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
Hell's 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 the
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 another step;
Then a third one-
And he already leaves the corporeal shell.
the first step who will not think about the second one?
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 blind.
It is foolish to cut the threads
which run through the phases of existence.
Existence: from becoming physical
to becoming un-physical.
Who, when breathing in, hesitates to breath
Why fear, oh man, to breath out to becoming un-physical?
you 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
It is vain, to want to be that warm.
It is foolish,
to adore the shells
which guide through the phases of existence.
And when attaching oneself
How easy it is to see their shells for humans,
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
And always direct attention
to the goal.
Then one can enjoy the material the most:
knows the boundaries.
Is it not the best laughter
the tempers of melancholy?
the four Holy Emperors are immortal
Their body sublimed
When they grasped the hands
Of Him who is incomprehensible.
After them, everyone shed their coats
And it shall be this way in the
The last breath escaping from the chest
Makes the seams of
the shells pop
And the fabric disintegrate.
The chest collapses,
The belly rattles,
The skin becomes like wax.
You who ascends through
Protected by your guides,
Who beholds your fear with wonder:
This is the third step
But dying it is not.
he who is detached
Goes from the one into the other.
Him the tunnel
Him the gate is awaiting,
Him the meadow is awaiting;
But he is not dazed!
He shall see them all,
The volatile spirits,
The demons he shall see
And maybe the Gods too.
If his eye is not
He shall see.
If his ear is not glued,
He shall hear.
Clarity will be with him in laughter
And he will not distinguish anymore
Between seconds and aeons,
Between miles and fathoms,
Tight he felt when he came out of his mother's belly:
That tight he felt again when leaving his shells.
But now he is light
And he does not cry like last time.
He left behind on
The threatening authorities of eternity
Together with their
The majesty of the transition
Elevates a soul who
And gained in noble fight!
Fear leaves you: great
is your luck.
Like moon crescents Hell stretches her hands:
thereof is shining your unearthly path.
The angled cross is turning around,
Ever calm, but inevitable.
Seeing it makes you learn many things
makes you experience the turning of the All.
Then you will perceive your
task with awe
And silently you will acknowledge your fall
will hear that you have risen,
resurrected from the deep indignity.
Then, stirred, grasp with both hands
Your fate and help decide your aid
Which will be your dwelling after the spiritual world!
All who honor
the Gods, who acknowledge the All in respect,
May claim such an unfolding.
Calm he may be he who grows without attachment.
He may hope to come here
for the last time
before the shells would cloth him in another earthly
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;
They determine 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:
will be detached,
Will be free,
Will shake the cycle from him
a dead snake.
The chains falls off: the spirit stands free,
from any compulsion
And already half blessed in Him who is home to everyone.
If his eyes don't wander,
He will not get under any spell!
being will evaporate
And dissolve into the being of Him.
But if he
His heart is moved with compassion!
And already he decides
Who just was sheltering himself.
His eyes are radiating
throughout the All,
A string is offered to him,
A string of taking
Of so many beads
As will be his return to
realm of need.
A God dissolves,
His task of Lord accomplished:
His place determines the fate
Of he who freely and fully
Makes the earth vibrate
With his golden foot.
will not be given a lot of gratefulness.
He already it knows well beforehand
And unwavering he traverses his cycle.
No other need pressures him
Than his holy pledge,
As he has already ascended the earthly bonds.
Out of free will he takes the heavy cane,
Bearing the backpack and the
The body around him pays its toll
What silently needs
to be paid:
A Great Spirit does not stagger and bides his time.
knows 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.
becomes heavier each time
He takes it upon his shoulders.
through his knees during the last time
He knows he will ascend into the
The only one who always prevails
And who he knows as Something,
with nothing behind.
That 'absolutum' is only granted to him
from the cycle by way of offering:
The others dissolve,
being free itself, knows.
Has the old World Year gone
the new One arisen,
Even than the Law does not change.
things remains true to their selves.
But at the end of it:
go the path
Through the tunnel and the gate
To the meadow.
How many among them
Will be detached
He who is not, will wake,
Wake in the Night,
The Night of All,
And lies between All and All.
Who will ascend into Him
Behind whom there is nothing?
Wake o man, now the time
That you will not wake
And lonely try
To drown a System
that does not exist anymore.
In the need of loneliness
Until a grim
Of chaotic new Universe.
Breathe the breath in;
the breath out.
Be your own master,
Your own priest,
Your own religious
Very many will go,
Few will reject themselves.
Sharp be your gaze-
The Law never changes.
In the Night of All,
Do not wake!
Then you are not supposed to be anymore;
Be in Him, until
at dawn He
Splices Himself again, evaporating
And throwing away substances
Purify yourself of strange contamination
And listen to the
voice in your soul,
The rustling of your spirit.
In there every answer