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Re: Recovering history and navigating the ZeitGeist

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  • carol
    Knowing oneself to be at one with the willing of the spiritual world gives one s soul the power of certainty in the course of one s life, however
    Message 1 of 25 , Feb 4, 2007
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      "Knowing oneself to be at one with the willing of the spiritual world
      gives one's soul the power of certainty in the course of one's life,
      however disconcertingly the events of outer life may be raging around
      the vessel of one's life." RS in a personal letter to von Moltke


      More spirit wisdom from Letters and Verses from Rudolf Steiner; Light
      For The New Millennium, Rudolf Steiner's association with Helmuth
      and Eliza von Moltke, Letters, Documents and After-Death
      Communications



      Rudolf Steiner to Helmuth von Moltke Dornach, (9 February 1915)

      I would like to tell His Excellency in a few sentences what has been
      placed before my soul while thinking of you in spirit, from that side
      of the spiritual world known to you:

      `Human beings work in the world through their outer deeds in the
      ordinary course of life; but when something spiritual is to be
      realized through physical happenings significant things may be
      achieved when a human being not only performs his deeds but connects
      himself with the course of events in such a way that he bears
      patiently what appeared to him hard to bear, and for which he needs
      to overcome himself. This is what you have rightly achieved. It is
      very positive that things have not reached a state detachment where
      one's own will would have been in opposition to what was willed by
      the outer world; that in fact everything has been done not to drive
      this detachment beyond what was effected from the other side. Such
      deeds are deeds of the soul life, and in that they are crucial forces
      for helping to bring about a favorable outcome. It is significant
      that a man exists who is willing to bring personal sacrifices to the
      true love of the cause, who knows himself connected with the cause I
      such a way that he willingly bears personal suffering for reason of
      serving the spirit. In such a mood of soul the forces of the spirit
      can work; and theses must work for things to take a favorable turn.
      The guiding powers of the spirit are able to gather forces in this
      personality during time of an apparent distance from the events, and
      these forces will be need in the time before us.'

      I have put these words in inverted commas for a good reason. There
      is nothing in these sentences which I have just thought up. These
      intuitions are rather an affirmation that I may speak to His
      Excellency as I have indeed done in these times which have afforded
      you such hard trials. My thoughts often go towards you and then to
      those sources of the spiritual life which shape the direction of
      earthly events, and then I may always bring back the satisfying
      vision of your connection with the spiritual world. May you feel
      with your whole being how what has been brought about through you is
      in unison with the spiritual world, and may you recognize in the
      consciousness of this unison the inner spiritual support which is
      infinitely more secure than any outer supports man might find for his
      existence. Knowing oneself to be at one with the willing of the
      spiritual world gives one's soul the power of certainty in the course
      of one's life, however disconcertingly the events of outer life may
      be raging around the vessel of one's life. I know for sure that you
      may experience this; may it spread throughout your soul and fill it
      with utter clarity. Such is the way in which I often think of you,
      Excellency, and I will continue to do so as your devoted
      R. St.

      Notes for Helmuth von Moltke (Dornach, 26 May 1915)

      Notwithstanding all that is happening outwardly, inwardly everything
      has remained as I have always described it to you. Keeping up one's
      courage, mastering the difficulties, this is what needs to be done
      without fail. With respect to this, new spiritual experiences
      confirm the earlier ones. And if the will is quietly strengthened
      and upheld it will be possible to achieve what has to be achieved.
      Our trust in the world's spiritual guidance wil only grow strong
      enough if it is hardened and steeled by experiences in the physical
      world which, if they were merely taken to be such physical
      experiences, might make us faint-hearted. After all, trust in what s
      spiritual demands that we nurture t whatever may be happening in the
      physical world. If I were to write down today what has been revealed
      to me spiritually in the time since we met the description would not
      look very different from what has been given earlier. And actually
      it is this very fact which makes it so significant, so hopeful.
      There are certain details which are new but as far as the general
      thrust is concerned nothing has changed. Therefore it is necessary
      to hold fast to what has been understood to be the right course so
      far.

      What is experienced in the satisfaction of the physical world as such
      has run its course, has fulfilled its task, what is suffered has an
      inherent causal power; it leads beyond itself. This is not altered
      by the fact that suffering, too has its causes. It is, as it were,
      the seed of that light which wants to be borne out of darkness. And
      this light really does continue to appear in the way it did in all
      those difficult times of suffering in the past. And all the
      spiritual beings of which we have spoken keep on pointing to this
      light, signifying that in it solace and strength and peace are to be
      found.

      The Spirit of the German people is with this light and whatever this
      Spirit places within the gleam of this light will eventually find the
      path. This spirit remains the Spirit with his torch raised, and
      those who were around him continue to be around him and whoever is
      protected by him is well protected These are the spiritual facts of
      which we have often spoken; and what I have been allowed to know
      today serves to confirm my seein of these facts.
    • holderlin66
      For all those have so easily got lost in what is the point of reviewing and recovering history, here is the point. The point is that the precise star rhythm
      Message 2 of 25 , Feb 4, 2007
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        For all those have so easily got lost in what is the point of
        reviewing and recovering history, here is the point. The point is
        that the precise star rhythm pattern that brought about the
        crescendo of events that shattered the 20th century appeared and
        restarted their attack on the Grail history and Grail Sciences of
        the 20th century by the year 1997 and are still crushingly striding
        forward where we stand today in the current 2007. The 21st century
        has been hijacked so far against the impulses of Mankind!

        Therefore when we learn our lessons, when we look at current events,
        we are being taught lessons that were also brought suddenly and
        surprisingly to Europe. But here in the 21st century we must use
        these lessons and thank souls like George Orwell and Steiner and all
        those who have faced these hard trials and gleaned from them current
        Michael Intelligence lessons. It isn't that we can wish it were
        otherwise, the point is to see what it is and send it back out of
        the dark corners where it lurks in humans wills. To diagnose and
        remove it before it causes terrible, terrible chaos again.

        Magnificent, giant Jupiter's swath, not only stirs the ethers but
        the events that have produced the catastrophic plunge into the
        middle east and Iraq, Iran, Syria...come from the super cell of
        sorathian will intent, as powerful as streaming unconscious will
        forces that come into the stagnating and ruptured heart of Dick
        Cheney. His heart is a ruptured vessel that cannot contain and
        refuses to contain and actively works against the building of the
        new etheric heart we have discussed here. But his darkened will
        along with those in Israel are moving unconsiously in a symphony of
        dark orchestrated intent that is motivated by black lodges to
        suffocate humanities relation to The Etheric Christ Sun. Suffocate
        it and bury it in trivia or catastrophe.

        The vast super-cell of a vast net of beings as powerful as a group
        soul or Archai intent, has picked up the lazy and thoughtless region
        of the American, British and Israel souls to repeat and plunge
        humanity into a recapitualation of black lodge victories going back
        to Kaspar Hauser. The stars have swept right around again to this
        spot and on this spot currently in 2007, the unconscious will-
        intelligence of subsensible beings have cunningly entered the
        corrupt will and materialistic will forces of humanity again...and
        just like Germany, America is blind to these powerful overshadowing
        resurging victories of the black lodges as they reassert themselves.

        If we were but conscious of the return pattern of the stars or that
        the history of 20th century Grail Europe including physics science
        of the soul and spirit out of Munich, that Steiner was there to
        offer, were forced back to the humble and subdued Christmas
        Foundation and the Foundation Stone, we might be able to laugh these
        idiots back into their dark Orwellian corners. A Grail Science and a
        Grail culture has its only hot point out of those souls who grasp
        the reality of Michael culture and the current Michael Zeitgeist
        goals.

        To piece together the series of standard assassinations, spin,
        numbing of the entire German folk and now America, Britain and
        Israel, into the same schemes and the same delusions as 1914, we
        might be able to hold onto the Grail Sciences history before it is
        once more plunged into a whole new wave of world wide chaos and is
        rewritten in the usual Orwellian fashion and lost. Lost like today
        to the uneducated and scattered thought realm who have never heard
        or couldn't even understand as the Christmas Conference or The
        Foundation Stone. Just as today any truth about events in America is
        being recast to blunt the education of our children and the future
        so they won't see how sound asleep and what imbeciles we were that
        we couldn't detox our will impulses and our cognition from those who
        represent everything that is anti-man and anti-logos.

        Steiner brought;

        "The German people believed that its imperial structure, erected
        half a century ago, would last for an unlimited time. In August
        1914, it felt that the imminent catastrophe of war would prove this
        structure invincible. Today, only its ruins are left. After such an
        experience retrospection is in order, for this experience has proved
        the opinions of half a century, especially the dominant thoughts of
        the war years, to be tragically erroneous. What are the reasons
        behind this erroneous thinking? This question must induce
        retrospection in the minds of the German people. Its potentiality
        for life depends on whether the strength exists for this kind of
        self-examination. Its future depends on whether it can earnestly ask
        the following question: how did we fall into error? If the German
        people asks itself this question today, it will realize that it
        established an Empire half a century ago, but omitted to assign to
        this Empire the mission which corresponds to the inner essence of
        its people."

        "... `the decisive events in Berlin'. The memoirs of General Helmuth
        von Moltke, Chief of the German General Staff at the outbreak of the
        war, were ready for publication in May 1919. Von Moltke describes
        the German Government's attitude at that time, especially on 31 July
        and 1 August 1914: `The atmosphere grew steadily more tense and I
        was completely alone.' Then he was told by the Kaiser, `So now you
        can do whatever you want.'

        "Rudolf Steiner wrote in a commentary: `So there it was: the Chief
        of the General Staff stood completely alone. Due to the fact that
        German policy had reached the zero-point, Europe's destiny on 31
        July and 1 August rested in the hands of a man who was obliged to do
        his military duty.' (Vorbemerkungen zu Die Schuld am Krieg,
        Betrachtungen und Erinnerungen des Generalstabschefs H. von Moltke.)
        Aufsätze über die Dreigliederung des Sozialen Organismus.
        This `military duty' involved implementing the German army's
        predetermined war-plan, prepared by von Moltke's predecessor General
        Schlieffen, which provided for the domination of France before
        invading Russia. France was to be attacked through Belgium and
        Holland. Von Moltke modified the plan to the extent that Holland was
        omitted.

        "His memoirs were suppressed in 1919, but Rudolf Steiner, who was
        personally acquainted with him, was familiar with their contents. In
        an interview which appeared in the French newspaper Le Matin in
        October 1921, Steiner said that the memoirs should have been
        published in 1919, but they were suppressed because of fear on the
        part of the authorities. `Why this fear? These memoirs are in no way
        an accusation against the imperial government. Something else is
        involved, which is perhaps even worse: that this imperial government
        found itself in a state of complete confusion and under an
        incredibly frivolous and ignorant leadership.' Jules Sauerman's
        interview with Dr. Rudolf Steiner on the unpublished memoirs of the
        late Chief of the German General Staff von Moltke.

        "What About Parallels Between 1914 (WWI) and 1997?

        "The scary thing about this 83-year precise "Jupiter Return," where
        generalized historical events may be repeating themselves, is that
        we are fast approaching 1997. In that year, we will not only have a
        repeat of the Jupiter-Uranus conjunction in early Aquarius from
        March 3-4, 1914 (the date in 1997 for this Jupiter-Uranus union will
        be February 15-16), but Jupiter--throughout 1997--will be recrossing
        his steps (to the degree and to the day) from 1914. It was during
        1914 that World War I began--particularly with the assassination of
        the Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary on June 28, 1914 (by
        the way, I am writing this story on June 28, 1995) and the "Guns of
        August," the nightmarish launching of war in Europe in early August
        1914. In June 1997, Jupiter at 22 Aquarius will be stationing
        retrograde right where he stationed in June 1914 and, of course, on
        the 83rd anniversary of the assassination of the Archduke--June 28,
        1997--Jupiter will be at 21+ Aquarius (exactly where Jupiter was on
        June 28, 1914)! Keep in mind that the beginning of World War I in
        1914 was actually the birth of both world wars. World War II came
        about because the peace treaty imposed upon Germany in November 1918
        was reviled by militaristic Germans and the Nazis eventually broke
        every agreement within that peace treaty in their efforts to
        reconquer Europe."
      • holderlin66
        The Project for the New American Disaster by Tom Chartier http://www.lewrockwell.com/chartier/chartier60.html holderlin brought: Not only is this not a war
        Message 3 of 25 , Feb 5, 2007
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          The Project for the New American Disaster
          by Tom Chartier

          http://www.lewrockwell.com/chartier/chartier60.html

          holderlin brought:

          "Not only is this not a war and it is based on the roots of
          disrupting the Logos from achieving the goal of intimacy of human
          thinking, it is a poltical Sorathian surge as outlined and
          anticipated by Steiner's Anthroposophy and nailed dead clear as a
          train wreck, as the arrival of The PNAC, Project for a New Ahrimanic
          Century dead on in 1997. It follows in the rhythm pattern of 1913/14
          dawn of WW I etc..etc...picking up the pattern and impress of the
          planets. This indirect and direct attack through torture against the
          Logos in Man and the Michael Nation is brought in order to derail
          humanity from building the faculties to approach the Angelic world
          through our heart thinking."

          Steiner brought;

          "The German people believed that its imperial structure, erected
          half a century ago, would last for an unlimited time. In August
          1914, it felt that the imminent catastrophe of war would prove this
          structure invincible. Today, only its ruins are left. After such an
          experience retrospection is in order, for this experience has
          proved the opinions of half a century, especially the dominant
          thoughts of the war years, to be tragically erroneous. What are the
          reasons behind this erroneous thinking? This question must induce
          retrospection in the minds of the German people. Its potentiality
          for life depends on whether the strength exists for this kind of
          self-examination. Its future depends on whether it can earnestly
          ask the following question: how did we fall into error? If the
          German people asks itself this question today, it will realize that
          it established an Empire half a century ago, but omitted to assign
          to this Empire the mission which corresponds to the inner essence of
          its people."

          The Michael School can see the intimate recapitulations of strong
          negative will forces that are turned back at us again, you might say
          focused and reflected, rayed back into the unconscious human will
          riding on the rhythm of the sorathian surge predicted out of 1998.

          If, as Steiner brought, we were conscious or the German people were
          conscious of their cultural mission....calamity, catastrophe and
          absorbing the dark forces into our will stream, could never have
          happened if we had time stamped our motives with human conscience
          and seen ourselves as the spiritual family and spiritual beings that
          we are. Compare where the Intellectual Soul attempts to come to
          grips with itself.

          "During the summer of 1924 a former German Army corporal languished
          in relative luxury in Landsberg Prison. With time on his hands he
          dictated a turgid book of twisted thoughts to one of his loyal
          cronies. With a gift for oratory, the prisoner had risen to leader
          of a fledgling political party. An idealistically naïve and inept
          attempt to overthrow the struggling government by force had failed,
          landing the leader behind bars.

          Volume One of the book was first printed in the autumn of 1925 and
          initially sold a meager 9,473 copies. Sales dropped further to only
          3,015 by 1928. Even when sales did increase, the book was not often
          read by those who bought it. It was a prerequisite display
          of "political correctness" to be placed in view on the mantle. The
          book laid out very specifically a plan for the forceful expansion
          towards more "living space" into Eastern Europe coupled with rabid
          racism so severe it called for the extermination of an entire race
          of people. The book was titled Mein Kampf – My Struggle in English.

          One wonders, had German citizens bothered to read the book and give
          it serious thought, would Germany and the world have been spared
          unparalleled disaster?

          WW II, its cause and its carnage, is now alive only in the pages of
          history books. Offering accounts that are unimaginable to and thus
          misunderstood by new generations, such works of history are
          selectively remembered by governments with their own modern agendas.
          For most people today, the complex causes of WW II have been reduced
          to the most simplistic terms of good versus evil. It is never that
          simple.

          The world is six years into a new century. Unfortunately, the new
          century has not handed the world a clean slate with which to start
          civilization over again. Sadly, old men do not forget. Last
          century's grudges and feuds are alive and well in this century. With
          angry intolerance and dreams of conquest, mankind continues to grab
          at empire.

          Enter the Project For The New American Century.

          Well known to those who actively follow national and world
          developments, PNAC along with other think tanks governing national
          policy such as The American Enterprise Institute, operate beyond the
          view of the average American who listens to talk-radio on the way to
          work. And yet such think tanks exert an enormous influence and power
          over the future of the United States and with it mankind. Woe to
          those who do not see through the rationale and revisionist history
          used by these think tanks to justify their agenda.

          In its Statement of Principles, dated June 3, 1997, The Project for
          the New American Century spelled out its philosophy and agenda. For
          those who bothered to read it, little doubt was left concerning what
          was in store for the 21st century. The PNAC Statement is reprinted
          in its entirety below with comments.

          "American foreign and defense policy is adrift. Conservatives have
          criticized the incoherent policies of the Clinton Administration.
          They have also resisted isolationist impulses from within their own
          ranks. But conservatives have not confidently advanced a strategic
          vision of America's role in the world. They have not set forth
          guiding principles for American foreign policy. They have allowed
          differences over tactics to obscure potential agreement on strategic
          objectives. And they have not fought for a defense budget that would
          maintain American security and advance American interests in the new
          century.

          We aim to change this. We aim to make the case and rally support for
          American global leadership."

          Although touting itself as a voice of "conservatism," PNAC evidences
          little genuine conservative philosophy. Lord Salisbury warned of
          this very thing. Paul Smith writes: "Salisbury had little taste for
          colonization: he could see that all too often it was a convenient
          pretext for the robbery of the weak, and he was doubtful whether the
          advantages it brought offset the heavy expense and commitment
          incurred."

          "Radical" would be a more apt description for PNAC policies. In the
          military jargon of "strategy" and "tactics," a call is made
          for "American global leadership." What exactly are these "American
          interests" that PNAC wants to "advance"?

