to be as that which is underneath the dark waters with all Lights Blazing. What they have given us is within ourselves. But they are not expressed without effort, without displaying that one is willing to alter their environment, willing to subject themselves to discomfort, willing to sculpt oneself, willing to suffer as the Gods do for having watched us be lost.