Stupid, gullible people.
The values of faith in cowardice.
2016_Nk20_DSCN1047
http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html
Stephen King
The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition
Chapter 52
In the early hours of the morning, Mother Abagail lay sleepless in her bed. She was trying to pray.
She got up without making a light and knelt down in her white cotton nightgown. She pressed her forehead to her Bible, which was open to the Acts of the Apostles. The conversion of dour old Saul on the Damascus road. He had been blinded by the light, and on the Damascus road the scales had fallen from his eyes. Acts was the last book in the Bible where doctrine was backed up by miracles, and what were miracles but the divine hand of God at work upon the earth?
And oh, there were scales on her eyes and would they ever be shaken free?
The only sounds in the room were the faint hiss of the oil lamp, the tick of her windup Westclox, and her low, muttering voice.
“Show me my sin, Lord. I don’t know. I know I’ve gone and missed something You meant for me to see. I can’t sleep, I can’t take a crap, and I don’t feel You, Lord. I feel like I’m prayin into a dead phone, and this is a bad time for that to happen. How have I offended Thee? I’m listenin, Lord. Listenin for the still, small voice in my heart.”
And she did listen. She put her arthritis-bunched fingers over her eyes and leaned forward even farther and tried to clear her mind. But all was dark there, dark like her skin, dark like the fallow earth that waits for the good seed.
Please my Lord, my Lord, please my Lord —
But the image that rose was of a lonely stretch of dirt road in a sea of corn. There was a woman with a gunnysack full of freshly killed chickens. And the weasels came. They darted forward and made snatches at the bag. They could smell the blood—the old blood of sin and the fresh blood of sacrifice. She heard the old woman raise her voice to God, but her tone was weak and whining, a petulant voice, not begging humbly that God’s will be done, whatever her place in that will’s scheme of things might be, but demanding that God save her so she could finish the work… her work… as if she knew the Mind of God and could suborn His will to hers. The weasels grew bolder still; the croker sack began to fray as they twitched and pulled it. Her fingers were too old, too weak. And when the chickens were gone the weasels would still be hungry and they would come for her. Yes. They would—
And then the weasels were scattering, they had run squeaking into the night, leaving the contents of the sack half-devoured, and she thought exultantly: God has saved me after all! Praise His Name! God has saved His good and faithful servant.
Not God, old woman. Me.
In her vision, she turned, fear leaping hotly into her throat with a taste like fresh copper. And there, shouldering its way out of the corn like a ragged silver ghost, was a huge Rocky Mountain timberwolf, its jaws hanging open in a sardonic grin, its eyes burning. There was a beaten silver collar around its thick neck, a thing of handsome, barbarous beauty, and from it dangled a small stone of blackest jet… and in the center was a small red flaw, like an eye. Or a key.
She crossed herself and forked the sign of the evil eye at this dreadful apparition, but its jaws only grinned wider, and between them lolled the naked pink muscle of its tongue.
I’m coming for you, Mother. Not now, but soon. We’ll run you like dogs run deer, I am all the things you think, but I’m more. I’m the magic man. I’m the man who speaks for the latter age. Your own people know me best, Mother. They call me John the Conqueror.
Go! Lave me in the name of the Lord God Almighty!
But she was so terrified! Not for the people around her, which were represented in her dream by the chickens in the sack, but for herself. She was afraid in her soul, afraid for her soul.
Your God has no power over me, Mother. His vessel is weak.
No! Not true! My strength is the strength of ten, I shall mount up with wings as eagles —
But the wolf only grinned and drew closer. She shrank from its breath, which was heavy and savage. This was the terror at noonday and the terror which flieth at midnight, and she was afraid. She was in her extremity of fear. And the wolf, still grinning, began to speak in two voices, asking and then answering itself.
“Who brought water from the rock when we were thirsty? ”
“I did,” the wolf answered in a petulant, half-crowing, half-cowering voice.
“Who saved us when we did faint? ” asked the grinning wolf, its muzzle now only bare inches from her, its breath that of a living abattoir.
“I did,” the wolf whined, drawing closer still, its grinning muzzle full of sharp death, its eyes red and haughty. “Oh fall down and praise my name, I am the bringer of water in the desert, praise my name, I am the good and faithful servant who brings water in the desert, and my name is also the name of my Master —”
The mouth of the wolf opened wide to swallow her.
“… my name,” she muttered. “Praise my name, praise God from whom all blessings flow, praise Him ye creatures here below…”
She raised her head and looked around the room in a kind of stupor. Her Bible had fallen to the floor. There was dawnlight in the eastward-facing window.
“O my Lord!” she cried in a great and quavering voice.
Who brought water from the rock when we were thirsty?
Was that it? Dear God, was that it? Was that why the scales had covered her eyes, making her blind to the things she should know?
Bitter tears began to fall from her eyes and she got slowly and painfully to her feet and walked to the window. Arthritis jabbed blunt darning needles into the joints of her hips and knees.
She looked out and knew what she had to do now.
http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/80261/King_-_The_Stand.html
Stephen King
The Stand - The Complete & Uncut Edition
Chapter 52
“But she wasn’t there at all. And I found this on her pillow.” He handed them a paper towel. Written on it in large and trembling strokes was this message:
I must be gone a bit now. I’ve sinned and presumed to know the Mind of God. My sin has been PRIDE, and He wants me to find my place in His work again.
I will be with you again soon if it is God’s will.
Abby Freemantle
http://www.wikihow.com/Understand-Bovine-Behaviour
wikiHow
How to Understand Bovine Behaviour
Questions and Answers
Cattle have a different way of communicating themselves and their intentions than other animals, such as humans, dogs, cats and horses. Most of the time the behaviour of the cow is misinterpreted or misread by the person who is trying to interpret it.
Bovine psychology and behaviour is something that every cattle producer must know in order to own, work around and handle these animals. Understanding bovine behaviour is also important for those who do not understand or who have a fear of cattle, because understanding can allay the reasons for fear and hopefully, will help you to build more respect for these animals.
- posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 3:17 PM Pacific Time Spokane Valley Washington USA Monday 29 February 2016