          The Statement of Principles continues:

          "As the 20th century draws to a close, the United States stands as
          the world's preeminent power. Having led the West to victory in the
          Cold War, America faces an opportunity and a challenge: Does the
          United States have the vision to build upon the achievements of past
          decades? Does the United States have the resolve to shape a new
          century favorable to American principles and interests?

          In short, with the break up of the U.S.S.R. there is no country
          strong enough to stop the U.S., therefore we must strike now… while
          the iron is hot.

          We are in danger of squandering the opportunity and failing the
          challenge. We are living off the capital – both the military
          investments and the foreign policy achievements – built up by past
          administrations. Cuts in foreign affairs and defense spending,
          inattention to the tools of statecraft, and inconstant leadership
          are making it increasingly difficult to sustain American influence
          around the world. And the promise of short-term commercial benefits
          threatens to override strategic considerations. As a consequence, we
          are jeopardizing the nation's ability to meet present threats and to
          deal with potentially greater challenges that lie ahead. We seem to
          have forgotten the essential elements of the Reagan Administration's
          success: a military that is strong and ready to meet both present
          and future challenges; a foreign policy that boldly and purposefully
          promotes American principles abroad; and national leadership that
          accepts the United States' global responsibilities."

          Did the United States under president Reagan actually lead the West
          to victory in the Cold War? Or did Reagan's forceful policies and
          rearmament combine with the implosion of the U.S.S.R.'s failed
          economy as the Russians lost their ill-advised war in Afghanistan?

          Does the U.S. have decades of international achievements on which to
          build and of which to boast? WW I was fought to a standstill with
          the U.S. participating in the final year, 1918. In WW II, Nazi
          Germany suffered greatly by the perpetual British and U.S. aerial
          bombardment; however, it was the onslaught of the Russian Red Army
          that dealt National Socialism the deathblow. Through attrition of
          resources, tiny Imperial Japan's 1941 aggression against the U.S.
          never had a chance against the expanse of America.

          How about Korea? Vietnam? Are these achievements of past decades to
          build upon in a quest for a New American Century? And don't forget
          America's achievements in the little third world. The U.S. has been
          busy inside countries of no threat to, and with no possibility of
          defense against the mighty U.S. war machine. As stated by AEI Neocon
          Michael Ledeen: "Every ten years or so, the United States needs to
          pick up some small crappy little country and throw it against the
          wall, just to show the world we mean business."

          Are these policies something to boast of and build upon
          as "successes?"

          While feeding their own paranoia, the "thinkers" at PNAC are
          rationalizing their own delusions of grandeur.

          "Of course, the United States must be prudent in how it exercises
          its power. But we cannot safely avoid the responsibilities of global
          leadership or the costs that are associated with its exercise.
          America has a vital role in maintaining peace and security in
          Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. If we shirk our responsibilities,
          we invite challenges to our fundamental interests. The history of
          the 20th century should have taught us that it is important to shape
          circumstances before crises emerge, and to meet threats before they
          become dire. The history of this century should have taught us to
          embrace the cause of American leadership."

          "Prudent" in the exercise of power? Since when? How can any sentient
          being consider Michael Ledeen's
          statement "prudent?" "Peace?" "Security?" Where? In the Middle East?
          This is merely a smoke screen of "morality."

          What is important in this passage is the carefully worded hint of
          preventive war. To hell with "intelligence" and concrete proof,
          we'll make that up as we go along. The ends justify the means. It is
          America's "fundamental interests," and claims to the world's
          remaining oil supplies, which must be protected. Morality does not
          enter into it.

          "Our aim is to remind Americans of these lessons and to draw their
          consequences for today. Here are four consequences:

          we need to increase defense spending significantly if we are to
          carry out our global responsibilities today and modernize our armed
          forces for the future;
          we need to strengthen our ties to democratic allies and to challenge
          regimes hostile to our interests and values;
          we need to promote the cause of political and economic freedom
          abroad;
          we need to accept responsibility for America's unique role in
          preserving and extending an international order friendly to our
          security, our prosperity, and our principles."
          These are not "consequences." These are statements rationalizing
          conquest through force.

          Increase defense spending? The United States spends billions more
          on "defense" than is needed to defend her borders. The United States
          is protected both to the east and west by vast oceans and has non-
          hostile neighbors to the north and south. No nation in the world
          could seriously contemplate an invasion of U.S. borders as a matter
          of foreign policy. The terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001 were
          not a militaristic act of a hostile state but a brutal terrorist
          attack of a privately funded, fringe group of radicals scorned and
          feared by many of the Middle Eastern nations. It was not an
          invasion. It was not a state-sponsored act of war.

          What PNAC actually means is: increase "military spending for
          offense" and for the benefit of the military industrial complex in
          order to serve aggressive pursuit of a bigger empire.

          Challenge hostile regimes? In other words, destroy nations that do
          not kowtow to our demands. The mighty U.S. will threaten to bomb
          them back into the Stone Age to show we mean business.

          Promote political and economic freedom abroad? Is this best
          accomplished at the point of a gun? What about political and
          economic freedom at home? Must America's Constitution and civil
          liberties be discarded in the New American Century? Evidently so.

          Accept responsibility for what? Creating a Militaristic Empire for
          the power hungry neoconservatives? The United States is responsible
          for the United States, not for the world. The U.S. is not the global
          guardian. Last I heard, the United Nations was supposed to fill that
          role.

          "Such a Reaganite policy of military strength and moral clarity may
          not be fashionable today. But it is necessary if the United States
          is to build on the successes of this past century and to ensure our
          security and our greatness in the next."

          No doubt, PNAC's Statement of Principles is attractive to those
          Americans who love to be number one and care little how they get
          there.

          The Greatness of America is a delusional falsehood which has been
          fostered by our schools, movies, television and newspapers. America
          and the PNAC have bloated egos claiming to be the saviors of the
          world. Was 9/11 evidence that the world may not share this view? To
          the eyes of the world community, we are the bullies to be feared…
          and hated. "Such a Reaganite policy of military strength and moral
          clarity" may have become fashionable with PNAC thugs but it lacks
          not simply "moral clarity" but morals entirely. It is nothing more
          than Empire building madness. America's white hat is splattered in
          blood.

          Note the signatories. Many are familiar names within the current
          Democratic Dictatorship of secrecy and privilege. And this list is
          only a fraction of the Neocons driving towards the disaster of the
          New American Century.

          Elliott Abrams, Gary Bauer, William J. Bennett, Jeb Bush, Dick
          Cheney, Eliot A. Cohen, Midge Decter, Paula Dobriansky, Steve
          Forbes, Aaron Friedberg, Francis Fukuyama, Frank Gaffney, Fred C.
          Ikle, Donald Kagan, Zalmay Khalilzad, I. Lewis Libby, Norman
          Podhoretz, Dan Quayle, Peter W. Rodman, Stephen P. Rosen, Henry S.
          Rowen, Donald Rumsfeld, Vin Weber, George Weigel, Paul Wolfowitz

          One member of PNAC, whose name is not shown on this list, is PNAC
          chairman and co-founder William Kristol. Kristol has just joined
          Time magazine as a columnist. About Kristol one might quote Ayn
          Rand's description of: "a journalist who wrote that it is proper and
          moral to use compulsion 'for a good cause,' who believed that he had
          the right to unleash physical force upon others – to wreck lives,
          throttle ambitions, strangle desires, violate convictions, to
          imprison, to despoil, to murder – for the sake of whatever he chose
          to consider as his idea of 'a good cause,' …since he …relied solely
          on his own 'good intentions' and on the power of a gun." [Ayn Rand,
          ATLAS SHRUGGED, Part II "Either-Or," Chapter VII "The Moratorium on
          Brains," p 605]

          In late August of 1939, with Austria annexed to Germany and
          Czechoslovakia occupied by the Third Reich, one "only had to look at
          a map to see who was next, Poland." An attack by fake Polish
          soldiers on a German radio station in Gleiwitz was staged by the
          German S.S. In retaliation, Germany's blitzkrieg poured across the
          border into Poland on September 1st, 1939. It was the opening day of
          WW II.

          Early victories were impressive. Six years later, Germany lay in
          ruins.

          Vigilance could have prevented WW II. Germany failed to understand
          the message of Mein Kampf. Germany could have taken action to
          prevent its own destruction. Today, the most aggressive nation in
          the world, the United States of America, is building up military
          forces around another "crappy little country," Iran. Under the guise
          of spreading peace, security, freedom and democracy the U.S.
          blitzkrieg of Iran is almost certain.

          The policies of PNAC threaten endless war in a savage re-shaping of
          a fearful world.

          The Project for the New American Century issued a warning to America
          and the world on June 3, 1997. All one had to do was read it and to
          look at the map. God help us all."
        • holderlin66
          R.S. The arrogance and superciliousness of those who imagine themselves to be practical, but whose practicality is the disguised narrow-mindedness which has
          Message 4 of 25 , Feb 5, 2007
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            R.S.

            "The arrogance and superciliousness
            of those who imagine themselves to be practical, but whose
            practicality is the disguised narrow-mindedness which has in fact
            induced the calamity, must cease. Attention should be paid to what
            those who are decried as idealists, but who in reality are the
            practical ones, have to say about the evolutionary needs of modern
            times."

            Bradford comments on the Consciousness Soul standpoint;

            The stars in meaningful justification return to sender all those
            unconscious impulses that truly fail to awaken the keys that unlock
            our human mystery. It isn't merely what goes around comes around,
            but rather what was failed to be understood, learned or digested
            will continue to drag us into ever deeper and deeper unconscious
            morasses.The stars and the cosmos return to sender, unconscious will
            forces that are returned for a redo, a redux, marked: failed to
            learn the lessons of why we sit in this cosmos in the first place.

            In this instance of Time study, I am not referring to how individual
            lessons are redone and remade by making an entirely new incarnation
            blueprint to correct Karmic errors. In this instance we are
            following the nearer generational lessons that the immediate planets
            and the immediate stars return to us, that humanity failed to use
            and digest consciously to unlock the cosmic riddle.

            Now what do we mean? We mean that our lack of technical curiosity,
            our lack of objective scientific interest in how these mighty
            wonders have unlocked the mystery of the Christ and achieved such
            mighty results, have very much to do with our serious
            considerations, or complete lack of serious considerations, of how
            Zarathustra, after great efforts, achieved the ability to emancipate
            and offer a highly developed, independent model of his own human
            etheric body to students. Technically we have to bring into our
            consciousness an understanding for the amazing Formative Field
            etheric forces that levitate plants upwards, bear fruit, seed,
            flower, disperse, wither, die -- operate in more complexity in
            animals and achieve the height of complexity in the working man.

            Obviously it meant that Zarathustra became highly familiar with the
            etheric forces of the plant, the group etheric forces that model and
            shape breeds and animals and the complex physics of the human
            etheric body. This was part of Zarathustra's schooling. The
            schooling that Zarathustra integrated again and again through his
            many reincarnations into a language field, where Zarathustra could
            unfold and digest his insights into the objectivity of the etheric
            body achieved RESULTS!

            Where Zarathustra grasped Angel, Archangel and Archai and in each
            scientific field Zarathustra excelled and moved along and was able
            to reproduce the process itself. Reproduce the experiment and get
            the same results again and again, proved clearly to Zarathustra that
            there was a Science of the Spirit and he was hot on it's trail.

            When it came to the mighty Elohim, the cognitive excellence of
            Zarathustra and his grasp of what the cosmos is, what stone, plant,
            animal and man are and how they became this way, his investigations
            and explorations were warmly appreciated by the gods and even caught
            the Eye of the great Sun Being. Because Zarathustra approached the
            how, and why and could connect to it inwardly, all the tumblers and
            meaning of humanity could click into place, because a human being
            grasped his part of the bargain of how the interior, biological,
            anatomical, astral, etheric and physical realities were set in the
            skeleton stone.

            But Zarathustra and the cosmic I AM knew that the cornerstone was
            rejected by flunked out students like Jung, as unable to support
            reality. The cognitive schooling that was at the core of all these
            mysteries, the I AM, was the invisible operating force that was the
            new thing to Earth. This invisible thing, not made with hands,
            seemed unimportant to many striving souls.

            We don't get results because we are not curious about the nature of
            the levity factor, the rising factor of the Spirit of Form and
            Etheric system that we see in plants, animals and the complex system
            in humans. Zarathustra got results, scientific and star justified,
            cosmos justified, and accurate results because he grasped the human
            etheric body and was able to bequeath a working model of it to some
            of his pupils. A working model of a highly developed, complex human
            etheric body could be reproduced, emancipated by Zarathustra and
            offered to significant pupils as they progressed. Zarathustra could
            reproduce it and bequeath it, like grafting, primitively speaking,
            like grafting is to plants so the operative skills of the etheric
            body, the Ka, could be part of the research and potential skill sets
            of future students.

            Next Zarathustra worked intelligently through the forces of the
            stars that operate in the astral body. The details of his work and
            the results where Angels understood and Zarathustra planned with the
            Angelic and mighty Sun Being, how to bring about the intersection on
            the Earth of landing two vessels, two Jesus children, landing these
            with all the complicated workings of the stars and TIME, into a
            precise and CONSCIOUS location, are based on the facts of the
            science of the human being and getting specific results when we are
            accurate in our thinking and I AM system.

            If we are accurate, then even the Angels recognize the star wisdom
            in the human heart and mind. Even the Angels and Archangels
            cooperate if the human being can grasp their wisdom as his own. The
            accuracy of that star wisdom that the Angels live within and with
            allowed Zarathustra to get results. Zarathustra could emancipate an
            advanced copy, a model of a working astral body. An astral body that
            was penetrated by the thinking I and had within it specific
            discoveries and intuitions that any objective scientist or
            researcher would discover for themselves. Some of these science
            insights are now sitting in the public domain as Grail Sciences and
            Spiritual Science.

            Zarathustra accurately was able to make copies of not only his
            etheric methodolgy and his etheric body, but also was able to
            emancipate and reproduce an independent model of his astral body.
            The results of all of these integrations are the science system we
            know that must be grasped as Physical, etheric, astral, I AM,
            Sentient Soul, Intellectual Soul, Consciousness Soul and the higher
            attributes, Spirit-Self, Life-Spirit and Spirit-Man.

            If humanity continues to do all of its thinking unconciously and
            remains influenced and pressed by the dark unconscious forces of the
            hidden beings that influence his will, he will merely stumble along
            unable to understand the difference between Light and Darkness. When
            humanity continues to repeat errors over and over again then the
            stars send these failed scientific and war like social aggressions,
            back on humanity for a redux. The stars send our lessons back to us,
            the senders, and give us an F in unfounded and undeveloped moral and
            scientific theory. Unaccepted, try again! We as humanity once more
            encounter these same unconcious blunders and mirrored errors in
            similiar forms until we can detox them and learn the lessons of the
            cosmos consciously.

            Reality responds when humanity becomes conscious of how the parts of
            the complex time mechanism of man fits into a whole. The carnival,
            the media circus and our own cleverly manufactured Ahrimanic Sun of
            the nuclear age was placed there so that humanity had seemed to have
            gotten results. Nice try but wrong, dead wrong! Wrong light and all
            moral substance, utterly removed...dead light, you found dead light,
            not living light and not only that the light that you found
            continues to kill and does not continue to heal. These are man made
            results.

            The Christ Event contains actual scientific results of clear
            thinking that reveal the highest level of physics and light
            condensed through the moral fiber of the human I AM. With the event
            of Golgotha and all of the factors associated with Golgothat, that
            founded the scientific thinking that got such overwhelming results,
            these are all part of the Grail Sciences that Orwellian history
            revisionists wish to dismiss, deny and destroy. In other words the
            actual cornerstone of the cosmos, the I AM, and Logos that sits in
            the stone of the physical, is truly spirit.

            http://www.ibiblio.org/eldritch/jkh/gr7.html

            Now when we examine the levity of light and the pure etheric full
            floating and rising form of the fully impressed Spirit Man rising
            from the schooling that humans got right, that they understood with
            scientific clarity, that they could make the models for and redux
            and repeat the experiment again and again, with scientific accuracy,
            they knew that they were now understanding the intricate physics of
            the human being. The intricate physics, for lack of a better
            concept, of that light which quantum mechanics seeks...and what
            quantum mechanics seeks within the activity of light, might very
            well be contained in the first lines of the Gospel of St. John. That
            is why Steiner would have brought a morally grounded physics science
            to Munich and named it the Johannes Bau. Why?

            "The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not
            understood it. He was in the world, and though the world was made
            through him, the world did not recognize him." (John 1:5,10)

            …..." 12[And Jesus said to them,] "I am the light of the world.
            Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the
            light of life." 13The Pharisees challenged him, "Here you are,
            appearing as your own witness; your testimony is not valid." 14Jesus
            answered, "Even if I testify on my own behalf, my testimony is
            valid, for I know where I came from and where I am going. But you
            have no idea where I come from or where I am going… 23…"You are from
            below; I am from above. You are of this world; I am not of this
            world."

            Instead of a manufactured poison Ahrimanic circus act, a bright
            poison light without moral substance, Steiner would have gladly
            connected the dots of Light and Love to the moral framework and core
            of the human being as the Science of being Human, a Grail Science
            and the mission and meaning of why Steiner would have intercepted
            those physics scientists in Munich and unriddled the opening verses
            of the John Gospel for them and for all mankind.

            The intricate integration of the etheric timepiece and the vast, yet
            specifically shrink wrapped Star navigation system that each person
            carries as the results, in their Dodecahedron enclosed system, of
            our TWELVE cranial nerves, is part of the physics systems of human
            beings. We each have sucked and inverted into us an individualized
            cosmic map. In this core, and along the walls of the skull, the star
            map glitters and sparkles like vivid and animated cave paintings and
            visual impressions, memories, dreams and reflections that allow us
            to strike out and capture time impressions from the past as well as
            the future.

