Make Luck

Another Auld Lang Syne. Old long ago or the good old times.

Ending and beginning. Union and parting. Life and death.

A time to pause, ever so briefly, to reconsider the past and consider the future.

There are a lot of customs this time of year for the right of passage we experience every New Years Eve.

Many wear black both to banish the negative and attract the positive. Another common custom is to fix corned beef and cabbage and toss a silver coin, usually a dollar, into the pot for good luck in the New Year.

There are many customs and practices world wide, both national and social as well as religious.

Many prefer to gather with great crowds while others like a quiet evening with a few friends or family.

Fireworks or fireplace, there is often light to welcome New Year.

I stay home and celebrate with family at this point. I leave the public displays and parties to the 'amateur drinkers' lol.

This time around particularly we are all together for probably the last time.

Mom is now on her own. My son will go away to school, though my daughter may stay close to home a few more years.

I will travel more and may be in one of several places in the years to come.

But wherever we go and whatever we do, we will always remember the old and welcome the new.

As for luck, we have to make our own.

There is a saying in showbiz that luck (aka 'breaks') is opportunity meeting preparation. I daresay that is true no matter what road in life we travel.

My hope for all of us is that we continue to 'make luck' and that the Light of Freedom will shine brightly even as the dawn of a new year breaks.

Pitch Ins

I remember great pitch in meals at churches I either attended or served.

It was the homecooking that still makes my mouth water.

And as a single student minister, the ladies would almost innundate me with food (and daughters, granddaughters and friends). Most didn't know I was quite self sufficient. Their intentions were good and I appreciate them to this day.

It was always in the church kitchen/meeting hall. Often, I would arrive early to help out any way I could.

There were always good natured folks who helped.

Yet, it was often the same people who did chores.

It wasn't like a bunch of self centered spoiled brats who expected others to serve them.

But, sometimes certain things were taken for granted.

I can remember several times that I would volunteer or be asked to set up tables and chairs.

What struck me most was that it was almost always the same bunch who did things.

It seems that way in most situations and certainly in the Freedom movement aka 3pers etc.

I urge you all to get involved.

Call the crooks on the carpet.

Call a spade a spade.

Get others awake/excited about Restoring the Republic.

I remember getting others to set up tables, chairs and even set the tables -s-.

It may be like sticking your toe in the water.

Cold at first, you get used to it and plunge in.

Find your own way into this beyond yourself!

Silent Night In A Diner 3

'Her water broke.'

I hadn't heard that since my kids were born.

I'm a veteran of many things.

Not the military. Just someone who has fought in other ways. Experienced life. Jack of many trades and master of few.

I put together what I knew about childbirth and decided to ask among the others if they could help.

The elderly couple spoke up.

'I was first a Corpsman in Korea, then I went to med school and returned to Nam. I birthed a few babies both places, and several at home.'

He swiftly examined Bridget.

'Miss, I'm a retired family doctor. I birthed almost as many babies as Ron Paul.'

That got a look of puzzlement from BB, as I called her.

'Presidential candidate and Congressman from Texas who delivered over 2,000 babies.'

She nodded, still in pain.

'You're in luck too. My wife was an Ob-Gyn nurse. How we met', a slight smile on his face as he finished her checkup.

BB seemed to think that was ok. Faced with imminent birth, she had little choice.

I thought, 'She IS fortunate. God, what if she had been stuck on the road, alone?'

Fortunately, the baby seemed ok re coming through the birth canal.

Doc Gaines (name I found out) got her ready as he could on the floor.

Mrs. Gaines assisted.

And the rest of us waited, ready to do what the Doc said.

Alice and myself were ready to talk to BB and we took turns holding her hand, encouraging her.

The Hollands were busy explaining the miracle of birth to their two kids and Snuffy and Buzz waited resolutely.

It was a small world we lived in.

Despite the drama, there was little wrong.

It was like a little piece of life in a snowy pocket.

No problems save for the birth of BB's babies. And that was remarkably routine so said the Doc.

What was extraordinary was the people in the circumstance

Yep.

We followed Doc Gaines' instructions implicitly.

We talked to BB and responded to her pain with encouragement.

BB cried out and pushed as the crown came through.

Soon, the Doc was holding a beautiful baby girl covered in blood and afterbirth.

Brought back memories of the birth of my own son and later my daughter.

Then a little surprise popped up, or out.

Innocents

There is nothing more heinous than hurting children.

It is thought by some to be a direct affront to Christ's love of the children.

Some say that 'children' means all who follow Jesus.

I think that is true.

But still, there is a special place in God's heart for innocence.

Mind you, we could not last long if we stayed totally innocent.

Yet kids have a right to be kids.

They must learn what the world is like and I'd say quickly.

But child rapists, and those who rob them of childhood should be hunted down and punished.

It is murky whether King Herod actually had boys 2 and under murdered because he was jealous of Jesus.

Imagine what a gargantuan ego, what psychopathy, it would take.

Wait a minute. Hitler killed millions. So did Stalin and Mao. There is quite a list of evil denizens. And that just in the 20th century.

People have been exterminated for eons, for power, prestige, greed and just the thrill of killing.

Yep. There are those who don't give a firetruck for us.

We, the people are considered cattle, sheep, experiments, cannon fodder.

I've met some of these 'elitists'.

They aren't worth sh*t.

As my Mom said, 'Those who think they are better than you are not.'

Not qualitatively such as walk of life education etc. Those are differences.

I sure as hell am not the best runner, fencer, shot etc. I hold my own (There is an amusing anecdote re that I'll share someday lol).

I think they are jealous. Jealous of that very thing that defines people. Freedom. It makes THEM too 'same', whereas what true Freedom does is define us as individuals, free to follow what we can do, and that is the pursuit of happiness in a nutshell.

And because they cannot stand that, they seek to subdue us, subject us.

That is about as antiamerican as it gets. It's antihuman.

Gifts, btw, can be widely distributed.

Human nature as it is and there are good and evil everywhere, there are socalled 'retarded' with gifts that rival socalled geniuses. JMHO.

Yes, the scope may be smaller focussed, but there is a spark that can ignite those who seek to do more and do better, when those who have 'more' squander it.

If your taste is fiction or faction (Thanks Mike V), check out The Prisoner, Nowhere Man, The Pretender and several others.

As I have said many times, one can get a message in the ravioli across in such stories when it's virtually impossible otherwise.

If you prefer fact, study history. Dig. Add up the data. Think for yourself.

But Freedom is only limited when allowed to be.

Just look at the 'state' of the Republic.

And NB, innocence is not ignorance.

It is a time of life when one doesn't know.

Ignorance is not bliss, nor maturity -s-.

Learn.

And teach others.

Christmas In A Ditch

Oh the mad rush is on. The din of carols and Santa, the here and there of the shoppers.

What if you were going so fast, you slid into a ditch?

Better be mindful in the midst of the chaos.

Remember the 'reason for the season', and look around.

I don't care if you are Christian, Jewish, Pagan, atheist or etc.

It's a time to catch our breaths. But we must not let up, for the enemy never sleeps.

We must sleep even less.

So enjoy time with friends family etc.

But do not forget what's happening, what's at stake.

Don't let this holy time for some be a distraction.

Let it be a focal point to gather strength for what is coming.

If the enemy is elusive, be wily as a fox, as wise as serpents.

Think and know what they do.

Use it against them.

And if you get stuck in a ditch, you will know how to get out.

Hiding In The Choir

There is a certain safety in numbers.

I remember singing in several church choirs.

Always fun and mostly amateur, I learned how to sing with others.

Hopefully choirs add scope and some inspiration to those attending.

However, there is a trick one can learn, if one is not too gungho some Sunday.

One can coast on the strength of other choir members, depending on the size of the choir and the amount of prep etc.

I'd say most places I sang were good and most folks equally good.

But, there are times one can slack off or hide in the choir.

Certainly, if one feels one isn't good enough at singing, a congregation member can almost mumble or spout 'la la las', and in the long run that's not a 'sin -s-.

Perhaps I should get to the point and I'm sure you all have guessed -s-.

Hiding in the choir is not a crime or sin.

It might be neglegence, especially if you have committed to serving in shuch an endeavor.

Serving our country takes many forms.

Obviously the military is at best the 'tip of the iceberg'.

What we can do, all of us, is be responsible to and for Freedom.

There is no 'hiding in the choir', thogh some do, for the time being.

That will not last.

One of these days, just as sure as the turning of the Earth, the dawn of a new day, the coming of the New Year, there will be NO place to hide.

Of course, there will be plenty who will shirk their duty. There always have been, always will be.

I'm suggesting those of us awake to tyranny attempt to awake many more. The more the merrier -s-.

Hiding in the choir will be more than unbecoming.

It will be the badge of traitors.

And cowards.

There will be no excuses.

There were none for our ancestors who pledged their lives, fortunes and sacred honor.

So let it be for us.

Peace

Happy birthday Jesus!

They call him the Prince of Peace.

And there are many who think that means we roll over and God will take care of us.

For the Muslim, peace is submission to Islam. Totally.

The communist definition is similar in that once the world is totally commie, then their peace will reign in the surrender of our individuality and Freedom.

Shalom is much more encompassing.

The Jews have a history of resistance, in spite of the march to the trains in WW2.

