Clawing my way up Calvary
Broken nails and thorns in hand
Hearing hymns break forth around me
I hear men who understand

Together we will weep
Together we will fight
Individual pains run deep
Our shared burdens light

Atop the mount we hope to find
A savior meek and mild
A man with voice deep and kind
He calls all His precious child

Our brother, down he falls
We have found our cross
Together our salvation calls
We are not but dross

Dust to dust we go
We fight we rage we sing
We are brothers because we know
Of deaths deathless sting

Women come and women pass
Nurture what they will
A hard truth ignored in mass
What they don’t nurture they will kill

Give me a man, a brother strong
Over a woman day or night
The brother will sing a song
While the woman puts to flight

Reverently we break the bread
We drink deeply of the wine
Brothers stand until the end
And then sleep for all of time


A battle facing us

While I don’t have many readers here due to the length of inactivity, it seems apt to break the silence of writing at this time. I suspect the silence will stop, as I currently have plans to take writing back up again.

I am currently a part of a men’s group organizing to stop a desecration of Our Lady in Oklahoma City. The city granted a group of Satanists, the same ones who held a black mass in the same city months ago, a permit to bring a statue of Our Lady outside of St Joseph’s Old Cathedral, say satanic chants over it, pour ‘costume blood’ atop it, and protest the virgin birth of Our Lord and Our King.

Having had enough, we fight.

As a part of the Militia Immaculata, I will go to battle, weapons of prayer and rosary in hand, praise for Christ the King and our Immaculata on my lips. I will not fall to the foe of sloth and apathy of Faith that has dragged so many souls to hell in this day and age.

It will take place Christmas Eve, 4-7 PM. If you are nearby, Catholic or Protestant alike, please consider going. A desecration of the Mother of God on the eve we look forward to his birth is not an empty thing of no meaning, but satanic and evil to the core. If unable to attend, please keep us men in your prayers; if able to please go to your priest to see if you can set up some kind of group devotion or prayers to combat the evil act and make reparation for the evils of our generation.

For more info, you can follow the link below to the Facebook event page we have organized, which has other links from there as well:

And a petition to stop the desecration:


Our Lady of Good Success, pray for us

St Joseph, Guardian of Virgins, pray for us

Intercession for Souls in Purgatory - by Corrado Glaquinto

Intercession for Souls in Purgatory – by Corrado Glaquinto

Tear your Heart, and not your Clothes

As we give thanks to God this week, while looking forward to the coming of Christ with the first weekend of advent beginning Sunday, let us look on how to make room for Christ in our hearts. By renewing our convictions with such holy intents, we will hope to earn greater graces this advent season.

The last writing on this blog touched upon men’s predisposition to kill their hope in false sacrifices. From the previous writing

If a man is to grasp a sword, whether of words, of deeds, or of real physical weapons, it is to take the form of Love used against sin. Against the sin in himself, in others, and in society. Not against himself, against others, against society. It is a cleansing via Faith, Hope, and Charity and not of murder via despair.

The hands grasping despair will never be able to pick up a cross and follow the Lord. His strength will leave them, and he will wait patiently until they turn back towards him to continue on wards towards Calvary.

One of the first, and most important, steps to giving thanks to God is to grasp Hope, repent of Sin, and place Christ’s love in our lives where Sin previously took up residence. No step we take towards salvation and Calvary can be taken while the death of sin holds us back from striving towards a saintly life and salvation.


Return to me

The Prodigal Son, by Rembrandt van Rijn Photo Credit

The Prodigal Son, by Rembrandt van Rijn
Photo Credit

“Yet even now,” says the Lord, “return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; and tear your hearts and not your garments.” Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in mercy, and repents of evil. Who knows whether he will not turn and repent, and leave a blessing behind him, a cereal offering and a drink offering for the Lord, your God?

– Joel 2:12-14

This passage from the prophet Joel is beautiful in it’s simplicity and in God’s promise to us. Even at face value, it lays out straight and clear commands for how to turn away from the world and towards the Lord. With repentance comes penance; the ability of fallen man to become a part of God’s will in healing the world of the sins we commit through fasting, weeping, and mourning. Yet, this is tempered by the command that all our penances be those that affect our interior dispositions. We are called to submit to God’s Will, his Mercy, and his Judgment; fostering a Holy Fear of the Lord in all things. We are not called to air our dirty laundry, our sins and our weaknesses, to the world. Rather, we are commanded to do the opposite.


The quiet of the interior life

Christ in Solitude

Christ in Solitude

Thus, when you give alms, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by men. Truly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

And when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

And when you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces that their fasting may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, that your fasting may not be seen by men but by your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

– Matthew 6:2-6, 16-18

Thus we see that God desires all of our being to be turned towards Him in all things. Even in enacting His Will, we should strive to detach our spiritual rewards from those of this world, lest the immediate and worldly rewards become the motivations for our actions. For God and mortals know how easy it is to begin rationalizing that the actions seen by others, earning their praise, are supporting fellow Christians; yet in our heart of hearts we know that we feel thrilled to earn the respect of other men.

Such respect always will undermine attempts to earn God’s respect and love; who says Himself that such men have earned their rewards. Instead, we should clothe ourselves in God’s glory, that our actions might give him praise rather than ourselves. With that in mind, we turn towards a deeper interpretation of Joel.


The Garments of the Lord

Return of the Prodigal Son by Guercino Photo Credit

Return of the Prodigal Son by Guercino
Photo Credit

Tear your heart, and not your garments

What are these garments that we are told not to tear? Are they merely the physical clothes which are but a shell upon our bodies? God care’s not for outward appearances, and in a passage speaking explicitly about interior dispositions, it would behoove us to look towards how we clothe the interior parts of our souls. We should clothe our souls with virtuous living and righteousness; with Faith, Hope, Charity, Wisdom, Fortitude, Justice, and Temperance. We should clothe ourselves with the graces we receive from God as gifts for virtuous living, to give him glory for all he has done for us. With such clothing, we are ready to attend to the wedding feasts the Lord puts before us:

But when the king came in to look at the guests, he saw there a man who had no wedding garment; and he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding garment?’ And he was speechless. Then the king said to the attendants, ‘Bind him hand and foot, and cast him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ For many are called, but few are chosen.

– Matthew 22:11-14

Here we see a parable of Christ’s invitation to the wedding feast he has prepared for all men. He does so after having already been rejected by God’s chosen people, the Jews, previously in the parable. His loyal servants, heeding his wishes, thus invited all men. Being good servants, they would have known their master’s desires. They are told to invite both good and bad; for we are all sinners. Yet we are not all with wedding garments, with many to be cast into the outer darkness and few chosen. If such wedding garments were visible to the eye, the servants would have been able to see such clothing and fulfill their master’s wishes. Since we see the admittance and later rejection by the King, the Father who sees all in secret, we must conclude such wedding garments are not apparent to his servants. It will only be at the final feast, standing before Christ, where men will be sorted to either the right or to the left.

Thus, the command not to tear our garments goes beyond the call not to be hypocrites and Pharisaical, but also to avoid hindering our own spiritual growth. We must not fast, mourn, or weep to the point where we cast aside the gifts God has given us. We should be men, clothes with his graces, living virtuously, and shining as lights atop the hills that all might come to live in God’s light, avoiding the outer darkness. This requires that we continue performing our daily tasks and duties of our station in life as if they are for God; for the simple reason that they are. We should avoid the temptation of Pride, thinking that we can mourn, fast, pray, or do penance beyond our abilities, neglecting other areas of our lives. We can thus find communion with God in the silent and mysterious ways of our Father, while enabling those we love to continue living while they give glory to God as well.

By tearing our hearts, and not our garments, we open our hearts to God as Christ opened his heart to the world. Stand strong, as men, with torn hearts and loins girded for battle against the world, the devil, and our own concupiscence. While we might be broken, we are remade in God’s hands, and will give him glory by placing him in the proper place within our hearts and homes.

Remember these things, O Jacob,

and Israel, for you are my servant;

I formed you, you are my servant;

O Israel, you will not be forgotten by me.

I have swept away your transgressions like a cloud,

and your sins like mist;

return to me, for I have redeemed you.


Sing, O heavens, for the Lord has done it;

shout, O depths of the earth;

break forth into singing, O mountains,

O forest, and every tree in it!

For the Lord has redeemed Jacob,

and will be glorified in Israel

– Isaiah 44:21-23

Let us give thanks that we have a God who loves us. One who finds more joy in the one repentant sinner than in ninety nine who need no repentance (Luke 15:7).

St Joseph the Worker by Fr. Franco Verri, C.S.J. Photo Credit

St Joseph the Worker by Fr. Franco Verri, C.S.J.
Photo Credit

Relevant Past Posts

Falling On Your Sword

As We Sit in Solemn Silence

Of Peace and Silence


Further Reading by Others

For the fathers and married men out there – here’s a feminine view of the same concept written over at Finer Femininity, complete with stories.



Here’s a fantastic sermon from St Augustine on the parable of the wedding. The Church Fathers have always related the parable to virtues, graces, and righteous living; we should carry such understanding into deeper contemplation on other passages of scripture, to search for relevance and greater understanding of God. Here’s part of it:

What is that “wedding garment” then? This is the wedding garment: “Now the end of the commandment,” says the Apostle, “is charity out of a pure heart, and of a good conscience, and of faith unfeigned.” This is “the wedding garment.” Not charity of any kind whatever; for very often they who are partakers together of an evil conscience seem to love one another. They who commit robberies together, who love the hurtful arts of sorceries, and the stage together, who join together in the shout of the chariot race, or the wild beast fight; these very often love one another; but in these there is no “charity out of a pure heart, and of a good conscience, and of faith unfeigned. The wedding garment” is such charity as this. “Though I speak with the tongues of men and of Angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, and a tinkling cymbal.” Tongues have come in alone, and it is said to them, “How came ye in hither not having a wedding garment?” “Though,” said he, “I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.” See, these are the miracles of men who very often have not “the wedding garment.” “Though,” he says,” I have all these, and have not Christ, I am nothing.” Is then “the gift of prophecy” nothing? is then “the knowledge of mysteries” nothing? It is not that these are nothing; but” I,” if I have them, “and have not charity, am nothing.”How many good things profit nothing without this one good thing! If then I have not charity, though I bestow alms freely upon the poor, though I have come to the confession of Christ’s Name even unto blood and fire, these things may be done even through the love of glory, and so are vain. Because then they may be done even from the love of glory, and so be vain, and not through the rich charity of a godly affection, he names them all also in express terms, and do thou give ear to them; “though I distribute all my goods for the use of the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.” This then is “the wedding garment.” Question yourselves; if ye have it, ye may be without fear in the Feast of the Lord. In one and the same man there exist two things, charity and desire. Let charity be born in thee, if it be yet unborn, and if it be born, be it nourished, fostered, increased. But as to that desire, though in this life it cannot be utterly extinguished; “for if we say that we have no sin we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us;” but in so far as desire is in us, so far we are not without sin: let charity increase, desire decrease; that the one, that is, charity, may one day be perfected, and desire be consumed. Put on “the wedding garment:” you I address, who as yet have it not. Ye are already within, already do ye approach to the Feast, and I still have ye not yet the garment to do honour to the Bridegroom; “Ye are yet seeking your own things, not the things which are Jesus Christ’s.” For “the wedding garment” is taken in honour of the union, the union, that is, of the Bridegroom to the Bride. Ye know the Bridegroom; it is Christ. Ye know the Bride; it is the Church. Pay honour to the Bride, pay honour to the Bridegroom. If ye pay due honour to them both, ye will be their children. Therefore in this make progress. Love the Lord, and so learn to love yourselves; that when by loving the Lord ye shall have loved yourselves, ye may securely love your neighbour as yourselves. For when I find a man that does not love himself, how shall I commit his neighbour whom he should love as himself to him? And who is there, you will say, who does not love himself? Who is there? See, “He that loveth iniquity hateth his own soul.” Does he love himself, who loves his body, and hates his soul to his own hurt, to the hurt of both his body and soul? And who loves his own soul? He that loveth God with all his heart and with all his mind. To such an one I would at once entrust his neighbour. “Love your neighbour as yourselves.”

Falling on Your Sword

I’ve been wrestling with something I witnessed a week and a half ago within a morally difficult subject, that I think pertains greatly to men of our age.


Once, there was a man who killed his child

I was at an anti-abortion kick off for the 40 Days for Life; a campaign to have 24 hour prayer in front of abortion mills for 40 days with the goal of helping save lives. Not merely the lives of the child, but the souls of the mother and father who have partaken in the killing of their own child. There was a lot of really inspiring things to see about preventing such atrocities from being committed, as well as helping to find healing for those that had done such a deed, but since realized the grave evil they’d committed.

Seeing as how our God both believes in objective evils, culpability of all involved, and in the forgiveness of repentant sinners, I thought the whole thing was going along really well; Catholics and Protestants gathering together to battle such an evil.

And then, a man took the stage.

He promptly withdrew a sword, and fell upon it.

Figuratively, of course.

He spoke emotionally of his own guilt in helping a woman kill his child. Of being wracked with guilt. Of hearing and seeing his child. Of buying a gravestone for the child. And, the emotional climax of his story, introducing his other child to her aborted brother at said brother’s grave, where both could cry, let out their emotions, and honestly acknowledge a truth each had known about said dead brother.


Never a Word

Like I said; he drew the sword and plunged upon it.

