A matroneum (Latin - earlier also matronaeum; plural: matronea or matronaea) in architecture is a gallery on the interior of a building, originally intended to accommodate women (whence the derivation from "matron")

 

Later , churches "matronea" lost their function of accommodation and became purely architectonic elements, placed over the side aisles with the structural purpose of containing the thrust of the central nave, and came to consist solely of bays so placed.

 

Constructed on the same unstable sand as the Tower, the Baptistry (as well as the Cathedral) leans 0.6 degrees toward the cathedral

 

Acoustic inside the Baptistery is striking, due to its shape the building is a perfect resonating chamber giving incredibly long lasting echoes

 

_____

 

8 landscape HDR shots stitched vertically

Forest of resonating lamps

My Immortal

 

I love you

 

"I'm so tired of being here

Suppressed by all my childish fears

And if you have to leave, I wish that you would just leave

'Cause your presence still lingers here and it won't leave me alone

 

These wounds won't seem to heal

This pain is just too real

There's just too much that time cannot erase

 

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears

When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears

And I held your hand through all of these years

But you still have all of me

 

You used to captivate me by your resonating light

Now I'm bound by the life you've left behind

Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams

Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me

 

These wounds won't seem to heal

This pain is just too real

There's just too much that time cannot erase

 

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears

When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears

And I held your hand through all of these years

But you still have all of me

 

I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone

But though you're still with me

I've been alone all along

 

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears

When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears

And I held your hand through all of these years

But you still have all of me"

forest of tadasu @kyoto shimogamo shirine

Resonating bowl on your feet and at the top of your head will make you feel a state of pure bliss. Experience it in Nepal.

Venture deep into the heart of the Sahara, where the enigmatic Tuareg tribe, also known as 'the blue people', illuminates the vast desert with their vibrant attire. 'Shadows and Sands' unveils the captivating life of a smaller Bedouin camp, nestled amidst the endless dunes. Here, the rich blues of the Tuaregs robes contrast starkly against the golden sands, creating a visual symphony that resonates with the spirit of the desert. Experience the interplay of light and shadow, as the sun sculpts the landscape throughout the day, transforming it into a realm of mystique and wonder by night. The series offers a window into the unique culture of the Tuareg, their traditions, their vibrant life under the Saharan sun, and the magical nights under a canopy of stars.

 

Poem

In Sahara's heart, where sands and skies entwine,

Dwells the Tuareg tribe, in blue robes so fine.

A sea of dunes, golden, vast, and wide,

Whispers stories of a world, hidden inside.

 

Targi and Targia, under the sun's fiery gaze,

Their indigo hues, through the desert blaze.

In this land of silence, where time slows its pace,

They move like shadows, with elegance and grace.

 

As day gives way to the blanket of night,

Stars twinkle above, in the soft moonlight.

The campfire flickers, casting a warm glow,

Dancing flames narrate tales of long ago.

 

In this oasis of life, where dreams are sown,

The Tuaregs laughter, in the winds is blown.

Their eyes, like jewels, reflect stories untold,

In the heart of the desert, bold and bold.

 

In the shadows and sands, their legacy thrives,

A testament of resilience, through countless lives.

In the rhythm of the desert, they find their song,

In the vast Sahara, where they belong.

 

Haiku

Blue robes in the sands,

Tauren whispers at night,

Desert stars alight.

For Victorians, the wheat sheaf symbolized abundance, fertility, and the cycle of life and death. Often used in funerary art, it represented the harvest of a well-lived life, suggesting that death was not an end but a gathering of the soul after a fruitful existence. The motif also reflected Christian ideals of resurrection and eternal life, resonating deeply in an era preoccupied with mortality and spiritual meaning.

Bowen Island, BC

British Ceramics Biennial 2015, Stoke on Trent

 

'A large-scale monumental clay head by Stephen Dixon. Made using two tons of raw clay, including clay sourced from the WWI battlefield sites of Passchendaele, the sculpture is based on the Victory Medal of 1919.

...

In recognition of the 5,608 men from the North Staffordshire Regiment who died during the 1914-18

war, a swathe of 5,608 white bone china flowers [is] included within the installation.'

A very old photo of one of my ex girlfriends. I remember this being a rough day with a lot of walking; my entire body was aching from the exhaustion. It's kind of nice to be able to recall such things five and a half years later.

 

I think I would like to do more people photography. It doesn't resonate well with my workflow, but I guess that's a small price to pay, right?

[2010]

scanned collage

all images used are mine.

Hayley Williams from Paramore in concert.

I woke up not well.

 

Maybe, not ill. But not right.

 

During the night I had got so hot I couldn't sleep with any covers on, so had a broken night's sleep/snoozing.

 

I took a COVID test which was negative, and apart from feeling tired I didn't feel that ill, to be honest. I should have my temperature taken. We looked for one, and couldn't find the one we though we had.

 

No worries, we were going to Tesco.

 

And after seven, we left for the store with the added item to the list. Now, you would think thermometer would be in the medicine aisle near the chemists counter? Well, I did, and searched and searched.

 

No thermometer.

 

So, waited to eight when the dispensary opened, asked the lady, who told me that thermometers are kept in the "baby" aisle.

 

Of course?

 

THere was the choice of one. So, bought that for £14, and once home found that it was more of a cooking thermometer, we tried to use it on ourselves, with me being 36 degrees, and Jools being one degree cooler.

 

I didn't want breakfast, so after a second coffee we went out.

 

We should have gone to Rye last week, but I arranged something else instead. So, we went yesterday.

 

Rye means crossing the vast expanse of the Romney Marsh and then crossing at Checkpoint Charlie into East Sussex.

 

We were last here in November 2020, in the middle of COVID where I think we obeyed regulations in place at the time. That time we had the picturesque cobbled streets and half-timbered houses to ourselves, no one else about, and so few folks about, grass grew from between the cobbles.

 

So, no need to take those shots again, but I realised when Jools suggested to go, I hadn't photographed the town church, so with Jools saying she was going to do some window shopping, I would visit St Mary the Virgin.

 

We parked down beside the playing field, so had a walk up the hill emerging on the High Street near the Landgate, then turning towards the centre of town, past restaurants and small shops until I turned up towards the church.

 

I did a resonable job, taking 355 shots inside it, with many being of the fine windows.

 

Jools arrived revealing a bag containing £41.00 of cheese, including a sizeable chunk of Stiking Bishop.

 

I finish the shots, so we go to the pie shop outside the church, Simon the Pieman, where we were going to have a drink. Then added a cake, which turned into a full cream tea.

 

A cream tea is: 2 x scones (each), pats of butter, strawberry jam, clotted cream, a pot of tea, pot of hot water to add to the por after the first cupper is drawn and a china cup and saucer for the tea.

 

Its not as an ancient ceremony as the Japanese or Chinese tea ceremony, but we Brits take it very seriously.

 

Just as serious is whether you put the cream or jam on the sclied scones first. Jam first is the "Devon" way, and cream first is the "Cornish" way. I was taught the Devon way, jam first, so that's what I had yesterday too.

 

The town was beginning to fill up with other visitors, to the point that the pavements were full, so we walked as quick as we could back to the car, back down the hill and over the main road to the car.

 

Back home via New Romney, Dymchurch and Hythe before heading to the motorway and to home.

 

Back home I had a shower and then settled down to listen to the football on the sofa with Scully, who is now very demanding in wanting a partner to lay with during the day and evenings.

 

But there was one last thing to do: Jools's colleague Sean and his wife, Angela, were coming for dinner. They had hear stories about the steaks I cook, and wanted some of that action. On Friday I had made a baked vanilla cheesecake too, so we had dessert too.

 

Steam was defrosted, seasons and rubbed with oil and left for the afternoon to come to room temperature and infuse the flavours.

 

They arrived at five, wine was cracked opn, and bit by bit I prepared, then cooked the meal. Potatoes zapped, mushrooms cliced and seasoned, steak cut into portions, then griddled, while the potatoes were sliced and fried, mushrooms cooked, the all dished up.

 

And all items were done to perfection, served on warm plates and with glasses of wine or cider.

 

We wash up, then I make coffees and serve the cheesecake with cream and fresh mushrooms. A fine end to a meal.

 

More wine was drunk.

 

Much more talking done.

 

-----------------------------------------------------

 

For more than 900 years the Parish Church of Rye, dedicated to St Mary the Virgin, has dominated the hill on which the old town stands.

 

When the building of the present church was started, early in the 12th century, the town itself and much of the surrounding area was still held, under a Royal deed of gift, by the Abbey of Fecamp in Normandy. It is because of this link with Fecamp and the fact that it had become an important member of the Cinque Ports Confederation that Rye has such a magnificent church, which has sometimes been called 'the Cathedral of East Sussex'.

 

The worst disaster in the church's history 1377 when the town was looted and set on fire by French invaders and the church was extensively damaged. The roof fell in and the church bells were carried off to France.They were recovered the next year when men from Rye and Winchelsea sailed to Normandy, set fire to two towns and recovered much of the loot, including the church bells - one of which was subsequently hung in Watchbell Street, to give warning of any future attack. It was not returned to the church until early in the 16th century.

 

The 'new' clock was installed in about 1561-2 and was made by the Huguenot Lewys Billiard. It isone of the church clockoldest church turret clocks in the country still functioning. The pendulum, a much later addition, swings in the body of the church. The present exterior clockface and the original 'Quarter Boys' (so called because they strike the quarters but not the hours) were added in 1760. Today, if you wish, you can climb the church tower where you will see the 8 bells now hanging there. These are not the same bells that were stolen in 1377 as they were re-cast in 1775 and new bells added. The total weight of the 8 bells and clappers is almost 5 tons.

 

St Mary's is open to View South West from the Towervisitors every day of the year, except for Christmas Day, from 9.15am - 5.15pm in summer and 9.15am - 4.15pm in winter. The Visitor Centre stocks a good range of postcards, Christian greetings cards, prayer cards, books, gifts and Christian jewellery. The Tower, which is open every day (weather permitting) for a charge, has become a popular place for marriage proposals!

 

www.ryeparishchurch.org.uk/history.htm

  

It is only a short drive from Wheatacre to Burgh, although down narrow lanes, all single track with passing places, leading aimlessly to I did not know where.

 

I followed the signs to the River Centre, and I hoped the church would be visible from there. The road petered out, but just beyond the boat yards, I could see the church.

 

Now I should say, my good friend, Gary, told me about this bonkers tower of a church that layers could fit into each other. Although that would be impossible, But Gary, like me, is a photographer, and I trusted his judgement that I should check this out. And as life panned out, it was less than a week since he told me that I pulled up outside St Mary, and I saw the tower.

 

But the church itself, overlong and thatched, was stunning, and as ever, I had it to myself The rain continued to fall, but I didn't feel it as I took shots.

 

-----------------------------------------

 

One of the delights of exploring medieval churches is that no two are the same as each other, every single one is different. But, of course, some are more different than others.

The structures that come down to us from the medieval times have been buffetted by the winds of history, but have also been shaped by the eccentricities of the families and individuals that had an influence upon their repairs, extensions and restorations. The gothic forms of the middle ages resonate across all churches of the time; but consensus falls apart in later centuries, especially in that most eccentric of all architectural periods, the late 18th century. Also, this is a time when the use of a church is called into question; when we look at a medieval English parish church today we need to remember that what we are seeing is essentially a Victorian vision of the medieval, not the real thing.

 

Our 18th century ancestors would not recognise the insides of their churches if they came back to them today, with their sanctuaries, benches and coloured glass. The 18th century was a time of low congregations, and the family at the Big House could pretty much run the church their own way, if they had a mind to.

 

The Boycotts of Burgh did. As patrons, they presented their own sons to the living for nearly two hundred years - that is to say, the Boycotts not only owned the place, they ministered to it as well. They made themselves responsible for the repair of the building, which was in rather bad shape by the late 18th century. As was common for the local gentry, they saw the parish church as their mausoleum, but rather than fill the building with elaborate tombs, they built an extraordinary structure onto the base of the ruined tower, thus killing two birds with one stone.

 

The Boycott mausoleum was the work of Samuel Boycott, who in 1793 obtained a faculty to repair and build up the steeple which has long been in a ruinous condition. Can't have been much arguing with that in the Bishop's office, but you wonder if he submitted plans along with it. Probably, there never was a tower. The base is very late medieval, probably early 16th century, and it is likely the tower was never completed before the Reformation intervened.

 

And so, Boycott's folly went up. The little church guide says that it is supposedly based on a church which Samuel's son saw on the Grand Tour in Italy, but observes that it has more in common with the ziggerat temples of Iraq.

 

Beyond, the full length of nave and chancel are thatched, probably from the reed beds that extend across to Suffolk to the east of the church. It is relatively new, the previous roof having been destroyed by fire as recently as 1998.

