Well. 16 years later.
tairneanach
Wow. Talk about a time capsule. I haven't looked at this in at least 15 years. This was never my primary journal, it just happens to be the one that I remembered the login for. I doubt anyone will see this, I'm not even convinced anyone still uses this medium anymore. Everything is facebook and twitter. Neither of which I use. Nonetheless, here I am. Ranting for the sake of ranting, because I feel the need to rant and, well, see above. I do apologize to anyone who *does* read this and uses LJ to escape the political stupidity on facebook and twitter, but I can remain silent no longer.

I really wonder what's going to happen when the Trumpians realize they've been conned by a real estate tycoon who hails from one of the most corrupt parts of the country; a place that is rife with organized crime. The Tony Sopranos; the John Gottis. Fictional and non-fictional, they all hail from the NY/NJ area. A man who has never "fixed" a problem in his life. Who has simply buried said problems under money, and hidden them behind legal loopholes.

Newsflash people: Trump is just as crooked as Hillary. To this day he has not released those tax records. He is the epitome of what the rest of the world hates about Americans. The very model of the stereotype of fat, brash, materialistic, loudmouthed, money-hungry and ignorant capitalists, who care about nothing other than filling their offshore bank accounts with more money. No matter who or what they step on in the process.

He is an insult to the men and women who died to make the United States of America a free country. He is an insult to the very tenet of Freedom, Liberty, and Justice for all. He has disgraced and dishonored the memories of the men and women who died making sure a flag did not fall on the fateful night a lawyer penned a little ditty called the "Star-Spangled Banner." He is an affront to the free Americans who "Would die on their feet, before kneeling to a tyrant." He is everything wrong with capitalism, and nothing that is right about it.

He has no business running a country; he has no business in the White House. How many times has he cried "bankruptcy"? Running a free nation is nothing like barking orders from a comfy chair in a boardroom.

What has happened to the country I gave four years of my life to? What will happen to the Freedoms I swore to defend? To the tyranny I vowed to battle? The US Special Forces has a motto: "De Oppresso Liber" To free the oppressed. What happens if Americans become the ones oppressed?(Calling for gag orders, and media blackouts on 'inconsequential' departments is only the beginning. The nazi regime started out small too.)
Will the men and women who serve(d), the men and women who take the Special Forces motto to heart; will they risk treason? Will the risk being labelled traitors to honor that motto, the oath they swore, and the memories of their fallen brothers and sisters who gave all in the name of Freedom?

I would. Because I am an American; and I will die on my feet before I will kneel to a tyrant.

Being a patriot does not mean hate. It means you would give your life for the country you love. That you are willing to die to defend your home and land. It means that you will endure against all odds. It means that come morning; "Our Flag was still there."

Do NOT remain silent. Do NOT allow our country to become the 4th Reich. March! Stand up for Freedom! Be as loud, boisterous and obnoxious as humanly possible. Let the world know that we are better than what they think of us. Do NOT go quietly into the night...

(no subject)
tairneanach
Boromir

Boromir

If I were a character in The Lord of the Rings, I would be Boromir, Man of Gondor, proud heir to the Steward Denethor II, and elder brother of Faramir.

In the movie, I am played by Sean Bean.

Who would you be?
Zovakware Lord of the Rings Test��with Perseus Web Survey Software


Willow: A Wolf I Met.
tairneanach
I had the good fortune to visit a wolf preserve recently. I saw several Wolves that day; however greater fortune fell when a Wolf introduced herself to me. She was a silver frosted Timber Wolf, and her name was Willow. A beautiful creature, this Wolf. Unfortunately, she's not part of the regular tour. This is the story of how an outcast Wolf touched my Soul, however brief the moment....

