A Final Song of the Wild

Letting Go of the Scapegoat and Redeemer

For four years, I lived in the wilds of Finland. Not just geographically distant from where I came from, but mentally, spiritually worlds apart. Imagine it: a place where the winter skies stay dark, save for the occasional green pulse of the Northern Lights. Where the snow piles till it has an ice layer, and you can walk across it without sinking. A place where the silence stretches, ancient and untouched, broken only by the foot steps of the Arctic hare or the quiet, steady reindeer hooves pressing into snow.

I didn’t come here for escape, but for truth and healing.

These woods and frozen lakes were not a retreat. They were a confrontation. A slow, inevitable shedding of everything I once held onto. My roles, my burdens, the identity I was conditioned to carry. I wasn’t running from pain. I was standing still with it. Sitting in it. Letting it speak. And as the snow covered the trees, as the summer sun refused to set at 3 a.m., whilst I went on the Koryos journey with my shaman drum, something inside me began to break free.

The Scapegoat and the Redeemer: No More Masks

There was a time when I bore the weight of the scapegoat role. The one blamed, misunderstood, cast out. Carrying the weight of projections, as though my mere presence disturbed the fragile illusions of others. And so I learned to endure. To be strong for others. To weather the storms of life alone. Whilst I felt like the one who had to fix it all.

For the last years, I tried to heal myself and understand what all is going on in the world. To finally understand, and to break free from all the conditioning. The silenced role I was made to play, of suffering alone. Carrying my own burdens and trauma, and the trauma of others. Yet in the deepest sense it was not others who have done such, but it is the civilizational wounding that is to blame. The fragmentation that splits the psyche into two, which creates the Kronian paradigm.

Where those in touch with the soul, as any Dionysian person is in varying degrees, is seen as chaos, and something to repress. To bear the burden of the collective. But here, among these forests, I saw the truth in the ice: It was never my role to carry any of it. Not for anyone, let alone Western civilisation itself. Some might see me through my critique of the West as something just against it. Yet my true intend has been all along to transcend it all together. The duality it imposes. Not to fight it, but to become so free from it, that I defy the cosmic order itself, that placed me in the scapegoat role in the first place. Societal structures often force sensitive, Dionysian souls into these roles.

If there is one thing I have learned, it is that the source of the conflict, and all what is occurring, the lack of emotional honesty, emotional depth, community, compassion, humanity and authenticity, is linked to the Kronian ego itself. The ego shackled by the inner critic and its societal conditioning that created the civilizational wounding. This is the case on whatever side of the conflict. To different degrees, and also pointed at different targets, with different power imbalances. Where they play different roles. Yet the structure itself is the same. It contains the victim-child, inner critic, priest, external redeemer and wanderer, for all of them. It is really a question of what aspect they are identified with, and even this can shift. Though this is not a pattern that can be broken just like that. Pointing it out to others directly will most likely trigger the scapegoat-redeemer complex itself.

Yet if I were to take on the role of someone who tries to wake them all up, I play into the redeemer role. Where I saddle myself up with all of the issues again, that then others hope their external redeemer can solve. Yet this does not solve a thing. Only when they are forced inward to find their inner redeemer, hidden within the victim-child, that wounded inner infant Dionysus, can they truly solve this endless conflict. Yet this is not a truth that is easy to sell. Who wants to sit with their pain, and face it head on, to feel through ones own suffering. It is the very thing the ego-structure tries to avoid. As it then starts to undo the civilizational wounding, and threatens the ingrained pattern of beliefs, fuelled by fear and a need for control. It does not mean that there is no hope, as these things have been figured out. We know how to resolve it, and we have known such since at least 6.000 BC. Which is the sacred flame the mystery schools for a long time preserved, that then Alchemy preserved, then Jungian psychology, and now also Nyxian spirituality, through Neo-Orphism brought back.

Yet it is a truth that most humans might not be ready for, and maybe never will be. I can’t make false promises about some miracle. Yet it is also not all doom and gloom either. As the sacred fire of the soul can not be extinguished. And like Sköll hunting for the sun, it will eventually return, and with it the false structures crumble. Even if just for a while. As sooner or later someone will eventually come along to build some new civilisation, and bring “order” to the world. For those who do see beyond the trappings of civilizational conditioning, it is not up to us to wake up all others. What is our true task is to carry our pitcher, and share it with those who thirst for its waters.

Finalising My Work and Letting Go

I've poured myself into my work. Written five books, one last one on the way, spoken through 312 videos, each one an unravelling of conditioning, a reclaiming of ancient wisdom buried under centuries of illusion. I’ve broken down the patterns. Shown the cracks in the façade. The cycles of scapegoating, the projections, the wisdom of ancient myths. I’ve laid it all bare. Yet now it is no longer my responsibility. And so, I am winding down. Not in defeat, but in completion. I have said what needed to be said. I have sung the truths I came here to sing.

What Comes Next?

I will make more IRL friends and focus on the friends I have. Those I care about deeply. It is not up to us to worry about the fate of the West. It will rise or fall on its own. I have done my part to share my journey. And now? I will finally, fully live. I might still occasionally write on this substack if the urge comes. Yet it probably will revolve more around my personal life, the occasional poem and any musings that arise.

The Fair Haired Child by Bukkene Bruse