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Πέμπτη, 13 Φεβρουαρίου 2014

THE LATE BORN CHILD OF LIGHT

“If I had to choose a motto for myself, I would take this one — pure, dure, sûre, [Pure, hard, certain] — in other words: unalterable. I would express by this the ideal of the Strong, that which nothing brings down, nothing corrupts, nothing changes; those on whom one can count, because their life is order and fidelity, in accord with the eternal.”
Savitri Devi, Memories & Reflections of an Aryan Woman
 
SAVITRI DEVI's passport photo


THE LATE-BORN CHILD OF LIGHT
It was in 1889 there were imponderable factors — moral and mystical forces — besides and, nay, behind them: the very forces of disintegration that had been, for over two millenniums, (that the disintegrating influence of Jewry upon the Aryan race began before the advent of Christianity. The disastrous new scale of values drawn from the misapplied other-worldly religion, and the spreading of the creed itself, were the consequences of Jewish influence, not its causes.) striving to lead the Aryan race to its doom. And it needed a more-than-political genius, nay, a more-than-human personality, to stand in the way of those.

Specially for the past hundred years, i.e., since the outbreak of the French Revolution, Europe had been sinking, more speedily than ever, under the influence of international Jewry and of its cunning agents: Free Masonry, and the various so-called “spiritual” secret bodies directly or indirectly affiliated to it. Centuries of erroneous application of Christianity — an essentially other-worldly creed — to worldly affairs, had prepared the ground for the triumph of the most dangerous superstitions: the belief in the “equal rights” of “all men” to life and “happiness”; the belief in citizenship and “culture” as distinct from and more important than race; the belief in illimited “progress” through a presumed universal receptivity to “education” and in the possibility of universal Peace and “happiness” as a result of “progress” — the wonderful discoveries of science being put to the service of “man”; the belief in the right of man to work against Nature’s spirit and purpose for his own brief pleasure or profit. One had increasingly stressed, exalted, made popular the sickly love of “man” as distinct from and opposed to all other creatures, or, to be more accurate, the love of a repulsive, standardised conception of “the average man,” “neither all good nor all bad” but weak, mediocre, — as foreign as possible to the age-old warrior-like Aryan idea of superior humanity expressed in the conception of the “hero like unto the Gods,” to use Homer’s words.

And colonialism was at its height, and Christian missionary activity also. Which means that, after having given herself up to the forces of disintegration, Europe was rapidly handing the rest of the world over to them; preparing the very last phase of the Dark Age: the state of biological chaos which is the preliminary condition of the rule of the worst and the systematic annihilation of any surviving human élite of blood and character.

Clara, was pretty: blonde, with magnificent blue eyes. Aged twenty-nine only, (she was his third wife) she was of an ardent, thoughtful and self-possessed nature; as imaginative and intuitive as her husband was unromantically pains-taking; as loving as he was dutiful; and capable of endless sustained sacrifice. She respected him deeply; he was her husband. But she loved her children — and God; God in her children. And she did not herself know how right she was, i.e., how truly the divine spirit — the divine collective Self of Aryan mankind, Whose manifestation appears now and then in the form of an extraordinary human being, — lived in the youngest baby son that she was nursing: her fourth child.

She had just given birth to him on the 20th of April, at six o’clock eighteen in the afternoon, in that large airy room on the second floor — the last on the right hand side, at the end of a narrow passage — in which she was now reclining, still feeling weak, but happy. The three windows opened on the street. Through their spotless glass-panes and white blinds warm sunshine poured in. The baby slept. The mother rested. She did not know that she had just been the instrument of a tremendous cosmic Will.

The baby Child Adolf slept; the mother rested; was grateful for the bright sunshine and the coming summer. She would be able to take the child out, now and then, when she would find time. In the meantime she prayed to the Queen of Heaven that he might live: her three first children had died, one after the other.

Thirty-five years later, the Man into whom he had grown was to write: “It appears to me to-day that Destiny has happily appointed me Braunau on the Inn as a birthplace. This little town lies indeed on the border of the two German States, the unification of which we men of the younger generation consider as our life’s work, to be carried out by all means.”

He referred to “Destiny.” Had it not been for the oddness of such a statement in a book written for millions of Europeans hardly concerned with or interested in the idea of birth and rebirth, he could have, with equal if not greater accuracy, spoken of his “own choice.” For according to the Ancient Wisdom, men of such a quality as he choose to be born, without being compelled to, and choose their birthplace.

Invisible in the blue sky above the little frontier-town, the stars formed, on the 20th. of April 1889, at six o’clock eighteen in the afternoon, a definite pattern marking the return to earth of Him Who comes back; of the divine Man “against Time” — the incarnate collective Self of superior mankind, — Who, again and again, and every time more heroically, stands alone against the ever-accelerated current of universal decay, and prepares, in hard, bloody struggle, the dawning of the following Time-cycle, even if he be, for some years or decades, apparently bound to fail.

For the newly born Babe was none other than He.

Never had circumstances been more unfavourable to His recognition, nay, to the very possibility of His taking consciousness of His mission in the garb of a predestined ruler. Not only was there, as everyone will readily agree, a long way from the child’s humble status to that which he had to attain in order to play, in the history of the West, the political part he was destined, but nothing seemed likely to prepare him for the accomplishment of his even greater task, namely that of awakening the Western Aryan Soul to its own natural wisdom. Aryan Wisdom, in its conscious, warrior-like form, in opposition to all the traditional values of Christianity, was unknown in the Western world of the time, let alone in Braunau on the Inn, — unknown, at least, to all but a few lonely thinkers such as Friedrich Nietzsche.
 
