Are we men of the Sky, or are we men who only care for the Earth?
To know the sky to be one’s true home. To see in the sky above the order of unmoved eternity, the infinite halls of Life and the fountainhead of all glory and beauty – and at the same time, to feel this very Sky to be at one’s own core. That might be the purest insight of any worthy Tradition.
To know this short life in the clutches of Mother Earth to be nothing more than an affirmation of Truth above. To not think of this life as created by the Mother’s womb, nor imagine that one will simply return to Her blood and soil after one’s death, but to know the beginning and end of one’s life meeting in the Sky above. That is the basis for any true life and act.
To recognize the Sky as one’s origin, and to do this origin justice by everything in one’s power – that is in essence all there is to Tradition. To know of one’s Father above, to fly his eternal banner calmly into any roaring struggle and drowning bloodshed, and to return home to his peaks, unbeaten through the gates of Death.
Tradition brings health, strength and virtue to the people who professes it, but the mere well-being and existence of the people is not the purpose of Tradition. Rather, the purpose of the people is to follow Tradition, for only through Tradition can it be reborn – breaking through the dark womb of mere Nature, entering the world as children of Eternity itself.
Tradition brings beauty, knowledge, order and civilization – in the highest sense of the word – but the purpose of Tradition is not to heighten the capabilities of man, nor to merely preserve the culture of a people. Rather, the purpose of man’s creations and the people’s culture is to reach towards and reflect the Sky which Tradition has shown them – for only as such can these works become more than a fleeting exercise in vanity; only as such can they take their true place as works of Eternity.
And Tradition brings unity, identity and ideas worth dying for, but the purpose of Tradition is not merely to cement man’s place in the collective, nor to strengthen his will to sacrifice himself for the same. Rather, the purpose of the collective is to bring forth men of Tradition – for the collective is merely our common marble, and its purpose is to be struck and formed by the eternal artist above. Tradition is what truly individuates us – not in the sense of the rootless and atomized individual of modernity, but in the sense of the particular sculpture which was our very own destiny to become. The people’s common marble shines through as an unbreakable bond, but it is in the forms chiseled by Tradition that we find our true selves.
In short, Tradition is not something which is “chosen” for the benefit of something else. Tradition is not an accessory of the people, not the tool of any ideology, not a set of human ideals, nor a preservation of culture or knowledge – Tradition is simply the one and only way towards the Sky, and the only question one should ask when faced with a “choice” of Traditions is whether one is seeing the Sky or not.
And Tradition is not a secondary question, one which must wait until the existential threat towards the European peoples has been averted. For all that which the Right of Tomorrow will accomplish – and we might accomplish many great things – will be in vain if it is not a part of Tradition. It will only be of the dust and shadows of Earth – but does not the great and noble struggle which awaits us deserve to be a reflection of the Sky itself?
Yes, it is in moments as these which lie before us, that the true mettle of man is tested – not only his ability to persevere through hardships, but his ability to turn any struggle upwards. Are we men of the Sky, or are we men who care only for the Earth? Do we but fight to protect the womb of our peoples – to attain a temporary glory in her memory and a false immortality in the secured existence of the next generation – or do we also strike our enemies with the wrath of Heaven itself?
What lies before us is not primarily a struggle for existence, but a test to rediscover our true essence – to rediscover the Sky both above and within.
Man Moving Up Towards the Sky
That man is sky, spirit and being, while woman is earth, matter and becoming is a well-known dichotomy, but one should of course not affirm it categorically. For no man is the Sky itself – no man is God himself – but every man exists in an unbreakable union with his own, limited matter. And woman is not a soulless demon of matter, but has within her too some small shard of Sky, and a role given to her by God. But still, she can only realize this small spirit within herself through the greater spirit of her man, by being subordinated to it, just as the Earth stands below the Sky.
There is also no opposition between spirit and matter – for matter is not a veil or illusion, but is an aspect of the one and only God, and matter is not to be denied, but is to be made eternally good by bringing it before the Sky above. Matter knows its own divinity through spirit, just as woman knows her own relation to God by serving her man.
It is with this in mind that I will speak in a simplified fashion of Man being the Sky, and Woman the Earth below, with a man’s sole purpose being to recognize Him in us and us in Him – not in the belief that we men ourselves are the Sky and the source of Tradition, but in order to know the role we are meant to play in God’s image.
So what is the Sky? What characterizes Man? If one asks Woman, she will say that man is he who is beneficial to her and to her womb. For Woman is Earth, the great cycle of Nature, and she does not live her life through Eternity, but rather lives it by extending herself through her children, through giving the great cycle another spin. If the cycle stops, she perishes; and left to her own, she will mistake anything which is above the cycle as a possible threat to herself.
