The Golden One - Marcus Follin - Savitri Devi's Epic Quote On Genghis Khan

March 23, 2024 - The Golden One - Marcus Follin

01:53

Savitri Devi's Epic Quote On Genghis Khan

Excerpt from The Greatest Podcast: Episode 44. The Lightning and the Sun Full episode available here: https://thegoldenone.se/podcast/ ⚜High-Thumos European Clothing: https://legiogloria.com/ 🌱Jotunheim Nutrition Sverige: https://jotunheimnutrition.se/ Europe: https://jotunheimnutrition.de/ US: https://jotunheimnutrition.com/ Social Media 👑Telegram: https://t.me/thegoldenone ☀️Homepage: https://thegoldenone.se/ 𝕏 https://twitter.com/TheGloriousLion 🪐Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/thegoldenjarl/ https://www.instagram.com/jotunheimnutrition/ 🐸Gab: https://gab.com/TheGoldenOne 💡Minds: https://www.minds.com/TheGloriousLion/ Financial Contributions https://www.subscribestar.com/thegoldenone https://thegoldenone.se/contact/ My books Dauntless and Demigod Mentality are available here: https://legiogloria.com/

Time	Text
	Huelun also told him of his ancestors, the Burijin, the blue-eyed heroes, sons of the legendary blue wolf.
	Their voices, she said, rolled as thunder in the mountains, their hands were as strong as bears' paws, breaking men in two as easily as arrows.
	In the winter nights they slept naked by a fire of mighty trees, and they felt the sparks and embers that fell upon them no more than insect bites.
	And the lad listened with elation to those ancient tales in the evenings by the fire of his mother's yurt, while the bitter wind, the same wind that has stirred the steppe with aimless fury on the night he was conceived, howled in the nearby birch tree forest and over the grassy expanses.
	And the howling of the wind sounded like the unearthly lament of ten thousand hungry hounds, like the persistent call of ghostly trumpets, like the cry of dying men and heroes upon a battlefield as broad as the world.
	Terrible presences from the superhuman sphere, Kelets, spirit of the everlasting blue sky, whom even the bravest dread, for one cannot fight that which one cannot see, filled the freezing starry night.
	But Temujin was not afraid.
	In those moments of pride and elation, his deep instinct told him that the Kelets of the sky never would do any harm to him.
	On the contrary, that they would help him in whatever he would undertake, that he was their chosen one for some great work of power of which he knew nothing yet.
	He felt within himself their frightful, impersonal irresistibility.
	But he was no dreamer, and when the morning came, he put that might stirred in him by the voice of his racial past and by the voice of the unseen to the service of the one aim which he understood and pursued as worth its while.
	His own survival, his own victory over hunger, poverty and humiliation, over the difficulties of his everyday life as an outcast, keeping in mind all the time that the first condition of security for him was the annihilation of his father's kinsmen who had robbed him of his Urdu.

Time

Text

Huelun also told him of his ancestors, the Burijin, the blue-eyed heroes, sons of the legendary blue wolf.

Their voices, she said, rolled as thunder in the mountains, their hands were as strong as bears' paws, breaking men in two as easily as arrows.

In the winter nights they slept naked by a fire of mighty trees, and they felt the sparks and embers that fell upon them no more than insect bites.

And the lad listened with elation to those ancient tales in the evenings by the fire of his mother's yurt, while the bitter wind, the same wind that has stirred the steppe with aimless fury on the night he was conceived, howled in the nearby birch tree forest and over the grassy expanses.

And the howling of the wind sounded like the unearthly lament of ten thousand hungry hounds, like the persistent call of ghostly trumpets, like the cry of dying men and heroes upon a battlefield as broad as the world.

Terrible presences from the superhuman sphere, Kelets, spirit of the everlasting blue sky, whom even the bravest dread, for one cannot fight that which one cannot see, filled the freezing starry night.

But Temujin was not afraid.

In those moments of pride and elation, his deep instinct told him that the Kelets of the sky never would do any harm to him.

On the contrary, that they would help him in whatever he would undertake, that he was their chosen one for some great work of power of which he knew nothing yet.

He felt within himself their frightful, impersonal irresistibility.

But he was no dreamer, and when the morning came, he put that might stirred in him by the voice of his racial past and by the voice of the unseen to the service of the one aim which he understood and pursued as worth its while.

His own survival, his own victory over hunger, poverty and humiliation, over the difficulties of his everyday life as an outcast, keeping in mind all the time that the first condition of security for him was the annihilation of his father's kinsmen who had robbed him of his Urdu.