“One day you will see… But I will not be here…“
I do see now, Dad. And you will always be here, always in our Father’s perfect love.
Releasing all your pain, blessing you from my deepest heart,
Your little Λέων
“One day you will see… But I will not be here…“
I do see now, Dad. And you will always be here, always in our Father’s perfect love.
Releasing all your pain, blessing you from my deepest heart,
Your little Λέων
Dehumanization, Despair, Divine, Female empowerment, Heroism, Hope, Humanity, Leon, Plutonia, Posts in English, Prayer, Seelengeschwister, Soul siblings, Translations, Twin Flames, Universal Love, WWII
Plutonia and I watched an interesting post-apocalyptic film yesterday, which wonderfully combines with the following prose poem dearest Heidrun Regina shared today in the German original. The film, an image from which I use towards the end of this post, may be too noisy and brutal for some, but these lines will be gratefully appreciated by all dear ones.
Wolfgang Borchert was a German author and playwright who served in the Wehrmacht during the Second World War, and who in his works never compromises in questions of humanity and humanism. He wrote Dann gibt es nur eins! a few days before he died at the age of 26, in 1947.
We still need this spirit today, and it seems that even the gentler souls among us, often especially these precious ones, will be called to be brave, each in our own unique ways, never alone, never getting lost in this world, all of us together joining hands and keeping the connection between Heaven and Earth, the awareness of our Love essence.
Thank you, Heidrun. Thank you, everyone. 💜 🙏 Leon
* * *
Translated by Ryan Wilcox
Then There’s Only One Thing To Do!
You. Man at the machine and man in the workshop. If they order you tomorrow to stop making water pipes and cook pots and start making helmets and machine guns, then there’s only one thing to do:
You. Girl behind the counter and girl at the office. If they order you tomorrow to fill hand grenades and mount scopes on sniper rifles, then there’s only one thing to do:
You. Factory owner. If they order you tomorrow, to sell gun powder instead of talcum powder and cocoa, then there’s only one thing to do:
You. Researcher in the laboratory. If they order you tomorrow, to invent a new death to do away with old life, then there’s only one thing to do:
You. Poet in your room. If they order you tomorrow not to sing love songs, but songs of hate, then there’s only one thing to do:
You. Doctor at the sick bed. If they order you tomorrow to certify men as fit for war, then there’s only one thing to do:
You. Minister in the pulpit. If they order you tomorrow to bless murder and praise war as holy, then there’s only one thing to do:
You. Captain on the steamer. If they order you tomorrow not to transport wheat but cannons and tanks, then there’s only one thing to do:
You. Pilot at the airfield. If they order you tomorrow to carry bombs and incineraries over cities, then there’s only one thing to do:
You. Tailor at your table. If they order you tomorrow to start sewing uniforms, then there’s only one thing to do:
You. Judge in your robe. If they order you tomorrow to report to the military court, then there’s only one thing to do:
You. Man at the train station. If tomorrow they order you to give the signal for the ammunition and the troop trains to depart, then there’s only one thing to do:
You. Man in the village and man in the city. If they come for you tomorrow and with your induction papers, then there’s only one thing to do:
You. Mother in Normandy and mother in the Ukraine, you, mother in Frisco and London, you, on the banks of the Huang Ho and the Mississippi, you, mother in Nepal and Hamburg and Cairo and Oslo – mothers in all regions on earth, mothers all over the world, if they order you tomorrow to bear children – nurses for military hospitals and new soldiers for new battles, mothers all over the world, then there’s only one thing to do:
Say NO! Mothers, say NO!
Because if you don’t say NO,
if YOU don’t say no, mothers, then;
In the noisy port cities, hazy with steam, the large groaning ships will grow silent, and like titanic, mammoth corpses, filled with water, they will lethargically totter against the lifeless, lonely, algae-, seaweed-, and shell-covered walls of the docks, the body that previously appeared so gleaming and threatening now reaking like a foul fish cemetery, rotten, sickly and dead –
the streetcars will be senselessly bent and dented like dull, glass-eyed birdcages and lie like petals beside the confused, steel skeletons of the wires and tracks, behind rotten sheds with holes in their roofs, in lost, crater-strewn streets –
a mud-gray, heavy, leaden silence will roll in, voracious and growing in size, will establish itself in the schools and universities and theaters, on sport fields and children’s playgrounds, horrible and greedy and unstoppable –
the sunny, juicy grapes will spoil on the neglected slopes, the rice will dry up in the desolate earth, the potatoes will freeze in the plowed fields and the cows will stretch their dead, rigid legs into the sky like upturned milking stools –
in the institutions, the ingenious inventions of the great physicians will become sour, rot, mold into fungus –
the last sacks of flour, the last jars of strawberries, the pumpkins and the cherry juice will spoil in the kitchens, chambers and cellars, in the cold storage lockers and storage areas – the bread under the upturned tables and on splintered plates will become green and the melted butter will smell like soft soap, the grain on the fields will have bent down to the earth alongside rusty plows like a defeated army, and the smoking, brick chimneys, the food and smokestacks of the stamping factories, covered by eternal grass, will crumble, crumble, crumble –
then the last human being, clueless with slashed intestines and polluted lungs, will wander alone under the poisonous, glowing sun and vacillating constellations, wander lonely among immense mass graves and cold idols of the gigantic, concrete-block, deserted cities, the last human being, scrawny, mad, blasphemous, complaining – and his terrible complaint: WHY? will trickle away unheard into the steppe, waft through the burst ruins and die out in the rubble of churches, slap against inpenetratable bunkers, fall into pools of blood, unheard, answerless, the last animal-like cry of the last animal human being –
all of this will come about, tomorrow, tomorrow perhaps, perhaps already tonight, if – if – if – you don’t
* * *
Our YES to Peace
keeps the connection
between Heaven and Earth,
the awareness of our Love essence.
S I L E N C E
* * *
Saint Francis of Assisi Taming the Wolf, by Steve Simon.
About this wonderful true story and this artist’s depiction of it, enjoy the video after the following Franciscan benediction, beloveds.
The most important step in regaining these skills of ours is believing in their naturalness and in the always available higher assistance for our remembrance, so that we trustingly ask our angels to help us navigate through the times ahead as one divinely responsible human family.
Gratitude for your own prayers,
Love and Courage always
through Leon and Plutonia
A Franciscan Benediction
May God bless us with discomfort
At easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships
So that we may live from deep within our hearts.
May God bless us with anger
At injustice, oppression, and exploitation of God’s creations
So that we may work for justice, freedom, and peace.
May God bless us with tears
To shed for those who suffer pain, rejection, hunger, and war,
So that we may reach out our hands to comfort them and
To turn their pain into joy.
And may God bless us with just enough foolishness
To believe that we can make a difference in the world,
So that we can do what others claim cannot be done:
To bring justice and kindness to all our children and all our neighbors who are poor.
For there are companions, and they come in the valley of tears, they come with hands raised, and they will not be judged!
Judges never have danced under the moon, no sir, they never have danced under the moon.
Judges all around you everywhere you go, morphed into your spirit, they tell you where you should go. Everywhere since worlds began, there’s been hypocrisy, some little law based on criminality. Politics in places, spurn they the mystery, of all that is in your heart, know they not when you breathe. Did you know that scares them, when you look unto the moon, frightens them like Socrates, frightened that, which never blooms. Like those three men of old, Meletus, Anytus and Lycon, they could not see, those shiny companions that loved philosophy!!! Judges never have danced under the moon, no sir, they never have danced under the moon.
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This is a sequel post to my Divinity in each other poem, Dear Ones.
I am showing you below three photographs I took while feeding some homeless little felines, to whom their mom gave birth in our neighborhood in the bitter cold of winter. They are homeless and motherless now. She was squashed by a car. Ugly. This drama on the asphalt, her soul had nothing to do with; beautiful Light.
