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Re: Recovering history and navigating the ZeitGeist

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  • 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 1 of 25 , Feb 4 8:27 PM
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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 2 of 25 , Feb 5 6:54 AM
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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 3 of 25 , Feb 5 6:57 PM
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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 4 of 25 , Feb 7 2:16 PM
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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 5 of 25 , Feb 7 4:55 PM
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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 6 of 25 , Feb 7 5:00 PM
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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 7 of 25 , Feb 14 3:33 AM
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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 8 of 25 , Feb 15 8:28 AM
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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 9 of 25 , Feb 16 1:53 PM
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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 10 of 25 , Feb 17 11:26 AM
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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 11 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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