The Rubicon is Crossed: From the Twin Towers to Charlie Kirk

by Odysseus Bournias Varotsis

Odysseus Bournias Varotsis reflects on the sudden martyrdom of Charlie Kirk, comparing his assassination to the end of the “end of history” punctuated by 9/11 and anticipating the explosive opening of a new age of spiritual struggle.

I remember watching the fires of the Twin Towers collapse. I was a child, merely seven years old, yet in that moment my soul trembled with an intuition far older than my years. I could not then name it, but “I” — not the small, mundane “I” into which we mortals usually grasp, but my vast, deathless “I” — knew something had ended. The “end of history” dream of the 1990s, the belief in an endless banquet of liberal optimism, in a world where conflict had dissolved into commerce and entertainment, perished in the dust and screams of despair of New York. I saw, without words, that History had returned with a vengeance. And I, a boy, already carried the secret awareness that the gods of order of the Zeitgeist had been dethroned, that the world was about to be hurled back into the storm of Becoming.

Now, two decades later, another rupture strikes the collective heart: the assassination of Charlie Kirk. His life and death are not merely political incidents, not just the clash of factions. They are symbols, fated signs. For in a society where politics has become myth, where every public persona embodies more than flesh, the murder of such a man is an augury of a new epoch. It is not just his person that has fallen—it is the entire illusion that a sociopolitical harmony can be regained through rational “civil debate.”

The air is torn open, and through it blows the raw wind of a future that no longer asks permission to arrive.

What Charlie Kirk believed about Charlie Kirk does not matter one bit. His life, his beliefs, his faith, his ambitions, whether admired or despised, are as nothing. They crumble like parchment in the fire. For by dying in the manner he did, he was seized by a destiny greater than his own imagination. His alleged prayer before his public appearances — “God use me in whatever ways You deem fit for Your Will to be done on earth” — has been fulfilled, but in a way, he could never have accepted in his finite humanity.

Who, in the prime of life, a husband, a father, a rising political superstar, would choose to be slaughtered in such a spectacle? No one. Yet the One, the Undying, the Dharmakāya beyond all human conventions, has transfigured him into a Living Numen, a powerful icon of epochal transformation. He is no longer Charlie Kirk — he is a deity, a thunderbolt hurled by the hand of destiny, striking the earth to announce the birth of a new age.

The numbers speak mystical whispers of distant shores: Nine is the end, the death rattle of a cycle and eleven is the revelation of polarity. 9/11 collapsed the dream, tore the veil from history’s face, and revealed the abyss beneath the liberal delusions of an “end of history.” Ten is completion, a wheel turning into rebirth. 9/10 proclaims the new beginning, the breaking of seals, the irreversible crossing of the Rubicon. Nine tolls the funeral bell; Ten sounds the trumpet of dawn.

If 9/11 shattered the illusion of the “end of history,” then 9/10 declares that we now stand at the gate of something wholly other. Between them yawns the chasm, an irreversible consummation of a paradigm, and we are hurled across it, with no bridge back to the world we once knew.

As a child, I saw the towers fall and felt the death of a dream. As an adult, I see a father struck down and feel the birth pangs of a new world. Epochs do not end with speeches or treaties. They end with flames, with cries of war, with blood, with the forceful shattering of idols. And in their place, new gods are born. Those who cling to the old husks will perish with them. Those who dare to stand in the storm, to say Yes to the fire, Yes to the abyss, Yes to the will of Becoming, they shall be the midwives of the New Humanity.

The West has fallen under demonic forces because we Men have forgotten the Form of the Good. Injustice in our Polis is but the echo of injustice in our souls. To heal the Polis, our Civilization, we must heal ourselves — set Logos again as a political ruler, purge education, media, and our justice institutions of lies and devils, and restore our gaze toward the eternal harmony of the divine. All these must be done synchronously and with the fiery urgency of the immediacy of the “Now”, “Here”, “You”.

The gods of Order and Chaos have spoken. The cycles have turned. Humanity stands at the precipice, trembling. The Rubicon is crossed, and there is no turning point anymore to lead us back to where we were. What are you going to do about it today?