You are seeing five of a litter of originally nine stray kittens; at least two more must still be alive, but they were not around this time I offered them my love and a little food. Three of them are ill; sneezing and coughing all the time; some have skin problems, too. I pray for their protection, but we can only rarely be feeding them. I am grateful to Plutonia for making me feel ashamed of myself for not honoring a bit the meaning of my real Greek name (“Champion of the Downtrodden):
“Yes, we have a stack of unpaid bills, our apartment’s cold, we are dying. Who freezes more? Won’t they die first? Fetch a bag of those discount croquettes or forget about dinner yourself! You’ll go out and offer them a little meal late at night, when the neighbours don’t see.”
The loveliest twelfth-house Virgo Moon-Plutonian she is. And then, alarmed by us through the aether, started feeding them an older lady who comes with her rattling old car and worn clothes, as well as a couple of blessed kids who give away some of their meager (you can tell) pocket money to offer these cuties a juicy can of cat food. But they’d also need a vet. I hope at least we won’t have to face again the awful situation that took place here a few years ago, when someone poisoned every single stray cat in our area -we have quite a few abandoned-due-to-the-crisis dogs, too, but they obviously didn’t piss off that troubled soul-, as if they were harming anyone; and then we got overrun by nice fat rats munching on car wiring; precious to one another on all levels we are.
Look at them souls of Light, struggling to continue blessing us. They are still too young, even the healthier ones, to be chasing those rodents. Friendly little guys purring in choir, climbing on your jeans, miaowing your heart to pieces that you can’t offer them the home they need and deserve. I am there, too; in their eyes and little hearts.
The video after these paragraphs is essentially complementary to my prequel poem and to the message of this even more Scorpionic post. What you are going to see is intense, but I assure you that it is not brutal at all. Others are: those who perpetrate crimes inside scientific laboratories, those who throw cruelty-extracted findings to our faces in mellow prime-time objectivity, so that we can be mentally drugged. I wouldn’t encourage you to push yourselves, or let anyone push you, into listening to dark music, but you can trust me and watch this one through. It is not upsetting for sensationalism, not disturbing in a gory way, the montage is very careful and respectful, the lyrics deep and thought-provoking. Abattoir, a British word of French origin, means “slaughterhouse”. With Archaic Rhetoric is meant the distorted use of the Greek language by Western science; scientia in Latin means “knowledge”; we know nothing correctly with this science. Through the Greek language we would, but the Greek language is dying because its speakers are, as such or altogether.
Not only all animals, even rocks have souls of divine essence; the big ones in the sky, gods and goddesses they are, showering us with blessings, because we are all fragments of God on our way back home. Notice Leonardo da Vinci’s quote at the end of the video. Try to not consume too much flesh, but by all means listen to your bodies’ needs, respect and love them as sacred vehicles and connect with this sacredness. Pray, in a nutshell; purify and energize your food, silently if you feel you will be judged, by offering thanks for the lives that are given for your own, animal and plant lives alike. Water is also alive, it feels what we feel and its crystals change with our emotions, so hold the glass in your hands and Bless the Water; thank it and make it sparkle with joy before it becomes a grateful part of you. You don’t need any special techniques or to be in tune with any religion. This power is inside us, we exude it, it is our focused heart energy which gives life to whatever we touch, even if we find ourselves in the deepest of dungeons. This is real science, Dear Ones, not poetic moonshine, but these scientific findings are silenced. Prayer does fine tune our bodies, prayer does strengthen our souls. It suffices to place a palm gratefully upon your chest for a moment, before enjoying your sustaining meal or snack. Yes, today we are fed with lab-grown misery instead of happy animal flesh, with genetically modified organisms instead of healing ancient seeds and plants, but prayer always makes a huge difference in purifying and transforming everything, until we can live on sun gazing or spirit alone again.
“Namaste”, exchange the tigress and the baby high priestess in my previous poem post.
“What divinity in each other? We tragically fail to see it!” growls the amazing Angela Gossow. The ex-vocalist of Arch Enemy was born to orthodox Christian parents in Germany, saw them divorce when she was 17, their business go bankrupt, herself become both anorexic and bulimic, so don’t rush to label her as a berserk barbarian if you’ve never listened to this type of vocals before, and yes, from a woman; a feisty daughter of the Goddess she is, and a highly charged Scorpio lady. You will hear only her masterfully trained harshness, not the mezzo-soprano voice with which she interacts with her live audiences. This watery graveness comes from her Scorpio stellium (Sun, Mars, Venus on top of one another) and her Moon-Saturn conjunction in Cancer. She is a vegan, a deeply spiritual atheist, and also an anarchist lady; allow me to offer you my very first post on the true meaning of anarchy: Because We Cannot Stop For Death.
Cruelty really is unbeautifiable, and there is too much of it in this world. There is no feeding the human population without evil rituals covered up as food industry; no beauty industry without animal-testing; no modern medicine without the horrors of WWII concentration-camp experiments; no education without misleading; educere means “lead out” and we are being led out of our true selves here, but I beseech you, my younger friends, to be showing respect to the people who are teaching you something while struggling to preserve their own and Your dignity. I know the agony because I used to teach once, too; loved each one of my students, hated every minute of having to function in these teaching/learning environments I was not destined for, felt like breaking down and weeping in front of those kids and with them for the torture of their minds and hearts, like roaring back with fury at the few ones that blindly hated me as a representative of a soulless system none of us devised or voted for.
But we can Be soul wherever we are. So many of us, whatever our places in this life, have been torturing ourselves in various ways trying to find relief, because we have an unconscious connection to all suffering in the seamless field of energy. We can move to conscious empathy together. “I understand you and I love you”; say this to at least one person in your life, and then to as many as you can. Spread the word beyond words; think this into people: Bless you; Bless you; Bless you. To every passer-by on the street, send a golden ray of heart light; to every little bird on a tree, the same. Don’t squish that spider (love you Holly; read this people; the amazing Bardic Amazon has her Sun, Mercury, Uranus and North Node all in Scorpio)! Don’t hate yourself if you do! Always love with your all.
Truth without love is brutality;
love without truth is hypocrisy
(Warren W. Wiersbe).
This video oozes both truth and love,
and despair for the absence of it.
If it stretches you a bit,
we are holding hands.
We are safe.
Keep the message please.
Caged tigers, stray kittens, lab rats
Are Us; we are One Universal Soul.
We are here to be loving and protecting
one another, all beings, always.
Stay with me after this.
Alright my sweethearts, let me escort you back into the bright light with something joyously soothing now, but on the same wavelength of deep emotion. The difference is that this one is a male in a male-dominated world, and he has not gone through Angela Gossow’s types of hardship. The composer of Love is All, my fellow countryman Γιάννης Χρυσομάλλης who moved from Kalamata to the United States at 18, the famous Yanni, is also a Scorpio, this one with a four-planet stellium; Sun, Venus, Mercury, Saturn, all in the mystical zodiac sign of death and rebirth. Come now, dance with me and enjoy this slideshow; let these adorable animals remind us how we are meant to be keeping each other truly alive.
Daniel, my Sun-Mercurian-Neptunian Scorpio Brother, what you published for me yesterday, I will be sacredly holding within my soul for countless lifetimes to come. Our meeting here is an episode after a long series of preceding ones in the timelessness of the Divine.
More about this, for all of you my sweet souls, in my new static page Remember.
I thank you for all your precious time, and I pray you are always protected and uplifted. Love is All.
And for those of you into astrology
who have not yet come across
some basics of mine I have shared,
I, Leon of SolitaryThinkers, am not a Scorpio Sun;
I am a Leo Sun (and Mars and Midheaven),
but I have my natal Moon and Neptune there, and not only;
at the moment of my birth this time around,
the forceful constellation of Scorpius
was rising on the eastern horizon of the sky.
