As we enter the next phase of our Aryan Spirituality elucidation, we retrieve the series of mythos posts that saw our earliest pages successively deleted three times in a span of our Feast of the Wolf’s ten days 20-30 April. May they bring you the Black Sun’s Light!
“Whenever there is a falling away from the True Law and an upsurge of unlawfulness, then, Bharata, I emit myself.
“I come into being age after age, to protect the virtuous and to destroy evil-doers, to establish a firm basis for the True Law.”
– Bhagavad Gita
128. Many years, not that many years – 128 years, in fact, since our great Champion was born to this Earth along with Our Era to which his life and example point the way. Not the Era of the Rome that was truly Roman, 2770 years ago tomorrow – the dissolutive religion of Yeshúa the Jew poisoned that Promise very nearly unto Death. Not the Era of the Enemy and its sacrificial sheep, that self-described ‘Vvlgáris Aerae’, of which 2017 long (((compromised))) years have gone by thus far – NO! That, too, has been dealt the foreshadowing of its well-deserved death blow, with the light of the returning Sun nearing to disperse the lies of two thousand years like so much noxious gas and choking ash of the wildest imaginations.
But the Sun has briefly peeked through the clouds of glorious and tragic 1889-1945! Though the darkness of dirt and delusion has tightened its grasp on Our Earth with a vengeance in the precious little time the Enemy has left, the Black Sun still gives its Light to those who Seek to Know.
The credulous buyers of Enemy-peddled cynicism may scoff derisively, they who have never held themselves to the test of real Struggle but maintain a sick reputation of just being ‘too savvy to try’. They only point out the shortcomings, the failures, the mistakes. Did our great example and Champion, Adolphus Hitler, make mistakes? Have shortcomings? Meet with failures?
Let me tell you: NONE of these ever came from ‘trying too hard’, ‘being foolish enough to believe’, ‘I can’t believe this isn’t actually ironic’! Whenever the Reich failed to live up to its promise, the source lay in (((compromise)))! In mercy and trust to those least worthy of it, in not being “extreme” and “psychotic” enough!
But there was Promise. There is Inspiration. During these next ten days, we want to take you on a journey of both, Inspiration from the past and Promise for the future, our waiting Destiny: if we learn from, and do better than even our beloved and eternal Führer. Certainly, failings and blind spots and all, in the years of the Third Reich we came close in spite of all – to this day, the Enemy still considers the ramifications of that time to be the greatest danger to its grasp on Our Earth, worthy and requiring of the familiarly constant barrage of dæmonization-propaganda and venomous vilification.
And they should be afraid.
Our Insulted Dead Will Have Their Vengeance.
Through our Future-Reich, Through Our Children-
Our Gods Shall Live Again!
Once upon a Night, when the Stars were Right, Destiny made her Will known to two young boys out under the sky of Linz in Austria. Their names were August Kubizek and Adolf Hitler, and they were just returning from the performance of Wagner’s early opera Rienzi, der Letzte der Tribunen. The tale was of a working-class Roman who stepped up for his People languishing under rulership grown ineffective. Through this story of struggle, betrayal, defiance, and nobility a powerful impression was made, all the more so through the composer’s mastery of musical expression.
The young Adolf had always been keenly affected by Great Art – to his fine sensibilities the magickal power of the music stirred in him for the very first time that unmistakable and unshakable conviction on things of Destiny that was forevermore to mark his conduct towards his Purpose. August could tell that something was different upon this opera’s conclusion: instead of his normal lively critique of a given performance, Adolf was intensely absorbed in some inscrutable inner thoughts. He pulled the brim of his hat low over his face, thrust his hands into the pockets of his black overcoat, collar turned up against the thickening fog, and walked rapidly down the echoing after-midnight streets of Linz into the cold November night. On and up, he strode, not ceasing until he had scaled the nearby Freinberg and could look from that height out over all the darkened Germanic lands under that fateful sky full of Stars. Kubizek, for his part, could not help but follow.
“I wanted to ask him, ‘Where are you going?’ But his pallid face looked so forbidding that I suppressed the question.
“As if propelled by an invisible force, Adolf climbed up to the top of the Freinberg. And only now did I realize that we were no longer in solitude and darkness, for the stars shone brilliantly above us.
“Adolf stood in front of me; and now he gripped both my hands and held them tight. He had never made such a gesture before. I felt from the grasp of his hands how deeply moved he was. His eyes were feverish with excitement. The words did not come smoothly from his mouth as they usually did, but rather erupted, hoarse and raucous. From his voice I could tell even more how much this experience had shaken him.
“Gradually his speech loosened, and the words flowed more freely. Never before and never again have I heard Adolf Hitler speak as he did in that hour, as we stood there alone under the stars, as though we were the only creatures in the world.