            We own a sensitive light house beacon, a light sensitive pineal
            gland, that when schooled and awakened, not only picks out and
            differentiates different thought spectrum bands, different thought
            spectrum light fields from individuals who think, but is slowly able
            to see the qualities of Time Beings and the qualities and aspects of
            Spiritual Beings. The Pineal is an Eye that detects thoughts and
            qualties and Steiner nailed it in the Philosophy of Freedom by
            saying it is an organ for the peception of thought. Our brains and
            directly our pineal embedded Eye, diferentiates different light and
            ideas, thoughts and Beings, infinite different spectrums and learns
            to read this light from within the enclosed dark chamber of the
            skull.

            Humanity must continue to fail at it's repeated star exams and the
            Michael School at this juncture is re-encountering the rejected and
            unconscious impulses that promoted the chaos of the 20th century and
            returns again in another form and another generation to rob us of
            the 21st century. The robbing and hijacking of the 21st century are
            the results of our failure to see the repeated pattern and
            unconscious dark intent of beings, yet it is also a challenge for
            the Michael School to see the details of what Steiner wrestled with
            in TIME, within a conscious Zeitgeist relationship and offered as
            clarity to the German people. We can fathom and track the meaning of
            this same clarity today, but with greater insight, greater vision
            and greater understanding because Rudolf Steiner forged a path ahead
            of us and prepared the next generation of Michael students to read
            the signs of the times.

            http://wn.rsarchive.org/Books/GA023/English/SCR2001/GA023_appendix.ht
            ml

            We in western civilization will continue to fail and have these
            impulses thrust back in our faces in a more and more severe
            Orwellian fashion unless we learn the Science of Man. Spiritual
            Science reveals the accurate Scientific data that Zarathustra worked
            through. It was bequeathed to Steiner so that Steiner could present
            this data in his most excellent Scientific thought world process and
            stand as a conscious Being, presenting the Schooling that the Logos
            expects and accepts as excellent.

            When I look at the biodynamic calendar it is vastly different for
            the plants and the accuracy of the science of the etheric world,
            than if someone follows some computerized horoscopes taken from the
            internet. The positions of the Sun, Moon and planets are not correct
            so that even when we measure the stunted and inaccurate horoscopes
            against the active and living RESULTS that come from biodynamics, we
            clearly understand that we have taken a giant step closer to reality
            and scientific results by having biodynamic accuracy before us.

            Biodynamic food tastes differently, richer, and the techniques are
            approached with more wisdom and moral substance because they are
            based on corrected and renewed clarity regarding the growth of
            plants, the seasons and the activity of the stars themselves.
            Zarathustra would have no problem with Biodynamics. He certainly
            would know the etheric inside out and well enough as a Bodhisattva,
            that he could bring vast improvements to agriculture and the secret
            remedies of the world.

            The question for those who claim to have anything to do with
            scientists are just how very happy they are when they seem to get
            results. Products that come off the assembly line like our Hydrogen
            or nuclear results, prove that there is an anti-human direction that
            perverts, yes you heard it, perverts human common sense and shifts
            it into results without ethics. Shifts corporate and multi-national
            militaristic motives into the mix of what it considers results that
            profit the corporate entity. This perversion and fragmentation of
            the science of man, is what we offer our children and invest all our
            money so that our children will have an education that promotes
            perversion of the intellect. Eisenhower warned America but we have
            failed to keep watch over our own dark intents.

            We will lose the connections and results of understanding the
            Science of the Grail if we lose the 20th and the 21st centuries and
            they get buried under the debris of World Wars and chaos again. We
            are too simplistic and too naive to think through and support real
            understanding of Grail Sciences and recover history and Spiritual
            Science so that it shines and glows in pristine purity from
            classrooms everywhere. We already wading through the debris of the
            19th and 20th century attacks on the Consciousness Soul and Grail
            Sciences. Each person has to clarify their own intelligence and
            parents have to be true guardians, not in the sense of fake
            fundamentalism, but in vast and well grounded spiritualized humanism
            that supports the vistas and vision of the I AM.

            This Do in Remembrance of Him. "That the Lord Jesus the same night
            in which he was betrayed took bread: And when he had given thanks,
            he brake it, and said, Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken
            for you: this do in remembrance of me" (1 Cor. 11:23­24).

            He took the cup, saying: "This cup is the new testament in my blood:
            this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me. For
            [whenever] ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye [proclaim] the
            Lord's death till he come" (1 Cor. 11:25­26). He said that this
            sacrament would be done in remembrance of Him. "This do in
            remembrance of me" were His words (Luke 22:19).

            And as Christ is the actual Etheric Sun of the moral Earth, when we
            understand that to be a Grail Science, is to understand how
            difficult and how hard it is to find Spiritual Science buried in the
            impulses of The Christmas Conference and humble Angelic call to
            mankind of "The Foundation Stone". To find, locate and clearly grasp
            the obscure location that Parsifal could barely refind, and only
            found after maturing, is the challenge of grasping the very hidden,
            humble and obscure reality and RESULTS, when the Cosmos says Yes, as
            it did with the Christ Event. Finding Grail Sciences and the thread
            of history through the storm that is presented is truly a Parsifal
            task. It is a Parsifal task make no mistake.

            The Goetheanum remains, obscure, hidden and out of reach and has all
            the earmarks of the full and astonishing tale of the obscure path
            required to find the Holy Grail. And Steiner, Michael, Wagner,
            Kaspar Hauser and vast numbers of individuals wanted humanity to
            have this Grail wisdom, and we must keep it alive or it will get
            utterly lost in watered down Orwellian history and lies.
          • carol
            `The greatest misfortune is the harbinger of the greatest redemption `On earth one sees the destruction, yet in the destruction is contained already the seed
            Message 5 of 25 , Feb 7, 2007
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              `The greatest misfortune is the harbinger of the greatest
              redemption'

              `On earth one sees the destruction, yet in the destruction is
              contained already the seed of renewal.'

              These words of wisdom are derived from the `after-death messages'
              which Rudolf Steiner received from the then disincarnate Helmuth von
              Moltke, in 1919 and which he(RS) effectively documented. They
              appear in the volume `Light For The New Millennium' (Rudolf Steiner
              Press l997). I have transcribed some passages from several of these
              messages because I found that they add to the insights which we, as
              incarnated souls, are able to generate amongst ourselves concerning
              our present task in light of what we experience outwardly and what we
              have understood through contemplating Steiner's lectures. These are
              by no means the only insights available in this book, I only stopped
              at a given moment.

              These communications may offer some comfort to readers, since they
              touche upon what relevance suffering may have towards the greater
              picture of humanity's strivings…

              In one passage, when referring to the twenty first century, the being
              of HvM indicated that `everywhere there will be centers of
              spiritual will and deed'. I imagine that the internet has
              effectively sealed this truth, even though there also exists today
              many centers in the physical sense.

              That which is striking and yet conveyed in a most familiar manner is
              the `reality' that discarnate souls are quite engaged in the great
              spiritual tasks of world, even when they are not here. Also, that
              they depend on the thoughts which incarnate souls generate within
              themselves in order to be able to contemplate the lofty ambitions of
              their own future return.

              One could also note the sense that `the greater picture' in which we
              are now engaged on a physical level, contains very many details which
              we inevitably find hard to ascertain in our present incarnate
              condition. I've noticed that at times, in exchanges on topics of
              spiritual science, that various people will affirm a truth, but
              almost immediately afterward, affirm another one which is
              strikingly clothed with perception dependent on physical reality. I
              guess that we all have to all learn to be vigilant in developing our
              abilities to feel for what is living in a spiritual sense when
              something is communicated to us, and recognize through feeling,
              that which is encased in impressions derived from sense perception.

              I thoroughly enjoyed Bradford's latest post in which he focused on
              bridging scientific perception to the spirit world. I felt that I
              should retrieve these 2 passages from the Bible "The light shines in
              the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it. (John 1:5) " 12
              [And Jesus said to them,] "I am the light of the world.Whoever
              follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of
              life." Light and darkness continue to be discussed even from the
              world beyond.

              In the `after death messages' one can gather a sense that a bridge
              has been established between both the below and at the same time,
              taking into account the great turmoil which occurs in the `below';

              Out of obstruction the spirit seeks
              For strong supports, which may bear it
              As in the dawning, the light reveals itself
              As the bearer of the forces of destiny.
              With spiritual bonds, both here and there
              We shall strive together
              To seek both now and ever more
              The meaning in true life. (message23, 23 march 1919)


              In the following messages, `she' `El's' refer to the being HvM's
              still incarnate wife. `It' could refer to one form of a constant,
              conscious spiritual reality.


              38. Message of 29 January l918

              In human life the soul can take hold of something long before
              consciousness takes hold of it. The bodily organization is often an
              obstacle to understanding consciously what the soul has taken hold of
              already. For consciousness requires for its instrument a certain
              organization, be it a physical one between birth and death or a
              spiritual one between death and a new birth. The soul alone may well
              experience something but not be able to understand it consciously.
              However, man can only comprehend the experiences of his soul through
              his physical body if this physical body can be imbued with the fully
              developed spirit-organism. Yet it is often the physical body itself
              which presents an obstacle to that. It is a bliss to realize in
              retrospect that the suffering one has endured originated there.

              The suffering one has endured presents a very different picture when
              one looks back on it at a later time..

              Wakefulness is necessary, in the narrow as well as in the wider
              contexts. There s a lot of chaos on earth. The spiritual, however,
              is as if blunted. Human beings will first have to prepare their
              souls by developing a feeling for the spiritual world. Then the
              spiritual world-waiting to be understood-will be there to help.

              James1, 17 `Every gift which is truly good and every perfect present
              descends to us out of the higher world from the Father of lights I
              whom there is no alternation and no phases of light and darkness.'

              39. Message of 8 February 1918

              …In the context of the present spiritual constellation it seems good
              to me now that I was scarcely drawn into an active role in the
              battles in the East. This enables me to make spiritual connections
              with many eastern souls. The chaos there will only gradually take o
              the forms that it must eventually come to. My view of the tasks that
              come to me from the East is unobstructed to the extent that I have
              worked directly in the West and only indirectly in the East. Thus
              what was puzzling down there is now clear. The East is awaiting a
              task for which I must prepare myself by the next century. Earthly
              institutions must then be founded which will be an image of spiritual
              ones. `She' and others who are linked with us are to work together on
              this.

              A spiritual wilderness is now spreading over the earth. The `old
              man' can see this now, too. How he will stand in relation to the
              task that lies before us is not yet clear. In the twentieth century
              there will be a great deal of materialism which will be even more
              powerful in the twenty-first century. But everywhere there will be
              centers of spiritual will and deed. That is where the task will
              lie. In the `forms' of Dornach which I can now feel, I can see lines
              which are preparing something which in future will enable one soul to
              understand another more inwardly.

              …Wakefulness is needed. I cannot see everything very clearly in this
              area. But I can see a crisis. In essence there is much that has
              built up over many years which is now moving towards a crisis. While
              I was alive I faced this with some anxiety. This anxiety now has a
              baleful effect when I look at the critical situation…Nevertheless, it
              is essential to be wakeful on earth.

              It has a warming effect on me that `she' now has `it' with her
              again. Now is the time for something spiritual between them to join
              on to what was there before, which is important for the future and
              for the task. There is more at work in `it', than `it' itself
              knows. This has to do with the fact that `it' was also an
              intermediary to the spiritual world for my soul. We had to go
              through spiritual experiences in which there was much that was
              unconscious. `It' has to remember many things from those days. By
              this means, `it' will be able to help a great deal in the present and
              in the future. `She' will need much wakefulness now. In the company
              of `it' this wakefulness will gain in strength. When the two are
              together there lives a force in my soul which serves to make me
              strong for the `task'…

              …Whatever happens, `she' should follow the dictates of `her'
              understanding; if one does not always appear to come to the right
              thing, it is only apparently so and later, subsequent events will
              show what was right…

              …the greatest misfortune is the harbinger of the greatest
              redemption: many who are on earth will learn of this, but will only
              gradually come to experience it. Spirits who now strive to work in
              souls on earth freeze in spiritual coldness that works like fire, and
              consumes the effect….

              40. Message of 1 March l918

              …It is now possible for me to view objectively what is going on in
              the small details and in the major events of life on earth. Early
              sufferings are often the starting points for processes of spiritual
              development. Let `her' be aware that I am with `her', let `her' see
              what is happening now as necessity. `She' must not let her heart be
              troubled by events, but must connect her thoughts with the fact that
              by means of these events, things of the future are coming to pass,
              which must come to pass. The spirit must destroy many things in
              order to build anew. On earth one sees the destruction, yet in the
              destruction is contained already the seed of renewal.

              We often see pass away
              What on earth has been built
              Yet what is truly coming to pass
              Seen rightly in the spirit
              Reveals in earthly night
              To the seeking light of the soul
              The developing might of spirit
              And sufferings are not
              What on earth they seem
              They are in full truth
              What they spiritually mean
              In the kingdom of soul clarity

              `El's' individuality was connected with us differently to that
              of `it'. `El' must first bring into consciousness how she belongs to
              us. She must find the strength to be conscious out of suffering.
              She is now holding back an old power in order to gain a new one. My
              soul must be with her so that `she' may find the right way Events
              can be confusing. Wakefulness will lead to what is right at the
              right moment. No good is done by saying at the outset: `This and
              this should happen', one must wait and see what circumstances require.

              Looking back at the moment of my `rebirth', at the beginning of this
              century, is the lifeblood of my soul; looking back at the time of my
              suffering before my present entry into the spiritual world gives me
              the spiritual air I breath. Thinking through with `her' what karma
              has woven through us over the centuries gives light of day to my
              soul. Let `her' see the manner in which I live with her in this
              way. I must hold fast to these great connections in my soul, so that
              I can live wit those things which move her in the realm of time.
              For the being who is no longer embodied, those temporal things which
              come up to him from those who are close to him on earth, enabling him
              to share in their lives, are like the objects in a room for one who
              is living. The latter cannot see these objects, however close they
              may be, unless the light of the sun shines into the room. In the
              spiritual world, this sunlight is provided by insight into the great
              spiritual connections. In earthly life one might have the perspective
              even as an older person of a few decades. Out of the body, one must
              direct the gaze of the soul across centuries. And this gaze across
              the centuries must be illuminated by the understanding which one has
              been able to acquire through contemplating ideas of how things relate
              to one another in the greater dimension of the spirit. ..In the life
              of the spirit, one has constantly to re-enliven the thought with
              one's own life of soul, just as, in life on earth, the physical body
              must constantly breather in fresh air. Thus it is also good when
              tried and tested thoughts keep coming up from those who are still
              living in the body.
            • Valerie Walsh
              ... Hey, hey, my, my... ... They do make an excellent grilled cheese there. ... for ... so ... fish ... I never watched Meet your Meat but I liked Store Wars a
              Message 6 of 25 , Feb 7, 2007
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                --- In anthroposophy@yahoogroups.com, "chanting_om"
                <blue_star_in@...> wrote:

                > Well that is just the most amazing song! I have one for you.. I
                > picked it up in India. Its called Journey to infinity, it is so
                > beautiful, haunting.. bamboo flute.. and its 14.27 minutes long.
                >
                > I'll put it on right now.

                Hey, hey, my, my...

                > Hong Kong.. I'm not in Hongkong ! Otherwise I would have had a
                > grilled cheese sandwich with a touch of worscestor sauce long ago !

                They do make an excellent grilled cheese there.

                > NO ! I am on an island which is 50 percent covered with rainforest
                > and I am more or less in the middle of it. Now there are shops on
                > campus but they don't stock anything that you and I would
                > recognise..in fact the vast majority of food is fresh vegetables,
                > meat and fish.
                > I watched that film on smirking chimp about Meet your Meat so that
                > causes considerable conscience problems now, everytime I put a drop
                > of milk in my tea or think of a cheese sandwich I must apologise
                for
                > my weaknesses. The other day I thought Okay I will buy some fish,
                so
                > I go down to the market and this woman has a whole row of large
                fish
                > with the heads cut off who are still alive balanced on their necks,
                > gulping air and rolling their eyes. The rest of their bodies have
                > already been cut up and filleted.

                I never watched Meet your Meat but I liked Store Wars a lot.

                > But on the otherside of the rainforest - south - there is Sanya
                and
                > to the north there is Haikou.. :) (and cheese sandwiches and butter
                > and what happened to the cows...?)
                >
                > Could that have been one of your songs that you unburied...?

                No, couldn't have been-I did sing the National Anthem once but that's
                a sing along.

                > Anyway perhaps we can borrow some books from the library and there
                is
                > definately a hotel ! Do you know how to fly?

                Nahhhh, never took it up but that's a long story.-Val
              • Valerie Walsh
                ... http://moviesnooneshouldsee.wordpress.com/2006/12/12/27/
                Message 7 of 25 , Feb 7, 2007
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                  --- In anthroposophy@yahoogroups.com, Shakti <blue_star_in@...> wrote:

                  > What an amazing poem I will present it to my students !
                  > Its lovely

                  http://moviesnooneshouldsee.wordpress.com/2006/12/12/27/
                • Mark Willan
                  Hi everyone I set out a few more pieces of the mosaic of what is going on across the planet: RS referred to the Apocalypse of the Mount of Olives (Matt 24,
                  Message 8 of 25 , Feb 14, 2007
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                    Hi everyone

                    I set out a few more pieces of the mosaic of what is going on across the planet:

                    RS referred to the Apocalypse of the Mount of Olives (Matt 24, Mark 13 and Luke 2:15-33)   as specifically referring to the time of the Second Coming - ie of the etheric Chirst - that is now.

                    It is well worth reading all 3 passages for the insights they give on our present time.

                    I also recently learned that the "curse of the psuchotherapist" was the inablility to fall in love - how telling and what preparation for a campaign by the adversaries of human development.

