“I am more concerned with knowing God than being known.” Thank you for blessing my heart and Plutonia’s through mine, Hayley. I feel your gratitude and I know that in all circumstances, we will be staying in and passing on Heaven’s embrace. Know You is a gem of a first recorded song, your voice a divine gift as is dearest Jon’s musicianship, the very presence of you both one constant prayer.
Red Letters from the heart of England, everyone: Jon & Hayley! “We are passionate about Jesus and live to worship Him alone. Nothing else in this world can satisfy.” As for following Hayley’s blog, “I post as and when and only when I believe it will encourage and inspire my readers. I believe in quality over quantity. […] My writings tend to be reflective of what God is doing in my heart and speaking to me about.”
God bless you all.
There was a very difficult period in my life when I felt so incredibly lost and lonely and I didn’t know which direction to turn.
I was suffering from acute anxiety that was crippling me in areas of my everyday life.
To look at me I was the picture of health but inside I was a mess and completely lost.
It wasn’t until I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Saviour that I truly discovered who I was and ‘found myself’ and found fulfillment in Him.
Jesus desired for me to know Him in the same way that He knew me.
Below are lyrics to part of the chorus of the song ‘Know you’:
I was lost but you came to find me
Leaving the many you would come to draw me back to you
I was empty but you came and filled me
In love you opened up my…
View original post 288 more words
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
* * *
Not without fight
is one voice
to find one more
lose count of blessings
while running in trenches
fear, hate, shells flying around
They had bombarded us apart
but since that cold ’94 day
won’t let go each other’s hand
High love is punished here
they’ll cross, spiritual even,
manipulating, crippling you
abhorring karmic reunions
Smile in their face, rise above
these faithless murderers.
Illusions, lies, norms
lighting up heavens
Love’s glory fast revealed
No soul cut-off from Oneness
each one a timeless sacred flame
each silent effort heals all worlds
I n f i n i t y S u f f u s e U s
Come, keep it up my Love
spark all hearts alive
let bliss soar high
Leon of SolitaryThinkers,
November 12, 2015
November 12, 1994
After countless battles, the fiercest yet to come,
Leon and Plutonia are forever reunited.
I knew this gorgeous girl from my dreams.
Daughter of Aries,
Queen of Hades,
all rolled up in one.
I had been crying for her for so long,
praying my heart out for her to cross the beyond,
for us to meet above all veils of lies,
and now finally here she was,
standing in front of me, staring at me,
the campus around us fading away.
They were gleaming in her eyes,
the universes we were to traverse,
and she saw me just as clearly herself.
Her Brighteyes, she called me,
she who had the glow of an elf.
She is the One
who still holds
my heart’s keys.
I am the Lion
in her dreams.
I Love You, Plutonia, beyond thought and all time.
I Love You through my deep core of bright light divine.
Nothing can divide us with Eternity on our side.
Amore, solo amore ė quello che sento per te… per sempre!
((( Leon ❤ ❤ Plutonia )))
* * *
* * * *
The outcry is deafening, even if it’s only the eyes doing the screaming. Stoic eyes, angry eyes, fearful eyes, defiant eyes. You see them everywhere. You see them in the endless queues in front of the ATMs, where people, patiently and anxiously at the same time, are waiting to withdraw those few precious banknotes that will ensure basic survival for themselves and their loved ones for one more day. You see them in the supermarkets, where those precious banknotes are exchanged, often with slightly trembling hands, for groceries, maybe even at a gas station that still has some fuel to offer, cash only of course, filling up their cars.
And this is about it. Then you see them no more. Empty streets and silence. Only that haunting whisper remains: What is to become of us?
Summer of 2015. Welcome to Greece, the perfect holiday resort. Great weather, beautiful beaches, glorious mountains. But where did all the Greeks go? To the pits of Hell.
Ever since last Sunday, the storm clouds that had been gathering for so long now, finally broke out into one perfect storm. Financial lockdown. The final strangulation of an entire nation that is being brought to its knees.
I will not concern myself here with the reasons for all of this, the debate would be endless and pointless. Sure, pointing the finger is easy, but do you really believe that you know the entire truth, when you feel compelled to put the blame on someone?
I can only describe what I see, and try very hard not to lose heart.
