Real de Catorce: Magic in the Midst of Mexico

Last week - four days ago now - I hopped a bus from Ciudad San Luis Potosi to this place, Real de Catorce:

It's an old silver mining boom town founded in 1779 that used to be one of the larger and more prosperous towns in central Mexico, reaching a high population of 40,000 in the 19th Century.   The name supposedly comes from the fact that 14 Spanish troops ("Royals" hence "Real") met their end here fighting the local Indians.  I also read that the name came from 14 poplar trees that once grew here..  Whatever, it's an evocative name.   

In the early 20th Century, before the commencement of the Mexican Revolution and World War I, the price of silver cratered, and the population of the town fell precipitously, and the population fell to 250 and then became a ghost town.

Since the 1970's the place has been experiencing a revival.  It's no longer a ghost town, but rather a bustling little village  with a few dozen cratered out old buildings still at the edges of the place. 


I decided to come here because the church is one of the great shrines of Mexico.  It's dedicated to the "Purisma Concepcion" or as we usually say in English the the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary.  That is to say that it is dedicated to the grace that preserved Mary from all sin (as an incorrupt vessel, the Ark of the Universal Covenant) from the moment of her conception.   There's also a very famous (amongst Mexicans) early 18th Century statue of Saint Francis of Assisi here that attracts pilgrims.  The month surrounding the Feast of Saint Francis on October 4th is a huge carnival here, where some 150,000 people come from all over Mexico to camp out and venerate the icon and celebrate.  They eat and party, and have processions every day where they carry the statue about and fire of cannons, sing songs, play mariachi music and other groovy fun things like that.  


I've stolen this image (because I've been sparing my camera battery, I didn't take any pictures of the fiesta myself) and some of the information here from this site, the official website of the village.

I showed up the very end of this carnival on October 12th.  The place was still crammed with those sort of trailers and mobile homes that we'd associate with a State Fair carnies in the States, or gypsies in Europe.  A bunch of old 1970's and 80's vehicles in every corner and along every street of the place that looked like they've been wrapped together with twine and tinfoil.   But things were definitely winding down, which was fine by me.   I got to see the end of the festivities, but now have a much more tranquil and attractive (the street vendors really junked the place up and cluttered things) village to enjoy.

The bus climbs up in the mountains following 24 km of cobblestone road - that's right, 24 km of cobblestone, that's a lot of cobbled stone folks - shuttering and shimmying the entire way.  The bus feels like it's going to shake itself apart.  Most of the bus windows have hairline cracks in them, the windshield is shot all through with them.  They probably don't bother to replace it because if they did the new one wouldn't be free of cracks for long. 


When I got here, the bus dropped me off in a parking lot with only a few houses about.  I was confused, and tried to ask the driver in my broken Spanish "like where the heck's the pueblo?"   I was really confused.  At first I thought I'd missed my stop, and been taken to some little village in the middle of nowhere.  I asked the bus driver where Real de Catorce was and he waved his hand and spewed a bunch of unintelligible Spanish and laughed at me.  He said he was driving back to Matahuela (the place you switch buses for anywhere of significance from here) at 8 am the next morning.


It's one of the great privileges of being in Mexico, playing el Gringo Estupido.  It makes everyone laugh, including me.  


There was a little American busybody voice in my head that was goading me to lose my temper at him.  I told that asshole to shut up, and just laughed too.  In the middle of nowhere, and no hotel or restaurant or stores were immediately evident.  I felt a little insecure, too, because the stupid gringo voice in my head was spouting paranoia.. 

Great.  This is where I congratulated myself for my having packed my sleeping bag, sleeping bag liner, 5' x 10' green tarp and Army issue camo gortex bivy sack.   I'd been on the fence on all that stuff, but as soon as I got here I was glad for the sleeping bag and liner, because they are great adjuncts to hotel bedding.  They keep me all nice and toasty warm..

Now, though, that bivy and tarp were going to truly save my sorry silly chilly ass.  I'd been accusing myself of over-packing.  Not so, not so.  The bivy sack is never a bad idea, not when you're tramping like I am..  You never know when you'll need or want to sleep rough.


