Regardless – Rectitude – Peace.

We attach Recitiude to a medal. Its provision is honorable,  its legacy everlasting.   We serve each other, our charges and  our mother’s fears and her tears.  We serve/served our Country and push ourselves, not for recognition but for the glory for our flag and fellow serice members and friends.

by Meteorologist Larry Olson  circa 2017

https://rcaf403squadron.wordpress.com/2015/12/14/leclare-allerthorn-walkers-biography/

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https://rcaf403squadron.wordpress.com/2015/12/14/leclare-allerthorn-walkers-biography/

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LeClare Allerthorn Walker, known as Clare, was born in Norwich, Ontario, Canada on 22 June, 1918, the 2nd child of Spence Allerthorn and Mildred Loral (born Bushell) Walker.

When Clare was just two years of age, in 1920, he moved with his parents to Troy, New York, U.S.A. He attended No.18 Elementary School there from 1924 to 1932. During the last 2 years of this period he was very active in the Boy Scouts of America. In the summer of 1932 the family, now consisting of 6 children, returned to Norwich where Clare attended High School and graduated in 1938. During his High School years he was a member of the High School Cadet Corp in which he served as Commanding Officer for 3 of those years. He was also active in sports having participated as a member of the “Rugby” team and the “Track” team.

Following graduation from High School in June 1938 Clare enrolled in the Mechanical Engineering Faculty of Toronto University in the fall and at the same time also enrolled in the Canadian Officer Training Corp (C.O.T.C.), Regiment No. 6768. During this time he resided at 327 Huron St., Toronto. Following his 2nd year of University in 1940 he obtained a position with the Ontario Hydro Power Commission in Niagara Falls, for summer employment and resided at 1993 Barker Street. On 15th July Clare submitted an application to join the RCAF (Royal Canadian Air Force). After successfully completing the medical examination for air crew duties, on 23 July, he was called into active service as an AC2 (Aircraftsman 2nd class), Service No. R66320, on 4 Nov. 1940, and was posted on that date to No. 1 Manning Depot in Toronto for basic training. He was transferred to RCAF Station, Trenton, Ont. on 22 Dec. for security guard duty and then back to Toronto on 21 Feb. 1941 to the No.1 Initial Training School for course No. 19.

Following Basic Training Clare was reclassified to LAC (Leading Aircraftman) on 29 Mar. 41 and posted to No. 12 Elementary Flying Training School at Goderich, Ont. to start flying training on the “Tiger Moth” aircraft. A note must be made here:-

This writer (Clare’s brother, Bud) recalls very vividly the day in the spring of 1941 when Clare flew his Tiger Moth over their home in Norwich performing numerous aerobatics. I immediately climbed up the 80 foot radio tower located in our yard (which our father had had built years earlier) to get a closer view of Clare. When he saw me he flew very low and what looked to me extremely close to the tower as I could see him in the aircraft very plainly. All through this our mother was waving vigorously and yelling for him to stop.

Clare completed his Canadian training at Camp Borden, Ont. at No. 1 SFTS (Service Flying Training School) where he graduated from Course No. 30 on Harvard aircraft as a Sergeant Pilot and received his “Wings” on 20 Aug. 1941. Following a short “Leave” in Norwich he departed for Halifax, Nova Scotia on 2nd September to await availability of a ship bound for England. After some delay he finally set sail on 15 Sept. and arrived in England on 29th. He was the first Pilot from Norwich to arrive in England during the 2nd World War. He completed his Advanced Flying Training on Spitfires in Scotland almost immediately and on 23 Dec. preceded to the Canadian Spitfire Fighter Squadron 403, known as the “Wolfe Squadron”, at North Weald, Essex, England, where he was promoted to Flight Sergeant on 2 Feb. 1942. and commissioned as Pilot Officer, Service No. J15477, on the 10th May that same year.

During this time period Clare made several assignments of his pay to his sister Barbara to help her out financially, while she was in training to become a Nurse at London Hospital in Ontario. His first payment of $20.00 per month began in Mar. 1941 when he was an LAC. In August of the same year, when he was promoted to Sergeant Pilot, he increased the assignment to $40.00. In July 1942, after he was promoted to Pilot Officer in England, he increased the payment to $70.00 per month.

