Large Fierce Mammal

Pickled Bollocks

By LFM

To speak the sins deserving death
Calls not for but a single breath,
And of those few, that hated most
Falls hard on who betrays his host.

‘Twas in the dead of Winter’s grasp
My callused hand released the hasp
Upon my door near end of day
To find a man who’d lost his way.

I threw the portal open wide
And welcomed him to warm inside,
“My Wife’s goode beans are on the fire!
“Please, eat as much as you desire!” (more…)

Systems of human belief that formed absent any Abrahamic religious influence tend to share the common trait of including people as being one among Nature’s creatures instead of above all by divine edict. They seek to understand the forces and phases of Nature within the context of motives and behaviours shared by Humans and other living things alike, and in so doing, grasp how simultaneously simple and profound everything is in its connectedness.

Whatever its basis, all systems of belief seem to share some sort of concept of an immortal life force that dwells in living things. While the Abrahamic group assigns this “soul” exclusively to human kind, others find spirits dwelling in places and things; some grand and powerful, and others that are tiny, even seemingly insignificant.

Spirits seem, for the most part, to concern themselves with their own affairs, in concert with Nature and their own expression of the Way of the Wild. Only things that have become unsound so they can no longer be that way themselves will attract their enmity. A tangible comparison can be found if you watch a Deer walk through a field of wild flowers on a Summer’s day. You will see it going about its business heedless of the scores of Bees that are momentarily disturbed by its passing. Likewise, the Bees will buzz away fussily, to either find another flower or re-alight on the one just vacated as soon as the interloper is gone. By comparison, something that due to age, infirmity, illness, or wrong headedness, like an irrationally fearful human, can easily attract the defensive side of a Bee’s nature with painful results.

And then there are the spirits that seem born out of the Human condition. Notwithstanding such an unstable foundation from which to spring, not all of them mean harm, although their interpretation of right and wrong may be wildly divergent with that of the average “man in the street”. The Tomte, of which I have previously written, is a shining example well known in Scandinavian lore, and that I have found my own clan of much closer to home. ~ Dark Sentiments Season 7 – Day 17: The Spirit of Things

Today we revisit the Tomte in a delightfully narrated short film based on an adaptation by Astrid Lindgren from a poem by Viktor Rydberg. The film is narrated for half its length because the entirety of the visuals are repeated twice — once with narration, and then without. That small quirk in production doesn’t bother me. I could listen to this reader speak all day, not to mention the Tomten himself, who spoke clearly to me in his own language,  a silent little language that even I could understand. (more…)

“As long as you have a safety net you act without commitment. You’ll go back to your old habits once you meet a little resistance. You need the samurai’s desperateness and his insanity. Burn the bridge. Nuke the foundation. Back yourself up against a wall. Have an opinion one way or the other, get off the fence and rip it up. Cut yourself off so there is no going back. Once you’re committed the truth will come out. You ask about security? What you need is uncertainty. What you need is confusion; something that forces you to reinvent yourself, a whip to drive you harder. ‘I never try anything – I just do it. Want to try me?'” ~ Mark F. Twight

Here’s a little ditty about Commitment.

Commitment

By LFM

Commitment’s not a blind attack,
No “leap of faith” can substance lack.
The doctor of your life’s a quack
Who spends your days in fruitless yack.

To freeze in place in fear to move,
Deny what perils might behoove,
Defy what Truth doth Life improve —
Move on, adapt, or face remove.

For everything seeks Life fulfilled,
The feathered, scaled, the furred, and quilled,
Committing to its Life is thrilled,
Though serving death, or being killed.

Now be thou as the Wild things are,
Stand not before yourself to bar
Your own sweet path by Spirit’s star —
The jam’s not tasted in the jar.

Who clings to things beyond retrieve
Will find the path to self-deceive,
And following will come to grieve
For fray-ed cloth but fools can weave.

Mind ye now the river’s flowing,
Sift ye out what’s wished from knowing,
Master thee thy come and going,
Trim thy sails, the wind is blowing.

