The Power of Pointing the Way

Invocation 🔗

Under fallna solen, vi härdas
Än mer strålande skall vi färdas
I timmen Gudljus ännu glöda
Sinnen ej fördömda
Minnen ej förglömda
Österut gåvo örnen föda.

Under the fallen sun, we harden
More radiant still we ride
Where Godlight yet burns
Minds undamned
Memories undimmed
Eastward the eagle fed.

Age of eclipse,¹ our hearts are growing cold. Untethered from warmth, we yearn for the shadows cast by the light; we do it in hope of reconnecting with the source. Within us burns the flame eternal, and it is ours to rekindle.

Noble ones, never be conceited—that is our lowest corruption. Rise above the superiority-complex; your deeds will speak truer than any of your words. The mountain humbles because of its greatness. This should so evident to the Lion, that He would cease being one should he ever question it, or try to impose his will to experience it. A true Lion is unable to question His excellence.

This is not for the one who can’t see—not lost in the dark; not blinded by the light. Who need not question the rightness from a kindred spirit; who need not convince others of his truth. The nature of the world, is left for each to discern. We ask not that they recognize the ground on which they stand. Yet, some might be daring, fit for a trial of air.

As for instructions, they are thus: head above the water, feel the ground on which you stand, breathe the air within, then pass the torch. A conduct and path, pure and true, one of peril that leads to greatness. It is the dharmic, and sva-dharmic. It is to ride the current, walk the earth, feel the wind cease, as one seeks the sun. Chest high, gaze higher. A statue of Apollo, an image to become. Carry the torch, the memory of the sun.

Descent 🔗

The path is trackless, and leads to a place that doesn’t exist,² nowhere but the heart. A constant unfolding of layers, of fabric of reality. Can you see the spools?

Every last being reverberates the water’s surface. The tide pulls us—can you see the current? … Can you surf the wave?

Are you one who can peer into the abyss below, where serpents dwell, and the drowned flow? Have you seen the liquid form? It can turn into diamond, as one is born. Scintillating from the thunder with—hammer and chisel, sparks glow like a prism. First I saw him, now I am him.

The sensei slashes at water and the droplet is still. Does it know it was cut? Did the blade flash at all? No and no. The master knows not how to slash; the sword falls when it falls. The master knows how to cut nothing.

The noble path cuts through a swamp called “opinions.”³ Trapped voice cackle that those who walk are lost, they say “but why walk if you don’t know where you will end up?” They were like you are, and they hid in the mud after gazing at the face with ten-thousand eyes.⁴ Will you join them?

The pyramids are leveled and their memory are fading mirages, in a world who loves dust and sand. Son of Ra, your tomb is defiled; your glory is uprooted, your law is ridiculed. Enough people did what they wanted… and here we are, “freer” than ever.

No gods, no masters—it is claimed. But who do they worship? Who do they serve? The money? Or the desire for more? We have invented happiness, they say, waving their fruits.⁵ To which we respond, “but what is happiness to us?”⁶ Let’s not bother with their soma or opinions—liberation starts with oneself.

Grounding 🔗

Forge the body in furnaces of war. Holding the torch requires a fist of iron. A hand that was fit to hold sword before it took up the pen.

I have yet to hear hero worship mocked by a man endowed with what might justly be called heroic physical attributes.⁷ Become danger, so that you don’t become dangerous.

To wrestle with the Platonic, one must be fit to wrestle with the man himself. The chariot must endure the ride. A steady hand can hold the horses tied. Pray in the temple of iron before preaching any sermons.

Only in the supremely conscious state of Being, will all the answers be accessible. Self-control is not possible without this; the shadow self thrives. Psychic powers are bound by mental capacity, and further by clarity. Let not thoughts make you lofty. Become control so that your love can be free.

Which waves molded the cliff? Which water flows in the aqueduct? The well’s surface is still, and the stones lie static. Yet a stone is only a stone so long as it doesn’t realize what it is.

The perfect stone has become stone. The perfect human has become himself. The universe, too, must return to itself. Every instance is a turning and a choosing. The verticality is infinite. The act is the contact between Becoming and Being.⁸ Every impulse is a yearning and a losing.

Per angusta, ad augusta. The forging of the new man—steel from scarps, modeled for greatness, born for sunlight. Pain is one of the keys to unlock man’s innermost being as well as the world.⁹ The hero bears no scars on his back, and knows no other way. His crucible becomes his grail.