Peace means good will, strength, forbearance, vanquishing evil (the tallest order), friendship and assurance.

Salaam to the Middle Eastern Christian can mean the same thing.

Peace should mean the same thing to Christians everywhere. And (catching flak from some?) to any who thirst for peace aka Freedom.

It also means to be prepared to always defend that from those who would rise and try to take it away.

Unfortunately, it has been hijacked by leftist leaners and commie subversives to warp the message and make it acquiescence.

True vanquishing evil is greatly up to God. But, we have been left much of the job.

Peace through superior firepower is just part of the answer.

It must be will and determination to bring Freedom not just to this battered Republic, but to the world by example. That has been greatly warped in terms of forcing socalled democracy on others.

That is crappola.

We must lead through example.

Once we secure and restore the Republic, then we can continue to show the world that which it must come to itself.

The war between good and evil will go on, for men and women are flawed and pride etal can creep in.

But it is a start.

Vigil

Christmas Eve and Morning, there is often a vigil rather like the ones during Holy Week, where the faithful watch and await.

Tonight is no different.

What we await is more than we think.

Christians watch for the birth of Jesus in commemoration.

Various pagans celebrate the Solstice.

Jews have observed Hannukah, celebrating the eight days that only a day's worth of oil burned in the reconsecrated Temple.

All of us should watch because the enemies of us all are creeping along taking the Freedom which is our birthright, not just as Americans, but all people everywhere.

In reality, the Freedom the collectivists and their bosses who would be our masters CANNOT be taken away.

Remember, the Bill of Rights are merely enumerated god given rights. They tell, nay commad what government cannot do.

I only say they are taking our Freedom because so many stand by and let them legislate and increasingly by fiat rules (such as no guns in the Indiana Statehouse) 'take' them.

Vigilant now, we can battle tooth and hail since we know what's at stake.

It's coming down to the wire whether our enemies trip on their collective d*cks, for then THEY will 'Fort Sumter' us.

Watch and wait, but also as you collect intel, DO.

Speak out with the truth and be even more relentless than our mandarins of mendacity. Point out the lies and sound the alarm.

And clean your guns.

Silent Night In A Diner 2

We reached her at the same time, hands going to her arms in support.

'I need to go to the bathroom', she said weakly.

I held her left arm and the waitress held her right.

'Sure hon let me help you', the waitress smiled and took her through the door.

I stayed nearby, in case she needed us to guide her back.

My mind raced as I wondered when she was supposed to give birth.

After a bit, we got her back to the booth.

'Would you like something to eat, sweetie?', asked the waitress.

'I'll buy', I said. 'It's Christmas Eve. Consider it a gift ahead of time', I smiled, reminded of other kids who were alone and pregnant on the streets.

She looked at me a little warily. Was she wondering what I wanted?

'I'm ok.' She turned her head away.

'Look', I said, 'Let's face it. we're snowed in here. And better here than on the road. We've got food and warmth and light.' I looked her in the eye. 'And, I'm not a weirdo.' I smiled, eyebrows up.

She regarded me again and decided. She nodded, then tried to look away.

I touched her shoulder and looked her in the eye again.

'I'm just here. So are you. If you wanna talk, I'm here. Besides we aren't gonna get out of here til??? tomorrow.'

She shook her head. The look she had was as if the world had dumped a load on her.

'Ok. I'm gonna eat.' I ambled back to the counter.

'What's your name me dear?'. I asked as the waitress set my eggs and ham before me.

'Would you believe Alice?', she laughed.

Immediately, a popular 'folk song' entered my mind.

'On this day in this snow, I'm not surprised by much.' She laughed and took a sandwich over to the girl.

'Chicken salad's on the house. We're all in this together.'

The girl smiled weakly and said 'Thanks', looking down.

I glanced around again.

I nodded at the elderly couple and they nodded back.

The guy at the counter introduced himself,'Name's Bob. Call me Snuffy.' He nodded to the girl, who looked like a forlorn elf. 'She's got a load of care for such a young one. I've got a daughter myself.'

'So do I. Same age. She's ok, but things are different. Back in my Greatgrandma's day, girls married and started housekeeping. She helped run a farm, businesswoman when men ruled the roost.'

'They rush em now and don't teach responsibility as much, though we tried.'

'Well, we did too and it seems to have stuck. It's where I'm headed once we get set free from the snow palace.'

Snuffy raised his bushy eyebrows. 'Spect it'll take em a day or two to dig us out. It's not been this bad for decades.'

'We should talk to Buzz and Alice.'

'Hey man, looks like we have to bunk at the Motel Snowtel. You got some things we can use?'

Buzz thumbed toward a locker while Alice went and talked to the other folks.

'Let's just say we like to be ready for emergencies', Buzz smiled as he opened the locker. He had blankets, lights, some medical supplies and even food rations.

'We could stay here for a month lol.'

'Hope not', Alice smiled. She got busy handing out blankets.

I went over to the girl.

Just wondered what your name is so I don't yell hey you or call you young lady. It makes me feel old', I laughed.

She actually managed a smile.

'Bridget Bethany', leaving off a last name. I wasn't that nosy.

'Ok, kid', I smiled and told her I called my daughter that sometimes.

'Bridget, you may not want to talk, but I think you are safe here. I don't know you from Eve, but you were not meant to be alone tonight.'

She tried to keep a steely gaze, but her tired red eyes were welling up.

I gave her a hug. She collapsed in my arms. I patted her head and whispered 'It's ok. Let it out.'

The tough girl facade was completely gone. The lonely child was out.

Kids having kids. It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last.

But we were here, this bunch of strangers. We were not alone. And this was not a coincidence.

She needed to go to the restroom again.

I signalled Alice to come help.

A moment late, Alice came to the door.

'Her water's broke.'

Silent Night In A Diner

What a place for a story.

A lonely diner on a stormy Christmas Eve.

I was driving cross country. I hate to fly especially since our 'homeland security' measures have kicked in.

Besides, I've always seen a great deal more when wheeling it.

I like meeting people and sharing stories.

Little did I know that, this night, I was receiving a 'motherlode'.

A snowstorm was whipping through, replete with poor visibility and winds that were knocking what remaining traffic their was, around like tin cans. Even my 4 wheeler was losing the battle.

I'm usually pretty good about watching the weather and travelling conditions.

But this was Christmas Eve and I had 'miles to go' etc.

Dumbass me pressed on, knowing better but ignoring my own common sense.

Thus, I left the highway when it was obvious I would get no further.

There was a diner outside a small town. I barely made it as the snow whirled and piled nightmarishly high.

The lights were on and there were just a few cars parked, a couple as haphazardly as mine became.

The whole scene reminded me of the 'blizzard of '78', a nasty storm that closed down the state of Indiana late January of said year. I remember hearing the announcer say the 'state of Indiana is closed'. 'No sh*t Sherlock', I thought.

Same thing as I trudged to the diner door.

I entered and pounded my feet as I looked around.

There was a small scattering of folks, a waitress behind the counter and it looked like a cook in the kitchen.

'Welcome to the wasteland, hon. Can I get you some coffee?', the woman asked, surprisingly cheerfully. Maybe it was be cheerful or morose, so she chose the former.

'I'd appreciate that. Black's fine.', I chimed in. I undid my coat, took off the gloves and sat down, wearily and gratefully.

She brought the coffee and smiled, asking if I wanted anything to eat.

'If it's not trouble. I'm kinda surprised you guys are open', gesturing with my thumb and nodding.

'Well we kinda had no choice. We were gonna shut down, but the storm hit so fast and hard, we figured we'd actually be safer here. So we decided to stay open, just in case folks like you all', gesturing round, 'could light down.'

"Well thanks ma'am. I barely made it. And this is very inviting. How long you been here?'

'Since lunch shift. We heard there was gonna be some snow', she laughed. 'How right they were.'

'Wow. You must be beat. Do you need some help?'

She smiled tiredly and said, 'Naw. I'll sit til your food's ready then after, I'll just sit again. Same for Buzz back there.' She gestured at the guy in the kitchen and he waved and smiled.

I smiled back then finally looked around.

There was an elderly couple in one booth. He held her as she dozed, himself droopy eyed.

A younger couple with two kids, maybe 5 and 10, sat at another booth, talking the kids drawing, surprisingly quiet, but 'twitchy'.

There was a guy at the counter, middle aged, curly haired with a salt and pepper beard. He appeared to be a trucker.

Then there was this kid, a girl, maybe 15-16. All alone at a back booth, staring aimlessly out at the wall of white. She got up slowly and headed toward the bathrooms. It was obvious she was pregnant, big as a beach ball pregnant.

She moved slowly and I was worried for her as she seemed to weave.

The waitress saw at the same time and we both rushed to her.

Michaelmas

It's already passed for the year. September 29 is the date most Western churches commemorate Michael and All Angels. The Orthodox, btw, have a date on November 8 honoring the archangels.

Now, I'm not gonna make this a primer on angelology, nor a treatise on lore. Just a couple of notes and impressions.

Michael is one of the principal angels, sometimes called 'chief if the legions of Heaven under the Chief of chiefs'. He led the angels loyal to God against Lucifer and the fallen angels being victorious in the War in Heaven.

He is said to help the dying go to the Light and protects against the darkness. And, he is considered patron saint of police among others.

