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sirtravisjacksonoftexas · 4 years

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Was there animal death before the Fall? Were Adam and Eve hunters? Um, let’s find out…

The story of Adam and Eve is one of a short-lived golden age, where humans were sinless and at peace with both God and nature. The first man and first woman initially lived without the cares of a fallen world, without the ever-present threat of predatory animals and human depravity. They tended a garden, ate only fruits and went around in the nude (yes, they were not only the first humans; they were also the first nudists!). There was no violence, no bloodshed, all was peaceful and idyllic.

Or was it?

Recently, there have been some biblical scholars who have questioned this version of the Adam and Eve tale. Some now believe that the first humans were actually allowed to hunt, kill and eat animals. This seems to contradict Genesis 1:29-30 and 9:2-4, which together state that mankind wasn’t allowed to eat meat until after Noah’s Flood.

So...why do they believe this?

If you look at Genesis 1:28, the passage that occurs before the command to eat only vegetation, you find something intriguing:

“And God blessed them. And God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth.”

Now, in Hebrew, the terms for “subdue” and “have dominion“ are pretty savage. As the Hebrew scholar Ben S states:

“But the reality is, in Hebrew these verbs are shockingly harsh, even militant with a connotation of violent force.”

Ben S made a video on the subject. In it, he also points out that the Hebrew word for subdue (Kabas) is used 13 other times in the Hebrew Bible, and in 6 of these it is used for war conquest. 5 other uses of the word denote enslavement. Both of these uses fit, for the Hebrew word itself means “to subdue, overcome, enslave.”. In Esther 7:8 it is used in the following way:

“And the king returned from the palace garden to the place where they were drinking wine, as Haman was falling on the couch where Esther was. And the king said, “Will he even assault the queen in my presence, in my own house?” As the word left the mouth of the king, they covered Haman’s face.”

In the previous verse, Haman is begging Esther for his life. Since he is falling on the couch where Esther was, it’s quite possible that he is still pleading for his life, only for his actions to be mistaken by the King as an assault. Others think he was actually attacking her, and some believe that a rape is occurring here (remember this point).

Mica 7:19 uses it to show how God will “tread our iniquities underfoot.”

The other Hebrew verb used here, translated as “dominion” or “rule” in Genesis 1:26 and 28 (“Rada” or “Radah”) is, according to those who believe this theory, not meant to convey the idea of a person ruling over his own people unless he’s doing so in a negative manner. The term is not meant to show bureaucratic of administrative ideas, but simply rule. By itself it can convey injustice and harshness. Robert Alter, a Professor of Hebrew at Berkley University, wrote about this in his commentary on the passage:

“The Verb radah is not the normal Hebrew verb for “rule” (the latter is reflected in “dominion” of verse 16), and in most of the contexts in which it occurs it seems to suggest an absolute or even fierce exercise of mastery.”

Though Robert Alter doesn’t agree that humans were originally allowed to eat meat (as can be seen in his commentary on Genesis 9:2-4 in his Pentateuch Translation), he nevertheless agrees that Radah has a negative power connotation.

Its interesting to note that we see a similar use of violent language in relation to man’s dominion over animals in Genesis 9:2:

“Into your hand they are delivered” is definitely military-style combat language (compare with Joshua 10:8, Judges 3:8, 7:9, 2 Samuel 5:19, 1 Chronicles 14:10, Psalm 31:15, Jeremiah 46:26).

Another reason why these scholars believe that humans ate meat before the Flood is the similarity between Genesis 9:2-4 and other dietary laws in the bible that share the same structure. These latter laws state that the Hebrews could eat certain animals, but then give restrictions, saying that there are animals they cannot eat (Leviticus 11:1-12, Deuteronomy 14:6-12). They were already allowed to eat meat, but God, through Moses’ command, was giving them restrictions that mankind never had before. A similar restriction is found in Genesis 9:4;

“But you shall not eat flesh with its life, that is, its blood.”

Both Genesis 9:2-4 and the later dietary law passages in Leviticus and Deuteronomy are using the same Hebraic prohibitive formula. Therefore, just as the Mosaic dietary laws were about eating meat, something that they were already allowed to do, so Genesis 9:2-4 is likewise about meat eating which, according to the theory, is something they were already allowed to do. Only the restrictions were new. The fact that Genesis 9:2-4 shares the same Hebraic prohibitive formula with these later dietary laws is seen as evidence that mankind ate meat before the Flood.

Combined with Genesis 1:28-30, it leads people who hold to this theory to conclude that humans ate meat form the beginning.

One is left with conclusions that goes far beyond Adam and Eve hunting game.

Mankind was not meant to be nature’s stewards.

We were meant to be its conquerors and dictators.

We were meant to master and crush nature under our sandals.

Such an idea finds some similarities with how the ancient Greeks viewed nature. Indeed, the mark of a great hero in Greek myth was the ability to dominate nature. Hercules’ 12 labors were the biggest examples of this belief. Nature wasn’t seen in a positive light. As David George, professor of Classics at Saint Anselm College, once stated (Edited version):

“The ancient Greeks viewed nature as a scary place. They wanted to live in harmony with nature, but nature was a (insert cuss word that rhymes with “witch” here) that if you didn’t watch would kill you, and that was their view. They did not have a romantic view of nature.”

Were the Hebrews the same way?

One would think that they would have had a somewhat similar view of nature to the Greeks. Indeed, we see echoes of this in the stories of Samson and David, both of whom killed wild animals (David killed a lion and a bear with his weapons (1 Samuel 17:34-37) while Samson tore a lion to pieces with nothing more than his bare hands (Judges 14:5-7). Jesus himself calmed a storm (Matthew 8:23-27). All of these would be examples of great heroes overcoming nature, bending it to their will.

Given this, is Genesis really teaching that we are to be stern conquerors of the animal kingdom? That we are not to be nature’s stewards? That we are to rape the earth the way Haman supposedly tried to rape Esther?

I can almost hear someone who takes this idea to the extreme:

“Don’t worry about Giant Pandas, we’re not to administer them; we’re to rule, and if they die out, too bad! If they get in our way of building a shopping mall, too bad! Casualties in war! Our world! Our world! Our world!”

Or perhaps...

“God gave us the earth. We have dominion over the plants, the animals, the trees. God said, “Earth is yours. Take it. Rape it. It’s yours.” (this second statement was actually said by the conservative media pundit Anne Coulter).

But is this theory right?

Did Adam and Eve hunt?

Did they eat meat?

Is man not to be nature’s stewards, not to take care of the animals and the earth?

Well…not quite...

1. If humans are supposed to hunt and kill animals for food…why does God only allow Adam to eat fruit in the Garden of Eden?

Genesis 2:15-17 states:

“The LORD God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to work it and keep it. And the LORD God commanded the man, saying, “You may surely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.”

If Adam was supposed to be the ultimate forbear of a species intended to cause mass worldwide bloodshed of animal life in order to eat them…why isn’t he given a spear (or told to make one) and commanded to hunt in Genesis 2 or even 3? Why is he seemingly allowed only to eat fruit in the Garden? If Genesis 1:28 is really speaking of humans hunting animals, and since that passage occurs before the vegetarian dietary laws in the next two verses, don’t you think that Adam would have been both initially and primarily a hunter, instead of a garden worker? Don’t you think that he would be shown to hunt in Genesis 2 or 3, if he was commanded to hunt and kill animals in Genesis 1:28? Course, the command of Genesis 1:28, if you look at it closely, had to occur after Eve was made (a man and a woman are in the passage. See verse 27), but even after Eve IS made...they are not shown to be hunting game. They are not shown to make spears or chase after animals. They are shown tending a garden, and the dietary law of Genesis 2:15-17 is still in play (Genesis 3:2-3). Thus, we’re back to square 1.

Now, some may protest, saying that if we went this far, then the Israelites only ate meat, as the dietary laws in places like Leviticus 11 only mention meat. However, not only do the contexts of those passages indicate that meat consumption alone was being restricted, not all forms of food, but we also have evidence that vegetation was also eaten by the Israelites (check out the menu for the Passover meal, for example (Exodus 12). We also have to remember that meat was not a common food item in the ancient world. Animals were more valuable as providers of wool, milk and cheese and hair than meat. If an animal died or was sacrificed, then its fair game, but otherwise, it was better to let livestock live a long time and provide milk and other goodies instead of killing it solely for meat. Indeed, this way of thinking about livestock continued into later times, such as the Dark Ages.

One could also make the objection that just because God said that Adam was to eat fruit in the Garden doesn’t mean that he wasn’t allowed to eat other things. After all, if your father told you as a kid “you can eat cookies, but don’t eat my oatmeal cookies, or you’re so grounded!”, this doesn’t mean that you have to eat only cookies and no other food item in the house. Some people may also object by stating that the fruit restriction doesn’t mean that Adam couldn’t have a wider menu if he occasionally left the Garden (the dietary laws of Genesis 1:29-30 are far less strict that the dietary law of Genesis 2:16-17). If This strictness may have been due to the spiritual significance of the garden (when Adam was assigned Garden duty in Genesis 2:15, priestly instead of royal terms are used. Later Israelite priests maintained the status of sacred spaces). Plus, the Garden of Eden has many similarities to ancient palace gardens, which were in turn quite similar to modern public parks. There would have been paths among both shade and fruit trees, watercourses, pools and landscaping. Sometimes these gardens had many different kinds of animals put in them, just like the Garden of Eden. It would not have been very likely for a gardener in such a palace garden to hunt animals that a king or queen put there to make it look more exotic, but they could kill pests inside it, as well as hunt outside the palace garden. Why not here in Genesis? Admittedly, these are all good points, but we have no indication from the text that Adam ate anything else while in the Garden, or went outside of it until after the Fall. Still, these are possibilities. However, even if some of these ideas were the case, it doesn’t therefore show that Adam and Eve therefore ate meat (Just because they may have been allowed to eat more outside the Garden doesn’t mean that they hunted and ate meat if they did venture outside it before the Fall. Just because some gardeners would have hunted outside a garden doesn’t mean that Adam and Eve did likewise). Also, we see a very peaceful setting and atmosphere conveyed in these passages, which clashes with the interpretation of Genesis 1:26-28 as a command to do to the natural world what Ronda Rousey did to Miesha Tate (see image below).

Plus, even if God did command humans to eat meat and storm the earth in Genesis 1:28, don’t you think it’s kind of odd that Adam is not portrayed here as doing so? Isn’t it odd that he is not seemingly obeying God’s commandment? He’s not shown to be God’s huntsman, but his gardener.

2. If Adam and Eve are supposed to go total blitzkrieg on the animal kingdom…why don’t they do so in Genesis 2 and 3?

Here is Adam, the first man ever made, the one whom God told to “subdue” and “have dominion” over the animals, the one whom God supposedly told to conquer the animal kingdom in a military fashion, the man who’s going to spear any critter he sees fit, the one whose going to unleash bloodshed against his animal enemies, and what does he do?

He…tends a garden (Genesis 2:15).

That doesn’t sound like a prehistoric version of Ernest Hemingway.

Oh, but of course, when he encounters animals for the first time, he’ll conquer them in a great hunt, sparring and slashing them until the Garden of Eden flows red with blood! That’s what he does next…right?

Um, no…he names the animals instead.

If he was supposed to be hunting and slaughtering animals for food, shouldn’t he be shown to be going outside the Garden to do so?

Indeed, God said that it wasn’t good for man to be alone, that he would make a helper for him (Genesis 2:18). God brings animals to him (Genesis 2:19). Adam named them all, yet found none that would be a “suitable helper” for him (Gen 2:19-20).

If animals were the “enemy”, the creatures he was going to enslave, kill or exterminate…why were they being described as “potential helpers”?

Remember, it’s not like only livestock animals are being brought to him; wild animals are as well (Genesis 2:19-20).

Indeed, names were thought to have power, and to name someone or something could signify power over them. God changed Abram and Sarai’s names to Abraham and Sarah (Genesis 17:5), changed Jacob’s name to Israel (Gem 32:22-30) and, after making him King of Judah, Nebuchadnezzar renamed Mattaniah “Zedekiah” (2 Kings 24:15-17). Name changing was a way to exert authority over an individual, but one could show their mastery over another by giving them a name, period. Adam did just that for the animals (though its possible that he actually renamed them; angels no doubt studied animals and had their own names for these creatures in their tongue). Heck, why do parents name their children when they are born? Because that is their child. If you name a child after she or he is born, it’s a good bet that it is your child, and ancient parents named their children like modern parents do.

Thus, Adam is exercising his “cruel, horrifying no-prisoners” worldwide dictatorship over the poor animals…by giving them names.

Repeat, by giving them…names.

He’s establishing his dominion without throwing a single javelin in order to assert his authority over the beasts.

Well, this has to change when God creates Eve, right? I mean, maybe Eve is the real hunter and Adam is the gatherer (the total opposite of prehistoric homo sapiens culture). That has to be it! Score for Women’s Lib, right?

Um…she’s never shown to be a hunter, either (see also chapters 3 and 4).

Indeed, she helps him tend the Garden.

Oh yeah, they’re really big game hunters.

Now, some may say “So what? Hunting and meat eating are mentioned in Genesis 9:2-4, and yet Noah isn’t shown to be hunting, but tending a vineyard (Genesis 9:20). Well, if one ascribes to the theory that Genesis 1:28 is also about meat eating, then we have a problem, because, if that is the case, then it is a command, while Genesis 9:2-4 is an allowance. Noah wasn’t commanded to hunt and kill; he was given permission. This doesn’t mean that he would. Meanwhile, Adam and Eve, who were supposedly told by God to hunt and kill animals...are tending a garden, eating fruit.

Some may say “Well, just because Noah isn’t shown to hunt, doesn’t mean that he never did so. It can be the same for Adam and Eve!”

