2021-03-20

FUEGO EN LA CABEZA

 

ISTOLACIA MON AMOUR

 

Los españoles no sé si será verdad a ver que te crees tú nacemos con fuego en la cabeza. Vuelven los gorros frigios y no es bueno responder a la afrenta y al insulto en la misma jerga que los perdularios de Turegano que no son más que tigres de papel y de llegar el caso ahí está el sable artillero de mi padre para pegar algún mandoble. Mi pluma es mi espada pero los que me conocen saben que no soy un enagüillas ni me vengo abajo el código del honor es el de la valentía. Ese de la cabeza gorda se refugia tras las haldas de la marquesa pero tú que te has creído curilla si te echaron del seminario por marica. Sin embargo mi otro amigo Verumtamen que es aprendiz de la vida me dijo aquí no hay más que envidia, chiquitos. Los curas no son buena gente quiero decir los vaticanistas estilo san José María que pena en los infiernos. Opus Dei Opus mei. Ojalá resuciten los templarios y algunos iban a saber lo que vale un peine. Las cigüeñas machacan el ajo en lo alto de la torre esto es crascitan y hace el amor cada cinco minutos, son muy amorosas las cigüeñas pero al cigüeño turégano se le averió el fuelle y su mujer se largó a otro nido. Canta la corrigüela en el seto y entona los lamentos de la Sede Baldea mientras yo manejo el leme de mi luengo bajel. Deja que pasen los bateleros del Volga llevando y trayendo a Nostramo. Mi reina Istolacia a la que juré amor eterno me hizo su caballero andante y desde aquella ostento el derecho de pernada. Ínterin, dejo que Agapita a pie de monte pronuncie sus augurios. Tiene una voz de urraca como la Sibila de Cumas aunque no es mala chica. Beso tus manos, marquesa, no te dejes encalabrinar por las viscosidades de ese fulano de la cabeza gorda y que de cura rebotado asumió el oficio de inquisidor anticristo. Vale más la criznega con que recoges tu coleta de rumana que todos los versos juntos y toda la prosa de ese sandio que proclamó lo de Turégano ciudad episcopal y no era más que una villa carcelaria pueblo de trilleros y  tratantes que vendían gorrinos por los pueblos, buenos solamente para conducir la piara mientras en el campo abierto se escuchaba el chasquido de las trallas... que no te engañe ese baboso. Beso tus nobles manos, marquesa. Ay Istolacia, mon amour.

UN PRIMADO AL FRENTE DE UNA IGLESIA VIVA CREO QUE ES EL VERDADERO SUCESOR DE LOS APÓSTOLES

 

Comments
An American Orthodox3/3/2019 11:06 pm
May God grant the Russian Patriarch and all other Patriarchs and bishops who concelebrated with him many years! I pray that you continue to follow the teachings, path, spirit of St. Mark of Ephesus and resist the ecumenism and lies of the Roman Catholic Church and her allies, such as the Patriarch of Constantinople! The Eastern and Western Churches are not two lungs of the True Church! There is only one True Church, only Church that has remained faithful to the Councils: The Eastern Orthodox Church! And the Patriarchs and bishops in this Liturgy are bearing witness to this Truth!
John D.2/11/2019 9:26 pm
From his(St.John Maximovitch)theological writings...The chief characteristic...is freedom.He is entirely immersed in the Orthodox tradition,and he is himself a source of true Orthodox theology,no kind of foreign influences or any overemphasis on one part of tradition because of some controversy.This makes him especially valuable as an authority on something which is very much discussed today in the English language:the so-called Western influence on Orthodox theology...he wrote on iconography...he emphasizes the true Orthodox iconographic style,but at the same time he is not too upset about Western-style icons...as long as they are blessed to be in the Church.-Blessed Fr. Seraphim Rose

 

CONCERNING BURNING

    

The burning of books is objectionable on principle. Indeed, whenever I hear of books being burnt, I always think of the famous quote by Heinrich Heine, who was born a Jew but converted to Christianity, and who died 1856. He said, “Where they burn books, in the end they will burn people.” (There is a fine irony in his far-sighted wisdom, since his books were among the many consigned to the flames by the Nazis in the 1930s.) The reason that book-burning is objectionable is that consigning something to the flames means not just its destruction, but in many circumstances its renunciation, and asserts its total lack of value. And pretty much all books have value—even the books the contents of which we disagree with. We may disagree with the ideas some books contain, but the idea of a book itself—that is, offering ideas from one person to another—is valuable and good, for all books involve sharing and dialogue, and all human dialogue has value.

