Comment on my Review of Tree of Life

It occurred to me today that the soundtrack of Tree of Life has a lot of Catholic liturgical music in it. All in Latin of course, and sung by an excellent choir.

For example, during what I understood to be the "resurrection" was accompanied by the Agnus Dei, which of course is from the Eucharistic canon at the mass: "Agnus Dei qui tollit peccata mundi, miserere nobis.." Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.

I also should point out - another thing that occurred to me today - that the "Tree of Life" is also taken in Catholic and Orthodox (and I suppose other Christian traditions) as referring to the Cross. You'll see it for example on diptychs or that lay out the stories of the Hebrew Bible in contrast to their consummation in the Gospel. So the the Cross is the Tree of Life and a counterpoint to the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil in the Garden of Eden: The first is the instrument salvation and redemption, the second that of freedom and the Fall.

I can't steal this image because it is protected, but it is a mosaic that is an excellent example of what I'm referring to.

I think I'm going to have to watch the film again when it comes out on DVD to parse all this.



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Film Review: Tree of Life

I liked this quite a lot. 4/5 *'s, A. Tomato meter 86%, audience only 66%.



(This is not the trailer, which they won't let me imbed on YouTube. This link takes you to the official trailer: Check out this great MSN video: 'The Tree of Life' Trailer )


I was initially puzzled why this film isn't being shown in more theaters, seeing as Sean Penn and Brad Pitt are in it, and it has won the Palme d'Or at Cannes.. Now that I've seen it, I understand. This film has only the slightest narrative, being a diaphanous stream of images depicting the life of a family living in Waco, Texas in the 50's, cast against a cosmic backdrop. Many people will not enjoy this at all. Think 2001 Space Odessy or Tarkovsky - if you know who he is, and like him, see this film. Otherwise, you may want to stay away.

The minimal story is focused on the eldest son, who we learn in the very first scenes will die when he is 19. The film then cuts to his birth, and begins to show us the dynamic of his family - Pitt plays his father, a man driven to succeed according to the cultural mores of 1950's corporate/upper class America, who clearly loves his sons, but treats them with a sternness and discipline that borders on pathological. His wife, played by Jessica Chastain (who is stunning here) is a much more gentle and non-judgmental personality.

The devastation they both experience at the death of their son is cast against this dynamic, but it is never explained how the son dies - if he commits suicide, if his death is any way influenced by his relationship with his father.

Then, we flash forward to one of the other two younger brothers in the family (it wasn't clear to me which) as an adult working as an architect in a skyscraper in some American city, somewhere like Dallas or Kansas City, played by Sean Penn. He's obviously still wracked by these events years later. Apparently the film is meant to be at least in part a mediation on life from this character's point of view.

Then, we shift into a long series of images beginning with the dawn of time, the Big Bang, the rise of life, terrestrial life, so forth, culminating in images that seem to suggest the end of the universe in fire and darkness.

The film then jumps back to tell the story of perhaps one year in the life of the family, where the relationship of the eldest son with his father is depicted. He is obviously haunted by his father's expectations and feelings of resentment and inadequacy. These drive him to commit some anti- social acts like launching a frog hundreds of feet in the air tied to a backyard rocket, stealing lingerie from a neighbor's house, and some other small acts of cruelty and disobedience that are clearly attempts on his part to react to the pressure of his father's expectations and the growing realization that he is very much like his father in both his strengths and weaknesses. All of this is cut with other impressions of a beautiful family life in an idealized 1950's setting, only with the occasional acts of cruelty or selfishness on the part of the son or his father to mar the idyll.

The finale of the movie (which comes after what seems to be a very long time, which I didn't mind apart from the fact that I saw the film at the Enzain dinner theater and had ordered three pints during the film, a choice which came back to haunt me in the last 20 or 30 minutes of the film, but not enough to actually make a run to the restroom.. ) is an apparent resurrection of sorts, an afterlife in which Sean Penn's character is seen walking along a long beautiful beach with all his family, and a large crowd of strangers.