He has always represented, to me, great strength of character, steadfast to the end. He symbolizes unerring faith and persistance. He holds a yardstick of Truth against false light.

To this end and in service to God, his willingness to fight for what's right is exemplified in his flaming blue sword. It is a sword of truth and justice (American Way? -s-).

Blue flame is the hottest, most intense. Just right I'd say, for the task of expelling the false light and for lighting the way in darkness.

The name, in Hebrew, means 'Who is like unto God?'.

I mention my namesake partly because he is just that. I've always been interested in him since childhood as we share the same name. And no, I don't consider myself anywhere near him lol.

Also, it's a time of year sacred to many. Angels play no small part in that.

It reminds me that the fight for Freedom exists in spirit as well as flesh and blood.

Let us be steadfast, loyal to the end and beyond.

Christmas Past

This time of year always brings forth remembrances of childhood and teenage Christmases for me.

The past meets me and I am drawn backwards, like a dream heavy time machine.

The smell of pine and the crisp air are a heady perfume.

Candles and lights warm and illuminate the path. pleasantly luring us to a place never forgotten.

There is a pastiche of images tumbling around and out right now.

The trees decorated with old and new ornaments, as each year we would add something meaningful to the family. Cherished artwork from us three kids adorned those huge pines.

The smell of pine mixed with Mom's cooking and interestingly, Dad's cigars, like a familial incense.

Presents, eating and playing in the snow replete with snow forts and not just snowball fights, but 'snow wars', with my brother's and my stockpiled 'armament'.

Warming up with cocoa and lots of whipped cream. Lots, -s-. Together with cookies and pies, we were fortified for another round.

Oranges, so sweet and juicy, started the day off and that smell stayed and added to the magic.

As we got older and we moved, the celebration included, for me, time spent with one of my best friends from high school.

This was a godsend, for it gave me some respite from taking care of my Dad, who had gotten ill. Time away with friends, so that I might be stronger.

Somewhere, there are home movies my friend's Mom took of us guys, his cousin and a mutual friend along with my friend's sister mugging for the camera.

The fun we had! Goofing and laughing! Christmas break! No schoolwork! And the 23rd was my friends birthday.

He managed to get presents for both holidays. The boy never suffered lol.

They had a present wrapping assembly line in the basement. It was a wonder of family technology. We each shared the work and were rewarded with a Christmas drink after our labors.

I don't like to live in the past. Memories, however, are precious treasure. They are the basis for heritage and history.

In spite of the sadness of my Dad's illness and deterioration, my family and my friend's family had a great deal of good times. Shared grief gave way to celebration.

One of my Dad's last Christmases, we got a bottle of Dom Perignon. This was spurred by me, the consummate James Bond fan -s-.

The task of popping the cork was given to me.

Everyone sat in the living room, witnessing the ceremony.

Not having had a great deal of experience, I struggled with said cork.

As I moved around, I managed to position the bottle pointed in Dad's direction on the couch.

He was wearing a red stocking cap, as the illness made him chill.

As I popped the cork, it shot toward him, making a beeline for that cap.

I never saw Dad move, sick or well, so fast lol. And he never lost the cap!

My Great Grandma, Rose Belle, came over that year.

She had a glass of bubbly and smoked a few cigarettes, at the age of 93 (She lived to be almost 103).

I had gone to my room in the afternoon to lift weights (A habit I retain).

She asked where I had gone and Mom told her I was exercising.

She then said, 'I can exercise still', and touched her toes a few times! THAT I wish I'd gotten on film lol.

I will never forget it.

I will remember it all and have regaled the kids with many a tale, as I hope they will do for their own someday. For that matter, I hope I can tell tales to my future grandkids myself, if given the time.

These thoughts carry me through this cold wet season.

And this simple humanity is a very profound reason why I am committed to Freedom.

How can we have a Republic without our humanity?

Return Of Light

The 21st marks the Winter Solstice.

The actual Solstice lasts only an instant. Technically, it happens exactly when the Earth's axial tilt is farthest from the Sun at maximum of 23 degrees 26'.

Most people commemorate all day that it occurs.

For us in the high latitudes, it's the shortest day and the Sun is lowest in the sky.

From then onward, nights shorten and days get longer.

Though it's slow and seemingly imperceptable at first (Winter being played out afterward), this is the beginning of the return of light.

Light returns, with all the accoutrements.

Warmth, growth and awakening come slowly, to renew the Earth and to inspire us.

We persevere, because the world keeps turning. We continue, as the seasons each play their roles.

As the Earth, our part of it, comes out of slumber, so we might take time to reflect on what we have done and what is to come.

What seems bleak is only a cover that is thrown back to reveal new growth.

When we feel lethargic, we are about to experience a resurgence of all that is needed.

We are not truly sleeping. We are quietly preparing for what is ahead, resting before battle.

The Light of Freedom never goes out. It has dimmed, but we are slowly but surely coming back.

Willing

Every time I hear the word willing I think of the scene from the Shootist where JB Books is giving Gillum a shooting lesson.

Gillum is almost dead on at hitting the target. So is Books.

Gillum remarks how close their groups are.

Books then tells him that there is more to shooting, particularly live targets.

He first says that there wasn't a man he shot that didn't need killing. He never killed for fun or sport. He killed in self defense.

He mentions that a lot of gunfighters had a gimmick to give them an edge, though he still won his gunfights without them.

The reason was simple. He was willing.

Many a man blinked or hesitated. Books did not.

So it is today just as always.

There must be total commitment. Not just in the event of a gunfight, but to Freedom in its totality.

So it was at Valley Forge.

The Brits beat the Americans back to Pennsylvania. Winter camp was set up at Valley Forge 12/19/1777.

Soldiers died at a rate of 12 a day due to lack of supplies.

11,000 started the winter. 2,500 died as cold, hunger and disease tool their toll. There were desertions. The rest held out and held on.

They were 12 to 60. They were white, black, red.

According to Hessian Major Carl Leopold Baurmeister, the only thing that held the Americans together was their 'spirit of Liberty'.

This was the place where Washington was seen kneeling in the snow, asking for guidance and strength.

He was inspired by those men, who, deprived of boots and clothes and food, nonetheless stayed the course.

They were inspired by his leadership.

All were inspired by Freedom.

It is no less a commitment now.

Everything or nothing.

We must be willing to die for Freedom.

We must be willing to live for Freedom.

The storm is coming.

We must be willing to weather it.

Strays

As my son and I took our daily walk/run, we spied two stray dogs in the woods by the road.

They eyed us warily as I talked to them.

They were medium size, with golden coats, looking very much like our Steve and Carmen.

How they got there is anyone's guess.

They may have jumped the fence, but I don't think so.

Maybe they were abandoned, just dropped off to fend for themselves because the owner couldn't afford to take care of them anymore. Or worse, the owner found them to be 'too much trouble'. It's a cowardly 'out of sight, out of mind' event all too common.

If so, why not take the time to find another home for them. Too much trouble?

Did they think dumping them was more humane than at least calling animal control who would take them to a holding pen for a few days. The hope would be that they would find a home before they would be 'put to sleep'.

Then there is the animal shelter where more of an effort is made to place animals with caring people.

Yes, animals can fend for themselves-sometimes. Like humans some are better at it than others.

Dogs are made particularly to be companions with humans. What is need? They ask little.

Some food, a roof over their heads, even just simply being with someone. Being with someone. Unconditional love. In spite of conditions good or bad. Dogs can take a lot.

One of the numerous drug dealers that lived next door to us had a dog, paradoxically named Angel.

She was an ugly mutt and was meant to be mean as sort of a cheap alarm system.

They kept her tied to a tree and would sparsely feed her and of course, treated her with disdain.

No loving word, only rebukes and for nothing. Mean for mean's sake.

Her ribs started to show.

We began giving her a mixture of dog food, some scraps and suet, mixed in a coffee can.

She gradually went from being distrustful of us and snapping, to getting excited and waggung her tail when we came to feed her. She got so that I could pet her ugly old head (She was so ugly she was cute.).

You might ask why we bothered. We tried to call animal control. The bureaucracy let her fall through the cracks. So much for dealing with the state. We even offered to take her. They refused.

Long story re these sh*tems. They tried to get a drug lab going etc. We not only foiled them, they moved after they tried to get me arrested for pointing a gun at one of them. Didn't work.

After they moved, we learned they killed Angel. She was useless to them.

Better off dead under the circumstances?

Justice came their way, some sooner, some later.

One of my several jobs in college was as a liquor store clerk. It had its perks lol.

I worked one Christmas Eve.

The owner supplied us with deli food, the good stuff.

We had a picnic and plenty of beer! I was taking stuff to dump out the back door.
There was a whitish colored mutt rummaging round the trash bin.

I talked to him and went back in, retrieving some of the deli meat.

I threw it to him and he gratefully gobbled it down.

The owner had seen me doing this. He grunbled that I was giving a stray perfectly good food out of his pocket.

Then he remembered, it was Christmas Eve, after all. Even a stray dog deserved something.

Personally, I could have cared less that it was Christmas Eve, or any other day.

I saw a stray and my heart reached out.

Compassion is not a bad thing sometimes.

I'm reminded as well that teaching a man to fish is a great thing.

But that man must be able to stand up.

Don't give a handout.

Give a hand.

Sons Of Liberty

We are called upon again to defend Liberty.

