tisdag 25 november 2014

Book News: Ernst Jünger -- A Portrait

My latest book is a biography about Ernst Jünger. The title is "Ernst Jünger -- A Portrait". The imprint is Manticore Press. You can buy the book on Amazon.com or Amazon.co.uk. And here's a review of the book, from Living Traditions Magazine. Their verdict is: "[a] biography of the very highest calibre."
For about 30 years I've read the books of Ernst Jünger. He was a German author living 1895-1998, a true legend having participated in both world wars as well as being a nationalist, a collector of beetles and butterflies, a world traveller and an informal teacher on esotericism. My book goes into it all: the books on war, the controversial politics, the philosophical and life-affirming sides and then some. The number of pages is 290 and the book layout is smashing. See for yourself in the pictures of this entry. An example of the style is this, from the chapter about the novel "On the Marble Cliffs" (1939):
”On the Marble Cliffs” displays a rich collection of characters. We have [for example] prince Sunmyra, pale and frail yet strong and belligerent, a romantic dreamer aroused from his sleep and ready to act against darkness, mirroring in a way the statue of the Bamberg Horseman (der Bamberger Reiter) in Bamberg cathedral: a heroic medieval knight, seemingly distraught but essentially a true rock of resistance. Mythologically he is in my book juxtaposed by the knight depicted by Dürer in his 16th century engraving ”The Knight, Death and the Devil”, a no-nonsense fighter with a literal devil-may-care attitude, a man of a hard mindset and yet no mere barbarian. And this character could be said to be represented by another ”Marble Cliff” figure: Biedenhorn, the commander of the mercenaries. The brothers at the centre of action get some help from him at the end, and before that he is lovingly depicted as the timeless solider, without higher ideals but reliable when it comes to battle and a jovial friend to his brothers in arms.
The book is already selling and I've received praise for it from readers. Buy it on Amazon.com or Amazon.co.uk.
Related Book Review of "Ernst Jünger -- A Portrait" - - - The Adventurous Heart - - - Jünger the Pious - - - On the Marble Cliffs - - - Jünger and the Craft of Science Fiction

söndag 16 juni 2013

A Changing World

I haven't updated this blog for over a year. But here goes. As always I'm Lennart Svensson and I'm a Swedish writer.

I have a lot to say. Generally this has been a good year. The intimated changes are beginnig to show: the Pope is reforming the Catholic church, Sweden's indigenous, German people are awakening and asserting their rights against multicultural slavery, and the Syrian affair is not going in the direction of what the NWO wants. There won't be any full-scale MENA war starting in Syria, not even a Libyan-style intervention. It will wind down more or less peacefully.

A year ago I said that the world is changing. Here is that post. There I talked about the world being raised to a higher vibration. Well has it? Has the world been raised to a higher, vibrating glory? I can't say for sure. Midwinter 2012 went by seemingly without anything happen. But esoterically I have the feeling that the world changed. More peaceful energies are, since then, out and about.

- - -

I'm a writer and I write this and that these days. E.g I contribute to a Swedish weekly magazine called Nya Tider. It's right-wing and it's great. It was the only Swedish paper that told the truth about the riots in May. All the other MSM papers apologized the riots. Only Nya Tider said: this is done by immigrants, fueled by socialist activist groups.

MSM lauded the stone throwing thugs. Nya Tider hailed the police's efforts.

That's how it is in Sweden today: MSM is a miasma of illegality, lies and warmongering in Syria. Nya Tider, the web and operators like me want the truth out.

Other than that I think these times are great. Irreversable changes are in the offing. Well, a lot has already changed, like "racism" going out of favour as a label against nationalist and traditionalists. And the impossibility of a large scale war in MENA: that's a major change in the world's mental climate. The time frame for starting a NWO war against Iran is said to have expired already in 2007 or was it 2008. Other than that I'm glad that Mitt Romney didn't win the presidential election. I mean, Mr. Obama is a hard nut to crack, I can't get a grip of the man. But the truth seems to be that he's in for massive American disarmament. Last January, in 2012, he cut down the Army substantially. This year has seen the cutting down of the Navy and the Air Force.

These changes are mostly made without broad public reporting. MSM seems rather to wanna scare people and say that war is imminent. A shot fired in a Syrian desert is like Stalingrad to them. I mean, come on. It's a peaceful world and has been since 1987. The NWO kinda reversed it in 1996-2003. They went for chaos and destruction with 9/11, Afghanistan and Iraq. But now we're back on the peaceful track.

