Giant reptilian crossed with mammal, the Aries of Armor is hidden, invisible, at the edge of the admitted history. The immense Rama watches below the threshold where memory does not reach. His way of life, his way of being, his era, his exploits, his reign and his empire have escaped human memories. The time has come to recognize the former gods. And at their head, to find Rama with a thousand faces.
Druid Ramos, Ram the Aries, Rama the innumerable, the unnamed, the forgotten reminds himself to the world’s memory. This divine man has shaped it as it is, this world where we live in ignorance. First emperor of the world, he made the unity of the nations that we still dream of — but without believing it. Rama believed it. That god exalts me. He touches me more than I can say. It’s been going on for years.
He stood up to the relentless dictatorship of the Matriarchs, degenerate heirs of the Great Goddess, Ana of Alcor, Anne Ama, Our Lady who descended on Terra and ascended to heaven on August 15th. Cherished by her, fulfilled by her gifts, the only son of the Virgin Queen reigned over the globe, its seven seas and eight continents.Six plus Antarctic and Hyperborea Prince of Atlantis, Major of Hyperborea, the first son of the Undefeated Sun set fire to the world and stoked it until it ignited hearts and courages.
His earthly reign lasted eight thousand years. The Ancients called it the Bronze Age. In Asia, it is Dvapara Yuga. And when the shadow of Kali Yuga came down on the ancient world, Rama faded away. His name was forgotten in the West, replaced by many other names. His reign was confused with a hundred others of lesser importance. His teaching was almost forgotten. He survived only in the secret of the Druids and Celtic Enchanters, those of the Boar Clan and those of the Wolf Clan where I belong. His memory was treasured in Asia, where its teaching is confused in Tibet with Lamaism.
Who among you remembers the horned giant whose immense shadow covered the whole earth? Who kept the imprint of his power? Among so many successes, a failure tarnished his young age. If the druid Ramos had great success as a healer, he failed in his great project to unite the sexes, fiercely opposed. He’s not to blame, since he was ten thousand years ahead. We still haven’t got there by now.
I can’t tell you what he does to me. His life, his work! Unbelievable. After being defeated in Avalon, Ramos the druid defrocked and became Marshall Rama. Undesirable in Hyperborea, he had to flee the Celtic lands. With his braves and their magical weapons, he conquered Africa, America and Asia. In his triumphant march, he turned away from Europe.
Far from Rama the Just, Europe groaned under the grip of witches, gravediggers of the Matriarchy. Through their dirty magic, the witches erased Rama from Western memory, erasing his name, trace, magnificent aura and pure destiny. How could we forget the unforgettable?
Renegades, relapses, they signed the new covenant. the witches rubbed with the male giants. They are the Patriarchs of the Bible, the Greek Heroes, the Devas of Hinduism. All bastards of the biblical angels, descended on Terra to mate with humans. Fallen angels. Elected by witches and bitches. Our forefathers …
The Great Goddess looks a bit like us. With a slight difference: Ana is a pure reptilian. Her anatomy is humanoid, but her scaly skin and smooth skull remove the slightest doubt. If she belongs to the Order of Reptiles, Ana is not a dragon.
Let’s not forget that reptiles have to sleep a lot. During reptilian sleep, which is called brumisation,and not hibernation reserved for warm-blooded animals the metabolism of cold-blooded animals is almost stopped. Brain functions, in particular, are extremely slow. A viper can hibernate for three years of its life. Knowing that she can live between 6 and 30 years, she can sleep between one third and one tenth of her life. The reptilian empress was crowned 66 million years ago. So she was able to sleep between 22 and 33 million years without any harm to her health. When it comes to the health of her empire, that’s another matter. We understand better why it shit so hard in kali yuga. Ana sleeps.