                    For both Sorath and Ahriman hide from human awareness in order to better manipulate mankind, and they aim to produce resuklts which karma cannot later compensate for.

                    We can however, consciously work inwardly to counter these currents: 

                    firstly by learning and meditating on the lessons for each of us from the state of grace that being in love is, which is an archetype of our future relations with each othert (I am the Vine and you are the branches- and see the Discourses of the Last Supper in John), and 

                    secondly by realising that those humans we identify as doing evil (and whose victims we may also be) are often acting out of a misguided conviction that they are right. The Nazis were mostly convinced they were doing the right thing, and this is a lesson we should learn.

                    It is very rare for anyoen to consciously choose to do evil, but it is more often that people become compromised and cannot see the way out. 

                    If we cannot empathise, and find a way through their guard, we can never hope to bring them round to a correct way of thinking - living thinking. Foe example, by attacking GWB we will only cut short any dialogue - if we look for the positive in his approach (the desire to take responsibility, however misguided, etc,) living thought seeds can be sown which may yet change the world.

                    For even if they are our enemies, such people whio give us trails often turn out to be our truest friends, by makign sure our own development is not a fake - by ensuring that we stop trying to take the splinter out of our briother's eye and work on the beam in our own.

                    The real work to be done to change the world is on ourselves, the microcosm. When we haev changed that, the macrocosm must inevitably follow.

                    That is why a number of inner workers have now been gathering, sent by forces of fate, to the orient - to prepare the spiritual onslaught against the forces of Ahriman being arrayed in the West.

                    Miraculous spirit growth has occurred in newly Christian China, and we can see that allied with the forces of the etheric Christ, a shift in world view is actually a possibility as a mass movement, to be nurtured and founded here.

                    At the moment, we are in a kind of pralaya, in which the seeds for this are being sown in spirit.

                    We shall be intensifying work inwardly to perfect ourselves, to ready ourselves for the great work that remains to be done.

                    So should we all, IMHO.

                    For we want our lives to be a blessing don't we, not a burden on humanity.

                    And let us remember, that it is mankind's karma to develop and grow - which means if we do not do so consciously without pain, we will learn the hard way. That is the way it works - just look at life around you.

                    Let us also remember that the destiny of mankind rests not just in our own hands, but in those of the Logos. To quote Gandhi, for a time the forces of oppression can appear invincible, but they never last.

                    Nor can they this time. 

                    Just my tuppence worth.








                    Mark Willan

                    21 Balmoral Park
                    #02-14 Pïnewood Gardens
                    Singapore 259850

                    Tel: +65 64040702
                    Mob: +65 9019 4314





                  • holderlin66
                    In French, alternate history novels are called uchronie. This neologism is based on the word utopia (a place that doesn t exist) and the Greek for time,
                    Message 9 of 25 , Feb 15, 2007
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                      "In French, alternate history novels are called uchronie. This
                      neologism is based on the word utopia (a place that doesn't exist) and
                      the Greek for time, chronos. An uchronie, then, is defined as a time
                      that doesn't exist. Another occasionally-used term for the genre
                      is "allohistory".

                      "The earliest example of alternate history appears to be Book IX,
                      sections 17-19, of Livy's History of Rome from Its Foundation. He
                      contemplates the possibility of Alexander the Great expanding his
                      father's empire westward instead of eastward and attacking Rome in the
                      4th century BC.

                      19th century

                      "In the English language, the first known complete alternate history
                      is Nathaniel Hawthorne's short story "P.'s Correspondence", published
                      in 1845. It recounts the tale of a man who is considered "a madman"
                      due to his perceiving a different 1845, a reality in which long-dead
                      famous people are still alive such as the poets Burns, Byron, Shelley,
                      and Keats, the actor Edmund Kean, the British politician George
                      Canning and even Napoleon Bonaparte.

                      Bradford comments;

                      Recovering history and understanding psychology allows us to examine
                      an author who felt the sting of two universes, two different grooves
                      of time and the ZeitGeist. The author had good reason for this
                      experience and not exactly the same reasons that a Michael School
                      student might have.

                      On the other hand, when you examine the evidence you might clearly
                      understand that the writer who brought, "Blade Runner", "Total Reall"
                      and "The Minority Report" also had a twin sister whose death and
                      spirit hovered over Dick through his whole life. Dick's writing career
                      was an effort in trying to reconcile a hovering experience that
                      brought his gaze to the vicinity of how two worlds interact. In Philip
                      K. Dick himself there attempts to break into his experiences from a
                      parallel psychology aother world, another history, an alternative
                      history, behind the history that we accomodate or pacify ourselves
                      with.

                      To those who are training themselves to look into the etheric world,
                      to understand that for instance, the manufactured world of worship
                      that was created with the rise of the Ahrimanic Sun, brought humanity
                      to it's fearful pagan quivering knees, because it manifested a poison,
                      inhuman, murdering light that fit the bill of how we imagined the
                      wrath of god. In this lie we see and live currently in an alternate
                      universe. We are just too cognitively weak to take hold of real ideas,
                      so we tend to meld them and mush them together in the soul.

                      And that same god we worship today as we threaten Iran with nuclear
                      attack is an Ahrimanic god, that has stepped in, with all our world
                      wide media glorification, and adoration, to eclipse, just at the right
                      moment, eclipse from the view of the world, the rise of the Human
                      Cosoms of Mankind and The Etheric Christ Being who mastered for
                      humanity the entire future model of the SPirit Man. We see an
                      alternative universe and an alternative history.

                      This future model of Spirit Man must be attained within a vast sweep
                      of long term human development that follows Earth with Jupiter
                      evolution and Venus and Vulcan evoltuion... and the names, like Vulcan
                      have all been hijacked and woven into pop culture trivia and the sound
                      and imagination of the word divorced from the unfolding reality of how
                      humanity has grown from Ancient Saturn as a mere seed of warmth, Old
                      Sun, adding an etheric superstructure, and Ancient Moon evolution with
                      an astral body and nervous system design, and Earth, with it's Iron
                      and Sun like blood forces that respond to compassion, love, and
                      courage and bears the signature of a time being, a reincarnating i am
                      in dipping in and out of the stream of ongoing time. These are rich
                      thoughts and thought that can keep a human being sober while he
                      navigates the Zeitgeist.

                      But Philip K. Dick, got his form of initiaiton the hard way. He felt
                      very clearly his dead twin sister. We can use the hovering soul of his
                      sister, as a kind of orbiting lunar reflection that hovered over
                      Dick's soul and cast into his thought sphere, refractions, prismatic
                      refractions, that partially had intuitions from the world of the dead
                      and the spiritual world and partially mangled constructs of science in
                      modern materialism. Dick wrote to reconcile these extremes in himself,
                      but unable to define the soul or spirit as the science that should be
                      there.

                      "Philip Kindred Dick and his twin sister, Jane Charlotte Dick, were
                      born six weeks prematurely to Joseph Edgar and Dorothy Kindred Dick in
                      Chicago. According to various accounts, Dorothy was unable to properly
                      feed and care for the newborns, and Jane was badly burned by an
                      electric blanket. Dick's father, a fraud investigator for the United
                      States Department of Agriculture, had recently taken out life
                      insurance policies, and an insurance nurse was dispatched to the home.
                      Upon seeing the malnourished Philip and injured Jane, the nurse rushed
                      the babies to the hospital, but baby Jane died on the way there, five
                      weeks after her birth (January 26, 1929). The death of Dick's twin
                      sister had a profound effect on his writing, relationships, and every
                      other aspect of his life, leading to the recurrent motif of
                      the "phantom twin" in many of his books."

                      "In summarising Philip K. Dick in his history of science
                      fiction, "Trillion Year Spree", Brian Aldiss commented: "All his
                      novels are one novel . . ." But it goes further than that, because the
                      premise behind virtually all his writing is a subjective view of
                      reality, an almost paranoid obsession with things being other than
                      they seem. Suppose you discover that you have been leading a false
                      existence or, worse still, one imposed on you by those in positions of
                      authority."

                      "Throughout February and March 1974 he received a series of visions
                      which he collectively referred to as 2-3-74, shorthand for
                      February/March 1974. He described his initial visions as laser beams
                      and geometric patterns, and occasionally brief pictures of Jesus and
                      ancient Rome, which he would glimpse periodically. As the pictures
                      increased in length and frequency, Dick claimed that he began to live
                      a double life, one as himself and one as Thomas, a Christian
                      persecuted by Romans in the 1st century A.D. Despite his past and
                      continued drug use, Dick accepted these visions as reality, believing
                      that he had been contacted by a god-entity of some kind, which he
                      referred to variously as Zebra, God, and, most often, VALIS."

                      Dick's writing, "The Man in the High Castle" underwent its point of
                      divergence from our own world due to the assassination of President
                      Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1933. He was succeeded by Vice President John
                      Nance Garner, who was subsequently replaced by John W. Bricker.
                      Neither man was able to revive the nation from the Great Depression,
                      and both clung to a isolationist policy related to the oncoming war.

                      Due to poor U.S. economic performance and isolationism, Britain and
                      the rest of Europe fell to the Axis Powers. Russia collapsed in 1941
                      and was occupied by the Nazis, while most of the Slavic people were
                      exterminated. The Slavic survivors of the war were confined
                      to "reservation-like closed regions". The Japanese completely
                      destroyed the United States' Pacific fleet in a much more expansive
                      attack on Pearl Harbor. Due to Japan's expanded military capabilities,
                      it was able to invade and occupy Hawaii, Australia, New Zealand and
                      the Southwestern Pacific in the early forties. After this, the United
                      States fell to the Axis, with many important cities suffering great
                      damage.

                      By 1947, Allied forces had surrendered to Axis control. The Eastern
                      Seaboard was placed under German control while California and other
                      western states ceded to Japanese rule. The Southern United States was
                      revived as a quasi-independent state (as a Nazi puppet state like
                      Vichy France). The Rocky Mountain States and much of the Midwest
                      remained autonomous, being considered unimportant by either of the
                      victors, as well as a useful buffer. At the end of the war, the
                      British leaders and generals were tried for war crimes (e.g. the
                      carpet bombing of German cities) in a parallel of the Nuremberg Trials.

                      After Adolf Hitler was incapacitated by syphilis, the head of the Nazi
                      Party Chancellery, Martin Bormann, assumed the leadership of Germany.
                      The Nazis created a colonial empire and continued their mass murder of
                      races they considered inferior, murdering Jews in the puppet United
                      States and other areas they controlled and mounting massive genocide
                      in Africa. However, unlike the Nazis, the Japanese had no policy of
                      cleansing the occupied areas of "unwanted" races.

                      Nazi Germany continued their rocketry programs, so that by 1962, they
                      had a working system of commercial rockets used for inter-continental
                      travel and also pursued space exploration, by sending rockets to the
                      Moon and Mars. The novel also mentions television as being a new
                      technology used in Germany.

                      Meanwhile Japan continued more peaceful, but certainly not democratic
                      rule, over much of Asia and territories within the Pacific Ocean. Like
                      the United States and the Soviet Union after our own world's World War
                      II, the Japanese and the Germans are distrustful of one another. Nazi
                      Germany and the Japanese Empire both possess nuclear weapons and are
                      mired in their own Cold War.

                      During the novel, Martin Bormann dies and other Nazis such as Joseph
                      Goebbels and Reinhard Heydrich challenge to become Reich Chancellor
                      (German: Reichskanzler). Various factions of the Nazi party are
                      described as either seeking war with Japan or being more interested in
                      colonizing the solar system"

                      http://www.answers.com/topic/the-man-in-the-high-castle

                      Bradford concludes;

                      Our examinations hinges on the defeat, or retreat of Michael Zeitgeist
                      Grail Science schooling, that was planned and a model of the building,
                      the Johannes Bau, for Munich was made by Steiner, but Anthroposphy
                      retreated and was boxed into Dornach, and reduced to Biodynamics world
                      wide sciences; Medical hospitals with Anthro/and regular medical
                      doctor training; Waldorf Education and a host of centers around the
                      world that are living off of the Christmas Conference, The Foundation
                      Stone, and the verified states of consciousness that surpass the
                      limitations of Jungian psychology and rest on an intangible but solid
                      experience of The Etheric Christ event that was on the rise as early
                      as the dawn of the Age of Light, 1899.

                      The question is, do you consider yourself a flaky and insane human
                      being if you follow the science laid down by Rudolf Steiner, Science
                      of the Spirit? The question remains, certainly most common sense views
                      of the matter refer to Dick's twin sister as an early childhood source
                      point where a two soul contact, two souls one on earth and the other
                      experiencing the conflicts near the threshold, might it not be the
                      source point of that which spurred Dick's entire biographical struggle
                      with twin realities?

                      How would materialistic science and its effect on a human being's
                      thinking mix with sporatic influences from the world of the dead?
                      Dick appears to my thinking as someone, like Rod Serling, Robert
                      Heinlein and his "Stranger in a Strange Land". Heinlein inserted into
                      culture a paradox of how Buddha and St. Francis on Mars was strongly
                      and unconsciously experienced by Heinlein in his time between death
                      and a new birth....Science Fiction was a partial method of the
                      transformation of the Mars forces of the intellect.

                      Philip K. Dick wrote;

                      "Several years ago, when I was ill, Heinlein offered his help,
                      anything he could do, and we had never met; he would phone me to cheer
                      me up and see how I was doing. He wanted to buy me an electric
                      typewriter, God bless him—one of the few true gentlemen in this world.
                      I don't agree with any ideas he puts forth in his writing, but that is
                      neither here nor there. One time when I owed the IRS a lot of money
                      and couldn't raise it, Heinlein loaned the money to me. I think a
                      great deal of him and his wife; I dedicated a book to them in
                      appreciation. Robert Heinlein is a fine-looking man, very impressive
                      and very military in stance; you can tell he has a military
                      background, even to the haircut. He knows I'm a flipped-out freak and
                      still he helped me and my wife when we were in trouble. That is the
                      best in humanity, there; that is who and what I love."
                    • holderlin66
                      Take out your Main Lesson books Spiritual Science students. Today we are offering the Giant s Heart a discourse on current events. Bradford brought; That is
                      Message 10 of 25 , Feb 16, 2007
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                        Take out your Main Lesson books Spiritual Science students.
                        Today we are offering the Giant's Heart a discourse on current
                        events.

                        Bradford brought;

                        "That is why when we look at the disturbed heart condition of Dick
                        Cheney, we understand the disturbed condition of his heart in
                        relation to the great heart of the world."

                        Bradford adds;

                        Now this is where true thinkers rise and poor thinkers fall by the
                        way side. Poor thinkers with limp souls cannot and refuse to make
                        the connection that we are about to make. The connection that we are
                        about to make is to the Giants Heart. Presently being vice president
                        of the greatest super power on the planet, the United States, makes
                        Dick Cheney a heartless Giant. Now what kind of giant is Dick
                        Cheney? What is wrong and where is his heart if it has such trouble
                        finding the rhythm and keeping beat with the heart of the world?
                        Thesee are all simple questions with surprisingly simple answers
                        that with Jungian insights and vague imaginations we certainly will
                        not find many people left in the U.S. who can digest rich insights
                        and see imaginations with the intimate clarity that students of
                        Spiritual Science may.

                        Of course we can and we have in the past brought into the argument
                        aspects of the U.S. involvement in America's fall into fascism and
                        how Dick Cheney truly plays a very significant part in where we
                        would raise the question of Ahrimanic ailments of the soul and
                        malfunctioning disconnection of a human heart to the heart of the
                        world. These Sorathian Spiritual Science and Ahrimanic patterns we
                        have traced with precise historical relationships that have picked
                        up the patterns of the dawn of 1914 and the surge of military
                        ahrimanic intent that is currently riding on the same historical
                        rhythm that led Cheney to sign and bring forward the pre-emptive
                        Imperialism of the PNAC or Project for a New Ahrimanic Century at
                        the crack of light of the dark arising of 1997/8.

                        For Cheney and big Oil middle eastern chaos must continue to erupt.
                        The world's supply of oil must be owned and kept by the United
                        States. This is U.S. policy. Pre-emptive attacks on innocent
                        countries murdering tens of thousands with escalation of torture and
                        fair trials gone the way of Nazi Germany...along with the U.S.,
                        Britain and Israel, a nasty triad that is sinking to Sorathian
                        levels of dark lodge intents, all this must continue for Amerika to
                        dominate under Cheney's heartlessness.

                        What type of imagination hovers around the leader, the actual black
                        Lodge mouthpiece of someone who cannot adjust his heart to the
                        actual heart of the world? We will present the diagnosis in a fairy
                        tale. That way those with true understanding of diagnostic pictures
                        and imaginations will have something extremely vital to point to
                        when they point to the reality behind the fall of the United States.
                        And we grant that all of us know that the real idea of terrorism is
                        not anywhere close to the representative reality of the heart of the
                        world, but if it were black ops and terrorism, it would match up
                        with what Dick Cheney wants to project all around him and America
                        with torture chambers over the globe... a Giant Darkness.

                        Now the second wave of Michael Intelligence might very well
                        understand the problems that exist in the subtext of history vs that
                        of recovering Grail history, the Etheric Christ and the human heart,
                        or the aspect of Justice and the aspect of understanding that as a
                        human being, if such a bad heart serves a dark master, it is better
                        to get a new heart and a new incarnation rather than continue on
                        with such an icy corrupt and cold heart. Dick Cheney has had his
                        heart removed.

                        The Heartless Giant

                        [Note when the word Giant appears INSERT, Dick Cheney}

                        On the whole, there's absolutely no need to be frightened by Giants.
                        Giants are gentle souls, perfectly harmless, and very affectionate.
                        Unless, of course, the Giant has no heart in his body.

                        Think of all kinds of unpleasant things and add Giant to them and
                        that's what you get when a Giant has no heart. Such a Giant once
                        terrorized a county in the far north of the world, near the very
                        top. He'd hidden his heart. It gave him too much trouble, all those
                        Giant Feelings, too much pain. In its place was a wasps' nest. About
                        to swarm. Put your ear to his chest and you'd hear an angry buzzing
                        noise.

