Even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as one of these…
* We are where we are because we haven’t tried hard enough to be somewhere else.
* If you don’t like your situation, as long as you have breath in your body you are free to change it.
*People who conduct their lives in obeisance to desire for riches are the saddest and yet harbor the potential to be the vilest of all creatures.
* Keep in mind that this body we inhabit causes us much despair and grief and is surely to be discarded on that day when our spirit is freed – like an animal that has only known life in a cage. The face I see in the mirror is not me, it’s simply a part of this container in which my spirit dwells until that freedom arrives.
I walked out into the woods yesterday to take a long drought from a new cup of God’s creation – it was a beautiful early spring morning with a plethora of songbirds singing like they demanded to be heard. Indeed, I spent a lot of the morning listening to them. They sang of greenery beginning to transform twigs and limbs, as heaven is about to reveal a majestic dogwood bloom. Their song welcomed a gentle breeze from somewhere south that has come to visit our obscure Ozark hollow. The song indeed brings with it a gift of warmest elation that only a morning of God’s springtime grace can provide, but mostly it allows me to understand and appreciate that I am truly a blessed soul to be in the hallowed company of the Lord Jesus on this glorious day.
An aged crow came near and watched as I pondered events going on in the other world. This modern time in which we find ourselves has brought the ability to hear of and see things happening in faraway places which people never could do before. Sadly, nowadays most of this news is not good. The old crow behaved as though he knew what I was thinking. Did he share my sympathy for those who cannot enjoy the rapture of a fine spring morning because they are ensnared in conflicts over which they have no control? Was he wishing, as I was, that there was some way to make peace in places devastated by war and end the needless death and destruction? Maybe a way to bring food to the tables of the destitute and hungry?
A lemon-yellow butterfly gently wafted by on the breeze in search of early flowers, at first glance seemingly oblivious to the vanity and evil of the travail we humans bring upon ourselves. It further reminded me that there is another aspect of this existence, one that is served to us from another place – a place of peace, of wholesomeness, and of serenity where God-given wisdom demands that we should seek to be, a place where the spirit can prosper. I wondered what, if that beautiful little insect could talk, it would say to me, but then I became astonished to realize that it was talking – saying profound things I could indeed hear, but only when I listened closely, for it was actually my own heart speaking without words, of things I already knew, but to which I hardly gave deserved thought.
The gravity of events in the world is beyond the ability of most to comprehend, but the pain of those on the receiving end of such terrible events, who often lose their (often piteous) earthly possessions, their cherished homes, but most of all their loved ones – taken from them by untimely deaths at the hands of other human beings – must be unbearable. Their grief consumes all of us whether or not we choose to acknowledge our part in it. As the blood of Abel cried to God from the ground, so the blood of murdered innocents in diverse places cries to any and all who might join, or at least empathize with their pleas for justice, that is every member of the human experience, including those who understand nothing beyond foolish celebrity gossip, sports, or decadent fast foods. The question my butterfly asks is, “Are there any who will listen?” Sadly, I do not have an answer for him. Do you?
A poor carpenter’s son once said, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.” That’s the same God who creates crows and butterflies, and with His mighty breath, sends us a springtime breeze. He’s the One who continuously beckons us with subtle, and sometimes not-so-subtle messaging that urges us to listen to our inner selves where dwells the heart on which He has written laws by which He intends us to live. If we all could find the courage and determination that also comes from Him, we could work together to put an end to those conflicts and bloodshed would undoubtedly cease. What an incredible honor – to be recognized by all of heaven and earth as a child of the Great and Almighty – the Most High God!
The creatures and forests of spring ever bode a hopeful time, a time of joy and reverie heralded by new sunny days of warmth and optimism. We have opportunity, as tiny green shoots emerging from dormant twigs, to seek the Creator from whom all blessings flow so that we might blossom into the beings that He has always intended us to become. We have for now, the opportunity to seek Jesus Christ, whose sovereignty, love, and friendship we would do well to invite and to inculcate in our lives. He is the only answer in these troubled times. The ONLY answer. I know this because of all the springtime creatures, the birds and butterflies, that kept screaming it in my ears this morning. And because there are horrible things happening in this world that would not be happening if we only listen to the wisdom God put in our hearts. That wisdom can be understood and appreciated by actually living in and taking our rightful place as part – indeed the crowning essence of – His creation, among the birds and spring flowers, and our fellow human beings which we should regard as nothing less than precious, according to His own wisdom and grace.
Men of ill repute have arrogated to themselves unmerited authority, and vast earthly fortunes. They gather in dark halls to shuffle the cards and deal misery and Godlessness to multitudes, even nations, of the less fortunate who can only attempt to play the miserable hands they are dealt. Needy and destitute people in faraway places, even in our own country, plead for relief and yet they suffer and starve, because the “gods” to which they plead are not gods at all.
God, the Father of Jesus Christ, to Whom I pray gives relief in the form of peace in my heart – peace and comfort which is multiplied and displayed in its fullness upon the majestic arrival of springtime!
Get right with Jesus and enjoy the spring and His abundant love while there’s still time!
So the day finally arrived; the first day of hunting season, and to say Earl was excited would have been an understatement. He wound his way back to the old driveway he’d used to go to the old woodsman’s house, and this time he went further on down the overgrown road past the place. He noticed as he went by that it didn’t look like the old timer was home. In fact, it looked as if no one had even been there for a very long time.