That's basically the story. Very highbrow, high concept, but not particularly doctrinaire. The director, Terrence Malick, evidently poured himself into this film, and it shows. He's the same guy who directed A Thin Red Line, another great film shot with a very similar visual style, but with more narrative structure, and is a trained philosopher - ABD at Oxford on a thesis dealing with "the concept of world" in Heidegger, Kierkegaard and Wittgenstein.. He had a divergence of opinion with his tutor, it seems.

Malick was raised Assyrian Catholic (that is to say Iraqi, or Chaldean Catholic) in Waco, himself, and that is also evident in the film. He also then went to a high class Episcopalian Prep School in Austin.

This film is obviously fruit of all of that study, and all of those philosophical and religious influences, and so is just as pretentious and interesting, as well as alternately staunch and new agey as you'd expect.

The family is Catholic and are often depicted at mass. Their priest is shown at one point giving a homily on the Book of Job in which he hammers home the futility of all worldly things, and the necessity of grace and the salvation of God which is beyond all human understanding: "his thoughts are infinitely above ours.."

The film also opens with a verse from one of my very favorite chapters in the entire Bible, also in Job: "Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation... while the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?" This is from Chapter 38 where God first takes the stage after Job has been sitting on his dung heap being heckled by his friends who have all sorts of opinions as to why Job has fallen on such hard times for the first 37 chapters.

The first 37 chapters are like much Christian discourse in other words: "blah blah blah blah blah blah blah." They babble, then leave. It's like one long modern evangelical service, a whole lot of bullshit and preaching, only without any rock tunes. I could never be a low church protestant, getting preached and sung at all the time like that. I'm so glad we have liturgy and generally short homilies..

Anyhow, it's when Job is alone that God shows up and puts a pile driver through things. Job had been a bit upset that all these horrible things had befallen him, and was annoyed at God. But he never took up his so called friends' challenge to simply curse God and die. He kept on keeping on, cranky but faithful to the end, enthroned on his pile of shit.

Malick quotes the perfect line for every jackass who thinks they understand what the Book of Genesis "really" means in "historical" or "scientific" terms.

Where you there? Who are you to lecture me about what I did? You know nothing.


That no mere man may boast before He Who Lives and Reigns.


Malick leaves out - and this is telling, I think - the lines just before this, where God says to Job "Stand up. Gird your loins like a man. I will examine and I will judge you."

Judge. You.


This movie treats creation with such poetic power, and then casts the lives of this particular family against that cosmic backdrop in a way that is neither condescending or gimmicky. The grandeur of the human being, the human person, of our collective consciousness and our love, is as astounding as everything else in time and space - in fact, it is apparently the only thing that gives any of the other astonishing things that are any meaning. Only we contemplate, only we worship. Malick's film is one long testament to that truth.


But despite the proto- Christian themes in the film, and the repeated prayers in which every primary character prays and seeks the intercession of other characters ("I" love "you") in religious language, even addressing God as a person ("I give my son to you") the full blown presence of that transcendent Other is not felt. The film dances around this felt near absence gently, which is why it seems to verge on a sort of "new age" vibe..


The mother (Jessica Chastain's character) also makes a powerful statement at the beginning of the film that opposes grace to nature ("there is the way of grace and the way of nature") where grace is described as being selfless, liberating and free, while nature is described as grasping, controlling and selfish. The mother seems to be meant to be taking the way of grace, while the father and his oldest son follow the way of nature.

While I get the point, and somewhat credit it, I thought to myself that this is not technically true. I think nature is a manifestation of grace, and departing from grace disfigures, and is un-natural. The fall is the deprivation of grace in nature, that is evil, sin and death. Nature itself is good, being created by God (who is the only "super" natural being, even spirits and angels are natural, whether fallen or not, on this point I refer you to Aquinas) and in the Catholic economy of grace redeemed by the Church which is Christ's sacramental action, the energies of God that take on "material" expressions.

That's in a way a quibble (and note that I typed that off the cuff, so my way off expressing it may not be as precise or correct as it should be) but it's an important one.

I was left wondering about Malick's deeper agenda, whether he was thinking in terms of the Kabbalic or ancient Egyptian "Tree of Life" or other variations of that idea, and how much those ideas may have impacted his film.

