#use as sacrifices or little gold models of the temple i think. i may be misremembering tho) and being like ''that's disrespectful to god''

[i-am-just-a-skeleton]

hey what kind of table is the phrase "how the tables have turned" supposed to be referring to? is it like. a table that spins? related to gambling somehow? cause i had always imagined like. tables getting flipped over. and had always vaguely assumed it was related to jesus flipping over tables in the temple. kind of a "you thought you were getting away with something but now the consequences are coming to you" type thing

[spiritsoulandbody]

#DailyDevotion The Father Was Once Inaccessible To Us

#DailyDevotion The Father Was Once Inaccessible To Us Heb. 9 The first covenant had its regulations for worship and the earthly holy place. 2A tabernacle was set up. In the first part were the lampstand, the table, and the bread laid before God; this is called the holy place. 3Behind the second curtain was the part of the tabernacle called the most holy place 4with the gold altar of incense and the ark of the covenant, completely covered with gold. In the ark were the gold jar containing the manna, Aaron's rod that had budded, and the tablets on which the covenant was written. 5Above it were the angels of glory overshadowing the "atonement cover” on which the blood was sprinkled. I can't tell about these in detail now. 6But that is how it was arranged. The priests are always going into the first part of the tabernacle to serve God, 7but only the high priest goes into the second part once a year with blood he offers for himself and for the sins the people have done in ignorance. 8And so the Holy Spirit clearly tells us that the way into the real holy place had not yet been shown as long as the outer part of the tabernacle was still standing. There's a lot here, at least as far as number of words. We could try to spiritualize every little detail here. I'm going to try to not do that here. But I do think we can remember the previous verses in which we are reminded that the earthly Temple is a model, a shadow of the heavenly Temple above. We are reminded of the regulations of the first covenant for worship. Now I think we can say that the lampstand is symbolic of the Holy Spirit. It is His works in this world to be light and life for us. He is accessible to us as much as He makes Himself accessible through the prophets. We have the show bread in this area as well. I think we can say this is symbolic of our LORD Jesus Christ is the Bread of Life. He gave of Himself to the Israelites in the wilderness in the form of manna. Jesus feeds us with His body and blood in the sacrament He instituted that our eternal life may be maintained. Behind the curtain stood the Ark of the Covenant upon which sat the mercy seat of God. This is symbolic of the Father who is inaccessible to all which is common, unclean, and unholy. Only the High Priest once a year could enter behind the curtain having first cleansed himself of his sins by the required sacrifices. The gold incense altar represents our prayers which ascend before Him continually. The gold symbolizes the majesty of the Father and calls us to be in awe of it. Aaron's rod which budded and the tablets of the covenant were in the ark to remind both God and the Israelites of their promises to each other. Now the priest could go into the first part but not the second part. Only the High Priest could enter that second part. As long as the first part was in operation, the second part was inaccessible to us. But, as we shall see later, Jesus Christ, our High Priest, has opened the way for us with a sacrifice better than those offered in the first covenant. Having torn the curtain that separated us from God the Father upon His death, we now have access to God our Father. Jesus Himself being our only Mediator between God and man. By the blood He poured upon the mercy seat of God, we can boldly and confidently call God Father to the glory of Jesus Christ. He has opened the way to us which our sins prevented us from entering. O LORD Jesus Christ, we give You thank and praise for opening for us the throne-room of the mercy seat of the Father by Your blood. Grant us faith always in Your blood that we may boldly with a clear conscience approach Your Father. In Your precious name we pray. Amen. Read the full article

[ask-de-writer]

IDOL TIMES (1 part), a Classical Fantasy

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IDOL TIMES

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

1988 words

written 2003

copyright 2013

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan activity, cosplay, stories, music, plays or skits or anything else is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

“The thieves of Istar are a bunch of lowlife cowards,” declared Rumol, as he snagged a beer from a passing server’s tray. The server noticed the theft, so he tossed a copper fluket onto the tray.

“That’s the kind of talk that gets folk from Kelin beat to a pulp in Istar,” replied Durson mildly from the next bench. “We’re as brave as any thieves that you will find.” He reached over and took a swig from Rumol’s beer. “Now, suppose that you clear up that claim that you made.”

“Simplicity itself,” retorted Rumol, retrieving his beer. “Look about you. You see thieves on hard times. The whole country is in a depression. Nothing to steal that’s worth the theft, you say. Nonsense! The temple of the Chained One stands ripe for the plucking! It’s a whole orchard of treasures and you are starving! I rest my case.”

“You tell us nothing new. Where does the cowardice come from?”

“Why,” said Rumol indignantly, “if you know about a prize like that, and you don’t take it, what other reason can there be?”

“You might try prudence. We are not as stupid as you think us. The Chained One’s temple is guarded day and night by vigilant priests with pike and spear. The treasures cannot be had - bribery has been tried and failed.”

“Perhaps you have not noticed that the temple is only locked, not guarded, on the night of the full moon. The priests retreat to tightly locked quarters. There is a large round hole in the nave roof. It is the perfect time to make a small expedition, using simple skills, for great reward.”

“You are out of what passes for your mind! The Chained One is unchained on that night! Other thieves have tried what you suggest. None has returned. The Chained One is always in a different position after the full moon.”

“It will be safe,” scornfully stated Rumol. “See this?” He held up a chip of stone, smooth on one side. “It came from the Chained One̓s reverend rear, this afternoon. Common stone, very well worked, it is true, but stone nonetheless. If folk disappeared, they must have left a priest hidden inside the temple. We need only take a crossbow and pick him off through the hole in the roof.”

“None of us will help you,” replied Durson. “You still haven’t explained how the Chained One moves.”

“Preserve me from fools!” exclaimed Rumol. “The figure is probably jointed. The priests sneak back through a tunnel and rearrange it.”

“And the live pony that they leave for a sacrifice?”

“You just heard me say that they have a tunnel. They lead it out and sell it, or save it to use again.”

“Well, you have a glib answer for everything. We have lived here all of our lives. We will not risk it.”

“Then you confirm my first statement - you are cowards. I will see to the treasures myself. Don’t expect any share from me,” declared Rumol. “The local guild can do without my dues if I can’t get help.”

Rumol stood, a bit unsteadily, and strode out of the tavern. A few blocks down the street, on the way to his lodgings, he ran into some “friends”. Guild enforcers. One took his arms from behind, while the other faced him. “Heard some talk about a little rat not payin’ his dues,” he said through his Guild mask. “This may help you to reconsider.” He hauled back his arm for a mighty blow to the stomach.

Rumol erupted. He let the man who was holding his arms support him while he lashed out with both feet. As he connected, he straightened his back and smashed backwards with his head. Both men went down, taking Rumol with them. The fall broke the grip of the man holding him; he got up quickly and, leaving them on the ground, ran to his room.

He paused only long enough to gather his few possessions and go out again, without, of course, paying the landlord. “I’ll avoid the guild’s enforcers by camping in the jungle outside the city for the next few days, until the full moon,” decided Rumol.

