Dead Europeans

just some musings

The ancient world calls to me,
Keening and wailing loudly.
I hearken to their words.

Hearse-wagons inexorably,
Pulled against the waves.
We struggle on the tide.

Irregular hearts try beating,
Losing rhyme and reason.
We have no meter.

Bade I was to faraway place,
I cannot get there easily.
My eyes turn to dust.

Beckoned into a prison,
I lament in my dreary.
My heart breaks.

Dying institutions serve enemy,
Foreigners get the blessing.
Whites have hungry belly.

Maggot flesh on bloated corpse,
Flies swarming rotting meat.
Rise now, from the grave.

Empty barrows and barren copse,
Corpses long forgotten reek.
Rise now, from the grave.

Europeans are an aborted baby,
Rising and falling, damning.
Rise now, from the grave.

the sterile and gloved claws of a traitor wrapped around the dead arm of a young White man, pale and ghostly

Recently, the above picture was taken from some released footage of the Henry Nowak Murder. It really encapsulates what we have all been experiencing in the Western world since at least the World Wars. Our institutions are enemies of the people. Our race has turned against itself. We are committing cultural and racial suicide. Many people have already written about this, but I wanted to draw attention to some ancient pagan folklore and how this seems to relate to our situation. I won’t lie — this image caused me to sit and think about how terrible things truly are for our people. Similar images from abortions, rapes, and other dastardly crimes have made me sit and think about how terrible life can be for some people. White babies slain in the womb. White women abused in dog cages. White men murdered in their own streets. It is enough to make a man fearfully filled with rage.

Undead creatures have long frightened humans in our myths. Superstition, some might call it. I would caution against viewing such mythopoetics as mere superstition, for it has become increasingly obvious that our race is suffering from a deep soul-sickness, and that myth is indeed a reflection of reality — a divine conversation between the material and immaterial, between the mundane and the spiritual. Of course, the actual spiritual and theological reality of these ancient pagan myths go far beyond the political and social devastation we are currently experiencing, but it is still interesting to compare and contrast these ancient myths with our current situation.

Pagans are often said to be necromancers. This is an old claim hoisted upon us by Christians who seem to have twice the amount of fear towards the dead that pagans do, but it is a claim that has resurfaced as our ancient religions are being restored in the modern era. Pagans are criticized for wearing the trappings of the ancient world without any consistency, decried as LARPers, even as Christians wear the trappings of their own predecessors while the denominations ship in millions of foreigners and are led by gay pastors and race-mixers. I often suggest that pagans should not partake in any “ghost-dance” to attempt at reviving the dead corpses of our ancient tribal polities, and that we should instead embrace our current struggle and bring our ancient myths and traditions into the future. The Gods are real beings, and that is enough.

“That was their way, their heathenish hope; deep in their hearts they remembered hell.”
― Beowulf

Christians ought to understand that the ancient blood of our forefathers runs strong in our veins.

“Holy places are dark places. It is life and strength, not knowledge and words, that we get in them. Holy wisdom is not clear and thin like water, but thick and dark like blood.”
― C.S. Lewis

So too are the undead real beings, and that is enough. They walk with us right now. Whether they are Hylics with no souls, or true undead risen from the grave, they are indeed with us. Ancient philosophies and religions cling like beetles to driftwood on the River of Life. Lost lessons and traditions are revived and reformed like new threads on the Weave of Wyrd. These things might point to the reality of the undead living amongst us, perhaps like elves and fae-folk who beckon to Psychics and Pneumatics, calling us into their barrows, mounds, and tombs with the divine music of the Otherworld. We were not all blessed with the same soul-complex. As Amergin White-Knee says in the “Cauldrons of Poesy”:

The Gods do not give the same wisdom to everyone,
tipped, inverted, right-side-up;
no knowledge, half-knowledge, full knowledge --
for Eber Donn, the making of fearful poetry,
of vast, mighty draughts death-spells, of great chanting;
in active voice, in passive silence, in the neutral balance between,
in rhythm and form and rhyme,
in this way is spoken the path and function of my cauldrons.

