tinhuviel: (Spork)

I found some of my old poetry books, and came across this one poem, dated January 12, 1995. Uh...

NEW WORLD ORDER
I have seen the future, it's hands raised in salute
to an ancient, evil power dressed in a business suit.
And I heard the people choking on the fumes of industry
as the freshly-fired ovens burned away diversity.

I have seen the future in the eyes of every child
denied their human dignity, and destined to grow wild
in the streets of dying cities, in their spirits, hearts, and minds,
in the nightmares of their music, brutal acts of every kind.

I have seen the future and its endless stain of slums,
where the law men batter citizens and make them worship guns.
I see us moving toward it now with every new disgrace.
Big Brother builds a New World for his victims to embrace.

How long before the cameras see us staring at ourselves
and screaming at the ghosts we see for fear they come from Hell?
Perhaps that's where we're going.
Perhaps that's what I dread.
In the New World Order, we'll be jealous of the dead.

12 January, 1995

tinhuviel: (Augury)

Even though the full poem did not make it into The Vampire Relics, the prophecy implied was certainly a driving force in Gideon's massive collection of prophecies. It was also one of the guidelines that defined Magnificat and many of the band's songs that shared its arcane mood.



If you find 'The Sanctity of Shame' intriguing, you would probably enjoy the Vampire Relics trilogy. All three books are available on Amazon in both paperback and Kindle format. Just click the picture below to be taken to the Amazon page.


tinhuviel: (Homeland Security)

Around the age of 12, I began having dreams about going on adventures with a male person whose head and face were always blurred or engulfed in a kind of fog or mist. We would visit various places or dimensions, all linked to a huge ballroom that must have been a dock of some sort. Many of these dreams were lucid, my having them in the very early morning shortly before it was time to get up and get ready for school.

I always enjoyed the dreams, and would often talk about my escapades to Aunt Tudi and Granny. He never gave me his name, so I always described as The Person. I remember that he was at least 6'2" in height, had an English accent, and often wore a black vest. No, he wasn't the Doctor, but I definitely sensed a vague similarity when I started watching Doctor Who in 1983. Oh, and he often had a white cat on his shoulder.

Our relationship wasn't romantic. He was more of a teacher and a guide through the phantasmagorical landscape in which we found ourselves. I always found comfort in my times with The Person and, despite some of the frightening scenarios in which I found myself, there was never a time I did not feel completely safe with him around. A lot of my stories about Dannagran Dram (a strange kind of parallel world I began to develop in 1981) were directly influenced by my Person Dreams, such as pink snow, Darzhevo trees (or Leaftrees) that possessed a strange luminescence, and the first seeds of what would become the Tarmian myths.

The Person was my constant companion in my subconscious world from 1980 until 1991. The last dream I had of him was completely unlike any of the others, in that I could see his face, and he was without his cat companion. Why he chose to reveal himself with this face, I have no idea, but it certainly affected how I view Michael Champion in any of the movies I watch in which he plays a part. (Probably, his best-known role was Helm in the original Total Recall)





The entire feel of the dream was one of dread and, even though I knew I was dreaming, I could do nothing to alter it in my semi-lucid state. I could only watch and listen with horror.

We were on a downtown street of some city. There were young trees dotting the sidewalk on both sides. I think they were maples, but I can't say for sure. I was standing with my back against the brick wall of a crumbling building, and The Person stood with his arm around me.

He said, "Look at what has happened." I peered out and saw that, for each person walking silently down the sidewalk, a man dressed in black combat gear and wearing a helmet that concealed his face, walked closely behind, carrying a machine gun.

"It has gone wrong. Don't let them catch you. They're vivisecting presumed offenders."

Suddenly, the scene changed, and I was standing in an operation room, apparently invisible, watching this surgical team, cut my dream guardian open from stem to stern, and prod the exposed organs as The Person shrieked in pain. That was the last time he appeared to me.

Ever since 9/11, the dream has taken on new meaning for me, but recent events worldwide have certainly made thoughts of the nightmare much more relevant and disturbing.