So here’s the lesson you must learn,
To prep thy vessel, stem to stern.
You choose alone what bridges burn,
Then steer her hence, there’s no return.

“Perception suffers a profound jolt when we are placed in states of quietude in darkness. Our hearing takes the lead then, and the signals from all the living and existing entities around us can be detected–not with our hearing only, but with a combination of the auditory and visual senses, in that order. In darkness the eyes become subsidiary to the ears”. ~ Don Juan Matus

Welcome back, weary traveller, to another installment of our annual Winter series, A Long Winter’s Night. As we near the end of a decidedly cacophonous year, it pleases me to no end that some of you have come through with enough of your senses, and sense, intact to find your way here.

In this season of a profoundly terrible beauty and the most primal of celebrations, the “return of the Sun” is at once a time of hope and anticipation, and pregnant with dark foreboding. Even of isolation in the cold and dark, notwithstanding the proximity of a surrounding throng.

Move closer to the fire Goode Reader, and join us.

“A Warrior needs a Woman who is powerful, brave, smart, fierce, sensual, creative, and has excellent teeth with which to chew the hide for his moccasins. Most importantly, one who does not do this out of menial obligation but because, knowing she is the finest thing in his world, determines to ensure that everything else in her Warrior’s life is as exquisite as she is.” ~ The Saga of Kejimkujik

Last Thursday, in response to our recent Dark Sentiments piece titled Exit Music, we were honoured by a quite literally heartfelt comment from trusty LFM reader Julian:

“Only tonight have I seen this and the irony is rich and deep. I have suffered the early stages of another heart attack during the night; and a dear precious friend Sandy Ballard, a lifelong animal rescuer, a key part of our TEARS rescue group and the ‘mother’ for 14 rescued dogs, passed away from cancer and sepsis in the last hour. I am able to sit up for a few minutes and saw this. Please share a prayer and thought for Sandy. I believe I will survive my own event, but if not, then my love and blessings to all.”

I replied,

“Of all things for you to find in this critical moment. We Truly hope it brings you comfort, and rest in the belief that the finding was no accident. Love and blessings in return my Friend.”

I am most pleased to report that, at least as of today, our Esteemed Friend Julian had this to say … more or less, and except for the bit with the hand operated head bludgeon: (more…)

God, Santa Claus, Krampus — only a few of the omniscient powers watching over us all. But what if things were a little more interactive so we didn’t have to wait for death or Christmas to discover how things are going to turn out?

The Gunfighter knows … (more…)

“Of no surprise to my readers will be the disclosure that my brand of humour veers sharply toward the dark side. My dance card of funeral attendance over the years includes both my parents, four uncles and one aunt, an assortment of friends and the parents of others, and that’s just the humans. If memory serves, I have also officiated at or otherwise participated in the last goodbye to five dogs, one horse, one cat, three hamsters, at least six birds of various species, a similar number of reptiles, and one monkey. Species be damned. Grief is grief.

“As I’ve gone through the grieving process myself, and watched others do the same, it has become clear to me that, in the end, the power and joy of a life well lived is not diminished by the final footnote that it came to an end. That grief is a path leading to a place where, without trivializing our loss or assuming a pretense that the one departed isn’t missed, we can once again think and speak of them fondly and often, without spontaneously melting into a weeping puddle of goo. That their lives will have meaning as long as those of us who remember still draw breath.” ~ Die My Dear? Why That’s the Last Thing I’ll Do

For a joyful and fulfilling interval back in the 1980’s, I wore the august mantle of Boy Scout Leader. In the performance of my duties, I met and worked with some fine fellow Leaders, and in my conceit still believe to this day that we imposed upon our Scouts something approaching a positive influence.

In July of this year, I received a message from one of my fellow Scout Leading alumni, Mark Hughes Esq., informing me of the death of one of our own; Scouter Peter McCarthy; and asking my assistance at a celebration of life event that was being planned by the family of our departed Friend and Comrade. A number of our former Scouts would be in attendance, and had agreed to be called to attention and led in a final salute. I was asked to speak a few words and then lead that salute. It is interesting to note that Peter had come to my mind only that very week, although until I got the news I didn’t know why, and needless to say, I agreed absent hesitation or reservation to accept the mission.