Well, this kind of objection was already answered earlier, but let’s give it again with different details. The objection above obviously goes against the peaceful setting conveyed in Genesis 1-2. One doesn’t get that peaceful vibe in the world after the Flood. Its nowhere near as idyllic, and if you read the passage about Noah in full, you’ll see that sin is in the picture, while sin doesn’t enter Adam and Eve’s story until the serpent arrives. Before then, its a peaceful existence of tending a garden, a peaceful existence between God and man and between man and beast.

Once again...If Adam and Eve are commanded by God to hunt and kill in Genesis 1:28...why are they not shown to be doing so?

3. If mankind is not to be nature’s steward but its strict, harsh master and conqueror, If mankind can ravage the earth…why aren’t Adam and Eve shown to be doing so in the passage?

There is a big difference between destroying a rain forest, draining the Aral Sea, causing climate change and…tending a Garden.

How is tending a Garden showing God-approved environmental negligence? We don’t even see God telling Adam and Eve to spread the Garden over the whole earth and destroy ecosystems while doing so.

No, they are just tending a Garden.

Doesn’t that speak volumes to you about the idea that mankind is supposed to rape the natural world, like Haman was supposed to have raped Esther?

Indeed, God himself commanded the Israelites to have a Sabbath year in Leviticus 25:1-7. After every 6 years, the Israelites were to let their land rest from farming for a single year. Though there were religious reasons for this (the sabbath day of rest), there was also an environmental reason as well. You see, irrigation can lead to salinization of the soil. If its done for too long, the soil can become too salty for farming use. Many Mesopotamian farmlands were abandoned because irrigation made them fallow. By instituting the Sabbath year (as well as the year of Jubilee, which was a year of rest that occurred 1 every 50 years), the environment could be kept secure for farming. In other words, it kept the Israelites from polluting the ground.

Does that sound like “The Earth is yours. Take it. Rape it. It’s yours.” theology?

This isn’t humans destroying the environment in order to establish their God-given right to exercise harsh rule over the earth.

This is God commanding Israel to take care of the land he was to give them, a land that HE would always be the ultimate owner of, with the Israelites his subjects (Leviticus 25:23).

This is nature stewardship.

Just like Adam and Eve, who were also made in God’s image (more on that later) and who seemed to represent God in a priestly function, tended a garden as his stewards.

And yet…Genesis 1:28 teaches that we are not to be nature’s stewards????

I don’t think so, Tim.

Indeed, if Adam and Eve were supposed to go gung-ho on animals, and the Israelites knew the story of Adam and Eve well, then why weren’t they going gung-ho on the animals in the land flowing with milk and honey, mass slaughtering critters like the Khans of the Mongol Empire did? Do we read anywhere in scripture where the Israelites exterminated wildlife, or wiped out bears and lions? These latter two animals were well feared competitors (Bears in particular were more feared than lions (Amos 5:19), and if any animals were to be slaughtered by humans bent on the conquest of the animal kingdom, one would think it would be these animals. Heck, one might expect the to wipe them out! And yet, lions didn’t disappear from the Holy Land until the 13 century AD, and brown bears didn’t vanish from the Holy Land until right before WW2. This doesn’t mean that Israelites didn’t kill these animals occasionally (1 Samuel 17:34-37), or that they didn’t hunt down and kill individual lions or bears that were known to have killed a human being (Genesis 9:5-6), but they nevertheless allowed these animals to exist in the land. Some may object, saying that often the Israelites weren’t following God and thus might not have attempted to exterminate certain animals then. However, the Israelites were also often devout, going through cycles of wickedness and then repentance (as the books of Judges, 1 and 2 Kings and 1 and 2 Chronicles show). Indeed, before they were to enter the land, they were not told to exterminate bears and lions, but Canaanites and other inhabitants (though that language was actually hyperbolic, not intended as a literal genocide. See “Is God a Moral Monster” by Paul Copan, pages 158-85). We never see God or any of his prophets condemning Israel for continuing to allow bears, lions, wolves, hyenas, honey badgers, etc to exist, never see them criticizing the Israelites for their seeming “live and let live” mentality.

After all, if Genesis 1:28 is military language, and if lions and bears were raiding livestock and at times killing people, wouldn’t they be a military threat to be engaged with by utmost force? Shouldn’t they have been slaughtered if not rendered extinct by men who should have been the Hebraic equivalents of Nimrod, who was called “a mighty hunter before the Lord” (Gen 10:9)?

Um, guess not.

3. If the similarity between Genesis 9:2-4 to the later Mosaic dietary laws of Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14 means that humans were eating meat with God’s approval long before the Flood, then Adam was eating from the Tree of Life before the Fall!

Did you notice what Genesis 2:15-16 stated?

Let’s look at it again:

Do you notice how similar that statement is to the dietary laws of Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14? How similar it is to Genesis 9:2-4?

All of them have the same Hebraic prohibitive formula, stating what people can eat and then giving a restriction.

In this case, the restriction is the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

However, every other fruit tree is fair game…including the Tree of Life.

Keep in mind, Adam had just been created and then taken to the Garden of Eden (Genesis 2:7-8). He had not eaten anything before this happened.

And yet if we go by the reasoning of those who follow the theory about animals dying before the Fall…then we would have to conclude that Adam had somehow eaten of several fruit trees, including the Tree of Life, before he got to the Garden of Eden!

Sound’s as likely as a Hippo singing “It’s Not Unusual” by Tom Jones.

Or Hillary Clinton wearing a MAGA hat...

This is especially the case, considering that the fruit of the Tree of Life gave one immortality, and God didn’t want Adam and Eve to partake of that fruit and live forever after the Fall (Genesis 4:22). That’s why he put a flaming sword and two Cherubim angels (which were depicted in ancient art often as winged human-headed bulls or winged sphinxes) to guard the Tree of life (see verse 24). This is a BIG indicator that neither Adam or Eve ever ate from that tree (it was one of those “get around to it” kind of things I guess). Adam never ate it, either before he reached the Garden of Eden, nor after he got there. Indeed, the text shows no great amount of time between his creation and his entrance into the Garden, and no indication that he got even a small snack before his journey to Eden.

This totally debunks the notion that the Hebraic prohibitive formula of Genesis 9:2-4 indicates that humans ate meat before the flood.

4. If Genesis 1:28 and 9:2-4 show that mankind was allowed to eat meat, then why don’t most biblical scholars recognize this?

One article that serves as a major basis for the idea that animal death occurred before the Fall is “Death and the Garden: An Examination of Original Immortality, Vegetarianism, and Animal Peace in the Hebrew Bible and Mesopotamia” by Joshua John Van Ee. His thesis is very revealing, yet in a way that people who accept the theory of animal death before the Fall might not realize.

On the 250th page of his thesis, he states:

“Nevertheless, if 9:3 is a clarification, what is the purpose for the

comparison with plants? Doesn't it imply that meat-eating is new, that plants

were given first in Gen 1 and meat later in Gen 9? Most commentators

assume such a temporal element in verse 3: "As (I previously gave you) green

plants, I (now) give you all (animals)." This assumption needs to be

questioned.

‘A few commentators confront this majority opinion but with limited

success. “

In other words, his view is not in agreement with the consensus view among biblical scholars on this issue.

This alone should have use question any claims that the Hebrew syntax in the Genesis dietary passages shows that meat eating was allowed at the beginning. If this was the case…then why don’t most biblical scholars know it? Are most of them ignorant of the Hebrew texts? Do most not even know Hebrew?

5. Genesis 9:24 makes no sense if meat eating was allowed (Or allowed a lot) before the Flood.

Let’s look at it again:

“The fear of you and the dread of you shall be upon every beast of the earth and upon every bird of the heavens, upon everything that creeps on the ground and all the fish of the sea. Into your hand they are delivered. Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you. And as I gave you the green plants, I give you everything. But you shall not eat flesh with its life, that is, its blood.”

Notice how it says “The fear of you and the dread of you shall be upon every beast of the earth and upon every bird of the heavens, upon everything that creeps on the ground and all the fish of the sea”?

Why are the animals so scared?

“Into your hand they are delivered. Every moving thins that lives shall be food for you. And as I gave the green plants, I give you everything.”

Sounds pretty straightforward, if man was only allowed to eat plants before then (or ate far less meat than in later human history. Keep reading…)

Look at verse 4 again.

“But you shall not eat flesh with its life, that is, its blood.”

If we conclude that meat eating was allowed in abundance before the Flood, then why would animals be spooked about being drained of blood first before being eaten?

Um, I’m telling you right now; if a bear is chasing me, I’m not going to need a new clean pair of shorts because it intends to drain my body of blood before it eats me.

I’m going to need a new clean pair of shorts because the bear intends to eat me, period.

Maybe the next passage can help enlighten things? Let’s look at Genesis 9:5;

“And for your lifeblood I will require a reckoning: from every beast I will require it and from man. From his fellow man I will require a reckoning for the life of man.”

Well, that’s one extra reason why animals would fear man, but if you look at 9:2-4 and then 5, you can see that the reason animals will be afraid of man…is because humans will be hunting them. That’s the reason why the fear and dread of humans will be upon the animals.

Notice, the passage doesn’t state “The fear and dread of you has been on the animals.” Instead, it states it will be on them. This denotes a future event.

If humans were not only hunting animals at the beginning of history, but hunting them with a savage zeal fit enough for militaristic Hebrew verbs…then why are animals only afraid of us after the Flood?

Now, to be fair, one can imagine animals having some fear of man before the Flood (especially during the violence of the pre-flood era), but…this amount of fear? If animals feared humans before the Flood, they certainly fear humans even more after it. It sounds like something seriously has changed, that something frightening has emerged in humanity that will scare critters silly.

Something like…eating meat?

Or perhaps…eating a lot more meat (keep reading).

6. If Radah does not convey bureaucratic or administrative duties, then why is it translated as “officials” twice in scripture?

1 Kings 9:10-28 records Solomon’s many building projects, including the Jewish Temple. Solomon did conscript non-Israelites to work on his projects, but notice what it states in verses 22-23:

“But Solomon did not make slaves of any of the Israelites; they were his fighting men, his government officials, his officers, his captains, and the commanders of his chariots and charioteers. They were also the chief officials in charge of Solomon's projects--550 officials supervising those who did the work.”

And do you know what Hebrew word is translated as “officials”?

Radah.

Now, at first, this idea seems to support the idea of cruel overlordship of animals and the natural world, because the language here is one of slavery, thus cruelty and oppression(and remember, Remember, Radah is not supposed to have bureaucratic or administrative aspects, like what we would associate with a steward. It’s supposed to have negative connotations). Indeed, slaves were considered property like livestock…right? However, not only were Israelite slave laws far more humane than those of their surrounding cultures, the word “Radah” here is being used for…officials.

What do officials do?

What are they doing in the passage?

They are supervising the slaves.

How does one define “supervisor”?

Merriam-Webster gives us a hint:

“one that supervises especially: an administrative officer in charge of a business, government, or school unit or operation”

What is the definition of Bureaucracy?

“a body of nonelected government officials”

And what is a bureaucrat?

“a member of a bureaucracy”

These slave officials were supervisors, doing administrative duties, and, not being elected (they were chosen by King Solomon), are bureaucrats.

And yet the Hebrew word Radah doesn’t have administrative or bureaucratic aspects?

BTW: this same story is repeated in 2 Chronicles chapter 8. Those same officials are mentioned in verse 10.

Radah is likewise used.

Thus, Radah can have administrative and bureaucratic aspects.

5. Just because violent language is used in Genesis 1:28 doesn’t mean that humans were killing or eating animals.

There was a movie back in the 80’s called “D.A.R.Y.L.”, about a boy who has a computer for a brain. After he is adopted, his new father (who coaches a little league team) sees if his new son can play baseball. Daryl, who has never played baseball before, hits the ball every time. Each hit is a home run. The Father then has Daryl and another boy named Turtle to come over to him, where he says that Daryl will be his secret weapon. When Turtle mentions the name of a team they will soon play against (the Warriors), Daryl’s father says “We’re going to murder them!”

Haven’t we heard many coaches in real life say something like that? Haven’t we said after a seriously 1-sided game that “That was a slaughter!”? Haven’t we heard players say “We’re going to war!”? Back in the 80’s, my older brother Justin played a high school football game against a team whose players were HUGE. They were on average much larger than the Liberty Panthers (My brother’s team). After some excruciating plays my brother say down next to another player who was injured. He looked at my brother and said “Medic!”

Medics are used in military combat, right?

And how many times have we heard statements like “The War on Poverty”, or “The War on Science”, or the “War on Christmas”, or the “War on Christian values”, or the “War on obesity”?

Do any of these “wars” involve tanks, missiles, fighter jets and battlecruisers?

Did they involve guns, knives and hand to hand combat?

What about “Price wars”? Are those armed conflicts?

What about the “Monday Night Wars” between WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment) and the now defunct WCW (World Championship Wrestling)? That was a “ratings war” between these wrestling companies that centered on their Monday night shows (WCW had “Monday Nitro” while WWE had “Monday Night RAW”). Both aired at the same time, competing against each other for viewers. On one occasion, DX (Degeneration X), a wrestling stable or team that was led by the famed wrestler Triple H, dressed up in military clothing and rode a “Tank” toward the stadium where WCW was having a Monday Nitro event.

DX even had bullets and guns! Obviously, THIS was a war, right?

Um, sorry, it wasn’t.

Notice how many times we use pretty violent language today, for things that are not violent at all? Even pro wrestling isn’t real fighting, but choreographed. None of these “wars” were real wars. None of these games had military-style violence and KIAs.

Why wouldn’t the ancient world be any different?

Indeed, it wasn’t different.

