. Nature Loves To Hide.Heraclitus

Φύσις κρύπτεσθαι φιλεῖ. Nature loves to hide. Heraclitus

Our ideal is an inner strength, a force of the soul, creating in the visible world its symbols and monuments, like how the soul of the Gothic man erects grandiose cathedrals and was elevated with them. He who dominates matter dominates himself - such is the perfect man. This is why the surprising aspiration for the limitless, that we saw in the example of imperialism, can have success only if it is replenished with spiritual depth. -Ernst Junger, Battle as Inner Experience

In the last analysis there is an order of rank to states of the soul, which corresponds with the order of rank of problems; and the highest problems mercilessly repel anyone who gets too close to them without being predestined for their solution by the height and power of their spirituality. What good does it do when nimble but ordinary minds or clumsy but sturdy mechanics and empiricists crowd around them, as happens so often these days, trying with their plebeian ambition to get close to them and into the proverbial “court of courts”! But coarse feet should never be allowed to tread such carpets: this is already taken care of by the primordial law of things; the doors remain closed to these obtrusive ones, even if they pound and pulverize their heads against them! For every high world one must be born; or spoken more clearly, one must be bred for it: the right to philosophy–this word taken in its highest sense–is conferred only by one’s origins, and ancestors and “bloodlines” are decisive here.

Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

To me the mere sight of an enemy in tangible form was a release. Grinding my teeth, I pressed the muzzle to the temple of this wretch, whom terror now crippled, and with my other hand gripped hold of his tunic. With a beseeching cry he snatched a photograph from his pocket and held it before my eyes . . . himself, surrounded by a numerous family. ... I forced down my mad rage and walked past.

-Ernst Junger, Storm of Steel

Of all that is written, I love only what a person hath written in blood, and thou wilt find that blood is spirit. -Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra

O Night, mother of gods and men, I sing; o Night, originator of all, whom we also call Cypris, hear me, blessed goddess, dark-gleaming, blazing with stars, rejoicing in stillness and slumberous repose, merry and delightful, friend of night-long fests, mother of dreams, gentle bringer of forgetfulness from cares and surcease from suffering, o sleep-giver, friend of all, driver of horses, glittering in darkness, half complete, chthonic and sublime in turn, circling, playful in sky-wandering chases, you who send the light beneath infernal realms and flee back to Hades, for mighty Necessity rules over all; but now, o blessed one, I call you; greatly fortunate, longed for by all, gracious, hearing the suppliant’s voice, may you come, kindly, and banish fears which gleam in the dark. Orphic Hymn to Nyx