Dangerous Strays

Within the first week or two of bringing a child into the world, everything about the world changes. And you can’t help what changes come over you, your thoughts and feelings, your world view. Of course, you don’t know this has happened in the deep bliss/stupor of sleep deprivation, but you have changed deeply and forever, and so has your world.

You have become an investor in the Future of the World. You have become a Protector of the Innocent. You can’t help it, you and the wee bairn are actually one person for a brief time. It’s an indescribable time of delight and danger to realize how vulnerable you are to that red-faced bundle sleeping there in your home. He owns you, heart and soul.

Some of the mundane alteration is vividly brought home fiscally or physically but you just don’t know how deep the Primordial Parent instinct runs until some Line is crossed– its very existence an unimagined thing just days earlier.

Fortunately it was a small, but indelible event that woke the Primordial Mom in me when my own wee bairn was but two or three weeks old. I had left him napping while I went out to sweep the porch and carport in the blazing heat wave of that summer afternoon. The entrance to the back yard was wide open between the house and the back utility room, no one ever bothered to gate it, although the yard was fully enclosed otherwise. So I swept the carport as I headed toward the back yard and patio only to see a strange medium-sized dog there. It was alarmed that I was between him and his exit. He seemed rather unhappy about it, so I used my broom to make a small gesture of “Git!!” as I moved into the patio area, making sure he had plenty of room to make for the exit. No harm, no foul.

But he stood his ground and snarled at me.

Oh yes, he was claiming his ground and daring me, on my own property, to make him move! He bared his teeth and repeated the warning growl and for the merest instant I thought myself afraid. The merest of a nanosecond. . .

The full –I still don’t know what to call it– and frightening welling up of the Something inside of me that I had never met before came roaring out like. . . do I have to say it? A mama bear protecting her cub. But it wasn’t a waking thought, it wasn’t rage, it wasn’t fear. It was indignant righteous wrath. The nerve of the creature to stand within my boundaries and threaten me–and by extension, my child– as though it had some claim to the ground under its own feet was just too much.

I wish I could tell you what happened next, but suffice it to say I think I was able to quickly convince the creature of all of my intentions toward it, reciting all of my maternal rights and his infernal wrongs in a single breath of fire and fury. I barely remember how he left the yard, only coming to myself once back inside, shaking and breathing heavily as I went to check on the safe and sleeping innocent part of my very heart and soul. Of course he was fine and was never in any danger. I still marvel at the moment, these many years later.

It still scares me a bit, to know that particular and spectacular Something– that vulnerable part and that primal protector all somehow tangled up in more complex emotions and arrangements of fact– is still there. It shouldn’t be awakened needlessly nor called upon lightly.

Yet I see dangerous strays within my boundaries, their angry, snarling faces telling me that they’re going to stay no matter what. Shouting epithets at me and challenging me for the country I have worked for, paid for, paid taxes on, and cherished with all my heart, all my life. They want to grab at what many others have worked to earn and hide behind the gleaming teeth of their power-grabbing masters.

They don’t love my country, and they seek to harm it for their own ends, these strange, hireling caretakers who are allowing the Estate to crumble while they greedily steal the silver of our Industry and the golden lamps of our Liberty.

My soul is stirred. . .

Higher Ground

Dreaming of a march on your State Capitol? Fantasies of glory and recognition at long last?Dream on. Any sort of “People’s Revolution” as defined in the modern context is the opposite of conservation; the attendant anarchy and confusion play to their masters.

Get that through your thick Tea Party heads.

Many are all aglow this morning because that epicenter of gravitas, Morning Joe, made a solid point in our favor by airing the Republican Party video of the nasty protest signs in Wisconsin. Not only that, they got a couple of smirking types to admit (tongue-in-cheek, I thought) that having just now seen it for the first time, its omission from the news cycles must be an example of left wing media bias.

I’ll give you a moment to catch your breath.

