No Borders - No Walls - No Heart - No Balls

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Cologne's Bishop Woelke on the Shopping Stress Facing Christians during the Rush.

Let me give you in one word of English, what this typical German bishop of today is telling us as a pre-Christmas message. Is he addressing, from his position as shepherd of the flock, the real stress of Christians who are being persecuted and murdered by scores, by hundreds, and by thousands – hundreds of thousands where IS is concerned – in regions dominated by "The-Religion-Of-Peace", or that their churches – Protestant (Methodist in Pakistan this past week with 30 dead) and Catholic alike (still remember the priest in Normandy, August 2016?...I do, Woelke nicht, and the Pope also not) are being burned down, torn down, destroyed? Does he address this, or the factual Islamisation of Germany and of Western EUrope, does he mention it as something which so occupies his flock and for which he offers his sympathetic comfort in these "chaotic times"? OF COURSE NOT! You would be wrong to think so – this guy is as "Welcome-Cult" for "The-Religion-Of-Peace" as it gets, a real "kumbaya" hero.

 

Observe how this pasty, conformist traitor to his church and to the Gospel on which it was founded, perverts for the Merkel-State and the EU/NWO propaganda, his position as cleric and moral leader. One can hardly say spirit here, as there is none, he is as dry and as limp as he in fact appears – and as limp-voiced manipulative in his narrative as Walt Disney's Kaa the snake. No servant of spirit is he, but very much of the Zeitgeist – that is where he must be nailed, and will be judged.

Now: I shall address him, and those like him and those who follow after him. One is either "merely suffering from an own dark vision of wrath and just needs to take a chill pill" – or: one is already witness to some things before they manifest or "happen", because one discerns the signs and is already confirmed, as will also by events themselves be confirmed. Light will break through the darkly malignant Darkness, as it is so willingly reflected and embodied by this reptilian worm here – one sees much and can specify little: one sees many suicides in that time, a time taking place among such traitors on account of the exposure of their ongoing opportunistic treason, on account of their deliberate and conscious twisting, perverting, mis- and disinforming – misleading those entrusted to their guidance straight into the abyss. Here and now, in our lifetime we are seeing it and will see it out.

One sees many nervous breakdowns coming, irreparably committed to psychiatric care, which will find itself overwhelmed with cases. One sees courtrooms and House Committees for some. This is not a question of "God's Judgment" in its cliché. God is Infinite Compassion, He sorts this out. Their own end-karma – not in some hereafter but here-now and in our time. One will live so long and witness the day, as one is witness now, to its approaching.

This is what such have chosen and will bring about upon themselves. Let none attach themselves to these or to their words or their actions and inactions. They are judged, they are dead souls, dead meat.

Wake up now, the very ground beneath their pampered feet will shake, and will reject and rebuff even these such as you see in this creature, in his wimpy-pastoral manner and in his wispy voice – and his "message of comfort" and of sleep.

On Being "Special" - Or Just Being Divine

If everyone is "special" then the word has entirely lost any meaning whatsoever. Whoever is special is anyway a matter of who's saying it of whom, thus subjective evaluation - and valid so far as that goes. If the word is applied to everyone (barring, naturally, deplorable Trump voters) as a matter of course, influenced by the politically correct "virtue-triggering" collective narcissism bordering on psychosis – and the SJW/LGBT/gendermainstream lobbying, bullying, terrorizing – then I have a bit of bad news for those social-atheists and pseudo-pastors and -clerics of their respective ethically compromised and theologically confused churches and congregations:

NO ONE is "special". And everyone is divine. Therein lies the Great, Sustaining Love, which never fails and never bullshits, betrays, or leaves you in the lurch.

Having said that, I do adhere to the "Van Helsing School" of combatting and defeating the psychic vampires and actual (Deep State or Islamic State) Undead of our time – in defense of life, of conscious life on earth.



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The "hidden" path of love in any tradition of faith, of devotion, of disicpline, lies in their respective mantras (the sacred Word bonding you in love, with your Infinity), if one has been shown them and how to apply them.