The heavenly Powers, however, gave the divine Child two main privileges through which he was, amazingly soon, to become aware of it; to reinvent it of his own accord; first, a pure, healthy heredity, containing the very best both of Nordic and of Keltic blood — the fiery imagination and mystical intuition of the Kelt, allied to Nordic willpower, thoroughness, efficiency and sense of justice, (and insight also); and, along with that, a passionate, limitless and fathomless love for that German Land that stretched on both sides of the Inn as well as on both sides of the Danube and beyond, and for its people, his blood-brothers: not those who are perfect specimens of higher humanity (for there are none in this Dark Age) but for those who can and will become such ones, while they have the stuff in them.

Through that love — and through it alone — he was to raise himself to the intuitive certitude of the eternal Truth upon which he was to build the National Socialist Doctrine, modern form of the perennial Religion of Life; to that certitude which separates him from even the greatest politicians and sets him straight away into the category of the warring Seers, Founders of the healthiest civilisations we know; into the category of the. Men “against Time,” whose vision grasps, beyond our sickly world, doomed to speedy destruction, the yet unthinkable following Golden Age, of which they are the prophets and will be the gods.

In spite of all, National Socialism, the modern expression of cosmic truth, would endure and conquer.

National Socialism would rise again because it is true to cosmic reality and because that which is true does not pass. Germany’s via dolorosa was indeed the way to coming glory. It had to be taken, if the privileged nation was to fulfill her mission absolutely, i.e., if she was to be the nation that died for the sake of the highest human race, which she embodied, and that would rise again to take the lead of those surviving Aryans who are — at last! — to understand her message of life and to carry it with them into the splendor of the dawning Golden Age.

The sky was blue; the Sun was hot; the joy and pride of conquest made my face beam. Stronger and stronger in my heart grew the sweet certitude of Thy invincibility. One day, —I knew not when, but, surely, thought I, “soon”—I would go back and see all Europe under Thee . . . It mattered little, then, whether I were or not, for the time being[,] on the spot.

I pictured in my mind Thy endless rows of armored tanks, rushing through woods and moors and through deserted towns along the international highways; through mud and sand, along the river banks. I pictured in my mind Thy fleeing enemies under the pouring rain—the roaring sea before them, the angry sky above them, the dark night all around them, Thy battalions behind them—nearer and nearer every second—and in their hearts, more powerful than all, the overwhelming terror of Thy name! I pictured in my mind the famous Arch of Triumph; the no less famous Avenue, pride of the conquered Capital; and under it, and along it, the unforgettable parades!

There stood and marched those who, in Ypres and elsewhere, had fought alongside Thee during the first World War; those whom within the grip of death, had sung along with Thee, the conquering Hymn of love in which echoed the call of joyful Duty: “Germany, Germany above all . . . !” There stood and marched also, like unto living Nordic gods, Thy fair and strong Young men, hope of the resurrected Reich, hope of the Western world, messengers of everlasting Aryan faith.

Moving in incredible order, there they were, the ones I had been longing forever since the decay of Aryandom—over two thousand years; the ones I had been seeking in the immortal forms of bygone Grecian gods, and the immortal characters of Aryan heroes held as gods in India to this day: the real earthly “shining ones”: my better brothers and Thy sons!

And as they went the music played, and as they went they sang the new hymn of the Strong and Free,—the Song of the young Hero, who, ten years before, had died for Thee: “Along all highways, ever soon, will our banners flutter; slavery is to last only a short time more!” And there indeed, the holy blood red flags, bearing within their midst in black on white the eternal Swastika, fluttered triumphantly above the glittering helmets, above the cadenced March, above the conquered Continent, in the warm air of June.

From the Eastern world far away, where I then stood, a cry had sprung—a cry of admiration, for thee, for those who followed Thee; for Thy young resurrected nation.

One day, a dusky youth of the Far South greeted me with amazing words, as though the Gods had chosen to express their unshakable wisdom through his mouth. “Fair Lady, believe me,” he said, “I too within my heart adore your Leader, now Lord of the West!—For He has come to overthrow the money-power in the world; for He has come in order to set up the wisdom of the Shining Ones Who conquered us in Bygone days—the Aryan Wisdom of all times; the Wisdom of the Best—against the Christian way of Life[,] in order to fulfill the words of the most holy Writ: ‘Age after age, I come . . .’; for He is God in human garb, the One Who never fails.”

Another day, a fair-skinned man in orange-colored robes—a man of those who look beyond the Realm of Time—sat by my side and told me: “Your Continent has now within its midst another Incarnation of the great World-Sustaining-One. No longer weep over its long decay! But follow Him, and you shall win, in the long run. The struggle of today is but another phase of the perennial Struggle. And He is Light and Life come down to earth again to lead the Aryan World once more along the glorious Way!”

And in the glaring homage of the village youth, echo of popular insight[,] as well as in that of the serene ascetic, I heard the world proclaim in space and time, that Thou was right, and foreign men on foreign shores, age after age, in speeches yet unknown, exalt Thy wisdom and Thy might.

And I was happy, even though so far away. And I too sang the conquering Song, with my right arm outstretched, while the Wise One, the truest of our true Allies, now bound to me through solemn mystic ties, stood by my side and smiled, as though his eyes could see, beyond six thousand miles of land and sea, the Parade of Thy trusted Bodyguard along the conquered Avenue, the rush of Thy glittering planes across the sky.

Aryan race waits her Avatar again like Adolfo an Avatar of the Hindu god Vishnu, the sustainer of order.
Savitri Devi, born Greek-French Maximiani Portas (1905-1982). She was also one of the founding members of the World Union of National Socialists & Missionary of Aryan Paganism!

 

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