In the same way that burning books is bad, burning people is bad also. Put another way, cremation is not a part of our Christian Tradition. Asserting this flies in the face of much modern North American culture, where cremation is rapidly becoming the preferred method of dealing with the bodies of the dead, but Orthodoxy continues to make this assertion nonetheless. As far as the historic practice of the Church is concerned, cremation involves the burning of people.

Modern secular culture denies this. It says that people—human persons—are to be sharply differentiated from their bodies, so that cremation burns not the person, but the body of the person. The person—the real person—is identified with the soul, and this soul resides in the body in the same sort of way that a letter resides in an envelope. In the case of letters and envelopes, the envelope has no real and lasting function apart from the safe delivery of the letter, and after the letter is received, the envelope may be thrown away. After all, it is the letter which is of value, and it is the letter which we keep. In the same way, modern secularism holds that the soul is the real person, and the body only the temporary container or vehicle for the soul. When the soul departs from the body at death, the body has no more lasting value than the envelope has after the letter is removed. Both may be thrown away, or burned.

Over against this, the Church asserts that the body is not simply the container of the soul but, along with the soul, also partakes of the beauty and image of God. It is therefore not so much the case that we have bodies, but that we are bodies—as well as being souls and spirits. The body is made by God, and shares His image—not of course that God has two eyes and a nose and ears, but that the body’s beauty and grace have their source in God. And not only does the body partake of God’s grace in its creation, but also in its redemption, for it is the body which is baptized and chrismated, the body which receives the Body and Blood of Christ in the Eucharist, the body which will one day be raised to new immortal life at the final resurrection. In a word, the human body is holy, and is central to our total salvation. Like all holy things, it must be treated reverently. As said above, consigning something to the flames speaks of its lack of value. This practice made sense in paganism, for pagans denied that bodies had ultimate value (that was why the philosophical Athenians scoffed when St. Paul began asserting that bodies would rise again; see Acts 17:32). Pagans could cremate and burn their dead and be consistent with their religious beliefs. Christians cannot, for Christians believe that the body has too much value to be consigned to the flames.

There are other problems as well with the present practice of cremation. For one thing, some in the funeral industry who promote cremation do not tell the whole truth about it. In particular, they fail to mention the truth that bones do not burn. Flesh burns, and hair burns, and fat burns, if the fire is hot enough.   (When it does, it is not an edifying spectacle. Indeed, some people who have witnessed it have said that if many knew exactly what occurs in the process of cremating a body, they would not have gone through with it.) But bones do not burn, however hot the fire may be. What then is done with them after cremation? They are put through a grinder, and ground down to tiny bits. I am told that cleaning such grinders is not easy to do, and the bits from one body can get mixed the bits from another. Some have told me that talcum powder is sometimes added to make the bits look more like ashes. This of course is an attempt to hide from the truth that bones do not burn.

There are other problems as well. I have been present when the ashes were deposited in their designated place in burial grounds. Prayers were said for the departed, referring to the dead in personal terms, as a “who”. The worker from the funeral crematorium then came, bringing the ashes in a plastic bag. The departed had now become not a “who”, but a “what”, for the worker said, “Where would you like me to put it?” Note: not “him” or “her”, but “it”. The worker was not heartless, and I’m sure meant no disrespect. He was only doing his job, and stating the obvious: cremation had turned a person into a thing, something able to be carried in a plastic bag under one’s arm and stuffed into a small funerary cylinder. Cremation meant depersonalization.

Here then is the main difference between cremation and the historic burial practice of the Church—the latter alone does justice to the personhood of the departed and to the sanctity of human flesh. This is not to judge or condemn anyone who has allowed the cremation of loved ones, for we all do the best we can, and times of bereavement and grief are not the best times to relearn and rethink. But though the Church does not judge, it does offer a better way. We do the most honour to our beloved departed when we avoid cremation, when we commit them reverently in the ground.   We need not burn the bodies of those we love. Instead, we place their bodies in the good earth, and their souls in the hands of the good Lord.