Inside, all is fairly typical of a high church 1880 restoration, retaining the medieval font with its typically local peasant heads, and, fortunately, the extraordinary pulpit of 1811, again the gift of the Boycotts, emblazoned with their memorial plates in brass. The Marian dedication of the church was probably a result of 19th century enthusiasms. The screen is 20th century. Of more interest are the decalogue boards, once at the east end but now suspended against the west wall - they are huge.

 

Not all the Boycotts became Rectors. Samuel's grandson Charles did not follow his older brother into the ministry, but ended up as a land agent on a vast estate in County Mayo, in Ireland. In the agricultural depression of the1880s, he attempted to enforce rent rises on behalf of the absentee landlord. He became the test case of the Parnellite Land League's attempt to fight such rises. He was shunned by everone in the parish - when his carriage drove by, the people turned their backs on it. Servants refused to work for him. Shops refused to supply him with goods. Nobody spoke to either him or his family for more than a year.

 

Because of the success of the campaign, Absentee landlords refrained from imposing rent rises, and, filled with new confidence, rural support avalanched to republican candidates. Within twenty years, Sinn Fein would be the largest single party in Ireland.

Boycott returned to Burgh a broken man, having already given his name as a new word to the English language. He died here in Burgh, and his simple grave is just to the east of the church, a gentle reminder of the excesses of English colonialism, and more than a footnote in Irish history.

 

Simon Knott, February 2005

 

www.norfolkchurches.co.uk/burghstpeter/burghstpeter.htm

 

-------------------------------------------

 

WHETACRE.

Ralph Lord Bainard, for his services, was rewarded with this town, by the Conqueror, on the expulsion of Toret, a thane of King Edward, and was held by Geffrey under the Lord Baynard; it contained, on the Conqueror's grant, 2 carucates of land, 6 villians, 12 borderers with 2 servi, 2 carucates in demean, and 2 among the tenants, &c. 30 acres of meadow, 2 runci, and 11 cows, &c. 160 sheep, &c. and 6 freemen belonging to the lord's fold, and under his protection, held in King Edward's time 18 acres of land, a carucate and a half, with one acre of meadow; and there were 2 churches endowed with 60 acres, and valued at 5s. and the manor was valued at 30s. but at the survey at 50s. it was one leuca long, and half a leuca broad, and paid 16d. gelt. (fn. 1)

 

Jeffrey, who held it under the Lord Baynard, was a near relation of the Lord Bainard, who held it in capite. Juga, widow of that lord possessed it, and was succeeded by her son Jeffrey. William, his son, taking part with Elias Earl of Maine, in France, and other conspirators against King Henry I. was deprived of his barony of Bainard castle in London, which was granted to Robert, a younger son of Richard Fitz-Gilbert, whose son Walter Fitz-Robert succeeded, and the descendants of Jeffrey abovementioned held it of him; Thomas, son of Robert Bainard, holding it in the reign of Richard I. Robert Baynard had a charter Ao. 12, Edward II. for two fairs and two mercates here.

 

By an inquisition taken at Norwich, on the death of Robert Baynard, (fn. 2) of Whetacre, on April 16, Ao. 4 Edward III. the jurors find that he died seized of a capital messuage of no value, besides the repairs, a pigeon-house valued at 12d. per ann. 180 acres of arable land valued at 4l. 10s. 6d. per acre, 100 acres of salt marsh at 100s. per ann. 20 of gross wood, without underwood, valued at 2d. per acre, a windmill at 20s. per ann. rents of assize payable at Lady-day, Midsummer, and Michaelmas, 6l. 6s. 4d. copyholders days works between Michaelmas and St. Peter ad vincula 10s. and between that feast and Michaelmas 20s. pleas and perquisites of court 10s. per ann. held of the Lord FitzWalter, and Thomas was his son and heir, aged 26.

 

This Thomas Bainard sold this lordship, in the 10th of the said King, to Sir Thomas Rosceline, from whom it came (as may be seen at large in Edgfield) to John Lord Willoughby of Eresby, and from them to Richard Bertue, by the heiress, whose son Peregrine, was Lord Willoughby in his mother's right, and presented to the church in 1602.

 

John Wentworth, Esq. was lord of both manors, and patron of the two churches, September 21, Ao. 16 James I. and Sir John Wentworth was his son and heir.

 

Matthew Bluck, Esq. one of the six clerks in Chancery, was lord in 1675, and in this family it remained, till conveyed to William Grimston, Esq.

 

The Lord Bainard had also the grant of another lordship in this town, of which a freeman of Herold the King was deprived, and consisted of 2 carucates of land, 10 villains, 5 borderers, 4 servi 2 carucates in demean, and 2 among the tenants, &c. with 30 acres of meadow; Robert, son of Corbution, (or Corbun,) claimed it, and had livery. Here was pasture for 200 sheep, 2 runci, 7 cows, &c. 6 bee skeps, 7 freemen under commendation belonged to the lord's fold, with 18 acres of land, 2 carucates and an acre of meadow, valued then at 30s. at the survey at 45s.; this came to the Lord Bainard, by an exchange, and Frankus held it of him. (fn. 3)

 

The ancient family of De Edisfeld or Edgfield, was soon after the Conquest enfeoffed of this lordship, and held it in the reign of Henry II. from whom it came by an heiress, to Sir William de Rosceline, and was held of the Lord Fitz Walter, as in Chatgrave, Edgfield, &c. Sir Thomas Rosceline dying sine prole, it came to the Lords Willoughby, &c. as above.

 

The tenths were 3l. 10s.— Deducted 10s.—Temporalities of Norwich priory 13s. 4d.

 

The temporalities of Langley abbey 3l. 5s. 5d. a manor is said to belong to Whetacre.

 

Here were two churches; one dedicated to St. Peter, a rectory valued at 11 marks, the rector had a manse with 3 acres of land, Peter-pence were, 16d. carvage 4d. ob. This is called Whetacre Burgh.

 

Rectors.

 

In 1301, John Baynard, instituted rector, presented by Lady Joan, relict of Sir Robert Baynard.

 

1304, Thomas Baynard, by ditto.

 

1316, John Baynard, by Sir Robert Baynard. (fn. 4)

 

1325, Gerard de Horstede, by ditto; he is called Esquire of the Laby Roscelyne, went in a lay-coloured habit (veste stragulata) and had not the clerical tonsure.

 

1334 John de La Grene, by Sir Thomas Roscelyn.

 

1355, Mr. William Graa, by Sir William Synthwait, in right of his wife Joan, late relict of John Lord Willoughby.

 

1365, William Malebys, by ditto.

 

1376, Sim. de Kilpesham, by Sir Robert de Willoughby, Lord Eresby.

 

1379, Mr. Robert de Weston, by William Ufford Earl of Suffolk, Sir Roger Scales, Sir Robert Howard, &c.

 

1382, John Sayer, by Robert Lord Willughby.

 

1398, Henry Wodestoke, by ditto.

 

1398, Robert Coucliff, by ditto.

 

1401, William Linchewyk, by ditto.

 

1403, John Burges, by ditto.

 

1414, Richard Facon, by Robert Lord Willoughby.

 

1434, William Themilby, by ditto, in right of the manor of Whetacre.

 

1436, William Castell, by Sir William Tireshit, Richard Yardesburgh, and John Wyles, Esq. feoffees of Robert Lord Willoughby.

 

1444, Henry Bramerton, by Robert Lord Willoughby.

 

1465, John Mareys, by Richard de Wells Lord Willughby.

 

1480, Robert Monger, by Richard Hastings Lord Welles.

 

1500, William Ward, by ditto.

 

1501, William Hantensale, by Sir Richard Hastings.

 

1508, George Washingham, by the Bishop, a lapse.

 

1536, Richard Hill, by Mary Lady Willoughby, widow.

 

1545, Andrew Hawes, by Catharine Dutchess of Suffolk, daughter of William Lord Willughby,

 

1553, Henry Bacon, by Richard Bertier, Esq. of Ormsthorp in Lincolnshire, in right of his wife Catharine.

 

1555, Robert Ullothornes, by the Bishop, a lapse.

 

1556, Henry Hill, by the assignees of William Heronden, a trustee of Richard Bertie, Esq. &c.

 

1602, Edward Stanhawe, by the assignees of Peregrine Lord Willoughby.

 

1618, Christopher Milne, by Euseb. Paget, clerk.

 

1659, Henry Watts, by Ann Melling.

 

Daniel Benton, rector.

 

1669, Phil. Prime, by Thomas Garneys, Esq.

 

1713, Thomas Page, by William Grimstone. Esq.

 

1764, Mr. Samuel Boycot.

 

The present valor is 7l. 6s. 8d. and is discharged.

 

The other church is dedicated to All-Saints. John de Bumstede is said to have had an interest in the patronage, but in the beginning of Edward II. the family of Baynard; the rector had then a beautiful manse, and it was valued at 5l. Peter-pence 12d. carvage 4d. ob.

 

Rectors.

 

1316, Sim. de Berningham, presented by Sir Robert Baynard.

 

Sim. Croppe, rector.

 

1357, William de Merse, by Sir William Synthweit.

 

1360, John Hoppe, by William Ufford Earl of Suffolk.

 

1404, John Draper, by William Lord Willougby.

 

1405, John Goldspring, by ditto.

 

1409, John Tenalby, by ditto.

 

1409, Nicholas Tydd, by ditto.

 

1412, Richard Newman, by Robert Lord Willoughby.

 

1437, Andrew Dean, by ditto.

 

1445, John Annotson, by ditto.

 

1450, William Gilbert, by ditto.

 

1476, John Mareys, by Rich. Hastings Lord Welles and Willoughby.

 

1494, John Hoker, by ditto.

 

1497, Robert Proveyt, L.L. B. by ditto.

 

1510, John Shilton, by William Lord Willoughby.

 

1510, Edward Lamson, by ditto.

 

Nicholas Chamberlin.

 

1522, Thomas Bingley, by ditto.

 

1538, John Thuxton.

 

1539, Nicholas Dade, by ditto.

 

1440, Roger Gavell, by Charles Duke of Suffolk, and Catharine his Dutchess.

 

1555, Mr. William Botiler, by the Bishop, a lapse,

 

1556, Thomas Robinson, by William Herenden, Esq.

 

1557, Henry Hill, by ditto.

 

¶1572, Roger Gavel, by Richard Bertie, Esq. in right of Catherine his wife.

 

1602, Euseb. Paget, by the assigns of Peregrine Bertie; he returned 68 communicants in 1603.

 

1650, Henry Watts.

 

1658, John Morris, by Lady Anne Wentworth.

 

1673, Thomas Lunn.

 

1675, Phil. Prime, by Matthew Bluck, Esq.

 

1713, Thomas Page, by William Grimston, Esq.

 

1715, John Guavas, by ditto.

 

1758, Mr. Christopher Smear, presented by Lynn Smear, clerk.

 

The presented valor, is 6l. 6s. 4d. and is discharged.

 

On a stone, with a brass plate, by the font,

 

Rob'tus London, arcâ, cum conjuge, sacra; Hac fatum subiens, consepilitur humo. Ambo fælices, numerosâ prole beati, Complent hospitio, pacificiq; dies Illa obt. Junij 1620. Ille Oct. 1627,

 

There was an ancient family of the Whitacres, who had an interest in a lordship. (fn. 5)

 

William de Whitacre was found to hold one fee of the barony of Baynard, in this town, in the begining of King Henry the Third's reign.

 

www.british-history.ac.uk/topographical-hist-norfolk/vol8...

Nikon D7100

Nikkor 18-200 mm f/3.5-5.6

f/11 | 1/125 | 82mm | ISO 100

(1) AB800 at 3/4 power in 64" diffused umbrella boomed high above subject, camera right at roughly 45 degrees.

(1) bare AB800 camera left behind subject at 1/4 power for highlight.

Strobes triggered by Cybersync.

 

I recently agreed to help out my nephew by taking head shots for members of his fraternity for use on resumes and on line social media profiles. This is one of the many young people who showed up for the event. Her features and smile really resonated with me, so I took a little extra time with the retouch.

 

THE VIOLIN HAS A NAME THANKS TO YOU AT FLICKR!

