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December 17th, 2017 
Awake Goy By Ron McVan
The Northmen were only a mile away. There was coughing and foot shifting among the soldiers, and they rippled like pond water, leaning forward, falling back. It would be impossible for all of them to hear him, no matter how strong his voice. He rode his horse slowly to the open space in front of the line, and when he was certain most of them were watching, he drew his sword and held it over his head.
“I am Brian of Boruma!” he called to them, with all the power in his deep lungs. “I am one of you!” He slid off the horse and stood before them on foot. The horse, uncertain, drifted away and he made no effort to stop it.
There was a gasp in the ranks, and he turned to look behind him. A line of men had come up over the horizon, a dark metallic band that advanced steadily toward them across the plain, dividing to flow through woods and around obstacles and then joining again, one inexorable mass that was coming to crush the Irish forever.
Brian turned back to face his army. The sun was just up now, its first pure light touching his face and picking out the glinting copper threads in his hair.
“I am Brian of Boruma!” he cried again, filling his lungs with the sweet morning air of Ireland. “I am going to die, but I am going to die a free man! If you would be free also, come with me!”
He looked to the side and gave the signal to the right wing to follow him. No one moved. They stood transfixed, staring at the unbelievable numbers of Northmen who had now come to a halt a half mile away and were drawing themselves into their battle formation.
He set his face toward the enemy, lifted his chin, and began to march forward. He did not look back to see if anyone followed. He heard nothing behind him.
The Vikings waited. Sunshine struck sparks from the metal on their bodies; in their hands. They watched in eerie silence as Brian advanced alone.
He heard nothing behind him.
His belly hollowed by fear. His guts cramped, anticipating the thrust of a sword. His whole body was suddenly slippery with sweat. Salt rivulets ran down his forehead and into his eyes, stinging him. In a few minutes he would die. But he had to go forward.
He heard… something… behind him.
The waiting Northmen tensed, began to move about, Brian could see them shifting their weapons and preparing for some sort of action. A shield wall was raised, as if that were necessary to repel one lone warrior.
But Brian was no longer alone.
He heard the tramp of feet behind him, the jingle of bits and the rasp of swords being drawn, the slap of leather throwing slings against open palms, the grunt as javelins were hefted and balanced, the rustle and clatter and thunder of an army at his back.
An army carried forward by his courage, caught up in it like a net. An army that was powerless to resist the tidal pull of his magnetism. An army, beginning to chant something.
“Brian of Boruma! Brian of Boruma!”
He felt them as a weight behind him, a wall at his back, a light shining over his shoulder. The fear still gnawed his vitals, but a pulse had begun to beat in his throat, stronger than the fear, stronger than wine or the desire for woman.
“Brian Boru! Brian Boru!”
He raised his sword above his head, willing the sunlight to enter it and magnify its brilliance. He heard the men cheer. He heard them following him.
“Brian Boru! Brian Boru!”
The flesh crawled on the back of his neck. A love pounded through him; love for the mass of them, the faceless unit and the individual man, a love so deep and total he felt it transform him as he advanced. He could not be beaten now.
Following him, they felt it. Their common fear became a common rapture, an exultation that made hearts race and eyes glitter. They were lifted beyond themselves into something greater, something that seemed, at that moment, immortal.
“Boru! Boru!” He had them now; they were with him like the beats of his heart.
“Boru! Boru!” One body of men—his body. One will—his will.
“Boru! Boru!” The chant at his back, building. Their strength flooding through him, the wave of their devotion pouring over him, carrying him forward on its crest.
“Boru! Boru!” They went forward together into the swords, into the axes, and nothing could stop them. Nothing could defeat them. They were the Irish; they were his men. They were Brian.
“Boru! Boru! Boru!” And the Northmen fell away before them like wheat from the scythe.
The superb and moving description of heroism depicted above was penned by Morgan Llewellyn from her book “Lion of Ireland”. Even though Brian Boru had converted to the Semitic religion of Christianity and was fighting against his own Aryan Teutonic kinsman he was fighting for the defense of his homeland Ireland and the blood of its people. The causes of war may constantly vary but the truly great heroes, the men among men, be it Achilles, Hannibal, Alexander, Hermann or Cuchullain, they all have one very special quality in common which makes them the stuff that legends are made of. Do they fear like other men? Sure they do, but unlike ordinary men they are driven with something that seems almost predestined, some form of divine will that brings them almost to the threshold of the gods which stir, move and inspire them.
Everything that enlarges the sphere of human powers, that shows man he can do what he thought he could not do, is valuable.” ~ Samuel Johnson
Not all heroes need to have the physique of Atlas to be men of greatness. Many may seem quite ordinary in appearance such as Adolf Hitler or small in stature like Napoleon. It is when you take a good look into the eyes of such men that you see the dynamic willpower within the man. On a lesser scale Jimmy Hoffa was a leader of men though not a physically large man of any note, and looked more or less like anyone’s father. The real ‘power’ of great men resides inside of them, something intangible, and it burns in his essence, it boils within his blood and his soul. A glance from such a man will command instant respect from all men. Jimmy Hoffa’s life-long strong arm, Joe Franco, was not immediately impressed with five foot six Jimmy Hoffa upon their first meeting. Joe was a large and rough Italian from the mean streets of Chicago. And his first thought as stated in his later published book, “Hoffa’s Man”, was that “he could easily reach across the desk and slap him in the face. That Hoffa wouldn’t last two minutes in his old neighborhood.” By the time Joe left Hoffa’s office that day, he knew full well that this man was indeed the leader he had heard so much about, the leader that he himself would follow through hell or high water to the very last mysterious days in fact of Hoffa’s life.