Anyone who speaks against me, who thinks that we're in for a large scale war, I simply can't take seriously.

Short Story: The Swedenborg Machine
Ernst Jünger
Reality Bites
Short Story: Virtual Guru
Nifty Posts On This Blog
Linderhof Castle, Bavaria

lördag 21 april 2012

Changes Ahead

I'm an avid student of esoteric stuff, as you already know - see for example this post on conspiracies. And now the shit gets heavier, now we're about to see the greatest conspiracy of all time go down. If a certain Steve Beckow is to be believed.

He is a writer and a radio show host. He's very heavy in on the 2012 stuff, primarily that this year will bring ascension, an uplift from our current 3rd density to 4th and 5th. 3d is normal reality, 4d means moving with planet Earth to a lighter energy. Going into the astralbody. Earth ascends and so do we.

This link leads to Beckow's start page. There are some further links on his site. The current top post (as of late April, 2012) is about Pleiadean visitings. But there's political stuff too, about conspiracies. Illuminati rule: this is to go down now says Beckow. It's about freeing man from the current banker, nihilist, materialist regime. Mass arrests or just one at the time? I dunno but something's brewing. And it's all done with Higher Realms helping us.

All this might sound far out. And it is. Anyhow, for information purposes you might find it interesting. Some more links on current esoterics, 2012-related:

. American Kabuki. Readable blog by an American residing in Japan. Ascension, arrests etc: here.

. American Free Press. Slightly hippyish but genuine, has some concrete stuff on bankers resignations, grass root revolution, channelings etc: here.

So, dear reader. News about the arrests, changes and new births haven't permeated into Main Stream Media yet. But I figure it will. 2012 will be a year of rumours and here I add my part to the rumour mill. Share and enjoy.

The Swedenborg Machine
Breivik who...?
The Dragon's Lair
I Wanna Be Seen Green
Sword and Staff

lördag 7 januari 2012

"Antropolis" is a novel by Lennart Svensson

In 2009 I published a novel in Swedish, "Antropolis".

"Antropolis" has a symbolical quality to it. You know, like "Metropolis" or "Heliopolis". Literary qualities aside, the title shines like a beacon: Antropolis.

If you read Swedish you can buy the hardcopy here. But I guess few of you read Swedish. But as for the plot, here goes...

"Antropolis" relates how a certain Jenro Klao restores the ruins of a city and names it Antropolis, dedicating it to art, science and the humanities. Crystal technology and spirituality are the key words to the new age. When the story begins it's the year of 2165 and the city is thriving, but the forces of spirituality and technology now seem to clash in this utopia. Jenro Klao then decides to leave the city to its own measures for a while, going on a trip to olden times, to Faustian cities and metropolises teeming with combustion cars and scudding clouds.

The title and concept of Antropolis is what Guillaume Faye would call an idea thrown in the face of history. It doesn't have to be correct or consistent in itself; the mere symbolical and poetic qualities of the title is sufficient to make it a classic.

Antropolis has, as intimated, a certain Gestaltkvalität. It's archetypal. We're heading for antropolitan times by default. We're heading for times with crystal technology, innate spirituality and dance. Gone are the times dominated by fear, repression and brainwashing. Antropolis shall triumph. Look around, look out your window: it's antropolitan.

The ISBN code of the book is 978-91-633-3887-8. The number of pages are 205. Here is the pdf available free online.

The Infantryman of the Future
Why I Hate "Avatar"
Ernst Jünger
Reality Bites
Virtual Guru

fredag 14 oktober 2011

Svensson: Beyond the Island of Death (short story)

It's storytime on Ersatz Moonlight. It's time for a short piece about an American army officer in France 1918 who has a chance meeting with a woman in a restaurant. During dinner he mysteriously dozes off and awakes in a garden, from where he is compelled to go to a sinister chapel.

When he awoke everything was gone: the restaurant, the green-eyed woman, everything. He was still sitting at a table, true, but otherwise everything was different: he was in a garden, he was surrounded by fragrant bushes, and the sky above was resplendent with impossible stars.

He didn’t feel ill at ease, no, on the contrary. There was something in the air, something afoot. Weird things were going on but he rose to the challenge, rose to the occasion – so he got up from his chair, took his cap, strolled through the garden, turned into a walk arched by pergolas and eventually reached a pond.