When Willow was an adolescent wolf, she got free of her pen, and wound up penned in with the wrong pack. In the way of wolves, outsiders are not welcome in the pack. The other pack had beaten her up pretty badly by the time she could be gotten out of the pen. The preserve owner took her home and nursed her back to health.
Some time later, she was healthy again, and Willow was returned to her pack. But now, for reasons known only to wolves, her pack no longer wanted her. Willow was an outcast. The owners built her a smaller pen, at the back corner of the preserve. One of the worst things that could happen to a wolf is to be left alone, without a pack. As fate would have it, another pack had born a litter, and the cubs were ready to be weaned. Two tundra wolf cubs were put together with Willow, and a new pack was formed.
The regular tour had ended, and I had seen wolves, foxes and bobcats. They were all fascinating and lovely creatures. The group was meandering their way back to the buses that hauled us there. It was noon and the fire whistle in town blew. Though I couldn't hear the whistle, the wolves all began to howl. It was a beautiful sound, that brought a contented smile to my face. However, there was one howl that continued when all the other voices had silenced. A long and mournful sound, that seemed to flow through my entire body. Rich and deep, it carried from the back corner of the preserve. Like a sailor of ancient lore drawn to the Siren, I had to find that voice.
I followed the trail that led around the fencing and up the hill. At the top of the hill, I came to the pen that housed Willow. At first I saw only the tundra wolves, and they were quite disinterested. I was a bit disappointed at first, I knew from the owner's speech that Willow was a silver-frosted timber wolf, and the description he gave was enough to make me want to see her. I looked around the pen, then to a particular tree, opposite from where I stood.
Partially hidden by a combination of shadow and the back drop of a grey-barked tree, stood Willow. Willow was the most beautiful canid I'd ever seen. Her coat was a glistening black, with stripes of silver that sparkled like galaxies in the midnight sky. She turned her head toward me, and an ear flicked back. Dumbstruck by the sight of her, I slowly crouched at the outer fencing, murmuring complementary hellos. What happened next will be etched in my memory for the rest of my life.
As I crouched, Willow turned to me and strode across the distance to the inner fence, roughly 5 feet from me. She sat on her haunches in front of me, and her amber eyes blinked once in greeting. I smiled, showing no teeth and murmured another hello. Willow stood, and began pacing back and forth in front of me, rubbing her sides on the fence. A few moments of watching her, and I saw she had the flexibility and grace of her namesake. Out of curiosity, I cupped my hands before my mouth and howled as best I could. Willow answered. She threw her head back and howled. The sound coursed through my body, and I had to hold on to the fence to keep from toppling over. The beautiful voice belonged to Willow. Tears began to stream down my cheek as the rest of the wolves also took up the song. I felt as if my heart would fly from my body, and ride the waves of that sound.
"Thank you."I whispered to Willow.
Willow sat down in front of me again and her tail swished from one side to the other, then curled around her feet. I watched her a few minutes more, then told her I had to go. When I stood up, my knees were still somewhat weak, so I steadied myself on the fence. Willow began rubbing her sides on the fence once more. Smiling, I watched a few minutes more, then said goodbye. Willow blinked and turned away, then began walking back to the tree where I first spied her.
I turned to make my way back down the hill. About a quarter of the way down, I paused and took one more look toward the pen. Willow stood, front paw raised, and her head turned toward me. Her amber eyes watched me as I walked the down the winding path. I couldn't help but smile--a bit smugly--as I whispered.
"I'll see you again, my friend." I vowed, before continuing down the trail.
By the time I got back to the rally point, I was grinning from ear to ear. On the bus, I thanked the owner numerous times, and complimented him on how the animals looked very well cared for. I told him I'd be back too. Since then, Willow has been on my mind, and even in my dreams. I will find a way to one day see Willow without fencing between us.
--Paul A. Werner II

Where
tairneanach
Where is the promised land?

Somewhere far from me, I'm sure..

Where are we bound?

To a place of fire?
or a place of ice?

Only the gods know for sure.
And I don't think they'll tell the living.

The Skyline
tairneanach
The skyline is empty
Save for a pillar of smoke and dust
Destruction as far as the eye can see
how many lives crushed?

With every cry for help..
every scream of pain


There was a day when the Sky turned black
and the seas had run red with blood.
The big silver bird could not turn back
In that moment they understood.

Concrete and steel screamed in agony
And hell burned upon the Earth
in a hot and crimson symphony
no longer had life any worth..

The Sky filled with smoke
and life began to choke
Thousands died,
millions cried

And the dogs in empty windows
Do they understand?
do they smell the death Wind blows?
When grief rolls across the land.

A pillar of dust and smoke
fills the empty skyline
on the smell of death, we choke
A new anguish defined.

Shattered souls scream in the morning light
Oblivion took a morning flight
Thousands died...

Millions cried..


--Paul A. Werner II

9-11-01
Fire scorched the skies, America wept..

