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Your personal genesis

Discussion in 'General Discussions' started by Plantagenet, 27 December 2014.

  1. Plantagenet

    Plantagenet Heroic Member

    What were the causes, conditions, and developments that lead you to what you are now spiritually, philosophically, politically, or otherwise? Was there ever a time when you held beliefs completely contrary to ones you currently hold? Do you think the roots of what you are today can be found as far back as your own childhood? Discuss.
     
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  2. Pangloss

    Pangloss Senior Member

    Used to be a Marxist/anarchist and a pretty ardent materialist, then I re-evaluated the God question (which really does lead to a rather radical revaluation of all your beliefs, social, political, metaphysical, and even aesthetic). I would say my current beliefs are a synthesis of all I have read and all the ideas I have entertained at various stages of my life (for example, I still have a lot of time for Marx, Mao, and Foucault), the result of just growing as an individual.
     
  3. Azaeroe

    Azaeroe Member

    My father was a Marxist and had many books related to Marxism on his shelf, but he also had some books on philosophy, which are what I read of his. A friend at school was interested in philosophy and recommended me one particular compendium, which further developed my interest. I read various books that I probably did not fully comprehend at the time until I came across the writing of George Berkeley and I haven't altered my affinity toward him since.

    Politically, like Pangloss, there was a time where I had an interest in the political philosophy of Mikhail Bakunin. I soon realised that my philosophic world view was not compatible with this and sought out [I am still seeking out] a political philosophy which incorporates free will, the existence of the soul and aetherial forces, the abolition of the techno-industrial dystopia [this is also a thing for some leftists, such as those who are fond of Theodore Kaczynski: "Anarcho-Primitivists"], a view of the world as immaterial as opposed to material, the existence of spirits in nature, the importance of our pagan past etc. All of these things were incompatible with Collectivism, so I cast it aside and with that all the ideas about the abolition of economic castes and inheritance, the erection of a system of collective property, the abolition of the state and the erection of educational equality. Aside from that, none of my acquaintances were interested in a monogamous relationship with a girl to whom they were devoted, which I find disgusting. And last but not least, I was extremely put off by people constantly parroting the German philosopher Max Stirner, calling everything a "spook".
     
  4. JosephRex

    JosephRex Heroic Member

    It transcends any political philosophy save that of the Indo-Aryans between ca. 1000 BCE to 1000 CE (though by the latter date they were pretty mongrelized, which is why they got conquered by the Muslims); so IMHO it must be a METApolitical philosophy or Weltanschauung. Interestingly enough, mine sounds very similar. I’ll try to address the question with a new essay in the coming week or so. Meanwhile, here’s a preview in a dialogue with present & departed LB folks:

    https://lumineboreali.net/threads/is-the-soul-a-real-thing.340/page-2

    This will take you to page 2 of the thread; the first significant post is by Olavsson, then I chime in two posts later.
    Don’t know how long ago this might have been, but nowadays there are thousands of young white trad dudes desperately in search of such a girl to form that kind of relationship. The kicker is that most of them are a little too desperate, are aren’t qualified for the job.
     
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  5. Manu

    Manu Señor Member

    I grew up in a Marxist home. Well, sort of, anyway. It was not a terrible experience and I look back at it with a fondness one can only achieve through becoming a parent oneself. There was plenty of cognitive dissonance there, looking back at it. My parents were and are actually fairly traditional in a lot of ways despite being strongly to the left. My mother is a great mother and there is zero gender confusion or weird modern stuff. They both were just for worker's rights, they are anti-imperialist, and so forth. My father even told me some really nasty stuff about the Jews and Freemasons when he was drunk, one time. It is not like he ever was really enlightened in the matter, either, but he had been piecing things together out of mainstream media for a while and largely seen through it. So they are not terrible at all, as far as parenting goes or as people. But they were pretty far to the left and both former communists back in the 60's and 70's and I got a very large exposure to old time left wing ideas. My dad wasn't a modern leftist sissy by any means, though. Besides being an actual worker and business owner with strong hands full of callouses, he taught me how to fight, when to fight and to have honor. He has always subscribed to a lot of ideas projected in The Godfather and many other Mafia movies and books, and I was pretty much marinated in it as well. My dad would have been more at home in Sicily or Napoli rather than in northern Sweden. The only reason he settled down from being a [I presume!] kind of violent and semi-criminal biker was because of my mother. I share his nature, and in a time where there is no apparent enemy to fight, I would probably be some kind of outlaw because I am terrible at peace, business and such. You will find some people very similar to me in the Hells Angels and other such groups. Warriors and lords both have no real place in peace time, and in the modern world especially so. My father being who he is despite all these things and growing up in the baby boomer generation - and without the internet to access all the vital information - is nothing short of astounding, and I have said so to him. I am thankful to have done so before he passes away one day.