It was rather a large pond, a dam of sorts, the waters dark and still. In the midst of it there was an island with cypress trees. It reminded him of Boecklin’s ”Toteninsel”, the island of the dead.

His name was George Trevelyan, he was a Captain in the U. S. Army, 93rd Division, and recently he had taken part in the 1918 fall offensive which successfully drove the Germans out of France. Peace seemed imminent. He was a victorious officer in a supposedly glorious war, one of Pershing’s Crusaders defeating the Hun, enjoying a night out on the town. But the euphoria of the moment seemed to elude him; he didn’t just want to visit some brothel, not even the supposedly good one the officers had reserved for themselves in this Flandrian town where his battalion now was cantoned.

So instead he took a stroll through the cobbled streets of this Regnierville, as the town was called. He had finally ended up in a quaint restaurant with a violinist, exquisite menu and wines. He had even invited a fair lady from a nearby table to accompany him at his table. She had dark hair and green eyes and wore a purple dress, most stylish – and, as the finishing touch, an emerald necklace. They had exchanged toasts and dined on snails and sole hongroise, and it all seemed very classy and pure, not dirty and tatty as everything else in this decaying town close to the combat zone.

Then, strange as it may have seemed, he had fallen asleep. He had dozed off at the table, dining with this beautiful woman, and then he had awoken in the garden. But he didn’t stop and wonder about this enigma; instead he chose to get up and go down to the pond. Something beckoned him on.

And there, in the pond, was the island. A bridge led out to it. He couldn’t help but stroll out on the bridge and approach the mysterious island.

- - -

The waters were still, reflecting the stars in the sky. The island with its cypress trees loomed up before him. Without hesitation he walked ashore and turned into a path leading up to a white temple, a marble chapel. Like a sleepwalker he approached the mysterious building, with the premonition that here he would see his past and maybe his future. He was sleeping awake, he was beyond the Beyond; he had given up all doubts and second thoughts and just wanted to dream the dream to its end.

The temple was a simple, flat-roofed building, however with exquisite proportions; it made you calm by its very angles and surfaces, its space, its emptiness. He took off his cap and entered the vestry, and there he saw a book lying on a desk. Two candles were burning beside it and there was a chair to sit on – so he sat down, eyed the book and read on the cover: THE BOOK OF LIFE.

”The Book Of Life” he thought, now wasn’t that something. ”Ye shall read your name in the Book Of Life,” it said in The Scriptures, and voilà...

A book of life on an island of the dead, that was some oxymoron by the way.

Captain Trevelyan opened the book, starting on a random page where he found himself reading:

”Chapter 7322: Silverstar.”

And that ”Silverstar” was himself, his soul-name; he had reincarnated through life after life, only currently being named ”George Trevelyan”. How interesting he thought, now I get to know all the lives I have lived... Normally he didn’t brood over the ins and outs of reincarnation, but this was no ordinary moment: it was half dream, half reality.

So he read about how his soul was created in early times, and then on through life after life, lives always lived with some sort of warlike occupation, in the company of everything from stone axes and javelins to bronze swords and leather shields. He was file leader in Pharao’s army – and he threw rocks with a sling in King David’s army – and he fought in the front ranks behind a bronze shield at Marathon – and he rode across the Persian plains in search after Bessos, fought against battle elephants at the Hydaspes, and stood at the bier of Alexander in his Babylonian palace, the fertile lands of Mesopotamia being visible in a heat haze in the distance. That is, among other things he had been a soldier in the Macedonian army of Alexander the Great.

But it didn’t end there. After each life he went to heaven for moral debrief, and some karmic addition and subtraction was done to see where he would wind up next. And this time the karmic sum had him live out a life as a legionnaire, posted in some eastern region of the Empire. One day he attended the crucifixion of some rebel calling himself the King Of The Jews, not actually nailing him to the cross but standing guard during the event. Anyhow, he was there; orders were orders. And – strange to say – after the regular heavenly debrief he didn’t suffer from this karmically, getting thrown back into a life as a dog or somesuch for this deed: after all it wasn’t his idea to kill the actual rebel or prophet or whatever he was. That blame fell on Pilate who had ordered it and, more specifically, on the people whom Pilate let choose between the rebel and a thief. As we all know, the throng gathered outside the roman’s office was given the right to choose one of the two to survive, and the people chose the thief. As for Silverstar’s innocence he hadn’t become a legionnaire in order to kill prophets, he was a soldier upholding the law of the Empire.