We are compelled to fight for those rights enumerated December 15, 1791.

In preWar for Independence days, the toadies of George called those so ascribed 'sons of violence' or 'sons of iniquity'. Rather like some of our current crop of enemies call us 'gun nuts', 'militia' (Now a demonized word conjuring up pics of crazed mobs rather like luddites destroying all in their path.), bumpkins, rustics etc. Audaciously, these keepers of collectivism call us traitors.

Finger pointing. The perfect machination for taking the heat off one's own nefarious group.

Confrontation. What 3pers etal do to shine the light on these slimy worms.

Warts and all, we don't claim to be perfect. We do affirm that we will Restore the Republic.

In the past 'Sons of Liberty' referred to several groups of people who had enough economuc then military tyranny. They held liberty tree meetings in public and organized protests that defeated the Stamp Act, impeded the Townshead Act and led, after the War began, to the repeal of the Tea Act.

The famous 'Boston Tea Party' led to anti colonist sentiment and also spurred on the Revolution.

Read up on all of this, otherwise I'll be trapped into some lengthy booklike tratise that deflates and waters down my point (Worth the read btw).

As the term 'sons of liberty' came to embody ALL who fought and supported in their own way for Freedom, so it can be used today.

Take occasions like Bill of Rights Day to spread the word what our Republic is about. Talk details about what our rights are and how they are a given, enumerated as it were, and not fiat government permission.

Teach those who are ready just what it means to resist tyranny.

Word of mouth is our friend. They can't tax that -s-.

The more they try to endrun it however, the more ingenious we become.

The plainer the course. The risk is clear. We are willing to fight and die for Freedom. What's more, we are willing to live for Freedom.

The long awaited storm is sweeping us along. Let us weather it together.

Simply put, we are now and forever sons and daughters of Liberty.

Education Vs Well Read

I remember someone I knew at a local college tell me 'Michael, you are not educated, but you are well read'.

Academic snobbery at its finest. Pretty presumptuous huh? Or was it a compliment?

At the time, I had taken some college courses. But I had my own business and had been a student minister in the Lutheran Church (Now ELCA after I left the Missouri Synod. For refs please look it up yourselves.).

In other words, I had been a businessman and a church leader as well as a husband and father.

The person who had said this prized her academic education but at the same time questioned authority. She was suspicious of what was going on in government. And yes, I was questioning what we are now commonly addressing.

Makes you wonder, btw, how long it takes for people to 'get it' and do something about encroaching tyranny. This was some time ago and I still think it's going to get way worse before it gets better.

Education these days can be little more than programming. Being well read seems wise.

Education is life.

All my life is school.

I was told I must get my bachelors degree. Somehow, apparently, that would make me more complete.

Nonsense.

We homeschooled the kids til recently. One of the primary axioms they have been taught is that education, ie learning, is lifelong.

We must strive to teach ourselves.

We must be well read. For if we are not well informed, we are subject to the whims of those who would be our masters. We must not let others do our thinking for us.

I'm not disparaging a formal education. It can be the origin of a well lived life. Or, these days particularly, it might be a dumbed down watered version of the truth.

Training and practice, to me, are natural whether you call me well read or educated. Split hairs here.

If you want to call educated 'doing' and well read 'knowing' I'd buy that.

Otherwise, get as much out of life as you can. Think for yourself and practice the principles of Freedom that founded our country.

And practice with your firearms. That kind of education is invaluable as it means you can defend those principles.

Walking In The Snow

As I walked through the snow one winter, I saw an elderly woman trying to shovel her driveway.

It had been a deep snow, with penetrating cold after.

The city plow had cleared the street, well had piled snow to the side and left a coating that defied thawing.

The elderly lady was attempting to hack away at a huge pile left by said plow that blocked her driveway.

I was running late for a meeting, but I was not about to let this lady exhaust herself and possibly hurt herself as well.

I asked if she wanted me to help her shovel and she agreed.

It was a heck pf a job. The snow was packed tightly where the plow had pushed it. I bid the lady go inside and I chopped and chipped, taking occasional breaks, the sweat building.

Gradually, the mound receded as I piled it out of the way.

She came out a couple of times to see my progress and asked if I wanted something hot to drink.

I thanked her and just kept shoveling. Once I start, I hate to stop.

After while, I had cleared a path for her car and managed to clear the sidewalk.

She thanked me and said she would pay me.

I immediately refused, saying it was not necessary. I merely did what needed to be done. Besides, I figured she was on a fixed income and needed every cent.

She insisted, stating it was worth it. She also said it was of 'no never mind'.

I asked her if she could really part with it.

She assured me it was ok.

I accepted the money gratefully and went on my way.

Though I was in need of money, I never dreamed of asking her.

It was my duty as a fellow human being to come to the aid of an elderly lady. It was done with no thought of recompense.

It was the right thing to do.

Yet, I was rewarded and with more than her money. Her thanks was enough.

But she felt it was not and thus I was given some much needed cash.

Not planned, not premeditated. Certainly not mercenary. Totally unexpected.

I was supplied with the means to go on another day.

You never know where nor when something might come to you, when you need it most.

It beats the heck out of fretting by doing. Giving.

It's a welcome thought on another cold day.

Snow

The first snow has hit Indianapolis, a whopping one inch.

Many of the people go into a panic even for an inch of snow that has already partially melted.

News outlets stay on longer and there are several school starting time delays.

Erica's bus was just fine, she must have a driver who can handle wet slick roads lol.

There was a stringed out story how the city 'miscalculated'.

Inidianapolis has always been a bit weeny when it comes to snow.

This overdramatization is pathetic however.

How far the city has fallen.

Failed social policies continue to pile up and our Mayor, Greg Ballard has proven to be a shill for the same old crapfest politicians and selfish business interests that infest coty government.

His brilliant idea to install 'New York' style gun laws here of course fizzled before formally being introduced.

I predict it will be back eventually watered down to chip away at us.

We must stand fast and not allow this.

I'd hate to come home to Indy from that cyst on the bowel of the Republic, Los Angeles, and find us succumbing to the kooladish drivel endemic out on the coast.

It could happen.

There has been a measure to ban smoking permanently in bars etc. There was a partially successful effort and many places adopted no smoking or limited options.

The total ban was tabled but got back quickly on the agenda thanks to the Fabian tactics of such shallow Council members such as Angela Mansfield.

She tried a previous attempt at halting 'gunfire' with in ther city limits some time ago. That fizzled, thanks to a concerted effort by Freedom minded Indy folk.

I confronted her personally and during my ex's failed campaign for City-County Council membership.

She is quite a piece of collectivist work. Excuse after excuse drooled from her fork tongued mouth. I countered every one.

BTW, she somehow squeaked back to a seat on the Council. She had apparently lost then miraculously came back and won, Julia Carson style (She of the ghetto mafia who always won when it was obvious she had been outvoted. All those dead voters doncha know.).

And all the time my ex was drummed out of the primary because certain precincts were shut down 'by accident'.

Todd Rokita, our Secretary of State promised to investigate.

That was two years ago.

What happened Todd?

Hoosiers and everybody else: Don't kid yourselves. We are in as much grave danger as the rest of the country in losing our rights as we all slide into socialism.

Stand up to it as we all the while endeavor to Restore the Republic.

But don't worry. Our Mayor promises to be prepared the next time the snow hits.

I'll just keep my gun on the table next to the pc, light a cigar and sip a whiskey and laugh.

All 4 Stanzas

You rarely hear all four stanzas of the Star Spangled Banner.

It is embarrassing in its candor as to how our nation was forged.

Briefly, it was written by Francis Scott Key while imprisoned on a British ship during the bombardment of Fort McHenry during the War of 1812 and finished when he was released at a Baltimore hotel.

Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country should leave us no more!
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

This Republic was born in war and strife. Sure many other countries are born in blood. But, the blood shed here was, I believe, righteous because it was shed for Freedom.

This Republic is like none other in history and the blood of those who have died will NOT be shed in vain!

A note on the third stanza: It talks of 'hireling' and slave', a reference to Hessians and freed slaves anxious to vent.

The Brits did free slaves, but it was NOT altruistic. It was expedient. Their economy was not dependent on slavery. It made brownie points with the people. It stuck it to the South here. It was on its way out here, except that some clung to it to the point of lasting harm for all.

Oh and think of the peoples in other colonies such as India and Africa who were little better than vassals.

Then again, we should be grateful that Western civilization was spread around the world, though many places rejected it eventually in favor of marxism. It gave many values they would not otherwise have had.

The method could have been better -s-.

These are just some reflections on the 68th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor.

Those were enemies without. We still have many.

Now there are many more enemies within.

They should be reminded of the lyrics of the Star Spangled Banner.

Runes

Symbols are powerful.

They have come to public prominence lately with the Davinci Code and Angels and Demons among other venues.

They have always been with us.

We as humans, must find a way to express how we feel.

Captain Obvious will not attempt to encapsulate the extant history of mankind's endeavors here, merely a thought or two re what we see.

We see what we want to see.

Black, white, grey, red, etc are but a sample re color of this thought.

But more evocative are the written or drawn symbols of faith, behavior etc.

For instance, would it surprise you that there is a spiritual aspect to gangs as evidenced in their symbols?