Two days of shooing serpents out of his sleeping roll and swatting bugs made him wonder if any job was worth this.

The night of the full moon found Rumol, dressed in black, alongside the Chained One’s temple. Sunset and moonrise were nearly the same time and sun was just gone. He had to hurry. He had attended the ceremonial Unchaining only two hours ago. What he had seen had confirmed most of his plans.

Checking his equipment, he made sure that he had his small crossbow, a grapnel, rope, jimmy and a variety of bags for packing loot quietly away. Swinging the grapnel, Rumol heaved it at the top of the wall.

If there were any gods (Rumol had his doubts) they were with him. The hook caught on the coping at the first cast. He was up the rope like a serpent up a vine. Pulling the rope up after him made him reasonably safe from the city watch. The moon began to rise in a nimbus of orange glow at the horizon as he crept in a leisurely way across the roof to the large round hole. Spaced about it were plinths, each supporting a representation of a major moon phase.

Testing these for security, Rumol looped his rope about one. He tied it by wrapping the rope twice about the shank of the grapnel and letting the rope fall between the hooks. Simple, secure, and to be unfastened in an instant, if need be.

With owl’s eyes Rumol searched the temple for hidden priests. Seeing none, he let down the rope, with the bags tied to it as a decoy. Still nothing. Taking no chances, he cocked his crossbow and carried it in the crook of his left arm, as he lowered himself to the floor. The pony whikkered hopefully.

Rumol strode over to where the pony was tied, for his one minor last-minute change in plan. He stroked the pony’s nose and gave it a carrot. That attended to, he set about his work.

All of the altar-ware had been put away in stout cabinets. A few minutes’ work with his jimmy laid the cabinets open to his gaze. There, before his eyes, was the wealth that those fools were afraid to come for. So far, the job had been absurdly simple. Carefully packing each gold or silver vessel into its own smaller sack, he then put them all into a large bag. He left the candlesticks. They were brass.

His next target was the vestry where the jeweled robes, miters, censors, and other priestly gear were kept. The several services that he had attended told him which door to attack. It had only a small spring lock which broke at once under his educated assault. The cabinets where the priestly goods were kept fared no better. Soon, all were looted and their contents resided in Rumol’s bags.

As he emerged into the nave, he saw that the moonlight was partway up the idol. Its two lower eyes glittered green. Emeralds of that size would never happen, but they might be peridots or beryl. Any faceted stones that large would be worth a king’s ransom.

Never one to leave a job half done, Rumol began to climb the idol. Placing feet on huge haunch, thence to paunch, forearm and then to shoulder, he finally straddled the mighty muzzle. The Moonlight clearly showed the two lower eyes to be set in a cement that matched the stone perfectly. It was modeled to resemble eyelids. In a few moments the moonlight would reach the third eye, too. Rumol set to work on the lower right eye.

Just then, the moonlight came to the third eye, and the muzzle tilted as the great head shifted. The eyes blinked. A deep soft voice rumbled, “Please get that thing out of my eye.”

Hanging on for his life, Rumol squeeked in fright, “Let me down! I didn’t know that you were alive! I’ll just get my things and leave you in peace.”

“You do that,” the deep voice said. Great paws set him gently on the floor.

Quickly, he gathered his loot and began to climb the rope. The huge paws seized him gently but irresistibly, and separated him from the rope. “You said that you would take your things and go. Those things are mine.”

Rumol almost squeaked in fright, “Don’t eat me! Please!”

“Eat you?” the idol answered in surprise, “I would never do that! Where ever did you get that idea?”

“Everybody says that you eat a pony - and any thieves - every moon.” Rumol shook his head, “I didn’t believe them.”

“Well, the pony is my dinner, that’s true,” the idol held him closer to its eyes which were now thoroughly lively, “but I don’t often get a guest to talk to. The priests never stay anymore. They know that their spells keep me from escaping this room as long as my body is stone, which is not likely to change anytime soon.” The idol paused in thought and a devious expression came and went from its massive visage.

“You went to a great deal of trouble and danger to get these things, didn’t you?”

Enfolded in the mighty paws of the idol, Rumol contented himself with a nod of agreement.

The Idol set him down in front of the altar. It carefully emptied out all of Rumol’s booty. “I see that you have even taken the lunar divination die of silver and ivory. If you will stay and talk, I will give you a chance to win some or all of the of these things. Let us play for what you have taken. Each of us will roll in turn. The one whose phase is closest to full wins. Waxing phase is higher than waning. The blank new moon always loses. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

The game progressed swiftly. Sometimes the advantage was with Rumol, sometimes with the idol. Eventually, chance alloted all the loot to the idol. Rumol stood dejected.

He brightened when the idol proposed, “One more pass? All or nothing?”

“Certainly. You’re the best winner that I have ever known. Anyone can be a good loser. Graceful winning is the test.” Taking the die, Rumol threw a waxing gibbous moon. The idol promptly made its throw. A full moon came up. The idol took Rumol gently and said, “You lose. As you have nothing else to give, look into my third eye.” Rumol did as he was bidden; he really had no choice.

Rumol felt a great disorientation and confusion; there was the impression of something dark going up, near him. His right eye hurt. He felt hungry and felt a stiffening all over. There was an intense urge to get up on the altar. As the moonlight faded, he got stiffer and the urge to get onto the altar got stronger, until he could not resist it any longer. Gazing longingly at the pony, he got up on the altar. With the last of the moonlight, consciousness waned on the thought that he was going to be very hungry by the next full moon.

The next morning the priests were surprised at what they found. A young acolyte exclaimed, “This is terrible! The Chained One has refused the pony! Look, there he stands. I pray you, lord priest, what does it mean?”

“Use your eyes, young man,” the priest replied sonorously. “See you not the bags, the jimmy, the broken cabinets? Another fool has tried to rob us.

“Now, while we priests replace the chains, you acolytes clean up the mess. Be sure that things are put away properly and then run get a carpenter to fix these cabinets.”

-THE END-

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This completes Idol Times. If you enjoyed what you just read, please go to the Master Story Index for links to all of the stories that I have posted on Tumblr.

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

24th November >> Mass Readings (USA)

Saints Andrew Dũng-Lạc and his Companions, Martyrs

    on 

Tuesday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time.

Tuesday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: Red)

(Readings for the feria (Tuesday))

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Tuesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading

Revelation 14:14-19

The time to reap has come, because the earth’s harvest is fully ripe.