It was a fine, cool autumn afternoon with sunshine that seemed to portend a good hunt. The weather forecast that morning had predicted a cold front would come through the area, and although the wind might cause the deer to lay up and not stir, if there would be any rain, the dampness would at least quieten the leaves he’d have to walk through. The old road was getting muddy, and even though it had been fairly dry of late, this was one of those areas where the ground just never seemed to get completely dry, so his truck did a lot of spinning in the ancient ruts, especially going up the many hills through the woods.
He found a bit of a clearing where he parked, and grabbed his pack and rifle, and set out to look for deer signs. Finally he was walking on what he was sure was a game trail through the ever-thickening brush, and for the first time he began to get a weird feeling, almost like he was being watched; like he wasn’t alone in those creepy woods. After what seemed like miles of that overgrown trail, he began to notice an area of unusual darkness in the thick woods up ahead. Was it some kind of dilapidated building out here in the middle of nowhere? It sure seemed to be, but what? As he approached he could make out the dark upright remains of what used to be a house, and it looked as though it had once been a big, two story building, now rotting and in disarray. The windows upstairs were all broken out, leaving black portals that felt like eyes watching for unsuspecting intruders into its domain.
The place gave Earl the creeps, it had an evil feel, and as he saw the old road, now only a trail, went on past it, he trudged ahead, trying not to look, but there seemed to be some irresistible attraction that kept drawing his gaze to that horrid house. As he was passing the closest point to the house, he saw a couple of aged crows complaining to each other in a huge sycamore tree. A few ochre leaves fluttered in the light breeze, and as Earl looked up into the tree, he noticed that clouds were starting to drift in ahead of the cold spell. He picked up his pace, both to try and get where he was going before the weather got bad, and to get away from the spooky place. A few starlings fluttered from the brush and finally! He was past the old house! He knew the weather was about to take a turn for the worse, but his attention was spurred back onto the hunt when he came upon a tree rub, where bucks rub all the velvet off their antlers which takes the bark off small saplings; it diverted his thoughts from the eerie woods, at least for now, and back to the big buck for which he’d come here.
As Earl stealthily walked further into the vine-infested darkness, he remembered the odd way the old man looked at him when he asked for permission to hunt there, and he remembered that he’d wondered what that was all about. It wouldn’t be the last time he gave it thought. A quarter of an hour after he passed the creepy old house, the wind started to pick up and the air rapidly began to cool. The cold front had arrived, and with it, the sky began to darken as the first of the rain began to come down. Earl’s hunting clothes were fairly weather resistant, so the light rain didn’t immediately bother him, but he knew it would soon get muddy, and walking would become difficult, but of more immediate concern, the gathering darkness of the woods seemed unusual, even for a storm, because it wasn’t all that late. He could still see fairly well though, and after all the trouble to get here, he wasn’t ready to give up on that deer, besides with the rain soaking the woods, his walking through the leaves was, as expected, much quieter.
About the time the game trail he’d been following played out, he noticed something odd – a very old moss-covered concrete wall, or what was left of it. It was out through the dark woods, and he could see that it was high near a corner and irregularly eroded as it stretched through the darkness until it reached the ground. If Earl had known it, he would have recognized this as being the last trace of an ancient drying oven for lumber, but he had no idea of the sordid history of the Duff Mill that once operated in the very place where he now stood.
A crack of thunder rumbled off to the northwest, and Earl started to grow concerned that he’d get caught out in the coming storm, hours away from his truck, and there was no way he was going to take shelter in that creepy old house he’d passed earlier. He wasn’t necessarily superstitious, but there was something extremely unsettling about that house! He began to look around the concrete wall to see if there was anything resembling cover around it. It had indeed become very dark for that time of the evening, but as he searched for shelter, a sudden flash of lightning revealed a tangled mat of thick vines draped inside the corner of the wall. It wasn’t exactly waterproof under the snarled briars, but he might be able to spread his poncho, which he always carried in his pack, over the vines and it might keep some of the rain off.
As he began to make his way towards the wall, he heard a solitary old crow nearby, but instead of the normal cawing cry, he could swear the crow was screeching “no, no!”, and the calls seemed to grow more insistent as he moved in the direction of the old wall. “NO! NO!” This was upsetting, to say the least!
He stumbled on through the darkness in the rain, which was by now getting heavier, he tripped over something about knee-high, but it didn’t feel like a tree stump – it was harder, like a rock, and sure enough, as he looked down through the tall weeds, he saw that it was a slab of limestone. In the gloom, he could make out that it had been shaped by someone long ago and obviously placed there. As he reached down to feel of what appeared to be a flat side, his fingers traced crude chisel marks in the stone which, even though they were by now illegible, revealed that it was a very old grave marker – and another lightning flash revealed that there were more of them close by, some standing eerily and others leaning this way and that. Still others were lying in dark and lonely mounds, which he now suspected of being ancient burial sites, and to make matters even spookier, in places, the ground had been washed away over the years and in the brief lightning flashes, he could see what he thought might have been bones of long-dead inhabitants washed out of shallow graves, scattered and mingled among the mossy cold rocks.
The rain had grown into a torrent as he hurriedly pulled the poncho out and did his best to drape it over the vines in the corner of the old concrete wall and crawl under it, with lightning flashing all around, and then all he could do was wait until the storm abated. By now he’d decided to call off the hunt, as it would probably be too late to resume it after the rain stopped, and he was soaking wet and thoroughly tired of this spooky place. He kept hearing weird noises, almost like some kind of unhinged raspy laughter, but he tried to convince himself it was the thunder and wind playing on his imagination. The old graveyard was playing mightily on his thoughts too.
