A beautiful late-summer morning here in Durango

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On War

“War is Cruel, War is Cruelty” for “Only the dead have seen the end of war” I am not a pacifist because it would not save a single life. This is “the land of weeping and of war” First Man and First Woman began “the Nightmare of history”. What are we to do, “Despair and die!”? Do we die cursing the world like MacBeth “I begin to grow weary of the sun, and wish the estate of the world were now undone, Come wind blow rack at least we’ll die with harness on our back.” What is the answer? “You are here, life exists and identity…” The Tribe who wrestled with God heard this “I call Heaven and Earth to Witness against you this day that I have set before thee Life and Death the Blessing and the Curse So therefore choose life that thou mayest live thou and thy seed” Believe Jesus and Love you neighbor and remember that All war begins in the heart. You are not the storyteller you have no curse another The True Human Being gave his life for the ancient vision. “They shall beat their swords into plowshares and their knives into pruning hooks and they shall learn of war no more…” He lets us step on his face with our pain “…I know your pain. I bore this cross for pain…” We can only be where we are, be honorable, Be a peacemaker, be a defender, Be just, be merciful, Love and be loved. Remember the bloody places so we can forget when Creator sets free returns. The blood is still there, Sand Creek, Guernica, Dachau, Maalot, Nanking and Nagasaki. Its waiting to be washed. And that is my hope in the fear. “…The Creator will smile on these lands and send rain to wash away the bloody spots made by brothers hands. ” Someday…

Poem I liked.

“A CLOUD was on the mind of men, and wailing went the weather, Yea, a sick cloud upon the soul when we were boys together. Science announced nonentity and art admired decay; The world was old and ended: but you and I were gay; Round us in antic order their crippled vices came— Lust that had lost its laughter, fear that had lost its shame. Like the white lock of Whistler, that lit our aimless gloom, Men showed their own white feather as proudly as a plume. Life was a fly that faded, and death a drone that stung; The world was very old indeed when you and I were young. They twisted even decent sin to shapes not to be named: Men were ashamed of honour; but we were not ashamed. Weak if we were and foolish, not thus we failed, not thus; When that black Baal blocked the heavens he had no hymns from us Children we were—our forts of sand were even as weak as we, High as they went we piled them up to break that bitter sea. Fools as we were in motley, all jangling and absurd, When all church bells were silent our cap and bells were heard.” ~G.K. Chesterton: “The Man who was Thursday, A Nightmare.” ● Read more: http://bit.ly/2rIADGi

The Three Riders, the citizen, the warrior and the Killer

These three die the same 

 But only one can be immortal.

 All three run to their deaths 

 But only two can run to Calvary.

 We sing sad songs 

 We feel sorrow

 And we remember them 

The first we mourn the Lost dead son 

 The second we hail the Victorious dead!

 The last we curse, the murderer.

These are the ways to be a fighter

 We have a million names for them all, the same type of men and women:

Soldier, Knight, Samurai, Spearman

 The Minuteman, the Ronin, the janissary

There a Thousand stories 

across all the seven seas 

 all the lands the sun Graces.

They are bloody, beautiful and fill the heart with woe yet there is a harmony.

Good men and devils 

 Bad men and gods

These stories are the wisdom of the Children of Men 

To be a citizen is to be of Rome, Jerusalem, and Camelot!

Farmer, blacksmith or boy called to fight 

Because he loves what he leaves.

 He hears the call of the horn which calls him: to fight, to die or to stand a man for only a moment in which God Alone will see.

 They died heeding the call of The Once and Future King.

 These were David’s Mighty Men 

 The friends of Hector 

 The legions of Scipio and Horatius

 The Lakota, Cheyenne, Pueblo and Mono

All those who died to keep Home Free

They left their bones far from home in strange lands and foreign Seas.

 In Wars futile and wise 

 Remembered and forgotten.

 Witness us! That is what they demand.

His Creed: my life for yours

 Remember Elah where David won.

Look at Hector’s firey pyre and why he died.

Remember the allies of lights when you are in darkness.

 The heroes who are men.

