how beauty turns to ugly in the blink of an “I”

A beauty, celebrated by a significant sector of our society is stripped once again and exposed, only this time in disgust and to public outrage.
This beauty was once on display before us and we gazed upon her with desire and lustful admiration but now this beauty has turned ugly by simply saying something that somehow cuts us deep, causing us to react in anger, even disgust.
And we turn towards her again… all of us, from all sides…

http://www.timeslive.co.za/local/2012/05/04/racist-tweet-model-stripped-of-title-by-fhm

One concerned person, perhaps speaking for most of us I dare to suggest, posted this sentiment:

“No kidding? This disgusting behaviour keeps dragging us back into the dark ages.”

She was stupid to tweet what she did, no doubt,… (and she has acknowledged this already) and the expression and its sentiment is without any doubt unacceptable, but I think on all sides of the politico-cultural swamp we think and feel the same things.
Perhaps some of us are more “socially appropriate” about it all and don’t succumb to that many ‘irrational’ outbursts and also not in such a public forum, but I believe it’s deep in there… in all of us.
Yes, she is totally out of line, but we perhaps should consider that it might not be any more than just us turning on her in a bestial “pack-mentality” … Perhaps vainly to purge ourselves of these inner demons through her vicarious substitution?
We are a sorry bunch, hiding behind the illusionary veneer of the vanity of our belief in ourselves that we are the worthy possessors of a superior intellect…. That we are above the other creatures, that we are good and upright, civil and morally just?
Instead, I’m sorry more for us as a species than for her alone…. It’s sad, very sad.

the right leg of freedom

http://mg.co.za/article/2012-03-01-angelinas-right-leg

It wasn’t that long ago when we were all up in arms about the POIB (Protection of Information Bill) and the need to protect the freedom of the press and their responsible democratic role in informing the public about…

…me too, I also was mobilised. … the ANC governments diabolical attempts to cover up their rampant corruption and sinister underhand goings on are despicable to say the least …. (still ongoing … perhaps quietly gathering momentum under cover of the frenzied press maelstrom of Malema’s expulsion from the ANC – who knows?)

BUT, is this the press we were/are trying to protect..? … the press liberated, mobilized… and telling us … what? …

…what we want to hear? … definitely… or maybe what we want to hear voraciously piggy-backed on the revenues such repugnant and seductively sensationalized “press” will generate for their own greedy little coffers…

… or maybe it’s the press – that gaggle of educated, sophisticated intelligentsia hooked and dangling with hungry mouths agape as they are led along and played ruthlessly by a cunning master to provide the exact sensationalistic, diverting cover for other more sinister covert operations…?

so, is it about truth and objective journalism in the quest to inform and protect our floundering fledgling democratic society … or is it all about the money? … all about the “WIIFM” (What’s In It For Me)?

… and now, here I am … mobilized and once more up in arms about a leg…

… and the way it’s all seemingly such incredibly “Big Press” in a sick society perhaps gone to hell and back way before the end has even come…

meat trading

If we define the nature and function of the sheep by the sheep pen they are herded into perhaps we are merely nothing more than meat traders?

the mark of the beast

That infamous number “666” – that infamous character of dark, evil mystery – that infamous world system of suffering and subjugation.

Linked to the end times and specifically the destruction of all things- especially the good and the righteous, the upright and the holy.

Contemporary orthodox theology has made many assertions, declarations and published varied opinions on what this is  all about.   The Judeo-Christian biblical texts seem to suggest clearly that it is the number of a man. Some even believe this man will be killed and then come alive again, perhaps as a mimicking mockery of the Christ portrayed as having also been killed and then resurrected.  It also suggests that it is the ultimate sign of the anti-Christ – the one who will blatantly oppose and set himself up against the God of heaven – declaring himself to be God.

There are many who feel that the mark of the beast is a serialized code that will be legislated to be imprinted or inserted on or into the foreheads and/or the palms of the hands of all the people of the earth and those who refuse this serialised encoding will be deemed illegal, not be able to trade, thereby excluded from the ‘common wealth’ – ensuring their destruction.

