#and then this woman preaches how she 'always raises her son and daughter equally' like srsly shut the fuck up

[definitelynotnia]

im sorry i have to rant im so fucking pissed

my exams end on 19th and I have to get rid of some books and buy some books which are quite pricy online so I had planned on going to college street on 20th and selling my books and buying the new ones at a cheap price and i was frankly really excited about it because all I get is a one day break to relax bcz i have to start studying for entrances from 21st so all I have is 20th and i wanted to spend it at college street and then get some food and basically have like a solo date kind of thing.

and i was so so excited about it i told my boyfriend about it like 500 times bcz i kept forgetting i've already mentioned it and it was literally on my mind a lott so i kept bringing it up and ik it seems like not a big deal cz i can just sit at home and chill too but i literally do not get to go outside my house. like- the last time i went out was new years eve and after that the only time i've gone out is to school or to give my boards that is it. my mother has some weird like problem wiht me going out like even if i tell her that i just want to go to our terrace for 5 minutes just to get some fresh air she won't even allow that she'll be all suspicious and like sTaNd In ThE bAlCOnY aNd TaKe FrEsH aIr like she herself doesnt leave the house (and blames it on me and my brother ???? when have we ever stopped you bro, she said I HaVe To Be HeRe To KeEp An EyE like im 18 i dont need to be watched 24/7 stop blaming me for choices you put upon yourself) and i just feel so suffocated ALL THE TIME i feel so overstimulated and im so sick of rotting on my bed and i dont want to wait for some birthday party or friends meet up to be able to leave my goddamn house i just wanted to go and have a fun day and get me some books thats it.

anyway so initially the plan was that my mom would go along but something came up so she wanted to postpone it to 21st and i didn't want to bcz i'd already be missing 3 days bcz of my boyfriends birthday, holi and my brothers birthday (all of which are important and i dont want to miss which makes me the villain apparently bcz i should "adjust" and cancel my "parties" instead of trying to stick to my plan bcz that makes me too demanding and selfish apparently) so i suggested that ukw why dont u go do ur thing which came up and i'll go to college street by myself...which is when the solo date idea came which i had really wanted all along but didnt bring up bcz i knew she'd say no but now there's a valid reason for me to go alone so like, its a pretty easy fix i can just go alone but noooo. First of all,

I've been to college street multiple times before so its not like its an unknown area to me

im going by metro which is quite safe

im going when there is stark daylight and i will return home much much before it gets dark and im literally 18

she never lets me go anywhere alone, not even take ubers alone if i want to get back from somewhere my bf has to come drop me everytime and then go backwards to his house which is so so so stupid and i never get to go out alone unless accompanied by family or by a male friend, so obv when i said i'll go to college street alone she refused to let that happen and started screaming about how 'if its so important to go on 20th bcz u dont want to miss a day of studying then cancel ur 'parties' and study then' and i was like no its not about missing a day its just that there's a very easy and logical fix to this problem which is i go alone and its not inconveniencing anyone so why cant i just do that but she will not listen to that bcz im 'adamant' and 'everything has to be according to me' bcz i found a viable solution to the problem. so instead of letting me just go she was literally ready to pay much more money and buy the books online, like.....why cant i just go bro??? (and she keeps telling me im a waste of her money bcz i will amount to nothing in life and my education was a failed investment or wtv so like now why are u wasting more money??? im literally trying to save the money that u 'waste' on me so just let me ???)

anyway i called my dad last night and told him and he was super ok with the idea he said its a good idea that i go alone and that he would speak to her but then today when i asked her if dad spoke to her she said yes, we'll go on 20th and i was like .....we? so apparently she CANCELLED her previously immovable thing for which she wanted me to cancel my 'parties', she cancelled that and agreed to go with me on 20th just so that i dont get to go alone- like ???????????????? what is ur problemmmm

so obv i was super annoyed and i went on a whole ass rant about how i literally struggle to even cross roads bcz i dont know shit about basic travelling bcz all my life ive been in a car and its a running joke with all my guy friends that i 'cannot navigate' and 'dont know any places' and obv??? if im never allowed to go anywhere then how tf will i know the places- the only places i know is bcz recently i've been paying a lot of attention and asking my dad stuff about what roads to take to reach certain places and when i go out with my friends i kind of try and learn a bit but thats it i've only ever gone alone completely alone to two places which is my beauty parlour thats 5 minutes away from my house and one bazaar one time that was 2 bus stops away, thats it. thats my extent of public travelling alone. and now im supposed to go to a whole new STATE for college and i cant even call myself an auto without struggling. and like- is this not a basic life skill??? like ok yeah its not rocket science and i will probably figure it out even if i start later in life but why not now? most of my guy friends literally go everywhere alone, why not me? and my dad agreed with all of this but my mom was just like "you'll be in the hostel only, no need to go out of the campus" like ARE YOU FOR REAL????????? and she's like "if u want to learn skills learn how to cook" like ok yes i will also learn how to cook for sure but i wont have a fucking kitchen in the hostel but somehow cooking is an urgent skill i should learn but going places by myself is unimportant bcz i should just never? leave? the? hostel?

anyway after much screaming and shouting my dad gave up and just cut the call bcz he doesnt want to get into an argument with my mother and my mother was being all suspicious like why do u hAvE tO gO aLoNe AlL oF a SuDdEn even though i literally explained why i want to do this alone but she doesnt think thats valid. so she refuses to let me go and i asked her for one reason why i shouldnt cz usuallt its always "no u have exam what if smthn happens" but now i literally dont even have exam so whats ur excuse now? streets will always be unsafe forever so "what if smthn happens" is not a reason to never let me go out without a man so just gimme one reason and she couldnt give me a single reason she just said "i said no, thats it".

and now she's gone off about how im useless and blah blah and "high maintainance" bcz i want books and "everyone else (some pishi's son) just studies online" and so the whole option of college street is apparently now cancelled and she's trying to set up a whole ass kindle account (half the books i need arent even available as ebooks) just because i wanted to go by myself.

#in our house kids dont stay outside past 6:30pm'' but now all of a sudden its fine for my brother to play #till 10:30 at night #she literally stopped me permanently from going down in the evenings since i was in class 7-8 #this is why ive never had any friends outside of school bcz she wouldnt let me leave ths fucking house #and now that my brother is in class 7 #he's allowed to be out playing with his friends till 10 freaking 30 #he comes home an hour late sometimes...45 minutes and almost always at least 30 minutes late at NIGHT and she says nothing except like #one sentence #yeah im only the villain i only keep u locke #up in the house its all my fault #this is just so damn unfair #like literally insulting #im not a child what is her problem #what sort of fucking solution is 'never leave the hostel' like ok even if i do that what happens then??? after i graduate? #i'll be a 24 year old who doesnt know shit about going from one place to another without a man present] #and then this woman preaches how she 'always raises her son and daughter equally' like srsly shut the fuck up #my whole life i've been told abar late?'' #and for me bcz i would come home 5-10 minutes late nd i did it maybe once or twice she made me completely stop going down to play #5-10 minutes late from 6:30 wherein he comes an hour late from 9 fucking 30 #and this sounds so stupid bcz im an 18 year old now and i dont give a fuck abt how long i got to play but its just unfair dude #with me it was always smthn or the other either exams or she gets miraculously sick every time i want to go out to play #im not even kidding she did a whole “i have fever and ur going to leave me like this and go play?” on me one time bcz i was adamant abt goi #after months of not being able to go bcz of exam or smthn or the other #she did not have any fever it was fucking bullshit #and how am i supposed to help with ur imaginary fever anyway im literally 12 #its so fucking annoying man and then if i say anything at all she'll go on a tirade about how #like YOU DO THOUGH??????? im sorry ur feelings are hurt bcz i said you do smthn that u LITERALLY DO #istg not even 2 days ago she was having a fight with my dad abt how he should teach my brother to learn how to cycle so that he can go buy #groceries #i can cycle

[comparatist]

Sabitribai Phule: The First Dalit Woman To Be A Teacher

Savitribai Phule, was the first Dalit woman to be the pioneer of spreading education among the impoverished section of the society by working day and night, firmly sticking to resolution of making academia inclusive. She always raised her voice against unfair segregational terms of the society. During her time, education was reserved for the dominant caste, class and gender but then, she was brave enough to breakthrough the notions of dominant hegemony and was hell bent to provide for the oppressed communities.

• Personal Life:

Born in 3rd January, 1831, in Naigaon, 50 KM from Pune, Savitribai was the eldest daughter of Lakshmi and Khandoji Neveshe Patil. She got married to Jyotirao Phule at the age of 10 in 1840. The couple started living in a Dalit working locality. Jyotirao took interest in educating his wife and trained her to become a teacher. Shakharam Yashwant Paranjpe and Keshav Shivam Bhavalkar (Joshi), his two associates took the further responsibility of helping in the progress of Savitribai's education. She went through the formal teacher’s training at Ms. Farar's Institute in Ahmadnagar and Normal School of Ms Mitchell in Pune.

A Voice Of Dissent Ensuring Social Justice:

Savitribai was the first person in the country to become a teacher and headmistress as a woman. The couple started their first female school and set up a Native Library in 1863. They also built a ‘home' in their own house, which was a safe haven for tortured widows and pregnant women, meant for the prevention of infanticide. Together they established the Satyashodhak Samaj which preached of marriage devoid of dowry and extravaganza, supporting widow remarriage and protesting against child marriage alongside. Savitribai and Jyotirao had no child of their own, so they adopted the child of a brahmin widow, educated him, and arranged an inter-caste marriage for him.

Their constant resistance against the brahminical hegemony was a ray of hope for the Shudra and Atishudra women. She started a school for Mangs and Mahads but then a lightening struck their fortune when Jyotirao's father threw them out while the training was going on. Govande immediately arrived Pune and took the responsibility of Savitribai. When she returned, Bhavalkar looked after her education requirements. Throughout the training process, the couple encouraged vocational and the practical form of learning for both sexes, so that the students can flourish their own independent thought process. The believed in the attachment of an industrial educational sector along with the school so the children can learn useful trades and acquire craftsmanship to lead a comfortable life. Education should provide the agency of free choice, they preached. The school they created had special zones for children’s creative freedom. The planning and their dedication sprouted shoots of success when the parents of girls studying there, complained about the ‘overindulgence' of their daughters in studies.

• A Staunch Personality Overthrowing Obstacles : She was one of the flagbearers of gender justice during that time. Women weren’t allowed to access education then. She went forth against the normalised patriarchal set up enough, to make men wait for her in street, passing lewd comments, pelting stones or cow dung at her. She always kept 2 saris with her and change into the cleaned one after reaching the school, which would again get soiled on her way back. This happened everyday but she refused to back down. The guard who was appointed for a safety had in his memoirs written about what she would say to those men who teased her for making education available for women, “As I do the sacred task of teaching my fellow sisters, the stones or cow dung that he threw seemed like flowers to me. May God bless you!”

In July 1887, when Jyotirao suffered from massive heart attack and got paralysed from his right side, she nursed him from dawn to dusk and was always by his side. Her intense support made him recover quickly. However the financial system of the family was in tatters by that time. Mama Paramanand, a well known political sage and a well wisher tried to help them the most. In the letter to the King of Baroda, Sayajirao Gaekwad, Paramanand mentioned the historical ground breaking work the couple was doing and said the following about Savitribai, “More than Jyotirao, his wife deserves praise. No matter how much we praise her, it would not be enough. How can one describe her stature? She cooperated with her husband completely and along with him, faced all the trials and tribulations that came their way. It is difficult to find such a sacrificing woman even among the highly educated woman from the upper castes.” The couple had literally spent their whole time working for the marginalised sections.

