I think General George Patton has come up several times before on the board. His belief in reincarnation is well known, and has been portrayed in various books, movies and articles--and there is much more that can be read about him on the internet. Indeed, he never had to be convinced. He had memories of ancient battles from his earliest years. However, the reason I bring him up is not for this, as others have memories from childhood--including other famous people. I bring it up because he saw himself always as a warrior, and one who would return again as a warrior when there were great battles to be fought and won. So, I am fascinated by his sense of destiny and direction over the course of many lives. What others may think of such things I do not know. There are those who have come back to the same places or the same fields of endeavor, but somehow there is always an undercurrent idea that one is becoming more "peaceable" and gentle along the way. In contrast to this, Patton would probably say he was becoming sharper and more honed to serve as a warrior in whatever great conflicts arose. For the good, I hope. His poem describing his past lives is worth a read as well:
THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY
Through the travail of the ages,
Midst the pomp and toil of war,
Have I fought and strove and perished
Countless times upon this star.
In the form of many people
In all panoplies of time
Have I seen the luring vision
Of the Victory Maid, sublime.
I have battled for fresh mammoth,
I have warred for pastures new,
I have listed to the whispers
When the race trek instinct grew.
I have known the call to battle
In each changeless changing shape
From the high souled voice of conscience
To the beastly lust for rape.
I have sinned and I have suffered,
Played the hero and the knave;
Fought for belly, shame, or country,
And for each have found a grave.
I cannot name my battles
For the visions are not clear,
Yet, I see the twisted faces
And I feel the rending spear.
Perhaps I stabbed our Savior
In His sacred helpless side.
Yet, I've called His name in blessing
When after times I died.
In the dimness of the shadows
Where we hairy heathens warred,
I can taste in thought the lifeblood;
We used teeth before the sword.
While in later clearer vision
I can sense the coppery sweat,
Feel the pikes grow wet and slippery
When our Phalanx, Cyrus met.
Hear the rattle of the harness
Where the Persian darts bounced clear,
See their chariots wheel in panic
From the Hoplite's leveled spear.
See the goal grow monthly longer,
Reaching for the walls of Tyre.
Hear the crash of tons of granite,
Smell the quenchless eastern fire.
Still more clearly as a Roman,
Can I see the Legion close,
As our third rank moved in forward
And the short sword found our foes.
Once again I feel the anguish
Of that blistering treeless plain
When the Parthian showered death bolts,
And our discipline was in vain.
I remember all the suffering
Of those arrows in my neck.
Yet, I stabbed a grinning savage
As I died upon my back.
Once again I smell the heat sparks
When my flemish plate gave way
And the lance ripped through my entrails
As on Crecy's field I lay.
In the windless, blinding stillness
Of the glittering tropic sea
I can see the bubbles rising
Where we set the captives free.
Midst the spume of half a tempest
I have heard the bulwarks go
When the crashing, point blank round shot
Sent destruction to our foe.
I have fought with gun and cutlass
On the red and slippery deck
With all Hell aflame within me
And a rope around my neck.
And still later as a General
Have I galloped with Murat
When we laughed at death and numbers
Trusting in the Emperor's Star.
Till at last our star faded,
And we shouted to our doom
Where the sunken road of Ohein
Closed us in it's quivering gloom.
So but now with Tanks a'clatter
Have I waddled on the foe
Belching death at twenty paces,
By the star shell's ghastly glow.
So as through a glass, and darkly
The age long strife I see
Where I fought in many guises,
Many names, -- but always me.
And I see not in my blindness
What the objects were I wrought,
But as God rules o'er our bickerings
It was through His will I fought.
So forever in the future,
Shall I battle as of yore,
Dying to be born a fighter,
But to die again, once more.
Thank you so very much for showing us that poem. This taught me more about his lives. Interestingly, we seem to have fought on the same side a couple of times, not just opposites as we did in the Punic Wars. Although I am not sure who he was or if it was in the exact same one considering the conflict spanned some eight decades. We also fought in the Second World War, although he reportedly did regret that in his final days. He seemed to have ridden with Murat and fought for Emperor Napoleon. I cannot fault him for that. The best of company.
Despite our differences, the poem made one thing clear to me. We are startlingly similar, he and I. Unbeknownst to most here, I also write poetry occasionally. Warriors are supposed to be able to, and I just always was, as with most things. I am sure nobody had to teach
him, either. When most people do it, the end result is something silly. This poem captured his very soul, and I feel that I know it too well to put into words. I wish I knew any currently alive people that share this long and hard path. I came here searching for it, initially, but have not found that attitude intact, as he had and I have.
The poem above is to me a sort of assurance that I am not alone in the cosmos. A sort of message in a bottle. I love battle. All of it. Just like a stone age man would have loved hunting Mammoth and sabretooth tigers, even if it was deadly. I love battle, even though the enemy are fathers and husbands too. Death is not final, for those born to battle. Like my ancestors, I believe that reincarnation is a possibility within a (pretty broad) bloodline and not universal. Some people, not all, by a long shot. For most, not many times. But for those who fight and do so with honor and bravery, absolutely. Fighting is immortality to me. Not fighting is the dark abbyss of nothingness.
I love battle even if it is often dirty, disease-ridden, hungry, malnourished, brutal, cruel, wet, dry, cold, too warm, aching with wear, sleeplessness and absolutely insane. When the veneer of civilization comes off and the fight is tooth and nail, people like Patton and I are in our native element, which is chaos, fire and blood. Peace on earth and a financial-based reality is literally hell to us. I don't expect all that many to understand. Perhaps someone will.
A truly modern and new person could never understand things like glory, honor or the lives of an Einherjer. Yes, Norse religion has a name for people like us.
This was well-known - in some circles - in pagan times. It survived in the Eddas, but is misunderstood. Einherjer are not just going to fight "the final battle" at Ragnarök, at the field of Vigriđr. The world is cyclical. Einherjer, in the sagas, fight each day and feast each night in the hall of Ođin, Valhalla, where valkyries bring them mead and wild boar. Fighting each day symbolizes being reborn as a warrior. Time and again. And this is how reincarnation works, in my experience. The norse sagas are meant to be taken symbolically, and not literally. Valhalla is not a mead hall, it is a plane of existence. A place to rest, heal, learn and grow. Mead is learning, meat and rest means growing. It is Heaven. Elysium. It has many names, although humanity has largely forgotten how you end up there and not in Hel, which is oblivion, and why some are reborn and others not.
Knowing this, it is easy to see why norsemen were eager to battle and fought like madmen, and why some men in history have been the same. Notably the Waffen SS, which had in it countless reborn Einherjer, and were led by such men. Some aware, some not. To the best of my explanatory ability, this is why true warriors do not fear or hate battle, but love it, despite its rougher sides. It is immortality and undying glory.
Perhaps some here can understand. SpiritSword or yourself, probably. Maybe a few others, if they find it buried deep within themselves.
Thank you, nevertheless, S&S, I hope I will fight on the same side as this man, this time. I seldom pray, but I do pray to our Skyfather - the Allfather, our God, Guđ, Gaut and Ođin, who has countless names and faces throughout all of human history - that I shall be able to find him and others like us.
If this is the final days, as I believe, then I hope my brothers are all here on Earth today and born to fight on the same side of Good. Nothing and no evil could stand against that. Some believe in "The Age of Aquarius" or "Satya Yuga" and such. In Norse, we call the world after the cycle begins anew - after Ragnarök - "Gimle". The golden age. It is startlingly similar in all pagan religions, and I bet I could even find it in old Buddhist texts if I really looked.
Nevertheless, thanks. I really feel good after that poem.