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Thread: The Song of the Sun and the Four Castes

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    The Song of the Sun and the Four Castes

    Listen with your Honor, listen with your blood, to this the Song of Our Father. For we are the children of the Sun. He is our beginning, our middle, our end, and our rebirth. He is our treasure and our sign. The sun is our symbol of the unknowable all, from whence we came and shall return. The ever turning, bright eye of our Father warms all with his creative gaze, making fertile that which he sees. The long hand of our Father reaches down through the leaves of the oak to touch our upturned face. It is ours alone to walk with Him amongst the stars. We salute him upon rising in the East, at highest noon and upon setting in the west. We know Him best when he is in his home in the Dark North for our home is with Him there. Our holy oaken fire takes us to be with Him and lights the way for us. We alone are the children of the sun. We cleave to our own hearth, for only we know the still center of His ever turning eye, the passageway, the axis of the oak, and the unmoved mover of all. The stillness that moves, is inside us alone. We are Aryan. We look into our Father’s eye and see the spinning cross and know it as our own.

    Our path is upward. Our high duty is to struggle, to pull ourselves ever higher, for we are Him, as he is us. What Duty we fulfill for our own Folk, we do also for Him, for he is made greater by our Nobility as we are by His. The turning Wheel of The Sun shows us the way. His Sign is the Fire Whisk that first stirred the firmament by its turning. Birth, Life, Death and Rebirth roll ever, as an eternal sacrifice of our Father unto Himself. This is also true for men, folk, ages and worlds… as above, so below. Our Father has also a dark eye, whose whirling makes the lightning weapon that clears the way, the spinning bolt that slays the serpent, and lets loose the thunder and rain, and sets the dark sprung races to flight. Our struggles as men and as folk are His. This is the path of the Sun and it is ours, for with each revolution, an upward step is taken. Our sign, turning upward without end, traces the path of life itself in our blood and on the stars.

    Our bright antlered Lord sits in perfect thought, with chaos in His left hand and order in His right. His still center is the space between thoughts. Here, beyond time, He is the singularity. This is our polar home, the Aryan Seed-Land, and here we shall ever return. Here, we dwell with Him between lives and in perfect meditation. Within Him dwell the makings of all. We are of Him. He is Lord of time and His will alone sets it in motion. The ordered Universe emanates from His bright spinning eye, just as His hidden dark eye draws it back, in cleansing destruction. The Universe is endless in form, yet an endless variation of His form. His dream is our reality. Our dream of Him is our birthright of inspiration and conquest.

    We Aryan are thus of and for Him. Our enlightenment as men aids His enlightenment, as feeding the oak unto our sacred hearth fire, feeds His. It is the highest duty of the Aryan to become truly Twice-Born. Our sign reveals to us this fourth fruit of the triple sacrifice.

    The first death, we hang alone unto ourselves. Its color is black, the death of the self.

    The second death, we are pierced from without, no longer alone. Its color is white, the death of desire.

    The third death, we are drowned in oneness with that which surrounds us. Its color is red, the death of compassion, but with this death, will is awakened.

    The fourth is not death, but the rebirth of the self, desire and compassion within the will for higher duty. Its color is gold, the presentation of the true self, the self with meaning, now no longer alone.

    Thus it is the rebirth of desire, but now in desire for high duty, not merely to possess the fruits of action. The rebirth of compassion, but now compassion for our Father’s struggle for higher mind, knowing that our failure to fulfill caste-duty would be failing Him.

    This is the sacred thread worn by the twice-born Aryan. It is the thread spun by the eternal sacrifice, by the ever turning eye of God. We twice-born wear the thread of white, red or gold. The black thread is the sign of our mastery over the dark-sprung races and the selfishness, ignorance and impatience they embody. The plaiting of these four strands shows His sign to all. Its weaving makes one cloth of men, folk and worlds. This cloth is both our girdle of strength and our holy banner. It is none other than the web of fate and only he knows its warp and woof.

    Our sign shows us the four castes.