Students living in their hostel had praises for the couple for their contributions. Laxman Karadi Jaaya from Mumbai said, “I have not seen another woman as kind and loving as Savitribai. She gave us more love than a mother could.” Another student named Mahadu Sahadu Waghole wrote, “Savitribai was very generous and her heart was full of kindness. She would be very compassionate to the poor and needy. She would constantly give the gift of food, she would offer everyone meals. If she saw torn clothes on the body of poor women, she would give them saris from her own house. Tatya(Jyotirao) would sometimes say to her, “One should not spend so much.” To this she would smile and ask, “What do we have to take with us when we die?” Tatya would sit quietly for some time after this as he had no response to the question. They loved each other immensely.”

When Jyotirao passed away, she was present there. As municipality had refused the burial of his body with salt as he wished, the last rites were performed in the pyre. Savitribai had courageously approached for the earthen pot to be held, then, and consigned his body to the flames. It was the first time in the Indian history, that a woman performed the funeral rites. Savitribai later erected ‘Tulsi Vrindavan' with his ashes on the spot where he wanted to be buried. After his demise, she took the reins of Satyashodhak movement in her own hands and was the chairperson of the Satyashodhak Conference in 1893 at Saswad, Pune.

• Her writings:

Poems that she had pinned down, along with other forms of creative outlets, are full of anti caste hegemony sentiments and provide boost towards harbouring a thought of attaining a gender equal society. Her works continued to be an inspiration to many, not only in the present time, bearing the reflection of struggles of past, but in the near future too.

The list of her writings is presented here:-

1. Kavyaphule- Collection of Poems, 1854

2. Jyotirao’s speeches, Edited by Savitribai Phule, 25th December 1856

3. Savitribai's letters to Jyotirao

4. Speeches of Matoshree Savitribai, 1892

5. Bavankashi Subodh Ratnakar, 1892

• Death: The year was 1897. The plague had overtaken the city of Pune. People were dying in clouts. The Government assisted by the officer Rand went out for helping the needy. Savitribai with the help of Yashwant set up a hospital and would herself go to pick up people, hospitalise them and ensure treatment. She continued to serve selflessly in spite of being fully aware of the contagious nature of the disease. The son of Pandurang Babaji Gaekwad from the Mahad community was affected by the plague. As soon as the news reached her ears, she wasted no time, to rush him to the hospital, carrying the sick child on her back. This way the disease reached her too. On 10th March, 1897 she passed away at 9 PM.

• Teacher's Day:

Go, get education

Be self-reliant, be industrious

Work-gather wisdom and riches,

All gets lost without knowledge

We become animal without wisdom,

Sit idle no more, go, get education

End misery of the oppressed and forsaken

You've got a golden chance to learn

So learn and break the chains of caste

Throw away Brahman's scriptures fast.

Since 1962, 5th September is regarded to be the Teacher's Day and calls for apparently an unanimous celebration on the birth anniversary of independent India’s 1st Vice President and 2nd President, Dr. Sarvapalli Radhakrishnan. The popular understanding of teachers, educators and gurus has been moulded by upper caste brains and has been always represented through the upper class and patriarchal lenses in the form of Dronacharya, Manu etc. The ‘meritorious' men shaping the history with their social-political and economical dominance over the forsaked is just a version of excluding the contribution of the marginalised and emphasising on the insurance of the right to education for the privileged only.

For a counter, a section of people are already speaking up against such dire injustice and celebrating Teacher’s Day on January 3rd as Education day or National Teacher’s Day, on the birth anniversary of Savitribai Phule.

Our academia, nation has disregarded her works in the context of societal upliftment, to a great extent, by erasing her contributions from history books, nationalistic discourses and our memory. Her resistive stamina against brutalities performed upon the non-dominant sections is a stain in the brahmin dominated and appropriated knowledge system in India.

#study hard #studystudystudy #study tips #study blog #study aesthetic #study #study inspiration #study motivation #study notes #study space #studyblr #studying #studyinspo #studyspiration #studyspo #studywithme #attack on dalits #dalitattoo #dalit writing #dalit community #dalitlivesmatter #crimes against dalits #dalit literature #savitribai phule #researchbased #research #content writing #writing inspiration #writing prompt #my writing

[de-mentor]

The Manifesto of [the] Futurist Woman (Response to F. T. Marinetti) (1912)

by Valentine de Saint Point

“We will glorify war—the world’s only hygiene—militarism, patriotism, the destructive gesture of freedom-bringers, beautiful ideas worth dying for, and scorn for woman.” Marinetti, “The Founding and Manifesto of Futurism”

Humanity is mediocre. The majority of women are neither superior nor inferior to the majority of men. They are all equal. They all merit the same scorn.

The whole of humanity has never been anything but the terrain of culture, source of the geniuses and heroes of both sexes. But in humanity as in nature there are some moments more propitious for such a flowering. In the summers of humanity, when the terrain is burned by the sun, geniuses and heroes abound.

We are at the beginning of a springtime; we are lacking in solar profusion, that is, a great deal of spilled blood.

Women are no more responsible than men for the way the really young, rich in sap and blood, are getting mired down.

It is absurd to divide humanity into men and women. It is composed only of femininity and masculinity. Every superman, every hero, no matter how epic, how much of a genius, or how powerful, is the prodigious expression of a race and an epoch only because he is composed at once of feminine and masculine elements, of femininity and masculinity: that is, a complete being.

Any exclusively virile individual is just a brute animal; any exclusively feminine individual is only a female.

It is the same way with any collectivity and any moment in humanity, just as it is with individuals. The fecund periods, when the most heroes and geniuses come forth from the terrain of culture in all its ebullience, are rich in masculinity and femininity.

Those periods that had only wars, with few representative heroes because the epic breath flattened them out, were exclusively virile periods; those that denied the heroic instinct and, turning toward the past, annihilated themselves in dreams of peace, were periods in which femininity was dominant.

We are living at the end of one of these periods. What is most lacking in women as in men is virility.

That is why Futurism, even with all its exaggerations, is right.

To restore some virility to our races so benumbed in femininity, we have to train them in virility even to the point of brute animality. But we have to impose on everyone, men and women who are equally weak, a new dogma of energy in order to arrive at a period of superior humanity.

Every woman ought to possess not only feminine virtues but virile ones, without which she is just a female. Any man who has only male strength without intuition is only a brute animal. But in the period of femininity in which we are living, only the contrary exaggeration is healthy: we have to take the brute animal for a model.

Enough of those women whose “arms with twining flowers resting on their laps on the morning of departure” should be feared by soldiers; women as nurses perpetuating weakness and age, domesticating men for their personal pleasures or their material needs! … Enough women who create children just for themselves, keeping them from any danger or adventure, that is, any joy; keeping their daughter from love and their son from war! … Enough of those women, the octopuses of the hearth, whose tentacles exhaust men’s blood and make children anemic, women in carnal love who wear out every desire so it cannot be renewed!

Women are Furies, Amazons, Semiramis, Joans of Arc, Jeanne Hachettes, Judith and Charlotte Cordays, Cleopatras, and Messalinas: combative women who fight more ferociously than males, lovers who arouse, destroyers who break down the weakest and help select through pride or despair, “despair through which the heart yields its fullest return:’Let the next wars bring forth heroines like that magnificent Catherine Sforza, who, during the sack of her city, watching from the ramparts as her enemy threatened the life of her son to force her surrender, heroically pointing to her sexual organ, cried loudly: “Kill him, I still have the mold to make some more!”

Yes, “the world is rotting with wisdom,” but by instinct, woman is not wise, is not a pacifist, is not good. Because she is totally lacking in measure, she is bound to become too wise, too pacifist, too good during a sleepy period of humanity. Her intuition, her imagination are at once her strength and her weakness.

She is the individuality of the crowd: she parades the heroes, or if there are none, the imbeciles.

According to the apostle, the spiritual inspirer, woman, the carnal inspirer, immolates or takes care, causes blood to run or staunches it, is a warrior or a nurse. It’s the same woman who, in the same period, according to the ambient ideas grouped around the day’s event, lies down on the tracks to keep the soldiers from leaving for the war or then rushes to embrace the victorious champion.

So that is why no revolution should be without her. That is why, instead of scorning her, we should address her. She’s the most fruitful conquest of all, the most enthusiastic, who, in her turn, will increase our followers.

But no feminism. Feminism is a political error. Feminism is a cerebral error of woman, an error that her instinct will recognize.

We must not give woman any of the rights claimed by feminists. To grant them to her would bring about not any of the disorders the Futurists desire but on the contrary an excess of order.

To give duties to woman is to have her lose all her fecundating power. Feminist reasonings and deductions will not destroy her primordial fatality: they can only falsify it, forcing it to make itself manifest through detours leading to the worst errors.

For centuries the feminine instinct has been insulted, only her charm and tenderness have been appreciated. Anemic man, stingy with his own blood, asks only that she be a nurse. She has let herself be tamed. But shout a new message at her, or some war cry, and then, joyously riding her instinct again, she will go in front of you toward unsuspected conquests.

When you have to use your weapons, she will polish them.

She will help you choose them. In fact, if she doesn’t know how to discern genius because she relies on passing renown, she has always known how to rewarm the strongest, the victor, the one triumphant by his muscles and his courage. She can’t be mistaken about this superiority imposing itself so brutally.

Let woman find once more her cruelty and her violence that make her attack the vanquished because they are vanquished, to the point of mutilating them. Stop preaching spiritual justice to her of the sort she has tried in vain. Woman, become sublimely injust once more, like all the forces of nature!Delivered from all control, with your instinct retrieved, you will take your place among the Elements, opposite fatality to the conscious human will. Be the egoistic and ferocious mother, jealously watching over her children, have what are called all the rights over and duties toward them, as long as they physically need your protection.

Let man, freed from his family, lead his life of audacity and conquest, as soon as he has the physical strength for it, and in spite of his being a son and a father. The man who sows doesn’t stop on the first row he fecunds.

In my Poems of Pride and in Thirst and Mirages, I have renounced Sentimentalism as a weakness to be scorned because it knots up the strength and makes it static.

Lust is a strength, because it destroys the weak, excites the strong to exert their energies, thus to renew themselves. Every heroic people is sensual. Woman is, for them, the most exalted trophy.

Woman should be mother or lover. Real mothers will always be mediocre lovers, and lovers, insufficient mothers, through their excess. Equal in front of life, these two women complete each other. The mother who receives the child makes the future with the past; the lover gives off desire, which leads toward the future.

LET’S CONCLUDE:

Woman who retains man through her tears and her sentimentality is inferior to the prostitute who incites her man, through braggery, to retain his domination over the lower depths of the cities with his revolver at the ready: at least she cultivates an energy that could serve better causes.

Woman, for too long diverted into morals and prejudices, go back to your sublime instinct, to violence, to cruelty.

For the fatal sacrifice of blood, while men are in charge of wars and battles, procreate, and among your children, as a sacrifice to heroism, take Fate’s part. Don’t raise them for yourself, that is, for their diminishment, but rather, in a wide freedom, for a complete expansion.Instead of reducing man to the slavery of those execrable sentimental needs, incite your sons and your men to surpass themselves.You are the ones who make them. You have all power over them. You owe humanity its heroes. Make them!