Thank you, thank you, thank you! Since my request for names on September 7th, this has been so exciting for me. What creative people you are, but I knew that!!! Your suggestions included names inspired by great, and not so great literature, the history of the violin, an aboriginal word, Gaelic, Chinese, German, Italian and French words, creative play on words, and other original and fascinating suggestions. It was a real treat to read them and then think about them as I played "it". From your suggested names I considered, in no particular order, Hector, Arwen, Nitotem, Rebecca, Giada, Donata, Musetta, Woody, Peggy, Najade, (Fructose was not considered, Becca), Acer, Ruby, Sweet Vio-let, Curly, Frieda, Melody, Dulcia, Angel, CelticTwang, Shade, Yunn Pann, Dan, Belle, Cruthú Ceilidh, álainn cara, Matilda, (Flickle - not really...), Captain Jack, Reba, (Fannie Mae - not really), and others I won't list. It came down to two I really felt fit. One from Dave macDonald and one from bonsaibutterfly. Musetta, suggested by bonsaibutterfly means song in French, and I think the violin sings, so that really appealed. álainn cara, suggested by Dave macDonald is gaelic for beautiful friend. In the end... I knew there was only one solution. Flickr enables a joining of friends, and a worthy fiddle could have a two part name, so it jumped with joy knowing its name was to be Musetta Cara - song friend. The French from Bonsaibutterfly and the Gaelic from David fit together so well and indicate harmony and a uniting of different worlds. I love it!!! Thank you again and again.

Now, as promised, I must get a tune from Musetta Cara to you two...

(This will be embarrassing as I, a rank amateur, will send my poor offering to one who is a performing musical artist, and another who grew up immersed in the music of the traditional fiddle masters along the west coast of Cape Breton... oh boy....)

  

another object. just some play with light and focus, nothing to see here.

Having posted a photo featuring one half of the 'Washboard Resonators', it seemed only right to post a shot of the other member of the band. Here Jack Amblin is pictured on percussion at Nouvion (Ramsbottom) during the ELR's '1940s Weekend' on the 30th May 2017.

Nite - 5th Motif Venitu

This aged Roll of Honour shows serviceman in uniforms and in action in kilt and with lance. The pride and determination to honour the memory and to ensure that the cost of war is not out of mind is present in the design and in the hand written and attested text and all go to show that this memorial is made and displayed in the Parish of these men with due reverence. This document shows a faded signature at the bottom of the page. The details that survive include the form itself from DUNCAN CAMPBELL & SON GLASGOW. The printing details in text again at the bottom of the page also states, “JUSTSO” COPYRIGHT. Unfortunately I could not see a date printed on the form. This Roll of Honour clearly details the cost of war that still resonates with us in 2022 with past wars present in our mind as conflict rages in the Ukraine.

 

Information on the Church and the local area is available in the Church at opening times. The stones both in and around the church are an excellent historic document. I was on a trip between two Megalithic Standing Stones and also to the Witches' Stone just outside the village of Spott.

 

We were very fortunate to find the Church open and I used available light to catch what I could of the interior. We were greeted and made welcome and shown some of the history of the area from the fantastic records that were in the Church. Some of these pictures might be further edited as I have not been well. The over emphasis on scrutinising images as you edit can bring about strange views, nothing that a cup of tea and time away from the screen cannot cure. I feel that I need to make a return visit and ask about using a tripod to bring out the light better.

 

© PHH Sykes 2022

phhsykes@gmail.com

  

Spott Church

spottchurch.org.uk/

 

Witches' Stone, Spott

canmore.org.uk/site/57667/witches-stone-spott

 

Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone (Prehistoric)

canmore.org.uk/site/57622/easter-broomhouse

 

Pencraig Hill Standing Stone (Prehistoric)

canmore.org.uk/site/56240/pencraig-hill

 

Also The Modern Antiquarian and The Megalithic Portal

 

Witches' Stone, Spott

www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/6453/witches_stone.html

 

Witches' Stone, Spott

www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=8239

  

Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone

www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1492/easter_broomhouse_...

 

Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone

www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?x=368000&y=676600

  

Pencraig Hill Standing Stone (Prehistoric)

www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1494/pencraig_hill_stan...

 

Pencraig Hill Standing Stone (Prehistoric)

www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=6703

Badbury Clump, near Faringdon, Oxfordshire.

 

HINGEFINKLE'S LOGBOOK (Seventh Instalment)

 

The Amazing Advent of Atropa and Amanita

 

“Oh fiddlesticks!” I said. “Now we are in a pretty pickle. Any suggestions, Agrimony?”

“Not really,” replied Agrimony grimly. “I suppose we could run for it, but I’ve a suspicion we’re surrounded. Besides, quite frankly, I can’t be bothered.”

I turned back towards Spitmucus astride his fire dragon. I should make clear, I suppose, that while Draco diminutivus obnoxiosious is, as its name suggests, only a pygmy fire dragon, it is still roughly five times the size of the average cart-horse, with talons big enough to disembowel an elephant, purplish scales the size of dinner-plates, and rather hypnotic rose-pink eyes. Like all fire dragons (and, as I have told Agrimony a thousand times, like all birds, too), it walks on its hind legs, the front legs being in this species almost vestigial, having a very limited manipulative capacity. Fire dragons are, of course, the only creatures of the genus Draco to possess the unique pectoral girdle which accommodates not only the forelegs, but also a pair of membranous wings. The specimen in question was undoubtedly a monarch among pygmy fire dragons, and as he stretched his wings and yawned a spurt of flame two ells long, almost dislodging his rider, I was reminded how much I coveted the skeletal remains of Draco diminutivus obnoxiosious. However, under the current circumstances, I considered it impertinent to enquire whether he might consider donating his body to science.

 

Besides, the fellow lodged between his shoulder blades was also a specimen of peculiar interest. You must remember that I had only seen Griswald and Snotgobbler in their full Goblinish glory for the space of a few seconds, before Agrimony turned them into sheep in a fit of impatience. Faced with so splendid a dragon, however, Agrimony seemed less disposed to take offensive action, so that I was able to get a good look at Spitmucus as he prepared to address his captive audience. Being a military sort, and apparently one who had spent some time in the cavalry, Spitmucus wore knee-length riding boots, a pair of white military jodhpurs, and a red jacket festooned with gold braid and medals. But there were holes in the ends of his boots, out of which there protruded a disconcerting array of gnarled, green toes, with hooked claws where the toenails ought to have been. And as the pygmy dragon shifted his weight impatiently from foot to foot, and leaned against the half-ruined wall, sighing smokily to himself, I perceived that there was a wide tear in the back of Spitmucus’s jacket, out of which there protruded a hairy green back with rather prominent vertebral processes. His face was particularly unpleasant, so I tried not to look at it, especially after he cleared his throat and let the slime dribble down his chin.

 

“Oh, do hurry up and get on with it, Pukeslime, or whatever your name is,” said the dragon impatiently, giving Spitmucus the kind of look that a cat might be expected to give to a flea. “If you’re going to say something, say it, and let me get on with my part of the job.” And then, I am proud to say, he looked at me, groaned audibly, and said, “Why did I have to be the one to carry this pompous old coot? It’s just my luck, I can tell you. On any other occasion, I’d smother him with chestnuts and have him gently toasted, if only for the pleasure of shutting him up.”

“Now don’t you get sassy with me Polygonatum,” snorted Spitmucus indignantly. “Leave the wetorical part of pwoceedings to the experts!”

“Hum,” I could not help interrupting, “What does he mean by wetorical?”

Polygonatum gave another exasperated groan. “He means rhetorical, but he has a speech impediment. Trust me to be landed with a rider who can’t tell his rs from his ws. Curséd, rotten luck!”

Spitmucus ignored this, and, assuming as imperious a posture as possible, he commenced his speech. “Wesistance is futile, you are completely suwwounded,” he began, and as if to confirm it, five other pygmy fire dragons stuck their heads in through the windows and hungrily eyed the occupants of the hall. “We must expwess our gwatitude, Llew Llaw Gyffes, for depwiving us, at one fell swoop, of the twoublesome Pwince Eugene. He weally was becoming wather superfluous. I begin to think that you may make a perfect Pwime-Minister in a puppet government. As for the west of you, I am under orders to fwow you all into pwison.” (Here the pygmy fire dragons exchanged exasperated glances, and Polygonatum drooled steam to think of the tasty meal going to waste.) “No doubt our illustwious leader Scabpicker will wish to qwestion you all, and mete out such punishment as tweachewous cwiminals deserve. But I wather suspect he will leave you to languish with the wats and mice for a while, before he gets awound to intewwogating you -”

“Oh cripes,” interrupted Polygonatum. “I’ve had a bellyful of this prattle. Let’s just eat up and go.”

“Stop gwumbling, you widiculous dwagon,” replied Spitmucus. “I intend to welish my victorwy speech.”

“Yes,” said Polygonatum, “and I intend to relish a hominid or two before the day is out, starting with the most talkative ones.” He stared intently at me, and then craned his neck around and gave Spitmucus a similar look.

 

It is hardly necessary for me to relate the seemingly interminable argument which followed, in the course of which Spitmucus told Polygonatum repeatedly that he was incowwigible, and Polygonatum recited recipes for jacket-baked Goblin, roasted Bard and deep-fried Druid. Suffice it to say that Spitmucus fobbed Polygonatum off with some story about the people in Llanbrunchforth being fatter and juicier still, and we found ourselves being jostled into the village stables and clapped in irons. To our dismay, we found Gladys there too, looking decidedly shaken, with singed hair and deprived of all her beloved inventions, even her pocket-watch. The mayor sat grimly in one corner, and Agrimony slumped exhausted and defeated against the wall. The conditions were miserable; the rats ate better than we did, and the Goblin guards delighted in oscillating between enlightened civility and compassion on the one hand, and unbridled uncouthness and cruelty on the other. Indeed, it was not unusual for a Goblin guard to be seen commiserating with one prisoner about his sorry plight in the most understanding tones, whilst trampling on the head of another. I entertained a particular dislike for Squelchfart, a monstrous fellow with a snot-encrusted nose ring who delighted in “telling tales” about us to the other Goblin guards, so that they punished us for supposed crimes in a most arbitrary and gratuitous manner. And on Fridays, the only food was black pudding.

 

*

 

Oh, my dear little Alias, you will hardly believe me when I tell you that we remained in that horrible place for nine years. The Goblins were very good at keeping us just about alive, but our faces grew gaunt, our skin sagged, and our hair grew thin and grey. And for most of those nine years, we were kept in an agony of suspense, wondering when Scabpicker himself would deign to visit us, interrogate us, and pronounce his sentence upon us. And when he did come, we realised that nothing could possibly have prepared us for that skilful artifice, that calculated duplicity, that snide dissimulation.

 

Imagine, dear boy, an exquisite violin, made of the very finest seasoned woods in the most sophisticated gnomish workshop. The grain of the wood and the gracefulness of the curves enchant the eye; the touch of the strings fills the fingers with that sensitivity which is the breath and the vibrance of flawless music. You take up the bow; it nestles in your hand as though it had always been there. It possesses perfect balance and poise; a bow which can pronounce the most delicate of arpeggios, and draw out the sublimest of semi-quavers until music is no longer music but spirit transformed into sound, the movements of quicksilver made audible, the magnified tremblings of a butterfly’s wing. You draw the bow across the first string, and the sound resonates inside the instrument like the best wine maturing in the barrel, tuned to perfection. The sound is tranquility in motion, beyond all explanation, beyond all science. And the second string is like the first, and the third compounds the two; the wondrous conjunction of wood, air and a stretched string fills your heart with the purest of joys. You begin to play a tune, and it dances, ephemeral and tantalising, on the flux of time.

 

And then, in playing the tune, you must needs play the fourth string. It is flat; dreadfully flat. To hear it is the purest agony. Teeth on edge, you turn the screw to bring it into tune, but there is no change - the screw turns and turns and the string never tightens. You whip the bow away from the strings as if stung by an insect, but the fiddle continues to play, three strings tuned to a mellifluous harmony, and one string nothing but a cacophonous discord - discord, tearing at your heart like a pair of disembodied claws. Whenever that string is played, it makes the others sound grotesque - hideous parodies of themselves. Your instinct is to smash the violin to pieces, but you cannot, for it has the mastery of you, and you realise in an instant that you must listen to this abomination for the rest of your life.

 

That is what Scabpicker was like. I dare not tell you too much of his conversation with us - of how he spoke with such compassion and such plausible weeping about the awful deaths of so many of our friends and relations beneath the breath of Polygonatum and his brood, and how he then broke into paroxysms of hilarity because of the mournful expressions on our faces. I dare not tell you of the ways he manipulated us until we were ready to tear one-another’s throats out, or of the sincere and tender-hearted tones in which he read out the death sentence for each one of us. I dare not tell you - for although Scabpicker is now dead, I can hear the screeching of that untunable string to this very day.

 

Oh, yes. Did I forget to tell you? Scabpicker is dead - most assuredly dead. Why, if he were still alive, I am sure we would still be in prison waiting for our sentences to be carried out. That was Scabpicker’s way.

 

But in point of fact, he died the very night he left our cells. We all felt it, when he died; it was as though the violin had suddenly been plunged under water: we could still hear it playing, but there was at last room in our minds for our own thoughts as well. The Goblin guards had kept Agrimony drugged and almost insensible for all of those nine years, but on the night that Scabpicker died, he awoke and was as lucid - and as rude - as ever. It was then that the ground began to shake, and a sulphurous, burning smell drifted through the cracks of the cell wall.