* * *
Although it is already clear that our new government is NOT here to save the poor of Greece, today I thought I’d follow my brother Daniel’s advice to hang up my weapon and come play a bit.
Plutonia and I present you a glorious piece of German self-irony. The German comedian and TV host Jan Böhmermann brought out today the following hilarious video.
This satire you’ll enjoy aims mostly at the German media exaggerations against this brilliant academic who is now the finance minister of our new government, Mr. Yanis Varoufakis, the person I first showed you [here], the one whom Telegraph’s Ambrose Evans-Pritchard called “the new heart-throb for the thinking German woman”. An amazingly powerful gentleman, anyway you [look at him].
Varoufakis is a proud Aries Sun, with also Venus in Aries, and otherwise mostly watery. The comedian Böhmermann who sings in the video, is a natal Pisces and progressed Aries Sun, a Scorpio Moon, with his Mercury and Venus on the same degree in Aquarius.
Beware Please: Varoufakis’s seemingly offensive remark and gesture at the end of the video, is a totally misleading excerpt of a speech of his. Greece (and let alone our goddesses, but [this] is what some media are paid to be doing) is NOT showing the finger to any country! Anyone who watches the rest of his remarks, knows that he is anything but offensive, and that he actually says exactly the opposite!
And now dearest friends, enjoy! The actor who impersonates our minister is infinitely feebler than Varoufakis himself, but a good laugh is a good laugh! Βοήθεια! means “Help!”.
I promise to hang in there if you will too.
Can you think of a better definition for “life saver”?
Can you resist doing everything in your power to give something back to as many people as possible by passing on the message of what a precious, healing thing love is?
The present post started out as a reply to Cheryl’s last comment to me, which ended with the above-quoted sentence.
Oh sweet Sister, I guess I had this coming. How can I put down in words such a moment of naked truth?
I wasn’t consciously realizing it as I was writing my previous comment, but I see now. It sounded a lot like a goodbye. I guess my soul was trying to get you to promise me, without having to say it out loud, that you would feel stronger if you kept my love in you, that you would make this world shine a little brighter with what we have to give, which I frankly do not see how I can keep on giving.
I have a rare soul agreement with Plutonia and I love her too much to ever leave her, but even her will to go on living here is often weakening. Mine a little more. I feel so unhappy with my not being able or allowed to start unfolding my potential due to all sorts of destructive circumstances, so past the end of my road, like a bright little soul floating around without a body already. At those times I feel there is no such thing as death, I have already crossed the line in that sense, and severing the cord which keeps me tied to my physical vehicle seems the most natural thing to ask for. Many ancient texts reveal that our bodies have been designed to be thriving for hundreds of years, almost a millennium, and that the first one hundred years are the hardest because this is when we have not yet learned to overcome the pain of separation from the people we love. I needed you to try to speed up that process of overcoming the pain, Cheryl. I was trying to get you to silently agree that you would rejoice with my returning home, if my time came too soon even by today’s cattle-breeding standards. Exactly because our connection is so special, I was feeling that it wouldn’t do either you or me any good if I was badly missed. I needed you instead to help me find my way. These things were running in the back of my mind, and I summoned the courage here to make them known to myself, to you, to all members of our true family, a few of whom I am deeply committed to and it hurts me to have completely lost contact with their writings, like with yours, although I am daily sending love, gratitude and protection to each one of you.
I am not allowed to manifest any more miracles in my physical reality here in Greece. Plutonia and I have no income and no savings; we have been struggling so hard all our lives and we always had barely enough to get by, let alone save. Besides our severe family problems, trying to find a paid job here has become ridiculous; I mean completely, humiliatingly ridiculous for everyone, and even more so for the middle-aged. Until recently, there used to be jobs for all sorts of illegal immigrants and not for the local population, for low-cost and no-social-security-obligation reasons. But even for the immigrants now, there are less and less jobs and they are leaving the country in large numbers, like all Greeks who can are leaving, too, literally abandoning their homes because there is no way they can cope with the insane overtaxation, withdrawing whatever money they still have from the banks, threatening in the process the survival of the sickly overblown public sector, which is becoming more and more destructive of what’s left of the once healthy, productive part of our society. Such is the extent of the silently vicious civil war which is fomented here.
Raising awareness on political issues is generally not a significant part of my mission in this lifetime, but this is sociopolitical, and I had to include here another brief mention on the continuously hostile external circumstances we are faced with, or run the risk of being labeled as a whiner or a quiter. I am neither, nor am I inherently suicidal, like the Hellenic people collectively are definitely not. The purpose of the spiritual war that is being reflected on these sacred grounds, invasion after invasion for millennia now, is to be battering the joy of life out of one of the most warmhearted nations, so that our planet remains a soul prison and not the place of love and healing that it is meant to be.
The authorities have orders to be playing humanitarian now, with suicide prevention by any means being a top priority. Even a special cooperation protocol among all of them has been established here, and they are also monitoring what we are writing online, asking also for the worldwide public’s cooperation in this. Inform your local authorities about a Greek guy announcing he is falling off the ledge, and our local authorities will immediately find his physical address from his ISP address and come charging to “save” him.
Been there, seen that already. Can you imagine we’ve already had police officers visiting our apartment? Not once, but twice? Without us having done anything illegal or wrong in any way? The first time was some months ago, before my father-in-law died: he actually sent the police here with the accusation that I had (probably) killed his daughter! Because she refused to continue answering his calls and taking his vulgar cussing attacks against her for choosing to live with useless me instead of staying with her mother. He knew well how to play nice and victim with everyone else and convince too many people (because people naturally believe that parents always care for their offspring) that his daughter and I are really bad people who deserve one another and the worst that could happen to us. And the second time was a couple of months ago, when that dead man’s nephew who is now withholding most of my still-vindictive mother-in-law’s pension (a fraction of which is all we are left to live with; and we are still in danger of losing our apartment, our only home), panicked when Plutonia told him to be well himself, even if he doesn’t believe that we are not at all well, and asked him to leave us alone. Two officers charged into our apartment within less than an hour, trying to “bring us to our senses” like some kind of clumsy psychiatrists.
I tell you, society is falling apart here and we are at the bottom, but it’s also quite hilarious if you look at it philosophically. The crazy Cretan in me has always been running from safety (although none was ever offered to me), has never asked for any guarantees, and still refuses to stop seeing miracles everywhere, our loving connections being the most important miracle of all.
So here, Cheryl, my Sister: I promise. I promise you and everyone else, hand on heart, that I will hang in there. Because you are hanging in there, too. Because no one of us would have reincarnated if we didn’t have heavy issues to resolve in this life. No one has it easier deep inside, and we all need one another. I will be reminding myself of our commitment here every time I feel I cannot stand trudging on anymore. The love in our hearts is worth fighting for. I wept, too, with what we shared recently. I wept while I was sending you my hug and love, and I wept again when I felt that you received it. What makes this magic work is not our words themselves, but the pure heart energy we charge them with. I gratefully know now that, whatever they are doing to us, the awareness of the Divine in us can never be lost.
I thank you All beyond words and thoughts. I thank everyone who understands this message, and those who do not fully, I thank even more. You are here for a reason. Keep the image above I have created for you and apply its message. This is not some kind of romantic chick stuff. Women are naturals at understanding that our hearts are powerhouses of healing energy. Remote healing can be the greatest revelation for us all. Please pass this on. Spread the word. Love heals, not pills.
Let us all embrace and fare well, my friends.
Deep Peace To You.
Listen to this amazing blessing while sending your hugs. I was less than half my age when I first heard it in a Celtic compilation, and I adore it even more today as I mature.
The following article was written by the sociopedagogue Kosmas Loumakis one and a half years ago. Things have been getting worse and worse for the poor who are trapped here in Greece ever since. Our country of Light has been turned into a mortal trap, and the war against the Light has no end, because there can BE no end to the Light, only to the illusion of darkness. More and more souls have been leaving us since November 2012, the number of aliorumcides (not “suicides” at all, this caedere has nothing to do with sui) is unknown, just three days ago one family man hung himself from a tree outside our small town, and these loving people are not losers at all, and their divine souls are not going to hell at all, because essentially they are NOT the ones killing themselves at all!