He never gave any indication of the culpability of the would be mother. He never mentioned much on forgiveness of God, or if he did so it was lost within his focus on his dealings with men. He never mentioned how best to avoid such temptations of sin or point out where men can avoid falling into such temptations. He took all of his sins, crafted them into a weapon, and plunged upon it. It was an emotional sob story turned into train wreck, with no attempt to discern what went wrong but merely as a warning that train wrecks are bad.

In short, there was no Hope placed in God, but merely a mortal’s own attempt to come to terms with other mortals over the wrongs committed against God.

In addition, this was the last of the speakers. Never was there a woman who had done the same that took the stage; but all the women were prayer warriors and movement leaders. Many advocated that men were a key part to a woman’s decision to have an abortion; that many women had them because of a man advising such actions or because there was no man in her life (as an aside – who’s fault is that for deciding to engage in sexual sin before marriage? Last I checked, two people).

And then, directly after the man spoke, the whole thing broke up into small groups to pray on specific topics for a few minutes each, as spoken on the microphones.


Want to guess what didn’t get a prayer subject?

The men.

The women, their situations, the people advising them, the doctors, the nurses, the families of the women.

But never the men. The leaders that the Church openly declares itself in need of as a general need, and of specific need of in terms of abortion; not a prayer. No prayers for the Father who was part of conceiving the child, but prayers for everyone else.


A Lack of Hope

Coming directly after watching a man fall upon his sword, it struck me how such lack of Hope is something men must overcome. It is a virtue we must pursue with devout intentions to accept every grace God puts before us.

For they were right, we are leaders. Men are the leaders of society, who set missions, goals, and destinations while women bring such goals and give them life, love, and nurturing. Men are Fathers; whether of families of flesh and blood or of families of souls placed in their care by God. Each man must grasp such hope forcefully. For Faith is the beginning of spiritual life, Hope is what gives it nourishment to grow, and Love is the water, ever needed throughout the soul’s existence.


When Our Hands are Filled with a Sword, We Cannot Hold Hope

Simply put, our hands were made to hold a cross. To grasp our crosses, cherish them, and carry them after our Lord as we follow his footsteps into Heaven. The only way to thrust oneself upon your sword is to set down your cross, grasp your weapon of despair, and thrust it into your soul to kill your Hope and your Joy.

Sadly, men usually do this with the idea that such is called for as a ‘sacrifice’ for the good of others. In their mind, it is akin to jumping on the grenade to save one’s brothers in arms. To run into a burning building to save one’s child, or even that of another.

Yet, who would claim that it was heroic if a man threw the grenade himself, and then threw himself upon it with the intent of looking heroic in death? Especially if he threw it in such a way that no one was ever in danger? Who would commend the man who committed arson of running into the burning building to save a stuffed animal, or simply to die in a blaze of glory?

That is not heroic, but a perversion of heroism designed to appear strong in the name of pride. To be able to bear pain for no purpose is not heroism, but madness. It is only in bearing pain for a reason of a higher calling in which such deeds become heroic, noble, and the stuff of which saints are made of.

And the Philistines overtook Saul and his sons; and the Philistines slew Jonathan and Abin’adab and Mal’chisu’a, the sons of Saul. The battle pressed hard upon Saul, and the archers found him; and he was badly wounded by the archers. Then Saul said to his armor-bearer, “Draw your sword, and thrust me through with it, lest these uncircumcised come and thrust me through, and make sport of me.” But his armor-bearer would not; for he feared greatly. Therefore Saul took his own sword, and fell upon it. And when his armor-bearer saw that Saul was dead, he also fell upon his sword, and died with him. Thus Saul died, and his three sons, and his armor-bearer, and all his men, on the same day together. And when the men of Israel who were on the other side of the valley and those beyond the Jordan saw that the men of Israel had fled and that Saul and his sons were dead, they forsook their cities and fled; and the Philistines came and dwelt in them.

– 1 Samuel 31:2-7

When we, as men, lose hope and give into despair, it affects those around us. When our followers see us thrust ourselves upon the sword, they do not stop following us. Those who murder themselves through suicide have increased the likeliness of depression and suicide in those around them. Their followers whom loved them are left adrift, vulnerable to weakness and temptation.

How much more so those that thrust a sword of despair into their souls! Such men are left walking, but with death within them. Words from their lips carry nothing but pain directed at themselves and at others; asking others to mourn with them and join them in their pain without realizing such pain was self inflicted with the goal of drowning the real chance of healing with a desire to share guilt with comfort and support of others at the ‘strength of emotion to tell a story.’ Lost is the perspective that one must get right with God in the need to find comfort and validation in others.

If a man is to grasp a sword, whether of words, of deeds, or of real physical weapons, it is to take the form of Love used against sin. Against the sin in himself, in others, and in society. Not against himself, against others, against society. It is a cleansing via Faith, Hope, and Charity and not of murder via despair.

The hands grasping despair will never be able to pick up a cross and follow the Lord. His strength will leave them, and he will wait patiently until they turn back towards him to continue on wards towards Calvary.


St Joseph and Father Andre by Missori at St Joseph Basilica Photo Credit

St Joseph and Father Andre by Missori at St Joseph Basilica
Photo Credit

As men, we must grasp those crosses of ours and bear them with Hope, singing of God’s glory with joy.



Relevant Past Posts

Following Passion into Devastation


Further Reading by Others

Feeding Hungry Hearts – a good perspective on how wrong it is for our love to stop at temporal needs, while ignoring the spiritual ones.

The Echoes of Power

So, the long parable is done. Thank God, for it stretched out in length and in time more than I had anticipated. While I will not speak on it’s quality of writing, I am curious as to how well it presented my thoughts. I chose a parable because  I simply felt compelled to do so in such a manner. I have logical reasons I can give you about the depth and intricacies of how direct and indirect power work, how I wanted to frame things both negative and positive about my beliefs without a shouting match, as well as how I think the same concepts can be applied on an individual, communal, and societal scale.

I am going to dig into those a little bit because, while I hope that the writing can stand for itself, Free Northerner seemed to allude that such styles are not his personal strength. That or he simply was using a more polite way of trying to tell me that my first attempt at a parable to demonstrate my thoughts was as rough, and unintelligible, as it was beginner. It would be undo of me to leave him, and any others in similar confusion, in the dark for lack of clarity on anyone’s part.


Women are not a Class

Probably a large reason why his original posts gained a great deal of response is the way in which he wrote them. He spoke of men and women as classes in the same manner that a Marxist would. This inherently sets them against each other, for ‘classes’ have different interests, make ups, etc.

To his credit, his latest post on the subject discounted that he believes that. However, using the language he does it still seems as if he is struggling against the words he is using, as he continues to fall into the error. What is more is that his other claims seem to be at odds with this one in particular.

While I do not claim that he believes women and men are classes pitted against each other, and have seen many evidences that he does not, this is apparent in none of his writings on Power as it pertains to men and to women. In fact, it seems very much the opposite and to be pitting them against each other.

Whether that is the arguments themselves, or his wording of them, I will leave to others to judge. I simply have a hard time reconciling the two to the point where I will admit I have not seen someone use the term “class” when describing the sexes that didn’t set them against each other or work against itself in explanation.


Inherent forms of Power

So, in one of his comment threads I responded as such to the nature of Power as it relates to direct and indirect power is as such:

Your definition of power is to force change upon the world. Which is a very male definition.

The female, and indirect method, is to make the world desire to change and help it do so.

The complete definition is thus:

To have powet is to have the ability to be involved in changing the world with any method available to you.

This goes back to one of the original posts here on this blog, in which I stated:

Masculinity is the power to force the world to change.

It’s opposite, femininity, is the power to make the world want to change.

There will always be grey areas where the two meet. Generally when the two meet they’re very passionate, and involves either babies 9 months later, bodily harm, or emotional trauma. Sometimes all of the above.

Yet, for the most part, there are clear delineations between Feminine Grace and Masculine Power.

So, going with that, lets look at Feminine Grace a bit as an indirect power.

First, yes, Free Northerner is right in that Feminine Grace has only the forms in which to be expressed and used as Masculinity allows it. It has no inherent form.

This is not to say that they have no inherent power.

Simply that the power that they have will express itself in some manner no matter what Men do with their direct power. As with water, it will do something, anything. Either you can decide to control it, or you can let it follow the laws of unintended consequences while you ignore it. If you do such, it will fall stagnant, it will pool and then overwhelm you when released, or it will thrust itself incessantly into your life until it destroys all that is good and holy.

Thus part of why I used Land and Water in my parable, beyond the stronger fact that it simply seemed to fit in with how God, through his prophets, describes men and women in the Old Testament. Both as societies and as individuals.

Let us look at individuals first.


A woman will help a man become a Saint or become a Demon.

On the last day of the feast, the great day, Jesus Stood up and proclaimed, “If any one thirst, let him come to me and drink. He who believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart shall flow rivers of living water.'” Now this he said about the Spirit, which those who believed in him were to receive; for as yet the Spirit had not been given, because Jesus was not yet glorified

– John 7:37-39

Anyone that does not grasp this has not ever dated, or seen a friend changed by, the woman they date.

They come in all kinds of varieties. Henpecking wives bleeding their husbands to death. Fire crackers that blow up at the slightest sign of resistance.

They can also be women that give a man a place to lay down his load at the end of the evening. Who give him the courage to continue on. To conquer the world or at least his own little part of it.

I could pull scripture to describe how a woman is the prized possession of a husband (Proverbs 31) or how a poorly chosen wife (or choosing adultery) will lead a man down to Hades and be the singular, worst thing the man could ever possess. Honestly, I simply doubt anyone here needs that kind of hand holding.

So, let me simply state as follows.


The Slothful Woman

A neglected woman will poison her family against her man as stagnation caused by him erodes her soul. She will fall into the sin of Sloth. Properly understood, the sin of Sloth is not one of physical sloth, but of spiritual despair. It is an inability to find Hope of salvation, Hope in one’s station in life, or Hope for those one loves. A woman who is left stagnant by the man who is her spiritual head will nurture that toxic, poisonous core in her heart and spread it among those within her influence.

This applies to children. Fathers, do not let your daughters grow idle and stagnant with the Lord.

This applies to single women. Do not let yourself grow slothful with your spirituality. Seek spiritual guidance. Spiritual directors, do not let your charges grow slothful. Seek men with a Godly Masculinity to help guide you with a loving, blunt honesty that will not let your soul despair for want of a clear, clean

This applies to wives. Men, take up the mantle of spiritual head of household and do not give in to nice coddling of wives. Nor should you impede them should they burn with love for God. Be a leader with Godly Masculinity, who leads virtuously.

Slothful women, thus created, will breed spiritual disease and stagnation that will never allow the hard work of the City of God to lay it’s foundation.

Meanwhile, a woman with the ability to inspire Hope will find herself surrounded by those willing to work hard to find that Hope satisfied. Hope in love, in Salvation, and in providing the needs of this world and the next. She will find herself surrounded by Shepherds willing to die to keep the wolves away from the flocks she loves. She will find herself being given the fruits of the toil of others on top of her own, with the expectation that she turn them into a warm, nurturing, beautiful garden of love. And she will succeed in doing so, receiving still more fruits for herself and for those she loves.



Nor should women be able, and certainly not encouraged, to run roughshod over the lives of those around them due to their own intemperance. Intemperate women are the flood that will sweep away everything in their path. Intemperance, like Slothfulness, can be applied to multiple areas when properly understood. The prime area that I focused on in the parable when writing on the flooding was that of Lust, but could easily be applied to the Envy which comes with it in modern days due to the structure of modern divorce laws which win a woman a lifetime of free money and status from the mainstream for “breaking free” of the ‘Patriarchy’ that held her in servitude. Western Civilization rewards the woman for sweeping away the household built for her soul by the man who married her in the flood of her Prideful desire for Lust and Envy.

Intemperance can also apply to other ares though, which can threaten to ruin a household even should the woman stay sexually Temperate. A woman who can not hold her tongue and allows, or even goads, sinful thoughts to ruin her interior silence will ruin her household. She will sweep away all childrens’ ability to respect their Father. A woman who does so in front of others will erode the foundation of her man’s respect.

A single woman who cannot keep a temperate tongue will sweep away all kindness, trust, and honor that her acquaintances would give her. She will sweep away all trust and warmth from herself, and all that others would give her. She will plant the seeds of distrust, Envy, and Lust in her own heart, feed them to others, turn away the Godly, and turn towards the empty praise of a society that loves to tear down all that is beautiful and Holy until it is in the muddy ruins of this world with them.

Finally, an intemperance applies to intellectual pursuits as well. Just as a man, if a woman cannot focus on the pursuits and skills necessary to fulfill her station in life, she will be unable to give those within her care the necessary feminine warmth and nurturing they need to grow. Many people overlook this last intemperance, but it too, is vital. Can a woman spend the time to learn how to cook? What if she tries it a few times, and then tries her hand at baking before she masters it, yet doesn’t do well at that either. So she turns to sewing. Ruins a few pieces of fabric and turns to knitting. If she cannot master her own self to put forth the sacrifices needed to obtain knowledge and skills, how will she nurture the ability to do so in those around her?

She won’t. Without any bounds, the flood will sweep away the City of God. Such women are made by being told to “follow their dream” instead of following their Lord, dying to the self, and finding themselves in him. They follow their passions, and their passions wreck a flood of destruction upon themselves and those around them. Her kids will be ADHD diagnosed, drugged up until she can deal with them while she pursues her latest empty pursuit.