Many are waiting for an individual to present himself and seize global power and extract worship, honour, adoration and servitude from all under fear of death.  People scan the horizons for a sign.

Many predictions of the end of the world have come and gone.   And surely we can be confident that many more will follow.

And me, … what do I say about it all? … sorry, but I have no specific revelation to add to the pot at this stage as to who, when other than just this one nagging sense… I have to confess that whenever I hear or think of the times we live in and the end times or the “mark of the beast” these days I just cannot shrug off the thought of all those little crosses we place so excitedly, expectantly, dutifully even faithfully on little papers which are hopefully inserted into ballot boxes at polling stations from time to time.

You know, those boxes we so desire the whole world to have the privilege of access too, … that they too can join in to make their own mark of independence and sovereign self-determination…

it’s all screwed up … so who’s screwing who?

it is all screwed up … do not adjust your sets… you have a clear picture. ….

…..  but we have a remote control and a bouquet of channels to flick through to get the exact picture we feel most comfortable with …

however,

… maybe we don’t want to see it really?

the static hiss and crackle comforts us …

it blurs the reception and shifts the edges just enough for us to keep watching

apparently we are the most enlightened generation ever

… apparently we know more than ever before

… and apparently this new found knowledge is increasing exponentially

…. and maybe the story of there being two trees in the garden is true after all?

… maybe the fruit of that one bite has multiplied accordingly …

… . .  . and maybe now that tempting, initial taste has moved from a bite to a banquet … and the banquet to an orgy

with distended bellies we lie there

full, yet starving

but thankfully governance has stepped in and now we are being placed in a feeding scheme

huge deliveries come in daily … right to our door in fact

they keep on rolling in … and it simply doesn’t stop

one could even think that we are being force-fed

force-fed involuntarily … or not?

…. but it is our right… our inalienable rite to choose

…. because after all, we are Gods, are we not?

Could it be possible that a main weapon being deployed is that of desensitizing us?

. .. and media bombardment does this so very well …  and we love our media .. and we love to be loved … and our media loves us … a delightful match made in the garden of Hedon

we are educated and remarkably intelligent but we seem unable to distinguish clearly between any of the data that is fed to us…

what initially looked good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom is now so confusing

maybe we are too busy covering ourselves and hiding behind trees?

so we shut down our emotions and only when it happens in our immediate context are we able to get the real picture for a brief moment … but then it is usually too late … we are banished

we find ourselves lost

but we are intelligent and more informed than ever before

yet it seems we cannot handle decisions anymore (not that we ever could mind you, it’s just that we’ve got better at it lately).. and because of this it has become a major tool of industry and institutionalised governance of all forms … man made structures … straight lines that pierce through everything in its path

whatever seed that breaks the surface is plucked out and snatched away by the birds

… however, this is all academic because we continue to vote for them …. voting them in to continue … we mandate them to continue and we will continue to mandate them…

and God said to man, “be fruitless but increase in number nevertheless; fill the earth and be subdued by it … vote for leaders amongst yourselves that they may rule over you. … that it may go well with you in order that you will have all your pleasures fulfilled …  this is your God-given mandate, to be ruled by another and that your desire will be for them to rule over you.”

democracy is the same everywhere

outside today there are posters defacing our street light poles with colourful faces and slogans screaming silently at the numbed pedestrians and motorists trying to avoid the political oil-slick as it oozes onto the streets.  we live in a delightful, beautiful country that is sadly and traumatically racked with corruption and prejudice.  we have a history of violence and ethnic disrespect and just as one victim matures, as quickly a perpetrator is born.  government spending is spiraling out of control and the fat-cats get fatter while the impoverished simply expire.  and it seems we’ve only just begun.