The Great Empress rules over a thousand stars and ten thousand planets. The kali yuga concerns them all, because it is a phase of sleep of the Hibernant Grand. The four yuga correspond to the four successive phases of the activity of the Great Goddess. Or of her inactivity…
Mammals hibernate too. Look at bears. But we don’t come from bears. We have genes in common with pork and bonobo. Both are not hibernating. Bonobo’s homosexuality and propensity to coitus — all-type coitus — are found in any country. As for pig manners, we have them all. For reptilians as they were, the gods before had them too. Gods or men, some even pushed them to the extreme.
His son Rama hardly resembles him. He wears horns to see the invisible, hear the inaudible, grasp the tenuous, capture the subtle. This attribute is not a defining feature of reptiles. Yes, there are horned vipers. But the horns of Rama are those of a ram. His character too. Like his taste for fighting and his habit of rushing headlong into the pile, literally and figuratively.
Its horns are its crown. The two words are twins. Osiris reminds us what crowns are. Besides the outward sign of royal power, which they have become today, they were once instruments endowed with great powers. Proof of nobility and greatness of soul, they were also engines of death and awakening.
Rama whom the Greeks call God, for they have forgotten his true name. God, that is to say Theos, which is also translated by Zeus. Rama whom the Scythians call Mithras, the god of the gods for these wandering peoples, and his consort Hera whom they name Tabiti, goddess of the primordial fire from which all things and all that lives come.
The Scythians was called the Peoples of the Steppe as the people of Rama was the Peoples of the Sea. And the Scythians are the Peoples of Tabiti as the Tuatha of Ireland are the people of the goddess Ana. Tabiti Hera, great goddess of the Scythians, is the image of the great Ana, the Virgin Mother. Tabiti is the incarnation of the Supreme Goddess whose infinite reign is lost in the distant nebulae and will continue until the consumption of the centuries. While the former gods are dead or dying, Ana is the goddess before, now and forever, for her reign will have no end.
Did Rama get Aries? Did he come from Aries?
Where he comes from, we know. From Hyperborea, like all the former gods. Rama is the return of Ama, as we can see in his name. It is also the union of Ra, solar male principle, with Ma, the Great Goddess, the Virgin Mother, Our Lady of Alcor. She got many names, as Ama, Ana, Ann, Anne, Dana-Ann … Yes, RaMa is our father. But sometimes, and it’s embarrassing, I understand how much I care about him. So, even more embarrassing, I wonder what I got from him.
Henri Vincenot, when he wrote his major novel, The Stars of Compostela, asked himself the same questions. He feels such an attachment to his hero, Jehan the Thunder, he remembers so perfectly all the details of his odyssey through the dear country of France, through a Middle Ages even more dear to his heart, through a time when everything is played out, the old Celts, the new builders, Vézelay and his Montjoie, la Maison Dieu, the Old Religion of Druids, the Companions Passant du Devoir that he also calls Devouring, a multitude of little things that make such a great whole… So that Henri Vincenot wonders if he is a return of Jehan the Thunder.
And I, so comparable to him, wonder if I am not a return of Rama. A little Rama, like a god in minor mode, a futile witness — are you less? I can’t admit how excessive that is. Just to evoke it, all my being turns away. To me, holy humility! How to claim to be a return of this giant? This wise man, this hero who did such great things, so praiseworthy, so lasting! This beloved god of all, and whom all have forgotten… On this point I exceed it, forgotten in my lifetime.
Forgive me, great Rama, who gives me the distinguished honor of staying alive in my lines. Forgive me if I sometimes take myself for you. In writing these ungodly words, I remember the strange words of my benefactor: Between the age of three months and three years, sometimes earlier, sometimes later, the infant knows the original fracture — not his original sin! What sin could one commit at such a young age? “The young child undergoes his first fattening.” This engramme-mother makes him lose the memory of what he was, and the knowledge of what he will become.
“Your difference,” continued Flornoy, “is obvious: you have never known a basic engram. You have miraculously cut this original fracture. You are what llamas call a Tulkou, the reincarnation of a great lama or prophet. In our druidic tradition, you are a Return, that of an ancient initiate”.