Move not for values, not for achievement, not for experience, nor for life. Know death as a friend, and he will cease being your enemy.¹⁰ The mind will not be known to the one who prays for knowledge, or meditates for pleasure—life is not a leisure.

And who could live it but oneself? The core is solitary and its story must be penned on foot. A character may fail, and every instance is a lesson. Success follows negation: avoiding steps stirring with inner discord.

Pain is the first curtain to gaze beyond, established laws the second. The ones who peer behind the third never return.¹¹

Ascent 🔗

Having learned how to walk, one’s feet will move by themselves. We know our burden, we roar at the dragon, and our play shall be eternal. Originality is an illusion, and creation is discovery. All was before us, all is now.

Grounded on the path, there is no turning back. What we are to stand for is our imprint on the earth. But our upstanding, is the ground of decency, not the sky of excellence. How may we soar?

Heroes are feared and shunned in the age of concrete and rubble. Proselyte, ask yourself “would Alexander do this?” and “would Aragorn do that?” No two are born the same. No two can perform the other’s deeds. No two can die with the same dignity. If everyone is a hero, then none is a hero. Evil will triumph when good men do nothing—and evil knows it.

Yet what does it fear? It fears the love it can never feel, and the truth it can only imitate. Evil is evil because its exists in hell, in body, mind, and spirit. Let our flame flicker while their hearts burn with hate. Walk not in negligence nor in delusion.

Hope is a fragile crutch. Strive after the unattainable ideal, knowing you will never reach it. Form your gold, and pay it forward. Such is your code, and thus will his hamingja bloom.

The great minds speak of the same thing, but in different languages. Dare we say that they are all wrong? Our words would only affirm their knowledge. The monk smiles as the scholars bicker.

In closed circles, the adept is instructed to venture following in two directions. Will he experience “someone above him,” even at the highest level of realization, or will “he becomes the ultimate Sovereign.”¹²

A universe in motion—will you be its center, or will you follow a great pull? The former necessitates. Breathing in tact—every inhale a waking dawn, every exhale a destruction? God, or God realizing himself? Experience is insufficient, and becoming is boundless. The vessel contains a dark liquid, which is drunken so that the bottom can be seen. A stable motion, through storm, love and potent potion.

Both eyes shutting, and yet learning to see. Disciple or order, who is his deity? The model is a microcosm, a perfection of the particular to understand the universal. Reject to the abstract, but resolute for the Absolute. The inner power is revealed, and its master is revered. Prometheus came to men, so that we may transcend. Lifted not through renunciation, but to an experience that is fuller of life.

However you must fly, spread your wings. Study the aquila atop the axis mundi. Gloriest of arches, can its perspective be envisioned? Its directive on mission, to carry the serpent, or to carry out its destruction? Which is perfection? Let its standard guide you, but Icaros, aim not beyond your capacity.

Never one to start an unjust war, but always ready to ride into battle.¹³ A hero in the flesh, and a servant of god. Recognize the royal soul, hear his summons. Bow before his glory, and hail to the king.

The radiant man moves according to his own essence. None can teach him how to be himself. He wages his Jihad, against unrighteous foes, and against apparitions of the mind. He knows the dawn is coming, he fights for the future as none knows what the new day will bring.¹⁴ Sound his fanfare should you bask in his glow. Be his mirror.

Transmission 🔗

The seed has been planted in fertile soil. With the air as its appetite, it shall grow for the sun. But without sowing this special seed, how could we reap the reward?

Once the true flame is lit, the torch-carrier sees how it shall be cinder. It must be passed, and fed by its kindred. How bright can you blaze with a single source? Firewood is finite, but we will cultivate another forest, by peace or by force.

It was difficult enough to light your own torch, it is magnitudes harder to instruct another. So share the fire to the capable, and leave the detestable to their shadows.

You have become the image your want to transmit. One’s garden blooms or withers depending on how it is tended to. None will smell your flowers, or eat your fruits if you cover them with thorns [better?]

The symbol of the sun remains veiled in the most terrible of shadows. Yet the darkness is only visible because we were shown the light first.¹⁵

Until the serpents trail is over, and the wind blows at man no more, we shall follow the light, through eclipse, and through endless night.