Consider, for example, Psalm 74:13-17:

“You divided the sea by your might; you broke the heads of the sea monsters on the waters. You crushed the heads of Leviathan; you gave him as food for the creatures of the wilderness. You split open springs and brooks; you dried up ever-flowing streams. Yours is the day, yours also the night; you have established the heavenly lights and the sun. You have fixed all the boundaries of the earth; you have made summer and winter.”

If you know ancient near eastern literature, you can understand right away what is going on here. Leviathan was known in the ancient city of Ugarit as “Litan” or “Litanu”, and like the Hebrews, they thought it was also multi-headed (specifically 7 heads). In Ugaritic literature, it is depicted as the personification of the sea, as well as the god of the sea (similar to how the goddess Nyx or Night was the personification of the night as well as a goddess of the night in Greek myth). It was viewed as being overcome by the Canaanite god Baal. Likewise, the ancient near east was home to creation myths that dealt with violence, with gods battling dragons. Marduk, Babylon’s chief god, battled the sea dragon Tiamat in the Enuma Elish. After he killed her, Marduk used her body to make the earth. Dragons served as chaos language, representing the forces of watery chaos at the beginning of creation, and the biblical writers did the same thing here. However, unlike their pagan neighbors, they were doing so only in a figurative sense, not being literal. The reason for this is that there is no violence in the Biblical creation tale (Genesis 1-2). Leviathan is used as a metaphorical personification of the sea. Whenever the Biblical authors wrote of Leviathan, they were most often using it as a metaphor for the sea, or the watery chaos that God controlled or subdued in Genesis 1.

In other words, they were using violent language to describe a non-violent event.

Just like we do today.

Here are some other biblical examples:

“For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ." 2 Cor 10:3-5

"Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God." Eph 6:11-17

“In all these things, we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us." Rom 8:37

“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” Matt 10:34 (see also verses 35-37)

True, Genesis 9:2-4 also has violent language, and it does refer to eating meat, but the context of that passage (especially when combined with numerous later passages that describe hunters and meat eating) indicates humans hunting animals, while the context of Genesis 1:28-30 (when compared to chapters 2 and 3) does not. Indeed, Genesis 9:2-4 doesn’t mean that we are to treat animals the way the Israelites treated Philistines in warfare; it means they are to be hunted. The term “into your hand they are delivered” could be used poetically or perhaps in a hyperbolic fashion, or the term may have been used by the Israelites in other contexts other than warfare (and thus wouldn’t be military-style combat language).

Course, the peaceful setting of Genesis 1-2 could potentially allow some level of violence (including human “violence” towards some animals, though not hunting-level violence).

Indeed, as we will see...it actually does (keep reading...).

6. The fact that we are made in the image of God means that we are stewards of the earth.

What does “Image of God mean”?

What did God mean when he said “Let us make man in our image, in our likeness…” (Genesis 1:26)?

In the ancient near east, kings were often said to be the image of a certain god, and therefore they had a divine right to rule. They claimed to represent a god to the people. Why did they have this belief? Because these kings were often also high priests (sound familiar? Gen 14:18, Hebrews 5:10, all of chapter 7, and Rev 19:16), and were thus thought of as having a connection with the divine. There was even a Sumerian proverb at the time that stated “Man is the shadow of god, but the king is god’s reflection.”

A king was to rule his people, not exterminate or hunt them for food. He was to take care of them, not wipe them out so he can build a strip mall. He is to rule the people, not having any of them killed unless it is necessary (such as a murderer who is to be executed). And the King ruled as a representative of divine authority, the true power behind his throne. He was subservient to the god as the people were to him. The god was the one who truly had absolute authority, the king being his steward.

And what is a steward?

A person hired to run a household or estate.

As stewards represented their authority of the head of the household, so did ancient near eastern kings represent the authority of their gods.

Likewise, man is made in God’s image (Genesis 1:26), and we are to have dominion over the animals (Genesis 1:26-28).

This stewardship is likewise seen in the Israelites relationship to the land. As mentioned previously, though God gave Israelites the land, he let them know that it belonged to him, and that they were to take care of it, not destroy it (Leviticus 25:23-25).

We are indeed to be stewards of the earth, not its demolishers.

The idea that mankind was initially to have a blood-fest, and that we were not to take care of the earth and its animals, is thoroughly debunked by the Biblical, linguistic and cultural/historical background evidence that shows otherwise. Mankind is to be God’s steward, ruling with his authority, ruling as kings and queens of the earth, his representatives to nature. We are to run the earth in the name of the Lord, and the animals are our subjects. True, military-style language is used in Genesis 9:2-4 with animals being delivered into human hands, but this doesn’t mean that humans are to wipe out animal species (remember Noah’s Ark?) or destroy the Biosphere, only that human diet was going to change. This is fact, not fantasy.

Just as it Is fact that humans didn’t eat meat until after the Flood, right?

Um…not so fast.

For one, did you notice that sea animals are not listed in the dietary laws of Genesis 1:29-30? The beast of the field, the birds of the air, the creeping thing, everything that has the breath of life is given vegetation for food. And yet…sea life is not mentioned in the dietary law. Their creation is mentioned earlier (verses 20-21), as well as humanity’s dominion over them (verse 26), but they are not mentioned in verses 29-30 as being given vegetation to eat.

This begs the question…what were they eating?

They have to be eating something.

One could therefore be open to the possibility that some marine animals were eating meat.

And where does God allow mankind to eat salt (a mineral) or cheese in these passages? Does God’s food laws here forbid humans from eating these things, or are they not as strict as they seem? God never tells Noah “You can now eat cheese and salt”, and yet these things were eaten later. Most likely, they were probably eaten before the Flood as well.

Another thing we have to remember about Genesis chapter 1 is that God telling people about creation in a way they can understand, and this can be key to understanding the dietary laws of Genesis 1:29-30.

For example; have you ever wondered why light appears on day 1, while the sun appears on day 4 (compare Genesis 1:3-5 to verses 14-19)? Have you ever wondered why there were evenings and mornings without a sun for 3 days until the sun was created? This may come as a shock to you, but…the ancients didn’t believe that all daylight came from the sun. Repeat; they didn’t believe that all daylight came from the sun. Why is this? Because they didn’t have modern science; they lived in the ancient world, while at the same time understanding their universe through their own observations and culture. And considering their ignorance of modern science, it’s easy to understand why they thought that not all daylight came form the sun; there is some daylight in the morning before sunrise, and some shortly after sunset. Even total eclipses don’t remove all sunlight. Likewise, whenever a cloud that blocked the sun, or indeed an overcast, sunlight was still there. Thus, the ancients didn’t think that all daylight came from the sun, and thus wouldn’t have a problem with the idea of mornings, evenings and light before the sun was made.

Now, to be fair, some point out that the verb and tense usage in the passage on day four, when compared to Genesis 1:1, indicates that the sun and moon came into view, and thus were previously created. Thus, they could have been made in any of the earlier days, if not before. However, the text doesn’t state what day that occurred. It could have been day 1, day 2, day 3…we just don’t know. One can lean on this factor for an old earth interpretation of the Genesis creation story, but the startling truth remains that if the sun had been made on day 2 , 3 or 4 (after the first day, when evening, morning and light first appear), the Israelites wouldn’t have had a problem, and the ambiguity of the text leaves open the possibility that the sun and moon were still made after the 1rst day.

Likewise, the ancient Israelites also thought the moon glowed, not simply reflecting sunlight (it’s called “the Lesser light” in the passage).

Also, have you ever looked closely at Genesis 1:6-9?

“And God said, “Let there be an expanse in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.” And God made the expanse and separated the waters that were under the expanse from the waters that were above the expanse. And it was so. And God called the expanse Heaven. And there was evening and there was morning, the second day. And God said, “Let the waters under the heavens be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear.” And it was so.”

Why is the sky called an “expanse” (in some translations a “vault”), and why is water being described as both above it and below it?

Because the ancients believed that there was an ocean above as well as below the sky.

They also though it was solid, not gaseous like the air below it.

This upper ocean was thought to be where rainwater came from, courtesy of the “floodgates” or the “Windows of Heaven” in the expanse that at times opened to let it through (Genesis 7:11, 8:2).

This was the view of not only of both ancient Jewish and pagan writers, but the early Church fathers as well.

Now, we know that all daylight actually comes from the Sun, that the Moon doesn’t glow, that the sky is not solid or blocking a celestial ocean, and that it doesn’t have windows that let’s rainwater come down. Nevertheless, these things were written into the creation account of Genesis, by a God who knew how the universe was not like that.

Why?

Probably because God was talking to ancient humans in a way they could understand, just as you’d talk to a child in a way they could understand. For example, if a child asks you where babies come from, would you give them explicit sexual details? Of course not! No, instead you might say “They come from God.” Its not an inaccurate thing to say, for though we understand the science behind conception, we also understand that its ultimately God’s will if a conception occurs (Genesis 30:1-2), though the explanation leaves out the scientific facts. Thus, you are telling them about their origin in a way that they can understand, in a way that won’t go over their heads (and scar them for life!). You may instead decide to tell them about the stork (which, curiously enough, has sexual imagery, which a child wouldn’t get...until they grow up and understand it, probably with shock like I did. This will be the subject of a later article). Likewise, God was talking to the ancients about creation in a way that they could understand, getting down to their level. He wasn’t giving a science or history lesson; he was telling the ancients about creation in a way they could get. He was telling the ancients about himself, his relation to creation and to man, as well as man’s role in creation.

So, if God wasn’t intending for Genesis 1 to be scientific…shouldn’t we think twice before considering it as literal history as well? Shouldn’t we instead look for the deeper meanings being conveyed in the passage, like we do with the Book of Revelation? Shouldn’t we instead read between the lines?

If Genesis 1 mentions glowing moons, a hard firmament and potentially daylight that came from sources other than the Sun…then why would we believe that all animals and humans, at one point, were entirely herbivorous?

Another thing we need to remember is the poetic language. Unlike the rest of Genesis, Genesis 1 isn’t narrative in form, but poetic. Given this, we need to consider that the idea of man and animals eating only plants in Genesis 1:28-30 may not be meant to be taken literally. Indeed, it could be hyperbolic, to reflect the fact that not only did humans eat far more vegetables and fruit than meat in the ancient world, but that there are more herbivorous animals than carnivorous animals, the latter a fact that the ancients could tell by studying nature. If predators outnumbered prey, then soon the former’s food supply would run out and they would face extinction. However, if it’s the opposite, then predators could have a sustainable food source. The ancients could tell by being in the wilderness than prey animals far outnumbered predators. Could this be the reason why humans and animals are said to eat “only” vegetation in the passage? Is this poetic hyperbolic language? Is this why mankind was “allowed” to eat meat in Genesis 9:3-4 and yet animals are never seemingly given this same permission from God in the passage (or anywhere else in scripture)? Maybe the reason why is because they will keep eating like normal…while humans will be eating more (perhaps far more) meat in their diet than normal.

True, Gen 9:2-4 is used in a connective manner to Gen 1:29-30, but this could be comparable to Exodus 20:8-11’s comparison of the Israelite’s work week and sabbath to God’s creation work week and day of rest in Genesis 1. This has been taken by some to mean that both the Israelite work week and the Genesis work week are identical, but those who believe this forget two things; both work weeks involve far different working methods (How many farmers you know that can make crops grow by saying “Let there be crops!”, or bring rain for them by saying “Let there be rain”?), and the creation work week is a cosmic week, a metaphor for a long period of time. We see this in the creation tales of some cultures. The Pit River tribe of Utah, for example, have a creation story that states that the universe was created in 10 “summers” and 10 “winters” (cosmic seasons). Uncle Ramsey, a Pit River tribal elder, revealed that these seasons were meant to convey 10 billion years. The Zuni and Navajo creation stories likewise indicate a truly astonishing old age for the universe, and these stories were circulating long before western science discovered the correct age of the earth and the universe.

Likewise, the Genesis week is nothing more than a metaphor for eons, for deep time. Thus, in both work and length, God’s work week is not the same as a human work week. Likewise, the dietary law in Genesis 1:29-30 is not going to be on par with Genesis 9:3-4 (indeed, the former doesn’t even follow the same Hebrew prohibitive formula). One can see both, however, being used in a hyperbolic fashion (Hyperbole is found in Hebrew Biblical narratives, particularly with war rhetoric (See “is God a Moral Monster” by Paul Copan mentioned earlier).

Course, this once again brings up a problem; where does the Bible show Adam and Eve eating meat? Where are they shown to be hunting in Genesis? Heck, they’re never shown to be hunters, only gardeners!

Well, if Adam or Eve bit into a fruit that doesn’t need to be peeled (like a cherry or apple)…then they’d be swallowing bacteria that will be on it (bacteria are found on fruit). Thus, whenever they ate such fruit (and fruit that didn’t have to be peeled first did exist in the garden; neither Adam nor Eve are shown to peel the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of Good and Evil), they’d be eating the bacteria with it. If they licked their lips after eating such fruit, they’ll be ingesting bacteria that might have been on their hands. Likewise, if Adam, Eve or later pre-flood humans ever ate moss (some moss is edible), then they would be consuming not only the Moss, but the tardigrades (aka “water bears”) that live on them. These fat microscopic little critters are not bacteria or viruses, but tiny invertebrates that are found all over the world. If you eat moss (such as in a situation involving starvation, or out of just sheer curiosity), you’ll be not only eating moss…you’ll be eating tardigrades.

But were they eating anything else?

One cannot make Adam and Eve hunters, considering that they are shown to be at peace with the animals.

Well…not all animals.

You notice…no fish are presented by God to Adam as a potential helper…!