It was getting late in the evening, still a couple of hours before normal dark as the rain began to subside. The wind was still gusty, and Earl, somewhat shaken by the events of the day, looked out from under his crude shelter to see if he might be able to get out of there without drowning. It was still raining lightly, but had grown very cold, and he was wet. Just as he was about to gather himself together and leave, he noticed a movement out in the gloom. There was someone – or something – silently moving out there just a few yards away! He knew there was no way it could be a living person out there in those decrepit woods in the storm, but it didn’t look to be an animal either. It almost resembled some kind of greyish mist, sort of drifting through the dark brush, but with definite form and purposeful movement, and he ducked back under his shelter thinking that he’d glimpsed more than one!
A sudden chill came over him that wasn’t coming from the cold air as Earl was beginning to realize this place was inhabited by something he’d only heard about or watched in horror movies. Prior to this dark and eerie evening, Earl had never given much thought to the supernatural, but he now knew he was witnessing something horrifying. And he was afraid – afraid of something unknown – something old, dark, and unexplainable.
Flashes of lightning lingered after the storm had passed, showing he was in a mess of tangled vines and thickets interspersed with a few very old hardwood trees, some with late autumn leaves stubbornly clinging to thin branches and undulating in the strong breeze, they almost looked like spidery fingers clawing at the dark air. It was by now late evening, and Earl realized that if he was going to get out of that dreadful place before it got too dark to see, he’d have to get himself together and start moving, so as hard as it was to come to grips with crawling out of his makeshift shelter and moving through that horrifying cemetery again, he had to get going. The noise that sounded like laughter he had been hearing didn’t go away with the storm, in fact, it seemed louder, as if it was coming toward him.
While Earl sat there shivering, trying to get his nerve up to leave, his mind went back to the evening he stopped and asked for permission to hunt on that property. He was beginning to think he understood now why the old timer acted so surprised that someone would actually want to go out there into those foreboding woods. There probably had been others who had seen things here, maybe things as terrifying as what Earl was experiencing, but why didn’t he warn Earl? He did say something about not letting the sun go down on him in those woods, and now Earl knew why, and if it was going to get spookier after nightfall, Earl didn’t want to be there, so he crawled out and just left the poncho, grabbed his gun, and began to pry himself out into the deepening evening.
So far no more spooky apparitions were moving around, and as the storm moved away, it actually got a little lighter, and Earl was both thankful and apprehensive, because the waning daylight allowed him to get a better look at the old graveyard, and he really didn’t want to see any more of it. Yes, those were bones he had seen earlier, in fact there were a few skulls among the bones lying face up, staring with empty eyes that he almost felt like were watching him as he hurriedly moved through. In one especially dark corner of the area, Earl couldn’t help but feel and especially sinister presence lurking in the blackness. This seemed to be where the unsettling laughter was coming from, and Earl made haste to get away.
He finally got through the old cemetery and back to the game trail he’d come in on, but as the evening darkness grew, he realized he still had to go back by that awful old house. He wished he knew those woods better so he could figure out a different route back out of there, but as it was, he had no other choice. It was icy cold now, and he was able to see the gloomy dark old house with the black windows glaring down at him from some dark upstairs bedroom that hadn’t been slept in, at least by a living soul, in scores of years. He hoped it was his imagination, but there seemed to be a dark grey mist drifting out of those windows, long without panes or sills. There were vines growing up the walls, over the doors, and dead limbs fallen from surrounding trees embedded through the roof in places. There was no way to get through the tangled vegetation and get into the old house, even if someone wanted to. Yet there seemed to be a strange glow emanating from one of the downstairs window openings, almost as if there was an old lamp burning inside! Earl could have sworn he heard that same evil laughter he’s heard down at the old graveyard.
Earl could see his breath in the gathering darkness, and he found himself panting as he tried to avert his gaze from the window with the impossible light inside and he wanted to throw down his rifle and cover his ears to block out the insane laughing – by now he was actually running and on the verge of panic. The sun was going down and he was still a long way from his truck! He looked behind him on the trail and to his horror, he saw what appeared to be a vivid apparition of an old woman standing there leaning on an ancient garden hoe, silently motioning for him to come back, and her hands and arms were soaked with blood! As horrifying as the sight was, Earl felt an overwhelming sadness at her visage, but he did not stop to try and figure out what it was about.
Soaked to the bone and exhausted beyond belief, Earl reached his truck and shivering and shaking, he finally fumbled his key into the door and climbed in. The wheels were deep in mud which had washed down the old road in the storm, and he wondered if he was going to be stuck there. The creepy laughter had subsided, but he could still hear it far away now. He couldn’t remember a more relieved moment in his life than seeing the interior light of his truck and hearing the engine start. After rocking back and forth in forward and reverse, he was able to get the vehicle moving and turned around. After much slipping, spinning, and sliding, he found himself approaching the old cabin where he’d stopped, it now seemed like ages ago, to talk to the old man, and to his amazement, the cabin was gone! Completely and utterly not there! In fact, there were giant oak trees growing in the very spot where the cabin had been! Earl had been set up for this whole thing, by someone, or something, returned for an encounter with the living from long ago!
