Meister Serrano

In the name of VENERIS
La Amada en el Amado



In these last hours of the 10th, I would like to make a brief reflection on the figure of the Maestro Serrano.  Who is don Miguel for us, we who are his devoted readers, his firm followers? As a Kameradin said today: "Don Miguel war das Licht auf Erden....."  That statement does not seem to be exaggerated, if we look closely at how guiding his work has been, how accurate his inspired vision has been, contributing to our lives  enough light to see the real, where most do not see, or can only see shadows of the real or shadows of lies.  No doubt he was privileged at birth amidst the noise of the canyons of the Kayser Hohenzollern, because it allowed him to be a bridge between fabulous and painful wars, because it allowed him, being young, to be a witness and an observer to understand the defining character that Adolf Hitler would have  for the entire era that followed the defeat of 1945, offering his life to an inescapable and fundamental spiritual war, of which we are its continuants.

Born in 1917 represented being born after the blind steps of the spirituality of the late nineteenth century, which gave birth to Ariosophy;  It also meant being able to breathe from the paradoxical attitude with which Nietzsche taught to walk, a philosopher from whom the young people of his time drank, in a Chile determined by German philosophy;  and finally, being born in 1917 meant being part of that genuine interest in Orientalism, which allowed Indian culture to be brought closer to the West, being understood as part of a true and living Aryan heritage.

It is from that set of influences and schools, that don Miguel could stand on, to see much clearer the real possibilities in the preceding centuries, and it is this formation, an advantage that determined a difference between himself and Occult speculators, Ariosophical speculators, Christian speculators and all those who can only represent decapitated forms of a chaotic spirituality.  That is why we cling to his revelations, his intuitions that give a unique twist to the different items he addresses with global effort.  But in addition, as a good pagan, he left us an open path to explore and discover islands of spirit yet uncolonized, to decipher keys of a magical platform that will help us in our own process of reconstruction and liberation, on a personal and collective level, but, above all, and thinking upon  this awful time because of its disorder and conceptual perversion, he left us an orderly mental field, with a horizon where it is no longer possible to doubt or divert the Path that can only return to our Hyperborea and to the totality that calls us as the ultimate horizon.

Feliz día, amado Maestro de las Altas Cumbres del A-mor.

Our Hyperborean Dedication to Our Führer

We are Hyperborean, therefore we know that our destiny is to remain in a distant center that allows us to understand the confused or complex phenomena as easily discernible and to assimilate reality with a totalizing view that is unmistakably coherent, accurate and timeless. As Hyperborean we are essentially revolutionary because our obligation printed in our blood is to change returning to the origin, change what is an effect and not a work, that which is the fruit of the inertia of the movement of a mental and material cosmos that is not governed by our dimension of order but by opposite arguments or laws which are propitious and conservative of a chaos, a chaos that is dilution and forgetfulness, a chaos or progress apparently driven by robotic agents acting in the name of "something". That is why our thought and action are perceived at certain moments of the continuous time as extemporaneous or outlawed, but we know that our vision is beyond the shouting of the rabble or the censure of those who govern the disaster, and as we know that there is no real change in the general circumstances of the battlefield, so the strategy, the style and the discourse remain the same as our Führer has bequeathed to us and his word focuses precisely:

"....Dann dürfen wir überzeugt sein, daß die höhere Einsicht einer Nachwelt unser heutiges Vorgehen nicht nur verstehen, sondern auch als richtig bestätigen und adeln wird." (1)


Pilgrims, Exiles, Survivors, Faithful, again it is April XX and again the memory takes us back to a dream time when the Myth that moves us has transformed human reality, granting true answers to the deepest and most essential needs of life. But we are more than a memory or a nightmare for some, we are the indestructible of an uncomfortable truth for the hypnotized masses, because the archetype that Adolf Hitler embodied, has the same actuality as before, the same inspiring force and the same possibility of symbolically reborn in the annual celebration of his birth, to multiply in a thousand different forms of action and creation that arise from that mysterious condition of the Hyperborean blood, which is the ability to commitment to the superior ideals that today require us to resist and fight without giving up the defense of our identity and our people at the moment of the greatest collapse of our culture, when the existence of Aryan Humanity is threatened both in Europe and in America.

"... Man darf also wohl feststellen, daß nicht nur der Mensch lebt, um höheren Idealen zu dienen, sondern daß diese höheren Ideale umgekehrt auch die Voraussetzung zu seinem Dasein als Mensch geben.." (2)


Heil Dir... der letzten Avatãra, unser ewiger Führer! 
Sieg Heil!