Τhere can be no major social explosion in Greece, not even minor ones anymore, and no revolution whatsoever, for very specific historical and sociopolitical reasons that Plutonia and I will attempt to explain both in German and in English.
The global fascist state seems to have taken care of everything,
but the truth will shine, Beloved Friends.
They can never kill Love,
and Love Is All We Are.
Thank you so much Kosmas Loumakis for liking us. We are so grateful for you and for your awareness-raising work.
By Kosmas Loumakis
The number of suicides are skyrocketing in Greece. The Greek people have undoubtedly been hit very hard by the austerity cuts which have led to the fact that far too many, compared with just two years ago, take their lives.
Greece used to have the lowest recorded suicide rates in Europe. However, from spring 2010 there has been a very worrying rise in figures of people taking their own lives.
My sun-kissed motherland with once the lowest recorded suicide rates in Europe, have seen a huge rise in suicides. The first 6 months of this year we saw a surge in the number of suicides among the poor and those older than 65. It has risen by more than 37 percent against the same period for 2011 – 1 400 people have taken their lives since January 1.
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I am still here. Still. Too still.
How can I face tomorrows?
I have no past, I knew no bloom,
too many timeless sorrows.
I need to leave my silent mark,
I invoke my Star: Please cleanse me!
I hum along with Planet Gods,
they come and synchronize me.
In outer space, in caves so deep
I seek to burn off karma,
I’ll still be here, and not too still;
I’ll be reborn from magma.
Leon of SolitaryThinkers, March 25, 2014
Dearest fellow bloggers,
I disappeared for a while, I know. Please know that out of sight is not out of mind in my case.
Too many personal and collective struggles keep our lives as hostages here.
On the internal personal level, I have been going through one of my periods of necessary emotional regulation. With my Ascendant, Moon and Neptune all falling natally in the sign of Scorpio, I have to keep myself from drowning in the flood of my emotions and the emotions and sufferings of other people. I can be of no service to anyone when I am lost like this.
Let me briefly explain to you the impact you have on me through your words, thanks to this first-house Neptunianly-spongy emotional make-up of mine. It is an understatement to say that I am “touched” or “moved” by even just a few carefully-written words of yours, in combination with the images you choose or create; when you share from your heart, your words assume such a physical presence for me, it’s like a dam cracks and explodes in front of me and in no time I find myself in a raging ocean of mingled emotions. I have to process all that and regain my balance, for all our sakes; we do not need any more emotional chaos on this planet.
As if all these watery elements were not enough, I also have a fiery-passion overload thanks to my Sun-and-Mars stellium conjuncting my Leo Midheaven, which makes me unafraid to immediately open up my heart to anyone whose honesty and intentions I trust. My “Still Here” poem above is born out of this Leo-Scorpio combination, a Mega-Square which gives me little capacity for objectivity or detachment, and a T-Mega-Square, actually, since I have Saturn the divine regulator in Taurus, thankfully and painfully opposing both my Scorpio planets and squaring both my Leo planets.
Now combine all that with my Imum Coeli falling in Aquarius and my packed 11th house where Uranus and Pluto are sandwiching my Venus, and you will understand why out of the clear blue sky you hear from me that I consider you “brother” or “sister” and why I feel this urge to give you all a huge hug until all our worries are gone, which of course does not work that simply, since I am so wounded myself by all I’ve been and am still going through in our traumatized lives here with Plutonia.
My Wounded Healer, also, my natal Chiron, is unaspected, peregrine (the Latin root pelegrinus means “outcast, wanderer or outsider”), in Aries (I am sometimes tortured by a lack of self-worth) and in the fifth house (my creativity as a translator and ghost writer for almost two decades has been largely overlooked and proven completely unrewarding financially).
My analytical mind I owe to Mercury in Virgo, in sextile with my Moon and triangle with my Saturn.
And as of my silent protection, Jupiter conjuncting my Ascendant from the twelfth house. Although I have approached my last breath a few times in my life, I am still here, and not always too still, thanks also to this Jupiterian exuberance.
I hope this introductory astrological insight into my personality is enlightening enough for the time being.
The point is that all this inner intensity and sensitivity can be short-circuiting even for me, and it is made worse by the fact that I have never really been socialized. I never had any real friends I could trust, besides a few spies of my controlling parents, who in the best case felt sorry for me and laughed with my jokes, but kept me nevertheless marginalized; they really had no choice with this family-of-origin I had. This incarnation of mine was too messy before it even started officially: my mother had been mourning the loss of her mother, her only protection against a much older, oppressive husband, for weeks before she birthed me. So I absorbed too much psychic pain already as a fetus, and the following almost four-and-a-half decades have not helped much towards the opposite direction. How’s that for a euphemism!
On the very first day of our web presence this winter solstice, there comes suddenly the notification for our first follower; an email-only follower! I look at this e-mail address wide-eyed and happy, but the next thought that crosses my mind and which I share with Plutonia is “Uh-oh! I hope this one’s not some kind of monster who is thrilled to watch a couple being led to utter despair and commit suicide in public?” My amazing Aquarius Sun soulmate was reassuring, and thankfully right again: our first follower turned out to be just a tired-as-ourselves, beautiful human soul who needs us as much as we need her to continue on our healing journeys on this planet; our dearest Clarissa from Tulsa, Oklahoma. I am infinitely grateful that we already have such brilliant, loving people like Clarissa in our hearts! Still, I sometimes get so messed up with myself that I need to withdraw until I am able to communicate again without scaring people away with my awkwardness. I tend to write either “too much” in response to your vibrations (“Such a beautiful poem thank you period” is usually too meaningless for me after I have been shaken by the energy you have invested to honour your presence in this world and connect [through gems like this one of Rachanee’s] with like-minded souls), or nothing at all. No one has seen “too much” I hope (Shun, could you please excuse me for commenting while I was so down and exhausted that day?), I really try to spare you any unbearably forceful or schmaltzy stuff, and this “nothing at all” can mean pages and pages of deleted material, since I have to be practising emotional restraint until I can offer something maturely worthwhile in order to continue nurturing our connections in a balanced way.
In the meantime, when you see only silence on my part, please know that I remain immensely thankful for our heartfelt connections. Even when I feel so tired and small and invisible that I become too shy to even click on the Like button for a post of yours that has really moved me (and embarrassed at that, too, since you don’t have a crowd visiting from Greece in your stats), all that you share out of your hearts stays with me; I do feel your warmth and I am always sending you back my supportive thoughts. I know that each one of us is a key cell in the organism of humankind; we all have to keep this awareness in our hearts and to be lovingly responsible here where we have landed for a while, because the repercussions of our actions are eternal.
