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Posted By:
Hal Brown
Date Posted:
Feb 6, 2007
Description:
In Lady Lake, the tornado of last Friday razed a line miles long. The fiendish whirlwind started in the west and crashed across the land eastward at break neck speeds. Its fickle fist gave little care for what lay below. That only twenty people died was a miracle given the ruins it left.
The night before the storm, I assured my guests that we would be forewarned of dangerous weather by my NOAA weather radio. As we slept, the massive storms swept around us. I awoke in the dim light of early dawn to see the red light on the radio futilely flashing silent warning of the night’s dangers.
Some time during the hurricanes of two years ago, I had silenced the audible alarm. It was just as well this time. I got a great night’s sleep. Being oblivious may not be a prudent practice, but it does make for good sleeping.
Date Taken:
Feb 6, 2007
Place Taken:
Lady Lake, FL
Owner:
Dan Nickens
File Name:
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Category:
255, Sad Stuff
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Dan Nickens - Feb 06,2007
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Voltaire wrote a poem about an earthquake that devastated Lisbon. He was quite a cynical sort:<br /><br />Poem on the Lisbon Disaster (1756) <br /><br />UNHAPPY mortals! Dark and mourning earth! <br />Affrighted gathering of human kind! <br />Eternal lingering of useless pain! <br />Come, ye philosophers, who cry, 'All’s well,' <br />And contemplate this ruin of a world. <br />Behold these shreds and cinders of your race, <br />This child and mother heaped in common wreck, <br />These scattered limbs beneath the marble shafts— <br />A hundred thousand whom the earth devours, <br />Who, torn and bloody, palpitating yet, <br />Entombed beneath their hospitable roofs, <br />In racking torment end their stricken lives. <br />To those expiring murmurs of distress, <br />To that appalling spectacle of woe, <br />Will ye reply: 'You do but illustrate <br />The Iron laws that chain the will of God'? <br />Say ye, o’er that yet quivering mass of flesh: <br />'God is avenged: the wage of sin is death'? <br />What crime, what sin, had those young hearts conceived <br />That lie, bleeding and torn, on mother’s breast? <br />Did fallen Lisbon deeper drink of vice <br />Than London, Paris, or sunlit Madrid? <br />In these men dance; at Lisbon yawns the abyss. <br />Tranquil spectators of your brothers’ wreck, <br />Unmoved by this repellent dance of death, <br />Who calmly seek the reason of such storms, <br />Let them but lash your own security; <br />Your tears will mingle freely with the flood. <br /> <br /><br />When earth its horrid jaws half open shows, <br />My plaint is innocent, my cries are just. <br />Surrounded by such cruelties of fate, <br />By rage of evil and by snares of death, <br />Fronting the fierceness of the elements, <br />Sharing our ills, indulge me my lament. <br />'Tis pride,' ye say— 'the pride of rebel heart, <br />To think we might fare better than we do.' <br />Go, tell it to the Tagus’ stricken banks; <br />Search in the ruins of that bloody shock; <br />Ask of the dying in that house, of grief, <br />Whether ‘tis pride that calls on heaven for help <br />And pity for the sufferings of men. <br />'All’s well,' ye say, 'and all is necessary.' <br />Think ye this universe had been the worse <br />Without this hellish gulf in Portugal? <br />Are ye so sure the great eternal cause, <br />That knows all things, and for itself creates, <br />Could not have placed us in this dreary clime <br />Without volcanoes seething ‘neath our feet? <br />Set you this limit to the power supreme? <br />Would you forbid it use its clemency? <br />Are not the means of the great artisan <br />Unlimited for shaping his designs? <br />The master I would not offend, yet wish <br />This gulf of fire and sulphur had outpoured <br />Its baleful flood amid the desert wastes. <br />God I respect, yet love the universe. <br />Not pride, alas, it is, but love of man,<br />To mourn so terrible a stroke as this. <br />Would it console the sad inhabitants <br />Of these aflame and desolated shores <br />To say to them: 'Lay down your lives in peace; <br />For the world’s good your homes are sacrificed; <br />Your ruined palaces shall others build, <br />For other peoples shall your walls arise; <br />The North grows rich on your unhappy loss; <br />Your ills are but a link In general law; <br />To God