Anguish over the decline of civilisation is the affliction of a conservative. The leftist cannot lament the disappearance of something of which he is ignorant. Nicolás Gómez Dávila

It is often said that youth is beautiful only in recollection, but if one has a good memory, youth in recollection is usually ugly. Perhaps the reason spring is so irritating to people is that this season is so sincere. Yukio Mishima, 'Early Spring Gusts'.

Saturday, October 18, 2025 From the Gospel according to Luke Lk 10:1-9 At that time, the Lord appointed seventy-two others and sent them two by two ahead of him to every town and place where he was about to go. He said to them, "The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few! Therefore pray to the Lord of the harvest to send out workers into his harvest! Go; behold, I am sending you out like lambs among wolves. Do not carry a purse, nor a bag, nor sandals, and do not greet anyone on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, 'Peace to this house!' If a son of peace is there, your peace will rest on him; if not, it will return to you. Stay in that house, eating and drinking what they provide, for the worker deserves his wages. Do not move around from house to house. When you enter a town and are welcomed, eat what is offered to you, heal the sick who are there, and tell them, 'The kingdom of God is near you.'" 🙏🏼Reflection on the Gospel of the day🕊️ Stability is a ghost we chase in vain. Our lives are not marble palaces, but tents pitched in the storm. Each day brings a different earthquake, unsettles arrangements we thought eternal, sweeps away certainties like dry leaves. And yet, in this perpetual turmoil, comes an ancient and disorienting command: do not move. Do not abandon the house that has fallen to your lot, however damp, however uncomfortable it may be. The sickness of our age is the yearning for elsewhere. The eye always strays beyond the neighbor's wall, where the grass seems greener, the sun warmer. We mistake the murmur of others' happiness for a symphony, while our own life sounds like a discord. It is a deception of the senses, a poison that gnaws at the roots of the soul. Flight is never a solution; it is a surrender. Your house is not an accident. It is a battlefield, a construction site, a piece of the world entrusted to you. Those cracks in the wall, that creaking floor, are not signs of a condemnation, but the map of your mission. Why are you there? Not to curse the bad weather, but to raise stronger walls. Not to feel sorry for yourself, but to discover the timber you are made of. Look around you. Those shadows moving in the same rooms, those faces marked by your same worries, are not extras. They are brothers in the trench. To turn your back on them is a betrayal. Salvation, if it ever comes, will not be a solitary act. It will be a team effort. Share the bread, the burden, the toil. Bring forth your resources, however meager they seem to you. Put your skills to use, however limited you believe them to be. It is in the act of giving that the prison transforms into a dwelling. It is by spending the currency of your soul for others that you stop smelling the mold and begin to perceive the scent of warm bread. And one day, almost without noticing, you will raise your eyes and that window which once opened onto another's garden, will show you simply your own. And finally, it will be enough. #Jesus #WordofGod #Christian #Bible #Scripture #Wisdom #worship #biblestr #bibleverse #Christ #God

"Love is the means that allows you to regrow your wings and reach happiness." (Plato)

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The Hypocritical Shame of Drawing-Room Do-Goodism There exists a certain category of individuals incapable of performing a gesture, however minuscule, without installing a loudspeaker on their conscience and broadcasting its content to the entire neighborhood. They are the new philanthropists, the lay priests of charity-as-spectacle, those who do not donate, but invest in image. And image, as we know, has a market value higher than gold. They do it for social media, for newspaper headlines, for that admiring buzz that follows them like a swarm of flies to honey. It is the triumph of the ego, inflated beyond measure until it completely obscures the good it claims to have done. True generosity, on the other hand, is a clandestine act. It is a seal applied to the heart, not a badge to be pinned on the chest. It has the discreet elegance of a movement that desires no witnesses, the purity of an action undertaken because it is necessary, not because it is convenient. It is that gesture which, once performed, is forgotten by the one who made it, but remains indelible for the one who received it. It needs no stopwatches to measure its duration nor photographers to immortalize the scene. It exists outside the circuit of gossip and vainglory. This compulsive trumpeting, this ostentation from a four-story man, betrays an uncomfortable truth: the act itself is empty. It is a shell without substance. What matters is not the relief brought to the other, but the benefit derived for oneself. It is an operation of existential marketing, a way of saying "look at me, I am a good man" without actually having to be one in the hidden, and often uncomfortable, folds of daily life. It is the frantic search for cheap absolution for a life perhaps conducted under the banner of the most shameless selfishness. A silent diligence, that indeed has value. A movement that starts from the left hand, swift and determined, while the right hand pretends not to see, distracted by something else. In that detachment, in that feigned indifference, lies all the nobility of the gesture. True help creates no moral debts, builds no pyramids of gratitude. It slips into the life of the one in need with the delicacy of a shadow, and there it remains, to fertilize the soil without any need to wave flags. The din of the stage-man benefactors is, ultimately, the sound of their own insecurity. It is the white noise of a soul that is never alone with itself and that fears the most ruthless judgment: that of the mirror. Shouted charity is always suspect, it reeks of calculation, of strategy. It is the currency with which one buys a place in an artificial paradise populated by likes and ephemeral consensus. While the essence of giving, the authentic one, continues to flow in silence, like a deep aquifer that nourishes the earth without anyone seeing its source. 〰️ 🤍 〰️ 🦅 Cheyenne Isa ₿ 🦅

"Society is becoming increasingly brutal, not only violent and delinquent, criminal, but at every moment rude, aggressive, boorish, uncivil, as it becomes ever more ideologically and media-wise politically correct." Renaud Camus

"More is in us": a motto that makes pride a duty. Pride is the opposite of vanity, and nobility is primarily a disposition of the soul. Dominique Venner, Rebel Notebooks volume 1, La Nouvelle Librairie, 2021.

They keep calling you a coward, so that you’ll do or say whatever they want to prove that you are not a coward. Jack Donovan

Otium is a Latin term dating back to the mid-2nd century BC that encompasses a variety of forms and meanings in the realm of leisure time. It is the time during which a person enjoys rest to engage in meditation or studious leisure. It is also the time of retirement following a public or private career, as opposed to active life, public life. It is a time, sporadic or prolonged, of personal leisure with intellectual, virtuous, or moral implications, involving the idea of distancing oneself from daily life, business (negotium = neg-otium), and engaging in activities that promote artistic or intellectual development (eloquence, writing, philosophy). Otium holds particular value for businessmen, diplomats, philosophers, or poets. This period of free time, removed from daily life and devoted to intellectual or creative activities, has become a social issue for some sociologists. It appears necessary and therefore compensated for certain professions (researchers, academics...), it is now extending in some companies to executives and is becoming a demand of many employees. Seneca praises the merits of otium and considers it the characteristic of a truly free man, while adding that it is good to dedicate it to a social or political role in the city.

A million years ago, the cave man, without tools, with small brain, and with nothing but the strength of his body, managed to feed his wife and children, so that through him the race survived. You on the other hand, armed with all the modern means of production, multiplying the productive capacity of the cave man a million times - you are incompetents and muddlers, you are unable to secure to millions even the paltry amount of bread that would sustain their physical life. You have mismanaged the world, and it shall be taken from you. Jack London, speaking to an audience of very wealthy New Yorkers.