                        This Heartless Giant could shake a man and shuffle his wits. He
                        could crack a skull with his fist like a walnut. And frequently did.
                        Until, at last, the old King of that country, as good as the Giant
                        was bad, trapped him in a giant trap and locked him in a cell. There
                        the Giant crouched, an inch of the outside world to look at, the
                        damp dripping from the walls, the dull rattle of his chains, his low
                        angry growl a ceaseless rumble through the King's castle.
                        Years passed in this was until the Giant's voice had grated away to
                        the hoarsest whisper and folk had quite forgotten about Giants with
                        no hearts. And he'd be there still, in his foul pit, were it not for
                        a little boy whose name was Leo.

                        Leo was the King's youngest son. He had two brothers who were
                        bigger. Prince Leo could leave not stone unturned, no passage
                        unexplored, no drawer unrammaged, so incurably curious was he. One
                        morning, scouting the far and deep of the castle, he came across a
                        tiny, barred window set in the bottom of a huge gray wall. Looking
                        through it, Leo saw nothing buy dank dark pitch black. But as he
                        turned away he imagined he heard a stir, and then came a growl, a
                        low buzz of a growl. It was a frightening sound.

                        His brothers told a Giant with no heart lived in this prison with
                        the tiny window. He didn't believe them. They were older, his
                        brothers, and forever teasing him. But the next day he went back,
                        carrying his drum. "Rat-tat-rat-ta-ta-tat," he played outside the
                        window. From inside the dark dank pitch black he heard a rattle,
                        like the rattle of a chain. He crept to the window and squinted into
                        the shadows. Two eyes blinked back at him. Leo jumped. A wasp buzzed
                        angrily through the bars. Leo ran off. It was true, there was a
                        Giant!

                        All night Leo thougth about the Giant, his eyes, the low rumbling
                        growl. Next morning, he was back, "rat-tat-rat-ta-ta-tat," on his
                        little drum. The Giant was waiting for him. When Leo tiptoed to the
                        window, he was there, whispering hello. The Giant told Leo that long
                        ago he had done some bad things and that the King had locked him up.
                        Leo couldn't imagine what these bad things were. He worried about
                        the poor Giant, stuck down there in terrible chains. He lit a candle
                        and held it to the hole.

                        The Giant was so big he had to crouch with his chin on this knees
                        and his elbos bent. He looked to Leo like a huge sad baby, his
                        yellow eyes screwed up against the candle's sudden glare. Leo said
                        he would speak to his father, it wasn't fair the Giant had been
                        locked up for so long; he must have been forgotten. "No," croaked
                        the Giant, all anxious. "If you say anything, they'll make me stay
                        down here forever and I shall surely perish." The eyes blinked
                        nearer. "Would you like to be my friend?"

                        Leo was elated. "Oh yes, yes please!" "Good. Good," said the Giant.
                        Good, thought Leo; I have a secret friend. Good, thought the Giant
                        who had shed his heart at last. And he sighed a chill sigh and
                        planned chill plans, while the young prince skipped back along the
                        path, swinging the iron gate behind him, caressing his secret,
                        nurturing it, back to his room.

                        And so it began, the friendship between the huge, crouching Giant
                        and the little Prince. Every day, the boy would appear, rat-tat-
                        tatting on his drum. Every day he'd tell a little more, hear a
                        little more, until he felt he knew no one better, that no one knew
                        him better. Oh, he wanted to tell the whole world about his friend.
                        But the Giant said, "Out secret," and Leo agreed, although he would
                        have loved to tell his mother or his two brothers or somebody. But
                        he couldn't so he shouldn't, so he wouldn't so he didn't. The Giant,
                        meanwhile crouched in his blackness and schemed. And so it was that
                        one day he told Leo he'd heard a Guard saying that the King slept
                        with the keys to the Giant's chains hanging on a ring by his bed.
                        Leo had always those keys were for the Crown Jewels. "No," said the
                        Giant. "They're for my misery." Leo felt desperate for his
                        misunderstood fiend, and a plan formed in his mind. The Giant
                        watched it being born and sighed a cold sigh. Deep inside, in the
                        prize where his heart should have been, the wasped seethed and
                        buzzed.

                        That very night, when the whole castle was sleeping, when the Royal
                        Guards slumped against their sentry posts and dozed, when the owls
                        hooted, little Prince Leo slipped from his bed, slid past a sleeping
                        sentry, and pushed on the door of his parents' room. He tiptoed
                        round the great bed with its velvet eiderdown, past his sleeping
                        mother and sleeping father, to the hook where the keys were hung.
                        They were so heavy. He heaved them up and they swung together,
                        clanging like the Angelus bell. Leo clutched them tight, their black
                        metal teeth squashing his toes, their hooped handles framing his
                        face. Slowly, slowly, inch by inch, he dragged the huge keys out of
                        the room.

                        "I've got the keys," he whispered, trembling at the little window.
                        He let them ring against the bars. "Who goes there?" challenged a
                        voice from the darkness. It was the one sentry still awake. "Hurry,
                        hurry!" growled the Giant from the bowels of the dungeon. Leo
                        struggled to push the keys through the bars. The teeth went in and
                        the long shafts, but when it came to the ring he couldn't work out
                        how to do it. "They're too big," he explained as he heard the
                        Giant's snort of impatience. "I can't do it." Leo wanted to drop the
                        keys and run for his life. "Push them," hissed the Giant. "Push
                        them!" The Giant's voice was colder than the night, it was icy. Leo
                        pushed. A great hand yanked on the keys. Leo saw its shape in the
                        shadows. He felt a terrible force pulling downward.

                        "Who goes there?" demanded the approaching voice. And then, with a
                        sudden wrench, the keys disappeared, pulling the bars with then into
                        the blackness. Leo heard a sigh issue from the Giant. A horrible
                        aching sigh. Then the turning of locks, the crushing of
                        doors. "Don't forget to let me have them back," he said, staring
                        blankly into the dungeon. He shivered again.

                        The sentry's torch was almost upon him. Suddenly the silence was
                        rent with cries. A man screamed, and there was the sound of
                        crunching, like a great walnut cracking. Then a broken, throaty
                        roar. At the far corner, a door burst from its hinges, spilling
                        light onto Leo's face. The Giant appeared. From his head, squeezing
                        at the entrance, pulling away bricks and lintels, then his
                        shoulders, squeezing, straining through. A giant baby being born
                        into the night. Leo watched, horrified. The Giant glanced at Leo,
                        but only for a second. As he emerged from the entrance, first one
                        sentry, then a second confronted him, challenging him with a sword
                        and spear. The Giant hoisted them up, one in each fist, and cracked
                        their heads together before tossing them away. Then, with the sound
                        of the alarm, the Heartless Giant turned and limped off, roaring his
                        broken roar.

                        All night Leo sat shivering on the battlements at the King and his
                        men searched the grounds of the castle. His father's angry words
                        haunted him. "Someone betrayed us. Only a madman would help a Giant
                        with no heart. Someone betrayed us." Leo's face swam with tears. So
                        letdown, he felt. So stupid. So guilty. Every scream was his fault.
                        Every cracked skull. And when finally morning came, the boy in him,
                        the innocent heart, the joy in him, they were gone-those things,
                        like his friend-and they would never return.

                        Next morning, Leo looked down and saw his Elder Brother march across
                        the courtyard. He carried his sword and his axe and his bow and a
                        large saddlebag, which he yanked up onto his shoulder. "Where are
                        you going?" Leo called down. "Sh-h-h!" warned the brother. "I am
                        going to get back the Giant." Leo felt awful. "Have you told
                        anybody?" Elder Brother shook his head proudly. "No. Of course not.
                        But I must go. Father is too old." And with this he offered up his
                        hand in salute and turned, young warrior, off to find the
                        Giant. "I'm sorry," wept his brother, but no one heard him.
                        And Elder Brother did not come back.

                        The spring came and went with sadness in it. Every day, more stories
                        reached the castle of the Giant's cruel rampage. So it was that one
                        glum morning, perched on the ledge of his window, Leo looked down
                        and saw Middle Brother striding through the courtyard, golden helmet
                        blazing, shield sparkling. "Where are you going?" Leo called
                        out. "To find our brother and to kill the Giant." Leo was beside
                        himself. "Please don't! It's madness. He has no heart." Middle
                        Brother shook his proud head. "I must go. Our father's too old now."
                        Leo could not stand it. "But he'll trick you!" he blurted
                        out. "He'll trick you!" Middle Brother would not listen. He raised
                        his hand in salute and set off to find the Giant. Terrible, Leo
                        felt, as he watched him go, terrible.

                        And Middle Brother did not come back either.

                        The summer that year was short, the winter wild and endless. One
                        day, Leo heard his mother's sobs from far off and came into her
                        bedroom to find her kneeling in sorrow, head against the green
                        velvet of the eiderdown. "Mother?" The Queen did not look up. "Your
                        father says he intends to go off and fight the Giant. "I've lost two
                        sons already. He's too old. He's too ill." She wept and wept. She
                        wanted Leo to promise he would not follow his brothers. "Promise me,
                        promise me you won't ever go." But he couldn't promise, how could
                        he? Were it not for him, the Heartless Giant would still be chained
                        and locked and safe in the dungeon.

                        Next morning, at the crack of dawn, dressed in thick leather jerkin,
                        Leo rode into the Royal Stables. He carried with him saddlebags
                        stuffed with cheese and ham and biscuits and salted beef, but no
                        weapon of any kind. He approached the stall where his father's
                        stallion stood, tall, scarred, imperious, swung the saddle over the
                        beast's back, and led him from the stable. Off they rode without
                        looking back, their breath steaming out before them, the path
                        flashing by, on and on and on.

                        And so the young Prince Leo rode the land in search of his once
                        friend the Heartless Giant. Three winters came and went, their
                        bitter shiver, but still he rode on, determined. And many times were
                        the saddlebags epmtied and filled; many nights slept achingly cold,
                        huddled with his horse for warmth; many days spent without sighting
                        a single soul. The boy changed slowly into man, took his own
                        counsel, his jaw set in resolve, his heart firm, his plan fixed. Yet
                        to find the Heartless Giant was no easy thing. His pillage had
                        stripped the landscape bare. Only bleached bones, spat-out ruins,
                        whispered nightmares remained. Where the Giant was no one knew. Long
                        gone, the survivers told Leo as he bent from the horse's neck. Lone
                        gone.

                        Then one day he came to a place and knew he was finally on the
                        Gaint's trail. The sweet stench of blood curdled the air. A village,
                        abandoned, smoldered and smoked. Leo's horse reared and bucked and
                        was fearful. Looking down to the earth for clues, they saw a bird
                        flap, helpless, a torn wing shuddering pitifully. The Prince set
                        down and took up the bird in his hands. "Craa! Craa! Help me!" it
                        cried. "The Giant broke me and now I cannot fly, cannot eat. Craa!
                        Help me."

                        And Leo tended the bird, fixed its wing, fed it bread soaked in
                        milk. And soon all was well with it. Leo threw it high into the air
                        and watched it soar, its vivid re-ascent. "Thank you!" cried the
                        bird from the heavens. If you need me, I shan't forget." And with
                        that a "Craa! Craa!" it flew off. And they followed.

                        Not lone after, Leo stopped at a brook, horse and rider hungry and
                        thirsty, sore and weary. As they drank, they heard a flapping, heard
                        a thrashing, heard a slapping, and, looking round, Leo saw a salmon,
                        twisting, franitic, beached in the crook of a small crevasse. "Help
                        me!" cried the choking fish. "Help me back into the water! I'm stuck
                        here, I'm stranded, I'm beached up and landed! Help me!"

                        Now Leo was famished, and he loved salmon over the taste of any
                        fish. But he'd suffered sufficient, this fellow, thought the Prince.
                        He pick up the flailing fish and swung it gently into the stream,
                        back to where the salmon is King. Off it flashed through the reeds
                        and green ripples, before leaping up in the middle of the water,
                        slapping the surface with its message. "Thank you!" it cried. "If
                        you need me, I shan't forget." Then it plunged back into the brook,
                        and they followed its zig and its zag down the stream, for that way
                        lay the Giant.

                        Now neither Leo nor his horse had eaten in days. They were faint
                        with hunger. Their progress slowed to a weary jog and stumble, until
                        at last the old stallion sank slowly to his knees and gave up the
                        ghost. Enough, he sighed, rolled over, and died. Leo lay behind his
                        faithful servant and shed tears enough to break a heart, half from
                        love, half from despair. Then he slipped into sleep. He dreamed he
                        was in his mother's bed, warm and cherished. So warm, his mother
                        mursing him, licking up his wet cheeks, hugging him. So vivid. He
                        woke hugging himself, only to find a dead horse beside him and not
                        his mother but a great Wolf coiled around his body, terrible teeth
                        glistening, tongue hanging out with hunger.

                        And, seeing his eyes flicker, the Wolf howled a terrible howl, fixed
                        on Leo's bare, unguarded throat. "Help!" howled the Wolf. "I've not
                        eaten since the winter came. Help me and I'll not forget you." Leo
                        had no food, save his own flesh. He took up his courage and spoke to
                        the Wolf, whose sour breath plaited with his own, so near they were
                        to the other's jaw. "How can I?" he replied. "I have no food
                        myself." The Wolf nudged against the dead horse. "Then let me eat
                        your horse," he panted, his tongue a vicious red swipe across his
                        teeth. "I'll eat it and be strong again. Trust me. I'll help you."
                        The Prince could not watch as the starving animal leapt upon the
                        flesh of the stallion. In no time, he eaten every scrap of flesh,
                        chewed the bones, spat them out. Leo allowed himself to single
                        glance from a distance. He caught the Wolf's red eyes contemplating
                        him, the tongue sweeping the teeth, the body crouched over a mess of
                        rib and hunk.

                        "Master. Come here," said the Wolf. Leo was resigned. "Am I next to
                        go?" he asked simply. The Wolf nodded. "Oh yes, us both must go," he
                        replied. "For you seek the Giant, I know. And now, strong again,
                        I'll help you. On my back, sir, and let's leave this place."
                        Off they went a gray dash, a day and a night and a morning, until
                        they came at last to a strange garden full of statues. Stone men.
                        Stone women. Stone soldiers. Leo slipped from Grayleg's back and
                        examined the statues. So lifelike were they, he felt a warmer sun
                        might thaw them into being. He passed the bend, supplicant figure of
                        an old woman, ivy in her stone tresses, then came to a statue of a
                        brave young warrior, sword drawn, shield raised. Leo walked round to
                        face it. "It's my brother!" he gasped. "This is a statue of my
                        brother!" Graylegs the Wolf shook his head. "No, my lord, no statue.
                        This is the Giant's work. There is his house," he continued, nodding
                        toward a clearing. "All who approach he turns to stone."

                        A little way down, the Prince came across another figure, frozen in
                        the act of straining at the longbow, arrow poised at the ear. It was
                        the Elder Brother. "You too!" cried Leo in despair. "You too."
                        At the end of the clearing was the place where the Giant lived, a
                        strange building made by tearing up the whole village and squashing
                        it into a single house. Inside, the Heartless Giant was asleep.
                        A "Rat-tat-rat-ta-ta-tat," over and over. He heaved his huge frame
                        to the patchwork of windows and looked out. Standing there,
                        fearless, without weapon, beathing his child's drum, was the young
                        Prince Leo.

                        The Giant took Leo in as his servant. The Prince explained how it
                        was discovered he had helped the Giant escape. The Giant laughed at
                        this. Had he seen his brothers, stone men in the garden? Leo said he
                        had. Any who crossed him got the same treatment, so Leo had better
                        be on his mettle. The Giant picked up the drum between his fingers
                        and tapped out the march rhythm, memories flooding back. "That
                        terrible cage," he sighed. "I had to fool you to get the keys.
                        Otherwise I'd still be there, rotting. I still limp, you know." Then
                        he squeezed Leo affectionately in his palm. "so, my little Leo, back
                        again. Hah! Yes, stay if you like. No tricks, though, to traps. Else
                        you'll end up like your brothers."

                        "No tricks, no traps," agreed the boy and went inside.
                        So Leo became the servant of the Giant. For weeks he cleaned, for
                        weeks he scoured, until spick where speck was and span where
                        squalor. Each evening, the Giant returned from his Wild outings to
                        find the fire lit, the hearth swept, his breeches pressed. He liked
                        this. Very nice. "Very nice," he'd say as he slurped and slopped his
                        stew. "I should have had a servant before. I like it." He
                        burped. "It befits a Giant." Leo bowed and cleared the plates away.
                        He was always silent, always polite, always cleaning, always
                        watching.

                        Then the Giant croaked his cracked laugh. "And don't I treat you
                        bad, do I? For a Heartless Giant." Leo kept walking away with the
                        dishes. He spoke without looking back, his words light and idly
                        curious. "What happened to your heart?"

                        Black clouds furrowed the Giant's brow. "It's in safekeeping," he
                        growled. Leo kept walking. The Giant continued, suddenly swelling,
                        thumping the place where his heart should have been: "Can't feel
                        without it, can I? Can't get hurt. Can't die from heartbreak if I
                        haven't got one. I'm invincible!" he guffawed. Leo shrugged,
                        impressed. "Clever," he said casually. "So where is it, then, your
                        heart?" Wasps streamed from the Giant's mouth. "He who pries is
                        prone to die," he warned. "Do you follow me?" "Yes." Leo walked into
                        the kitchen. Then the Giant called after him. "But I'll tell you if
                        you want to know. My heart's in that cupboard."

                        Leo was passing a huge laundry press, its old wooden doors bleached
                        and scarred with age. He paused for an instant, felt his own heart
                        pounding. There! pounded his heart; his heart is there! The
                        Heartless Giant, crouching at the table, missed nothing. He smirked,
                        belched, and slumped into an after-dinner snore.