“I cannot repeat every word that my friend uttered. I was struck by something strange, which I had never noticed before, even when he had talked to me in moments of the greatest excitement. It was as if another being spoke out of his body, and moved him as much as it did me. It wasn’t at all a case of a speaker being carried away by his own words. On the contrary; I rather felt as though he himself listened with astonishment and emotion to what burst forth from him with elementary force. I will not attempt to interpret this phenomenon, but it was a state of complete ecstasy and rapture, in which he transferred the character of Rienzi, without even mentioning him as a model or example, with visionary power to the plane of his own ambitions. But it was more than a cheap adaptation. Indeed, the impact of the opera was rather a sheer external impulse which compelled him to speak. Like flood waters breaking their dikes, his words burst forth from him. He conjured up in grandiose, inspiring pictures his own future and that of his people.
“Hitherto I had been convinced that my friend wanted to become an artist, a painter, or perhaps an architect. Now this was no longer the case. Now he aspired to something higher, which I could not yet fully grasp. It rather surprised me, as I thought that the vocation of the artist was for him the highest, most desirable goal. But now he was talking of a mandate which, one day, he would receive from the people, to lead them out of servitude to the heights of freedom.”
After all this great Awakening, silence fell. Everything had been said: witnessed by August Kubizek, by the winking Stars, by Germania and by Mother Europa herself, the work of Destiny for that Night of Nights had been done. The two descended again into the town, as the clocks struck three: what the old peasants called ‘the Hour of the Wolf’.
“We parted in front of my house. Adolf shook hands with me, and I was astonished to see that he did not go in the direction of his home, but turned again towards the mountains.
“‘Where are you going now?’ I asked him, surprised. He replied briefly, ‘I want to be alone.'”
And so our once and future Führer disappeared then into the mists of Night as he has disappeared now into the mists of Time: briefly, to Destiny’s purpose – until the Time is, and the winking Stars are, Right.
Loyal Until Then!
Many years passed since that Fateful Night, and how distant all that must have seemed as other days and other cares intervened – even the unprecedented conflagration of the Great War, Hitler’s heroic service in which (one is not simply “given” the Iron Cross First Class by the Imperial Army overseen by the legendarily-élitist Prussia) was even lauded by the Bavarian judge overseeing Hitler’s later “treason trial” when he first tried to veer his beloved nation away from where it had all gone so wrong. Or did that Night of Vision seem at all so distant?
When I was newly in the Marine Corps, still young and unproven, a staff-NCO mentioned something that struck me as genuine then, and was proved before my eyes later. Essentially, this insight born of wisdom-winning experience ran: ‘You know, most men have got to go to prison to really figure things out? Be taken out of play for awhile, have that isolation, until they’re really forced to THINK? Yeah, if you get to go to war you’ll never need that. You’ll figure so much shit out it’ll scare all the clueless people around you, and if you let it scare you too bad you’ll “want out”. Use that, or it’ll use you. Kill or be killed, son.’
You know young Private, older Lance Corporal, finally Corporal Hitler, thought of That Night often during his four and a half long YEARS (the average deployment time for ground troops in the US military now is, to the best of my knowledge, 6-18 months tops with rare exceptions) of death-defying courage punctuated by wakeful watchfulness.
In that strangely surreal atmosphere born from the blood-sacrifice of thousands (and all the most potent sacrifices are volunteers), with sleep such a scarce commodity as to have given its share of dreams to the frayed wakefulness of day as well as night, with the machine guns’ unmistakable reports at first so jarring and soon so familiar (whose familiarity from those days of such purity of single-mindedness would have given even an aged Führer pause for the rest of his life), with the rifle as the one constant companion whose rock-solid reality guaranteed a measure of sustained-consciousness within that fragile sphere of its reach so long as undenied by the reach and range of others’ contesting sustained-consciousness: you know that Hitler often had cause to remember and dwell on the Beauty of That Night’s Music and Inspiration as he made his mad rushes and stood his lonely vigils under the same winking Stars. Certainly such a Night resulted in this poem of the Führer’s, so ageless and truthful:
“I often go on bitter nights-
To Wotan’s Oak on the quiet glade-
With dark powers to weave a union-
The runic letters the Moon makes with its magick spell-
And all who are full of impudence during the Day-
Are made small by the magick formula!
They draw shining steel – but instead of going into combat-
They solidify into stalagmites.
So the false ones part from the real ones…
“I reach into a nest of Words-
And then give the good and just-
With my formula blessings and prosperity.”