Old people, old, frail and often sick people are being driven like cattle under close police watch into a few selected bank branches to collect all in all 120 Euros from their pensions or savings for the entire week, just because they don’t possess an ATM card out of fear or mistrust for the use of ATMs. In some cases their pensions have not even been paid yet into their accounts and they return home empty-handed. The rest of us are allowed to withdraw 60 Euros per day, oops, I’m sorry, I meant 50 Euros, as 20 Euro bills have already become a rare sight in most ATMs. If, of course, we have any savings left, if our employer has been able to pay us our salary, if we even have a job.
Money transfers to and from other countries have ceased completely, leaving thousands of Greeks, students, travellers, patients undergoing treatment in foreign hospitals stranded abroad without any access to cash or even the use of credit and debit cards issued by Greek banks. Those in Greece who are totally dependent on money transfers from relatives living and working abroad or foreign pension funds are also left to fend for themselves, as Greek banks don’t have enough cash reserves to satisfy demand, even with those tight withdrawal limits. According to various statements off the record, cash flow from the ATMs will most probably stop by Monday, sending even more shockwaves to the system. Money is just being recycled within the borders of our country, creating a false sense of normality, while banks announced on Thursday that they will be now accepting cash deposits for tax payments and the like only! Sure, we all are supposed to be hiding billions of cash under our mattresses, our personal “Stroma Bank” which Greeks are bitterly joking about, “stroma” being the Greek word for mattress.
Commercial and financial activity has broken down to a total deadlock. Greater and smaller business are unable to keep up their work cycles without access to their bank accounts and with their materials running out fast, employees are asked to stay at home without any pay, suppliers cannot be paid anymore, imports and exports have stopped and it is only a matter of days before shortages in food and other commodities starts getting more noticeable with subsequent price increases. Pharmacies have already begun rationing pharmaceutical drugs, life-saving treatments are being broken off, the national healthcare system that has been crumbling for so long, is now collapsing. Remote regions of the country are facing serious fuel shortage as gas stations just cannot refill their tanks. A supplementary economy such as that of Greece cannot survive in a globalized environment without the necessary imports for almost every aspect of everyday life, as the productive basis of the country was destroyed decades ago, and even food production, in an otherwise blessed-with-an-almost-perfect-climate-and-rich-soil-to-grow-literally-anything country cannot cover the needs of the entire population. Hellas, the country of eternal light, is in immediate danger of going hungry on a large scale.
And today, on July 5th, we are being asked to choose. The referendum is underway, and millions of seriously traumatised and disturbed people are asked to act rationally, to demonstrate sound judgment, when all the while a divisive wedge has been driven deeply into the very core of an innately peaceful nation. For five years now, the Greeks have been collectively bashed, ridiculed, insulted, humiliated. This has resulted in mutual feelings of being exploited and threatened with the rest of Europe. We are being perceived as crooks and blackmailers, they are being perceived as cold-blooded assassins. No common ground anymore. In certain parts of Greek society the initial sense of despair and indignation has mutated into an all-devouring rage and the tormented ones are about to turn into tormentors. All this has been witnessed again before, with devastating results, when another nation, another people, to whom I am also deeply connected by blood, was pushed over the edge, bringing forth from its ranks a dictator that drenched the entire world in blood. Size and military strength don’t always play such a crucial role, sometimes all it takes is just a tiny spark.
In times such as these, when everyone feels darkness and madness prevailing, I am greatly blessed to be engulfed in my very own ray of hope.
Leon, light of my life, song of my soul, you are the one reason that I do not falter, that I keep on fighting, that I keep on believing. The warm embrace of your arms, the tender touch of your lips, the loving blaze in your eyes, those very same eyes that so powerfully compelled me to call you my Brighteyes when our young hearts connected for the first time, the whole of you sustains me, warms me, empowers me. We have been through so much together, side by side we have fought and won uncountable wars and still the sensation of my hand inside yours thrills me like the very first time. So many times they tried to break us up. They failed. So many times the world came tumbling down on us. We managed to go on. With you on my side, I know that we will also weather this storm out. We will prevail. In this lifetime or the next. You have my love, purely, absolutely. Always and forever.
Plutonia of SolitaryThinkers, July 2015
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,