Armed and Dangerous.
As I’ve reached a certain age, I tend to carry a particular weapon more than I did in my yout’. I’ve always been of the persuasion that you carry tools on your person to make your day easier.
You always need a knife, because things and people need cutting from time to time. Much more often the former, but sometimes, however rare, the latter.
A lighter is a must. I mean, you may run across a fair damsel who needs her cigarette lit. Nowadays, it’s more often a candle or contemplatory cigar. But you must still be ready to be a gentleman.
I have carried a gun for a while now. It’s purpose is a bit more unitaskish so I don’t need to go into that. Thankfully, aside from some paper, I’ve never had to put holes in anything. …although the couple of times I’ve tried with feral hogs, I’m sad to say I didn’t do much to ease Texas’ hog problem.
However, of late, I’ve taken to carrying one weapon more than others. It’s been around for a LONG TIME. It’s manual of arms is rather rudimentary, despite modern attempts to reshape it. It doesn’t require a license to own nor any registration. …at least not yet. I foresee that changing some day, but probably not in my lifetime.
I prefer the metal versions as polymer just doesn’t do it for me. It comes in 10, 50, and 150 round variants.
The gun, knife, and lighter tend to stay home more and more as this occupies a slot in my pockets, bags, and cases much more frequently. It wasn’t a conscious decision, really, it just kind of happened. Even before I used it regularly, it, well… it’s always been there and then migrated to my daily needs list.
Ok.. most of you probably guess already, but for those of non-Catholic upbringing, it’s a Rosary.
It’s been in the background of my life for a lifetime. I’ve picked it up from time-to-time only to abandon it for… The world, I suppose. But now… OH, BUT NOW! I’d rather it on my than my Sig, Benchmade, or Zippo.
This old world is about to puke on itself. Our masters have decided to be blatant about how we are nothing but cows to milk. Even our religious leaders are nothing but Judas Goats leading us to Perdition.
Putting my hand in my pocket and feeling raw, cold firepower is comforting. Feeling the beads run across my fingers in prayer is both soothing and disturbing. I can feel the pains of the world and the anger of the enemy.
In the end, I don’t feel peace. I feel a unique discomfort. Not in the prayers, but in the presence of “Our Times.” I see where we are headed. I see where things must go. History and math show us clearly what awaits and somehow we think THIS TIME we can outsmart it.
No one has. Ever. So I pray.
Now, apologies to my Protestant friends. I have a “Sword” as well and I use it, albeit, less than I should. But the gentle contemplation of the Rosary is so beautiful. The Devil can quote scripture, but he will never say a Rosary. He can’t bear what he lost because of The Incarnation. Mary and Jesus will always be the ones that got away. One because He is Incorrupt, and the other because she is incorruptible.
And that is the essence of The Rosary. A prayer in action, like a blade in the hands of a warrior at his last stand. Die with it in your hand, like a man. Be another who got away.
It’s been a minute.
I’ve decided blogging is cheaper than therapy. Plus, now that our Tech Lords don’t like opinions that run counter to the narrative, I thought starting this back up and maybe boosting the signal of non-assholian discourse could be a good thing. I know no one is reading this right now, but some day, this can be used to cancel me.
She Fights!
Bear with the brief, head space forming, prologue. It’s really leading someplace spiritual. Honest.
The most honest assessment of the Trump victory in November is not about policy or border security or the economy or any wonkish flight of fancy. Progressives and Statists must lie to get the common folk to vote for them. They “pretend” to care about all the hot button issues while wearing the Pantomime Eagle and, with slogans, all proclaim they will “Make America _____ Again.” The missing word might me “Work,” “Just,” “Merciful,” “Hope,” “Change,” et al… But in the end, it’s all BS. They want ONE thing. Power.
Enter The Orange Orangutan. Unlike other politicians, he just said the first thing on his mind. A lot of times it sucked. Sometimes it made no sense. At times, it hit the mark. It was rough guttural language that pulled no punches. But all this, like the lies of the Elites, meant nothing. People had heard it all before, simply in better tones, with high school vocabulary, and from normal complexions.
