Perhaps the notion of the irrevocable ‘existence’ of the past is of little consolation to those tormented by nostalgia for happy times, lived or imagined. Time refuses to suspend its flight at the plea of the poet enamoured of fleeting beauty—whether it be an hour of silent communion with the beloved woman (and, through her, and beyond her, with the harmony of the spheres), or an hour of glory, i.e. communion, in the glare of fanfares or the thunder of arms, or the roar of frenzied crowds, with the soul of a whole people and, through it and beyond it, again and again, with the Divine: another aspect of the Divine.
It is possible, sometimes, and usually without any special effort of memory, to relive, as if in a flash, a moment of one’s own past and with incredible intensity, as if one’s self-consciousness were suddenly hallucinated without the senses being the least bit affected. A small thing—a taste, very present, like that of the petite Madeleine cited by Proust in his famous analysis of reliving; a furtive odour, once breathed in; a melody that one had thought forgotten, a simple sound like that of water falling drop by drop—is enough to put, for an instant, the consciousness in a state that it ‘knows’ to be the same as the one it knew, years and sometimes decades, more than half a century earlier; a state of euphoria or anxiety, or even anguish, depending on the moment that has miraculously re-emerged from the mist of the past: a moment that had not ceased to ‘exist’ in the manner of things past, but which suddenly takes on the sharpness and relief of the present, as if a mysterious spotlight directed the daylight of the living actuality.
But these experiences are rare. And if it is possible to evoke them, they do not last long, even in very capable people of evoking their memories. Moreover, they only concern—except in very exceptional cases—the personal past of the person who ‘revives’ such a state or such an episode, not the historical past.
Yet there are people who are much more interested in the history of their people—or even that of other people—than in their own past. And although scholars, whose job it is to do so, succeed in reconstructing as best they can, from relics and documents, what at first sight appears to be the ‘essentials’ of history, and although some scholars sometimes astonish their readers or listeners by the number and thoroughness of the details they know about the habits of a particular character, the intrigues of a particular chancellery, or the daily life of such and such a vanished people, it is no less certain that the past of the civilised world—the easiest to grasp, however, since it has left visible traces—escapes us.
We know it indirectly and in bits and pieces, that our investigators try to put together, like a game of patience in which half or three-quarters of the puzzle are missing. And even if we possessed all the elements, we would still not know it, because to know is to live, or re-live, and no individual subjected to the category of Time can live history. What this individual can, at most, know directly, that is to say, live, and what he can then remember, sometimes with incredible clarity, is the history of his time insofar as he himself has contributed to making it; in other words, his own history, situated in a whole that exceeds it and often crushes it.
This is undoubtedly a truer story than the one that scholars will one day reconstruct. For what appears to be the ‘essence’ of an epoch, studied through documents and remains, is not. What is essential is the atmosphere of an epoch, or a moment within it: the atmosphere that can only be grasped through the direct experience of someone who lived it: one whose personal history is steeped in it. Guy Sajer, in his admirable book The Forgotten Soldier, has given us the essence of the Russian campaign from 1941 to 1945.
______ 卐 ______
Editor’s Note: This is absolutely true. One of the reasons why I prefer lucid essays like the one by Evropa Soberana on the Judean war against Rome (the masthead of this site) to the scholarly book that Karlheinz Deschner wrote about that epoch, is that Soberana transports us to that world—as in another literary genre Gore Vidal’s Julian has transported us to 4th-century Rome. Academic books are extremely misleading in that they don’t transport us back in time. We desperately need the visuals of what happened. That’s why I like the metaphor of the last greenseer, Bloodraven: the man fused to a tree that could see the past.
______ 卐 ______
He was able to put in his pages such a force of suggestion, precisely because, along with thousands of others in this campaign of Russia in the ranks of the Wehrmacht, then in the elite Grossdeutschland Division, it represents a slice of his own life.
When, three thousand years from now, historians want to have an idea of what the Second World War was like on this particular front, they will get a much better idea by reading Sajer’s book (which deserves to survive) than by trying to reconstruct, with the help of sporadic impersonal documents, the advance and retreat of the Reich’s armies. But, I repeat, they will acquire an idea of it, not a knowledge, much in the way we have one today of the decline of Egypt on the international scene at the end of the 20th Dynasty, through what remains of the juicy report of Wenamon, special envoy of Ramses XI (or rather of the high priest Herihor) to Zakarbaal, king of Gebal, or Gubla, which the Greeks call Byblos, in 1117 BC.