The Being Of Light which discussed this with Silverstar, in that heavenly abode where we all go after death, made him however realize that there are other things in life than to fight and kill. But if you had to be a soldier, well then, make sure you are a good soldier, one that doesn’t fight for the sake of fighting but for some higher principle. Such as protecting the weak.

Silverstar was given som time to think about this, in his next life being incarnated as a medieval knight, protecting women and children and pilgrims and the like. Reading about this life in the strange chapel, the white house on the cypress island, Trevelyan had especially noted a heartwarming detail: as a crusader he had once had been cantoned in the castle of the Levantine Krak des Chevaliers, sitting and playing chess with a fellow knight in a chamber, while the desert below lay there in the afternoon sun, in the distance dissolving into a misty haze. It was just a picture, a non-decisive, run-of-the-mill, pedestrian moment in the everyday life of a man – but an enchanting one in all its triviality, one of those ordinary moments that make up a human life.

Trevelyan read about his lives, relived them all. Besides all the warlike goings on there were some encounters with a green-eyed woman, her being a soul created simultaneously as his own, thus being his soulmate and female dual, his anima. Theirs was truly a match made in heaven!

This person, with Greensleeves as astral name, met him again again, in life after life. They met each other as man and wife, as brother and sister, as colleagues and as distant relatives. In one life they even lived as twin brother and sister.

To relate all their lives together, all their company, all their spiritual growth, on earth as well as in heaven, would take too long. We will have to make do with some scenes:

. Silverstar riding into a Persian village as victorious Companion cavalryman in the army of Alexander the Great, halting by the well, ordering a green-eyed woman (Greensleeves of course) to give him a drink of water; the woman obeys and gives it to him, their eyes meeting in a deathless moment

. Silverstar as Roman centurion on the German border, living with Greensleeves in a cottage by the camp, the man watching her wife across the table as they sit and have dinner, their three young kids accompanying them, with Silverstar thinking: I am a very lucky man

. Silverstar as knight escorting Greensleves, by then a nun in medieval France, to a convent, riding through springtime landscapes and discussing God, Love, and Everything

. Greensleeves crying at the corpse of Silverstar on the fields of Naseby, helpless and bereaved, out of her mind at the sight of her beloved one having gone to the Great Hereafter

. Greensleeves being driven away from the farm Silverstar was given as payment in kind as captain of cavalry, having fallen for Marlborough in the battle of Blenheim; the woman and her two children going off to an uncertain future, living on the benevolence of others until she could find a steady job

. Greensleeves as sister advising Silverstar on career moves in the army of the post civil war era, the so called Gilded Age. That career ended for him as Colonel of Infantry, commanding a fort in Arizona on the Frontier, so maybe her advice wasn’t so sound after all...

Sitting in the chapel Captain Trevelyan closed the book; it ended after the death of the western fort-officer, his immediately previous life.

He mused about what he had read. In his heavenly debriefings he had for example received a karmic lesson, and that was to be a good soldier instead of a bad, if soldering now happened to be his bent of nature. And so he asked himself: have I been a good solider? Have I protected the weak?

He looked at the burning candles. I haven’t, it seemed, looking back at all these lives as a warrior, been a bad soldier, running wild and killed for the sake of killing. Then again, have I really been good? Maybe in that-ever-so-important career-way, but morally...?

- - -

Cogitations and broodings, trials and tribulations. But all that Trevelyan could think of as an answer was: ”Being good: well maybe I could start in this life...”

He looked at the candles and remebered the green eyes of his woman, his Greensleves, always being there for him in his successive lives. It was so much to remember, so many lives, so many happenings, so many scenes and moments. Yet, through it all, a sense of warmth remained, a sense of belonging. He had known love, he had known Greensleves. The two words seemed to mean the same thing for him. I’ve been in love, I’ve met Greensleeves! he thought. I’ve lived with that fair woman in life after life – loved her as a wife, as a sister and as colleague. I’ve loved her as a human being that have always been there.

He blew out the candles, got up and left the temple, going down the hill and over the bridge, finally returning to the garden where he first awoke.

And in the garden the green-eyed lady awaited him, the one he had met in the restaurant. ”Greensleves...,” he said.

