So I was holding the little turtle, she is blonde and has her mother’s blue eyes, she screams “Daddy!” every time she sees me after I have been away for an hour or so, and she wakes me up by saying “Morning daddy!” with a kiss and hug to go with it. She has always been so direct and clear with everything and though she is not two yet she speaks enough to explain anything that she wants to express. I had asked her mom to put on some music and I was spinning the little turtle around dancing with her.
The first song that came on sounded like some country and western love song, kinda whiny and drawn out, and I said so; half to the little turtle and half to the wife, something like “Sounds a bit whiny…” but whatever, my little daughter, like all of them, just likes to dance and if I swing her round a bit with the music she smiles or laughs.
The wife didn’t even betray a smirk or anything, just looked up then carried on ironing a patch on one of my perennially ripped jeans. Then, as she knows I would, because I always do, I started hearing the actual words.
And all I managed to say was…
“Oh, it’s about… I thought…”
And then, without any warning or even understanding of why really, a whole bunch of crying burst out of me. Tears and that coughing thing a man may do when trying to stop, except I couldn’t. All the things I passed through with Scorpio Girl, who is twelve now, and who I didn’t have any time with for 5 of her first 9 years, who is here for the third year with us now, came flooding back, even while I was holding the little turtle and her total innocent love and honesty, that I would murder thousands to protect, and the other two girls too, of course, but these two, the first and the latest, they hit me at the same time like a one-two from Mike Tyson in his prime.
I still haven’t really processed it in a way I can put into words. I don’t know if I ever will, I have always been like this. Stuff of this sort probably just adds up. Scar on scar. Builds an armour I don’t know about. And all the women and broken things before just buried it I don’t know where.
And Lucie comes along and finds that gap, and shines a beam of sunlight in there. Among all the broken things and what it maybe used to be shines through as she begins to dust and clean and repair something I forgot I even had in there.
The little turtle was worried looking at me crying, tears on my face she had never seen. And Lucie came to hug us both. I told the little turtle I am fine, I am happy, I love her. And she seemed to accept it, if maybe not fully convinced.
I went to lie down upstairs on my own a minute to try and understand what happened. And the best I can do is what I write here now, so far.
One other thought came to me that is irrelevant to the specifics of this but I still think is relevant in a wider world context, and it is again a difference between what one might at first imagine is the difference between Latino men, spics and dagos like me and Northerners like the Anglos, Swedes, Germans and so on.
But on reflection, I think stems more from —once again— the difference between Catholicism and Protestantism. The reflection of the reality of God, as it expresses in man versus the caricature of it.
The difference is perhaps best expressed in a way that my father pointed it out once when I was a young teenager. I don’t recall what the context was. And my father has never been a very soft man, anyway, but he was describing this difference between the Anglos and us:
“They think if you show your emotions you are weak. They are stupid that way. They think if you cry because your dog died you’re a pussy, and maybe even say so to you. Then when you kick them in the balls and break their nose for disturbing your private moment of mourning, they think you’re a crazy person. The truth is that they are weak. Just because a man cries when something hurts him doesn’t mean he can’t cut you open from belly to throat without blinking when you piss him off.”
It wasn’t a life lesson I really ever needed to be taught, as I was this way instinctively, always have been, but the verbalising of it had crystallised it for me nicely.
I don’t have that crystallisation as to why exactly I burst out crying so suddenly, and I don’t especially need it for myself, but it is probably important conceptually for others. A contextualisation of spiritual truth matters in the wider context. It is, after all, how the truth of God has spread and expanded in its details thanks to the Catholic Church’s dogmatic truths, expounded and detailed over the centuries from the basic principles of the gospels and Catholic tradition harking back to the three centuries before the Bible was even compiled.
Anyway, I am not sure what you may gain from this story, other than some generic concepts which will no doubt get twisted into mutant versions of what I wrote, be it “Latins are more manly and in touch with their feminine side!” All the way to: “The kurgan is a pussy and no one should take any advice from a man that cries because of a song!”