#manifesto #futurism #history

[writeforwronggg-blog]

Tsuyoi Josei(5560 words)

When I was younger, my mother always told me to honor myself and others equally. She would tell me of her childhood before the adoption of Chinese political systems and the insertion of the Samurai way of life. As a young child, I never truly grasped why she would tell me these things.

Why would my mother tell me of the superiority complex of nearly all men of our time? How she was supremely mistreated by men older and younger than herself, just as every Japanese woman was? Though that’s not a major problem as of now. Not as of 638: the year I became a Samurai.

The Tang dynasty and the introduction of not only an empress of China, Wu Zetian but also Buddhism and it’s empowerment of women on the rise, us women were at a high point. Though there were still major tensions between the Confucian and Buddhist beliefs, Buddhism was a major game changer for the empowerment and belief in female abilities in modern Japan, China, and Korea. We were no longer viewed as the lowest class, but as equals to everyone else(in justified cases of course).

Still, I was not a believer of any religion. I had always believed in people and their own personal morals, versus the morals, thrust upon them to follow by religions for selfish reasons. Yes, selfishness, because although nearly all religions preach the ideals of selflessness, it’s for purely selfish reasons. Every religion, for which I have seen, give promises after promises of reward for being a kind and serving person. It’s fuel for us to be good, but why do we need to be motivated to be decent people? We are all human dealing with the same struggle of life and its challenges, no?

People love to twist the words of good men and women from religions to fit their own agenda, and it’s very warranted because one can not say it’s out of context since most teachings are open to interpretation. How can you say something means one thing, yet when another points out its hypocrisy or ‘plot holes’ you change your words? That truly is religion in its purest form. It’s meant to give people reassurance through symbolism but all it does is turn a heart to the dark side through the idea of a prosperous afterlife or reward.

That is the focal point for me as of now. Being a female Samurai in a country that was so against the idea of women existing as anything more than a wife and mother was strong only a few short years before. 625, the earning of the Tang dynasty’s Tian Ming, was a major milestone for this small town called Chiba, near the rapidly growing city of Tokyo.

I bet you’re wondering about me, who I am, what story I’m here to tell- and the answer is soon to come. First  I should start from the beginning, no?

My name is Otokita Karanaki, daughter of Haruto and Kaito Karanaki. My father, Haruto, was a well known and supremely respected elder in our town, but a few years ago when our town had been raided, and my father killed, the people mourned greatly. As my father had no male heir to his fortune, and the teachings of Cong Fuzi’s “the Master said: When the father is alive, observe the son’s intent. When the father dies, observe the son’s conduct. One who does not alter his late father’s way for three years may be called filial.” But those teachings neglected to speak on behalf of the daughters, leaving me to become the ‘son’. No, I don’t mean becoming a man, simply taking over his responsibilities.

I had no person lined up for me to marry, and my mother was becoming more and more ill every day. The flu had caught up to her, and the physician was frequently gone to other, more wealthy, families. I had two young sisters, only one and two years younger than I, and I was meant to raise them. As most of our society was very judgemental of our lifestyle, I had chosen to raise them as I wished and not into a religion. I used most of my money to try to educate them in European ways and fighting techniques my father had taught me. I was already a low ranking Samurai, so finding time to see them between my duties was difficult and I eventually decided it best to send them off to a school in India.

It’s been years since I sent them off, and not one week have we missed a letter. Though I worry about them greatly, my life here is not on hold. I have a friend, and she’s amazing. Being put in the situation I was, it could be difficult to find someone who would be there for you unconditionally, but she… well, she was there. For everything and anything.

Her name is Ishi and the only way I would ever describe her is strong. She is always supportive, kind, reassuring, and dependant. Oh, how strong she is. As a child, her parents gave her away to a caretaker who would raise her in an abusive home in which hated any girl or woman. She fought her way out of that place and journeyed across the regions looking for somewhere to live. She endured much across the way, many hardships such as rape and other unspeakable woes, and finally made it here where I had found her and taken her in.

I found her along a path, clothes were torn, body worn, and face filled with resilience. She had gone through so much, yet she was still one of the best most understanding and accepting people I’d ever known. She had so many stories she’d kept to herself for so long, some good and most bad, and she was so scared for so long to trust me with them. It had taken a long time and a lot of patience before she could open up to me and when she did I was astonished and even more proud of this girl, woman, I had come to know. Her heart, mind, and soul were beautiful, as was her body.

Her hair, when let down from her usually messy bun, goes down like a smooth black waterfall all the way to her wide-set hips. Her eyes were solotica and utterly beautiful. Her naturally milky-turned-tan skin is as soft as my mother's silk, and her voice was deeply captivating. Anyone and everyone wanted to wed her, but I was looking after her and no one had dared to ask for her hand in marriage if they were not absolutely sure she’d agree and love them. I was not so easy to persuade, especially not with her, and it seemed she wasn’t either.

“Oto? What are you thinking of?”

I looked down, into the eyes of my mother’s eldest friend’s son’s eyes as he examined my stone cold features. Kawa is his name, and he’s been at my side since this morning when I left my home to patrol my small town. He was about 1.8 meters tall and surprisingly handsome, though he is surely the epitome of male arrogance.

I looked at him, thinking of all the times he’s tried to take my hand, and rolled my eyes at him. He looked surprised as if this wasn’t expected of me.

“None of your concern, Kawa. What is it you are following me for, anyhow? Has your mother finally tired of you?” I ask jokingly, earning a small chuckle in return.

“Tire? Of me? Never. I am too entertaining and hard working to bore of. If only you’d see it, Oto,” he insisted, nudging me slightly.

I eyed him suspiciously and took a step away, uncomfortable of our close proximity. I looked out over the small hill we stood on, wondering what Ishi was doing at the moment.

“Do you suppose Mrs.Itō will make that kimono well? I promised to pay very much for it, but Ishi isn’t comfortable with the tailoring process and I didn’t want her to be uncomfortable so I hadn’t given Mrs.Itō the measurements. Will it fit right? I told her it’s similar to me, maybe 40-50 centimeters wider at the hips, about 28 shorter at the legs. Was that okay do you think?” I ranted, slightly happy about tonight’s event.

Tonight, being our last elder’s 82nd birthday celebration would be very extravagant. Every person from the town would be there and there was nothing more exciting to me than a break from my duties. Though I would still carry a few small weapons with me, I would not be actively on duty.

He looked at me strangely, as if he was very confused and suspicious. I rolled my eyes, not expecting a response and turned around to begin heading back down the beautiful hill. He followed short behind but stopped a few minutes later. I did as well, hand on my Katana in case there was danger lurking.

“Why do you care so much for her? She’s just some random wench from off the street. Why would you even-” his sentence was cut short by my katana being held to his throat.

I stood there, mere inches from his handsome face, teeth gritting in anger, and fists clenched around the strong tile handle, hardly aware of his appearance. I could see his surprise, as I rarely lose control of my patience, and tried to calm my rising temper.

“I would do my best to not insult my dearest friend. She is far stronger and smarter than you may believe. She is not a wench and you will show respect when talking of her or face the consequences of us both.”  I seethed, receiving a huff of disagreement and damaged pride.

“Of course,” he agreed hotly, after a few more seconds of violent tension, releasing him and stepping back, “You’re quite a strong-willed woman. The people who doubt your strength have much to come for them.”

I tried not to, really, but I could never stay angry with Kawa. He’s my oldest friend! How could I?

I shoved him lightly, letting out a breathy and quiet laugh. He did the same until it turned into a full-on shoving contest, resulting in him being held down to the ground, arms pinned behind him. He tried to resist, multiple times, but I would only make my grip tighter.

“I surrender! I surrender!” he choked out tiredly. I released him, standing up and adjusting my gauntlets.

“You best remember this, Kawa, the next time you think you will win.” I teased.

I was about to look up, but I was quickly shoved into a tree, arms pinned awkwardly behind me, and Kawa holding my head against the trunk. I was breathing hard, as was he, from the quick action and he leaned in slowly to my covered ear.

“I think I will remember this,” he simpered, “will you?”

It was odd, the way he said it. I’m not used to this, it’s usually foolish flirting and pointless innuendos, but this wasn’t. This was ‘I’m bigger and better than you’ and it wasn’t doing anything but fueling my feminist anger. I leaned into the tree, surprising him and throwing him off balance, and pushed back again making him stumble back. I turned, pushing his back against the tree and used my foot to kick between his legs, making him release his hands so I could turn and elbow his mouth. He turned around, cradling his bleeding lip as he whimpered lowly.

“Don’t ever do that.” I raged, clenching and unclenching my fists tightly.

He looked at me, eyes confused and nodded his head slowly. I relaxed my face and turned back around to continue my walk down the hill. He followed, not as closely anymore, and I would occasionally stop to listen for any loud, troubling noises.

“I’m sorry,” he said once we reached the town again.

I huffed, not impressed, before taking a left down a small alley. He followed again, I walked faster, as did he. Once we reached the end of the small passing I turned abruptly, stopping him in his tracks. I tapped my foot, waiting there silently for him to continue his earlier apology.

“I’m sorry for taking you off guard. We do this all the time though, Oto, why were you so upset?” he asked irritatingly.

I huffed, balling my hands up before taking a calming step backward.

“It’s not that, Kawa,” I admitted solemnly, “it’s the fact that your tone sounded as if you believed you were any better than I. I care about you, but I would never see you again if you truly believed that.”

He was confused. You could tell because his chocolate brown eyes read that all over them. He looked down and back up at me, taking a step forward, and trapping me against the rough wall.

“If you think I believe that at all, then you truly haven’t been paying attention to me. I am infatuated with you. You’re strong and caring and you take in poor, worn strays off the street. You’re determined and stubborn and focused. You’re loving and wise and attentive. You’re a beautiful and independent woman and I love you for that. Damn it. I love you Otokita!” he confessed, surprising me very much.

And then he kissed me. He kissed me so fiercely, so kindly, yet so softly, I could do nothing but believe him. I could tell he felt a spark, fireworks even, but I did not. I couldn’t feel anything from that kiss other than sadness and pity. I kissed back, simply in reaction, and felt horrid.

I could never love him, not truly, not like he did me. I could only think of one thing as this was happening, and it terrified me beyond words. He pulled away, out of breath and sweaty, and smiled genuinely. I simply stood there, shocked and sad, and watched the happiness in his strong features fade. He examined my eyes carefully before stepping back, removing the arm that he had wrapped around my covered waist, and looked away.

“Do you… do you not feel the same?” he asked shyly, shoulders held firmly as a shield from my soon to come words.

“I-I-I...I cannot. I am so sorry, Kawa! I-” I didn’t finish that sentence as he turned away and walked determinedly.

I stood there solemnly, confused and angry and scared, as I filtered through my thoughts. I brushed over them all before straightening up and returning to my job.

==================

After the rest of my duties that day, I decided to go to Mrs.Itō’s shop to see if she finished the kimono I commissioned. I was outside of her small bright shop, merely looking at the cute calligraphy her 12-year-old son had made for her. One of the small window signs read ‘Kamotos- 3 yen’. I smiled lightly, remembering my sisters when they were his age. They had been obsessed with the new lessons on writing and calligraphy. It was the highlight of their week and they would practice whenever they had the chance.