Earl spent a lot of time in the ensuing years wondering just what those ancient oak trees out there had witnessed long ago. He found out bits and pieces of information about the old mill and settlement where he’d chanced to have his adventure, and after some time was able to piece together just what he had happened upon. As for me, well, I’m amazed at the things a person can overhear listening to idle conversations during a rained-out golf outing.
Early spring in the Ozarks. I’ve finally found the place in the world I’ve been looking for all of my life. It’s a place where you can walk outside and as soon as you get through the door, you’re in the early springtime woods. You take a deep breath of late winter and watch spring songbirds starting to show up, they’re tuning their whistles and chirps getting ready to find mates to help build summer homes somewhere among the thickets. Twigs and branches already have swollen nodes waiting to bloom, slight tinges of ochre-green and light brown are beginning to paint the hardwood forest patiently waiting for the last frost to pass away north. Sometimes if the timing and temperature is right, fogs can appear on the land and it can be pretty with bright sunshine above glinting off trees and twigs and sun rays stabbing through to shine on remnants of frost on the ground.
Out in the wild parts, black bear cubs will soon take their first tentative steps behind sleepy and hungry mamas out of the darkness and into a bright world of things that need to be explored and climbed. Feathered mothers-to-be are already negotiating with nature’s realtors for prime locations to build and deposit this year’s egglings, all the while cheerfully singing and checking grocery locations for places to find fare to cram into little open beaks surely to be hissing and squawking for attention soon.
We’re getting plenty of late winter rains and the wet-weather creeks have been running aplenty, which is good news for a nice dogwood bloom to follow in April. They will complement the forest décor of red bud (which is actually beautiful pink, but pink bud just doesn’t sound as catchy as red bud). I’ve heard those red bud blossoms make a tasty jelly, but haven’t tried it yet. The dogwoods are especially pretty if the timing is right and they bloom just before the greenery gets going, because if they are late, they’re harder to see for all the new green leaves. If they do their thing nice and early, the woods can resemble rivers of white and it’s spectacular – one of my favorite sights that occurs in the woods.
A lot of people don’t pay it much attention, but if you look carefully at the oaks as they begin to put on new leaves, the new shoots can be as red as black gums in the fall, they’re just not as big and showy as fall colors. We have a tree or shrub around here, I think they’re called autumn olives, they put on tiny white flowers that smell close to the same as gardenia, just not nearly as loud, but if you get close enough, they’re a real treat to sniff. That’ll be a bit later though. In late summer those little trees put on a red fruit about the size of a bb that’s really tart but sweet.
Before long, there’ll be flocks of high-flying snow geese in endless v patterns – thousands of tiny white honking specks flowing across an indigo ocean, itself a beautiful marvel to behold. They know where they are headed – to fields away north. When they come through this area, they are usually so high up you can barely see them, but it’s worth the squint to watch and hear their show.
It won’t be long now and there’ll be several little spotted white-tail fawns wobbling around the woods, chasing mom for a bit of milk here and there, and curiously nibbling at new grass shoots. Daffodils and dandelions are already showing off – along with forsythia they are the first colors to appear in the spring.
Lots of trouble going on in the world of people these days, and I write about it, but there’s always a balance with good things created by God for us to enjoy, and I would be remiss not to mention the things for which we should be thankful. Spring is almost here. Get outside and breathe.
Things are happening in the world these days over which we have little control, and if my recent posts reflect my concern with all the goings on, well I have mixed thoughts – on the one hand I don’t want to depress readers with posts about things like our impending destruction, but on the other hand, I like to do my part to help to awaken folks as to some of the things the media doesn’t talk much about that’s actually going on. When I say what’s actually happening, of course it’s how I interpret world affairs, but I try to remind people that there’s a perfectly reasonable and believable course of action we can take to avoid getting caught up and losing our bearings and becoming lost on our life’s roadmap. Getting to know Jesus is the panacea for all the world’s ills.
Anyways, for those who are comfortable with their own direction in this world that’s going insane, I’m determined to try and use my love of God’s creation to write more about those things which prompted me to start this website, at least once in a while. For those who are tired of my total desecration of the practice of writing prose, I’d like to update y’all on our life out here in the Ozarks and the things we see and do that a lot of folks in other places might not get to experience. Oh, and I’m working on part II of the Duff Mill story, so if you’re interested in how it turns out, please be patient, Earl will finish his hunt (maybe).
This morning broke with a silent and beautiful dawn sky with singing birds out trying to convince each other that spring is just around the corner. A lot of them don’t sound so sure, but they’re tuning up their whistles just the same. I heard a ladder-backed woodpecker yesterday and the crows seem to make different noises this time of year – maybe they’re getting ready for some green out there, too.
One of my neighbors up the road is having a new fence put in, and in order to do it right, the contractor had to cut and doze a bunch of trees, so the neighbor invited me to help myself to all the firewood I need. Guess that means getting my old carcass back in shape a bit so I can do some wood. This part of the Ozarks is blessed with abundant hardwood forests, which in turn is blessed with animals that eat acorns and hickory and walnuts. The place is crawling with deer, squirrels, and turkeys. There are a few black bears about too, but most of them are still asleep here in February. We have groundhogs, raccoons, possums, chipmunks, and bobcats. There are mountain lions about too, but not very many. I heard one scream – well it was between a scream and a growl, but it was definitely a cougar – I got a game cam picture of it that was taken around that same day I heard it.