    Gold is the color of the first caste. We are twice-born priests. Our high duty is to contemplate Him in all His facets, for He is as light through a gemstone, with infinite names and forms. Even though a man may spend a life contemplating only one, each of these forms falls far short of our Father’s unbounded whole. It is ours to study and to teach, to make the triple sacrifice and to perform Aryan ritual. Our meditation generates the heat of sacrificial fire from within us. When we wield the lightning hammer, it shatters all delusion. It is ours to hold this light of God to the path for the Aryan.

    Red is the color of the second caste. We are twice-born warriors endowed with His holy sovereignty. Our high duty is to protect and sustain the Aryan under our Father’s bright spinning eye. Our violence is swift and detached. Our meditation generates the heat of the battle fury from within us. When we wield the lightning hammer, it slays the enemies of the folk. We are the agents of the eternal sacrifice. Though we reap skulls like grain and deliver them forth to the lord of the mill of ages, we dwell within the still center of His sign.

    White is the color of the third caste. We are the twice-born householders. It is our high duty to provide for the folk through productive and creative labor. We settle the land and make it fertile. We are skilled craftsmen, honest merchants, and wise farmers. Our meditation keeps the hearth glowing in the center of the home. When we wield the lightning hammer, folk and land are made fertile. We populate the earth with our pure Aryan bloodline. We are the Lord and Lady of the land. The fruit of our blessed union may wear the white, red or gold sacred thread, it is for our bright-Father to assign. Our children’s caste will be known by their deeds alone, for they are twice-born and of pure blood.

    Black is the color of the fourth caste. They are not children of the Sun, nor are they twice-born. They are as beasts and have but one duty, to follow after their own kind amongst their own kind. They are not our concern for they are not of us and will remain so. The hammer is swift in coming for any who defile the pure Aryan seed-line with the lowly dark-color, for there is no greater affront to our Father than to curse His own grandchildren. We need not the dung colored herd. Intelligence is the true servant of the Aryan. Send them out from amongst us or to their deaths.

    There is a serpent that coils and writhes below even the caste of the dark-sprung, an unclean mixed seed-line of deceivers without caste or homeland. They are profane mongrels, which seek only to destroy our divine light and enslave all the earth. They are not of our sign. They live by gnawing at the root of the tree of life, for the earth will not bear fruit for them. The serpent is neither creative nor productive. They have great wisdom of evil, but of nothing else. They shape-shift and flatter as it suits them. They spit venom from beneath a mantle of feigned holiness and persecution. They seek to poison the Aryan and all the races with lies, shiny trinkets, and usury. The serpent is friend to none but the serpent. They drive wedges between earth and sky, man and woman, and between the castes. Yet even they are unknowing servants of our Father, for he uses them as agents of decay and destruction to clear away the dross amongst us. At the end of the black age, when their evil work is done, they will feel the whirling lightning hammer of the Sun! We shall wield the spinning bolt and destroy the worm that encircles the earth. We shall strike both head and tail with one blow, for the two will meet in the desert from whence they first crawled. Thus all will be ennobled by the slaying of the world serpent and a new age of gold will have been ushered in by their utter annihilation.

    Thus our Father of the battle fallen reveals that inequality, separation, struggle and the triumph of the best, to be His golden path upwards. Victory or death. Compromise is not of nature, and not known to the Aryan, for we are nature’s student and steward. All things are judged by their service to the folk. Any who oppose this, oppose Him and will share the hammer blow with the dark serpent.

    Abandonment of high duty yields only ever-lasting shame, and is worse than being forgotten. There are four paths to the hell of folk-shame. These paths are named sloth, cowardice, greed, and perversity. A child of the Sun has within his veins the blood of an Aryan. If he will not heed its voice and chooses these dark paths of the self, he loses claim to that holy blood and it shall be returned to the soil of the Fatherland in the triple sacrifice. First hung, then wounded by spear, then drowned in water, fire or earth, a soul may learn the secret of the triple sacrifice. He may turn his face back to the Sun and be reborn within the tribe to struggle once again for the good of the folk. He may yet become truly twice-born Aryan. If he does not, he descends with the ages, joins the world serpent and shares its fate.

