[vortigern] lovely chap who invited us here

Appropriate day to post this. The Celtic site continues:

Vortigern was a warlord in Britain during the 5th century A.D. By all accounts, Vortigern appeared to be a usurper and a pretender to the rule of Britain and was shown to be a man of low character and inclinations. He achieved his position through assassination and treachery, killing even the young king, Constans, to whom he was an advisor.

Constans' baby brother, Uther, was unknown to Vortigern and so escaped his treachery. Vortigern ruled Britain with the aid of Saxon mercenaries who kept him in power until he, too, dealt with them harshly.

The Saxons eventually turned on him and Vortigern met his death in a blazing castle tower in Wales at the hands of Geoffrey of Monmouth, although some sources claim that the tower was mysteriously struck by lightning, catching it on fire.

(Later, when the Tarot decks of the middle ages and renaissance were designed, this imagery became the inspiration behind the card "The Tower". Vortigern is the figure in the foreground plummeting headfirst from the lightning-blasted tower.)

After Geoffrey's rule of Britain, Constans' brother, Uther Pendragon, became ruler of Britain, and Uther Pendragon was the father of the legendary King Arthur.

It all goes to remind us just how pagan and barbaric Britain has actually remained under the surface and how relevant the sacrificial groves [I’m quite near some Welsh ones and often pop down to observe proceedings], Rosslyn, Glastonbury, the Once and Future King et al, are to these dark satanic times. The Wicker Man found his ignorance of the real Bretagne to his cost.

Dark doings might penetrate the night, the Keepers of the Dawn might usher in the Morning Star, for whose delectation the Eastern Star awaits, the sacred feminin may be enshrined elsewhere and the Moriah avenging wind could well be poised to consume all. Kabbalah shabbalah [or whatever manifestation the message takes at the time] maitreya betrayer delayer [as it fails to pan out as planned], whichever image your master currently chooses to utilize, sorry to blunt your daggers, oh robed and hooded ones - the grand vision just ain’t gonna happen, however much you symbolically hang out your Calvist messages for all to see, beneath Blackfriar’s Bridge or splattered over Pillar 13.

The thing is, yawn, there’s the infuriating little Davidian problem of the Cross to overcome first. You might have torn the hearts out of the messengers, Agents Smith but you can never tear the heart out of the message.