When it comes to the military record of the Führer alone, many are the shameless, deedless critics who derive some Judaic-corrosive satisfaction in being “full of impudence during the Day”. This is precisely why Our Leader showed Our Way just so:
“As a boy and as a young man, I often longed for the occasion to prove that my national enthusiasm was not mere vapouring. Hurrahing sometimes seemed to me to be a kind of sinful indulgence, though I could not give any justification for that feeling; for, after all, who has the right to shout that triumphant word if he has not won the right to it there where there is no play-acting and where the hand of the Goddess of Destiny puts the truth and sincerity of nations and men through her inexorable test? Just as millions of others, I felt a proud joy in being permitted to go through this test. I had so often sung DEUTSCHLAND ÜBER ALLES and so often roared ‘HEIL‘ that I now thought it was as a kind of retro-active grace that I was granted the right of appearing before the Court of Eternal Justice to testify to the truth of those sentiments.”
By Deeds do we judge – and some Words come only from those of Deeds. How can any deedful person fail to Recognize the perennial Truth behind these Words’ recurring, eternally-recurring pertinence?
“In common with the others, I had one worry during those days. This was a fear that we might arrive too late for the fighting at the front. Time and again that thought disturbed me and every announcement of a victorious engagement left a bitter taste, which increased as the news of further victories arrived.
“At long last the day came when we left Munich on war service. For the first time in my life I saw the Rhine, as we journeyed westwards to stand guard before that historic German river against its traditional and grasping enemy. As the first soft rays of the morning sun broke through the light mist and disclosed to us the Niederwald Statue, with one accord the whole troop train broke into the strains of Die Wacht Am Rhein. I then felt as if my heart could not contain its spirit.
“And then followed a damp, cold night in Flanders. We marched in silence throughout the night and as the morning sun came through the mist an iron greeting suddenly burst above our heads. Shrapnel exploded in our midst and spluttered in the damp ground. But before the smoke of the explosion disappeared a wild ‘Hurrah’ was shouted from two hundred throats, in response to this first greeting of Death. Then began the whistling of bullets and the booming of cannons, the shouting and singing of the combatants. With eyes straining feverishly, we pressed forward, quicker and quicker, until we finally came to close-quarter fighting, there beyond the beet-fields and the meadows. Soon the strains of a song reached us from afar. Nearer and nearer, from company to company, it came. And while Death began to make havoc in our ranks we passed the song on to those beside us: DEUTSCHLAND, DEUTSCHLAND ÜBER ALLES, ÜBER ALLES IN DER WELT.
“After four days in the trenches we came back. Even our step was no longer what it had been. Boys of seventeen looked now like grown men. The rank and file of the List Regiment had not been properly trained in the art of warfare, but they knew how to die like old soldiers.
“That was the beginning. And thus we carried on from year to year. A feeling of horror replaced the romantic fighting spirit. Enthusiasm cooled down gradually and exuberant spirits were quelled by the fear of the ever-present Death. A time came when there arose within each one of us a conflict between the urge to self-preservation and the call of duty. And I had to go through that conflict too. As Death sought its prey everywhere and unrelentingly a nameless Something rebelled within the weak body and tried to introduce itself under the name of Common Sense; but in reality it was Fear, which had taken on this cloak in order to impose itself on the individual. But the more the voice which advised prudence increased its efforts and the more clear and persuasive became its appeal, resistance became all the stronger; until finally the internal strife was over and the call of duty was triumphant. Already in the winter of 1915-16 I had come through that inner struggle. The Will had asserted its incontestable Mastery. Whereas in the early days I went into the fight with a cheer and a laugh, I was now habitually calm and resolute. And that frame of mind endured. Fate might now put me through the final test without my nerves or reason giving way. The young volunteer had become an old soldier.”
This post is lovingly dedicated, in accordance with the Will of the Führer, to all of the mighty and maligned German Dead of both World Wars. Not content to slander and vilify Hitler alone, who insisted on full responsibility with a glad heart, the honourless Enemy has done its damnedest to deny dignity even in the grave to these Fallen Heroes, and we PROUDLY proclaim our admiration and adulation of them. As to Vindication – that is an affair not of just Words, but of Deeds!
“For a thousand years to come nobody will dare to speak of heroism without recalling the German Army of the World War. And then from the dim past will emerge the immortal vision of those solid ranks of steel helmets that never flinched and never faltered. And as long as Germans live they will be proud to remember that these men were the sons of their forefathers.”
Blessings & Prosperity-
To the Good & Just!
How much more did those eyes come to see, that would later haunt a People with their Vision, from those early days of 1914’s youthful fire to the weary resolve of 1918’s mounting tolls of the maimed and slain? Not only what every other man of the Front saw, day in and day out, in fellow-veterans of the early days’ case for four and a half years. It was Hitler’s nature to look at the same things, and see Farther. And the pages of Mein Kampf reveal his keen insight into the two principle human and “human” types which war with such brutal honesty makes plain.