Meanwhile, a woman held with proper temperance will fall into none of these errors. Guided by proper spiritual bounds to grow in Feminine Grace, she will impart temperance of sexual chastity in those around her; teaching her children it is not alright nor encouraging sinful thoughts in others in a “You go girl!” manner. She will teach temperance of the tongue, that the way to grow a beautiful household is not by planting weeds of words but by placing such a loving care into those in her charge that they will overcome the weeds to bear great fruits. She will teach due diligence of pursuits, to inspire those around her not to do more, but to do what they do more perfectly for God. 



Lastly, the Wrath of women will turn all in her life insane with Wrath. Her anger will crash through the hearts of those around her with such force that it will cut them until their hearts are nothing but a rock. She will be met with maddened, gibbering echos of men who want nothing more than to destroy all around them.

A woman with a heart of Wrath will goad her husband to anger. Domestic abuse stats are equal on both sides with violence, with women using more sharp objects and danger. They’re also, actually, more emotionally abusive statistically than men at this point in history. You see the couple that is always violently arguing, and then passionately violently making up? Where does complicity for one end and the other begin? Some vile filth is born a wife beater, and some are made that way under the Wrathful ministrations of the wife.

A wrathful woman will kill her own child in the womb. As the Bible says multiple times in the Old Testament, she will feed on his flesh. She will teach others that this is ok, angrily yelling that they shouldn’t judge her. In her anger she will rebel against those around her through violent words and deeds. Her words will tear away the hearts and minds near her, leaving the soil barren of all but that which the sacrifices of life, love, hope, and faith can bring to twisted, demonic life that requires ever more sacrifices of value to bring about putrid, mutant, twisted beings. She will tear down her husband, her children, her friends, her family, and herself.

Such women are rarely born, but made through violent forcing (physically, emotionally, or spiritually) in unhealthy manners to unhealthy ends. They perpetuate this upon those around them, and receive echoes of Wrath in return.

Yet, should she be a clear pool of peace, love, and wisdom she nurture those traits within those around her. She will find herself surrounded by those that detest any action of Wrath or anything that disturbs the peace or silence of God. She will encourage men and women to rest their heads within the blessings of God, that they might find strength in those blessings to go out and face the world and bring God still greater glory. She will find men and women who are willing to take up the righteous anger of God, as Christ showed in clearing the temple, to defend all that is beautiful and Holy. Yet they will put down their weapons as soon as their work is done, and find a steady foundation in her loving peace of God she offers to them, find themselves able to stand firm as loving stewards of the City of God.


The Individual Growing to the Societal

While a single woman can only wreck destruction or raise up to saints her family, friends, and community, a society of them can ruin nations.

Please, do keep in mind, I still stand by them doing so by taking on solely the paths laid within the earth that men put before them. I am not saying they do so on their own or without complicity from men. We’re all in this together. I am merely exploring what I am stating, that women have power.


Nurturing the Values of a Society

First, we’re going to look at the power of women within the traditional roles as defined by men on a societal level.

Historically speaking, women have always nurtured the traits that society deems to be of primary importance. This is true from the dawn of time. If the society upends it’s values, the women go with it. Any country in which Facism or Communism struck found itself suddenly with an imposed state education, an attack on the family unit, and a luring of women into the work force rather than as mothers. The rulers would determine the propaganda machine, and women would perpetuate it.

This is also true of conquered countries. The French women were the main body of citizens colluding with the Nazi’s, much to the frustration of Frenchmen.

It is also shown in scripture. Solomon let his passions dictate the terms of his marriage, and his foreign wife was the one who nurtured rebellion against God. His son did the same. In exile the tribes married foreign women and had to call the tribes together for a massive divorce. The main sins of men and women of Israel was always marriage to pagan women who then turned their household into pagan households. As a nation, Israel was a spiritual whore that sold itself out to the point where God put a 1/3 of them to the sword, 1/3 died of disease, and he scattered the rest to break them of their sinful ways.

He also did this with sinners. There were no women spared from Sodom or Gomorrah. There were no women spared in the call to kill the Canaanites by Moses in the cities the Tribes would come to inhabit.

The ability of women to nurture sin or holiness is respected by God, who has honored many women in both Old and New Testament for their devotion, and set Mary as the most Holy being in existence after that of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Men set the tone. Women nurtured the garden. The fruits are harvested, spread, and repeated.


When Women Shout en mass, Something happens

I have never found a point in history where, when women rose up in protest, drastic things did not follow. Revolutions, voter enfranchisement, wars, peace. Women hand out white feathers and men go to die. Women march for votes and get it in a matter of years (once they decided they wanted it) where the average man took over a century until all men could vote. It still was five decades before the voting age dropped to 18, so that those men dying for women’s votes could also vote.

Sometimes, yes, the women are put to death. Check out the story of this group of nuns who, during the French Revolution, sung to God as they approached the guillotine. They then knelt to their Mother Superior to ask for her blessing and permission to die. Ten days later, tyrant Robespierre died beneath the guillotine he had used to put them to death.

Meanwhile we see the authors of Jezebel, Slate, and other vile mainstream media tear down everything around them. Women who couldn’t write their way out of a paper bag given ability to influence minds because…. Well, because they push an agenda. They nurture the values of our society to perpetuate our sins. Female politicians decry laws that would close abortion mills simply because they do not meet sanitary and safety guidelines. How can one say that this is anything other than Wrath against both the unborn and the women themselves? Women cry that it’s unfair for the children of the divorces they enact to go through a lessening of living conditions, putting the tax free money they get from the Father above the love he would be able to give them; as if without that love but with that money they’ll still be fine.

No, when women act, the world shifts. I have not seen anything in life or history to show me otherwise.


Role Changes Make no Difference

Women will have the same nurturing power any where you put them.

Doubt me? When was the last time you dealt with a woman in Human Resources to see how much influence they had in the company. Did they nurture what was in their hearts, and sow the seeds within the company? I would bet that they did.

How about as company owners? Queens? Positions of power and influence? Take a look and compare some of the female saints who were rulers, and compare them to female rulers of non-believers. Queen Isabella of Spain was a key part of expelling or converting Muslims with the Reconquista and Inquisition as guided by her husband, King Ferdinand. Compare that with the women of Sparta, women that killed their children should they not be found good enough, slept around with men towards the goal of being the best “breeding stock” and having great political power.

Speaking of which, look at the political power of women in today’s civilization. Women, when running, win the majority of the positions they desire. They’re far more successful than their male counterparts in terms of statics on getting elected, and have far more voice when raising a fuss. Look at Elizabeth Warren – someone who is absolutely without political credentials, won her race handily, and has been given a giant national loud speaker while also being put on multiple important councils and groups.

Society said that women are important in any area outside of the home, and as such they have a great deal of power in any area outside of the home. They currently have lesser power inside the home unless in a marriage that places great importance on her within the home.

And, in all cases, they foster the sins they’re told to foster or the virtues they’re told to lionize.

Examples of Slothful societies can be found primarily in Europe at the moment. Look at the high tax, high unemployment countries. Examples of Lustful and Envious societies can be found in America, Canada, a growing number of South American countries (looking at you Brazil), and again, some European countries. Wrathful societies can be found in Asian countries, where they were happy to enforce 1 child laws and kill off female children in the womb (think it wasn’t women thinking of their retirement and wanting to be kept care of?), African countries, and the Middle East.

Oh, and all three can be found in the US to varying degrees.

Women have the power in the Middle East to raise suicide bombers that are so against the natural laws that they will throw their own lives away. Mothers have that power and, because the society there has dictated an unnatural way of their women living, the power of virgins in the afterlife is so intoxicating to the soon to be terrorist that he’ll go with it.

You cannot, ever, take away the power of women. It will out, and break through, in the end.


All you can do is decide what kind of society you want to nurture, and then love women well enough to guide them to that conclusion. After that, their power will make it happen.



Related Previous Posts

All of them for the quiet echo of Feminine Grace should you have a Godly Masculinity and the love of others to use it to nurture a love of God in this world.


Further Reading by Others

Donal’s What should a Man Look for in a Wife for a fantastic look at what a virtuous wife with Feminine Grace can do for a household

Leane at Finer Femininity’s Mixed Messages, Watch What you say to see what the tongue of a woman can inspire or destroy. A look at what Our Mother Will Teach Us for the value of such instructions towards holiness. How to avoid being destructively over zealous, but instead to find light and peace. How we must hold ourselves in check, sacrificing our desires, for a Godly marriage

How women are Unleashed, Unchained, and Unfulfilled by a blogger named Lena.

A Story of Power – Tales of Earth and Water (Part 6)

My apologies for the continued time between posts. Personal health, a surgery last Tuesday, and pain meds since them have kept me from posting.

Our Pilgrims approach the end of their journey for Wisdom and Power. As they distance themselves from their trials below, let us remember what began the journey. A claim that all power rests with men, with women only having power if men allot it to them. Finding such a claim false, I set off to demonstrate it.

Part Five can be read here, part four here, part three here, part two here, and part one here

The morning sun rose to find the Angel kneeling in prayer. Beneath his wings and face of folded concentration slept his charge. The Man’s face was one of wearied peace found only in sleep. The new dawn cast shadows on the worn corners of his features. Old cares from the Man’s banishment to the island had been added to with the new trials he had faced on this journey.

With a mournful smile, the Angel thought of how close the two Pilgrims were to the end of their journey. Maybe then the Man would find peace for his soul.


Some rocks shifted and tumbled from the other side of the campsite.

Rising gracefully to his feet, the Angel went to greet the visitor while the Man startled awake behind him. Rather than one of the priests, as he would have expected, he was greeted with the burly beard, of the leader that greeted them when they entered this village. His smile was shining through what his beard was able to hide, and he came with breakfast in one hand, walking staff in the other.

“Come Pilgrims! The day’s awake, the sky afire with the life of a new day, and no one eats who sits dazed in bed.”

With this, he tore off the heal of the bread love and threw it at the groggy Pilgrim. Too busy scowling at the sun daring to rise, he never saw the projectile coming. Jerking and swatting at his cheek as if a giant bug had assaulted him, the laughter of the other two clued him in to what was amiss. Snorting at the amusement of the other two, he called out to them

“Come. If I’m going to have to endure assault for breakfast, at least make the portion worth the trial!”

Shaking his head as the laughter trailed off, the leader broke the bread in two and handed half to each Pilgrim, with a wineskin each to accompany the meal. While waiting for them to eat, he sat before them. With the walking staff across his legs, his hands traveled over the worn wood and carved letters beneath his fingers. When the two Pilgrims were finished eating, he held the staff out to the Man before him.

“Here. The men of the lakes discussed it among ourselves yesterday while you were purging yourself in our waters of the evils you had endured. We would like you to take this walking staff with you. Our hope is that you might always keep sure footed in all situations and be able to defend yourself in need. The wood is taken from branches trimmed from the trees we hang the unrepentant from to dance their last mad dance.”

At this he paused, and looked off into the distance while considering his next words.

“While most men here would be wary to admit it, we know we gain our strength in our persecution and defense of the true way of life we have here. The enemy forces us to take a stand, and in doing so we learn what we stand for and why it is treasured so. When looking into the eyes of madness, love and truth become anchors. Thus we always arm ourselves from the trees we use to our ends, under which the repentant pass and unrepentant hang. Bows, arrows, and staves all come from these groves. Upon all staves are carved the words: “Dig deep with a foundation upon the Rock. Stand stalwart against the flood.” All life tries to do this, and trees are the best at it. Grappling roots in the land, nourished by water, most life will wash away before a tree is uprooted.”

“We do what we can to carry that strength with us as men, and to fight with it in our hearts.”

Smiling, the leader nodded to the Man before him, “Thus, seeing as you’re a rare man whose Pilgrimage does not stop here, the men of the lakes desire to help you with that same strength. May our charity aid you well.”

Nodding reverently, the Man accepted the gift, “Thank you. May we each grow in strength as iron sharpening iron.”

Standing, the two men grasped each other’s forearms. Exchanging farewells, the two Pilgrims turned to journey onward.


As the mountain loomed ahead, the Pilgrims found the way forward to be wide and easy. Growing at ease, the Man allowed himself to think on all his Angel had brought him through. Stagnation and hard toil. Destruction with lives swept away in a torrent and lives built on holding the water in check. Lives thrown off the edge in sacrifice and lives given to defending the beautiful.

He saw how in each of these the land and the water worked together in each land to bring about the fruits of their labors. Yet always the land determined where the water would flow, how quickly it would flow, and the depth of the current. The land had the control, and water was only able to act as the land would let it, so the land still must have all the power.

Yet, he struggled. What about the flood that swept away the city and families within it? What about the river so powerful, strong, and loud that it cut deep into the heart of the land, echoing it’s distorted rage throughout the whole canyon? Even if the land controls all those things, at times it seems the land could be overwhelmed in a rush or cut deeply over time.

If the water proved to be strong enough….


His thoughts were interrupted as they came to the base of the mountain. Below was a wide, lazy lake. Far above was a slow waterfall, water collecting into one thin stream during its fall. Rather than hitting rocks or creating an unholy amount of noise, the water plunged into the depths of the lake. Above him the mist coming off during the descent created rainbows along the ascent. The affect was to change what would look overwhelming and perilous to something to strive for. An adventure, a delight and source of pride.

His Angel turned to him, “Be careful. The way is clear and easy, but not without traps. Test each step with your staff, that the step is of solid rock. A fall will be fatal, but is up to you. If you place each step carefully, you will reach the top. From there, we will see all that we have passed through and be at the end of this Pilgrimage.

