Friday, February 23, 2018
Off the crook of the walk
over the moss and rotting wood,
the snowdrops have their sleeve hearts hung--
denuded forest nook, foot-by:
a brief bloom time before they come undone.
Dropped dimes cleaned from a pool
their stay that's all absconding;
yet piking winter's midriff
with fiat, down-bowed, chastening, gift.
Fleece on a barb. Glacial traction slipped.
Clasp out of clasp, sap celled
will fish - fervent, rising, sighing
broad wood stories through with joy -
leaf not leaf, but inclemency's oust
above these, when withered and forgotten.
Spread now in the corner,
where fence is broken under eaves
and a turn from meadow to woodland leads:
like the whites of eyes that the eyes will miss,
read aright, amid unthanking drip.
Come near this brevity
and milk of sorrow: same word divested
with the summer swallows, that fletch the breadth
above the grove meadow, when grass goes
slant in brisking heaves, decanting pollen
to the wind that rolls it
like smoke into the chorusing woods;
and lofts of grasshoppers, like hot pieces
thrown from a fire when it snaps,
bound in clicking wakes, through the field's lap:
cannot be topped to be
overtoppled and winnowed accident
that wheats a host, brimmed or bereft;
partaking in the beat, the ill-perceived
palpitation presence, ever present
and near this brevity.
More leprosy falling from the clouds and piling up everywhere. Some people romanticize this, calling it snow. Some people blabber about the need for the four seasons. I could do very nicely in a place that never dips below 20.
That's Celsius. As with metric, it is the more universal measuring system.
A snow-covered dung heap. I believe that was the image for Luther's erroneous understanding of God's sanctifying grace. Of course he would use the image of snow. I remember rolling big snow boulders as a kid and it would reveal the green grass underneath and the sight filled me with loathing. Better just to have no snow.
"Winter Olympics", snow pants, mittens, boots with melting snow by the doorway, hot chocolate, or "cocoa" - the thought and memory of all these things makes me so nauseous I can't begin to describe.
Someone told me that someone told him that south-western British Columbia is the California of Canada. LOL. That's funny. Some people who never actually come here call the west coast the Left Coast. That's so stupid and inaccurate. The Archdiocese of Vancouver is a thriving hive of healthy orthodoxy.
Of course, I don't romanticize a south pacific life when I say I could do nicely in a place that never dips below 20 - swimming with sea turtles and dolphins and all that bullshit. I don't care about that. I care about work, in fact. I'm not at peace if I'm not working to the point of that good exhaustion. A happy suffering.
I almost vomited the other night while watching the Olympic women's hockey match - Canada vs. U.S.A. because of the condescending, P.C. propagandist commercials they aired one after another. What the hell is the matter with this country?
Look at our Prime Minister. We're becoming a laughingstock across the world. I had no illusions that Trudeau would be anything but a disaster for Canada, but you still have that basic hope, or rather expectation, that after being elected, all that pre-election vanity and posturing would go out the window as he settled into the dignity of his office. I mean, even with Barack Obama, who was a disaster for the U.S., there was that basic settling in; like, alright, you're a disaster, but you are Mr. President. When I watched that clip of Trudeau making that peoplekind remark, that basic expectation imploded.
And is Justin Trudeau the son of Fidel Castro? Will we ever really know for sure? LOL.
The legalization of marijuana, or rather, the legitimization to purposeless youth of the use of marijuana, is going to be a total disaster for this country. Will I be growing hemp in the garden this year? Of course. The plant isn't evil. It's God's creation. Of course I won't smoke it. That's what I grow tobacco for.
"Safe injection sites" have been a total disaster and a bloody injustice to people trying to run businesses and raise children. Especially with these new dirty drugs that come out of places like Vietnam. There has to be forced rehabilitation. The drug users should be arrested and put through forced sobriety in order to protect the common good. I believe that's what they do in Poland, and it works very well. Of course the users have to want to change in order to change, but they'll never even get to that point of wanting to change when intoxicated with these new drugs.
The fact that the Public Bank of Canada Act is being ignored is a huge injustice to Canadians who work hard to make ends meet. We need - desperately need - to get back to Social Credit.
Thursday, February 22, 2018
Friday, February 9, 2018
Someone told me that in high school the janitor once reprimanded him in the hallway over something stupid he was doing. That he would get chastised in such a way infuriated him, for whatever reason (certainly not because he was never chastised at home - on the contrary), and he nursed the adolescent fire of his anger over it.
A couple weeks later the janitor was driving along a rural road; ahead of him the wheels of a dump truck kicked up one of those small sized manhole covers - approximately seven inches in diameter and half as thick - and it went through the janitor's windshield and took his head off.
