Leonidas. Karmic Memories

On the return journey from Athens our bus stopped at Thermopylae. These are hot springs by a steep gorge, between Mount Oeta and the sea (the Maliac Gulf). A section of beach was blocked across in order to defend Greece from land attacks coming from the continent. Thanks to its strategic position Thermopylae always played an important role by marking out a defensive position.

The most important battle was fought here in 480 B.C. According to a group of historians the battle was unnecessary. Some traitor led the Medes behind the defended pass. King Leonidas dismissed about 4,000 allied soldiers so that with 300 swords, attacked from both sides, he could defend this place as a matter of principle, according to the Spartan understanding of honor, until the death of all defenders.

Stories like this still inspired me twenty years ago. Drafted during Martial Law I wore the uniform of a Border Protection Troops serviceman. According to the doctrine in force at the time “I defended socialism as if it were independence.” Little by little, working with my “Affirmations for Soldiers” and my own recorded decree “Soldiers, wars, battles, commanders,” I was leaving behind war confusion.

The Spartan way of total struggle is unpleasant to me today. Those 300 strong but foolish men aroused such reluctance in me that I stepped reluctantly from the bus with the other travelers at the place of the Thermopylae clash. Only to relax after several hours of travel.

The sculpture with a single black armed figure is energetically modeled on monuments of the Third Reich. One person, not hiding emotion, asked me to photograph them beside the pedestal of the fallen Greek heroes. A clear sentiment toward Leonidas manifested in that being with transfer of personal emotions onto another’s experiences. That person, as time revealed, had once been a Persian who passed through this place toward Athens over the bodies of Spartans.

When I returned to Poland, together with Greek memories, Leonidas himself also came to me. And while releasing emotions I recalled from Divine Memory that beach, that battle.

I can write that the team received a magnificent reward for fighting. I accepted mine with the energetic trace of a sword embedded in my torso.

How did the final battle come about? It was an episode in a cycle spread over many incarnations and many campaigns, of training and earlier military experiences. The whole group trained, for example, in one of the schools in the Wu-Dang mountains where Leonidas was a master of combat for himself and his students.

Gathered once again in one place, we could prove by deed how we had been trained and what we were capable of.

Leonidas’ name is associated with character and struggle always and everywhere. From ancient pre-Macedonian Greece, apart from the “Athenians” and cultural people such as writers and artists, we commonly know few names. No rulers apart from mythical heroes. Leonidas is the only Greek king, the only Spartan who survived in all textbooks and in common awareness.

Meanwhile “Stranger, tell Sparta that we lie here obedient to her laws.” Such a phrase not reflecting truth about motives was placed upon the monument of the fallen.

One could describe similarly a man who in the 1980s drank a liter of vodka and then lost a wager that he could smash through a brick wall head first. Persistence at the price of suffering, at the price of foolish unnecessary death.

Although that is not the way, the battle fought 2,500 years ago, its soldiers and commander remain an enduring model for hundreds of generations of Greeks and millions of people of foreign nations.

Let us also see what happens in the USA and in those lands where one can and should keep a rifle beneath the pillow.

Let us consider how to live daily life if in friendship, carrying swords, a pistol at one’s side and a will to struggle in one’s heart, we are to stand before the Creative Force of Love and ask, “Accept me to Yourself God as I am now.”

Around Thermopylae and the legend of Leonidas there exists quite an interesting confusion.

The Greeks properly appreciated his sacrifice by raising a monument to those values, hiring Medes to create a promotional campaign. These found an opportunity to diminish as much as possible the greatness of that decision.

How was it really?

Setting out from Sparta Leonidas selected only warriors who had sons. Allied foot hoplites numbered around 4,000. There were no pampered Athenians among them.

The main army was to arrive after the festival of Apollo Carneius and the Olympic Games ended.

The 70,000 men of Xerxes however did not wish to wait. Their attacks on Thermopylae until betrayal occurred gave no result.

The forces surrounded from both sides were reduced by 3,000 men sent back to defend their homes. Spartans and 700 Thespians covered their retreat.

At the same time naval combat took place.

The Hellenes possessed a fleet of 270 triremes and smaller vessels with approximately 5,000 people aboard.

Capture of Thermopylae by the Medes and opening the gates would have brought slaughter of the dismissed Greek infantry by enemy cavalry and chariots. The entire fleet would also have been destroyed, and not from the sea but from the land side because escape was only possible close to shore and only for two ships at once.

Whoever gave time to others this way no longer granted himself the right to return home.

In the Akashic Chronicle there is also information about a private war fought long ago between Xerxes and Leonidas.

There is also a record of Leonidas’ beautiful beloved daughter who suffered an accident and whose arm could not be saved from gangrene.

The child’s beauty, charm and love of a disabled daughter toward her father conflicted with the code of Lycurgus.