Clare was very proud of his Spitfire aircraft, as evidenced by a note on the back of the picture below, taken in May of 1942, which reads;

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“This is a picture of my kite. I thought it turned out pretty good and shows off its beautiful lines”.

On 14 Apr.1942 a special news report appeared in the Canadian newspapers entitled “Ontario Fliers Fail to Scare Britain’s Prime Minister”. The article reads in part:-

Three fliers, including Flt Sgt. L. A. Walker, failed to scare Winston Churchill though they dived their planes to within fifty feet of him. They were engaged in attacking a theoretical gun position and came down from 2000 feet to a spot being inspected by Churchill and Cabinet Ministers. The Ministers scattered like rabbits. “But not the Prime Minister”, Walker reported. “He just stood there while we flew clean over his head. He was the only one of the group who stayed there”.

After flying numerous sorties over Europe, on 19 Aug. 1942, Clare with other members of his squadron set out at 6:45 a.m. to act as escort for ships carrying out landing operations at Dieppe, France. He became separated from the remainder of his section and was last seen heading inland beyond Dieppe (This information was obtained from 2 pilots, in person, of 403 Squadron by this writer, Bud Walker, Clare’s brother, at Bournmouth in southern England in 1945). He was reported as “missing in action” on 19 Aug. 1942 somewhere over Dieppe, France. His parents received a telegram to that affect on 21 August. They also received a letter from Squadron Leader L. S. Ford, Officer Commanding No. 403 Squadron, RCAF written on 25 Aug., which reads in part as follows;

Clare was respected not only for his flying ability but as a companion to the rest of the lads. He showed real promise as a leader and would before long have become a Flight Commander. Not only were the officers fond of him, but the men who serviced his plane thought a great deal of him. He will remain an inspiration to those that he left behind him. We are all hoping and praying that he is safe somewhere as a prisoner of war. Should anything further be heard we will inform you at once.

It was not until some 8 months later on 8 May, 1943 that Clare’s parents received a further telegram to say that Clare was officially presumed dead as of 19 Aug. 1942, as result of air operations over Dieppe. At this time no news from the International Red Cross Committee or from any other source had been received and thus a “Certificate of Presumption of Death” was issued on the 14th May 1943.

It was not until March 1945 that several reports from the No. 1 Missing Research & Enquiry Unit of the Royal Canadian Air Force in England were received by the Dept. of National Defense for Air in Ottawa. The report(s) state:-

“A Spitfire aircraft EN850 crashed at the village of Varengeville, France. Mr. Poidevin, a witness in the case from Varengeville, stated that it was he and his friends who actually recovered the dead pilot’s body. The body was headless (the head was never found), the left arm was found in an oat field and his identity disc was taken by the Germans, however, in spite of this Clare’s name was found inside his jacket pocket.. Poidevin also states that the body was first buried in the Cimeterre des Vertus at St. Aubin-Sur-Scie near Dieppe.. A German Doctor came to remove the body after about 8 days, but failed to do so. The body was removed by the Service Technique of the Mayor of Dieppe and buried in grave 706 of the Canadian Military Cemetery at Hautot-sur-Mer at Dieppe. The grave was later renumbered and is now designated Row F, Grave 60

In an R.C.A.F. message to Air Force Head Quarters, from Air Minister, Kingsway dated 20 Aug. 1942, announcing Clare’s being missing over the French coast on 19 Aug. 1942, mention is made of a Miss P. A. Baker. Unfortunately the Censors have blacked out her relationship and address. The only information this writer has, is that Clare did have a “Girl Friend” in England. A further report states “Miss P. (Phillida) A. Baker (R.N.S.-Royal Naval Service) will be informed of this information when M.R & E. Service confirm the burial particulars.

Clare’s Estate consisted of his “Service Estates” which the “Canadian Air Force Director of Estates” valued at $529.78, and his “War Service Gratuity” valued at $340.14, for a total of $869.82.

Fifty three years later, in 1995, this writer, Clare’s brother Bud, visited France and went to Dieppe to find Clare’s grave at the Dieppe Canadian War Cemetery at Hautot-sur-Mer, just south of Dieppe. (see picture of the cemetery Marker below). Of the 944 grave markers in the cemetery only 12 designate the actual burial place of the individual named on the stone. Though the cemetery property was donated by the French Government to Canada, the grounds are maintained by the Canadian Government. It must be said that the cemetery is kept in immaculate condition with many flowers along each row of markers. See also below a picture of the War Memorial Cenotaph, located on the grounds of the Norwich High School, on which Clare’s name is inscribed

 

 

 

Just when you were safe. 8/6/17.