Now, think about all that you’ve written, read, seen, commented on out here in the wilds of the social media.  Now, do a quick reality check. For example: I work with  sensible, fun, gun-toting Conservative young persons who have neither seen, read, or ever commented on anything that hasn’t occurred to them by way of a major media outlet. The things we’ve been hammering on for months? No idea. Gobsmackingly clueless.

We’re losing faster than we’re winning in the information game, (we always have) and marching on the streets will NOT get a fair shake in the media. I know I’m tilting at windmills with this little blog effort, but if I can convince you to TALK IN PERSON with people you know, eye-to-eye, you will have a larger effect on the future of this country than all the hopes that the MSM will someday come around. And we call ourselves the party of reality? We’d better see ourselves as the party of Real People with Real Friends.

All the YouTwitFace* social media will morph and morph again like waves on top of the ocean. The still waters run deeper, however. As the economy collapses, as it must, the elite will lose their only friendship-generator: sweet mammon. With less of it to go around except between themselves, our so-called betters will find themselves as isolated as a Mideast dictator.

The more the social media floods the plains, the more diluted its effect. So, put in your own two cents’ worth, sure, because we can’t ever let them narrow the channels of speech. But head for the higher ground while you’re at it and pull up the others around you.

You remember the high ground, right? It’s where we first built that “shining city on a hill.”

Point the Way

* Thanks to Charles for that great mashup!

Regarding the unthinking membership of death cults.

In response to this post, a commenter had this to say: the fact that some of us support pro-choice legislation does not preclude [sic] that we are members of a death cult.

Many “good” people share the characteristics of a religious morality and indeed benefit from being surrounded by a Christo-Judeo ethic as opposed to say, an Islamic ethic. It doesn’t make them religious, but one can note the influence of the ethic in several societies. It is truly ingrained. The people with stones in that video would be astounded at my rhetoric and amazed that I cannot see what they see before them.

To note that the pro-abortion “religion” (if you will suffer the phrase for a moment) has in its root an ethic of the ancient and undying death-cults of the world does not make every person who unthinkingly embraces certain tenets of the cult (infanticide) a de facto member of it. For instance, many people do not want to believe that Islam is a death cult, preferring to toe the line of “religion of peace.” This they will stubbornly defend in light of contrary fact and practice, even though they themselves are not members of it. To point out that it is a death-cult is not hyperbole or misdirection. Indeed, it is a clarion that cuts through the swirling fog of an expedient narrative. Because we can feel the threat of the scimitar against our very lives, we are motivated to some rather heightened communication about Islam’s intentions.

The bothersome thing about abortion is that the child has no voice about the threat against its existence. So it’s easy to imagine that abortion is a religion of peace if you’re removed to a sufficient distance from the scissors.

Besides, many unthinking people subscribe to all sorts of outward braces without considering the weak foundations that require them. They may paint “religion” as a crutch for the weak and never once suspect their own peculiar underpinnings and external prosthetics.

Now, perhaps you would like to imagine a society without the underpinning respect for life– whence ever it came– and live there. You may gain a certain respect for the “hyperbole” which so offends. I’d rather offend with hyperbole than extend with blinders.

The damning edge of the pro-choice sensibility is that to have any sort of restraint is to enter a fog of meaning that would undertake to define invisible, fantastical and unprovable boundaries of life that would be the envy of every holy text imaginable.  Yet, to remove all restraint is to have many more Dr. Gosnells in our society, which no doubt we already do.

Moreover, the “sane” pro-choicers have but one, and only one, response to any “insane” pro-lifers’ call for even a scintilla of reasonable restraint: extenuating circumstances.

My response is to be amazed at the sheer instability, penury and backwardness of a society that has so failed its populace it has resulted in 50 million “extenuating circumstances.” However, if that observation is not true, how do you square your morality with such widespread and casual disregard for human life? If we were talking in religious terms, I would have to call you a hypocrite, for you denounce the source of your tenets, and embrace that which you do not understand.