Nodding, the man stepped forward to test the first step.


Knocking loose a false stone, the Man confidently took the step leading to a small break in his climb. Feeling free of the world that had drug him through the mud below, he saw that there was a view of what he had left behind. Framed by the sides of the cliff being cleared away from the landing, the window gave a view of the lakes and falls, with the canyons of wrath behind them.

While he still felt a distant echo of wrath and anger from those lands within him, they were just that. Distant. He had moved upwards, and here they could not touch him.

Giving thanks for his blessings, the two Pilgrims continued on.


Hours later, the two Pilgrims came to another landing. Each pulled out their wineskin, and took a long, slow pull from the skin as they sat on the edge, looking out over the lands below.

From here the lands of the monks and of the floods were visible. Squinting, the Man marveled at how far they had come, and how high they had climbed, that such was possible. From here he saw that, what had seemed winding and twisting during his travels, was quiet straight when looked at from on high. And it was certainly the easiest passage, with all other ways through the wilderness twisting back in on themselves or coming to dead ends.

Crossing himself, and feeling his spirit free of burden, yet yearning to make the journey’s end, he offered a prayer for the lands below. Friend and foe alike. At peace, he called behind him to his Angel, “Come friend, let us make the top before the day comes to a close and night is upon us.”


As he came to the last steps, the man saw his destination come before him in it’s beautiful glory. Green and blue, a small pond was at eye level before him, mere steps away. Smiling, he looked back to see where his Angel was as he ascended the last steps, unchecked.

And his footing failed him.

Gasping in fear, the man strove his staff into the ground to try and regain his balance. Slowing him little, it mostly changed his momentum. He pinwheeled towards the Angel. Cloak flaring behind him, metal necklace chiming out, he found his voice and could only think to call for help. A feeble, “Help!” escaped his lips. With it his thoughts cursed his cowardice that would put his friend in danger and pull them both down, rather than die alone.

Seeing his charge fall towards him, the Angel hunched to catch the Man upon his shoulder. With his upper body over the Angel’s back and lower gripped tightly, the Man found himself held. Straining, the Angel’s wings surged up and pushed them upwards. The fall slowed to a stop, but the Angel beneath him trembled at the effort. The main struggled, and re-oriented himself to balance better upon his Angel. Meanwhile, he used staff to push against the rocks behind the two of them to get them to safety. After what seemed like an eternity, the Angel had put the steps behind them, and was leaning over to set the Man down besides the beautiful pool that had distracted him.

Thus, as the dawn began, Man and Angel sat to gasp for breath at the heights and end of their journey, muttering a prayer of thanks to God, before they saw what lay before them.


To the left stretched forth all the river and lands they had traveled. From here to sea, it stood before them. To the right of the humble pool before them was a wall of rock. From a single hole in the rock was a large hole about chest height. The water the land brought forth was strong, steady, clean, and clear.

From this, the whole river below came forth.

Besides him, the Angel spoke, “All that we have traveled, and all that we have seen, have not been possible with both water and land together. One cannot separate them both from what they create, no matter how their strengths and weaknesses interplayed. Each has Power; one to form and one to nurture. And each’s power is a result of what was first naturally there, as well as how it was cultivated, handled, and treated. All power is a gift from God.

“Take heed, my charge, and work out your salvation in fear and trembling as you ponder these words of the Lords, “Listen to me, you who pursue deliverance, you who seek the Lord; look to the rock from which you were hewn, and to the quarry from which you were dug. Look to Abraham your father and to Sarah who bore you; for when he was but one I called him, and I blessed him and made him many. For the Lord will comfort Zion: he will comfort all her waste places, and will make her wilderness like Eden, her desert like the garden of the Lord; joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the voice of song.” [Isaiah 51:1-3]

“There is power in God, and upon this earth he puts it where he Wills. Search for all of it that springs forth from the tree at the top of the mount, for such wisdom and power as comes from the Tree of Life is the only power which will grant you eternal victory over the foes which beset you.”

“For now, should you chose it, you would be able to found and be a part of any type of community we have passed through. With the wisdom and power of God, you can help all men towards their eternal rewards in Heaven or in Hell. You may not be a leader, but would always be a pillar of the community, standing strong against the floods. Chose careful where your next journey will take you from here.”

With these words, the Angel let silence rest upon them. Time stretched out and made itself comfortable, waiting upon the Man’s choice. The man found comfort, clarity, and rest before the pool of God.

Standing, he made his decision to venture forth, and held his hand out to the Angel to join him.

A Story of Power – Tales of Earth and Water (Part 5)

As our Pilgrims do, so do we continue to search for wisdom. Do women have power, or does power lie only within the hands of men? Does direct power make indirect power false or lesser than indirect? 

The statement that women have no power, because they have only indirect power, was what let to this journey. In need of comfort, they press on near the end of their journey. Part four can be read here, part three here, part two here, and part one here.


After the anger and roar of the falls behind him faded, the Man found himself drained. Drained of joy. Drained of energy. Drained of hope. Drained of any desire for the wisdom for which he had set forth to gain upon this journey’s completion.

He looked down at the babe in his arms, kept warm by the wolfskin gifted to him so long ago. Brows furrowed, he pondered how he would keep the babe alive. The child was obviously too young for solid food. Sighing, he hoped he would not have to mourn the child. Yet, behind him his Angel seemed unconcerned as they followed the path forward.

The Man set his shoulders forward, his stride unrelenting. He would continue, place his faith in the Lord, and hope to find one to care for the child in his arms.


That evening, the child awoke with a cry. Hungry and thirsty, it cried and woke the Pilgrims. Realizing he would get no sleep, the Man looked to the Angel. “Unless you have some way to calm the child, we might as well keep walking through the evening. Getting on in our journey is better than laying here, uselessly awake and doing nothing.”

Nodding, the Angel arose. “Come, I’ll lead with sure steps in this darkness. We should reach our destination around sunrise.”

Picking up child, the Pilgrims set forth into the darkness.


Hours later, child in his arms now too weak with hunger to cry, the man heard noise from ahead that stilled his heart and slowed his steps.

From the darkness, the man heard the noise of a waterfall. Shuddering, he felt the noise awaken echoing memories.

Yet, this was not the pounding, booming noise he had left behind, but a more gentle, murmuring sound of water falling over the land and into a pool of water below. Clutching child to his chest, he continued forward behind his Guide. Before him the horizon became apparent. Soon the sun was rising, and in the distance he saw lights gathered around a large pool of water.

The lights turned out to be candles set in windows. Why the people would put such candles  to be lit overnight he knew not, but they warmed his heart. As he stepped towards them, his Angel held out his hand to stop his charge from moving forward.

“Hold. The guardians of this land come to see if we belong to the lands we have left behind or have carried the disease with us into their lands.”

The Man shuddered, “If we must wait, we will do so. Yet, I tell you I want nothing so much as to wash the filth off of myself. I would throw myself into the water I hear before us if I could simply set down my burden for a moment. I am wearied unto death, yet would walk hours if I were promised such relief at the end. If possible I would never again to think on such lands as we have left, let alone have their stains upon my person.”

The Angel smiled, lowering the hand holding his charge in place. He raised his voice to the empty dawn, “Hear that, o guardians? Pilgrims come, seeking thy pool of cleansing. Stay your hands, sheath your weapons, un-nock your arrows. We live not by the sword, and will not die by the sword.”

From the wilderness around them rang out laughter and joy, a release of pent up passions from the mouths of men reluctantly willing to defend their loves. Amid the sound of men following the Angels call to disarm, one leader stepped forth. A large man, well armed, with a fearsome beard doing its best to hide a warm smile and joyful eyes.

“Hail, Pilgrims. You are gratefully received in peace, should your actions stay true to your words. Most men from beyond are not able to put their wrath and misguided beliefs behind, but find the truth in a rope under the shade of a tree. We would rather you not dance the last mad dance men and women under the tree. Such always puts a damper on life here at the pools. Instead, let us seek the pool where such waters will cleanse you as you desire.”

Nodding, the Man spoke up, “I would do so immediately, but first I must find care for this babe saved from the barbarism behind us. I beg you, take him from me, feed him, and nourish him.”

The leader scowled, stepped back, and hastily crossed himself. “I cannot touch such a burden. Do not offer him again. You must take him to the priests. Just as you need to cleanse the land from you, so does the child. The last pool, the seventh, will be your destination. Take heart though, the way is well traveled and easy. I will go before you to take word of your arrival. Stick to the path, straying not to the right nor to the left, and you will reach your destination.”

The weary Pilgrim nodded. He looked to the destination, set his shoulders, and stepped forward. His Angel fell in behind him, and the two Pilgrims made their way forward. True to word, each pool was passed with ease. Each of the falls were short, gentle, and the path was gently carved into each small rise that led to an overlook of the pool left behind.


As the sun fully rose over what turned out to be a single mountain before them, the two Pilgrims came upon the final pool. Before them lay another scattering of houses, as all behind them held. With the sun rising, people were coming out of their homes to greet the day and begin their duties. From one house, two figures noticed them and stepped forward to greet the Pilgrims.

As they approached, the Man saw that those coming to greet them were two priests, clad in traditional black cassocks and with the black collar broken by a single white strip. Kneeling before such men, he held the child.

“Greetings, Fathers. I come as a Pilgrim from the lands beyond yours, further down river. I seek nothing from thee for myself, but present this child into your care that you might take it and raise it within your community. Let it grow beyond the evils from which I have delivered it. Take it from me, and let me find comfort and relief for my weary, stained flesh in thy pools.”

Smiling, one Father took the child and one reached to pull the Man from his feet.

“Come, my Son. We can see your journey’s weight pressing down upon you and the blood of enemies upon your hands. Have Faith, for we will wash away such cares from thee and the child delivered to us. Come, for this pond has the refreshing power to do just that.”

Thus, the Man found himself led down to the waters, then to sit near the bank while the two priests attended to the babe first. Taking it down to the waters, the priests crossed the child, undressed him, and washed away what clung to him of the land they had saved the babe from. While the one priest cared for child, the other priest saw the state of the garments themselves. Stains of blood and sweat of his previous caretakers. Urine and feces of the child. Taking it to the falls, he firmly held the fabric underneath the water, letting the water do the work for him.

Sitting beside him, his Angel took his charge in wing. “Worry not for the child. Behind us you will see the community already gathering to find a woman and man able to nurture the babe and give it what it needs to live, the love, and the values of life here. Meanwhile a father will give it the skills to live virtuously, standing as a protection against the evil behind us. Once it is cleansed, they will treat it as one of their own, for it will be just that.”


When both priests were done cleansing child and garments, the babe cried out for food for the first time since entering the village. While it was cleansed of what it had been saved from, it needed more. The priests smiled upon the child in it’s now cleaned state, wrapping the babe in it’s fresh swaddling garments and walked towards the crowd. A young couple, already with one toddler and one nursing babe, stepped forward to accept the new addition of life in the lands surrounding these seven blessed pools. Taking the babe home, the crowd followed to rejoice in the growth of the community, leaving Pilgrims and priests alone.

Coming back to the Pilgrims, each priest set a hand beneath the arms of the Man and lifted him up. One spoke as they stepped forward, “Come, we can help you to the pool and set you within it, but you must find the strength to cleanse yourself in it’s depths on your own. The child new nothing of the evils it saw. Covered in filth as it was, it only needed a moment spent of soothing, where your burden runs deeper. When you come out, your Guide will take you to a secluded place to eat and rest.”

The Man nodded, eager to get off his weary feet. Stripping off all his garments, he placed all his earthly goods within the care of his Guide before stepping into the pool. When he waded to a place deep enough, he slowly lowered himself into the pool.

Beneath the waters, the soothing murmur of the falls entered his soul. He found the outside world shut away from his senses. Floating, the soothing noise became a part of him. He found peace and joy in the charity of the pools. He knew he’d find it again, should he ever need to, simply by recalling this moment and submerging himself within memories of the pool long after it was behind him.

He lost himself to the world for a time.


Later, the two Pilgrims gathered round bread and wine for a meal. A comfortable silence stretched till all was consumed to the fill of each.

The silence stretched.

The man sighed, “Truly, Angel, I stand by my earlier statement. I desire to never think upon the lands we left, but only seek comfort in the lands and pools we have come to now. Such unrelenting wrath of hard lands and rushing waters are best forgotten, no matter how powerful they are I would have these gentle rises, falls, and pools.”

The Angel nodded, “Be at peace. The best that one can say is that some lands are places in which no one should dwell, stirring the water and people to a foamy wrath. The diseased land was only able to find life with such death as you saw. Yet such power was only an evil to bring life to more evil with a mad existence for those desperate enough to resort to such.”

“The only difference between those lands and these are that one are suitable only for wrath, and this one can only find peace and charity in these waters. Tough as the falls may be, each pool they create brings life. The people here guard it valiantly against the lands below. While despising such wrath, they give full chance to each individual to make a choice. Most are blind with pride at what they were able to create behind them, and desire only to recreate the destruction for one reason or another. The men here respect such wrath, and give them the fruits of their choices in what they named ‘the mad dance under the tree’. A choice of death can only result in death; and these men would guard the precious lives in their care. Such only leaves the remorseless death under the trees they could have passed to find life here in the community.”