What ultimately gave Trump the win was, “He Fights.” He kept getting back up. “Quds Force.” Back up. “They’re not sending us their best.” Back up. “Grabbing Felines.” Back up. He counter punched like a thug in a bar brawl. The knock-out blow, as much as it stinks and as much as the “With Her” crowd will never admit, was, “Nasty Woman.” She was attacking him, seemingly landing blows, and out of nowhere, “Nasty Woman.” She never recovered. He showed with that one terrible statement, that he was going to fight tooth and nail.
For flyover country, it was “Beast Mode” and they loved it. They found someone who wasn’t going to retreat into nuanced language or $1000/hour lawyer speak. Debate of him and his policies is another matter (and debate there should be). The point of all this is to show that people love and respect a fighter even if they don’t love and respect THE fighter.
That said…® This is all temporal prologue to the Spiritual Mater at hand. Nope, not a type-o.
Turning to Lent, I’d like to focus on Final Battles and The Final Battle, the one for, literally, All The World. Like the Political Commoners, we Spiritual Commoners, are looking to follow a fighter. There are many types to follow. There is even the Spiritual Brawler, necessary for when the fight turns temporal. These are the fighters that see the line of battle, pick a spot, and throw themselves into scrum seeking to breach the defenses for others. The martyrs and temporal warriors, who with one firm purpose, focused all their will to that spot, at that moment, and brought the point of the spear savagely upon the enemy. Be it roasting alive like St Lawrence or Don John‘s humiliating defeat of the Ottoman Fleet, Catholicism would be dead without their toils and blood.
There are charismatic fighters. Venerable Futon Sheen, Patton, and McArthur. The ones who can take a group of people and band them together simply with the force of their own will and words. They give their St Crispin’s speech — or more importantly, their Admonition of Herald – and people follow them into the fires of Hell if need be. They are not flashes in the pan. They have the martial cattle to go with the hat, but they lead first with their larger than life command presence.
Then there are the John Paul IIs and the Washingtons. The ones who speak quietly so you must lean in and, by that act, form a bond of martial intimacy. No matter the odds or the current state-of-affairs, they betray no sense of doubt about the eventual outcome. They are redoubts of Iron Will and Faith. The quite walls inside which others find warmth and wait for the order to march forward.
Before Washington and JPII, and all of history’s previous Washingtons and JPIIs, there was Mary’s quiet, still, “Let it be.” Our Spiritual Comfort. The gentle breast that nourished Our Lord. The Mother who carried Jesus into and out of Egypt. The Woman who watched her son go into the world only to be broken and handed to her at the foot of a cross she fought to be near and unite with. The Immaculate Conception that loved more deeply than any other human could and felt more sorrow that any other human will.
She entreats us to lean in close and hear her words, “Do whatever He tells you.” This act, alone, is what makes the General of The Angels and The Church Militant. The General who stood, toe to toe with Our Lord, The King of Kings, and gave him advise that seemingly ran contrary to His wishes. It was a test, just as any Good King may employ to see if the person he has chosen is, indeed, ready for the job.
Her words are few, simple, well chosen, and do not betray her roles or the tide of battle. Her “Fiat” was the acceptance of the title, Queen. Her spurring Jesus to His Temporal Ministry was her acceptance of the role of General.
“Woman, how does your concern affect me? My hour has not yet come.” Imagine the Angels hearing Jesus seemingly rebuke her? The silence that fell in Heaven. You could have heard the angels drop off the head of a pin. In reply, her humble, simple statement. Her faith that He would hear and answer her prayer. The firmness, and love, of a mother addressing her Son. And then, He acts in quite obedience to, and love for, His mother.
Why do the angles willingly follow her? Because Jesus said to? Sure. The angels will do ANYTHING Jesus tells them to. …whether they like it or not. They will bend their wills to His. Why do they follow her willingly? She Fights! For them. For us. But more importantly, for her Son!