Lastly, for the lowly flower-mongers amongst my remaining handful of readers, I send you to this link, which for most of the lovely article there will seem entirely unrelated, but it is a beautiful paean to a respect for life.

From Freedom’s Holy Light to Free Stuff!

Verse Four of Samuel Joe Smith’s My Country, ‘Tis of Thee reads thus:

Our father’s God to Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright,
With freedom’s holy light,
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God our King.

In an age that increasingly seeks to usurp what is holy and exalt what is profane I found this verse quite stirring as we warbled it out during Sunday morning’s prayer service.

Is freedom a holy illumination, available only to those who have sought divine guidance? How quaint! Howprecious. As though a rational people couldn’t rule their lives and fortunes without the silly and repressive fairy tales?

That entire peoples or countries have sought liberation from oppression is not new; it’s as old as Exodus, at least. But this idea of an individual destiny and personal possibility used to be a thing won by individual might and tyranny. It was not a “given”, or self-evident truth.

The idea of individual freedom is only 200+ years old. On the linear scale of history, that makes Freedom young, hip and now. It was missed for so many milennia, and only in recent history did it come to be an Idea worth dying for. And now that is slipping past us. What is necessary for Freedom to thrive, or at this point, survive?

The landscape of freedom has been allowed to go feral and wild, like a renters’ unkempt lawn. Lack of vigilance reveals a lack of ownership. Our leaders have devalued the uniqueness of our Freedom, treating it like it runs on air instead of hard work, wisdom and careful accountability. They have taken the ownership of our corporate fate out of the picture and replaced it with comfort and entitlement and …indentured slavery to the State.

The parable says, the Shepherd cares for and defends his sheep, and the hireling runs away from danger because he has no investment in the life of the sheep. We’ve invited hirelings to rule over us, whose only care for us is not our eternal soul, nor or our temporal freedom, but the promise of lining their pockets with cash.

Worst of all, our legislators have mocked Truth right out of the picture, time and again. Spinelessly and selfishly have they awarded sloth by cloaking it with “compassion” and they’ve depreciated human value in the process. They have usurped the warmth and parentage of the family and replaced it with something so cold, thin, and short-sighted as to enslave an entire generation to dependence and slavery. But they’ve sold it as caring and helpful, so how could it be a Lie? Time and again they’ve rewarded the externals of race and color and tenure, and have failed to require an account of what has been so freely given and received.

Mostly, they have mocked the Truth out of Life itself and have offered… what? in its stead? A thin veneer of personal freedom and choice that quickly fades as the years progress.

Our leaders and public servants neither lead nor serve, and now tell jaw-dropping, easily refuted lies with the temerity of tyrants. The Lie is First and the Truth lags behind, trying to be heard over the din of the sound bite. Our leaders are footling creatures who know that nothing succeeds like success, no matter how it’s earned. Lie first. Lie fast. Lie loud,and Truth will die, one lie at a time.

Not to speak of the echo chamber of their lies, the incurious Media, as indoctrinated by our schools. And our schools, as indoctrinated by tenured liars, safe in their ivory towers of soul-sucking delusion. There they live and work, like vivisectionists of our culture, who find upon dismantling it that it has died on the table.

Like it or not, our country was founded on a moral Absolute. Without this vital ingredient, the concept of Freedom cannot stand. Lacking the sense of our birthright of Freedom and lacking the conviction that it is endowed by a greater Truth, we will lapse quickly back into tribalism and penury. Law, founded on that birthright and Truth will lapse into the manipulative and capricious creature it is quickly becoming.

Truth came before Freedom, and Freedom, that delicate notion, cannot stand on its own without it.

Lies flower, Truth withers, and while the good and the decent are vilifed as contemptible hypocrites, the selfish and unserious are voted into office on their promise of Free Stuff.

That’s how far we’ve fallen. From the sacred (unique and set-apart) heights of Freedom to the common flatlands filled with uninvested renters of the corporate weal, a land of tenured hirelings, afraid of the wolves now threatening at the door as economic Night is falling.

