This text was written by the inspiration
of the Germanic goddess Hell. All this sounds sinister, but it is the
opposite. I will let Jan-Anton explain all this himself in the Preface
to the Germanic Book of the Dead.
Original text is copyrighted by
Jan-Anton van Hoek.
Preface to the
Germanic Book of the Dead
A book of the Dead in the "classical" sense, as
it is the case with the Egyptian or the very different Tibetan Book of
the Dead, does not need to be rewritten for the new
World Year: that which is eternal
in these Books of the Dead can not be improved - that which does not
apply anymore has already lost its power, without the need to refute.
The Germanic Book of the Dead is not like the other Books of the Dead.
It is not a guide to avoid reincarnation and it is not a manual to avoid
judging justice: these concepts are not a focus the Germanic Book of the
Dead. The Germanic Book of the Dead has its name because it relies on
what Hell -the Goddess of Death- visionary has revealed. Of course, the
term "Germanic" is of no other significance than its connection to the
Northern European pagan concept, that in its esoteric meaning goes back
to the times of emperor Hoetan (the first mortal emperor). Her message
is intentionally intended for the New World Year and will be of cosmic
importance for a long time. When reading it, do remember that many who
read a mystical treatise will try to compare it to others which they
deem similar. It may be that disappointment will be the result. Hell's
words are clear, concise, and sometimes even abrupt. The Goddess does
not lose time, although she has time in plentitude.
Hell herself? How
many times did I not see and do I still see Hell, who speaks without
even one word and lets me know everything I desire! As she appears,
light brown of hair, with helm like crown on her head, wearing a purple
attire, her smile lightly mocking and her green eyes lightly closed; her
power is tangible by surroundings of by acolytes and demons of death of
many appearances, (translator: Jan-Anton van Hoek does not use the word
'demons' in the classical sense; he calls demons a particular class of
very powerful and highly spiritual beings which by their appearance or
actions can be frightful), also surrounded by dragons and monsters. Her
irony does not mock anybody but is simply above time, and in so much as
the wriggling of mankind is or could not be anything more than just
wriggling. Of course, Hell should not be confused with Loki's daughter
Hell from the old World Year: it is the same spirit, but now, after
Ragnarok (the twilight of the Gods), she has been purified and is one of
the most positive creative forces in the cosmos; which also applies for
the giants (now guardians of order), the wolf Fenris (guardian of the
All, and servant of the Holy dragon), and the serpent Iörmungandr
(priest of Eternity and First servant of the Solar cult on earth). It is
there that one of the first seeds of the resurrected esoteric Paganism
is. Even in the old Word Year, Rudolf the Wise One (translator:
Jan-Anton calls Rudolf his brother whom he has met since ancient time,
and who is now on the spirit side and in contact with Jan-Anton), could
trust that a dying religion could brought back to a new life. But now
the verdict has been made: that impasse is over; the word is for those
who posses esoteric knowledge and are able to bring it out into the
open, and this is definitive.
How cosmically inspiring is the thought
about Gods, about their holy imperturbability! How blessed is he who is
able to feel their power and feels himself connected to them!
inspiration is within me and is leading the creations of my spirit. The
fact that her name -as with many of the Gods- has been changed for the
worst, does not affect her name: a precious stone can be covered with
mud but it remains the same precious stone. One can imagine Hell's
laughter about this all: "I am Hell, if that pleases you or not. It does
please me." Finally this: I cannot say that this Book of the Dead is my
creation. It is by Hell's power of inspiration that it was written on
paper; in this I am nothing, no mystic in the classical interpretation,
even not a medium in the parapsychological meaning of the word. I simply
know that Hell wants to communicate this - it is not explainable how.
And I am passing it on. May the Germanic Book of Death give comfort and
understanding; when understanding has been achieved, comfort is not
necessary anymore. May it be a contribution to the learning of mankind:
the learning of being born, living, dying, living after dying, and
everything related to it. Nothing more than a contribution! Our book
shows, but it does not teach, that man has to conclude and act by
himself - now that he has the freedom to do this. Death harbors secrets
for sure, and those are twofold: first the secrets that one can only
find by himself, and secondly the secrets that can be written down and
that form a passport of life and after-life and at the same time are
reflections of both existences of life. Because what is called "life" or
"death" is nothing more than a door between two rooms of the House of
life. Regarding the style of writing, the subject seemed to be
sufficiently poetic to let Hell's concise inspiration-sentences to be as
they were. Thus I have avoided as much as possible the style of an
essay, and I have given the preference to a more poetic approach.
The Germanic Book of
Birth is not; life is not; dying is not;
are not: they form parts of a Whole.
He who is born from the womb
into the life of flesh
makes one step forwards;
The he makes
Then a third one-
And he already leaves the
With the first step who will not think about the
And though, who dares to think about the third one
when he is making the second one?
He is vain, suddenly to want to be
It is foolish to cut the threads
which run through the
phases of existence.
Existence: from becoming physical
Who, when breathing in, hesitates to breath out?
fear, oh man, to breath out to becoming un-physical?
perceive is both mortal
Shells die off, like a coat
of sometimes also being torn: a new shell follows.
does one wear a coat
When one lies down for a rest?
One time, for
any who suffers from the cold,
If he wants; the time will come when
cold will not have any hold on him anymore,
And without a coat he
becomes happy and satisfied.