The tropics are coming to life.   We have two tropcial systems in our sights.  The first will makes its mark, moving to the  Yucatan Peninsula,   Bay of Compeche and towards Honduras.

Some strengthening may be possible.   This an expansive system and will probably be some kind of  named storm,  by the middle of the week..

This interaction with the Yucatan Peninsula may weaken it. But not for long.  The Bay of Compeche is favorable as it glides WNW.

The next system is near the Cape Verde Islands.   It is elongated,  disorganized and potentially favorable for development, in the next severable days.

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Be smart,  do not stand in the storm.  One reporter (Independence Day) was standing in the wind and was hit by a steel partition.  People were cheering,  sick of the stupid weather individual.

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Moribund< out of touch.

There is a false dichotomy spreading across this nation.  Rather than bridging the abyss, the ravine grows colder,  deeper and in disrepair.  Mountains rumble, at  loss.  Time is suspended.   The cloudy white milk pours from deciduous pine trees, while hawks lurk high above in their rarefied air,  sending out notice, to prey.

Fear not the rain, nor the  poles, nor the mighty storms at sea.  They drain and sustain creating rivulets and rivers, of disparaging diversity.    Conditional causes, which do not change matter, but subverts it.  Hollowing trees, scattering bees and bees being boarders in their own land.  baby102

We walk a tight rope and swing from literal AND LIBERAL vines.  We have no time for childish dreams, yet we are the epitome of games and rancor.  We flourish with pens,  inks and blotters, we stutter with jurisprudence.

My own odyssey was  Quixotic.  It started out with being sequestered in a Mental Hospital in Raleigh,  NC.   That lasted about eight days.  The reason for the visit to the ER was a Major Seizure Attack.  The adventure had morphed into a kind of confinement,  a suggestion of mental entanglement.  Upon release, I contacted the hospital and with swift hyperbole,  I mounted their unilateral conjecture,  into a scathing injunction to repartee with a patient.   I MADE MY POINT.  Essentially  saying, “do not condescend to me and patients alike”.

 

I may again at some time during the next couple of weeks.  For right now,  more terrible blogs,   for you to enjoy and me to destroy.   Peace.

 

 

My Mental Hospital Experience!

This was surely not any agenda of mine, being nullified in expression and seemingly nullified physically.   Near midnight,  I started to have these monstrous seizures.  I probably should have waited this out.  But destiny had other plans in mind. But as I arose to pack for the ER,  I fell.   Many items came down with me.  My corpulent cat was hiding behind the dresser and came out to see how I was.

She has an innate ability to discern disturbances that are emotional and physical.   Her support was at a safe distance.    Alternating paroxysms further enhanced my trepidation and Paramedics offering commands that I could not execute.  When I was aboard, the screaming sirens and ministrations of First Responders, further causing my bafflement.

At the ER,  I was given Atavan to diminish my distress,  moved to a triage area, which must be a kind of waiting room. for the insane,  I guess.   As I arrived there, I became a bit more lucid and a lot more dubious of my condition.  Long story short, the Doctor sent shivers down my spine as I was advised that I could volunteer or be induced too, with athe involuntary fate, much worse for the wear.

Arriving at the hospital,  I remarked to the person at the desk,  that this is surely a jail and he consolingly implied,  that it was not.   I was in fact,  diminished,  limited and just wondering what had happened.

After my entrance,  into the umbilical tether of mental health,  I felt lost.  Like Air Force Basic Training, sans shoe laces and a shave.   Once the skin check,  non-invasive but no less obtrusive, I donned medical garb,  we all have the grasp of that situation.  Flowing rhetoric and mindfulness.

I am sure that my consternation did not make my accommodations any less Bohemian.   A full-sized bed,  with a relatively thin mattress.  The rooms were bare but really clean and er, safe.    After making the bed sleep worthy,  I fell into a fitful sleep,  garnering about 40ish minutes of more slanderous slumber.

Then at 6:30AM,  I thought I was reliving the aforementioned basic training.  One guy in the food line,  kept raising his hands (one-at-a time) high into the air.  His bunk-mates seemed to pay him no mind,  but new admit-tents were a bit shocked .