The World Alive?
tairneanach
The Traveler wraps himself in his cloak, and stares thoughtfully into the crackling fire. A waxing moon gleams down upon Traveler, wolf and fire. The Traveler takes a deep breath and sighs. Harsh times have fallen upon the world, and himself indeed..He looks to the moon with a pensive expression...

"So many tears..." he utters..

He's reminded of a time long ago...A bonfire blazes...drums beat..and a young boy with tear-stained cheeks sits before an ancient, craggy-faced shaman.

"Grandfather, why do we cry? What are tears for?"

The shaman smiles an ageless smile and reaches out with a gnarled hand. He touches the boy lightly on the forehead. Multitudes of charms and rattles clamor with the movement of the Old Man's hand as he draws his thumb over the boy's forehead in a movement that resembles a wave.

"We cry when we hurt.."

The Old Man lowers his hand, and leans into his furs and skins, still smiling that smile. "When pain becomes much..and the Heart grows full with ache.. That pain leaks out our eyes...When we cry long enough...the tears will cease to come. If we then take the time to think...we might notice that the pain is lessened.."

"So tears are pain?"the boy asked "They should be destroyed then.."

The shaman laughed heartily"No Cub, they are only vessels, if there were no tears...there would be no sea...If there were no sea..there would be no fish...and we...We would have no food." He gently rests his hand on the boy's head "Tears carry our pain to the sea..where the sea gathers them and shows them to the gods. It is then that the gods will know our sorrows. If there are enough tears and enough sorrow..The gods will decide if we've learned enough in this Land..and carry us Home to the Spirit Land."

"Then tears are good?"the boy queried

The shaman chuckled again.."Not quite, Wandering Wolf. They are neither good nor bad. They only are. Tears are neccessary. If we feel pain, then we know we are alive."

"Then the World must be very much alive Grandfather.."

"Yes, it must be...."


The Traveller smiled thoughtfully, and brushed a tear from a weather-worn face...

"Yes Grandfather..it must be" he stood and shook a stray leaf from his long hair, smiling at the Moon and leaning on his staff.

The Traveler looks down at the Wolf beside him..and reaches down to scratch his friend's ears.

"Very much alive.." he pulled his hood up over his head and placed the long-stemmed pipe between his lips.

Circles
tairneanach
Life is a circle. With no beginning, no end. This a shaman once said.

I still remember him. He was thin, with a broad face. His hair was long in its twin braids, and gunmetal grey. His face looked like a road map, there were so many lines. His eyes..they were the most riveting and beautiful eyes I'd ever seen. Dark and deep, endless in their depths. Yet they sparkled, with an almost otherworldly gleam...of humour and contentment. I got lost in those eyes the first time I saw them.

I looked into the shaman's eyes, I saw stars born, and stars die. I saw spirits climbing stairs of starlight into the Not Land. I saw comets streak across the sky. I felt that shaman look right into my very own soul.

'Life is a circle. With no beginning, and no end.'

His voice was thin and reedy, yet held such depths. A paradox within a paradox, this shaman.

'We are born. As we grow, we learn. The more we learn, the more we grow. We learn of the prairie dog, who digs neath the earth. The prairie dog makes room for the grass to grow tall. The tall grass hides the coyote who hunts the prairie dog. Does the prairie dog know, as it digs its burrow, that it aids in its demise? Perhaps, perhaps not. The coyote eats the prairie dog, and it's droppings feed the tall grass. When the coyote dies, its remains too, feed the grass. Both the coyote and the prairie dog live and die to feed the grass. We hunt the buffalo, who feeds upon the grass. The buffalo feeds us, and gives us warm furs to wear. The buffalo's bones give us shafts for our arrows, heads for our spears. The buffalo's horns give us cups to drink from, and its innards give us rope to tie our teepees together. Whatever remains feeds the grass. We too die, and when we die, our remains feed the grass. All things are related.'

I sat in awe of the shaman's words. There was such power in him, that I saw and felt his words. They seeped into my very core. He smiled at me, an ageless smile that seemed to make his eyes sparkle all the more.

'Go...learn and grow, Wandering Wolf. Find the circles. Carry them in your Heart.'