We had an ice storm a week or so back, and when the ground gets covered with snow and ice, our wild birds have a rough time finding enough to eat, so during ice and snow, I try and keep bird seed out for them. Seeing the numbers of those little critters gathering to feed, I think they sort of expect to find it around the house here. There are several pairs of cardinals that hang around – maybe humans could learn something about being faithful from them because they mate for life. When you see one, there’s always a mate close by. And like other birds, they always lift my spirit with their songs. I think that’s why God gave them to us.
When I first moved here five years ago, there were birds everywhere. Lots more than we have now. Blue birds, indigo buntings, and goldfinches, and many others, always flitting about and singing – it was amazing. Well there is an old pond basin out back that never did hold much water, but it was boggy and overgrown with briars, willow trees, and wild rose so that it was impossible to walk through. I decided to clear it out and spent a full summer working to make it accessible – for people. Now you’d think in 65 years a person would have learned something about ecosystems and animal habitat, and sure enough, not long after the clearing project, I began to notice there were fewer goldfinches, and it didn’t take too long for me to realize I had inadvertently evicted my beloved little feathered friends. To make a long story short, my pond basin is recovering now and I have a healthy start of briars and willow saplings again. Maybe this year we’ll see more finches and buntings – I really hope so. The pond basin has now become our environmental habitat recovery project I call “The Fen”. A unique Ozark protected game sanctuary.
Well, spring is indeed right around the corner and I so look forward to the annual dogwood show. Last year it wasn’t very showy, but the year before it was absolutely spectacular – the best dogwood bloom I’ve ever been blessed to behold. I really don’t expect to ever see that again, but who knows? God isn’t shy about showing us what He can do, He proved it again last fall with the colors. Look through some of the pages on my site for fall pictures. The maples! Wow! There can be a hundred trees in fall colors in a stand, but if there’s one maple in there, it steals the show – every time. But the hickories and black gum also take on some really pretty colors. And last year even the normally drab oaks put on an unusually colorful show.
Springtime also ushers in some nasty weather around here, so we have to keep an eye out for those late cold fronts.
All the same, y’all enjoy the spring and I’ll try to keep posting while I’m here. Vaya con Dios.
How did we get here? What kind of map did we use? Can we get back? If we could get back, exactly where would we be getting back to? To yesterday, last week, or last year – when north winds brought coolness and raucous flocks of geese headed south and we at least thought we could watch those peaceful migrations content in the belief that our government had everything under control? We now stare across a void of brooding time and distance into the daunting challenges to our own sanity, itself a threat, but for the empire these days everything is a threat; existential, no less. Especially notions of sanity derived from foreign shores; possibly even (gasp!) China. Yes, especially China; or Russia! Oh mercy; we’ve come undone! And look! Balloons!!! We can only dream in nightmares, our world is no longer gift wrapped with red, white, and blue ribbons, no there is much more to try and digest today. Uncle Sam has taken on a sinister bearing. The geese in Washington are honking ever louder nowadays as the only things they seem to be able to accomplish anymore is to completely alienate European friends, stoke the flames of war throughout the world, and sacrifice (albeit undeserved), influence in Africa, South America, and the Middle East. Full-spectrum dominance, anyone?
I write as an American veteran of those years when we actually believed there was a damnable domino in southeast Asia that would succumb to some tenet of gravity known only to our leaders, and would surely and inexorably deprive all western people of someone’s unhinged iteration of freedom. The French back then had become unable to sustain mastery of a rebellious colony, and in order to stanch the flow of communism and with it the absolute larceny of freedom everywhere, the mighty US injected itself into a conflict that could have easily died a peaceful death without peddlers of stars and stripes getting involved in the murder of innocents.
I am now an old man and have seen all of the requisite variations of defending freedom, including helping nation after nation into whatever version of democratic paradise US leaders deemed appropriate and to be honest (which is absolutely forbidden), I’m kind of tired of it. Smedley Butler was a US Marine general who finally caught on to what is happening in the world, and actually tried to warn us, but from the time he spoke up until now, the government has taken over the media, (google Operation Mockingbird – itself another indication of a dying empire). The thrust of Butler’s warning actually had nothing to do with dominoes or freedom, but that he’d come to the realization that all wars are fought for the rich man. Wealthy bankers drive the bloodshed, and that is both to protect their wealth, and amass more. And buy shiny new yachts, jets, and governments (like ours), and of course, souls of men.
There are always people who are willing, for a price, to bring misery to the lives of, even to kill, other people. Some call them whores, a comparison which is grossly unfair fair to ladies of the night. Many are beckoned, be they generals, congress persons, alphabet soup organizations, and now days they even seem to be able to find scientists and medical doctors willing to sell themselves into treachery. Mostly though, they engage normal people like you and me, give them a gun and a fancy pair of sunglasses and feed them tidbits of whatever “secret” dishonesty is playing so they feel important – like they are part of something bigger than themselves, so they dare not allow something as mundane as their conscience to interfere with their assignments. The wealthy are always able to recruit people from whatever walk of life necessary to do their bidding. The love of money is the root of all sorts of evil. It only follows that if one encounters a man that cannot be bought – in other words if his principles are more important to him than riches – one has found a rare gem in this world. This is the type of person of which our country is in dire need for leadership. We have none. We find ourselves at a (the) seminal moment in human history, and we have no leadership! Not one actual stand-up leader in all of the government of the USA. How sad is that? I personally believe there are honorable men who could do the job, but they are necessarily barred from any position where they could make a difference, even in the unlikely event that such men might be willing to operate in the government cesspit.
