HARPY EAGLES

 ‘through vows and prayers alone we must seek security, whether those creatures are of heaven or uncanny birds of ill omen.’  Virgil.

Thanks to an influential art blogger everyone knows about Harpy Eagles. Harpy Eagles circle above places like Surbiton and swoop down on XR vegans, literally carrying them off to their eyries in Epping Forest.

Harpies watch, then they dive in for the kill, gripping their tofu-chewing prey with razor sharp talons and ferocious beaks.

Harpy Eagles scorn wymxn priestess figures too, and don't even bother to take them back to their forests for food. They just attack, savagely.

You're probably thinking of crossing a Harpy Eagle and arguing with it. Go right ahead and find out what happens. Good luck with that.

Speaking of which, Hillary Clinton and the Cabal have not been brought to justice, yet. Do you hear the sound of beating wings?

Αληκτω,

LSP

Rest in Peace

 

I know this jingoistic and shallow mind blog's mostly about the glory that was the British Empire, rodeo and the perfidy of the Left, but step back and consider this excerpt from a sermon preached by Austin Farrer at the end of World War II:

‘May they rest in peace, and may light perpetual shine upon them’ - those millions among whom our friends are lost, those millions for whom we cannot choose but pray; because prayer is a sharing in the love of the heart of God, and the love of God is earnestly set towards the salvation of his spiritual creatures, by, through and out of the fire that purifies them. 

The arithmetic of death perplexes our brains. What can we do but throw ourselves upon the infinity of God? It is only to a finite mind that number is an obstacle, or multiplicity a distraction. Our mind is like a box of limited content, out of which one thing must be emptied before another can find a place. The universe of creatures is queuing for a turn of our attention, and no appreciable part of the queue will ever get a turn. But no queue forms before the throne of everlasting mercy, because the nature of an infinite mind is to be simply aware of everything that is. 

Everything is simply present to an infinite mind, because it exists; or rather, exists because it is present to that making mind. And though by some process of averaging and calculation I should compute the grains of sand, it would be like the arithmetic of the departed souls, an empty sum; I could not tell them as they are told in the infinity of God’s counsels, each one separately present as what it is, and simply because it is. 

The thought God gives to any of his creatures is not measured by the attention he can spare, but by the object for consideration they can supply. God is not divided; it is God, not a part of God, who applies himself to the falling sparrow, and to the crucified Lord. But there is more in the beloved Son than in the sparrow, to be observed and loved and saved by God. So every soul that has passed out of this visible world, as well as every soul remaining within it, is caught and held in the unwavering beam of divine care. And we may comfort ourselves for our own inability to tell the grains of sand, or to reckon the thousands of millions of the departed. 

And yet we cannot altogether escape so; for our religion is not a simple relation of every soul separately to God, it is a mystical body in which we are all members one of another. And in this mystical body it does not suffice that every soul should be embraced by the thoughts of God; it has also to be that every soul should, in its thought, embrace the other souls. For apart from this mutual embracing, it would be unintelligible why we should pray at all, either for the living or for the departed. Such prayer is nothing but the exercising of our membership in the body of Christ. God is not content to care for us each severally, unless he can also, by his Holy Spirit in each one of us, care through and in us for all the rest. Every one of us is to be a focus of that divine life of which the attractive power holds the body together in one. 

So even in the darkness and blindness of our present existence, our thought ranges abroad and spreads out towards the confines of the mystical Christ, remembering the whole Church of Christ, as well militant on earth as triumphant in heaven; invoking angels, archangels and all the spiritual host.

I came across it while preparing an obit and found it helpful, I hope you do too. Farrer was a genius and a holy man.

God bless,

LSP

All Hail The Empire

 

Behold the glory of Lord Curzon and the Raj. Of course people, especially the English, say the Empire was a terrible, heinous thing, because medicine, roads, no slavery, schools, law and all the rest was wicked and racist, unlike suttee and thugee.

And you know what those things mean. Chucking living widows on funeral pyres and strangling people, to the tune of 20,000 a year to the goddess Kali. Wicked? Yes. Racist? Hardly, it was homegrown, but don't talk about the equitable caste system.