I walked 100 meters out along the road away from the houses and the noise of the people.  It had been dug out of the mountainside, rock wall uphill, and the hillside dropped away precipitously downhill.  I found a little place where there was a little flat ground not far (maybe 10') from the road hidden on the hillside in the shrubbery and darkness, put down my bags and made myself snug.  


I pulled my Lonely Planet Mexico Guide.  This is the first time I've gone traveling with a travel guide in about 15 years, because I've always preferred to go off the beaten path, and flee the Baedeker bearing masses.  Just snobbery, really.  I've decided that I'd stop acting such a twit, and bought a guide my last night in San Antonio.

I found the three pages about Real de Catorce (which I had not yet read) and bending over it with my reading glasses and flashes I read..


That the bus drops you off in a parking lot on the east side of a 2.3 km long tunnel that had been dug through the mountain in 1903.  There you need to take a mini-bus to the town on the western side of the tunnel.  The town is on the other side of that tunnel, which I had not seen on the other side of the houses.


There.  25 $ (U.S.) spent on the Lonely Planet Guide there and then justified in spades.  


I'd missed the mini-bus.   Har.  Har.  Good times.   I ended up having to hoof it with my bags through the tunnel.



Real de Catorce, and the 2,300 meters of tunnel to it, are 2,750 meters (9,000 feet, 1.7 miles) above sea level in the Sierra Madres.   

Long time readers of my blog will remember that  when I was in Switzerland I discovered that even relatively low high altitudes (like that experienced ski randonee'ing up San Gotthard's and Bernard's Passes which are only 2,000 and 2,500 meters above sea level) make me sick..  


I kicked that tunnel out anyway folks.  I impressed myself.   The tunnel is flat, and well lit.  Twenty minutes and one brief break later,  I was in the village. 


I again used my guidebook to find a cheap - 150 peso, which is roughly 12 US$ - room.  Clean. With wireless internet.   No hot water, but for 12 bucks, I'm not complaining.  It's more comfortable than sleeping on the mountainside.


Besides, it has a terrace.  This is the view:

 

This is the extremely impressive and (for the village as it is today, less thousands of pilgrims) large and very baroque parish church:

I also took a tighter more detailed shot of the sanctuary.

This is during Thursday afternoon adoration.  The famous statue of Saint Francis is in the glass case on the left of the sanctuary.  There's a cool statue of the Immaculate (Most Pure (Purisima) Conception - which is to say the Blessed Virgin) directly above the tabernacle behind the altar.  The monstrance containing the Blessed Sacrament is on the altar, but it's a small one, and in this shot it's hard to see.  I didn't want to take too many pictures while we were all at prayer, because it's rude, so this is all I've got:

This is the view from my hotel balcony looking away from  the church and tunnel toward the West (note sunset behind the hills) from the balcony of my hotel:

You see that the town is nestled in a cusp at the top of these mountains.  The mine shafts are all about in the hills here, and there are a large cock fighting and bullfighting rings.

The upshot is that I've been hanging about here, eating at the couple good restaurants in town, and relishing the place quite a bit.  Now that all the Mexican campesino pilgrims and their trucks, stalls and campers have gone, the locals, some European residents (there are Swiss and French who have bought property here, and own some of the businesses in town) a few dozen Mexican hippies and at least one couple of Italian hippies with a dog, and a few older - and obviously prosperous and retired - American tourists are left.

The hippies are here for the peyote, which this place is famous for.   The evening I arrived I was propositioned by a local just as I got through the tunnel and had thrown down my bags to rest and celebrate, asking me if I wanted to buy some.  Right, Ese.  The last thing I need is to take a peyote trip here, in the middle of the desert, alone.  I thanked him, and told him I'll stick to the cerveza. 

Which like the food, is pretty good here in the middle of Mexico.  God Bless Mexico and her people.  it's good to be here among them..


San Francisco y la Purisima Concepcion, Rosa Mystica, Ruegue por Nosotros.



And so with that, I think I've typed on too long.  Time to stop.


Goodnight everyone:  Buenas Noches, todos.



---

And We Have All These Questions to Make Us Go Roam..

And we’ve got all this distance to make us come home.
As the sun burns, a child learns, the tide churns, the world turns.


