I am an old soul.
I was around when the sheep monkey souls were clawing their way out of the primeval slime.
Tracing my lives on this rock is a blessing and a curse.
This rock is a school.
Another old soul and I were talking the other day and agreed what is going on now really does not matter.
When his and my current bodies die, then this class is over and another class, another lesson will happen.
He and I have traveled this rock and time together.
We agreed what we did in the American Revolution and the years afterwards does not matter now.
It is the past.
What we did in the late war of yankee invasion and war crimes does not matter now.
It is in the past.
What was done in WW1, WW2 does not matter now.
It is in the past.
What he did in Viet nam, what I did in my war, does not matter now.
It is in the past.
Only what we do in the face of the current evil matters.
And soon our bodies will be worm bait, and this test will be the past.
One is drawn to the history of their former lives.
Personally I care not of the history of England/Scotland/Wales & Ireland until 1066 AD.
And after the 13th century I could care less because I gave Europe & England the finger, took a nice long rest while they slaughtered each other in the 100 years wars, and popped up in America in the 18th century.
My very favorite thing I am most proud of from my time in Normandy and England, is telling a Pope to go F##k himself.
When Yeshua called the “people” sheep, that was not a term of endearment.
The sheep have pissed off every opportunity to move up on the food chain.
What I do here, the truths I tell, are not for the sheep any longer.
I have not faith left in them.
It is doing my duty to God, and for my own spiritual growth.
This rock is a school.
One passes or fails individually.
No matter how much one loves another, that other must individually pass or fail each school class.
Death is an old friend.
But when I walk into the Halls of Valhalla, my line shall not have to hang their head in shame because I did not have the balls to stand against evil, speak against evil.
I wear a chain bracelet on my wrist at all times.
It is a reminder this body chains me to this shit hole world of bleating sheep.
When this body dies, my spirit is set free.
Stay the course, keep the faith.
‘Death Stood Knocking On My Door’
One evening as I readied myself for sleep-
Prayed to Odin if I should die, my soul to keep-
When a gentle knocking intruded on my quiet solitude-
I thought to myself, whoever would be so rude-
Treading quietly I looked out so I would know more-
Death stood knocking on my door-
I opened the door and bid him enter in-
Giving his cape some respite from the wind-
Looking at my old friend I asked then is it time for mine to cry-
Do I need to make ready my mind for when the Light ask why-
I did this wrong or passed by one in need-
Or spoke in anger thus planting a bad seed-
Of negative ripples through generations-
Leading to unforeseen situations.
Where did I win, where did I fail-
Is it then time for me to sail-
Those waters again to the other side-
Where my line, my brethren, my forebears do abide-
Shaking off the autumn chill-
He grinned and said I don’t have for you a transportation bill-
Your time is not yet, but it will come one day with some setting sun-
You and I shall ride again together as many times before we have done-
But tonight I wanted a cup of coffee and a chat with an old friend as I wait for a death certificate to be signed
A lost soul down the street fighting a losing battle for retention of earthly life past it’s prime-
I made him a cup of coffee, hot as hell and black as sin-
I saw his eyes twinkle and his lips turn upward in a grin-
Death said I see you remember how I like my drink while I am on duty as I am now and make it just right-
But I recall while I was on vacation once, drunk as skunks we raced chariots through the streets of Rome at night-
And how about the time you took me swimming with you off Pharos a bit-
When I told you the ship was sinking, and you snarled, I don’t give a shit-
The time you took me along on a raid of a Church of Roman Monastery-
How as we sacked the place and cut their throats, they prayed to their Virgin Mary-
Or when you gave me so many souls as their blood spilled upon the burning sand-
The times you fought to take and keep the fabled Holy Land-
The years we attacked the British again and again against overwhelming odds, midst hunger cold and doubt-
If the people would stay the course, pay the price, or do a cowardly turn about-
When we rode with Lee in defense of country, family, home-
When you and I watched them fold the flag, fire the shots, then leave your body there alone-
How we charged the lines in France and raced across Europe in a bloodbath-
Oh the death, the destruction the lives lost the mournful howling of the ones who tasted of our wrath-
But no, your time is not up this is just a good drink and a good chat between very dear and old friends-
You have duty yet to do on this rock before I am allowed to return you to homeport, but from the trends-
I will be traveling through here more often it seems-
Don’t want to interrupt your memories of long times past in your dreams-
But I would admire to stop when I can if in during day or middle of the dark-
In the hours after when whores call it a night, and dogs are left owners of the night to bark-
Any time I said, and meant every word, death is my oldest friend here upon this place-
The first one to greet me millions of year ago when I began this race-
He set his cup down gently as I opened the door and walked him to the street-
We quietly listened to the far off din of long haul trucks, and dogs barking when they did meet-
He said I must go, the soul has finally given up the fight-
Now I must transport the confused soul to stand before the Light-
I will return again for more drink and chat when I pass this way once more, and perhaps a tale-
Welcome said I, and give my regards to the women of Valhalla and the keeper of Hel-
We embraced as old comrades do who have seen and done much together when young-
He said sorry to leave you here in this place alone among-
These clueless sheep, these wasted lives, this ME!-ME!-ME!-
What a different world it could be if they could only see-
They must look inward for salvation from repeated lives wasted in pursuit of divers lust-
They must understand it is not punishment, but the Books of Balance must be kept just-
Until that time confusion will reign and business will be good-
Hel, I have several more coming up in this general neighborhood-
He seemed to disappear into the wind as it shook the trees-
I stood alone except for a cat purring as he rubbed circles around my knees-
The circle of life, is the circle of death and rebirth-
This is the true history of Humanities time upon this earth.
Death is not to be feared but celebrated, as he takes your hand-
He is just the transporter of souls, to distant shores of another land-
As I lay my head down for some rest-
I still thought it was best-
So now as I lay me down to sleep-
I pray Odin my soul safe to keep-
If this body should die before I wake-
I pray Odin my soul to take-
Where in Valhalla’s halls we shall eat meat and drink mead-
Practicing for the day when Odin shall lead-
His sons and armies against evil in their last fight-
Hail Odin, Hail Valhalla, Hail our ancestors in their might-
But should I wake in the morning to struggle on down life’s way-
I shall try to do so with a firm step, while keeping the hounds of Hel at Bay-
Give me strength to stay the course-
Until Death comes for me once more, riding a dark horse.
The Ole Dog!