“Oh, capital!” said Agrimony sarcastically, looking at the village tinker, who was chained back-to-back with Gladys Sparkbright. “I should say that we’re out of the frying pan and into the -”

He never finished his sentence, for at that very moment, the roof was torn from above us, and we all gazed up at the serrated, silver scaled muzzle of the largest species of land animal in existence. The creature lurched above us, and fixed us with an eye filled with the purest malignancy. Fire licked about his lips, and as it did so, the head of Scabpicker dropped to the cell floor, the hair burnt away, the eyes sightless, the green skin taut and spattered with black, rancorous blood. The great beast hiccoughed, and a sheet of flame shot across where the ceiling used to be.

“Draco terribilis pyromanicus!” I cried in awe, aware, despite my fear, that this was the opportunity of a lifetime. Oddly enough, no one had ever managed to make a first-hand report of an encounter with Draco terribilis pyromanicus, and I aimed to be the first.

“Quite so,” said the dragon. “But I’m not so enamoured of these newfangled triple-barrelled Latin names. How would you like it if I called you Homo sapiens stultissimus? My name is Atropa, and I find it singularly appropriate.”

“Absolutely fascinating!” I whispered. “He seems much more intelligent than the Hydra.”

“Fascinating schmascinating,” grumbled Agrimony. “Why don’t you shut up, Hingefinkle? I have no desire to be turned into crackling to the accompaniment of a final recital of your usual pseudo-scientific claptrap.”

“That just shows how mentally deficient you humans really are,” snorted Atropa. “Crackling requires the presence of subcutaneous fat. But you lot are so scrawny that all of you put together would yield less crackling than the average house-mouse. Miserable fare indeed, after an entree of seventy Goblins, a hundred and fifty human slaves and six pygmy dragons. A pox on the lot of you.” To prove his point, he grabbed me by the ball and chain, dangled me upside down so that I had a wonderful view of his olfactory orifices, and pinched my skin between a clawed thumb and forefinger. Then, he gave such a snort of disgust that my chain melted clean through and I landed in a heap on top of Agrimony.

 

“Atropa? Atropa?” The voice came, I judged, from across the village square. It was unmistakably the voice of another fire-dragon, and from the tone of voice and the imperiousness of the demand, I deduced that this was Atropa’s mate.

“Oh, hamstrung halflings! It’s the wife! What does she want now?” grumbled Atropa, and then, louder, “I’m over here, dearest!”

“Well, what are you doing over there?” came the reply.

“Nothing of consequence,” said Atropa, disappearing from view.

“Did you find anything to eat?”

“Nothing particularly edible.” Atropa’s voice was receding rapidly into the distance.

“Well, come on then. I’m hungry,” came the reply, and after that, there was nothing but the whistling of the wind above our heads, and the soulless, hollow chattering of the teeth in Scabpicker’s disembodied head.

 

*

 

Over the horrible days that followed, Atropa and his paramour Amanita devoured the slowest part of the Goblin army (the faster part of it scattered this way and that, some, Spitmucus included, hiding beyond the Marches of the Elf-Lords; others fleeing east, where they no doubt drowned themselves in the ocean, preferring water to fire when compelled to make a choice). By the end of it, the streets were awash with Goblin blood, and the rivers ran rank and black for three weeks. But Atropa and Amanita were still not satisfied, and it was not until they had eaten all the inhabitants of Llanbrunchforth, Dinnerwy and Supperdarn (scrawny as they were after nine years of Goblin hegemony), that Amanita consented to return to her bower in the mountains beyond the Rancid Swamp. We watched the awesome spectacle of her return to hibernation from a hill near Gladys’s workshop, and then made our way back to rummage through her scattered belongings, salvaging whatever was not bent or broken beyond repair. And there, lying on a bench, was Gladys’s prototype of the humane mousetrap, with a mummified piece of cheese still hanging from the wire. The door was closed, but there was no sign of the mouse. Not that there would have been, of course, for Gladys’s explosives were remarkably powerful.

“Hum, Gladys,” I said when the inspiration hit me. “You know that mousetrap -”

 

My dear little Alias, I fear I have already overstepped the mark by subjecting so young a child as yourself to a description of what happened to Scabpicker. So don’t try to persuade me, for I am firmly resolved not to do it. Why, little Alias, your tender, innocent mind would be corrupted for life, were I to tell you what Agrimony said next.

 

"Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery — celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from — it’s where you take them to." "

-Jim Jarmush

  

enough said.

   

©All rights reserved. Use without permission is illegal.

Sniffing beacon frames at Resonate festival during the workshops. Every green circle is a client (e.g., mobile phone or laptop) every red square is an access point (wifi router) that device has connected to in the past. Clients are denoted by the last 6 hex values of their MAC address, APs by their SSID. This graph only includes APs that two or more clients have accessed, there are hundreds more than are unique to each client. This means that the structure of the graph is determined by a similarity between people. Right of the main cluster there is a pair of devices including B4E000 which probably belong to the same person because they've connected to so many of the same networks. Lifewise on the far left with 43F5C1. Near the center of the graph is the Resonate 2014 network, which everyone is clearly using. Some other network names near the center: Kinoteka (the Resonate theater), Resonate 2013 (people who came last year), hhonors (people staying/who have stayed at the Hilton), Albert Heijn (Dutch people), Hotel 88 (a very new Belgrade hotel housing some Resonate attendees).

Melbourne based street artist Rone (Tyrone Wright) used the decaying glory of the 1933 Harry Norris designed Streamline Moderne mansion, Burnham Beeches in the Dandenong Ranges' Sherbrooke, between March the 6th and April 22nd to create an immersive hybrid art space for his latest installation exhibition; "Empire".

 

"Empire" combined a mixture of many different elements including art, sound, light, scent, found objects, botanic designs, objects from nature and music especially composed for the project by Nick Batterham. The Burnham Beeches project re-imagines and re-interprets the spirit of one of Victoria’s landmark mansions, seldom seen by the public and not accessed since the mid 1980s. According to Rone - Empire website; "viewers are invited to consider what remains - the unseen cultural, social, artistic and spiritual heritage which produces intangible meaning."

 

Rone was invited by the current owner of Burnham Beeches, restaurateur Shannon Bennett, to exhibit "Empire" during a six week interim period before renovations commence to convert the heritage listed mansion into a select six star hotel.

 

Rone initially imagined the mansion to be in a state of dereliction, but found instead that it was a stripped back blank canvas for him to create his own version of how he thought it should look. Therefore, almost all the decay is in fact of Rone's creation from grasses in the Games Room which 'grow' next to a rotting billiards table, to the damp patches, water staining and smoke damage on the ceilings. Nests of leaves fill some spaces, whilst tree branches and in one case an entire avenue of boughs sprout from walls and ceilings. Especially designed Art Deco wallpaper created in Rone's studio has been installed on the walls before being distressed and damaged. The rooms have been adorned with furnishings and objects that might once have graced the twelve original rooms of Burnham Beeches: bulbulous club sofas, half round Art Deco tables, tarnished silverware and their canteen, mirrored smoke stands of chrome and Bakelite, glass lamps, English dinner services, a glass drinks trolley, photos of people long forgotten in time, walnut veneer dressing tables reflecting the installation sometimes in triplicate, old wire beadsteads, luggage, shelves of books, an Underwood typewriter, a John Broadwood and Sons of London grand piano and even a Kriesler radiogramme. All these objects were then covered in a thick sheet or light sprinkling of 'dust' made of many different things including coffee grinds and talcum powder, creating a sensation for the senses. Burnham Beeches resonated with a ghostly sense of its former grandeur, with a whiff of bittersweet romance.

 

Throughout the twelve rooms, magnificent and beautifully haunting floor-to-ceiling and wall-to-wall portraits of Australian actress Lily Sullivan, star of the Foxtel re-make of Picnic at Hanging Rock, appear. Larger than life, each portrait is created in different colours, helping to create seasonal shifts as you move from room to room.

 

Although all the rooms are amazing for many different reasons, there are two major standouts. The Study features walls of books covered with a portrait of Lily Sullivan, and the entire room is partially submerged in a lake of black water with the occasional red oak leaf floating across its glassy surface. The Dining Room features two long tables covered in a Miss Havisham like feast of a trove of dinner table objects from silverware and glassware to empty oyster shells and vases of grasses and feathers.

 

The Dining Room installation I found especially confronting. In 1982, I visited Burnham Beeches when it was a smart and select hotel and had Devonshire tea in the dining room at a table alongside the full length windows overlooking the terraces below. I was shocked to see a room I remember appointed with thick carpets and tables covered in gleaming silver and white napery, strewn with dust and leaves, and adorned with Miss Havisham's feast of found dining objects.

 

I feel very honoured and privileged to be amongst the far too few people fortunate enough to have seen Rone's "Empire", as like the seasons, it is ephemeral, and it will already have been dismantled. Rone's idea is that, like his street art, things he creates don't last forever, and that made the project exciting. I hope that my photographs do justice to, and adequately share as much as is possible of this amazing installation with you.

 

 

"Larmes de Coton" (Tears of Cotton) is a performance by artist Amélia Sampaio that explores the haunting legacy of colonial exploitation in the Americas. For many Afro-descendants, cotton—like coffee or sugarcane—is not just a plant, but a painful symbol of forced labor and enslavement.

 

In this work, the artist stages a silent ritual of remembrance and resistance, where each gesture resonates with ancestral memory. The white softness of cotton contrasts sharply with the violence of its history, evoking both mourning and resilience.

 

The full series can be viewed here:

👉 ameliasampaio.com/portfolio/larmes-de-coton-lagrimas-de-a...

 

The so-called “Crypts of Jouarre” lie hidden down some steps, inside an unprepossessing building that stands at the far end of a not-so-well-kept, nondescript field behind the parochial church in a small town 60 kilometers east of Paris, an area better known for Disneyland Paris than for unique treasures from Merovingian times. And yet...

 

Listed as a Historic Landmark on the very first list of 1840, the Crypts remain to this day blissfully ignored by tour operators and individual tourists alike. They are small but of such historical and archæological complexity and significance that they also are assuredly the most difficult monument I ever had to write a caption about. Please pardon the length, which is a necessary consequence thereof.

 

The site was investigated by many experts and still draws specialists from all over the world who come to visit —but as you can imagine, specialists in Merovingian art and history are few and far between in these days of triumphant social media and reality TV, where many homes do not contain even one single book... The first and foremost of those experts in art history and archæology was Aliette, Marchioness of Maillé († 1972), who published a lengthy tome on the subject in 1971.

 

Furthermore, this exceptional site resonates with family feelings for me, as the Marchioness of Maillé, née Aliette de Rohan-Chabot, was a great-aunt of mine. I was 16 when she passed away, and I retain fond and distinct memories of her. For those reasons, I will include in this series a photo of her, as well as one of the front cover of her book on the Crypts of Jouarre, and one of a double page spread too.

 

To begin at the beginning, let me just say that, a long time ago, an abbey was founded here by Adon around 630. It was a Colombanian abbey that followed the Rule established by the famous errant monk from Ireland, and it was also a double abbey, with separate communities of monks and nuns living next to one another, with the abbess having supreme authority over both enclosures. This predominance was not exceptional and did not seem to pose any particular problem in those days (more “advanced” in that respect than the centuries that would follow). Of course, the sisters needed the brothers, at the very least because only men could be ordained, and priests were needed daily for Mass and Communion.

 

Within the enclosure, and in addition to the abbey church per se, there was, as was customary at the time, at least one other church, which served as a funerary basilica. Members of the community were buried there. Nothing remains above the ground of that 7th century basilica, but its foundations have been found and its dimensions have been assessed as 20 meters by 10. It was, of course, duly oriented. At the eastern end of that basilica, Agilbert, a Frank cleric who had been bishop of the Anglo-Saxon kingdom of Wessex in the 650s, then bishop of Paris in the 660s, feeling that his life was coming to its end, broke with the custom according to which bishops were buried in their cathedral, and built his final resting place in Jouarre, under the shape of a simple, rectangular hypostyle (i.e., whose ceiling was supported by columns) hall. The six columns are re-used from monuments of the Late Antiquity, but the capitals were all made in the workshops of Aquitaine which, in the 7th century, produced them on a semi-industrial scale and shipped them by road and rivers throughout Gaul.