Moving on to the external level, there is this constant mortal threat for us here in Greece; what we are experiencing in our country is something you really do not hear much about, if at all. As we wrote to our dear Cheryl in an e-mail recently,
“Our whole career here in Greece (nothing ever beyond bare survival) is dead and gone, as is our whole country, only many do not realize this, thinking they can safely be a part of an unbelievably corrupt system. The two of us, like many people here who have been working only in the private sector, have never lived beyond our means, and still we have constantly-increasing debts due to the insane overtaxation imposed on us just for breathing here. We desperately look for various odd jobs trying to survive, but the Greeks are undesirable as employees in their own country due to insurance cost reasons, and we are not that young and fit anymore. We are really amidst a silent genocide the world knows nothing about. All mainstream media everywhere cover up the truth of just how ferociously the economy is used as a weapon against us. The numbers of worthy, honest people taking their own lives here are unbelievable, but no suicide-rate statistics are announced during these debt-crisis years, so that no one feels for the people here and prays for a balance to be restored. […] We sadly depend on the few scraps Plutonia’s parents are mockingly throwing us; and they are throwing us less and less. They relish our suffering and the fact that we will never create a family of our own, because they are really distorted and evil people; you can be certain we are not saying this light-heartedly, our sweet Cheryl. We have suffered unspeakably all our lives in an absolutely unsuited-for-our-natures socio-political climate, in which neither they or Leon’s parents ever meant to help us integrate; quite the contrary, we have been kept cut off from society in many invisibly sickening ways. […] We started blogging out of desperation, because we do not seem to have much time left in this life. We needed to connect with loving, compassionate, creative and spiritual people like yourself for the first time in our lives, so as not to lose our minds. We needed to explain our situation, find some understanding, and, in our turn, do everything in our power to maybe provide some loving support to some brothers and sisters out there who are suffering. […] But due to this unprecedented overtaxation imposed on the population here which leads to our amassing debts, we are not allowed to do anything for money anymore. […] The tax laws are extremely complicated and constantly becoming more and more destructive. We are among the many people here who are threatened with confiscations and imprisonment without ever having done anything illegal. This is a huge economic battlefield where more and more decent private-sector citizens are mercilessly slain. […] ‘Leon’ and ‘Plutonia’ are our blogging names. They do carry our personal vibrations and we strongly identify with them, but, although dozens of ISBNs are circulating with our real names, although we have translated so many fiction and non-fiction books, our real names cannot appear in any project anymore. We cannot even receive any donations via the Internet. Our empty bank account will soon be blocked lest something goes in it, to be immediately withdrawn for our ‘debts’ to be paid to the man-eating status quo. By all statistical probabilities, the system will get its way with us, too. We do not say this with fear, we deny to give them this pleasure, but the fact is that we are being treated as numbers, not as people, and that the silent genocide continues. We do not know if and how we will be able to deal with homelessness or imprisonment or whatever they are preparing for large numbers of innocent, downtrodden people here. If this is our final labor of love, if our activity in the blogosphere gets terminated and our web space freezes in time, we want to have left something of our hearts and souls that has made the world a more humane place. We already consider ourselves fulfilled for having astrally embraced with you, our sweet Cheryl, and a few more fellow humans.”
And Cheryl responded by telling us, among many other beautiful, soulful things,
“Thank you so much for the love you have, the gifts you have shared; and know that you, by whatever name you are called in this life, are known to myself and Spirit by the name of Light”.
Isn’t she the most amazing Cancer Sun lady? I have no doubt she has been sent into our lives to undo some of the destruction we have suffered in the hands of toxic, anti-nurturing Crabs. How can we ever express our gratitude strongly enough for waking up after a few hours sleep after that exchange (we cannot even rest enough anymore), but feeling more refreshed than we have felt for weeks, because we both dreamt we were in the physical company of fellow bloggers in our building’s parking lot? We have to be avoiding our neighbours, too, since we are unable to be paying our share of service charges for a long time now –more amassing debts there–, and although we know they do try to understand –most of them are kind people– they are still all minions of the corrupt system. How else could they survive and have families in this permanently-governed-by-traitors construct of a country that is modern Greece?
The remainder of this post is for my astrological star sister Casey The Sprightly Writer and about the immense beauty of our collective human experience, despite all our many challenges and sufferings.
The first thing that grabbed me in Casey’s blog was that smashing quote she has chosen to feature center-stage, so representative of our psyches, since we both landed in this world in the summer of 1970:
the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes ‘Awww!’ What did they call such young people in Goethe’s Germany?
~ Jack Kerouac, On The Road Again
As I write these lines, I just left a comment in her blog telling her: “Casey, I have to confess I am a little ashamed of myself. It has been weeks now since I told you I would be commenting again soon. You have left such long and deeply moving comments for me and Plutonia, and I (who am responsible for most of our English content) seem to have disappeared. Please know that out of sight is not out of mind in my case. The stories of yours I have already read and our spiritual kindredship have gotten me more and more inspired and soaring to heights that kept my words and worlds unfolding until that was no comment I could leave under any of your posts anymore. So, for the time being, allow me to invite you to our place for what has become an article in its own merit.”
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
~ Walt Whitman, Song of Myself
I probably wouldn’t have kept my sanity, my healthy pride and my desire to embrace life without the inspiration of people like Walt Whitman. “What’s that course you got yourself enrolled into again, my boy? Individual-ism and Society?” More on my father and the similarity with your grandfather a bit later. Of course there was no –ism suffix in the title of that course, but you understand what I, too, had to go through all my life and why I am here now cherishing you and everyone like you. The professor who taught us the “Individual and Society” course was another dear sister of mine, in some ways an outcast herself even within the academic community, and a great mentor, a lady more than two times my age then, who had a wild exotropic strabismus; too much eye-rolling due to the repulsiveness of social rules, I’d say, because she had not been born that way. The first time I walked into her office to thank her for the magnificent course she had designed on the Transcendentalists and all those unconventional people who have shaken our world, she left me standing there in front of her with my hand hovering in mid air without shaking it, staring at me for a while almost angrily with her one eye, speechlessly pulsating from head to toe with the thought, What on earth makes you so sure you understand what I am trying to teach here, young man? Do you believe you have the guts to handle the pressures of society uncompromisingly with ideas like these dancing around in your head? My hand had dropped, but the look in my smiling young eyes was, Oh, I do have a vague idea and I am ready to bring it on, dear wiser, kindred spirit. It’s OK if you don’t shake my hand yet, but you know we are communicating already. Now can we please sit down and open up our hearts to each other? And we sat down and we talked and talked and she even lent me a book from her personal library and, with just one more such personal visit in her office, she managed to instill so much faith in me and trust in life and in the prospect of my true brothers and sisters being somewhere out there in the big wide world. She also explained to me how she had been a yoga and meditation instructor who was disgusted with the falsehood in most of the so-called spiritual circles who show off levitation to mislead and enslave people, and she talked to me about all sorts of amazing things like our chakras and our astral bodies and life after death and all these ancient, timeless truths my mind and soul had always been burning for. She kept trying to touch on these subjects in class, too, in front of shamefully drowsy audiences, but in that School of English is also where I was blessed to find my fabulous, tortured Plutonia.
It has been one hell of a ride, blazing our trail through all this sociopolitical corruption for two decades now, and our downfall was so dramatic during the last debt-crisis years (“downfall” from the level of bare survival, mind you; don’t let this Leo Sun give you the impression we ever had a ball), our life force was almost completely quenched as I started struggling to set up a web presence from scratch with our ancient online computer, and make it on time so that we could at least symbolically be “Reborn on 2013 Winter Solstice” as our blog header says, because the Winter Solstice marks the rebirth of the Sun and the return of the Light. It was actually an act of desperation. That “silent Greek genocide” in our tagline and on our header is no fancy word play; the media report nothing of the extent of despair generated here by the plundering of our country. We have run out of survival options and our situation remains tragic. Still, we could never have imagined how our hearts would be literally reborn thanks to our connecting with a few amazing-in-their-sufferings people like yourself.
