Fathers day, big dogs, literally we, etc

Happy Father's Day, big dogs

I just want everyone to know that Mint Chocolate chip is the most Hyperborean of Ice Creams... its minty taste evokes the frosty peaks of the Urheimat, the dark chocolate testifies the bitter draught of our upbringing, its harshness and subsequent departure a testament to our superiority, the crystalline sharpness of our spirit, forged in a crucible of frosty goodness and bittersweet blessings from on high.

Shape-shifting in the Saga of Hrolf Kraki:

In Hrólfs saga kraka, during the final battle, Boðvarr Bjarki sits in a hall, apparently not participating in the battle. However, a huge bear joins the king's forces on the battlefield - not only leading the charge, but also keeping at bay the magic of the opponents.

Bjarki's ally, Hjalti, does not understand that the bear and Bjarki are the same being and thinks that Bjarki is just dozing off in the hall instead of fighting outside, so he wakes him up. As a result, the bear immediately disappears, and the battle is eventually lost.

I often question the sincerity of material racialists. In their view, to be of fair complexion is merely a consequence of birth. An arrangement of cells and DNA with no other importance than a result of natural selection.

And to justify their existence they'll often make an argument of utility. "People who looked like me built X" which forces them to conjure stolen valor we wuzisms or simply to deny the accomplishments of others.

Many others have built tremendous civilization and carved out great kingdoms, some of whom long before and far greater than our ancestors. Egypt, Sumer, China, Mongols, and so on.

Whatever accomplishment or lack thereof is not a prerequisite to earn my love and fealty. Those things are unconditional.

As a Folkish man, I don't see a happenstance arrangement of cells in the mirror. My appearance, lá, latí and litr Goða, are meaningful because they are of my fathers, my kings and the holy Goðin themselves.

I could be brown or yellow or green or blue, tall or short, ugly or beautiful. It is precious because of its sacred lineage, a gift from the powers on high. The positive qualities of historical victories and physical visage are welcomed but not necessary.

So, the source of my feelings toward kin and folk, as it is for all true folkists, is love. True love.

I often wonder if material racialists are capable of this. Because much of their words and proclamations ring quite hollow to me. What makes their flesh truly distinct from others? From animals? What makes their funerals meaningful if there is no kinwell to return to? No afterlife? Why even cry?

Without those things grieving is a selfish act. Existence has little justification. And what motivation for their beliefs do they have outside of feelings of resent and inconvenience.

If the world was hunky dory would they even be here? It seems their participation is anchored only by the existence of opposition. Will they remain when this moment passes?

I will be. My folk will be. We could hold dominion over the world or wallow as dregs in the muck and mire. My fealty and my love is the same.

Someday my grandsons will solemnly walk through a mound or necropolis where the remains of their kin slumber. Among flickering candle and the droning hum of morbid hymn they will feel my presence from the other world.

So every time they look in the mirror and see our green eyes and curly hair, that it's not just an assembly of DNA. That those features were gifts from me. And my fathers, and kings, and to the holy Goðin themselves. Thus bestowing an immortal love and fealty that reaches all the way to heaven.

And the more time goes on, the less I trust those who choose to deny these ancestral commands. A million fathers before them calling them home and yet they choose to share bed with the same forces they claim to oppose.