Aristocracy is aestheticized leisure.
The heroic never was a job.
In the last days of Late Antiquity, many sought the solace of the desert as an externalization of an innermost felt reality. An existential wasteland, an aversion to daylight, a regression back to the womb, and therefore to the grave.
But what happened there was the birth of the new Aeon. Barren land, barbarian domains, have always brought a new vitality to dying worlds.
Paul Veyne might claim emperor Constantine was the first Leninist, and there might be some truth to Pauline Christianity being the precursor of modern Communism ( as both Spengler and Badiou acknowledge ), the Gothic-Christian Culture of the West didn’t came from a singular (collective) source.
Both the hermit and the newly won masses of Christians, whatever their class may have been ( royalty, merchant or peasant ) did their part in bringing about the Europe we knew from 1000 AD onwards.
Both the hermitic as the cenobitic played a vital role in these historical developments. In fact, the Desert Fathers preceded Benedict’s Rule and inspired the cenobites with their spiritual retreat.
If movements focuss on one course of action, namely collective action, they’re not giving credit to those who did their part from their hermit cells and abbeys.
The importance of monasteries in the conversion of Europe is a well-documented fact, but ignored when it involves today’s activism.
It’s not surprising that those who tried to avert the death of the West their attempts were akin to zombie apocalypses.
One needs to accept the terminal phase of a Culture as part of the cycle as much as the spring and summer.
It shouldn’t be lamented. Eternal life is a meaningless pursuit anyways. Let the world make room for others.
— Kenneth Grant
Dream about Michael Bertiaux. He was talking to me in a comfortable living room about Templars and how he was indebted to their ‘accomplishments’.
Dream I was at my old high school. A violent storm was approaching and I suddenly noticed hunderds of cats around in the area.
Some old friend ran up to me and gave me my keys, apparantly having lost them somehow.
Then I walked past what looked like a cubic building made out of glass with a couple of a dozen bats in it. They were human size and said to me: “we have you now where we want you.”
Dream where I survived a storm which ripped most of my house apart. There were also tons of hail smashing through the roof, so I sought shelter underneath my desk. Hagalaz was in full force.
Shifting to an office block where I took an elevator to the basement, which was shaking as it went deeper and deeper.
There I encountered a girl who gave me a beer to drink. The glass had some of her lip gloss on it, but I didn’t mind and took a nip. The lip gloss was poisonous, making my head swell and disoriented. I grabbed her, forced the lip gloss on her own lips and saw how she swole up too. But nothing happened to the both of us, we healed and I got a sense that this is what she expected me to do.
Posted 1 week ago
— Pussy Riot’s Nadezhda Tolokonnikova
Whenever I listen to Vidna Obmana, I return to 2008.
It was the soundtrack of that year.
A formative year.
Where I became who I am, and haven’t still fully grasped that.
Neither fully understood the implications, ramifications of the psychedelic voyages I had and the rituals performed.
As if I’m in a bardic state and I should realize that this is how the journey from now on goes. These are the ingredients and you can either decide to cultivate them or not.
Posted 2 weeks ago
Earlier this week I had a dream I was climbing a stela and as I stood on it I could see strange patterns on the ground from up high.
I bought “Assassin’s Creed Black Flag" two days ago, a day after I had the dream. Today I continued playing the game and was doing a side mission where you climb atop Mayan stelae to see patterns on the ground that help you find hidden treasure.
Precognitive powers in the works.
Posted 3 weeks ago
I’m happy to know there are people out there who gaze at the same firmament, in the same solitary condition, yet enraptured by a strange ambivalent bliss.
Don’t criticize modernity or you’ll get Dr. Pangloss in packs thinking grandpa’s ready for the nursing home and not able to see the glory of the unfolding narrative of salvation.
I’m sorry, but the New Jerusalem of humanism seems to be taking quite a while and I’m not sure another Robespierre among us will do the trick.
Posted 1 month ago
Returned from my trip to Barcelona, Spain.
If anything, it’s known for having Antoni Gaudi’s signature scribbled across the entire city. It was definitely one of the major reasons for my visit. I had to absorb the architectural genius’ work with my own eyes. Same for Picasso, Miro and many others.
It’s a breeding ground for artists, in the past and the present. I never saw a city tattooed with tags like Barcelona. It’s a city of concrescence of disparate elements. This is evident when one looks at the legendary origins of the city.
Supposedly the Argonauts’ Ninth Ship (“Barca Nona”) got lost in a storm and as Herakles found the shipwrecked crew, they were so amazed by the place that they and Herakles and the god Hermes lending a hand ) decided to found a city there 400 years before Rome. This places the city right in the middle of the mythological origins of the Western world, with the demigods like Herakles and the epic search for the Golden Fleece.
Another myth tells the story of Hamilcar Barca, father of Hannibal, who founded the city in 230 B.C. and thus being the most northern settlement of the Punic Empire.
This alone demonstrates how the city was always a frontier of very different cultures, ideas and peoples. It remained as such through the Middle Ages, when it got captured from the Visigoths by the emerging Caliphate and reconquered again from the Moors by the Franks. It became the most southern tip of the Spanish Mark. Just a century ago, Barcelona was again the last bastion of anarchist collectivism against the fascist forces in Spain.
Having this quality of being on the frontier of great divergences in social, cultural and political organization and thought, has probably helped to make it a fertile soil for artists.
In the city itself I wandered around most of the time. Aimlessly I stumbled upon the great works of the aforementioned artists, manoeuvred through hordes of beautiful people, sat down in plaza’s and observed the sea of diversity in the urban dwellers. I read the “Hayy Ibn Yaqzan" in Park Güell and could feel the Green Imam by my side, accompanying me in this lone perigrination. I prayed both at the Sagrada Familia and the city’s Cathedral, as I feel a stronger need to study gnosticism and Catholic mysticism more deeply.
I closed the trip by burning a candle of the Black Madonna for friends, family and loved ones.
This trip was, most of all, a time of catharsis. Of self-reflection on my life’s course, desires and fears.
I got a slightly better picture of where I want to go.