When I was in Chicago the week before last I was taught a new singer and a great new song by my two and half year old niece, Shunie: Antje Duvekot, Merry-Go-Round.

When we would be riding about the city in the Honda mini-van Shatay and Matt would always have groovy folk inflected kids music playing. No Wiggles like crap amongst us, thank God. That stuff is simply obnoxious. I firmly believe that music should be shared across generations. All this "generation gap" crap is mostly nonsense now anyhow, especially now that the great technological revolutions (in film, video and recorded sound) are essentially complete. We all own Elvis these days, and the interim is all in color. The past 40 years is more intimate to us now than the 50's where to me when I was ten (that's in 1981, 20 something years before). When you've lived through everything from Black Sabbath, the Clash to Nirvana, the power of music to shock and divide is pretty much null, anyway.

That's just to say that I have the same stance toward the Wiggles as I do Lady Gaga: they both suck because their aural and visual (and hence spiritual) aesthetics are ugly.

Anyhow, I was really pleased to hear the music that Matt and Shatay have been playing for the girls. A lot of old folk songs and children's classics, but done in a groovy modern folk style that really impressed me.


Shunie's a precocious 2 year old in that she's talking in full, complex sentences. One of the most loquacious two-year olds of my limited acquaintance. She also really likes music. She's like a little general, too, in that she's not afraid to tell you when she likes, dislikes, or wants something. When a song she likes ends, you'll immediately hear her pipe up from the back seat "Again!" And Shatay, Matt or I (if I was the only one there) would be expected to hit the repeat button, and play that particular song again.


This song is one of her particular favorites. I'd never heard it before, and when I heard it immediately fell in love with it. It has apparently been used as the soundtrack to a Bank of America commercial. The singer and composer, Antje Duvekot, needs cash on the barrel head just like the rest of us, and isn't above selling her poetry to scummy usurers, or performing on cruise ships to the delectation of the besotted petit bourgeois, as the video clip I'm posting here proves.

It's a great song, in any case, even if one or two of the lines are false. The truth is never worthless. No one should ever lie. Notice how she loses her breath at that very line in the performance here? Just so. That line's crap.

Those few quibbles aside, I have say that this song is great, and that like my very discerning niece Shunie, I can't get enough of it. I keep hitting play, over and over again.

Hope you like it, too:

Lyrics:

Someone is tossing petals in a stream,
Somewhere someone is standing at the foothills of their dreams.
Someone got a paintbrush, is painting over doubts,
Someone opened up his eyes and saw the sun coming out.
Someone was captive and found the courage to get off,
Throw a boulder in the well, somewhere the rain has stopped.
Someone is finding the place where they belong..

Well, everyday is summer somewhere in the world,
And the summer boys are headed for the falls to kiss the girls.
With their impatient hands groping honey breasts and curls,
They are filled with desire.
And high in the hills there's a baby being born,
As forgiveness and peace wash over bruises and sores,
People bridging the distance over nettles and thorns.

Everyone aboard on the merry-go-round,
Some things will rise up so that others come down.
If the devil don't dance, heaven won't shine.
It's a mighty thick haze and it's a pretty thin line.
If the facuet is tightened up the love won't flow,
If the love isn't bright enough the corn won't grow.
If the night isn't dark enough the moon won't glow..

A rich man counting money, a tired man counting sheep,
While the safe man counts his blessings, the hungry man has beans.
There's a million people praying, raising up their eyes,
To what turns out to be the same god, the same sky.
We are slightly scared of death, a little bit afraid,
So we celebrate everything we can think to celebrate.
We shall sing out loud to keep the hounds away..

Everyone aboard on the merry-go-round,
Some things will rise up so that others come down.
If the devil don't dance, heaven won't shine.
It's a mighty thick haze and it's a pretty thin line.
If the facuet is tightened up the love won't flow,
If the love isn't bright enough the corn won't grow.
If the night isn't dark enough the moon won't glow..

Prisons will crumble and governments will fall,
It's the order of freedom to be preceded by walls.
'Cause the truth would be worthless if no one ever lied,
So we carry our shame in the interest of pride.
And we have all these questions to make us go roam,
And we’ve got all this distance to make us come home.
As the sun burns, a child learns, the tide churns, the world turns..