“Oto? Oh, okosama, why are you not coming in? Come, come!” she gushed, broom in hand, and a bean-sack filled with needles in hand.

I smiled lightly, glad that Mrs.Itō has never judged me. She was always so kind to me and my family and was never a displeasure to be around. She radiated grace and honor, along with love and welcome. She was what I’d always imagined my grandmother had been like. It’s how my mother spoke of her, and I had no choice but to believe that.

“Mrs.Itō, what a pleasure,” I crooned, “I’m only here for a moment, the celebration is tonight and Ishi and I are in need of our kimonos. Are they ready? I have the 6 yen right here”

I reached into my small sack wedged between my armor and pulled out the cloth-covered coins. She smiled, nodding and taking me to the next room that was covered head-to-toe in cloth and fabric. I saw so many bright colors that worked so well together, something she had quite the eye for.

“Right here, okosama.” she said, smiling and holding out two burlap covered dresses, “Would you like to see yours?”

“Of course,” I agreed, watching as she lifted the cover.

I was in awe. Simple, unadulterated awe.

“It’s…”

“-Beautiful?” she chimed lightly.

I nodded, thoroughly surprised by the dress in front of me. The dress was covered in embroidered pink flowers that shrunk in size the farther up they got. The fabric was a black and pastel pink gradient, black being at the bottom. The obi was on top of the dress, a thick and wide black ribbon with pink floral lace bordering it. It reached past my feet, opening to show my ankles and the detailed black-bordered-pink silk on the inside.

It was far more than I had paid for and I was so grateful for the hard work I knew she had put into making this dress. I could only bow, arm resting on my back and the other holding the sliding weapons on my belt.

“Words cannot describe the great honor I feel for your hard work on this masterpiece.” I compliment sincerely, head still bowed.

She chuckled, setting the dresses down carefully and resting a hand on my shoulder. She sighed, bringing her soft hand to grab my chin lightly and lift me up.

“It’s only what you deserve, okosama. Do not underestimate what we, as the people of Chiba, appreciate of you. Tonight is not only to honor our elder, but also the work of our strongest warriors. I know at times you are judged, but the Elder thinks very highly of you and asked for me to do my best work on you two.” she explained, bringing a few tears to my eyes. I quickly wiped it before smiling and standing up straight.

“Thank you, but I must go. I should see you tonight then, yes?” I asked, reaching for the dresses.

“Of course,” she replied, giving me a farewell and leading me to the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ishi? I’m home and I have our kimonos!” I announced, closing the wooden door behind me as I headed into her respective room.

She was behind her partition wall, probably changing. I heard a squeal before I saw a half-naked Ishi running towards me and tackling me. I laughed along with her, glad the bed was behind me and pushed the stout girl off of me.

“I see you’re excited,” I tease, getting a giggle in return, “Would you like to put on your dress?”

“Of course! I am so excited for tonight’s event! It’s been ages since we’ve had a real time away from the tensions lately. Please tell me you’re coming tonight!?” she begged, turning on the bed on her knees to sit on my lap.

I chuckled, stroking her soft black hair and looking at her beautifully cheerful face. I nodded, she squealed, I laughed, she hugged, I hugged. We sat there for a good while, holding each other comfortably while she played with my messy helmet hair.

“Did you hear about what this party is for, Oto?” she asked genuinely, continuing to play with my frizzing hair.

“I did, from Mrs.Itō no less. It’s very reassuring. Do you know why I became a Samurai, Ishi?” I asked.

She sat back up, arms sitting on her lap and shook her head, truly interested.

“When my father died, and the town was so scared, I left my house. I went up to the hill I always did and sat there, wondering, crying, and mourning. While I was doing that, I hadn’t noticed the lanterns floating. It was the tradition- every and anytime a person passed, the people who cared about them must light Chinese lanterns. It was a new tradition at the time, just learned by our people from an immigrant, and the town’s people loved its symbolism. Well, while I was looking at those brightly lit white lanterns, I noticed the atmosphere hadn’t truly changed. I could still feel the pain those people were feeling, the fear. I knew we had never had the best protection in Chiba, but this had shown me how important it was. All that fear, that pain, could have been avoided had we had a Samurai devoted to protecting this small but beautiful town. I never wanted those people to have to face that fear again, not if I could help it. So hearing how these people truly care and appreciate and respect my position and duties truly brings me to tears.”

I meant every word, every spilled syllable, every emotion that leaked through. It was true, and  I wanted to share that with Ishi because I had come to a realization that I would always want her in my life. I never wanted her to be married, I never wanted her to be taken from me. It hurt to think that she could consider another person over me. Why? Why did that scare me? Why did I care?

“Oto?” she asked shyly, eyes glossed over, “You’re amazing, you know that?”

I smiled, tossing those thoughts away and she smiled back, rubbing her eyes to make the tears go away.

“As are you. Let’s get ready, shall we?” I asked, cheerfully standing up and turning to get her dress from the pile.

I handed it to her, watching as she removed the burlap to see the almost exact same dress as mine. Hers was a pale yellow and light blue, with blue being at the bottom. Her eyes grew wide in awe, a wide smile growing on her beautiful face.

“This is...Spectacular!” she gushed, turning the kimono around to see the back.

She rushed behind her partition to get changed as I went to mine to change as well. The dress fit me perfectly, the only thing I needed to do was tie my ribbon and do my makeup

“Ishi? Can you tie my ribbon?” I asked, knocking gently on her door.

It soon opened, revealing a gorgeously dressed girl. Her hair was pinned in a beautiful braided bun with pieces of hair systematically placed on her face. It had the chopsticks I had bought her for her birthday last year in the back, placed accordingly to hold her hair.

“You look amazing.” we both said together, resulting in us both laughing hysterically.

“Ribbon?” she asked, handing me her own yellow-laced-blue ribbon. I smiled before raising an eyebrow and handing her mine.

“Of course, turn,” I said, wrapping the ribbon around her slim midsection, grazing just below her breasts and tying in the back a beautiful bow.

“My turn,” I say, turning so she could do the same.

“There, now we’re both properly dressed. Makeup?” she suggested.

I smiled, nodding, and turned to head to my room where I kept our supplies. We did a simple Kabuki look with blue eyes for herself, and pink for me. I turned to her, finished with my look, to see her applying her mascara. Her face was stretched in the funniest way, causing me to giggle quietly to myself to not mess up her application.

“All done. I already took care of your mother. She’s eaten and is resting right now. If we’re back to check her before midnight we should be okay. I’ll go get my gloves and you can go powder the shoes.” she told me, standing up and walking out of the room oh-so-gracefully.

I got up and did as she said, waiting for her to come outside as I tapped my foot impatiently. When she finally came outside I gave her a raised eyebrow and she chuckled, standing close to my side as we left for the center of town where the celebration was at.

“You look spectacular, let’s hope your makeup stays put in this heat.” she joked, a smile growing by every step closer we get.

“Same for you, but you’d look beautiful either way.” I coaxed.

Though the makeup was covering most things, I’d imagined she’d blushed by the way her shoulders tilted, if that makes any sense. I hadn’t mentioned to her that I brought my Tanto with me, a small dagger used in honor, tucked into the side of my ribbons where it was blocked from sight by my arm.

As we got to the area it was being held, you could hear the sound of a koto and shakuhachi being played. The people were all gathered, conversing with each other, eating the sushi and other foods being served. I smiled, looking over to see that Ishi was smiling brightly at the colored lanterns hung above the town square.

“They dye the glass,” I tell her, pointing at the man who did its shop, “it’s a technique the English use in their Catholic churches to make window paintings.”

“That’s beautiful.” she says, now noticing the food, “Let’s eat! I’m starved.”

I chuckle, following her as we pick up the wooden plates and pick food. I followed her to go sit at a table with some of the acquaintances she’d made over the last few years. After about an hour or two, I saw Kawa walking toward our table.

“Otokita, may we speak in private?” he asks, looking far more professional than I’m used to.

I look over to see Ishi giving him an unreadable look and I agree, excusing myself. We walk a few meters away, behind all the set tables and a few rows of trees. He stopped, turning to look at me and giving me a coy smile. I cross my arms grumpily, tilting a hip out and staring at him.

“So, you don’t love me,” he said, smirk not wavering.

“Yes, and I apologize.” I agree sympathetically, nodding my head and looking over his shoulder, back to the table I was at to see Ishi missing. I look out to the dancing area and see her swaying with a young man about her age.

Jealousy.

“Well, I think we can fix that. You just have to see what a great husband I will make for you,” he says, drawing my attention away from my girl.

“What are you talking about, Kawa?” I ask, confused.

“You say you cannot love me, but I think you can,” he reached out, grabbing my hand in his and holding it there, “We already have a connection, you just need it to strength.”

I was shocked, to say the least, I hadn’t expected this from him and I was so confused.

“Kawa, you don’t understand. I can’t love you because I don’t have room.” I say as lightly as possible, trying to release my hand.

“No, no,” he chuckles, pulling my hand back towards himself, “You have room. I accept your duties, I know they come first. I can be secondary, I don’t mind”

“Kawa, you’re really not getting it-” I was cut off by his lips on mine, invading it and making me angry.

I shoved him off of me, turning him around with the Tanto held to his throat. I got close to him, almost touching his nose with my forehead and looked up into his frazzled brown eyes.

“You. Aren’t. Getting. It.” I say through gritted teeth, “I don’t have room to love you because I already love someone.”

He was mad, I could see it. His hands were pinned so he couldn’t do anything.  I backed away slowly, keeping the Tanto to his throat, and finally removing it when I was at a safe distance.

“You mean so much to me, Kawa, but do not confuse that with romantic love. You doubt me, see me as another woman, another wife to make dinners. I am not that and I could never love or be with someone who expects that.” I said softer this time to make him understand.

“Who is it? Who do you love?” he asks angrily, a hint of sadness seeping through.

“It isn’t important. I need you to know this isn’t hurt you.” I say seriously, deflecting the question I could barely admit to myself.

“I understand. Just know that I won’t give up on you. I will stop the flirting, but know I will never give up on us.” he said sincerely, making me feel sympathy for his cluelessness.

“I understand,” I say simply, turning around and heading back to our table where Ishi was not present.

I gave the tablemates a questioning look and they all smiled lightly.

“She’s gone from the dance floor, okosama. Try looking near the food, she left with that young man. Possible husband?” one of the older women asked.

I smiled shyly, internally cringing at the thought of her marrying. I thanked them before heading over to the food table to see her and the young man sharing a long, slimy, kiss. I cleared my throat, arms crossed angrily, looking at the two.

“Ishi. We’re leaving, say your goodbyes.” I instruct, reaching to separate the promiscuous pair.

She looked at me, anger and regret shining in those beautiful green eyes. She huffed, turning t the young man and whispering something in his ear and giggling. He smiled, resting a hand softly on her wait. I huffed, tapping my foot and flipping the blade in my hand from earlier.

“Goodbye.” she purred to him, sauntering away from the table and towards our table to say goodbyes.

I’m not going to lie, that hurt, but I really had no reason to discourage her behavior. I wasn’t her father, she could canoodle with whomever she pleases. Still, I was angry.

“What was that?!” I blurted, squeezing the Tanto.

“What was what?” she retorted, “It wasn’t any different than what you and Kawa were doing in the woods. I’m not blind, you know.”

I scoffed speeding up my walking since she had.

