Monday, November 14, 2011

Home...

On the causes of decline in the ability of Whites to recognize their own culture, one thing that never seems to get factored into the equation much is the modern ease/necessity of mobility at a time when the attacks upon our history is increasing as fast as the rate of foreigners pouring into out lands.

By that I mean the ability/desire/necessity of moving from town to town -across state- out of state- back and forth- and so on. It’s rare in modern America to have the same neighbors for more than a few years. And as a consequence a loss of physical, geographical, well-rooted identity has become epidemic.

Strange faces are strange faces. If you are new to an area, having no long term ties to that community and find it already multi-culted and its inhabitants socially atomized due to “diversity”, then you are more likely to except it as is; as being what it has always been and therefore feel no great inclination to defend it (It’s not really yours after all and nobody else seems to care).

It was not always like this. Western man used to have, not a home, but a Home.

There was a time when you would grow up, live, marry, age and die in the same general area your father, grand-father and great grandfather lived out their lives before you. You would walk the same streets, drive the same roads, hunt in the same woods, shop in the same stores, etc that your kin who came before you did.

Not only that, but the people around you, the friends you grew up with, had the same sense of blood-tied roots to the land and its monuments, whether they be a town tree or favorite fishing pond, that you did. The people you lived and worked with had, for the most part, the same names and surnames as those your grandfather and his fathers before him would recognize.

The hills, the rivers, the meadows and even the sky above you were the shelter of your people for countless generations. There was a familiarity in them that was almost primal. The very soil itself had been nurtured and stained with the blood, sweat and tears of your forbearers.

Every town (though they may be little more than five miles apart) had its own post office, fire department, school, mayor, etc. And each town had its own personality, mood and reputation. They were, for all intents and purposes, the whole world to their inhabitants.

It wasn’t just a residence, it was a place of spiritual fortitude of the soul. A place of deep conscience and unconscious memory shared by those around you. It was yours!
And you would face down the abominable hordes of hell alone to defend even the smallest, most insignificant corner of it.

In that world every stranger was immediately noticeable as “out of place”.

That is not to say we didn’t recognize our own kind. We certainly did. But we categorized our fellow-travelers within concentric circles of likeness; the same accent, the same language, the same denomination, the same faith, the same politics, etc. But despite the nuances in differences those concentric circles always held the same center, (White) Western Civilization.

What we see today is a loss of that center in the loss of geo-cultural identity. And as foreigners move in and alter a place’s local culture and personality, Whites are set even more adrift with out either an anchor to hold position or hope of a safe harbor in the future.

Home is not where you hang your hat. Home is where you were born and where YOUR people Live (with a capital L). It is that place you come back to after you have explored the distant horizons to find comfort in the familiar.

In short, most White people have no sense of a true Home today. They cannot define themselves because they cannot define their civilization/Home.

And men fight for Home, and all it stands for (wife, children, parents, grandparents, familiar roads, favorite ponds, well trodden woods, childhood memories by a brook, football games in the autumn, old barns barely of use and the very dirt upon which it all stands.)

For Home, Western man has stood firm and fought victoriously time and again over the long ages against countless foreign hordes.

For Home, Western man will meet each stranger (friendly or not) with the fierce protective spirit of Lioness guarding her young and an expression that says, tread carefully, for you walk now upon all that I hold dear!

Without Home there is no Us.

Without Home there is no way to define your own people as apart from strangers. And without the ability or willingness to differentiate between the two, you are vulnerable prey to those who can, and very much will, tell you apart from their own.