Nothing gives us a more intense experience of what I have called in other writings the ‘bondage of Time’ than this impossibility of letting our ‘self’ travel in the historical past that we have not lived, and of which we cannot therefore ‘remember’. Nothing makes us feel our isolation within our own epoch like our inability to live directly, at will, in some other time, in some other country; to travel in time as we travel in space.
We can visit the whole earth as it is today, but not see it as it once was. We cannot, for instance, actually immerse ourselves in the atmosphere of the temple of Karnak—or even only one street in Thebes—under Themose III; to find ourselves in Babylon at the time of Hammurabi, or with the Aryas before they left the old Arctic homeland; or among the artists painting the frescoes in the caves of Lascaux or Altamira, as we have somewhere in the world in our own epoch, having travelled there on foot or by car, by train, by boat or by plane.
And this impression of a definitive barrier—which lets us divine some outlines but prohibits us forever a more precise vision—is all the more painful, perhaps, because the civilisation we would like to know directly is chronologically closer to us, while being qualitatively more different from the one in whose midst we are forced to remain.
______ 卐 ______
Editor’s Note: In my fantasy that such a thing as the Wall existed, and have the last greenseer as our tutor, I imagine that I would spend an inordinate amount of time visiting ancient Sparta, and other cities where the Norse race remained unpolluted for centuries.
I would visit all the temples of classical religion not only in Greece but in Rome, trying to capture through their art the Aryan spirit in its noblest expression.
But above all I would pay close attention to the human physiognomy of living characters before they mixed their blood with mudbloods.

Only he who actually sees the past as it was, has a good grasp of History.

The saddest thing of all is that pure Nordids still exist, but the current System is doing everything possible to exterminate them (as in Song of Ice and Fire the children of the forest was a species on the verge of extinction).
______ 卐 ______
History has always fascinated me: the history of the whole world, in all its richness. But it is particularly painful for me to know that I’ll never be able to know pre-Columbian America directly… by going to live there for a while; that it will never again be possible to see Tenochtitlan, or Cuzco, as the Spaniards first saw them, four hundred and fifty years ago, or less, that is to say yesterday. As a teenager, I cursed the conquerors who changed the face of the New World. I wished that no one had discovered it so that it would remain intact. Then we could have known it without going back in time; we could have known it as it was on the eve of the conquest, or rather as a natural evolution would have modified it little by little over four or five centuries, without destroying its characteristic traits.
But it goes without saying that my real torment, since the disaster of 1945, has been the knowledge that it is now impossible for me to have any direct experience of the atmosphere of the German Third Reich, in which I did not, alas, live.
Believing that it was to last indefinitely—that there would be no war or that, if there were, Hitlerian Germany would emerge victorious—I had the false impression that there was no hurry to return to Europe and that, moreover, I was useful to the Aryan cause where I was.
Now that it is all over, I think with bitterness that only thirty years ago[1] one could immerse oneself immediately, without the intermediary of texts, pictures, records, or comrades’ stories, in that atmosphere of fervour and order, of power and manly beauty, that of Hitlerian civilisation. Thirty years! It is not ‘yesterday’, it is today: a few minutes ago. And I have the feeling that I have missed very closely both the life and the death—the glorious death, in the service of our Führer—that should have been mine.
But one cannot ‘go back’ five minutes, let alone 1500 years or 500 million years, into the unalterable past, now transformed into ‘eternity’—timeless existence. And it is as impossible to attend the National Socialist Party Congress of September 1935 today as it is to walk the earth at the time when it seemed to have become forever the domain of the dinosaurs… except for one of those very few sages who have, through asceticism and the transposition of consciousness, freed themselves from the bonds of time.
______ 卐 ______
Editor’s Note: ‘I saw your birth, and that of your lord father before you. I saw your first step, heard your first word, was part of your first dream. I was watching when you fell. And now you are come to me at last, Brandon Stark, though the hour is late’…
‘Time is different for a tree than for a man. Sun and soil and water, these are the things a weirwood understands, not days and years and centuries. For men, time is a river. We are trapped in its flow, hurtling from past to present, always in the same direction. The lives of trees are different. They root and grow and die in one place, and that river does not move them. The oak is the acorn, the acorn is the oak’ (Boodraven to his pupil in George R.R. Martin’s A Dance with Dragons).
[1] This was written in 1969 or 1970.
About the commenters
This recent discussion with one of the biggest fans of this site motivated me this morning to think on the subject.
If there is one thing that has wasted my time, it is arguing with people with whom I should never, ever have argued. For example, the referred commenter, using the pen name he uses in the comments section of The Unz Review, said earlier this year: ‘The USSR withered because they did not push for the racial replacement of Germany—by Russians’.
