Warriors of The Numinous Way


Reichsfolk – Warriors of The Numinous Way

There is a tradition – some say a legend – of those who return, time and time again, when the need for them arises.

” When justice is trampled down; when dishonour is triumphant, then I return. For, in defence of what is honourable, for the destruction of the unjust and ignoble, for the sake of re-establishing justice and honour, I am reborn from Aeon to Aeon…”[Bhagavad-Gita, 4.7-8 ]

Such are those individual warriors who live and who die by an unchanging, unchangeable, unbreakable, Code of Honour – their natural enemies all dishonourable ones and all those who adhere to the tyranny of impersonal abstractions.

Thus are we – we warriors, guardians, of The Numen – given strength from the immortal balance, the gift, that is personal Honour itself.

Thus are we, being individual, renewed every generation by the presencing of the Numen that is our personal honour; nexion to our evolving Cosmos, beyond.

Thus are we, these individual warriors, in this continuity of individual immortality, undefeatable through Cosmic Time by tyrants, enshrined now alas as such tyranny is in our current Magian foe who by their hatred and creepy shyster cleverness seek to undermine and replace the numinous with their own self-serving material, ignoble, de-evolutionary abstractions.

And thus do those of dishonour, the ignoble ones, seek generation after generation of pliant selfish subjects lost as them to honour, since such subjects of selfhood are the very blood that keeps their own inner and outer dishonour and arrogance alive. For without such minions they, the ignoble ones, would wither and die – honour the weapon to weaken then destroy them. Honour the inoculation to the disease they are.

And always this battle reigns – generation after generation, Aeon following Aeon, until such causal Time as Earth is cleansed of this sub-human species that so seeks to so infect then enslave us.

Thus do and will we honourable guardians of the Numen live and die by our Code of Honour since this our living and this our dying are the very evolution of the Cosmos itself –  genesis of that individual freedom and that individual learning from experience which is the essence of true inner wisdom, the gift of Life that we bequeath.

Thus are we, as warriors of the Numen, trained individually – our untraceable uniqueness a cloak to hide us until that time for our ecstasy of combat arise.

And thus do our ignoble Magian foe with their allies in their ignoble hatred seek to track us down; to humiliate, torture, imprison, and kill us, and thus will they sometimes succeed – one death their pleasure: our mourning but never never ever in vain.

For the flow of the Numen is the flow that flows onwards yet always within: our death one nexion to presence such strength as Aeons always so steadily grow: one warrior one necessary part of the flow, our sacrifice genesis of rebirth since we, they, live – are – the very nexus that is and was and will be their, our, presencing of The Numen, generation after generation – for they are us as we are them, no separation of selfish self to so divide us all. Thus they, we, do not, will not and cannot die. Their life our Life, your life our Life, Aeon after Aeon.

For we are the Cosmos, birthing to conciousness – fluxion of evolution that shall seed us to live among the stars.

How, then, are we few in our evolving majority born? By living and dying by our so singular Code of Honour. Our gift of beauty to dwellers on Earth.

How, then, are we trained? From one unknown, un-named, Initiate to another – or by ourselves when we decide by that seeking of arête to live by that Way which is Honour which so then becomes that presencing to gift our life with Life. Your joy our joy, one warrior to another.

And we have no Creed except this, our Honour. No organization except that presenced in us by such an honourable living when Death comes before Dishonour.

Thus are we – will be, have been – scourge to all that seeks to stifle the Cosmos that dwells, latent, seeping, waiting within, whether we know it or not, whether we feel it or not, and mostly we neither so feel nor know, until Honour comes to claim and keep us, still.

Thus are we reborn Aeon following Aeon, always needed until our fluxion of evolution presenced by both our living and our dying betakes us to seed ourselves among the stars.

And if there is a Mystery, a Mysterium, then it is this.

122 yf

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