There is nothing in life that has value, except the degree of power that it possesses. One could not exist very long in this world without some degree of power. A man could have all the riches of the world but without power those riches would not last very long. Power is what you make it, a means to an end. Power is sought after by good people as well as evil and dangerous people. Power has the ability to save mankind and the world or destroy it. The danger of power is that it can easily intoxicate its possessor to illusions of grandeur and ultimate self destruction.
The masses of humankind, whether strong of body or not, are most generally weak of will, which is why they tend to follow the herd instinct. Nothing is more vain and inconstant than the multitude. They will even regard their own feeble herd-animal needs as an ideal, which is why they are easily pulled into the ‘turn the other cheek’ clap trap of sly and crafty religious clerics who continually work at stripping them of their National and Cultural pride, while promoting the cancer of miscegenation and universalism. The free thinker, the man of free will, such as the likes of a Giordano Bruno, Galileo, Joan of Arc, or a Friedrich Nietzsche have always been considered a direct threat to the church clerics because there is no way that they can ever control them with their highly absurd and unnatural and self destructive logic. Man is not born in sin! Likewise, man should neither feel any guilt whatsoever for being human. If we are the image of God then we should work at living up to that image. If there is any guilt to bear, it is for those parasitic worms that continue to condemn the strong! While the churches prattled on about Christian love they were slaughtering and torturing literally millions of their own brothers and sisters in the most brutal and demonic ways for a thousand years through the middle ages simply because those people refused to believe their alien anti-Nature Christian doctrines. If The Inquisition taught the world anything it is that there is a very fine line between cruelty and piety.
The Will To Power is an inborn component of every man of greatness. A truly great man will know how to hold and use that power rightfully once it is attained. He can do this, because he also possesses Firmness of Character, Self Control, Imperturbability, Firmness of Principle; The Union of Will and Knowledge; and Respect for Oneself, His Gods and The Great Creator, His People and Nature. Without these qualities, he will more than likely, as history has demonstrated over and over again, slide a greased pole down into his own self-destruction.
The World Controllers, The Power Elite will always push the sham of ‘democracy’ upon the people for the simple fact that it destroys the Will To Power of the nations and the nationalistic pride of the people of an indigenous race. Democracy is for the genocide of the races, the melting pot, the self seekers, mob rule, equality among the unequal, the dumbing down of humankind, Universalism! All the ingredients for the Controllers to remain in power and free to exploit the world as they will. The greatest threat to the World Manipulators is the rising of a great leader that they cannot themselves control. The men who hold the reigns of power in today’s world are not ‘real men’ by any stretch of the imagination; their power is built upon money, greed, manipulation, dirty politics and secrecy. Clever? Yes! Powerful and Ruthless? Yes! Valiant? Noble? Heroic? Righteous? Not a chance in Hell! Such men are made only for the counting houses, boardrooms and decadent lifestyles and would never make it on the frontline of a battlefield or lay their life down for any cause other than making money. They will always find dupes and use the malignity of their iniquitous spirit, at whatever time they have free occasion for it.
If only we could foresee the most favorable conditions under which creatures of the highest value arise! It is a thousand times too complicated and the probability of failure very great: so it is not inspiring to look for them! —Skepticism— On the other hand: we can increase courage, insight, hardness, independence, and the feeling of responsibility; we can make the scales more delicate and hope for the assistance of favorable accidents.”
~ Friedrich Nietzsche
The Will To Power is much different than simply willing for something which most anyone is capable of doing. The Will To Power is the very modus operandi of the great man coupled with a strong self-sense of destiny and courage. Most all cities of the world today are trash societies and incapable of producing men or women of great genius or even a Renaissance man let alone a heroic leader the likes of our ancestors of old. As the writer Albert Camus stated: “Without culture, and the relative freedom it implies, society, even when perfect, is but a jungle. This is why any authentic creation is a gift to the future.” One must pass through the flame in order to know death and embrace it. When a man has reached that point there is nothing and no man or mountain who can stand in his way. The man with the Will To Power knows his destiny, knows his mission, charts his course and goes for it, regardless of the dangers and pitfalls. The battle of the spirit can sometimes be as brutal as the battle of men; but the vision of freedom and justice is the pleasure of the heroic men of legend… the men… with the Will To Power!
I strongly affirm this again to be true, according to all the histories one sees, that men can follow fortune and not oppose her; they can weave her warps and not break them. They must surely not give up ever; they must always hope, and hoping, never give up in whatever fortune and in whatever trouble they find themselves.”~ Niccolo Machiavelli
MAN AGAINST TIME :
How do I soothe this lion’s heart? How do I quench my rage? I’m a man out of time, in a valorless world; I’m a lion in a cage! The gray men, with their lunch pails, live out life as a working drone, they toil and sweat, and in the end they get, old age, and the nursing home!
Profiteers they crave wealth and power, closing deals and raising bids, building fortunes to the very last hour, to be squandered away by their kids!
O they say let’s build a nation, America! It’s everyone’s home! Tell me how do you build a nation, when the cultures are not your own? You tolerate greed and corruption, rampant crime and impending doom, you live for the day, while freedom slips away, lockstep to your controllers tune!
Through my blood, flows the wealth of ages. Through my blood live both hero and king, and my soul cannot ever be fettered, and my spirit still soars on the wing! Go live in your world of destruction! Go live in your polyglot stew! All that your ancestors fought for, you’ve given all that away too!
You can turn your face, from your homeland and race, but there’s a price for what you do! O yes, there’s a price for what you do! And it will be your final distinction, for the reward that you’ve earned, my misguided friend, is the prize of your own extinction! And I roar in defiance like a lion, my rebellion won’t diminish with age, and I’ll claw and I’ll bite, until might makes right, like a lion in his cage!
~ Ron McVan
Source Article from http://www.renegadetribune.com/will-to-power/
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