I incidentally bought a beautiful papyrus of this depiction of the Egyptian mythological Tree of Life when I was living in Cairo, which I gave to Rich & JD. They've framed it beautifully, and it looks fantastic:

I really like it, and may need to go back to Cairo to pick up a few more.


The thing about this movie though is that while this is definitely affirming of the immense beauty and dignity of the individual human person, it sort of goes vague on the ultimate source of that personhood.

More unitarian than trinitarian in the final analysis, it seems to me. Not that that is a bad thing. I'm merely observing for the record.


Final word: see this film if it sounds at all interesting to you.

Just stay away from that third pint. It'll mess you up.


[Footnote: I just watched the video about the casting of the film that I post at the head of the review.. I apparently misunderstood what happened entirely, in that I thought the eldest son was the one who died, but apparently it was one of the younger ones. Sean Penn depicts the eldest son as a middle aged man.. i leave my review as is, because thaat confusion is a testament to the discursive, non- linear style of the film. I normally don't get confused by movies, but this one was unusually indeterminate. ]



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160 Parks in Three Years? Am I Supposed to Be Impressed?

So, the big news this Sunday is that my parents made their local paper, the Villages Daily Sun ("The Only Paper in North America with a Growing Subscriber Base! The Villages: The Internet? No one here knows how to use any technology developed after 1975!"). They're featured as the Villagers of the week. The Sun does weekly stories on Villagers with nifty hobbies ("He has every single Frank Sinatra album ever cut embossed framed and mounted on the walls of his house!" or "She collects ceramic cows, look how there's no open shelf or counter space in her home!")..

Somehow the newspaper found out that my parents have been visiting Florida State parks these last three years, and that they finally visited their last park this past week.

This is the result:

This last Monday I actually accidentally ran into my Dad at Lake Griffin State Park in Lady Lake (the park closest to my parents' house) as he was finally dropping off his "Passport" booklet with all the stamps from each park in it. I was ironically and serendipitously there to pick my own passport booklet up. I'd decided (inspired by them) to use the parks as interim destinations in my road trip to discover Florida this summer.

It was Monday, July 20th.

This past week I've been to 13 parks. When I was in Orlando (for three days) I only visited three, but these last three days I've been to nine. I have to admit that with only one exception I've basically blown through them, only spending about 20 minutes driving around, getting out of the car to walk around for five or ten minutes then leaving. That's because they've all been dedicated to camping and RV sites, fishing, hiking, nature walks. There've been a couple with horse and mountain biking trails trails, too. One park, Payne's Creek, is a historical park centered on the site of a Federal fort built in 1849 during the last Seminole War. I spent an hour there in the museum and walking around the location the blockhouse had been built.

The one park I spent a bunch of time at, actually going there twice and staying for hours, was Wekiwa Springs, which is a first magnitude spring that is the source of of the Wekiva River, which we - my parents and Aunt Mary Jo - went canoeing down a year ago. We saw this 20+ foot alligator, and a bunch of smaller gators on the river, which is separated from the swimming hole around the spring where all the juicy people (hundreds of them on a summer day like we've been having) are frolicking by a net and a row of floating logs, I think. I didn't examine the anti-gator defense that closely, but it didn't seem all that formidable.. Nothing 20' of hungry primordial lizard couldn't probably blow through if he really wanted..

Anyway, this coming week I'm going to go to all the parks between here and Key West. They're all along the ocean, and most have good beaches, so I'm going to spend more time at these ones..

Then, I'm going to turn north through the Everglades and head toward Tampa. Then, I'll go to the St. Augustine and Jacksonville area, then cut west toward the panhandle and Pensacola.

This will take maybe a month, month and a half.

What I'm saying is that I am going to get every single park stamp in my Passport booklet in less than 2 months, hoss.

All visited by August 20th, 2011.

That's right. I'm throwing down.

Watch me now. Watch me roll. It's hammertime.



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Pictures of the Day: Photo Series on the Kissimee Region & the Prairie Lakes of the South Central Floridian Peninsula

I spent the day driving around the great orange grove that is south central Florida between Tampa Bay and Cape Canaveral. Kissimmee and the Prairie Lakes are directly above Okeechobee Lake, which is that great round lake in Southern Florida west of Miami that merges south and westward into the Everglades that embrace the entire southern fourth of the state west of Dade County.

