Vladimir Megre congratulates Bard Caravan 22.07.2013 21:00:00

Dear friends,

Today is July, 23, 2013 the Sunny Bards Love Caravan has a jubilee, 10 years.

This is wonderful! Let’s congratulate them altogether.

Perhaps, the chapter “The Bard's Ringing Sword” is about The Bards of the Caravan. It’s about those bards who have written their songs according to Anastasia’s motives. Of course, Anastasia is the head of bard singers.

I congratulate you and your grand grandmother who has saved her daughter named Barda and her word “Bard” up to today.

And I congratulate all my readers, the creators of Kin Estates with Summer People Day and Whole Earth Holiday. Have a nice holiday! We wish you the best of everything! Share your photos and videos from the holiday.
Sincerely yours,

Vladimir Megre



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The Bard's Ringing Sword

"Why did you construct your sentences so oddly when you were talking about the holiday, Anastasia? And you pronounced the words so that each letter sounded so distinct."
"I was trying to reproduce the picture of the holiday in its details and in detailed images."
"But what do the words have to do with this? What is their significance?"
"Behind each word I reproduced numerous events and joyous scenes. And now they will all become a reality. After all, thought and word are the Great Creator's main instrument, and of all those made flesh, only man has been given this instrument."
"Then why doesn't everything people say come to pass?"
"When they break the thread between Soul and word, when the Soul is empty and the image faded, then the words are empty, like noise, and they foretell nothing."
"This is some kind of fantasy, and, really, you believe it all like a child."
"What fantasy, Vladimir, if I could cite masses of examples from your own life of the power the word assumes if an intrinsic image is formed behind it?"
"Give me example I can understand."
"An example? As you wish.  A man stands on stage in front of an audience and speaks words. For example, an actor says the same words, and people hear them more than once.  But people are only going to listen to a certain actor with bated breath. Another they won't. The words are the same, but the difference is enormous. What do you think? Why this happen?
"The same goes for the actors. They study at the institute for a long time—some with top grades, some just so-so. Later in rehearsal, they memorize texts so they can say them expressively.
"They're taught at school how to enter into the image behind the word. Later, in rehearsal, they try to reproduce it.  If an actor knows how to form the invisible images behind ten percent of the words he utters, the audience will pay close attention.
"But if he can insert an image into half the words he utters, you call that actor brilliant, for his Soul will speak directly to the Souls of his audience.  People will cry or laugh when their Soul feels everything the actor hoped to convey. That is what the Great Creator's instrument is."
"But you, when you say something, how many words can you invest with images? Ten percent or fifty?"
"All of them. My great-grandfather taught me that."
"All of them? Wonderful! All the words?"
"My great-grandfather said that an image can be inserted into all the letters, so I learned to construct an image behind each letter."
"Why each letter? A letter has no meaning."
"A letter does have meaning! In Sanskrit, each letter has sentences and words behind it. There are letters in them too, and behind those many more words, and so infinity is concealed in each letter."
"Well that's just great. So here we are, just mumbling all our words."
"Yes, very often the words that have come down through the millennia are spoken just like that.  They come down, cutting through time and space, and the forgotten images that stand behind them to this day yearn to touch our Souls. They safeguard our souls and fight for them."
"What words are these? Do I know even one of them?"
"You do—as sound, I think. But people have forgotten what stands behind ше."
Anastasia lowered her eyelashes and was silent for a while. Then very quietly, almost in a whisper, she asked, "Vladimir, pronounce the word 'Bard.'"
"Bard," I said.
She winced, as if in pain, and said, "Oh, the indifference and banality with which you spoke that great word! You blew your forgetfulness and emptiness on the candle's flickering flame,  a flame carried through the ages and perhaps addressed to you or distant relatives living today. Neglect of the Sources is the desolation of the present day."
"What didn't you like about my pronunciation? And what should I remember that's connected with the word?"
Anastasia was silent. Then in a softly resonant voice she began pronouncing sentences that seemed to come out of eternity:
"Long before the birth of Christ, people lived on Earth, our forefathers known as Celts. They called their wise teachers druids. Many peoples who inhabited the Earth then honored the druids' knowledge of the material and spiritual worlds.
"The Celts' warriors never bared their weapon in a druid's presence. In order to attain the initial druid level, you had to study individually with the Great Spiritual Preceptor—a druid priest—for twenty years.
