Saturday, November 12, 2016

Some Thoughts On Liberalism

Image result for american flag

In the weeks leading up to, and the days since, the election of Donald Trump as the 45th president of the United States of America, I have noticed more than the usual display of aggression and hate towards those of a conservative mind. The perpetrators of this often pugnacious mindset are (except perhaps for a few isolated cases) hardcore Liberals, persons who are anti-Catholicism, anti-traditional marriage, anti-birth control and abortion, and who are basically against everything which has generally been held as common sense and standard moral behaviour. The amount of people I have observed who have asked others to break a Facebook friendship is really ludicrous; if a friendship is true, it should go beyond whatever political mess is thrown into our laps. So many friendships are broken, trust is doubted, and anyone who dares to stand up for what is right and just is attacked.
It seems that the concentration of all this hate is Donald Trump. He, in a way, stands for conservatism, for old and traditional values. He is despised by Liberals, and so are his supporters. Any time I look at any social media page--Instagram, Facebook, or even Snapchat--all I see is hate.
This is particularly paradoxical, because hate and hate speech is what the Liberal Agenda proclaims to be so against. They pretend to be a cult of peace and acceptance, but they are not. You can believe what you like, say anything you like, love whoever you would like--but may God help you if it is something Liberals disagree with. They claim to be about freedom to choose whatever you want to think--so long as it doesn’t disagree with their twisted political ideals. For twisted they are, and more corrupt than any other cult that has ever raised its head.
As for believing whatever you would like, those of us who do not believe in abortion and contraception are accused of oppressing women. Really? I do not feel oppressed by that. Rather, what is oppressing is the fact that, from a very young age, girls are sexualised and taught that their bodies are vessels for pleasure; they are encouraged to go on the Pill, to practice “safe sex”, to do whatever feels good. This is fast becoming not so much of a choice, but an expectation. There is nothing liberating about being expected to use yourself so shamelessly. Liberation is self-respect, and tampering with your body is not self-respect. It is a widely known secret that abortifacients and such cause a myriad of diseases, including cancer--but at least the baby is dead, I guess, and surely cancer is better and less disturbing for the mother than holding a lovely baby in her arms.
Saying what you like is as bad, if not worse, as believing whatever you would like. Words have power, a power that many resent. It is one thing to have opinions, but another thing entirely to give voice to them. When it is the majority who voices opinions, they do not fear, and they can hold sway spouting whatever ridiculous nonsense they please; but when it is a minority who stands strong and voices their opinions, then Liberals fear that minority with a cold and gut-wrenching dread, for they know that if but even a mere few find the bravery and moral strength to stand for what is right, they will do more than just voice opinions; they will act on their words. So to appear unafraid in the face of what they know in their heart of hearts to be justice, Liberals turn to hate instead of reason to combat Conservatism. They shut their ears and eyes to logic because they are afraid to admit to the truth.
And, as for loving who you would like, this is permissible only when you accept and laud, without question, anyone who any other given person has chosen to “love”. I put love in brackets because sometimes people confuse love with mere physical, sexual attraction. The traditional, natural order of love and marriage has been frowned upon and rejected by much of the modern world. Following in the footsteps of Lucifer, God’s creations are not happy with the way things were made, and they seek to twist and pervert, crying “Non serviam!”, as did the most beautiful angel, who succumbed to pride and cast himself away from God forever. Pride is precisely the sin that afflicts those who pander to the trend of sexual diversity; they reject order, as did Lucifer, and seek to lead themselves. In so doing, they profane the sacredness and sanctity of love. There is no quiet patience, everything is about instant gratification. And now, with the near abolishment of abstinence until marriage, those who actually do believe in waiting are frowned upon as old fashioned. It’s not even just about self respect, it’s about respecting your future spouse. You would not relish the idea of your husband sleeping around with a load of women, (I know I wouldn’t) and he would be as equally opposed to the thought of you doing the same with men.

To wrap up these few paragraphs of my probably very controversial thoughts, I would like to say that I am very glad Donald Trump was elected president. I do not like him as a person, I do not like some of the things he said, but at least he is not Hillary Clinton. Our country may be doomed, but at least with Trump we have a small shot at survival. Under Hillary, we would be drawn with no small speed downwards into an abyss of corruption from which we might never escape.