She smiled enigmatically, took his hand and led him into the house, up a stair and into a bedroom where they made love. Afterwards they fell asleep in each others arms.

And when he awoke in the morning she was gone. All he could see was the sun shining through the gauze curtain, a clock on a chest of drawers and a painting of the castle Krak des Chevaliers.

She was gone – but it had been her he had met. It was she, his dual, soulmate and anima, in one word Greensleves. For that part they never met again, they only had this brief encounter in France 1918. However, that had happened before in his many lives, in the confluence of past existence – brief encounters that is, such as the ride through the springtime, medieval France escorting Greensleeves to the convent, on the way discussing God and Life and Death and Love. To name but one significant meeting.

When he left that particular nun at the nunnery, having completetd his mission, the nun had said as parting words: ”No meeting is the first, and no goodbye is the last.” He came to think about that when he awoke in the French hotel after the night’s lovemaking with the green-eyed woman, the Greensleeves of this incarnation. It was bitter-sweet indeed: however, he actually had the presentiment that they would never meet again in this life, but most surely in another life – in another place and another time. ”Together forever”: no meeting the first, no goodbye the last.

As for Trevelyan’s career the war ended soon after this, in november 1918. He got shipped home and was awarded The Silver Star, symbolical to say the least... He then returned to his peace-time work as a haberdasher in Birmingham, Alabama. He married a woman and had three kids. As for his war-time love he of course cherished the meeting with Greensleves, his soulmate, but he also wanted to live the life of a husband rather than being a bachelor. And as for him being a soldier he remained in the Army Reserve and took part in the next world war too, as an instructor and an officer in the field, but that is a story for itself.

But as for the theme of being a good soldier, well, for Trevelyan it all lost its meaning when being a soldier in itself wasn’t so important anymore. In 1945, after the Italian campaign, where he had been battalion ADC and spare company commander, he never went to war again. Just call it retirement if you will; all things considered he was done with fighting. He had done his due, learned his karmic lesson.

The Fall of Idallion
Why I Hate Avatar

söndag 28 augusti 2011

God Listens

Mother Teresa once got the question: When you pray to the Lord, what do you say?

- Nothing, I just listen.

- And what does He say?

- Nothing, He just listens...

I Wanna Be Seen Green
Sword and Staff

söndag 17 juli 2011

Swedish Mystique

What foreigners know about Sweden is the Nobel Prize, Ingmar Bergman and such.

You see this autograph? It's in a book I own, a book by Peter Englund. Yeah, it's him, the Secretary of Svenska Akademin. And he has signed his book for me, imagine that! Maybe I should write him and try to influence him in giving me the Nobel Prize in literature. Well maybe. Or maybe I should promote my books first and get people to read them, getting more than the five or 50 readers I have...

Anyhoo, The Prize and Akademin are part of what you can call Swedish Mystique. It's those things that foreigners find exotic and alluring with Sweden. An other one might be Ingmar Bergman. Everybody loves him, right? Who can resist "The Seventh Seal" with the white-faced Death playing chess with the statuesque Max von Sydow? Irony aside I like this film too. Bergman might lack some depth, some esoteric footing, but on the whole his film is a great one. Life and death, the knight and the common people he meets, the landscapes, the interiors, it all adds up to a mystic whole, Swedish style.

So what's more to say about the Swedish allure? Neverending pine forests, that's pretty typical for Sweden's inland. I was born there, I live there and I love these woods. It's the playground for sagas and myths, for John Bauer and traditionalism. A student of Bauer's school was Gustaf Tenggren who eventually joined Disney Studios and painted backgrounds for Snow White and Pinocchio. He knew how to draw trees and make them contribute to the atmosphere. Tenggren made a lasting impact on the Disney Studio and their renderings of folk tales such as Cinderella and The Sleeping Beauty.

I'm a Swede and a mystic, an adept and a scholar, so I've gotta be the definition of Swedish Mystique. We've been living in a materialistic paradigm until now. Now's the time for dancing in the woods to the tune of Jethro Tull's "Broadsword":
Bring me my broadsword
and clear understanding,
bring me my cross of gold
as a talisman...

I'm a very mystic man. I sing about my home on the High Coast, about the Northlandic Strain. Dance to the sound of saami drums, dance in the splendour of the Nordic Light.

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"The Dragon's Lair", a rustic tale with echoes of Sigurd Fafnesbane