If You Meet Hitler on the Road, Kill Him
The Ghosts of Thule
As mentioned last week, I am going over old journals from the 1999-2003 period of my life, assembling them into a book-length account from that time. Here’s a series of dreams from that period, about everyone’s favorite scapegoat.
With an old English friend from Pamplona, Pat. He’s sitting on a bed and we are discussing Hitler and his religion: what was it?
Pat says he heard Hitler kept a Koran, or some other Moslem text, always at hand. I suggest, in jest, that he probably kept it bound in Bible covers, for the sake of appearances. But essentially, I say, Hitler was anti-religious.
I talk about the practice of Satanism, by which the worshiper actually identifies with Satan and becomes the living embodiment of the principle of evil. This is necessary, because there is no Satan, as such, save that being which the Magician actively invents by his own actions.
“Hitler was probably one of these,” I say, thinking that so was Crowley, in his own, purer way.
I repeat certain phrases, all referring to Satan having no existence. Pat begins to feel a sharp pain in his chest, very severe. I feel it too. It seems like he’s having a heart attack. In a moment of panic, he lies down and begins to twist and groan on the bed. I go over to him and put my hand on his back. He tells me not to touch him. Since I don’t know what I’m doing anyway, I comply.
Then, as if speaking for someone else (it’s not my own idea), I tell Pat to think of anything at all, but to concentrate. He obeys and the pain goes away. He’s surprised by the simplicity of the method, which entails concentrating on anything but the pain, which, once ignored, soon begins to fade, being entirely psychosomatic. (Like the Devil?)
I am on the street behind two girls in their pajamas. It’s a full moon and they are hurrying home. I come up behind them and surprise them. They’re frightened at first, but I soon gain their trust, and escort them home. Once we are inside the house, there is a knock at the door. One of the girls is afraid that it is Hitler, come back to haunt her. Although this seems absurd, I feel a tension too. She goes to the door and peers out. Sure enough, it’s him. He is accompanied by another man. For some reason, she lets them in. Both men are in long green coats (the other may be Himmler), looking like young soldiers.
It really is Hitler, but it’s not the same Hitler who brought about World War II and escaped the bunker. Nevertheless, he has all the same diabolic attributes. He also has a larger, handle-bar mustache, as if to disguise himself. There are others in the room now, including Pat. Hitler turns to me, wanting guidance, hoping to “get it right this time.” He thinks I’m the reincarnation of Crowley. I tell him he’s wrong about that, for starters; and that’s not all he’s wrong about. I play the role, however, of the Great Magician (if not Beast), because it fits me well enough. It also gives me a chance to put Hitler in line.
I tell him, “This time, no more persecutions, no more hatred, no more torture!” I take him by the throat and say, “The old rites are black. This is the New Aeon now. Don’t kill any more Jews!!”
It’s tough for the young Führer to swallow all this. He’s still living in the past, being the product of it. I use my magikal ability to attack him. I stretch out my arm with the hand flat, pointed at his chest. I clench my fist and simulate heart pain, and Hitler doubles up and begins to twist about in internal crisis. The other man tries to help him, and I have to physically thrash him, beat his head about until he’s dead.
The Führer dies also, as a result of my spell. I throw his body on the fire.
July 2001
I am digging in the dirt. There is a precise end to the operation but I cannot fathom it now. Something to do with establishing or uncovering a “platform” for an encounter with Set/Satan? Could be, or maybe I am just making educated guesses based on past (dream) experiences.
In any event, I dig a vertical square tunnel down about 7 or 8 “units” (more than inches, certainly, but a lot less than feet), and realize that whatever it is I am trying to do is not going to work. My intense disappointment is dispelled on discovering in the dirt, at the last moment or deepest point, a quartz crystal. I uncover the crystal (about the size of the top half of my index finger) with great excitement and, wiping the dirt away, I see that at one end is a small, perfectly sculpted eagle’s head attached (not of quartz but of a pale green substance, perhaps metal). I realize that I have found a magnificent power object and that finding it marks a change in my destiny and fortune.
I show the quartz to several people, who are amazed above all by my finding it in the dirt, as if by chance (this fact is what makes it a power object, or medicine). I go inside a house, a large spacious room, and find Joseph Kerrick there.
[During this period, I was in a regular email correspondence with a self-proclaimed “Thulean” called Joseph Kerrick, who founded the White Order of Thule in the mid-90s, and who had sold me on his archetypal god-figure, “Astarius,” an updated version of Abraxas who combined Christ and Satan into a single entity-force. Joseph was an occultist and historical revisionist with some very strong ideas about racial purity, and he had tried for years to persuade me that Hitler was a misunderstood avatar who had been betrayed and slandered by history’s winners. Despite this and other ideas, of which he never quite managed to convince me, he impressed me with his occult knowledge and charisma, and was a significant influence on my thinking during this period. (He coined the term “humaton,” which I incorporated into my Matrix Warrior mythos.)]
I am radiant and filled with confidence at my discovery/prize. It is as if the quartz-eagle is actually transmitting knowledge to me, new insight. For the first time, I realize that, despite all my fears and doubts regarding Aryan doctrines and the like, the underlying, final truth is that, inside the cosmic Dome of the Universe (“under the Eagle”?), all races are equal. I turn to Joseph (though there is some distance between us and no actual eye contact) and declare, both defiantly and ecstatically: “We are all equal!”
Lyn, my astrologer friend, suddenly appears and says simply, “Equal, but not the same.” I repeat this to Joseph, who is certainly not sharing in my epiphany, but remains skeptical, even a touch scornful. He says something to the effect that the statement is meaningless and trite, that two races, by not being the same, obviously cannot be equal, either. I am moving away from him to the other side of the room, passing a pool table, and I turn and shout back to him, still euphoric: “A beetle and a star are equal! Haven’t you figured that out yet, Joseph?”
Joseph concedes this but immediately counters with further argument (something about the counterculture). I am no longer listening, however, since it’s clear that he just wants the last word. (Or as Joseph would doubtless say, since I am determined to have the last word myself!)