I am so happy you responded to this spark of mine from the other side of the planet. So far away and yet so close… “We are family and it has been lonely without knowing you were out there” was the first comment Cheryl Pennington left for me; she’s in our blogroll, too, with her Tropical Affair, a brilliant creative soul; a little more sweet-tempered than ourselves, not having known exactly our kind of social and family difficulties, but she is a sweet angel. Not that we are bitter devils though, Casey, there is nothing we should be torturing ourselves about, but it’s funny how I have also been known as “the crazy one”. I guess this is why the exuberance of your spirit is so warming to me; a classic case of like attracting like, and I suspect you are a fellow roarer? At least a Leo Mars for sure, and with all your collective planets at the same celestial positions with mine, you are a star sister to me alright. My spirit has always soared with this prominently-featuring-in-your-blog quote of Jack Kerouac’s. And this stunning Aquarius poet with his breathtaking St. Francis and the Sow I marveled at in my now-tattered Norton Anthology, where I also read and absolutely adored Kate Chopin’s The Awakening…
And you reminded me also of a similar piece of prose poetry I wrote myself in Greek back in those days, something in the spirit of the Transcendentalists’ glorious ideas of freedom which I don’t have anymore, but I remember it was something about a late-summer sunset on a hill and the mellow scent of the earth and this fragrant air filling up my lungs and making me explode with happiness and become the very air myself, getting breathed in through the pores of the leaves, traveling through warm trunks and wiggling roots and the vibrant soil and all the way back and up and out again from all trees and leaves at the same time into the fading sunrays, caressing the horizon and flying straight up and becoming the deepening hues in the sky and a prayer of stars all through the night and then the first songbird melodies and sparkling dewdrops on daybreak meadows…
Damn it! My heart is racing like crazy and crying out, was there no way we could have stopped them from chewing up our youth and spitting it out so sacrilegiously? How can we ever reclaim so much stolen sweetness? (I don’t think there are many young poets like Lily who can provide us with such a dazzlingly beautiful view into our dark night of the soul.) How can I become half my age and go study in the States and become a writer who will actually be able to make a living by sweeping people off their feet? There was no way my outrageously dysfunctional family would support me in anything in the Greek city where I was born, and I am still stuck in the same rotting area. They ruined my life to such a degree that although they are both gone for almost twenty years now, I am still barely surviving and still in the process of forgiving them, which is not made easier at all by the fact that Plutonia’s lifelong tormentors are still giving us real karmic hell now that Greece has been driven into the abyss, and especially this mother-in-law enemy of mine who is throwing us less and less scraps from the fat pension she has been receiving for decades now, only to be viciously claiming her pound of flesh, a possessed-Nazi version of the Shakespearean Shylock who always wanted her only child as an experiment and a toy for herself.
And while your grandfather, Casey, was working in the intelligence field during the Second World War, my father (yes, with our age difference he should have been my grandfather) was working with the Germans as an interpreter in the occupied Greece; I do not want to imagine how much collaboration went on there with all these pills he had been swallowing ever since, and the world has never known about the horrific scale of atrocities that took place in our cradle of civilization. Nice, huh? I don’t think we can ever comprehend the extent of brain control our folks were subjected to, or how their experiences are still influencing us. Influxus stellarum from the heavens, influxus bellum across spacetime on our planet. And now as we speak, our neighborhood is boiling again here in Eastern Europe and massive dark forces are at work trying to lead us into WWIII. The war never ends really, because “War is the father of all and king of all”, as Heraclitus said.
But; shall we really despair and accept that we should give up because we are under so many types of attacks simultaneously that we stand no chance of making any difference? No, till our last breath, no! Why? Because we are already making a huge difference, that’s why. Despite our experiences of excruciating pain, our hearts are beautiful and pure. Nothing else matters.
Casey, your blog is marvelously detoxifying. I have been crying my way through many your posts; tears of sadness, joy and appreciation. I adore your stories and the brilliant honesty of your spirit in all your ups and downs.
Plutonia is fully on your side, too, but I have monopolized our computer these days to make our suffering known. We are under constant bombardment with the reckless hatred of her since-years-and-years-addicted-to-anti-depressants-and-even-before-these-years-soul-sucking silent-generation “parents”. I am completely unable to save her, having no income anymore and no prospects for survival, and it’s devastating me. Yes, “they know not what they do”, you are right –and I am thankful that you, too, are trying to forgive–, I am certain the historical Jesus would have been absolutely amazing to meet in person, but these people are sociopaths like so many you have known, and “sociopaths” is only a clinical term; we are missing knowledge big time here about dark entities; all these substances are wreaking havoc in the human mind, fertilizing it for way-too-many not-so-cute parasites and opening gates for them to infest us, but this knowledge has been quietly put away under the “occult” label, and as of the organized religions, well, you have felt darn well how they burn, burn, burn to enlighten us about the God Within Us All that Jesus was talking about. So, I am here with my better half’s wholehearted encouragement, hoping to maybe warm the hearts of a few beautiful, tortured people in this world, before we all lose sight of our divine purpose, gratefully receiving your warmth back to see where our roads may lead us. Ah, our roads… Let us remain remorselessly faithful to the last three lines of Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Many blessings and much love,
So, have I expressed my gratitude to all of you strongly enough, at least for our first connection / karmic re-connection? Have your initial responses been equally heart-warming for me? I believe we all believe so. We have already recognized and honoured each other, because “There is so much I wanted to tell you but I didn’t” is not something we want to be regretting if anything happens to us before our time. The times we are living in are getting weirder and weirder. But we’ll all be here for a while, OK? We have so much to do with and for the people in our lives, and we have to make sure that – our – every – breath – counts. The long, perfect loveliness of Now…
With all this hot water welling up in my eyes, I so feel like immersing myself in the ecstatic Piscean voice waves of Josh Groban right now.
I am so sick and tired of being sick and tired, I have made up my mind about what I will be doing for the rest of my days here: help us be spreading, bit by bit, some serious amounts of love and healing; it may not be enough to lift all the burdens of the world at once, but it’s all we’ve got.
You Raise Me Up, each and every one of you:
Let us walk on these stormy seas together.
(And excuse me if I drown again; I will be doing my best to resurface.)
(Please scroll down to [EN] for the English text)
“Bevor dies erkannt werden konnte, bevor die innerste Abhängigkeit jeder Kunst von den Griechen, den Griechen von Homer bis auf Sokrates, überzeugend dargethan war, musste es uns mit diesen Griechen ergehen wie den Athenern mit Sokrates. Fast jede Zeit und Bildungsstufe hat einmal sich mit tiefem Missmuthe von den Griechen zu befreien gesucht, weil Angesichts derselben alles Selbstgeleistete, scheinbar völlig Originelle, und recht aufrichtig Bewunderte plötzlich Farbe und Leben zu verlieren schien und zur misslungenen Copie, ja zur Caricatur zusammenschrumpfte.
Und so bricht immer von Neuem einmal der herzliche Ingrimm gegen jenes anmaassliche Völkchen hervor das sich erkühnte, alles Nichteinheimische für alle Zeiten als “barbarisch” zu bezeichnen: wer sind jene, fragt man sich, die, obschon sie nur einen ephemeren historischen Glanz, nur lächerlich engbegrenzte Institutionen, nur eine zweifelhafte Tüchtigkeit der Sitte aufzuweisen haben und sogar mit hässlichen Lastern gekennzeichnet sind, doch die Würde und Sonderstellung unter den Völkern in Anspruch nehmen, die dem Genius unter der Masse zukommt? Leider war man nicht so glücklich den Schierlingsbecher zu finden, mit dem ein solches Wesen einfach abgethan werden konnte: denn alles Gift, das Neid, Verläumdung und Ingrimm in sich erzeugten, reichte nicht hin, jene selbstgenugsame Herrlichkeit zu vernichten.
Und so schämt und fürchtet man sich vor den Griechen; es sei denn, dass Einer die Wahrheit über alles achte und so sich auch diese Wahrheit einzugestehn wage, dass die Griechen unsere und jegliche Cultur als Wagenlenker in den Händen haben, dass aber fase immer Wagen und Pferde von zu geringem Stoffe und der Glorie ihrer Führer unangemessen sind, die dann es für einen Scherz erachten, ein solches Gespann in den Abgrund zu jagen: über den sie selbst, mit dem Sprunge des Achilles, hinwegsetzen.”