Our dilemma is based in large part on society’s definition of “success”. Think about it, if we say a man is successful, we automatically think of his wealth, and I’m not going to beat around the bush – wealthy people are evil by nature. That’s why Jesus said that for all intents and purposes, they won’t go to heaven. A man’s financial status has sadly and inexplicably become one of the fundamental attributes that allow him to be considered for public office – which means we get the exact opposite kind of person we need running our country. We end up with the most execrable creatures possible in the very positions where they can inflict the most damage to the citizenry. These “successful” types are invariably the least qualified to perform public service, but here they are, and here we are – trying to make sense of the insanity that passes for leadership nowadays in America.
Long ago, some good men were able to wrest power from an earlier version of evil wealthy elites and build this nation. Sure, they had faults, but such was their dedication to this republic, they were willing to die to establish it. Incrementally since those days, the quality of individuals that staff our high offices diminished until we find ourselves where we are today – completely bereft of any hint of leadership and the stench is overwhelming. The cream did not rise to the top. None of the people in today’s US government care one iota about the citizens, nor do they care for the nation, their concerns are strictly about their (typically offshore) bank accounts. Easily purchasable for the highest bidder. Thanks to unconstitutional outrages like Citizens United. And if money can’t buy them, they can meet with misfortune on the streets of Dallas or get Epsteined.
Our intelligence agencies have no oversight or accountability. They are so free to do as they will, they could probably bomb some big city buildings with airplanes in full view of millions of people and completely get away with it. Or maybe destroy some ally’s underwater pipeline. Or operate illegal bio-weapons labs or torture sites. Oh, wait… When I was young, the America I knew, or thought I knew, would not have been suspected of such things – especially torturing POWs. Now US leaders in an endless embarrassing public spectacle, openly brag about this kind of behavior. A dying empire indeed!
Well, we’ve gotten ourselves into a pickle, for sure. I’m just concerned that all the people in other countries of the world might believe a majority of Americans support such depravity, and I’m here to assure one and all that is not the case. I speak for a considerable part of our population, veterans especially, when I say I have nothing against Russia. In fact, for my part, I envy the Russian people for having such admirable men of distinction as Putin, Peskov, and Lavrov running and speaking for their country. Men of intelligence and integrity, and how about their director of the Information and Press, Maria Zakharova instead of the screeching sophomoric crones like Thomas-Greenfield, Albright, Nikky Haley, Victoria Nuland, and Hillary Clinton? Seriously, are these overt insults to decency and sensibility the best people we can field to represent our nation to the world? I’m not even going to talk about Blinken or his underling in the white house.
The US is surely a dying empire, and if this is the best we can do for leadership, maybe it’s best we go quietly into the night instead of putting up such an embarrassing spectacle. The whole world watches our every move. They hear the lies. They know the US government is lying every time they say anything, and are aghast that, incredibly, our leaders act as though they deserve to be believed when they say something. Now, figure that one out! It would be interesting to keep a running list of all the lies that have been told both from the mouths of politicians, and from the mainstream media (talk about embarrassing) on our foreign policy. Especially the reactions of our esteemed UN reps when confronted with the accusation of an obvious action like Nord Stream. “Preposterous!” – in bold headlines. It’s sad, but I couldn’t hold back a chuckle. Seriously, what good is it to have such a stable of expert liars if people have already decided not to believe anything they say even before they start talking? We have a credibility starved government; ergo no one is listening – nor should they. “Agreement incapable” is such a polite, apt, and typically Russian, description of the incompetent behavior. And the folks in the RoW shake their heads in dismay to watch and hear this blatant insanity and dishonesty from leaders of a nation once respected by the world.
Meanwhile, in the empire’s death throes and at the behest of wealthy American Elites, young men, and now women and old men too, are dying by the hundreds of thousands in another faraway place where the US has no strategic interest, and even if we did, there are countless other ways to accomplish foreign policy without all the death and destruction; but then death and destruction is dutifully performed in servitude to their real master, the source of their wealth who wouldn’t have it any other way.
Again – it ain’t us average Americans that are pushing this murderous travesty in Ukraine. In fact, most of us don’t support it at all. If you have a (perfectly reasonable) suspicion of warmongering by Americans, remember it’s just a small percentage of our “successful” men, abetted by with the simplest among us who still suffer from the ever-dishonest and ever-dwindling media influence. The evil doers are so well entrenched by now that there is little us commoners can do except to try and let God and the world know that we do not stand with them. They have declared war on us too.
Speaking of success, my definition is at odds with the accepted notion; my idea of true success is standing before the judgement seat of Jesus Christ and hearing “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.” That, my friend, will be the pinnacle of success; of His grace. When that day gets here, you’ll see. I hope to be too caught up with all of my brothers and sisters in Christ enjoying the rapture of His company to remember to say I told you so.
If we continue blindly walking down this path we’re on, there is likely to be a major catastrophic war, from which only a few (or none) of us might survive. Then it won’t matter if you agree with this post or not. Not much will matter if that happens, other than where you stand with Jesus. That will make all the difference in this world and the next, for you. If you aren’t right with Jesus, you’d best get right. Not a lot of time left to attend to it either. Free bibles can be found and Jesus patiently awaits to welcome you into His kingdom. There are lots of good Christian preachers around who’ll be glad to show you what you need to do. Find one today. When you take a good look at the state of evil in the world right now, especially in this Empire of Lies, Jesus becomes remarkably easy to believe.