you are as those low creeping worms <br />That wait for you in your predestined tombs'? <br />What speech to hold to victims of such truth! <br />Add not, such cruel outrage to their pain. <br />Nay, press not on my agitated heart <br />These iron and irrevocable laws, <br />This rigid chain of bodies, minds, and worlds. <br />Dreams of the bloodless thinker are such thoughts. <br />God holds the chain: is not himself enchained; <br />By indulgent choice is all arranged; <br />Implacable he’s not, but free and just. <br />Why suffer we, then, under one so just? <br />There is the knot your thinkers should undo. <br />Think ye to cure our ills denying them? <br />All peoples, trembling at the hand of God, <br />Have sought the source of evil in the world. <br />When the eternal law that all things moves <br />Doth hurl the rock by impact of the winds, <br />With lightning rends and fires the sturdy oak, <br />They have no feeling of the crashing blows; <br />But I, I live and feel, my wounded heart <br />Appeals for aid to him who fashioned it. <br />Children of that Almighty Power, we stretch <br />Our hands in grief towards our common sire. <br />The vessel, truly, is not heard to say: <br />'Why should I be so vile, so coarse, so frail?' <br />Nor speech nor thought is given unto it. <br />The urn that, from the potter’s forming hand, <br />Slips and is shattered has no living heart <br />That yearns for bliss and shrinks from misery. <br />'This misery,' ye say, 'Is others’ good.' <br />Yes; from my moldering body shall be born <br />A thousand worms, when death has closed my pain. <br />Fine consolation this in my distress! <br />Grim speculators on the woes of men, <br />Ye double, not assuage, my misery. <br />In you I mark the nerveless boast of pride <br />That hides its ill with pretext of content. <br />I am a puny part of the great whole. <br />Yes; but all animals condemned to live, <br />All sentient things, born by the same stern law, <br />Suffer like me, and like me also die. <br />The vulture fastens on his timid prey, <br />And stabs with bloody beak the quivering limbs: <br />All’s well, it seems, for it. But in a while <br />An eagle tears the vulture into shreds; <br />The eagle is transfixed by shaft of man; <br />The man, prone in the dust of battlefield, <br />Mingling his blood with dying fellow men, <br />Becomes in turn the food of ravenous birds. <br /> <br />Thus the whole world in every member groans: <br />All born for torment and for mutual death. <br />And o’er this ghastly chaos you would say <br />The ills of each make up the good of all! <br />What blessedness! And as, with quaking voice, <br />Mortal and pitiful, ye cry, 'All’s well,' <br />The universe belies you, and your heart <br />Refutes a, hundred times your mind’s conceit. <br />All dead and living things are locked in strife. <br />Confess it freely -- evil stalks the land <br />Its secret principle unknown to us. <br />Can it be from the author of all good? <br />Are we condemned to weep by tyrant law <br />Of black Typhon or barbarous Ahriman? <br />These odious monsters, whom a trembling world <br />Made gods, my spirit utterly rejects. <br />But how conceive a God supremely good, <br />Who heaps his favors on the sons he loves <br />Yet scatters evil with as large a hand? <br />What eye can pierce the depth of his designs? <br />From that all-perfect Being came not ill: <br />And came it from no other, for he’s lord: <br />Yet it exists. O stern and numbing truth! <br /><br />O wondrous mingling of diversities! <br /><br />A God came down to lift our stricken race: <br />He visited the earth, and changed it not! <br />One sophist says he had not power to change; <br />'He had,' another cries, 'but willed it not: <br />In time he will, no doubt.' And, while they prate <br />The hidden thunders, belched from undergound, <br />Fling wide the ruins of a hundred towns <br />Across the smiling face of Portugal. <br />God either smites the inborn guilt of man, <br />Or, arbitrary lord of space and time, <br />Devoid alike of pity and of wrath, <br />Pursues the cold designs he has conceived. <br />Or else this formless stuff, recalcitrant, <br />Bears in itself inalienable faults; <br />Or else God tries us, and this mortal life <br /><br />Is but the passage to eternal spheres. <br />‘Tis transitory pain we suffer here, <br />And death its merciful deliverance. <br />Yet, when this dreadful passage has been, <br />Who will contend he has deserved the crown? <br />Whatever side we take we