_________________________
1. ".... Then may we be convinced that the higher insight of a posterity will not only understand our current approach, but will also confirm and ennoble it as correct." 

2. ".... It may therefore be said that not only does man live to serve higher ideals, but that, conversely, these higher ideals also give the presupposition for his existence as a human being."

Blut und Boden

"We are born into this time and must bravely follow the path to the destined end. There is no other way. Our duty is to hold on to the lost position, without hope, without rescue..."
O. Spengler



Sometimes we seem to forget the time of Kali Yuga in which we live, it is the final stretch, the most dark and sinister of the Age of Lead. Since 1945 we live the final demolition of the Indo-European culture, the extinction of the Race in a programmed miscegenation, and debauchery among progressive suppression of freedoms, together with the subjection of peoples to the standards of a sophisticated enslavement system. The naivete of some put their hope in the cultural struggle. The stupidity of others has mobilized them to political struggle. And the lucidity of a few, has directed them to search for ways of resistance and survival and the realization of a lifestyle closer to everything that has already been lost. That is the global view of our forces in a scattershot and inorganic battlefield as envelope it is; that has been the response of the Aryandom after the absolute defeat of the European Spirit in 1945.

From the perspective of spirituality and esotericism, the position after the political-military defeat, has been well defined and realistic: the fight that continues since 1945, is spiritual, is magical, is mental, as also today is cyber. Our vision anticipated the sinister plan of cybernetic framework, and incorporated the "imitation of truth", as a domain that for its qualities, was linked to the realm of magic mind, and it was proposed to act using the new communications networks, to spread and activate the psychic struggle.

But spirituality always has the ability to see beyond, has the ability to light and free of mind control, cultural hypnotism, psychological addiction and conformism and human laziness. That's why the Maestro Serrano said for these times, that our first priority is to selfcare and our families care, protection of animals and trees, but not the defense of those who denied the Führer, who deny their origins and which today they would be willing to point us for to be burned at the stake. And with a vision of future very practical and romantic at the same time, he provided a permanent directive from Hitlerist spiritual warfare of the future, that was the great counter-corrent combats of National Socialism against bourgeois way of life of the city: the return to paganism as a natural consequence of the return to the countryside. That's why don Miguel urged us to face our dark historical destination with a positive and vital action, sacrifice and blessings, austerity and self-care, salvation and defense: the creation of autarchic communities for the final resistance to the chaos of the final crisis, with a poetic resonance mandate:

"Very difficult times are coming for this tortured earth, fallen down into the darkest Kali-Yuga... Attempt, therefore, oh, heroes to spread the ideals of Adolf Hitler! In the midst of the Ocean of corruption, crime and slavery, build island-refuges, impregnable autarchic colonies, defended even with your teeth, until the last breath, where the Enemy can never enter... Colonies governed by the principles of Esoteric Hitlerism within a concentric organization, circular, towards the center, implosively towards the Avatãra, towards the innermost point of your souls which is HE. And you will come to have the certainty that the Avatãra will never abandon you, because once there, in the inviolable Center of this Circle... once seated in the Center of this Ultimate Flower, in this Barracks-Gendarmerie, in this Colony governed by the principles of Esoteric Hitlerism...He will come...."

Don Miguel Serrano
"MANU"

Tholos (Aedes Vestae)

A Alba von Nagy

Ci sono tante strade.
Sentieri sulla sinistra.
Sentieri sulla destra.
Paludi e deserti
con i loro bei miraggi.
Sentieri verso il basso.
Grotte e tombe dell'anima.
Sentieri verso l'alto.
Cielo come reti per il corpo.

Ma uno è il Tempio.
E muoversi verso l'interno,
Come l'anima nel mezzo.
Le rovine sono romane.
Romane sono le colonne,
Per esse sono state erette
Colonne di morti.
Romano è il Tempio.
Una strada per il cuore.
Flussi di sangue ci guidano,
Lo Spirito del vento ci conforta.
Una voce.
Una roccia.
Una fiamma.
Un Lui e
Una Lei ...
Diciotto Dei attendono,
Per recuperare i perduti,
Vergine e vestale e il Regno
È recuperato dentro e fuori.