                        Next morning, the Giant stalked off as early as ever. His prison
                        years had made him fearful of walls. Out he went, all the daylight
                        hours, roving, raging, rampaging. Leo stood at the window watching
                        him limp and lumber away. Then he rushed to the linen press, heaved
                        on the doors. Inside was a riot of this and that: a tusk, a trowel,
                        a tent, a trap, a towel, a tin, a thousand trinkets. And then boxes.
                        All manner of boxes. Leo opened them all, big or small. Two were
                        heart-shaped. He tore at them. But there was no heart. Anything but
                        hearts.

                        "I'm back," announced the Giant later that evening, tossing a brace
                        of dead pigs on the kitchen step. The Giant sniffed into the air. A
                        suspicious sniff. "What's that smell?" he demanded, his nose tilted
                        up, snorting like a bellows. Leo pointed at the gleaming doors of
                        the old cupboard. "Polish," he said. The Giant's eyes widened in
                        disbelief. "What you polishing the cupboard for?" he demanded.
                        "It's the home of your heart," declared Leo. "It should be
                        polished." The Giant roared with laughter. "Did you really think I
                        kept my heart in a cupboard? Gah!" Leo feigned a look of
                        disappointment, then went to the first pig and heaved it up on his
                        shoulders to carry into the pantry. It was still warm. "If you want
                        to know," the Giant called after him, "my heart is under the
                        step." "Right," said Leo, treading on the stone step and continuing
                        on his way. "That old step," chortled the Giant. "That's where my
                        little heart beats. Ticktock."

                        Next morning, same story: off stomped the Giant and out went the
                        Prince, pick and shovel, hack and hew, digging out the step,
                        spooning out the earth. Stone. Dust. Roots. But no heart! Ach! Poor
                        Leo. He sank down onto the step, feet in the mounds of earth, and
                        despaired. From where he sat he could see the grim silhouettes of
                        his brothers and their fellow sufferers. Waiting. Waiting for him to
                        make amends.

                        "I'm back," called the Giant, throwing down a sack, splitting it,
                        and revealing hares and hens and ducks and every type of small bird,
                        all strangled. As he limped into the house, the Giant looked down to
                        see a map of his journey recorded in huge red footprints. "What's
                        that?" he demanded as Leo appeared. "Ah, you must have trodden on
                        the step, sir," replied Leo politely. "I painted it." The Giant
                        scowled. "What did you paint that old step for?" "It covers your
                        heart, and should be special." Leo bowed. "What?" gaffawed the
                        Giant. "You're a daffle-box! You'd believe anything!" "Yes,"
                        admitted Leo. "I supposed I am, sir. I mean, I fetched the keys to
                        the dungeon thinking I could trust you, didn't I? So...yes."
                        The Giant didn't know how to take this. He wasn't sure whether he
                        should feel flattered or insulted. So he sat on his chair and
                        offered his smudged boots for Leo to remove.

                        "The fact is, no one can find my heart," he declared proudly. "I'll
                        tell you exactly where it is and you'll still not find it." Leo did
                        not look up, but continued unwinding and bootlaces as the Giant
                        unleashed a torrent of directions in a single breath. "Far away, so
                        far you could not fathom it, so high you could not climb it, is a
                        mountain, and in the mountain is a lake in the lake is an island and
                        in the island is a church and in the church is a well and in the
                        well is a duck and in the duck is an egg and in the egg...is my
                        heart."

                        The Giant poked Leo with a giant finger, bowling him over and over
                        on the flagstones. "Not so easy, little thief, eh?" he
                        declared. "Not such a diddle and a doddle as you thought, is it? No.
                        Your father tricked me once. I shan't be tricked again."

                        That night as the Giant slept, Leo lay on his cot staring at the
                        ceiling. An egg in a duck in a well in a church in an island in a
                        lake in a mountain. Impossible, he decided as he stole from the
                        house and began the journey. Impossible, he decided as he passed his
                        brothers. Impossible, he decided as he glanced at the moon and saw,
                        in its pale silver, his friend Graylegs the Wolf, raising his head
                        to the wind and howling long and loud before turning and bounding
                        towards him. In a second, they were reunited, and Leo was explaining
                        everything. He knew, he said, he knew where the Giant's heart was,
                        he knew how to get there, but the journey was hard, treacherous,
                        impossible.

                        "Hold tight," said Graylegs, offering the Prince his back. "Hold
                        fast." And very tight they young Prince held, and very fast, for a
                        gray dash they went, headlong, a breathless blur of world flashing
                        by. And they came to the mountain, clambering, scrambling. And up at
                        last. And then the lake. Wide. Deep. "Hold tight!" the Wolf cried
                        again. "Hold close." And plunge, splash into the lake, heads arched
                        up above the water, cold, soaking, chilled, choking. And out at
                        last. On the island.

                        In its center loomed the church, its spire so high it threatened to
                        tear Heaven. Leo twisted the iron handles on the massive doors. The
                        doors were locked. Nothing would budge them. Leo hammered in
                        frustration on the thick oak panels. Above them the bells rang for
                        the Angelus. They looked up at the swing and toll.

                        "Look!" cried Graylegs and, squinting into the glare, Leo saw,
                        dangling impossibly high from the bell tower, the key. Then,
                        mingling with the cling-clang-clang-clong-clang of the bells, came a
                        new note. "Craa!" it sounded. "Craa! Craa!" And from nowhere the
                        bird whose wing Leo had mended swooped past them in salute before
                        swinging up the tower with a single beat and pulling the key off its
                        thread. Seconds later, the doors swung open. Sure enough, in one
                        corner they came upon a well, and in the well swam a duck.

                        Leo clambered up onto the lip of the well and began to scatter bread
                        to tempt the duck toward his open hands. He coaxed the duck with
                        each crumb, nearer and nearer until, with a sudden lunge, he had the
                        bird firmly in his grasp. But then, just as he pulled the duck out
                        of the water, the egg dropped from its body back into the water,
                        sinking into the blackness. Leo was dumbfounded. Then, miraculously,
                        the water's skin broke and a beautful fish leapt, twisted, turned,
                        and plunged, then reappeared, slapping the water with its tail. The
                        salmon! Back it dived, vanished, surfaced to flip the egg high into
                        the air. "Catch it!" howled Graylegs at Leo. And he did. He caught
                        the Giant's heart. Held it in his hands.

                        For a second time, the Heartless Giant woke to the sound of a drum
                        playing. "Rat-tat-rat-ta-ta-tat. Rat-tat-rat-ta-ta-tat." "Where've
                        you been?" he roared in his cracked voice as he charged from the
                        house toward Leo. "I've a good mind to set you there with your
                        brothers." Leo ignored him, continued the little drum roll on his
                        drum. "Rat-tat-rat-ta-ta-tat. Rat-tat-rat-ta-ta-tat." The Giant
                        boiled. "Stop that!" he ordered. Leo did not stop, but spoke as he
                        continued to beat on his drum. "Year ago, sir, you broke my heart,"
                        he said in a quiet voice. "Now I shall break yours." And with that
                        he laid down his drum and held aloft the egg that held the Giant's
                        heart. The Giant was terrified, paralyzed.

                        "No!" he whispered. "Don't...Be careful...don't break that...please,
                        I beg you." Leo stood before him, egg pressed threateningly between
                        his palms. "I will break it," he promised. "I'll squeeze and squeeze
                        it to bits unless you release my brothers and all these poor people."
                        "Yes! Anything! Don't drop, careful, please, please be careful!" The
                        Giant seemed to shrink with each second, his voice disintegrating to
                        a sorry broken cord. "I'll do anything you ask," he promised,
                        staggering toward the stone figures. "Look! I'm doing it!" And with
                        that he limped from statue to statue, touching each one, mumbling
                        the while. As he passed, each pose melted, softened, shuddered to
                        like. Leo's brothers ran to him, praising Heaven, embracing
                        him. "Brother! You've rescued us!" they cried.

                        The Giant limped toward the three brothers. "I've done as you bid,"
                        he whispered. "Can I have my heart?" Leo nodded. "You can, sir. As I
                        promised. For I know that with your heart in place you could not be
                        as you are now." The Giant sighed. "Thank you," he said, holding out
                        his hand for the return of his heart.

                        Leo's brothers lunged at him, trapping his arms, snatching the agg
                        from his grasp. Leo yelled. The Giant groaned. "Now, villain!" the
                        brothers cried. "For five long years we've stood here helpless and
                        watched your cruelty." Leo protested, struggled. The Giant hung he
                        head, closed his eyes. "Please," he asked sadly. "Don't. Please." By
                        now, the crowds of liberated souls has surrounded the group,
                        demanding vengeance. "Kill him!" they chanted. "Kill him! Kill him!
                        Kill him!"

                        "Don't!" Leo pleaded. "I promised! Don't!" But no one heard him. His
                        elder brother advanced on the Giant and squeezed on the egg. The
                        Giant staggered back, clutching the place where his heart should
                        have been, gasping for air, short agonized gasps. The crowd roared
                        it approval. Leo wept and wept, screaming to be heard over the
                        cheering. His brother squeezed again. As he sank slowly to his
                        knees, the Giant caught Leo in a terrible gaze. "You promised," he
                        said. "You promised."

                        Then the egg burst in the elder Pince's hands, yolk and white
                        slopping him. The crowd cheered. The Giant slumped forward and died.
                        Wasps swarmed angrily from his mouth. Where the Giant fell a hill
                        grew. And in time, when much was forgotten, when many Kings had come
                        and gone, the place was still known as the Hill of the Heartless
                        Giant.

                        Prince Leo lived to be a great age, became King, had forty-two
                        grandchildren, and told them all that tale. But in his story the
                        Giant got back his heart and made amends for all his wrongs.
                        Because, you see, despite all that took place, a little boy once met
                        a Giant and they became friends."
                      • Carol
                        re:The Heartless Giant Funny, how the solution to one of the most complex riddles which Humanity will be forced to resolve, has already been successfully
                        Message 11 of 25 , Feb 17, 2007
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                          re:The Heartless Giant

                           Funny, how the solution to one of the most complex riddles which Humanity will be forced to resolve, has already been successfully tackled.  Who was the soul that composed that piece, and  when?  I have already read a very abbreviated version of the ‘tale’,  but this one in all it’s details has fallen at a perfect moment…

                           

                          I enjoy taking note of ‘action on this front’,  and though the following occurred  some months ago, details of  which are not readily publicised,  I thought to dig it up and share it, at this moment.

                           

                          PRESIDENT SEES LIGHT SURROUNDING HIM    

                          http://www.iran-press-service.com/ips/articles-2005/november-2005/ahmadi_revelations_291105.shtml

                           

                          ----- Original Message -----
                          Sent: Friday, February 16, 2007 4:53 PM
                          Subject: [anthroposophy] Re: Recovering history and navigating the ZeitGeist

                          Take out your Main Lesson books Spiritual Science students.
                          Today we are offering the Giant's Heart a discourse on current
                          events.

                          Bradford brought;

                          "That is why when we look at the disturbed heart condition of Dick
                          Cheney, we understand the disturbed condition of his heart in
                          relation to the great heart of the world."

                          Bradford adds;

                          Now this is where true thinkers rise and poor thinkers fall by the
                          way side. Poor thinkers with limp souls cannot and refuse to make
                          the connection that we are about to make. The connection that we are
                          about to make is to the Giants Heart. Presently being vice president
                          of the greatest super power on the planet, the United States, makes
                          Dick Cheney a heartless Giant. Now what kind of giant is Dick
                          Cheney? What is wrong and where is his heart if it has such trouble
                          finding the rhythm and keeping beat with the heart of the world?
                          Thesee are all simple questions with surprisingly simple answers
                          that with Jungian insights and vague imaginations we certainly will
                          not find many people left in the U.S. who can digest rich insights
                          and see imaginations with the intimate clarity that students of
                          Spiritual Science may.

                          Of course we can and we have in the past brought into the argument
                          aspects of the U.S. involvement in America's fall into fascism and
                          how Dick Cheney truly plays a very significant part in where we
                          would raise the question of Ahrimanic ailments of the soul and
                          malfunctioning disconnection of a human heart to the heart of the
                          world. These Sorathian Spiritual Science and Ahrimanic patterns we
                          have traced with precise historical relationships that have picked
                          up the patterns of the dawn of 1914 and the surge of military
                          ahrimanic intent that is currently riding on the same historical
                          rhythm that led Cheney to sign and bring forward the pre-emptive
                          Imperialism of the PNAC or Project for a New Ahrimanic Century at
                          the crack of light of the dark arising of 1997/8.

                          For Cheney and big Oil middle eastern chaos must continue to erupt.
                          The world's supply of oil must be owned and kept by the United
                          States. This is U.S. policy. Pre-emptive attacks on innocent
                          countries murdering tens of thousands with escalation of torture and
                          fair trials gone the way of Nazi Germany...along with the U.S.,
                          Britain and Israel, a nasty triad that is sinking to Sorathian
                          levels of dark lodge intents, all this must continue for Amerika to
                          dominate under Cheney's heartlessness.

                          What type of imagination hovers around the leader, the actual black
                          Lodge mouthpiece of someone who cannot adjust his heart to the
                          actual heart of the world? We will present the diagnosis in a fairy
                          tale. That way those with true understanding of diagnostic pictures
                          and imaginations will have something extremely vital to point to
                          when they point to the reality behind the fall of the United States.
                          And we grant that all of us know that the real idea of terrorism is
                          not anywhere close to the representative reality of the heart of the
                          world, but if it were black ops and terrorism, it would match up
                          with what Dick Cheney wants to project all around him and America
                          with torture chambers over the globe... a Giant Darkness.

                          Now the second wave of Michael Intelligence might very well
                          understand the problems that exist in the subtext of history vs that
                          of recovering Grail history, the Etheric Christ and the human heart,
                          or the aspect of Justice and the aspect of understanding that as a
                          human being, if such a bad heart serves a dark master, it is better
                          to get a new heart and a new incarnation rather than continue on
                          with such an icy corrupt and cold heart. Dick Cheney has had his
                          heart removed.

                          The Heartless Giant

                          [Note when the word Giant appears INSERT, Dick Cheney}

                          On the whole, there's absolutely no need to be frightened by Giants.
                          Giants are gentle souls, perfectly harmless, and very affectionate.
                          Unless, of course, the Giant has no heart in his body.

                          Think of all kinds of unpleasant things and add Giant to them and
                          that's what you get when a Giant has no heart. Such a Giant once
                          terrorized a county in the far north of the world, near the very
                          top. He'd hidden his heart. It gave him too much trouble, all those
                          Giant Feelings, too much pain. In its place was a wasps' nest. About
                          to swarm. Put your ear to his chest and you'd hear an angry buzzing
                          noise.

                          This Heartless Giant could shake a man and shuffle his wits. He
                          could crack a skull with his fist like a walnut. And frequently did.
                          Until, at last, the old King of that country, as good as the Giant
                          was bad, trapped him in a giant trap and locked him in a cell. There
                          the Giant crouched, an inch of the outside world to look at, the
                          damp dripping from the walls, the dull rattle of his chains, his low
                          angry growl a ceaseless rumble through the King's castle.
                          Years passed in this was until the Giant's voice had grated away to
                          the hoarsest whisper and folk had quite forgotten about Giants with
                          no hearts. And he'd be there still, in his foul pit, were it not for
                          a little boy whose name was Leo.

                          Leo was the King's youngest son. He had two brothers who were
                          bigger. Prince Leo could leave not stone unturned, no passage
                          unexplored, no drawer unrammaged, so incurably curious was he. One
                          morning, scouting the far and deep of the castle, he came across a
                          tiny, barred window set in the bottom of a huge gray wall. Looking
                          through it, Leo saw nothing buy dank dark pitch black. But as he
                          turned away he imagined he heard a stir, and then came a growl, a
                          low buzz of a growl. It was a frightening sound.

                          His brothers told a Giant with no heart lived in this prison with
                          the tiny window. He didn't believe them. They were older, his
                          brothers, and forever teasing him. But the next day he went back,
                          carrying his drum. "Rat-tat-rat- ta-ta-tat, " he played outside the
                          window. From inside the dark dank pitch black he heard a rattle,
                          like the rattle of a chain. He crept to the window and squinted into
                          the shadows. Two eyes blinked back at him. Leo jumped. A wasp buzzed
                          angrily through the bars. Leo ran off. It was true, there was a
                          Giant!

                          All night Leo thougth about the Giant, his eyes, the low rumbling
                          growl. Next morning, he was back, "rat-tat-rat- ta-ta-tat, " on his
                          little drum. The Giant was waiting for him. When Leo tiptoed to the
                          window, he was there, whispering hello. The Giant told Leo that long
                          ago he had done some bad things and that the King had locked him up.
                          Leo couldn't imagine what these bad things were. He worried about
                          the poor Giant, stuck down there in terrible chains. He lit a candle
                          and held it to the hole.

                          The Giant was so big he had to crouch with his chin on this knees
                          and his elbos bent. He looked to Leo like a huge sad baby, his
                          yellow eyes screwed up against the candle's sudden glare. Leo said
                          he would speak to his father, it wasn't fair the Giant had been
                          locked up for so long; he must have been forgotten. "No," croaked
                          the Giant, all anxious. "If you say anything, they'll make me stay
                          down here forever and I shall surely perish." The eyes blinked
                          nearer. "Would you like to be my friend?"

                          Leo was elated. "Oh yes, yes please!" "Good. Good," said the Giant.
                          Good, thought Leo; I have a secret friend. Good, thought the Giant
                          who had shed his heart at last. And he sighed a chill sigh and
                          planned chill plans, while the young prince skipped back along the
                          path, swinging the iron gate behind him, caressing his secret,
                          nurturing it, back to his room.