As long as he cosmically shivers, he
will need shells
And with his earth bound gaze
He attaches himself
to them as it was so heavily important.
It is vain, to want to be
It is foolish, to adore the shells
which guide through
the phases of existence.
Shells: from materialization
And when attaching oneself to others:
it is to see their shells for humans,
How easy one thinks the
breaking of their eye,
Is the breaking of their soul!
No one is the property of the other.
One does not feel bereft,
Because also the coats of others
Fall like rags from the shoulders.
Only he who lives in detachment
Nothing is your
property, and you are nothing.
Your coat has been loaned to you
Until it drops down when worn out.
That is the way to go
always direct attention to the goal.
Then one can enjoy the material
One profoundly knows the boundaries.
Is it not the best
which underlies the tempers of melancholy?
the four Holy Emperors are
Their body sublimed
When they grasped the hands
who is incomprehensible.
After them, everyone shed their coats
it shall be this way in the future.
The last breath escaping from the
Makes the seams of the shells pop
And the fabric
The chest collapses,
The belly rattles,
becomes like wax.
You who ascends through the narrow,
Who beholds your fear with wonder:
This is the third
But dying it is not.
Only he who is detached
Goes from the one into the other.
Him the tunnel is awaiting,
the gate is awaiting,
Him the meadow is awaiting;
But he is not
He shall see them all,
The volatile spirits,
he shall see
And maybe the Gods too.
If his eye is not glued
If his ear is not glued,
He shall hear.
be with him in laughter
And he will not distinguish anymore
Between seconds and aeons,
Between miles and fathoms,
Hundredweights from grains.
Tight he felt when he came out of his
That tight he felt again when leaving his shells.
But now he is light and playful
And he does not cry like last time.
He left behind on earth
The threatening authorities of eternity
Together with their suffering soul.
The majesty of the transition
Elevates a soul who gained nobility
And gained in noble fight!
Fear leaves you: great is your luck.
Like moon crescents Hell
stretches her hands:
The light thereof is shining your unearthly
The angled cross is turning around,
Ever calm, but
Seeing it makes you learn many things
And makes you
experience the turning of the All.
Then you will perceive your task
And silently you will acknowledge your fall
And you will
hear that you have risen,
resurrected from the deep indignity.
Then, stirred, grasp with both hands
Your fate and help decide your
Which will be your dwelling after the spiritual world!
honor the Gods, who acknowledge the All in respect,
May claim such an
Calm he may be he who grows without attachment.
hope to come here for the last time
before the shells would cloth him
in another earthly attire.
The detached ones do not return;
The attached ones remain bound to the earthly cycle.
They help to
choose the mother's belly which shall give birth to them;
determine their fate;
Their fate is always suffering.
He who has
left behind everything;
He who is death to preaching of penance;
He who goes his path undeceived:
He will be detached,
Will shake the cycle from him
Like a dead snake.
chains falls off: the spirit stands free,
Disconnected from any
And already half blessed in Him who is home to everyone.
If his eyes don't wander,
He will not get under any spell!
innate being will evaporate
And dissolve into the being of Him.
But if he looks behind,
His heart is moved with compassion!
already he decides to rescue
Who just was sheltering himself.
eyes are radiating throughout the All,
A string is offered to him,
A string of taking pity, rich
Of so many beads
As will be his
The earthly realm of need.
A God dissolves,
of Lord accomplished:
His place determines the fate
Of he who
freely and fully
With majestic benevolence,
Makes the earth
With his golden foot.
He will not be given a lot of
He already it knows well beforehand
he traverses his cycle.
No other need pressures him
Than his holy
As he has already ascended the earthly bonds.
Out of free
will he takes the heavy cane,
Bearing the backpack and the heavy
The body around him pays its toll
What silently needs to be
A Great Spirit does not stagger and bides his time.
how long his candle will burn
And is ready, to extinguish himself the
wick at the end.
That which man believes to be his luck,
not care about: he knows it already
And knows man's illusion.
shall he really snarl from his high post,
Or only allow his body, to
The wriggling of the lusting brood of man?
He knows very
well, how many times he has left
Passing through this earth again.
The burden becomes heavier each time
He takes it upon his shoulders.
Then, bending through his knees during the last time
He knows he will
ascend into the Will,
The only one who always prevails
And who he
knows as Something, with nothing behind.
That 'absolutum' is only
granted to him
Who escapes from the cycle by way of offering:
The Godhead, being free itself, knows.
the old World Year gone
And the new One arisen,
Even than the Law
does not change.
The biggest things remains true to their selves.
But at the end of it:
Many will go the path
Through the tunnel and
To the meadow.
How many among
Will be detached
He who is not, will wake,
Wake in the Night,
The Night of All,
between All and All.
Who will ascend into Him
Behind whom there is
Wake o man, now the time is here
will not wake
And lonely try
To drown a System that does not exist
In the need of loneliness
Until a grim day dawns
chaotic new Universe.
Breathe the breath in;
Breathe the breath
Be your own master,
Your own priest,
Your own religious
Very many will go,
Few will reject
Sharp be your gaze-
The Law never changes.
Night of All,
Do not wake!
Then you are not supposed to be
Be in Him, until at dawn He
Splices Himself again,
And throwing away substances of soul.
of strange contamination
And listen to the voice in your soul,
rustling of your spirit.
In there every answer is present.