Then let’s bow out of this tragic mistake and let the miserable ghost of this miserable empire join those of all the earlier ones to haunt what’s left of this miserable world.
Revelation 18:20 (After modern Babylon (the US?) has been destroyed) “Rejoice over her, you heavens! Rejoice you people of God! Rejoice, apostles and prophets! For God has judged her with the judgement she imposed on you.”
Let your mind take you somewhere special. Maybe a place where tall oak trees gently and silently stroke a placid rivulet with shadows as a cool summer breeze whispers a symphony of blue serenity; of yesterday’s innocence come now but memory. Perhaps old soldiers and sailors consider, as is fitting, thoughts and former notions in this serene woodland of wisdom that yesterday’s briars and paths of tragic confusion were only obstacles to overcome; and at last, amid sylvan wonders of reverent and Godly peace, they have opportunity to reflect.
Indeed, the cannon yet speaks in a strange and morbid tongue little known to those of peaceful intent, yet many too, only yesterday were deceived to think they could comprehend a grievance offered, some beckoning, yet deceitful cause brought forth by those of no substance, so are all conflicts. As wild songbirds dart among greenery of an understanding wood, he watches, hears the songs, comes to see the futility as if it were a long-embarked sailing ship slowly emerged from a hazy ocean, the error of such deceit. Fields stained of darkening blood look to the azure heaven and cry, of sorrow and earnest no less than that of Abel, for justice, for truth, which a covenant has promised. It awaits an appointed time.
Convinced now of darkest betrayal, amid the rapacious clamor and echoes of another war, a grey cloud descends upon youthful hearts as at last, on wings of understanding they depart; yet those who send them, those who burden them with instruments of destruction, will not reconcile. Damn them! Green leaves are not meant to fall! The infernos of hell await and shall torment forever those of pernicious bearing on whom final judgement fall, who value not tears of mothers or children, nor precious blood spilled to purchase another hour of decadence.
A day will come for a great and wrathful wind sent forth to scour the land. Savagery of evil shall succumb to His judgement, and knees shall bend. Belated regret shall avail not the guilty. No, for that day, the glory of Him who came from heaven and stood in the form of man upon His creation among His brethren shall be revealed and require that the evil soul be denied forevermore a place with Him. Only on that day will the man of perdition realize the depth of his loss. He who seeks redemption, be it sought belatedly in some peaceful forest of old age, or in a forsaken trench filled with blood, tears, and agony – will find it.
A day of peace in the serenity of a wooded hillside, a day of meditation when the simple wonder of creation strikes the heart of the old warrior who has long-since repurposed his sword, shall reveal to him the futility of war and death and the inestimable value of that knowledge. He shall cry on that day for those not blessed to see it and wonder that destiny was shaped for him to seek a wooded solitude where he finds the heart to shed tears for those taken in youth.
They dance wildly outside the den, torches blazing in the darkness. They make noises, many unintelligible vocal intonations that no sensible one hears; no one listens because like the wild maniacs they are, the sounds they make have no substance, no meaning, and never a semblance of integrity. They behave as beasts, devoid of morals or conscience, dancing to a never-ending chorus of garbled nonsense, as they try their utmost to show onlookers, and each other, of their confidence for it is the onlookers, those who the madmen have pretentiously convinced are their allies, who must now be convinced it is their duty to enter the den and face the horror that those who dance and scream outside are afraid to confront. Some allies are even willing to try, such is their misplaced confidence of support from the insane ones. The lack of confidence of the madmen, never acknowledged, is nevertheless palpable to those of discernment. The allies are expected to be initiators of the insanity, and some of these have second thoughts, although they have pledged themselves to the service of the chanters who write the songs, and who have since become completely insane.
The allies of the mad ones finally begin to understand the reality that it is they who will be expected to sharpen their puny sticks and face the onslaught of the monstrosity inside the den. But why? They have all seen these types of dramas before. These same madmen, once they have stirred the hornet’s nest, have repeatedly been known to cut and run, and leave their vassals to their own devices. Although there are a few who plaintively mumble as the insanity of the chant reaches fever pitch, tragically they cannot muster the collective will to refuse to be part of the madness. Indeed, they all have very good reasons to refuse, their families will be in danger due to their cowardice, their nations may well be destroyed, yet they cannot bring themselves to entertain any notion of refusal to participate, such is their absolute dishonor and obeisance to the evil that commands them.
The great bear in the den is no longer in hibernation. He has made his demands quite clear. The idiots chanting outside his lair are too close for his comfort, but they continue to encroach, in the erroneous and arrogant assumption that the bear will not strike, or will only strike those who enter his lair, and that he will defer peacefully to those who wrest the unfortunate vassals in to aggrieve him. Each of the instigators, cowards in their own right, try and convince each other that the bear will retreat further into his lair and avoid conflict with those who cause his discomfit, at least with those who promote the madness from afar. They pretend to ignore the utter plain truth that the hackles of the bear are now on display for all to see, he stands at the entrance, great menacing teeth bared and with blood in his eyes, yet still willing to allow the crazies to retreat were they to come to their senses, but all of sound mind who witness the impending tragedy realize that the utter madness of the instigators has overtaken their sensibilities, and they will not back off.
