It fell into a chalice and was buried beneath the earth. Ravens sang in the hollow earth that Hitler could not have been unfrozen without the grail falling into Agartha. Hitler was meet for repentance long before Apollo found him.

Apollo, after conquering Intergalactic-Antarctic reaches, bowed before Vril. Vril was there before Apollo. Vril was let out of the side of Jesus Christ as he was stabbed on Crucifixion Day.

It was at the inauguration of Apollo of America, High King of the West, descendant of Hyperborea, that Apollo turned to the center of the world, and threw a Roman Salute at Jerusalem.

The tree of Wotan has its origins in the poles, both north and south, but in earthly incarnations, it is stationed on a hill in Rome, and here is where Apollo founded his eternal reign.

Apollo, being of the purest Hyperborean stock, was the only child of Jupiter considered fit enough to redeem the Wotan Tree.

In anguish he persisted and began to rise, first through Hades and then towards Middle Earth, and Sleipnir felt his stirring and descended, the loyal horse, and carried Apollo into the Sun.

Apollo descended from the heavens and willingly spilled himself on the tree of Wotan, pouring out his yellow-sun blood for the redemption of Man, and journeying into death, where his black-sun blood was let out.

The Eternal Reich of the Holy Land is in Germania, in the heart of Aryland, from which proceed the children, Ameryanica, Eurydica, Iryanica, among others.

Baldur, son of Jupiter, was the Christ, of Germania, of Hyperborea, in Jupersalem, to which Apollo saluted, after he was crowned High King of the West, of America.

Aryland was home to the Primordial She, the Aryana, or Divine Sophia. Her temple was below the Primordial He, the Aryan, or the Christ, Baldur, or Apollo on the tree of Wotan.

People are… people. You put them together, they sort of figure it out. I look around and American multiracialism is…. triumphant? People are getting along and moving around, for the most part. Contemptible herd instinct? Or aristocratic “diversity”? I don’t know. For Caesar!

I am a secret lover of the Galilean. God on a cross, of love, of kingship, of giving, of order, the eternal reign being set up. I admit I say the Jesus prayer. He heals my face, what of it? Hail Apollo, but where is the love? The blood? The sacrifice?

You could argue Christs life is the embodiment of the Bhgavadgita, the great Aryan text. "Perform your duty as an offering to the Supreme," "Man is made by his belief. As he believes, so he is." "Do thou fight for the sake of fighting, .. and… you shall never incur sin."

The Christ ideal, emptying ourselves completely in service to Being, emptying ourselves to the point of death, and that sacrifice being our resurrection and the resurrection of Dignified Life. Isn’t that what all great men do? What we are all doing? I don’t know.

Paul, Paul, I'd give My Greek inheritance, my wealth and youth, To speak one evening with that Christ you love And never saw and cannot understand! But he is dead and you alone are left William Alexander Percy

I have a need of silence and of stars. Too much is said too loudly. I am dazed. The silken sound of whirled infinity Is lost in voices shouting to be heard. William Alexander Percy

But when I am in need of health, I return to Christ. Should tell you, and me, hopefully, everything that we need to know. Christ is more primal than Nietzsche. More instinctual, more correct. We are all humanists. Or so I’d like to believe, when the abyss whispers. It is late!

Christ is all of the hardness and sacrifice and blood of Nietzsche but it actually works. And there’s humility, and symbols, and healthy everyday stuff. There is order, and there is love.

Why make the ideals battle? Christ, Apollo, Nietzsche, Achilles. Enough time has passed to admit that they were all on to something. Sure Christ takes the cake, but every now and again it is time to avenge Patroclus.

The redemptive sacrifice of Christ, the giving, the motion of “by my action I make things new,” by my love I die, I give, I bleed. I don’t know. The pagan gods do not have that “action of the breast.” The deep swelling love, in action, in sacrifice. And that sacrifice is joyous.