Everyone aboard on the merry-go-round,
Some things will rise up so that others come down.
If the devil don't dance, heaven won't shine.
It's a mighty thick haze and it's a pretty thin line.
If the facuet is tightened up the love won't flow,
If the love isn't bright enough the corn won't grow.
If the night isn't dark enough the moon won't glow..


[As a note and aside,  Antje kinda looks like Shatay.  Similar personal vibe, too, like in this clip especially: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eji97jgOgFw  ]



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This Past Month & a Half: Florida, Cleveland, Chicago, San Luis Potosi..

A few people have asked after my blog.  I've gone tramping again, as is my wont, and had promised I would write about it all for those who might care to keep tabs on my peregrinations.

First,  I did in fact finish my grand tour of Florida that I was blogging earlier here.  Because I am a veteran, the State of Florida issued me a free entrance pass to all state parks.  I decided that I wanted to see the state, and used the parks as waypoints along that way.  My parents visited all 120 parks in three years, and I decided that I would do the same feat in two months.  I actually made it to 119 parks in seven weeks.  I saved the last, Silver River SP in Ocala for last, because it is 45 minutes from Lady Lake, my home base.   I thought I would jump up the last week, and do a quick drive by.  But I never did..  Until week nine.    Two months and one week after I began, I finally garnered my last stamp in my nifty Florida State Park Passport, which I can now send of to Tallahassee to get a free Florida State Parks license plate for the front of my car.

Which I am selling.  Emma and I have had some good times together, but I've decided that I want to simplify my life, and that she has to go.  Anyone interested in buying a 2010 VW Jetta TDI Sportwagen can email me.

Anyhow, I was going to write a post on how much I've learnt about, and grown to like Florida (it's really a very interesting place)  but I never got the inspiration.  

I've felt rather listless, depressed this last month.  

Even before Geoff killed himself.  

An old Army friend of mine, who used to comment frequently on my old Swiss blog, committed suicide two weeks ago by overdosing on sleeping pills.  There's a story behind that act, one that belongs to him, and that I won't tell here.  Nothing lurid, just pain and a faithless woman.  

I was shocked and devastated by that news, and decided that I was going to alter my previous plan of heading to Chicago last week to visit my brother, so I could attend the wake and funeral of my friend and be with his family in Cleveland.  

Geoff's was an Irish wake.  Stories, jokes, a few beers, barbecue and a gluttonous repast of sushi.   I hadn't been able to eat for two days before I got there, I was so upset.  Being with them was catharsis.

This is a picture of Geoff's dad feeding beer to their dog.  

In true Brachvogel style.   Geoff always made me laugh.  


I then went to Chicago to spend the week with my brother's family.  These are my nieces, Shunie and Skaya:

I then left for Mexico.   I took the train to San Antonio, and then threw a metaphorical dart at the map of Mexico.   I needed out, no matter where.

That's how I serendipitously ended up here:

 

San Luis Potosi.  The very heart of Mexico.  Over one mile high in the Sierra Madres.   Settled by Franciscan missionaries in 1593, it has a storied history.

Lots of baroque churches and verdant plazas.  A very pretty place.  

I've been here a week, just being a gringo in Mexico.  My heart is becoming calm.  I like it here. 

That last image is what you see when you lean out the window of my (very cheap and quite fine) hotel

room.   La Plaza de Armas and the city's cathedral.   There is singing in the streets every afternoon and night, and the food is great.  

I accidentally left my camera's battery re-charger in my hotel back in San Antonio.  I have to buy a new one, and nobody sells Nikon accessories here.  This means I probably need to go to Guadalajara to replace it..

Pictures will likely be scarce until I resolve that issue..

There.  There's a lame post for you all.   I'll try to get back into the swing of this thing.  No promises, though.

--- 

Say I Can Say Words Only Simple, Say I Can Say Words Only Clear..

lyrics:

Sunlight fall down on the fields.

Sunlight fall down over me.

Work all day, be all that I can be..  yeah-heh.

Say I can say words only simple,
Say I can say words only clear.

But, oh, I can feel your heart is beating near..  yeah-heh.

Haunted love is all that I feel, when you're passing by,
Haunted love is all that I see, it's there in your eyes..