You’ll also notice how, though fishing does involve animal death, the act of fishing is far less violent (and generally far less dangerous) than hunting animals. Indeed, fishing is a far, far more peaceful pursuit. Though Adam is told to eat only fruit in the garden, one could imagine him wading into a river or lake bordering the garden and fishing. One could imagine him eating it outside the Garden. One could imagine fishing continuing after the Fall. One could also imagine hunting being invented later, but it being done rarely. Hence, why animals are afraid after the flood, now that humans will “eat meat” (i.e. hyperbolic indication that they will eat more meat).

Course, the fishing idea is not proven, and only fruit is mentioned as being food for Adam and Eve in the passage. Then again, however, tardigrades and other microscopic organisms are not listed on the Genesis menu either (the Israelites didn’t know about them), and yet Adam and Eve unknowingly ate at least some of them as well. Indeed, if the Israelites had somehow learned about the existence of tardigrades and bacteria (they didn’t), then they would have classified them as “creeping things”. Thus, they would recognize that Adam and Eve were eating “meat”.

And if they ate those critters, perhaps they ate others, like fish.

However, there is one important biblical objection to consider here:

How can there have been animal death before the Fall when the Fall is what brought death into the world?

At first it seems like the Fall brought death, if we compare Genesis 2:17 and 3:2-4 with 1 Corinthians 15:20-21 and Romans 5:12.

However, if you look at these passages, you’ll see that these verses, along with their context, are relating humans with death, not all living things with death.

Indeed, if Adam and Eve were to die if they ate of the forbidden fruit, at the very moment that they ate it (Genesis 2:17), then why didn’t they immediately die after eating it? Why did they live on after the Garden? Why did Adam go on to live 930 years (Genesis 5:5)?

This sounds more like spiritual death than biological death.

Also, if mankind was originally created to be immortal, and if death didn’t exist until the forbidden fruit was eaten, then why was God worried about Adam and Eve eating the fruit of the tree of life…and becoming immortal? Indeed, why would the Tree of Life even be there, with fruit that could make one immortal, if Adam, Eve and all the animals were already immortal? If one wants to make the argument that they lost their physical immortality the moment they ate the forbidden fruit, and could only get it back again by eating of the Tree of Life, then they need to explain why the Bible doesn’t state that is the case. It seems most likely that they were not made immortal initially, and that the Tree of Life offered immortality, while the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil offered both forbidden knowledge and a loss of innocence.

They chose to eat from the latter.

They chose to learn something that was damaging, chose to disobey God, instead of choosing…life.

Indeed, they chose temporary sin…instead of eternal life.

That’s some rich symbolism right there.

That symbolism wouldn’t be anywhere near as strong if the Tree of Life didn’t offer eternal life before Adam and Eve ate of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, choosing to consume its fruit instead. Indeed, it would be practically non-existent.

Plus, if you notice Genesis 3:22-24, it indicates that Adam and Eve were not immortal, not that they had just lost immortality. They never had immortality to begin with.

Thus, if they had not sinned, but had not eaten of the Tree of Life in the Garden, they would have eventually…died.

Just like the other animals in the world that didn’t have access to the Tree of Life.

Now, some may object, stating that surely a loving God would not allow animals to suffer and die for eons and eons, that God is too good to allow innocent, sinless creatures to suffer from predation, illness and other calamities over billions of years. Surely, God is not like that!

Well, let’s think about that for a minute.

God allowing innocent, sinless animals to die…

Dying so that predators and their offspring could live…

Dying the world over, so that the living world could continue, perhaps even for…ever….

Doesn’t that sound like a Rabbi carpenter that we know?

You know, the “Lamb of God”, the “Lion of the Tribe of Judah”, who died so that those who nailed him to the cross, and every other sinner (whose sins likewise nailed him to that very cross), could truly live forever?

One can understand that, just as God chose some animals (all of which are sinless) to die horribly so that predators and scavengers would be spared starvation, God chose Jesus (who is likewise sinless, the source of all purity) to die horribly so that sinners (including those who actually killed him) would be spared…damnation.

Just as God chose some animals to die so that life on earth could continue, God chose Jesus his Son to die, so that life could continue into the New Heavens and the New Earth to come.

Just as God chose some animals to die so that life could go on, potentially forever, so did he choose Jesus to die so that we could have everlasting life!

Just as God had innocent animals to be sacrificed in the Old Testament so that the Israelites could be ritually forgiven, so God likewise chose Jesus, King of Innocence, to be sacrificed on Golgotha, so that we could be spiritually forgiven.

We often see similarities between Old Testament and New Testament stories. We call these old testament similarities “typologies”, a sign of things to come in the New Testament.

Why can’t we see the same in nature?

Why can’t we see natural typologies?

God did make nature, and he does teach us things through nature (Romans 1:20), right?

Why can’t we see him using the natural world to teach us about Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God?

Why can’t we even see these eons of innocent death and suffering as pointing towards the innocent death and suffering of Jesus Christ?

Folks, the Bible teaches that we are to rule the earth as representatives of God. We are to take care of it, not destroy or ravage it. We are to be kings and queens of nature, and animals are to be our subjects, not victims of mass slaughter. We can hunt them and eat them, but we are not to exterminate them from the world.

If God put them here, why should we remove them?

If God didn’t wipe them out in the Flood (remember Noah’s Ark), then why would he want us to wipe them out?

And yet, mankind has eaten other living things besides plants since the beginning. We ate more of the latter after the Great Flood, which is why animals fear us.

As Christians, let us remember to challenge new theological beliefs with study, research and inspection. Let us be ready to dissect such ideas to see if they have any merit, or none at all. Let us be ready to spot unsound doctrine, and let us study the word, know the word, meditate on the word and pray for God’s illumination on his word, so we can better defend God’s word.

Sources:

“IVP Bible Background Commentary: Old Testament” by John H. Walton, Victor H. Matthews and Mark W. Chavalas, 28-29, 39, 49, 65, 411, 510-11, 540

“Archeological Study Bible” (NIV), 127

“Cultural Backgrounds Study Bible” (NIV, 4-7, 11, 22, 952-54)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8h33TyJkzwQ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zsK1gcCI618&t=683s

“The Hebrew Bible: A Translation with Commentary; The Five Books of Moses” by Robert Alter, 11-12, 32

“Zondervan NIV Exhaustive Concordance: Second Edition” by Edward W. Goodrick and John R, Kohlenberger III, 819, 969, 1104, 3870, 8080.

“Origins” by Paul Copan and Douglas Jacoby, 109-110

“Clash of the Gods” Documentary series, “Hercules” episode.

“Fossil Legends of the First Americans” by Adrienne Mayor, 149-51

“How it works Book of Incredible History” by April Madden (Editor) and Jon White (Editor-In-Chief), 15

“The Jewish Study Bible” (Jewish Publication Society Tanakh Translation)” by Adele Berlin, Marcf Zvi Brettler (editors) and Michael Fishbane (Consulting Editor), 14

“Science: Was the Bible Ahead of its Time?” by Ralph O. Muncaster, 22

“Dinosaurs and the Bible” by Ralph O. Muncaster, 28-29

“Holman Illustrated Bible Dictionary: Completely Revised, Updated and Expanded” by Chad Brand, Charles Draper and Archie England (General Editors), 177-78, 1042.

https://escholarship.org/content/qt0qm3n0mt/qt0qm3n0mt.pdf?t=o4ho0y

http://www.joeledmundanderson.com/making-sense-of-genesis-1-the-fundamental-biblical-worldview/

“The Time Traveler’s Guide to Medieval England” by Ian Mortimer, 172-73

“Ultimate Encyclopedia of Mythology” by Arthur Cotterell and Rachel Storm, 287, 293, 297, 326

“Smithsonian Institution: Animal” by David Burnie and Don E. Wilson (Editors in Chief), 537.

https://www.mercurynews.com/2017/04/21/what-is-ann-coulter-saying-thats-got-everyone-so-worked-up/

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/supervisor

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/bureaucracy

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/bureaucrat

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/steward

https://www.lifehacker.com.au/2020/02/what-type-of-bacteria-lives-on-your-fruit-and-vegies/

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2013/03/130327190542.htm

https://web.cn.edu/kwheeler/Genesis_texts.html

https://www.livescience.com/53452-herbivores.html

https://www.primalsurvivor.net/edible-lichen/

https://microcosmos.foldscope.com/?p=17901

“The Monday Night War: WWE vs. WCW” documentary series

https://www.wwe.com/classics/dx-invasion-wcw-nitro

https://www.ancient.eu/article/1458/the-nerge-hunting-in-the-mongol-empire/

https://www.theoi.com/Protogenos/Nyx.html

#Adam Eve Flood Bible God Jesus Animals

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assemblyoftheway · 5 years

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FISHERS OF MEN OR FISHERS OF PAGAN DOCTRINE???

The famous symbol that is displayed on the back of cars is said to be used for two reasons, because Christians are told that it is used, because they are called to be "FISHERS OF MEN" and because it represents HaMashiach. However, is this True?

Rev. Hislop states:

“HaMashiach began to be popularly called ICHTHYS or ICHTHUS, which is 'the FISH', manifestly to identify him with DAGON." Two Babylon’s By Rev. Alexander Hislop p. 247

WHY WAS HAMASHIACH CALLED ICHTHYS OR ICHTHUS (FISH)?

Augustine of Hippo, a church father, gave his reason for putting the name, ICHTHYS or ICHTHUS, on HaMashiach:

"If you combine the initial letters of the FIVE GREEK WORDS, which are IESOUS CHREISTOS THEOU UIOS SOTER (Jesus Christ the Son of God the Savior) they make the word ICHTHUS, meaning FISH, and the mystic meaning of this noun is Christ, because He had power to exist alive, that is, without sin, in the bottomless pit of our mortal life, as in the depths of the sea." – City of God, translated by E.M. Sanford and W.M. Green, vol. V, p. 447, By Augustine

Augustine’s attempt to justify the adoption of another element of pagan worship in the Church’s syncretism, “Christianizing” pagan practices, emblems and even pagan deities, is how paganism gets mixed with the Messianic belief.

Tertullian, another church father, identified HaMashiach as a FISH, by calling him “our FISH.” He wrote:

“But we little fishes, are born in water according to our FISH (ICHTHUS), Jesus Christ.” – Symbols Signs and their meaning, p. 185, By Arnold Whittick

This is all doctrine of men. There is no where in the scriptures where HaMashiach is called a fish. He is called the Mediator Hebrew 8:6, Nazarene Matt. 2:23, light of the world John 8:12, the WAY, Truth, and Life John 14:6, etc. The deep love, respect, and worship of the fish emblem is clearly forbidden in Deut. 4:15-19 and if you are into this, your more then likely spiritually drunk off the wine that’s in the golden cup Rev. 17:2-5 which is the fornication of idolatrous practices. When you read Deut. 4, the Most High sent out a command to the children of Israel, and told them do not add to his word nor take away from his word and to take heed of yourself lest you corrupt yourself and make you a graven image. One of them he named was “THE LIKENESS OF ANY FISH that is in the water beneath the earth.”

WHO IS DAGON?

DAGON is an ancient Mesopotamian and ancient Canaanite deity. He appears to have been worshipped as a fertility god in Ebla, Assyria, Ugarit and among the Amorites. Dagon was the chief deity of the Philistines, and the worship of this pagan god dates back the third millennium BC. According to ancient mythology, Dagon was the father of Baal. He was the fish god (dag in Hebrew means “fish”).

WHERE IS DAGON MENTIONED AT IN THE SCRIPTURES?

There are three places where Dagon is mentioned in the Bible. The first mention is Judges 16:23, where we are told that Dagon was the god of the Philistines. The Philistines offered “a great sacrifice” to Dagon, believing that their idol had delivered Samson into their hands. 1 Chronicles 10:10 mentions a temple of Dagon in which the head of King Saul was fastened. Then, in 1 Samuel 5, Dagon is brought to humiliation BY THE TRUE ELOHIM (ALHYM) of the Israelites. So, The Most High does not like this pagan god, and if he don't like this pagan god, he don't like the FISH symbol, and the love and respect people show to this symbol. Deut. 4:15-18

“Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the TRADITION OF MEN, after the RUDIMENTS of the world, and not after HaMashiach.” Colossians 2:8

“The Idols of the heathen are silver and gold, the work of men’s hands.” Psalm 135:15

“Wherefore my beloved, flee from Idolatry.” 1 Corinthians 10:14

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sempervirens117 · 4 years

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The Golden State Wine Chronicles: Update 01.28.21

The penultimate scene of Driving Miss Mobley is now available on Medium. The final scene will be published this Friday, and the entire screenplay will be submitted to screenwriting competitions and fellowships this spring. A huge thank you to all who supported this writing project in person and on social media (Twitter, Yelp, Facebook, Tumblr, WordPress) and the wineries and tasting rooms of Napa…

View On WordPress

#Screenplay #WIne tasting

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altobrandy31-blog · 5 years

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There Were Zero Things Better This Week Than That Absurdly Historic Klay Game

Welcome to Good Stuff, HuffPost’s weekly recommendation series devoted to the least bad things on and off the internet.

Monday night, I found myself in the very top row of the United Center in Chicago, where I bore witness to an absurd bit of history, and what is quite possibly the most entertaining version of basketball ever invented: A Klay Game.

The game itself wasn’t that good, by normal standards. By the end of the first quarter, the Golden State Warriors had run up a 20-point lead on the hapless and injured Chicago Bulls. By halftime, the Dubs had 92 points and were winning by 40. It was pointless. Except for Klay.

Except for Klay. Thompson, that is, the Warriors’ gunner of two-guard who, up to that point in the season, had been trash. Thompson entered the evening having made just five of his first 36 three-point attempts of the season ― a 14 percent clip that was nearly 30 points below his career average from distance. But on Monday, he reverted to his old, dumb self, which unlike Stephen Curry and Kevin Durant ― his superstar teammates whose dominant nights always feel like reminders that they have absolutely broken basketball ― tends to feel more normal. Klay is the old dude at the gym who uses screens the right way, finds himself in the corner, and pummels you with an endless barrage of buckets ... if that old dude was also 6′6″ and one of the greatest shooters of all time.

