Tribes Ascend Quotes

Morality is violence. An invisible violence at first. Love is a supreme violence, hidden deep in the darkness of our atoms. When a stream flows into a river, it’s love and it’s violence. When a cloud loses itself in the sky, it’s a marriage. When the roots of a tree split open a rock it’s the movement of life. When the sea rises and falls back only to rise again it’s the process of History. When a man and a woman find each other in the silence of the night, it’s the beginning of the end of the tribe’s power, and death itself becomes a challenge to the ascendancy of the group.

Why did you defect now? Why here? There are other troll tribes and hundreds of cities that aren't at war with your King." "But only the Trylle have Wendy." Loki's smile returned but his eyes ere pained. "And how could I pass on that?" "She is married, you know," Finn said. "So it might be a good idea if you stopped trying to flirt with her. She's not interested." "It's up to her to decide who she's interested in," Loki said, with an edge to his voice. "And it's not exactly like you're following your own advice." "I am her tracker." Finn sat up in bed, but this time I didn't try to stop him. His eyes were burning. "It's my job to protect her." "No, Duncan is her tracker." Loki pointed to where Duncan stood in the doorway, staring wide-eyed at their confrontation. "And Wendy's stronger than the both of you combined. You're not protecting her. You're protecting yourself because you're a lovesick ex-boyfriend." "You think you have everything figured out, but you don't know anything," Finn growled. "If it were up to me I'd have you sent back to the Vittra in a flash." "But it's not up to you!" I snapped. "It's up to me. And this conversation is over. Finn needs to rest, and you are not helping anything, Loki." "Sorry," Loki said and rubbed his hands on his pants. "Why don't you go back to your room?" I asked Loki. "I'll be over to talk to you in a minute." He nodded and got up. "Feel better," Loki said to Finn, and he actually sounded sincere. Finn grunted in response, and Loki and Duncan left. I wanted to reach out and touch Finn, comfort him in some way, because I felt like he needed it. Maybe I needed it too. "Get some sleep," I told Finn, since I could think of nothing better to say to him. I got up, but he reached out and grabbed my wrist. "Wendy, I don't trust him," he said, referring to Loki. "I know. But I do." "Be careful," Finn said simply and let go of me.

The United States spent over $1 trillion on the war in Iraq; some 4,500 American lives were lost. Yet fourteen years after the United States toppled Saddam Hussein, Iran’s power is ascendant, with Tehran now wielding more influence over Baghdad than Washington.

Images surround us; cavorting broadcast in the minds of others, we wear the motley tailored by their bad digestions, the shame and failure, plague pandemics and private indecencies, unpaid bills, and animal ecstasies remembered in hospital beds, our worst deeds and best intentions will not stay still, scolding, mocking, or merely chattering they assail each other, shocked at recognition. Sometimes simplicity serves, though even the static image of Saint John Baptist received prenatal attentions (six months along, leaping for joy in his mother's womb when she met Mary who had conceived the day before): once delivered he stands steady in a camel's hair loincloth at a ford in the river, morose, ascetic on locusts and honey, molesting passers-by, upbraiding the flesh on those who wear it with pleasure. And the Nazarene whom he baptized? Three years pass, in a humility past understanding: and then death, disappointed? unsuspecting? and the body left on earth, the one which was to rule the twelve tribes of Israel, and on earth, left crying out - My God, why dost thou shame me? Hopelessly ascendent in resurrection, the image is pegged on the wind by an epileptic tentmaker, his strong hands stretch the canvas of faith into a gaudy caravanserai, shelter for travelers wearied of the burning sand, lured by forgetfulness striped crimson and gold, triple-tiered, visible from afar, redolent of the east, and level and wide the sun crashes the fist of reality into that desert where the truth still walks barefoot.

