A New Year’s Lament….I mean, Resolution!

The thing I hate about blogging is that it’s form is limited.  Some days, I wish I had my own radio show, so that I could talk about all the things I can’t stand.  But then, I would lament the limits of radio and I would get all caught up in the limitations of radio and want a reality TV show of my own.  Which would really suck because if anyone actually followed me around with a sound byte camera for a week, and then aired the footage, people would be sending “strongly worded letters” to their congressmen about the dangers of “abuse of privilege”.

There are days when I wish I had the freedom (and budget) of Anderson Cooper.  I could have come up with the “Ridiculist” if I had ever had the opportunities he had had.  But then, he’s a white male.  And then there is Stephen Col-berrrrrr.   Now that guy is ridiculously well-funded.  And particularly over-rated.  Any blogger worth his/her salt could do that guy’s job.  (And probably does, except that he/she is an unknown and blogging somewhere on “Typepad” and no one knows he/she exists.)

But the thing that’s really bugging me this week is that people actually watch television shows devoted to people like Chelsea Handler. Now, seriously, who are this woman’s parents????  Does anyone know? Has anyone ever met them?

I’m particularly concerned that whenever anyone becomes famous for sitting on an NBA player’s lap in a questionable NY nightclub, that no one thinks to talk to that person’s parents and find out the real skinny.  I happen to subscribe to the notion that no one has the right to be famous in the world until and unless one’s parents are dead.  Because I can tell you point blank what my parents would do and say if I became famous:  First, they would stage an intervention and explain to the public at large, that their infatuation with me is grossly unfounded and wouldn’t they prefer my older (and more accomplished) brother instead?  After all, with his current bald head, he’s far more fashionable than I am, and has far more to offer in the way of conversation about current IT trends.  Frankly, I don’t know very much about computers except how to type, and I’m certainly not able to converse about any subject unless I am woefully knowledgeable.

I am not suggesting that Anderson Cooper and Stephen Colberrr are not knowledgeable or well educated.  I am simply suggesting that the field has been opened too far, and somehow Chelsea Handler made it, while I continue to slave away at my day job.

Yeah.  That’s it.  That’s my lament for the New Year.

If I had any scruples, I would have made a feel good post about Ebenezer Scrooge, and Christmas as I normally do.  But then, I’m not feeling very well and frankly, I have to wonder if that actually “sells” in today’s world.  Instead, I’m hoping that someone will send a “strongly worded letter”.  To someone.  Anyone.  That would make me feel infinitely better.

It Sux To Be Me

I hate being me.  I really do.  It sux.  It really bites.  I cannot remember a time, outside of early childhood when I was ever really happy.

My Aunt Charlotte committed suicide when she was 37.  I never knew her.  She died before I was born.  But sometimes, I sense her in my apartment, and I know we could have been good friends.

She drank household cleaner.  So she died (after living through it for a few days), by poison. It was 1957.  In those far off days no one really knew very much about what it was like to be us.  No one really understood  what a manic depressive was, and no one really cared anyway.  People were too busy with their bourgeois 1950′s values and how to “appear” as “respectable”.

She left behind a son, who later, also committed suicide.

These days, I’m too jaded, too infused with the values of a fallen society, (how ironic) to even contemplate suicide.  I am too much the coward, not enough of a trail blazer, to even think about it.  I’ve been too indoctrinated  with those same 1950′s bourgeois values to even consider it.

Besides, I’m too busy at the moment, painting 4 paintings per hour, and worrying about the plot of the Grapes of Wrath (Steinbeck) to really have time to go there.

Yeah, it really sux being me.  And you’re lucky that you’re “normal”.  Glory in that.  Roll around and marinate in it.  While you’re doing that, I’ll be in the chapel talking to my Aunt Charlotte, who might just be, the best friend I ever had.

Please hand over my bottle of generic Fluoxetine.  I hate it, and it tastes like shit outside of the capsule (ever tried to “half” a capsule???) but it keeps me from the edge.  I’ll take it with a Sailor Jerry’s chaser.  Nice combo.  Not quite as debilitating as Abilify and not as heavy as Lithium.

Ever tried pouring concrete into your brain?  Yeah.  It sux.  And it’s a lot more uncomfortable than my current cocktail.

 

The Orthodox Blogger Who Isn’t

Before anyone gets too excited and thinks I must be mistaken, let me remind all of who I am and who my father is.  I have researched the issue and the person(s) involved and my conclusion is firm.  There’s no polite way to say this so I’m just going to go ahead, throw the Truth out there, hope it sticks to someone (sort of like homemade napalm) and hope that in the final analysis, Orthodox Christians of all jurisdictions (both “canonical” and “non”) will see reason.