The symbols are often warding signs that seal an area. Sure, you can see it as tagging (IE marking territories, boundaries etc) and it is. But below the surface the signs are meant to have an effect on people and places, as well as attract spirit. In our park nearby, there are gang sumbols on one side of a bridge and at the other. To some that is a claim on people as vassals as well asmaking the land their own aka marhings. If you pass over them, you are then under their influence etc.

Personally I reject this simply because it's just another extension of tyranny. I have a previous claim on me from God.

Santeria and other variants are rampant in countries south of the border. They come to play as it were here.

Some signs are appropriated that have significance to Christians and Jews as well. Crosses, six sided stars, circles etc appear in various forms.

You don't have to believe. Others do. And if the symbols mean something to them, it's all that matters.

Far as I'm concerned, they have no hold on me nor do I allow myself to be scared on any level by gangs.

I merely watch their movements and treat them as I do any other threat to Freedom.

Many a house has stars, and various Amish etal signs adorning them. Again they may be just decoration or something deeper depending on belief.

Such 'runes' (Originally alphabets used by Germanic peoples ca 3rd to 13th centuries), sigils (signets), and the previously mentioned symbols can be for weal or woe.

Like colors etc they can represent good or evil.

Or they can be simply decorations.

Many more have stars and stripes, eagles, arrows and olive branches etc.

As to what you all think, it's open to inclusion or exclusion, as we almost all have 'some' symbols, and colors are part of this, such as red white and blue, or even words vis a vis e pluribus unum etc.

My word on this is simply NOT to let anything stand in the way of Freedom.

Let things stand FOR Freedom. ;)

III

Fresh Paint

I remember working with my old friend Schleupy the house painter.

There was something renewing about giving an old house a fresh coat of paint, even a new home.

I can still smell the new coats as they were applied. They did their job and gave new life to old or bare wood.

It's quite the opposite of 'whitewashed sepulcres'. That's just a coverup of something rotten. Cheap material at that.

Often, the painting was in line with other renovation or the building of a new house.

Like any kind of construction work, especially the craftsmanship Schluepy displayed and I tried to, it's not as easy as it looks.

I thought I knew how to paint, then I met Schluep. He asked me to show him what I could do. He quietly stopped me and said he'd show me a little something, in that raspy guttural voice. Come to think of it, his voice resembled the Scarecrow's from Disney lol.

It's also quite tiring. An outside job with rollers, though simple with just brush window trim, gave me quite a workout. I ached all over the next day, so badly I had trouble getting out of bed. I did though. What choice did I have? I had a job to do. Of course, after that day, the pain was less and so on til the job was done.

It was always a great reward to clean up and go out for drinks and dinner after a good day's work. It was a suitable reward. Well, the money was good too!

Frequently the painting was the crowning achievement of a team of craftsmen. Each brought expertise to the job and made something completely new or something old new again.

Aluminum siding just doesn't do it for me. And simply because a lot of people have it, well, I see a coverup -s-. The old painted wood is still there, underneath, old paint pealing, the wood unnurtured. A good paint job preserves the wood and the variety of colors suits many a temperament.

One woman wanted her house painted bright purple. The customer is always right! Besides, it's her choice. She complimented Schluepy saying, 'Don't it just shine!' The man knew how to please!

That fresh paint smell always cheered me. I don't keep a can handy -s-, but I still like the smell of fresh paint.

It reminds me of working hard, good times, craftsmanship, friendship and preserving something for the future.

I needn't say more.

Real Monsters

Last month, I published a bunch of horror/fantasy pieces. This was the rest of the 'visit' series and some spooky vignettes centering on 10th St. near me.

I had intended them for October for obvious reasons.

My hope is you all liked them.

There were some who were dismayed that I was 'wasting' my blog space when I was supposed to be writing about Freedom. Writing about Freedom is precisely what I WAS doing.

I've talked many times about how there is a 'message in the ravioli' in these types of stories, films, etc. How one can sometimes get a point across even in a popular wide release.

First, this is my blog and I will write what I feel needs to be written. That includes how I write.

The main theme is what I have stated in my purpose here: Freedom.

I'd hate to think there is a formula or worse a 'rule' just how that is expressed.

Isn't that what we are fighting for and more?

Some things here reflect Freedom better than others, JMHO.

I also like to get people thinking, whether they agree with me or not.

That is a gateway to Freedom and in that, I hope I emulate the Founders.

I am a 3per and have sworn to fight on all levels to Restore the Constitutional Republic and defend it against the myriad real monsters threatening us, past, present and future, something by the way we have passed on to our kids.

Freedom of expression is very important to me for this place as well as my future work in Hollywood. I don't expect my production company, BurlyRose Productions to do any business with major studios. Time will tell. There are certain folks with whom I want to work and with whom I'm in contact who share the aim of Freedom.

There are real monsters.

If reading about fictional ones (Or are they -s-?) doesn't suit you, go after the ones who exist.

Child rapists are one of my chief examples. The damage they do is truly monstrous. I refuse to call them 'molestors'.

And if that is not enough, how about these monsters who are destroying this Republic?

Expose these monsters. Do everything you can to reverse what they do and have done.

And as for these seemingly fictional or supernatural monster, there is at least a factual basis. Call it the 'dark side', hell, fallen angels, people who choose to do great evil. It all begins in spirit.

You don't have to believe.

Please do what you can to bring the Republic back.

As for my writing, take it or leave it.

Oh yes. Tell others. Ring the warning bells.

And do something!

Erica's First Target

In the interest of fair play, here is a remembrance of my daughter Erica's first time at an indoor range.

We had been shooting outdoors for some time, gradually building up her skills as we had her brother's.

The first pistol I bought her was a Walther P22. It's a great plinker and it was easy for her to master it. We spent time getting her used to handling it and breaking it down.

When the kids were homeschooled, it was part of their schooling to shoot and clean guns. Industrial arts for Freedom minded children.

A sidenote: They also both did some 'home ec', where they learned to cook great food AND wash the dishes. We also worked on hunting.

We went to Popguns, the only decent indoor range in Indy.

We rented range time and the family had a fine time that evening.

Erica did exceptionately well, placing within the inner rings at least 20 out of 50 rounds and except for two rounds, got the rest within the outer rings.

The target hung on the refrigerator for a long time with her art work and school papers.

Total education was our goal. It's working out quite well!

Will's First Time Shooting

Saturday, the 28th of November, was my son Will's 20th birthday.

There were many reminiscences about his birth and childhood

He was taken c-section and there was some concern he might have ingested some poop, so they used a suction tube on him, with a resulting 'Wah-shlurp, wah shlurp'.

Under the heat lamp his eyes widened and he stretched out his arms as he responded to the sound of my voice. He knew it well since I had been reading to him in the womb. Much Shakespeare etc was shared. I kid him about the arm stretching and eyes, calling it his 'creature from the black lagoon imitation'.

There are so many but one of my other favorites happened a few years later.

We were standing in a field. I had just demonstrated how to fire my Maadi AKesque weapon.

I then placed it in his hands and helped him shoulder it.

I cautioned him to just squeeze the trigger keeping it down range and point it down after finger off trigger.

The look of trust he gave me bespoke that he overcame his initial fear.

He let fly.

And he stayed in position with barrel down, finger off the trigger.

Then, I asked just one more thing of him. I requested that he fire just one more round down range.

He did so and any further fear was gone. The mystery was solved and the terror monster vanquished.

I praised him and he smiled as we continued shooting from that time onward.

He's quite good by the way if I say so myself!

Nocturne 3

It was snowing like nigh onto a storm one night in the hood.

I ventured out, even though it was bad, because we needed something from the store.

A long trek. Through the snow, bundled up. Out of gas, out of time. Out of energy except for getting to and from.

I noticed something strange.

That's not a big deal considering the weird way if the street,

I was being folloed.

Again, not too odd, in this neck of the woods.

As was my wont, I was in 'condition yellow', ready to fight, even in the snow.

I turned and saw him.

He was just a 'guy' maybe average height and dressed in average clothes.

Except for his teeth.

He was snarling and his teeth were long and sharp.

Hand on my gun, I smiled and watched as he came closer, impeded by the snow.

He continued to snarl and his teeth were, well sharp looking and long.

I challenged him and he backed off a little as I neared the corner.

I crossed the street and he remained behind.

I finished my business and when I came out of the store, he was gone.

All the way home, I was alone and wondered where he had gone. Til morning.

There was a 'murder' the night before, near my street.

The news said it was a 'mugging'.

Sure. Right.

Then again, that's all that happened on 10th Street.

Nocturne 2

I was walking on 10th Stret. Strange, mercurial place, it was early Spring.

Dusk had settled the argument into night.

There was a still almost static air.

I had a few drinks in me, so I was fortified against the wind and chill.

I was trotting along, noting the usual 'sites'.

There are some old buildings along the way and places long gone.

The 'Puck Around' was such a place.

It was a working class bar, with the commensurate guys and gals.

I remember sitting, drinking Jack and a beer back. There was a guy who calmly smoked cigs and sipped his beer. He stared into space as he sought to relieve his stress.

There was something comforting about his routine. Also just a little odd. Not creepy, just obsessive.

But then, that's not too odd in a bar after al -s-.

Working folks would belly up and seek relaxation with some eating and some using the poker machines.

Of course, there were some who overdid, some with a problem in just being there.

Many regulars and a few newbies.

I went there every now and then when I wanted a spot of booze nearby.