 

Agilbert wanted to the buried in Jouarre for family reasons: Adon, the founder, was his uncle and Theodechilde (also known as Telchilde), the first abbess of Jouarre, was his sister. The sarcophagus he ordered for himself, and which I will discuss in detail under the corresponding photos because it is such a stunning and unique piece, was decorated only on two sides, meaning that it was meant to be installed in the northwestern angle of the hypostyle room —the rest of the spacious locale was, we believe, meant for other members of his family. That room itself is unique, nothing so grand is to be found anywhere in the Western world during the 7th and 8th centuries.

 

The historical complexity of the monument as we see it today stems from several facts, the most significant of which is that, during the late 700s, it was changed from a private family burial place to a semi-public mausoleum dedicated to honoring holy bodies: there, the body of Theodechilde, first abbess elevated to sainthood, was raised from her earthly grave in the funerary basilica and installed on an altar in a sarcophagus. Agilberte and Balde, second and third abbesses, subsequently followed.

 

Explaining more in detail the various and momentous events that took place between the late 700s and the 14th century to modify the original hypostyle room, add to it, play musical chairs with the sarcophagi, would require a lot more space than I can afford to use here on Flickr. Entire books have been devoted to the subject. I will therefore stop here, and provide further information as needed under each photograph.

 

Columns and capitals in the Saint Ébrégisile Crypt.

RESONATE

CATS IN SPACE

Sunday September 28, 2025

6PM SLT Oblivia

7PM SLT Crème

8PM SLT Invader

 

dance / electronic / bass

 

This Sunday at Resonate: CATS IN SPACE!

DJs Oblivia, Crème, and InVader launch you into a cosmic journey of pulsing electronic-dance beats as we celebrate the majesty of cats. Come dressed as your most celestial feline expression. Join us among the stars for a night of cosmic kitty connection! Don't just dance-RESONATE!

  

suggested attire:

feline fashion / dinkies / kitties

 

Location: Nebula

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Baboo/54/212/4001

 

Hernando R. Ocampo (1911 - 1978)

A Sonata for September

signed and dated 1978 (lower right)

oil on canvas

34” x 34” (86 cm x 86 cm)

Estimate: P 2,000,000

Provenance: Acquired directly from the artist.

Exhibited:

Art Fair Philippines, Archivo Gallery, Makati City, February 20 - 23, 2014

(PROPERTY FROM THE DR. AND MRS. CONRADO L. LORENZO JR COLLECTION.)

 

Lot 124 of the Leon Gallery Auction on 7 February 2015. See www.leon-gallery.com for more information.

 

A Sonata for September is a grand example of his abstractions of interlocking shapes, forming a complex configuration. It displays his strongest suite, his rich palette of reds, a wide range of them, from yellow crimsons to deep oranges and more.

 

Red accounts for much of the festive and sensuous aspect of his forms; for H.R. Ocampo, it signifies the life force itself.

 

“When it comes to red,” he used to say with justifiable pride, “very few can surpass me.”

 

Pamela Alexander wrote in 1980:

“The visual exuberance of Ocampo’s painting emanates from his mastery to utilize powers of suggestion through chromas.

 

His bold colors seem playfully erotic, and well-endowed with Philippine ambience. Through sensual forms, his paintings acquire a noble primitiveness saturated with strong emotions.

 

“Many of Ocampo’s paintings show endotopic and exotopic planes that are both dynamic and ambiguous. Each colored tract seems to resonate, and still yield to an ultimate whole. Such baroque inclinations are engrained deeply in contemporary Filipino taste.“

 

Ocampo’s mastery of color is complemented by an originality of subject which provides intense pleasurable excitement.

Resonating shadows.

Reasonating rings,

From a water skipper,

Resonating light in my lens.

Resonating Pixls on my flash card.

Resonating through fiber optics

And a gazillion yes no decisions in programs,

To deliver the resonance to you...

   

"there's been a lot of talk of love, but that don't amount to nothing. you can evoke the stars above

but that doesn't make it something and the only way to last, and the only way to live it

is to hold on when you get love and let go when you give it.

 

it's a pretty melody. it might help you through the nighttime, but it doesn't make it easy

to leave the party at the right time. if I'm frightened, if I'm high -it's my weakness; please forgive it-

at least i hold on when i get love, and i let go when i give it.

 

what do i do when i get lonely? hold on when you get love

what do i do when i get lonely? let go when you give it

 

the world won't listen to this song, and the radio won't play it- but if you like it sing along -

sing cause you don't know how to say it.

 

forget this song, it will go on -i'll keep singing from the dark with you above me.

 

take the weakest thing in you, and then beat the bastards with it

and always hold on when you get love, so you can let go when you give it."

 

/this past tuesday marked another revolution around the sun for me.

it's was a surreal, but pleasant experience because the universe

allowed me to experience in many little ways, the kindness i'm used to expressing.

 

i could write a short novel about my experiences, but i'll cliff notes it because

i'm not feeling particularly coherent or poetic at the moment, so suffice to say:

 

everyone in your life is your teacher, and everyone in your life is your student.

we learn from each other, and if you are open and allow it, the universe will send

you the right teachers and the right students at the exact moment you need them most.

and your only job at that point is to listen and absorb whatever resonates with you, and in

return share your knowledge without claiming it as irrefutable truth.

 

/and sometimes your teacher can be a song.

and that one just earned a place in my top ten.

  

forest of tadasu @kyoto shimogamo shirine

the baseball shot

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

Gateway Camp Verse

(Pin1) Ging1 Mahn4

Isaiah 62:10

 

What Dale instructed about going out of our way to treat the Mainland Chinese well resonated within me. To be sure, just as the Koreans have gone out of their way to bless me so I must step out to bless and to love my Mainland brethren.

 

After the first meeting, Ed and I wandered off campus and found inside a shopping mall a cha chaan teng where we had a late-night snack. And hardly had we tucked into our meals when in walked several dozen volunteers, all locals, who were overcome, it seemed, by the same munchies that infected Ed and me. It’s surprising how such a primal urge, at such a time, drives everyone to no less than the same, impossibly far location.

 

I thus far have met so many people that, had I not brought along my iPod, I would have already lost track of the multitudinous names flying around like fireflies at night, sparkling luminously one moment and then disappearing the next. And this is only the beginning: more and more people will arrive both today and tomorrow so I had better stay awake, alert, and writing.

 

I am working with a partner who really challenges me, and indeed that is why I chose to work with him. From the first words that came streaming out of his mouth, I knew he would be a special one, and as if to conifrm my conjecture, indeed, the more he spoke, the more confused I became. The challenge, I have realized after much ruminating, isn’t so much the pace of his speech as his choice of words, which fall outside a normal lexical range; that is, at least with me, when he talks, he doesn’t use familiar collocations to communicate; besides, he has an uncanny Tin Shui Wai accent; those, along with his amazing resistance to Chinglish, which impresses me, by the way, have made our communication tedious, since I am bombarded by peculiar lexical constructions that I generally never encounter in Cantonese conversation and must therefore stop our flow to clarify his speech. It’s too bad that he doesn’t speak English as I would love to hear how he structures ideas in my native language to determine whether or not this strange lexis has spilled over into his other modes of communication.

 

Regardless, in being with him, I have learned to be patient, and if I am truly to walk away from resentment, I must continue rather to engage him than to keep him at arm’s length. It helps us, then, that he is a congenial fellow, prone more to expressing love, much in the same way that I do by warmly grabbing a forearm or a shoulder, than to venting his frustration, which with me could certainly be great. He is verily a good guy, and so long as the Lord keeps him — I am sure Daddy will — Tin Shui Wai, that small patch of concrete moon colony, is in capable, faithful human hands.

 

Sau2 muhn6 je2

Mihng6 dihng6

Kyuhn4 lihk6

Lihk6 leuhng6

Chong3 yi3 adjective

Chong3 jouh6 verb

 

Romans 5:3-5

 

Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

 

I cried this morning when I read these words, because they are true, and comfort my soul as water to a dry, parched land. However many times I’ve lamented this place and its people, I am still inextricably tied to this rock, per God’s will for my life; and God really is faithful in providing a way out not from this place but from these spiritual hindrances. These past few days, what with communication failures and fatigue setting in, I could have more easily give into my rationality, in defense of my weaknesses, than resisted this bait of satan. Thank God, hence, for the words which are like fuel for the refiner’s fire that burns up all my expectations, my pride and my flesh. I can survive, nay, rejoice, indeed, because of God, who, in me, day by day teaches me to suffer long with a smile.

 

This is what the gateway is all about, I believe: jumping head-first out of my comfort zone to confront the nations, for my brothers and sisters and I must face each other if we are to raise the banners together. Battling through enemy strongholds of mistrust ad resentment, we demolish carnal thoughts and dig deep in the Spirit for the unity that shall overcome as much language as culture; God, after all, is bigger, even, than the battlefield. In these ways can my brethren and I love each other as ourselves, as we shall be one in the Father, with audacious power and boldness laying hands on His kingdom which advances, in this kairos moment, over all of China, including, no doubt, Hong Kong. No longer will there be curses thrown upon the nations; but rather the river of life will flow through the city, and the leaves of the tree on each side of the river will be for the healing of the nations.

 

1) Welcoming the Father

2) Unifying the body

3) Partnering with the Chinese

4) Serving the city

5) Supporting the Chinese

 

Isaac and I have worked quite hard this morning, putting up signs all over campus, and as if to reward me for my assiduity, he offered to buy me a drink, an offer which I took up. Indeed, this man’s care and concern for others, genuine, doubtlessly, fills me with joy, for, to be sure, the joy of the lord is his strength. My friend is indefatigable, always encouraging and never slighting, no matter the circumstances, rain (that has happened a lot today) or shine. Praise God!

 

Much like my relationship with Isaac, my relationships with my other team members have improved considerably since, even, this morning’s briefing during which, the code-switching, happening too fast and too furiously for my comfort, vexed me so terribly that if Isaac had not put a generous arm around my shoulder immediately afterwards, I surely would have blown my top in frustration at the perplexing language option. Thankfully, my team and I settled our language arrangements: Isaac, Dorcas and I will intractably speak Cantonese to each other whereas my other group mates and I will use English with as little code-switching as possible; and I, along with Ed, no doubt, am satisfied. It’s best to avoid misunderstandings.

 

Lihng4 Mahn4 (soul)

Sihng4 jeung2

Muhng6 Seung2 (dreams)

 

The Lord’s mercies are new everyday. Just now, during the morning rally, by His Spirit, hundreds of brothers and sisters received a new anointing, to be spiritual mothers and fathers of a new generation so as to minister to the next. This outpouring of the Spirit was sudden, and so captivated me that when the call came to reap, I rushed to the front to ask my father for this anointing, and naturally, my life was transformed. In the same way, the pastor called up a new generation of spiritual children to receive the love, care and support of these new parents; and likewise, so many young men and women heeded this call that verily, the pit in front of the stage was soon awash in hugs and tears between generations that, once lost, were now found. Indeed, no sooner did these people embrace their father than Dad immediately swept them up in his strong arms and showered them with audacious encouragement and support. Praise God!

 

An Outburst

 

I was angry this morning during our team time. I temporarily lost my ability to be merciful and to live in God’s grace. When my team leader began to address me in English, yet again, I couldn’t help but berate him for doing so when Cantonese, I argued, would be a more economical medium of delivery. And then I compounded this already incendiary situation by ranting about the hypocrisy of Hong Kong being a gateway to China but not a gateway into its own neighborhoods teeming with Chinese people, 97% of whom, according to one of the pastors at this camp, do not know the Lord Jesus. Cantonese will matter, I posit, if anyone dares to take on the onerous mission in this vexing place.

 

To be sure, even my brother announced that language was a prohibitive barrier to closer relationships with these local people, and therefore, since he neither speaks Cantonese nor is going to give learning the language a go, he is relegated to the outer walls of the gates into Hong Kong.

 

In hindsight, I thought I cared enough about God’s purposes for me in Hong Kong, but I realize now that I still care a lot about myself, and resentment. Though I have prayed and declared boldly that God is bigger than language and culture, I know I don’t believe it; and that’s upsetting. For the time being, I don’t verily believe in my heart that I can have deeper, closer relationships with Chinese people without the benefit of language and culture, patterns of action.

 

OK. This is actually an opportune start for my spiritual parentship, for now I have an opportunity to put aside my very compelling arguments for the necessity of language and culture in deep and close relationships, these conclusions born out of my reason, and to step out in faith, to trust in the Lord who, I pray, will show me deep and close relationships sans language and culture, and with whom my deep and close relationship shall obviously be the key to this victory.

 

I’m thinking about events at this camp that heretofore demonstrated loving relationships without language and culture, and I recalled two acts: the first happened yesterday when I spontaneously joined a line of ushers to high-five and to cheer the audience as they flooded out of the auditorium, the morning rally having scarcely finished; and the second, this was my meeting Yao, a man from the Ivory Coast, whom I befriended in those first, fleeting, if not frantic moments before the opening rally on Friday evening. That encounter was immediate and sudden, neither words nor habits needed; Yao and I simply high-fived, hugged and sat beside each other; and wow, that was terrific companionship — praise God!