On the one side, there in the trenches and amongst the volunteers, the Idealists. Those who wagered their lives as stakes for their People’s Destiny, who placed their bodies between their enemies and their homes, who gave every effort, every hope and dream, thought and fear, and so often every drop of their blood and lingering suffering or awful end, living mudslide burial or cruel amputation, heroically – in Good Faith. Later, wounded in the inferno around the Somme in 1916, Hitler was sent in an ambulance train to a military hospital back in Germany: the beloved beneficiary of his and so many others’ Good Faith.
Hitler had always noticed a disproportionate lack within the Army of that Civilization-infiltrating desert tribe which would come to profit so much from Germany’s humiliation from that war’s ignominious end until – excepting one notable interval! – this very day. On the Western Front, though, in the company of the best blood of his glorious countrymen, he had had little time to truly consider this sinister parasitism’s real capacity for destruction from within. Obtaining leave to travel as soon as he could walk again, the Führer travelled to Berlin and then to Munich, shaking his head at what his eyes saw.
Among the reserve units, morale was not simply poor but rather toxic – while the nation’s noblest were living and dying as heroes with every thought and wish for Home, here Hitler saw the most odious and despicable shirkers and malingerers boasting of their worthlessness as badges of perverted honour, as distinctions of intelligence and superiority over Hitler’s dead and dying brothers. Here, too, cohencidentally near to the surrounding moral corrosion, Hitler at last found the Jew.
So conspicuously absent from the front lines with the Germans, here they were – and how shockingly many! As clerks dictating from the capitals to the lines, as civic “nationalists” stepping into the business openings left by dying Germans, as newspaper owners spreading the most venomous self-congratulatory cynicism and mockery of nobility, as sponsors and ringleaders of the swelling Marxist undercurrent being primed up sabotage the war effort and the country with it – yes, here Hitler found enough of the chosen “people” to account for most all its conspicuous absence from the war!
This much did the eyes of the Führer see before his body had healed and he returned to the front himself, burdened with new sight and new knowledge but still under the winking Stars, still with the memory of the Music, still under the influence and direction of that inscrutable Wotan named in his earlier poem. Wotan, too, was famed for the depth of his sight, although likewise for the sacrifices undergone in order to attain his wisdom. Indeed, at one point this distinctly German guise of Óðinn gave up his own eye in order to see all the more with the one that remained. That god’s favourites throughout Aryan legendry have often been described as undergoing at least a temporary blindness as an initiation, and if this is true it certainly cannot be argued that Adolf Hitler never matched the criteria.
“During the Night of 13-14 October, the British opened an attack with gas on the front south of Ypres. They used the yellow gas whose effect was unknown to us, at least from personal experience. I was Destined to experience it that very Night. On a hill south of Werwick, in the evening of 13 October, we were subjected for several hours to a heavy bombardment with gas bombs, which continued throughout the Night with more or less intensity. About Midnight a number of us were put out of action, some forever. Towards morning I also began to feel pain. It increased with every quarter of an hour; and about seven o’clock my eyes were scorching as I staggered back and delivered the last dispatch I was Destined to carry in this war. A few hours later my eyes were like glowing coals and all was Darkness around me.
“I was sent into hospital at Pasewalk in Pomerania, and there it was that I had to hear of the Revolution.”
‘The Revolution’, that sickening mockery of so much sacrifice and valour, betrayed from behind and the whole country with it – wholesale, one could say. The fruit of shedding the People’s best blood to prop of the enrichment of a (((Parasite))). The fruit of ignoring Marxist subversion from within, for the sake of virtue-signalling (((tolerance))) to those laughing at such naivete! The fruit of trusting (((the Enemy))). From out the pain and despair of blindness and Darkness, the eyes of Hitler began to emit that familiar Light, as he began to Truly See: (and please to not neglect Book I Chapter V of Mein Kampf whose full treatment of this moving event covers what time and space permit us to only touch on in this post)
“There is no such thing as coming to an understanding with the Jew. It must be the hard-and-fast ‘Either-Or’.
“For my part I then decided that I would take up political work.”
Truly, by (((their))) fruits can you know (((them))).
And when out of the dark Blindness, Hitler Saw; when out of the betrayed nation’s shamed Silence, Hitler Spoke – what a chord the Leader struck! How truly and tellingly did this Master seize and sound his loved People’s innermost heartstrings, until their very lives and souls sang and glowed with some of the very Music of the Stars that had first touched the Führer’s life all those years ago!
How the Führer’s People had been downcast, bloodied and starved and finally betrayed, living the nightmare of a shameful surrender on despicable terms. How every German family that had poured its blood and soul into the effort for Victory was now scrounging simply for bread, while (((those))) whose presence the convalescing Führer had finally discovered BEHIND the lines not only survived intact – but thrived and prospered!