And I say..

No, no, no, don't pass me over, 

No, no, no, don't pass me by..

See I can see good things for you and I,

Yeah, good things for you..

Give I can give love and attention,
Give I can give all time away.

Only to one heart I can give today.

Be I can be man full of color,
Be I can be man black or white.

But only to one heart I can be tonight.

Haunted love is all that I feel, when you're passing by,
Haunted love is all that I see, it's there in your eyes.

And I say..

No, no, no, don't pass me over, 

No, no, no, don't pass me by..

See I can see good things for you and I,

Yeah, good things for you..

Haunted love is all that I see, it's there in your eyes.

And we see..

No, no, no, don't pass me over, 

No, no, no, don't pass me by..

See I can see good things for you and I,

Yeah, good things for you..

---

Glossarium: Thoughts On the Humility of Truth

As I'm driving about and finishing my grand tour of the peninsula, I've been thinking about this here blog, and all the things I've created it to say.   I've said virtually none of it yet, because of the overweening aspect of it all.    


Throw my thoughts upon the void impassive..  Strew my pearls..  


It needs to be said well, if at all.   


So far I've been coy.  I've been amusing myself that way, but also unsure of how - or even whether - to begin being explicit.   I want to start gently, and give my testimony in a way that the dozen or so people that  I want to hear it (and if they are so moved, respond somehow to it) to hear it well.  


Today, I realized that I feel ready to start saying it.   No time like the present, no moment like now.  So I will say what I've been holding to my heart all these years..  The secret work of my heart all this time, that has made my live the seared blessing that it has become.


First, I need to explain a few terms.  If you notice, I've been tagging my posts here.   I want to explain what I mean by a few of them, so that if you care to follow this blog and really understand what I am trying to say, you will. 


This afternoon I was listening to NPR and Neil Conan was interviewing this fellow about "apocalyptic" movies.   They were joking that the segment had nothing to do with the previous ones in which we learnt that London is burning, world markets collapsing, tanks are rolling the streets of Damascus, and the recession deepening.   They rattled on for a while, and talked about a bunch of movies in which the human race is almost or entirely annihilated by one thing or another, usually some combination of our own hubris and stupidity or alien invasion or natural holocaust.    


As listened I realized that they weren't going to talk about the origins of the term, about what the word "apocalypse" means.   Let me do it for you here.   This the etymology my dictionary gives the word:


ORIGIN Old English, via Old French andecclesiastical Latin from Greek apokalupsis, from apokaluptein ‘uncover, reveal,’ from apo- ‘un-’+ kaluptein ‘to cover.’


This word entered our lexicon by way of the Bible, of course.  It is used as a title of the last book of the New Testament, which is (if you did not know) written in Greek.   That book is the account of a prophetic dream attributed to the Apostle (Greek for "messenger") John, the only one of the 14 apostles (I include Judas, Matthais and Paul) to die a natural death.   Judas killed himself, and all the others were all martyred (Greek "to witness") for their faith in Christ.  


John, not incidentally, is the only one of the twelve who did not run away from the Crucifixion, and remained at the foot of the Cross.  


Wikipedia says that the name John derives via Latin Iōhannēs and Greek Ἰωάννης from the Hebrew name יוחנן (Yôḥanan, also transliterated Yochanan), a short form of the long name יְהוֹחָנָן Yehochanan, meaning "Yaweh is merciful".  


Now, why am I telling you all this?   If you notice, I've tagged a lot of the posts here with that word, apocalypse.   And when I do it, I am usually not (usually most often emphatically not) referring you to the end of the world, or to tribulations like those that Neil Conan and his guest were calling "apocalyptic" in those films.   Like I say, not normally..  


Instead, what I mean is that I think that whatever I am writing about is revelation of the hidden truth, the true nature of things, of veiled unappreciated goodness, veiled (often widely accepted) evil.  The way we, and things, truly are.  The beauty deep down things, or else the tricks that wicked bastards are doing in the shadows..  Things that people aren't noticing or being honest about, the subtle things that admit transcendence, the wickedness that we do to benefit ourselves and that harms others.