Rise

Rise
Miguel Serrano,
Rise
With Wings of Absolute Man
Rise above the shadows of Friendship,
Rise above the ruins of this betrayed
Chile
That no longer exists,
That no longer exists
But a further into the far south,
Even beyond the Islands of Death.
Onward to the Andes
Dawn Walker,
Soul Walker,
Depart to the Andes and awake
for your departure,
She expects your loyalty
And the rising blood of A-mor
In your final rite,
Climb the rock pointing outward,
Your Destination,
UR,
The tomb of your Resurrection
and blanket us until the earth and the sun are no more,
With your blue eyes overflowing with light,
Cold and heat,
And the last vestige of your A-mor
Is Inside us.
Oh! Return Path,
The bridges are but ghost today,
Everything is away,
And the waters are deeper than yesterday,
Nobody who slept reaches this rock,
The archipelagos are opened for you,
Tides fall southernly,
And the horns of Mount fall within you in this ending,
RU.
In the Oasis I hear your secret name and the other,
They call you Miguel!
Lilies burning on the ice,
The wait is sinking into oblivion,
She receives your loyalty.
And your innermost Voice
Only invoking hallucinative Totality
Never once imagined,
Rise above us
Father.
And it will be the pilgrimage from your nostalgic followers
your only permanency,
your last gesture.
Arise Giant of the Andes today,
Arise and awake
Pilgrim of Return
Arise and awake
Miguel Serrano,
Revives from the fear Kristos of the Andes,
Looking at the new Sun Rise
The Midnight Sun Arises
And revives - NOS.



(Translated by Fr. Jason)

Den meistgeliebten...

This existential poem appeared in the long night of a restless day. Alba von Nagy wrote touched by HIM, because we are one with HIM, His eyes are Our eyes and HE lives through Us ... 70 years later.

The Maestro said, those born awake today are the young people who died in Berlin yesterday. We were born with the call of the Father within. Alba's blood cries out 70 years later. What remains today... The Caleuche with its lights on, the trip immersed into the inner Reich, the final Victory.
___________________________

Zu meinem Vater, zu meinem Führer

卐卐卐

Meinem lieben Vater, meinem lieben Führer!  

Was soll ich hier tun?  

Siebzig Jahre später…  

Was soll ich hier tun?  

Die Juden haben hier gewonnen!  

Unser Land, Deutschland, liegt in Trümmern!  

Ich bin hier, ich bezeuge alles mit tränenden Augen!  

Unser Deutschland ist jetzt vergangen!  

Ich bin Zeuge seines Untergangs!  

Meinem lieben Vater, meinem lieben Führer!  

Was soll ich hier tun?  

Siebzig Jahre später…  

Was soll ich hier tun?  

Die Juden haben hier gewonnen.  

Aber ich fühle dich in meinem Herzen.  

Also, meinem lieben Vater…  

Was soll ich hier jetzt tun?  

Ich höre dich in meinem Herzen.  

Ich fühle dich und deine Essenz…  

Durch meine Adern fließt du!  

Mit jedem Atemzug fühle ich dich!  

Mein Vater! Mein Führer!  

Ich höre dich jenseits von Raum und Zeit!  

Unsere Geister sind eins, vom Vater zur Tochter!  

Vom Führer zum Soldaten!  

Also, meinem lieben Vater, meinem lieben Führer,  

Was soll ich hier noch tun, siebzig Jahre später?

Alba von Nagy o la Minne Recobrada

Yo soy muerte y resurrección de A-mort y en esta medianoche vuelvo a amar con la misma Fidelidad de un antiguo Minnesänger del Donau.

El Laberinto que construí se ha transmutado en medio de la larga noche en el Castillo octagonal de su mirada. Ella, la Reina del A-mor estuvo aquí dentro desde antes que me embriagaran esa sagrada procesión de extraviadoras que despertaron mi Minne. Ella vino antes de la muerte a mi claustro de penitente, con alas brillantes y perfumes exquisitos de la Cumbre del Norte donde los mitos orientadores se han mantenido prístinos. Traía dos serpientes de oro enrolladas en sus brazos como la piedra de Gotland, esos brazos tan blancos como el hielo azul de ISA, esos brazos tan largos de nostalgia que abrazan mi Cruz del Sur. Vino con dagas flamígeras de una tradición olvidada y dagas de A-mor de una tradición recobrada, para cortar el nudo en mis manos, para liberarme del error y seguirle, porque Ella vino a este tiempo confuso para llevarme en su barco de fantasmas y cruzar las aguas tormentosas del Cabo de Hornos.