Once there were three tribes. The Optimists, whose patron saints were Drake and Sagan, believed in a universe crawling with gentle intelligence—spiritual brethren vaster and more enlightened than we, a great galactic siblinghood into whose ranks we would someday ascend. Surely, said the Optimists, space travel implies enlightenment, for it requires the control of great destructive energies. Any race which can't rise above its own brutal instincts will wipe itself out long before it learns to bridge the interstellar gulf. Across from the Optimists sat the Pessimists, who genuflected before graven images of Saint Fermi and a host of lesser lightweights. The Pessimists envisioned a lonely universe full of dead rocks and prokaryotic slime. The odds are just too low, they insisted. Too many rogues, too much radiation, too much eccentricity in too many orbits. It is a surpassing miracle that even one Earth exists; to hope for many is to abandon reason and embrace religious mania. After all, the universe is fourteen billion years old: if the galaxy were alive with intelligence, wouldn't it be here by now? Equidistant to the other two tribes sat the Historians. They didn't have too many thoughts on the probable prevalence of intelligent, spacefaring extraterrestrials— but if there are any, they said, they're not just going to be smart. They're going to be mean. It might seem almost too obvious a conclusion. What is Human history, if not an ongoing succession of greater technologies grinding lesser ones beneath their boots? But the subject wasn't merely Human history, or the unfair advantage that tools gave to any given side; the oppressed snatch up advanced weaponry as readily as the oppressor, given half a chance. No, the real issue was how those tools got there in the first place. The real issue was what tools are for. To the Historians, tools existed for only one reason: to force the universe into unnatural shapes. They treated nature as an enemy, they were by definition a rebellion against the way things were. Technology is a stunted thing in benign environments, it never thrived in any culture gripped by belief in natural harmony. Why invent fusion reactors if your climate is comfortable, if your food is abundant? Why build fortresses if you have no enemies? Why force change upon a world which poses no threat? Human civilization had a lot of branches, not so long ago. Even into the twenty-first century, a few isolated tribes had barely developed stone tools. Some settled down with agriculture. Others weren't content until they had ended nature itself, still others until they'd built cities in space. We all rested eventually, though. Each new technology trampled lesser ones, climbed to some complacent asymptote, and stopped—until my own mother packed herself away like a larva in honeycomb, softened by machinery, robbed of incentive by her own contentment. But history never said that everyone had to stop where we did. It only suggested that those who had stopped no longer struggled for existence. There could be other, more hellish worlds where the best Human technology would crumble, where the environment was still the enemy, where the only survivors were those who fought back with sharper tools and stronger empires. The threats contained in those environments would not be simple ones. Harsh weather and natural disasters either kill you or they don't, and once conquered—or adapted to— they lose their relevance. No, the only environmental factors that continued to matter were those that fought back, that countered new strategies with newer ones, that forced their enemies to scale ever-greater heights just to stay alive. Ultimately, the only enemy that mattered was an intelligent one. And if the best toys do end up in the hands of those who've never forgotten that life itself is an act of war against intelligent opponents, what does that say about a race whose machines travel between the stars?

Fundamentalism is the philosophy of the powerless, the conquered, the displaced and the dispossessed. Its spawning ground is the wreckage of political and military defeat, as Hebrew fundamentalism arose during the Babylonian captivity, as white Christian fundamentalism appeared in the American South during Reconstruction, as the notion of the Master Race evolved in Germany following World War I. In such desperate times, the vanquished race would perish without a doctrine that restored hope and pride. Islamic fundamentalism ascends from the same landscape of despair and possesses the same tremendous and potent appeal. What exactly is this despair? It is the despair of freedom. The dislocation and emasculation experienced by the individual cut free from the familiar and comforting structures of the tribe and the clan, the village and the family. It is the state of modern life. The