 

Finally, however hard my diatribe may have struck my team members’ hearts, my merciful group mates still forgave me, not only on an personal level, but also, as I had sought forgiveness on behalf of all foreigners who have ever cursed locals or stood passively outside the gateway, on a corporate level, thereby releasing countless non-Chinese people into the freedom of these Hong Kong people’s forgiveness; just as brothers and sisters had so recently been reconciled to each other in my church, so local and non-local people have received the others’ freedom of forgiveness; more than a homecoming, that, indeed, is a breakthrough.

 

In listening to this morning’s sermon, I hear such verses as I know God is speaking to me through His word. 2Corinthians 4:16-18, this scripture in particular carries a buoyant, hopeful currency in my heart. My spirit soaks in this divine revelation as a sponge soaks in water and thus becomes malleable, able to be formed and shaped according to its holder’s will: Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

 

Disagreeable

 

I don’t know why my brother and I undermine each others’ comments; why we no more know consensus than the deaf music. Our interactions have been especially abrasive recently since we have spent so much time together without the benefit of our other brother to act as a natural, vociferous buffer; and as a result we argue like pieces of sand paper being rubbed against flesh, which inevitably leads to significant soreness. I feel sore now.

 

I think back to my outburst this morning and can appreciate my role in this evening’s embarrassing outcome; I am certainly not without fault, for I choose these days not only to venture my opinions but to do so passionately, if not emotionally. People consequently who otherwise are phlegmatic at best are put in a discomfiting position by my impassioned pleas. Besides, I recall Interrupting my brother prolifically, which understandably would not make him a happy camper; just as a hyperactive child doesn’t know when to stop pestering his sibling, so I don’t know nowadays when to hold my tongue. Indeed, I would rather not respond at all to my brother, even after he has fired off his rejoinder, than to strike him down in mid-speech.

 

In view of this latest incident, I have resolved to take the former course of action. To be sure, I simply stopped our petty dispute about a stupid basketball game by, awkward as it was, taking out my book and perusing it as fixedly as my tattered mind would allow. I will try my best to stay away from my brother for a spell, to create physical and spiritual space between us, so hopefully, in this way at least one of us will be able to come to his senses about this matter; better yet, now would be an opportune time for our father in his mercy to reveal to us the fault lines in our flesh so that we could surrender these tremulous spots in our soul, crucifying them to the father for our healing and the redemption of our relationship. I will pray about this.

 

…Praise God. If I had not separated myself from my brother’s presence, I wouldn’t have been sitting at that bench at the exact moment when Isaac came over to me in a plaintive mood. Obviously upset, he had been so recently wronged, he lamented on the verge of tears. And at that, mercy swept over my countenance, for my brother felt as aggrieved as I did earlier; and this appointment, per God’s unfailing, obstinate love, had at last come for me, convicting me to be very, very agreeable, sympathetic and kind to my fellow long-suffering brother. In this instance, thank God, language did not matter so much as empathy, carrying each others’ burdens and thus fulfilling the rule of Christ. We prayed and blessed each other in Jesus’ name, and then boldly went forward into the rally.

 

I suspect the enemy has infiltrated our team what with my outbursts and Isaac’s failing out as evidence. My group mates and I must be more vigilant in prayer and in digging deep into the Father’s word if we are to overcome the spies in our camp that have planted incendiary devices in our mouths and in our hearts. We certainly need such encouragement as the Lord provides for the edification and encouragement of each other, even more so, in fact, in the face of adversity, despite our fatigue and other physical ills that befall us like a hail of arrows. In faith, I’m sure, faith will see us through; and per what the pastors exhorted at the rally, we will become as if the smooth stone in David’s sling, ready to fly into the air to crush the Goliath in this world.

 

Sihng4 jauh6 achievement

Ngwuih misunderstanding

Nggaai2 to misunderstand

Yuhn4 leuhng6 forgive

Gaan2syun2 chosen

 

The Security Guard

 

At the morning rally, a security guard left an indelible impression on my heart what with her showing of unconditional support and her proffering of words of encouragement, which like a waterfall fell in force and power over my friends and me. To my amazement, I first saw her out of the corner of my eye stepping out of her role as a security guard to pray as a spiritual parent to two spiritual children during the morning rally’s prayer time; there she was, clad in her blue uniform, laying hands on those weeping kids; finally, I had witnessed someone courageous enough to step out of that rule of law, her boundary in Hong Kong, to be bound to that which is ethereal, the rule of Christ to carry each others’ burdens. Later, as the audience passed through the exit, I had time to confirm her love for the Lord and at that, we broke into a torrent of encouragement and followed this with a flurry of picture-taking. Indeed, never have I stumbled upon such good will from a dragon security guard in HK so I am hopeful, therefore, that this is but the the start of a greater movement within that particular demon-worshipping core, that at this time, God is opening up the heavenly armory and placing his prayer warriors inside that particular stronghold in Hong Kong to demolish every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and placing in its stead a profusion of love, gentleness and kindness. I look forward to the day when wisdom, and not languid stares, shall emanate from all the people who man the facilities in these universities.

 

Reconciliation

 

This is special. No sooner had Isaac and I stepped into the auditorium than we heard the plaintive cry of the mainland Chinese on the stage forgiving the Hong Kong people for their trespasses against their brethren from the north. A flurry of hugs, replete with a few tears, ensued. That was, as Dale announced from the stage, a delicious moment. Jesus must have been breaking out the good champagne in heaven for a rousing celebration in view of this victory.

 

Sex Talk – Part One

 

The kids finally received the sex talk this morning; a fiery pastor delivered the message which was as much shocking as informative; and gasps and wincing abounded in the audience.

 

While I have recently heard the sex talk at the men’s retreat, and have furthermore by God’s grace been inoculated against this particular area of struggle, it was nonetheless refreshing to hear the news, as shocking and as sensational as it was. I am willing, in addition, to believe that some of the atrocious acts that the pastor referenced, such as gruesome abortions and bizarre sexual acts, are more prevalent than my reason will believe, because my scope is limited by experience, but as the Father witnesses everything, if the Spirit has convicted this man and has told him that the world is heading closer and closer into the mouth of Jezebel in this way, I accept this. In fact, believing this is important if I am to be a good spiritual parent who will not only protect but educate the new generation from the prowling enemy that lurks these days, even, in our computers.

 

Prayer

 

The Holy Spirit fell over me this morning during my group’s team time. He convicted me to pray in Cantonese for the first time, and so I did without fear, those Chinese words pouring out of me as if perfume from an alabaster jar. Praise God: he is good; and this was the moment I have been waiting for.

 

I think about what happened, and am amazed at the Father’s favor; despite my critiques against this culture, and in spite of my recent lamentations, the Lord, ever faithfully, provided a way out under which I could stand and by which I could be protected from the bait of Satan. Little did I know that the escape route would, in fact, ironically, direct me to the very thing that heretofore has stood as an obstruction, a spiritual roadblock, in my mind.

 

A missionary on the stage just spoke into my life when she said about her experience learning Putonghua in China: the difficult part was not learning the language but learning to love those people as Jesus loves them. This will always be my mission, no matter where I am.

 

Keuhng4 jong3

Lai1 hei2 (pull up)

 

In the afternoon, my team had a reconciliation meeting during which, in small groups, each team member at last was given an opportunity to share alternately their joys and struggles. At that time, though having staved off an open rebuke for several days, I could no longer hold back this challenge to my small group: to step out in faith to be a gateway to the nations; and second, per the morning’s message, to on their guard against the sexually explicit, insidious media. I laid out my argument with much cogency, and such a response as I saw fit knocked my group mates into a stupor, because they certainly didn’t have much to say afterwards.

 

Oscillate between…and…

Vacillate…

Equivocated

Prevaricate

 

Sex Talk – Part Two

 

1) Jesus came to show us the Father; John1:18

2) Grace First, Truth Second; John 1:24:25; 16-18

 

Pahn4 mohng6 (hope)

 

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you? Then lay hands.

 

Dale and I are men who have shared similar struggles. His testimony is riveting.

 

Suddenly, I realized that this rally is, in fact, a continuation of yesterday morning’s sex talk, because we ended the previous rally praying more against the shame of abortion than against personal sexual immorality. Notionally, what is being discussed will enable people to really experience the love of the Father such that to change permanently our behavior. So when we are tempted:

 

1) Call for help; Romans 10:13

2) Escape Plan; 1Corinthians 10:13

 

Remember not to stand and rebuke the enemy with your own strength; move physically from the situation.

 

3) Run Away; 2Timothy 2:22

4) Into the Father’s Arms; Hebrews 4:14

 

I like this talk. This might be the first time that these young people get straight sex talk from their leaders; and there is no better time than now for these young people to break through in this particular area of struggle, just as the young men of SP broke through these obstinate barriers during our men’s retreat.

 

5) Confess and be Healed; James 5:16

 

I hope these young people find faithful accountability brothers and sisters in this service.

 

6) Walk in Transparent Accountable Relationships; 1John 1:7

7) Resist the Enemy; James 4:7

✨NEW✨ STATUS ~ Resonates 💚

 

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The colors you see are the ones I am getting in two weeks for my pond,

Please view this beauty in large.

"When I thought about him dying I always thought of it like you said- that all of the strings inside him broke. But there are a thousand ways to look at it: maybe the strings break or maybe our ships sink, or maybe we're grass- our roots so interdependent that no one is dead as long as someone is still alive. We don't suffer from a shortage of metaphors, is what I mean. But you have to be careful which metaphor you choose, because it matters. If you choose the strings, then you're imagining a world in which you can become irreparably broken. If you choose the grass you're saying that we are all infinitely interconnected, that we can use these root systems not only to understand one another, but to become one another."

 

"I like the strings. I always have. Because thats how it feels. But the strings make pain seem more fatal than it is, I think. We're not as frail as the strings would make us believe. And I like the grass, too. The grass got me to you, helped me to imagine you as an actual person. But we're not different sprouts from the same plant. I can't be you. You can't be me. You can imagine another well- but never quite perfectly."

  

-Paper Towns

"Few men have virtue to withstand the highest bidder." ~ George Washington.

 

New Yorkers Protest the US$850 BILLION (US$3 TRILLION) Wall Street BAILOUT: Wall Street, NYC - September 25, 2008

 

Photographer: a. golden, eyewash design - c. 2008.

 

Upon talking about attending this BAILOUT protest, a Native American associate of mine mentioned that somewhere near the location of the NY Stock Exchange - on Wall Street - was the site for a bloody battle between Native tribes and American invaders. I thought this to be rather profound and rather apropos, considering, well, everything!

 

After some research, I could not find that this exact location was THE LOCATION, but discovered the following information from the www.hmbd.org website:

 

"Sankofa" ---> African Burial Ground National Monument

Inscription. [On the marker is the Adinkra symbol "Sankofa," a symbol for the importance of learning from the past]

 

"For all those who were lost,

For all those who were stolen,

For all those who were left behind,

For all those who were not forgotten."

 

*Erected 2007 by National Park Service, U.S. Department of the Interior.*

 

Location. 40° 42.864′ N, 74° 0.267′ W. Marker is in New York City, New York, in New York County. Marker is on Federal Plaza/Duane Street 0.04 miles west of African Burial Ground Way/Elk Street, on the right when traveling east. Click for map. Marker inscriptions are part of the African Burial Ground Memorial designed by Rodney Leon and are accessible to pedestrians on the eastern grounds of the Ted Weiss Federal Building (290 Broadway) off Federal Plaza/Duane Street. Marker is in this post office area: New York NY 10007, United States of America.

 

Other nearby markers. At least 8 other markers are within walking distance of this marker. Richard Montgomery (approx. 0.3 miles away); Remains of Maj. Gen. Richard Montgomery (approx. 0.3 miles away); St. Paul's Chapel (approx. 0.3 miles away); 100 Year-Old Sycamore (approx. 0.3 miles away); Americans of Chinese Ancestry (approx. 0.3 miles away); Lin Ze Xu (approx. 0.3 miles away); Men who died whilst imprisoned in this City (approx. 0.6 miles away); Ohio Company of Associates (approx. 0.6 miles away).

 

If anyone has any information regarding the battle to which my friend spoke, I'd love to hear about it. In the meantime, I might just have to ask again!

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Friends,

 

The richest 400 Americans -- that's right, just four-hundred people -- own MORE than the bottom 150 million Americans COMBINED! 400 of the wealthiest Americans have got more stashed away than half the entire country! Their combined net worth is $1.6 trillion. During the eight years of the Bush Administration, their wealth has increased by nearly $700 billion -- the same amount that they were demanding We give to them for the "bailout." Why don't they just spend the money they made under Bush to bail themselves out? They'd still have nearly a trillion dollars left over to spread amongst themselves!