I, John, looked and there was a white cloud, and sitting on the cloud one who looked like a son of man, with a gold crown on his head and a sharp sickle in his hand. Another angel came out of the temple, crying out in a loud voice to the one sitting on the cloud, “Use your sickle and reap the harvest, for the time to reap has come, because the earth’s harvest is fully ripe.” So the one who was sitting on the cloud swung his sickle over the earth, and the earth was harvested.    Then another angel came out of the temple in heaven who also had a sharp sickle. Then another angel came from the altar, who was in charge of the fire, and cried out in a loud voice to the one who had the sharp sickle, “Use your sharp sickle and cut the clusters from the earth’s vines, for its grapes are ripe.” So the angel swung his sickle over the earth and cut the earth’s vintage. He threw it into the great wine press of God’s fury.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 96:10, 11-12, 13

R/ The Lord comes to judge the earth.

Say among the nations: The LORD is king. He has made the world firm, not to be moved;    he governs the peoples with equity.

R/ The Lord comes to judge the earth.

Let the heavens be glad and the earth rejoice;    let the sea and what fills it resound;    let the plains be joyful and all that is in them! Then shall all the trees of the forest exult.

R/ The Lord comes to judge the earth.

Before the LORD, for he comes;    for he comes to rule the earth. He shall rule the world with justice    and the peoples with his constancy.

R/ The Lord comes to judge the earth.

Gospel Acclamation

Revelation 2:10c

Alleluia, alleluia. Remain faithful until death, and I will give you the crown of life. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel

Luke 21:5-11

There will not be left a stone upon another stone.

While some people were speaking about how the temple was adorned with costly stones and votive offerings, Jesus said, “All that you see here– the days will come when there will not be left a stone upon another stone that will not be thrown down.”    Then they asked him, “Teacher, when will this happen? And what sign will there be when all these things are about to happen?” He answered, “See that you not be deceived, for many will come in my name, saying, ‘I am he,’ and ‘The time has come.’ Do not follow them! When you hear of wars and insurrections, do not be terrified; for such things must happen first, but it will not immediately be the end.” Then he said to them, “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be powerful earthquakes, famines, and plagues from place to place; and awesome sights and mighty signs will come from the sky.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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

Saints Andrew Dũng-Lạc and his Companions, Martyrs

(Liturgical Colour: Red)

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Tuesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

EITHER: 

First Reading

2 Chronicles 24:18-22

Zechariah was stoned to death in the court of the Lord’s temple.

The princes of Judah forsook the temple of the LORD, the God of their fathers, and began to serve the sacred poles and the idols; and because of this crime of theirs, wrath came upon Judah and Jerusalem. Although prophets were sent to them to convert them to the LORD, the people would not listen to their warnings. Then the spirit of God possessed Zechariah, son of Jehoiada the priest. He took his stand above the people and said to them: “God says, ‘Why are you transgressing the LORD’s commands, so that you cannot prosper? Because you have abandoned the LORD, he has abandoned you.’” But the people conspired against him, and at the king’s order they stoned him to death in the court of the LORD’s temple. Thus King Joash was unmindful of the devotion shown him by Jehoiada, Zechariah’s father, and slew his son. And as he was dying, he said, “May the LORD see and avenge.”

OR: --------

First reading 2 Maccabees 6:18, 21, 24-31 I am suffering it with joy in my soul because of my devotion to him.

Eleazar, one of the foremost scribes, a man of advanced age and noble appearance, was being forced to open his mouth to eat pork. Those in charge of that unlawful ritual meal took the man aside privately, because of their long acquaintance with him, and urged him to bring meat of his own providing, such as he could legitimately eat, and to pretend to be eating some of the meat of the sacrifice prescribed by the king.    He told them: “At our age it would be unbecoming to make such a pretense; many young men would think the ninety-year-old Eleazar had gone over to an alien religion. Should I thus pretend for the sake of a brief moment of life, they would be led astray by me, while I would bring shame and dishonor on my old age. Even if, for the time being, I avoid the punishment of men, I shall never, whether alive or dead, escape the hands of the Almighty. Therefore, by manfully giving up my life now, I will prove myself worthy of my old age, and I will leave to the young a noble example of how to die willingly and generously for the revered and holy laws.”    He spoke thus, and went immediately to the instrument of torture. Those who shortly before had been kindly disposed now became hostile toward him because what he had said seemed to them utter madness. When he was about to die under the blows, he groaned and said: “The LORD in his holy knowledge knows full well that, although I could have escaped death, I am not only enduring terrible pain in my body from this scourging, but also suffering it with joy in my soul because of my devotion to him.” This is how he died, leaving in his death a model of courage and an unforgettable example of virtue not only for the young but for the whole nation.

OR: --------

First reading 2 Maccabees 7:1-2, 9-14 We are ready to die rather than transgress the laws of our ancestors.

It happened that seven brothers with their mother were arrested and tortured with whips and scourges by the king, to force them to eat pork in violation of God’s law. One of the brothers, speaking for the others, said: “What do you expect to achieve by questioning us? We are ready to die rather than transgress the laws of our ancestors.”    At the point of death, the second brother said: “You accursed fiend, you are depriving us of this present life, but the King of the world will raise us up to live again forever. It is for his laws that we are dying.”    After him the third suffered their cruel sport. He put out his tongue at once when told to do so, and bravely held out his hands, as he spoke these noble words: “It was from Heaven that I received these; for the sake of his laws I disdain them; from him I hope to receive them again.” Even the king and his attendants marveled at the young man’s courage, because he regarded his sufferings as nothing.    After he had died, they tortured and maltreated the fourth brother in the same way. When he was near death, he said, “It is my choice to die at the hands of men with the hope God gives of being raised up by him; but for you, there will be no resurrection to life.”

OR: --------

First reading 2 Maccabees 7:1, 20-23, 27b-29 This most admirable mother bore it courageously because of her hope in the Lord.

It happened that seven brothers with their mother were arrested and tortured with whips and scourges by the king, to force them to eat pork in violation of God’s law.    Most admirable and worthy of everlasting remembrance was the mother, who saw her seven sons perish in a single day, yet bore it courageously because of her hope in the LORD. Filled with a noble spirit that stirred her womanly heart with manly courage she exhorted each of them in the language of their forefathers with these words: “I do not know how you came into existence in my womb; it was not I who gave you the breath of life, nor was it I who set in order the elements of which each of you is composed. Therefore, since it is the Creator of the universe who shapes each man’s beginning, as he brings about the origin of everything, he, in his mercy, will give you back both breath and life, because you now disregard yourselves for the sake of his law.”    “Son, have pity on me, who carried you in my womb for nine months, nursed you for three years, brought you up, educated and supported you to your present age. I beg you, child, to look at the heavens and the earth and see all that is in them; then you will know that God did not make them out of existing things; and in the same way the human race came into existence. Do not be afraid of this executioner, but be worthy of your brothers and accept death, so that in the time of mercy I may receive you again with them.”

OR: --------

First reading Wisdom 3:1-9 As sacrificial offerings he took them to himself.