Images surround us; cavorting broadcast in the minds of others, we wear the motley tailored by their bad digestions, the shame and failure, plague pandemics and private indecencies, unpaid bills, and animal ecstasies remembered in hospital beds, our worst deeds and best intentions will not stay still, scolding, mocking, or merely chattering they assail each other, shocked at recognition. Sometimes simplicity serves, though even the static image of Saint John Baptist received prenatal attentions (six months along, leaping for joy in his mother's womb when she met Mary who had conceived the day before): once delivered he stands steady in a camel's hair loincloth at a ford in the river, morose, ascetic on locusts and honey, molesting passers-by, upbraiding the flesh on those who wear it with pleasure. And the Nazarene whom he baptized? Three years pass, in a humility past understanding: and then death, disappointed? unsuspecting? and the body left on earth, the one which was to rule the twelve tribes of Israel, and on earth, left crying out—My God, why dost thou shame me? Hopelessly ascendant in resurrection, the image is pegged on the wind by an epileptic tentmaker, his strong hands stretch the canvas of faith into a gaudy caravanserai, shelter for travelers wearied of the burning sand, lured by forgetfulness striped crimson and gold, triple-tiered, visible from afar, redolent of the east, and level and wide the sun crashes the fist of reality into that desert where the truth still walks barefoot.

As explained above, those who believe in the theory of evolution think that a few atoms and molecules thrown into a huge vat could produce thinking, reasoning professors and university students; such scientists as Einstein and Galileo; such artists as Humphrey Bogart, Frank Sinatra and Luciano Pavarotti; as well as antelopes, lemon trees, and carnations. Moreover, as the scientists and professors who believe in this nonsense are educated people, it is quite justifiable to speak of this theory as "the most potent spell in history." Never before has any other belief or idea so taken away peoples' powers of reason, refused to allow them to think intelligently and logically, and hidden the truth from them as if they had been blindfolded. This is an even worse and unbelievable blindness than the totem worship in some parts of Africa, the people of Saba worshipping the Sun, the tribe of Prophet Ibrahim (as) worshipping idols they had made with their own hands, or the people of Prophet Musa (as) worshipping the Golden Calf. In fact, Allah has pointed to this lack of reason in the Qur'an. In many verses, He reveals that some peoples' minds will be closed and that they will be powerless to see the truth. Some of these verses are as follows: As for those who do not believe, it makes no difference to them whether you warn them or do not warn them, they will not believe. Allah has sealed up their hearts and hearing and over their eyes is a blindfold. They will have a terrible punishment. (Surat al-Baqara, 6-7) … They have hearts with which they do not understand. They have eyes with which they do not see. They have ears with which they do not hear. Such people are like cattle. No, they are even further astray! They are the unaware. (Surat al-A‘raf, 179) Even if We opened up to them a door into heaven, and they spent the day ascending through it, they would only say: "Our eyesight is befuddled! Or rather we have been put under a spell!" (Surat al-Hijr, 14-15)

The Hopi tribe of Native Americans teaches that if we advance as far as we possibly can in this life, then we will not have to wade through three more worlds after this one to get to where we are going. In Isaiah’s context of a ladder to heaven, that means if we ascend from our starting point—Jacob/Israel—to the level of seraphim (three levels), we will arrive at the highest goal God has set for us on the earth, the third level of blessedness (see Figure 137). As noted, the kabbalist model of the Tree of Life similarly proposes that God created us four levels below his own. By ascending three levels, therefore, we reach the level next to God’s. On the two highest, God manifests himself to us directly.

Over and over Lapides would come upon prophecies in the Old Testament--more than four dozen major predictions in all. Isaiah revealed the manner of the Messiah's birth (of a virgin); Micah pinpointed the place of his birth (Bethlehem); Genesis and Jeremiah specified his ancestry (a descendent of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, from the tribe of Judah, the house of David); the Psalms foretold his betrayal, his accusation by false witnesses, his manner of death (pierced in the hands and feet, although crucifixion hadn't been invented yet), and his resurrection (he would not decay but would ascend on high)...

Yahweh has confirmed his choice by sacred lots!” Murmurings around Ittai sharpened his attention even more on the scene before him. The Seer announced, “Bring forth Saul ben Kish of the tribe of Benjamin!” The murmuring rose to a cacophony of mixed reactions. But no one came forward. The crowd’s noisy chatter heightened. Ittai could see the Seer barking orders to those off the platform. Then a man stepped up. The clamor settled. This must be the man. But to Ittai, he looked as if he didn’t want to be there, as if he were afraid. What a strange choice for a king, he thought. The man was actually quite handsome. The kind that Ittai had seen women swoon over. He stood a full head and shoulders taller than any of the other Israelites. Ittai guessed him to be about six and a half feet tall.