Myopic Clarity...
tairneanach
It is cold now, the Traveller's fire has burned down to embers, and the chimney-stack has dwindled down to about 4 logs. The tavern-pipe disappears 'neath the woolen cloak, and the Traveller places one more log onto the coalbed. He stands and stretches wearily and strides toward his bedroll. Something at the treeline catches the Traveller's weary eye; a pair of emerald green, phosphorant and lupine eyes. With a tired-soft, thin smile that showed no teeth, the Traveller spoke.

" 'Ello Lad. I was a-wonderin' when ye'd show up.."

At the sound of the Traveller's voice, a large, coal-black wolf--barely visible in the dying firelight-- trots out of the treeline and sits down beside the Traveller. The huge wolf leans in and nuzzles the man's weather-worn face. A chuckle eminates from the depths of the grey hood.

"Aye, lad. Missed ye too..Care t'share some warmth?"

The Traveller reached up and scratched the Wolf's proud head, and the wolf turned to his friend's hand and licked it, then settled down next to the Traveller.

"Where are we bound, Lad?"

The Traveller looked to the star-bejewelled sky and sighed softly. "There, mayhap?"

"Mayhap, indeed. Someone said goodbye to me today. Aye, you know her well, lad. But ye know...I'm nae angry..nae even sad. We dunna hate each other. In fact we still love each other so very much. Environmental factors..tha's wha' did us in. An' ironically, after today..I'm even m�r certain of that Love. I told her I wasna say goodbye...when she asked me why..I said because I nae dead yet. An' we talked. She's an amazin' woman..heh..but ye know tha' dun ye lad. Our Love is strong..I know that even m�r now. I really dun think it's forever. Or even eternity. We jes love each other too much for tha'..."


The Wolf huddled closer to the Traveller and once more moved its head to the Traveller's hood, licking his face.

"Aye..you dun think so either? Well, I'll listen t' ye..after all..yer the smart one on this team.."

The Traveller ruffled the Wolf's ears and looked once more to the sky. He picked out a particular star, a bit West, and blew a kiss to it, knowing in his heart that he will see her again. The Traveller hunkered down into his cloak and closed his tired eyes, curling around his fellow traveller, friend, and Guide, Wolf.

This Will Fall Away..
tairneanach
The crescent moon slashes its way through the rolling cloud-cover. The chill breeze sends the dry leaves in a skittering dance across the ground. The Traveler drops an armload of logs near the crackling fire. He stoops and begins carefully stacking them. A few moments later, he is rewarded for his efforts by a square 'chimney' stack of logs. Holding one log in each hand, he leans toward the fire, and jams one into the coalbed, and sets off a shower of sparks and firebrands in the process. A deft twist of his arm billows his cloak out and up with a just enough wind to catch the firebrands and guide them back from whence they came, back into the coalbed where they can cause no harm. When his cloak settles, the Traveler leans back, and where the log was once in his hand, the long-stemmed tavern pipe appears. With a fluid motion he raises the pipe to his lips and takes a long pull. With a deep sigh, he exhales a plume of bluish-grey smoke at the sky, smiling sadly at the crescent moon.

"A lovlier lass, I'll ne'er see...If there's anythin' about the cooler weather I like, tis how bright the Moon gets in the night sky. She brings me comfort in the cold hours. Sometimes, on long nights...she'll show me faces. Faces of those who've left this world and moved to the next. Some young, some old. Often, it seems they've left this place too soon. I must believe there is a reason, but it saddens me nonetheless. Aye..Samhuinn draws near..'Tis the same every Turn. Every Turn the Dead grow louder. I canna help but wonder.....Do they grow more restless? Or do I simply move closer to the Veil, and that Journey Beyond.."

Land of the Free...
tairneanach
So we are at "war"

We drop bombs on a country that is controlled by fundamentalists.

Are those bombs killing the fundamentalists?

Not likely...they all have bomb shelters.

So who are those bombs killing?

Farmers, herders. Shop owners. Maybe a terrorist or two.

America is enraged at the indiscriminate killing of 5000 some civilians. Yet, chants in the street say "Drop more bombs. Level Afghanistan!"

I've heard some of those shouts say "Turn the entire middle-east into a sea of glass."

Well...I must admit...that certainly would solve the trouble and dissention that dwells there. For a time.

Sooner or later, some other country/race/religion will become "the enemy"

How long before that enemy becomes us?

?

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