Tomorrow afternoon I'm going to drive down to the lake, then east to the Atlantic, then south down the coast toward Miami.

This is a watertower in an orange grove in Frostproof, Florida.

Frostproof: a charming poetical incantatory name for a citrus growing town, I thought.

Charismatic megafauna sighting: tropical jungle deer along road at Lake Kissimmee State Park.

Florida black buzzards at roadside dinner in orange grove. Not the same deer as above..

I took a cool video of them chowing down, but it's maybe a bit too visceral for public consumption? Eh? I'll post it if anyone dares me.

Driving in the "hammock" forest at Highlands Hammock State Park.

One of many pleasures particular to Florida: Swimming with Alligators. I'm still enough of a neophyte here to find signs like this novel and funny.

At first I thought they were limes, but I guess they're immature oranges. Also, my camera lens is cloudy. I've just cleaned it, we'll see if that helps, tommorrow..

Cargill has a huge juice plant in Frostproof. Their moniker's emblazoned on that watertower.

This banner was on the fence by the Cargill plant entrance.

A second sign by the Cargill gate, this one lampooning former governor Charlie Crist (who ran for the Senate as an independent against the ultimately victorious Republican tea party candidate Marco Rubio this last election cycle, so the banner's a little dated) for being polite to the President.

I guess that all pretty much clears up where Cargill's management stands on Mr. Obama.

This is the sign in front of the Masonic lodge in Sebring, Florida where I'm sleeping tonight. You can do the occult symbolism and numerology on that inverted pentagram and pentagon yourselves.

The more I look at Masons, the creepier they seem, and less I like them.

And lastly, an ugly statue of Our Lady of Lourdes in front of St. Catherine's, the parish where I'll be going to mass tomorrow. They have a 12 noon Spanish celebration, and I think that's just my ticket..



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A Nomad Song

lyrics:

I thought I was moving but my legs were broken,
Words were coming out but they were left unspoken..
Maybe I was dreaming in my head, in my head.

Memories were noted but I hadn't lived them,
Swords were on my heart but I had long forgived them..
Funny how the hurtful voices seem to slip away.

Chorus:

Where am I now?
I don't know how
I wound up in this place again.
How am I now?
Just bringing me down.
I'm looking for a house where the door is open,
My body's moving fast but my spirit's broken..
Where am I now?

Oh, anytime you break and turn the cycles change.
Water starts pouring down your face again,
You find yourself falling in the safety net you used to call home.

When you focus all your little thoughts and troubles
To the place of clear and cloudy clouds that rumble,
Standing in a field of open avenues with no place to go..

Chorus

Ah, my lips are set and parted but my head is empty,
I try to spit it out but it won't exempt me
From feeling like it's out in the open said and done.

Telling's just talking that turns into speeches,
Doesn't aid the body with the hand that reaches..
Stumble in the void to find there's no one there.

Chorus



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Picture of the Day: Aardvarks at Play

These two guys were playing tag in the middle of the road when I did the rounds at Hillsborough River State Park this afternoon. I say they look like Aardvarks. But they could be Capybaras, Voles, Coypuses, Feral Pigs, Opossums, or Armadillos? Or some other exotic critter..? I dunno.

They sat there for a good minute rolling around in the road, which gave me just enough time to grab my camera and snap this crappy shot. In my defense, there was a car behind me, and it seemed that I had no other option than to take the shot through my windshield, which explains the cloudiness of the image.

I obviously need to learn how to use the damn thing, and take a good picture here..

To that end, I hereby vow to post an image a day of mes voyages, with the aim of actually producing images worth looking at..



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Discursive Beginnings: My Great American Road Trip..

These coming few months I am going to follow John Steinbeck, Herman Melville, Chris McCandless, Bringham Young, Lewis & Clark, Johnny Apple Seed, David Bowie, John Ross, the Lilies of the Field's Homer Smith and all the rest. This blog will serve as a waylog, a testament to my journey across this great continent. This was one of the things I was debating whether to write out. I've decided I'm not only going to write it out, I'll film some of it too.