“What does that matter? It’s none of your business!” I shout, she scoffed, turning her heel and stopping.

“And what’s any different from my situation?” she seethed, puffing her white cheeks.

“Because it is! Who was he anyway? Is he going to ask for your hand?” I ask honestly, anger radiating from me at the idea.

“Kii Wan! He’s amazing, and maybe he will! And I’ll accept!” she shouts, arms flailing as she steps closer to me.

That shot daggers down my spine. I wanted to scream, cry, yell, fight, stab, and most of all I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to kiss her cute face. The face that makes me smile every time I see it.

“Why?” I asked, my voicing cracking slightly as fear crept up my spine.

A single tear. One little tear. It rolled down my face, I could feel it taking some of the makeup with it. I hadn’t cried in nearly 6 years since my father’s death. Not once, but the thought of losing her to some man made my heart ache worse than it ever has. I couldn’t take it, I couldn’t. I had to convince her to stay.

“Oto-” she empathized, stopping before she finished.

“Please.” I cried, “Please don’t do this. Don’t leave me. Am I not enough?”

I sobbed. Sobbed. Actually, truly, sobbed. And she knew. She knew how I was broken. She hugged me, crying just as I am, likely ruining each others kimono. We held each other, tighter than the day she told me her story, and it was bliss. I was broken, yes, but something about this hug told me it wasn’t what I thought it was.

“Otokita, I love you,” she said, staying still as can be, yet still holding onto me just as tightly.

“I love you, too, Ishi.” I emitted with all my heart.

We kissed, on an empty dark road, with ruined smeared makeup, the taste of rice flour invading our mouths, but we didn’t care. Because all thought we would never be able to share our love with the world, we could still love each other. We could love each other until the day we die. Until the day I fulfill my promise to protect Chiba.

“You didn’t really care for that boy, did you?” I asked, regrettably.

“Never, I was simply acting out of anger and jealousy. I’m sorry, Oto,” she mumbled.

As the years moved on, I fulfilled my duty. Kawa accepted that I could never be his and eventually found himself the most beautiful woman he said he’d ever seen. I found that there were many troubles with being, not only a female Samurai but also a bisexual woman in love with another. It wasn’t until 6 years later did my sisters return to take care of my ailing mother. They were happily married to two different and feminist men. The Karanaki name had been carried on through my 2nd niece, and my mother died 8 years later.

I could never regret any of my choices- to raise my sisters Atheist’s, to become both an okugatasama and Samurai, to fall in love with a lost and nearly broken woman. None. It was what led me to my happiness throughout the struggle and judgment of 7th century Japan.

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for Sunday, november 8 of 2020 with Proverbs 8 and Psalm 8, accompanied by Psalm 48 for the 48th day of Autumn, and Psalm 13 for day 313 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 3rd revolution this year)

[Psalm 8]

God’s Splendor

For the Pure and Shining One

Set to the melody of “For the Feast of Harvest,” by King David

Lord, your name is so great and powerful!

People everywhere see your splendor.

Your glorious majesty streams from the heavens,

filling the earth with the fame of your name!

You have built a stronghold by the songs of babies.

Strength rises up with the chorus of singing children.

This kind of praise has the power to shut Satan’s mouth.

Childlike worship will silence

the madness of those who oppose you.

Look at the splendor of your skies,

your creative genius glowing in the heavens.

When I gaze at your moon and your stars,

mounted like jewels in their settings,

I know you are the fascinating artist who fashioned it all!

But when I look up and see

such wonder and workmanship above,

I have to ask you this question:

Compared to all this cosmic glory,

why would you bother with puny, mortal man

or be infatuated with Adam’s sons?

Yet what honor you have given to men,

created only a little lower than Elohim,

crowned like kings and queens with glory and magnificence.

You have delegated to them

mastery over all you have made,

making everything subservient to their authority,

placing earth itself under the feet of your image-bearers.

All the created order and every living thing

of the earth, sky, and sea—

the wildest beasts and all the sea creatures—

everything is in submission to Adam’s sons.

Lord, your name is so great and powerful.

People everywhere see your majesty!

What glory streams from the heavens,

filling the earth with the fame of your name!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 8 (The Passion Translation)

[Proverbs 8]

Can’t you hear the voice of Wisdom?

From the top of the mountains of influence

she speaks into the gateways of the glorious city.

At the place where pathways merge,

at the entrance of every portal,

there she stands, ready to impart understanding,

shouting aloud to all who enter,

preaching her sermon to those who will listen.

“I’m calling to you, sons of Adam,

yes, and to you daughters as well.

Listen to me and you will be prudent and wise.

For even the foolish and feeble can receive an understanding heart

that will change their inner being.

The meaning of my words will release within you revelation

for you to reign in life.

My lyrics will empower you to live by what is right.

For everything I say is unquestionably true,

and I refuse to endure the lies of lawlessness—

my words will never lead you astray.

All the declarations of my mouth can be trusted;

they contain no twisted logic or perversion of the truth.

All my words are clear and straightforward to everyone

who possesses spiritual understanding.

If you have an open mind, you will receive revelation-knowledge.

My wise correction is more valuable than silver or gold.

The finest gold is nothing compared to the revelation-knowledge

I can impart.”

Wisdom is so priceless that it exceeds the value of any jewel.

Nothing you could wish for can equal her.

“For I am Wisdom, and I am shrewd and intelligent.

I have at my disposal living-understanding

to devise a plan for your life.

Wisdom pours into you

when you begin to hate every form of evil in your life,

for that’s what worship and fearing God is all about.

Then you will discover

that your pompous pride and perverse speech

are the very ways of wickedness that I hate!”

[The Power of Wisdom]

“You will find true success when you find me,

for I have insight into wise plans that are designed just for you.

I hold in my hands living-understanding, courage, and strength.

I empower kings to reign and rulers to make laws that are just.

I empower princes to rise and take dominion,

and generous ones to govern the earth.

I will show my love to those who passionately love me.

For they will search and search continually until they find me.

Unending wealth and glory

come to those who discover where I dwell.

The riches of righteousness and a long, satisfying life

will be given to them.

What I impart has greater worth than gold and treasure,

and the increase I bring benefits more than a windfall of income.

I lead you into the ways of righteousness

to discover the paths of true justice.

Those who love me gain great wealth and a glorious inheritance,

and I will fill their lives with treasures.

[Wisdom in the Beginning]

“In the beginning I was there,

for God possessed me even before he created the universe.

From eternity past I was set in place,

before the world began.

I was anointed from the beginning.

Before the oceans depths were poured out,

and before there were any glorious fountains

overflowing with water,

I was there, dancing!

Even before one mountain had been sculpted

or one hill raised up,

I was already there, dancing!

When he created the earth, the fields,

even the first atom of dust,

I was already there.

When he hung the tapestry of the heavens

and stretched out the horizon of the earth,

when the clouds and skies were set in place

and the subterranean fountains began to flow strong,

I was already there.

when he set in place the pillars of the earth

and spoke the decrees of the seas,

commanding the waves

so that they wouldn’t overstep their boundaries,

I was there, close to the Creator’s side as his master artist.

Daily he was filled with delight in me

as I playfully rejoiced before him.

I laughed and played,

so happy with what he had made,

while finding my delight in the children of men.

[Wisdom Worth Waiting For]

“So listen, my sons and daughters, to everything I tell you,

for nothing will bring you more joy than following my ways.

Listen to my counsel,

for my instruction will enlighten you.

You’ll be wise not to ignore it.

If you wait at wisdom’s doorway,

longing to hear a word for every day,

joy will break forth within you as you listen for what I’ll say.

For the fountain of life pours into you every time that you find me,

and this is the secret of growing in the delight

and the favor of the Lord.

But those who stumble and miss me will be sorry they did!

For ignoring what I have to say will bring harm to your own soul.

Those who hate me are simply flirting with death!”

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 8 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 48]

Beautiful Zion

A poetic song, for the prophetic singers of Korah’s clan

There are so many reasons to describe God as wonderful!

So many reasons to praise him with unlimited praise!

Zion-City is his home; he lives on his holy mountain—

high and glorious, joy filled and favored.

Zion-Mountain looms in the farthest reaches of the north,

the city of our incomparable King!

This is his divine abode, an impenetrable citadel,

for he is known to dwell in the highest place.

See how the mighty kings united to come against Zion,

yet when they saw God manifest in front of their eyes,

they were stunned.

Trembling, they all fled away, gripped with fear.

Seized with panic, they doubled up in frightful anguish

like a woman in the labor pains of childbirth.

Like a hurricane blowing and breaking the invading ships,

God blows upon them and breaks them to pieces.

We have heard about these wonders,

and then we saw them with our own eyes.

For this is the city of the Commander of Angel Armies,

the city of our God, safe and secure forever!

Pause in his presence

Lord, as we worship you in your temple,

we recall over and over your kindness to us

and your unending love.

The fame of your name echoes throughout the entire world,

accompanied with praises.

Your right hand is full of victory.

So let the people of Zion rejoice with gladness;

let the daughters of praise leap for joy!

For God will see to it that you are judged fairly.

Circle Zion; count her towers.

Consider her walls, climb her palaces,

and then go and tell the coming generation

of the care and compassion of our God.

Yes, this is our God, our great God forever.

He will lead us onward until the end,

through all time, beyond death,

and into eternity!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 48 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 13]

Prayer Turns Depression into Delight

For the Pure and Shining One, by King David

I’m hurting, Lord—will you forget me forever?

How much longer, Lord?

Will you look the other way when I’m in need?

How much longer must I cling to this constant grief?

I’ve endured this shaking of my soul.

So how much longer will my enemy have the upper hand?

It’s been long enough!

Take a good look at me, God, and answer me!

Breathe your life into my spirit.

Bring light to my eyes in this pitch-black darkness

or I will sleep the sleep of death.

Don’t let my enemy proclaim, “I’ve prevailed over him.”

For all my adversaries will celebrate when I fall.

Lord, I have always trusted in your kindness, so answer me.

I will yet celebrate with passion and joy

when your salvation lifts me up.

I will sing my song of joy to you, the Most High,

for in all of this you have strengthened my soul.

My enemies say that I have no Savior,

but I know that I have one in you!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 13 (The Passion Translation)

[divinearchives]

Extended piece of Writing - work in progress...

She Of Afrikan diaspora This must be noted.

There are many Black women on this Earth with tones that beautifully contrast and have a longed, appreciative stamina for life, this began the creation of many truths, please remember that, this is just mine. With this conversation that I am now opening up, I pray that you now will be ignited to see through a more fair and patient lense of life. We all carry feelings that matter. Black women carry feelings that matter.

Love,

Divine Adeosun-Bright

Introduction

The Earth beholds many wonders and presents to us many moments that are of transcending beauty, one of which that resonates to me most is the timeless art that is the Black Woman.

In this essay I will be discussing our society's most underappreciated being, currently discussed as ‘Black women’. Also unocially known as me, I am a Black, Afrikan Woman - yes, it is true that I haven’t always been comfortable with that specic phrasing, there have been times where I had thought to prefer the term known as ‘Afrikana Woman’. This phrase was brought to me by revolutionist, Brenda Verner, she explains how feminist meetings would fail to acknowledge that Black women have dierent struggles to white women. Non-intersectional feminism inheritably preaches gender equality but with colonial justice. Afrikana womanism is a movement that prioritises Black women and their emotions, putting them in sole control of their decision making, it is the alternative to feminism which has been proven to explicitly prioritise a white woman's struggle in comparison to the women with Afrikan heritage. I will be reecting art pieces, conversations and my own personal experience being this woman of Afrikan diaspora living with the eects of colonialism within the now.