“look at me!!”… “look at me!!” they seem to say – “vote for me!!” … “vote for me!!”  …. a new wave of salivating gravytrain ticket holders press in to frantically try to get on board before each other. …

… and speak to any aspirant political candidate and chances are you’ll find someone who really seems to want to help and make a change.

it’s always harder when the mess is right at home but in fact, democracy is the same everywhere – to my mind, a totally diabolical deception of global proportions.  … and in South Africa it often feels as if we take the cake but I think the fact is that we have just not yet learned the devious skill of how to be incisively ‘PC’ in the way the people are politically, economically, culturally, and spiritually sodomized (mind you, only because we have still yet to learn the delicate intricacies of this devious ‘art’, … not because we don’t do it yet).  the “Malema’s” out there – and yes, there are many, … well, they just make us more aware of the mindless, insensitive, pathological brutality of it all.

…. and before you go off all half-cocked, this is not a racist perspective, … the previous government in SA (The Nationalist Party) were arguably the most effective perpetrators of this…  their only blatant folly was that they legislated inequity, hatred, greed and self-preservation and published it.

politics is the art or science of government or governing and ‘official’ politicians don’t do themselves any favours as they blunder on like intoxicated pub-crawlers into the dark night.  … and we don’t do ourselves any favours either because we dutifully vote new ones in all the time.  most of us even sincerely believe we need them and that this is not only the best way but the only way there is.  so we once again put our faith in a fresh ‘face’ out there, some talking head who tells us what we think we need to hear.  and now perhaps you may be asking, “who’s the more intoxicated?” …. good question!!

… you see,  ‘official’ politicians aren’t the only ‘politicians’ out there.  for me it’s difficult to decide who learned what from whom?  was it the politicians who gave the idea to the religious institutions or was it the other way around?

’n padda op ‘n buite plaas

A poem I once recited at school when I was barely 10 years old was called, “ ’n Padda op ‘n Buite Plaas”   - by W.H. Boshoff (M.Rieck) and I recall resisting the whole process with fearful indignation when thrust upon to perform it publicly.  Stubbornly I performed the recitation only once and that before what I recall as an extremely large crowd of students and parents in the huge school assembly hall.  Now clearly this might be the exaggerated memories of a traumatised youth but nevertheless I remember it being a most frightening event in my young life and strangely over 40 years later I still haven’t forgotten it.

Why it remains with me to this day, I can only speculate.  It could possibly be because of the fear and pain of the moment having burned it indelibly into my consciousness or maybe because of the powerfully profound truths it conveys to us generations later?  Or maybe perhaps even at that very tender age I may have subconsciously recognised a bleeding, prophetic heart behind the playful humour?

Today we live in a world of extreme marketing and rampant self promotion.  A superficial world that takes no prisoners and leaves the dead to bury themselves as it marches on relentlessly on a seemingly hell-bent course – the ravenous devouring of its next disposable conquest.

A once proud and determined yet now bruised and scattered nation bobs dangerously in this shifting sea of rampant materialism and superficial values.

I have just returned from an almost 2 week long South African Afrikaans language, National Cultural Festival (KKNK).  It was the first one I have attended of the 17 Festivals so far and what I saw troubled me.  It seemed to me that all around me all I could see was so many people and artists trying so desperately hard to be what they think they should or would like to be.  Amidst the trendy, hip clothing and contemporary social presentations they looked lost and disheveled.  As a result I sadly feel moved to share the thoughts of this once traumatic little poem I have had so indelibly etched on my heart.

’n padda op ’n buite plaas

’n padda op ’n buite plaas
het hom mooi eenmaal opgeblaas
hy sê, hy wil, wat dit ook kos
so groot wees soos die grootste os

hy blaas hom op net soos ’n bol
sy rug word krom, sy maagie hol
maar ag, jy hoor net tande knars
want ons ou vriend het op geblaas

daar lê hy nes ’n droë beskuit
met al sy ingevande uit
dit is verdien – ons weet dit mos
’n padda word mos nooit ’n os
Uit: Gediggies vir ons kleintjies – W.H. Boshoff (M.Rieck)

he was murdered for this

He went about doing good and healing all who were under heavy pressure from negative, evil circumstance.   As he went along amazing things seemed to happen around him.  It was clear that a force much more powerful than himself, the words he spoke, or the deeds he did was tangibly present with him.   Lives were marvelously changed as he made contact with all manner of people and as a consequence they sought him out and followed him virtually wherever he went.   They thronged around and asked him questions and he graciously spoke back to them in response.   He taught them what the sacred texts had hidden in them, presented a revolutionary, fresh angle on ancient truth and opened the eyes of the blind.   He demonstrated by way of his own lifestyle, a way of life that had never been seen before.   As a result lame legs were restored, withered arms were straightened and for the first time enabled to reach out and touch, caress and even heal.