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Okay the food was decent and rooms clean.  Groups were fairly well run, and actually did gather some useful tips,  with ersatz coffee,  blended and roasted.  As the days passed,  my bewilderment slackened and it was kind of fun.   However, at each crisis, I was becoming more aware at this dichotomy of egress and a curfew of 11PM.   Felt like something didn’t quite fit and yet,  helping others muddle through.

I guess the therapist’s notes, saying my intelligence was very high, was a temporal aphrodisiac,  in a place where spoons doubled as knives and shoes strings were sublimated into lashes.  I did all that I needed,  in the first day.  I actively participated, and read books like a magic carpet ride.  I negotiated around the titular gendarmes and picayune rules meant for us all.  A few dust-ups and a litany of users, getting methadone and other meds.

In the end,  my regular Psych was baffled why I was in there, in the first place.   I pleaded with the ER,  that the information for the Epilepsy and so-called Bi-polar (Manic) congealed and morphed into a misdiagnosis.   When freedom rang,  I pushed for expediency,  with shoes tethered tight,  my personal belongings that were sequestered, in twin bags.   In the words of Kurt Vonnegut, “So, it goes”.   Inside,  we were lodged into a Miasma, with my name on  it.  Now,  I was emancipated with croons and cries and a  bit of dishevelment to boot.

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Everbody Wants to Rule the World.

 

In our nascent days as people,  we stood for liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  We also had churches dictating the position that we could have sex.   To achieve that end,  government and religion would invaribly have to be voyeurs as well.    It seems to me,  the government has too many bigger issues to worry about,  than consensual play between consulting adults.

 

“The onset of mania occurs when when repression is no longer able to resist the assaults of the repressed instincts.”

Karl Abraham

More importantly we do not take the time to listen,   but we judge and assume too many things.   Most of which, are not true.   We try to find a witch to burn and are amazed when some or many, sing in acapella.  About the differences from one life to another.

“Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don’t stand in the doorway
Don’t block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled”

Bob Dylan

We can’t quite figure it out and rather than to leave people alone,  we enact new laws that restrict people, from the right, to the pursuit of their own happiness.

In fifty years,  most of us will be long gone and those laws,  like their effectiveness,  will serve no purpose.   Agreeably,  there is a need to restrict certain ‘illegal’ behaviors,  but for all the billions we spend on foster children and child welfare,  there are still homeless and abused children, with social workers who live  comfortably, but still no safe place for said children to live.

The legislators and moralists preach restraint.  One codifies the law, to enforce their causes and the other a moral platitude, that never can be met.  Today, the hippies of generations past,  are lawyers, judges and preachers.  They tell young adults, that they can’t drink until they are 21,  as if that arbitrary number actually does save lives.

Or preachers who are popping young women,  driving off bridges and telling us,  that God dissaproves,  of what we are doing.   Memo to the Elmer Gantys of the world, we know what you are doing and did do, when you were young.

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don’t criticize
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is rapidly agin’
Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’

Bob Dylan

One Tin Soldier

Like the BDSM community,  who regulate their own,  and there are those who are those people who are out there, who are true sadists, who give the lot of them, a bad name.  But moreover,  the doms are very compassionate of their charges and ask them (subs/slaves) what are the limits. Most really do care!  They love their people and hate those who do not follow the rules of that community.

At stake is the very existence of their lifestyle,  who to the outsider,  does seem bizarre.  But being bizarre is not a crime and the participants do volunteer and their bosses, make sure, that the verbal contract, is not breached.

 

 

Remember: this is not about you: parents and friends.

This is about the beauty of life an the indescribable joy of self-satisfaction.

 

 

 

Ray Rice had a very bad moment! But so have you! Some things never change.

“I won’t insult your intelligence by suggesting that you really believe what you just said.”
William F. Buckley Jr.

So now we have yet another controversy (Ray Rice) because men and women alike to ply controversy as along as it does not indict them or their perceptions about themselves.    A trio of cases has made the news and those ready to capitalize on them,  will.  (Ray Rice,  Adrian Peterson and Ferguson)   But like any person who benefits from these kind of cases are not about solutions.   These kinds want to feeled vindicated over something that has no relevance to their own lives.

