SEA OF ROSARIES: Our Lady of Kibeho

Our Lady of Kibeho ©2018 Alfred Eaker

Canticle for the Blessed Virgin (Thomas Merton)

Die, Boreas,
And drown your ruins in the gaudy sea,
December, clash your cymbals once again
And put them away.
The crops come thronging from the ground.
The land is green with strength.
The harvests sing like confidence
In the ascetic earth.
Let there be no more patience
With your iron music, death:
Stand, continents, and wear the spring your crown!

The ox-eyed land,
The muted lakes,
The cloudy groves that praise you,
Lady, with their blooms,
Fuse and destroy their lights
And burn them into gold for you, great Virgin,
Coining your honor in the glorious sun.

The skies speed up to meet you, and the seas
Swim you the silver of their crests.
If you delay to come, we’ll see the meteors, by night,
Skimming before your way,
Lighting the time of death’s dismay
In lights as lithe as animals.
And God will blaze your pathway with the incandescent stars.

But oh! Queen of all grace and counsel,
Cause of our joy, Oh Clement Virgin, come:
Show us those eyes as chaste as lightning,
Kinder than June and true as Scripture.
Heal with your looks the poisons of the universe,
And claim your Son’s regenerate world!

Because your Christ disposed Orion and Andromeda
And ordered the clean spheres,
And interplayed the chiming suns to be your toy,

Charm you with antiphon and psalmody
And canticle, and countersong;

Because your Christ
Fired the fair stars with argent for your raiment,
And charged the sinner’s tears
With clean repentent lights –
(As on the day you found me in the dens of libraries
And crushed the jeweled head of heresy) –
He gave you every one of the redeemed to be your dowry
And angels for your crown.

Come from the compass quarter where the thunder sleeps
And let the pity of those eyes
Rout all the armies of our million dangers
Here where we lie in siege:
For you unlock the treasures of the bleeding Wood.
You hold the Mass-keys, and the locks of Calvary,
And All-grace springs in the founts of your demand.

Lady, whose smiles are full of counsel and theology,
Never have you withheld those seas of light
Whose surf confounds the keenest eye.
Grace me to be the soldier of your Scotus,
Arming my actions with the news
Of your Immaculate command.

You, who have saved me from the ones about to break me
On the iron wheels of sin,

And brought me from the torturer
With all the florins of the Parasceve:
If Christ will burn me clean
Of my red-handed perjuries,
Win me His Blood again, and blazon me His priest.

But if my hands that one time wore the stench of death
Are too unworthy of the Liturgy
That speaks our deathless Pasch in veils of Bread,
Make me, until my death, His priest in secret
Offering Mass in all-day’s sacrifice.

Teach me to take all grace
And spring it into blades of act,
Grow spears and sheaves of charity,
While each new instant (new eternity),
Flowering with clean and individual circumstance,
Speaks me the whisper of His consecrating Spirit.
Then will obedience bring forth new Incarnations
Shining to God with the features of His Christ.

Tower, stars, and oh! You sun in Aries,
Shatter a way for her through the embattled weather,
Until the hills
Tidy their fields, and fill them full of flowers
For those Annunciations:

And hell shall melt his onsets
Faster than January’s brawling clouds
Doomed by the music of her chariot.

SEA OF ROSARIES: Our Lady of La Salette

Our Lady Of La Salette © 2018 Alfred Eaker

La Salette

(Thomas Merton)

It is a hundred years since your shy feet
Ventured to stand upon the pasture grass of the high
Alps,

Coming no deeper in our smoky atmosphere
Than these blue skies, the mountain eyes
Of the two shepherd children, young as flowers,
Born to be dazzled by no mortal snow.

Lady, it is a hundred years
Since those fair, terrible tears
Reproved, with their amazing grief
All the proud candor of those altitudes:
Crowning the flowers at your feet
With diamonds, that seized upon, transfigured into
nails of light
The rays of the mountain sun!-

And by their news,
(Which came with cowbells to the evening village
And to the world with church-bells
After not too many days,)
And by their news
We thought the walls of all hard hearts
Had broken down, and given in,
Poured out their dirty garrisons of sin,
And washed the streets with our own blood, if need
be –
– Only to have them clean!

And though we did not understand
The weight and import of so great a sorrow,
We never thought so soon to have seen
The loss of its undying memory,
Passing from the black world without a word,
Without a funeral!
For while our teeth were battling in the meat of
miracles and favors,
Your words, your prophecies, were all forgotten!

Now, one by one,
The things you said
Have come to be fulfilled.

John, in the might of his Apocalypse, could not fore-
tell
Half of the story of our monstrous century,
In which the arm of your inexorable Son,
Bound, by His Truth, to disavow your intercession
For this wolf-world, this craven zoo,
Has bombed the doors of hell clean off their hinges,
And burst the cage of antichrist,
And roused, with His first two great thunderbolts,
The chariots of Armageddon.

ALFRED EAKER, SR. (1938-2016) A SON’S TRIBUTE TO HIS FATHER.

Alfred Eaker Sr. (March 3, 1938-Oct 14, 2016): A son’s tribute to his father.

alfred-eaker-sr-rescuing-the-dog-starsky-from-the-blizzard-of-1978-paternal-compassion-2016-alfred-eaker

“Paternal Compassion: Alfred Eaker (SR.) Rescuing The Dog Starsky From The Blizzard Of 1978.” © 2016 Alfred Eaker

alfred-eaker-srs-onion-of-paternal-compassion-for-his-son-robert-alfred-eaker-2016

“Alfred Eaker Sr’s Onion Of Paternal Compassion For His Son, Robert.”©  Alfred Eaker 2016

birthday-money-for-david-a-portrait-of-young-david-eaker-and-alfred-eaker-sr-by-his-son-alfred-eaker-jr-2017-alfred-eaker

Birthday Money For David- A portrait of young David Eaker and Alfred Eaker, Sr. © 2017 Alfred Eaker

extra-extra-extra-pickles-christmas-sliders-at-anitas-a-portrait-of-alfred-eaker-sr-by-his-son-alfred-eaker-jr-alfred-eaker-2017

Extra, Extra, Extra Pickles. Christmas Sliders At Anita’s. A Portrait Of Alfred Eaker Sr. © Alfred Eaker 2017

goodbye-brave-sweet-man-a-tribute-to-alfred-eaker-sr-by-his-son-alfred-eaker-jr-2017-alfred-eaker

Goodbye Brave, Sweet Man ( A Tribute To Alfred Eaker, Sr. By His Son, Alfred Eaker, Jr.) © 2017 Alfred Eaker
Although the liver cancer that killed him was quick (he died three weeks after being diagnosed), Dad’s health struggles were a big part of his life for the last seventeen years. Ravaged by diabetes, having survived prostate cancer, a heart attack, quadruple bypass,  and a stroke (among other things, including the first stages of Alzheimers), Dad kept plugging along. I was one of his caretakers for three years. Often, I would find him asleep with his beloved dog Pixie, watching Spiderman, which oddly was one of his favorite movies. Dad was more a western guy and after asking him why he liked Spiderman, Dad said,”cuz, he’s nice.” It reminded me of something Dad said years ago. Dad would only rarely watch John Wayne movies and usually avoided them ( he preferred the one with the Duke at the circus). Instead, Dad often watched Gary Cooper, Randolph Scott, Jeff Chandler, and Johnny Mack Brown. I braved asking him why he didn’t like watching John Wayne movies. Dad’s answer was pure Dad, “Cuz, he’s mean Alfred. He’s a mean man… don’t wanna waste my time watching someone so full of hate.”