One of the things that I've been failing to do is document my travel well. That's going to change, and I'm going to share the proof of it here.


The first of the month my lease in Vermont ended. I packed all my stuff I had in that apartment into my car and drove south. The first week of June I spent with my brother Rich and sister JD on Long Island, playing checkers (her very first game no less) with Izzy and celebrating Sam's third birthday. When I got to Florida, I stuffed almost all my stuff back into the 11' by 11' garage sized rented storage space that I've kept most of my possessions during these last four or five years of nomadism, and then spent a few days visiting with my parents last week.

Then, I hit the open road. Just me and Emma. When I bought her, I made sure to take a tape measure to the rear with the backseats down. She's a very svelte station wagon, dubbed a "sportwagen" by VW, and has 67 cubic feet of storage space back there. With the shotgun seat all the way forward there's well over six and half feet of room for me (at 6' 2") to stretch all the way out and sleep in.

Which I do every night. Crack all the very tinted windows an inch or so, open the panoramic sunroof all the way and close its screen all the way forward (usually there's no rain expected, I check the forecast before bed) and open the back hatch, leaving it slightly open, resting on my rubber imitation croc sandals. I have a rechargeable battery powered fan with two batteries that I charge off my car's circuit (cigarette lighter y-jacks on the car's two cigarette lighter outlets power my GPS and let me recharge all my phone and other batteries simultaneously).. I can also recharge my laptop and run any other appliance because there's a normal 120 V 60 Hz household plug on the back of the center front seat arm rest..

I find far dark corners in Walmart parking lots or along a dead-end road in a state forest or other such cozy places where the cops and other annoying types will leave me alone for eight hours, to get some rest.

I've been sleeping in my shorts with two pillows atop my sleeping bag, inflatable pad and two warm throw blankets. Gallon of water and back scratcher close at hand, fan suspended from the roof handle by the door, blowing air at my head all night long. Battery lasts until just after dawn, which acts as a nice wake up mechanism. Fan cuts out and I start to sweat, a nice sauna effect that tells me it's time to get up.

I get online at least once a day at McDonald's or Starbuck's. Can I say once again for the record how much I love the remodeled Micky D's by the way? I hit them for a grilled chicken Asian salad and wild berry or pineapple mango smoothie for dinner, or a bacon egg and cheese bagel and large sugar free iced coffee for breakfast every day. Even Starbuck's is getting better, in that they don't seem to be over- roasting their beans to the point of mildly unpleasant bitterness anymore.. Huge props to both chains for the free WiFi, anyway.


This is how I've been living this last week. I was initially uncertain if I was going to take to the road for long, but it has been bliss. Every day's been another release, another small revelation. This, without much effort: I've merely been mucking about the Orlando area, going to the local state parks, and exploring the city. I've been trying to swim every day, and discover all the beaches and natural first magnitude springs around here. I'm trying to scout as much as I can so that when everyone's visiting Florida we know where to go. There's more than the theme parks to be had, and I'm beginning to gain much more respect for this place. I'm beginning to really like it here.

No absolute clear idea where to go or what to do, though, so I've decided just to live my way forward and let the road take me wherever it will. I do have a series of ideas of things I want to see - Burning Man, Civil War and Revolutionary battlefields, Branson, Catholic and Orthodox churches, temples of any denomination, good independent movie theaters, any sort of park, good bars and honkytonks, natural swimmable springs, classic diners, Mormon pageants, stuff like that. But the methodology of actually encountering these things (the rhythm and art of arriving, which is not as simple as just driving wherever there happens to be - one must know how to encounter such places, know how to meet the people who come with them well.. ) is something I need to grow into.


I just need to relax, I think. I want to fall back in love with this country. It's been a rough decade, and she and I have been having issues. It's time to spend some time with her again, have a second honeymoon and recapture that magic we used to have.

So I'm just going to plunge in, and let whatever happens come. I've decided not to push or plan too much, and let the moment unfold and carry me where it wants. This is my favorite way of traveling, and always brings good things with it.


I was initially going to go canoeing in Maine next month, to do the most epic trip possible, but decided that because no one has the time or interest to come with me on short (two month it was) notice, that I'll postpone that.