They are just lazy haters with no plan.   The longer this goes on the less time there is to judge their own missteps and that includes me.    They have a belly full of self-righteous indignation and no one to blame.  Except for the vulnerable who they CLAIM to care about.

Those who wish to bash Janay Rice taking her longer view of this situation,  I want to slap!   Sure Ray Rice has done the unthinkable and their indeed needs to be consequences.   But the most strident critics are those with things to hide or some other agenda.     Or you have the guys who like to present a virtual dialogue,  accusing others of racism, sexism,  misogyny or whatever their minds decide.

These decisions are born of haste,  arrogance and the unfetter cacophony of a lynch mob.    Like the Salem Witch-hunts come in various arrays,  finding some niche in which a person can ruin another.   It is that simple.   People do because they can.  Just like those dysfunctional sex bombs on Jerry Springer.    What is most fascinating about that ‘trainwreck’ is how old flash me some boobs Springer is like a prurient slinky in Chinatown offering some sage advice to people who wantonly exploit each other.

Then are the raucous and indecorous sniggles at a woman objectifying herself by showing her boobs.    This diminishingly embarrassing behavior in encouraged.    Some of these very same people are cheering while teenagers are deemed sex offenders by showing their bodies to their friends and classmates who get an eyeful.    So who made you God?   You cannot even run your own life as the song so aptly put it.  Now, you wish to destroy Rice,  Peterson and Tiger Woods.   I can bet my life that some of you have done worse.

You talk about helping women?  You lie!  Aside trying to ruin the lives of the guilty the world has not changed one bit.    You are part of the problem as long as there is clamoring and no one is listening.  How else can anything ever get better?     Aside from the punitive actions and laws you offer no change in the patterns of abuse.

Hillary had one thing right,  that is literally does take a village to make things like bullying,  abuse and terrorism abate.   Not even a plan just demands of justice.   Taking on the victim like Ray’s wife and making it all about you!  You are complicit in bringing more pain to the world.   You have made the victim’s life harder whilst you munch on Doritos and beat your dog.   Yeah,  I know you did this!

or there is this!

Let’s take charge of our own and stop letting disinterested parties decide our fate and I mean us all.  We all go around not trying to effect change as practically as we can and bomb aspirin factories and tell everyone else how nice we are.   We are never as good or as bad as we want others to believe.

I have lied and have stolen things and have deceived and maybe they may or may not have been crimes but I do not go around giving everyone else a scarlet letter or accuse of them of being a witch,  child molester or a serial cheater of some kind.

It’s like the show (movie)  ‘Mean Girls’.  A revealing look at the innate nature of us all and even those who we thought were incapable of such things.

I like ‘House’.   Does that make me an abuser or a victim?    Does calling a peaceful church goer affect you?   And why do you think anyone owes YOU an apology?   Everybody hurts some times.

It is hard enough to make it in this life without lighting another fire and while we may not have this particular tragedy over our heads we can assure others than there are those who really do care.

Cops and Gumdrops – Stars and Stripes

What a trifling minion of gadflies,   They flash a badge bark an order and expect respect.    Sheriff Andy Taylor and fellow crime fighter, Barney?   Oh,  I wish.   Now Barney is Robocop with a stun gun and a can of mace.   If the cameras are not rolling or have been confiscated and disposed of,  the evidence flitters away like October leaves cascading down their erstwhile perches.

This were images and the sense of the times.   Far be it for most cops to even act condescendingly towards a ‘suspect’.  You know that little known and respected caveat named ‘rights’ and ‘respect’.  What happened?   Have the Veteran’s respect by common people stole a bit of their glory?

Remember that picture when you body slam and 88 year old man who fought for pansy-assed self.   You act like Barney with malice.  You screw with adults aged 18-20 and you know better.    Probably some sexual arousal with you toy around with people (young adults) have been labeled as kids because now they are your kids and you cannot reconcile your own mortality,  so you pin suspects with your knee to their skull and they die.    And of course with have damage control and outright lies being perpetrated on unsuspecting people and why?   Do you have a set of handcuffs attached to a wall placard?   Do you need to terrorize,  never-mind the damage you do. Huh?

Come now,  any of you apologists justify it?   Cops need to say;   “Sir,  will you please sit?  84 and 95 years old and this is not too mention the abuse of blacks in their community because not all are gang bangers!

