Runes in the Green Grass

French. MagyarSerbian.

First some music.

In case you didn’t know: I don’t enjoy writing. I don’t want to write. I don’t plan to write. I fact, every time I do write something, like I do now with this post for the TP blog, I plan not to write anything more, ever again, but I always fail to do so. I fail because I feel a strong need to ensure the survival of the most essential parts of our European (Pagan) culture, and to do so I have to write down what I know about this, and what others don’t seem to know, and eventually publish what I write in form of books.

Every man must die, but a tribe can live forever. I worry not about my life; my life is good and I have no complaints personally, and if I die today I die knowing that I spent my time well. But I worry about the life of my tribe, my people, my race. Our Pagan culture is the foundation on which we stand. Without it we will fall, sink into the ground – like we are doing today, and like we have done the last thousand years – and eventually disappear from the face of the earth. As part of my tribe I don’t want that to ever happen: I am alive, my survival instincts are intact, so I keep writing… to ensure that the foundation remains strong and powerful. To ensure that our glorious, thoroughly good and deeply honest tribes will be able to at one point rid itself of the foreign yoke, Judeo-Christianity, and then return to greatness, in mind, blood and spirit, and live honourable lives again, like we did in the days of yore.

The blood of our Pagan forebears is in us, so we can remember and miss that Golden Age of Europe. We can feel the longing deep within our hearts and minds. We can remember the Europe that was not committing suicide, that was not destroying itself.

And we can miss it.

And we can work to make it return.

Hail the European Deities! Hail and Joy!