“To such children of wrath, and those that guard against them, the Lord speaks to each at once. In length, in Justice, and in Love he admonishes all and calls his own back to him:

Why is the land ruined and laid waste like a wilderness, so that no one passes through? And the Lord says: “Because they have forsaken my law which I set before them, and have not obeyed my voice, or walked in accord with it, but have stubbornly followed their own hearts and have gone after the Ba’als, as their fathers taught them. Therefore thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: Behold, I will feed this people with wormwood, and give them poisonous water to drink. I will scatter them among the nations whom neither they nor their fathers have known; and I will send the sword after them, until I have consumed them”

Thus says the Lord of hosts: “Consider, and call for the mourning women to come; send for the skillful women to come; let them make haste and raise a wailing over us, that our eyes may run down with tears, and our eyelids gush with water. For a sound of wailing is heard from Zion: ‘How we are ruined! We are utterly shamed, because we have left the land, because they have cast down our dwellings.’ “

Hear, O women, the word of the Lord, and let your ear receive the word of his mouth; teach your daughters a lament, and each to her neighbor a dirge. For death has come up into our windows, it has entered our palaces, cutting off the children from the streets and the young men from the squares. Speak, “thus says the Lord: ‘The dead bodies of men shall fall like dung upon the open field, like sheaves after the reaper, and none shall gather them.’ “

Thus says the Lord, “Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom, let no the mighty man glory in his might, let not the rich man glory in his riches, but let him who glories glory in this, that he understands and knows me, that I am the Lord who practice steadfast love, justice, and righteousness in the earth; for in these things I delight, says the Lord” [Jeremiah 9:12-24]

As ‘the Lord’ left the lips of the Angel, they softly faded into the empty air around the two Pilgrims. Silently they stared at the fire before them, pondering the Word. After a time, the Man gathered his cloak and cross to himself, lay himself down to sleep. Through the whole night his Angel sat over him. Looking out into the darkness and up into the heavens, the Angel prayed for his charge to find the last strength needed to persevere to the end.

As the man slept, Word and murmuring water both echoed through his soul.


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A Story of Power – Tales of Earth and Water (Part 4)

This is the fourth part of a writing in response to the declaration that only men have power, because direct power can over ride indirect power. I find such a statement to be false by means of reductionism to the point of easy half-truths; clouding the eyes to deeper mysteries of how the world works in relation to men and women as individuals and as two sexes created by god. Beyond denying the power of women as nurturers, it also denies the ability of women to tear down all joy and life around them. Thus, you see the response below.

My apologies for the delay; life continued in its joys and tribulations, but did not allow me to continue writing one piece a day. Yet, like our Pilgrims, we continue towards the end. In their journey our two Pilgrims strive forward in search of Wisdom by examining the nature of the relationship between land and river. Part three can be read here, two here, and part one here.


Frozen in contemplation, the Man watched the monks make another trip to pull the remains of the barren tree from the rocks. The land forced the river to such a power… A power to then be utterly opposed by the rocks and land used in construction of the barrier by the monks to protect their land. And protection with such zealous fervor!

A hand pressed upon his shoulder, and his Guide spoke into his ear.

“Come. Gird thy loins. We must press on quickly; we cannot stop to rest until we have put this land behind us. We will speak quickly to one of the monks and then we must make haste.”

The Angel stepped in front of his charge and led the way upwards. With the first step the Man was able to wrest his eyes away from the destruction in front of him. He took in the gradual change of the land he was exiting. Ahead of the monks’ cataract the wide valley slowly narrowed for what looked to be half a mile, before abruptly thrusting upwards to cliffs and a canyon. He could see the color and shape of trees making a valiant effort to grow along the face of the cliff. Such efforts seemed to fail utterly halfway up, leaving exposed rock formations to the world.

The Angel waited until the monks had finished clearing away the final remains of the tree before speaking to one of them. “Hail, monk, we two Pilgrims are heading up river. Our destination lies beyond the immediate lands, though we grow in wisdom with the journey. What kind of state are the lands beyond in and where do we pick up the trail once we reach the canyon?”

The monk shook his head mournfully, “The river is full of vegetation right now, as it usually is. All the dead plants always wash down stream this time of year as the lands heat, the water rises, and harvest approaches. The brothers at the head of the cataract heard a storm coming in though. With this time of year, that only means one thing. In a day or two, bodies will wash down stream. It will be a tough time for one of the other brothers here with us; it will be his first time handling anything other than the trees. May God have mercy on their souls, and strengthen us men in keeping loyal stewardship of our lands.” The monk crossed himself in a moment of silence for the dead and for his God.

The Man shuddered, “On their souls? You mean you find bodies of men in the river!?”

“Not only men, but women and children too. We never know what kills them. The river tears up their bodies too much as it delivers them down to our hands. When the bodies start filling the river, we will do what we can for them. We spare no blessings and give all mercies we have within our power. Most of our time will be spent anointing them with oil and saying mass prayers for them before the funeral pyres do their work.”

The Man looked to his Angel, his Guide, “What is to be gained by going through these lands?”

“Wisdom on power; that which you seek. Our journey takes us beyond these cursed lands. Tell me, brother Monk, does the old goat trail still exist?”

The monk nodded, “Yes, from before the lands were officially cut off. We keep the entrance to the valley clear, but never venture within by orders of Father Abbot. You’ll find them at the foot of the canyon.”

A crash interrupted the conversation. Turning, the monk saw that a new tree had thrown itself upon the rocks. He quickly bowed a farewell to the Pilgrims before he turned to help clear the wreckage to the flames.

The Angel wrapped his wing around his charge, and drew the man forward. “Come. Remember thy protection and place thy faith in the Lord, our God. No man nor woman can inflict harm against you on this journey. Nor will your feet fail to find stable ground, even in the canyon. You have only yourself to fear.”

Gathering up his courage into his heart, the Man drew his wolfskin cloak about his shoulders. In doing so, he felt the reassurance of the cross upon his chest, and the prayers of the priests for their well being.

“Let us go forth, Angel. I have grasped my Hope, and will hold it close while in the shadow of thy wing and thy guidance.”


Upon entering the canyon, and gaining the goat trail, the two Pilgrims saw the trials before them. The path before them was clear and solid; a goat path painstakingly cut into the rocks of the canyon. No vegetation had grown upon the path itself.

Yet the path would not be an easy one. It swept back and forth along the cliff face of the canyon. To do so it also constantly had steps upwards and downwards to find solid stone for the path’s creation to be possible. On one side the cliff fell away towards the roaring river, ever eating away at the cliff and the lands containing it. Above the path, the cliff rose above the Pilgrim’s heads.

Imposing an awe at the terror of land and water, the Man crossed himself to offer a prayer in thanks for his God and Guide. Together, the Pilgrims stepped forward.


Setting his shoulders, the Man began to realize the true peril of this land through which he wandered. It was not a physical danger to be faced down and overcome. From all around him thundered the raging waters. Channeled to a specific purpose, and gleefully roaring downwards, the water pounded remorselessly against the land it traveled through. Echoing upwards, the Man was assaulted by the noise. The wrath of the river drove spikes into it’s ears as it reverberated against the canyon walls.

When the Pilgrims had first entered the mouth of the canyon, this was an unnoticed, subtle echo. Due to the twisting of the land, the sounds and echoes of the river were unable to escape outwards but were mere whispers of what lay ahead. As their steps carried them up the valley, such roaring of the river sought to destroy their ability to think over the noise of the rapids below.

The noise never did plateau, but only increased.

As the roaring continued to grow, the Man noticed the land slowly having more life and growth. While no man would consider any life he saw healthy, twisted shrubs and plants had found root among the rocks. Ruddy-brown life had taken root and grasped desperately to what life it had found.

Meanwhile, in the river below there seemed to be only the carriage of destruction towards the monks beyond. Plants that had not clung tightly enough to life were carried along the waters; though none gave the looks of having borne fruit or offered life to any creature but their own meager fight for existence. The Pilgrims saw one tree topple from the heights of the cliffs. Yet, beyond the one tree, all seemed to come from up river. The river also bore enough doomed trees that the Man could not grasp how such trees could find roots enough to grow, and yet tumble into the river.

Then the ability to hear his own thoughts abandoned the Man

As the Pilgrims made their way around a bend of the canyon, the roar made itself known in full power. The noise grew to levels that shook the rock beneath the Man’s feet. Before long the raging waters entered his chest and made itself at home there, the noise thundering against his rib cage. Overhead the sky grew dark, the wind before the storm rising and howling down the canyon walls.

Somehow, in this land, the plant life grew more plentiful, more twisted, and more tenacious.

It was then that the Man saw a looming cliff and waterfall before them. Lightning flashed above it, the thunder echoing down the canyon. It came upon the man with all it’s wrath overwhelming him. The noise and echo and strength of it all drove him to the ground. Without Hope, the man found only noise and madness echoing within him; to throw life off the cliff, and then himself behind it.

His Angel knelt, and wrapped a feathered wing around him. In the shadow of his wing, the noise lessened. The rage crashed against the outside, and whispered at the Man to forget himself and re-embrace the freedom of wrath at the world and the land which held him within it’s merciless walls.

“Come, my charge, my friend, my love. We must not linger but endure in pressing forward. Your steps and your body are safe, but nothing can protect you from yourself should you abandon Hope. Take it up. Your God loves you and you shall overcome if you do not abandon His ways.”

Shuddering, the Man grasped his cross in his left hand. He pushed himself upwards. Regaining his feet, he stayed within the wings of his Angel, and together they followed the path set before them. Upwards now, lingering not within the canyon but approaching the top of the waterfall before it plunged downwards against the rocks below. The wrath of the water, the noise as it assaulted the land below, turned upwards and continued to besieged the Pilgrims.

As the lightning continued, silhouettes shone against the sky with each flashing strike towards the land from above.

It was not long before they saw the first body as it was swept away by the river.


The Pilgrims gained the summit. The path set their feet upon level ground near the heights of the waterfall. They came forth in the midst of the first green growth the Pilgrims had seen since they entered the canyon. Trees surrounded them, sheltering them from wind and muting the wrath of the elements assault upon their ears. As his Angel took his wing away from the man, he noticed that the same whispered rage he had been forced to endure within the wings of his Angel still echoed here.

The path continued, clear and clean, through the grove. As the Pilgrims continued, and the man saw that there was something wrong within the grove. A sickness. The trees were not the warped, twisted, and fruitless things he had seen swept down the river. Yet neither were they healthy. What is more, the sickness seemed to infect all the plants, not simply the trees. He knelt to examine what he saw along a nearby branch. As he reached out, the hand of his Angel grasped his arm.

“A plague grips the plants of this land. Do not touch it, lest it take hold of you and call out for thy life.”

Slowly nodding, the man rose back to his feet. Soon enough the grove began to end. The sickness grew worse, and dead trees were found among the living. Too soon, no life was to be found and he was surrounded by the death he saw along the river. The roaring wrath of the river returned to haunt him once again.

At this point the Pilgrims left the crowds of dead trees, and found themselves surrounded by the crowds of madness.


Men and women pressed forth, none along the path and all facing an upraised bluff along the river. The path led to it, and then downwards to the lands beyond. There were three figures atop the bluff. One shouting was seen to be waving, and incoherent shouts made their way along the wind. Besides him, a man labored with a dead tree. Though such deadwood must be light, the load either proved awkward of the man weak, for great was his struggle. None came to help him. In fact, all seemed to fear the path as well as the bluff to which it led. Not a single foot beyond that of the Pilgrims was upon it.

When the man on the bluff completed his labors, the Man saw why such fear held all in check.

Reaching out to the third figure, whom had stood stoically and unmoving the whole time, the man reached out. Lightning flashed, and the Pilgrims were shown the third was a woman with twins within her arms. Taking one from her, the man faced the incoherent mad man atop the bluff. Shouts washed over the man. What started as an upright posture became pleading, gesturing towards the tree. Seeing unabated madness in the eyes of the people’s prophet, the man with babe turned to his woman with child.

Shaking her head, she pointed towards the cliff. The crowds broke their grim silence with a mad roar of approval at her actions. All light of life left the man with babe, and he approached the tree, examining what lay before him of his labors.

When he got close to the edge, the prophet of the people came up behind him, arms raised and then descending with no warning upon the man with babe. The force carried the two forward. In desperation he grasped the tree he had labored to bring to the cliff edge, child falling down the cliff, forgotten.

His labors were not enough to save him. In the end all three, tree, man, and child, had tumbled over the cliff.


Anger washed over the Man; finally consuming him. He tore at the cross around his neck, breaking the leather bonds holding it to him. Turning to his Angel, he took the sword the Angel carried at his side. Striving forward, the wind carried the wolfskin cloak as it flared behind him in the wake of his purposeful stride. Without a thought, he found his feet upon the top of the bluff and approaching the mad prophet of the people.

The prophet turned to welcome him with open arms.

The Man thrust the holy weapon through the plagued heart of the prophet.

Sides heaving, the Man let the sword drop, forgotten, from his fingers. Anger continued to pound within him, seeking outlet At his feet, he saw the land accept the blood of it’s prophet. The man turned to the woman, and saw her holding up the child. Whether in supplication, sorrow, or for sacrifice he was unsure. He approached the woman holding out his arms to accept her offer.

As he took the child in one arm, he looked into the eyes of the woman kneeling before him. The same madness of this land swirled around her eyes, widened to look at all, but never seeing what lay before her.

With babe in one hand, the Man grasped her shirt in the other. Moments later the woman’s wide eyes looked upon the ground of the canyon bottom. It rushed up to meet her and embrace her end. To the end, she never did see the truth as it was laid out before her.