Cops need Personal Reliability Assessments and a lawyer and a media type following around and acting as a mediator to prevent this kind of abuse.     It is really heartbreaking that more and more people distrust cop and it takes just incident like these or bashing the girl into a cement bench in a cop station or strip searching a female without cause by  MEN And Women!!!

If  you don’t believe,  check out Youtube where officers ruin lives because they can.

 

One veteran died at the hands of an officer,  another innocent man shot in bed 16 times.   Cops need to lose this hate and start being respectful.  Or this nation is in big trouble.

 

 

Is it any wonder why people are getting upset.   They pick on the weak,  the elderly and girls.    They should have the 14 year old go.   They have options but they use excessive force.

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So all you dicks who hurt innocent people pox on you.   If your families were treated this way you would have hate for those individuals..

 

 

Mediating Reality and Politics.

One of the more frustrating aspects of dealing with people is that they read a book on let’s say, ‘Physics’.   They read just enough to have an opinion and then can’t be bothered.   In essence, that becomes their politics.   They fancy their notions but do not engage with them.

The first principle is that you must not fool yourself and you are the easiest person to fool.

Science itself is still in it’s veritable infancy.  The things we will know later will dwarf us in the here and now.   And the climate change debate will crystalize.    Not an answer driven by political correctness but we will have done ‘real due-diligence’.   Not throwing talking points as real science.

People want everything gift-wrapped into tight little packages that are easy to explain but when you get beneath the dogma, there is nothing but that dogma.   Logically then or rather illogically they go back to their default position as with the topic of ‘Climate Change’.    They refer back to the experts,  whatever that might be.   Many of these same people then refer to the religious as deferring to fairy tales.

Stephen Hawking has the Higgs-Boson to fall back on and considering the fact that he has beaten the odds,  doesn’t see the irony.  As if the fact that my friend died after a year after he was diagnosed.   He too,  had ALS.    The difference being that he was a professing Christian while the former must imagine some last minute intervention or like many unbelievers that his mass will not destroyed.  I  guess.

If I left the world being the most dissipated man of all time,  and did not feel the slightest compunction at being a  jerk,  then maybe I too could go on without asking the biggest question…..why?  Why in my honest evaluation of myself,  I could not even hint at being some kind of saint or above it all.

So maybe we fancy ourselves to be many things.   Perhaps an Opera Star, a Poet or maybe we were born to be a leaf.  One that has fallen during Autumn who is slated for a burn barrel of the compost pile.   We are even less than the worst of miscreants,  who we should assume ourselves to be.   This is not self-flagellation but simple perspective.   The nascent rise of real science can upset a lot of realities.   But is that Immutable Perfect Being really interested in “our take”?    And would it necessarily disprove anything of the nature of God?

This diagram shows changes in the rate of expansion since the Big Bang. The shallower the curve, the faster the expansion rate. There's a notable change in the curve around 7.5 billion years ago, when astronomers think a mysterious, dark force caused objects to fly apart at a faster rate. NASA/STSci/Ann Feild

At that point,  were we even cognizant of our plight relative to people,  what then?

 

Life is more than elaborate set of rules but the worst part of that is maybe no one really cares who good you think you are,  much less than a sentient being of unimaginable power.  The fact that such a being would ever even care is worthy of our consideration.

Ultimately God makes his choice and is the only choice ever truly made by anyone or anything.  God is not like us,  he would be in all ways better and once we get that if we were a plot of clay,  he could dash that hardened clay against the wall and it would be fair.


That we are sentient, ought to reveal something very important about us and even more about God.   In the final analysis God is so fair,  that he would consider all of our arguments and is the perfect parent because unlike us,  he is truly impartial.  Those conferred with greater gifts now,  are not among the elite in heaven, but those with a humble heart,  who imagines humbly to be so unworthy of him.

Conversely we are antithesis of modesty and our self-aggrandizement is really evident we get so mired into those shows like ‘American Idol’ and that is just one program that intimates that someone is going to find us and see how wonderful we are.    Afterall everyone has some measure of greatness.   Really?  How about those who just CANNOT sing or act or paint a picture?

There has to be a special for them!   And why again?  This kind of mentality is part of the infantilism of the world today.  A 20 year old woman (many called her a girl) remonstrated that her life was miserable because her parents embarrassed her when she was 10.   The crime?   Her parents made her a Halloween costume and that poor girl was traumatized.  Yeah I bet a lot of people would love to trade places.