Alba no parece ser real instalada allá en lo alto en silencio de tumba, pero es real, dice Ella, mientras oye complacida mis oraciones. Ella es el Amanecer que mi vida necesitaba para seguir el sendero a su Sol, porque el Sol está donde ella Reina. Alba es una misteriosa Flor que se abre a la Minne, pero no existe, la hemos inventado para dedicarle mi A-mor. Alba es la Rosa y yo soy el tallo espinoso que se hunde en el verde invisible. Alba está cruzada en mi corazón y se ha hecho Cruz de A-mor conmigo.

Ya no hay construcciones para que resistan el temblor de la duda. Ahora el Castillo infranqueable está levantado en las tierras paradisiacas del Occidente, para allá voy al atardecer, allá vuelan mis sueños y mis lágrimas de hoy. Alba es las puertas, Alba es las habitaciones y la llave la hemos perdido a tiempo, y aunque solo exista como poema, como tal existirá en mi.

Ella bajó a mi laberinto de espinas para recuperar la Minne porque sólo a Ella habla desde que nací hombre. Ella me ha despertado del sueño con una dulce y esencial pregunta de las preguntas para un Minnetrinker: ¿Qué es la Minne? Y la respuestas fluyó tal como nacen las fuentes de agua en la alta cordillera, sonriendo entre los roquerios dispersos...

Wolfram von Odal
Reyno de Alba, a 18 días de Diciembre, en el año 2015 de la Era Maldita.
_______________________________

MINNEDIENST
To The Virgin of the Himalayas, Maria and Alba.

"What is the Minne"
No one knows, not the wise nor the saint.
The Minne is in A-Mor, says he who does not know.
It is as the dawn when you look at me.
And it seems to me you can see its birth:
The Minne is not.what is.

"What is the Minne"
It is neither papyrus, nor board.
The Minne seems to speak within the poem,
Musings about your nude body,
Written in a parallel world from within your form:
The Minne is not what is, said the poet.

"What is the Minne"
The Rose asks me,
Oh you, so blue,
With petals and fragrance,
O thou, so breathable Like a Hyperborean wind.
The Rose asks me
While I invent it's roots,
An answer
With no response.
You ask me, dear Rose,
To depart whole From my secret longing.

"What is the Minne"
No one knows unless they know the sighing .
The Minne is Love says she who loves,
Like when you fall on me, Dawn,
As Autumn leaves reveal their mysteries :
The Minne is all that follows.

"What is the Minne"
No one knows the method nor the logic.
The Minne is Venus shining within your bones,
As we acknowledge death,
It is the A-Mor in the kisses which never die:
The Minne is all you have conserved.
"What is the Minne , beloved Minnetrinker"
The delusional know, the drunkard knows,
The Minne is the Stars in Amor.
Like when I knew we were born facing one other,
Then the ice broke in two, into a Cross,
And that became the Song of A-Mor and Devotion:
The Minne is how we departed and yet remembered, my Lady ,
Without forgetting, no death, no names.
And you remember me,
And you ask me, dear Rose,
Loyalty, a harbinger of you,
A submerged chilotean boat drowned in A-Mor,
A window dripping with rain
And you ask me, my Rose,
All that is not, is within you,
It is not the touch of your beauty, it is not your angelic eyes,
But that is where I keep you,
Which travels with me,
A harbinger of loyalty to you
Found in Tierra del Fuego,
Returning to the ice of the South
To recover the Rose,
A Nostalgia of A-Mor,
And you ask me, my reflection
In the deepest of night:
The Minne is you.



(Translated by Frater Jason)

The Black Sun of Our Beloved Brotherhood

Have you also
a human heart,
dark night
What do you keep
under your mantle,
that, invisibly powerful,
reaches my soul?