Not too long after this, again getting reprimanded in the hallway, this time by the principal, he fell to brooding resentment, burning with anger. Exactly a week later the principal died in his sleep.
He told me that after this, he never again got angry. Of course, he did not mean that he never again felt the emotion of anger, but that he never again chose to nurse a grudge or stew in resentment. And I believed him.
Whether he actually believed that his wrath cursed the two adult men and caused their deaths or not is beside the point, for what is certain and beyond coincidence, and what caused him to change (or more accurately, to grow up), is that he saw the ultimate end of his anger in their untimely deaths - and it made him afraid. It put fear and the dread of sin in his heart. He turned away from it.
Strangely, one of the things that causes people to get angry at other people is that they care too much about what other people think of them. This produces a mockery of social interaction wherein people place the worth of their dignity at the whims of fickle human nature in others, seeking confirmation in their apparent lights.
It reminds me how little resentment is based in truth, in reality. In fact, to resent is to insist upon a falsehood: that the you who is demanding this recompensation in whatever form, is the real you. When in fact, that you is a shadow of yourself. I am not intoning Jung. I simply mean the self that is unreal, that is not who you really are, like a shadow.
When you bless people, you grow. When you nurse a grudge, which is to say, when you entertain a curse, you do nothing but hurt yourself, as you shrink into the state of the Inadequate Midget. Which in turn, does nothing but cause more resentment.
Why do you shrink or diminish when you curse? Simply in that you have allowed yourself to become a person who curses, or who interiorly entertains cursing's kissing cousin, resentment.
Why do you grow when you bless? Because God blesses. Cursing is the Devil's business.
Immediately what comes to mind is the image of someone pietistically suppressing anger and pretending to have good feelings towards others. But really to choose to bless instead of curse is extremely practical. It is to remain in, or be released into, the joyful pain of reality; while insisting on resentment is the endless mental anguish of a fantasy world.
It is about getting your will straight, and sticking to it, and making your sticking to it the prayer, the potential cause, however small, of other people's blessings and not bad happening to them, and letting that ride roughshod over the piping voice of insecurity, or the outraged voice resenting disrespect, or the worrywart voice of being seen falsely.
If anger, brooding, resentment, bitterness, really starts choking you, say out loud, as prayer, and say it out loud, "Oh God, I don't want to be this person! Please bless..." It's about getting out of yourself, using the intent to pray for others as the key that gains you that refreshing exit. Leave the Spirit of the World which seeks to remove and tarnish your dignity making you think you need to please other people in order to have true worth.
Your prayer becomes: whatever it is I want others to recognize in me - namely my dignity and inherent worth - I put away, in your hands God, for that is yours; I won't bother with that, and anyways I am wretched without you, and moreover, I should earn their spite for my sins; and anyways they don't even know me that well, and instead I ask blessings for them and abundance in good things and health and well-being, length of days and increase to their gifts, holiness of life and conversion from sin.
And that should be our prayer for everyone all the time.
As for any who would bring up the cursing of the barren fig tree, or the litany of denunciations that Jesus leveled against the Pharisees as though that might be an "Au contraire, Mr. Stilwell" - well, actually, take it up with Jesus who asked the forgiveness of those who were torturing and killing him, because He came down to die for them that they would have life in abundance.
"But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother will be liable to the council; and whoever says, ‘You fool!’ will be liable to the hell of fire." --Matthew 5:22
"Bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you." --Luke 6:28
"When Solomon grew old his wives swayed his heart to other gods; and his heart was not wholly with Yahweh his God as his father David's had been." --First Kings 11:4
Thursday, February 1, 2018
Wednesday, January 31, 2018
Tuesday, January 23, 2018
This last-named work, which translates as "Broad Waters," is actually a set of five pieces, and is a departure for the composer in that it consists of arrangements of existing folk melodies. Górecki had long been interested in the traditional folk and religious music of his native Poland, but he did not begin integrating these materials into his own music until Old Polish Music, Op. 24, from 1969.
Szeroka woda takes its melodies and texts from a pair of illustrated story books for children. All the texts have some connection, more or less direct, to water -- particularly the first, second, and fifth songs, which evoke the Narew and Vistula rivers. The settings are simple and unaffected. The harmonies flow naturally without being traditional. Górecki creates textures that match the texts and are gratifying to sing. In short, these are wonderful little pieces, and they launched a whole series of choral settings that Górecki composed over the next several years, many of which have yet to be published. --James Harley at AllMusic
|Ulmo and Tuor by zdrava. More of his Tolkien-inspired work found here at Deviant Art|