How easily the parasite moved in to brazenly replace the self-sacrificed German dead and impoverished. Not even content with this, how the parasite used its grasp of the media to incite further breakdown of the host’s cohesion and integrity: capitalism. Democracy. International socialism.
And yet no one else so much as challenged this!
Did the German people truly buy into the ignoble ressentiment of the Versailles war-guilt clause? Did they fear, as a conquered people, the force that might be brought to bear should they dare defend their own interests or even survival?
Neither of these is the response of a healthy People – but, oh! how Hitler breathed Life back into them!
When no one else dared to truly put their body and life on the line to question depraved Weimar’s sanctioned democracy, Hitler and his compatriots marched in the streets with collaborationist bullets flying – and hitting.
When no one else dared “provoke” the violent thuggery of the Reds marauding in the streets, Hitler and his men bloodied fists and faces without shrinking or shirking – and made the streets safe for law-abiding Germans to walk again without fear.
When NO ONE else could conceive the Need for or take the Responsibility for being a real Leader of the country, Hitler stepped forward with the gravity and certainty of Fate, saying, IN THE NAME OF OUR MIGHTY DESTINY, I WILL LEAD, THEN!
When all others were still blinded – Hitler Saw. When none else had encountered the Music of the Stars, or Destiny’s whispered Wisdom – Hitler Heard. When no one wished to see or allowed themselves to admit the role of the Jew – Hitler Knew.
See, as Hitler Saw! Hear, as Hitler Heard! Know, as Hitler Knew! Are the circumstances of the whole sad modern lot of physically-degenerated, morally-disarmed, spiritually-poisoned white people all that different from those of Hitler’s interwar countrymen? WE HAVE AN EXAMPLE. And all we need do in the Struggle for Victory is emulate our Leader’s successes while shunning his few and deadly compromises!
In The Name Of Our Mighty Destiny:
More and more Adolf Hitler Spoke of what he Saw, and more and more the German People – later, many other Aryan and allied peoples not decisively (((influenced))) against their own potential Destiny – took courage from his Words, and learned to look into their own hearts and Remember what they had always known in their Blood.
Hitler acted directly upon the People’s souls in the most piercing manner, showing clearly before each enraptured eye that in their People which was worthy of Love. So, too, did the Führer make plain to the otherwise self-destructively peaceable Folk precisely that in their Enemy which was worthy of Hate.
And believe us, canny reader, for as long as the Enemy is suffered to exist upon this Our Earth, both are necessary. The Enemy believes in no Tolerance™, save as a self-sabotaging merchantly ware peddled to the credulous nations. The Enemy does not value what we Love, save as a commodity from which to profit and, ideally, also pervert. The Enemy does not even Tolerate™ the slightest opposition to its hold upon the host organisms, and it doesn’t take a survey of primary sources outside Enemy-contracted “history” books to notice this revealing hypocrisy: think how it’s been obligingly demonstrated during the past week in feeble attempts to silence this very page!
Reader, both of these things so typically decried by the Enemy are necessary and desirable in the course of Victory: Love, for our People, Lands, Tradition (likewise Volk, Reich, Führer) – and Hate for those things which would do damage to or even exterminate our People and what they Love, if Our People are allowed to grow as liberal and tolerant (deluded and weak) as the Enemy desires for them to be.
It is not enough simply to Love our Führer, Adolf Hitler, his own Love of Music and Beauty, his faithfulness to Destiny, sacrifice in war, commitment to his betrayed land, rallying of his hopelorn countrymen, miraculous rescue of Germany from Great Depression (uniquely among the nations, without first engaging in a World War), rebuilding and re-envisioning of the Reich and of Europe as the chosen residence of Beauty and starting-point of the next bold adventure of Aryan Creativity – no, though these things and more are more than worthy of our Love, this alone is not enough.
WE MUST ALSO NEVER FAIL TO HATE (((THOSE))) THAT SABOTAGED THIS BEAUTIFUL DREAM. (((They))) are still out there – Hel, (((they))) are more deeply entrenched within (((their))) hapless hosts than ever before, BUT IF WE WISH FOR BEAUTY AND PURPOSE TO SURVIVE WE MUST ROOT THIS PARASITE OUT!
Only then can we begin to finally, lastingly Realize the Beautiful Dream.
Do you Love your People – enough to Hate for them?
It is not a question of negotiation, as history from ancient to very recent proves again and again. It is, rather, ‘to be or not to be’. “The hard and fast Either-Or.”
Always remember What You Love, and Why You Hate! And,
Never Lose Courage!