Die Geburt der Tragödie, Kapitel 15
Von Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche
“For this fact to be acknowledged, before it was established that all art inherently depended on the Greeks, from Homer right up to Socrates, we had to deal with these Greeks as the Athenians dealt with Socrates. Almost every age and cultural stage has at some time or another sought, in an ill-tempered frame of mind, to free itself of the Greeks, because in comparison with the Greeks, all their achievements, apparently fully original and admired in all sincerity, suddenly appeared to lose their colour and life and were reduced to unsuccessful copies, even caricatures.
And so a heartfelt inner anger constantly kept breaking out against that arrogant little nation which dared throughout time to define everything that was not produced in its own country as “barbaric”. Who were these Greeks, people asked themselves, who had achieved only an ephemeral historical glitter, only ridiculously restricted institutions, only an ambiguous competence in morality, who could even be identified with hateful vices, yet who had nevertheless taken a pre-eminent place among nations for their value and special importance, something fitted for a genius among the masses? Unfortunately people were not lucky enough to find the cup of hemlock which can do away with such a being, for all the poisons they created –envy, slander, and inner anger– were insufficient to destroy that self-satisfied magnificence.
Hence, confronted by the Greeks, people have been ashamed and afraid. It seems that an individual who values the truth above everything else might dare to propose as true the notion that the Greeks drive the chariot of our culture and every other one, but that almost always the wagon and the horses are inferior material and cannot match the glory of their drivers, who then consider it funny to whip such a team into the abyss, over which they themselves jump with a leap worthy of Achilles.”
The Birth of Tragedy, Chapter 15
By Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche
Dehumanization, Despair, Divine, Healing, Heroism, Hope, Humanity, Kazantzakis, Leon, Mystical, only Life, Organized religion, Posts in English, Poverty, Prayer, Scorpisces, Soul siblings, Special days, Twin Flames, Universal Love
I forgot what I came here for.
I never really knew,
because no one ever showed me.
And so I’m forgotten.
who don’t believe in ghosts,
because no one can touch anyone.
© Leon of Solitary Thinkers, November 1992
“You have tapped the source”, the visiting professor Christopher Bakken wrote down beneath my Haunted Castle back in 1993, when I requested his opinion on a few poetic sufferings of mine. We connected as members of one spiritual family with this philhellene poet. An atrium wall in the old building of the Faculty of Philosophy must still be holding these lines beneath a layer of paint or two, and here they are now for everyone to reflect upon. During that semester in the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, Christopher also gave me a straight A for my analysis of the role of death and the afterlife in Emily Dickinson’s poetry. The title of this very first post of mine is actually a paraphrase of an Emily Dickinson favorite.
Haunted. Ghosts. Death. Forebodings of what was to befall this ancient Hellenic land once again.
During that same year I met my beautiful fellow ghost Plutonia. We shared each others’ heavy load and we gradually became a well-known translating and writing team, but painstakingly selected words matter less and less in the book market oligopsony we had been serving for almost two decades. In this line of trade, oligopsony (ολιγοψώνιο, “[a market form where only] a few purchase”) means that the number of buyers of translation services (the powerful publishers) is very small, while the number of external suppliers (translators) is large, the result being that the deeper thinkers like ourselves not only had to be working our heads off producing the most demanding fiction and non-fiction books within irrational deadlines (irrational, that is, for the outstanding quality that was expected from and delivered by us each and every time), but also to compete with low prices to our own annihilation, because everybody here takes it for granted that you have at least one nice and caring family to support you.
And now the majority of the Greek people can hardly afford to buy enough food anymore, let alone books. The South has once again been manipulated into guilt and cannibalism. Depression has set in and the silent genocide is escalating. Everything in our region is being burned to the ground and debts are frantically piling up even –and especially!– for those who have never lived beyond their means, because these are debts created by a mean and absurd overtaxation. Politicians hate the people they are supposed to represent. Injustice, lawlessness and shamelessness against the weak and the already downtrodden are running rampant. People beg to become slaves in order to survive, but there are “jobs” only for the mindless and ignorant herd connected to the higher places. The decent Greeks with no connections are the first led to despair, they beg outside the supermarkets for their children’s next meal until they fall sick and cannot afford any medicine or food, homelessness is skyrocketing, there is no social housing, the too few charities are preyed on by profiteers and organized religion thrives on our mass suffering. More and more people are dying around us every day with no mention in any mainstream media and in any statistics, lest our colony’s seeming peace is disturbed and the vulture fund investors are put off by the sheer extent of this sui-killing thing; aliorumcide it should be called, because this caedere has nothing to do with sui. This covered-up mass killing of an entire nation who have been lured into a pseudo-prosperity and then pushed to their limits in order to start tearing up each other’s flesh, is speeding up in order for the cradle of Europe to be turned into something new, devoid even of the distorted shadows of its ancient language, wisdom and humanitarian civilization.
Plutonia and myself are not ready to join the souls of the innocent dead just yet. During the time that is left to us, we will be sharing awareness and connecting with members of our global family who feel the need to work through compassion on the etheric level, to think together for our sacredness and against the exercise of tyrannical power. So no small talk here. No pretentious talk. The cerebral and the emotional will be harmoniously united. Whatever will be said through this blog will be minuscule compared to what will be felt – and that means something from two people who are passionate about the art of writing. In order for this fellowship to be communicating through words meaningfully and effectively, let us be meditating on the essence beyond words, on how we need each other in order to reclaim our enthusiasm, literally our “being inhabited by gods” (ἔνθεος in Greek meaning “inhabited by a god”), because we all partake in the creator’s divine nature, exactly the reason why our life’s force attracts parasitic entities (παράσιτος: “person eating uninvited at another’s table”). We need each other in order to heal our souls, so that we can face our passing with style when our time comes. Not earlier. ‘Please try to stay on this planet with me. I know it’s too hard. But we’re here doing “too hard” together’, says Willow in these last paragraphs below the hilarious horse-picture in her Willow’s Web Astrology blogspot. Please support this Canadian sister of ours for her dedication in keeping our collective soul alive and sparkling.
We have no ulterior motive in speaking for Willow the “friendly anarchist astro-reporter”. She is a Hades sister of ours, Plutonia being a less-than-favourably-aspected twelfth-house Moon-Plutonian, and me having strong Scorpionic influences and a chart-ruling Saturn t-squaring my high-powered midheaven system. We do not know Willow personally and we cannot pay for her much-needed services and her valuable insights, having had our life’s work as translators and writers tragically undervalued in this materialistic publishing climate in the horrifically engineered decadence of modern Greece. But we are speaking for Willow, because we are happy to have her among us; we are happy and proud for all these rare and authentic, humanity-serving, extremely-crucial-for-the-balance-of-forces and exactly therefore shamelessly defamed Anarchs in the true sense of the word. This very word is devilishly distorted in all languages, and it is my mission as a human translator (that is, a bridge builder) and a holistic linguist (a healer of and through words), to help us retrain ourselves to stop forcing intelligent people into defending themselves for what they are. They and we cannot afford wasting their precious time.
Anarch. Ἄναρχος in ancient Greek, the mother of most intelligent languages, is an adjectival noun for “God”. It literally means “the one who has no beginning”, no ἀρχή. So ἀρχή means “beginning”, but it also means “authority”, and from this meaning derives the adjective corresponding to the human level, namely the word ἀναρχικός or anarchist, which analogously means “the one who does not accept the authority of lesser entities”. Every time the ἔτυμον (etymon), “the initial root and the authentic meaning” (what etymology is all about) of a word like anarchist or democracy or politics gets either misused or abused because it has been either lost or twisted around under the all-hallowing scientific justification that it is natural and healthy for language to evolve through its use (as natural and healthy it is for our biological soul-vehicles to be stuffed with genetically modified plant and animal soul-vehicles until we become compliant consumers of purely synthetic anti-nourishment and unknowing agents of dark rituals), the purposefully uneducated human masses become more and more cancerous to the planet, more and more enslaved to the devils of this world, to the διαβολείς, literally to “the ones who divide” so that they can be condemning us to the pits of Hades, ᾍδης meaning “the Invisible”, my Haunted Castle kind of place.