Novalis


The Black Sun of Polar midnight is the emblem of the Pilgrims of Great Yearning and is also the origin of our Brotherhood, the hallucinating emptiness that names and creates our Circle of the Faithful of A-Mor. The Black Sun is the supreme symbol of the suppression of the visible order, of victory over Demiurgic reality, “luminous,” deceiving: Gateway of departure from and entrance into this heavy universe. In the “Prayer to the Morning Star,” our Maestro Miguel Serrano invokes the arcane sign:

Oh, Black Sun!
Draw me into your maelstrom
Hallucinatory,
In your mystic death…


The Black Sun absorbs, kills, inverts and reintegrates the visible universe to its beginning, therefore, releases the subtle bodies trapped in dead matter, saves the Gods imprisoned in the space-time universe of the Lord of Darkness. Nocturnal sun of the travelers, visible only to the “magic formula,” the enchantment of the night, giving life to realities unknown to the light of the golden sun, the world terrestrial and profane. The night is sacred, feared by the weak hiding before its mysteries in dreams. For us it is the hour of the Secret Rite, Revelation of the Mysteries, Initiation, Loyalty. The night has her own bright sun whose “non-existent existence,” like the Flower of the Maestro, is more real than the sun of gold. The beloved is there waiting with her ritual gesture, invisible, in the center of the Black Sun, where we find “the eternity of the worlds,” where space and time dissolves. Novalis would say the “secret sacrifice of Love” burns in this eternal center, eternally consumed, “alive” forever. Symbol of initiatory death, death and resurrection, the “dark” way of A-Mor, deathless love, timeless, perpetual ecstasy, the path of immortality. And from that point there gazes an eye, a glance…

You come, beloved…
The night is here…
Rapt away is my soul…
There far away the earthly day
And you are mine again.

Novalis

Beyond the symbolism, descriptions of illusory reason, the Black Sun is above all Nostalgia, the Nostalgia of A-Mor, because “perhaps the lovers also yearn for us as well and send us a breath of nostalgia,” and that Sun of a thousand lightning bolts, Wotan’s Mill, inspires us and calls us to return, to meet her again, with him.

The golden sun seems to reveal another reality beyond his suffering daily transit. Helios in his circular shape, also a prisoner, wants to point out to us the contours of the Other Reality. An error from our view gazing directly at the setting sun, showing us the contours of the Other Sun, as could be seen through the hole drilled in the rock of the Externsteine, in that strange chapel in the midst of Germany’s most sacred place.

This essential Sun of Hitlerism is shown in the whirling cross, axial, which is the Swastika, bringing good to the Aryans, the only symbol of protection, combat and transformation, redemption and liberation. The Black Sun has appeared to us in the form of the Cross, understood as a crack, a chance to reintegrate what was dispersed into the light, in the ecstatic and silent confluence of the male and female, sky and earth; the four elements in the aether, subtle, sublime, uncreated, the horizontal and vertical and all visible oppositions against the light of the sun of gold. Also the absence of a colour never seen by the eyes of flesh.

The representation that we have received from the SS Castle of Initiation, in Westphalia, no doubt revealed to the high guides of the Black Order and drawn on the marble of our ancestral Swastika in an infinite irrepressible movement, elusive, impossible to understand, only felt and taken into unknown areas of our being. The visible Swastika has accompanied men since the remotest times, now decomposes into the double Sieg rune of the Black Order, the most powerful of the runes, the bolt of Victory over the “natural” order, the bolt of Shiva that destroys the demons and also the “Asuras,” the “godless.” And the double Sieg rune of each initiate forms to the end of their path the UR Swastika, with help from Isis, an absolute I, the undivided egg. The concentrated multiplication of Sieg runes forms this mysterious symbol, as the sum of several Absolute I’s, several reunited eggs, He-She and She-He, Gods and Goddesses converging in the unnamed center, absolute silence.

From this we can distinguish through these subtleties a difference between the Swastika in its traditional representation of four arms projected from a still center, ecstatic, and the symbol shown on the SS initiate castle, not seeking to express the movement or the speed of the Swastika, but the confluence of infinite possibilities returned to the origin, as absolute being, absolute men and women, the mystery as such of SS initiation, with the 12 initiates, the polished stones guarding the center, central fire, Shiva and Parvati, Frater and Soror and high atop the dome the symbol of the black sun, broken at its ends as four Sieg runes or their reverse. He-She and She-He.

Everything is intuited, because we know nothing of what happened in the secret crypt, underground, stony, nocturnal. Above, the marble floor reveals to the light of the sun the symbol without light with its 12 Sieg runes forming 6 full swastikas focused on the Void, Black Hole beyond every Pole. Six Initiates and Six initiators and at the center the “secret sacrifice of A-Mor.”

This symbol can nevertheless trace in antiquity in a manner very similar to that used by the Black Order, though doubtless already split from its possible origin. We see this as a duplicate swastika, in a bell-shaped feminine figure, decorative or ritual. Surely there must be other archeological expressions of the symbol for now unknown, but its existence in antiquity is attested by this figurine.