Having rid himself of the child according to that code and laws of karma shared by them both, Leonidas no longer wished to return home from the expedition.

Poles know well the idea of fighting to the end.

We had the Deluge, there were Turks, partitions.

In every war some master appears who wants or must prove determination and love of war.

There were Polish Thermopylae during the Polish-Soviet War. More followed in September 1939.

At the Battle of the Bzura River Captain Raginis now called the Polish Leonidas commanded. Of his 720 soldiers only a few survived. He himself blew himself up in the final bunker.

Commanders and kings sending soldiers to death while acting from concealment are an entirely different song.

We may choose the path of struggle or experiencing love and happiness.

On one side the torment of drill grounds and smell of combat, on the other independence and sacred peace.

Do not expect both at once.

From childhood I remember fascination stirred in me by the sight of legionary sandals and especially leather straps wrapped around the calf.

I had great sentiment toward weapons carried on the back such as a Japanese sword or quiver.

Until recently I liked comfortable and ceremonial uniforms.

I like wearing strong military boots with fastenings, fitted jackets not restricting movement.

To my state — Sparta — I offered my whole self, laying that life down on the beach at Thermopylae.

Sparta took something else from my current incarnation — ten years of happy marriage.

Small children of both sexes were taken from mothers so that in barracks until age thirty they could perfect them for combat.

Starting a family became possible only after surviving training.

In the current incarnation I started a family after thirty, to a large degree led by the Spartan way of life.

Spartan upbringing in my opinion differed little from what I agreed to in my second strangely familiar Tibetan incarnation.

From age three I developed there in disciplining monasteries.

Life’s purpose was similar.

The ultimate struggle against evil and wrongdoing.

At my expense, by my effort, with wounds only in my own soul.

Social recognition, respect of devoted people, splendor, regular pay — these are expected today from actions similar to the Battle of Thermopylae and every uniformed profession.

One should ask oneself — while directing people — what credibility belongs to a commander leading others toward certain death.

Also what determination, what intentions belong to someone training through many exhausting incarnations and living perhaps twenty to forty years only to fall in battle somewhere in a field.

To those still seeking skirmishes and glory of arms I propose a thought exercise and reflection on what happens if they do not return home after such extraordinary achievement, after sacrificing themselves.

How will loved ones react?

The posthumous monument to my faithful group devoted to ideals is indeed great.

And you present and former guards, soldiers — what do you expect to receive for your creative service?

What inscription do you wish people to read after you?

This post has 2 comments

• Nick Zabicki writes:
05/03/2010 at 23:39 (Edit)

I do not think about myself that I was once a Spartan, Gladiator, Trojan, anyway I do not think about that. What caught my attention here was the fact of “fascination with the sight of sandals, leather straps.” It reminded me of a dream from many years ago, or rather a cycle of one and the same dream which repeated for quite a long time.

It was a dream I did not like and was afraid of. I feared the nights themselves when I knew and was certain that it would come to me.

Everything began with the fact that in the evening I began hearing differently. I heard everything, but differently. Voices of people, household members or from television speakers were very mechanical, completely similar to the sound from a reel tape recorder when you hold the tape reel with your finger and the sound changes, becomes stretched out.

That was exactly the beginning of the night when the dream would come.

My own fear appeared much earlier.

The dream was relatively short.

I found myself in a large high room and despite not knowing where I was, I realized I was underground. The room was carved in rock, or perhaps they were caves connected together.

In that dream I always found myself in the same place, in the middle of the connections.

I touched my shoulder with my hand and then I felt leather shoulder guards on my shoulders.

These dreams were very intense.

I felt everything clearly physically. I smelled moisture in those rooms. Although I never saw anyone in that dream, I felt there was someone else there besides me.

I walked ahead.

I came to enormous bars.

The bars were iron, very thick — I felt that in my hands.

I stood before them and on the other side animals appeared.

They emerged from darkness.

An elephant, a lion, some other animals I could never remember.

At one moment the gate, those bars, under pressure of the animals, fell onto me and crushed my chest.

I felt the weight crushing my lungs.

I felt the taste of my own blood in my mouth.

Then I woke up and vomited.

Every time the same dream, for a very long time.

I do not ask myself whether I was a soldier, gladiator, legionary. At least I do not feel such a need.

I only wonder what such a dream might mean, whether there is something more in it than my own fear of something I do not know or understand.

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• s_majda writes:
07/03/2010 at 12:42 (Edit)

Much about gladiator karma was spoken of by E. Cayce.

In Polish the book “I Left to Return” was published.

By registering in the USA with ARE of Cayce you can obtain access to all his records for little money.

Several memories are also on CUD.

I recommend articles from my site related to the subject concerning “Knights of Light” and ALL texts from the section “soldier and prostitute.”

Opublikowano: 26/05/2026
Autor: Sławomir Majda
Kateogrie: The Prostitute and the Soldier [PTSD, Combat Shock]

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