Saturday, March 25, 2017
EC 595 at http://esoschronicles.blogspot.com/
Of Cities and Citybred Monsters
By © E. Antons Benjamiņš, 2017
It has finally come to be that the atheist-controlled community of government has become the fake Godhead over the community of Nature.
1 Once Upon A Time: The Sacred Wood...
After Joseph ‘Wrath’ Stalin had eight of my family, father including, shipped to his infamous gulags, where five, including father, soon perished of harsh conditions or were shot, I, then eight years old, was not to be consoled. My mother, a young woman, half Russian, having lost a husband, a father, a mother, and sister to the wrath of the same Joseph, had no interest in consoling me:.she, left with a suckling age child who was not of her husband, knew not of my despair. When the room was empty and everyone was about some chore or other, I climbed on the spring bed and bounced my despair, prayers, and tears as high as I could. But no matter how high I bounced or ardently expressed my prayers, Divinity gave me no attention. Or so I thought.
Then, some sixteen years later, after other close escapes and many pretended normalities, after I had already been in Amrica for eight years, I had a dream.
I found myself in a wood. It was end of summer, and as was the wont of the farm household that had been my home during WWII, we went berry picking. We (about eight of us) were after blueberries. Everyone carried a newspaper lined basket. The household was spread over the forest far and wide. Some had gone far enough to “You-hoo” not to lose contact from the rest. However, something unusual met our eyes wherever we looked: there were no blueberries to be seen. The small pink blossoms of the berries had all dried in their bloom stage. Instead of berries or berry blossoms, in their place the berry branches held brown tissue paper.
As I, nevertheless, continued my search, I noticed rise from the floor of the forest a small mound on top of which grew an outsize blueberry blossom the size of a church bell. The outer shell of the blossom was a dark blue, but its core glowed an orange that was like of coal in a fireplace.
Not knowing what the flower was, I bent before it with awe and reverence. Only much later did it occur to me that the flower might have been Morgan the Fair*, the much maligned (witch, hag, shrew, black arts master) Queen of the Wood and mother of King Arthur, who became King of the Wood.
*Only much later, as a result of the dream, did I discover the poem of the German poet Novalis: Die blaue Blume, and read that Goethe may have seen it as the Urpflanz, the root of Nature.
The dream then shifted to a grassy field that was next to the forest. Just a few feet from the forest’s edge, I saw two large tables set for a feast. Two steaming pumpkins stood in the centre of each table. The fragrance of the pumpkins was inviting and spoke of family Thanksgiving dinners. The tables were waiting for the guests, who, except for me, were still in the wood.
The dream happened sixty years ago, and whenever I remember it, which is often enough, it brings me to a scene pictured in a painting by Ernst Lissner of the Troice-Sergieva Lavra or monasterypaintingSergius of Radonezh,
fiction invented I would add that it was less an invention than a replacement, i.e., the Vikings were replaced by the Romanovs (supporters of Catholic and globalist theology) with the Mongols.
It was in 862 AD* that the Vikings captured Kiev , then a slav village on the shores of the Dniepr River. As I have argued elsewhere, the Byzantine Empire and the surround was under the influence of what I call Ancient Christianity, at the core of which religion was the Sacred King.
*Per Anatoly Fomenko all Anno Domini (AD) dates are suspect.
By foregoing lengthy arguments about my perspective on history, which may be gathered from some 600 past blogs) and returning to the paintingby Ernst Lissner, one may argue that the painting depicts Jerusalem (=Yaroslav) and the blessing of an executive king (or Malik*) by the Sacred King.
*Malik is Arabic the for executive king, who serves the Sacred King. The word is also encountered in my native Latvijan language as ‘malacis’, that is to say, one who dares and does exemplary deeds.