Monthly Archives: March 2016

Ork Invaders

My guess is that Europe will be lost to the Ork invaders, or at the very least, Europe will suffer a prolonged civil war on the measure of Lebanon, the Balkans and Syria at the height of those wars. Some cities will look like Sarajevo or Grozny in their very worst moments before this is all sorted out — that is, if the Orks are going to be defeated. The Moors invaded Spain in 711 and controlled the entire Iberian Peninsula by 788. It then took 700 years, (let that sink in, seven hundred years), for the Spanish Reconquista to eject the Moors from Iberia. And the Spanish did it under the banner of the Christian cross, which was then a socially potent European rallying symbol.

Today, secular and virtually atheist Europeans will not have that rallying banner out in front to unite them in a common cause and to spur their desire for Reconquista. The Europeans will lose badly when modern Middle-Eastern urban warfare tactics are employed against them with increasing frequency. These tactics will include car bombs, human bombs, IEDs, random sniper and even knife attacks, with some Mumbai, Beslan or Paris attacks thrown in.

Read full post by Matt Bracken from Gates of Vienna

 

A Child of God by Christ Made Free

The New Birth

Jones Very [1813– 1880]

‘Tis a new life – thoughts move not as they did
With slow uncertain steps across my mind,
In thronging haste fast pressing on they bid
The portals open to the viewless wind;
That comes not, save when in the dust is laid
The crown of pride that gilds each mortal brow,
And from before man’s vision melting fade
The heavens and earth – Their walls are falling now –
Fast crowding on each thought claims utterance strong,
Storm-lifted waves swift rushing to the shore
On from the sea they send their shouts along,
Back through the cave-worn rocks their thunders roar,
And I a child of God by Christ made free
Start from death’s slumbers to eternity.

 Zarathustra Cloud

Thanks to The Bard on the Hill
check out his excellent poetry site

Magdalen Cuts to the Chase

What, then, is the point of even continuing to exist?  Why not get it over with and jump straight to the inevitable conclusion of every life?  Or if some inner drive prevents us from doing that, why not blur the lines of a pointless reality, dull the crushing weight of life’s meaninglessness with whatever intoxicants we can?

A Christian would answer that this life is a gift, given by a powerful and awful Being, willing and capable of inflicting eternal torment if we fail to show appreciation for it.  We must go on living, terrible as it is, to avoid the worse pain of punishment for trying to escape.  We must do as our Creator bids, because we are owned, like toys, with no right to decide our fate.  An atheist would assert that no such Creator exists,  or would deserve worship if it did.

Wisdom from the Reverend Magdalen

Three Versions


Take one   [sonnet]

I set out riding once at dusk, by bike

riding a cemetery’s tranquil trails.

God’s wonders peeking forth from evening veils

I mused along vague themes:  Life—and suchlike…

Rounding one swift curve a vision assailed:

three nubile maids in nylon, fresh from the pool.

passing this trinity, I—the mad fool,

Beheld three graces; reverie prevailed.

Midst sepulchers I wondered at such sights…

Was I Paris?  dazzled by their beauty,

my mind’s eye grew distracted in duty.

The resurrection glimpsed: angelic sprites !

(the third go-by my thoughts fell down to earth;

carnal, I scanned their suits of flesh for worth…)

              

Take two  [rhymed couplets]

While I rode out one summer eve through a cemetery’s peaceful  cheer
I chanced upon three suburban maids in Lycra swimming  gear
fresh from the pool among the tombs… or fresh from the tombs to revisit earth?
Arrested now my thoughts, I passed in resurrected beauty’s birth.
My sight and mind strange tricks did play. I couldn’t believe my eyes
amidst the dead, upon green paths, I lingered on their graceful thighs.
I pedaled fast and asked the Lord: what brings such lovely damsels here?
Around I rode, then passed again. As visions surged, the heavens drew near.
A little further now they’d strayed from where I first had seen them. Then
their brightening smiles stopped time.  And so I passed them yet again…
Distracted now from holy thoughts  I mused upon their girlish faces
[Thus Paris faltered before the three, confusing goddesses with graces]
What led them thus to flit so much alive among the verdant graves?
A thousand questions surged that verged on blasphemy. Still Paris raves
of lissome bodies on the grass, the bright-eyed smiles of lovely lasses
naive in nylon innocence, like Botticellian trespasses…
But they were simply walking home, and took a shortcut through the grave
and they were young, but now I’m old—and a dying renaissance knave.


Take three  [haiku]

Early dusk graveyard:

Three nubile girls, wet swimsuits

Life resurrected