Sunday, September 17, 2023

 Are you on the 7 Mountains path of goats or 7 Matthew sheep 

situated by Jesus' sermon?

Rev. Douglas Olds

17 September 2023


I. Mark 6:39 and Ps 23:2--the seekers are seated by the messiah in green pastures.  In Matt 5:1 Jesus goes up the mountain to find a crowd. He sits down to deliver his Sermon on the Mount, modeling, instructing, and habituating how these mountain seekers may become his sheep by returning meekly to the sheepfold, through the sheep's gate (Matt  7:13-14), and the green pasturelands prepared by his Father.

II. Goats ignore this sermon to keep climbing the (“7”) Mountains to win the high places. Where they learn the gait of demons: 2 Chronicles 11:15; Isa. 13:21. Goats render and activate (march for) the state (Prov. 30: 29-31). Goats serve the state--a coercive and hegemonic social order--not the people individually and severally in civilizing caregiving.

III. The activated essence of OT beauty is the hair of the loved one which resembles goats streaming down Mount Gilead (Song 4.1; 6:5) to where there are good pasturelands (Nu. 32.1;26) and healing balm (Jer 8:22; 46:11)—where the people are restored (Jer 50:19; Zech 10:10).

IV. The kinesthetics of beauty are the goats leaving their upwards chases of transcendence where are found only demons, to return to earth where they find and serve grace and learn new, gentling and virtuous ways.

V. Those presented with the Sermon on the Mount are posed with a choice: to keep climbing, marching toward a pipe dream of transcendence or, like the prodigal son, to return to the plains and pastures prepared by the Father and tended by the immanent Christ.

VI.  At the Father-determined terminus of the age there is a fixation of moral essence--a Christological judgement: one is separated from the other (Ezek 34:17; Matt 25:31–46).


To enclose and sustain power, inner circle culture is an entropy-spreading system that climbs mountains on the backs of subordinates and is thus the palette of the prophetically goat-doomed. As David French notes (NYT 12/7/23), its religious forms are marked by certainty, ad hominem “ferocity, and solidarity (loyalty + confidentiality)” to maintain an elite’s control of narratives, especially those that privilege their “power” at the expense of enemy outsiders, esp. traitors to this culture.

Instead as we come to recognize, by the Spirit of Pentecost, that an ethnos/nation is a language group (Acts 2:1-12), we discern political lies & propaganda function as ethnic “treason.” Beware the ad hominem sleight, redirecting questions of intent (logos) into disputes about “numbers.”  And the “spirit of perpetual, unrepentant, anger-filled derision towards dissent:” revilement of the Kingdom of God, to be avoided. (1 Cor 5:11, 6:10).  Concocting enemies is the Machiavellian proclivity, mode, and ploy of [Schmittian] religious politics to warrant strong man saviors and justify their violence and hegemony-seeking.

https://douglasolds.blogspot.com/2024/03/short-note-on-theoretical-physics-of.html

Dostoevsky’s great artistry poses “Three questions that all societies must ask: [https://twitter.com/oldbooksguy/status/1723346796511146436]

"Whom can we now consider our best people? 

Most important, where shall we find them? 

Who will take the responsibility for proclaiming them the best, and on what basis?"” 



Tuesday, September 12, 2023



Who for Plato’s sacked harbor intend


Who for Plato’s sacked harbor intend
cicada-sanded and vinegar air expect,
Against grace’s headwinds vainly beat
Who by red morning vapors from a box to box, note this:
The lily dances with eagles while dandelions denude golden borders
like choral blizzards
Relentless, embracing the voided sediment
with nonpareils, the sap sparking new eras
That melt into eternity bearing nuggeted angelic settlement,
Poetry a people’s scar
shoveling from the paths of children
drifts of slave-fueled sentiment.



~Douglas Olds, September 5, 2023

Thursday, September 7, 2023

 September 7, 2023 A Poem

Douglas Olds


Image a man—and a people that prepares and follows

—eyes that have wept —

ears that have heard murder in the howls of a hungry child —

a mouth that’s thirsted because her cistern has been capped

and her family’s olive trees chopped and burned

—with scars from suffering,

a heart that’s been whipped,

a back that’s bled.

Whips and thorns of luxuriating scorn drinking blood,

the vinegar merchant’s vampiric therapy.


But living for new wine


Is blood that heals, drinking its true and joy.


By this inward blood we image outward.


A farmer thirsts for a different spring.

Digging beyond the blood-soaked dirt ever unslaked

A gullet that trusts a bellied destiny that Easter belies,

Gunlets windbeaten ever backward into the past.

The summons OF Blood surely taps a fountain never failing.


To grow ever deeper and higher,

Spying not the splaying order of root

Or some leafs’ mystic coding

or the mass of stalk or ironed gates of bark,


but discerning the sap in the dance of hummingbirds,


breath invisibly

dipping ever farther into the fountains of life--


A tiny pebble thrown toward the looming sunset is a poem we write that skips into the concentric hues of dawn, vortices expanding melodies of horizons at our aors' points of entry, caresses launching us further into serving the scarred not the scarring: a universe, a garden, a symphony we ourselves part bequeathe.