The warrior like Achilles is blessed and cursed! 

arrogant and doomed

 Brooding in his tent while better men die

 Remember David decapitating Goliath with his own sword!

 The Warriors flawed but he has his day 

He is fearless in battle 

 Praying every moment like a boy 

 Cursing gods and his creator 

He tastes the Divine in His Wrath

He may sing praises in the glory or in the ashes 

He is like the Crusader 

 Richard, Raymond, Godfrey

He has many faces and many victories 

 Because he believes and knows what he is doing.

 He declares things he does not understand 

 God’s will 

 The ways of the heart 

 The old stories 

 The warrior loves War, it is a part of him

 The worst thing is he understands it 

 That is the part of hell he takes upon himself 

He knows the fragility of living because he makes his way among the Dead

He even loves or hates his maker for the same reason,

 for his life is a blessing or a curse but he decides.

He does not know peace in this life you can only await it in the next

The last is the walking shadow 

A careless soul becoming a beast 

They bear The Mark of Cain the one for those who have murdered 

They are those who chose in Oblivion for their hearts

 They’ve killed the world like Romans falling on their swords
 The embrace the darkness the Doom that comes against them 

 They are blood and dust for they have  fallen into smoke and Shadow

The Walking Dead, the workers of iniquity and the Bloody men.

Saul who murdered himself 

 Agamemnon ended by Follies blade 

They are Long Knives, Death’s Heads and baying Hounds

Who try to murder the world 

 We know their names because we still feel the pain they caused 

Chivington 

 Reynhardt

Custer

There’s a long list of villains all to be eventually forgotten

 By the grace of God this will happen soon 

Be warned those who go to war 

 To remember the old stories in the old books 

 We have yet to learn all blessings 

These lessons are our only warnings 

 The rest is up to you

Bad Dreams

” and Christian kills Christian in a narrow Dusty room…”

So said a happy Giant many years ago, who dreamed of Christ’s United body, all turned back to Rome.

So much hatred born of so much blood in the centuries since Jesus roamed.

Christ with copious tears wept as we murdered each other with each other’s crosses.

We saw with the wrong kind of eyes and kill their brothers like Cain now cursed with a terrible mark.  

Some dream of burning priests what’s the Flaming vestments in the deepest hell!

Others dream of the end of the pretentious Greeks long beards in eastern cross. 

Others dream of a Traitors end for the protesting Church and it’s simple chapels.

We are filled with so much pride which has led to so much pain. It came in the form of wealthy Patriarchs, arrogant knights with bloody Steel, or round-headed men who dreamed of purity.

Christ is died or he had never lived.

Christ is risen or he never spoke.

Christ will come again or he never was born

These are the hard truths. We cannot hate each other forever even though we’d want to.

There’s too much work to do and our Lord keeps calling us to it.

The world will know his name and what he said.

The prisoners must be fed 

 The good story told 

 The great song sung

So much to do and if we do as he did he once more will walk again.

Mercy made flesh will walk The Healing Way For All Mankind.

It sounds too good to be true but the miracle is that it is.

The priests in their vestments, the Greek confession with long beards, the protesting Church and its many forms will be one at last.

Friends at the end of the universe

 Brothers of the shattered Cosmos 

 Witnesses of the new everything

 The new Earth is washed of blood made by the hands of squabbling Brothers.

I have spoken and this will be so.

Aho! Mitakuye Oyasin 

Ricard Nixon and Me

A Sketch of my early life is one of constant movement and various disappointments. These experiences were formulation and still burn in my memory as I get older. I amean a millennial so my memories have real weight and meaning, I wanted to share a brief memory to share.