 

Of course, they are not going to do that -- at least not voluntarily. George W. Bush was handed a $127 billion surplus when Bill Clinton left office. Because that money was OUR money and not HIS, he did what the rich prefer to do -- spend it and never look back. Now we have a $9.5 trillion debt that will take seven generations from which to recover. Why -- on --earth – did -- our -- "representatives" -- give -- these -- robber -- barons -- $US850 BILLION -- of – OUR -- money?

 

Last week, proposed my own bailout plan. My suggestions, listed below, were predicated on the singular and simple belief that the rich must pull themselves up by their own platinum bootstraps. Sorry, fellows, but you drilled it into our heads one too many times: THERE...IS...NO…FREE... LUNCH ~ PERIOD! And thank you for encouraging us to hate people on welfare! So, there should have been NO HANDOUTS FROM US TO YOU! Last Friday, after voting AGAINST this BAILOUT, in an unprecedented turn of events, the House FLIP-FLOPPED their "No" Vote & said "Yes", in a rush version of a "bailout" bill vote. IN SPITE OF THE PEOPLE'S OVERWHELMING DISAPPROVAL OF THIS BAILOUT BILL... IN SPITE OF MILLIONS OF CALLS FROM THE PEOPLE CRASHING WASHINGTON "representatives'" PHONE LINES...IN SPITE OF CRASHING OUR POLITICIAN'S WEBSITES...IN SPITE OF HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE PROTESTING AROUND THE COUNTRY... THEY VOTED FOR THIS BAILOUT! The People first succeeded on Monday with the House, but failed do it with the Senate and then THE HOUSE TURNED ON US TOO!

 

It is clear, though, we cannot simply continue protesting without proposing exactly what it is we think THESE IDIOTS should/'ve do/one. So, after consulting with a number of people smarter than Phil Gramm, here’s the proposal, now known as "Mike's Rescue Plan." (From Michael Moore's Bailout Plan) It has 10 simple, straightforward points. They are that you DIDN'T, BUT SHOULD'VE:

 

1. APPOINTED A SPECIAL PROSECUTOR TO CRIMINALLY INDICT ANYONE ON WALL STREET WHO KNOWINGLY CONTRIBUTED TO THIS COLLAPSE. Before any new money was expended, Congress should have committed, by resolution, to CRIMINALLY PROSECUTE ANYONE who had ANYTHING to do with the attempted SACKING OF OUR ECONOMY. This means that anyone who committed insider trading, securities fraud or any action that helped bring about this collapse should have and MUST GO TO JAIL! This Congress SHOULD HAVE called for a Special Prosecutor who would vigorously go after everyone who created the mess, and anyone else who attempts to scam the public in future. (I like Elliot Spitzer ~ so, he played a little hanky-panky...Wall Street hates him & this is a GOOD thing.)

 

2. THE RICH SHOULD HAVE PAID FOR THEIR OWN BAILOUT! They may have to live in 5 houses instead of 7. They may have to drive 9 cars instead of 13. The chef for their mini-terriers may have to be reassigned. But there is no way in hell, after forcing family incomes to go down more than $2,000 dollars during the Bush years, that working people and the middle class should have to fork over one dime to underwrite the next yacht purchase.

 

If they truly needed the $850 billion they say they needed, well, here is an easy way they could have raised it:

 

a) Every couple makeing over a million dollars a year and every single taxpayer who makes over $500,000 a year should pay a 10% surcharge tax for five years. (It's the Senator Sanders plan. He's like Colonel Sanders, only he's out to fry the right chickens.) That means the rich would have still been paying less income tax than when Carter was president. That would have raise a total of $300 billion.

 

b) Like nearly every other democracy, they should have charged a 0.25% tax on every stock transaction. This would have raised more than $200 billion in a year.

 

c) Because every stockholder is a patriotic American, stockholders should have forgone receiving a dividend check for ONE quarter and instead this money would have gone the treasury to help pay for the bullsh*t bailout.

 

d) 25% of major U.S. corporations currently pay NO federal income tax. Federal corporate tax revenues currently amount to 1.7% of the GDP compared to 5% in the 1950s. If we raised the corporate income tax BACK to the levels of the 1950s, this would give us an extra $500 billion.

 

All of this combined should have been enough to end the calamity. The rich would have gotten to keep their mansions and their servants and our United States government ("COUNTRY FIRST!") would've have a little leftover to repair some roads, bridges and schools...

 

3. YOU SHOULD HAVE BAIL OUT THE PEOPLE LOSING THEIR HOMES, NOT THE PEOPLE WHO WILL BUILD AN EIGHTH HOME! There are 1.3 million homes in foreclosure right now. That is what is at the heart of this problem. So, instead of giving the money to the banks as a gift, they should have paid down each of these mortgages by $100,000. They should have forced the banks to renegotiate the mortgage so the homeowner could pay on its current value. To insure that this help wouldn't go to speculators and those who tried to making money by flipping houses, the bailout should have only been for people's primary residences. And, in return for the $100K pay-down on the existing mortgage, the government would have gotten to share in the holding of the mortgage so it could get some of its money back. Thus, the total initial cost of fixing the mortgage crisis at its roots (instead of with the greedy lenders) is $150 billion, not $850 BILLION.

 

And let's set the record straight. People who have defaulted on their mortgages are not "bad risks." They are our fellow Americans, and all they wanted was what we all want: a home to call their own. But, during the Bush years, millions of the People lost the decent paying jobs they had. SIX MILLION fell into poverty! SEVEN MILLION lost their health insurance! And, every one of them saw their real wages go DOWN by $2,000! Those who DARE look down on these Americans who got hit with one bad break after another should be ASHAMED.! We are a better, stronger, safer and happier society when all of our citizens can afford to live in a home they own.

 

4. THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN A STIPULATION THAT IF YOUR BANK OR COMPANY GOT ANY OF OUR MONEY IN A "BAILOUT," THEN WE OWN YOU. Sorry, that's how it's done. If the bank gives me money so I can buy a house, the bank "owns" that house until I pay it all back -- with interest. Same deal for Wall Street. Whatever money you need to stay afloat, if our government considers you a safe risk -- and necessary for the good of the country -- then you can get a loan, but WE SHOULD OWN YOU. If you default, we will sell you. This is how the Swedish government did it and it worked.

 

5. ALL REGULATIONS SHOULD HAVE BEEN BE RESTORED. THE REAGAN REVOLUTION IS DEAD! This catastrophe happened because we let the fox have the keys to the hen-house. In 1999, Phil Gramm authored a bill to remove all the regulations that governed Wall Street and our banking system. The bill passed and Clinton signed it. Here's what Sen.Phil Gramm, McCain's chief economic advisor, said at the bill signing:

 

"In the 1930s ... it was believed that government was the answer. It was believed that stability and growth came from government overriding the functioning of free markets.

 

"We are here today to repeal [that] because we have learned that government is not the answer. We have learned that freedom and competition are the answers. We have learned that we promote economic growth and we promote stability by having competition and freedom.

 

"I am proud to be here because this is an important bill; it is a deregulatory bill. I believe that that is the wave of the future, and I am awfully proud to have been a part of making it a reality."

 

FOR THIS NOT TO REOCCUR, This BILL SHOULD HAVE BEEN REPEALED! Bill Clinton could have helped by leading the effort for the repeal of the Gramm bill and the reinstating of even tougher regulations regarding our financial institutions. And when they were done with that, they should have restored the regulations for the airlines, the inspection of our food, the oil industry, OSHA, and every other entity that affects our daily lives. All oversight provisions for any "bailout" should have had enforcement monies attached to them and criminal penalties for all offenders.

 

6. IF IT'S TOO BIG TO FAIL, THEN THAT MEANS IT'S TOO BIG TO EXIST! Allowing the creation of these mega-mergers and not enforcing the monopoly and anti-trust laws has allowed a number of financial institutions and corporations to become so large, the very thought of their collapse means an even bigger collapse across the entire economy. No ONE or TWO companies should EVER have this kind of power! The so-called "economic Pearl Harbor" can't happen when you have hundreds -- thousands -- of institutions where people have their money. When we have a dozen auto companies, if one goes belly-up, we DON'T FACE A NATIONAL DISASTER! If we have three separately-owned daily newspapers in your town, then one media company can't call all the shots (I know... What am I thinking?! Who reads a paper anymore? Sure glad all those mergers and buyouts left us with a STRONG and "FREE" press!). Laws Should have been enacted to prevent companies from being so large and dominant that with one slingshot to the eye, the GIANT FALLS and DIES. And no institution should be allowed to set up money schemes that NO ONE understands. If you can't explain it in two sentences, you shouldn't be taking anyone's money!

 

7. NO EXECUTIVE SHOULD EVER BE PAID MORE THAN 40 TIMES THEIR AVERAGE EMPLOYEE, AND NO EXECUTIVE SHOULD RECEIVE ANY KIND OF "PARACHUTE" OTHER THAN THE VERY GENEROUS SALARY HE OR SHE MADE WHILE WORKING FOR THE COMPANY. In 1980, the average American CEO made 45 times what their employees made. By 2003, they were making 254 times what their workers made. After 8 years of Bush, they now make over 400 times what their average employee makes. How We have allowed this to happen at publicly held companies is beyond reason. In Britain, the average CEO makes 28 times what their average employee makes. In Japan, it's only 17 times! The last I heard, the CEO of Toyota was living the high life in Tokyo. How does he do it on so little money? Seriously, this is an OUTRAGE! We have created the mess we're in by letting the people at the top become bloated beyond belief with millions of dollars. THIS HAS TO STOP! Not only should no executive who receives help out of this mess profit from it, but any executive who was in charge of running his company into the ground should be FIRED before the company receives ANY help.

 

8. CONGRESS SHOULD HAVE STRENGTHENED THE FDIC AND MADE IT A MODEL FOR PROTECTING NOT ONLY PEOPLE'S SAVINGS, BUT ALSO THEIR PENSIONS AND THEIR HOMES. Obama was correct to propose expanding FDIC protection of people's savings in their banks to $250,000. But, this same sort of government insurance must be given to our NEVER have to worry about whether or not the money they've put away for their old age will be there. This should have meant strict government oversight of companies who manage their employees' funds -- or perhaps it means the companies should have been forced to turn over those funds and their management to the government? People's private retirement funds must also be protected, but perhaps it's time to consider not having one's retirement invested in the casino known as the stock market??? Our government should have a solemn duty to guarantee that no one who grows old in this country has to worry about becoming destitute.

 

9. EVERYBODY NEEDS TO TAKE A DEEP BREATH, CALM DOWN, AND NOT LET FEAR RULE THE DAY. Turn off your TVs! We are NOT in the Second Great Depression. The sky is NOT falling, Chicken Little! Pundits and politicians have lied to us so FAST and FURIOUS it's hard not to be affected by all the fear mongering. Even I wrote to and repeated what I heard on the news last week, that the Dow had the biggest one day drop in its history. Well, that was true in terms of points, but its 7% drop came nowhere close to Black Monday in 1987 when the stock market in one day lost 23% of its value. In the '80s, 3,000 banks closed, but America didn't go out of business. These institutions have always had their ups and downs and eventually it works out. It has to, because the rich do not like their wealth being disrupted! They have a vested interest in calming things down and getting back into their Jacuzzis before they slip into their million thread-count sheets to drift off to a peaceful, Vodka tonic and Ambien-induced slumber.

 

As crazy as things are right now, tens of thousands of people got a car loan last week. Thousands went to the bank and got a mortgage to buy a home. Students just back to college found banks more than happy to put them into hock for the next 15 years with a student loan. I was even pre-approved for a US$5K personal loan. Yes, life has gone on with little-or-no-change (other than the whopping 6.1% unemployment rate, but that happened last month). Not a single person lost any of his/her monies in bank, or a treasury note, or in a CD. And, the perhaps the most amazing thing is that the American public FINALLY didn't buy the scare campaign. The citizens didn't blink, instead telling Congress to take that bailout and shove it. THAT was impressive. Why didn't the population succumb to the fright-filled warnings from their president and his cronies? Well, you can only say 'Saddam has the bomb' so many times before the people realize you're a lying sack of shit. After eight long years, the nation is worn out and simply can't take it any longer. The WORLD is fed up & I don't blame them.