By Maura Tuffy

Thursday, May 5, 2016

An Apple is Eaten, and the Hope of God is Gone

"An apple is eaten, and the hope of God is gone."
---G.K. Chesterton, from Orthodoxy 

There is no person of my acquaintance who is entirely ignorant of fairy tales.
I am very sure of this statement, for the simple and apparent reason that the very natural order of life is one great and vast fairy tale, encompassing the world, from the day of Creation to the day when we will all stand before the throne of God.
Everything about the natural order once fitted together with an almost ridiculous perfection; beauty abounded; everything was luminescent with the pearly light of truth; a terrible goodness swam over the brow of every green hill, and we drank it in with the sparkling, clear waters of the first effervescent streams. We sang joyfully in our harmonious voices as we thanked God for this paradise, and He acknowledged our thanks, and blessed us with a wondrous garden in which each leaf seemed freshly watered from the wellspring of hope, so perfect and pure did they appear to our clear eyes, which then only desired to see things in the light of truth.
This garden was the most blissful and peaceful place imaginable; it was all fair, and there was no stain in it. It was bright, but we could withstand the brightness, and we desired nothing but that brightness.
I have said there was no stain, but there was one, one that needed human permission to spread, and we vowed not to approach that stain for fear of besmirching our beauteous home. But, as it must, curiosity prevailed, and soon we had eaten of the apple, and at the moment the fruit passed our lips we knew, with a dreadful and chilling thrill that rang upon our ears like a death knell, that we had abandoned Virtue for the cold and brutal path of Pride and Vice.
The brightness became too much for us and so we left the Garden, and sought other realms. Our voices, no longer harmonious and loving, rose shrilly as we squabbled over the most ridiculous and petty notions; we were so occupied in fighting for what we thought would make us happy that we forgot the melodies we had once taken delight in, melodies of praise and thanksgiving. We travelled far, and farther yet; but for all our journeys over hills, through valleys, and even across bitter and salty seas, we could find nowhere near as fair as the place we had selfishly left for a bite of fruit, said to make us happy.
It had not made us happy. We were mean and selfish, and our sharp words hurt ourselves and each other, so that in secret, we cried tears as bitter and as salty as the seas we had crossed in search of a new Garden.
After a time, God took pity on us, and sent His Son in the form of one of us to give us a new chance at sanctity. His kind words touched our hearts, and we remembered the Garden with still greater fondness. Some of us strove to follow this Son, and to become even a little bit as we were in the old days, before the advent of the serpent and the apple.
But the fangs of the serpent had poisoned the apple we had eaten, and not all of us wanted to be good and just. With a dreadful and sickening act of defiance, the Saviour was hoisted up on two beams of wood, and left there to gasp out His life. A few bemoaned His loss, and for that He was thankful, and showed it by returning for a brief time to strengthen our wills against the struggle that is even now looming large on the horizon of our times.
For a while, sin was seen as shameful. We presented our best faces out of doors, and tried to hide our transgressions behind the gates of good will and kindness. Perhaps we had a vague memory of a beautiful place, crystal-cut and shining bright, with voices thrumming through the air in songs whose melodies ran as straight and true as the precise flight of the hummingbird.
Soon, however, the ugliness began to creep along, as stealthily as the slow movements of the most insidious serpent. It began with a look, a few words; it always does. Then, it began to force itself out with actions, so despicable and perverted that we felt ashamed to call ourselves human. But it is not given to us to choose who we are.  
But it was not to be that the sickness of sin could be shamed out of us; instead, people began to take a kind of blatant pride in their transgressions, plastering the gaily coloured ribbons of their horrifying indignity on flagpoles, walls, doors, and everywhere our once-pure eyes turned.
It only became worse. The most awful and impure acts were lauded, praised, openly commended. Anyone who spoke out or even speculated against them was mysteriously put to silence, and now we have come to the dreadful part of the fairy tale that is life; the part where fairy tale turns nightmare, the part where all that we loved, that was once so pure and inviolate, has been exchanged for all that is vile and disgusting.
And all this because we ate of the apple from the Tree of Knowledge...once upon a time, in a land of an almost ridiculous perfection; where beauty abounded; where everything was luminescent with the pearly light of truth; where a terrible goodness swam over the brow of every green hill, and we drank it in with the sparkling, clear waters of the first effervescent streams.

By Maura Tuffy

Tuesday, February 23, 2016

The Rose


The rose that grows on yonder thorn
And glows a fervent red,
Sprouts petals like the drops of blood
Around a sacred head.

The cedar on the hillside bare  
With boughs that reach the sky,
Shows us with its bare, tall, frame
The way One of us died.

The sun, now hidden by grey clouds
Now here, now there, now gone
Is to us as the love of God,
Which came to us unbidden.