Some of the addle-pated vassals try to keep up the pretense of subservience, for until the bear unleashes his fury, there are many who call themselves leaders, who stand to personally benefit for their perceived loyalty. For these ones, their love of pecuniary largesse dictates their unquestioning obedience. They have allowed the mad ones to convince them of their security, and have no notion of the wrath of the great bear, nor of how quickly and utterly his ferocity can destroy them; may God have mercy on all when the bear comes out of his den.
I am a great bald eagle. I’ve soared through the heavens for countless ages, over landscapes carefully arranged and placed by the Creator, landscapes once pristine, peaceful, and of magnificent beauty. I watched as strangers arrived here and tried to possess land that did not, could not, belong to them. I saw them slay the inhabitants, people who had learned to live in harmony with the mountains, rivers, great animal herds in a way so as to preserve the creation over which they held stewardship.
Intruders arrogated to themselves control of this nation over which I fly, and slaughtered any who opposed them. Those who could not, did not contest them were sent to arid dungeons of deserts; places that were of no attraction; of no wealth. I’ve soared over countless swathes of prairie where bleached bones lay desiccated among ancient and rotted remains of native settlements. Men do not know that even the majestic eagle dares to weep.
Somewhere in the Distance
Somewhere in the distance, on this bleak and lonely plain
‘Neath midnight skies of silver stars, a lone coyote’s refrain
Drifts along the prairie breeze in melancholy notes
Heard by none but ranch hands lying watchful ‘neath their coats.
A tumbleweed soon pauses from his trek which knows no end
And sighs the softest whisper to the chilly prairie wind
Perhaps a new direction on the lonely breeze to go
He’s roamed this land and knows of all its secrets high and low.
A full moon rises into view as ancient ghosts appear
Of weathered buildings, once a town, now dead for scores of years
Rusted hinges moan their tales as doors swing to and fro,
The gallows rots to dust as did her victims long ago.
The piercing call of Navajo is heard here nevermore
His tepee warm no longer stands, his woman at the door.
But why has man since disappeared where once such life abound’?
And why is no one living on this prairie to be found?
Perhaps if we could learn the song the coyote sadly sings
Or secrets told by tumbleweeds, or rotted doors that swing
Perhaps we might then understand why only ghosts remain
To ever haunt ‘neath midnight moon this bleak and lonely plain.
Mike Kitchens
So it began. The birth of a monstrosity that would grow to devour the world over which we great birds fly. They had the temerity to appoint me to occupy a position I did not seek. My image adorns every significant representation of their claims of ownership. They shame me. They own nothing. When they pass through that portal, the land they had claimed is still beneath me. Had they truly owned the land of this nation I watch, they would have taken it with them. They did not; they could not. They own nothing.
(This post, like the Eulogy to the Fallen Soldier, is to try and bring home the reality of what it’s got to be like on the cold battlefields of Eastern Europe and is published in the hope of getting enough people to understand that this slaughter needs to stop.)
I’m cold, hungry and so tired. Naught to see but ravaged land and the frozen earth of this ditch in which I have suffered for too long. Naught to see but the remains of my friends, some mostly whole, many more no longer anything but shredded body parts and bloodied limbs, bones and more blood than I ever dreamed could be shed. Those of us who are still alive might as well be dead, too. There is no hope here.
I imagine the guys who are firing on our positions are cold too. They don’t know us, whether or not we hate them; most of us don’t, and they probably don’t hate us either, although there are some units in the rear that hate everyone on the field. Those psychopaths even kill their own people, ostensibly to get them to fight, but some especially evil men simply kill for the pleasure of killing, doesn’t matter whom. Everyone knows of them – and they relish the notion that they are feared. There is a special place in hell for them. There’s also a special place in hell for the people who profit, in any way, from this murderous undertaking. Even the “bible believing” stockholders of the many “defense” contractors of the countries responsible for this.
If someone were to ask why we are here, there wouldn’t be many of us who could say. I have my own notions, but not for sure. We don’t get paid to know the politics; we simply get coordinates and fire our weapons. We don’t know if we hit our target, or who we kill. Did our bullets find young men who were alive – just beginning their lives, with the hopes and aspirations of all young men? Were they killed instantly, or do they lie suffering in pain and horror, as they succumb to that eternal sleep?
Even in these damnable trenches, we hear of the destruction wreaked all around this country. Many civilian people who have nothing to do with this war suffer immensely. Mothers continually pray to God that their sons might survive; heartbroken, realizing that in all likelihood they will never see them again on this side. I’ve been praying ever since I arrived at this corner of hell that God will see fit to spare my life, but I don’t hold much hope for that – there’s just too much death here for me to actually believe I’ll survive. Maybe I won’t – I’d just like to get it over with, one way or another. This abominable waiting for the end is another hell of its own, and no one but us guys in the trenches know what it’s like. Maybe if more regular people knew; someone, somewhere, would help get this madness stopped before all of us die.
The ice-cold dark water in these holes is unbearable. It’s filthy, with blood and waste, and we wade in it, freezing our feet. Our clothes are wet, most of us are bleeding from untreated wounds, which will no doubt become infected. What a dismal situation we are in, when we consider ourselves fortunate, even though we lose our feet to frostbite, just to remain alive. We keep our eyes and ears open for incoming rounds and it’s exhausting, the drugs help to keep us awake, but after a while, we become zombified, mindlessly pursuing and performing our mission of death. Of course, that’s what the leaders want. As much death as evil men can bring about.
It’s the ultimate conundrum when a man gets so tired of trying to survive, he starts to pray for death.