She has, throughout all Christian History, fought for her Son. During his life, at his death, and after her Assumption. Interceding for the faithful in small, day-to-day, ways and in History Changing Events such as the Final Battle of Lepanto. She hears us, takes our concerns to Jesus, then tells the Angels and us to, “Do whatever He tells you,” knowing that if it is just and merciful, He will do what she asks.
Once again, she is quietly amassing an army to fight for her Son. There is turmoil in The Church and this country, which is consecrated to her. She is asking all the faithful to join her. This lent, pray and fast and discern if you will join her on her quest to vindicate her Son. She is a fighter we can follow AND respect. And she is guaranteed the final victory over The Serpent. We may not be upon the eve of THE Final Battle, but it sure seems like the end of AN age. …Even if Out Lady shows no worry.
Satan, The Happy Camper.
Paraphrasing someone smarter than me, “Think on the end of your life and you will not sin.” This is actually a pretty good rule for anything. Start at the end — what you want to accomplish, your mission statement — and “work backward” to find all the steps you will need to accomplish to reach that goal.
Be cognizant of the end point so you don’t go astray. And if you need to take a detour, for whatever reason, you always know that you should get back on track ASAP.
What is the end point of Lent? What are we working toward? Easter. The Resurrection. The Fulfilment of the Mosaic Covenant and the establishment of the New Covenant. Our jobs are to purge ourselves of ourselves and make room for The Only One who really matters. We are to become, to fulfil, to live, the New Covenant. YAY!
But… That makes Satan happy. *RecordScreech* Because once we know the truth of the New Covenant. Once we’ve been healed, our eyes see, and our ears hear, we are held to a New Standard. Our hearts are no longer hard. Our minds are no longer closed. As our parents would say, “You know better than that!”
So when we slip, as we all do, the sin is so much sweeter (rotten) for Satan. When the Noble Savage sins, it’s like tepid American Beer to Satan. But when a Christian sins… Oh, how the halls of Hell echo with drunken glee.
So as most of us start Lent, we think, “I can make it 40(ish) days. No problem.” Sure, yeah, no problem. But, what about next year? What about the end of your life? Don’t let the near goal overshadow the long-term goal. Satan is waiting to make lemonade. Are you ready for him? Are you ready to commit?
Advent, Christmas, Lent, Easter. The Reason for the Seasons.
There is a time for everything. I love the concept of “keeping the reason for the season all year long,” but it’s really impossible. We can’t stay up or down for too long without burning out. We all know those who are in a perpetual state of anger or hate. These are the most tiring people to be around. Even those who are in an eternal state of happiness without regard to circumstances are beyond the emotional or mental patience of most people. Both bounds of the pendulum come across as fake or immature.
Without the up time, the down time seems pointless and without the down time, the uptime is unbearable. But that is only half the story. A few days ago I was almost in a pretty bad accident. A car decided that his nice calm 30 mile an hour lane was just too slow and that my lane cursing along at 60 was much nicer. The problem was that he executed his lane change only about 30 yards in front of me. Time slowed. My vision narrowed. My muscles took over. I didn’t have to think about looking for more roadway to extend the distance between us. I never had to tell myself to scan for other cars. My foot never received an urgent message from my cortex, “HEY! BREAK! BUT DON’T LOCK ‘EM!”
The crisis only lasted a split second, but because I’d thought about this and worked on it before, I avoided the pile up with only a post adrenaline dump to deal with.
There’s a saying, “Train like you fight. Fight like you train.” Sonny Puzikas, former Spetsnaz, says you will only rise to the level of your training. Training isn’t reality, it’s realistic. The brain doesn’t care if the bullets are real or fake, as long as the scenario is realistic your brain will wire itself to respond a certain way to certain stimuli. I was never in an accident like that before, but I’d thought about it, pretended it would happen, and trained my brain to react a certain way. And the training didn’t really take all that much time.
So you don’t have to train 24/7? But you do find time to train and to work on that training. We know this in other areas of our life and it’s why we take courses relevant to our state in life so we know what to do in our vocation or avocation. We also take refresher courses or “continuing education” to remind us of the things we should already know.
