“To sin by silence, when we should protest, makes cowards out of men,” the poet Ella Wheeler Wilcox
These times, these times, these times. Hardly the best of times. Yet still the tale of two cities.
“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing,” John Stuart Mill
The things that that have warranted news items, some repeated, some only small articles. Such little outcry.
- Families seeking refuge imprisoned and raped, tortured, broken.
- Child trafficking by the government—children taken from their parents to be adopted by Christian families.
- The Catholic Church found out beyond imagination in pedophilia, the rape of nuns, and nuns as sex slaves. Belated acknowledgement by at least 20 years because it is a process. A continued defense of the church, the Holy Mother Church. Not a church of God or Christ, but of the Pope.
- A black doll found hanging in a Michigan dorm room. A Chrysler factory where hanging ropes and N—er go home is painted.
- Sex abuse by Buddhist Monks
- Red MAGA hats
- The subjugation of women
- The resurgence of the KKK
- The Lie and liars
- The betrayal and destruction of the Earth
The end of a virtuous state portents the end of the state, according to the Tao.
Erik Ravelosi, Los intocables 2012
- —It’s the Year of the Pig—
Wenceslaus Hollar. Wild Boar. Etching, 1644 – 1652. Rijksmuseum
There are no parades around here, but the holiday goes on, nonetheless. I do know of some parties this weekend. In anyway form, may we all have a year that is prosperous, filled with peace and joy.
Happy New Year all!
Cardinal Dolan and Cumo—NY Catholic News Service
And now we hear from Cardinal Dolan.
The U.S. Catholic Church “is no greater (an) offender than anybody else. In fact, some of the statistics would say that priestly abuse among minors is less than other professions,” the cardinal said. “Now he knows that, he knows that, and yet he singled out the Catholic Church and continues to do so for negligence in this terribly important area.”
This reminds me of when I was teaching. If you chastised one child for doing something wrong, inevitably he would say, “well what about Joe there, he was doing it too!” Then, as in now, the response is—we were talking about you, not Joe. Don’t worry about Joe, take care of yourself.
Of course. It’s the waaaaaaay things are because it’s the way things are.
Wishes do come true, in their time, in their fashion.
A Slice Of Life
Although here in reality it’s not at all as in the photo. Yet the snow is beautiful, and constant. A true winter story.
This is more a scene from my childhood when everything was larger, and grander, and closer. Yet I am certain that the snow and the seasons were much more intense and bountiful those many years ago. There is in fact an old black and white photo of my aunt standing in front of a snow pile that was well over 10′ tall. It was taken in Fargo, ND. We took and kept the photo for posterity. It’s somewhere in a box from many moves remaining unpacked. Waiting—I suppose—for posterity to arrive.
They breathe mild the high firs
Enclosed in the snow mantle.
Softer and thick that white splendor
He’s got every branch, away.
The White streets get more quiet:
The rooms collected, more intense.
Chime the hours. It comes
Beaten every baby, shaking.
Over the wing, the crash of a ciocco
That in lightning and rockin, ruins.
In pale shine of sequins
The candid day out there increases,
It becomes everlasting, infinite.
—Rainer Maria Rilke
Austrian artist Friedensreich Hundertwasser was an expressionist artist and architect who built many colourful and eye-catching buildings around Europe in the 1950s. He created the Hundertwasserhaus, one of Vienna’s most iconic landmarks, alongside architect Joseph Krawina.
Thanks to @lost.in.ldn for this amazing photo on Instagram.
And the last Hundertwasser designed building is being built in Whangarei, New Zealand, where he lived in the last years of his life. He designed the building but the money has only recently been raised to build it. It is a very exciting project which will house Maori art.
All windows are different and trees and plants grow freely without any pruning or cutting. Places are created to allow neighbours to meet and have a good time together.
I’m always astounded by the work that can be done, is done by artists. How beautiful our world would be if we could only unleash this passion in the ghettos, the slums, even just the tired and worn of our streets.
Castle Magic in Sandpoint, Idaho
And then there are those things which are lovely once there, but made heavy on the approach. I’m not sure there’s a name for the trip you dread that becomes a most favored memory when left behind. It’s the going to and coming from that can be so different. It certainly seems as if there should be a word for that. If not, one should be created. It could be said the yin-yang of it, but that doesn’t quite capture the essence of the matter. It’s a mood whiplash sort of thing. But whiplash is too abrupt a descriptor. Hummm. Something to ponder. In any case, I don’t want two words, just one to nicely cover the phenomenon.
Imagine not wanting to go on a trip through the snow and cold to come upon the castle sight at the end of your journey. To have ale and wood fires burning, warmth and magic. Or to quote The Bard: when journeys end in lovers meeting.