I've also been thinking the last couple years about making a pilgrimage to venerate Our Lady of Guadalupe in Ciudad Mexico, but that too has been elusive, in that the troubles in Mexico and the other circumstances of my life have been persistently mitigating against it.


I've been wanting to see her though for a while, ever since I abortively began my pilgrimage by bus from Obregon but ended up waylaid by illness in a cheap hotel room in Mazatlan puking my brains out in 1996. That disaster was due to my own foolishness (another story that I may tell soon, if the words come to my fingers) and I've been wandering afield ever since. Time maybe to pick up that path, again.


I'll receive whatever comes, as I've said. We'll see.


These last few days I've seen three movies: Super 8 (second time, IMAX theatre), Cave of Forgotten Dreams, and Tree of Life. These three films actually have quite a bit in common in my mind, and I am going to review all three of them seperately on the blog this coming week, as I get time to do it.


[Aside: Orlando has a decent movie theatre scene, which I love. I saw the Tree of Life here, one of a half dozen things that I've experienced this last week that has radically changed my feelings (which had been very negative - I'd only seen Orlando as a great swathe of strip malls orbiting the theme parks) for the better. Not a bad town, Orlando. ]

One further thing:

It's very interesting: but last summer I couldn't stand the heat here, and when I lived in Gainesville a few years back I felt the humidity ferociously. This summer though, that's all gone. Either Florida has become gentle, or else I am become acclimated and tough. For her blows now are become as caresses..

The weather is not bothering me at all, and that is marvelous. I've gotten this great tan, and the heat and sun are intoxicant.

Something's fundamentally changed. Circle come full round.


Ultreya, Suseya, then. Let's see where this takes me.



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So, I've Come to a Momentous Decision: This Here Blog Continues..

A few weeks ago, and with my characteristic rashness, I leapt into the abyss knowingly and had a brash encounter with my own conscience. A sort of brush with purgatory or maybe even a foretaste of hell. A near death experience. One that sat me back on my haunches these last few weeks, which is why I stepped away from this here blog, and even briefly considered shutting the whole damn thing down for good. I did pull it offline a few days in fact, as some of you noticed. In the aftermath of the shock, the blog seemed rather superficial and spurious, too revealing and offensively opinionated while not actually telling enough of the truth. Inconsequential and self indulgent, in other words. Things my conscience suggested are all too characteristic of too much of my life.

I had other things to think and pray about in any case, and nothing to say to say about any of it. Trauma induced aphasia, whether passing or not was uncertain for a while there.

But I've slowly come back around, and due in no small part to the few messages of concern and support I received while convalescent. Thank you, my miniscule public. I appreciate the well wishes. I shall not forsake you, because I guess I might as well say those things that I've been meaning to say anyway, if only to amuse the few dozen or so of you who regularly read what I post. The discipline of writing, of trying to do it well, is a worthy exercise in itself I guess.

Like virtually everything I created this blog to say, and have not yet but mean to put up, the details of what happened last month will remain my own until the muse dictates.

There are too many stories jostling for air, and not enough ether to inspire any of them usually. It's a question of what my heart and gut tell. Possibly both are suppressed by my head too often, in that reason usually counsels me to err on the side of discretion..

But good writing demands the truth, and the truth is always good. It is only a question of making a good confession, and letting the stories (be they of pear trees or prostitutes or whateverhaveyou) free to testify.

Here's to pre- empting the shouting from the rooftop and all that.

On recommence.



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basta ya, callete.

Since my friendship with JDawg ended this weekend, it seems especially appropriate that the song that was the definitive tune for our trip down Baja to Cabo San Lucas four years (or so? I lose track) ago just got put up on YouTube.

This is one of the best songs ever recorded, and is one of my tunes. Hat tip to Owen White at the Ubiquitarian for posting it and bringing my attention to that it's now online.





Lyrics:

(Chip:)

Yes we can talk it out,
Tell me what it's all about,
But don't speak in English.

You can just let it flow,
Tell it right from your soul,
But don't say words I understand.

Because I've had enough
Of that kind of stuff,
For a long, long time.