One Thanksgiving, after seeing a movie, I was forced to walk from the theater out on the east side home.

Fortunately the folks who owned it opened it for a bit that night.

Maybe they were giving some of us a break from families lol.

At any reate, to make a short story long as I often do, I frequently walked home, taking care I was only warmed up, not 'overheated' as it were.

On the aforesaid evening, I was walking home after dark, always a curious time on that stretch of street.

There were the usual hookers, pimps and assorted miscreants. And, as was the wont of this place, something else.

I was coming up on the Rivoli theater. It was an old second run movie house that used to have first run stuff in the 30's and 40's. A piece of history that in its sunset years became second run then turned into a concert venue along with vintage movie weekends replete with a great show organ concert thrown in.

I remember how bad it got when I saw a roach crawl across the top of the seat in front of me. Ugh.

It got worse from there, until it closed. Worn out and deserted, yet the owner still lived in an apartment above. It was said to be haunted. More on that later.

It had begun to mist and I reflexively pulled my jacket collar up and tighter.

As I did, I glanced at the side street.

Coming my way was what appeared to be a young woman, in a dark coat, but with no hat.

It was a cold night for early Spring. Such was not unusual as the weather segued often.

As soon as I spotted this 'girl', the temp dropped considerably. I looked at her slow steady trudge toward 10th-and me.

My first thought was a 'crack whore' stoned. She stumbled and keeping my distance, something at which I was a past master in this part of town, I yelled, 'Are you ok?'

The noticed my voice then me. It seemed to 'excite' her, in that she increased her odd swaying pace.

I backed away,, my hand on my gun. Yes crack whores can rob and kill, for those who don't know.

Still I watched her progress. She was concentrating on the sight of me and as she got closer, the temperature decreased to a crazy cold-very unspringlike.

Her mouth opened but there was no sound, at least nothing discernable. Her hands writhed and seemed clawlike.

Mind you even at this hour and after dark, there was little traffic, whatever good that would do, just in case.

I beat a hasty retreat, keeping my eyes open.

Sure enough she reached 10th Street and began walking in my direction, the same lumbering but steady pace ensuring if I stayed she would catch up to me. No thanks.

I sped up and notice she again disappeared as if she did not want to attract attention on a main thoroughfare.

Ever a stickler for details, the last thing that ran through my mind were several holes and stains on her coat.......

Maybe it was motheaten and she was just dirty.

I know what you're thinking. A zombie? Nah.

My guess, if it were something supernatural, would be a kind of soul sucker, perhaps a bad spirit in form that drains lifeforce. That would explain the extreme temp drop. They also stay in the shadows as did this Miss Ugh of the new millenium. Spirit ghoul and not a vampire, at least not a hot one like the girls in black I and my son encountered earlier.

But hey, that stuff doesn't exist, even on 10th Street, right?

Visit In A Meadow

'Michael'.

This soft murmur and the stroking of my brow woke me to brilliant sunlight. And those most beautiful eyes gazing down at mine.

'You are well', She said. She knew.

And I was indeed.

Lying in a flowered meadow, in soft green grass. Soaking up the sun. Looking up at the eyes that regarded me now with compassion and healing.

Her face, the same porcelain Celtic features, was framed by that long, tow headed aura, though now instead of being straight, it was curled and billowy.

My head was cradled in her lap, resting as she hummed something from the past that was timeless.

And yes my Sword was still within reach. It always will be.

'You were sifted like wheat as your ancestor said.' She smiled and touched my forehead. 'It is not finished. But you must rest before fighting begins anew.'

I thought about what had transpired in that place across the golden sky, over the silver sea. That place where the ancestors of Freedom rested. That other place of trial and triumph.

'You will never forget. It will serve you well for what's ahead. The Great Storm.'
She continued to strike my forehead and hum the old tune.

I wondered if what had happened was a dream or vision.

'It was quite real, dear Michael. The battle takes place in the invisible World as well as the visible.'

'You mean, I killed that...woman and the others. I hope so.'

'In a manner of speaking. It was as real as say, the War In Heaven. Lucia has always had an inflated sense of self', she smiled eye to eye. 'Is that not the nature, in both worlds, of the dark ones? They inflate themselves with false light.'

'Our Brother also was quite right that you must see to your own destiny. Those such as Lucia would rob you of that.'

Lucia, what a lulu, I thought echoing the line from the 3 Stooges complete with 'woowoowoos'.

She laughed, such a vibrant chord, hinting of nature's bounty, of the nurturing good humored being She was.

'Dear one, you knew all along about her nature. Those thoughts about dark things were emanations from your gifts.'

'It was so vivid. That house was a prison that I could have well embraced. Save for what I knew, and the people in both worlds, I would have been trapped in a web of endless 'tail chasing'.' I thought of all who just did so, chased their tails and how they would be found wanting. I shuddered, both pitying and repulsed.

She deigned to lightly kiss my forehead and gestured.

'That Sword. It is nothing without will and intent. Many have been found wanting and gifts wasted as they fail life's trials. You have not, so far. And fallen, you have gotten up. But remember it is constant and renewal is such that you cannot ever take it for granted. Be mindful of all that has happened and all that will.'

'Are we sure for what we fight? I do not doubt about a war between good and evil, nor that place between the worlds. But, in the visible world, it is easy to lose track and be caught up in fighting for fighting's sake. Is there more?'

Instead of any anger or discomfiture, She simply said, 'Close your eyes.'

She touched my forehead again and instantly I was carried away from the meadow, through the air, away from Earth.

As I passed from Earth, I saw all the battles on all levels fought over time for Freedom.

I was carried out of the solar system, past many more and all the wonders of the galaxy. Then past more galaxues and their mysteries as yet revealed to us.

Still travelling, I beheld creation and at the same 'time' I travelled, I witnessed the birth of the universe, like a great pink and white silent explosion.

As I passed the edge of the universe, I noticed the sound of Spirit raised in perpetual voice and Mind.

Then I seemed to slow down and saw the entire universe, all of Creation as if a tiny pinprick of Light, much like a single star on a clear night.

There was darkness and yet not in the sense of earthly symbolism.

Past the din there was a Presence that dwelled quietly, great energy that did not have to show itself, save for that quiet Power.

I reckoned it's what the American Indians call the Great Mystery, for want of a better thought. The Origin, not a bang nor a whimper. It was a Place that could not really be breached nor understood. It just was.

It was not frightening. It was simply not available to human nor angel nor anything. It simply WAS.

Softly and slowly I came back beckoned by Her touch.

As I opened my eyes She kissed my forehead and said, 'Welcome back.'

I now knew there was MUCH more and that we were NOT alone. That faith and action dwelled together, always, no matter what anyone in this creation knew or believed.

Mysteries beyond mysteries existed.

Would I doubt again? Probably. Most assuredly. It's like when I was a kid and tried to figure out where God came from.

I'd try to wrap my mind around that, try to figure out where something that always was could be from.

I'd eventually get kind of dizzy and leave it alone. It was enough that we are HERE.

As in the world of acting there are the given circumstances of the play, movie etc, so it is for all of us.

Here we are in the given circumstance of a battle for Freedom.

It is enough.

She rose and took my hand helping me up.

I looked at Her in the soft sun and meadow wind.

Her hair was indeed curled and fuller, cascading down that porcelain skin.

She wore a new dress.

It was long like the blue one but was a bit lower in front. The print was light and suggested flowers. It shimmered with energy.

She had weaved a flower 'halo' and it circled her head.

'Remember Michael', her voice was warm but firm. 'There are pressures in the visible World. And when you think all is well, do not be cossetted in a delusion that this war is over.

Tend to your daily life and take time to enjoy all your gifts.

Let that enjoyment be motivation to do well and never give up.'

She took the garland from her head and gave it to me, with a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of the hand.

I slowly came back to this World and swore that I could smell the grass and flowers, and feel her kiss and touch of benison for me and to the sky.


Post Script:

When I got down to my office, there was a ring of flowers on the table with a note. It was from my daughter.

It said, Dad, thanks for all our yesterdays. We will toast all of our tomorrows.

Love always.....

Visiting Others 5

With my Sword and the skills hard learned, it was not as nearly daunting as the woman of the house had said. Yet.

The courage welled up in my heart and met the training I had received. My thoughts were once more on the Path. I would need it soon.

A sound, like a soft scratching began to build.

I sensed eyes on me.

They all attacked at once, not like the staged martial arts where one at a time comes at the 'hero'. My Sword flashed.

Dark things, barely visible, like a horde of devil dogs. Then some kind of large black draped warriors. My blade found mark after mark.

There were cuts and a few bites, but the Sword 'sang' its song of death for the enemy. My thrusts were true, til a pile of bodies surrounded me, and the sound of snarls and roars subsided.

I fell to my knees, exhausted, head giving thanks.

Lucia descended. Now dressed in black. Her hair pulled back and her eyes like lightning. Her butler attended her.

She sneered, 'What price victory? They are gone, but I have beaten you.'

She laughed and got in my face, her mouth pulled from her teeth.

'Do you see, do you? You should have taken my invitation. No matter, you are mine anyway.'

She stood haughtily as she brought a blade to bear.

'What is my job, you worm?'

I stared up through blood and sweat drenched eyes.

'To die, you bitch.'