Did I have a vision back in 1991? Was any of that really real? I have no idea. But I can't help but think "It has gone wrong" has certainly surfaced as a grim reality.

tinhuviel: (Herne_Moon)
 photo 3107044530_c4031a05b7_z.jpg

Ů sa dorken na’aaůlor kenropfehli
And I remember well in the distant realm of memory…..

Listen well, Child of Star and Child of Tree, to the youngest tale in the Cycle of Moon Myths.  This is the last tale that humans know was told by the Tarmian folk for, with this tale, the last of the Tarmi veiled themselves from the World of Man, knowing that the time was not yet come for humanity to truly live the mystery.

It has been over a millennia since the Apostate had conjured upon the Dol-Princess and her Prince Thiyennen the Bloodlust, thus planting a seed of distrust between human and Tarma.  

And now the Apostate had suggested that the Tarmi were the Fallen Ones so often mentioned in the Eastern Legends of humanity, and they would bring only grief and woe to the good people of the world.  Days were dark indeed and the people began to live in fear of the ancient Dalni and the Teachers who answered to them.  The Tarmi retreated to the mountains and forests of Europa.  They abandoned Khemeth, for it was awash in confusion and strife, the kind they were unable to quell or cease altogether without looking like the tyrants the Apostate portrayed them to be.  Much anger was directed at the Tarmian progenitors of Khemeth.  The old symbols could no longer be read and were held in contempt by the humans who dwelt there still.  But the Apostate read and understood the history of the Ancients, and he learned of the Twin Force of futility known only as Belien Tuthalidon.  

And, from the fortress of temples and chapels contained in what was once Troy, the Apostate spread rumours that the Tarmi had brought with them the undying evil of which they themselves were an intrinsic part and worshiped without question.  And they held humanity in thrall with their blasphemous teachings.

“See ye the true power of the Tarmi as they lurk in the night, feeding upon the blood of your Kith and Kin,” he proclaimed, using Kelat, Thiyennen, and their Vampire Hive as examples of his twisted truth.  “They are indeed Satanspawn, born of their black gods.  They fell to Earth by their own admission, these fallen angels, with the stain of evil tattooed upon their very spirits.  They wish to enslave us with their magicks!  The Bible says suffer not a Witch to live.  Can we passively sit by and let these alien creatures take over the lands rightfully ours?  No!  I say no!”

And, to the shock of the Tarmi, more and more people began to believe in the Apostate. He built armies of Holy Men who marched throughout the country converting the folk to hate and fear the Tarmi and their human followers.

A great hopelessness fell upon the land for, as the Apostate spoke of Belien, Belien's futility awoke, their dark star a smear far above Eterah, drawing into it the negative adoration of humanity. And Belien Tuthalidon grew thrice stronger than before, being redefined by the words of the Apostate and the blind faith of his followers, and the Twins of Futility struck down Omanola and Thessalonika with plague and starvation. Humans throughout the countryside praised God for this act against the Evil Ones even as they themselves fell to pestilence, while the Apostate smiled, knowing that he had won.

And so the Tarmi of the fields and forests fled Westward toward the sanctuary of Meybhelahn, their human companions fleeing with them. But the Apostate desired the Tarmi utterly destroyed, so he called forth a great army composed of his most devoted servants
The leaves were painted and fell on chill days as the men came from throughout Europe. They were tall and pure zealots, untouched by woman and clad in the white of the Apostate. And they pursued the Tarmian procession, seeking to crush them before they reached Meybhelahn.
Two weeks did the White Army follow the Pilgrims. And it was that on one cold evening, as the Tarmian Pilgrims reached the Silver Gates of Meybhelahn, the White Army fell upon them. Immediately both Tarma and Human blocked the Gates so that none of the White Army could enter. A great slaughter ensued as the White Army laid waste to the Pilgrims. But the Tarmi would not fight. Through their tears and their terror, the Tarmi sang, returning to the Language of Old.

For it was song that was the first language and would be the last for any sentient being ever conceived in Existence to utter or to hear.