Without forgetting the “He’s obsessed! He makes it all about Catholicism and how it’s the best religion ever!” For the record, I am no more “obsessed” with Catholicism than I am with 2+2 being 4. It just is true and that matters.
And if I cared what people said about me, well… I think by now anyone that knows me realises there is no danger of that being a threat to my psyche.
Oh, and of course, the final lesson to take away from all this is that women are devious creatures even in their most loving and caring aspects.
The song:
Orania 33 years later
If you are, like me, considering building your own community, with like-minded people, then you really need to see this video:
Regardless of the fact that I was never fond of Afrikaaners in general, and certainly not of the NGK (main protestant denomination of heresy in South Africa), the simple fact is that I entirely support the concept of what they did.
And just so people who think I am superciliously arrogant can get a shock, I will admit for the second post in a row that I was somewhat wrong 30 odd years ago when Orania was announced.
I assumed it would remain a backwater semi-desert with little to show for the efforts of what I considered the half-retards that are Afrikaaners.
As always, there are exceptions, and I certainly have met Afrikaaners that were absolutely awesome people in all respects. But as a general rule, I found them lacking in imagination, far too brainwashed by generic Protestant puritanism and literal illogical nonsense that simply makes zero sense, and more often than not rude and with a chip on their shoulder. Basically, what one of the black guys that worked for my dad said once: “Afrikaaners are just another tribe of Africans. They just have a white skin.”
That all said, it is an absolute fact that they have made their community a success. And in the scheme of things 33 years is not very long.
If I can create a Sedevacantist (aka Catholic) community one quarter the size in the next 20 years, I will have considered it a success.
I have far less exposure than they did from the start, but hey, thanks to you guys reading, maybe the concept will spread.
The point is not that ONLY Sedevacantism will work. In the short term, say 10 to 150 years, probably several versions of community will work. What I do think will make the difference is in the long term: say the next 500-1000 years.
I believe real Catholicism will continue to exist even then and some of those proto-communities I am building right now will be real ongoing communities, city-states, or even brand new nations. Orania… well, it clearly intends to be around and the Afrikaaners have had a rather resilient history, primarily because unlike many other people, they have never foregone the concept of violence.
Violence is a way of life in Africa, and whether you realise it or not, recognise it or not, or can even understand it or not, violence is an aspect of humanity wherever you live on Earth.
Being very clear about that and ready to use it at the least reason for it, tends to ensure that on an individual level you may suffer dire consequences, but as a people en masse, you are almost guaranteed to keep existing in time, OR get completely wiped out if you go up against a numerically larger, and just as violent people.
The Afrikaaners have always been comfortable with violence and responding to violence with more violence, and that goes a long way towards making you last in time.
Catholics definitely have the edge spiritually, and intellectually speaking, and in antiquity they absolutely were formidable warriors. But a couple hundred years of pharisee propaganda, global hegemony by protestant “philosophies” and so on has considerably weakened the instinct of self-protection through violence when and as required.
It is not completely gone or generically extinct, because, well, I and a few people like me, still exist, but whether there are enough of us, are able to organise ourselves enough and in time, remains to be seen.
At any rate, is it not interesting how a highly motivated community, with similar values and traditions, armed to the teeth, have a level of internal violence that is practically non-existent, even when located in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by one of the highest crime rates in the entire world.
Proving the old adage that an armed society is a polite society, as well as the fact that more guns in the hands of normal citizens who just want to be left alone, makes for a much safer society than the “gun free” liberal stab-zones now spreading across Europe.
If you are not building a society of people ready and willing to ostracise anyone and everyone that is not part of the in-group, you should be trying to genuinely join one that is already forming.
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By G | 25 August 2024 | Posted in Catholicism, Clown World, Farming Life, Increasing Happiness, Sedevacantism, Social Commentary, The Crusades - Iron Men and Saints Vol. 1, Zombie Apocalypse