"God is your Lover, not your jailer."
– Rumi

Night Occupied Me

Night occupied me with an oak of a man, medium in stature: holding forth in a public square, raging against the relentless wind, standing firmly against the rising tide of the times.  He addressed a jeering crowd like some prophet of old.  He spoke of nations and of defending secure borders.  He spoke in defense of the defenseless, the innocent, the abused, and the truth.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
He said,

"Woe to you,  pathetic rabble of the Antifa, and woe to all your mentors and groomers, woe to the Lügenpress which gives you a stage for your antics, woe to this mob of politically correct terrorism!  Hypocrites!  A generation of vipers you are!  You go all the Snowflake, over any little grudge or body-check!  But when it comes to reality-checks, you're selectively blind as bats, and narcissistically reactive as bats out of hell!  You strain at a gnat and swallow a camel!

"You call yourselves 'autonomous' - no, you are all automatons of the very system which subsidizes and grooms you selective moralists and morons!  You permit yourselves every limitless privilege and aggression toward those not pandering to your demands, as toward those not suiting your totalitarian agenda.  Then you cry 'Nazi' and 'fascist' or '-phobe' when challenged or called out on it!  You twist the facts to suit your flatulent program and self-preening wishes and wants, selling yourselves as fake victims to the fake press!

"For real life victims in the real world you've no empathy and no brave, thoughtful words!  Just a shrill cliché of jaded 'feminism' in the ears of those who cannot avoid your pathologically bludgeoning presence!

"Woe to you all, you cannot save your asses for a fart!  That very God you all mock is not asleep, but watching with compassionate objectivity as you advertise for your own nations' suicide, and He will recieve your sorry asses when you fall into the pit you are digging for yourselves!  That slide into the abyss will not come so kindly however - and the moment any one of you finally grows a conscience, that moment will prove to be your worst nightmare of a revelation!"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I don't know who he was in the night, his face remained a mystery as did his name.  But the sun shone off his forehead.  The burden of human suffering shone in his eyes, and the balm for it as well.  A fierce love for Humankind and all that breathed, ranted in his heart.

His fire was in my belly.

Cherished

Back when my lad (now 20, and about whom I still say: "This is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased...") was about 5 and I was putting him to bed, I had just finished reading an email from a fellow expatriate here. It contained a book review on something dealing with anecdotal material from witnesses to SS atrocities in Poland. A former villager told of seeing an SS guy strolling casually down the alley or street or road, whistling merrilly as he dangled a just still living and moaning infant on the tip of his bayonette, its last breath still audible to the witness. I sat stock still. I was, needless to say, so deeply upset at reading this, so traumatized because no matter how much material you take in – and I'd already imbibed a very, very great deal – it whacks you over that cliff of the most terrible distress, every time. Every time. So now I gotta put my laddy to bed. We sat in the near pitch dark room.  Rather than singing or playing, I was dead silent. Being a child, he sensed my sadness.

In his half-Doitch, half-English, he asked me what was wrong. Of course telling him anything like this was completely out of the question, but I had to be straight with him. I replied, "Well, hon', Papa is just very very sad right now." Asking me why, I replied again, "Sometimes there are others in the world, children, yes also children, who suffer or have suffered such things I cannot tell you, and your Papa is just too sad about it not to be sad." He wanted to comfort me.

So I did what actually wasn't our habit, but also not unheard of: I said, "Let's put our hands together here, you put yours together and then mine over yours, so... And Papa is going to pray, and this will be your little bed-time prayer, just yours." And I began, "My Beloved Lord and Cherisher, may all children everywhere be as loved, and as cherished, and as safe and secure as me."

In German there is no one word for cherish, except in cherishing an idea or a wish. To cherish a person is conveyed in a phrase, and my German idioms were less up to it at that time. While the sweet sound of our word, cherish, no doubt from the French cher, is to endear – we all know it conveys something more than words, notwithstanding a popular single on the charts back in the mid-'60s.

My little son asked me in his 5-year-old attempt at a new English word, "Was ist 'chewish'?"

I told him, "Well, you know what it is to love someone a whole lot, like how your Papa loves you, right? Cherish is something totally – lile you could never imagine livng without that one, ever. It's like....this:"

And I proceeded to give him pecks on the skin of his back, along the shoulders and between the shoulder blades, each kiss a dry and tender covenant of everlasting love toward my own child, each kiss a protection, a prayer for his well-being. After a few of these, I said, "Cherish is like...that. Okay? Now to bed with you."

We sat there a moment, in the dark – or I sat, he leaned over my arm some. And then he said, "Chewish me again."

And of course, I did.

I cherish him now as I ever have, and I will always have his back. 

This Love In-forms Me

I will praise God in whatever form I choose,
in whichever tongue as I am moved,
I will praise God.

There is nothing exotic in it or strange,
this love informs me what to speak,
with what gesture or movement,
praising God.