The souls of the just are in the hand of God,    and no torment shall touch them. They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead;    and their passing away was thought an affliction    and their going forth from us, utter destruction. But they are in peace. For if before men, indeed, they be punished,    yet is their hope full of immortality; Chastised a little, they shall be greatly blessed,    because God tried them    and found them worthy of himself. As gold in the furnace, he proved them,    and as sacrificial offerings he took them to himself. In the time of their visitation they shall shine,    and shall dart about as sparks through stubble; They shall judge nations and rule over peoples,    and the LORD shall be their King forever. Those who trust in him shall understand truth,    and the faithful shall abide with him in love: Because grace and mercy are with his holy ones,    and his care is with his elect.

OR: --------

First reading Sirach 51:1-8 You redeemed me, true to the greatness of your mercy and of your name.

I  give you thanks, O Lord and King;    I praise you, O God my savior! I will make known your name,    for you have been a helper and a protector to me. You have kept back my body from the pit,    and from the scourge of a slanderous tongue,    from lips that went over to falsehood. And in the sight of those who stood by,    you have delivered me, According to the multitude of the mercy of your name,    and from them that did roar, prepared to devour me, And from the power of those who sought my life;    from many a danger you have saved me,    from flames that hemmed me in on every side; From the midst of unremitting fire when I was not burnt    from the deep belly of the nether world; From deceiving lips and painters of lies,    from the arrows of dishonest tongues. My soul was at the point of death,    my life was nearing the depths of the nether world; They encompassed me on every side, but there was no one to help me,    I looked for one to sustain me, but could find no one. But then I remembered the mercies of the LORD,    his kindness through ages past; For he saves those who take refuge in him,    and rescues them from every evil.

-------- ________

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 31:3cd-4, 6 and 8ab, 16bc and 17

Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.

Be my rock of refuge,    a stronghold to give me safety. You are my rock and my fortress;    for your name’s sake you will lead and guide me.

Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.

Into your hands I commend my spirit;    you will redeem me, O LORD, O faithful God. I will rejoice and be glad because of your mercy.

Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.

Rescue me from the clutches of my enemies and my persecutors, Let your face shine upon your servant;    save me in your kindness.

Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.

________

Gospel Acclamation Matthew 5:10

Alleluia, alleluia. Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven. Alleluia, alleluia.

Or: John 17:19

Alleluia, alleluia. I consecrate myself for them, so that they also may be consecrated in the truth. Alleluia, alleluia.

Or: 2 Corinthians 1:3b-4a

Alleluia, alleluia. Blessed be the Father of compassion and God of all encouragement, who encourages us in our every affliction. Alleluia, alleluia.

Or: James 1:12

Alleluia, alleluia. Blessed is the man who perseveres in temptation, for when he has been proved he will receive the crown of life. Alleluia, alleluia.

Or: 1 Peter 4:14

Alleluia, alleluia. If you are insulted for the name of Christ, blessed are you, for the Spirit of God rests upon you. Alleluia, alleluia.

Or: see Te Deum

Alleluia, alleluia. We praise you, O God, we acclaim you as Lord; the white-robed army of martyrs praise you. Alleluia, alleluia.

________

EITHER: --------

Gospel Matthew 10:17-22 You will be led before governors and kings for my sake, as a witness before them and the pagans.

Jesus said to his Apostles: “Beware of men, for they will hand you over to courts and scourge you in their synagogues, and you will be led before governors and kings for my sake as a witness before them and the pagans. When they hand you over, do not worry about how you are to speak or what you are to say. You will be given at that moment what you are to say. For it will not be you who speak but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you. Brother will hand over brother to death, and the father his child; children will rise up against parents and have them put to death. You will be hated by all because of my name, but whoever endures to the end will be saved.”

OR: --------

Gospel Matthew 10:28-33 Do not be afraid of those who kill the body.

Jesus said to his Apostles: “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather, be afraid of the one who can destroy both soul and body in Gehenna. Are not two sparrows sold for a small coin? Yet not one of them falls to the ground without your Father’s knowledge. Even all the hairs of your head are counted. So do not be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. Everyone who acknowledges me before others I will acknowledge before my heavenly Father. But whoever denies me before others, I will deny before my heavenly Father.”

OR: --------

Gospel Matthew 10:34-39 I have come to bring not peace but the sword.

Jesus said to his Apostles: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace upon the earth. I have come to bring not peace but the sword. For I have come to set

a man ‘against his father,    a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law;    and one’s enemies will be those of one’s household.’

“Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up his cross and follow after me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”

OR: --------

Gospel Luke 9:23-26 Whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.

Jesus said to all, “If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it. What profit is there for one to gain the whole world yet lose or forfeit himself? Whoever is ashamed of me and of my words, the Son of Man will be ashamed of when he comes in his glory and in the glory of the Father and of the holy angels.”

OR: --------

Gospel John 12:24-26 If a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it produces much fruit.

Jesus said to his disciples: “Amen, amen, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will preserve it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there also will my servant be. The Father will honor whoever serves me.”

OR: --------

Gospel John 15:18-21 If they persecuted me, they will also persecute you.

Jesus said to his disciples: “If the world hates you, realize that it hated me first. If you belonged to the world, the world would love its own; but because you do not belong to the world, and I have chosen you out of the world, the world hates you. Remember the word I spoke to you, ‘No slave is greater than his master.’ If they persecuted me, they will also persecute you. If they kept my word, they will also keep yours. And they will do all these things to you on account of my name, because they do not know the one who sent me.”

OR: --------

Gospel John 17:11b-19 The world hated them.

Lifting his eyes to heaven, Jesus prayed, saying: “Holy Father, keep them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one just as we are one. When I was with them I protected them in your name that you gave me, and I guarded them, and none of them was lost except the son of destruction, in order that the Scripture might be fulfilled. But now I am coming to you. I speak this in the world so that they may share my joy completely. I gave them your word, and the world hated them, because they do not belong to the world any more than I belong to the world. I do not ask that you take them out of the world but that you keep them from the Evil One. They do not belong to the world any more than I belong to the world. Consecrate them in the truth. Your word is truth. As you sent me into the world, so I sent them into the world. And I consecrate myself for them, so that they also may be consecrated in truth.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[thesweetblossoms]

Conversations at Night

🎹Last week, a newly immigrated Jordanian Uber driver, Omar, drove me to work, he mentioned that he studied Arabic literature and was curious about by name. When I told him, it was indeed an Arabic word, chosen by my father, he readily shared his research and knowledge, to tell me more about its meaning. He relayed to me that the name derives from one of the oldest tribes in the Arabian desert, that the root word means hardworking as well intelligent. Although I had known that my name meant, intelligence, since I was a little girl, after learning the actual root word, “Sammar”, I researched further, discovering it also means “conversations at night”. This is such a haunting meaning, since I often think and write at night, and it pleasing to think that my name might indeed be a self fulfilling prophecy.

If I were to list seven elements that contribute to a women’s appeal, that carry the impression of compelling, interesting and unforgettable femininity, that strengthen a ladies ability to exert a magnetic pull, sex appeal, as well as attraction, my list would include grace, intelligence, wit, confidence, imagination, style and vision. For each dispenses the charms, extracts the best elements and leaves faint traces of the women’s soul into the atmosphere she inhabits and colors all her encounters.