You know, all that which is "occult"  (from Latin occultare ‘secrete,’ frequentative of occulere‘conceal,’ based on celare ‘to hide’; the adjective and noun from occult- ‘covered over,’ from the verb occulere ).


Those things "seen through the glass darkly.."


These things are not usually "occult" in the sensational sense.  But evil things are always in the end diabolical, and the most evil people ultimately become satanic, in that they consciously revolt against the good and begin to worship their own wills which are evil.  And that is inevitably demonic and then spiritually uncouth in all the ways that people normally think "occult."


When I use "occult" as a tag on this here blog, I mean that I'm usually talking about something malevolent or diseased that is disguised, subtle or hidden.   Or, something beautiful that is gentle and unappreciated.


Which brings me to the issue of knowledge.  Gnosis, science, wisdom.   Love.   


Knowledge of good and evil.


Which is of course tantamount with knowing the truth.  The truth that shall set us free.


My ultimate message here, the thing that I want finally  to tell you, is that that truth exists.


Because what is is true, and that is inescapable.


We can either accept truth, witness and worship it, or else reject it and lie.  We either see that we serve the truth, and are subject to it, or else seek to escape it and deny it.


If we acknowledge our dependence upon the truth, our need for it.. If we see that we cannot control the truth or destroy it..


And that the truth will necessarily humiliate us, make us see ourselves and others as we really are..


That the truth is not in the end of the intellect, but rather of the heart..


That the truth, like everything good and real, is personal..  is indeed, a person.


This is my faith.  My testimony.   My heart knows it is so.




---

Pictures of the Day: Valdosta, Georgia

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Ours is Not to Reason Why. Ours is But to Do and Die.

Studs Terkel: We're seated here, two old gaffers.  Me and Paul Tibbets, 89 years old, brigadier-general retired, in his hometown of Columbus, Ohio, where he has lived for many years.

Paul Tibbets: Hey, you've got to correct that. I'm only 87. You said 89.

ST: I know. See, I'm 90. So I got you beat by three years. Now we've had a nice lunch, you and I and your companion. I noticed as we sat in that restaurant, people passed by. They didn't know who you were. But once upon a time, you flew a plane called the Enola Gay over the city of Hiroshima, in Japan, on a Sunday morning - August 6 1945 - and a bomb fell. It was the atomic bomb, the first ever. And that particular moment changed the whole world around. You were the pilot of that plane.

PT: Yes, I was the pilot.

ST: And the Enola Gay was named after...

PT: My mother. She was Enola Gay Haggard before she married my dad, and my dad never supported me with the flying - he hated airplanes and motorcycles. When I told them I was going to leave college and go fly planes in the army air corps, my dad said, "Well, I've sent you through school, bought you automobiles, given you money to run around with the girls, but from here on, you're on your own. If you want to go kill yourself, go ahead, I don't give a damn." Then Mom just quietly said, "Paul, if you want to go fly airplanes, you're going to be all right." And that was that.

[ellipsis]

ST: One big question. Since September 11, what are your thoughts? People talk about nukes, the hydrogen bomb.

PT: Let's put it this way. I don't know any more about these terrorists than you do, I know nothing. When they bombed the Trade Center I couldn't believe what was going on. We've fought many enemies at different times. But we knew who they were and where they were. These people, we don't know who they are or where they are. That's the point that bothers me. Because they're gonna strike again, I'll put money on it. And it's going to be damned dramatic. But they're gonna do it in their own sweet time. We've got to get into a position where we can kill the bastards. None of this business of taking them to court, the hell with that. I wouldn't waste five seconds on them.

ST: What about the bomb? Einstein said the world has changed since the atom was split.

PT: That's right. It has changed.

ST: And Oppenheimer knew that.

PT: Oppenheimer is dead. He did something for the world and people don't understand. And it is a free world.

ST: One last thing, when you hear people say, "Let's nuke 'em," "Let's nuke these people," what do you think?

PT: Oh, I wouldn't hesitate if I had the choice. I'd wipe 'em out. You're gonna kill innocent people at the same time, but we've never fought a damn war anywhere in the world where they didn't kill innocent people. If the newspapers would just cut out the shit: "You've killed so many civilians." That's their tough luck for being there.