I was flunking out of middle school and I was profoundly miserable in Billings Montana. My mom had moved their for work and social oppurtunities that never really appeared for me. More people in a large and isolated Western city. I learned to ride the bus and be alone. I learned one day that was how Lee Harvey Oswald would spend his time a fact which terrifies me now! I was not popular is school though I made a friend who I am still in contact with today thanks to social media. I was bullied by some kid for some reason probably for some ill purpose. I became a regular at the library. Like my mother I had discovered Tolkien’s axiom, “How can it be wrong for prisoners in the materialist world be wrong in seeking escape beyond the confines of walls and jailers” we found those in books and stories. Though I expanded my mind I still wasnt a great student. Never put the effort in really, I wanted to sit back dream and be happy which was becoming an impossibility in that time. So it was decided I would return to my home in South Dakota to finish 7th grade and 8th grade at my Grandmothers house. Its strange, there is no way out of misery you just keep going. I decided I wanted that so the arrangements were made to drive the long grasslands of the powder river country on the US 212. 

As I made my arrangements to leave it was odd that I still attended school waiting for my mom to pick me up and drive me home. The librarians wept when i left,  this is no joke, they were in tears when I told them i was leaving. I was in Mrs Mattzingers math class, a vexation of mine full of incomprehensible symbols and mystic scribbles I am still trying to understand. Mattzinger was a very kind hippy woman. I appreciate her kind heart and think this is how all math teachers ought to be everywhere. My mom was at the door. I stood up in the crowded classroom all I eyes on me but I ignored them and as I walked out of the room I shot one arm in the air flashing the V sign and then I shot up the other making three V’s a trinity of defiance like Richard Nixon. I should note I was a strange kid. I loved history but I barely knew Nixon but I knew the gesture. Kids have great instincts they can see things we don’t want others to know. I learned a lot more about Nixon. 
I don’t see him as this grand historical villain or liberal boogeyman. Nor do I see him as the apologists, I see in Nixon myself. I see a lonely kid trying to make good destroyed and broken by the things that destroy any man. I know what he felt the pain of loss and the agony of having a home slip from your fingers. I know that pressure to succeed from the poor families from which we come. I know his anger and being looked down on by the snobs and  those who think they know better than you. I know what its like to grow up as that lonely child to retreat into a rich inner life at the risk of being seen as awkward and as some kind of clown, People look down on Nixon in that way and I fall in temptation to hate them for it. But as I learned more I hope to learn from him. I hope to avoid his sins. I hope to avoid his grudging nature, his loose tongue, his lack of confidence, his racism, his pettiness and his cruelty. In Oliver Stones Nixon, on the night before his resignation looks to a picture of JFK he says this; “When they look at you they see what they want to be, when they look at me they see what they are…” I took that lesson to heart. We are all sinners. We are all human and we are all frail beyond measure. It is far better to seek wisdom than illusion while wisdom is painful its beauty lasts in its hard truths while illusions are beautiful in their lies which fade and are gone.My journey like all of ours would not end there. 

Now back to my memory. As I stood in front of the class giving my final gesture to these people I would never see again Mrs Mattzinger looked at me and I saw her smile and give a peace sign. Her smile was warm and it was true because I think she knew what was going on. When Nixon gave his gesture he was a broken man, driven from his hard won office jeered by many and never understood. We walked down the hall got in the car and drove the 6 hours back to the Rosebud Indian Reservation. I asked my mom what she thought of my little display. She said I did good. “You know they beat him but he didn’t let them get him down”. I think she understood. I think she saw it as a act of defiance one she could identify with both of us as children of trauma. I was broken and would remain so for many years. I learned and I grew up. In those years I would lose all my grandparents my mother and feel the loss of one home after another. But I learned defiance. I also learned about life and mortality making every day count, I learned to seek beauty and reject ugliness I sought truth and wisdom, I learned to pray and sing with utter abandon and I learned to dance in the day and in the night, In short I learned to live. Life is hard and filled with pain. Anybody who follows and “ISM” without question is avoiding the problem. There is a God and there is suffering. But there is also Truth, Love, Virtue, Glory, Life, Joy to accompany the many troubles that we all encounter. I read Ecclesiastes and Job and believed what they said. Maybe with these skills I will discover what Nixon sought, Peace. I will leave you with an excerpt of his final speech which always brings a tear to my eye.  

“And when my heart’s dearest died, the light went from my life forever.”

