An Incantation to the Spirit in the Field

I’m having a strong wave of nationalist feeling this evening and I’m thinking of all the arguments I’ve had with pagan white-nationalists.  When it comes down to it, they are future-oriented.  They hate old Christian Europe just as much as the race-mixing Satanists.  They despise its spirit.

Both look forward to a thriving future utopia.  One wants it organized along racial lines, the other, along ideological.  I don’t have much use for either and so I sit at my computer with a bottle of whiskey, thinking about a world I’ve never known but in stories.  It’s a ghost — a spirit cast out of its rightful place next to our nation’s hearth-fire and sentenced to the dark-edges of the forest, and the forest is chaos where nothing is remembered.  It’s passing away…fading into the woods.

What we need is a symbol.  A public and symbolic act or illustration that is unmistakable in its sympathies and powerful enough to call the spirit away from the the woods and into our house again.

“Do you know what day it is?” I answered that it was the fourth of May. She shook her head as she said again: “Oh, yes! I know that, I know that! but do you know what day it is?” On my saying that I did not understand, she went on: “It is the eve of St. George’s Day. Do you not know that tonight, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway?” ~ Dracula

A full moon hides behind a wisp of cloud,
And trees filled with dew hang over the ground.
A drenched Earth bares mists that seep
through tangled briars where dead men sleep.

Creeping and creeping along the field,
reaching a circle of children.

Gathered close on the fourth of May,
they grasp hands, bow heads and make ready to pray.
To whom they speak is best not told
For the poet’s heart must be consoled.

Creeping and sweeping along the field
children cries begin their spell.

“For Him to whom all mornings break
And songs from evening lips He takes,
By His hands are all men fed,
With somber wrath and sleepless dead.”

Weeping and crying, they call to Him
Till a spirit appears at the edge of the field.

Quiet!  He approaches.
And wrath follows.