Atop the cliff, the Man returned to the dropped weapon besides the prophet’s corpse. Anger left him, and he found no pleasure in his actions atop the bluff. Babe in one hand, he cleaned the sword upon the rags of the people’s prophet. He loathed to touch the corpse even to that extent.

As the Angel approached the bluff, realization of what lay behind him dawned. Kneeling before his guided, he turned sword and babe both to the Angel’s care. Then, taking out flint and steel, the Man set light to the rags of the prophet.

After the fire had caught, his Angel placed a hand upon his still kneeling charge. Leaning over, enclosed in the shadow of his wings, the Angel kissed his check.

“May the Lord’s peace be with you.”

The babe was given back into the Man’s care. Rising to his feet, the man carried the babe in his arms and led the Pilgrims onward. Down from the bluff, they followed the path beyond the raging waterfalls and out of the cursed land. Behind them, the fire raged, consuming all that the hungry flames found atop the canyon cliffs. Above them, the sky raged in thunder and lightning of a heat storm.

When he first thought he would be heard over the noise, the Man called back to his Angel. “Let us make haste to find shelter and mercy in the Lord.”

Smiling, the Angel nodded.

The Pilgrims, babe in arm, continued on their journey

A Story of Power – Tales of Earth and Water (Part 3)

This is the third part of a writing in response to the declaration that only men have power, because direct power can over ride indirect power. I find such a statement to be false by means of reductionism to the point of easy half-truths; clouding the eyes to deeper mysteries of how the world works in relation to men and women as individuals and as two sexes created by god. Beyond denying the power of women as nurturers. Thus, you see the response below.

We continue to follow the journey of two Pilgrims, in search of Wisdom by examining the nature of the relationship between land and river. Part two can be read here, and part one here.


Rising from a bed within the monastery, the Man found his Angel standing outside his door.

“Come. We will break our fast upon the road with the bread from last night, for we have much ground to cover. But first, we must receive the blessings of our hosts.”

The two solemnly walked along the arched hallways of the monastery to greet the monks as they came out of morning prayers. Standing to the side, they respectfully waited for the monks procession outwards from the sanctuary. At the end of the procession came the head of the monastery, Father Abbot. He was middle aged man, already showing some pain in his joints, baldness on his head, and a depth of joy in his eyes. Slowly the Father Abbot approached them. As he drew near, the Angel knelt before him. Father Abbot offered his hand and the Angel kissed the ring on his finger.

“Good morning Father Abbot. Two Pilgrims present themselves to thee, desiring thy blessing of our journey and of food to strengthen us. This bread has been held in wait, untouched, and without complaint. We held it at the wisdom of waiting for the Lord’s Will. We give the bread gifted to us back to thee. We do so with hopes that our strength may be multiplied by our act of wisdom and temperance.”

Father Abbot nodded and took the bread, motioning that the Man should kneel beside his Angel. Dipping his fingers in holy water besides the entrance to the sanctuary, he blessed bread, Man, and Angel in the old Latin rites of the Fathers. Taking the bread, he broke it, and switched back to English as he spoke to the Pilgrims.

“Each to be enjoyed in its own time. You know us well, Angel.  And, though I doubt your charge did not desire the bread immediately after such a journey… To display such acceptance of your choice without complaint displays his willingness to learn freedom from pride and put aside desires of the flesh.”

With these words, the Father Abbot broke the loaf in two, reached his fingers into the middle, and pulled out a brass cross upon a leather cord. Kneeling before the Man, Father Abbot gently lowered it over the other’s shoulders. The Father Abbot reached down to tuck the cross below wolfskin cloak and shirt. The Man felt the a grave, solemn weight rest upon him, and a cold shudder ran through his body at the unexpected, cold metal.

Whispering in his ear, the Abbot continued, “Fear not. It is the cross of our order’s founder. Each thing in its proper time. Our monks and their prayers will be with you all through this day. May our Lord’s peace be with you.”

With these words, the Abbot kissed the Man’s cheek. Warmth and comfort radiated from the Father Abbot’s goodwill, overwhelming the Man. While still feeling the burden placed upon him, the consolation made it a joy to bear. Recognizing the affects, the Abbot chuckled. “Forgive me, for I must put one more burden upon these, but only momentarily.” Placing his hands upon the Man’s shoulders, the Abbot pushed himself to his feet. “Now I tell thee: Make haste, O’ Pilgrims, and Godspeed. Let nothing prove to delay thee.”


Passing through the dawn of a sleepy town, no man was on the streets to pause and greet the Pilgrims. A few called to the Angel from windows, but brusque waves of a wing without a look were all the acknowledgment he gave them. The citizens understood the priorities of a holy mission, and counted themselves blessed all the same.

Beyond the confines of the town, the two entered into a wide valley. The valley and riverbed showed obvious signs of labor long past. Rock faces had been hewn off, the river bank had been widened, and rocks that had likely been within the river looked to have been dislodged and pulled to the side.

Rather than the usual silence, the Angel startled his charge by speaking upon their surroundings.

“What you see is the labor of the monks behind us. This land is lies within their protection and guidance. It was here that the stones were drawn from the mountain. To get them down river they had to widen the river bed. Otherwise the water would have gone too swiftly for them to safely guide the stones down river. Widening the river brought forth the need to remove rocks from the shallower waters. It was a particularly rough river to begin with, so this challenge was no insignificant feat.”

“Yet completing the task also gave the monks the stones to further protect their lands. They drew the rocks up river and crafted them to serve as a border and to hold back what lies beyond. Many dedicated men and beasts of burden had to be put to task to so protect their lands from what lies before us, while simultaneously avoiding the errors we have already seen in our journey. Behold the fruits of their labors.”

Before the two Pilgrims lay a stretch of river that would have resembled an old, mortarless wall had it been vertical. Instead, it was a horizontal stretch of rocks strewn across the river bed for a hundred yards, broken up every 25 yards by arching bridges across the river. The bridges were behind particularly nasty groups of rocks. Mid way along the each side of the cataracts was a great bonfire. The Man couldn’t fathom the reason why the monks would desire a stretch of rapids that would impede those from above traveling down, then break it up with multiple bridges back and forth.

Movement beyond the monk designed rock way caught his eye.

Clad in their traditional garb of a brown cassock, two monks wrestled with the small, twisted remains of a tree. They appeared to be attempting to get it out of the water. One turned and shouted at the other, unheard over the rush. The second nodded, and after a few seconds both released the tree.

At this point, the Man saw the display of power and rush of the water beyond the monks’ creation..

The tree was swept along the furious water way towards the rocks. Twisting and bobbing with the current, it’s mad journey was ended with a dash upon the rocks. From the sides of the river, two other monks carefully stepped along walk ways until they found a place they could use long hooks to drag the remains ashore. From there each took remains of the tree to the bonfires, and tossed the wood upon the flames.

The Man shuddered.

He knew now that the monks had not been struggling to wrestle the tree out, but to put the tree back in. Rather than labor more themselves, they would let the river throw it’s evil deliverance upon the land they’d cultivated to such protective purpose below. As it passed over and through the protective structure, the water was greatly slowed. By the time it reached the much wider river bed below, the speed of the water was manageable and all debris had been caught. Such work was drastic in scope. Such maintenance of clearing debris by the monks must have taken at least a week of labor, every month, depending on how much the river spewed forth. It also could not have been without occasional accident.

What powers and evils could possibly lay within the land ahead that nothing, not even the remains of dead trees, was allowed to pass?


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A Story of Power – Tales of Earth and Water (Part 2)

This is the second part of a writing in response to the declaration that only men have power, because direct power can over ride indirect power. As I stated last time, I find this to deny the reality of existence, and thus distort any interpretation of the Scriptures. Beyond denying the power of women as nurturers, I believe the denial continues the modern trend of devaluing femininity. Thus, you see the response below.

We continue to follow the journey of two Pilgrims, in search of Wisdom by examining the nature of the relationship between land and river. Part one can be read here.


With the rising of the sun the next morning, the Angel shook the Man awake with the sun rise. Shrugging the wolfskin cloak over his shoulders, the two pilgrims set out up river.

Before long, the man began noticing occasional detritus along the river banks. Torn branches, exposed earth, and a lack of small plant growth further up the river banks than would naturally occur. Before long the damage increased, with whole trees uprooted and thrust side ways, roads and paths destroyed, and a single bridge that had collapsed. To the natural damages, the Man also began to notice remains of homes destroyed. Building materials rotting away in the water. Tables and chairs that had been carried down stream; or sometimes simply a chair leg.

What really struck the Man though was the innocence destroyed that he was able to observe. Children’s toys; a teddy bear, a blanket, a cradle over turned. Pictures of grandparents and of newborns. Rarely did he notice anything materially useful beyond stoking a fire.

When he saw the first man, glassy eyed, wandering among the wreckage and picking up anything burnable or remotely useful, he understood why. The scavengers and looters had already gone among the wreckage for anything of immediately value. All that was left was to continue the fires of their camps with what was available and forage what meager existence they could from the few remaining food sources along the river. Such must have proven to be a difficult task, for the Man saw no game in the area having fled hunting in a place lacking of food for the game itself.

Few men had any sparkle of hope or wisdom in their eyes. In such a place there was no haven for rest, no hearth, no home. The best of them had found companionship in hunting animals; yet such was a rare man able to live on his own. Weapons seemed to be rare too; the most advanced being spears and knives crudely wrought from the wreckage. Those able to find weapons and animal companionship still appeared void of hope, yet had a harder look to their eyes. A dispassionate look. Their demeanor cast a shadow across their existence that such men would not trust a single soul if it offered a free meal, and that certainly none were welcome to break bread with these men.

None approached either pilgrim. Man and Angel walked unsought and unmolested through the flooded wastes until they reached the ruins of a city the river had hit.

Immediately upon entering the city the two pilgrims were greeted by women aged and worn by their choices to face the world alone. Such women offered themselves in body to forget the world their choices had crafted for them. They’d made their beds, and had no shame in lying in them. To clear the way, the Angel spread his wings to their utmost. Such strength they had, that the closest were knocked back and the furthest felt the wind move to the depths of their souls. With the passing wind of his wings, such women shook at the feel of righteous contempt for evil passing through them. Realizing neither Man nor Angel could be taken by their pleas, and having nothing else to offer the world, they withdrew, shouting and denouncing the pilgrims until the women could not hear their own words. Pleased and deaf again, the women sought shelter for the evening.

A block further on, these women were replaced by those that came bearing gifts of food, drink, and warmth of company. Ranging from mid twenties to middle aged, they gave the companions words of encouragement on their journey and hinted at hopes they could join the pilgrims, offering to help strengthen them with food and rest if they would come aside and lay their heads down for just a short while. Yet, when the Man reached out for their offered platters of food and drink, his Guide softly laid his hand on the Man’s shoulder and pointed onwards.

“We shall not be diverted from our task.”

When such women heard such ominous words of commitment, their platters trembled. What drew these pilgrims onwards that they could tarry not? Upon hearing of a journey for Wisdom and Power in the name of God, yet with hardships and evil before them; most of the women melted away to enjoy the gifts on their own. The few remaining clung desperately, trying to call out to their children to come from the shadows and join them, and that the Pilgrims should take pity on the fruits of the women’s loins. The women were demanding to be taken along and offering anything. Such was their desperation that they showed themselves to be more caught up by, and yet enjoy their choices less, than the first group of women.

The Angel put his hand out, light shining out from between his fingers to light the faces of women hidden in the shadows of these ruins. Hiding from such lights and ashamed of their appearance, the women stopped such unbecoming displays. With their attention held as such, the Guide motioned the women towards the river. In their hearts, the women knew that such was a denial, for first they must cleanse themselves of the destruction of the city before undertaking a journey of God. By the time they had done so the Pilgrims would have passed beyond the women’s ability to follow in their protection. Sighing, most gave into despair and never ventured towards the water. A small few may or may not have made their way there out of sight of the other women’s judgment.

As the sun set, the two Pilgrims came upon a single woman who carried herself with elegance, class, and haughty demeanor. Gesturing them forwards with authority, she offered them nothing, but spoke when they came close enough to be heard.

“Come Pilgrims. The powerful and brutal Patriarchs of this city desire thy journey to hasten. They see the power of thee, and that they cannot stop thee, but wish thee to hasten. Already you have awoken memories and wrought anger in your wake. All are happy as they are when you are not around. The clock and history may not be turned back, so such desires do them no good.”

“As such, come with me. I will lead thee through my master’s stronghold untouched towards they destination.”

Turning, the woman led the Pilgrims beyond the city. The ruins gave way to a new and well-traveled highway. Such use had it seen that there were already signs of wear upon the fresh asphalt; paint faded and unclear as the road led upwards towards a ruined damn and fortress alongside it. Groups of women seemed to be the only travelers between ruin and fortress.

As the Pilgrims were led through the gates, the Man was astonished by what he saw. Gone was the desolation and desperation below. The first men he saw since entering the city, these were different beasts. They moved with confidence and determination, ignoring the Pilgrims on their journey forwards. The Man immediately saw the reason for such – these men had all the guns, the power, and the strength to take what luxurious goods they desired from the ruins below. While they showed no fraternal bonds, there was room for those that were there, and reason to live and let live while under the power of the master of the fortress. Such women came to them as they desired, stayed to the desire of the men, and fed them the fruits gathered from below by the women and the men who would give to such women for a brief spell of warmth.