(Carrie:)

You can tell me where to go,
Tell me what I don't know,
But don't speak in English.

You can talk politics,
Get your political fix,
But don't say words that I understand.

Because I've had enough
Of that kind of stuff,
For a long, long time.

You can let the telephone ring,
But don't pass me that thing.

I am not a receiver.

You can play the music you choose,
Western swing or Delta blues
(Where the wasted words are few,
And Old John Prine will do..)
And we'll just talk for a while.

You can let the telephone ring,
But don't pass me that thing.

I am not a receiver.

You can play the music you choose,
Western swing or Delta blues
(Where the wasted words are few,
And Old Van Zandt will do, maybe two..)
And we'll just talk for a while.

And when we can talk it out,
You tell me what it's all about..

Just don't speak in English.

If you get it in your head
That you want to take me to bed,
Just don't say words that I understand..

'Cause I've enough of that kind of stuff
For a long time..

'Cause I've enough of that kind of stuff
For a long, long, long, long time..



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Everyone has the Right to be Taken Care of.

This just in, from ZENIT, the Vatican news feed:

Vatican Calls for Rich to Make Universal Health Care Possible

Laments That "Poor People Miss Out"

GENEVA, Switzerland, MAY 24, 2011 (Zenit.org).- The president of the Pontifical Council for Health Care Ministry says rich nations will have to show solidarity with poor countries if the right to health care is to become a reality.

Archbishop Zygmunt Zimowski said this in his address to the World Health Organization's 64th World Health Assembly, which concluded today in Geneva.

The prelate noted the 2010 World Health Report, showing "on the whole, we are still a long way from universal coverage."

"We are stalled in the status quo, where the rich people have higher levels of coverage, while most of the poor people miss out, and those who do have access often incur high, sometimes catastrophic costs in paying for services and medicine," he said.

The prelate stated that to make universal coverage a possibility, nations need to raise funds, "reduce reliance on direct payments for services and improve efficiency and equity, thus removing the financial barriers to access, especially for poor and less advantaged people."

But he said that low-income countries have little chance of making this happen.

"This sad fact highlights the need for a true global solidarity, in which high income countries do not only promise, but effectively meet their commitments on development assistance," he said.


We are all our brother's keeper.


h/t: Caelum & Terra

(I should also note that Caelum & Terra has been knocking ball after ball out of the park lately. I admire Daniel Nichols immensely, and he's been posting many interesting and great things lately - like these words from St. Seraphim of Sarov yesterday for example:

God is fire which warms and inflames the heart and womb. And so, if we feel in our hearts coldness, which is from the devil, for he is cold, then let us pray to the Lord for he came to warm our hearts with perfect love, not only of him but of our neighbor too. And in the face of his warmth the cold of the hater-of-good will flee away.

How's that for some excellent advice? Pray for perfect love. What ever else were we made for but that? )



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O Hail Star of the Sea, Draw Us All Safely Home to Thee..

So, I am now home (so to speak) in Vermont. Two weeks in Florida, where the May weather this year was actually quite beautiful (as compared to last May, which was so hot as to be miserable), and now have returned to New England decked in her full late spring regalia.

Maple Street, Newport, from my porch. Taken this afternoon, less than an hour ago.


When I left, it was the mud season. There were still residuum of drifts, long thin ridges of granular snow all about. Snow, that is, but without the stark beauty of the mantle, or the joy of skiing. This is the only time that New England does not sing to me, really. She gets mucky and slightly smelly, and is all brown and cold. I still love her, then, but it's my least favorite time with her.

Two weeks later, though.. She blossoms, she blooms. I had had no idea that there were dozens of lilac bushes on my street. Not a clue.

I can't photograph perfume for you, only this:

These are my favorite flowers. Purple, light blue. The finery of the May Queen come lightly, deftly dancing Spring's melody:





Lyrics:

Bring flowers of the fairest,
Bring flowers of the rarest,
From garden and woodland
And hillside and vale.
Our full hearts are swelling!
Our Glad voices telling
The praise of the loveliest
Rose of the vale!

O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!
O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!

