George Patton and the Office of Strategic Services

Apr 4, 2022
This black and white image shows General George S. Patton Jr. and Eva Braun, appearing side by side.

Through a Glass, Darkly . . .

When taking a look back at the slew of previous posts that I have to choose from, the next logical article to include with Kusala is that of General George Patton, including his views on reincarnation.  Perhaps one of, if not the, most controversial Allied figures to have served during WWII, George makes the case for understanding his views on previous incarnations to be rather well known, even if they were misunderstood.

Notwithstanding the mysterious circumstances which led to an early death, General Patton was a well-documented diarist, poet, and writer that in the years leading up to WWII, had spent a measurable amount of time putting his thoughts into words, as we see in his 1922 poem: Through a Glass, Darkly. . . .  This 24-stanza poem begins to recount the memories that surround Patton's previous lives, while providing the insight on how his fighting, warrior, spirit seems to span the course of those countless lives before.

Its title, as inspired from a biblical verse that can be found in 1 Corinthians, sets the stage for a better understanding of George's revelation and how his memory has played a role in his own view of the world:

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. – 1 Corinthians 13:12 (KJV)

This poem can be read in its entirety in the following lines:

Through the travail of the ages,
Midst the pomp and toil of war,
I have fought and strove and perished
Countless times upon this star.

In the form of many people
In all panoplies of time
Have I seen the luring vision
Of the Victory Maid, sublime.

I have battled for fresh mammoth,
I have warred for pastures new,
I have listened to the whispers
When the race trek instinct grew.

I have known the call to battle
In each changeless changing shape
From the high souled voice of conscience
To the beastly lust for rape.

I have sinned and I have suffered,
Played the hero and the knave;
Fought for belly, shame, or country,
And for each have found a grave.

I cannot name my battles
For the visions are not clear,
Yet, I see the twisted faces
And I feel the rending spear.

Perhaps I stabbed our Savior
In His sacred helpless side.
Yet, I’ve called His name in blessing
When in after times I died.

In the dimness of the shadows
Where we hairy heathens warred,
I can taste in thought the lifeblood;
We used teeth before the sword.

While in later clearer vision
I can sense the coppery sweat,
Feel the pikes grow wet and slippery
When our Phalanx, Cyrus met.

Hear the rattle of the harness
Where the Persian darts bounced clear,
See their chariots wheel in panic
From the Hoplite’s leveled spear.

See the goal grow monthly longer,
Reaching for the walls of Tyre.
Hear the crash of tons of granite,
Smell the quenchless eastern fire.

Still more clearly as a Roman,
Can I see the Legion close,
As our third rank moved in forward
And the short sword found our foes.

Once again I feel the anguish
Of that blistering treeless plain
When the Parthian showered death bolts,
And our discipline was in vain.

I remember all the suffering
Of those arrows in my neck.
Yet, I stabbed a grinning savage
As I died upon my back.

Once again I smell the heat sparks
When my Flemish plate gave way
And the lance ripped through my entrails
As on Crecy’s field I lay.

In the windless, blinding stillness
Of the glittering tropic sea
I can see the bubbles rising
Where we set the captives free.

Midst the spume of half a tempest
I have heard the bulwarks go
When the crashing, point blank round shot
Sent destruction to our foe.

I have fought with gun and cutlass
On the red and slippery deck
With all Hell aflame within me
And a rope around my neck.

And still later as a General
Have I galloped with Murat
When we laughed at death and numbers
Trusting in the Emperor’s Star.

Till at last our star faded,
And we shouted to our doom
Where the sunken road of Ohein
Closed us in its quivering gloom.

So but now with Tanks a’clatter
Have I waddled on the foe
Belching death at twenty paces,
By the star shell’s ghastly glow.

So as through a glass, and darkly
The age long strife I see
Where I fought in many guises,
Many names, but always me.

And I see not in my blindness
What the objects were I wrought,
But as God rules o’er our bickerings
It was through His will I fought.

So forever in the future,
Shall I battle as of yore,
Dying to be born a fighter,
But to die again, once more.
       – George S. Patton Jr.

A few years ago, and during a bodywork session that I was receiving, some of the circumstances and memories that surrounded Patton's death began to surface.  While this isn't a topic that I had ever verbalized at the time of the first writing, it has been quite eye-opening to learn how much of me is in there, and how much of my personality has been influenced from that time and place.  Building upon this, and many other past life memories that I've experienced, I've learned that soul-level memory is the type of experience that isn't limited to solely an intellectual process.  The active process of remembering our previous lives can come to us through the entirety of our senses, including those that are most commonly accessed through our own personal narratives, and the relationships that we find ourselves in during our current incarnation(s).

To this day there's still a lot of mystique surrounding George's death and throughout the years many people have asked: Did the government do it?  Did the Office of Strategic Services, the precursor to the modern-day CIA, orchestrate his death along with Omar Bradley, and if so, to whose benefit?

While I won't conclude that Bill O'Reilly's 2014 publication of Killing Patton: The Strange Death of World War II's Most Audacious General is entirely correct with its clear allusion that Stalin and other Russian forces may have been involved with his premature death, I will say that there are many indicators that our very own Allied forces had much more to do with his death than the government wants the public to know about.  There are many instances where Patton's loudmouth and clear disregard for the morale and well-being of his very own troops is questionable, and called for remedial action on his Commander's behalf, however, we only need to look at what became the Eisenhower presidential campaign, and the relationship with Bill Donovan – the man that is often credited with the founding of the Central Intelligence Agency – to begin to understand the motivations for taking Patton's life.

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