PATRIARCA CIRILO 45 AÑOS DE EPISCOPADO Y DE SERVICIO A NUESTRO SEÑOR

 

PATRIARCH KIRILL REFLECTS ON 45 YEARS OF EPISCOPAL MINISTRY

Moscow, March 15, 2021

patriarchia.rupatriarchia.ru    

His Holiness Patriarch Kirill of Moscow and All Russia celebrated the Divine Liturgy for Forgiveness Sunday/The Sunday of the Expulsion of Adam from Paradise at Moscow’s Christ the Savior Cathedral yesterday. It also marked the 45th anniversary of his hierarchical ministry.

At the end of the service, the Patriarch addressed the congregation with a primatial word, published on the site of the Russian Orthodox Church.

Thanking everyone for their congratulations on his anniversary, His Holiness emphasized that such kind words help him in difficult times and help him to remember to rely on the help of God rather than his own strength.

The apostle Paul’s words: I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me (Phil. 4:13), are filled with this Divine truth, the Patriarch noted. Man is naturally capable of a great deal, but it is only when our nature is inspired by Divine grace and power that we can do all things.

Pat. Kirill has experienced this truth himself throughout his life and his 45 years of episcopal ministry, he said. He recalled living through the terrible years for the Church of the Khrushchev persecutions, who declared that he would show the last priest on TV, because under communism there is no room for faith. However, the Church and the faith remained.

And while the years of his episcopal ministry did not coincide with the years of bloody persecution, they were nevertheless difficult years, His Holiness emphasized, when it was necessary to fight for everything. And while conditions today are completely different, the Church must remember the times of persecution, “because from memory grows experience, and from experience—wisdom.”

Thus, Pat. Kirill’s memory of his consecration to the episcopacy is forever combined “with the memory of all that was associated with the preservation and strengthening of the Orthodox faith in the life of our people.”

The Patriarch then thanked all his relatives and mentors who have shaped him, including his grandfather who was a confessor against the schism of renovationism, and his parents who raised all their children in deep faith.

He especially recalled his spiritual mentor Metropolitan Nikodim (Rotov) of Leningrad “who not only did a great deal to strengthen my faith and my desire to serve the Church, but also made a lot of efforts to ensure that this ministry was aimed at consistently establishing faith in the hearts of our people.”

Met. Nikodim is unfairly slandered believes Pat. Kirill, who is certain that Met. Nikodim today prays for him before the throne of the Lord.

In conclusion, His Holiness also thanked his brother bishops, the clergy, and the people, who pray for him, and offered a sober warning:

I would like to say that the times in which we live, outwardly prosperous, are also full of many dangers, and it’s necessary to have a sufficiently sharp spiritual vision to see the dangers that occur not so much in our country as in the whole world. It is quite obvious that faith in the Lord and Savior is really a barrier to the coming of the Antichrist, to the coming of the last times associated with the rule of evil. Therefore, all those who fight to defend the faith, to defend God’s truth, enter the battlefield with the dark forces of evil. But the Lord teaches us not to be afraid of our hearts, so that we, trusting in His help, in His good and perfect will, and strengthened by faith, do what we must do as Orthodox Christians, both in our personal and public lives. And as long as this is the case, the Lord will certainly incline His mercy to our Church and to our people.

 COVADONGA CUENTO FANTASTICO DE UN PERDEDOR

 