    Our Sign shows us the four ages. Gold is the color of the first age, it is ruled with perfect sovereignty, by the divine priest king, the hero beyond time. It is the age of the Sun. Duty and law are one. Order is made manifest. Male and female are in balance as are sky and earth. Truth, reason, and will are united in beauty and joy. Violence is detached and without passion, only high duty feeds the soil with blood. The twice-born castes thrive in perfect balance. High duty is fulfilled. It is springtide. Priests make sacred fire by the turning of the oaken bow drill. The hearth is center of home, and kept burning brightly with sacrifice.

    Red is the color of the second age. It is the age of the oak king and the warrior. Force and strength are protector and preserver. The hero against descending time wields the lightening weapon of the Sun. The wisdom of the blood and action are one, and are without thought, and are just. Yet it is the summer of the strong arm of thunder, for in the world holiness is cut in half.

    White is the color of the third age. It is ruled by the hero in time. Fertility and creativity reign. Such as the plow enters the earth and makes her fruitful, all are aware of the generative nature within desire. There is wholesome knowledge of the body and the earth. It is the autumnal rut of the antlered Lord of the forest. He leads the wild hunt through the darkening skies. Holly is His crown and bountiful harvest is his bride, this age belongs to Her. Generation and productivity flow like water, but the world forgets from whence. Holiness is halved again.

    Black is the color of the fourth age. Quantity reigns over quality. It is the winter of tyrants, slaves, and wolves. Decay and chaos dance amid throngs of black sprung foreigners. Unproductive liars, thieves and lechers are many and reign over the noble who are but few. Wealth and its appearance are considered the only virtues. Falsehood now triumphs over truth. Outcastes are now rulers and delight in the slaughter of innocents. The self alone is praised and thought is given to nothing else but gratification of unclean, wanton desire. Male and female are in conflict, as are earth and sky. Family, clan, and folk lie broken. From the defilement of women proceeds the mixture of castes and destruction ensues. Ancestors are first dishonored, and then forgotten. Few are creative. Few make sacrifice. Few feed the sacred fire. Its light lies hidden, but in this time of the serpent, an Aryan warrior priest stands on our mountain holding aloft the sign of the Sun. He is the one who returns age after age to show the folk the golden path, but now few follow. Many Aryan are deceived by lies and are tricked into slaying their brethren. The serpent has thus poisoned them. He who returns judges them and most are found unworthy of the bright eye of our Father. When he who returns has made of himself the holy sacrifice, the sign of the Sun is outlawed by the guilty. Speaking truth is punished by death. The few remaining Aryan make leaves and bark their garments. The children of the Sun hide themselves within mountains and eat only of the forest, yet they still gaze upon His sign, fight the serpent and are ennobled.

    Our Father has told us that in this time He shall turn His once hidden dark eye upon the many. The mightiest of horns shall then be sounded. We few Aryan shall hear and come to fight by His side. Our fallen heroes shall live to fight again from within the heart of the folk where they dwell, mightier than before. Kings, slaves and traitors all, will feel the lightning hammer of our Father the thunderer and all will be laid waste before us. We will see the serpent that walks as a man struck down and cast back into the cauldron of time. The dark sprung shall flee back from whence they came or drench the soil with their blood. Holy fire shall first consume and then ice shall be made to cover the earth. The last Aryans will take refuge in the still center of the whirling Sun cross, the world tree, and because we bare the banked ember of the sacred fire, we will be spared the terrible hammer of God.

    Thus the four ages spin downward, even as the Aryan ascends, for we are in the still center with Him. A pair of ravens in the snow will eat the blood they find there, and then our Sun will shine anew with holy golden light.

    The true Aryan will emerge and thaw the land with his sacred fire. We shall give rise to a new age of gold and the earth will be fertile again. Cycles within cycles, the sun wheel rolls, It has ever been thus. It is the way of everything that is, was, and shall ever be.

    Know that thus is the way of man also. Death is mere change, and suffering is its misunderstanding. We ask our Father for enlightenment and he provides it. The revolution of the wheel is his sign and his answer, for it is Him, and He is us. Know that each death makes way for higher rebirth. Life proceeds as a song passed from singer to singer, never forgotten, never ended. It is the Song of the Sun. Death feeds life, the eternal sacrifice of our Father unto Himself to gain ever higher mind. It is His upward path and it is ours, as Aryan and as men. Ask Him in His holy morning light, and His long hand will provide you with His truth. His lightning weapon cuts through all delusion. Honor and loyalty transcend death. The deeds of our ancestors live forever. They dwell in the stillness within, and come to us to spur us on to glory. Fulfillment of high duty confers ever-lasting nobility.