For several years, one Barbara Marie Drezhlo has been masquerading on the internet as an “Orthodox Christian” blogger, of the Russian flavor.

It is my great sorrow, to inform you that sadly this is not the case at all. Barbara Marie Drezhlo is a sad, pathetic transgendered person (wtm) who is in the midst of a serious identity crisis.  This person is not in an Orthodox parish, canonical or otherwise.

For the record, I have no issue with “transgendered people”.  I do not make pronouncements about other people’s sexuality, or their lack of it, or their proclivities.  What I have a problem with, spy’s daughter that I am, is “disinformation” and “misdirection”, commonly known as “smoke and mirrors”.  We used to call this “lies” and “falsehoods” but I bow now to political correctness and hope that those with half-a-brain, will see reason, and stuff what remains of their brains, back into their heads.

Barbara Marie Drezhlo was on my radar for several years but now, I can no longer ignore “her”.  She has gone after my own priest, and several people I hold dear, with her particular brand of phyletism (a heresy in itself) and ethnically based vitriol.  She/He deserves whatever he/she gets!

Her real name is Stan.  Stan has suffered from a sexual identity crisis, presumably all his/her life.  This is unfortunate and sadly, there are no easy answers to such dilemmas.  However, the answer is never found in hatred toward other people, or groups, or “targets” of unjustified “wrath”.

We all know where such “wrath” is bound to lead:  straight to Hell, do not pass Go, and do not collect $200, no matter what your sexual orientation or sexuality is/was/dictates.  The answer to any of life’s problems is never found in finger-pointing, juvenile ranting on the internet, or baseless accusations against people whom one does not even know personally.  I think all Orthodox Christians can agree on that, at the very least.

I make no judgements on Stan/Barbara’s current gender/sexuality crisis, nor do I make any judgments about the sex change operation which he/she underwent.  I only posit that such a person is hardly qualified to make “biblical”, “theological” and/or “spiritual” pronouncements on the state of the Orthodox Church in America, either today, or next week, or frankly, for the foreseeable future.

I invite others to draw their own conclusions.  And please:  if you have even one ounce of sense, you will caution any catechumens you happen to know about Stan/Barbara’s well known blog “Voices of Russia”.  This is neither a “voice” in Orthodoxy, canonical or otherwise, and is instead an exercise in the sound of a tree falling, ever falling, eternally falling, in an under-crowded wood.

http://ad-orientem.blogspot.com/2010/06/keyboards-at-twenty-paces.html

http://voxclamanti.blogspot.com/2010/06/i-wanna-be-konvertsy-filth-too.html

http://www.monomakhos.com/2011/04/the-dumping-ground-the-toxic-culture-of-clerical-homosexuality/

And the “piece d’ resistance”, Stan/Barbara’s own admission of transgender crisis:

http://www.lauras-playground.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=98

 

And now, my personal note to Stan-Barbara:

Dear Stan/Barbara:

Forgive me as I do not wish to even get into the subject of how you currently wish to be addressed.  It is too confusing for me and I’m sure, far above my silly head.  Nonetheless, let me make one thing very clear to you:  You are on my radar and have been for a very long time.  It is only now, when you have chosen to attack those I love and cherish, that I have turned the sights and spotlight onto you.  You are now engaging people in my immediate sphere of influence who are very much beloved, no matter your particular brand of hatred and vitriol.  And you should be made aware, if you are not already, that there many, many people, many, many Orthodox Christians who will gladly lay down their lives for these wonderful men and women whom you have targeted.

Your personal identity crisis is of no concern to me, and frankly, I think you are simply the sound of one hand clapping, all in all.  But when you turn toward those I love, you should reserve your energy for looking behind you.  Where I will be, waiting to give testimony against you, both in person and on the internet, and through every legal and available means.

It is very important for you to remember Stan/Barbara that, those of us who have shunned the world, and are not “of it”, also have a capacity for acting outside of it.

Best regards,

Columbina

 

 

 

Shepherd’s Lamps and Other Ways to Find Your Way Home

I walked through the apartment tonight, restless and wondering if sleep could ever come to someone like me.  How can I sleep when I contemplate all my many sins, all my many offenses against my fellow man, all my careless words, strewn about, and laying pitifully on the floor of what I used to recall with fondness, my “life”?

As I slowly walk through, and lay my hands to each blessed artifact, tangible proof that I have lived, that I have loved, that I have enjoyed a blessed existence, a blessed life of privilege, I wonder about who will handle these beloved objects some day.