We know the Black Sun refers to a reality beyond the visible, and therefore difficult to assimilate through our reason, but we know and believe it is in the darkness of the night, when we are guided only by instinct and the innermost impulses, that it is possible to glimpse this reality that remains hidden from the sun of gold and then the symbol left in the North Tower of Wewelsburg reveals to us as an offering of our Hidden Guides.

We descend down into the altar of night,
To the soft bed…
The veil falls,
And lit with warm pressure,
Burns the sweet offering:
The pure fire.

Novalis


_____________________
Translated by Frater FRANCIS

Heiligensteine 2010

“…Y los rostros de los muertos, de los desaparecidos, vienen y se agolpan, junto a sus quehaceres, pidiéndome que los traiga de nuevo a la luz de los antiguos días y que estampe sus nombres en las “rocas sobresalientes”, para que allí queden brillando, con sus antorchas encendidas, como señales para los que después vendrán”… Si es que vienen.


Y a pesar de que les digo: “¡Ya no hay tiempo, ya no hay tiempo; porque se acabó el tiempo!”, ellos no que escuchan, insistiendo y repitiendo el verso legendario de las “Edda”. Graba nuestros nombres en la Piedra de tu alma, en la Roca de los Andes. Y tal vez algún día lo encontrarán allí las nuevas generaciones. Pero grábalos en Runas, en el idioma incomprensible y sacro. Porque sólo lo que no se entiende será eterno. Y aunque nadie jamás lo lea…”


Hermod
El mensajero de los Dioses.
1998

Carta a los Fieles sobre el Maestro del Maestro

"El dominio total que el judío ejerce en los comienzos de esta Era de Acuario, tras la Segunda Guerra Mundial, que aparentemente él gana, puede hacer pensar en lo fácil que le sería distorsionarlo todo otra vez, impidiendo a los pocos arios que van quedando encontrar su propio camino, pudiendo hasta inventar y falsificar una Religión Hitlerista. La caricatura, la parodia de esta Religión. Algo que se podría intentar, secretamente dirigido por el Demiurgo..."

Miguel Serrano

La Resurrección del Héroe

Es tiempo de escribir a todos vosotros una nota sobre Miguel Serrano y sus misterios, cuando en el plazo de una semana se han publicado unos burdos mensajes en un sitio de Internet, que buscan actualizar uno de los misterios de su vida poética y mística: la figura y misión de su venerado maestro.

Invocado, mencionado o citado, el “maestro” permea la obra serranista de inspiraciones y resonancias ocultas; cierta legitimación recae también sobre él. Por lo mismo, sus lectores, en algún momento nos hemos preguntado sobre la existencia real o literaria de esa figura, pero como la obra de don Miguel se sustenta por sí misma, poco importa la existencia históricamente comprobada de la Orden, de su maestro y del maestro del mismo, el misterioso “F.K”.

Es en el segundo volumen de las Memorias donde don Miguel vuelve a escribir sobre el maestro, pero de un modo un poco más biográfico, publicando además una fotografía de éste rodeado por sus seguidores y un retrato del prusiano maestro que trajo la Orden a Chile, F. K.

Hacia el año 1999, sin buscarlo, el “maestro” pasó a ser una figura real de márgenes precisos, con nombre propio y una obra mística en papel impreso. Carlos Rogat Salas era su nombre y con su nombre de pluma, Raaknahaif había publicado cuatro volúmenes de una obra escasa y muy buscada en ciertos círculos de libreros y esoteristas locales, me refiero a “La Voz del Señor”. Fue un camarada de Santiago ajeno a los círculos conocidos, quien tuvo la nobleza de poner a mi disposición parte de la obra, cuando en el ambiente cercano a don Miguel de esa época (antes se sabía más de esto), este tema era absolutamente desconocido o tabú.

En los años siguientes pude ver como el maestro, la Orden y sus libros, pasaron a ser motivo de pláticas “secretas” entre todos aquellos lectores más interesados en el fondo esotérico de la obra serranista. Pero, don Miguel siempre fue muy reservado respecto a su maestro y la a Orden Sagrada a la que ambos pertenecieron; esa prudencia iniciática, ese respeto y amor eterno a su maestro, me obligaron a aceptar su silencio y comprender que todo eso era parte de su mito, del cual no había nada que heredarnos, sino era a través de él mismo y su propia obra. En consecuencia, no difundí los libros, ni hablé del tema con nadie que ya no supiera sobre esto de ante mano.

