The Reason for Lent

March 6, 2016

      It used to be said that the Sun never sets on the British Empire. Today, that Empire has been humbled and transformed into a Commonwealth. While that Commonwealth has been struggling to acknowledge its debt to non-European sources, the great ideal of a world that would be governed by Fair Play has been replaced by a Chaosium in which strange things fall from the clouds and winged mechanical drones home in from the skies to kill people who are celebrating their weddings.

      The day is sunny and on the lower elevations, wildflowers are beginning to blossom. Nevertheless, at these higher altitudes, patches and even expanses of snow remain on the ground.

      Thieu and I are driving out to place flowers on the memorial to Henry Demonford which has been erected over his grave.

      All about the cemetery, it is snowy. It is only the naked stones that rise up to proclaim that here lie creatures who once used to be called human beings. These stones, indeed, proclaim the destined end of all our mortal striving.

      The chill and melancholy wind reminds us that there was nevertheless a profound rationale driving the aspirations of those of us who came to maturity during those fateful years of the 20^th Century. The chill that hangs in the atmosphere today reminds us that if we committed ourselves to act in foolish ways, there was nevertheless a purity of motive which is today becoming increasingly obscured under the residues of post-traumatic compulsions.

      There was a time, only a few decades ago, when most of us had great hopes. We saw, quite briefly, a vision of the sun – but then the world became tormented by the spectre of a cruel shadow which is eager to impose compulsions, and which is intent on the extermination of any cultural influence which questions the all too superficial dogmas of its self-appointed leaders.

      We, who had wanted to believe that the women among us were sweet angels, whose breasts swelled only with the milk of human kindness, were to learn that this is not true either. Weary of suffering for our causes, these women began to make little deals with the Other Side. As we discovered, the Cruel God whom we had allowed to claim Heaven had left a cruel shadow here on earth.

      That cruel shadow took the form of an economic incentive which pitted men and women against each other on the stage of a Theater of Cruelty. Nevertheless, I did not have the sense to save my life, and found myself falling in love with these women.

The Ground About the Tomb

Henry’s tomb is marked by an angel who is pouring out an amphora. At the angel’s feet, a plaque is inscribed:

It’s not the power of guns and bombs
But the grace which can heal the wounded heart Which shall finally conquer all

    Thieu and I leave flowers on the grave, and say a little prayer for the departed. And I find myself wondering why it is only we, the old soldiers who have managed to keep none of the commandments, who can see through the web of deception the social neurosis has woven.

      Can it be that our whole society is highballing down the main line to Satanhood, and that one can only recognize this after one has made a personal decision to leap from the train that is carrying everyone down to destruction?

      I now begin to understand, just why the sickness of the world is so distressing. The choice between heaven and hell belongs to those of us who have died and returned to the earth. When first we grasped this truth, we strove with might and mein to move the world. We pledged ourselves eternally to some social ideal, even though we remained in denial concerning the hubris and the power-lust which hide beneath the cross of the Crusader.

        In the world of Eternal Recurrence, Lancelot falls once again from his horse. He grasps then what it was he loved and then betrayed. He's looked up into heaven, seen Valkyries descending. In polite society, he'll speak of them as angels. He begs them for mercy, forgiveness and healing; they remain in heaven, teasing him all the way as he hobbles along into town. From the depths of his heart he cries out. If it he could renounce everything, would angels please release him from this world?

      And the Valkyries laugh. "You ask us why your world is chiseled from the essence of pain? You ask us why your love has been unwise? Look then to find a lady writhing on a stake. And the man who has judged she should burn -- he thought he had self-mastery, but why this fatal flaw? Return to the world in our service -- redeem her from this jealousy which turns every prophecy false."

      He rides then into town, beholds the lady burning as a witch. It's then he knows the cause of foolish love. We love, because the pain of love sustains the soul against all baser fires. And the soul rapine has shattered may only survive by throwing itself to the flame.