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 monastery in Russia. The painting shows the most venerated of Russian
saints Sergius of Radonezh, blessing the Russian leader-hero
Dmitri of Moscow (later Dmitri Donskoy) before the battle of Kulikovo (1380 AD).
at the monastery of Holy Trinity.
The painting depicts a scene in front of a church in a wood.
The interpretation of what takes place depends of how one reads history. Unlike
orthodox Russian interpretations of their history, I do not believe that the
battle of Kulikovo was a battle with the Mongols or Tartars, but a battle with
the Vikings. Here I am partly in agreement with the Russian mathematician and
historian Anatoly Fomenko, who argues that the ‘golden horde’ of the Mongols is
a fiction
invented by the
Romanov tsars. 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 painting by 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.