Yet, in the end, such women served the pleasures of the few men able to find room in the fortress. When such pleasures were fulfilled, the women were sent below to be replaced at will from the hordes of others to be found willing.

As the Pilgrims passed under the far gate, the Man heard a whistle above him. He began to turn, when he heard a gunshot and dived into the ditch by instinct. A booming laughter overtook the Pilgrims and, as the Man looked up from the dirt, he caught sight of the source. Lifting a glass of amber liquor towards his lips was the fortress baron clothed in the easy power of one who has all the material desires at beck and call. Resting on his arm was the haughty woman whom had led them to the fortress. The baron took his pistol, played at aiming it at the Pilgrims again, yet instead raised it to his forehead in a salute of farewell.  Giggling at the sight, the woman put herself on her toes to kiss her baron’s cheek before leading him back inside.

Calm and unperturbed by the display of arrogance, the Angel came to the Man’s side and helped him gain his feet. Dusting himself off, he joined the Angel on the road. The Pilgrims continued onward.  The man pondered to himself which of the baron and baroness had displayed less of a care for life in their pursuit of personal pleasure.


Upon settling down for the evening at the fire, the Man began to ponder what questions his Guide would ask, and what truths he would reveal, about the two lands they traveled through that day. Sensing his charge’s impatience, the Angel spoke up. “Lay thy head down for the evening. What you are considering two lands are but one, separated only by men but not by the Lord. Tomorrow we journey upwards towards wisdom once more.”


The next day the Pilgrims soon came upon a small, humble water wheel along the river. Leading the Man up to it, the Angel silently pointed towards the simple fashioned gears which harnessed the power of the river to create a water mill with which to grind wheat to flour. Leaving the charge to examine his obsession with power, the Angel quietly went to accept the gift of fresh flour gathered and ground by several surrounding families that tended to and used the mill.

Gathering his charge, the Angel led the Pilgrim forward. Soon they found a large beaver dam, built by a in a location where there would have been a small pond even before the damn was built. Four families lived along the lake, fishing, hunting, and living off the bounty created by the water and land surrounding. Kneeling down at the lake front, the Angel took two fish from a trap, leaving a sharp steel knife along the bank in return for the bounty of the family.

Towards the end of the day, the Pilgrims came to a massive, ancient, man-made damn overlooked by a monastery. Knowing the Angel would wish to show him something there, the Man was curious what kind of power would belong to Holy Men such that an Angel would take heed.

As they entered, the Angel gave the gifts of fish and flour to the monk that greeted them, bowed, and then wrapped arms and wings around his charge. Lifting him in his arms, the Angel took his charge in flight to the roof of the monastery. From the bell tower, the area around the lake proved to be multiple villas connected by common good, common commerce, water, roads, and way of life.

Set beside what made such possible was the Monastery in which the Man rested, withdrawn from the world as at his island from which he began. From his vantage he could see that the road to the Monastery was well traveled, old, but served to bring any requiring sanctuary, advice, and guidance to those faithful monks below. Lovingly set along the roadway were several benches and a well that any too weak to make it without rest could find sustenance.

Taking in all below him took some time, but eventually the man felt confident. Smelling the dinner of fresh fish and bread cooking below, he turned to his guide, “Might I ask a favor? I would profit from the rest and view if we ate and discussed the journey here, rather than below or further on. Nor, I admit, do I wish to disturb the peace of our hosts, knowing how I would view such imposition on the island.”

Smiling benevolently, the angel took to wing, leaving the man to his thoughts.

Turning and comparing the land before him to what he had seen on his journey, the man gathered his impressions and insights of the power men had channeled by taking advantage of natural areas where land and water met that could lead to the storing of power. To do so without significantly slowing the flow of the river to a stop, as he had seen in the swamp and the plains, seemed to be the point.

His Guide returned, bearing fresh cooked fish, bread, and a skin of what turned out to be brown ale brewed by the monks below. The Angel handed him only the fish and bread. Put out at being denied fresh bread, he laid aside such concerns to eat the fish before him. When he had finished the fish and there was only the ale and the discussion before them, the Angel began.

“Tell me, what did you see of the powers within the land and the river behind us?”

“I saw that the land can create ways in which to channel the water to specific ends. This day we first passed families that had put this modest river towards making their bread. The land aligned naturally for them to do so, actually. The solid foundation along the river allowed men to prosper merely by placing the water wheel along the rivers path, forcing the water to obey their will for flour before it could pass.”

“The second dam we passed today was much as the first, only more so. Instead of merely harnessing the movement of the water, the water was naturally stopped by the beaver dam. The men, by allowing this natural dam to continue, did not slow the over all flow of the river but merely stopped it along it’s journey towards the sea for a time brief enough to allow fishing and other means to sustain their families. This occurred more easily than the toil along the planes when the river itself was slowed for miles upon miles, needing such labor and fortitude as you led me to understand. The men could have attempted to do so if they wanted to have a man-made dam, but likely saw it as a waste of effort since the land could not have held enough water for their efforts to be beneficial.”

“This last dam we currently overlook, and the one we passed after the destroyed city, you clearly want me to compare. Each was built near a city. Each had a large dam holding back water in a land large enough to create a lake. Each was overlooked by a group of men. One was destroyed and swept away by a flood when the damn burst, and this one we overlook would die of drought should the same occur.”

“From what I can see, the only difference is in the type of men placed in charge of the dam. The first city erred in putting militant thugs in charge, and this second has placed holy men in a place of defense of the public good. Clearly enough, each had the power to bring life or death, prosperity or woe, to those dependent upon them. Thus, under the watch of men, the land forces the water to collect to the benefit of families and growth or to release floods or droughts upon the populace. “

“I understand that your desired answer, what you want me to say, is that in some way the water has power in these situations too. But Angel, I honestly do not see how! The water goes where it must, and does what it must, in order to reach the sea. Without the land and works of men or beast to hold it back, it would not collect and store up strength for families. Nor would it make flood or drought possible at the hands of men. I come to the end of my thoughts that all you have shown me has only strengthened my original convictions when, much to my shame, I know you see things otherwise.”

The Angel smiled.

“Ah, such honesty as when you began our journey where the river met the sea! Take heart, I believe we two Pilgrims will find answers and God’s Truth yet! For fear not, the answer lies within pasts, and hints of possibilities you yourself saw.”

“The first dam was not, originally, a dam. Originally it was a wide, lazy waterfall beyond which lay a lake of depth and beauty. The waterfall brought water down the river, allowed washing, and had at points in the past been put to various uses, much as the mill we first passed was. Meanwhile, fishing and gathering took place at the lake.”

“However, after several years of drought the lake did not reach high enough for the waterfall to give water to those in the city below. The men of the city put themselves forth in great works of ingenuity and hard work to carefully create a pipe line down from the lake that would not drain the lake, but would still bring forth the water needed for life.”

“This, however, was not enough for their women. You see, even with the pipe there was the drought, and all were forced to practice wise use of their resources rather than life in the previous luxury. When the drought finally passed, prosperity returned, and the town boomed with population; they took up complaints with the men. They never wanted to face such danger again. They wanted a way to store up water for use on command.”

“They wanted to destroy the beautiful waterfall they were given in order to bring the safe, reliability of a man made dam.”

“Most men wanted nothing to do with the sort. They liked the beauty, they liked the benefits they already had, and they had heard old tales of dams that destroyed the wildlife around them by killing animals inadvertently or by a failing dam flooding the city below.”

“The women would have none of it. They called the men cowards and children. The women did so despite the men’s willingness to courageously face the dangers they knew, and hesitancy to face complicated problems they knew they couldn’t foresee.”

“Yet, there was a group of men more than happy to take the women at their word. Such men were called noble. Real men. They were heaped with the praise of women and the rewards that come with that praise of feminine companionship. Eventually enough men grew lukewarm in their defense of the natural beauty to allow the outspoken to do as they willed.”

“Such men raised the dam you saw. And when it came time to decide who would oversee the dam and how they would do so, the ones who built it claimed ownership of it. Such was logical as well as popular with all who had decided to build it.”

“Then came another time of trail. Crying out for the release of water, the women demanded the same goods to use as before, and went to the men that could give it to them. Rather than portion out the water wisely, the men opened the flow beyond what the dam was able to bear, leading to its destruction. As the men, not good men but not angels, saw what their actions wrought, they gave into temptation.”

“In the chaos that followed, the men with guns and power grabbed all the guns and power available. Meanwhile, families and homes that had been swept down stream tried to pull themselves together. The men came back to find their means to do so gone. The women found the men of the fortress making demands of them for protection and access to the only water that was clean in the wake of the flood. They gave in willingly.”

“In contrast to that, where we sit was built up slowly. First there was only the monastery here atop a bluff, with a single family of fishermen that lived below the bluff and along the river. Over time though, there came more holy men to the monastery, and more families that drew near to the benefits of living near such men of self reliance, temperance, and character that also had a ready source of life nearby in the river.”

“Very quickly, a simple river was unable to provide enough for the families gathered. Under the directions of the monks, the first damn here was built. A small, humble bridge that did not even raise the water level to displace any one family’s way of life. Yet still, the community grew. Ten years later, the monks found a way to build upon the original dam, and did so with continual growth in mind.”

“They found a way to harness the land and the water to provide the most benefit for the strengths of each. Where, as you saw at the beaver dam, there was little ability to further increase the land’s ability to hold water back and create life, in this area there was both more land and stronger flow of water. Rather than several families, we have several small towns here around the lake. Each family was drawn here originally, or created here in prosperity, by the benefits of the land, the water, and the guidance of the monks. This area has faced the same droughts and trials as the city down river did, for it too had to ration it’s desire for water and travel with buckets down to the river and back upwards for water in their homes. Yet they put their Hope in the monks, who found ways to gather more water, use more land, and waste less of each.”

“As you can see, the bridge is old now. Generations old, crumbling, leaking, and in need of repair. It cannot be further built upon until such repairs are made. Despite the warmth you would be greeted with by the monks, it is a cause of grave concern should the dam give in and break. Such a tragedy would lead to the death of all ways of life here and the dispersement of the towns dependent upon such life. Yet the monks faithfully toil, and gladly invite wise leaders of the community in joining them, to find a solution. They believe, and hope, and pray right now that a possible solution has been found as they review it among themselves. If so, it will lead to another growth of the area with an improvement to the old ways, harnessing the water into electricity which this region has lacked.”

“Should their Faith, Hope, and Love for God and each other persevere, they may succeed. It is not my place to say if such will be so.”

At this, the Angel’s speech stopped, and the man sighed at the sad fate of a way of life destroyed, should the towns fail to find a solution among themselves. Yet, after such mournful thoughts, he turned his mind back to his quest for wisdom. Brow knit, he weighed the words of an Angel against what he saw before him.

“Forgive me, Angel, for my impertinence. I still stand by my claims – the power still lies within the land. For the land has the ability to control water. I will admit that now I see that it is necessary to find the guidance of men to ignore the ignorant while also controlling the water against it’s natural inclinations, and that they must do so with the help of the land. Thus the land has the power, and must openly ignore the desire of water and the sway of fearful mortals both. The ability to do so is where the power lies.”

The Angel shook his head, “Do you not see where, eventually, the land and those that govern it’s use must take into account the flow of the water in all things? That, no matter how the land and the governor of the land uses it, water itself has a power that will be ignored only at the peril of all involved? To the evils of the men and women of the first town, the Lord’s words would be thus, ‘Come down and sit in the dust, O virgin daughter of Babylon; sit on the ground without a throne, O daughter of the Chalde’ans! For you shall no more be called tender and delicate. Take the millstones and grind meal, put off your veil, strip off your robe, uncover your legs, pass through the rivers. Your nakedness shall be uncovered, and your shame shall be seen. I will take vengeance, and I will spare no man. Our Redeemer – the Lord of hosts is his name – is the Holy One of Israel.’ [Isaiah 47:1-3]”

“And, to the bounty of the monks here, his words would ring of these praises, ‘For I will pour water on the thirsty land, and streams upon the dry ground; I will pour my Spirit upon your descendants, and my blessings on your offspring. They shall spring up like grass amid waters, like willows by flowing streams. This one will say, ‘I am the Lord’s’ [Isaiah 44:3-5]”

The Man shuddered as the Word flowed from the Angel’s lips, “So ignore and condemn the first kinds of people. That does not mean one should avoid the use of power, nor does it give power to the water. All it does is confirm that the land has the power, and that men of wisdom should be place over the governance of the land.”

The Angel moved its wings upwards, in a way that reminded the Man of how he had scattered women in the city with a sweep of his wings, but also of a very human shrug of nonchalance at a threat that did not concern it. “Tomorrow we will start the next leg of our journey. Afterwards, we will see if you believe the same.”


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This is a break from the usual fare of this blog. I usually keep strictly to Godly Masculinity in relation to mere masculinity lacking in any communion with God or God’s Will.

However, a blogger named Free Northerner took up the view that only men have power as a class, that power in public sphere’s belongs only to men. His belief seems to stem from the fact that direct power, often used best by men, being able to override the indirect power more often used best by women, means indirect power is of no consequence. Such a view puts power in the hands of women as helpmeets, managers of house holds, and nurturers of the life under headship for good or ill. Such a view inherently sets itself at odds with reality and, thus, distorts any understanding of Christian teachings.

Obviously this strikes a chord within me and has compelled me to write what follows. A story of a journey towards Wisdom written by myself, published one part each day until we reach the spring and source of the Wisdom for which we search.