    Sing this, the Song of the Sun. Dwell with Him in His still center and be the unmoved mover. His sign is the very eye of God! Gaze upon it and listen with your honor, listen with your blood to this the Song of our Father.


    Translated by L. Hendricks
    Edited by S. Christianson

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    Post The Song of the Sun, The Song of our Father

    I know most of you guys see this poem, which is excellent by the way, as an affirmation of your Norse Odinsim, but there are hints of other meanings here. I would like to suggest that there is also a National Socialistic theme contained in this poem concerning the Black Sun:

    "spinning cross" = the swastika, a solar symbol but a symbol of a Black Sun, not the star Sol.

    "Fire Wisk" = again, the swastika

    "dark eye whose whorling makes the lightning weapon" Odin's dark eye is the Black Sun and its power is the ultimate weapon in the Universe.

    "with chaos in His left hand and order in His right. His still center is the space between thoughts" ---this is a perfect description of a Black Hole or, as we say, the Black Sun.

    "his hidden dark eye draws it back, in cleansing destruction"---another obvious reference to the Black Sun

    What is the origin of this poem? If this is Odinism, it is heavily influenced by esoteric Nazi thought. It sounds like something which came about in an Allied detention camp after the war when the SS men had nothing to do but preserve their heritage using an oral tradition.

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    Post Re: The Song of the Sun, The Song of our Father

    Poetic and moving. A couple of observations/questions though.

    Who is the author and is it reproducible?

    I note the caste arrangement is Indo-Aryan from the Book and Manu, not specifically Norse. 'Twice-born' is also an Indic reference from Manu/reincarnation.

    Heimdall and most other Aryans recognized only three castes - although the fourth, 'outsider', is probably justifiable. The assignment of black to the fourth caste is reasonable given:

    1) the Indic resonance
    2) the multi-planar meaning of light v. dark

    What's the origin of the rest of this caste/color scheme? Dumezil identified white/priest, red/warrior, dark/producer with the latter typically blue or green (survey the unconsciously tricolor European national flags for white, red, blue/green vis other regions).

    In addition to these, there is another class of honorless people who can come from any group (though some groups produce disproportionate numbers). They are malicious, destructive, liars - bordering between evil spirit and detestable man. Indo-European *dreugh, Avestan druj, Norse draugr.

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    Post Re: The Song of the Sun, The Song of our Father

    Good questions, Dr. Wolff and OnionPeeler, but I cannot answer them.

    A friend of mine sent this to me some years back and told me that it was a translation undertaken by a comrade of his, posted in a National Alliance archive. From whence it was translated, I don't know. I e-mailed the the reported translator to ask for his permission to reproduce it and he agreed. I edited it slightly and am still in the process. I do not know the original source or language. I wish I did so I could get a better grip on it.

    I also noticed the simliarities to Indo-Aryan spirituality; it reminds me of Savitri Devi in particular. Her combination of Indo-Aryan spirituality and National Socialist themes is right in line with this piece.

    Anyway, I just think it's totally beautiful. It's a little rough around the edges, but still just beautiful to me. I've sent to many people over the years hoping to get it spread far & wide. So far, Phlegethon is the only one who hated it. Perhaps someone who knows the origins will see it and let us know from whence it comes.

    I'm glad that I'm not the only one who likes it.

    Odin mit uns (yes, ODIN ;P).

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    Post Re: The Song of the Sun, The Song of our Father

    Quote Originally Posted by Sigrun Christianson
    Birth, Life, Death and Rebirth roll ever, as an eternal sacrifice of our Father unto Himself.
    This is about Odinism and of the Solar deity connection. But I still feel that rolling over everything Indo-European, although highly admirable, is also amusing.

    I have my own Agni-Heimdall conception, as well as the primal cow mother(in Vedic, Pars and Norse).

    And for Gods, the better refrain(I mean Mantra in my language) is:

    Unsere Götter Mit Uns!!!

    Nashi Bogi S Nami!!!

    Asmakam Devanam Asmabhyam Asan!!!

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