I rolled and flipped up and the Sword found her heart then her head went sailing in the opposite direction as her body fell. Not stopping, her 'butler' suffered a similar fate. Their sneers etched with surprise remained visible.

Silence and over the stench of death, I heard a stream rushing.

I trudged in the direction of the sound, soon bathing wounds and face. Then, I knelt and gave thanks. It's something I do btw, in the visible world a lot. I thank Great Spirit for all things, for it is from all things that we learn.

As I rested and then started on the Path again, I swear I heard Xeroubiko, a Byzantine chant and also undertones of a gyoto monk chant from Tibet. Soundtracks? Light begetting Light.

As I continued, I wondered at the darkish skies. Was it dying light or darkest before the dawn?

'You're in the twilight world, bud.'

As I turned the umpteenth corner in this puzzle, I saw someone seemingly basking on top of a large boulder just off the Path.

I readied my Sword, but saw a familiar face.

It was the man who fought back to back on the desert plain in my vision within a vision. It occurred to me that then as any time, when we were fighting, it was not for Jerusalem, nor home and hearth at that point. It was for one another. later came triumph over the darkness.

It was true just a while ago, as I slew that horde of dark things. Holding that thought, I yelled out, 'Where the hell were you a while ago? I could have used some backup.'

He sat up and grinned then smiled. Interestingly, it reminded me of that devil may care grin of Steve McQueen's, complete with sparkling, piercing blue eyes, replete with wrinkles from the sun and much of that same grinning.

'So, she was a real ballbuster huh?'

'She tried.'

'And died I see. She almost got me before. That place was pretty nice, for a honey trap.'

I arched eyebrows and asked, 'You were at that house? When?'

'Time means nothing here, bud. This is the place 'between the worlds' as that blondie told you. This is either twilight or predawn. It's either headed to perpetual dark or perpetual Light. Depends on who and what you serve eh?'

He tapped the red stone adorning his sword hilt.

'Ever wonder about this? It's part of the job description. We are on the same tag team'. Again that in the face smile. 'Remember. You are never alone.' He pursed his lips and nodded.

I touched the similar red stone topping my hilt. I must be careful to take nothing for granted.

He looked up, reflexively squinting and said, 'Enough of this twilight stuff. Ready for some predawn?'

I nodded and smiled my half crooked smile.

He jumped from the rock and slapped me on the shoulder. 'Right this way my brother. Time for some r & r back at your place.'

We took off toward an increasingly level straight road, the sun hinting it's new day.


I woke up. Dark room and jazz still playing.

I knew that after r & r, there would come the inevitable battle. I knew this was far from over.

I'd better keep getting ready.

Visiting Others 4

Dinner came.

Seared steak, with asparagus and garlic pasta suited me well. I have eaten in many a place and many a cuisine. But I prefer the basics. I was not disappointed.

Of course, she knew what I liked. At least she thought she did.

Through the meal, I couldn't get over the feeling I was being fattened up as it were, though I'm quite fit. Perhaps bribery came closer. What was she hunting for?

'Yes, I love to hunt. I live to hunt', she oddly answered as that thought crossed my mind.

'So do I', and I smiled at the purpose that brought me this far on this journey.

Simple enough, yet much effort.

'It might be fun to try our skills later', she added as I remembered her invitation to swordplay.

'I have no time for such diversions, my Lady. I appreciate your hospitality, but I must be soon on my Way.'

She frowned and puckered a little.

'We'll see',she smiled.

It was a face accustomed to smiling. About what was the question.

The light around it, golden and beguilingly soft, flared suddenly as the questions began.

'May I ask what is so compelling that you could not spend some time with me?' That last caused what seemed to be a flash that reached out like a solar flare.

'I am on a Path seeking Light.' Succinct but pleasant, I remained composed.

'Ah, she arched an eyebrow, 'Perhaps I can help you. We have a supply here. Stay and see.' She leaned back and poised a foot under another, slightly twitching up and down, to and fro.

'Sorry dear Lady, but the Light I seek is on the road. It is found in motion and intent.' My gaze was strong and I did not take my eyes off her. All the time, as well, I kept my peripheral vision in full motion.

'Another drink?' She was ready to profer the drink tray herself.

'No thanks. I needn't get sleepy. I must stay sharp, for there are things which contest me.' I shifted so that I might spring up.

'At least some dessert? We have many treats to tempt you.' That smile again like the glow of a fireplace.

'No thanks, for I must shortly go.' I felt the need to scan my back.

'At least a small cigar and coffee? Then I will walk you to the Path myself.'

I regarded her and my eyes narrowed.
'Alright.'

The butler proferred a small case with old patterns imbued on the sides. I selected a small post prandial smoke that, when lit, smelled like a Danish brand I used to smoke when I was much younger.

The coffee was good and strong. Reminded me of the coffee my Mom would make on Sundays for brunch. And I might need it for the next leg of the journey.

'So, Michael, you seek knowledge. We have that here too. And the added benefit', she leaned forward, no one will disturb you. You can take your time. Study what you will. Come, take a peek at our library. We aim to please', she smiled, rose and held out her hand.

Call me a fool, but I took it. Her touch was now quite soft but vibrant. It caused a tingle in my throat. My other hand remained on my Sword's hilt.

A connecting door in the panelled wall behind her opened automatically and we stepped through to what could only be described as the largest private collection of books and artifacts I had ever seen.

It was several stories high and covered three walls. The other was a window looking out on the oppostie direction from which I had come.

'What does your heart desire? Are there specifics? Do you wish erudition and do you crave skills to match?. More and more learning about the visible and invisible. You could stay here forever searching and I would take care of you.

Recreation? We have so many forms and diversions. I'd be willing to show you...myself.'

She leaned up and kissed me. It was a rush of sensation, like a thousand beating wings, like a warm night in from the cold. It coursed through my bidy like fine drink, both exciting and dizzying.

I wavered and quivered. I could see and feel what she was saying. I COULD stay there. And those many doors upstairs, any desire I could imagine.......

NO!

Like Odysseus and Circe or Prospero imprisoned and imprisoning I could waste myself in a circular race to slavery. There would be no end to the inward turning, til I was lost in a maze of self. Looking inside, but never going out again.

I broke the embrace off still gently and shook my head.

'Dear Lucia, my journey MUST go outward. It starts within but must reach out or all is lost.'

'Very well. The clothes you wore here await you. Change quickly and I will take you to the Path.'

Her eyes were slits yet I was surprised how easily she acquiesced.

Back at the room, I transferred the contents of my pockets back to my travelling wear and the Sword was ready at my side.

At the bottom of the stairs, she beckoned me, ready.

She took me to a door which lead to the causeway on the other side of the great house.

'Come, Michael. I will take you as far as I can.'

She led off and the way was well lit, but quickly faded at the opposing causeway.

'Here is where I leave you. Once over the causeway, there is no more protection. You will be prey to whatever is biding it's time, for time will be your enemy.
Good and evil will continue the battle for you. There will be no quarter. You have made your choice. Now, goodbye.'

She waved me off like discarding a vestment.

I turned my back, spurning for good her prideful trap.

I did not look back til I was at the ingress to the Path.

The light from the house had dimmed and when I looked, it was no longer there. All that remained was the ruins of of a hunter's shack, like a live coal that had died out.

Turning back, the only light again from my Sword, I pressed on.

Visiting Others 3

As soon as I stepped to the right, I felt the shifting. Any other paths were closed. Only the path ahead remained. I curved to the left.

Just ahead, there appeared a large house on a hill. Yellow lights festooned the windows and reflected the path which led to a causeway that curved to what appeared to be the housefront.

As I reached the causeway, there appeared a visage quite clearly dressed in white and red robes.

He held up a gloved hand. His other was resting on the pommel of a singlehanded broadsword, with a red stone in the hilt.

'Why have you come this way?' His tone and expression were not cold, nor were they impassioned.

'I am on my Path seeking Light.'

'You must see to your own destiny. No one can choose for you. Be ready.'

A warning from a guard? No, not a guard, a reminder of free will.

He gestured for me to pass.

Worthiness on this journey was up to me.

As has become the standard in this place, I looked back to note he was gone, as was the path behind me. Onward.

The house ahead was sizable. Many mansions came to mind. It was stone, several stories and spread over a small plateau and was surrounded by a tall forest. The lights were not just at the windows, but at doors and a goodly large courtyard. It was smooth and it did not tax my feet as I strode across it. The smell of pine and, was that patchouli?, filled the air.

All I sensed was potential. Neither good nor evil. For all I knew this place was full of both.

I reached the large wooden door. It was deep, dark wood. the knocker was a plain brass bulb.

When I knocked, a middle aged man in a dark suit answered.

'Who are you?', he asked as if to question my soul. His gaze was even and not unpleasant from dark eyes glistening with light.

I gave him my name and my purpose.

'Please come in and follow me.'

The door opened to a foyer that expanded laterally and the forward view showed a stairwell of polished stone. We walked across a parqueted, black and white floor.

Up the stairs and to the right there were seemingly endless doors to what I presumed to be bedrooms.

The 'butler' showed me to one a ways down and opened the door.

'Please come in and refresh yourself. I will be back presently to take you to your Host.' He smiled and swept his outstreched arm, indicating a well lit room in muted colors and dark wood, not unlike my own bedroom.