Yes, the Morgenröthe of the Third Reich broke upon the beleaguered German People as the most welcome long-estranged caresses of rosy-fingered Dawn. As from a clammy gloom of cultural decay punctuated by spasmodic flashes of Weimar electric-decadence, after fifteen years of the corrupt, Enemy-instigated “Republic” – at long last! The Sun!
As sickly clinging spectres of a nighttime fever, the worst pestilential blights of the (((Revolution))) faced flight or else extermination in the Sun’s health-restoring rays. Fled or else exterminated were the pettiness – the greediness – the selfishness of the Schwarz-Rot-Gelb kosher-‘Germany’ that never dared show its snout again for as long as Hitler ruled.
But there were and are (((those))) who do not want our People to ascend from the profitable pasturage of paśudom towards our Destiny.
In 1933, in the immediate wake of our Hitler’s ascent to decisive control over the fortunes and direction of the recovering Reich, the International Jew visibly and venomously declared war on Germany. Now, for something we’re calling so very “visible”, all this will come as a not-insignificant surprise to all those masses of goyim who have been successfully deceived through all the accumulated lies and omissions of 80+ years – for two principal reasons:
I) Rothschild the Jew’s direction of kosher-‘Britain’ to betray its erstwhile Arab allies of the Great War via issuing of the Balfour Declaration did not result in the formal imposition in Palestine of a Jewish state until (sped along by shameless persecution-narrative very interestingly cohenciding with an organized terror-campaign in Palestine and Britain both, with zero acknowledgment of cognitive dissonance between the two) ~ 1948. Before that time, lacking an ‘official’ state or ‘official’ military, how could “Israel” “declare war” on anybody?
II) The alternative to the ‘war declaration’ of an acknowledged state, and implied from the beginning – a monolithic and fiendish conglomerate of ‘International Jewry’ – is surely absurd, and the stuff that ‘conspiracy theories’ are made of! After all, in all your Jewish-contracted textbooks or Jewish-directed television part and parcel of your educational infrastructure answerable to your Jewish-dominated Supreme Court in your (internationalized) “nation” beholden to Jewish-invented finance – there is not one single shred of acceptable evidence for any undue Jewish influence whatsoever! “1933 declaration of war,” how ludicrous!
But it was visible, back then when the Enemy was at its most desperate, as prominently financed notices on behalf of the ‘World Jewish Congress’ made plain in major jewspapers from New York to Australia: Germany had defied the Enemy grasp over (((international finance))) and its accompanying usurer’s leverage in intellectual, moral, practical, and spiritual affairs by withdrawing from the stock market, from international credit speculation, from tolerance of war profiteering – and showing the whole world of potential good-goyim that THEY DIDN’T NEED THE PARASITE. That they could, on their own terms, from a situation as grim as interwar Germany’s, turn it all around and DO BETTER WITHOUT THE PARASITE.
But we call it ‘interwar’ Germany for a reason. Not content to declare economic blockade from every infected country to harbour the International Parasite upon the one country to rise like a phoenix from not only the ashes of treacherously concluded war but the subversive triumph of (((Revolution))), the Enemy still had means at its disposal in the form of those other merchant-derived implements, (((capital)))ism and (((Marx)))ism. Both of these Judaic infection-ideologies, like (((Christ)))ianity before them, held up a purpose-made Jewish god to the goyim to serve instead of their own People.
Thus kosher-‘Britain’ for (((capital))), Soviet “Russia” for (((Marx))), duped ‘Poland’ for (((Christ))) – all played their parts to the (((pied pipers’))) dance of diplomacy to engineer a(nother!) world war. Whatever faux-rationalizations and self-justifications fill the “history” books of the postwar ruins, the facts remain: when egged on by the UK in antagonizing Germany through the same carte-blanche assurances that country had so criticized Germany for giving Austria on the eve of the Great War, Poland flaunted every breach of diplomatic protocol in refusing to negotiate the relief of Danzig, which was overwhelmingly and had voted overwhelmingly to be German. Meeting generous terms with the shameful bravado of the troublemaker confident of rescue, the Polish junta called Germany’s bluff.
Germany felt obliged, after trying everything else, to assert that it would not be disrespected while Germans were suffering injustice in Danzig, and thus the kosher Allies had their casvs belli. Ignoring, of course, the simultaneous attack of Poland by the Soviets from the other direction, which stopped none of these Enemy pawns from allying, all together as worshippers of various Jewish gods, against the one budding Aryan Resurgence viewed as the Greatest Threat.
And thus, the game board was set and rigged – let us learn from those who have played along with any of the Enemy’s faux-rationalizing and self-justifying game rules!
Even our Hitler was not immune to blind spots and weaknesses stemming from unconscious endorsement of Enemy deceptions – Hitler was a step in the right direction,beyond which we must go farther. Let us learn from his brilliance (occasionally mistaken but only occasionally!), let us draw inspiration from his courage, determination from his resolve – and, armed with those even harder and more uncompromising understandings which he has pointed the way to so brilliantly – LET US ACHIEVE WHAT HE COULD NOT PERPETUATE.