Her whole world is solidified, compressed and centralized around her womb – not because she actually is the centre of the universe, but because her hips are so heavy. Because she can’t escape the gravity of her own womb. Woman is arched into her own sphere, her own planet, and when she looks around herself and only sees Sky at all sides, she will mistakenly think that the sky is orbiting her.
She looks up, but she does not see the sky as above herself – she only sees it as further away from the centre of her womb. She believes that the airy Sky is only redeemed by reaching back towards her, by solidifying and touching her with gifts for the sake of childbirth. She will say that man is he who sacrifices himself for her false immortality – she will say that the Sky is lightning and sun.
For Woman wants frightening lightning to strike the face of her Earth, to destroy any who would threaten her swollen womb; to secure the peaceful fatness of her pregnancy. And she wants sun to constantly shine upon her, to give her warmth, to bring nurture to her heavy breasts, and to create within Nature an order of peaceful harmony and eternal childbirth. These two principles are the vassals of her sexual arousal, the guardians of her false immortality through the cycle of Nature.
But Man should never let Woman define him. For she is but Earth, while he is the infinite Sky above. She cannot know his true depth, and he should not forget himself for the sake of her. If he reduces himself to mere lightning and sun, he too will be nothing more than a solid shell, a thin atmosphere orbiting around the world of Woman.
Man must not believe that Woman gives him life or immortality, but must rather know that he within himself carries the true source of Life and Immortality – namely the Sky. He must know that the cycle of Woman does not create anything, but only repeats Man, while Man himself is the one who creates all value, and makes the repetition of Woman worthwhile in the first place.
Does this mean that Man should not be lightning or sun? Of course Man should not deny these most splendid and powerful aspects of the Sky – of himself – simply because Woman desires them. It is rather a question of denying Woman’s perspective, denying the false centre of Nature and childbirth, in order to affirm the lordship of the Sky – in order to make lightning and sun into vassals of Eternity, rather than servants of the Earth.
But why should Man even bother? What is the reason for man to be lightning and sun? It can only be his own love. Woman must not be the source or the goal of Man’s act, but only the object. Man must know himself to be as infinite and unmovable as the Sky itself, yet still choose to tread down, to let his sun and lightning nourish and strike the Earth. Not because he needs the Earth, but because this is the duty which his own love entails.
In short: Man must make his lightning and sun into a part of the Sky itself – as a part of true Tradition – if they are to reach their original and true glory.
But what more can we say about the Sky? What of sunset and sunrise, twilight and dawn?
For Woman, these are but signs that Man is under her domain – that Man is always forced to return to the womb of the Earth – that the sun of Man must set for her embrace, must let his red blood be spilled over the world, in order to fertilize the soil for the next generation. And that next his son must rise, to yet again satisfy the daylit needs of Woman. Twilight and dawn – for Woman these are but colourful affirmations that her false immortality keeps on turning.
But for Man himself, these sacrifices of twilight and dawn are not acts of need, but of love, just as in the case of the daylit sky. But where is the essential difference? If during the day the sun is chained to nurture Woman below, and during the night is swallowed by her womb to give life to the next generation, the short moments of twilight and dawn are moments of pure freedom.
For here the sun no longer shines downwards, for the benefit for the Earth, but is shattered, broken free. For a short moment, when the sun touches the edge of the horizon, the sun explodes, to cover the whole of the sky in its reds and pinks and golds. The sun is no longer a focused orb, but a free light, which in carefree leaps embrace the whole infinity of space. It is a sun which no longer shines for the sake of the Earth, but for the glory and beauty of the Sky itself.
It is a beauty which is completely Man’s own – a light which shines through the spheres above, inaccessible, self-sufficient and useless to Woman. And in this light – in the pure and airy colours of the Sky itself, which far outshines the dim and heavy colours of any fruit which Woman can bear forth – lies the key to all true beauty in art and action.
Yes, in order to create true art, Man must know of this free, heavenly and self-sufficient light within himself. He must realize that his own love for woman is greater than the woman which he loves – and he must know how to dance freely in this light of his own love.
Have not all men felt that this kind of light is that which strikes deepest and sharpest within our own hearts? The twilight beauty of a heroic death at the end of youth – of men who have crossed the sea to never return, not necessarily because they had to, or because Woman wanted them to, but because they felt an eternal glory and duty calling them on from far beyond. And then, the face of a noble youth cracked in two, morbid beauty shining through rivers of blood, patches of white skin asleep with the innocent peace of Eternity. Men too good and pure for this world, who now have returned home.