He hit his first three less than 90 seconds into the game. By the end of the first quarter, he’d made five more. At halftime, he had 10, and at one point, he had made nine out of 11 threes. He finished the game with 14, setting a single-game NBA record in just 27 minutes on the floor. He had 52 points.

The amazing thing about it, though, wasn’t that he broke the record, but how. A Klay Game is a special phenomenon: on the occasions where Klay isn’t just hot but reaches thermonuclear status, the Warriors’ other superstars cease to even consider themselves a part of the game, and instead funnel the ball to him with a relentless, single-minded focus. So each time a Bulls shot clanked off the rim and landed in the hands of a Golden State player, they looked for Klay. In the corner. At the top of the key. Barely across half-court. It didn’t matter. Curry and Durant were passing up open shots to find him. Draymond Green, on one possession, set five screens in an effort to free Thompson from his defenders. They still got theirs, but the night was Klay’s, and they knew it.

So did the crowd. By the start of the second half, no one was paying attention to the score, or the Bulls. Not even their fans. Each time Klay touched the ball, the crowd urged him to shoot. Each time he did, the air burped with the anticipation that he was about to hit another one. And more often than not, it went in. The Warriors are dumb, and even though its cool in some circles to hate them now, I can’t. Not when they play basketball like this. And not when they can decide, on any given night, to let Klay be Klay, and remind us that there are still endless wonders in an NBA season, even when its ultimate outcome already feels certain. ― Travis Waldron

Kurt Russell As Cool Santa

I don’t really know how to explain the new trailer for “The Christmas Chronicles.” There’s Kurt Russell as cool Santa Claus throwing concerts in prison and bemoaning images on cola cans for making his butt look big. There are very CGI elves who don’t totally look like gremlins, but I wouldn’t want to feed them after midnight. The Netflix movie’s premise seems to revolve ― maybe? ― around the potential death of Christmas, which won’t be saved unless some kids travel around the world with Chris Pratt’s evil dad, who seems more worried about breaking out “Star Wars” references and dunking presents down chimneys. Hmm.

It feels like a Christmas miracle this is happening at all, so I for one will be counting down the days until it arrives in my queue. ― Bill Bradley

WHY IS LIZZO PERFECT?

A Very Good Paperback

Simon & Schuster

I know. I know! This book came out in February. But I missed it then, and this week I finally circled back to the book I’d heard glowing things about for months. If you haven’t read Halliday’s masterfully engineered debut yet, you should do the same thing.

The novel opens on the blossoming romance between Alice, a young editor at a publishing house in New York, and Ezra Blazer, an elderly acclaimed novelist who bears an unmistakeable resemblance to Philip Roth. Also an aspiring writer, Alice soaks up Ezra’s attention and guidance, as he showers her with blackout cookies, rolls of cash to spend at upscale department stores, and sacks of edifying books to read. Rather than fully flipping a narrative so often told from the older male perspective on its head, Halliday relates it from a remove that hovers between clinical and whimsical, as if their relationship is a case file put into the language of a fairy tale.

Then, just as Alice realizes she must choose between her own future as a writer or a real partnership with the ailing Ezra, Halliday throws us into another story. Amar Jaafari, an Iraqi-American economist, has been detained in Heathrow en route to see his brother in Kurdistan. In between dealing with the crushing bureaucracy ― repeated interrogations that cycle through the same questions, vague and inexplicable explanations for his detention ― he reflects on his life, the two countries that have been home to his family, and the violence that has surrounded his brother and other loved ones.

The novel ends with an eerily convincing transcript of a “Desert Island Discs” interview in which Ezra, some ten years on from the start of his relationship with Alice, recommends his all-time favorite songs, reminisces, and flirts with the interviewer.

A dazzling puzzle box of a book, Asymmetry melds ambition and restraint in its exploration of power, artistic imagination, empathy, geopolitics, and love. It’s recently out in paperback, so there’s absolutely no reason not to read it immediately. ― Claire Fallon

A Night of Short Horror Films (By Mostly Women!)

Nitehawk

"Cat Calls" (directed by Kate Dolan)

Every year, Nitehawk Cinema in Brooklyn hosts a short film festival. And every year, Caryn Coleman, director of programming and special projects at the theater, co-curates a midnight showing dedicated to mini horror flicks, the kinds that only require eight to 19 minutes to rattle your already fragile existence and catapult your adrenaline levels in glorious micro waves of fear.

This year’s showing will take place on Thursday, Nov. 8 at 9:30 p.m. And its lineup is like a pleasant middle finger to Jason Blum, a man blithely unaware of the many female directors working in horror today.

“When I read the Jason Blum article I had watched two brand new horror films directed by women in the previous 24 hours,” Coleman told HuffPost. “Genre films by women is nothing new to me or to the many people clued into what’s happening in horror. Therefore, what he said is a prime example of how out of touch certain parts of the film industry establishment are; they are completely unaware of a reality that is right in front of their face simply because they don’t care enough to look.”

Coleman and her co-programmer Sam Zimmerman have paid particular attention to women’s voices at her festival over the years. “This year we’re thrilled that our program not only features 70 percent female directors,” she said, “but that nearly all address the real horror of what it’s like to be a woman in the world.”

Three films to watch at the Shorts Festival’s “Midnite” screening this year are “Rape Card,” “Pumpkin Movie” (“I saw it the night of the Blasey-Ford testimony and it was utterly prescient, couldn’t get it out of my head,” Coleman said), and “Cat Calls.” Tickets are on sale here. ― Katherine Brooks

Rosé In October

Nestled halfway into Quavo’s new album, “Quavo Huncho,” is a track that dares to bring rosé out of the summer slums and into the autumn breeze. Understanding the pink-tinted bubbly should be a year-round affair, “Champagne Rosé” had the rapper “poppin’ bottles” in — gasp! — October. More significantly, he did so with the help of two incredible collaborators. One of them (Cardi B) comes as no surprise; the other (Madonna) is a left-field swerve that proves to be one of the record’s highlights.

Dominating the song with a high-pitched autotune, Madonna’s is the first voice we hear. She stretches “champagne” to three syllables and turns wine into sex the way only she can (“Please drink me up”). Her presence is the yin to Quavo’s full-throated yang, perfectly accentuated by a flute that graces the intoxicating beat. And then, before the four-minute bop ends, Madonna nails a verse that again lets her bend and elongate words with a crisp, clarion cadence: “Let me entertain you / Get inside your vein, too / Intoxicate your brain, ooh / Crazy, what I’ll make you.” It’s a frothy morsel, likely to remain an under-appreciated footnote in all three artists’ repertoires. But listen to it and try not to hit the repeat button a dozen times. You can’t do it. ― Matthew Jacobs

Witch Hunting

Halloween may be over, but witches rule all year long. If you haven’t yet checked out two spooooky witchy reboots ― The CW’s “Charmed” and Netflix’s “Chilling Adventures of Sabrina” ― the time is now. Both series take beloved ’90s shows and turn them into something darker, more complex and more overtly feminist. Neither show is perfect, but they both have done something interesting and timely ― and, dare we say ... magical? Plus, with all the talk of “witch hunting” powerful white men, it’s about damn time we saw some real witchy women get their due. ― Emma Gray

Martha Rosler Forever

In the 1975 video “Semiotics of the Kitchen,” one of multidisciplinary artist Martha Rosler’s most famed works, Rosler stands at a makeshift kitchen station in front of a refrigerator and stove. It looks like a cross between a Rachael Ray cooking demo and a Francesca Woodman photograph.

“Apron,” she says, as she pulls one over her head. “Bowl,” displaying a bowl to the world while pantomiming stirring. “Chopper,” plunging it into the bowl violently. “Egg beater ... fork ... grater,” she continues, rubbing the fork up and down the grater, emitting a jarring racket. She continues down the alphabet, naming different kitchen appliances and simulating their use for the viewer like an alien mimicking domestic rituals. When she picks up the nutcracker, Rosler glares at the viewer while spreading and shutting the tool’s legs with vigor. The video, critiquing the oppressive, domestic roles women are often forced to embody, becomes a jagged dance to the tune of a grating metallic symphony.

This is Rosler’s most well-known piece, but far from the only one worth knowing. A retrospective at the Jewish Museum spans Rosler’s five-decade career. Featuring installations, photographic series, sculpture, and video, the exhibit probes far beyond “Semiotics of the Kitchen” to show us one of the most witty and dogged feminist artists of our time. In one photo collage, blond women snap selfies in a mod mansion as flames blaze outside the windows. In an installation, various women’s lingerie and sleepwear congregate around a white mattress. The cluster of thongs and spanx and granny panties alludes to the stories clothes tell about the women who wear them. Or perhaps just the stories we buy into.

The show opens on Friday, Nov. 2 and is up until March. All feminists, Jews and bad chefs are encouraged to attend. ― Priscilla Frank

The Drawing of Lines

Screenshot

We’re all blessed to have lived long enough to discover that the Gateway Pundit apparently does have a line, and that line’s name is Jacob Wohl. ― Ashley Feinberg

Source: https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/there-were-zero-things-better-this-week-than-that-absurdly-historic-klay-game_us_5bdccf96e4b09d43e31efd6c

#read more #see more #check it out #interesting #learn more

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theshatteredrose · 7 years

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By Candlelight (Guardian Chronicles) - Etrian Odyssey Untold 2 Fanfiction

Summary: Bertrand stood before a candlelit table set for two. And his date was being dragged in all but kicking and screaming…

Pairings: Bertrand/Hrothgar

AN: Usually, I like to keep a cliff-hanger hanging for a few more days, but I thought I’d be merciful :3c Hope you enjoy~

~*~*~*~*~

Bertrand was suspicious.

Highly, highly suspicious.

And the sight before him was the culprit.

In the far corner of the restaurant, in front of a window leading to a small but dense garden sat a small, round table built for two. A white tablecloth with rich red and gold embroidery draped over the table meticulously, with fine crystal glasses filled with no doubt wine and plates of delicious smelling food. The three small candles within the centre of the table cast the area in a golden, ambient light, which flickered every once in a while from the gentle breeze cascading through the open window, bathing the area in a rich flora scent from the abundance of flowers outside. With the half-moon high in the sky and the night well and truly fallen, the ambience was still and serene.

It was honestly beautiful.

It was also romantic.

Which was why Bertrand was suspicious.

“So, care to tell me why I’m the one who is to sit here?” he asked as he turned away from the romantic setting to stare down at the little war magus who had all but pushed him toward said table set for two. “Alone?”

“Because I told you to,” Chloe replied with a pout as she pushed up her glasses. “And you won’t be alone.”

He was afraid of that.

There was also a hell of a lot more to it than that. And he was pretty sure it had everything to do with those two other pink-haired that showed up suddenly. Yeah, the Pinkettes. He had heard of them. And he had been warned to keep a wary eye out for them. Who would have guess that Chloe would choose to run with the wrong crowd? Ah, but she had always been a subtle shit-stirrer herself. She would be in her element with those two.

The three of them together must be rather…potent, for a lack of a better word, if they managed to pull Regina into helping them. They had to be. And if they pulled her into this unwillingly, which signs were pointing to as the chef was huffing and puffing in the kitchen in an frazzled manner, they were even more formable than rumour had painted them to be.

So…what to do?

Suppose the better question would be who was his supposed ‘date’? And how were they going to be dragged into this?

The sound of the café door opening abruptly pulled Bertrand out of his musings and he turned to look out of habit. He had to do a double take, however, when the one who had entered wasn’t that of the usual variety.

And he couldn’t help but realise that his ‘date’ was to be dragged into this damn near kicking and screaming.

Dressed in casual clothing, Hrothgar was draped over Zeryn’s shoulder, the tall highlander keeping him in place with one arm, completely and utterly unfazed by Hrothgar’s struggling. Even as Hrothgar kicked his legs and seemed to be hitting him on the back with his hands.

“What are you doing?! Put me down! What has gotten into you?!” Hrothgar all but shrilled.

And Zeryn all but ignored him as he readjusted Hrothgar to sit a little higher on his shoulder before he yelled into the mostly empty restaurant. “Aye, I ave a delivery for Bertrand!”

Bertrand arched an eyebrow and had to bite the inside of his mouth when Hrothgar abruptly ceased in his struggling and made a sound that was similar to a squeak. “W-what?” he stammered as he lifted his head up to look at his surroundings and Bertrand could all but feel his utter embarrassment when he realised where he was.

“Fufufufu~” Chloe chuckled ominously as she walked away from Bertrand and toward the kitchen, and as she passed Zeryn, she jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. “Over there.”

“Aye,” Zeryn replied, seeming unfazed that he was virtually being ordered around and happily headed in Bertrand’s direction with Hrothgar still balanced on his shoulder.

“Can you put me down now?” Hrothgar asked meekly, but surprisingly cutely all the same.

Zeryn grinned widely and honestly very mischievously before he made the motion to lean forward to allow Hrothgar to finally take to his own feet.

“Catch,” Zeryn suddenly said and Bertrand instinctively took on a protective stance as Zeryn practically swung Hrothgar off of his shoulder and planted him into Bertrand’s subconsciously waiting arms.

Bertrand obviously wasn’t expecting to have Hrothgar literally dropped into his arms, but he managed to keep a hold of the other man, preventing him from falling to the floor. He had to quickly readjust his grip, though, and unintentionally pulled Hrothgar tighter against his chest in such a way that it appeared that he was cradling him, curling him closer to him.

