Arktos
London 2021
Copyright 2021 by Arktos Media Ltd.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means (whether electronic or mechanical), including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
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ISBN
978-1-914208-50-8 (Softcover)
978-1-914208-51-5 (Hardback)
978-1-914208-52-2 (Ebook)
Editing
Constantin von Hoffmeister
Proofreading
Jason Rogers
Cover and Layout
Tor Westman
I dedicate this book to my family of both blood and bond; to our Mother Irtha ( Earth ), and our Father WR-ALDA ( GOD ); and to anyone who can use this book to better themselves and the world around them in some way. I do this in service to you.
Buaidh No Bas.
In Christ,
J. M.
Life in all its fullness is Mother Nature obeyed.
Weston A. Price
Preface
T his book is a collection of essays I wrote for my blog, Lightning Warriors ( joshualightningwarrior.wordpress.com ), which I have kept with varying degrees of diligence since 2014. The original purpose of the blog was to archive sermons I was writing at the time, but it slowly morphed into something else.
For the book I re-edited, re-worked, re-wrote and compiled essays that I felt were a good representation of what became the three broad subjects I have tended to return to over and over again for the past six years: identity, modernity, and the New Age.
The essays are not ordered chronologically or grouped under a particular category ( which would be a bit difficult for some of them ), and this is not a book that needs to be read in any particular order, and I encourage readers to read whatever essay calls to them when they open this book. The original publication date for each essay is included in the Selected Bibliography section at the back of the book.
That being said, I do recommend starting off with the chapter entitled Genesis, which is essentially the introduction, as it gives context to a lot of the people and events I refer to throughout the book, as well as why I write what I write. But again, ultimately the essays are stand-alone.
The blog itself still exists ( presumably, depending on when you are reading this ), although I do not keep it up as I once did. Most of the chapters contained in this book are no longer there, and many have been re-edited, re-worked, and added to. But ultimately, I am not writing/compiling this to give the world fresh content, and it definitely isnt about me looking to make any kind of profit, as I am well aware of how much of a niche audience my writing appeals to.
For me, this is about legacy .
Human beings in general, and men in particular, tend to have an inherent drive towards leaving some sort of a legacy; something that will survive after they are dead and gone. The most obvious example of this is the siring and rearing of children. However, men have also expressed this inherent drive for legacy in the creation of great monuments, institutions, works of art, and literature. And quite often, men are remembered for these things far more than for their siring of any subsequent generations.
It has been said that man creates these great works and monuments that will ( hopefully ) live on after his death as an attempt to reach immortality in a world of finality. Perhaps it is mans way of cheating the seeming oblivion of death.
No one knows if Shakespeare had children or descendants- but nearly everyone knows he wrote Romeo and Juliet, universally recognized as one of the greatest ( and most tragic ) love stories ever written.
Now this is not to denigrate the importance of having and raising future generations, which is arguably more important than ever right now ( particularly for the European stock of humanity ). I myself still tentatively hope to one day have a family of my own, despite the almost catastrophic uncertainty the future seems to hold.
But at the moment I have no children. At the moment, my writing is my legacy; and with the tenuous nature of the internet, where entire sites can disappear into the memory hole in an instant, I wanted to bring my writing into the physical world before my words too disappear into the void of cyberspace. And while I cannot and will not claim to hold a candle to the great men and women from whom I draw my inspiration, I do believe there is inherent value in the views and insights contained within this book.
And perhaps even more than that, I see this as the only legacy I have if my life were to end before I get the chance to create my own flesh-and-blood descendants.
So I thank you, dear reader, for seeing some value in my legacy. It is my hope that at least some of the words and ideas contained within these pages will resonate with you and future generations, and ultimately aid in some small way in the creation of a better world for all. Particularly now when there is so much despair as we seem to be entering a period of great tribulation.
May GOD bless you and give you what you need.
Come the day, come the dawn
Somewhere in the rain
Low my heart, Low my life
Forget everything
Come the day, Thief of the night
Lifts His voice to sing
Rise up, rise up
Ever victorious
Low the tide, low the light
Comes the Sun again
Now rise up, rise up
Ever victorious
Low the tide, low the light
Comes the Sun again
Thea Gilmore , Sol Invictus
Genesis
I t is said that children up until a certain age can see and communicate with the spiritual and supernatural worlds, as well as the beings that reside there. It is also believed by many that a childs imaginary friend is quite often the childs guardian angel, who appears to them as playmate and protector.
When I was very young, probably around three or four years old, I used to have a recurring dream. I would be laying in bed with my night light on ( I was terrified of the dark at the time as many children are ), when I would see a face in my second-story bedroom window. Sometimes it would be one or two women with headscarves; at other times it would be a bearded man with shaggy hair; and they would always appear to be illuminated with a blue or green light. I even gave them childlike gibberish names, like Duc-Duc ( the name I gave one of the veiled women if I recall ).
These figures would simply peer through the window, watching me. They never tried to get in or harm me in any way, but as a child I was generally timid and afraid of pretty much anyone I didnt know, so seeing the faces of strangers in my window at night was particularly terrifying. I would cry out to my grandparents, whom I lived with as a child. They would come in and comfort me, telling me that everything was okay and that I had a bad dream.
But I never remembered waking up from any sort of sleep
Perhaps the figures in the window were guardian angels or spirits charged with watching over me; perhaps they were even ancestors, or simply ghosts of some kind; I dont and probably will never know. Regardless, I would never describe myself as psychic or clairvoyant, and other than the above experience, I dont recall having any sort of visual contact with astral or spiritual entities growing up. In hindsight, it was perhaps my fear that kept those sorts of things away, Im not sure.
