Yellowstone

"Whatever naturalism may say, in loving our neighbor in God and for God we do not love him less, we love him much more and far more perfectly. We do not love his defects; we put up with them; but we love in man all that is noble in him, all in him that is called to grow and to blossom in eternal life.

Far from being a Platonic and inefficacious love of our neighbor, charity, in growing, disposes us to judge him well and to condescend to his wishes in whatever is not contrary to the commandments of God. Condescension thus born of charity makes indifferent things good, and the painful things that we impose on ourselves for our neighbor, fruitful. There is great charity in thus preserving union with all by avoiding clashes which might arise, or by effecting a reconciliation as soon as possible. Charity that grows has thus a radiating goodness; it makes us continually love not only what is good for us, but what is good for our neighbor, even for our enemies, and what is good from the superior point of view of God, by desiring for others the goods which do not pass, and especially the sovereign Good and its inamissible possession. St. Thomas sums up all this briefly:

'Now the aspect under which our neighbor is to be loved, is God, since what we ought to love in our neighbor is that he may be in God. Hence it is clear that it is specifically the same act whereby we love God, and whereby we love our neighbor. Consequently the habit of charity extends not only to the love of God, but also to the love of our neighbor.'

Thus sight perceives light first of all and by it the seven colors of the rainbow. It could not perceive colors if it did not see light. Likewise we could not supernaturally love the children of God if we did not first supernaturally love God Himself, our common Father.

Whereas justice inclines us to wish good to another inasmuch as he is another or distinct from us, charity makes us love him as 'another self,' an alter ego, with a love of truly supernatural friendship, as the saints in heaven love one another."

-- Fr. Reginald Garrigou-LaGrange, O.P., The Three Ages of the Interior Life, vol. 2

Yosemite

I've finally escaped California. I'm at Yellowstone right now, last on my list of must-see for this trip; but that reminds me that I never got around to posting my pictures from Yosemite, which I managed to visit just as everything was beginning to shut down. So here they are.

On the Anniversary of Our First Meeting

One year ago you came into my life
I was not thinking to find you
in the woods that day
Nor was I thinking, when we met
to find in you a partner, a lover
a girlfriend, or a wife
I hoped only to meet a friend
and perhaps find an end
to loneliness
If only for a little while

But there you were
lost on the trail
cold and alone
wounded and frail
and lonely too
And you became more to me
than I had ever imagined
or hoped
or dreamed
that you could, or anyone would

And so this is to thank you
for the year of your life
that you've given to me
and what you've made this year
of my life to be

For making me pasta
and holding my hand
for sharing my prayers
and traveling the land
For talking and laughing
for listening and crying
for music and movies
for dancing and lying
in my arms
and in my heart

We found an oasis
in the vast, barren desert
of our lives
We found rest, and shade,
and cool, clear water
to drink
and to swim in
to lie next to
together
under the stars

And we were afraid to leave
to cross more desert
to reach our destinations
for we had far to go
and we didn't know
if we'd ever reach them
or simply die under the cruel sun

We found each other
we found love
And we are afraid
to let each other go
even though we know
we must
Go on alone
separately
to our appointed paths
For what if we never find again
a love like the one we found
together
in our little oasis
under the starry sky

Don't say we have come now to the end

white shores are calling

you and I will meet again

And you'll be here in my arms

just sleeping

The Truth about the "Sexual Revolution"

Once upon a time, there was a zoo. And in the zoo lived a big cage full of beautiful, fluffy, soft, sweet, innocent little bunnies. The bunnies lived in a cage, because all around them were the cages of Very Fierce Beasts. It was a pleasant enough cage, with room to hop around and munch on grass, and do their bunny things. But it was a cage nonetheless, and one day, one of them noticed.

"Hey," the newly-awakened bunny said, "Why do we have to live in a cage? I want to be free, to go wherever I want! What right do these "keepers" and "feeders" have to keep us locked up  like this?" And soon many of the other bunnies were saying the same.

The fox overheard them, and he said, "Yes, I agree! Give the bunnies their freedom!"

And the wolf heard too, and he said, "Yes, turn the bunnies loose!"

And the jackal agreed. And the hyena. And the coyote.

So the zookeepers came along, and heard all the clamor, and they tried to explain to the bunnies why they had to be kept in their cage. But the bunnies began to scream, and bite, and scratch, and kick, and positively hop up and down and run in circles with fury, until they became quite unmanageable, and unbearable. One of the bunnies protested, saying, "But the cage keeps us safe from the Beasts that want to devour us!" But the other bunnies just turned on her and tore her to shreds with their claws and teeth. The zookeepers held a meeting to discuss what to do. And so did the Very Fierce Beasts.

The wolf said, "I cannot wait for them to turn the sweet little bunnies loose, so I can devour them all."

"Yes, yes, yess," said the jackal. "I am soooo hungry for tender, soft bunny flesh."

The coyote said, "Si. We don't need no stinking cages." And he slavered and licked his lips.

The hyena just laughed.

But the fox said, "Wait, my friends; we must be clever. If we eat up all the bunnies at once, then we will have a nice meal, but then it will be over, and it will be back to old bits of scrap and hard bones for us. But if we pretend to be the bunnies' friends, and only take them a few at a time, then the bunnies can live among us, and continue to breed, and we will always have nice, soft, sweet bunny flesh to devour, forever and ever!"

All of the Very Fierce Beasts approved this plan heartily, and so they went out, and added their voices to the general clamor, and began to abuse the zookeepers and accuse them of being oppressors, and slavekeepers, and all sorts of such horrible things, until at last the zookeepers gave up, and gave in, and turned the bunnies loose among the Very Fierce Beasts, where they were devoured and torn to pieces, one at a time, and continue to be to this very day.

The End

Rosary Sonata No. 11 in G Major, "The Resurrection"