Here, there is an ancient Asian shoe for some powerful woman, whom Time and History have now forgotten.  Inlaid with the deepest shades of the mother of pearl.  Where is it’s match?  Hidden under a housing development in Shanghai, no doubt.

On that shelf, a nesting doll from Russian, hand painted in the traditional way, but depicting the “fathers” of the Soviet Union.  Over there,  above the casual Greek “icons” that my mother bought in Athens 30 years ago, the “shepherd’s lamps’, hang, unused for their original purpose, and unappreciated.  They were used, polished and cared for by generations.  The candles within, intended to be the “light” which the sheep would follow in the dark, over many miles of wildwood terrain in Persia, and Iraq.

On a hidden shelf in my kitchen, sits the now-unused, precious toy tea set from Iran, that my mother bought for me in a long forgotten bazaar in Isfa’han. 

I admit that I’m not the best housekeeper, and my apartment, at the moment, while beautiful underneath all the dust and grime, looks like a de-militarized zone, I still see and intensely re-live the passion, the blessed memories, of every object within it.  And I am so sinful, I take it all for granted.

Why, Lord?  Why did you give me that childhood?  Why did you give me that particular set of blessed parents?  Why did you bless me, to live in Orthodox countries, even when I was still a “stranger, in a strange new land”?  Why did you give me the gift of fellowship with  princes and princesses,  Presidents and their daughters, and then take it away from me, to thrust me into a different life with people I cannot understand or even comprehend most of the time?

All of these things, these objects that clutter my apartment, I have faithfully kept and literally packed and carried around the world, not once, but several times.  In the past, they were blessed artifacts, and proof of my existence.  Proof of my blessing.  And now, I do not care about them at all.  I wish for them to be removed far, far, far, from me. I wish for them to pass, quickly into the hands of my child, so that I will no longer be burdened with the memories associated with them, or the stories that I can and will tell about them.  I want them removed from my life, so that I can enjoy today, living in the present,and not mourning for a past that will never come back to blessed life.

Lord, please remove all these “things”.  Replace them with my true “treasure”:  a home in your heavenly Kingdom!

On Throwing Your Life to the Dawgs

A greek priest tries to prevent a protester from messing up his life and risking it for an unworthy cause.

 

I cannot add anything to this.  It is self explanatory.

Meet My Uncles…In Fictional Form, Of Course….

I got quite a few e-mails about my “uncles” and “aunties”.  I cannot comment on any of them and I wish to say that I have always changed their “names” whenever I talk about them.  They are/were very real and they were in fact, my dearest ‘family members’ as I was growing up, because my father was so busy working and my mother was very involved in her own life with Christian Women’s “Aglow” meetings and lots of shopping.  And so my “aunties” and my “uncles”, who were in fact personal body guards, were also my “tutors” and they were very much human, very frail in their own ways, and very imperfect.  But they loved me into adulthood and for that, I owe them many prayers, and many sleepless nights of tears of gratitude.

In answer to your many questions, I have come up with the best “visual explanation” I can give you.  My aunties and uncles are embodied in this very fictional story….Just watch and understand that they were defenders of the “realm”.  Very much like the “knights” of old.

I believe there is still great need of them and their like in this awful and bloody world.  Although I have chosen a different life, I understand their necessity.  And I pray to God for every one of them, that He may be glorified, and that the Gospel of  NON-violence, shall ultimately prevail, through their sacrifice.

RIP – Memory eternal:

Auntie Ella

Uncle Lyle

Uncle Preston

Uncle Isaac

Please pray for :

Uncle Willard.

thank you for reading.  *tears for all of us.  May our Lord, in His great mercy, see fit to redeem us and remember us all, in His kingdom, in spite of our many sins.

The Ever Faithful Outcast, Reports From the Front….LOL!

*sigh*. I am ‘hated” even on FB: See below, copied and pasted:

Jim Davidson

One of the people we are wanting to help is Bradley Manning, unjustly caged for over a year now, without being formally charged. Please consider the petition, if you believe that your first amendment right to petition the government for redress of grievances has any point.

Free Bradley Manning.

wwws.whitehouse.gov

PFC Bradley Manning allegedly leaked files that expose government wrongdoing. The government does not have the right to hide its crimes from the people. The Founders believed in open government and…

Share · 33 minutes ago

• 4 people like this.
• • 

    Holly Christine Martinhavent heard back from you!

    31 minutes ago
  • 

    Columbina ArtisanUnfortunately, my conscience demands that I not take part in this. Not every “cause” is worthy. My conscience says this is one of those. Forgive me, a sinner, but this man has compromised the lives and safety of those I love. That’s where I draw the line.