    My mother. Now there's a chapter that deserves a lot of space, but it can really be summed up in that she was and is a great mother in virtually all ways you can think of. There was never a lack of love or proper food made from actual ingredients, instead of crap instant-this or microwave-that. We did not have a microwave until I was sixteen or something like that, and it was only ever used to heat food boxes. I do not have one now, actually. What's more, my parents were always strictly monogamous, never did any weird stuff or went out drinking separately or anything that I ever saw that made the other jealous. The only real issue I ever witnessed was that my dad acquired a drinking problem for a while in 1993, but it worked out alright. When my mother was done with him, he was well and truly whipped into a guilt-ridden puddle, had to sleep in the guest room for a while and then things returned to normal again. Hey, everybody has stuff like that to tell. Seemed dramatic at the time, but wasn't anything near impossible to solve. It showed me yet another principle against the modern world, which was reinforced by my grandparents. You don't replace someone you love, you fix things if they are possible to fix at all.

    About the home made Mafia honor part that I was taught by my father. Some people occasionally tried to take my honor and humiliate me or my friends. I did beat up my fair share of bullies growing up, sometimes very badly. It literally is the only way to stop someone who will not show respect or take "no" for an answer, or who victimizes others in groups. But even groups aren't so dangerous if you are armed with something and they are not. The important part is to fight tooth and nail and do a lot of damage. But the second most important thing is about fighting smart. Like when you beat them all bloody when they are not with their buddies. Both of which I did. I make it sound like I ran the gauntlet here. But it was mostly just fine, white and rural. "Idyllic" would be a fitting description, I just had a natural selection of enemies, not the imported kind. The fighting was just sometimes when it was needed. I Grew up with an actual library in our house and additionally another ten or so fully stacked bookcases spread around the house. We were all voracious readers. I reckon we had as many books as many small town public libraries do. We were not dirt poor or anything and my family was white collar middle class. My parents liked novels about crime a lot, but I went mostly for historical novels and fact books with illustrations, as a kid. We did have loads of that, and what I couldn't get at home I borrowed elsewhere. Later I got into fantasy a whole lot. There were also this comic book series by Harold R. Foster, called Prince Valiant. That one has made a lasting impression.

    Delving into historical novels and factbooks as well as medieval fantasy, I found that I much prefered things as they were long before I was born. As I grew older, I got obsessed with the Second World War. Seeing my first german uniforms and stahlhelmets on the screen awoke something deep inside. I drew swastikas everywhere, mostly in secret, and usually destroyed my drawings. I started building models of tanks and aircraft, played with German toy soldiers, you name it. I watched the first half of Where Eagles Dare probably a hundred times on my older brother's VCR. Just to view that Bavarian castle town and the soldiers, hear the German folk music and so on. I never liked to watch the good guys getting mowed down in movies like that. I liked the Germans! By no means ideological, but I started seeing the difference between then and now very clearly. Back then was worth living, and nowadays was just dull, dreary, liberal and meaningless. I would literally spend most of my time escaping reality and going into the old glory days or some fantasy world, until I was in my twenties and finally got angry enough to try and change the world and right the wrongs.

    Anyway, back to my father. I might not have appreciated his efforts at raising me right so much back when I was a kid, but I sure do now. Unlike the parents of my friends, he was very clear, vocal and when necessary also physical about right and wrong. Other parents were namby-pamby to the extreme, and would try to correct their kids with whiny voices. If I did something really bad, i'd get a slap and a five hour lecture about WHY what I did was wrong, and then I would understand it clear as day and never repeat it. There were no gray areas, really. No unnecessary crap, either, and I had a large degree of freedom as long as I earned it and did nothing too stupid or immoral things. We actually had a real talk about it a year back or so, where I told him how much I appreciate all he gave me and how it means I cannot shirk away from doing my duty toward my people. What actually made me happy was that he responded that he knows and that he wish he were forty years younger and not seventy and frail, so that he too could fight. That one actually spun out to that he wanted to put gun boats on the Mediterranean and "drive the bloody Muslims into the sea". So when I say Marxist, I do not mean all that terrible at all. Just that there was a lot of sociology, psychobabble, actual Marxist and Leninist theory, current events from a left wing perspective and all kinds of crap being discussed around the dinner table at any given time. Interesting things, sometimes. Not at all without a degree of common sense, to be honest. Nothing like the leftists of today, more like the old kind. Americans won't know what I am talking about, I think, your lefties were always crazy. Ours here in Sweden weren't, and the Worker's Rights movement actually got a few good things done in a society of plain suffering, malnutrition and sixteen hour work days.