Notice that I am using the word devils and not demons or daemons. The δαίμονες (singular δαίμων) during the Antiquity were divine beings who were highly revered for sharing out fate to the mortals. The noun δαίμων derives from the verb δαίομαι, which means exactly “to share out” and it has nothing to do with evil (like the symbol of the swastika has nothing to do with evil in so many civilizations –swastika in Sanskrit meaning “it is good”-, a symbol which was reversed by the occultist Nazi regime to bring chaos). The balance of the cosmos (κόσμος: “orderly arrangement, ornament”) requires that everybody receives their fair share of fate, and there could be no such term and state of affairs as demonic possession in ancient Greece, because the daemons were divine regulators and not interested in messing up our lives at all. Of course all sorts of evil forces have always been following and pestering this planet (πλανήτης: “wanderer”), but with the construction of Christianity in the course of much less than two millennia, the propaganda of the evil ones against the regulating forces has gone over the top in the Greek-speaking world, and consequently everywhere, since we all use Greek words all the time, because they are the most intrinsically meaningful building blocks for our global communication. The great German physicist Werner Heisenberg declared that “studying the Ancient Greek language was for me the most important intellectual exercise; there is, in this language, a perfect correspondence between the word and its notional content”.
Moreover, the Greek alphabet is also an arithmetical system, because the letters of the Greek alphabet are not just letters, but numbers at the same time, units of intrinsic numerical values making up a system on which the profoundly mystical Pythagorean mathematics are based (which has nothing to do with the Gematria-based Western numerology systems known nowadays). Every Greek word has a unique lexarithm (λέξις meaning “word” and ἀριθμός “number”), a value which is the total sum of the values of its letters. The word ΛΕΩΝ, for example, has the lexarithmic value of 885 (30+5+800+50), and ΠΛΟΥΤΩΝΙΑ 1741 (80+30+70+400+300+800+50+10+1). The implications of the lexarithmic intelligence of the Greek language are staggering. Here is a quick-reference table of correspondences we created to be using for some of our book-translation assignments. As far as the Arabic and the Roman numerals are concerned, it is evident that that these are not the letters of the Arabic and Latin alphabets, but only arbitrary symbols.
Picking up the thread. Daemons were the divine regulators who were sharing out fate to the mortals. The word δαίμων, like many others, has had its meaning usurped and reversed through systematic catechism by the Christian religion (the historical Jesus –and any enlightened individual, for that matter– has nothing to do with organized religion), and thus we have been neurolinguistically programmed to be sending away our own allies. Why do the devils, the real evil ones –devil and evil have no common origin; we saw διαβολείς, “the ones who divide”, and evil is of Germanic origin: uvel > German übel: “bad, foul”–, why do these devils bother to disguise themselves as pro-human to be programming us to be sending away our own allies? Because they are well aware of the fact that they destroy everything good and beautiful in this world, and that their fair share of fate will be harsh; they try to avoid punishment by tricking even us, their cattle and minor regulators, into forgiving them altogether so that they will be attracting no higher attention. If we fall for it, there goes our spiritual combativeness; instead, we are led to channel our aggressive urges into fighting amongst yourselves, so that the parasitic devils can suck in all this coarse energy and get well-fed. This is the tricky thing with all organized religions of the “good” and their do-as-we-say-and-heaven-is-guaranteed-for-you dogmas or with the New Age happy-happy-pastel-paint-our-Mother-Gaia pacifiers: the shortcut-to-happiness trap. Don’t you want to be a part of our eternal-bliss web? Gotcha baby! Now try to wiggle yourself out of this one!
They are missing something, though, these black-souled tormentors of ours: we are not here for their pleasure; we are not here to be serving them until we get sucked dry of our life force. And they are not going to get what they demand, because we are not here to hate them, either, or to feed them with our fear. They can knock themselves out playing innocent and thinking they can get away with it. As the greatest modern Greek philosopher, writer and poet Nikos Kazantzakis put it: “There is a mystic law in this world (for if there were not, this world would have been annihilated thousands of years ago), a harsh, inviolable law: in the beginning, evil always triumphs, and in the end it is always vanquished”.
What we are here for, is to honor each other and to help each other regain our freedom. As long as we do not fear what we cannot see, the experience of Hades “the Invisible” is instructive, as is confirmed by the teachings of both astrology and mythology (the real history behind “History”, that is). The name Hades, which has become more common as the name of the underworld as a place, is in ancient Greek mythology the earlier name for the god Πλοῦτων, Pluton, which represents a more positive concept of the god who presides over the afterlife, because the noun πλοῦτος (from the verb πλέω: “flow”) means “affluence, free flow of earthly goods”. Thus Pluto is a god of wealth, because underground there is an abundance of mineral wealth. To the philosopher Plato, the god of the underworld was an agent in the beneficent cycle of death and rebirth. So in the long term there is really nothing to be afraid of for those of us who are suffering on this level. Do not ever let anyone manipulate you into believing you are doing something wrong and are being punished for some God-repulsing sins. Let us face our life lessons with courage and gratitude and cherish each other with all our temporary imperfections until, having completed our incarnation cycles, we return to the source Christopher Bakken was writing to me about almost twenty one years ago, before even he himself had realized his life path.
Approaching full circle in this post. Thank you for bearing with me.
Christopher’s life path offers a brilliant case study of how words actually shape our destinies. This poet’s favorite subject is Greece, culturally, historically and mythologically. How did it come to this? No, not the circumstances; these are just the props of our lives, not the real us. A Norwegian-Swiss Wisconsin-born and -raised dairy-farm boy was given a Greek birth name! The compounds of Χριστοφόρος mean “the one bearing the anointed one”. Far from any shallow religiosity, this mystical meaning in the poet’s case can only be paraphrased as “the present incarnation bearing the mark of the previous one”. A fragment of the Hellenic Soul coming home. The veil between Christopher and the Light of Hellas has apparently been very thin in his present lifetime, which is why he so naturally basks in it. The physical vibration of his name is not the only link in this chain of karmic causation, but the unmistakable navigational tool that explains the attraction of his soul. Such is the power of names, that ὃς ἂν τὰ ὀνόματα εἰδῇ εἴσεται καὶ τὰ πράγματα: “he who knows the names knows also the things” (Socrates, in Plato’s Cratylus). It was an honor and joy knowing Christopher Bakken, and I am grateful to him for passing on the Light, now that the unholy forces are working to brutally quench it once again through politics for those of us still breathing on these sacred grounds. Even if we cannot meet in the flesh again on this level, like Willow and her Wendy have not been able to, we are spiritual kin, and we will meet again. As the 12th century Persian mystic and poet Jalaluddin Rumi puts it: “Everything you see has its roots in the unseen world; the forms may change, yet the essence remains the same. Every wonderful sight will vanish, every sweet word will fade, but do not be disheartened; the source they come from is eternal, growing, branching out, giving new life and joy. So why do you weep? The source is within you and this whole cosmos is springing up from it”.
Full circle. This post’s title. Emily Dickinson, too, goes through Hades and writes some of the finest poems in the English language. Titleless, all of them. She refuses to name them, lest some lesser entities snatch away their meanings from us; they are usually referred to by the first line, and here is the one I paraphrased. Poetry cannot get any more timelessly breathtaking. Savour it. Through words. Beyond words. Feel it deep within your heart and let healing tears flow down your face. We are all carriers of the divine spark who cannot stop for Death.
Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
Or rather, he passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.
We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
Since then ’tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity.
Thank you all so very much, dear sisters and brothers. Although the Wheel of Fortune is stuck with the two of us at the bottom for so many agonizing years, maybe it is not too late for a little nudge upwards, now that we have finally found our way out of our complete social solitude. We cannot fight this war on our own. Please do send some prayers this way.
Bowing to the divinity in each of you,