At the core of all worship
is this love which informs me.
Embracing all Humankind
in this empathy, I submit
to the source of this love
which informs me.

Were Christianity's own Fountainhead
a raider who'd massacred and raped,
who'd deceived and beheaded,
whose vengeful, wrathful example in this manner
were glorified by multiple early biographers
setting the tone of what should be followed,
were he promoted as a despot unquestioned;

were his teachings and instructions in times
of weak numbers in direct contradiction
to those in times of greater force,
the end effect being conquest by the sword:
I'm afraid I'd quite have to distance myself
from both him and his example.

However, as he was and remains for all time,
rather the very embodiment of this love
which informs me, coursing through my every fiber,
uniting my blood with his, steeling my nerves,
filling my sinews with his might, my heart with awe:
how can I but love him?

The One in Whom we live and move and have our Being,
shows His countenance to me through just this,
this love which informs me.

And this one whose own form had lived at a distant time
in a distant place and has never left but is everywhere -
his love it is which so informs me, that I, with all my faults
and all my shortcomings, may inform others, bearing witness
merely by breathing with him, and being as I am.

His birth is my birth, his blood my blood, shed for me;
his death is mine, as is his resurrection, I own my faith,
and I call myself neither Jew nor Christian -
but one thing I do know:

After all my past training, however complete or not,
I am here with both feet walking, and cannot stop singing;
neither hopes nor fears rule me, nor the prescriptions of others
can tell me in what form or manner or tongue I should bend my knee,
only this love informing me, day and night, every breath and every step.

No zeitgeist may intimidate me, for this love is conscious,
steady and awake, present now, present regardless
of what darkness befalls, what ignorance, what evil moves
about us and over us.

It is all that I have, unborn and undying, a flame in my belly,
his soul is the light of the universe, and that suffices.
His mark is this love - I'll say it once more:
this love which informs me.

Do I know?

Do I know God, can I "prove" God exists?
It doesn't matter.
God knows me intimately
and has proven my existence,
and that's quite sufficient.
And His knowing me
courses through my body
and my consciousness 24/7
without my having to "think" about it.

These lines come to me in the shower;
they may as well have come while
driving from patient to patient,
or in the midst of any occupation,
or while napping.
During any drama or celebration,
or mourning or blues - there He is,
knowing me, informing my existence
with His.

The proof, if you will - is this love.
And just as I so love my own children -
He has my back.

Beware This Love!

In the center of my chest, in the core of my Being,
in the furnace of my belly, without effort, letting be:

I sense the love of my Father's spirit, my Source,
abon d'b'shmayim, eternal Father, take its course,

filling and fulfilling me, pushing forth, pouring out
into my atmosphere, subtle, onto all and about.

I get out of the way, remove myself, let it, and see...
let it pack and embrace the one standing before me.

Forbearing all, yet bearing nothing, it is the bear,
I but the bearer who carries and bares it openly there

where it chooses to express itself - this love I do not own,
this great and open secret, unspoken unseen sent down.

to manifest from one Human to another, from one created
Act of creation to another, this love may flow unabated.

One cannot make it so, fake it so, force it, but only surrender
to it when it calls, and witness to its quickening power.

Removing thought and theory, relaxing shadow-play of ego:
flowing from heart it greets, soothes, heals, because it's so.

Indiscriminate toward so much and many, taking all in its arms,
one would think its the nicest of loves, could do no one harm.

And this is true of course, yet it has quite other dimensions,
whose scope is fixed on those with foulest intention.

The intensity of love when directed at darkest forces ruling,
who rape and behead, burn and plunder in His Name and sing

praises of their deeds and examples they've taken -
shows itself as wrath upon these, they are entirely forsaken.

The wrath of God's love which shatters destructive egos must
be for those who know Him better not to fear but to trust.

All may receive this love, this moment.  Those who've earned this wrath now
will receive it tomorrow upon themselves and down to the marrow.

All is real, don't preach about illusions!  Regard what others are going through!
But all the more real, more real than all the chicanery, jihad mass murder accrued:

is this embracing love, and yes, love's wrath embracing those demonic entities.
Love doesn't reward but is its own; wrath however is the reward for wrathful jihadis.

Song of God

Belief is unsteady, faith is better, certainty still more - so
if I am here, God is proven; when I am gone, no less so.

In  my very core, then call it heart without sentimentality but pleasure;
the Song of God unceasingly sung, intoned in hues no rainbows measure.