When my benefactor told me that, I only heard gibberish with too many new words, too many incomprehensible situations. Rushed to the other world at the age of 42, I had to first renew the broken thread of my childhood. When I was fifteen or so, I lost all my powers. Bilocation, healing, clairvoyance, prophetic dream, infused science, astral journey, time travel… These fabulous gifts had accompanied me since I was born. One by one, they evaporated. Their memory was lost. The extraordinary events of my young age became of the same nature as dreams: unreal. Misleading.
This fucking ordinary reality ate me from head to toe, and I climbed my arcana like all the sleeping ones. Until the House of GodEnglish: The Tower when my eyes opened. I was 42. Thirty years had passed.
Flornoy may be right. But if I had no original fracture, I got a teenage fracture. It has been hard enough. I had to fill it patiently to win back my gifts one after the other.
And here we are tonight. (source)Jacques Brel, Mon enfance
If not from Rama, of what great initiate could I be the return? From Merlin? I was told. We have, it is true, some common points. Do not think that Merlin was a druid. He was an enchanter and a master-passer. Like me. His clan was not that of the Boar, but that of the Wolf. Like me. He loved a fairy much younger than him. So did I. He knew how to fight like a warrior. I tried. The whole world was under his spell. There, big difference. I cultivate isolation, humility, smallness. He’s been remembered for centuries, and everyone loves him. I don’t aspire to such a fate. Even if I did, it’s too late.
Of all the initiated heroes I have praised, only one lot. The one who touches me more, whom I know best and whom I have spoken most about, without hesitation, is Rama. And there I stall. I would be his return? Impossible. My humility opposes it. How can I accept such an overwhelming fact? Am I a conqueror? No, an ant. Am I a fighter? The only jihad I lead with tenacity is directed against myself. It aims to correct my countless flaws. How could a return of this former god have so much to do to improve here and now? Do I have the vocation to change the face of the world and its beliefs, as Rama did? He is the ram of Armor, I am the goat of Monsieur Séguin.
Never mind. Flornoy was wrong sometimes. I am happy to read in the great Rama, to see it from the inside, as if I were in him, in his heart, body and mind. It fills me. And that’s enough for me.
The mountain flickers and opens. Perched on the top of a peak, a prophet looks at me. Around me came thousands of people, but the prophet has eyes only for me. It is very far, very high, and yet so close that I can touch it. A thousand years, frizzy hair, black skin like the wing of a crow. I love him. We all love him. He is so great!
A huge crowd is waving at the foot of the pyramid-shaped peak. The prophet Levite. I see his feet leave the rock and I also rise. The heat, the light and the joy carry me. The crowd growls in admiration. I see arms raised, mouths open and I do not hear a cry. The whole mountain is sacred, as collected as a church.
Always going up, I contemplate the world. Above, the sky opens. An eagle hovers very high in silence. I no longer hear the crowd in trance. I am in the heart of the prophet, dancing with his dance. At the same time, I am a lost child in the crowd.
At the top of the peak a ball of white fire bursts out. Ten thousand mouths shout. A second sun has just lit. The prophet has reached the world from above. Where am I? The crowd is wobbling, dazed. I am being rushed.
I take refuge in the burning heart of the prophet. Deep in the sky, the eagle hovers in a circle. Sometimes up there, sometimes there, half dead and half alive, I’m lost in the crowd, lost in the sky. The sun opens to welcome the prophet. Ra takes me in his arms and we leave Terra.
A hubbub of cries and tears. In an atmosphere of the end of the world, my father seeks my hand, but the crowd presses us and drags us. At the foot of the mountain, a great river flows. Long ships are moored there and the crowds storm. I am afraid. My father has disappeared. A stranger shakes my hand to grind it. I want to cry, more lost in this crowd than at the bottom of an unknown jungle. (source)xs, excerpt from: The path of the star, unpublished
I have written so much about you, Rama! So many chimneys by your side! If I cannot be your return, at least I am the come-back of your memory. You who sowed babies all around the Earth, you grant me this inheritance: to be the very son who remembers you.
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