No se apagan los fuegos del candente verano. Pogasit estaba en lo alto de un laurel el viejo laurel que derribó Valdés y su panda de asesinos dendricidas dadles un hacha a todos esos y acabarán con el planeta tierra. Los desiertos tienen sed y los pueblos están desorbitados pero esperando el día de las piraguas. Roberto Mori y Dionisio de la Huerta eran dos ángeles sátrapas sentados en el vértice de Cangas de Onís. Estaban viéndolas venir pero no creas no es tan fácil ahí está el sacamantedas Esteban Gonzalez matasanos con su guadaña diciéndole a buena de dios tú tienes piel pero hay que seguir cruzando por la orilla de estos montes mientras tu Dacia Duster devora kilómetros. A Covadonga voy a ver la Santina. Y en lo alto del cerro cinco confesores sin tener que hacer estaban metidos en su cajón esperando clientela pero ya nadie quiere arrodillarse a descargar el saco. Todo vale, nada es pecado. No hay dios. Idiotorechi así lo afirmaba dando entrada a los nuevos moralistas. El hombre no tienen importancia ni mucho menos sus pecados. El fuego ese dios implacable administra combustión en el crematorio. Un viento de locura en la mañana negra surcaba siniestros resplandores. A lo lejos se anunciaba la invasión una nueva aliyá y el alma del pueblo cristiano se consumía en fogatas gigantescas, hombre a ver si no. Consumatum est. El sargento Ostapchik iba y venía. Era un poco erotomano y guardaba en su taquilla del cuartel un montón de revistas porno y se las mostraba a los reclutas en los pases revistas. Los militronchos se quedaban de un aire. Nunca habían visto tales indecencias mujeres con el culo al aire y abiertas de piernas. Ostpolitik entonces les consolaba diciendo no os apuréis que en la Red es peor. Estaba seguro aquel buen patriota ucraniano que Internet lo había inventado el diablo. Estacán había tenido paperas y la fiebre le hizo estar una semana con la lengua sucia. El médico le mandó hacer gárgaras y enjuagarse con zumo de limón. Con frecuencia  tenía pensamientos raros Stakan y se entregaba a la bebida con gran disgusto de Ostarchik para quien los mostradores de las tabernas eran el caballete donde el diablo se sentaba a horcajadas y cantaba, desafinado, perversas canciones de borracho. Idiot o rechi se habla se comenta vuelvo a repetir. Covadonga está lejos. Andamos a la búsqueda de la cueva del ALEMÁN de Corao. Como en aquellos reportajes de LNE en los veraneos lluviosos de hace cuarenta años: cafetitos en un tupi y el primer cigarrillo viendo a los pavos reales del parque san Francisco. Era grandiosa y solemne entonces la plaza de la Escandalera un Oviedo que ya no es lo que era, que se ha transformado en digital. Caminaba un autor fracasado por la calle Uría... Vendo libros quien quiere libros. Una paisana enfurecida desde la ventana de un edificio oficial vertió sobre la cabeza del pobre literato todo el contenido de un gran bandullo perico en el cual los oficinistas y las feministas profusamente exoneraban sus vejigas sobre esta columna mingitoria en la Oficina del Paro. Bautizaron de esta manera y de qué  ignominiosa forma  al pobre novelista. La Ministra de la cosa que era una joven con la Cara Cuadrada y hablaba con acento onubense se descojonaba de risa ante  el suceso hasta mearse en las bragas. Favila, su ayudanta, la que le jaleaba los pedos también se reía a mandíbula batiente. Hombre no hay derecho. Digitalización universal. De ahora en adelante con su permiso señora Basilisa me voy al cuarto de las telarañas a meterme el dedito por cierta parte, no vaya usted que huele mal. La vieja rata de guarnición tenía los dedos sucios. El autor se fue llorando hasta arriba en la estación. En un majano cerca del monte Naranco empezó a insultar y tirar cantos contra los viandantes. No hay derecho que estos acemileros de la cultura traten con tanto desprecio a la literatura. Un mendigo de la provincia el Bolo se le llegó y le pidió lumbre, no fumo. Los libros son el optimo remedio para ser pobre y convertirte en un perdedor. Todos somos perdedores. Incluso los más ricos del cementerio son perdedores. El mendicante de Toledo miraba desde lo alto de unos ojos halconeros muy encendidos que se encajonaban dentro de los cuévanos al fondo de una nariz curva. No se puede ir a ninguna parte con estas amistades. Se dijo al vagabundeo cuando se enteró de que su mujer le engañaba con un negro recién llegado a nuestras costas en patera. Joaquin Borromeo era un fascista pero colocó a su hijo. Lo mismo que el Omega y Alfa. Aquí de lo que se trata es de establecer dinastías periodísticas. Franco fue un inicuo personaje porque instauró toda una serie de regalías para los hijos de los hijos que sacaron el carne de demócratas. ¿Y cómo llegaste hasta Asturias Joaquin Ptisa? en el coche de san Fernando a la pata coja no ves que estoy tullido perdÍ la pierna en una pelea con el moro que me quitó el honor. Pero por favor no llameis al P Ángel, huele a montuno en su presbiterio