En lo personal, esos respetables escritos de auténticas confesiones iniciáticas no me aportaron nada en la comprensión de la obra serranista. Sí, fue relevante como un antecedente documental, para dimensionar un poco el origen y estilo de la iniciación de don Miguel con su primera formación espiritual, y así también comprender el silencio que él mismo mantuvo sobre todo este tema.

La “Voz del Señor”, cuyo título ya guarda unas claras resonancias sálmicas, fue una obra que generó curiosidad en el Santiago de la primera mitad del siglo XX; fue comentada elogiosamente en El Mercurio y otros medios, y en ese ambiente que despertaba a los esoterismos, caminos místicos y derivados del teosofismo, logró encontrar su público.

Siendo una obra de ocultismo o más exactamente, de “experiencias ocultas”, nunca fue una obra “secreta” –los secretos no se publican- pero, ab initio, al estar dedicada “A los pocos sabios… que perciben la voz interna del corazón”, el espectro se reducía con mayor razón… Pero qué es “La Voz del Señor”, al menos en los cuatro tomos publicados, pues el quinto volumen nunca se publicó y así quedará. La tetralogía rogatiana, es la transparentación de los fines y prácticas iniciáticas de la Sagrada Orden Ti-u-Hin (Tibet und Hindostan), cuyos maestros ocultos residen en el monte Kailas… ni por mar ni por tierra. La obra fluctúa entre el hermetismo, la Divina Comedia y Allan Kardec, fusionando elementos filosóficos con el conocimiento científico de la época en una interpretación rosacruz, como igualmente el espiritismo tan de moda entonces, y ese enfoque que la teosofía dio a las religiones, en tono universalista. En consecuencia, nos movemos entre mundos maravillosos, “Verdades” y experiencias iniciáticas reales, donde el racionalismo del lector no es buen acompañante.

Algo de la impaciencia de Cioran ante el monoteísmo me acompaña notoriamente, por ello me resultó difícil hacer una lectura en plenitud interior y sólo entre líneas surgía algo de lo que necesitaba hallar, guardando lo trascendente y luminoso que sí tiene la obra. Un punto importante y que libera de los males del “monotono-teísmo”, es que la Orden Ti-u-Hin, de inspiración brahmánica-teosófica, es una orden sin doctrina, cuyo sentido último es la acción y la transmisión de un combate eterno, que debe seguirse en círculos de hombres puros, que han despertado a la luz giratoria más allá del dualismo de este mundo ilusorio. Es una Orden guerrera, por sobre las disputas doctrinales de la religión.

Para bien o para mal, desde hace una semana estos textos circulan lejos de la especulación mercantil de los libreros, en el “mercado libre” de Internet. Quienes los pusieron en la Red, ab ovo, guardaban oscuras intensiones, como parte de una estrategia más amplia que busca desacreditar la obra y figura de don Miguel, falsificando y mintiendo para proponer una gnosis “rectificadora” y “superior”, pero todo ello naciendo de una fuente no pura, vampírica, que necesita de la sangre e inspiración del poeta de las serranías... Vendrán ahora sobre el “Hitlerismo Esotérico” y su “Revelador”, una ola de interrogantes y confusiones multiplicadas en una sala de espejos.

Tal y como han sido planteados los hechos, hoy es necesario informar con claridad a todos vosotros, sobre un tema del que nunca hubiese querido hablar de este modo, tan abierto, precisamente por don Miguel. Con todo esto, nuestra fidelidad también se ve maltratada, pero más lustre dará a nuestro honor adelantarnos y levantar la bandera. Cada uno podrá ahora ir a la fuente antes controlada por los tenderos y así formarse su propia imagen de ese pasado; los libros permanecerán en la red después de este desliz, sea cual sea la voluntad de sus confusos publicadores de hoy. Así mismo, de nosotros dependerá ponderar y elevar cada respuesta futura sobre estos asuntos, en nosotros está la palabra que debe llegar hasta esos espacios virtuales que hoy los usurpadores toman sin oposición. “Lo que no puedas evitar, afróntalo con espíritu audaz”, (aforismo medieval).

Cada uno a lo suyo, brazo en alto,

Wolfram von Odal

Reyno de Chile, Domingo 11 de octubre del año 2009