It was because of things like that that for a long time I prevented the vast majority of his comments from passing here.
But the aforementioned commenter, who describes himself as Russian, is not alone. In the past, a Romanian whom I also prohibited from commenting here said that he didn’t give a damn about the suffering of millions of Germans in the war and, paradoxically, in other respects he spoke like a National Socialist.
It sounds like schizophrenia, but these types of people have been very common on this site and elsewhere.
I confess that, in my great frustration with them and three other smart commenters, I have filled many pages of my diaries since 2018. There is no point in exhuming those private diaries except to say that I sometimes feel like George Lincoln Rockwell, who tells how he admitted a half-naked Aryan (a homeless?) to his group and later he became an excellent element. But there was a dark side to that tactic, as another unhinged individual within Rockwell’s group of outcasts was the one who shot him…
In December I said that only those who thought like the SS could comment on this site. I forgot to add that I wasn’t referring to them meeting in military groups, since that would become a honey trap for the System. What I wanted to say is that they ought to think like SS men; that their scale of values should allow them to crave things like the Master Plan East. I didn’t mean that they bought weapons or planned an attack (the Hollywood vision of white nationalism, as we saw in the silly movie Imperium). I was referring to changing your scale of values, as Savitri said in my post yesterday.
In other words, since most whites are tainted by the florid psychosis stage of Christian ethics, the only thing that makes sense is to try to understand what is going on, and convey it to as many Aryan males as possible. It hurts to say it, but Greg Johnson is right about one thing: it’s not time for politics but metapolitics.
This site receives very little feedback in the comments section. And of the fans we’ve had, I’ve already blocked a few for saying things like the outrageous quote I picked up above. In many ways I am alone. I have to deal with those shirtless guys like the ones Rockwell admitted into his group, but it’s impossible to detect at first glance who among these outcasts will be a good element and who may want to shoot me (what happened to the poor commander).
The alternative is that I forget about commenters and continue my work ‘in the cave of the three-eyed raven’, trying to make a Bran my disciple so that he can later conquer the world: a metaphor that only one commenter has understood, an European.
Since December I broke my promise to close the comments for a year. I reopened them only after two and a half months—only to be cheated by one of the banned commenters, through a sockpuppet.(*) But I think that what the European told me in an entry that I posted at the last minute of the last day of the year is worth reposting, as at that time the comments section was already closed.
Commenter I.N. wrote to me (the following is a repost of his December 31, 2020 comment):
______ 卐 ______
Excuse me for the lengthy text.
I understand how crucial it is for you to move towards this direction [basically close the comments section] given how much you have pondered about it for years now and I applaud you for it. The fact that you tolerated this insufferable situation for so long is a testament to your patience. However, by doing so you remove an indispensable aspect that should define discourse between us National Socialists so as to exchange viewpoints and answer questions.
This has been an integral feature of your site as apart from your entries, the comments too did aid me in acquiring a perfected exterminationist worldview. You must cultivate a climate for dialogue and encourage your viewers to engage in conversation among them. If you shun it your page might lose much needed traction and visitors and we need to assist you in amassing a wider audience of Whites willing to arrive at the truth.
If you wish to attract a larger audience and maybe even ‘steal’ followers from ‘mainstream’ WN sites like Counter Currents and American Renaissance you might want to think again about resorting to such strict censorship. That way you can redirect their focus to your revolutionary site and maybe witness a steady shift in their mentality as they begin to reject their old digital hangouts and dedicate their attention to you if your teachings take hold. Additionally, this radical approach of yours might make it impossible for people living on the other side of the Atlantic to opine on your entries.
Indeed, most commenters were unable to cross the psychological Rubicon to gain a higher understanding of the root causes that have culminated in the West’s ongoing downfall and it started to become frustrating but you can’t let this indignation get the better of you. Let them stagnate in the middle of the river and drown.
It will be a pity to have the rest of us who are of sound judgement and servants of the 14 words be lumped in with impudent buffoons like Adunaii or depressed defectives like Simon Elliot / Autisticus Spasticus. I admit that some of their comments may seem smart and sophisticated from a purely neutral standpoint, and I am not neutral but intrinsically bound to the ground of the radiant bucolic landscape that enchants and permanently captivates everyone who disembarks on the riverfront lying on the opposite side of the Rubicon. (It appears the journey across happens amidst intense fog / Christian ethics, that’s why most lose track of the destination and end up at the riverbed, never managing to even glance at the promised Utopia achievable only through the axiology of National Socialism.)
