What’s your sign? If somebody looks at my profile to the right here, they will see that my sign is a scorpio. That is mentioned not by me, but by the computer that read my birthdate info required, and automatically assigned me a sign. If I could choose my own sign, it might be the St Andrew’s Cross, or the chi-ro, or a thistle. I detest the very idea that anybody would think of me in terms of an astrological sign. That does not make me. I am not a product of the season I was born in. What makes me would be my choices. I was born into an environment—a time, an era, a place, a milieu—but what I chose to take from all that is what I am.

So let us all then choose wisely. We choose every day what we will be in the obituary, in the minds of those who think about us long after we are gone over into that next place. We choose on the basis of our morality. We must choose, though, between two moralities, and we cannot make up our own, regardless of Rousseau, who said, “All the morality of our actions is the judgment we pass on them ourselves.” Wrong. There are two moralities: morality and immorality. We can choose life and freedom, or captivity and death. And the choices are evidenced in the clothes we put on in the morning, the music we choose to listen to, the stuff we search for on the Internet, the words we use to, with, for, about, against others.

Swift the days like fleeting clouds that race across the sky go on from here and find their way into the long halls of memory and future times like mirrors on opposing walls that catch the sense of eternity and let you see from here to there to there forever into a distant future past where we were and soon will be and cannot always find our way but with each other’s calls halloo and here and come and follow and now we catch a glimpse and think we see each other far ahead or there behind and yet we were so recently together but now not so closely by and yet not so distanced either.

Frisch weht der Wind der Heimat zu; mein liebsten Bruder wo weilest du?

I believe in God the Eternal Father, and in His Son Jesus Christ, and in their anthropomorphicity and their munificence and their closeness and their corporeal reality.

I believe the world of spirits is here, all around us, composed of such fine matter that it is imperceptible to our keenest instruments; but nonetheless there, real, true.

Japanese: WA

Usually translated, or rather, usually used as a tattoo or a wall decoration as “peace”, so a lot of people equate it with like the peace sign. But the “peace” it means, in Japanese is “in harmony with all surroundings, and with others, and with yourself.” Not just one word.

Japan: a sense of wa … … … …

… think of a zen garden, sand and stone and water, calm,

America: a sense of awe … … … …

… think Grand Canyon, life lived large, John Wayne

Blocks the breeze at night, but keeps out them dang pesky mortars.

Matt’s bed in FOB Ramadi.

Wylie Newt**** was a ruddy-faced, beefy-handed, roly-poly, smiley nice guy, one whom you would like instantly, who livened up a room by walking into it, exuding optimism and cheerfulness. Seriously, always smiling. He was pudgy, but watch out—it was a kind of like bubblewrap around a concrete pillar. Musta been forties, but seriously, seriously now, he looked late twenties, until you got up close to his eyes, twinkling, bright eyes surrounded by little lines of age. Or maybe all that smiling added to age wrinkles. After he left, one of the other guys says to me, “He’s a legend in the 5^th SF Group.”

—Yeah, I says back??in a way that asks for more, not that smart-alecky way that seems to mock or deny.

—Yeah, he says. He and his spotter would go out for five or six days, dropped off by chopper out in the boonies, and picked up by chopper, and he would have to—they would have to give their report. He’s probably killed more enemy troops than any other guy in the Group. He was a sniper over there, and the best. But he’ll never say anything about it.

It took a while to find out why he would never say anything about it. What’s going through your mind right now? He’s messed up in the head? Hates to think about it? Can’t deal with the memories of killing? After observing, listening, after a while, I found out. He would never talk about it because he was so good, and that would mean that to say anything about it would be boasting. And Wylie, if anything, was humble, and deferential, and would always give credit to others, even when they barely deserved it, whilst deflecting any praise away from him. Just a humble guy.

He came into the little teeny town with only two churches: The First Baptist Church for the old establishment stodgies and snooties, and the Memorial Baptist Church for the modernists, the liberals, the new people. (Oh yeah, the Methodist church was just on the outskirts of town, only an old house converted to a church.) So Wylie, not a particularly churchy guy, walks into the pastor’s office and says, “D’you need anybody to work with Scouts?” The Memorial B-Church, of course. “Well, actually, we just lost our Scoutmaster, he moved.”

—I’m your man”, says Wylie. And volunteered. Do you think he told killing stories around the campfire? The Scout boys never knew. But he sure could teach them woodsy skills.

What? It’s past midnight? I can’t believe it. I’ve still got so much to do! And writing on this blogpage is not helping me get done what really needs to get done. So much to do. So little time. I am running out of time. Soon the clock will tick its last tock and my time will be up. I will no longer be caught in the time bubble. But not being in the time bubble, you can’t get anything done, because out there, all is past, all is present, and all is future, and therefore you can’t work in just one, since all three are there all at once. So this life is the time for men to prepare to meet God. And not to procrastinate. Especially not to procrastinate the day of your repentance until it is everlastingly too late. Do what you can, right now. Which means go do something else right now. OK. I quit.

Crossing The Bar

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep

Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark;

For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place

The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crost the bar.

How appropriate, now, Stevie has crossed the bar, gone on to the next life. There is one little thing, though, not quite right with old Lord Al here, and that is, "and after that the dark!" He didn't know. How could he know? After that, the light, that paradise where the righteous are received into a state of happiness, in paradise until the time of their resurrection. All light. Well, of course, unless you didn't qualify for paradise, and end up going to spirit prison, and heaven forbid, outer darkness. But for Stevie, he has assured his place, and now he's there, over there, right over there, at peace, and free from the burden of his mortal coil, and what a burden that was.

Wanna see something cool? Click on one of those pictures up there! But then don't click on the x to close that window, cuz you close the whole dang site. back arrow I guess.

A letter to my son going to war:

There will be bitter fighting in pitched battles wherever you go. If you end up in the Middle East and bullets and bombs are destroying flesh, it may be hell. But no matter where you are deployed, the battle between good and evil will be intense. It may be an even fiercer battle between the Cause of Christians and the forces of evil than fighting on the battlefield. How many casualties will there be that you, 99 Bravo, will never see, can’t treat? Those who fall to the sword of evil will be hurt worse than those who are wounded by bullets or shrapnel. Those who lose their virtue in the battle of each individual against wickedness will hurt worse than those who lose their sight or limbs in explosions.

James E. Faust, who served in the Marines in WWII, said, “Many countries now face the dangers of terrorism. War exposes people to bodily harm, but there is also exposure to moral harm. Those of us who have served in the military in wartime have experienced the disruption in life that comes from being uprooted from home and family, wholesome associations, and the influence of the organized Church. I warn those who are now serving in the military, or who may do so, against the pitfalls of these disruptions. They can take us into the very jaws of the Devil's Throat.

“Many of the activities you will be engaged in are group situations where you cannot always choose your own company. But you can choose your standards. In the military you belong to an outfit where part of its strength comes from the unity of its members. You need to be loyal to the members of your unit because the fellow who is next to you may save your life tomorrow! But that doesn't mean you have to lower your moral standards. In any association there needs to be one or more who stand up and say, ‘What we are doing is not right.’ It takes moral courage to do this!” (2003)

I have fought the good fight... that's the Apostle Paul. He saw life as a battle between good and evil. There are evil forces today in our world who are in uniform; there are evil forces who hide in civilian clothing amongst civilians, but who are enemy combatants; there are evil forces, also who are civilians, who are doing the work of the evil one. Yeah, the evil one. You know. That evil one. They're the people who love the lusts of the flesh more than God; who love money more than any person; who love themselves more than any other person.

So are we soldiers, or not?