Having not made a sound through the entire thing, Hrothgar finally uttered a gasp of surprise and sprung up a fraction, his body tensing. And he grasped at Bertrand’s shoulders in a desperate attempt to steady or ground himself. But as he did so, he unwittingly moved his face closer to Bertrand’s and their noses brushed lightly against one another’s.

“Oh,” Hrothgar whispered as his eyes widened and stared directly into Bertrand’s, almost as if he was in a trance. Or was simply so surprised that he didn’t know what to say or do and just became still out of instinct.

Bertrand couldn’t say he was any better. There was no witty retort on the tip of his tongue. No urge to smirk. Nothing like that at all. All he could do was to stare back as well. And notice the dim lighting of the candles seemed to deepen his chocolate brown eyes.

The sound of Zeryn laughing obnoxiously loudly as he turned on his heel and walked away pulled the two of them out of their trance like state. Hrothgar promptly blushed a deep red as he turned his face away from Bertrand’s to look at the floor, inexplicably keeping his hands on Bertrand’s shoulders and making no attempt to remove himself from his arms. Even more mysteriously, neither did Bertrand.

“See ya later!” Zeryn called out to anyone who was listening and promptly left through the front door, letting it clatter noisily behind him.

“Sorry,” Hrothgar murmured after a silent more as he finally and hastily pushed himself out of Bertrand’s arms and to his feet. “T-thank you for catching me, but sorry a-all the same.”

“Nothing you could help,” Bertrand replied, finally able to find his own voice and wit.

Hrothgar flashed him an embarrassed smile as he set about trying to smooth down his hair while also calm his frazzled nerves. “Ah, yes. Flavio warned me that Chloe made friends with the Pinkettes,” he said before he trailed off to speak under his breath. “I wasn’t expecting them to come after me first, though…”

Bertrand folded his arms over his chest. He honestly was a little surprised himself that Chloe would choose to play matchmaker for him, matching him with Hrothgar. Although she had always been the mischievous, cunning type, so not even he knew what she was thinking and planning all the time. Bertrand supposed he should be grateful that she chose to match him with someone reasonable, someone he knew, and not some stranger who was all looks and no character.

He was also genuinely relieved that they didn’t do the same to Hrothgar. He was a sweet and lovable guy, after all, and Bertrand was sure that he had more than his fair share of admirers. Some, no doubt, with less than honourable intentions.

Never mind that now. There were two important questions they needed to find answers to. How far Chloe was willing to play matchmaker and what it would take to get her, and those infamous Pinkettes, to leave them alone?

“Any way to weasel our way out of this?” Bertrand asked with a surprisingly humorous tone.

Hrothgar uttered a small laugh at the question before he winced and shook his head. “Only one, really.”

“And that is…?” Bertrand prompted him to continue.

The blush Hrothgar had sported before returned softly and he scratched his cheek. “To get into a relationship…”

Bertrand couldn’t say that was at all surprising. “And faking one wouldn’t work?”

Hrothgar looked genuinely surprised by the question and tilted his head to the side in thought. “I…don’t think so.”

Bertrand shrugged idly. “Just an idea.”

“Hm, yes, of course,” Hrothgar replied politely as he righted himself. “Anything at this point I suppose.”

“The best thing we can do at this point is to simply go along with it,” Bertrand said as he glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen, only to find Chloe at the bar watching him like a hawk.

She wasn’t watching out of sadistic glee, not entirely at least, but to ensure that neither of them made a run for it. If she managed to get Zeryn to happily carry Hrothgar over his shoulder, through the city and into the café, he was fairly certain she, not the mention the other two Pinkettes, had the expertise to create an even more embarrassing method to pull two people into a date.

“Let’s just sit down and get something to eat,” Bertrand continued as he pulled out a chair, only to leave it and pull out the second chair to plonk himself down upon. “If we’re lucky, they’ll be content with that for now.”

Hrothgar gave him a small, bashful smile as he idly brushed a strand of his hair from his eyes and lowered himself into the seat Bertrand had pulled out. “Yes, I suppose so. It honestly could have been a lot worse.”

Bertrand, however, felt a frown tug at his lips when he noticed a white plaster bandage just under Hrothgar’s hairline, hidden behind the thick bangs of his hair. “What’s this?” he found himself asking the moment Hrothgar settled himself down into his seat and he lifted a hand to brush aside the hair so that he could get a better look.

“Oh, that?” Hrothgar said as he lifted his own hand, which subtly brushed against Bertrand’s own before he gently pushed his hand away. “It’s nothing. Just a minor graze left over from what happened yesterday. A rookie guild thought they could defeat a raptor without preparation. I found myself getting involved rather quickly.”

For some inexplicable reason, Bertrand felt a surge of protectiveness rush through him, along with the urge to ask the seasonal protector to leave the rookies be and stop putting himself into danger because of them. He was more important to the longevity of the city and future guilds than those brainless rookies who made careless and reckless mistakes.

But Bertrand managed to bite his tongue. It wasn’t any of his business what Hrothgar chose to do with his time in the labyrinth. So…

“You received a head injury?” he unwittingly asked.

Hrothgar gave him another somewhat sheepish smile. “Only a graze,” he insisted. “No fractures or a concussion, so there’s nothing to worry about. That guild managed to get away as well with only a few injuries of their own.”

“Is that so?” Bertrand murmured as he lifted his drink to his lips and took a slow, drawn out sip.

He had to remind himself that, no, there was no need to hunt down that guild and give them a stern talking to. They’ve probably already learnt their lesson. There was no need to be that protective of another.

“You weren’t thinking of putting the fear of god into them, too, were you?” Hrothgar unexpectedly asked.

“Why would you ask that?” Bertrand returned as he lowered his drink back to the table.

Hrothgar shrugged lightly as he reached for his own drink. “You just had a fiercely protective look on your face for a moment.”

Bertrand unconsciously relaxed his features, only to feel the corner of his lips twitch into a half smirk when he heard Hrothgar chuckle under his breath at his reaction. “You’ve seen a few protective grimaces in your time?”

“Oh yes,” Hrothgar replied. “I’ve even worn a few myself.”

“Even so, you’re more important than any of those rookies,” Bertrand found himself stating before he could consider his words. “Make sure to put yourself first sometimes.”

Hrothgar blushed lightly as he turned his gaze toward the open window. His eyes soften into an indescribable warmth as he brought his wine glass to his lips and took a slow sip. He seemed…subtly thrilled by Bertrand’s comment.

For his part, Bertrand found himself gazing at the redhead himself. The way the candlelight shone in his eyes, the way the shadows danced across his skin, the ambience of the night; he really was quite beautiful.

“This isn’t so bad,” Hrothgar whispered softly.

Bertrand could only utter a word of agreement. “Yeah.”

Good food, good drinks, good company; yeah, it wasn’t all that bad actually. Oh he was sure the Pinkettes had other things planned, this was just a test to see what they could do or not do in a public restaurant.

He truly pitied the poor fools that were the Pinkettes’ next targets.

#Etrian Odyssey #etrian odyssey untold 2 #fanfiction #Bertrand/Hrothgar #guardian chronicles

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allbestnet · 8 years

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The 5000 Best Books of All-Time

Book 251–499 (go to book 1 to 250)

251. All the King’s Men (1946) by Robert Penn Warren 252. The Maltese Falcon (1930) by Dashiell Hammett 253. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876) by Mark Twain 254. Ouran High School Host Club by Bisco Hatori 255. Plague (1947) by Albert Camus 256. Jurassic Park (1990) by Michael Crichton 257. The Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson 258. Shogun (1975) by James Clavell 259. A Town Like Alice (1950) by Nevil Shute 260. Ambassadors (1903) by Henry James 261. Blood Meridian (1985) by Cormac McCarthy 262. No Country for Old Men (2005) by Cormac McCarthy 263. The Castle (1926) by Franz Kafka 264. Phantom of the Opera (1910) by Gaston Leroux 265. Middlesex (2002) by Jeffrey Eugenides 266. The Book of the New Sun (1994) by Gene Wolfe 267. Vanity Fair (1848) by William Makepeace Thackeray 268. Heidi by Johanna Spyri 269. Bluest Eye (1970) by Toni Morrison 270. Seabiscuit by Laura Hillenbrand 271. Pippi Longstocking (1945) by Astrid Lindgren 272. The French Lieutenant’s Woman (1969) by John Fowles 273. North and South (1855) by Elizabeth Gaskell 274. Percy Jackson & the Olympians (2005) by Rick Riordan 275. Gilgamesh by 276. The Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare 277. Millennium series by Stieg Larsson 278. Cat’s Cradle (1963) by Kurt Vonnegut 279. Northanger Abbey (1817) by Jane Austen 280. The Secret History (1992) by Donna Tartt 281. Screwtape Letters (1942) by C.S. Lewis 282. Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare 283. The World According to Garp (1978) by John Irving 284. A Confederacy of Dunces (1980) by John Kennedy Toole 285. Birdsong (1993) by Sebastian Faulks 286. Dandelion Wine (1957) by Ray Bradbury 287. Light in August (1932) by William Faulkner 288. The Glass Castle (2005) by Jeannette Walls 289. People’s History of the United States (2010) by Howard Zinn 290. Lamb by Christopher Moore 291. Water for Elephants (2006) by Sara Gruen 292. Moneyball (2003) by Michael Lewis 293. Three Men in a Boat (1889) by Jerome K. Jerome 294. Jungle (1906) by Upton Sinclair 295. The Forever War (1974) by Joe Haldeman 296. Le Pere Goriot by Honore de Balzac 297. Number the Stars (1989) by Lois Lowry 298. Siddhartha (1951) by Hermann Hesse 299. Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams 300. Misery (1987) by Stephen King 301. Calvin and Hobbes (1993) by Bill Watterson 302. I Am Legend (1954) by Richard Matheson 303. Tuesdays With Morrie (1997) by Mitch Albom 304. Medea by Euripides 305. The Witches (1983) by Roald Dahl 306. The Naked and the Dead by Norman Mailer 307. Where the Red Fern Grows (1961) by Wilson Rawls 308. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1971) by Hunter S. Thompson 309. Robinson Crusoe (1719) by Daniel Defoe 310. Angela’s Ashes (1996) by Frank McCourt 311. One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich (1963) by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn 312. Howl’s Moving Castle (1986) by Diana Wynne Jones 313. Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953) by James Baldwin 314. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (1974) by John le Carre 315. Silmarillion (1977) by J.R.R. Tolkien 316. Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1958) by Truman Capote 317. The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas (2006) by John Boyne 318. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou 319. High Fidelity (1995) by Nick Hornby 320. Parade’s End (1928) by Ford Madox Ford 321. Kim (1901) by Rudyard Kipling 322. Snow Crash (1992) by Neal Stephenson 323. Works by William Shakespeare 324. Song of Solomon (1977) by Toni Morrison 325. Satanic Verses (1988) by Salman Rushdie 326. Ready Player One (2011) by Ernest Cline 327. Starship Troopers (1959) by Robert A. Heinlein 328. Mahabharata by Vyasa 329. Journey to the Center of the Earth (1864) by Jules Verne 330. The Day of the Locust (1939) by Nathanael West 331. The Day of the Triffids (1951) by John Wyndham 332. My Antonia (1918) by Willa Cather 333. Swiss Family Robinson (1812) by Johann Wyss 334. I Capture the Castle (1948) by Dodie Smith 335. Oh, the Places You’ll Go! (1990) by Dr. Seuss 336. Sirens of Titan (1959) by Kurt Vonnegut 337. The Shawshank Redemption by Stephen King 338. The Golden Notebook (1962) by Doris Lessing 339. Tempest by William Shakespeare 340. Prophet (1923) by Kahlil Gibran 341. Mary Poppins by P.L. Travers 342. Everything is Illuminated (2002) by Jonathon Safran Foer 343. The New York Trilogy (1987) by Paul Auster 344. The Host (2010) by Stephenie Meyer 345. How to Win Friends and Influence People (1936) by Dale Carnegie 346. Brief History of Time (1988) by S.W. Hawking 347. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (2005) by Jonathan Safran Foer 348. One Thousand and One Nights by 349. Winesburg, Ohio (1919) by Sherwood Anderson 350. Ivanhoe (1820) by Sir Walter Scott 351. Farewell to Arms (1929) by Ernest Hemingway 352. Awakening by Kate Chopin 353. Little House by Laura Ingalls Wilder 354. Fun Home (2006) by Alison Bechdel 355. USA by John Dos Passos 356. The Shadow of the Wind (2001) by Carlos Ruiz Zafon 357. Ramayana by Valmiki 358. Autobiography of Malcolm X (1965) by Malcolm X 359. The Alchemist (1986) by Paulo Coelho 360. The Power of One (1989) by Bryce Courtenay 361. Aesop’s Fables by Aesop 362. The Virgin Suicides (1993) by Jeffrey Eugenides 363. Darkness at Noon (1940) by Arthur Koestler 364. Love You Forever (1986) by Robert Munsch 365. Batman by 366. Story of Ferdinand (1936) by Munro Leaf 367. Scott Pilgrim (2010) by 368. Seven Habits of Highly Effective People (1989) by Stephen R. Covey 369. Divergent (2011) by Veronica Roth 370. Outliers (2008) by Malcolm Gladwell 371. Childhood’s End (1953) by Arthur C. Clarke 372. A Doll’s House by Henrik Ibsen 373. Hunchback of Notre Dame (1831) by Victor Hugo 374. Thirteen Reasons Why (2007) by Jay Asher 375. Polar Express (1985) by Chris Van Allsburg 376. The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio 377. The Neverending Story (1979) by Michael Ende 378. Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway 379. Jungle Book (1894) by Rudyard Kipling 380. Shantaram (2003) by Gregory David Roberts 381. Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst 382. Light in the Attic (1981) by Shel Silverstein 383. The Invention of Hugo Cabret (2007) by Brian Selznick 384. Scarlet Letter (1850) by Nathaniel Hawthorne 385. Jude the Obscure (1895) by Thomas Hardy 386. Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh by Robert C. O’Brien 387. Ringworld (1970) by Larry Niven 388. The Discworld Series by Terry Pratchett 389. Redeeming Love (1991) by Francine Rivers 390. The Shipping News (1993) by E. Annie Proulx 391. Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel 392. Thus Spake Zarathustra (1885) by Friedrich Nietzsche 393. Tale of Peter Rabbit (1902) by Beatrix Potter 394. Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi 395. The Once and Future King (1958) by T.H. White 396. Little Dorrit (1857) by Charles Dickens 397. Mythology by Edith Hamilton 398. Gulag Archipelago (1973) by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn 399. Invisible Cities (1972) by Italo Calvino 400. The Walking Dead (2003) by Robert Kirkman 401. Hush, Hush (2009) by Becca Fitzpatrick 402. Bridge to Terabithia (1977) by Katherine Paterson 403. From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler (1967) by E.L. Konigsburg 404. Paradise Lost (1667) by John Milton 405. Moonstone (1868) by Wilkie Collins 406. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain 407. Lovely Bones (2002) by Alice Seybold 408. Paper Towns (2008) by John Green 409. The Book of Mormon by Joseph Smith Jr. 410. Underworld (1997) by Don DeLillo 411. Where the Sidewalk Ends (1974) by Shel Silverstein 412. Battle Royale (1999) by Koushun Takami 413. The Haunting of Hill House (1959) by Shirley Jackson 414. Cry, the Beloved Country (1948) by Alan Paton 415. Flowers of Evil by Charles Baudelaire 416. Waiting for the Barbarians (1980) by J.M. Coeztee 417. The Left Hand of Darkness (1969) by Ursula Le Guin 418. Les Liaisons Dangereuses (1782) by Pierre-Ambroise-Francois Choderlos de Laclos 419. Bridget Jones’s Diary (1996) by Helen Fielding 420. Kane and Abel (1979) by Jeffrey Archer 421. Martian Chronicles (1950) by Ray Bradbury 422. Delirium (2011) by Lauren Oliver 423. Borrowers (1952) by Mary Norton 424. Origin of Species (1977) by Charles Darwin 425. Steve Jobs (2011) by Walter Isaacson 426. The Mayor of Casterbridge (1886) by Thomas Hardy 427. Killer Angels (1974) by Michael Shaara 428. The Poisonwood Bible (1998) by Barbara Kingsolver 429. Guns, Germs, and Steel (1997) by Jared Diamond 430. Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee (1970) by Dee Alexander Brown 431. Book of Job by God 432. The Dark Tower by Stephen King 433. Under the Dome (2009) by Stephen King 434. The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress (1966) by Robert A. Heinlein 435. Stories (1971) by Franz Kafka 436. Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court (1889) by Mark Twain 437. Joy Luck Club (1989) by Amy Tan 438. The Sneetches and Other Stories (1989) by Dr. Seuss 439. The Blind Assassin (2000) by Margaret Atwood 440. The Graveyard Book (2008) by Neil Gaiman 441. A Suitable Boy (1993) by Vikram Seth 442. Sister Carrie (1900) by Theodore Dreiser 443. Constitution by United States 444. Notebook (1996) by Nicholas Sparks 445. Silas Marner by George Eliot 446. The Omnivore’s Dilemma (2006) by Michael Pollan 447. Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe (1987) by Fannie Flagg 448. Death Note by Tsugumi Ohba 449. The Last Song (2009) by Nicholas Sparks 450. The Big Sleep (1939) by Raymond Chandler 451. Unwind (2007) by Neal Shusterman 452. A Walk to Remember (1999) by Nicholas Sparks 453. Republic by Plato 454. Little House in the Big Woods (1932) by Laura Ingalls Wilder 455. The Sandman (1996) by Neil Gaiman 456. Speak (1999) by Laurie Halse Anderson 457. The Selfish Gene (1976) by Richard Dawkins 458. Lorna Doone (1869) by R.D. Blackmore 459. The Far Pavilions (1978) by M.M. Kaye 460. Gargantua and Pantagruel by Francois Rabelais 461. The Maze Runner (2009) by James Dashner 462. Bonfire of the Vanities (1987) by Tom Wolfe 463. Glass by 464. House at Pooh Corner (1928) by A.A. Milne 465. Tawny Man by Robin Hobb 466. Kafka on the Shore (2002) by Haruki Murakami 467. Portrait of a Lady (1881) by Henry James 468. Good Earth (1931) by Pearl S. Buck 469. Tuck Everlasting (1975) by Natalie Babbitt 470. Make Way for Ducklings (1941) by Robert McCloskey 471. Red Harvest (1929) by Dashiell Hammett 472. The Andromeda Strain (1969) by Michael Crichton 473. Naked Lunch (1959) by William Burroughs 474. If You Give a Mouse a Cookie (1985) by Laura Joffe Numeroff 475. The Other Boleyn Girl (2001) by Philippa Gregory 476. Angle of Repose (1971) by Wallace Stegner 477. Hunger (1890) by Knut Hamsun 478. The Beach (1996) by Alex Garland 479. Hansel and Gretel by Engelbert Humperdinck 480. The Last Lecture (2008) by Randy Pausch 481. Power and the Glory (1940) by Graham Greene 482. Pygmalion (1912) by George Bernard Shaw 483. My Name Is Asher Lev (1972) by Chaim Potok 484. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian (2007) by Sherman Alexie 485. Cold Mountain (1997) by Charles Frazier 486. Horton Hears a Who! (1982) by Dr. Seuss 487. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (1926) by Agatha Christie 488. Berlin Alexanderplatz (1929) by Alfred Doblin 489. Cider House Rules (1985) by John Irving 490. Goedel, Escher, Bach (1979) by Douglas Hofstadter 491. The Stars My Destination (1956) by Alfred Bester 492. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea (1870) by Jules Verne 493. The English Patient (1992) by Michael Ondaatje 494. Outlander (1991) by Diana Gabaldon 495. Sentimental Education (1869) by Gustave Flaubert 496. Marley & Me (2005) by John Grogan 497. Oedipus Rex by Sophocles 498. Possession: A Romance (1990) by A.S. Byatt 499. As You Like It by William Shakespeare