Our voices ascending,
In harmony blending.
Oh! Thus may our hearts turn
Dear Mother, to thee.
Oh! Thus shall we prove thee
How truly we love thee.
How dark without Mary
Life's journey would be.

O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!
O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!

O Virgin most tender!
Our homage we render,
Thy love and protection
Sweet Mother, to win.
In danger defend us,
In sorrow befriend us,
And shield our hearts
From contagion and sin!

O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!
O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!

Of Mothers the dearest,
Oh, wilt thou be nearest
When life with temptation
Is darkly replete!
Forsake us, O never,
Our hearts be they ever,
As Pure as the lilies
We lay at thy feet!

O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!
O Mary! we crown thee with blossoms today!
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!



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An Open Confession

This last weekend I behaved very poorly. In sort of a culmination of pride and acedia, I both mocked some people I disagree with, calling them fools..

And then sneered at people who often quote scripture chapter and verse in their writing.

They usually annoy, even anger me sometimes, you see.

Because you know, I am above such credulous tasteless crudities as quoting scripture, I guess. Too cool for that sort of thing. Way too cool.


[But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to a brother or sister, ‘Raca,' is answerable to the court. And anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell. (Matthew 5:24) ]


Anyway..


We went out Saturday, and there were shenanigans. I behaved like a fool, and ended up having a very "interesting" night. One that I will not describe in any detail here, and mention it only to say that at some point before dawn on Sunday I realized that not only had I missed the vigil, but that I was probably going to miss mass that weekend altogether.


Which I then did.


With the sabbath dawn, knowing that I would not be at mass, I had an irrational moment of terror where I was sure that I was doomed. The rapture had occurred, and I was a fool who had been left behind.

Not a pleasant sensation, let me tell you. A moment of repentance, you could say.


Later, after my head and heart were cleared, I realized that even if I do not believe that the modern eschatology that anticipates the "rapture" makes any sense, that I should not be making snarky fun of people who do believe it. Indeed, if I were wise at all, it should be my fervent hope that if such an event occurs, that I should be included in it. Apart from that, I should mostly not say anything at all about it, really. There are other things, such as the state of my own soul and conscience that are far more worthy my attention and concern.

I mean, I believe that the second coming will be just as unexpected as the first, and that he will upend our expectations in such a way that everyone will be surprised. He is always doing things we do not understand, after all. The end will be no different. Still, I am now resolved to generally keep my mouth shut on that point.

On the ride home, I spent much of the way thinking about all of this and examining my conscience.

(I'm sort of an aficionado of examenes by the way, and just found one that I really like, here. It's pretty staunch, and I used it today. )


This morning I went to see Father Micheal at the rectory, and interrupted him at breakfast. He left his meal to hear my confession. I am trying to keep my confessions short lately, to simply recite the things my conscience accuses me of, without any explanation or excuse. Just the sins, the number of times I've committed them if that's applicable, and maybe mention of the names of people I have hurt. It should take five minutes or less, even being a jackass like I am. When the priest speaks, I have resolved to keep my mouth mostly shut and suppress the impulse to start a discussion, unless he asks me a question. This I find harder to do, but I am making progress there. It usually takes only ten or fifteen minutes these days to get absolution.

This morning, Father was blunt. I like this. No great discourse on how much God loves me. I know that the Master loves me. That knowledge encourages my presumption and laxity. What I need is to be kicked in the ass honestly, and disciplined.

So, Father Micheal was not impressed by me, and I was glad. Because I am not impressive. He looked very stern, and said "we make it very easy for you to get to mass here, you know (I didn't tell him that I was in North Carolina Sunday, but his point still held) and you have absolutely no excuse not to be at the feast."

I nodded, mute.


"Stop being lazy. Do your duty."


Do my duty. Yes.


I think I will. Tonight, I herewith resolve not to be vulgar anymore. I also resolve not to call anyone any names. I ask you, my reader's forgiveness for having done both of these things too often before now.


I also resolve to seek simplicity, and only write what I think may edify. Remember, I am still a fool, only one who hopes to be wise. Your prayers and criticism to this end would be much appreciated.


Tonight, all of you are in mine. Good night my dear readers. Sleep very well.



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