Dagon brushed a couple flies away from his face angrily. “These flies are truly annoying. If their presence persists, I may have to call you, Ba’alzebub.” Ba’alzebub meant “Lord of the Flies.” Dagon said, “Now let us call upon the Sons of Rapha.”               • • • • • Goliath and Ishbi came alone to the sanctuary later that night. Dagon limited his presence to the highest officials of the warrior cult. And Dagon alone of the gods was present. He felt that including the other deities would only dilute his authority in the eyes of his devotees. Goliath and Ishbi knelt before Dagon, eager for duty. He had told them of Israel’s new institution of monarchy, and their first king, Saul of Benjamin. Goliath said, “A king would unite their tribes and make their military formidable.” “Indeed,” pondered Dagon. “What is your command, my god?” “Continue organizing and training the Sons of Rapha. But begin gathering intelligence on this Saul. He is a mighty warrior king and you will be fighting battles against him. You will need to know how he thinks, his weaknesses, his strengths.

David continued, “I recommend a twofold strategy: leave the highlands of Judah and the desert of Negeb to me. I will secure your interests in that region. Instead of your forces attacking the interior, which will draw the fullness of Saul’s forces into maximum conflict, I suggest you hit him on the periphery where you are strongest and he is weakest, on the flatlands of the Jezreel Valley up north.” Achish thought for a moment, then blurted out, “Brilliant!” Then he paused skeptically. “But that is quite a distance from our own stronghold.” “But it is flat plains all the way up the coast and inland to the city of Shunem. You could secure that whole region and therefore box Saul in from both north and south.” David felt like the reverse of the Serpent in the Garden, leading the real serpent with his own whispering rhetoric. Achish’s mind was not as sharp as usual under the influence of wine, but it was not blunted completely. “How many Philistine forces will you require? That might split my own strength in half.” “None, my lord.” “None?” This was looking better every moment to Achish. “I will not lie to you. Even though my men are rebels and dissidents from Saul, they are still Israelites, and they do not like fighting alongside Philistines. But they are loyal to me. So, if you give us our own city near the Negeb, and grant us a measure of independence, you need never fear an uprising. I will lead them in flash raids against Israelite clans in the far south to secure the desert territory. That way, they can work out their enmity with rival tribes, without feeling as if they are fighting for you.” Achish moaned with agreement, but eyed him suspiciously. “You will be outside the pentapolis.” “But still inside Philistia,” replied David. “Autonomy,” pondered Achish. “Under your sovereignty,” pandered David. “I will be at your beck and call. If Saul goes after me, Israel will be ripe for your taking. If he splits his forces against you and me, then you will still have an easy victory in the north.

At Babel, God gave over the rebellious Gentiles to the false gods they worshipped. He placed them under the authority of the fallen Sons of God. These spiritual princes ruled over their earthly kings and rulers and their fates were intertwined. But the gods of the nations had the title deed to the lands of the nations, and with it, their people. It is my contention that when Messiah died, resurrected and ascended, he conquered those Watchers and took back the deeds to the nations, which allowed the Gospel of the kingdom to go out into all the world and draw people from every tribe and nation into the new covenant kingdom of God.

God created them in the shape of lions,’ wrote a courtier of the Seljuk Turks, ‘with broad faces and flat noses, muscles strong, fists enormous.’ A Turkmen warlord named Seljuk had fought for the Jewish Khazar khagans in his youth. The names of his sons – Israel, Yusuf and Musa – suggest the family may have converted to Judaism, but in the 990s Seljuk switched to Islam, embracing jihad as his mission, and gathered a federation of tribes in Transoxiana, assisted by warlike sons. ‘They ascend great mountains, ride in face of danger, raid and go deep into unknown lands.’ Seljuk and son were just one of the Turkic warrior clans carving up the Arab empire.