That person who you and I shrugged off.   That person we may have done charity for with an air of insolent disregard,  perhaps imagining that we are better and he or she is there by choice.   But as I see it, we can be that little boy or girl,  combing through sewage and refuse hoping to eat that.   Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs at play here my friends.

 

Not dogmas,  not same-sex marriage or even that man/woman arrangement.   Today we confer some kind of special birthright based on sexual proclivity,  racial orientation or our beliefs in some obscure frog or farflung religion.

 

It is one thing to rebel against injustice because there is some intrinsic value in that.   However,  a lot of this is just rhetoric.

Pay a dime to a cause and sleep well at night.   Is that going to be our legacy?  Do we ‘really’  lose sleep over all this terrible stuff in the world?

 

We more than most rich people get it.   We are more likely to suffer more substantially than billionaires and because of that we can more relate to the hurting.  But our answer basically mirrors the tax write-offs of the uber rich.   So maybe we are not so swell afterall.

The good message and point here is that someone does care but to know him we have to set aside all presumption.   We have to look at ourselves being the one hurting and really understand our own inherent leanings towards wrong.   I am NOT exempting myself from this either.   We all must do apart from hyperbole and most of all,  do it not for accolades or some measure of self-satisfaction.   Let the words silently minister to the hurting.

 

 

There is one thing that I want to do today and that is to ask those who hear to respond.   You will know question to that answer and you will find harmony and perfection.

 

 

 

 

 

Gate Keepers

Gate Keepers

As we know more about a lot, we master nothing.    We toil and strive and then concede,  ultimately wallowing in the muck and mire of our own personal experiences.   We assume we are patently original,  suspiciously aware of our hypocrisy.    We claim we never lie and if we do then we do.

Sometimes in our youth,  we wish to cheat death or get as close as we can to that.  Impressing others of our bravado and recounting our glory years.    Like the song, ‘Those Were the Days My friend,   we thought they’d never end,   we sing and dance forever and a day.   We live the life we choose,  we fight and never lose,  those were the days,  oh yes, those were the days.’

There was a time in our life, when we romanticized love,  as if we were Romeo and Juliet,  or we might be Bonnie and Clyde.   We would make love as no one else could.   Like a Muse in a Xanadu,  we find our own reality,  as we move gracefully together.

But then something happened.  The Yellow brick road began to crumble and the house landed upon our love.   With a resounding thump and a crash of dishes,  our dreams faded like a late show re-run.

Those songs that inspired us,  were now a requiem,  sad and haunting.   Soon bitterness impaled our hearts and they become like stone.    And instead of skipping flat stones across a florid lake.

Florid Lake

So maybe we find a church ,   with a choir and we sing staid old songs,  as lifeless as a still-born dream.  We are reverent and judging,  but we judge others for their specks,  while redwoods roam in our eyes.

We can’t wait to leave and try to depart as soon as we can and we claim a god of opportunity to an end with no life,  like that old abandoned church.

We hear a knock from above,  wistful vapors of the unseen but our spirit consists of seeing images in an office building and tying meaning to a ship that never comes back.

It need not end this way.   In spite of unrequited love snatching us too early.  the knocks push upon us harder and the message is clear and unwavering.  Though all around are the indignant,  honest, godly church going people who flick ashes upon others.

We cannot find what we assumed was there until our hearts melt for the needs of forgiveness of our own missteps.   The harrowing nightmares we perpetrated on others,   while claiming some kind of victim-hood.

When we realize that we are there,  we will know we have arrived.   Our pretentions are like tumbleweeds drifting on a dusty road.   Yet in that abyss of faith,   we find ourselves trembling but more free.

Remember good is never good enough and if it will be,  it definitely be.  with no further side-slips on that precarious path.

 

Treeless Hill. My Movie Review

The movie’s setting is in South Korea.   It is about two young girls and their amazing courage.   Their mother has run off to find her husband who left and the kids are left with an aunt and then grandparents.   Some reviews rate it is just above average at 6.4 but what do they know?   In my mind it is a 9 and one has to remember that this is a movie of spiritual beauty and has it’s frustrations.   The kids are adorable and the older girl an inspiration.

treeless-mountain-indie-movie (2)thNKX8GA2D

It was a top movie in Movie Festivals and to me a solid movie.