EC 544
A Happenstance Witness and The Holy Ghost:
Neither a novel or
documentary, but for the patient reader
a timely story
about the collapse of Modern and Post-Modern Times
By © Ludis Cuckold
1Lack of Women Priests (12)
During the
past few weeks, the synod of the Latvian Lutheran Church, led by its
archbishop, one surnamed Vanags (Hawk), has once again denied letting women
serve as Lutheran church ministers.
There are
likely several reasons for this reactionism. One: it hides from the public all
male autoerotic rituals. Two: the all-male synod is hooked on elitist Catholic
theology, which for all its gloss would still expect a woman to spend her
wedding night in her local ‘baron’s bed. Three: the synod perceives the
evolution of virtual man and society as making too slow progress, and wishes to
increase the human population to 12 billion* in the shortest possible time.
Four: Having created a civilization that is very good at increasing its
problems, while incapable of finding a solution for same, the Lutheran synod
(and Catholic theology) joins the military of our times in a sacrifice of billions
of human beings to put the blame for the impotence of ‘their’ violent civilization
into God’s hands.
*In
1947, when I was fourteen years old, the human population was 2 billion. Today,
sixty-nine years later, it is over 7 billion. What accounts for this alarming
increase? No ‘scientist’ has been able to figure it out.
This is why
I will make use of this blog (and the next few) to discuss my take on the ‘missionary
position’. As is my wont, I will start to measure the stick from its far
end.
To wit: the
mirror was not invented by the ego of a witch (“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
who is the most beautiful of them all?...”), but by the Sun. Unable to look at Her
creation directly (according to old stories, it had already burned the raven
black), the Sun discovered that obsidian stone, when polished, and hung on
the Moon, and shone on directly, created a perfect mirror through which to
view Her creation.
In later
days, women ‘drew the moon down’ and hung it at the head
of the bed so they could see the
face of the man who gave them pleasure and he could see their face and derive
ever greater pleasure from the ecstasy projected by the face of Mother Sun.
Thus, sometimes the mirror projected a male
Gorgon, at other times a female
(see image on Athena’s chest). Unfortunately, a modern and unimaginative (and sentimental)
Wiccan tradition limits the tradition to a virtualized ‘paganism’* of citified
inhabitants, and causes reality to escape it.
*Pagan = a word derived from
pa + Yan or ‘lesser(pa) + John’ or John the Diminished. The word has nothing in
common with ‘peasant’ or Latin Europe as city bred scholars try make it out to
be. The origin of the name and word Yan/John/Ganesh/Huan (also janissary,
gendarme, gentleman, etc.) is to be sought in ‘gans’, a herder of elk, deer,
sheep, etc., and the diminishment of this our ancient forebear by the cult of
the elites, who have managed to run the ‘show’ to this day.
For lack of
women priests to help tilt orthodox priesthoods to reflect the interests of
women and thusly build confidence in women’s inner and outer self, many women
(I am particularly thinking of the lesbian Wiccan synods, which dismiss Nature
as unnatural and for that reason do all they can to diminish men, who, be that
as it may, are born of the Mother Sun, too) leave men face their problems with
stillborn imaginations that serve no one but stillborn reactionaries.
Perhaps the
all male autoerotic cabals of the Latvian Lutheran synod fears a woman priest
will explain that Christianity has its roots in ‘paganism’ as my blog 541 (God
and Theatre) hints at. When Catholic friars came in contact with Mayan ’religion’ they were amazed how the ‘devil’ had got there
ahead of them. In fact, there is nothing strange about it, if we accept the
notion that Catholic Christianity serves a secular elite in imposing a
government on humankind through taxation, which enslaves it. As I have written
elsewhere, the Westphalia Peace Treaty was instrumental in securing this
enslavement by instituting the Catholic dogma as the only possible Christian
theology.
When I tell
Daisy of my perception of Mr. Goodman’s dog, she tells me that I could not be
more wrong.