We are rejecting the Author and Source of Freedom’s Light as a mere fantasy. Out of the fear of appearing foolish, like some two-dimensional caricature of religion as portrayed by those (upright and pure of heart!) Hollywood moguls who love our country so much, we reject it all without so much as a reasoned thought of how it came to be. The answer is not as easy as you think. How did this fragile notion, so unique in the world, fall into our laps?

“Wait. Don’t answer that. Look! Free stuff!”

Long may our land be bright…

 

[Re-posted from Jan 8, 2009]

.

Verse the Fourth: Quaint Religious Sentiment

Or an abiding sense of things that transcend our dulled senses? A video is making the rounds this morning, which prompts a bit of unbidden clarity from my heat-addled brain pan.

66 years ago this morning, young men “stormed” the beaches of Normandy, if sheer numbers be a reckoning of men as agents of the Furies. We have no concept, no frame of reference for that sort of sacrifice until we are called to it. What mere mortal man would you follow into a place like that? What trifle of flesh and blood, no matter how strong, would induce a young man to go against all self-preserving instinct three thousand miles from peaceful home, unless it be a Word, an Idea, a Something that is greater?

I don’t care if you don’t believe in something greater, you’re a beneficiary of those who do. Today would be a good day, Europe, to return to your better angels, or at least remember the ones who gave all in that extravagant sacrifice for Something your leaders no longer believe in. A good day for Americans to hold fast to that which remains.

God bless a Marine with a great voice and an even greater heart:

The fourth verse of our National Anthem:

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war’s desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav’n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: “In God is our trust.”
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

The Missing [Updated.]

If you read no other tribute, no other remembrance on this painful day, do yourself a favor and let Gerard Van der Leun’s brilliance shine a bit of sorrowful and breathtaking light on your soul.

There are many good people, good writers out there in the blogosphere doing what they can today to make sure some crass political parasite does not steal the somber reflection that is due to those lost on 9/11. Of all the bloggers and pundits however, Gerard stands head and shoulders above and his perspective and poetry, his mastery and discipline of craft all serve him, and his readers, well.

*****

For some reason, our national mood seems more ready to mourn than in years past. I do not think that some political grave-robber can successfully wrest our national sorrow and turn it into shame. I don’t think he can, but it won’t stop him from trying. Please don’t let him. Remind everyone you see today, especially those who supported this thief, that you will never forget that there are people who hated us that day, and still do, and that you hope those people are not our fellow citizens.

Never forget. Speak up.

*****

Further thoughts upon seeing that awful and lovely tribute site yet linked just above, again, in its entirety:

And we’re worried about a man yelling, “You lie!” in the Hall of the People? Mr. Wilson sheepishly walked back from his passionate outburst after the first bit of criticism.

May we never walk back our passionate and correct assessment of the day’s events on 9/11.

*****

Mike Wilson’s first-hand account of his escape from the Towers is just gripping and haunting.

My Classmate, Scott Speicher, Returns Home Today

Being a member of the largest graduating class in the history of the State of Florida means that Scott Speicher’s remains will be received by large number of my classmates tomorrow. His memorial procession will trace through my childhood streets and high school, past the familiar bastions of Naval Bases–familiar but never taken for granted– and to a final home of rest in his native country.

Although I may have had a passing acquaintance with Scott within the walls and classes of my school, I cannot claim a long-past connection with him in the close confines of a small west-side community school. My connection with him is more far-flung; by an extra 2,000 miles removed from Desert Storm. From Mexico City, Mexico.

I lay awake in the wee hours of the morning, listening the the English language ABC radio affiliate giving news of our effort to rescue Kuwait from Saddam Hussein’s rapacious appetite for expansion. It was very tense, being in a foreign country amidst many neighbors who were not happy with the U.S. “imperialism” never mind the Kuwaiti people’s real fear for their lives. The radio reporter droned the heightened military activity and the strain of not having a body count to gleefully report was certainly giving the newscasters no blood-money to send their market share numbers up. But you knew the inevitable number ONE would be reported breathlessly at some point and it made one tired.