 

10. THEY SHOULD HAVE CREATED A NATIONAL BANK, A "PEOPLE'S BANK." Since they're really itching to print up a trillion dollars, instead of giving it to a few rich people, why don't We give it to ourselves? Now that We own Freddie and Fannie, why not set up a People's bank? One that can provide low-interest loans for all sorts of people who want to own a home, start a small business, go to school, come up with the cure for cancer or create the next great invention. And, now that we own AIG - the country's largest insurance company - let's take the next step and PROVIDE HEALTH INSURANCE FOR EVERYONE. MEDICARE FOR ALL! It will SAVE us SO MUCH MONEY in the LONG RUN (not to mention bring peace of mind to all). And, America won't be 12th on the life expectancy list! We'll be able to have a longer lifespan, enjoying our government-protected pension and will live to see the day when the corporate criminals who caused this much misery are let out of prison so that We can help re-acclimate them to plain old ordinary, civilian life -- a life with ONE nice home and ONE gas-free car invented with help from the People's Bank.

 

P.S. Call your Senators NOW !!! ---> www.visi.com/juan/congress/

 

Since they voted against passing the extension of unemployment benefits and skipped out to "campaign" to us to be re-elected...call them and tell them you will vote for the other "guy" if they don't get their act together!

 

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UPDATE: THE PEOPLE HAVE VOTED! A HISTORIC MOMENT: NOVEMBER 4th 2008!

 

------> THE Historic ELECTION <------

 

"A work in PROGRESS."

 

Nov. 4th, 2008.

 

A great American leader once said, "As individual fingers We can be easily broken. But TOGETHER We make a mighty fist." These words too were spoken by a minority leader. He was the venerable Chief Sitting Bull. No, Barack Obama's not the first American minority to speak eloquently and he most certainly won't be the last. Though, in the end, this election wasn't even close !!! The world watched as, "YES WE CAN!" turned into, "YES WE DID!" as it now ushers in, "YES WE MUST!" time is NOW!

 

What WE do with this moment shall define US, forthright. America has now elected a man with a background of partial African - American descent as President elect. A new leader with roots from Kenya to Kansas (with a step-father from Indonesia), will be working in conjunction with a vice-Presidential of Anglo-European roots. This is something in which citizens of ALL races - both here and the world 'round – have loudly REJOICED. Why talk about race? Is race important? You bet! Because - like it or not - race has dominated and governed Our daily lives for thousands of years. After all: "To know where We're going, We must first know where We've been".

 

We've come a LONG Way baby! What was once "acceptable" in 1965 is no longer in 2008 and THANKFULLY.

 

This is a changing of the guard. Especially since forty-percent of America's population is considered to be a "minority". Only four generations removed, the repression of African slaves by Anglo Saxons caused hundreds of thousands of brothers to kill brothers in a viscous and bloody battle that changed the fundamental principals of this Constitutional Republic from rhetoric to reality. This too was a significant changing of the guard.

 

For the first time in the history of the country, the ancestors of these very same people who so passionately fought for slavery have now OVERWHELMINGLY voted for a minority leader. This too ushers in a new chapter in the history of America. This is a tremendous nod to those great American leaders before Us who risked everything so that We find ourselves at this precise moment in time. We must give thanks to these men and women who both tirelessly and unselfishly gave their lives to cross and to help shatter the racial, sexual and social boundaries imbued in the history of the United States of America.

 

It has now taken place. There's a palpable renewed sense of HOPE for a better tomorrow – a HOPE that these same crippling boundaries shall finally once and for all be erased. Yet it is wise to also remember the adage, "Actions speak louder than words" and Our rhetoric must now be turned into action. The ability to truly rise above differences and to not just speak of doing so, tells much of Our long and continuous journey. If We remember the old North American Indian saying, "We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children." We might just have a fighting chance.

 

The People have spoken! A record-setting 130 million Americans' turned out to vote in Tuesday's election, in which Barack Obama made history on a Democratic tidal wave of victory. Polling suggests voters came out in record numbers because of growing concerns over the economy, jobs, health care, energy, and the war in Iraq.

 

Clearly, the Obama administration and the new Democratic majority in Washington have a chance to make profound changes in Our lives - stretching ­from Wall Street to Main Street. Yes, this moment shows decency about human possibility and let's face it, We could use just a little decency RIGHT NOW.

 

Perhaps more importantly, this moment speaks volumes as it's an utter rejection of the right's politics of fear and greed? It will now be decades before there's another Republican majority in Congress. Never have the words, "Ask not what Your country can do for You, but what You can do for Your country," seemed more true for SO MANY. For, We-Are-Our-country. And We're at a MAJOR crossroads. Where, oh where to begin?

 

OBAMA / BIDEN Campaign.

 

Here in New York, Working Families voters, members, affiliates, supporters and chapter leaders poured everything they had into critical campaigns that proved successful. Many are now understandably exhausted - though more than a little proud of what was accomplished. And, the results were terrific ~ if not downright Historic. For the first time since the mid-1930, the State Senate will NO LONGER be controlled by Republicans. It's now in the hands of a Democratic Working Families majority! Just-take-one-moment-and-soak-this-in. MASSIVE Democratic majorities in BOTH the HOUSE and the SENATE!

 

Together, the W.F.P built a solid partnership with Senate Democrats, knocking on more than half a million doors for progressive CHANGE. And, in the end, "We the People" overwhelmingly responded. This is a MILESTONE. There's now a renewed sense of real HOPE resonating from Washington, indeed, around the world. This is powerful. Because, without HOPE, there's simply nothing to gain.

 

However, We must be careful not to fall prey to disillusionment. If illusions tear People asunder, then disillusion outright kills the human spirit. In other words, divided THEY conquer, united, WE stand. That this historic moment was ushered in during Native American Indian month is apropos. Because, We must not forget the very real foundations of this idealistic country and pay homage to the 500 plus year struggle of Our First Peoples' for the basic rights afforded them in Our own Constitution. Obama's victory is indeed a victory representing the multitudes. It is precisely because his success mirrors the masses, rather than a few wealthy, power-elite that this is so electrifying. A VERY palpable, "Finally!" was the expression heard 'round the world.

 

The world woke up WEDNESDAY with the real possibility of a very RARE OPPORTUNITY - the best in most Our lifetimes. This is a chance to truly transform America.

 

But, We mustn't forget the VERY hard realities existing in this country. Just ask any woman…any "person of color"…or, any First Peoples living in this "great" land. For, as long as Native American Indians in Our country still live in policies of containment on reservations without the very basics, such as running water, electricity, or heat… as long as more than 75% of the prison population includes African-Americans, First and Taino Peoples …as long as We continue to allow Our tax dollars spent to be three times more for each of these prisoners per head than on Our own school childrens' education…as long as American women continue to earn less than men for the SAME work…as long as We allow privately held corporations to exist without extreme MAJOR reform…as long as We continue to allow Our children to trample on foreign soil to kill and to be killed in "Our" names…as long as We sit idly by expecting or content to let others to "Do the right thing," for us… as long as We DON'T ACTIVELY PARTICIPATE TOGETHER in challenging and fighting for OUR OWN WELL-BEING for the betterment of future generations… as long as We choose to remain ignorant and in denial to Our faults…TRUE CHANGE can, and will NEVER HAPPEN.

 

Though, like anything rare and unique, We must first take proper time to Honor…to give thanks to those before us who, without their dedication and sacrifice, made this moment possible. We must come together. Immediate formulation and a real plan to guard and to protect this moment with fierce determination is required. New leaders are needed and will emerge so We ensure moments like this become the norm, rather than a mere token fluke. If We HOPE to transform Tuesday's results into a real break from the shipwreck of the most immediate last thirty years - We MUST start by realizing this election represents just that – a START. It's Round One of Our LONG and CONTINUOUS struggle.

 

And, Round Two will be just as tough, if not more so. Staying the course can easily be forgotten when People are dying from inadequate health care; when they've found themselves on the streets for lack of shelter and as they grow ever more desperate due to lack of job opportunities. Just ask people of Native or African American descent. Or, one of Our homeless veterans living on America's streets of plenty.

 

Yes, the house of cards has fallen HARD and FAST. And, President / V.P. elect Barack Obama and Joe Biden have inherited many seemingly insurmountable challenges. REAL CHANGE - not rhetoric - is what's needed. And to get it, We MUST demand it. We MUST march and be watchdogs for the sake of the coming generations. Communication with Our politicians is a MUST. MOST importantly, We MUST stand TOGETHER and be willing to fight to protect what is right and what is good for the MANY, NOT the FEW.

 

UNITED We STAND, DIVIDED, We FALL.

 

A President Obama will need to be simultaneously supported AND pushed. His training as a community organizer gives one confidence that he'll not only understand, but should also expect this dynamic. It's imperative for us to mind the trusty, "Follow the money" strategy. Don't forget, President elect Obama dually made history by raising the most unprecedented amount of campaign dollars in the HISTORY of U.S. Presidential elections. According to CNN, if annualized, the Obama campaign's ad spending on the post-primary Presidential campaign would come to US$750 million. This amount is only exceeded amongst large corporations such as Verizon and AT&T - both heavy sponsors of the Republican AND the Democratic national party conventions.

 

At the start of October, the Democratic National Committee announced it raised US$49.9 million with US$27.5 million sitting in the bank. The party raised money through joint fund-raising events with Obama and was able to use that money to assist his candidacy. These numbers were only possible because he opted out of the public financing system for the fall campaign. John McCain chose to participate in the system, which limited him to US$84 million for the September / October stretch prior to the election. After initially promising to accept public financing if McCain did, Obama changed his mind after setting primary fund-raising records. In fact, by the time the primaries hit, Obama was raising as much as US$5 million each and every day. The Obama / Biden campaign raised more than US$150 million in September alone - a stunning and unprecedented eruption of political giving. This extraordinary fund-raising is bound to set a new standard in politics that could doom the current taxpayer-paid system set up in the 1970's.

 

HOPEfully NOT.

 

The party presidential nominees – Democrat Barack Obama and Republican John McCain – together spent more than US$1 BILLION, also an unprecedented figure. According to White House for Sale, a nonpartisan group that tracks political giving, Obama had 605 bundlers, or donors who collect money from friends and associates and bundle them together. Four years ago, Democrat John F. Kerry had 588 bundlers and, in 2000, Al Gore had none. McCain had 851 bundlers working for his campaign, compared to 557 who raised money for the Bush-Cheney re-election committee in 2004. George W. Bush is largely credited with institutionalizing the role of bundlers in 2000, when he recruited a then unprecedented 555 surrogate fundraisers.

 

Ask Yourselves: Who really benefits most from having donated to the Obama / Biden campaign?

 

President - elect Barack Obama & John McCain's U.S. Presidential campaign funds details:

 

OBAMA:

Total:US$750,767,963

Bundlers:605

LobbyistBundlers:17

 

MCCAIN:

Total: US$372,525,058

Bundlers: 851

Lobbyist Bundlers: 77

 

See the Center for Responsive Politics Presidential campaign monies for a better perspective:

 

2008: Obama AND McCain - US$5.3 BILLION

 

(Obama: US$750,767,963 million / McCain: US$372,525,058 million)

 

2004: Bush AND Kerry - US$4.2 BILLION

 

2000: Gore AND Bush - US$67.56 MILLION

 

1996: Dole AND Clinton - US$61.82 MILLION

 

1992: Clinton AND Bush - US$55.24 MILLION

 

* TO SEARCH FOR MEGA-DONERS, CLICK here: www.whitehouseforsale.org/searchDonor.cfm?CandidateSelect... McCain&StateSelect=&SortOrder=Last_Name, First_Name, Middle_Name, Suffix.*

 

Democrats in Washington and will be under enormous pressure to "play it safe", even as everyone knows We need bold action and some kind of new, New Deal. And, if We allow the "play-it-safe" crowd to dominate, then Obama (and We) will not succeed. Make NO mistake: the corporate big-wigs and free-market fundamentalists see this for exactly what it is: THE FIGHT OF A LIFETIME. They want nothing more than for the Democrats to disappoint, because then the HOPEfulness that Obama represents can be stuffed back in the bottle and cynicism can once again regain its place in Our national political culture.

 

WE Can't Let This Happen!

 

Whether it's revamping our health care system…implementing a new fair-based trade policy…creating a sound, realistic and well thought-out immigration plan…jobs programs…organizing rights in Washington, or campaign election reform, family leave or fair taxes, this election has set the stage for an ENTIRELY NEW social contract between the government and the People. This election opens up a real possibility – small, but real - that We could make genuine progress as a society, in terms of equality and freedom and true sustainability. In other words, the democracy We preach, but don't teach. What comes next is up to US. And, We need to seriously ready OURSELVES.

 

In short, the real meaning of this election hasn't yet been decided.

 

Overall, there's a lot of work to do. It's imperative that EVERYONE do his share - whether this means attending a neighborhood or union meeting, signing a petition, organizing or riding a bus to a demonstration, going on a lobby visit, making a financial contribution, or just talking to a stranger about the need and desirability of the common good.

 

Thanks for all you do!

Live your values. Love your country.

And, remember: TOGETHER, We can make a D-I-F-F-E-R-E-N-C-E !