    Let me rewind there for a bit. I mentioned a cognitive dissonance in the beginning, and it was by no means small or restricted to my parents. My brother is almost a decade older than me, and he was and still is a communist. Even in the face of the obvious white genocide. So when I was little, he dragged me along on some meetings and labor day demonstrations. Naturally, I wanted to be like him. Thankfully he moved out when I was twelve and had little time for me after that, so the negative influence was ended. He is not really a bad person, he has just done bad things. There is a difference there and he has good sides to him. Generally speaking, he is a lot like me, if I had remained my pre-17-year-old self. He is mostly just lost. I tried patching things up with him recently, but his nature got in the way after a brief ceasefire. I hope he will change and get on our side. If he would only do what was right, he could actually contribute. After so long fighting for his own enemy towards the destruction of his own family (he is a father, too, and not a bad one to be honest), he has a lot of amends to make. But I still hope. And to be honest, I often do something very "unheathen" and actually pray to whoever is listening.

    Anyway, back to the Change. I am about to get into what made me Weird to begin with. In the real meaning of the word, of supernatural nature, strange, connected with fate and so on. Which brings me to my 17th summer here on earth. My genesis had been happening for my whole life due to a lot of factors. But how I lived was not at all much like what I wanted and what I liked. Was I like a viking, a knight or a Waffen SS officer? In many ways, I was a whigger and weak in most ways I care to count. Dressed and acted like a dweeb, listened to punk rock and generally misbehaved. I had stopped calling myself a communist a couple of years prior, because I was not being influenced by my brother who had moved away. But I was still an atheist and a general shithead who hung out largely with other idiots. A weekend in the end of July, I had my first spiritual experience. I had been away in a neighboring town, drinking and carousing with some friends the day before. Early in the morning on the day after, I took the long bus ride back home to my own home town. It was a hot and sunny day, really warm and nice. Not too humid, just perfect.

    As I got out of the bus, I steered my steps towards a place that sells sandwiches and got a large sub filled with meatballs and beetroot salad (it's a Swedish thing, absolutely great) and two small bottles of Dr. Pepper. Ate the sub immediately, because I was starving, and bought another one for the road. I decided to walk home, since it was a lovely day, despite it being around 7 kilometers from where I was standing. So I took off and finished my second sandwich and sodas before I hit the forest's edge. Feeling rather rejuvenated, I entered the forest, walking on a road at first. There was no people out and about, for some strange reason. Neither were there any mosquitoes, which is even stranger up in northern Sweden. I won't lie and say they are big as bulldogs, or anything, but they are usually aggressive in their hunt for human blood. Particularly my O+ blood, which they often single out and go for even if I am in a crowd.

    The absence of people and mosquitoes felt absolutely great, but I thought little of it. That is, until the colors started getting intense and looking distinctly unrealistic. The rays of light through the canopy shining down with immensely detailed and perfect beauty, the greens were so vivid that I have never seen anything quite like it. I walked on and decided to get off the road and into the forest actual. I was just marveling at the enormous beauty of it all, and a few minutes passed before I had any real thoughts, which in itself is foreign to me. This was not like the mixed experience nature usually is, with stinging things and discomfort. The big shock came when I had a thought pop into my head, however. I was kind of drawn into the back seat of my own mind, Someone else taking over. Talking to me, but silently through my own thoughts and showing me things in images and feelings. I felt a benevolent presence, very powerful and very primal. A christian would have called this "meeting God". I spent the rest of the day, from noon to about six or seven p.m. in that state, thinking thoughts from the back seat and being answered by the Driver. Thinking a thought was like running a number through a supercomputer, it was thought to completion within a millisecond. At first I asked base stuff, but soon threw away a daringly non-PC thought, asking if homosexuality is good or bad. I cannot relate the depth of fury and contempt this divine presence had towards this unnatural thing. I was literally bathed in the understanding of it so that I understood it, if it makes any sense at all. It was not a logical essay, but righteous anger against something Evil that should not exist. I proceeded to "ask" about a great many other things and got all kinds of answers about various topics, some silly and some not so silly. Until a certain point, my memory is clear. I remember climbing around and traversing obstacles that I would never even try my hand at normally, like climbing a vertical cliff wall. I have been there before and after, and I really do not want to try that when I am driving myself. I always take the long way around. But I did not need to worry at all. The physical activity was happening kind of far away and was not really relevant to our exchange. My memory is blurred for at least three of these hours, to my estimate. It was a while after noon that I went in and I remember just over an hour or maybe two. Then I have no memory at all of three of those hours, I just know I was walking, climbing, running while having this conversation inside my mind, with my divine guest. Sounds raving mad, but it really was not. Perhaps one of those things that needs to be experienced to be believed. Anyway, at somewhere after six p.m. I stumble out onto a road that I know well, and I walk to a natural spring where my family have gone to get water plenty of times, because the water is excellent there and it was just a kilometer or so from our house. As I throw the bucket down to fill it, winch it back up again and drink deeply, the experience ends.