A graceful women is one that may be counted on to examine the hand she has been given and find the only way to play would be to create, envision and design, a charming, memorable and beautiful life. She would notice that a hand painted thank you note and homemade lemon zested madeleines would be a happy gift to send to an elementary school teacher, or a message to an author, after reading a book may increase the power of both written and unwritten works, or that dealing with multiple obligations yet remaining unfazed is the key to carrying out each endeavor well. A graceful women is often a reliable friend, somebody who has kindness and strength to spare,

who is generous and open hearted in providing ideas, advice, new ways of thinking, perspectives and insights that open channels, clarifying problems, dilemmas or troubles. By confronting issues with a high level of ability, sharpness, composure and calm, she inspires faith in outcomes as well as a sense of security in others, for she reminds us, that the universe readily furnishes us with necessary tools and the awakened among us may cannily use these to create gardens, or start companies, write books, raise children or steadfastly and relentlessly chase any dream.

Intelligence is an irreplaceable tool in a women’s arsenal. While appearances satisfy many evolutionary prerogatives, people are often attracted to the components of a persons personality, character and energy. Thus ones ability to think, to make connections, to gain and use knowledge, to envision new and different worlds, to find patterns, to look minutely at details, to be able to grasp the universal horizons, to simplify the blinking space between birth and death, to detect humor or to ideate a world without pain and suffering, may be intoxicating to others, just as newly opened ivory roses, are to an orchid pink desert hummingbird.

The wittiness factor adds a sparkle to drifting breezes, ticking minutes and to the light filled hours of experience, for any encounter is more pleasurable when the conversation is amusing, interesting and articulate. The epitome for wit may be Jane Austen’s, Elizabeth Bennet, a heroine that is able to duel with the most bedeviling of men, who is able to enchant all around her with her kindness, intelligence and passion. For eons, I thought that being witty meant the ability to think fast and return a volley with ferocity and brilliance, yet it may actually embody a larger context, as being witty may be a certain kind of sensitivity, of knowing the correct words to appease a tense situation, perhaps with a gentle surrender, or a thoughtful offer, or it may be the priceless skill, at a dinner party or even, an attorneys break room setting, perchance, to extract the most vivacity from another person. A witty disposition unleashes the exuberant and sardonic ability to ascertain the humor inherent, even within the bitterest of dilemmas and unsavory intervals, it persuades the sleepiest of senses to savor the intrinsic qualities of reality, of the funny, cute and precious elements of quickly changing and developing children, or of noting the romantic opportunities of lounging in candlelight, when the power goes out, or in taking rain showered tree and blossom perfumed walks in less crowded sidewalks, or of knowing that what is truly relevant is how much you laughed, or lingered in beauty or dwelled in love.

Confidence is a narcotic quality, it opens ones experience to manifest the most fruitful results. It relies on an innate sense of place, an ability to see through many of the artificial blocks that prevent us from enjoying the present. I am awed at the way certain individuals carry themselves, the plus size models, or the plainly dressed and unassuming tech founders, or little children who have not been conditioned to compare themselves to media and cultural archetypes. Confidence arises from a comprehension of the value that one may add to the situation, knowing that the simplest gestures may tint the quietest hours, or even the most hectic ones, it is the calling card of the person, who introduces themselves and gains a new friend, or the individual that sweeps aside other peoples narrow viewpoint by example, or who seldom worries about how the audience regards them, as long as they adhere to high principals, values and modes of conduct.

Creating imaginary worlds, or parallel dimensions is a satisfying and alluring anecdote to navigating life in our present form. Therefore, a wild, creative, whimsical, exuberant, fantastical, energetic, ephemeral or any other type of imagination allows us to wonder into other realms that may exist in the vastness of eternity, like invisible moons, beguiling us unawares. An imagination could spark an ambrosial love affair, by sensing possibility in a potential partner, despite the blindingly obvious shortcomings, leading one on a romantic journey that could be thrilling despite the gaping variance from previous amorous notions. Or it could lead one to design and create an incandescent and disarmingly magnificent garden, laden with peach hydrangea, royal purple forget me nots, green tea dogwood blossoms, pink sapphire peonies and a hanging rope swing, knotted to a stately fairy light strung oak tree, to softly glide upon, while caressed by honeysuckle perfumed drifts, lashings of tenderness from ripening pink moons and lulling gold silk threaded clouds. It could create worlds that linger in our shared literary world, enthralling readers over generations with indelible characters and themes, such as J.M Barries, Peter Pan, or A Midsummers Nights Dream by William Shakespeare. An unfettered imagination could birth an enthusiastic and charming story about a mischievous giraffe in Paris, or a lonely starfish who longs to escape the coral reefs, or a striking, haunting and unforgettable love story set in the English countryside.

Words are more permanent than thoughts, as thoughts dissipate unerringly into the atmosphere, so just as writing encodes symbolic meaning, accelerates and defines the future as well as leaves greater tangible traces than musings alone, personal style is also an imprint of ones personality into reality. Sometimes the simplest ideas beguile me, the idea that a dress as ephhermal as a chiffon piece protects, shelters and conceals us from the part of reality that is separate from our selves, yet also exists as a work of art, or that how we dress impacts our energy, attitudes and moods, wearing floral patterns reminds us of the healing potential of nature, a black studded dress advertises that we must not be trifled with, or a nude halter silk dress evinces a desire for frivolity, sensuality and celebration. My thoughts often dwell upon an inking, an ominous sensation or a persistent thought cloud, that there is scare time as well as opportunity, to express myself to the farthest limits of possibility, to sit quietly to read and think about manifold subjects that render illumination, or even to savor the wondrous scenes occurring across time and space, as it entails a sacrifice of other pressing matters to notice, contemplate and mull the mysterious unfurling of the hours. I feel this way especially poignantly regarding style, that there isn’t enough time to wear the clothes that have come across my path, that I may not have adequate chances to choose different earrings to compliment my outfits or wear lovely shoes that would enhance a carefully chosen scarf. Just as the way an exquisite platinum ring sets of a twinkling emerald gem, this dearth of time influences me to both savor as well as thoughtfully consider the ritual of dressing in the morning for work, or selecting a caramel and gold beaded party dress to wear for a date night, or collecting another white cotton dress to linger in the garden.