The child upon his mother’s knee
Whose hair glows as the sun,
Is as He came to us one night,
As one of us, true born.

Remember that God’s Son came down
To save humanity;
We see in every rose His blood, 
His cross in every tree.

Maura Tuffy

Tuesday, January 19, 2016

Lady Rosamund


                                                          He wandered slowly through the mere, 
                                                          He wandered far and wandered near; 
                                                          He had been wandering all the year, 
                                                          In search of Lady Rosamund. 

                                                          She walked along the brimming tide, 
                                                          On sandy shores, where sea-gulls cried; 
                                                         There was no thought she wished to hide, 
                                                         That fair young Lady Rosamund. 

                                                        They met at last, down by the strand, 
                                                        They walked there slowly, hand in hand; 
                                                        They were the fairest in the land, 
                                                        He and Lady Rosamund. 

                                                       They wandered through the meadow fair, 
                                                      And built their castles in the air, 
                                                      The sun shone on the golden hair 
                                                      Of lovely Lady Rosamund. 

                                                      But all too soon 'twas time to part, 
                                                      He left her there, with breaking heart; 
                                                     They felt love's bitter, painful dart, 
                                                      He and Lady Rosamund. 

Maura Tuffy

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Over Hills


  Over hills, beyond the fens,
You’ll find the mountain’s foot;
Dark it is, and often cold,
With clouds as black as soot.

We travel, through the deepening mist,
And come we then at last
In evening dark, though stars shine bright,
To base of  mountain high.

No man may enter there alone,
For years it’s been this way,
An evil dwells there, deep inside,
Where bright red fire burns.

Gold there is too, people say,
A hidden dragon-hoard,
More gold lies there than any king
Has won with his brave sword.

As we stand there in the mist,
We gaze at the dark sight
Of mountain high, with gold beneath
Hidden by strange art.

We will not enter there, we know,
For dangers lie within;
The sight of gold can cast a spell 
On you, or me, or them.

Maura Tuffy

Sunday, November 1, 2015

A Poem for All Souls'--In Paradisum

The night is still; no noises in the air.
We walk in chilly silence down the nave.
The coffin on the dais, still and cold-
Dona Eis Requiem, Sempiternam.

The soul is on its way to Heaven now;
We heap black earth by spadeful on the grave.
A stone cross at the coffin's head will stand-
Dona Eis Requiem, Sempiternam.

Some prayers are uttered, softly, by the grave,
And silently the thurible is swung.
Grey smoke is blown like ashes on the wind-
Dona Eis Requiem, Sempiternam.

The moon shines brightly in the cloudless sky,
We turn to make our way quietly home;
From each of us but one last prayer is said;
Dona Eis Requiem, Sempiternam.

Maura Tuffy

Friday, October 23, 2015

Education Is Not The Filling Of A Pail, But The Lighting Of A Fire

One can never be “finished” learning.

    The learning process begins very early; formally with the start of an organised education regime, informally simply by existing. It is impossible to go a single day without learning; why, even in attempting that, you will learn something: that it is, in fact, impossible not to learn from trying not to learn.

    I bring up this topic because I’ve noticed among acquaintances a tendency to limit high school education to only having read a certain number of books, taken a certain number of classes, earned however many credits, etc. This is an odd idea, but nevertheless widespread and widely practised. Being myself a voracious reader, I cannot imagine limiting myself to only a narrow list of books for my entire high school existence. Why, then, do teachers (and yes, parents, I am afraid, are also some of the very worst offenders) feel the need to put a hold on learning after the student has finished whatever class they are taking? It is as if the “pail” referenced in the opening quote has been filled, and no more learning needs to be put into it.

That explains what education should most decidedly not be. Limiting education is detrimental to the formation of an active mind. There is no valid reason to stop a student from learning.

Here is what learning should be; the lighting of a fire. This means nurturing, from the early years, the innate wish in all of us to know more of the world, people, and places around us. This begins in the home with parents reading aloud to the children, with fairy tales, with classics such as the Little House books, and, most importantly, with parents displaying a positive attitude to reading, writing, and learning in general. Reading is seen by many as a necessary, but somewhat laborious task, and it is seen by still others as a joy, and something to be looked forward to instead of dreaded.

The pail of education will be filled, but for those who burn with the flame of learning, the fire will never be quenched. Despite all the proclamations of kids being “finished” with their schooling, this can never be fully true. Learning cannot be made to stop, no matter how hard we try.

Maura Tuffy