    29 minutes ago · 1 personLoading…
  • 

    Columbina ArtisanAnd now I leave the group.

    25 minutes ago
  • 

    Jim Davidson Columbina, I think you are entirely wrong. You have not a shred of evidence to hang that theory upon. If your national government had enough evidence to hang Bradley Manning, they would. By all means, don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out.

Here is what I have to say to ‘Jim Davidson’ :  Unfortunately (and God/Diety bless you) I have every “shred of evidence to hang  that theory upon”.  You see, I was there when Philip Agee published my fathers’ name in his blasphemous (and unholy, and by the way, UNTRUE, book :  Inside the CIA”).  I know of what I speak.  All you people have are “rumours of war”.  I actually know what I am talking about.  You people in the “Mutual Aid Society” on Facebook only have ONE side of the story.  And this is rarely helpful, useful or even fruitful.

Let me just tell you this “Jim Davidson” of the ‘Mutual Aid Response Teams’ on Facebook”  You are not a loss to me.  You are a pain in my ass, and a pain the ass of every person who has given his/her life for this country.  Contrary to your paranoid ideation, the “Agency” is wide of every spectrum of political belief/opinion/standard.  I ought to know.  I am a child of that “Agency” and I myself, am a monarchical socialist.  Don’t let THAT board hit YOU in the ass 0n the way out.  Your paranoia about Republicans is showing and it’s srsly unattractive.

Re-Writing the Moscow Rules for the 21st Century

I grew up with the Moscow Rules.  But tonight, I am thinking of revising them.  I may be the first person in the West to do so.

Here are the originals in English – I’ll dispense with the Russian versions, as my audience generally doesn’t speak Russian and I need to get my point across and quickly, succinctly without any hesitation or ambiguity.

The Moscow Rules:

• Assume nothing.
•  Murphy is correct/right.
•  Never go against your gut; it is your operational antenna.
• Never look back; you are never completely alone.
• Everyone is potentially under opposition control.
•  Go with the flow, blend in.
• Vary your pattern and stay within your cover.
•  Any operation can be aborted. If it feels wrong, it is wrong.
•  Maintain a natural pace.
• Instill in them a sense of complacency.
• Build in opportunity but use it sparingly.
• Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. (this was supposedly borrowed by CIA ops who were fans of Mohammed Ali, the boxer.)
• Never harass the opposition.
•  There is no limit to a human being’s ability to rationalize the truth.
•  Technology will always fail.
•  Pick the time and place for action.
• Keep your options open.
•  Once is an accident. Twice is coincidence. Three times is an enemy action.

Now, let me just tell you a few hundred things that I learned from my father and my “uncles” and “aunties”.

Dinner is over.  Your mother says, “Please go get Uncle “Willard’s” coat from the library.”  You obey.  You step into the library, and you find Uncle Willard’s coat laying on the settee.  You pick it up.  It’s heavy, leather, and full length.  The deepest black  you have ever seen.   It smells deeply of a rich tobacco, and a very masculine perfume.  

And as you pick it up, a roll of heavy piano wire falls out of the inside pocket and falls to the floor.  You pick it up and as you put it back in the original pocket, careful to use only the very edge of your fingers, so that no removable prints are left.  You have been carefully trained. 

Uncle Willard:  “Be sure you are willing to accept the consequences of everything you are willing to do.”

Uncle Jaques:  “Keep your hands safe.  You are nothing without them.”

Uncle Rob:  “Don’t ever be caught with anything in your possession.  Leave no witnesses.”

Uncle John:  “Stay focused.  Your target doesn’t move.  You do.”

Uncle Billy:  “Be certain.  Always be certain.  There is no survival without certainty.”

Uncle Preston:  “Have a drink and relax.  All things in good time ; you choose the time.”

Auntie Ella:  “No man is perfect.  All men have a price.  It’s not always money.”

Uncle Isaac :  “Don’t attach yourself to politics.  Politics lead you into delusion about what is real and what is illusion.  Keep focused on the target.  The target is all that counts.”

Uncle Lyle:  “When you throw a knife (or other weapon), throw hard, confidently and ‘see’ it hitting your target.  There is nothing else that exists for you in that moment.”

Uncle Willard:  “Be willing to accept all consequences of your actions.  Guns are for sissies.  Your hands are your best friend.”

Auntie Charlotte:  “Cover your tracks.  Do not leave any trace behind.  Be confident in your allies.  Trust all people – do not trust the devil within them.”

Uncle Willard:  “Never admit your proficiency.  You will lose the fight if you do.”

Uncle Jonathan:  “What cannot be purchased, can be rented, or borrowed without permission.”