I snapped alert and awake at the mention of “first casualty” and his hometown. My hometown. So far away and now so real in my imagination; I missed home, my school, my friends and vicariously felt the pang of loss reverberate amongst my classmates, their faces long faded in my memory now parading in front of my thoughts. It was sobering and sorrowful all at once. And has been for all these long years since.

I am considering going to meet Scott Speicher’s procession tomorrow, and show my respects for him and take the time to realize that the community that I felt so far away from on that day, was there then. They’ll be there today and tomorrow, too. The solidarity of support and profound respect is just a part of this city. And likely in your city, too. And in a thousand other cities around the country the same connectivity, awe, and gratitude keeps us together.

There will be no need for formal organizations or clubs or government subsidies to compel us to hold the line of honor for our sacred dead. We are bound to bow the head, doff the cap, hold our hands to our hearts in humble gratitude for such an unfathomable and selfless act of freedom.

Welcome home, Captain Scott Speicher, to the real meaning of home and freedom and unity. It can’t be created or bought or organized into being. It resides in a place so deep and primal, so tangible to the Spirit, that it is hidden in plain sight, safe from the petty politicians and ivory-towered ideologues.

Safe in our hearts, the memory of our fallen.

Rock the Cradle, Rock the World

Ladies, isn’t it awesome to stand athwart the march of madness and point to the exits? You do it every day that you display a self-confidence that refuses to allow your kids to blackmail your affections with disingenuous manipulations. You know what I’m talking about. The pout, the brokering, the negotiations and threats of withholding their sweeter attentions. So tender in their early years do they learn to say, “I don’t like you!!”

You were never taken aback by such devilish tricks, because you never bought into the, “children are born pure” fantasy. They’re born with all of the features and genetic codes that run amok in your own life and knowing that alone should harden your forehead like flint against the little psy-ops agents in your own home.

It’s all an attempt to make life about them. It doesn’t help that all their teachers and television entertainments reinforce the notion.

God bless each and every one of you who quashed that mistaken notion with a hard head, soft humor and unassailable confidence in the long view. . . the vision of your kids being strong in the face of life’s pouts, brokerings, negotiations and tendency to treat one unkindly. Dame Margaret Thatcher must have had such a mom:

Happy Mother’s Day!

h/t to the Innocent Bystanders.

From Freedom’s Holy Light, to, Free Stuff!

Verse Four of Samuel Joe Smith’s My Country, ‘Tis of Thee reads thus:

Our father’s God to Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright,
With freedom’s holy light,
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God our King.

In an age that increasingly seeks to usurp what is holy and exalt what is profane I found this verse quite stirring as we warbled it out during Sunday morning’s prayer service.

Is freedom a holy illumination, available only to those who have sought divine guidance? How quaint! How precious. As though a rational people couldn’t rule their lives and fortunes without the silly and repressive fairy tales?

That entire peoples or countries have sought liberation from oppression is not new; it’s as old as Exodus, at least. But this idea of an individual destiny and personal possibility used to be a thing won by individual might and tyranny. It was not a “given”, or self-evident truth.

The idea of individual freedom is only 200+ years old. On the linear scale of history, that makes Freedom young, hip and now. It was missed for so many milennia, and only in recent history did it come to be an Idea worth dying for. And now that is slipping past us. What is necessary for Freedom to thrive, or at this point, survive?

The landscape of freedom has been allowed to go feral and wild, like a renters’ unkempt lawn. Lack of vigilance belies a lack of ownership. Our leaders have devalued the uniqueness of our Freedom, treating it like it runs on air instead of hard work, wisdom and careful accountability. They have taken the ownership of our corporate fate out of the picture and replaced it with comfort and entitlement and …indentured slavery to the State.