ST: By the way, I forgot to say Enola Gay was originally called number 82. How did your mother feel about having her name on it?

PT: Well, I can only tell you what my dad said. My mother never changed her expression very much about anything, whether it was serious or light, but when she'd get tickled, her stomach would jiggle. My dad said to me that when the telephone in Miami rang, my mother was quiet first. Then, when it was announced on the radio, he said: "You should have seen the old gal's belly jiggle on that one."

[source]

+++

Pictures of the Past Week: The Florida Panhandle

I took this with my crappy camera.  The Florida Caverns.

Happy Cows are from Florida..

Red Dirt Road.. Floridian Idyll.

Blackwater River:  Much, much more impressive in person than in this picture.. This river begs for an intertube or canoe.   I have a canvas chair that I planted in the middle of it (it's only about 6" deep in some of the middle parts) and read a couple chapters of Franscico de Osuna there.  Nothing like a little mystical recollection for a summer southern afternoon..

5 Turtles Sunning Themselves on a Log, Wukulla Spring

Alligator wallowing in reeds along Wukulla River

The Wukulla River

Crane, Image Taken From Boat on Wakulla River

And You're Welcome, Nikki. 

---

Enola Gay, Are You Proud of Your Little Boy Today?

This is from Daniel Larison at Caelum & Terra, posted today.  I quote it in full because I want to second everything he says there :

[ that post's address: http://caelumetterra.wordpress.com/2011/08/07/consequentialism-and-its-consequences/  ]

Every year around this time- the Feast of the Transfiguration and the commemoration of Hiroshima- I am again struck by the strange synchronicity of these things, and by the blasphemy that surrounded the atomic bomb.

They named the test site Trinity, and Oppenheimer famously quoted the Bhagavad Gita when he witnessed the first test bomb, “I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds”, managing double sacrilege, appropriating the Divine Name and divine power as well. And then they chose the Feast of the Transfiguration to destroy Hiroshima.

Did they do this knowingly? I don’t know, but the date could not be more appropriate: the first use of atomic weapons against humans became forever a sort of Satanic Transfiguration, with vast numbers of lives vaporized in the destructive blazing created light, a mockery of the life-giving uncreated Light that shone forth on the holy mountain.

I think, too, of the moral reasoning that went into the decision to bomb Hiroshima. It was nothing new; both sides had been waging war against civilians for a long while, all because they had adopted the principles of consequentialism, the idea that an act is measured by its effects for good or ill.

Such thinking comes natural to the natural man. To the spiritual man, though, this is an error that opens the door for every horror. One must begin with the objective order: there are some acts that are intrinsically evil, no matter what the circumstances. Christians can argue about the precise meaning of the commandment forbidding killing, but at the very least everyone should agree that if it means anything it means that it is always wrong to intentionally kill innocent human beings.

Of course, Americans, like everyone else, act like this is self-evident when they are the victims. After 9/11 Osama bin Ladin was called evil precisely because he violated this principle. However, when the situation is reversed, and it is Americans doing the killing, everything changes. We are justified because we had a good end in sight. Never mind that bin Ladin also considered his end- a godly world order- a good one. He even cited Hiroshima in justifying his own act. In the mind of bin Ladin, he and Harry Truman were morally equivalent. I agree, but note that bin Ladin killed a small fraction of those done in by Truman.

I am in Michigan this week, and by chance attended the Roman Mass at St Matthew’s in downtown Flint this morning. The priest, an elderly Augustinian friar, instead of commenting on the Gospel, offered some thoughts on the atomic bombings of Japan. He had been a missionary in Nagasaki a few years after the bomb was dropped there, in the most Catholic city in that nation.

He began by saying that he would not address the morality of the act, saying that it was “complex” and that there was a lot of disagreement about Truman’s decision. Instead he went on the tell heartbreaking stories of suffering among the Catholics he knew in Nagasaki.

True, he ended with a call for disarmament, but that a man who personally knew innocent Catholics who were victims of atomic weaponry could not say that this act- the deliberate killing of tens of thousands of civilians- was simply wrong made it clear in a new way to me just how deep the infection of consequentialism runs in American Catholics, who of all people should know better.

Amen.  Audrey Santo, pray for us. 

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