On the day, as I took my position behind the podium and surveyed the packed room, my eyes fell on Peter’s Wife and Sons in the front row. After introducing myself and describing why and how I knew Peter McCarthy, I began with …

“When I got the news from Mark that Peter had died, I was first of all shocked, and then all I could think was, ‘Damn it! We were sitting by a camp fire in the middle of nowhere back in 1984 when I warned him this was going to happen!'”

The entire room lit up with laughter, most particularly that ever so important group in the front row. The mood was set for me to talk about happier times, and draw attention, at least for a while, away from the “final footnote”, that will take its own good time in being recognized as such.

“One of the world’s oldest songs isn’t about love, sex or power. It’s about death. ‘Dies Irae’, the Song of Death (performed in one take for this video) is one of the oldest songs in the world. It goes back to the beginning of musical time … about 1300 years. The mystery of this particular piece of music is that it keeps showing up from the Dark Ages to modern times in Star Wars and the Lion King.”

So says Canadian writer, musician, and broadcaster Tom Allen in his short CBC Music documentary, Exit Music — a musical history of death. Take a few to learn about the “Dies Irae“, the Song of Death, that Church history says was conveyed to Pope Gregory the Great by way of a white Dove, directly from God Himself. You’ll still find it everywhere, often in the musical scores of your favourite movies.

“So, who wrote the Song of Death? That’s right; God did. Now, you can believe that or not, but considering this little tune has so far survived 40 human generations, and is only just now beginning to show its true power and momentum, it’s worth remembering that no matter who wrote it, we all have to sing it eventually.” ~ Tom Allen

(more…)

The rangy, solitary Eastern Coyote of my youth was not the animal that bears the name today. Hunted, trapped, poisoned, and otherwise hounded out of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick in the 1970’s, there came an interval of Human forgetting while the Nature of the Coyote and Man’s conceit forged something new.

For in time of strife, the Coyote is built to bear larger litters, so that if one would exterminate their kind, the task demands great efficiency indeed including pursuit to the bitter end, not just some ultimately meaningless line on a map. And then there is that preference of Coyote females for coupling with the largest males they can find. For a population driven northward into habitat already populated by Wolves, even the largest male coyotes will predictably face some, shall we say, stiff competition. Meanwhile, the females will bear abundant litters of an entirely new animal.

The end of the diaspora was announced by the appearance of a new player bent on repopulating ancestral homeland. Homeland festooned with a smorgasbord of prey that had thrived in the absence of a top tier predator. It was bigger, stronger, and faster than its long lost brethren. It had all the wiles of the “lonesome” Coyote of yore, but had embraced the benefits of  living in packs. It still harboured the Coyote’s disdain for Man absent the Wolf’s propensity for avoidance. In its own way, antibiotic resistant bacteria writ large, and as such, an organism unwittingly forged in a crucible of Man’s making. While no recipe was knowingly followed, one was most certainly in play as driving the Coyotes north added a wondrous new ingredient to an interesting experiment in evolution.

Everything in Nature encapsulates as part of its being certain dictates that are beyond its control. These exist first and foremost to facilitate the perpetuation of its kind in keeping with all that is desirable in progressive mutation — the kind that makes something better at what it does, and at sticking around a while longer than everybody else to do it. You see, Nature doesn’t care about individuals, nor does She feel remorse over evolutionary dead ends. In a healthy and stable ecosystem, all the necessary jobs get done, and all the participating species will survive coexisting with each other. Notice I said species, not individuals, because even the best and brightest in any group will die eventually, but more likely after the inferior specimens do.

To Nature then, and at the greatest risk of sounding political, no individual lives matter because She deals exclusively with the BIG picture. However, all deaths certainly do, for the ending of every life improves the lot, the survival, and/or the viability of another.

Think about that.