Ones vision far exceeds the artifices and false boxes of sex, status or upbringing as vision is an element of our soul, it is a masterful and ecstatic gift, one that many lucky people possess, yet only to squander it in half sleepy lives, leaving a handful to scale the heights of awareness, or risk the temptations of insanity, topple precariously over the edges of reason as great visual artists such as Vincent Van Gogh, Claude Monet or Georgia O Keefe. For vision is a subtle ecstasy, enabling us to be charmed by overwhelmingly gorgeous vistas such as lilac clouded rainforests in Costa Rica, or Balinese, glimmering beach temples, a misty pine tree cove in Vancouver, a small town waterfall in Connecticut with groves of blossoming plum trees, a hilly glade ripe with nigella, cosmos, asters and lace flowers in Colorado, a moonshot Taj Mahal with night blooming jasmine and tuberose, a concealed hydrangea, rose and clematis ivy and moss draped reading bench in a garden in Cotswalds, or a white chiffon gown and black tie soirée at the Hall of Mirrors at the Versailles. Yet, the boundless gift of vision includes the ability to create imaginary worlds, perhaps, the talent to create a Parisian rooftop soirée with pink champagne, piano music, shadows of darkness and light, a setting for an overture, for the mischievous heiress in a backless black silk dress with emerald earrings, and the tall, captivating, yet, impecunious gentlemen in a patched up tweed jacket, both, serenaded by the musical notes and lilac dusk breezes floating over pooled pillar candles, strung Japanese lanterns, multiple riveting conversations and hinting at a momentous rendezvous, by star struck water fountains in the rose gardens below. But, vision unwavering burnishes the magic of the ordinary, common place or even mundane, like a spell or incantation, it charms us when we are at leisure, maybe, when we see the tiny spiders performing gymnastics over the blossoming tomatillo plants, or the shadowy outline of cosmos on the pavement, or a black thrasher bird feather, of the slowly whirling pink grasses in the inundating light.

During a spell of neglecting to refill my hummingbird feeders with handmade nectar, I diverted my spare time to planting seeds, fertilizing and watering my garden consistently. On Saturday afternoon, while lazying in the balcony garden with cups of Irish coffee, I noticed a hummingbird fly into the covered garden with pots of jasmine, tuberose, black eyed Susan’s, flowering basil, cosmos, roses, sweet alyssum and Mexican sunflowers, and sip greedily from the roses and cosmos before flying away. I was bewitched by the sight, realizing how much I miss seeing the fast beating whizzing petite birds visit my garden, yet enthralled that by growing flowers they may still frequent my space and imbibe in the nectar they find therein.

By looking again, more carefully, calmly, methodically at the possessions we already have concealed away in delicate pouches or miniscule ceramic bowls, or barely holding up in creased envelopes in oyster pink Prada purses, we might be delighted, intrigued and captivated by what we discover. I recently took out my Elsa Peretti teardrop necklace out and considered the fragile silver chain and the evocative shape of a single drop of water, borne of insidious joy or recalcitrant sorrow. I hadn’t worn it for many years as there were two tiny knots in the chain that I couldn’t untangle and was too busy to take to Tiffany's to repair. Yet, once I took it out again, with a degree of maturity or skill that is the gift of growing older, I was able to focus on the minuscule tangles and unknot them slowly with concentration and patience. With the years, we gain talents, perspectives and abilities that are not immediately apparent. So it is with pleasure that I wear my long ago acquired and conscientious stored necklace, hoping it charms the seductive flow and cadence of the present time, to symbolize our physical ability to transform energy when we cry and to take the tears and alchemize it to realms of imagination, wonder and beauty.

Often during breaks between work, I succumbs to islands of fancy and I scribble shards of fancy and nonsense; I seek alchemy in every leaf and discover magic in every blossom, I leave secrets in the open meadows and plant revelations under the shadows of cedar trees, I traipse into comedies in the coffee beaned darkness and escape tragedies in the mirrored light, I linger in the borders between moments, in the beats between the notes and the spaces between the lines.

One is able to measure the healing quotient of a house by the vibrancy and the lushness of its plant inhabitants. I am aware of this co-relation, whenever I enter a space with emerald, jade, arsenic green, oyster or polka dotted pink, or hues of deep Provençal lavender, that appear content, peaceful, well tended, happily imbibing light showers, fending off the dusty cadence of windows, rising tenuously, joyously or even arrogantly from black pearled soil, that itself, is verdant, sufficiently hydrated, evidently fertile, and with lilting stems that have been either left to its own devices, or that been thoughtfully sculpted with the gardeners hands with a pair of much used, oiled and sharpened bonsai scissors. There is a tangible loving energy that emanates from these spaces, where the subtlest creatures are cared for and honored. For our lives are akin to sheafs of fragilely stroked watercolor botanical paintings, tied loosely with a nude pink silk ribbon, each offering a daily experiment in alchemy, practiced, by cutting off a branch to allow another, greater access to light and air, or by gently pulling off dried leaves, so that another might sprout from the green stem below, or to take a flourishing limb from one plant to embed into another pot so that it may root and create an independent plant. These houseplants allow us to deepen our connection to nature, to entwine with it unwavering flow, recklessly, by attempting to manipulate and control living entities, by inviting other species and personalities into our midst, by examining the visible patterns, arcs, shapes, forms and manifestations of botanicals, to attempt to understand its quiet language and to bind ourselves to them, within our own scant hours, upon this pale dot, that is planted itself, by some unknown gardener, into eternal space.

Spend the day looking at the shadows and the night looking at the stars. For there is magic and mystery in the hidden spaces that the illumination conceals, while there are truths, beyond the blatant solar flares that the softly lit moon shyly gives away. I linger in the early November breezes while the crescent moons silver filters indolently through a congress of palm tree leaves, into my Paris cup of chamomile tea. I lull in the lantana, basil, chrysanthemum, rose, tuberose, orange leaf and jasmine perfume. I am soothed by the abstract and bewitching melodies of the wind chimes, the song of the flowing water in the fountain, of old memories lingering within the fabric, weavings and leaves; of the faded firoza, mustard and cream kantha blanket, ivory paint chipped rattan chair and the new marigold plants. These ameliorate the current time, by reminding me of my grandparents garden, as a little girl, even though, the textures, fragrances and lyrics are carefully, and irreversibly separated, by a handful of decades from my contemplations, here, bathed in the heady new moon and the gently biting desert winter winds. But perhaps, there is more to consider, for garden perfumes, night nectar chasing moths, fluttery eucalyptus branches and the tricks of the heavenly bodies, might allow frames to shift and flirt unbeknownst with each other.

Can you hear the wondering butterfly and the prancing bee, whispering gently through the lavender breezes, follow me, follow me? 🌊

[wehaveallgotknives]

american gods credits breakdown/analysis

bc why not? full of weird speculation about the intentions of the creators, but basically they mash up a lot of the things that made/make america what it is - both what it’s proud of and what it’s not.

warning: this has like 30 images. i am not an american, or a god.

buckle up, comrades, and feel free to argue.

so we open on a root system - we got yggdrasil world tree vibes but as we all know, america is home to some of the oldest/largest trees/forests in the world - i read the redwood forests can communicate through their root systems

but you pull up to the tree and it looks dead - fruitless, barren, unable to support life (very possibly a hanging tree, which is obviously relevant)

but

that’s fine because it flickers into fibre optics! which will never die! rather than light being turned into energy for us to eat like with plants, light is turned into information to keep us plugged in!

and we come up on our first actual figure: a slain medusa, her snake hair electrical connections. remember that medusa was killed by hero pegasus and the disembodied head was used by athena, goddess of war/wisdom as a shield decoration. the symbolism of the medusa head is a sign to ward off evil. she flickers blue and green - serpentine yet inorganic. (freud, unsurprisingly, had a whole thing about decapitation=castration and medusa being the mother you wanted to fuck and kill and were afraid of - a man looks on her and stiffens! i only mention it because it might link to the next imagery.)

pull up on a statue of some sexy ladies - faceless, touching each other the way women in pornos do - no man in sight, no pubic hair in sight, a pose clearly designed for the voyeur, not the woman’s pleasure, women to be looked at - particularly to be looked at through a lens.

