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and will include you in the Strategy of the Final Battle. And, I assure it, they will thank you very
               much to let them know this letter. If I have not mistaken with you, if your Blood is Pure and
               you  feel  the  Nostalgia  of  the  Origin,  I  know  that  you  won’t  hesitate  to  fulfil  my  hindmost
               desire.
                      In second place, if some day you reach to know my son Noyo, I want you to narrate him
               the last part of this story, let him know that I have died secure about the triumph of the Cause
               of the Spirit, that I have seen with clarity the End of the History and the imminence of the
               Final Battle. Don’t believe that I request this for sentimentalism, for a fool interest to calm my
               son: I have tried to liberate you by all the possible means and, if you respond and awake, you
               will reach anyhow to see the Noyo Guardian of the Wise Sword. Then, as an especial favour, in
               remembrance of Belicena Villca, who revealed you the Path, you will give him my message. I
               know  perfectly  the  behavior  that  must  sustain  the  mother  of  a  Wise  Warrior.  An
               Hyperborean mother, is always daughter of the Great Mother Ama and she can’t, be
               slave of the Matter, the Mother Earth, of the Shakti, of Binah, that’s to say, she can’t
               succumb  to  the  maternal  instinct,  blind  and  irresponsible.  O  Pure  Mother  Ama,
               Virgin of Agartha, I have heard you Voice!:


                                                       «My Sons,

                                                   The Men of Stone,


                                                   Are Wise Warriors,

                                        And nothing shall appease their Furor.

                                                   Destroyed shall be


                                                The unworthy of Spirit.

                                               The Coward, the Traitor,

                                      And damned the Womb which Forged them.

                                                   My Seeds of Stone


                                                 Turn on the Cold Fire

                                                      In the Heart.

                                                     Full of Warth,

                                         They march towards the Final Battle


                                               The Warriors of the L-ove.

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