And in dawn – the purity of boyish dreams, and the images of an innocent Eden. A peace which does not reek of childbirth and the cycle of Nature – not the fat and bountiful peace Woman wants handed to her by Man – but a peace of the Sky itself. An innocent and slim peace, dancing in slender leaps through pure space, too high and untouchable to even have heard of struggle.
Haven’t all men sometime been brought to silent tears by this kind of light – be it in art or in the acts of real life? Woman cries all the time because she feels sorry for herself – because the world has hurt her weak self, or because she is plagued by silly sentimentality and sympathy – and man should of course never shed such pitiful, emotional tears. But these rare tears of dawn and twilight, they are something else altogether.
They are of pure Sky – not the sign of a weakness in man, but of a moment in which his whole heart is filled with light. A moment in which he is his celestial self – his whole body resonating with true beauty, be it of tragedy or innocence.
How Man would like to linger in these moments of heavenly light. How he wishes that he did not have to leave the Earth below him, but that Woman could follow him upwards, bound together in an ever-ascending movement of eternal dawn, which never breaks into the hardships of the daylit sky. And how he wishes that they would never have to fall into the clutches of the soil, but that he and Woman forever could linger in the somber pink of twilight, united upon the edge of Death itself.
Yes, Man might have a silly dream, of Woman truly understanding and loving this twilight and dawn which he carries within himself – of joining him in his own sincerity. But it is not possible, for this brittle light can only survive within the Sky itself – when it touches the Earth again, it is instantly ruined. Profaned, broken, soiled.
Woman only fawns over this poetry of Man when it is sung for her, or when it sets her man apart from other men. In other cases, she has no patience for it. To actually reveal the true sincerity which man feels for his art of dancing light – to reveal the innocently beautiful tears of twilight and dawn – would in woman only result in open ridicule or hidden disgust.
No, these tears should never be shown to woman – not because man should fear her judgement, but because letting her see them would only debase them.
But what about the night sky? Is there anything left of man in this realm, where the sun has set and the pale, heavy breast of the moon wallows as an unquestioned ruler over the sky? Is this not a realm of darkness, death and dissolution, the absolute opposite of the Sky and Life above? Yet the moon reflects the light of the sun, in the same way as spirit lives through matter, or as a woman knows God through her loved husband. There is no opposition here, if Man knows how to unite with Woman, without being dissolved in her. If Man can embrace her, without letting go of his Sky within.
And while the night sky is a realm of Death, it is not a death of damp soil and dark caverns. The Death of the night sky is rather a sword, which strikes through the thin veil between us and God – revealing the true, swindling depths of the Sky, and the infinitude of Light which dance through his eternal halls. The opaque blue vault in which Woman could believe the whole world was contained is here shattered, and her cycle is laid bare as an infinitely small dot in face of God’s true vastness.
In the night sky, man sees his true self and light disappearing among the dance of infinitely many more. The sun of the day was but a single wave in this current of stars, but at the same time, the struggle of this single, insignificant sun rings through the whole of Eternity, as it takes its righteous place as a star within the eternal depths of the Sky.
For a man of the Sky, the Death of night does not signify dissolution into the Earth, nor does it signify false immortality in the continuation of Earth’s cycle – for him, Death is just the immortalizing of Life. The night sky is but the other side of the daylit sky, existing in an unbreakable union, where the beaming sun and frightening lightning of day is formed by the tranquil silence of the night sky, and the immortality of the night sky is formed by the struggle of the daylit sky.
For a man of the Sky, Death is simply a homecoming, but at the same time, something which makes immortal that struggle of Life which was previously separated from the Sky: Death makes into eternal glory that which previously was but a temporary turn of the cycle.
But the Sky itself is not the sun; it is not lightning, it is not twilight or dawn, nor the streams of stars; rather, the Sky is that which unites it all in a single Being, the fountainhead from which all these colours and lights of man spring in a heavenly current.
The true Sky is the nothing which upholds everything, the nowhere which is everywhere, the infinite through which everything finite moves, the emptiness from which everything solid was born. The Sky is the Unmoved, which yet moves through the lights of the sky, yes, which even permeates every movement and object of the Earth too, eliminating the apparent contradiction between Man above and Woman below.
Of course Sky is not nearly enough to describe Man’s innermost soul – and certainly not enough to describe God himself. But in the case of this little illustration – this little attempt to move upwards – I believe we have reached our limit, which brings us to the next part of this essay. For any upwards striving of Man has its limit, and must correspond to a downwards movement of God himself.