‘There are many incorrect depictions of Us/me that still stand today and it feels as if not many of us living in this society understand her, I have for many times felt misunderstood in my given vessel. It is true that sometimes I feel my feelings have had to be suppressed so that I can progress in life, the same way I feel that those feelings are being suppressed today so that Capitalistic societies thrive.’

I thought perhaps it is because they have never been taught. Society has not taught us how to love Black women which led to my essence as an Black woman being depreciated. I find myself having passionate conversations and then people labelling me as aggressive and unpredictable which inevitably grew into all of society's exclusion.

Loving her for who she is

See who she truly is instead of moulding her to what we think she should be, do not be fooled by what racism told us she is.

Do not mock her ancestry, nor invalidate her feelings and certainly do not praise her oppressor.

There were times in my life where I wished to change myself and to change my skin, those feelings were inside my mind at a young age which can only mean our society was not doing enough to ensure that Black women and children loved themselves. I didn’t wish to be blue, I wished to be white, presenting an obvious imbalance because there was not enough eort and resources going into the celebration of Black skin. There is a piece by Kandis Williams which expresses so tenderly: How it feels to live without appreciation. Williams talks from a perspective of total annihilation for herself, she explains how deep in her heart she wishes to be white, she speaks strongly as if she is casting a spell to change her skin. This feeling is tragically familiar to me, as a rising woman of Afrikan diaspora being raised in the now as British and I can say with my chest that it has taken a lot for me to love myself. I remember that feeling of needing social acceptance from White people. My mother married a White man after being in relationship with my Black father and I remember vaguely my mum saying she wanted me to marry a white man too - that comment confused me a lot however now I just see it as an issue to be solved and ridiculed, the whole idea about whiteness making you feel safer when what really makes a person secure and reliable is self-discipline not skin colour. My Step-dad didn’t enjoy me speaking about race, he believed the issue should be left in the past and that it is better now, it was very confusing... I grew up receiving racist daggers and no one to teach me how to defend myself because I was told this is wayyy better than before. All this made me very emotionally closed because I wasn’t able to tell others how I preferred to be loved.

She is a human being

Black women are beautiful goddesses from the sun. There are things we don’t like and there are things we like. Things we don’t like include racist people, colonialism and the feeling of someone not knowing your worth. Our likes include passion, the sun and our native foods. Yes that’s me, just your regular Nubian queen. That is likely what you’d probably hear if you asked her. So please stray away from the assumption that we are rude/ratchet, loud and any other unworthy stereotypes. I was gifted with a strong voice from the ancestors before me. Please listen to me when I speak.

Please respect my strength but understand I too am sensitive.

What I recall to be one of the hardest things with having Dark skin is the assumption that we are all super strong and made of iron inside and that we can deal with it all on our own. That is not true, we need people, just like the rest of the world.

This all, made me feel very unlovable. It feels so torturous, when the world relies on your strength so much and when you eventually snap they are unable to connect with you and call you a monster.

Lorna Simpson, through her work showcases our natural essence, she collages women from advertisement campaigns and lovingly intertwines their faces with earthly designed hair. The hair itself has a mind of its own which is very familiar to us women of Afrikan diaspora. With this she reminds us Black women of our beauty and sensitivity. Elizabeth Alexander introduces Simpson’s book and says ‘ I do not know a black woman who is at leisure. I have never known a black woman not eecient. Black women bide their time.’ I relate to this, it is true that the whole world is hard on us including our Black mothers as they try to prepare us for the rest of the world. I pray as time extends people see us more as human rather than resilient workers because this silent detachment leads to our emotional closure. A lot of us women in the Black community have our heart closed due to substantial pain from things like migrating countries, men betraying us and also the unjust killing of people in our community. So I feel like if you see a beautiful dark nubian queen, try and understand her pain before anything else. She has grown up in a society that doesn’t appreciate her and that is very damaging but not irretrievable...

It is not our fault that we are made strong...

Sometimes living as a Black woman does feel like you are unlovable but it is not true but i do feel that our society has proven to be intimidated by our strength & it is not our fault that we were made strong. Many of us push the barriers of this society naturally because it was not at all made to protect us. The avant-jazz album ‘Your Queen Is A Reptile’ by London jazz band, Sons of Kemet is an ode to loving and Respecting us warrior queen’s from Kemet(now known as Africa). Track titles are My queen is Harriet Tubman, My Queen is Yaa Assantewaa, My Queen is Albertina Sisulu etc... I feel the main message of this album is to say that the British colonial queen is a heartless colonizer, an invader of peace to put it frankly and she will no longer be the symbol of elegance and beauty for us daughters and sons of kemet as we seek to praise our ancestors who fought for our lives today. The songs are led by saxophonist Shabaka Hutchings who dedicated the rst track to his grandmother Ada Eastman. When I listen to this music, I don’t feel ignored or unloved, it is a beautiful feeling when you are being charged to dance, move and celebrate our ancestory as there is literally none of this in mainstream media. It is triggering when we are constantly highlighted for our struggle rather than strengths. Our society does not teach how to view Black people as equals just dependents.

Conclusion

I hope this information above has been helpful, it has been helpful for me to release. If ever in an uncomfortable interaction about race, listen and try to understand how it feels to be in the others shoes, we are, at times great at understanding ourselves but the true challenge is with understanding others.

[astridstorm]

Daughters of Abraham, Stand

Wow, it’s strange to be up in the pulpit after 4 weeks! But it’s good to be back -- good to see all of you. Thank you for your hospitality to my colleagues who covered for me while I was away; they really enjoyed their time with you. I want to point out that my sermon today will be quite a bit shorter than what you’ve been used to of late (so I understand). Hope that’s OK :)

We (my family and I) were on a road trip; all together we drove 4,700 miles in our blue van. Some of you doubted we could do it, but we did. Our destination was Colorado, where we stayed for a week, but we were very leisurely about getting there and coming back. 

Last summer we were in Italy and saw a lot of churches, but this summer we saw spiritual sites of another sort. And in America there are a LOT of them. We saw the balcony where Martin Luther King was shot, at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis. (Of course we also saw Graceland in Memphis, which some of you may count as a spiritual place of a sort. Sun Studios, definitely.) We visited the memorial at the site of the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City; we happened to be passing through there right after the shootings in Dayton and El Paso, so that was poignant. We visited Monticello in Virginia, to see of course the beautiful home Jefferson designed and built. But we also went there to see the newly opened exhibits featuring the slave quarters, including the home of Sally Hemmings, the mother of five of Jefferson’s children. 

That was our last stop, and it felt like coming full circle because our first stop was in Chambersburg Pennsylvania, where we visited the home of abolitionist John Brown -- and also the place on the outskirts of town where, with Frederick Douglass, he discussed plans for his raid on Harper’s Ferry (one of the key events leading up to the Civil War. I just learned, on this visit, that both of them were disguised as fishermen during those conversations. I had always wondered how two men as famous and distinctive-looking as they both were could meet, outdoors, for three days of intense debate and go unnoticed. Now I know.)

None of these stops were planned ahead. We just stumbled on them as we went. A reminder of how incredibly rich this country is -- rich in sin, and rich in promise. But again, good to be back with all of you. 

Tomorrow, August 26, is, in the United States, Women’s Equality Day, which was established in 1973 to celebrate the ratification of the 19th amendment granting women the right to vote. Next year, 2020, is the 100th anniversary of that event, so I’m guessing we’ll hear a lot more about it then. But I mention this today, this year, because our Gospel reading reminded me of it. 

This reading is from Luke, which of the four Gospels tends to have the most inclusive view of women. Jesus is preaching in the synagogue on the Sabbath day when a woman, bent over and unable to stand upright for 18 years, walks in. He sees her, and calls to her; in fact, a little later on he’ll call her a “Daughter of Abraham,” the only use of that honorific in the Bible. “Sons of Abraham” there are plenty of, but never once does anyone, except here, call a woman a “Daughter of Abraham.” That alone would make this a meaningful reading for the celebration of women’s suffrage.

But there’s more. He lays his hands on her and immediately she stands up straight. Controversy ensues about whether this healing was lawful on the Sabbath or not; we see this debate elsewhere in the Gospels, as when Jesus heals the man with a withered hand. There, too, some of the religious leaders object and make a commotion, and Jesus defends his action saying “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.”  About a year ago at an interfaith discussion held in someone’s home in White Plains (this was mostly lay people) I remember being apologetic about how critical our Gospels are of first century Jewish practices. To which a woman there (a Jewish woman) quickly shot back, “Well, it’s not as if we aren’t critical of Jewish practices back then, too.” Maybe less so in Scarsdale, but many Christians have this frozen-in-time snapshot of what it means to be Jewish, based on our Gospels. I’m quite sure Jews both then and today would be critical of that religious leader who scolded Jesus for doing this act of mercy on the Sabbath.

But it’s not the Sabbath debate that stands out to me today in this reading; it’s this woman, stooped, unable to look up or forward until one day, miraculously, Jesus helps her stand fully upright, eye to eye with those around her. She could be a stand-in for the women in those early years of women’s suffrage, weighed down and wearied by the seeming impossible task of being recognized as full citizens having every right as their male counterparts. She could stand for the women in the MeToo movement who for many years kept their secrets but then one day were empowered to stand up, and speak out.  She could stand for the women of Afghanistan (and so many other places around the world) fighting for peace, for better schooling, for more representation in their government. She could stand for the women traveling to our border, victims of unrelenting crime and violence in their homelands, unwilling for their families to endure such suffering any longer and looking for a place where they can stand tall, and unafraid.

This woman, our reading for today tells us, was “crippled by a spirit.” Some translations say “crippled in spirit.” (I guess the Greek is unclear.) Both ways, it works. Either she was crippled by the evil spirit of misogyny, arrogance, being ignored, the evil spirit of those who silence and demean others whom they regard as weaker, lesser. OR she was crippled in spirit from having to put up with it for too long and just being tired, stooped from the weight of it all. 

Until Jesus says Enough. And raises her up. And speaking (as Jesus uniquely does) both for God and as a man, calls her, on behalf of all women both then and now, what she deserves to be called: Daughter of Abraham.

Amen. 

[popcartoonkabala]

New Gods vs. Old Gods: The Juvenile as Divine Elder, or foil. Tammuz = Yesod she b Malchus

Jack Kirby, in his fixing of Super-hero Mythology for DC in the 70′s, conveniently avoids the war between the Super-modern and the inaccessibly ancient by having the Old Gods, obsolete and yet eternally important, enshrined in the Source Wall, out of commission as is truly the way of the Ancient of Day  שביתין ושבקין / חבילין דמעקין. 

The challenge is of this: who is satirized out of power, in the freshest story? Who is lionized into the spotlight as the moral of the story gives him the torch of grace? Part of the pop problem is the great parent-punch, where the wicked old gives way to the awesome: how to retell without vilifying the ACTUAL patriarchy of beloved family? This is the ultimate challenge of any non-dualistic narrative, religion, or experience of the schism that makes the world.

