“Heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool; what is the house
that you would build for me, and what is the place of my rest? All these
things my hand has made, and so all these things came to be, declares YHVH.
But this is the one to whom I will look: he who is humble and contrite in spirit and trembles at my word.
Isaiah 66:1, Acts 7:49
The main purpose of cathedrals were, in the past, the impart upon the faithful-in pictures, carvings, and stone-a sense of awe of the divine. I have always felt that the mountains and the sea were ALREADY just that and everywhere. One needed to only leave the city, walk in our woods along lakes and rivers, to experience the majesty of creation.
My sons and I have always called the great outdoors, Dad's Cathedral. The outer church of the Most High Creator. For us, going camping or surfing, was going to His Church and being inspired by his handiwork. It's still that way.
Don Bradley
Acts 7:48
However, the Most High does not dwell in houses made by human hands...
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But this is the one to whom I will look: he who is humble and contrite in spirit and trembles at my word.
Isaiah 66:1, Acts 7:49
The main purpose of cathedrals were, in the past, the impart upon the faithful-in pictures, carvings, and stone-a sense of awe of the divine. I have always felt that the mountains and the sea were ALREADY just that and everywhere. One needed to only leave the city, walk in our woods along lakes and rivers, to experience the majesty of creation.
My sons and I have always called the great outdoors, Dad's Cathedral. The outer church of the Most High Creator. For us, going camping or surfing, was going to His Church and being inspired by his handiwork. It's still that way.
Don Bradley
The Holy Land...all around us. |
However, the Most High does not dwell in houses made by human hands...
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Authored by Guillaume Durocher via The Unz Review,
The recent fire which destroyed much of the Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris has led to a great outpouring of emotion. Social media were also ablaze and the government was quickly able to raise a €1 billion in donation pledges to rebuild the iconic monument. Some people I know were quite affected by the sight, being practically reduced to tears. Others were less moved. Quite a few people have been indignant about the money raised: Why not spend such sums on poverty or the environment rather than a mere pile of stone? One person even joked that the edifice should be razed to the ground to make way for something new.
Yet, Notre-Dame resonates. Partly, no doubt, for shallow reasons: Paris is the most-visited city in the world and Notre-Dame is one of the City of Light’s most-visited attractions. As such, millions of frequent-fliers, however godless or anti-Christian they might otherwise be, feel some emotional connection to this great cathedral.
And yet, I think there is something more. Notre-Dame
is simply and objectively a national and earthly masterpiece: the
intricately semi-controlled chaos of the the Gothic, the delicacy of
“stone made into lace” (in the words of Jean-Yves Le Gallou), those
gloriously Christian and European luminous flowers of stained glass, so
suggestive of the transcendent . . . all this expresses, more viscerally
and better than any book, the best that the French soul has had to
offer to the world. Notre-Dame is a collective work of art, meticulously
built up and maintained from generation to generation.
In much the same way, a nation is a collective work of art, each generation having a responsibility to protect and pass on this inheritance, and add their piece to the edifice. The Romanian philosopher Emil Cioran, a perceptive observer of national character if there ever was one, once said: “France is Notre-Dame Cathedral reflected in the Seine . . . a cathedral which spurns the sky.” We will have occasion to meditate on the meaning of these words.
Notre-Dame has a significance going beyond France however. Given France’s remarkable contribution to humanity’s cultural heritage, it is not too surprising that the art historian Kenneth Clarke chose Notre-Dame for the opening of his classic 1969 BBC documentary series Civilisation.
I must then admit that I was not particularly moved by Notre-Dame burning. I’ve already made my peace with impermanence. I already know that the rot that is consuming France will in all likelihood kill this fair nation within my lifetime. My heart has already been broken. I have already wept for this. Who can claim, in all sincerity, that in a mere hundred years a nation will still exist on this soil – let alone a nation worthy of the name “France”?
And I have wept and raged at my countrymen and my fellows who would persecute those wish to prevent this. How then may I cry for Notre-Dame? This is the despair of all identitarians, most often a silent despair. And I’ve not done much to express my concern, besides a few scribbles and conversations. But others have.
