Habicht

Published on 2024-07-14 by Michael Stanton

I hiked up Habicht, a day after doing a climb in the Dolomites. The climb had some stress and nervousness associated with it and I thought a good old fashioned hike in great weather and high country would be just the ticket.

Morning clouds...

I really like the hike up to the Innsbruckerhütte

In the morning, I gradually learned the news of the assassination attempt on President Trump. Horrifying. Incredibly sad for the firefighter who was hit by the assassins bullet and killed. I blame the media and the democrats, and I'm sorry to say this, but over and over people I know and formerly respected have expressed sympathy for the idea of killing the former (and soon to be future) President Trump.

Many of these people imagine that the ones who "hate" are all on the other side. But they are the ones I see expressing hate. They repeat lies with pleasure. You can point out to them that they are repeating a lie but unfortunately they are in complete control at that point. They can indulge you by agreeing with you, but they'll pull another piece of "candy" out of their back pocket. Eventually you realize it's a game. You think you and they are in a shared endeavor to find truth, but the reality is that you are and they are enjoying themselves leading you around like a rat in a maze. They don't care about truth.

I'm not just talking about people in the media. I'm talking about people I know. It is heartbreaking. You can't help them, you can't talk to them. You are better off pretending they don't exist, which will work for some years, but eventually all such beings cannot tolerate your desire to be left alone because they need a distraction from their rankness, and they will find you again. They must be exposed to the light, made to feel shame, they must lose something, they must be diminished, and accept life without respect until they repent of their hatred.

Here I met Louise, we'd climb Wilde Freiger a week later together

A hiker descends the ridge

So it is.

"Why must you talk about politics?!"

Because it got too close. Because my world is not some far away heaven where these things don't affect me. No, they get closer and closer and closer. Thank God my children are old enough to escape the transgender madness propagated in the schools. It is touching the children of friends. There is a wave of sadness emerging. It is becoming a spiritual problem, and how am I supposed to live and talk with you if there is no shared spirit between us? I believe in countries with borders, because that means children will be raised and become stewards of those countries. You don't believe in borders, and children will have no reason to pledge loyalty to their countries and defend their land. Everyone will just run away from aggression all the time. And then the land will be ruled by tyrants, because only fools will stand up. And everything will be worse.

Only idiots think the end of nations will usher in peace. There are lands where government is not strong, and those lands have roadblocks on the highways where the gangs rape, rob and murder with impunity.

This snow trail saved some time.

Should we die of shame for the crimes of our ancestors? Because Britian conquered India should the British now be outnumbered in their own land by people of an alien religion? Does their suffering to come please you? What are you? What is this rough beast before me? Behind your words of "kindness" and "diversity" I sense cruelty. I sense an eagerness for the walls to close in on your enemies.

Shall we sign a suicide pact because of "climate change?" The truth is that you hate life, and if I don't hate it enough to lay down and die then you'll enjoy the diversion of putting me down. How else to explain the plight of the farmers, taxed and regulated to the point they can't grow food by smug politicians in the EU parliment? They only get away with this because they've put everyone to sleep with a gray, somber narrative about responsibility. One lie builds on another. They won't have to kill you, you'll do it to yourself because you swallow one after another, each time binding a limb. You'll watch a man stride on two feet from your wheelchair, fulminating with anger that he dares to use his legs. You've declared them immoral and cut them off.

You fantasize about the "end of man," and the return of lush nature. But it is only your own end that we will see, for man comes out of nature and orders it, for the greater good of man and nature as well. For if nature produced the man, then what sense does it make to personify nature as afflicted by that which came out of it? Who are you, in this case, to make that judgment?

Your way of looking at the world exposes the poverty of your inner life. Who is this you, anyway? I see you in me, certainly. You are all those impulses which make me craven when I give in to them. But where do I find you the most?

Only rarely in my friends. Less rarely in me. But overabundantly you live and thrive on the airwaves, in the commentary, in the ether between beings and towns. You are a spirit, sour and pugnacious, thrilling at every occasion when your words come out of the mouths of bodies which belong to free souls who have forgotten their freedom. If there is a Holy Spirit, then we must suffer you as well, for you travel through the medium that it does.

You are the impulse to destroy and crow about it. Your modern incarnation is feminine. You are the dark crone in the longhouse, waiting for the return of the pure, eager to sacrifice their blood and break the spirits of those you enlist to help you.

Anyway. The mountain was good. The people I met were good. However, YOU were at work. The woman in the hut knew and clutched at one thing, she in her high, wilderness Austrian mountain hut: "the assassin was a Republican."

Like looking down on the house from an airplane...

You do not sleep. You shade the facts and make lies of them by the manipulation of shadows.