Other than the twelve he officially called to be his personal disciples, to leave their homes and families and to walk with him he never asked anyone else to join him or follow him as he walked.   He never developed unrealistic expectations in the hearts and minds of those who met him and instead seemed rather to make it more difficult for them to follow him than that which first was apparent.   He was unpredictable in almost everything he did and when expected to ‘zig’, he ‘zagged.’   He extracted no payment for his service of kindness but often met the needs of the poor instead.   His only charge was for all to honour God and do as he did – to follow his example of giving up his own life for those of his friends.  In fact, he more often than not forbade the recipients of his kindness their passionate request to follow him and even had the emancipated fortitude of wisdom, personal conviction and divine sense of purpose to amongst many other seemingly controversial acts,  inadvertently cause a very wealthy man with all his worldly resources, to turn away from following him by lovingly revealing the great poverty of the mans extreme wealth and success.

He had no personal empire of material or political wealth.   He never drew attention to himself nor promoted his service.  If anything, he underplayed the accolades of the crowd and preferred to call himself the ‘son of man’, a lowly, unpretentious description for someone who performed such incredible feats of miraculous kindness.   He never owned any form of personal transportation nor any building with attractive, socially trendy décor to accommodate the masses who pressed in.   Instead, he chose the dusty footpaths, market places, the homes of often socially inappropriate people, taverns and once a week, the small, traditional religious gathering spots to make contact with people.  He had no permanent roof over his head other than the stars, no place to call his own nor to hang his hat or raise his banner.   He tended more often than not to profoundly offend the established religious order and the prevalent leadership of the day and they too pursued him relentlessly, but for other reasons than respect, admiration and gratitude.

Eventually Jesus was murdered for this, as are any who follow his example and do as he did.

entitlement

We love to call ourselves ‘pastors’, ‘apostles’, ‘evangelists’, ‘doctors’, ‘prophets’, ‘ministers’, ‘men (or women) of God’, ‘anointed’, ‘professors’, ‘spiritual fathers’, ‘mentors’, ‘reverends’, ‘leaders’, “counselors’, ‘shepherds’, ‘overseers’,  ‘presidents’, ‘deacons’, ‘elders’, ‘teachers’, etc… in fact, the only thing we love more than this is when other people call us by these titles.

Yet Jesus of Nazareth, believed to be Lord and Messiah, the hero of all time and the only worthy one to be emulated by countless Christians throughout the centuries, … .  .   . this Jesus, believed to be the only one who really has legitimate claim to entitlement, being the revealed ‘seed’ of God, even God in the flesh, wanted only to be known as the ‘son of man.’

un-pop

Real messengers of truth and righteousness agitate and stimulate the soil, ploughing up fallow ground, uprooting old and entrenched systems and dislodging destructive alien life forms.  Their message is mostly not initially at all pleasant to the hearer.  Their message mostly demands far more than the hearer can do for themselves.  Real messengers sew seeds that build into the lives of others, laying fluid foundations of liberty that will stand in any circumstance.  They do not spin fanciful yarns which tickle the ears of the shallow of heart nor stimulate the sensually indulgent.  They do not say things of convenience which the self-centred, lukewarm masses desire,  … in fact, what they even demand to hear.   Real messengers of truth and righteousness are usually very misunderstood, scorned and marginalised.  Popular they are not.  Mostly they live outside of the normal ranks, not because they seek solitude or separation but because it is thrust upon them.  They almost exclusively do not find themselves in prominent positions in society and if they do it is an extremely uncomfortable fit.  Usually these messengers of light and peace pay dearly for this service, even to the cost of their own lives.

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