Narratives find ways by splitting the distinction between Good Parent and Bad Elder. Note with curiousity: The Angelina Jolie vehicle-version of Malificent takes the Evil Queen and spins her into grace as the Raven Fairy who only loves and is betrayed by the man that turns out immediately to be the Lame King, father of  “Sleeping Beauty.” The infinite purity/ecstatic naivety of princess Aurora is very contrasted with the wounded and knowing of Malificent, but the movie REFUSES to be enlightened enough to overcome the need for a villain, and so the Lame Father dies unrepentant for his crime against the goddess, falling out of a building. His daughter never appears, even for a moment, to mourn his death. 

The Illumination is coherent, and one god must be sacrificed for the rest to live. This is a fundamental part of Old Egyptian religious covenant, Set-as-Joker: one of the royal family must be villain in order for the heavens to be whole. Because informed masonry demands sacrifice, and cosmic order depends on the self-sacrifice of the highest angel-turned-enemy. The is the friendly gnostic Satan; Leviathan co-operative. 

This is the secret of the moon of Tammuz, who is also Adonis, the aspect of Who Knows but Alas! And Woe! For the great king is lost, fallen. But good news! He returns every few months and so does life. Why does he die? According to ld Sumerian myth, it’s because he rules oblivious to the damnation of his beloved Innana. She’s dragged to Hell by Irresistable Cosmic Forces that demand sacrifice for the sake of existence. Accepting this and yet still demanding to return to the earth, that there might be love, life and delight, she is given permission on condition that she bring down someone of equal stature. She returns to Earth in search of unfamiliar kings, but they are all humiliated, dressed in sackcloth and mourning her absence. Not so, her beloved Fisherman, King of the Satisfaction, Tammuz. He sits on the high throne, joyful and fruitful, so that there would be bounty. This offends Innana/Ishtar so, and she casts him down to Sheol/Hel, where he remains until his twin sister convnces Innana/Ishtar to take his place for half the year. So that the world can be. The Romans digest this story, calling Innana “Venus” and Tammuz “Adonis”, de-emphasising his divinity and instead emphasising his beauty and powerlessness before tragedy. 

"Then he brought me to the door of the gate of the Lord's house which was toward the north; and, behold, there sat women weeping for Tammuz. Then said he unto to me, 'Hast thou seen this, O son of man? turn thee yet again, and thou shalt see greater abominations than these." —Ezekiel 8:14-15 

Things could always be worse. Ptolemy, strangely, claims that Phoenicians worship Mars as “Adonis” even as the comentary of his translator makes clear that Adonis is to be identified with Phyrigian Atys and Egyptian Osiris.  Adonis as an epithet like “Ba’al” could be any number of “people.” Literary readings, specifically of Shakespeare’s version of Venus and Adonis, offer to identify him with the Sun, defeated, which could be why the Crab that cuts down the Herculean SunGod is identified with the Moon, like in the Kabbalistic myth where the Moon indicates the problem in Sun and Moon sharing one crown, a criticism that leads to the weakening of the moon into cycle of wax and wane.  Egyptian Osiris, alternately and meaningfully, was the Sun (Ra) when he was alive but became Saturnine and next worldly upon his castration and defeat by the trickster villainGod Set, leading to the claiming of the Sun Throne by Horus, alternatingly refered to by the Hellenists as Mars or Apollo  This Osiris, you’ll recall, is identified by Heraclitis and Plutarch as identifiable with both Saturn, Hades, and Dionysus, all one “for whom they wage and wail”. The Talmud in Avodah Zara further identifies this composite Vegetation, Fertility, and Underworld deity with the Biblical Patriarch Joseph.

Mishnah: IF ONE FINDS UTENSILS UPON WHICH IS THE FIGURE OF THE SUN [or a dragon, they are prohibited]. 

Therefore the first and last clauses deal with the act of finding and the middle clause with the act of making! 

Abaye said: That is so, 

the first and last clauses deal with the act of finding 

and the middle clause with the act of making. 

Raba said: They all deal with the act of finding,

 and as for the middle clause it is the teaching of R. Judah. 

For it has been taught: '

R. Judah also includes the picture of a woman giving to suck 

and Serapis.'

A woman giving to suck alludes to Eve who suckled the whole world; 

Serapis alludes to Joseph who became a prince [sar] 

and appeased [hefis] the whole world.

Avodah Zara 43:a

                               The implication here is profound: There is a difference between the one who feeds the world and the one who creates the world, the feeder being inherently more vulnerable, because he is closer to you. Friedriche Nietche identifies Prometheus with Dionysus, Sarapis and Tammuz, another face of the tragic hero, in his Birth of Tragedy. All drama and all tragedy, as well as all idealism as to the value of crime-as-liberation-as-concience are expressed through the divinity of theater. The similarity in the Joseph story in the bible is undercut by the tradition connecting Joseph’s death to the Summer Solstice, as well as his Messianic identifcation as the Hero who Appears To Die but Actually Feeds The World. The irony, biblically, is the degree to which he also innovates selling the world into slavery, for his grain, much like agriculture and intoxication make a certain sort of willing slaves out of us all.                   

Slaves to a good master, are his sheep, happily sacrificed as are all the innocent people killed in the background of every exciting explosive hero moment. Kurt Vonnegut in his pinnacle work Breakfast Of Champions tries to break the cycle, and set his characters (heroes?) free. It’s important to try and break a cycle, if we can. The heroes themselves want to be better, and stop all wrong from being, and for this, we the incapable appreciate them.

One ancient proto-Cinderella is the proto-Buddhist deity Kwan Yin; the poor, righteous orphan worked to death, but then sainted into immortality as the Goddess of Yin.  She will not stop from her chores, so she gains the power to set anyone else free. Building merit in the Buddhist narrative comes with the promise that labors will, ultimately, be appreciated. She is the Tammuz here, except even more virtuous. 

Biblical Abraham finds a way out of sacrificing child, partly by putting Bull in his place. But sacrificed the child is, the circumcision compels caution and restraint of vision and creative imposition of will. Siegfried and Sigmund, Gilgamesh and Horus are all untroubled by parent-imposed wound; on the contrary it is the Osirian Father and The Wild Man who is castrated, Votun whose spear shatters. This is what is offensive about the civil impulse of Abraham: it's a first step in what pretends to be a trustworthy, eternal stability, relatively likeable over the nightmare of Babylon and Ur.  Vonnegut is in a proud tradition.

------------------ In one of the first stories published and circulated, the Epic of Gilgamesh, the sacrifice of the fallen lover of the Queen of the Dawn is noted as a model NOT to be imitated. Gilgamesh distrusts the Goddess, because her love destroyed the greatest mythic heroes. This offends her to a fairy tale degree, and he must contend with this hostility/affection. This cannot make him trust her more, but it does keep HIM from becoming a divinity, enshrined in the stars and months as the summertime moon of mourning and tears, “Tammuz”. Also known as Dumuzi “The Sheperd/The Fisherman” Superman, like Tammuz, is an often dead-and-ressurected Solar deity. He is not failed by love, or made vulnerable by either idealism or corruption-- nonetheless, he is not, and may never be, a father god. To the degree that he ever has children, he cannot raise them, an idea explored in Bryan Singer's Superman Returns and in Greg Weissman's Young Justice alike, both of which treat superman as a very uncomfortable absentee father, unable to take almost any emotional or functional responsibility for the bastard children cloned from or identified with him. The best he can do is rescue and preach, but he cannot devote himself to specific children-- in 1950's superman “imaginary” apocalypse literature, being responsible for wife and child is exactly what finally cripples and destroys superman after all. It's a bit different for Batman, formed from the duality represented by his two horns. Conflicting duality, Black and white, is the very definition of Gothic. Metropolis is not, and can never be, Gotham, even in narratives as inversionary as Kingdom Come or Dark Knight Returns: Gotham is Black & White, Metropolis is gleaming bright gold and steel. And yet-- Both are New York City, just as equally. Or wherever the capitol of the world is. This is part of the absurd theatre that the city becomes. Age plus success equals implication in the eternal crimes of the city, or increasing merit in the construction of that which is beloved about it. Superman's and Spider-man's eternal youth is partially their innocence and alienation from the source of the problem. Batman is different-- he is not a solar deity except in the context of his own internal cosmology; barring that, he's as lunar as it gets. One of the main mythic responsibilities of the Moon is to literally second guess the Sun, with a question that divides the kingdom but restores wholeness and insists sensitivity to the failure of the normative order. This is the moral advantage that Batman tends to have over Superman-- although in Grant Morrison's post 52 Action Comics, this order is inverted-- with Batman being the super-mainstream expression of society's natural beneficence, and Superman as the radical socialist, come to critique and overcome the corrupt excesses of the Great City. This will not last, hardly lasting into Morrison's brief run, any more than the original populist Superman of 1938's Action Comics #1 was able to be anything other than a cheerleader for the American Way, once exposed to the wider airwaves.  Superman is also categorically NOT a child, but most Superman villains for all intents and purposes are; it's the nature of tyrants. Superman's presence, and functional stasis, are in the space in between the super maturity/responsibility of a new adult, freshly but firmly out of his parent's home, but not building a life of his own. Numerous brilliant efforts at writing the story of Superman as father have been written, but none allowed to be canon. The Super child of Kingdom Come appeared once, and then becomes unavailable, the great Kurt Busiek  “Birthright” treatment could only occur in distant earth prime, a reality conspicuously destroyed in the Infinite Crisis. Contrast this with Batman, who is defined by his pack of children and lovers. 

The problem of lovers and sidekicks:  First, it's meaningful how easy it is to confuse the two in relationship to Batman, as opposed to Superman. A lover, a ward, and a friend, all of whom can share the occasional title of “partner” if they're so graced, but generally come to play the part more of some kind of a cavalry; a children's crusade as training unit to take care of peripheral missions (which often tend to wind up being crucial situations that the kids get stuck in.) There must be a pattern, occult logic hopes, to how these peripheral helpers form naturally off the sweat of the overwhelmed human hero.  First is Robin. Notably somewhat gender neutral in impression, or at least too young to feel overtly masculine, the role has been taken by a range of kids over the generations. 

Two girls, four boys, not counting the myriad alternate realities, Robin is the defined First Supplement to the super-competent Batman, and traditionally, the stand in for the reader themselves. All Robins, unlike Batman himself, must be trained to some degree before the traumatic event that leads them to abandon normative childhood to become child soldier vigilantes. Compare this with the Batgirls-- similarly trained before the signal to masked vigilantism in some variety of acrobatics or combat-- in either case, it is the existence of something like a Batman that pulls these boys and girls out of the wood work to support the Batman's apparent mission. This is powerfully satirized in the film Super, where one man's psychosis, borne out of a combination of some kind of brain damage, sexual frustration, weird religious fundamentalism and exposure to pop-television, inspires him to become a ferocious vigilante, dealing out justice to anyone he witnesses offending him somehow, with his chosen weapon: a wrench. This inspires the girl who works at the comic book store to want to come along, help in whatever (violent) capacity, which can be as simple as screaming at a defeated foe, and at a crowd surrounding the action, about how fucking hot they are.