That was T.R. in his twenties. He thought the light had gone from his life forever — but he went on. And he not only became President but, as an ex-President, he served his country, always in the arena, tempestuous, strong, sometimes wrong, sometimes right, but he was a man.
And as I leave, let me say, that is an example I think all of us should remember. We think sometimes when things happen that don’t go the right way; …We think that when someone dear to us dies, we think that when we lose an election, we think that when we suffer a defeat that all is ended. We think, as T.R. said, that the light had left his life forever. Not true.
It is only a beginning, always. The young must know it; the old must know it. It must always sustain us, because the greatness comes not when things go always good for you, but the greatness comes and you are really tested, when you take some knocks, some disappointments, when sadness comes, because only if you have been in the deepest valley can you ever know how magnificent it is to be on the highest mountain.
And so I say to you on this occasion, as we leave, we leave proud of the people who have stood by us and worked for us and served this country. We want you to be proud of what you have done. We want you to continue to serve in government, if that is your wish.
Always give your best, never get discouraged, never be petty; always remember, others may hate you, but those who hate you don’t win unless you hate them, and then you destroy yourself.
And so, we leave with high hopes, in good spirit, and with deep humility, and with very much gratefulness in our hearts. I can only say to each and every one of you, we come from many faiths, we pray perhaps to different gods — but really the same God in a sense — but I want to say for each and every one of you, not only will we always remember you, not only will we always be grateful to you but always you will be in our hearts and you will be in our prayers.

Thank you very much.

Richard Nixon – August 9, 1974

What all this meant

Most of the history books don’t tell

What happens to the Indians after they lose.

Always win the Indians fight the bigger power

It is full of light and Reckless Glory

Sounds of bugles the taste of dust and the shouts of battle

The battles become immortal like they should be

Turning obscure places into words of The Bard and songsters lips

Fallen Timbers, Fort Detroit, Fort Phil Kearny and Little Big Horn

Battles in the great battle of the little man versus the big-Man.

That’s what the newspapers like to see! The excitement and the desperate Glory of Wilfred Owen

People like to read about battles because they often lack conviction.

There are no Martyrs in our land anymore.

Such is the world when the power and the protester share the same fire

Such was the same at The Standing Rock.

 they were building the pipeline

The people came with all their environmental concerns with bleeding hearts aflutter and came to get their piece of cheap Grace.

Away to think about divine grace is a gift that is never earned.

One can only accept it freely that’s its Beauty

But you can abuse it by merely being a tourist.

My favorite thing is that no matter how much we speak no one ever listens to the Indians.

The battle at the camp was won. For a short while and then it was lost again. Like Little Bighorn so long ago

We live we die with the trauma that we have all inherited.

We are still sad but everyone heard what they wanted to hear and now they’re gone

They came to get a piece of Beauty for themselves even if they took it from us.

They believe in a false Unity God’s without conviction or a blind idiotic universe

They say love is all we need that’s usually what thieves say

I sure hope Christ is real because I want to see him over turning some tables with these folks who came and left

I would have rage but that heals nothing. Instead I will mock them

Like the best of Mark Twain I will call them out for their gilded organic privilege.

 I will call out to those Indians who like having their picture taken,

The false medicine man and the full shirt wearers and those who leavery the old ones in the cold.

I laugh because I believe in the fires in the night of those who’ve gone and the Creator who sustains them.

There’s no cheap hope these days. Only an ember undying On a Winter’s Night

Maybe it is time for the world to end it’s only the world.

But we’ll keep trying and we’ll keep fighting because if you know the Lakota you know they love to fight

Aho!

Mitakuye oyasin

A poem

A man named Gilbert said,

Break to the conventions keep the Commandments.

I’m tired of your anger 

 I’m weary of your arrogance.

You flop around like a disease bird 

 Filled with Madness and fixation

Like a flame that keeps putting itself out 

 I hate you left and right 

 Maybe it’s because I’m an Indian historically speaking, 

 The conservative shot the Indians the Liberals merely tried genocide.

 I guess both are kind of the same.

It’s fools leading the blind or the blind leading the fools 

 Anyway I’m tired of this Poem like I’m tired of you.  

The first quote is the first way out here’s the second way out.

Tatanka Iyotanka said,

Come and let us see what future we can make for our children.