Sound beyond sounds, all senses drunk, sturdy and solid, formless, knowledge knows;
current coursing like a sea, a river, a brook, active or idle, each moment devoted: love grows.

Still the mind, let it feed on inner tones, overtones, each syllable of mantra, bhajan, hymn;
His very form is in the word, each letter, so when you sing you're singing Him.

Stand firm in this, and face what comes, the reward your consciousness of Self
responding responsibly, acting through your very Being, for the benefit of sentient life.

With each breath drawn God calls in Song, wherever I stand God knows my place;
the fruits of action only He can determine, in stillness amidst the world my face

I turn to hear it better - at work or at training, at demos or at home, I am true now
to this Song which ever wakens me with:  "Therefore fight, O Arjuna!"

Eschewing Obfuscation

You have religionists who are satisfied to hold "God" separate from themselves and remain essentially unconsciously self-conscious.

You have "readers of every esoteric literature" who are satisfied to assert that "I am God" without having ever removed their egos; and remain essentially unconsciously self-conscious.

You have materialists who deny "a God" in favour of an independent self in a chance universe, "full of potential" without themselves ever actually plumbing and plumbing that "self" and examining that ego, or developing the contemplative intuition to ever receive Knowledge – nor ever realizing the untold potential of the divine Human form; thus remaining for their part, essentially unconsciously self-conscious.

And you have those who, by whatever name or title they’re designated or which status they’ve achieved in this world or the next, actually do the Work of pursuing soul-knowledge, consciousness of Self, of examining the ego inside and out and expressing life beyond it, becoming "realized".  It is a Work of love, of devotion.  And this more than anything enables us to follow suit.

It’s not for one to judge, others or oneself, on this – but to be observant toward it, to avoid bullshitting and to eschew obfuscation.

Do Not Speak Harshly Into That Good-Night

Do not speak harshly to your mate,
to check your aggression do not hesitate;
regard him or her as the apple of your eye,
let your touch be tender, your humor wry.

That dusty advice, not to end the day in a fight,
is sound:  so do not speak harshly into that good-night;
when the tone is loving in your own household
then it would likewise follow in your neighboring fold.

Yet soft alarms will not do, when the world is asleep,
nor being still nor timid, for fear of being told to shut up;
to be clear and to confront, willing to go to bat against odds
which weigh heavy - a strong voice and a steady's needed.

("The wise man submits to conditions when he is helpless, bowing to the will of God.  But the evil that is avoidable he roots out without sparing one single moment of effort.")

 

And cowardice poorly covered in a mantle of "tolerance" will be exposed
for what it is, in but a matter of time, when all that is being superimposed
upon indigenous populations and what remains of identifiable nations
falls apart - as it only can - losing all nerve and bluster in the face of immigrations

full of dishonest intention, counterfeit purpose; catastrophe heading for disaster:
in the hands of a bland faceless management-elite which presumes to be master
of this destructive course it both created and mindlessly serves, never once grasping
the evil which rules and controls their unconscious minds, till the day they're gasping

for the last breath of air which will be denied - in vain we'll have died,
who'd fought unceasingly for the conscious individual against this cult of night,
against the blunt cudgel of political correctness preparing the way for a dhimmitude,
in which these will not fare better - indeed, their enforced dumbing-down's a mere prelude.

Word

Where words fail and thoughts - even the most refined or on-point -
appear as the mental chatter they are, like horses at the race track
heaving their disciplined weight on an eliptical course, always new and the same,
there is the Word  to bring you onto earth for grounding, or raise you
to inner heights nearer to its own realm.

By whichever Name of God the Word informs your intonation,
sober concentration holds the promise of entering meditation -
and this, the promise of absorption in the Name, which is the Word
as it absorbs.  Mantra in action blesses action.

Your weaknesses are hardly of import, indulging guilt a trap and distraction.
Your strengths are nothing, considered against the still, all-consuming power
of the Word.  That Word is formless, and has its form in mantra, taking form
in those embodying the Name of God in their own person.

Learn what it is to speak the Word once, and right.
It may take you a lifetime.

Meanwhile we study, we speak, we reflect, we write.
Spirit moves in the form willing to allow it,
love burns with devotion for conscious Being.
Grace may come, but in the Beginning was the Word.

