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Tuesday, January 26, 2021

Off With Their Heads

                                                      WHEN IS A SPADE A SPADE?

 

It is time to call a spade a spade; to be "Brutally Honest".  A few years ago, sometime in 2011, around early September, I began to suspect that except for some lovely design and weird writing there was a lot that was wrong in that thing that got started in the desert a long time ago.  Now, if that will upset some folks so be it.  Honesty always upsets folks who don't want to be that way.  It bothers their sleeping rhythms, their digestion and interferes with their peace of mind.  Some must, because I quietly commented in a public forum about my misgivings.  Penalties were imposed.

I was put in FB prison on two occasions for submitting the following short reaction to two, more or less, recent horrors.

One of them involved the slaughter of a number of people in an African nation by Muslims who took umbrage, I suppose, at the fact that they were Christians.  So...

The other was a horror that took place a year or so before; the murder of two young ladies traveling alone in some Muslim majority North African country. The women were captured, abused in the usual manner and murdered.  Everyone from here to there, and up and down, was horrified at the brutality and savagery and inhumanity, and voiced strong disapproval.  In a word, the "Nations" and the "Peoples" were properly upset.  They will be again, and sometime soon, no doubt.  Some may even be enraged.

Of course they have passed the point of being enraged over such goings on anywhere there are any Armenians still alive.  And, why not?  Nothing bad has happened to an Armenian is over a century.  Armenians being horribly treated is soooo last century.

In any event, this is all about me, not them.  I was horribly abused by FaceBook because I dared call attention to thele two measly episodes, our of hundreds, two horrors perpetrated on innocent and defensless folks by devout, no doubt, muslims, just doing what they are supposed to do

My critical remark about the, erm, excessive behavior of devout Muslims was, in both cases, the following sentence:  "The only thing wrong with Islam is that it exists."

Is that really bad?  I mean is is as bad as filling the countryside with te crucified bodies of Armenian girls, slaughtering African men women and children, raping women passing through town, throwing families into fire pits and drowning others simply because they aren't Muslims, or live in a place you would like to live?

And, can you explain why the bosses at Face Book, founded, owned and operated by a Jewish kid, whose people are high on the list of victims of "missionary" work by centuries of Muslim "missionaries" would silence me for a simple one sentence criticism of a group whose primary method of making friends and influencing people is a combination of slavery, rape and homicide?

P.S.:  I expect this to get me kicked off here


Today: January 10, 2018

I haven't visited this place in quite some time.  But today is a quiet day, and I find myself looking about for something to do beyond yawning, and watching the shadows grow longer, so I wandered over here to this weed covered place...

I know this is late,  I mean Christmas was last YEAR already.  But, I have an excuse, Alzheimers.  It's good enough to keep em out of tha army.  But, it works great for getting elected to the presidency.  Anyway, here is something I wrote.  Save it for next year.  Or wait for me to write another, which ought to be really interesting:


The Light Is Always Here

       (A Christmas Poem)

 

Even as the rain is falling my heart is high.

We were just two this morning, she and I,

In shadows of a hidden Christmas morn,

Who took leave of our little, quiet, home

And along empty streets made way to Mass.

I saw Linus, Cletus, Clement as we passed,

Peter and the others on entering

This cold, and rain soaked, Christmas morning;

The silent old brown brick sanctuary

Full of dreams, prayers, and dozing memories.

 

The old church, I think, is always smiling

Happily, like a grandmother whiling

Hours by in prayer, waiting for company.

And always, there are children, two or three

To stop and look in wonder.

Don’t we still?  Yes!  We wander in quietly

Slow and wondering before we kneel, pray

And wait, always, for the Light of day!

 

While, just beyond our vision, far and deep

In eternal unquenchable active light,

Our Father smiles indulgently at

Peace always in living rest. Yet deep He moves

All sound and silence, with all time and aye

Present, past and many all in One Life.

 

Except we had been there, how could we know?

We sat on the sand one deep dawn long ago,

The Other One and I sitting hours so

Through a quiet star covered night alone;

Before sea’s soft waves far wind blown

Across the sea’s sleeping deeps and then to us.

Just two, just two two light at last to touch!

To rise and touch us at the break of day

After spangled night and all night’s life.

 

So then!  So now!  But this, this was no blazing

Star before which the dark world’s night fading

Brought a birthing brightness as it died away

For returning night’s promised hope of day.

 

We saw the Promised Light best this dark day!

Light once come will never more fade away.

Light of Christ! Infant in the manger dear.

The living, life giving Light always here!

 

PEG 12/29/2020