The parable says, the Shepherd cares for and defends his sheep, and the hireling runs away from danger because he has no investment in the life of the sheep. We’ve invited hirelings to rule over us, whose only care for us is not our eternal soul, nor or our temporal freedom, but the promise of lining their pockets with cash.

Worst of all, our legislators have mocked Truth right out of the picture, time and again. Spinelessly and selfishly have they awarded sloth by cloaking it with “compassion” and they’ve depreciated human value in the process. They have usurped the warmth and parentage of the family and replaced it with something so cold, thin, and short-sighted as to enslave an entire generation to dependence and slavery. But they’ve sold it as caring and helpful, so how could it be a Lie? Time and again they’ve rewarded the externals of race and color and tenure, and have failed to require an account of what has been so freely given and received.

Mostly, they have mocked the Truth out of Life itself and have offered… what? in its stead? A thin veneer of personal freedom and choice that quickly fades as the years progress.

Our leaders and public servants neither lead nor serve, and now tell jaw-dropping, easily refuted lies with the temerity of tyrants. The Lie is First and the Truth lags behind, trying to be heard over the din of the sound bite. Our leaders are footling creatures who know that nothing succeeds like success, no matter how it’s earned. Lie first. Lie fast. Lie loud,and Truth will die, one lie at a time.

Not to speak of the echo chamber of their lies, the incurious Media, as indoctrinated by our schools. And our schools, as indoctrinated by tenured liars, safe in their ivory towers of soul-sucking delusion. There they live and work, like vivisectionists of our culture, who find upon dismantling it that it has died on the table.

Like it or not, our country was founded on a moral Absolute. Without this vital ingredient, the concept of Freedom cannot stand. Lacking the sense of our birthright of Freedom and lacking the conviction that it is endowed by a greater Truth, we will lapse quickly back into tribalism and penury. Law, founded on that birthright and Truth will lapse into the manipulative and capricious creature it is quickly becoming.

Truth came before Freedom, and Freedom, that delicate notion, cannot stand on its own without it.

Lies flower, Truth withers, and while the good and the decent are vilifed as contemptible hypocrites, the selfish and unserious are voted into office on their promise of Free Stuff.

That’s how far we’ve fallen. From the sacred (unique and set-apart) heights of Freedom to the common flatlands filled with uninvested renters of the corporate weal, a land of tenured hirelings, afraid of the wolves now threatening at the door as economic Night is falling.

We are rejecting the Author and Source of Freedom’s Light as a mere fantasy. Out of the fear of appearing foolish, like some two-dimensional caricature of religion as portrayed by those (upright and pure of heart!) Hollywood moguls who love our country so much, we reject it all without so much as a reasoned thought of how it came to be. The answer is not as easy as you think. How did this fragile notion, so unique in the world, fall into our laps?

“Wait. Don’t answer that. Look! Free stuff!”

Long may our land be bright…

[Re-posted from Jan 8, 2009]

.

No, They Don’t Talk About It

[This is a re-post, with a bit of new info at the end.]

I’ve known this man and seen him at family reunions for the last 28 years. I never knew more than the fact that he served during WWII.

The Jolly Roger remembers that his uncle would use that scrawny arm and hand to grab the sides of his knee and squeeze until the JR hollered “uncle!” Little did he realize that his brave uncle was showing off the strength of an arm that had been blown to bits…on Normandy Beach. At that link is a great, and human story like so many others of his generation.

Update: In the last year since this was posted, the J.R. has discovered that his family members are bona fide Sons of the Confederacy and Sons of the American Revolution, a fact that he has found some pride in, now that he’s no longer a long-haired, FM-type, dope-smokin’, car-racing, redneck-hippie [yes, I have been a wonderful influence on him, thank you veddy much!].

It’s not so much having a certificate of membership into a club. It’s having a vital legacy of diligence, honor, duty, sacrifice.

God Bless our veterans on this, and every day.