BUT THESE WOMEN LOOK BACK!!! all of them have a single cyclopean camera eye in their foreheads. the surveillance state and the pornography industry: two great tastes that taste great together. we are all voyeurs! the nsa can watch you masturbate and cry through your laptop camera!

cut to: a menorah! they used a hannukah menorah instead of a temple menorah? is that significant? but it’s all midi cables and that - i can’t work out what the reference here is? maybe there’s a thing about the lamp no longer serving as a lamp? someone who knows more than me about judaism and/or midi cables please chime in.

the fucking co-exist wallpaper up there does my head in too - judaism, christianity and islam are all of an abrahamic lineage, so i get putting them together - but they’ve just chucked in the yin yang symbol? is it meant to stand in for buddhism, and this is like the big four major players? i always associated it with taoism? i mean this whole frame might just be dumb! 

here’s a another suggestion of a pretty lady though!!! she’s like bernini’s veiled sculptures

which are marble (i kno right?) and are mostly one of the marys from the bible. but this one’s draped in circuitry that resembles a map. i’ve decided she’s saint siri.

laughing buddha! who isn’t the buddha you’re thinking of. fat/laughing buddha is actually budhai, different dude, chinese folk god, said to be a monk all about being content in poverty. i mean, similar enough to the stoic parts of gautama buddha’s philosophy for no white people to really care. but the abundance/contentment available to the poor here in america is DRUGS. i bet some those DRUGS come from ASIA. i bet the people who made these credits weren’t sure which part of asia this laughing buddha is from. i mean, if they were going for a nirvana/ecstacy joke, they kind of got the wrong buddha? but also, almost no one in the west can tell them apart, so. BUT there’s also like one long close up of a pill with a star stamped in it, which might be symbolising china, where budhai is from, BUT i also might be reading too much into it. MOVING ON.

cut from the joy of drugs to a bullet???

oh no it’s fine it’s a jet engine! those have definitely never killed anyone!!! certainly not whole cities at once!

keeping in the pointy/deadly symbology, there’s this sort of centrifuge/hypodermic needle thing that i thought, first time around, was more recreational drugs - but! the centrifuge vibes made me think it was more the medical drug industry? which could be supported by the face that it’s right underneath...

ganesha! god of science, learning and art! ganesha! many handed and wise! ganesha! shaped like a friend!ganesha, my friend, what’s that you’re holding? traditionally it’s an axe, and something delicious, or some letters which represent intellect, or - 

oh you’re holding smart phones. the smart phones are scrolling infinitely  - so this could still be an arts/science thing, but i’m assuming it’s a critique and not a celebration of the technology/its infinite uses.

ok this might be the lamest one, because that is an aibo robot dog, and they aren’t even from america? but he is in front of a pyramid, which might make him anubis. the glowing top is pretty good - there’s a story that the pyramids at giza had, once upon a time, golden capstones that caught and reflected light. if they existed, those capstones were absolutely melted down at some point in one of the wars. but, now the pyramids with the glowing tops are at vegas, where the gold is pre-stolen.

and we’re back to tits! these ones are attached to some weird robot legs (pistons suggesting horse power, steam engines?) and this fucken face

which is possible in pain, possibly orgasmic, possibly drowning in oil. she’s in front of this neon machismo

and her head is poised at his crotch, cool cool cool

but it’s when you pull out you see the extent of this fuckery

she’s his ride

this one could be a cool comment: the cowboy in neon is clever, because it sort of suggests that he’s an illusion - the myth of the wild west does rest on the back of horses, but also on unnamed women and people of colour, on mechanical industry that gets left out of the stories?

but this is all speculation. it’s a fucked up centaur sculpture.

we have next an angel - but you can already see that along the wings are automated weapons and on the angel’s head

night vision goggles.

like seal team six wore. fuck this might even be a joke about how the cherubim are covered in eyes!

then we have some muscle cars, a bloke in a vr headset carrying a missile like it’s lunch, as you do. i think this is about production lines and automation - the model t ford, the drive in fast food restaurant and the military industrial complex all use the production line. the vr headset is sort of plugged into this

confusing, slightly organic carving thing - the cables down the bottom resemble roots or tentacles, and the obelisk shape at the top could be from any temple, from any time, any continent - but as it lights up, it comes together

it’s the goddamned space program - all the firey gods we send into the sky to look down on us, to carry our prayers.

but all great religions need sacrifice, as the show will tell us over, and over - and you must sacrifice the best, the most beautiful, the most beloved

i mean they go out with a bang, don’t they

and finally, the only piece of remotely indigenous imagery - the bald eagle as the thunderbird, topping the totem pole (looking, at this angle, a little like the chrysler building’s gargoyles, but let’s say thunderbird)

the whole strange stack of it, under the flickering neon signage that america didn’t invent, but they may as well have, for their widespread and tenacious adoption

which is probably a metaphor!

let me know if you have opinions about any of this?

[dareread]

Skin in the Game is necessary to reduce the effects of the following divergences that arose mainly as a side effect of civilization: action and cheap talk (tawk), consequence and intention, practice and theory, honor and reputation, expertise and pseudoexpertise, concrete and abstract, ethical and legal, genuine and cosmetic, entrepreneur and bureaucrat, entrepreneur and chief executive, strength and display, love and gold-digging, Coventry and Brussels, Omaha and Washington, D.C., economists and human beings, authors and editors, scholarship and academia, democracy and governance, science and scientism, politics and politicians, love and money, the spirit and the letter, Cato the Elder and Barack Obama, quality and advertising, commitment and signaling, and, centrally, collective and individual.

But, to this author, is mostly about justice, honor, and sacrifice as something existential for humans.

Let us first connect a few dots of items the list above.

Antaeus Whacked

Antaeus was a giant, rather semi-giant of sorts, the literal son of Mother Earth, Gaea, and Poseidon the god of the sea. He had a strange occupation, which consisted of forcing passersby in his country, (Greek) Libya, to wrestle; his trick was to pin his victims to the ground and crush them. This macabre hobby was apparently the expression of filial devotion; Antaeus aimed at building a temple for his father Poseidon, using for material the skulls of his victims.