You may be crying for Notre-Dame, but others have wept long before you, at the prospect of our nation, indeed our entire European civilization, sleepwalking into nothingness. It is not a coincidence if Dominique Venner, a great historian and European patriot, took his own life in Notre-Dame Cathedral, the spiritual heart of France, in May 2013, in one final effort to awaken the French people. But how many listened then? That was then. We have today, and tomorrow.
FROM THE INTERNET
The recent fire which destroyed much of the Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris has led to a great outpouring of emotion. Social media were also ablaze and the government was quickly able to raise a €1 billion in donation pledges to rebuild the iconic monument. Some people I know were quite affected by the sight, being practically reduced to tears. Others were less moved. Quite a few people have been indignant about the money raised: Why not spend such sums on poverty or the environment rather than a mere pile of stone? One person even joked that the edifice should be razed to the ground to make way for something new.
Yet, Notre-Dame resonates. Partly, no doubt, for shallow reasons: Paris is the most-visited city in the world and Notre-Dame is one of the City of Light’s most-visited attractions. As such, millions of frequent-fliers, however godless or anti-Christian they might otherwise be, feel some emotional connection to this great cathedral.
In much the same way, a nation is a collective work of art, each generation having a responsibility to protect and pass on this inheritance, and add their piece to the edifice. The Romanian philosopher Emil Cioran, a perceptive observer of national character if there ever was one, once said: “France is Notre-Dame Cathedral reflected in the Seine . . . a cathedral which spurns the sky.” We will have occasion to meditate on the meaning of these words.
Notre-Dame has a significance going beyond France however. Given France’s remarkable contribution to humanity’s cultural heritage, it is not too surprising that the art historian Kenneth Clarke chose Notre-Dame for the opening of his classic 1969 BBC documentary series Civilisation.
“What is civilization? ,” Clarke rhetorically asks. “I don’t know. I can’t define it in abstract terms yet. But I think I can recognize it when I see it . . .” He then turns to Notre-Dame, adding: “. . . and I’m looking at it now.”Notre-Dame burning then is a symbol, a shocking reminder, of the impermanence not merely of old monuments, but of nations and civilizations. Growing up, I had the firm feeling that France was a living, vigorous, and timeless nation, and I was often moved reading the old Gaullist rhetoric of the need to fight for la France éternelle. When I saw those great monuments of brick and stone found in all major European cities, I had a feeling of solidity, of an immovable heritage, of a stable world. But all this is an illusion. Nothing is eternal, least of all nations and civilizations, although we may present things otherwise to reassure our selves. That is also why Notre-Dame burning was such a shock: there is the most graphic reminder that France is mortal and indeed Western civilization itself is mortal. This is not a new observation of of course, as the philosopher Paul Valéry said in 1919: “We civilizations now know that we are mortal.”
I must then admit that I was not particularly moved by Notre-Dame burning. I’ve already made my peace with impermanence. I already know that the rot that is consuming France will in all likelihood kill this fair nation within my lifetime. My heart has already been broken. I have already wept for this. Who can claim, in all sincerity, that in a mere hundred years a nation will still exist on this soil – let alone a nation worthy of the name “France”?
And I have wept and raged at my countrymen and my fellows who would persecute those wish to prevent this. How then may I cry for Notre-Dame? This is the despair of all identitarians, most often a silent despair. And I’ve not done much to express my concern, besides a few scribbles and conversations. But others have.
You may be crying for Notre-Dame, but others have wept long before you, at the prospect of our nation, indeed our entire European civilization, sleepwalking into nothingness. It is not a coincidence if Dominique Venner, a great historian and European patriot, took his own life in Notre-Dame Cathedral, the spiritual heart of France, in May 2013, in one final effort to awaken the French people. But how many listened then? That was then. We have today, and tomorrow.
FROM THE INTERNET
The want to end Christianity.
They want to end the white man.
Only whites left will be the select ruling class.
The rest will be the mud people, you saw in action yesterday at the Barr hearing, the savage behavior of Booker, Harris and that Hirono chick, ready to put their boot on your neck just because their newly given power says they can. These are not the actions of what we call Americans, they are the actions of the new Nazi's of tomorrow, the beginning of the end of the whiteman and his craftmanship that built Europe and all it's daintiness. They want a world of sameness and yes men, robots and spooks, the matrix of evil and uncivilized behavior going back to the days of Pharaohs and child sacrifices for their God Moloch.
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