The religious seasons are our training sessions. Each time they come around we can focus on various aspects of our spiritual training. Why? Because you never know when life is going to deploy you into a theater of spiritual warfare. Just like soldiers never know when they may be called up, we never know when we will be called upon to do spiritual battle. These times are our continuing education to remind us (when we get hit with a huge amount of ugly) not only what to do and how to do it, but WHO we should be calling on for help. Those who don’t take advantage of these times find themselves floating on a sea of uncertainty just like a green civilian handed a rifle and thrown on a barricade.
That’s why it’s so important to focus on Advent when it’s Advent and Christmas when it’s Christmas. Forgetting Advent and taking a month of consumer driven “Christmas” with only one day of actual Christmas, leaves you without this year’s continuing ed. When January rolls around and the news piles up with evil and work piles up with troubles and family piles up with needs, if you didn’t take the time to reflect and learn, you will be rolled over by life.
So, this Lent, take the time to really reflect. Give yourself the chance get ready for the Easter Season so that when it’s over you will be ready for the machinations of life come the summer months. Then when Advent and Christmas comes aging, you can gear up for that year’s training. Train like you fight…
We are creatures of dynamism. We grow and change and we can’t evolve in life without taking time out to reflect and train ourselves and meld the old to the new. Each season can give us, if we chose to learn, new insights to ourselves and our relationship to God. Don’t be fooled by Madison Ave. into giving up the time appointed by God to continue your education of Him. Without it, you will fight like you train, which means, not well at all.
A Christmas Gift: The Sheer Madness of Love.
The great problem I would have with being an atheist, let alone, an antitheist, is my intense lack of faith in accidents on such an immense scale. I play poker (poorly) and know the odds of hitting a simple inside straight or making a royal flush on the river. Of course if you do suck out, the odds on that hand are 1 in 1. But to believe that your hand’s success invalidates the shear reality of math is a kind of willful hubris that I just don’t have the imagination to trust.
I look out on the night sky and see a vast universe that may be one of many. I live on a planet that is one of many in a solar system that is one many in a galaxy that is one of many. I am a man, one of many in a species that trundles along throughout history with other species of flora and fauna. To the atheist, this is proof that we are nothing special. They have an abundance of faith in utility, matter, blind luck.
But in my lack of faith I don’t see evidence of the mundane. I see the efforts of a mad lover trying to express Himself through his art. Each life a sonnet. Each star a symphony. …every opus littering the work shop of an obsessed artist struggling to be understood through, and by, his children.
It’s a condition every small “c” creator understands. Half-finished poems. Long ago penned notes strung uneasily on treble and base. Sculpture mocking from beneath the stone. Great bends of metal that refuse to conform to image of the mind. All scattered about as his uneasy mind hurriedly tries to capture the latest inspiration, trying to get this one right, only to find, it too, has a mind of its own.
Writer or welder, thespian or terpsichorean… We all search for that elusive place where inspiration intersects with reality. And even when the work is done as best we can complete it… When we put pen or torch down. When scene has cut and coda done… The ache begins. What is next?
A creator creates because he has no choice. To stifle that impulse, is to induce despair in a mind diseased by love of creation itself. That is the universe(s) I see; madness reaching out to its creations, begging to be understood. For only when the creations understand the creator does the creator find that bliss of perfection. Which may well be why all artists are just a bit off center. We will never have a story say, “thank you,” or an expertly performed pirouette look back at its dancer in awe.
I can’t be an atheist for, at my heart’s core, I am an artist and I recognize the sketches and sheet music that a mind, undone by its need to make real its passions, has strewn across math, science, and matter. I see the love notes in the vast cosmos and smile while at the same time cursing my pitiful craft… The ache is always there.
I understand God. I don’t fathom it. I will never comprehend it. But I understand. So this Christmas, I will give you the only gift I can think apropos and the one gift I will almost surely never receive:
Thank you.
The Written LAB-Oratory 