"He who had been initiated was called a 'Bard.' He had a moral right to go among the people and sing, to instill Light and Truth in people with his song, using his words in order to shape images that healed the Soul.
"Roman legions attacked the Celts. The final battle took place by a river. The Romans saw women with their hair loose walking among the Celtic warriors. The Roman military leaders knew that when those women walked among them, they had to outnumber the Celts sixfold in order to defeat them.
"Neither those Roman military leaders nor present-day historians have been able to figure out why this was so. But they knew it had something to do with those unarmed women with loosened hair.
"The Romans advanced a host outnumbering the Celts ninefold. Backed up to the river, the last family of Celts were perishing.
"They stood in a semi-circle, and behind their backs a young woman was nursing a tiny baby girl and singing. The young mother was singing a light and not sad song, so that fear and sorrow would not settle in the little girl's soul and so that she would have images of light.
"When the little girl broke away from her mother's teat, their gazes would meet, and the woman would break off her song, each time tenderly calling the little girl 'Barda.'
"There was no more defending semi-circle. A bloodied young Bard holding a sword stood on the path between the Roman legionaries and the nursing woman. He turned to the woman, their eyes met, and they smiled at each other.
"The wounded Bard was able to hold off the Romans until the woman had descended to the river, placed the tiny girl in a boat, and pushed the boat from shore.
"With his last effort of will, the bloodied Bard threw his sword at the young woman's feet. She raised the sword, and she fought the legionaries on the narrow path for four hours straight, not letting them through to the river. As the legionaries tired, they spelled each other on the path.
"The Roman military leaders watched in silent astonishment but could not understand why strong and experienced soldiers were unable to so much as scratch the woman's body.
"She battled for four hours. Then she burned up. Her lungs dried out from dehydration, for she hadn't had so much as a drop of water, and blood spewed from her beautiful cracked lips.
"Slowly dropping to her knees and falling, she was able to send one more faint smile after the boat carrying Barda, the little singer of the future, downstream. The word and the word's image she saved have been carried down through the millennia to us today.
"The human essence is not only in the flesh. Immeasurably greater and more significant are invisible feelings and aspirations, and sensations are only partly reflected in what is material, as in a mirror.
"Little Barda became a young woman, then a woman and mother. She lived on Earth and sang. Her songs gave people only light emotions, and like an all-healing Ray, they helped disperse the Soul's gloom.
"Many mundane hardships and deprivations sought to extinguish the source of this Ray. Invisible, dark forces tried to break through to it, but they could not overcome the sole obstacle—those standing on their path.
"Human essence is not in the flesh, Vladimir.  The Bard's bloodied body sent into eternity a smile from the light of his Soul, reflecting the Light of the invisible human essence.  The lungs of the young mother holding the sword burned up, and blood spewed from the cracks in her lips that had received the Bard's smile.
"Vladimir, believe me now. Understand.  Hear the ringing of the Bard's invisible sword deflecting the onslaught of that which is malicious and dark on the path to his descendants' Souls. Please, Vladimir, pronounce the word once more:  'Bard.'"
"I can't.  I can't say it with the proper significance yet. Later I definitely will."
"Thank you for not pronouncing it, Vladimir."
"Tell me, Anastasia, since you can say. Who today directly descends from that nursing woman and the young woman, the songstress Barda? And the warrior Bard who fought on the path? Who could forget such a thing?  Whose stock is it?"
"Vladimir, think about why this question arose in you."
"I want to have a look at him or at those who have failed to remember such a thing, to remember or sense their kinship."
"Maybe you want to make sure it isn't you who has failed to remember?"
"What do I have to do with . . . I see, Anastasia, don't answer. Each person should think about it."
"Good," she replied and then fell silent, gazing at me.
I, too, was silent for a while under the impression of the picture Anastasia had drawn, then I asked her, "Why did you choose this particular word?"
"To show you how the images that stand behind the words in the real world will soon become a reality. Thousands of guitar strings are going to sound now under the fingers of Russia's present-day bards. Also, when I dreamed all this, in the taiga, they were the first to feel it. Their Souls. . . .
"At first a flame flickered in just one, and a delicate guitar string trembled, and then the Souls of others picked it up and responded. Soon many people will hear their songs. They—the bards—will help see a new dawn. A dawn of enlightenment for men's Souls. You will hear their songs. New songs, songs of dawn.