There Are Things

There are things which cannot be discussed
and those which may not be; the one
because language however eloquent will not suffice, the other …
because there are matters which transform matter
and which are therefore kept unavailable to the probing, curious ego
of the conditioned mind and character not yet ready – perhaps never,
or unreceptive to the Knowledge and the way toward it, requiring everything.

Because the purpose of that soul and the maturity of that personality,
the ripeness of the interest in reaching the most primal and likewise ultimate
re-cognition of Being Human, and to receive the training and the strength to
also hold and to carry and to use, to apply this – is more than an apprenticeship;
it is a gift by grace and can only be met with the sincerest of gratitude and humility.
One arrives with condtioned reasons and replaces this with humility;
even that humility will be surrendered for effacement. There are things...

There is hierarchy, deny it or not, in but not of this world; as there are those
serving the work of drawing consciousness into the Human form,
each holding a position at a place in this world yet not, perhaps hidden from view,
and a point in time yet transcending time measured, perhaps hidden from view.
Spiritual democracy is for this world, the right of each to develop
undominated by another's insistence by force on what should be adhered to.
Hierarchy is without name or form, yet has its names and its forms –
one will not find it however, but only the indicators if that is to be –
and those, right before one's nose. Soberly, neither seduced
by the exotic nor the banally bland familiar, but quickened through awakened eye.

This world is full of contradiction, and by this world is meant perception.
The hierarchy is stable, and there is no discussion, no debate, but liberation.
In the scope of democracy one should question and challenge – but oneself,
and all that one has bought into from all around oneself, this requires discipline.
In matters of hierarchy not of this world of shadow-control and shadow-force,
questioning is stilled, argument has no place – to meet it requires more discipline,
the will to reach consciousness and be free requires surrender of will to Reality.

Discourse on this at all belongs to travellers there, not to those who have arrived.
One is taking liberties even writing this, and to be positioned somewhere in this work
is to be confronted with contradictions as well – and to learn to bear that with grace.
One may be called to take positions one had never imagined, or to take no positions.
It is of inestimable value to learn to cleanse the heart of sides and angles, to eschew
manipulation both internal and external, to take a stand if need be and stand fast.

For a time, or some time or some other time – one needs to gather and hold strength,
cultivate trust, cultivate prayer, cultivate action and repose alike.
Alone the appreciation of the fact that there is a work, that there is a hierarchy
of consciousness – not of ego – and that there is service and something being served,
for the entire benefit of oneself even as one leaves that for the entire benefit of
Humankind, for the liberation of this seemingly fixed world – alone this appreciation
amounts to receptivity toward transformation, not metaphoric but real.

Without once using the word God, one has meant exactly that.
Lest one ask concerning Love, one is pointing to exactly that.

Rewards and Punishments

When you are sovereign in knowing that you are naught – your dignity
doesn't lie in recognition from this world's company, you can relax
and just love.

Evangelical Christians and loyal adherents of "The-Religion-Of-Peace"
are so hell-bent on seeing to it that heaven or paradise await them after death.
I could care less. God's sovereign Presence is my heaven here and now.

The zealous and the not-so-zealous may sell
their own loved ones to avoid hell. To hell with this shit,
I say, and if a rabbi tells me it's just a "long sleep" I guess I'll pass.

I've slept long enough in my lifetime, I'm staying awake for this.
So wish me to hell, I don't care – I carry God's love in my heart
and in my marrow, where I am doesn't matter, this will never abandon me.

Wishing everyone a beautiful and a blessed Fourth Advent.

Currently Considering

There was a time stretching over most all of Human history, that electricity as a scientifically conceivable and verifiable phenomenon, just waited to be discovered, named, harnessed, applied.

During this time, common religion was not permitted to push the envelope in mutual appreciation together with the sciences, but was consigned to remain enveloped in traditions of custom, superstition, ritual and manipulation.

Today we are fortunate to know and embrace science and the blessings of advanced discovery.  Science however, takes the place of “Old Religion” when it becomes itself enveloped in self-serving dogma.

If before the Modern Age you’d approached anyone with the idea that a cable plug placed in a socket would draw an unlimited current of electric energy, so powerful it could either kill in an instant or power everything in your domicile – you’d have been avoided, outcast, maybe pilloried or worse.

How many, considering themselves religious or not, agnostic or atheistic or indifferent – how many now, today, would consider taking the plug of their own original potential and with sincere childlike interest, trust, devotion or love, placing that into the socket igniting the current of God’s presence, love and grace?

Just as electricity can be known without ever being explained or explainable – so is God’s current just waiting to be discovered.