Let Us Rise From The Game,
Reject Its Rigged ‘Rules’,
And Reach Out To Our World!
The Sun Will Return Again;
Rosy-fingered Dawn Will Smile-
On A Thousand-year Reich!
& March Ever Farther-
Where the Führer Has Pointed Ahead,
Yes, Hitler’s brave and hopeful Reich was surrounded on all sides by the manipulated hosts of the International Parasite – as a kingdom under siege it looked now to the speeding bullet and flashing blade to hold at bay the horrors of the goy-shepherds’ stampeding paśus. But, truly, Hitler understood: no matter how seemingly hopeless and audaciously risky, the hope of any real Victory lay in going on the attack!
While the (((capital)))ists harried the Reich from the West, the (((Marx)))ists to the East gained precious time to whip the reeling masses of the formerly Russian nation into a horde capable of swamping over the Reich and the Western useful-idiots both. Nothing could have been more grim than the idea of fighting all these at once – let alone going on the Attack! And yet, nothing could have been more inevitable, or more Necessary.
Even in such a shockingly Titanic endeavour, Hitler’s Reich awed the world with its bold deeds of Victory against all odds. The legions pushed West to the Atlantic, driving the kosher-‘British’ back across the Channel, and a guard was kept there while the plans were made and kept – to strike boldly East to destroy the Reds. Even while Germany prepared to shield all of Europe from the Bolshevik menace with the blood of her own sons, leftist terrorists engaged behind the lines and out of uniform in murders, sabotages, anything to distract and divert from the attack on their fellow-infectees and more perfect hosts to the Parasite. The good-goy Allies, too, kept up their efforts of attrition, yet Germany held fast and launched its desperate, foolish, glorious Attack to place her own self-sacrificing band of Heroes between Europe and Bolshevism.
And let us remember that they were not alone! In addition to the three major signatories to the Tripartite Pact, both organized countries and individual bands from many Asian and most European peoples volunteered to stand against the Red Menace. One glowing example of such a now-maligned hero is Léon Degrelle, the Walloon volunteer whose memoir The Eastern Front is a modern Iliad of the Aryan Destiny’s most recent great Struggle against Dissolution.
Was there tragedy? Horror? Heartbreak, even? Yes, to make Europe’s very stones and trees weep in (((capital)))ist West and (((Marx)))ist East both. But there was also Glory! Heroism! Beauty and Nobility, Faithfulness and Resolution!
The Fire is not extinguished! Let us keep it alive, and pass it on – let us learn from our past, and forge our Future from tragedy to Triumph! As Degrelle also said:
“After the defeat, the world worked unceasingly to mock the vanquished. Our soldiers, our wounded, our maimed were condemned to death or thrown into unspeakable camps and prisons. Nothing was respected, neither the honour of the warrior, nor our parents, nor our homes.
“But greatness is never in vain. The virtues won in sorrow and sacrifice are stronger than hatred and death. Like the Sun springing from the dark Night, they will shine forth sooner or later.”
This is no time to despair, to feel sorry for yourself, or to waste away the precious time before the next inevitable Strife. This is the time to train yourself, to swear your oaths, bond with your brothers and sisters, and make SURE – that we Win while we still can, AND MUST.
Yes, the war was grim, and the sacrifices great. But we are often liable to the mistake of considering only the grimnesses and sacrifices of the men, the warriors, the fighters on the fronts. But the war was cruel to our women, too, and their war was full of sacrifice also. Not just of their men, but everything about the beautiful lives that they rightly deserved but that lay threatened by enemy bayonets and bombs.
Even in taking these ten days specifically to study the life of Hitler, we should realize that Hitler’s own weighty vigil through the long war would not have shown that colossal strength we students of primary sources know and praise – without his Eva. She often remains behind the scenes in historical sketches, or else is slandered as the shallowest of camp followers by jealous feminists and effeminate libcucks
Of course Eva was not a key strategist, or forceful ideologue, or physical cleanser of not-human filth. Did that make her somehow “shallow”, for being her Self? Did Hitler need – another one of these above, just one that would make as much a difference for the better as Eva herself would? Or did he need a woman – an exceptional, amazing woman who genuinely loved and strengthened him through the bitterest times, faithfully even unto death?
Take just a few moments tonight. Think of our women and their sacrifices, too. Reappraise your respect for those priceless faithful few who remain. And then Steel yourself and stoke the Fire in your Heart – because THEY NEED YOU, TOO.
When You Strike,
Strike Without Mercy Or Remorse;
But Also Ensure You Strike For Love!