Regardless, if you go to Trafalgar Square, even now, you'll be struck by the triumph of the thing, an exuberance of Union Jacks. I love that and I suspect a lot of English people do too, even as they're scorned by the dead hand of Blairite globalist leftism.

So, fire Cressida Dick, Sadiq Khan and all the other comsymp lefties who've taken over the sceptered isle with a view to destroying it.

Your call, Great Britain. Rise to it, please.

Emp. Ind.

LSP

Party

 

What a great night. Good, honest, straight-up, friendly people, tasty food, plenty of drink and a lone busker to boot. 

He was out of Nashville, he told me, and I tipped him for the tale. The rest of the crew were rodeo stars, cattlemen, judges and all else in between. The occasion?

A church couple's 40th wedding anniversary. I listened away to stories of "out of Cheyenne," and "blood was spilling out of her shoe after a horse span on her toe. So we took her to ER and I cut the toe out of her boot and she was racing barrels the next day." All very Florence Nightingale. Thanks, MC.

With that, a glass raised and a salute to LSP, "He's got a story too, tell him about your hip!" Three screws in the upper femur and an Arab later the tale was told, and kudos to me, badly damaged by a horse like everyone else in the room. But whatever.

Such a good evening, and here's the thing. These people are not demonstrative, politically. They consider it bad manners, but I'll tell you this, they are mighty pissed about the state of the nation. Let the reader understand.

Ride on,

LSP

Remove Kebab?

 

We love classical music. This piece is entitled Remove Kebab. Don't say Maestro.

OLV,

LSP

Our Lady of Victory

 

This is a naval blog and today's the great Feast of Our Lady of Victory, now known as Our Lady of the Rosary, which celebrates the utter defeat of Turkish Sea Jihad at the battle of Lepanto in 1571.

The Ottomans, some two decades fresh from conquering Constantinople, launched across the Mediterranean with the grand aim of conquering Rome itself, the Big Apple. They were smashed by a Christian fleet led by Don John of Austria, the first decisive victory of arms against the Jihad in hundreds of years.

Don John's fleet sailed under the protection of the Virgin Mother of God and miraculously routed the Moslem aggressor. You can read about the action here and as you do, don't forget GKC's Lepanto. Death light of Africa? Love light of Spain.

Poetry in mind, here at the Compound we're about to grill Turkish style kebabs on short swords in homage to the victory. For breakfast? Croissants.

Deus Vult,

LSP

War Dog

 

Via Vincent Kennedy. Note Battle Dog. Here:

Good dog!

LSP

DEPLOY SMOKE

 

Everything was going well. Chicken? Marinading in the fridge. Weber? All fired up, deploying smoke and ready to go. Then, just as we were about to launch over the start line LL called from the mountain fastness of the Wolf's Lair in Arizona's infamous highlands.

"Hey LSP, thanks a lot for inviting me. I like kebabs too."

"Look, you know it's an open invite."

"Do you have swords?"

"Of course."

"I thought you would."

"And don't get me wrong, I scorn the Sultan. That's why I made Tzatziki. You know, Greek. We need the Bosphorus back, and Hagia Sophia with it."

"Yeah, I know. And you need to expand from Fleet Padre to that guy who gives the thumbs up or down in the arena."

"Hippodrome?"

"Exactly."

 

 

Remove Kebab aside, we waxed large on Mozambique's pirate problem and the upcoming buccaneer LCS fleet. OK, the ships are pathetically underarmored and undergunned, only having one lightweight canon ("pop gun" - LL). We'll have to sort that out, perhaps with batteries of surplus Bofors. Nice touch, and they can go on the landing deck. Bad luck, Jihad. 

But what had happened to the deliciously grilling chunks of chicken in the meanwhile? Well, they were doing their thing but the fire had burned down low, throwing off timing. The Compound's version of naan got in the way too, roll out that dough, LSP. Bread's a production.

All this and more stood in the way of what was supposed to be a Cooking With LSP super kebab post. The chicken was OK but not the kind of perfection we expect. Naan? Alright, but not awesome. And you say Naan, but it was more like a regular flatbread than anything else. No rule? On the contrary, it should be fluffy, delicious and melt in your mouth. Tzatziki was right on the money though. Nice.