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Episode #77 — "The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen" by Jenny Blackford

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Episode 77 is part of the Autumn 2018 issue!

Support GlitterShip by picking up your copy here: http://www.glittership.com/buy/

The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen

by Jenny Blackford

Dumuzi—my beautiful brother Dumuzi, lovelier than the first green shoots of barley rising from the dark mud of an irrigated field—Dumuzi was dead.

Father had not spoken for six days. Not long ago, he’d been a great king in the fullness of his manhood, but now he was hobbling around the halls of the palace like an old grasshopper waiting for death. His hair was gray; his face was grayer still.

Mother was quiet at last. For six full days and nights she’d wailed and screamed on her wide bed of gold, tearing her soft face and her lovely breasts with her nails, pulling great lumps of curled and scented hair from her luxuriant head, berating all the gods for their cruelty to her. The people said that she was no mere mortal beauty but a goddess walking on earth with us, and she did not disagree; but even if this were true, it did not diminish her fury against the other gods.

[Full story & transcript after the cut.]

Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip Episode 77 for the longest March, 31st, 2020. This is your host, Keffy, and I’m super excited to be sharing this story with you. Our story for today is The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen by Jenny Blackford read by Marcy Rae Henry and Amber Gray.

Before we get into the story, I’ve got a few things to say. First of all, much love to everyone out there in the world as we face this pandemic together. Love to all those who are suffering, whether from the virus itself, from loss of or fear for loved ones, from financial uncertainty, or from the fear of what the next day will bring. As in most times of extreme disaster, we’re seeing both acts of extreme sociopathy and extreme kindness. Please do what you can to stay safe. Once you’ve got your own oxygen mask on, see what you can do for others.

GlitterShip was originally going to run a full-sized Kickstarter in an attempt to increase our rates, but a combination of finances, time, and the magical world of Keffy-is-still-working-on-a-PhD made that deeply unfeasible, which only became moreso when the pandemic started really ramping up in the States.

That said, we are running a much smaller Kickstarter at https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/keffy/glittership-a-queer-sfandf-magazine-going-for-year-4 in order to fund the next year of GlitterShip through the end of 2020. The much smaller amount is designed to get us through the year and pay off some previous incurred debts. That said, there are also a few stretch goals just in case. If we go considerably over our goal, we’ll pay authors more, yay! As of this recording on March 31st, the Kickstarter is about 2/3 of the way funded. The Kickstarter is live until 9pm United States Eastern time on Friday, April 10, 2020. Thank you so much in advance for helping me keep GlitterShip going.

Finally, this episode is from the last issue, but there’s going to be a new issue released extremely soon as we get back on track!

And now, onto “The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen” by Jenny Blackford, read by Marcy Rae Henry and Amber Gray.

Jenny is an Australian writer and poet. Her poems and stories have appeared in Cosmos, Pulp Literature, Strange Horizons, and more. Pamela Sargent called her subersively feminist novella, The Priestess and the Slave, “elegant”. She won two prizes in the 2016 Sisters in Crime Australia Scarlet Stiletto awards for a murder mystery set in classical Delphi, with water nymphs. You can find her at www.jennyblackford.com.

Marcy Rae Henry is a Latina born and raised in Mexican-America/The Borderlands. Her writing and visual art appears or is forthcoming in FlowerSong Books’ Selena Anthology, Thimble Literary Magazine, New Mexico Review, The Wild Word, Beautiful Losers, The Acentos Review, World Haiku Review, Chicago Literati, The Chaffey Review, Shanghai Literary Review, Damaged Goods Press/TQ Review. Her publication, The CTA Chronicles, received a Chicago Community Arts Assistance Grant and Cumbia Therapy, her collection of Spanglish stories, received an Illinois Arts Council Fellowship. Ms. M.R. Henry is currently seeking publication of two novellas. She is an Associate Professor of Humanities and Fine Arts at Harold Washington College Chicago.

Amber Gray is a theatre artist and lover of stories. She enjoys mimicking and creating character voices, especially in song, for her own amusement and the annoyance of those around her who have to put up with it. Thank you to Marcy for being such a good friend and neighbor, and for inviting her to have such a fun time with this project.

The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen

by Jenny Blackford

Dumuzi—my beautiful brother Dumuzi, lovelier than the first green shoots of barley rising from the dark mud of an irrigated field—Dumuzi was dead.

“My life is nothing without him,” she’d screamed again and again. “Why did you not take me instead, or my husband, or my worthless, thankless, useless daughter?”

I was the useless daughter, of course. I had failed to save my brother from the demons that hunted him to the Underworld. My mother would never forgive me.

Finally, Mother swallowed enough sweet wine laced with poppy juice and honey from the alabaster cup I held to her lips to bring merciful sleep. Death would perhaps have been more merciful for her.

As I put down the cup and smoothed her hair, my mother woke herself just enough to hiss, “Far better that you had been taken, daughter, than him, Dumuzi, the beloved of my heart. Why did you not give yourself to the demons instead? Why did you let them take him? Why? How could you let them take him? My Dumuzi!”

And, truly, I understood. My brother Dumuzi had been more than beautiful, when he had walked this earth.

My suitors—brought by my father’s wealth and my mother’s beauty—had been enthusiastic enough, over the years, until each in his turn had seen my brother. Only a few men are immune to the charms of a pretty boy, and will always prefer the soft roundnesses of woman to a boy’s firm flats and hollows. Even those men, those devoted lovers of women, wanted my brother more than they wanted me, once they had met him. But all left the palace disconsolate: Dumuzi had eyes for none but peerless Ishtar, daughter of the Moon, queen of heaven and earth, goddess of love.

I had not always been in second place. I was the firstborn child of our parents; when I was a toddler, I was my father’s delight, my mother’s plaything. Father ordered his artisans to make me golden carts with silver wheels, and dolls carved from fragrant cedar with eyes of lapis lazuli and hair of gold. Mother dressed me in tiny versions of court ladies’ dresses in blue and purple, fringed with silver and pearls, tinkling with the myriad silver moon-crescents sewn to them. But in my fourth year, my mother’s belly swelled again.

Even as a newborn babe, Dumuzi shone tender as the spring sun on a field of emmer wheat. I was forgotten. Kings and wise men came from the ends of the earth with gifts of jewels and spices, merely to gaze on my brother’s shining face. The peasants bowed down to him; the slaves openly worshipped him as a god.

But now that Dumuzi was dead, now that the demons had taken him to the Underworld in exchange for his lover, the goddess Ishtar, no man could bear to look upon my face; they turned their heads in angry grief for my brother. Women screamed and wept, tearing at their cheeks and their clothes. If they had dared, they’d have attacked me with their bare hands.

Even the sheep, which Dumuzi had loved above all other beasts, refused to walk to their grassy fields. The noises that they made were so full of grief that they would have brought sorrow to the heart of the most joyful stranger. The sun was hot in the sky, burning the crops, and the fertile irrigated fields were cracked, dry mud. Only the old vizier came to my room and wept with me for my brother’s death. Perhaps the people were right; perhaps it would have been better if I had died, instead of him.

But it was not my fault that Dumuzi was taken from us as ransom for Ishtar. Only the gods knew why the goddess had challenged her sister’s power in the Underworld and been trapped there. I had done my best to protect my brother, as an older sister must, when demons were sent to drag him to the Underworld to take mighty Ishtar’s place.

The demons had threatened me with death when they searched for him; they even tried to bribe me with precious water and with fields of grain. But my brother was my river of precious water; he was my field of grain. I could never have betrayed him. It was not me who gave him up to the demons, but his childhood companion, his dearest male friend, who took the bribe. But no one cared. They loved my brother Dumuzi so much that they loved his friend for his sake; my less lovely face reminded them too much of my beautiful sibling.