She
explains that the reason she wore the day-glow colored orange bra and wore the
see-through blouse was because (believe it or not!) that is all she had to
wear. She explains that a prostitute friend gave it to her years ago. She says
that the bra had been at the bottom of her draw for several years, and admits
that it reflects her interests of bygone days.* She laughs over my version
about Godman’s dog. She tells that I must have been driving fast, because at a
slower speed I would have seen that Mr. Godman had another woman in his car.
*Indeed,
after raping her and scrambling the moral values of the society Daisy was born
to, her stepfather excused his behavior by calling her a whore.
She tells
me that she wore a skirt instead of jeans on the following day, because she had
attended a Mother’s Day event that morning.
I am
pleased that I have been proved wrong.
“But…”, I
say, “you see what comes, when you hold back on information and leave me
guessing. Coming from an environment other than your own, I concoct stories,
which I believe to be true. At the very least, you’ve made me a grumpy Saturn
in your sign.”
Daisy then tells
me more: she tells that the armpits of the dress she wore were all shredded.
She is pleased that I found her attractive in the dress, but swears to be innocent
of any attempt to be overtly seductive. In effect: Old man, go figure what is
your fantasy what is real.
Leaving
bygones be bygones, Daisy and I get wrapped up in discussing the health of her
mother, who I recently drove home from a mental institution and took to the
hospital for a brain scan.
The
conclusion of the doctor who analyzed the scan: “Without visible convincing pathology.”
The
diagnosis does not surprise me, and I tell this to Daisy.
I explain
that from what I see, her whole family has been victimized and traumatized by
people who prey on those caught up by poverty. I mention that I see technology
to be among her victimizers. I explain
how in former days, come winter, she would likely have woven linen cloth and
made her own clothes—as country people did in my childhood. Now the machine weaves
sheer see-troughs, and any girl diminished in self-esteem by rape and dire
poverty risks the temptation of making money by putting on the gloves of a
whore to milk the horn of a stag.
I remind Daisy
that her sister is suffering from anorexia and has hitched her and her
children’s fortunes to a drug addict in England. I remind her that her father,
who committed suicide, may not be her real father. I remind her that many
nurses are nurses, because at one time they sought a doctor* for a husband; and
the doctors surely know this and take advantage. I remind Daisy that her
stepfather does not pay her alimony and support his children, and has abandoned
her mother, and if he can find a steady job in Russia may not return to Latvija,
but may yet invite her to replace his wife, her mother, and contribute to the globalization
craze by inviting her to come live with him in Russia. I remind her that my
advance payment for her to finish high school was a waste of good intentions and
money. I remind that her oldest son, barely knows how to drive a nail into the
wall, shrinks responsibility, and as a young teen already believes he knows
more than his elders. Is this not enough pathology for one family? Is this not a spiritual disease?
*Many
years ago one such doctor, whose mistress was his nurse-assistant, helped my mother
and her brood of three escape from Latvija. Some years hence, his teenage son
committed suicide. I wonder what was the cause. Perhaps it was instability in
his father’s relationships, and finding himself but an appendage to these more
important affairs?
Daisy is
annoyed by my frankness. In response, she suggests that I am looking for a
fight.
When I return
to the subject of why her eldest son is incompetent at simple manual tasks, which
suggests that her children have no responsible father, Daisy again reminds me
that I am looking for a fight. She tells me that to ask local authorities to do
anything will only result in her humiliation.*
*I
know she is right. The huge Latvijan government bureaucracy encourages its
undereducated employees to elevate themselves over ‘common man’ at every
opportunity.
Nevertheless,
I ask Daisy to get her son to complete the task I asked him to do some months
ago, but which the boy has not lifted a finger to do. I tell her that if her
son does not give me the sample studies that I have asked for, he should take
the bus to the dentist by himself (I will cover the cost of the bus ticket), and
will drive only her daughter. Daisy promises to look into the matter.
Later in
the day she calls me and tells that she has thrown out the pages that I had
copied and given her son to color. In effect, it is not her son, but herself
who has sabotaged the project.