Uncle Willard:  “If your target is personal, let his demise be personal slso.  Don’t be ashamed of your convictions.”

But the best piece of advice was from my Dad:  Don’t be there.  Don’t be involved in this kind of stuff. 

Memories from holy Bucharesti….

 

The Church of the Metropolis of Bucharesti. Where I went to Church with Gica. The "seat" of the Teoticist!

So, this evening, the subject of “why women aren’t allowed in Mt. Athos” and “why women can’t be priests” came up.  These are good questions and lead to lots of good discussions.

Someone mentioned that if it weren’t for the babushkas and the yia-yias, the Church would never have survived.  This is absolutely true and it brought up a personal memory for me.  (Forgive any spelling errors I make – I am dyslexic and sometimes Spell check doesn’t catch evreything.)

I was about 3 years old and was living in Bucharesti.  My nanny, Gica, bundles me up for the winter weather and we set off for church.  She doesn’t bother with a stroller/buggy.  She’s a tough Romanian woman, and she can handle several feet of snow, and a couple of Securitate agents, at the same time holding a child in one arm, with the other arm tied behind her back.

We get to the church and several of the babushkas push people out of our way and pull her to the front row.  We stand there, and we are just in time I think, for Communion.  (the memory is a little foggy but what happened next, I will NEVER forget!)

The people are all lined up from the right hand side of the church.  They are lining up to go up to the priest and the Cup.  There are at least 6 little old ladies there, all in their stiff wool coats, and head scarves and they are pushing some people out of the line.  There are 2 priests!  One on the right side, and one on the left side — there are 2 cups!  On the right side, the women are using their canes to poke and prod people away.  On the left side, every one is very calm and orderly and only occasionally, is some one pushed/poked out of line.

Your nanny is still holding you, and she gets in the left line.  As a matter of fact, some one is pulled away so she can take their place.  She gets something from a spoon from the cup and then you go back and stand some more with the people.  Someone comes by and throws water all over your head and whispers a prayer and Gica thanks him.

You don’t understand any of this until many years later, you are blessed to meet a real Romanian babushka.  You tell her your memory.  She strokes your face, with tears coming from her eyes as she explains through the interpreter (her daughter, because your Romanian is now a bit rusty and you can’t quite follow some of the more theological / Christian terms):

The people on the right side were being pushed away from a phoney priest, planted there by the Securitate and being sent to the left side.  Edited to add/for clarification:  They were not priests! They were never ordained. They were agents for the Securitate.

The people on the left side were receiving Holy Communion from a worthy, FULLY ORDAINED, BLESSED priest.

Glory to God !  Save O Lord, Thy People, and bless Thine Inheritance!

Silliness in the Middle of the Night

So tonight on Facebook, someone shared the following bit of wisdom:

“To all the girls who are in a hurry to have a boyfriend or get married, a piece of Biblical advice: ” Ruth patiently waited for her mate Boaz.” While you are waiting on YOUR Boaz, don’t settle for any of his relatives; Broke-az, Po-az, Lyin-az, Cheatin-az, Dumb-az, Drunk-az, Cheap-az, Lockedup-az, , Goodfornothin-az, Lazy-az, and especially his third cousin Beatinyo-az. Wait on your Boaz and make sure he respects Yoaz….”

Now, I have a pretty good sense of humour, so I immediately saw the humour in it, while at the same time, recognizing the weakness of the argument.  The idea that it’s “Them” vs. “Us”, the age old cliche of the “battle of the sexes” is just too simplistic for me.  As a matter of fact, it’s almost offensive, if it weren’t so stupid, in my view.

But never mind that tangent:  What I really want to say is:    If I am a Paininthe-az it’s because I’ve been  hooked up with Beatinyo-az soooo many timeZ, and for so long, that all I really do anymore is throw up my hands and say, “Where do I sign up for the ‘Orthodox Retirement Plan’ (monasticism).”

Everyone tells me I am “young” and I’m too “extroverted” to be a hermit.  They don’t know me at all.  I score INFJ every single time on the Myers-Briggs no matter how many times I take the test, (people usually score within variants of patterns. I never do! I always score exactly the same way.)

INFJ – that’s me. And it sucks, okay?  It’s hard enough to be myself, but to be saddled with the “rarest” personality type in the world is like slapping a tattoo on my forehead that says, “Leper Alert”!   94% on the introvert scale is not a recipe for success “in the world”.   Someone tell me how I am supposed to get another job, if I lose this one, at 45, with that kind of scoring, and that kind of personality???

Lord! Have! Mercy!

WTF??!?!?!?!?!!?!