Thus, with this humble writing I attempt to lead myself towards wisdom under the direction of God, inviting you readers to join me, dispute, object, agree with, tear down, or build upon as you will.


A View from Afar

In dark days there was a man whom saw the world was beset against him. In silent fury of hatred and loud proclamations of desire towards progress the world raged. The man began to see that the world’s goal would require him to lay down his life for a cause that despised him. Taking heed of his impending doom, he withdrew from danger to an island with the intent to gain knowledge on power with which he could resist the world.

From his island the Man was able to study the world dispassionately. On his island he had tombs of knowledge, piles of books, and a wealth of cold, hard facts at his disposal. He had no access to the warmth of Life and Love, for such was shut off to him upon his island by the world. In truth, he desired such and yet knew his life required avoidance of such by the need to retreat from the world to avoid his impending doom.

So the man did the best he could. He studied the ways of old. He looked to his fathers, the fathers of fathers. He looked to the writings of history. He studied what made the victors strong. He studied the thoughts and deeds of men that came before him.

In short, the man studied the history of the strong men with ability to write, projected present modern thoughts and prejudices against the world that expelled him upon the past. Rather than study the past itself, which was shut off to him on his island, he did what he was able. He began to see a pattern within the pages, a glimmer of truth on power. Gaining boldness, he cried out his truth to heaven:

“Oh Lord, I begin to see how you have structured the world! I see that all power stems from the ability to force the world to the will of the individual directly! All power comes from the end of a gun!”

Taking heed to such cries, the Lord sent down a messenger of to the Man

“Be not afraid, mortal! I am but a messenger of God, sent through Love of you, his creation. He has seen your labors, allowed your search, gifted you with knowledge and the ability to understand it. Now, he has heard your cry. He has seen you have grasped a truth of this world, and wishes me to lead you onwards. We will make a journey with the goal that your truth, the truth you grasp of this world, may blossom into a piece of wisdom. Such wisdom will be found of such power that it is a part of the foundation on which the World and the Heavens are set. Should you set out with me full of Faith, Hope, and Love, you may gain such wisdom that you might be able to conquer your enemies for all eternity.”

Trembling from this visitation, the man fell to his knees and forced a whisper past his lips, “Give me wisdom on the nature of power, that I might do our Lord’s Will, and conquer our enemies for all eternity.”

With words of kind re-assurance, the angel replied, “Stand and gather thy strength. We face not enemies of steel nor feats of strength, but darker things. We will journey along a river, observing the powers of the land and of the water as set forth by God, that we might push aside the inner demons that dwell within the hearts of all. Eternal victory will only be had by expelling the darkness of men’s souls that brightness might shine forth from their eyes. With the power of God cast upon darkness, it will be expelled for eternity.”

When standing and placing his faith in the Lord, the man felt a power enter him. He knew that along this journey towards God’s Truth, his feet would easily traverse whatever obstacles came before him. Mountains, swamps, river rapids, valleys, and deserts; none would be able to hold him back from coming closer to God.


And thus emboldened and empowered by Faith, man and Angel set out across the sea.


In the silent journey across the waters of the sea, the man gathered what knowledge and wisdom he had gained through his studies, so as to prepare for what God was sending forth to him. Shortly before they reached the mouth of the river, the Angel broke the silence.

“Here, at the mouth of the river, we begin our quest. Tell me, what do you know of the river water and the land here where the river meets the sea? What powers do they have upon the sea below our feet?”

Not fully sure what the angel was searching for in such vague questions, the Man thought for a bit before speaking honestly, “Angel, I fear I do not know. For as far as I can see what is before me, the river has ended, as has the land. I see no power they hold over the sea.”

With a benevolent look brightening his face, the Angel responded. “Such humble acknowledgement does thee well, and unknown to thee the answer strikes at the root of wisdom for the start of our journey. For you see, you are correct. No matter how mighty the land nor how powerful the river, they have very little influence upon the mighty sea. The fresh water that can bring life to man mixes with the salt of the sea, becoming undrinkable to man until God makes it fresh once again. The land ends, extending not beyond it’s power, and what the river has carried of the land’s goods till the end is deposited to form the foundation of the world below the sea and beyond the eyes of men, until the power of God raises the floor of the sea to the light to be seen and put to use again by men. But that is generations of men away. Yet for all that their power has ended, the end of land and the water make a fragile life where such fish that need sea water and river water both can dwell. Such mammals who dwell within the ocean can come breed new life along the sand banks of land which the waves of the sea have created by the slow toil against the hard pride before them.“

“Thus we see, at the beginning of our journey that starts at the end of land and river, God uses all that we are about to face for His glory. Be what lies before us either good or ill, and I tell you now we will see plenty of each, in the end all the goods of this world will be left behind when the power of this world fades. The life and death up river is forgotten. Only what has endured to the end is used. When powers fade, such fruits as are left are to be used by God.”

Resuming their quiet walk towards the mouth of the river, the point where the river met the ocean was nearly out of sight behind them before the man paused, turned around, and took in the land he had left behind him. He made note to himself to keep the lesson in mind so as to gain perspective towards what he was about to face. He nearly spoke such thoughts to his guide, but upon turning to do so he found that his guide had not waited when he paused, but continued along further without him.


Hastening his steps, he fell in beside his Angel to see what there was to see.

The footsteps of the two pilgrims swiftly took them forward along the river. Before him, the man saw the river slowly sweep between two hills that blocked sight of what lay beyond. Rather than follow the river directly, the Angel led him to the top of one of the two hills, seeming to desire his charge to view the land he was about to enter. As the pilgrims approached the top, a putrid stench arose from the water. Turning to view the river, the Man saw the water had turned black and brackish, slowing while laden with the rotten remnants of what lay ahead. The land around the water tenuously held on to life, given little nourishment but faithfully clinging on with little choice otherwise. Topping the hill, the man gained sight of what caused such hardship behind him.

The Angel led him downward into the fetid swamp.

As he descended, the Man took in the land surrounding the swamp. He saw this land was surrounded by hills, creating a wide stretch of land in which the water had no direction, forcing the water to slow and languish. The soft earth took in the water and formed dangerous sink holes for the unwary. The land also blocked out the light by the hills around it for most of the day, allowing only the growth of plants which could thrive in such little light while making home in such a perpetually damp and dank land.

Of animals the Man saw few but the scurrying of little rodents here and there, making what life as they could while openly upon the water he saw snakes, insects, and heard the calls of a few birds that would prey upon all. Yet he could sense darker strengths beneath the waters, stirring up water occasionally without making themselves openly seen. In time the Angel led the Man to where the river met the swamp, descending from the hills the Man had saw when first descending. As the pilgrims passed under the last dark, twisted tree of the swamp, the man heard a deep cough echoed from above him. Startled, the Man looked up and saw a large, black cat with golden eyes that was currently lazing among the branches of a tree, watching their progress with knowing eyes. In those eyes the man saw a lazy maliciousness and disdain for the pilgrims, and he knew the beast would not have attacked him even without the Angelic guide at his side. The beast was used to slower, easier prey and had no use for someone traveling through its land, without threat. It yawned, stretched, and then slinked away into the swamp it called its home as they continued up river.

As the Angel led him towards the top of the hills leading out of the swamp, the man pondered, wondering what question the Angel would stop to ask of him on the lands behind him, so obviously caught within a deep, slumbering power of the hills which they were currently climbing. Yet his Angel never stopped, but merely continued onward. Rather than try and stop his guide, the Man eagerly put the land he despised behind him, hoping the discussion would take place in clear, open air at the top of the hill where he could clearly see the powers of the land that they had left behind during the discussion.

Yet, as they reached the top, all thoughts of what lay behind left the Man as the Angel led him not to what was the top of a hill as the man had assumed, but to the beginning of an alluvial plain that stretched out before him before its descent into what had lain behind.

As he journeyed along the plain, the Angel showed him small works of men undertaken with great toil. The land which naturally slowed the water to deposit good soil upon the banks of the river had additional work placed upon it. Irrigation had been dug, farms raised, herds grazed, and families made. Plant and animal life beneficial to man had made its home here along the banks of the river as wild herds came for water, but served also for food for beast and man both.

The clearing away of wild trees and plants gave great panoramic views of the land. In the two days it took the pilgrims to cover the ground of the plain, The Man could see men of the plain toiling to keep their way of life alive. They did so by working the land and fending off wild animals whom would prey upon them. Such animals did their best to sneak upon the herds of man, but with little cover given to them by land or river were only able to successfully do so occasionally, and only by night. Much more often, the faithful sheepdogs and men would persevere to save their flocks.

During this time the Man was acknowledged by the people there, but only as they took brief respite from their labors for celebrations of their gains. He could see in their eyes that they viewed him much in the same light they viewed the animal predators; with respect at the open strength of power honestly revealed and acknowledged. They viewed him the same as a wolf that made no pretenses as being anything other than a wolf.

As they left the land, an elderly man worn down by the trials of life approached the Angel. Bowing, he offered a wolfskin cloak, bread, and wine to the Angel that the Man in his charge might gain strength and wisdom along their journey.


Pausing that evening;

the Angel called fire down for them to pause and rest at, that the Man might be asked questions and find answers.

“Tell me, what do you see of the powers within the land and the river now behind us?”

“I saw the power of the land to slow the river in order to bring life. That too slow and the land will allow a dark, quiet power to take root and overgrow the land. Little light was let in, and the most plentiful beasts were the small ones and large predators which preyed upon them. Yet, even in the slow power of the land along the alluvial plains, much toil was required in order to fruitfully bring the best life to the land. It too, was a quiet power, but an honest one where everyone could see and know all of his neighbor’s goods and evils but those within the most hidden life of the home.”

The Angel nodded silently. The Man allowed a self satisfied smile cross his lips at the Angelic approval, yet at that point the Angel spoke again, “You see truly of what is there now, though not completely. The Slothful nature of the swamp allows much evil to be hidden beneath the depths, but it is a land honest about not being bothered to enough to care to labor in bringing such evil to the light. In the same manner, it also hides the good deeds of those that industriously labor against it, which you were unable to perceive.“

“Truthfully, I will tell you they labor in vain of success in the swamp, but their labor is all that allows the river to continue beyond the swamp and into the ocean. Indeed, once the swamp was a hidden glen, with the river entering one end, bringing quiet and beautiful bounty to the whole land within the glen. Men there were able to find peace from the world, free of strife beyond the necessary quiet and mild strife of men contemplating the mysteries of the world. Yet men grew lazy in their worldly labors, disdaining them in favor of solely focusing upon contemplation, and slowly let plants grow along the river which impeded their access to the water. The glen had fruits in abundance, and several springs at that time, so what need have they of the river?”

“Soon though, the river grew slow, stagnant, and began to expand beyond it’s traditional banks. The men shrugged and let the river do it’s will. What change could such bring to their lands they asked themselves. They had not the tools nor the inclination to clear the river. Such folly was their downfall, for they soon found that the river was growing too foul to drink, and that the same water was the source of the springs. The men grew sick, grew weaker, and more slothful. The river became the swamp you now see, and what men were able turned up river to the men whose rewards of labor you currently are enjoying. Such men of Fortitude accepted only a small group of women and children, but turned away the rest. For in the open of the plains the men who lived there could see their lives allowed not enough bounty to feed such men that had squandered even the easiest of gifts to maintain.”

“A small share of their fortitude has been given to you in this lasting hide of a wolf to cloak you in warmth during this journey, and the bread and wine that will strengthen your body and mind.”

“I tell you these things that you might gain in the wisdom of what has passed before, which has not been written upon the land for eyes now to see. The words of Isaiah to the wicked and slothful can be as such, “For thus says the Lord, who created the heavens (he is God!), who formed the earth and made it (he established it; he did not create in a chaos, he formed it to be inhabited!): ‘I am the Lord, and there is no other. I did not speak in secret, in a land of darkness; I did not say to the offspring of Jacob, ‘Seek me in chaos.’ I the Lord speak the truth, I declare what is right.” [Isaiah 45:18,19] Meanwhile, those who stand fast in righteous, the Lord says through His same prophet, “I form light and create darkness, I make well-being and create woe, I am the Lord, who do all these things. Shower, O heavens, from above, and let the skies rain down righteousness; let the earth open, that my salvation may sprout forth, and let it cause righteousness to spring up also; I the Lord have created it.” [Isaiah 45:7,8]

“Continue in your speech and observations Man. You have seen and been told the power of the Land. What of that of the River?”

The Man paused, startled by his Angel’s question. “What do you mean? I have answered that question already. The land slowed the river to to well balanced flow in one river, and yet the land slowed the river far too greatly in another. Not being able to do aught else but heed the land’s commandment, the river had no power but to stay at the beck and call of the land.”

The Angel’s face took upon it a hint of mourning. Shaking his head, he told the man, “Tomorrow we will start the next leg of our journey. Afterwards, we will see if you believe the same.”


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Masculine Power and Embracing your Masculinity

Thy Will Be Done

Righteous Action and Character – The Virtues


Further Reading by Others

Free Northerner’s original post, and one clarifying what he means by class. I’ve already made comments at each and with this post. Take from it what you will.

At Veritas Lounge there are two good posts, also written as critiques against the statement that all true power is direct power. The first is one is on The Varities of Power, and the second is addressing how reductionist views are misleading when comparing tendencies in the relations between men and women as they relate to modern views, classical philosophy, and theology.