treesomes

jim hawkins approached in mellow mood
with cries of hey and whassup dude
he bid me sit and listen hence
to his latest gems of intelligence
we're jeans and chemistry that is all
richard dawkins is on the ball
he's pulled the plug he's called god's bluff
we're not spirits we are stuff
and that is why we're also free
to indulge in ceaseless pagan orgies
he contined a while in manner crude
before bidding me a a merry see ya dude
and i was left to contemplate
the wilful ignorance of the atheistic state
our minds enslaved our bodies pseudo free
oh orgies are made by fools like me
and i'd have added if he'd waited to the bold jim hawkins
only god can make a richard dawkins

to a wild rabbit

(prince of the fields)

words are mine
no words take from his eyes
the breeze blown beauty of the woodlands
and the silver scented sight of evning glories

manhood mine
a prince of the fields is he
even in the terror of flight
a strange high ecstasy
spirits to delight

age is mine
he will not grow old
nor fear the passing of his world
the lure of yellow gold
the bitterness of friends becoming foes

iconclasm in the west

The current wave of statue toppling by generically leftist demonstrators and mischief makers in America and elsewhere is not entirely unprecedented in human history.
In the Byzantine empire a wave of iconoclasm twice swept uncontrollably through the culture, ie for sixty years in the eighth century and for about 35 five years in the ninth.
The Byzantine eruption involved the destruction of ancient images and works of art as well as the persecution of those who wished to preserve and or pray through the veneration of those images.
The mania began simply and apparently because the Emperor Leo The 3rd wished to ban from the prayer life of his people all use and experience of such images.
And it was mania.
In China during the Cultural Revolution period from 1966 to 1976, the Communist despot Chairman Mao unleashed an iconoclastic war on what he called the Four Olds.
Chairman Mao sought to eradicate from Chinese life old customs, old culture, old habits and old ideas.
His real intention was to deify himself.
He had killed tens of millions more Chinese in the previous years of his rule from 1949 onwards.
But the Cultural Revolution was his last hurrah.
And it was good for a couple of million murders.
In a whirlwind of hysteria his followers and a portion of the enslaved populace destroyed much of the ancient glory, the unfathomable heritage, and irreplaceable cultural treasures of China. More importantly than those, as I've said, they also destroyed many many human beings. It was a decade of vandalism, terrorism, torture and murder.
Iocooclasts never stop with the statues.
They always get round to people.
In Ireland following the end of British rule in 1921, some historical statues were toppled, some stored away, and some retained.
Iconoclasm never reallly took hold here in its broadest most lunatic sense.
Even if we didn't topple statues, there was quite a bit of killing of people though in subsequent civil wars and in our current IRA mafia wars.
There was an occasional flicker of iconclasm among marginal political groupings as with the destruction of Nelson's Column in Dublin in 1966.
Iconoclastic manias have also been prevalent in the parts of the world where there is a significant Muslim population.
A famous example occurred in March 2001 when the Taliban in Afghanistan obliterated giant ancient Buddha statues at Bamiyan just for the hell of it.
By September of that year they and their Al Qaeda protegees were obliterating sky scrapers and human beings in New York.
While concern about police brutality is merited in America, Britain Ireland and elsewhere. for those who seek my guidance on such matters, I would counsel against toppling statues or human beings.
A confident, critical appreciation of history is a hallmark of merit. It is also a sign of the vitality of our culture and of our love for each other.

off the shelf old books reviewed anew

The Little Flowers Of Saint Francis, A Paraphrase, by Donadl E Demarray, published by Alba House, New York, 1992.

As a member of the Methodist branch of what we might call the modern Christian family of churches, Donald E Demarray has a paradoxically wise and warm appreciation for Saint Francis whom some might consider in a sectional way to be a most quintessentially Catholic of holy men. But of course Saint Francis isn't a Catholic possession. Like the Lord himself he seems to belong to all humanity. And anyway like some of us would be Catholics in the ancient church like to point out, the word Catholic actually means universal. Mr Demarray tells a good story in this paraphrase of the age old Little Flowers book which orginally dates from the 1300s and was purportedly set down by a Franciscan monk called Brother Ugolino Di Monte Santa Maria. Mr Demarray has a nice feel for the ancient ways. His use of language contemporises effectively what is on the face of it a kooky enough snapshot of purported kooky events in the life of an almost mythic Catholic and certainly kooky enough saint.
The Christian writer Catherine De Hueck Doherty once remarked that if Saint Francis was alive today, they'd probably put him in a mental home.
The image of Saint Francis, the idea of him, and perhaps the lingering traces of his mystical reality, even today have the capacity to speak powerfully to people of many nations, generations, cultures and indeed religious persuasions.
There is something genuine about him that shines down the centuries and touches hearts.
In the literary sense the reasons for his enduring appeal are the Canticle Of The Creatures where he gushes praisingly about the glory of the creation and the fellowship of everything in it, "brother sun and sister moon" and all that jazz,. Then of course there's his prayer that runs "make me an instrument of your peace... where there is doubt let me sow faith... where there is hatred let me bring your love."
Neither of these two greatest hits is in the Little Flowers.
This book is nonetheless like balm for the heart and mind and spirit.
The layout is simple and accessible. Each chapter consists of just a few pages of anecdotal evocations in melliflous poetic style.
It is best reviewed by an extract.
In the following snippet, Saint Francis is waxing poetical about true joy to his fellow monk Brother Leo:

"The spirit's best gift,
His highest grace,
Christ gives to his friends.
To conquer self
for Jesus' sake:
this makes us willing to go through
sufferings,
hurts,
rejections,
troubles of all sorts.
We cannot glory in other gifts,
because they come from God,
not us.
So why compliment yourself
for what God does?
But we can glory
in troubles and sufferings
        they are ours.
That's why Saint Paul says,
'I glory only in the cross of the Lord
Jesus Christ.'
To him belong respect,
also reverence,
until the world's end. Amen."

equanimity

This happened last year.
The door of the cafe jingled.
Tony McNamee, a former Fine Gael candidate in the local elections, entered.
"Do you mind if I sit here?"
I indicated that I did not mind.
He sat down.
Without warning or preamble, he said: "Stephen Kinneavey nearly killed me. And I told your friend Nessa Dunlea about it and she wouldn't help me."
I held up a hand.
"I won't hear a word against her. I love her. But people in this town won't stand up to these guys. That's just the way it is."
"But she.."
"Ah come on Tony. She's Brendan O'Connell's sister. Kinneavey probably has a pension with O'Connell. What are you hoping for?"
He was silent.
Somewhat wryly I said: "Look on the bright side. It could be a lot worse. My cousin John Berney might have given him a job in the fucking pharmacy or my cousins Jamie and Thomas might be paying him as a courier to deliver their fucking saddles.."

congratulations

Congratulations to Iseult O'Donoghue and all at the Kilcullen For Yes campaign as well as abortion rights campaigners nationwide. Thanks to your selfless efforts, 6,666 unborn children were killed in the womb last year by doctors through legalised abortion in Ireland. The previous total was... none. That's nought to 6,666 innocent victims in the space of one year. What a tremendous civilising achievement. That's 6,666 children who'll never get to fall in love, never get to grow old, never get to be cool. Keep on rocking in the free world, eh Iseult? The figure represents Ireland's first full year of formally legalised abortion. There had been in fact a handful of abortions in Irish hospitals for a few years previously as the Fine Gael party under Enda Kenny had allowed the practice in direct contravention of a pre election promise not to. But last year was the first time it was actually considered legal under the laws of the Republic Of Ireland to murder unborn children. And the homicidal maniacs of Ireland really rose to the challenge. You must be very proud Iseult. And how marvellous to be able to judge who is fit to live and who should die. Why you're almost a god. Ah well. Best not to work myself up. Best to look on the bright side. As death tolls go, 6,666 innocent children represents a tremendous personal achievement for all at the Kilcullen For Yes Group whose gormless coffee mornings and cheerily twee campaign rallies formed such an informative part of the build up to to the abortion referendum in 2018 and ultimately played a key role in  persuading the gulpen Irish peasantry to endorse the ritual murder of children in hospitals for the first time ever. Iseult was named after a budgie her father owned in 1975 when he taught me in Third Class at Kilcullen National School. He really loved that budgie. Nazism always comes gilded in the banal. They're actually killing more than the IRA now. The figures for deaths through the IRA's drug trade come in at about 500 annually. There's another 500 people die by suicide every year in part because of what the IRA has done to our towns, villages and cities. So even if we say that the IRA and gangland kill a thousand a year between drugs and suicides, the heroes of Kilcullen For Yes have ensured that abortionist doctors are still beating the Rah hands down. Well done Kilcullen For Yes. You're more violent than the IRA and already you've killed more people than the IRA managed in thirty years of terror war in Northern Ireland. A scant three thousand in thirty years. It's not even a good  night out, eh Kilcullen For Yes. So bravo. You've killed 6,666 children in one year. Your coffee mornings have borne fruit. Well done. Well bloody done.

Seriously though, they're doing a wonderful job.