“‘When Bruckner’s Romantic Symphony is played, it will mean the end is upon us,’ I told my friends. That final concert took place on the afternoon of April 12, 1945. The Philharmonic Hall was unheated and everyone who wanted to hear this last concert in the imperilled city sat huddled in overcoats. Electricity was usually cut off at the hour of the concert, but for this one day I ordered the current to be kept on so that the hall could be lighted. The Berliners must have wondered. For the beginning I had ordered Brünnhilde’s last aria and the finale from Götterdämmerung – a rather pathetic and also melancholy gesture pointing to the ending of the Reich. After Beethoven’s Violin Concerto came the Bruckner symphony, dear to me especially for its architectonic final movement. This was the last music I would hear for a long time to come.”
It’s so difficult in so many ways to say what really needs to be said in this post. I hope that, in mysterious musical manner, the strains of the Violin Concerto might communicate to the depths what short-reaching words cannot. We’ve had a Hel of a Journey in this ancestral visitation of the last ten days, and – how do we end it? How conclude the telling in this time, and resolve to the living of the conclusion: the Completion?
It’s both insulting and barbaric to fill a Moment such as this with guidance or even instruction on what to feel, what to think. Those of you we are reaching to have the requisite Instinct for Truth: you will find It, and won’t cease or flag in your pursuit until you Do. Further, some things should be respected wordless, without betraying the silence. So rather than spelling out what this Night of Nights, Valbörg holy to the Aryan Spirit long before the cohenciding imposition of (((Saint))) Walpurga, is conducive to Personally Understanding like perhaps no other: I would like to frame your own hopeful meditations – by painting a picture.
Not of the Führer and his Eva, faithful Goebbels and faultless family, the companions of Siegfried’s Funeral March – these things are at the Heart of the symbol presented in this mystery-play, but remain at a respectful distance from verbal elucidation in their most poignant hour. But, in Connecting your vision and awareness to the Führer and all of this, consider:
It is cold, in other times unusually so for April in Berlin, but this is the end of the war and heating is scarce – all the supplies are cut off, so these comforts are another luxury foregone.
The cold sharpens the mind, though, and quickens the boreal-bred senses, and bundled up against it the silent faithful in scarves and overcoats, low-tilted hats and mist-breathed halos, make their way to this Eternal Moment, Again.
They pass girls decked gaily in flowers as if the awful end would forever remain just a day more away, offering innocent hope and joy dispelling the cold and fog for just another Moment. Weary soldiers aged years within months, recovering from injuries or delivering hasty dispatches, all shadowed over by the knowledge of what is to come – all faithful, honourable, loyal to the end. All of this is part of the Eternal Moment, and it Recurs, Again and Again and Again – for as long as it takes.
The seats within the concert hall are soon filled with the returning faithful, honourable, loyal for the end. A rarity – the electric lights are on! Both a bleeding of precious resources and a sign for indiscriminate civilian-bombers, this is surely an indication of the final days left before the great, bitter, fateful Untergehen. Breath of mist, fog, dream, and memory still surrounds the shrouded faithful sitting inside, and only the occasional cough from the chill or creaking of seats breaks the heavy silence.
Then, at the Master’s invisible signal, the Immolation Scene suddenly begins, and canny, ruthless Wotan inscrutably grins.
The Valkyrja’s song rings from the roof of the hall, and the electric lights flickering with each distant impact begin to seem so much like the flickering of familiar flames. From the doom of destruction, heart-wounding Beauty soars swanlike, ever Northward to the Star unwavering. And with it, the Understanding of that runic riddle – Wyrd bið ful aræd. The Aryan aria reaches its climactic finale, and the transcendent heights of the souls thus elevated could be viewed as one with the vaulting lights held within that hall, within that Eternal Moment – and the vaulting lights as one with the spreading flames.
The Violin Concerto then begins, that sublime reassurance that from the destructive flames, Life will spring anew in Time, when the winking Stars are Right. That Beauty is extra-temporal, and will Return. That the Flowers of Truth Are Perennial. This music could seem to last forever, but only the Ideal that Inspired it is truly Eternal. Within Time, it must give way, even though to Return, Again.
When the Romantic Symphony begins, all is clear, and the assembled faithful do not so much learn as remember. The tonal proportion, as sacred boundary of Memory and Blood, paint all before shadowed eyes with the clarity of those memories’ first bright dawning, coloured now in all the blooded grandeur of the Sun as it sets. The final movement unfolds all too soon, the intensely piercing promise of the glories built upon the future Resurgence, and as the bombs drop closer and the lights finally dim with the last mandated music for a Time to come, the All could scarcely be any Clearer.
The Flowers of Truth Are Perennial.
The Sun Will Rise Again.
Until It Does:
In Hitler’s Name,