As he left, I noticed fresh casual clothes laid out on a large bed and a bright bathroom nearby.

I showered and a great amount of dust and sweat cascaded with soft water in a stepin shower again similar to my own. I felt the dirt of strife and trial leave me, and I was cleansed, ready to face whatever came.

I dressed and meditated, waiting to be taken to my Host.

The Twilight Zone episode where the gangster died and was taken to a great hotel and given whatever he wanted came to mind. He was smothered in material things and complained til it was made clear he was not in Heaven as he thought originally, but in 'the other place'. I bided my time and chatted with Great Spirit.

I was taken to a desert plain. Hordes were swarming and my comrade and I fought back to back. He was blonde with short hair and piercing blue eyes. Through the din, he said to me,'You are never alone.', smiling in the face of overwhelming odds.

Shortly, there was a discreet tapping and a 'sir'.

I jumped up immediately, as is my custom (I don't like surprises.) and opened the door.

The 'butler' had a cordial smile.

'I trust you are sufficiently refreshed and ready to meet the Host?'

I simply nodded and he silently led the way back down the stairs and into a small room off the main dining hall.

It was a cheerful wood and brass setting with a fireplace and a table for four set for just two, with silverware and china quite like the kind from holidays in my childhood.

I was seated silently and funnily, as the 'butler' moved away, I thought of 'Clove' the servant of Dracula who watched over the castle til there were suitable victims to use in bringing back the Count from 'death'.

What a cheat that would be, avoiding judgment by killing humans for sustenance (Even if some of them deserved it.). Would that not be its own punishment, cursed to an undead existence? Supposed 'immortality' with a price of blood. Quite the opposite of the Christian blood sacrifice of Jesus. Quite the opposite of facing reality by replacing it with a 'delusional reality'. Dracula, the disfunctional vampire lol.

My musings were interrupted by the opening of the door.

The light of the dining hall seemed to form a halo, an aura of gold around an unmistakably feminine form. She closed the door and came right to the table, no fanfare.

She seemed to be a woman in her thirties, well kept and quite beautiful, like the Woman who visited me. And not like her as well.

Her hair was blonde, gold rather and moderately short. She wore casual clothes quite like a well off professional might wear on the weekend. Tan shirt with a yellow t-shirt under, tan slacks and desert boots.

The difference was not just the clothes. Her beauty was undeniable. Yet she kept something hidden, whereas the Woman always had something in reserve. A matter of semantics perhaps, but not here.

I rose as she came to the table and took her hand.

'Hello, Michael', she said and effortlessly gripped my hand. It was strong sure and I think if she had been pressed, viselike. 'I'm Lucia di la Rosa d'il Cielo.'

Not surprised she knew my name, remembering where I was. 'Between the Worlds' the woman in black had said. Yet, all seem so real. At this point, in so deep, I had no choice but to play along.

'I'm glad to meet you. And may I say, you have a charming home.'

'One of many', she smiled. It serves the purpose. Please sit. I've taken the liberty to order something I thought you'd like.'

'I'd like some answers', I thought. I simply smiled and sat back down.

'An aperitif, perhaps?'

The 'butler' brought the drink tray.

Remembering the fate of Renfield in the old Dracula movie, I took the chance and asked for a bourbon on the rocks.

I had my Sword right with me. It never left my side nor my sight the whole time here.

As that thought passed through my mind, she was gazing curiously at it.

'I see you are a collector of blades.', nodding toward it.

'I have a modest collection at home. This was a gift.' I patted the hilt.

'How fortunate to have friends so thoughtful. I am an afficionado of sport involving the blade. Perhaps we might have a match later.'

She smiled and I noticed her teeth were like sparkling pearls. Wonder how long her canines are, I mused.

The whole time, I puzzled that this could well be a trap, rather like one of those confrontations between James Bond and an arch villian.

The test was to come.

Visiting Others 2

Twists and turns. False starts and endings. But a true path to the center. I tried to remember what I knew about mazes.

This was not quite like those charming country estate mazes. Then again, those green puzzles had more meaning than met the eye.

Some were fixed, while others could be changed, thus altering the course.

Being in this strange place, I figured 'anything goes'.

The area was dim, not dark. I held my Sword as much for illumination as for defense, for it had an elvish glow.

The path curved and became angular at times. I reached a couple of dead ends early on. I figured that would be the least obstacle.

A voice called out, 'Lost already?'

It was sweet, melodious, quite like the Woman who visited me in the beginning.

It was not.

This one appeared round the next bend, sweeping along like a moderate wind.

I stopped and so did she.

We regarded one another and I sized her up, to a degree.

She was close to being a mirror image of the Woman. Aside from her dress, which was above the knee and black, there was an air of immodesty about her. Mind you, I love bikinis on girls, for instance. But this was the 'vibe' I was getting. There seemed to be a lack of respect for humanity in her.

Though she spoke pleasantly and smiled, it was that feeling behind her that spoke the most to me. I am thankful for that gift.

The immodesty? It was more like pride. And way more pride than a Bertha Better Than You exhibits.

'I'm merely making my way on the Path', I said. 'What is this place called?'

Her chin lifted slightly and she declared, 'You are between the Worlds.' She leveled her gaze, with eyes like moonlit pools, inviting one to jump in.

I centered my gaze at just above her eyes in the middle of her forehead and commented, 'My own little Limbo huh?'

Those eyes flashed and she tilted her head down, so that she looked at me from the tops of her lids. The angle also altered my 'eyeing' her.

'Call it what you will.', There was now a cold pursing of her lips and she went on, 'It is the place where energy gathers, where all meet for weal or woe.'

She stepped toward me.

I immediately swept my Sword between us.

'Kindly keep your distance. Unless you have a message, you may either pass way around me or', My eyes bore into her, 'you may retreat.'

She stopped, unable to advance. Frustration bored into her features, making her look used, hard.

'I wouldn't dream of impeding you. Very well, know this, for the Sword you have compells Truth: There are some who seem to be your friends, but may be your enemies. There are some who seem to be your enemies, but may be your friends.'

I bade her pass me, keeping the Sword between us.

She drifted away, as though floating and disappeared in the dim.

I advanced, pondering her words.

Of course, there are always 'fair weather friends', those who are around for the good times, but run when anything negative comes. Any trial, backup, support wanes and disappears. And that is even after you may have offered them comfort and succor. They take but do not give.

I thought it was deeper yet. Sunshine patriots came to mind. They feign to take up the banner of Freedom, but only when it suits them. When the time comes to truly commit, they run. Or worse, they go to the enemy.

As for enemies, some people don't know which side they are on. THEY stand between and for no better reason lash out in frustration. They may be misguided and serve the darkness because they are beguiled and have bought the message. There are some who keep things at arms distance til something compels them to act. They may be in the underground, deep cover.

As these thoughts rolled round my mind, I noticed a sharp slope ahead. At the top, there appeared to be an opening at either side.

Being committed to the course, I made the steep climb and found two choices, right or left. I glanced behind. There was no path remaining. I could never go back. And, I figured, those twists and turns would have led me to at least a similar place.

To the left, there seemed to be a grey level path that went around a bend to the right. The right path had a curve to the left. Nothing straight ahead.

Wondering, Prospero's speech came to mind.

And now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's my own
Which is most faint, now t'is true
I must be here confined by you
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill or else my project fails,
Which was to please.
Which ws to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant
And my ending is despair
Unless I be relieved by prayer
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and trees all faults
As you from your crimes would pardoned be
Let your indulgence set me free

I took the righthand path.

Humunculi

A curious subspecies of human. Some even debate whether they ARE human.

They have been seen in both urban and countryside galumphing about in their odd clumsy style.

They are usually loners (thank the great Maker), but have been known to pair up and even collect in small groups.

If one is downwind, one can be warned they are coming by their typical unwashed sour odor. It resembles something between a privy in summer and an unclean stale locker room.

The effeminate cry, moan, whimpering of the humunculi is not fearful. It is dreaded because it foreshadows the bitching that characterizes their lot in life. Excuses are easier than facts.

They often steal the nests of humans and build a cluttered mess that seems to serve some kind of protective barrier. They have been known to sh*t where they eat.

They are remarkably single minded to the exclusion of other pursuits and latch on to a vague sense of security and false assumption they are somehow brighter than most other humans that they imitate.

There is a frightening lack of leadership skills, thus the usual loner lifestyle.

Notorious cowards, they often let others do their fighting for them and that frequently after they have baited someone.

When seeking companionship, they often step on their own d*cks and see what they want and not the reality of a situation. In other words, they live in phantasmigoria.

They amount to little and if they reproduce, thankfully rarely, their offspring resemble clones more than actual progeny.

There are exceptions to the rule both ways indicating there might be something to the 'born that way' theory. For humunculi have sired decent honest people just as good people have fathered humunculi.

In short, these curiosities often ascend to the least common denominator, but interestingly can achieve lasting mediocrity in liberal circles and of course thrive on the ignorance and indulgence of such.

They are NOT to be confused with humunculus frankus/dickus, a distinct subsubspecies that exhibits a modicum of success but at the price of decent humans everywhere.

If encountered, never EVER turn your back on one.

I believe they are mistaken for one another not by the whiny voice so much as the illusion of self importance they exhibit, due to coddling and no boundaries set.

Avoid them but watch them and warn them too, because they are a danger to all.