There is a similar relationship described in many astrological systems between the Sun and Mercury, described in the Talmud as “the scribe of the Sun.” (   Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 155b) The mythic relationship between Apollo and Hermes, between Horus-Ra and Thoth, between Sol and Odin all describe this similar intimacy that all have witnessed in the physical movements of the literal star Mercury (just called “Kochav” in Hebrew, literally “Star” or even “Mark”) in direct correlation with the movements of the Sun itself. The narratives that emerge to describe why and how this arrangement came to be are meaningful whenever they are. Mercury is known traditionally as the Greco-Roman tradition as the “youngest of the gods,” stealing, working, tricking and charming his way to godhood after most of the worldly and divine order are established. But when Julius Caesar and Tacitus witness the main father god of the Norse and the Celts, Odin, they readily identify him with Mercury, as do all subsequent generations of syncretists. Mercury and Thoth, the gods of intelligence and communication, who teach language to the world-- there's some mystery about how much they are the ones who initiate creation, and just stay aloof enough not to have to rule. This model goes back to African Anansi, who although the most vulnerable in most of the stories, winds up with all the stories, tricking his way to the very beginning of creation, and perhaps made the whole origin possible. Hebrew Kabbalistic tradition, relating to the biblical Seven days of creation, attributes the creation of divinities in the heavens, stars and angels alike, to the Fourth day. The original light that filled all creation from the first moment was pulled back and hidden away also smaller forces, priorities and characters would shine. Tuesday night at 6pm is already Wednsday in this model (“It was evening and it was morning the fourth day,) and so the tradition makes clear that Mercury was the first amongst the stars, before even the Sun and the Moon, although the sun and the moon are identified with the conflicting primordial masculine and feminine that divorce on the second day of creation, they come not into their minor fullness and place in the heavenly heirarchy until Mercury emerges, followed by Jupiter, and then Venus. Saturn takes it's place at the center of of the week, just as the Sabbath is the center of the weekdays, surrounded by three on each side, on the opposite end of Mercury. Theres a whole game-mystery of reverse-on-reverse, where the attributes of one is expressed only in the other, hence much of the confusion and evolution of the heavenly hierarchy-- who ever acts as if they're in charge must not be in charge, whoever acts as if they're foolish is the smartest one there is. Hence that traditional self mutilation and even partial suicide of Odin, who hangs himself and lets himself be pierced in the side in pursuit of Knowledge, also indenturing himself like biblical Jacob as a shepherd, just to learn, furiously. The fool, the child, stepping blindly, might actually have a plan all along, all the plans even. But it's not clear, because we're being tricked.

Venus, on the other hand is never tricking you-- it's your own will that compels you forwards, and hence the deep confusion about how originative she is.  Greek philosophers came up with two distinct Aphrodites: one, the cosmic, celestial and originative, borne out of  Uranus's castrated phallus, once it fell into the great ocean, and second, the lower earthly one, “Pandemos” identified with worldly passions, as opposed to originative cosmic yearning.  The main distinction between a moon goddess and a Venus is how much they are defined by their wildness and independence vs. civilizing eroticism in the context of consortium chambers. Wonder Woman is not a Venus; she's an Artemis, a Diana.  The Moon might depend on the light of the sun, but it's not trying to impress the sun, and that's the dignity of the moon vs. the intoxicating intimate irresistibility of the morning star. Every other plastic come hither is more of an Aphrodite, like Poison Ivy, Catwoman, or Vampirella.

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Speaking of the difference between Lovers and Sidekicks: Who is closer? Superman and Batman or Superman and Wonder Woman or Batman and Wonder Woman? Generally the first, as often almost the other two, especially maybe in any given future, as too many World's Finest stories are told (god forbid) and maybe one of the other two. There was some investment in a Batman/Wonder woman romance for a time, and in a Superman/Wonder woman coupling occasionally, both and either treated as almost messianic unions. The child is rarely seen, or used as more of an omen, or future narrator, because he's too perfect to fathom for long.

This dreamchild is a huge issue in comic book apocalypticism, one which, to my knowledge, is rarely  translated to Cartoon or film, perhaps because it's too disturbing except for horror. It's certainly one of the stranger parts of Kubrick's 2001: A space odyssey, and it's been coming up more and more: It was the major plot development of Alan Moores LOEG 2009, as well as Jonathan Hickman's extended Fantastic Four/FF run, where the previously similar Franklin Richards, oft hinted to possess invincible power in the future, emerges as a major character, both as a divine child from the chronological present, and as the nigh-omnipotent and apparently immortal that he grows up to becomes, a god over gods, who enslaves Galactus the world eater and fixes time. His introduction and incorporation is a testament to Hickman's narrative ambition, to make the shocking future more accessible; not humanized, but appreciable. This is the aspect of the redeeming child, which is who the old testament ends with the promise of, and in at least a few French and Italian traditions, who the Tarot begins with.

Noted Kabbalist R' Nachman of Breslov tells an allegorical story once about a master of prayer whose mission is, partially, to reunite a shattered royal family, torn apart by a hurricane.   Very few of the actors in this family are able to actualize their redemption and reunification except through some degree of personal expression and actualization in the context of being found by those who seek them. The child is both the oldest and the youngest, last found most central. But who is the youngest of the gods? The inevitable answer: whoever is most compelling at their root, is who is infinitely focused on in youth, specifically. This is who can be “youngest of the gods” and oldest of fathers all at once. R' Nachman tells another story, about sailors on a great ocean marooned on an Island with a great tower. On this tower they find great food and clothes stored away, and upon feasting and relaxing begin to ask each other “what's the first thing you remember?” As they begin to describe progressively more originative memories of what becomes closer and closer to the first moment, the history of expressed kabbalistic exploration is also shared, with the approach to the earliest moment of almost-existence expressing the most innovative mysticism, as well as revealing which amongst the crew is secretly the oldest of all assembled. Naturally, ironically, meaningfully, the youngest amongst them is the one with the access to the most primordial memories, and is revealed by the stories end as secretly the oldest of them all, as the assembled sailors are met by the owner of the tower, the Great Eagle, who leads them out in similar fashion to biblical Joseph's arrangement of his brothers, in age order, with the first and oldest actually being the youngest. It occurs to me something similar occurs with certain Pantheons, where Mercury or Anansi are the youngest of the gods, and secretly the originators of all language and narrative, and, as such, all existence.

The advent of graphic literature came with two directions-- the violent and the romantic. But it started with the neutral gendered Kid. The original image that first spoke with an avian fowl surprising a medium into existence was The Yellow Kid. Although satyric images hewn into stone have appeared since as long as anyone can remember, the novelty of a sequential set of images, creating a popular story medium never before quite possible in the history of graphic literature. Heralded by that bald pre-heroic central pillar of engaged, powerless but invulnerable; infant-king recurs in Windsor Mckay's dream hero Little Nemo, but survives into modern hero cartoon as  Kirby-Lee's Uatu The Watcher, The Last Airbender, Mxyzptlk,  and even into as a number of specifically Superman Villains, notably Mxyzptlk, Lex Luthor and especially Brainiac, who also parallels a number child-monsters spawned from science or alien world-- the borg/Trelane, V-ger, Ultron, Moondragon assorted children of heroes who were transformed by any encounter with the cosmic. What is this original kid? The first card in the Tarot, 0/Aleph, is called the fool but identified with the divine child, the youngest one in the room who still remembers further back before any one else, even though all appear older than him. It's the very first moment, that remains as innocent and entirely original and revolutionary as it did that very first moment where a stupid blind step was taken out of nothing and no where.

His manifestation as Robot-alien is profound and the ultimate terror, literally. The dynamic relationship between Hank Pym and his two robot “children” (both notably bald) is indicative of this tension: one is profoundly noble, and even humanly capable of devotion, nobility and love, and the other is heartless, monstrously devoted to the death of all flesh, with an alarming tendency towards actual genocides and atrocities-- such is the gamble of blind capricious invincibility, that something wonderful and/or something terrible might emerge. Notice the moral flexibility of the Superman villains in this model too, their tendency to incarnate as heroic occasionally, if not often, bespeaks the degree to which the chaos that Superman is reining in actually can go either way in it's selfish fervor.

The secret truth of the universe is the degree to which we'd rather not acknowledge that the hunger is our own, The great hunger consuming all is the good that surrounds, filled with an astonishing depth of emptiness within. It's tail, it's tale, is the problem of how to end a story that lives to not end: the pickle of pop narrative myth.

What is the earliest version of the end of Herakles? He never does the thing that he's ultimately prophesied to do, that is, replace the father god as Master of the Universe as Zeus did to his hungry horrible father before. Hercules ascends to heaven, and there can be no more stories about him after that-- until the Cartoon serials resurrect him into modernity. The Greeks have no Apocalypse, because their stories, like the Egyptian, Vedic, and Babylonian astro-narratives before them, aren't meant to end; and by the time they might, slipping into mediocrity (Christianity) they lose control of their essential narrative, as the Roman Book of Revelations is written from a Greek island used as a way station for exiles from Judea. The ancient Egyptian apocalypses turn quickly into creation myths, reflecting the suspicions of cosmic cyclicalism reflected by the solar voyage. The exception to this rule is the Trojan War, from whose survivors the literary Romans claim descent as elaborated (or invented?) in Virgil’s Aenid, before he dies and guides Dante through the depths, as Innana was once guided. Story endings are invitations for strangers to pick up the charachters, now literally in the public domain.

  The alternative to the Apocalype/Resolution model is a beginning and and end that are ultimately relatively unrelated, i.e. an ULTIMATE end that offers no future. Many characters are born from this scenario, this moment, and then brought back into the present. The X-men are replete with such figures, notably Cable, Bishop and the Rachel Summers Phoenix, who is dragged to the end of history to become the great goddess Askani, before being brought back to youthful modern triviality. Both Cable and Rachel Summers, it must be noted, shared parents, the great noble first couple of the house of X(-men.)

So too with Hercules, Samson, and King Solomon: another Christ child made immortal by his ability to travel into the future. The Legion of Superheroes only really comes back to see one particular hero--Superman, or maybe sometimes Abe Lincoln, or Julius Caesar. Super-villains just go back for Helen of Troy. Hercules comes to New York as easily as he makes it to Hollywood. Inevitably.

Later this week: more about the Divine Julius and the Romulan/Vulcan tension, in the context of Star Trek and Old Roman Religion. Plus: Audio cast about the mystery of Enoch and Markolis (Hermes/Thoth); i.e., how and why does a person become the voice of G-d, identifiable with and representing? Only on  Pop Cartoon Kabalallalalalalalalalaaaaaa!  

1Kurt Busiek, as opposed to contemporary diamond age adventists like Mark Waid, Peter David and Karl Kesel, suffers on explorations of characters and concepts that are inherently peripheral. This is his genius, and perhaps his curse, an eye that gazes specifically on the pop-awesome from a certain degree of alienation and distance. This is the way he was able to partially intiate the Diamond age of late nineties integration of Silver Age awe into super-modern dark age post-modernism, without the filter of Warren Ellis's cynical cleansing cinematude.

2Dark Knight Returns, at this point in our cultural discourse, might as well be considered cannon of sorts. The pre-apocalyptic vision of an aged Batman returning, somehow not to fight “crime” but to overcome military dictatorship by rallying the gangster children of Gotham into a militia army parrallels the transition from an alienated elite mission to a genuinely populist heroism, an authentically helpful radical Batman, at last on the same page with the people he was ostensibly protecting, but generally more just keeping down. This is the only moral triumph that can ever justify a weirdo like Batman, his personal crusade against the kind of “crime” that killed his parents being naturally extended to a socially intelligent revolution that would unseat the essential alienation that IS the cause of “crimes”.

3   Babylonian Talmud, mesechta Shabbat 155b