The Gods do not give the same wisdom to everyone. These poignant words written by an ancient bard will always speak to my heart. We are not all blessed with eyes to see and ears to hear — most are passive or neutral, and many more are dead inside. The soul undergoes transmigration and metempsychosis, the travel from one life to the next, and it builds and billows, then falls and withers. This is the story of mankind.

"I have been in many shapes: I have been in a narrow blade of a sword... I have been a shining star... There is nothing in which I have not been."

— Taliesin

Shapeshifters, we have become, mimicking the dead. From the ashes of the old world arises a new world, and it is not always so pretty. No longer do we march in serried array with glistening armor and vestiges of our fathers. We now ride in trucks and cars and metal tubes in the sky, moving towards automation and cold, clinical, robotic rite. We have no mythic power. We are embracing the deceitful machines; no longer ascending, but now descending. Like Saruman of Many Colors, we have reneged on the White order of divinity, and our ancient oaths are forgotten — we have reneged on life and have chosen death as a replacement, dubious in its benefits.

The Revenant is similar to the Draugr, perhaps the same idea. The remnant of a soul dwelling within the mound of his burial, yet not bright like the elf, but dark and haunting. He rises at night to terrorize those who dwell on his ancestral lands. Just as the Lares are benevolent household spirits, the Fae are ancestral and good — but just as the Draugr has become incensed against the earth-dwellers, so too have the Larvae become filled with malice against us. The dead women have become Rusalka and haunt our once honored rivers. Our children have become the Myling. The Nachzehrer joins the Wiedergänger and together they assault the minds of their loved ones, oathbreaking kin who forgot to appease them. The anxiety of the pagan world has returned, and our burials are not enough. We are caught in a limbo between paganism, Christianity, and secularism. The dead have no solace.

"To the eyes of men this appears a harsh and doleful lot, yet precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. Wherefore all these last offices and ceremonies that concern the dead, the careful funeral arrangements, and the equipment of the tomb... are rather the solace of the living than the comfort of the dead."
— Augustine of Hippo

And yet, the comfort of the dead has been forgotten nonetheless, and the bones are derided. They are not comforted in their derision. What will become of our race? Will we merely die out? I do not think so, but when I walk down the street of my town I see fat people, witless women, and dead men. When I listen to Rupert Lowe describing the sexual crimes of foreign men on British women, I hear the lamentation of our foremothers. When I see young men slain and the claws of some beast wrapped on their dead bodies, I witness the warnings of our forefathers come true. I do not blame the failures of our pagan ancestors who converted to Christianity, nor am I akin to Julian the Apostate who blames the priests for failing to hold onto their assemblies. Neither do I fully blame Christianity for betraying our ancient traditions, yet the passivity of both parties is something that is killing me inside. We are too noble to just let this continue. We must get our torches and do something before it is too late.

“Why do we pagan leaders not observe that it is [the Christians] benevolence to strangers, their care for the graves of the dead and the pretended holiness of their lives that have done most to increase atheism?”

— Julian, “Letter to Priscus”

“You keep adding many corpses newly dead to the corpse of long ago. You have filled the whole world with tombs and sepulchres… You have turned aside from the gods to corpses and relics pay this as their penalty.”

— Julian, “Against the Galileans

“Christian morality (so called) has all the characters of a reaction; it is, in great part, a protest against Paganism. Its ideal is negative rather than positive; passive rather than action; innocence rather than Nobleness; Abstinence from Evil, rather than energetic Pursuit of Good: in its precepts (as has been well said) 'thou shalt not' predominates unduly over 'thou shalt.”
― John Stuart Mill

“Where you recognize evil, call it evil, and give no truces to your enemies.”

— Hávamál

“Cattle die, kinsmen die, all men are mortal. Words of praise will never perish, nor a noble name."

— Hávamál

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