Antaeus was deemed to be invincible; but there was a trick. He derived his strength from contact with his mother, earth. Physically separated from contact with earth, he lost all his powers. Hercules, as part of his twelve labors (actually in one, not all variations), had for homework to whack Antaeus. He managed to lift him off the ground and terminated him by crushing him as his feet remained out of contact with his mamma.

What we retain from this first vignette is that, like Antaeus, you cannot separate knowledge from contact with the ground. Actually, you cannot separate anything from contact with the ground. And the contact with the real world is done via skin in the game –have an exposure to the real world, and pay a price for its consequences, good or bad. The abrasions of your skin guide your learning and discovery, a mechanism of organic signaling, what the Greeks called pathemata mathemata (guide your learning through pain, something mothers of young children know rather well). Most things that we believe were “invented” by universities were actually discovered by tinkering and later legitimized by some type of formalization. I have shown in Antifragile how the knowledge we get by tinkering, via trial and error, experience, and the workings of time, in other words, contact with the earth, is vastly superior to that obtained through reasoning, something universities have been very busy hiding from us.

Libya After Antaeus

Second vignette. As I am writing these lines, a few thousand years later, Libya, the putative land of Antaeus now has a slave market, as a result of a failed attempt of what is called a “regime change” in order to “remove a dictator”.

A collection of people classified as interventionists (t0 name names, Bill Kristol, Thomas Friedman, and others) who promoted of the Iraq invasion of 2003, as well as the removal of the Libyan leader, are advocating the imposition of additional such regime change on another batch of countries, which includes Syria, because “it has a dictator”.

These interventionistas and their friends in the U.S. State Department helped create, train, and support, Islamist rebels, then “moderates”, but who eventually evolved to become part of Al-Qaeda, the same Al-Qaeda that blew up the New York City towers during the events of Sep 11 2001. They mysteriously failed to remember that Al-Qaeda itself was composed of “moderate rebels” created (or reared) by the U.S. to help fight Soviet Russia because, as we will see, these educated people’s reasoning doesn’t entail such recursions.

So we tried that thing called regime change in Iraq, and failed miserably. We tried it in Libya, and now there are now active slave markets in the place. But we satisfied the objective of “removing a dictator”. By the exact same reasoning, a doctor would inject a patient with “moderate” cancer cells “to improve his cholesterol numbers”, and claim victory after the patient is dead, particularly if the post-mortem shows remarkable cholesterol readings. But we know that doctors don’t do that, or, don’t do it in such a crude format, and that there is a clear reason for it. Doctors usually have some skin in the game.

And don’t give up on logic, intellect and education, because a tight but higher order logical reasoning would show that the logic of advocating regime changes implies also advocating slavery. So these interventionistas not only lack practical sense, and never learn from history, but they even make mistakes at the pure reasoning level, which they drown in some form of semi-abstract discourse.

Their three flaws: 1) They think in statics not dynamics, 2) they think in low, not high dimensions, 3) they think in actions, never interactions.

The first flaw is that they are incapable in thinking in second steps and unaware of the need for it –and about every peasant in Mongolia, every waiter in Madrid, and every car service operator in San Francisco knows that real life happens to have second, third, fourth, nth steps. The second flaw is that they are also incapable of distinguishing between multidimensional problems and their single dimensional representations –like multidimensional health and its stripped, cholesterol-reading reduced representation. They can’t get the idea that, empirically, complex systems do not have obvious one dimensional cause and effects mechanisms, and that under opacity, you do not mess with such a system. An extension of this defect: they compare the actions of the “dictator” to the prime minister of Norway or Sweden, not to those of the local alternative. The third flaw is that they can’t forecast the evolution of those one helps by attacking.

And when a blow up happens, they invoke uncertainty, something called a Black Swan, after some book by a (very) stubborn fellow, not realizing that one should not mess with a system if the results are fraught with uncertainty, or, more generally, avoid engaging in an action if you have no idea of the outcomes. Imagine people with similar mental handicaps, who don’t understand asymmetry, piloting planes. Incompetent pilots, those who cannot learn from experience, or don’t mind taking risks they don’t understand, may kill many, but they will themselves end up at the bottom of, say, the Atlantic, and cease to represent a threat to others and mankind.

So we end up populating what we call the intelligentsia with people who are delusional, literally mentally deranged, simply because they never have to pay for the consequences of their actions, repeating modernist slogans stripped of all depth. In general, when you hear someone invoking abstract modernistic notions, you can assume that they got some education (but not enough, or in the wrong discipline) and too little accountability.

Now some innocent people, Yazidis, Christian minorities, Syrians, Iraqis, and Libyans had to pay a price for the mistakes of these interventionistas currently sitting in their comfortable air-conditioned offices. This, we will see, violates the very notion of justice from its pre-biblical, Babylonian inception. As well as the ethical structure of humanity.

Not only the principle of healers is first do no harm (primum non nocere), but, we will argue: those who don’t take risks should never be involved in making decisions.

This idea is weaved into history: all warlords and warmongers were warriors themselves and, with few exceptions societies were run by risk takers not risk transferors. They took risks –more risks than ordinary citizens. Julian the Apostate, the hero of many, died on the battlefield fighting in the never-ending war on the Persian frontier. One of predecessors, Valerian, after he was captured was said to have been used as a human footstool by the Persian Shahpur when mounting his horse. Less than a third of Roman emperors died in their bed –and one can argue that, had they lived longer, they would have fallen prey to either a coup or a battlefield.

And, one may ask, what can we do since a centralized system will necessarily need people who are not directly exposed to the cost of errors? Well, we have no choice, but decentralize; have fewer of these. But not to worry, if we don’t do it, it will be done by itself, the hard way: a system that doesn’t have a mechanism of skin in the game will eventually blow up and fix itself that way. We will see numerous such examples.

For instance, bank blowups came in 2008 because of the hidden risks in the system: bankers could make steady bonuses from a certain class of concealed explosive risks, use academic risk models that don’t work (because academics know practically nothing about risk), then invoke uncertainty after a blowup, some unseen and unforecastable Black Swan, and keep past bonuses, what I have called the Bob Rubin trade. Robert Rubin collected one hundred million dollar in bonuses from Citibank, but when the latter was rescued by the taxpayer, he didn’t write any check. The good news is that in spite of the efforts of a complicit Obama administration that wanted to protect the game and the rent-seeking of bankers, the risk-taking business moved away to hedge funds. The move took place because of the overbureaucratization of the system. In the hedge fund space, owners have at least half of their net worth in the funds, making them more exposed than any of their customers, and they personally go down with the ship.

The interventionistas case is central to our story because it shows how absence of skin in the game has both ethical and epistemological effects (i.e., related to knowledge). Interventionistas don’t learn because they are not the victims to their mistakes. Interventionistas don’t learn because they are not the victims of their mistakes, and, as we saw with pathemata mathemata:

The same mechanism of transferring risk also impedes learning.