You, who are reading this, and I, can never meet. But take these words. They are more precious than any possession, for they can arm your soul for what is coming. I did not choose to learn of these things, but I must tell of them, for one alone cannot hold them in mind and heart. What has been seen cannot be unseen.
You already know in your heart what I have to tell you. It is this. The cosmos has existed for immeasurable ages. The cosmos contains uncountable many worlds. Even if only few types of world can support life, these are still vast in number. It is probable that on some there evolved intelligent life. And if only one of these climbed the upwards path of evolution, their kind will have overcome the struggle of nature. Having mastered matter and energy, having defeated death, then, god-like, they will have reached a decision.
Having learned what chaos life is, they reached out to help less evolved beings. And they did what they thought was helping. But they learned what decay too much help brings about. They learned that evolution cannot be cheated. They cannot help other beings by letting them skip the struggle of nature. That path is necessary for learning, for growing spiritually, for becoming able to make sound choices.
And so, the god-like are torn between wishing to impose morality on the less evolved, and letting evolution take its course. How much can they help the less evolved, without making these decadent? Does a just balance emerge in the end if they leave worlds alone, or need it be imposed? Only raw reality can show. And so all comes to this: one simple world. No interventions, no complications. No way out but by victory. The war between good and evil brought to a deciding clash.
About the final battle-world, some things can be said. There will be a series of crises, which will either result in a dramatic improvement of the quality of humanity, or in stagnation and ruin. After a crisis will have been overcome, the situation will change until a new crisis is reached. This deterioration will transpire because of barbarism, trauma, hedonism, ignorance, and above all the inability to see reality for what it is. If all crises are dealt with, humanity will be able to continue the upwards path, and transcend towards a higher state, having permanently mastered its former animal-like state.
The final clash in nearing, but before the end of history, there comes one final crisis. Even now, the currents that are at times visible are increasing in strength, drawing in everything, until all will erupt in such a manner as is unimaginable. If one wishes to understand why, one needs to see the patterns of life, and the crucial differences between beings. Every being that has ever existed, and will ever exist, always does that which makes it feel good. Some feel pleasure when getting what they want, even when hurting others. Some beings feel pleasure when they help others. This primal difference decides everything.
This discrepancy is by birth. It cannot be mended, because we cannot change already existing beings. The evil cannot be permanently changed into good by words, hopes, prayers, material things, force, meditation or medicine.
One day there must come the last war, on this battle-plane, or else life will be the same suffering of mankind, into infinity, because that humanity will no longer be changeable, because it will be too large, and it will not submit to change, because it will be a beast that only cares for fulfilling its animal cravings.
The question then arises: how do you define a human being? By counting the number of eyes, ears, arms, legs, the type, location or size of organs, the ability to speak, think, calculate? No. It is defined above all by the absence of inhuman acts.
There are two, within the world and outside it, one beast, and one angel.
The beast despises the weaker, hates those stronger than itself, and knows nothing else than conflict with those of matching power. It denies the right of others to posses anything or be free, yet cries out with a hundred mouths when it is crossed. When it is assured of its power it lashes out at all around, tormenting others by its existence. When not sure, among those pure who do not perceive yet its evil, it tries to make itself accepted, and plans things so its true intentions will stay hidden until it be too late for those it preys upon. Upon the path of darkness the demon gives up hands, feet, eyes and ears to rule... and finds itself without hold in the world, falling into void. It cannot rule for long, for it is self-defeating and cannot find the light.
Then there is the true spirit. The warrior-angel, not bound by oath or sign, but by not being able to do wrong, and by disarming love to those whom it serves. If power means freedom, then the spirit is not powerful, for it must keep to many laws. Feeling pain, it learns to not inflict it. Seeing beauty, it wishes to not forget it. Its fate is to fight the beasts, and keep them from tearing at the world, exposing them, resisting their lures, giving up self to safeguard others. The spirit is strong, and knows truth, but has little rest, for the battle is eternal, and the prayers of those that have been wronged call out to the spirit.
Would you sell all the world to darkness to gain god-like power? Would you be tormented endlessly to save those that do not even acknowledge the higher justice? Only these two are divine, and they war without end. The one who prevails decides whether they are both exterminated or both forgiven.
These soul-defining choices are yours to make. I have only the prophecy of inevitable truth to grant you: The battle will be absolute, and one will be thrown off the world.
I have seen it. It is coming. No-one can stop it.
Victory is that which must be gained at any cost. War is the ultimate simplification: kill or be killed. Here all indirection is abandoned, and spirits take on the final role. A spirit can wait for ages, for when all shall gather, to go and carry out the final labour.
The spirits of those perished, released from pain of flesh, look onto the earth still, for they cannot depart until fate be fulfilled. They wait, praying that cleansing come. As we, the living victorious, relive the moments of our enslavement, despair and humiliation, our souls are woven with the thunder. It feels as a wound, the hate for what the subhumans had done, that we cannot undo, and cannot escape. The rage across the ages rising, coming to cleanse the face of the earth.
We are not alive. We are an army souls, dreaming while we wait for the dawn when we shall be called forth for the final battle. There is a book of fire that we keep in our hearts, in which written are all deeds. One day the book will be opened, and names will be called out. For ages we have waited for our holy war, out from torment.
The realisation, at seeing and remembering everything: these beings are not like us. Do not let revulsion at what they inflicted drive you into spiritual retreat, for that will mean that chaos will reign onwards. Hold it in you, do not forget, but make yourself the will of the Creator upon this battle-plane. Pray the implacable prayer for the obliteration of all subhumans. Pray it with words while you breathe, give it existence with swallows while you eat, enable its words as your eyelids open, pray it on the battlefield, children of the light.
Now, remember. Open the doors to the house of your memory, that you have shut for fear of what they put there. Open the gates, remember, and when you have taken it all in, then you can come with me. Rise! Never may any one deny the vengeance of the tormented. From high the souls scream for justice, and they are become star-bright.
Remember: the things that forced their entry into the plane of life, taking somehow human form. Those that must not be named. The children of light that believe anyone speaks from their heart as they do. The demon in the world that enslaved the angel, destroying her in the end. The light that housed in the world that went out, and how all was darkness, forsaken, convulsed upon itself, wailing, trying to light the innocent candle anew.
And, after the end, the rebellion against chaos, soul by soul pushing the doors of darkness back, and then, the unbelievable feeling of victory. Not knowing that triumph would come until it was here. The ultimate victory of the children of light over the killing-things, the mass-killings-things, the home-crushers, the killers-from-far, the breakers-of-spirits, the mind-destroyers. Those that torture in secret, that mutilate their mark upon all, and hate the freedom of others. The opening of eyes and minds to the reality. The uncovering of the parasites. The moment in time when the awakened not yet enacted their reaction, but the subhumans realised what would happen. The cleansing.