needs must groan; <br />Nature is dumb, in vain appeal to it, <br />The human race demands a word of God. <br /><br />‘Tis his alone to illustrate his work, <br />Console the weary, and illume the wise. <br />Without him man, to doubt and error doomed, <br />Finds not a reed that he may lean upon. <br />From Leibniz learn we not by what unseen <br />Bonds, in this best of all imagined worlds, <br />Endless disorder, chaos of distress, <br />Must mix our little pleasures thus with pain: <br />Nor why the guiltless suffer all this woe <br />In common with the most abhorrent guilt. <br />‘Tis mockery to tell me all is well. <br />Like learned doctors, nothing do I know. <br />Plato has said that men did once have wings <br />And bodies proof against all mortal ill; <br />That pain and death were strangers to their world. <br />How have we fallen from that high estate! <br />Man crawls and dies: all is but born to die: <br />The world’s the empire of destructiveness. <br />This frail construction of quick nerves and bones <br />Cannot sustain the shock of elements; <br />This temporary blend of blood and dust <br />Was put together only to dissolve; <br />This prompt and vivid sentiment of nerve <br />Was made for pain, the minister of death: <br />Thus in my ear does nature’s message run. <br />Plato and Epicurus I reject, <br />And turn more hopefully to learned Bayle. <br />With even poised scale Bayle bids me doubt <br />He, wise enough and great to need no creed, <br />Has slain all system -- combats even himself: <br />Like that blind conqueror of Philistines, <br />He sinks beneath the ruin he has wrought. <br />What is the verdict of the vastest mind? <br />Silence: the book of fate is closed to us. <br />Man is a stranger to his own research; <br />He knows not whence he comes, nor whither goes. <br />Tormented atoms in a bed of mud, <br />Devoured by death, a mockery of fate. <br />But thinking atoms, whose far-seeing eyes, <br />Guided by thought, have measured the faint stars, <br />Our being mingles with the infinite; <br />Ourselves we never see, or come to know. <br />This world, this theatre of pride and wrong, <br />Swarms with sick fools who talk of happiness. <br />With plaints and groans they follow up the quest, <br />To die reluctant, or be born again. <br />At fitful moments in our pain-racked life <br />The hand of pleasure wipes away our tears; <br />But pleasure passes like a fleeting shade, <br />And leaves a legacy of pain and loss. <br />The past for us is but a fond regret, <br />The present grim, unless the future’s clear. <br />If thought must end in darkness of the tomb, <br />All will be well one day — so runs our hope. <br />All now is well, is but an ideal dream. <br />The wise deceive me: God alone is right. <br />With lowly sighing, subject in my pain, <br />I do not fling myself ‘gainst Providence. <br />Once did I sing, in less lugubrious tone, <br />The sunny ways of pleasure’s genial rule; <br />The times have changed, and, taught by growing <br />age, <br />And sharing of the frailty of mankind, <br />Seeking a light amid the deepening gloom, <br />I can but suffer, and will not repine. <br />A caliph once, when his last hour had come, <br />This prayer addressed to him he reverenced: <br />'To thee, sole and all-powerful king, I bear <br />What thou dost lack in thy immensity— <br />Evil and ignorance, distress and sin.' <br />He might have added one thing further — “hope.' <br /> <br /> <br /><br />
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Russ Garner - Feb 06,2007
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Dramatic photo to say the least, mother nature at her worst.<br />Look at the trees on the left side of the photo and the homes on the left side of the street, the trees are bent over like sticks and the homes are shredded. While the homes on the right side of the street look almost untouched, why?
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Steve DiGiacomo - Feb 07,2007
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Russ, best guess? Because the right side is Republican and Jeb controls the weather in Florida, and the vote counters.<br /><br />But that's only a theory. I may be wrong.<br />
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Bruce Bennett - Feb 07,2007
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I think your wrong, Steve, because Jeb is no longer Governer of Florida, Charlie Crist is; although Charlie is a Republican. JB
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