                          And so it began, the friendship between the huge, crouching Giant
                          and the little Prince. Every day, the boy would appear, rat-tat-
                          tatting on his drum. Every day he'd tell a little more, hear a
                          little more, until he felt he knew no one better, that no one knew
                          him better. Oh, he wanted to tell the whole world about his friend.
                          But the Giant said, "Out secret," and Leo agreed, although he would
                          have loved to tell his mother or his two brothers or somebody. But
                          he couldn't so he shouldn't, so he wouldn't so he didn't. The Giant,
                          meanwhile crouched in his blackness and schemed. And so it was that
                          one day he told Leo he'd heard a Guard saying that the King slept
                          with the keys to the Giant's chains hanging on a ring by his bed.
                          Leo had always those keys were for the Crown Jewels. "No," said the
                          Giant. "They're for my misery." Leo felt desperate for his
                          misunderstood fiend, and a plan formed in his mind. The Giant
                          watched it being born and sighed a cold sigh. Deep inside, in the
                          prize where his heart should have been, the wasped seethed and
                          buzzed.

                          That very night, when the whole castle was sleeping, when the Royal
                          Guards slumped against their sentry posts and dozed, when the owls
                          hooted, little Prince Leo slipped from his bed, slid past a sleeping
                          sentry, and pushed on the door of his parents' room. He tiptoed
                          round the great bed with its velvet eiderdown, past his sleeping
                          mother and sleeping father, to the hook where the keys were hung.
                          They were so heavy. He heaved them up and they swung together,
                          clanging like the Angelus bell. Leo clutched them tight, their black
                          metal teeth squashing his toes, their hooped handles framing his
                          face. Slowly, slowly, inch by inch, he dragged the huge keys out of
                          the room.

                          "I've got the keys," he whispered, trembling at the little window.
                          He let them ring against the bars. "Who goes there?" challenged a
                          voice from the darkness. It was the one sentry still awake. "Hurry,
                          hurry!" growled the Giant from the bowels of the dungeon. Leo
                          struggled to push the keys through the bars. The teeth went in and
                          the long shafts, but when it came to the ring he couldn't work out
                          how to do it. "They're too big," he explained as he heard the
                          Giant's snort of impatience. "I can't do it." Leo wanted to drop the
                          keys and run for his life. "Push them," hissed the Giant. "Push
                          them!" The Giant's voice was colder than the night, it was icy. Leo
                          pushed. A great hand yanked on the keys. Leo saw its shape in the
                          shadows. He felt a terrible force pulling downward.

                          "Who goes there?" demanded the approaching voice. And then, with a
                          sudden wrench, the keys disappeared, pulling the bars with then into
                          the blackness. Leo heard a sigh issue from the Giant. A horrible
                          aching sigh. Then the turning of locks, the crushing of
                          doors. "Don't forget to let me have them back," he said, staring
                          blankly into the dungeon. He shivered again.

                          The sentry's torch was almost upon him. Suddenly the silence was
                          rent with cries. A man screamed, and there was the sound of
                          crunching, like a great walnut cracking. Then a broken, throaty
                          roar. At the far corner, a door burst from its hinges, spilling
                          light onto Leo's face. The Giant appeared. From his head, squeezing
                          at the entrance, pulling away bricks and lintels, then his
                          shoulders, squeezing, straining through. A giant baby being born
                          into the night. Leo watched, horrified. The Giant glanced at Leo,
                          but only for a second. As he emerged from the entrance, first one
                          sentry, then a second confronted him, challenging him with a sword
                          and spear. The Giant hoisted them up, one in each fist, and cracked
                          their heads together before tossing them away. Then, with the sound
                          of the alarm, the Heartless Giant turned and limped off, roaring his
                          broken roar.

                          All night Leo sat shivering on the battlements at the King and his
                          men searched the grounds of the castle. His father's angry words
                          haunted him. "Someone betrayed us. Only a madman would help a Giant
                          with no heart. Someone betrayed us." Leo's face swam with tears. So
                          letdown, he felt. So stupid. So guilty. Every scream was his fault.
                          Every cracked skull. And when finally morning came, the boy in him,
                          the innocent heart, the joy in him, they were gone-those things,
                          like his friend-and they would never return.

                          Next morning, Leo looked down and saw his Elder Brother march across
                          the courtyard. He carried his sword and his axe and his bow and a
                          large saddlebag, which he yanked up onto his shoulder. "Where are
                          you going?" Leo called down. "Sh-h-h!" warned the brother. "I am
                          going to get back the Giant." Leo felt awful. "Have you told
                          anybody?" Elder Brother shook his head proudly. "No. Of course not.
                          But I must go. Father is too old." And with this he offered up his
                          hand in salute and turned, young warrior, off to find the
                          Giant. "I'm sorry," wept his brother, but no one heard him.
                          And Elder Brother did not come back.

                          The spring came and went with sadness in it. Every day, more stories
                          reached the castle of the Giant's cruel rampage. So it was that one
                          glum morning, perched on the ledge of his window, Leo looked down
                          and saw Middle Brother striding through the courtyard, golden helmet
                          blazing, shield sparkling. "Where are you going?" Leo called
                          out. "To find our brother and to kill the Giant." Leo was beside
                          himself. "Please don't! It's madness. He has no heart." Middle
                          Brother shook his proud head. "I must go. Our father's too old now."
                          Leo could not stand it. "But he'll trick you!" he blurted
                          out. "He'll trick you!" Middle Brother would not listen. He raised
                          his hand in salute and set off to find the Giant. Terrible, Leo
                          felt, as he watched him go, terrible.

                          And Middle Brother did not come back either.

                          The summer that year was short, the winter wild and endless. One
                          day, Leo heard his mother's sobs from far off and came into her
                          bedroom to find her kneeling in sorrow, head against the green
                          velvet of the eiderdown. "Mother?" The Queen did not look up. "Your
                          father says he intends to go off and fight the Giant. "I've lost two
                          sons already. He's too old. He's too ill." She wept and wept. She
                          wanted Leo to promise he would not follow his brothers. "Promise me,
                          promise me you won't ever go." But he couldn't promise, how could
                          he? Were it not for him, the Heartless Giant would still be chained
                          and locked and safe in the dungeon.

                          Next morning, at the crack of dawn, dressed in thick leather jerkin,
                          Leo rode into the Royal Stables. He carried with him saddlebags
                          stuffed with cheese and ham and biscuits and salted beef, but no
                          weapon of any kind. He approached the stall where his father's
                          stallion stood, tall, scarred, imperious, swung the saddle over the
                          beast's back, and led him from the stable. Off they rode without
                          looking back, their breath steaming out before them, the path
                          flashing by, on and on and on.

                          And so the young Prince Leo rode the land in search of his once
                          friend the Heartless Giant. Three winters came and went, their
                          bitter shiver, but still he rode on, determined. And many times were
                          the saddlebags epmtied and filled; many nights slept achingly cold,
                          huddled with his horse for warmth; many days spent without sighting
                          a single soul. The boy changed slowly into man, took his own
                          counsel, his jaw set in resolve, his heart firm, his plan fixed. Yet
                          to find the Heartless Giant was no easy thing. His pillage had
                          stripped the landscape bare. Only bleached bones, spat-out ruins,
                          whispered nightmares remained. Where the Giant was no one knew. Long
                          gone, the survivers told Leo as he bent from the horse's neck. Lone
                          gone.

                          Then one day he came to a place and knew he was finally on the
                          Gaint's trail. The sweet stench of blood curdled the air. A village,
                          abandoned, smoldered and smoked. Leo's horse reared and bucked and
                          was fearful. Looking down to the earth for clues, they saw a bird
                          flap, helpless, a torn wing shuddering pitifully. The Prince set
                          down and took up the bird in his hands. "Craa! Craa! Help me!" it
                          cried. "The Giant broke me and now I cannot fly, cannot eat. Craa!
                          Help me."

                          And Leo tended the bird, fixed its wing, fed it bread soaked in
                          milk. And soon all was well with it. Leo threw it high into the air
                          and watched it soar, its vivid re-ascent. "Thank you!" cried the
                          bird from the heavens. If you need me, I shan't forget." And with
                          that a "Craa! Craa!" it flew off. And they followed.

                          Not lone after, Leo stopped at a brook, horse and rider hungry and
                          thirsty, sore and weary. As they drank, they heard a flapping, heard
                          a thrashing, heard a slapping, and, looking round, Leo saw a salmon,
                          twisting, franitic, beached in the crook of a small crevasse. "Help
                          me!" cried the choking fish. "Help me back into the water! I'm stuck
                          here, I'm stranded, I'm beached up and landed! Help me!"

                          Now Leo was famished, and he loved salmon over the taste of any
                          fish. But he'd suffered sufficient, this fellow, thought the Prince.
                          He pick up the flailing fish and swung it gently into the stream,
                          back to where the salmon is King. Off it flashed through the reeds
                          and green ripples, before leaping up in the middle of the water,
                          slapping the surface with its message. "Thank you!" it cried. "If
                          you need me, I shan't forget." Then it plunged back into the brook,
                          and they followed its zig and its zag down the stream, for that way
                          lay the Giant.

                          Now neither Leo nor his horse had eaten in days. They were faint
                          with hunger. Their progress slowed to a weary jog and stumble, until
                          at last the old stallion sank slowly to his knees and gave up the
                          ghost. Enough, he sighed, rolled over, and died. Leo lay behind his
                          faithful servant and shed tears enough to break a heart, half from
                          love, half from despair. Then he slipped into sleep. He dreamed he
                          was in his mother's bed, warm and cherished. So warm, his mother
                          mursing him, licking up his wet cheeks, hugging him. So vivid. He
                          woke hugging himself, only to find a dead horse beside him and not
                          his mother but a great Wolf coiled around his body, terrible teeth
                          glistening, tongue hanging out with hunger.

                          And, seeing his eyes flicker, the Wolf howled a terrible howl, fixed
                          on Leo's bare, unguarded throat. "Help!" howled the Wolf. "I've not
                          eaten since the winter came. Help me and I'll not forget you." Leo
                          had no food, save his own flesh. He took up his courage and spoke to
                          the Wolf, whose sour breath plaited with his own, so near they were
                          to the other's jaw. "How can I?" he replied. "I have no food
                          myself." The Wolf nudged against the dead horse. "Then let me eat
                          your horse," he panted, his tongue a vicious red swipe across his
                          teeth. "I'll eat it and be strong again. Trust me. I'll help you."
                          The Prince could not watch as the starving animal leapt upon the
                          flesh of the stallion. In no time, he eaten every scrap of flesh,
                          chewed the bones, spat them out. Leo allowed himself to single
                          glance from a distance. He caught the Wolf's red eyes contemplating
                          him, the tongue sweeping the teeth, the body crouched over a mess of
                          rib and hunk.

                          "Master. Come here," said the Wolf. Leo was resigned. "Am I next to
                          go?" he asked simply. The Wolf nodded. "Oh yes, us both must go," he
                          replied. "For you seek the Giant, I know. And now, strong again,
                          I'll help you. On my back, sir, and let's leave this place."
                          Off they went a gray dash, a day and a night and a morning, until
                          they came at last to a strange garden full of statues. Stone men.
                          Stone women. Stone soldiers. Leo slipped from Grayleg's back and
                          examined the statues. So lifelike were they, he felt a warmer sun
                          might thaw them into being. He passed the bend, supplicant figure of
                          an old woman, ivy in her stone tresses, then came to a statue of a
                          brave young warrior, sword drawn, shield raised. Leo walked round to
                          face it. "It's my brother!" he gasped. "This is a statue of my
                          brother!" Graylegs the Wolf shook his head. "No, my lord, no statue.
                          This is the Giant's work. There is his house," he continued, nodding
                          toward a clearing. "All who approach he turns to stone."

                          A little way down, the Prince came across another figure, frozen in
                          the act of straining at the longbow, arrow poised at the ear. It was
                          the Elder Brother. "You too!" cried Leo in despair. "You too."
                          At the end of the clearing was the place where the Giant lived, a
                          strange building made by tearing up the whole village and squashing
                          it into a single house. Inside, the Heartless Giant was asleep.
                          A "Rat-tat-rat- ta-ta-tat, " over and over. He heaved his huge frame
                          to the patchwork of windows and looked out. Standing there,
                          fearless, without weapon, beathing his child's drum, was the young
                          Prince Leo.

                          The Giant took Leo in as his servant. The Prince explained how it
                          was discovered he had helped the Giant escape. The Giant laughed at
                          this. Had he seen his brothers, stone men in the garden? Leo said he
                          had. Any who crossed him got the same treatment, so Leo had better
                          be on his mettle. The Giant picked up the drum between his fingers
                          and tapped out the march rhythm, memories flooding back. "That
                          terrible cage," he sighed. "I had to fool you to get the keys.
                          Otherwise I'd still be there, rotting. I still limp, you know." Then
                          he squeezed Leo affectionately in his palm. "so, my little Leo, back
                          again. Hah! Yes, stay if you like. No tricks, though, to traps. Else
                          you'll end up like your brothers."

                          "No tricks, no traps," agreed the boy and went inside.
                          So Leo became the servant of the Giant. For weeks he cleaned, for
                          weeks he scoured, until spick where speck was and span where
                          squalor. Each evening, the Giant returned from his Wild outings to
                          find the fire lit, the hearth swept, his breeches pressed. He liked
                          this. Very nice. "Very nice," he'd say as he slurped and slopped his
                          stew. "I should have had a servant before. I like it." He
                          burped. "It befits a Giant." Leo bowed and cleared the plates away.
                          He was always silent, always polite, always cleaning, always
                          watching.

                          Then the Giant croaked his cracked laugh. "And don't I treat you
                          bad, do I? For a Heartless Giant." Leo kept walking away with the
                          dishes. He spoke without looking back, his words light and idly
                          curious. "What happened to your heart?"

                          Black clouds furrowed the Giant's brow. "It's in safekeeping, " he
                          growled. Leo kept walking. The Giant continued, suddenly swelling,
                          thumping the place where his heart should have been: "Can't feel
                          without it, can I? Can't get hurt. Can't die from heartbreak if I
                          haven't got one. I'm invincible!" he guffawed. Leo shrugged,
                          impressed. "Clever," he said casually. "So where is it, then, your
                          heart?" Wasps streamed from the Giant's mouth. "He who pries is
                          prone to die," he warned. "Do you follow me?" "Yes." Leo walked into
                          the kitchen. Then the Giant called after him. "But I'll tell you if
                          you want to know. My heart's in that cupboard."

                          Leo was passing a huge laundry press, its old wooden doors bleached
                          and scarred with age. He paused for an instant, felt his own heart
                          pounding. There! pounded his heart; his heart is there! The
                          Heartless Giant, crouching at the table, missed nothing. He smirked,
                          belched, and slumped into an after-dinner snore.

                          Next morning, the Giant stalked off as early as ever. His prison
                          years had made him fearful of walls. Out he went, all the daylight
                          hours, roving, raging, rampaging. Leo stood at the window watching
                          him limp and lumber away. Then he rushed to the linen press, heaved
                          on the doors. Inside was a riot of this and that: a tusk, a trowel,
                          a tent, a trap, a towel, a tin, a thousand trinkets. And then boxes.
                          All manner of boxes. Leo opened them all, big or small. Two were
                          heart-shaped. He tore at them. But there was no heart. Anything but
                          hearts.

                          "I'm back," announced the Giant later that evening, tossing a brace
                          of dead pigs on the kitchen step. The Giant sniffed into the air. A
                          suspicious sniff. "What's that smell?" he demanded, his nose tilted
                          up, snorting like a bellows. Leo pointed at the gleaming doors of
                          the old cupboard. "Polish," he said. The Giant's eyes widened in
                          disbelief. "What you polishing the cupboard for?" he demanded.
                          "It's the home of your heart," declared Leo. "It should be
                          polished." The Giant roared with laughter. "Did you really think I
                          kept my heart in a cupboard? Gah!" Leo feigned a look of
                          disappointment, then went to the first pig and heaved it up on his
                          shoulders to carry into the pantry. It was still warm. "If you want
                          to know," the Giant called after him, "my heart is under the
                          step." "Right," said Leo, treading on the stone step and continuing
                          on his way. "That old step," chortled the Giant. "That's where my
                          little heart beats. Ticktock."

                          Next morning, same story: off stomped the Giant and out went the
                          Prince, pick and shovel, hack and hew, digging out the step,
                          spooning out the earth. Stone. Dust. Roots. But no heart! Ach! Poor
                          Leo. He sank down onto the step, feet in the mounds of earth, and
                          despaired. From where he sat he could see the grim silhouettes of
                          his brothers and their fellow sufferers. Waiting. Waiting for him to
                          make amends.

                          "I'm back," called the Giant, throwing down a sack, splitting it,
                          and revealing hares and hens and ducks and every type of small bird,
                          all strangled. As he limped into the house, the Giant looked down to
                          see a map of his journey recorded in huge red footprints. "What's
                          that?" he demanded as Leo appeared. "Ah, you must have trodden on
                          the step, sir," replied Leo politely. "I painted it." The Giant
                          scowled. "What did you paint that old step for?" "It covers your
                          heart, and should be special." Leo bowed. "What?" gaffawed the
                          Giant. "You're a daffle-box! You'd believe anything!" "Yes,"
                          admitted Leo. "I supposed I am, sir. I mean, I fetched the keys to
                          the dungeon thinking I could trust you, didn't I? So...yes."
                          The Giant didn't know how to take this. He wasn't sure whether he
                          should feel flattered or insulted. So he sat on his chair and
                          offered his smudged boots for Leo to remove.

                          "The fact is, no one can find my heart," he declared proudly. "I'll
                          tell you exactly where it is and you'll still not find it." Leo did
                          not look up, but continued unwinding and bootlaces as the Giant
                          unleashed a torrent of directions in a single breath. "Far away, so
                          far you could not fathom it, so high you could not climb it, is a
                          mountain, and in the mountain is a lake in the lake is an island and
                          in the island is a church and in the church is a well and in the
                          well is a duck and in the duck is an egg and in the egg...is my
                          heart."