And Meneterah heard their beautiful music, and tasted their blood upon Her bosom, and She wept for what was lost. Now, it was always said that when people can hear the Earth cry, great and terrible things occur, for the Earth is our Mother and weeps always for Her children in times of joy as well as in times of sorrow. Eterah's weeping was heard throughout the land. The White Army ceased their purging to stop and listen to the ethereal weeping.  

Never before had such an incredible sound been heard amongst the mortals of the Earth.
A heavy full moon illuminated the tragedy below. It was the first Moon of Autumn in the year 762 c.e. And as the Earth Mother wept, the blood of the slain ones rose in torrents and bathed the Full Moon. Before the Pilgrims and the White Army there appeared the Mother Mnemiva, Starry Kessilon, and Dark Vaadel, Mistress of Death.

Kessilon, Patron Goddess of the Tarmi, drifted to the Pilgrims and, enveloping them with starlight, sang. But Vaadel hovered over the cringing White Army, paralysing them with Her terrible beauty and the promise of swift and terrible vengeance.

Mnemiva spoke and Her voice was as a song:
"Ye of Eterah, remember always what it is that thou hast beheld on this night ~ the Night of the Blood Moon ~ for this ends the Age of Wonder, where Human and Tarma lived in harmony and magick. The Tarmi and their people shall pass from this realm to a place where only the faithful may someday follow. Humanity must relearn what it has lost under the dominion of the Apostate. But know this, o ye followers of Futility and Fear: the Full Moon before the Festival of Summersend shall forever be named Luma'Rhos, the Blood Moon, to remind thee of the Age thou hast ended with thy swords of hatred and spears of distrust. It is to remind thee that no one ever kills for God, but for those who deify themselves for the sake of power over others. With this crusade, thou hast sealed the fate of thy kind to always walk in darkness and fear, to be once-borne, to never see the Mantle of the Universe save by My Grace. Go ye back to the Apostate and tell him that his reign shall thrive for now, but that the Blood Moon shall loom yearly as a promise that My Children shall return to replant the Groves and sing to the Spirit which embodies All."

Mnemiva bade Vaadel release the White Army and they ran screaming and weeping into the hills, dropping their weapons as they fled.
And, as Mnemiva turned to the Pilgrims, Kessilon opened the Silver Gates of Meybhelahn, the Blessed Isle of the Tarmi.

"My Children, My Kinsfolk," Mnemiva whispered. "For thee Luma'Rhos shall represent thy fallen comrades martyred here by those grown blind to thy beauty. It shall herald a time when the Faithful may reach thee, for it will be when Luma'Rhos shines that soon the Veil shall grow thin and the Gates shall be revealed to those who can See. Welcome those who remember Our Ways, for it shall be these stray away children who may pave thy way back to this realm in some future bright with music and magick. But for now, go ye into Meybhelahn, be safe and happy, for the Andera love among thee and within thee always."

And so, under the moon awash with their blood, the Tarmian and Human Pilgrims entered into Blessed Meybhelahn ne'er to return until Humanity reclaims our beauty, our magick, and our Inner Song. So look ye to the Blood Moon, the full moon of October. The Veils grow thin and, in the Darkness, there is a Song.

tinhuviel: (Alpaca Battle Cry)
I just suggested to her that she write her own book on a subject about which she probably knows more than anyone else. There are so many spiritual paths out there that are woefully ignored by publishers. It's like, if you aren't a member of a cookie-cutter religion, then your hope of doing much research is right out the window. That got me to thinking about the path I'm on. I even did a search online for anything remotely resembling Apocalyptic Paganry. Ain't no such critter, yet there quite a few Endtimes prophecies out there that aren't Judeo-Christian in nature, particularly in the Native American faiths. And let's not even start with the Mayans and Aborigines. There should be a book written about it all. Maybe I should be the one to do it. It'd take a ton of research by proxy, but it may be worth it. Personally, I believe that Pagans worldwide should be made aware of the signs of the Apocalypse that are all around us. The End of the World won't just happen to Christians, people! White Buffalo Woman is waiting to be acknowledged and Kali is rattling her bones.

February 2019

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