    If I ever had any point in my life that I will point at and say "This is where, when and how my transformation happened", these things are it. My dear father and the Divine that I have later identified as The Silent God, Víðarr. He has other names; Herne, The Green Man, Cernunnos - whom I at first thought it was, because it was Cernunnos that I stumbled on first of all, when I tried to make sense of it all. But who really knows, with these things? Mortal words for something we cannot fathom, really. Not until we are dead, anyway. But we sure can try, can we not? The faces and behaviors are real, though, and it fits with the nature of Víðarr. Before this, I was a stupid kid and nothing special. I knew other kids who drew swastikas on everything, too. It is common for those who died back then to fall into that obsession in the next life. I used to listen to some Rock Against Communism and skinhead music, when nobody was watching, starting when I was fifteen or so. Stuff kids do, quite simply. Post this experience, however, I started changing spiritually as well as physically and it was not something that happened over night, it took years for it to change me and it is still doing it. But this cured my atheism and doubt, it lit a kind of spark inside me. It made me much more of a man and has been driving the modern world out of me for some time. Since that moment I have known that I was destined for something bigger. Sometimes knowing it and not doing something about it has been the cause for feeling rather bad. Like a period in my early twenties when I completely opted out of everything. It did eventually drive me back up on the path. It woke me up and made me remember who I am and set me on the path to remember who I was, which in turn has told me quite a bit about what I am supposed to be doing here in this life. But that is another story. Some of you know it. Also important, but this is where it started. My father raising me like some weird echo of a Cosa Nostra mentality, my mother's love, the rest of my family of course and then my meeting with the Divine for the first time.

    If I am dead in a few years, this is what I want in my biography, by the way. It sums things up fairly well. I don't need a book where a page would do. Treat any exploits the same way. When I was younger I was much more negative towards my upbringing and did not understand why my father was a harsh man, but now I understand perfectly how things work. He put up boundaries and made damned well sure I complied, and I was not easy to reign in. Hell, he wasn't perfect, only very nearly so. And if I got slapped a couple of times and lectured to at the top of his lungs, it was because he cared and because I really deserved more, won't get into separate incidents. Which is way more than what you could say about most parents, who are more concerned with being overgrown liberal babies who only cared for pleasures and the TV. I am proud to be my father's son, to come from the line of men and women that I descend from and I know they would have stepped up into the breach with me today, were they younger. I am also proud to descend from our gods, as do we all. We are their children and they are our parents, too, in a way. One of them had pity on me, decided to teach me and drew me into his world where he spoke his mind. This has accelerated my transformation, undoubtedly. I wonder where I will be in ten years time? My dear wife recently remarked that I am always changing and developing upwards, that I never make her bored and that she never knows quite where I will be at tomorrow. Well, I have my family, my ancestors and my gods to thank. While I am partly the driving force myself on this road, because I want to walk it, my fate has already been decided by the Norns and I am inexorably going where I am and dying when I am supposed to, how I am supposed to. The gods revealing themselves to me so that I do not need to doubt much, however, has given me the ability to face the road that lies before me as well as its end like a true son of my people, and for that I am forever thankful.
     
    Last edited: 2 December 2017
  6. JosephRex

    JosephRex Heroic Member

    Thanks for sharing this remarkable experience ~ and in such vivid detail! Like the imagery of rolling along in the back seat of your mind with the divine presence as driver. What a drive up that vertical cliff, enh? :eek: Did it get mad at anything else besides faggotry?

    I suspect that the ultimate identity of the ‘guest’ is your Überself. Or in your case, an Überserker! ;)
     
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  7. Manu

    Manu Señor Member

    Plenty! Virtually the whole modern world, detail by detail and the whole concept. Since then, I have thought "This too shall pass" every time I see the ugly concrete jungles with their domesticated slave populations.