Mid-January 2022
Things Fall Apart
Things fall apart, and then they come together, not in the same ways in which they’d been constructed, but with a form that will ensure a more powerful and efficient function. The horrible malfunctioning of those things caused the falling apart. There’s no right or wrong, good or bad to be associated with the inevitability of the collapse of a corrupted system of politics, or the evil within a family, or within a man. There’s more a sense of relief, and then of repose.
It may be just, and it is, indeed, just, that the foulness of deeds and the depravity of goals lead to the devastating crumbling of an entity that no longer serves a moral cause. At times, the group, or organization, or human being started out with purity of purpose; but somewhere along the way, the rot set into a corruptible soul. That rot festered so fully and pervasively that there’s no redeeming the dis-eased body, be it human or legislative.
And so we say goodbye to it, not with tears of anguish for what might have been; but with tears of gratitude that the nightmare of its existence is over.
The time does come when things fall apart, and we no longer need to live our lives as if in an emotional bunker. The habits we formed are habits we must let go of, and that act is a longstanding process. I know well the ingrained reflex of flinching away from the human touch that might, once more, hurt me. I also know just as well the yearning for the human touch that might miraculously heal me.
I’d very little notion five years ago that the forces of evil in this nation, and in the world, were maniacally and moronically at work to sabotage the valiant efforts and the astounding accomplishments of my President, a man who chose to meet his magnificent destiny head-on. It’s really the only way to confront your fate, eye-to-eye, and heart-to-heart.
The cowards of chaos and perversion chose other paths to their fates, which comprise only debased demise; yet such an end might not have necessarily been their destiny. There is, every step along the way of one’s life, the possibility, and the choice, to turn away from sin, to turn toward the Light. These fiendish fools willfully, yet lazily, slunk into sloth. They are now slowly drowning in the vile greed that subducted them, perhaps from an early age. Their path of least resistance was paved with payola, as they swam in their mire, le fange, as the French call it. They’re stuck in it now, a quicksand of bribery and so much breach of trust that they’ve fallen into that chasm of treachery.
They created their own abyss from their own betrayal, deception, double- and triple-dealing. They’ve fallen into their self-made gorge of greed, gluttony and an obscenely mocking contempt for government, for the governed, for God.
I’ve an endless fascination with the processes of geology, of earth-formation, of rock sedimentation, of the inescapable actions that, uninterrupted, lead to the creation of canyons and hills, and to the uplift of an entire mountain range such as the Sierra Nevada. I draw comparisons and parallels between the type of person who behaves as if trapped in the geological process of deformation, and the type of person who resists with his entire being any force that threatens to deform or trap him.
It’s all in my first novel, NORTHSTAR. Initially drafted in the late 1980s, this rough work of fiction found a rebirth during 1993; it was subsequently published by a crook in Salt Lake City. I, of course, did not know the publisher had just been released from the pen in Texas and found his way to Salt Lake City, where people are too trusting to know how to suspect skullduggery in their midst.
I too found a rebirth along the way to e-publishing this fictional story that, to this very day, keeps coming true. And I keep being led, by those divine forces, to the spirit of the West which first brought me West, decades ago, toward a renaissance of self.
That renaissance of self bade me to separate myself from people who did me harm, and would only do further harm to me. I learned how to heal the inner scars they had perpetrated upon me. I learned what love is.
Love is trusting again, after your trust has been so viciously used against you that there is just about 0 trust left in your heart. Does the next heart that comes along, the innocent heart, deserve to suffer the awful suspicions created by the wicked creature who came before him?
It’s a leap of faith we must take — anytime — that we look, anew, to a kind stranger and try . . . to believe the kindness. We must say farewell to the ghosts and to the goblins who refuse to go away. Only we can deal the emotional death blow to the ghouls of our past.
During the past two years, heart-ache and pain have been thrust upon us, not by faithless lovers or fickle friends or bloodless blood-relations, but by sterile bureaucrats and puerile politicians. Those blockheads have succeeded in just one deed — doing the work of the devil.
We must succeed in doing the work of the Lord.
We must think not so much of what has fallen apart, but of what we must build from the debris and the detritus and the death from the pestilence that was foisted upon us. That pestilence came not from a virus. That pestilence descended upon us from the men and the women who grasp now at the power that is slipping away from them.
We must learn to build from the destruction that they wrought with their own grabby hands, with their own demented minds. We must learn how to envision things coming together, even as they continue to fall apart.
That vision requires faith and love, and charity of the heart — the very elements of life that those death-monger elites always seek to destroy. Those venal stooges are not stronger than those gifts from God, and they are not stronger than we, the people. They are not strong at all. For why else would they fiat in fear and lash out at liberty itself? They are the walking dead, awaiting their burial by the fates they have brought upon themselves.
Things fall apart, and then they come together, with the help of God, and with the help of us, the living.