                          The Giant poked Leo with a giant finger, bowling him over and over
                          on the flagstones. "Not so easy, little thief, eh?" he
                          declared. "Not such a diddle and a doddle as you thought, is it? No.
                          Your father tricked me once. I shan't be tricked again."

                          That night as the Giant slept, Leo lay on his cot staring at the
                          ceiling. An egg in a duck in a well in a church in an island in a
                          lake in a mountain. Impossible, he decided as he stole from the
                          house and began the journey. Impossible, he decided as he passed his
                          brothers. Impossible, he decided as he glanced at the moon and saw,
                          in its pale silver, his friend Graylegs the Wolf, raising his head
                          to the wind and howling long and loud before turning and bounding
                          towards him. In a second, they were reunited, and Leo was explaining
                          everything. He knew, he said, he knew where the Giant's heart was,
                          he knew how to get there, but the journey was hard, treacherous,
                          impossible.

                          "Hold tight," said Graylegs, offering the Prince his back. "Hold
                          fast." And very tight they young Prince held, and very fast, for a
                          gray dash they went, headlong, a breathless blur of world flashing
                          by. And they came to the mountain, clambering, scrambling. And up at
                          last. And then the lake. Wide. Deep. "Hold tight!" the Wolf cried
                          again. "Hold close." And plunge, splash into the lake, heads arched
                          up above the water, cold, soaking, chilled, choking. And out at
                          last. On the island.

                          In its center loomed the church, its spire so high it threatened to
                          tear Heaven. Leo twisted the iron handles on the massive doors. The
                          doors were locked. Nothing would budge them. Leo hammered in
                          frustration on the thick oak panels. Above them the bells rang for
                          the Angelus. They looked up at the swing and toll.

                          "Look!" cried Graylegs and, squinting into the glare, Leo saw,
                          dangling impossibly high from the bell tower, the key. Then,
                          mingling with the cling-clang- clang-clong- clang of the bells, came a
                          new note. "Craa!" it sounded. "Craa! Craa!" And from nowhere the
                          bird whose wing Leo had mended swooped past them in salute before
                          swinging up the tower with a single beat and pulling the key off its
                          thread. Seconds later, the doors swung open. Sure enough, in one
                          corner they came upon a well, and in the well swam a duck.

                          Leo clambered up onto the lip of the well and began to scatter bread
                          to tempt the duck toward his open hands. He coaxed the duck with
                          each crumb, nearer and nearer until, with a sudden lunge, he had the
                          bird firmly in his grasp. But then, just as he pulled the duck out
                          of the water, the egg dropped from its body back into the water,
                          sinking into the blackness. Leo was dumbfounded. Then, miraculously,
                          the water's skin broke and a beautful fish leapt, twisted, turned,
                          and plunged, then reappeared, slapping the water with its tail. The
                          salmon! Back it dived, vanished, surfaced to flip the egg high into
                          the air. "Catch it!" howled Graylegs at Leo. And he did. He caught
                          the Giant's heart. Held it in his hands.

                          For a second time, the Heartless Giant woke to the sound of a drum
                          playing. "Rat-tat-rat- ta-ta-tat. Rat-tat-rat- ta-ta-tat. " "Where've
                          you been?" he roared in his cracked voice as he charged from the
                          house toward Leo. "I've a good mind to set you there with your
                          brothers." Leo ignored him, continued the little drum roll on his
                          drum. "Rat-tat-rat- ta-ta-tat. Rat-tat-rat- ta-ta-tat. " The Giant
                          boiled. "Stop that!" he ordered. Leo did not stop, but spoke as he
                          continued to beat on his drum. "Year ago, sir, you broke my heart,"
                          he said in a quiet voice. "Now I shall break yours." And with that
                          he laid down his drum and held aloft the egg that held the Giant's
                          heart. The Giant was terrified, paralyzed.

                          "No!" he whispered. "Don't...Be careful...don' t break that...please,
                          I beg you." Leo stood before him, egg pressed threateningly between
                          his palms. "I will break it," he promised. "I'll squeeze and squeeze
                          it to bits unless you release my brothers and all these poor people."
                          "Yes! Anything! Don't drop, careful, please, please be careful!" The
                          Giant seemed to shrink with each second, his voice disintegrating to
                          a sorry broken cord. "I'll do anything you ask," he promised,
                          staggering toward the stone figures. "Look! I'm doing it!" And with
                          that he limped from statue to statue, touching each one, mumbling
                          the while. As he passed, each pose melted, softened, shuddered to
                          like. Leo's brothers ran to him, praising Heaven, embracing
                          him. "Brother! You've rescued us!" they cried.

                          The Giant limped toward the three brothers. "I've done as you bid,"
                          he whispered. "Can I have my heart?" Leo nodded. "You can, sir. As I
                          promised. For I know that with your heart in place you could not be
                          as you are now." The Giant sighed. "Thank you," he said, holding out
                          his hand for the return of his heart.

                          Leo's brothers lunged at him, trapping his arms, snatching the agg
                          from his grasp. Leo yelled. The Giant groaned. "Now, villain!" the
                          brothers cried. "For five long years we've stood here helpless and
                          watched your cruelty." Leo protested, struggled. The Giant hung he
                          head, closed his eyes. "Please," he asked sadly. "Don't. Please." By
                          now, the crowds of liberated souls has surrounded the group,
                          demanding vengeance. "Kill him!" they chanted. "Kill him! Kill him!
                          Kill him!"

                          "Don't!" Leo pleaded. "I promised! Don't!" But no one heard him. His
                          elder brother advanced on the Giant and squeezed on the egg. The
                          Giant staggered back, clutching the place where his heart should
                          have been, gasping for air, short agonized gasps. The crowd roared
                          it approval. Leo wept and wept, screaming to be heard over the
                          cheering. His brother squeezed again. As he sank slowly to his
                          knees, the Giant caught Leo in a terrible gaze. "You promised," he
                          said. "You promised."

                          Then the egg burst in the elder Pince's hands, yolk and white
                          slopping him. The crowd cheered. The Giant slumped forward and died.
                          Wasps swarmed angrily from his mouth. Where the Giant fell a hill
                          grew. And in time, when much was forgotten, when many Kings had come
                          and gone, the place was still known as the Hill of the Heartless
                          Giant.

                          Prince Leo lived to be a great age, became King, had forty-two
                          grandchildren, and told them all that tale. But in his story the
                          Giant got back his heart and made amends for all his wrongs.
                          Because, you see, despite all that took place, a little boy once met
                          a Giant and they became friends."

                        • holderlin66
                          Profile in Ahrimanic intrusion and Soul overshadowing. The Voice of the White House Washington, D.C., March 18, 2007: Early last week, I was having dinner
                          Message 12 of 25 , Mar 20, 2007
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                            Profile in Ahrimanic intrusion and Soul overshadowing.

                            The Voice of the White House

                            "Washington, D.C., March 18, 2007: "Early last week, I was having
                            dinner with an old friend of my wife's who works for the Justice
                            Department as an analyst. During the course of the meal, he
                            mentioned a lengthy report he has on his desk about Vice President
                            Cheney. It was compiled by a Department individual, known to him and
                            considered to be very accurate.

                            It is a lengthy report on Cheney's psychological makeup, his
                            physical problems and a clear rationale for his very possible death,
                            probably in the near future.

                            It is not a state secret that Cheney is in very bad health. He had
                            suffered, to date, four major and three minor heart attacks, he has
                            had quadruple bypass surgery, a pacemaker installed and two
                            angioplasty surgical procedures (to clear badly plugged arteries.)
                            The last available, but certainly not public, medical prognosis is
                            that it would take very little for Cheney to have a final, and
                            fatal, heart attack.

                            The recent discovery that Cheney suffered a blood clot in his leg
                            and has undergone both a medical intervention and is now receiving
                            anticoagulant medicines in addition to a significant regimen of
                            other medications aimed at controlling his very high blood pressure
                            and equally high cholesterol levels. He has been told by his
                            doctors to lose at least 30 pounds, to be very careful of his diet
                            and to engage in physical exercise, designed to improve circulation,
                            on a daily basis. His age, lack of exercise and weight problems
                            coupled with his psychological makeup are inevitably going to kill
                            him, sooner rather than later.

                            Cheney's psychological makeup is a contributory factor to his
                            ongoing and escalating circulation problems.

                            He has an obsessive/compulsive personality that internalizes
                            stressful episodes. Cheney has always been the powerful and driving
                            force behind Bush's disastrous Mid East policies. Cheney is a
                            fixated Cold War personality who hates and fears the Russians,
                            believing that they are still Communists, bent on the destruction of
                            the United States. Cheney is also determined to enrich himself via
                            his stock options with Halliburton, the oil company. Due solely to
                            his actions in giving Halliburton many highly lucrative, no-bid
                            government contracts, Cheney has effectively boosted the value of
                            Halliburton's stock and he now holds a significant number of stock
                            options in that company, which he once ran, which, if liquidated,
                            would make him very rich.

                            He has instigated a number of CIA operations against the Russian
                            Republic, designed to gain US control over former Soviet republics
                            that are rich in oil or who possess territory over which immensely
                            profitable oil and gas pipelines must pass in order for these
                            resources to reach western markets.

                            Cheney hates Russian President Putin because he sees Putin as a man
                            who deliberately thwarted US plans to gain control over Russian oil
                            and gas resources via the actions of the so-called Russian
                            Oligarchs. The latter were all Jews and working with an Israeli-
                            controlled bank in New York and with the cooperation of their co-
                            religionists in the IMF and the World Bank, came very close to
                            achieving this control.

                            Putin is now seen by Cheney and his associates as the one force
                            blocking a renewal of US business control over Russian natural
                            resources and Cheney has made no attempt to conceal his fury and
                            frustration over what he sees as a major business and political
                            defeat.

                            In addition to this problem, Cheney's failing plans to set up a
                            permanent US military base in oil-rich Iraq to secure the area and,
                            in addition, serve as a badly-needed bulwark for an Israel who
                            hates, and is afraid of, many of her very hostile Arab neighbors has
                            added immensely to what has been a stressful career.

                            I knew Cheney during the Reagan years in power and even then he was
                            a driven man, obsessive in his attitudes, completely intolerant of
                            any opinions that ran counter to his os own and determined to be
                            the man whose decisions were the only correct ones and therefore
                            must be implemented. Our of the government, he longed to return to
                            the corridors of power and when he was asked to chair a committee to
                            find a suitable vice president for the Supreme Court-appointed Bush,
                            he naturally chose himself.

                            His aides have often spoken, sometimes in my presence, about
                            Cheney's contempt for what he sees as a weak and spineless president
                            but he realizes that he is incapable of becoming chief of state
                            though he once said,,,"If someone nails George, then you'll see some
                            royal ass-kicking!"

                            Cheney's personal drive and his complete dominance over a weak
                            president, coupled with the vicious and vindictive manipulations of
                            Karl Rove, Bush's poison dwarf, have wreaked havoc on the American
                            diplomatic, military, political and now, economic, structures but he
                            will never give up and never leave his White House office except on
                            a gurney.

                            He has been further stressed by the departure and subsequent
                            conviction of I. Lewis Libby, one of his closest associates and a
                            good friend. Cheney in triumph was a study in arrogance and power
                            but Cheney in growing defeat will only turn his rage and frustration
                            inwards and, given his serious medical problems, is a certain
                            candidate for an imminent state funeral.

                            This may sound cruel on my part, but given the damage Dick Cheney
                            has done, and is capable of doing, his passing would be a blessing
                            for the people of the United States and, indeed, the world."

                            The Heartless Giant ---- Can be read from earlier post

                            [Note when the word Giant appears INSERT, Dick Cheney}

                            On the whole, there's absolutely no need to be frightened by Giants.
                            Giants are gentle souls, perfectly harmless, and very affectionate.
                            Unless, of course, the Giant has no heart in his body.

                            Think of all kinds of unpleasant things and add Giant to them and
                            that's what you get when a Giant has no heart. Such a Giant once
                            terrorized a county in the far north of the world, near the very
                            top. He'd hidden his heart. It gave him too much trouble, all those
                            Giant Feelings, too much pain. In its place was a wasps' nest. About
                            to swarm. Put your ear to his chest and you'd hear an angry buzzing
                            noise.

                            This Heartless Giant could shake a man and shuffle his wits. He
                            could crack a skull with his fist like a walnut. And frequently did.
                            Until, at last, the old King of that country, as good as the Giant
                            was bad, trapped him in a giant trap and locked him in a cell. There
                            the Giant crouched, an inch of the outside world to look at, the
                            damp dripping from the walls, the dull rattle of his chains, his low
                            angry growl a ceaseless rumble through the King's castle.
                            Years passed in this was until the Giant's voice had grated away to
                            the hoarsest whisper and folk had quite forgotten about Giants with
                            no hearts. And he'd be there still, in his foul pit, were it not for
                            a little boy whose name was Leo.

                            Leo was the King's youngest son. He had two brothers who were
                            bigger. Prince Leo could leave not stone unturned, no passage
                            unexplored, no drawer unrammaged, so incurably curious was he. One
                            morning, scouting the far and deep of the castle, he came across a
                            tiny, barred window set in the bottom of a huge gray wall. Looking
                            through it, Leo saw nothing buy dank dark pitch black. But as he
                            turned away he imagined he heard a stir, and then came a growl, a
                            low buzz of a growl. It was a frightening sound.

                            His brothers told a Giant with no heart lived in this prison with
                            the tiny window. He didn't believe them. They were older, his
                            brothers, and forever teasing him. But the next day he went back,
                            carrying his drum. "Rat-tat-rat-ta-ta-tat," he played outside the
                            window. From inside the dark dank pitch black he heard a rattle,
                            like the rattle of a chain. He crept to the window and squinted into
                            the shadows. Two eyes blinked back at him. Leo jumped. A wasp buzzed
                            angrily through the bars. Leo ran off. It was true, there was a
                            Giant!

                            All night Leo thougth about the Giant, his eyes, the low rumbling
                            growl. Next morning, he was back, "rat-tat-rat-ta-ta-tat," on his
                            little drum. The Giant was waiting for him. When Leo tiptoed to the
                            window, he was there, whispering hello. The Giant told Leo that long
                            ago he had done some bad things and that the King had locked him up.
                            Leo couldn't imagine what these bad things were. He worried about
                            the poor Giant, stuck down there in terrible chains. He lit a candle
                            and held it to the hole.

                            The Giant was so big he had to crouch with his chin on this knees
                            and his elbos bent. He looked to Leo like a huge sad baby, his
                            yellow eyes screwed up against the candle's sudden glare. Leo said
                            he would speak to his father, it wasn't fair the Giant had been
                            locked up for so long; he must have been forgotten. "No," croaked
                            the Giant, all anxious. "If you say anything, they'll make me stay
                            down here forever and I shall surely perish." The eyes blinked
                            nearer. "Would you like to be my friend?"

                            Leo was elated. "Oh yes, yes please!" "Good. Good," said the Giant.
                            Good, thought Leo; I have a secret friend. Good, thought the Giant
                            who had shed his heart at last. And he sighed a chill sigh and
                            planned chill plans, while the young prince skipped back along the
                            path, swinging the iron gate behind him, caressing his secret,
                            nurturing it, back to his room.

                            And so it began, the friendship between the huge, crouching Giant
                            and the little Prince. Every day, the boy would appear, rat-tat-
                            tatting on his drum. Every day he'd tell a little more, hear a
                            little more, until he felt he knew no one better, that no one knew
                            him better. Oh, he wanted to tell the whole world about his friend.
                            But the Giant said, "Out secret," and Leo agreed, although he would
                            have loved to tell his mother or his two brothers or somebody. But
                            he couldn't so he shouldn't, so he wouldn't so he didn't. The Giant,
                            meanwhile crouched in his blackness and schemed. And so it was that
                            one day he told Leo he'd heard a Guard saying that the King slept
                            with the keys to the Giant's chains hanging on a ring by his bed.
                            Leo had always those keys were for the Crown Jewels. "No," said the
                            Giant. "They're for my misery." Leo felt desperate for his
                            misunderstood fiend, and a plan formed in his mind. The Giant
                            watched it being born and sighed a cold sigh. Deep inside, in the
                            prize where his heart should have been, the wasped seethed and
                            buzzed.

                            That very night, when the whole castle was sleeping, when the Royal
                            Guards slumped against their sentry posts and dozed, when the owls
                            hooted, little Prince Leo slipped from his bed, slid past a sleeping
                            sentry, and pushed on the door of his parents' room. He tiptoed
                            round the great bed with its velvet eiderdown, past his sleeping
                            mother and sleeping father, to the hook where the keys were hung.
                            They were so heavy. He heaved them up and they swung together,
                            clanging like the Angelus bell. Leo clutched them tight, their black
                            metal teeth squashing his toes, their hooped handles framing his
                            face. Slowly, slowly, inch by inch, he dragged the huge keys out of
                            the room.

                            "I've got the keys," he whispered, trembling at the little window.
                            He let them ring against the bars. "Who goes there?" challenged a
                            voice from the darkness. It was the one sentry still awake. "Hurry,
                            hurry!" growled the Giant from the bowels of the dungeon. Leo
                            struggled to push the keys through the bars. The teeth went in and
                            the long shafts, but when it came to the ring he couldn't work out
                            how to do it. "They're too big," he explained as he heard the
                            Giant's snort of impatience. "I can't do it." Leo wanted to drop the
                            keys and run for his life. "Push them," hissed the Giant. "Push
                            them!" The Giant's voice was colder than the night, it was icy. Leo
                            pushed. A great hand yanked on the keys. Leo saw its shape in the
                            shadows. He felt a terrible force pulling downward...."
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