Said process of ‘conversion’ happened pretty much instantaneously thanks to stumbling upon your work and due to my own life experiences, research and conclusions. But commie sympathisers like Adunaii and abject, puerile defeatists like Elliot have to be expelled for reasons of adamant ideological consistency and devotion to the sacred cause summed up in the 4 and 14 Words.
Only through the Religion of Hate will we be able to exact holy racial vengeance and purify the flora and fauna of this planet by disposing of the sadistic vermin (dimwitted, dark skinned and two-legged mostly) that stains and defiles it once and for all and thus establishing a truly just, fair and beautiful Earth encompassing New Order in the biological sense. A world filled with staggeringly gorgeous Aryan nymphets and youths to roam it gracefully with kindness, respect, modesty and empathy and meant only for those worthy of living.
Anyway, I digress. Though this tactic relieves you from the burden of putting up with the absurdly preposterous (as in not sharing your justified hatred yet) content in the posts of some annoying slowpokes, some commenters could provide very informative insights and it would be a loss to miss out on that.
Some (extremely few in fact) deserve to be granted permission to keep commenting on this site. At least allow a very select number of them like Mauricio, Joseph Walsh (I have been keeping up with your site since April 2019 and I haven’t seen his profile in the comments for a while and I cannot remember if he has made an appearance in the last two years so I don’t know if he is still active), [Anti]natalist44 (thankfully he changed his idiotic surname, he might be a bit pessimistic but he is also necessarily cynical which can enlighten the Aryan about how hypocritical they are) or Apollokult among others like him who surprisingly fully align with your principles which, in all honesty, should be common knowledge and even maxims embedded into our culture.
______ 卐 ______
Editor’s Note: Both I.N. and I were unaware then that Natalist44 was none other than Adunai.
______ 卐 ______
Or at least slightly alter this policy you have adopted. You could enable the option to post comments that are sent exclusively by e-mail instead. The absence of a comment thread will automatically dissuade dummies, normies and white nationalists from bothering to leave their undesirable opinions on this gem of a site. Or efilists for that matter.
Could you not appoint some voluntary admins to filter the comment section and dispatch the outcasts that would dare trespass on your webpage? I am not cognizant of the intricacies involved in operating a site or the terms of use/service of WordPress by the way. I do not disagree with you per se, I actually partially welcome this initiative. I still I urge you to reconsider though.
Your site encapsulates the very essence of what the White Man must do in order to survive which is admittedly to ‘think more ruthlessly than Himmler’. That is quite a demanding task to undertake, and assuming the only stimuli they receive that leads them down this path is your site, then you can be sure it is going to take a while before they cross over to Level 9. Though as betrayed by your disappointment, few people appreciate the effort you put into awakening them.
At best it happens instantly (like with me) and at worst it needs an incessant bombardment of Nordicist literature for a couple of years. Let us be confident that the continuous reading of all that your site has to offer will be the catalyst that drives them to shatter their flawed and indulgent worldview which derives from the allegiance to a false, self-abasing and ultimately suicidal morality.
The prerequisite is to shake off the persistent indoctrination that has been passed down from generation to generation and has become so ingrained into our psyche (not mine, I have always been an atheist and a staunch critic of the afterlife paranoia) that it has developed such resilient antibodies to ensure its firm grip over the Aryans’ responses and actions. Tough job but something as unlikely as this can transpire. You remember what Tikhar said earlier this month.
Anyway, I have never seen a Priest of the 14 Words (you coined this term) devote his life so holistically to the materialisation of Aryan resurgence and domination despite being tainted by foreign blood. You are truly much more Aryan than the overwhelming majority of Aryans. You are a prophet and a benefactor to our run down race. Frankly, pretty much no one else articulates the harsh truth in such a precise, crystal clear and no holds barred manner.
I merely wanted to leave my contribution for the second and last time apparently (unless another e-mail of mine impresses you so as to warrant its own entry). I think of you as an underrated and obscure (not recognised enough) hero of these end times (unless the White Revolution takes place and is successful), Mr. C. T.
Thank you for changing my life. Heil to you! I hope the Whites of the future that emerge victorious from this ordeal build a statue in dedication to your memory. I will keep being a faithful follower of yours.
Again, sorry for my brazenly long testimony. Happy New Year with loads of success in adequately conveying your ‘heretic’ message.
By the way, I am eagerly anticipating the day the subtitle of this site will finally read something along the lines of: ‘The Time For Armed Revolution Is Here! Nietzschean Transvaluation for a Hitlerian Civilisation!’
I.N.
___________
(*) Update of September 29: At Adunai’s request, I removed the screenshot showing that his I.P. is identical to the I.P. of Antinatalist44.