So stay tuned for a kebab special, in which we grill the Turk, free Levantine Christendom and take back Justinian's remarkable cathedral. And end up with good scoff to boot. As it is, the leftover chicken's simmering in a pot and curry beckons.

Your Culinary friend,

LSP

DFTR

Have you been scared of the virus and had to stay at home, cowering like a frightened little girl in your basement or whatever safe space came to hand? Such an awful affliction.

Here at the Compound we feel your onesie latte pain and want to help. Yes, with Blue Oyster Cult's notoriously awesome Don't Fear The Reaper.

DFTR,

LSP

Donald Trump And The Liberal Tears Factory

Via markmaycott. In other exciting news, I'm fixing to grill up some chicken kebabs later on, Turkish style, not that the Compound's in any way, shape or form in favor of Sultan Erdogan. In fact, we want to see the Bosphorus, Constantinople and Hagia Sophia back where it belongs.

Cheers,

LSP

A Sunday Reflection - The Wicked Tenants

Do you remember the parable of the wicked tenants, the murderous usurpers who attempt to steal a husbandman's vineyard for themselves only to come to a miserable end? (Matt. 34-44)

It's a terrifying warning. What will happen to the tenants who beat, stone and kill the owner's servants and murder his son, asks Jesus of the priests and elders. They reply, unwittingly condemning themselves, "He will miserably destroy those wicked men, and will let out his vineyard unto other husbandmen, which shall render him the fruits in their seasons." (Matt. 21:41) 

So it came to pass, and I usually take the opportunity to wax large on the siege of Jerusalem and beat on the iniquitous, apostate heretics infesting the Western Church. Watch out, you brood of vipers or the vineyard will be taken from you.

All well and good, and doubtless an appropriate sermon at, say, the Church of England's York Synod or the Episcopal Church's General Convention. But pause for a moment and consider the features of the vineyard.

It stands for Israel of course, planted by God, with a hedge, the Law, a winepress, the Altar, and a watchtower, the Temple. All of this is present in the new Israel of the Church, which is called to "render him the fruits in their seasons." What is this fruit and where is it offered?

On the wine press which sits between hedge and tower, Law and Temple, as does the Cross between the Incarnation and the Resurrection. And what is the Cross but Christ's sacrificial altar, on which the perfect fruit of the vineyard, righteousness, the Word made flesh, is offered to the Father.

The fruit then, ultimately, is Christ himself, righteousness incarnate, sacrificed on Calvary, and we enter into union with this offering and "yield it up" sacramentally at the altars of of our churches. There, we abide in Christ and he in us. "Abide in me, and I in you," says Jesus,  "As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me." (Jn. 15:4)

This, surely, is the endeavor of the Christian life; as faithful tenants of the vineyard to live ever more closely in Christ, offering up the fruit which is pleasing to the Father, Jesus himself. And as we do, by the grace of God and the working of the Spirit, become channels of his righteousness in the world. 

Unless you're a wicked heretic of course, in which case the concluding words of our Lord ring true with awful effect, "And whosoever shall fall on this stone shall be broken: but on whomsoever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder." (Matt. 21:44) 

And so we come full circle. Take note, Justsin Welby and, for that matter, everyone else.

God bless,

LSP

Out of Control Swine

According to Zerohedge the US feral swine population is exploding, with an estimated 1.5 wild hogs in Texas alone.

The pigs weigh between 75 and 250 pounds on average and can run up to 30 miles an hour. They're fast. Of course some pigs are larger, like this 300 pounder shot by a churchman's nephew a couple of nights ago.

But out of control swine aren't limited to Texas. They're advancing across the country at a rate of around 35,000 square miles a year. My old pal GWB shot this one in Georgia the other evening.

The ferocious tuskers cause more than $2 billion worth of damage every year. And no wonder, have you seen a field that's been attacked by pigs? Looks like an exploded minefield.

America's out of control swine are hybrids, a cross between the European wild boar and domestic pigs, creating a new breed of super-pig, with all the genetic advantages of the Euro Boar and its domestic US cousin.

Here at the Compound we remind all readers that there's no bag limit on these savage, diseased predators. Remember, too, to pray for POTUS' speedy recovery.

The number of feral swine living within DC's infamous Beltway is currently unknown.

Root and Branch,

LSP