After another night of evil dreams, I could not bear it another moment. A little before noon, I went to the Field of the Winged Bulls.

The life-sized sculptures of the human-headed bulls that guarded the entrance to the palace, strong golden wings tucked against their massive basalt flanks, made all who saw them catch their breath in fear and awe. Though the bulls’ magic protected the city, few other than the members of our family had ever seen the models for those sculptures in real life.

The winged bulls and their mates, in the flesh, were more glorious in appearance and in power than words could tell, but they detested the eyes of human strangers. A plump, bejeweled dynasty of blond slaves from the north tended to all their needs: combed their glossy blue-black hides, polished their golden hoofs, fed them the figs and dates, sweet grapes and honey cakes that they craved; but I was the only living human, other than their slaves, whom they permitted to enter their compound.

The human-headed bulls lazed with their herd in the shade under the date palms, in the vast enclosure that they had requested a thousand years ago, when they’d taken up residence in the city. The huge twin males, rulers of the herd, lay perfectly still, not moving a feather or a shining hair, while the three queen females slowly fanned them with their wide golden wings. Six or seven smaller beasts, close to fully grown, lay quietly around them. Even the frisky calves, their wings mere buds on their shoulders, were relatively placid in the heat, scuffling quietly in the grass for fallen dates.

The two great bulls spoke steadily to one another, their deep voices strange and sonorous to human ears. Their faces looked human, but the sounds that they could make in those deep chests were beyond the reach of any man or woman, or ordinary animal, alive. No human had ever learnt more than a few words of their language. They far preferred for us to speak to them in courtly Sumerian or everyday Akkadian, rather than to hear their ancient, sacred speech distorted and defiled by human mouths.

They would not tell us—not even me, their longtime favorite—where they had come from before they took refuge in our palace, except that it was somewhere long ago and very far away. “You wouldn’t understand, child,” they’d said when I’d asked them, when I was young. “It was our destiny. It was in the stars. We are here, now. That’s all you need to know of where we came from.” They’d looked so sad, as they answered me, that I never dared cause them sorrow by asking again.

The deep poetry of the twin bulls’ ancient voices as they conversed in their own language was strangely soothing. I stood leaning against the warm stone wall of the huge enclosure listening, not comprehending anything they said, but slowly growing calmer, until they spoke to me.

“You are unhappy, Geshtinanna,” one of them said. “Is it your brother?”

I nodded.

“Of course,” the other said. “How could things be otherwise, when humans are involved? And the people blame you, though you are surely blameless?”

I nodded again. I did not want to burst into tears in front of the bulls.

The first one said, “Even we were powerless to prevent this fate from falling upon your brother. How could your people believe for a moment that you had the power to challenge the will of the gods?”

I squeezed my eyes tight shut, but fat tears ran down my cheeks nonetheless.

The three dominant females spoke together for some time, after that. I wiped my tears on the hem of my dress and watched their grave conversation. Their voices were like the sound of great bronze bells, sweet but dangerously strong. The males listened, silent like me, as the massive females spoke, each in her turn.

At last, the largest of the females flicked a golden wingtip against my hand, gently as a kiss, and gave me their decision: “You must go to the wise woman, child. Go to Siduri, the woman who brews her beer and keeps her tavern at the end of the earth, by the shores of the Waters of Death. She will advise you what you must do.”

Mother had told me tales of Siduri, of course. Siduri’s tavern, with its peerless beer-vat made from pure gold, stood by the fabled Garden of the Gods, full of vines hung with gems, shrubs with jewels instead of flowers, fat gemstones in the place of fruit. Mother described it endlessly, greedily. Perhaps the people were right; perhaps Mother was a goddess in truth and belonged there in the jeweled garden. Perhaps she would have been happier there. But the place held dangers as well as riches. A single drop from the deep abyss of the Waters of Death could kill in an instant.

“But how do I travel to the ends of the earth, to consult Siduri?” I asked the powerful inhuman creature lying on the grass in front of me. “I am a woman virtually alone, ignored now in my parents’ own palace, though I was born a princess here. Even with the strongest men from my father’s army, I could not hope to travel through the well-armed kingdoms and the trackless wastes between our city and Siduri’s tavern. Even a hero would surely die in the attempt.”

The human-faced female who spoke now for the herd spread out her golden wings in a graceful gesture. “You see my children, and my sisters’ children, all about you. The oldest of them was born some centuries ago, now, and they are almost full-grown, though still young by our standards. We have taught them all we know: astronomy, astrology, cosmogony, theology, geometry, mythology and more.”

I just nodded. What could I say?

She went on, “We will send Kalla with you on your quest, child. She is not much more than three hundred years old, or thereabouts, but she is wise for her age, as you also are.”

One of the young winged cows lifted her head, then and looked at me. Her eyes were the hard, pure blue of the best lapis lazuli, but fierce intelligence shone in them. But did her mouth tremble with suppressed fear? I tried to smile bravely at her. I was a princess. A princess might know fear, but she must never show it.

The older female spoke again. “You and Kalla will do well together, we believe.” She sighed. “We hope so. This quest could be more dangerous than any that we have attempted for many years.”

Fear touched me with its black wing, then, but what could I do? My life in the palace, or anywhere in Father’s kingdom, was insupportable. Each moment pricked me to the heart like a sharp bronze dagger. A quest to the ends of the earth and perhaps beyond with a wise, if young, winged beast could hardly be more painful, or more difficult. It was more than likely, I knew, that I would die; but Dumuzi was already dead. What was my life worth now?

“Thank you,” I said, not knowing what else to say. Father’s elderly vizier had coached me well in diplomatic language since my toddlerhood, training me to be a good queen when the time came, but this was not one of the endless number of situations that he had covered.

“Go now, child,” the old female said, “and prepare yourself. This will be no ordinary journey. Pack a little food and water, yes, but other things too. And return soon. It would be best for you to leave before the sun is low in the sky.”

I made a formal gesture of thanks, as the vizier had taught me, and rushed back to my room. To my relief, I reached the room before I burst into flooding tears.

After I composed myself and packed, I went to say farewell to my family.

In my mother’s room, the chief of her women barred the way to her bed, hissing like a snake in an irrigation ditch.

“Geshtinanna! Who do you think you are,” she said, “coming to torment the Queen? You let Dumuzi die, you slut, you useless bitch. Do you think she ever wants to see your face again? Do you think she will ever again call you daughter, after what you did? Go!”

I went, saddened but dry-eyed.

My father, in his throne room, looked at me, then away. The vizier by his side, his hands shaking, pulled at my father’s elbow. “It is your daughter, my King,” he whispered. “It is Geshtinanna. She comes to speak with you.” But Father’s eyes, and mind, were somewhere else, somewhere not good.

The vizier followed me to the door. “I am sorry,” he said. “Your father the King…he is not himself, these days. He will recover, in time. The doctors say so. We must wait patiently.”

“Yes,” I said, then turned to leave.

He looked stricken. “It was not your fault,” he said, in a rush. “The gods know, it was not your fault. The people are like silly sheep. Even their leaders are like sheep. It was not your fault.”

I gave him the formal embrace of sincere thanks which he had first tried to teach me when I was a clumsy four-year-old princess. We were both in tears when I left the room.

Soon, though, I stood again in the Field of the Winged Bulls, this time with all the pieces of my old life that I intended to take with me when I left the palace. Around my neck I wore a necklace that Mother had given me when she still loved me, flat red-gold links with a cow carved from lapis lazuli hanging down from the central point, and from my earlobes dangled crescent earrings covered in golden granulations, also her gift. On my hands were three rings set with hunks of carnelian, sapphire and emerald, all from my father, each given to mark an auspicious birthday. My right wrist bore a bangle of bright beads from the Indus Valley, a gift from Dumuzi, and my left ankle held an anklet of heavy gold inscribed with the signs of the greatest gods, the symbols of the Sun, the Moon, Venus, Mercury and Mars.

There were gold and less precious objects—brooches and pins and other small gewgaws that I could exchange for what I needed on the journey—in a soft leather sack concealed under my dress, and another one, flashier, with less gold in it, tied to my belt. In a bag strapped over my shoulder I had a water-skin, plus soft cheese and juicy half-dried figs; they would last maybe two days. The journey could take months, or never end; I would get more food and drink when I needed it, or not at all.

Kalla was at one end of the compound, alone. I walked over to her.

“You must settle yourself behind my wings,” she said, flicking her tail nervously. “I will carry you where the elders say you must go.” Her blue eyes glanced at the herd at the other end of the compound, then looked back down into my face.

I was going to ride on her back?

“Oh,” I said, looking at that glossy expanse of hide, higher and wider than my father’s royal throne, almost as wide as my bed.

But what had I imagined? That we would walk together sedately through the palace gates, with the people waving us on our way, and proceed on foot to the ends of the earth?

Kalla’s tail flicked again. I could feel her anxiety overlaid on my own. This would be her first time away from her herd, and it would be no easier for her than for me. But she was too stressed to understand that I—a princess, but all the same a puny human female—could not vault onto her back, higher than the top of my head. What could I say, that would not cause her shame in front of the herd?

What would the vizier do, that consummate old diplomat, in my position? His daily lessons had almost become second nature: I must let Kalla work out the problem for herself. I put up my right arm, tentatively, and touched her high on her ribs, barely brushing the glossy blue-black hairs. Her head turned and her eyes followed my movement and the extension of my arm. She blinked in what must have been a mixture of dismay and amusement.

“I’ll kneel for you,” she said, and settled gracefully onto the grass.

It was my turn for dismay. How could I sit on so wide an expanse of back? Kalla was three or four times the size of the asses and wild donkeys that men rode. The dress I wore was practical and simple, plain linen, well designed for dusty travel, with no golden fringes, no tinkling ornaments. Nonetheless, it was too tight for me to stretch my legs so far.

There was only one real possibility. I bent down to my right ankle and ripped the linen of my dress up to mid-thigh. I could pin it together when I needed to be respectable again. Then I lifted my bared right leg over Kalla’s shining back—when I touched her hide, it was like silk from the fabled Orient, beyond the sunrise—and sat. My legs were wide stretched, and it would be painful in time, but for the first time in my life I was grateful for the tedious stretches and long poses of the lessons that I’d been forced to take, for the sacred dances day and night before the gods in their solemn festivals.

“You will not fall,” Kalla said, but her voice sounded a little nervous to me. “Don’t be afraid of that. The elders have arranged for an attachment spell to keep you safe. If you want, through, you can put your hands under where the wings connect to my shoulders. They tell me that you can hold firmly there without hurting me.”

I felt thick muscle under my hands, sunwarmed and strong as stone. I grasped as tightly as I dared.

Kalla stood up onto all fours so carefully that I scarcely shifted, though I was seated so precariously there on her flat back. She turned then towards the herd, which had carefully been ignoring us. The winged beasts were better diplomats even than Father’s vizier.

Kalla cried out to them in her own language, in her voice like a well-tempered bell. Her wide golden wings had already started beating.

“Farewell,” I called, more softly, and waved. “Thank you.” By the time I’d finished speaking, we were in the air above the palace, then flying south-east along the River.

It was as if my gilded silver bed with its duckdown-stuffed mattress had taken wings and started to fly through the sky. I felt as safe sitting on Kalla’s back as I would have on my own bed, and no more likely to fall off. Kalla’s passage through the air was stately, but, even if she hadn’t told me, it would have been clear that a magical force was operating to keep me safely positioned on her shiny-smooth skin. Luckily so: a tumble would have seen me dead, smashed and drowned in the great river which was our kingdom’s life. Mentally, I thanked whichever of Kalla’s herd it was who’d thought to use the spell.

The river Buranun—our land’s lifeblood—was even lovelier from the air than from the earth. I gazed down on its turns and bends, the reedy marshes full of waterbirds, the farmlands irrigated with its water, and the great stone temples of the gods. Sometimes, when we were high or it was close, I even caught sight of our river’s eastern twin, the Idigna. The vizier had taught me the names of the cities there, and their various strengths and weaknesses, in case Father chose one of their foreign kings as my husband. I’d never thought to see it from the air.

No one down below took the least notice of us. “I’m flying high enough that even the sharpest-sighted won’t be able to see anything distinctly,” Kalla said. “They won’t understand how big I am; they’ll think me an eagle, or something of the sort. And they won’t see you at all, Geshtinanna. You’re much too small, you tiny human. It would take two or three of you to make one of our newborn calves.” She laughed deep in her massive chest; after a moment, I laughed too.

We flew for many days, or perhaps months, stopping in the evening only when Kalla sighted a small town, a few isolated farms, where she could stay concealed in the shelter of trees or rocks while I found a farmer’s wife who would be happy to give me food and fill my water-skin for a small piece of gold, even though I was a woman travelling alone. When it grew dark, I slept curled against Kalla’s warm back, comforted by her firm bulk. Her quiet snores made my sleep sweet.

On the first evening it could have been pure luck that I was met with nothing but kindness by a woman busy in her farmhouse. No threats, no violence, no greed at the sight of my gold. But I had learned too much of human nature, both in theory and in practice, to think it normal or natural, after three nights.

“I don’t know,” Kalla said, when I challenged her about the mystery. “It’s not magic, or if it is I’ve never learnt it. The places I stop in just look right, feel right. They call to me.”

“Snakes and dogs know when an earthquake is coming,” I said. “Birds fly north from our marshes, every year, and back again, and winged butterflies build themselves from creeping caterpillars in their cocoons. The wise men call that unknown knowledge instinct. Perhaps you have an instinct for kindness.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Kindness is good. It is worth seeking.” She looked thoughtful, after that, until she slept.

The next night, as we lay together in the grass under some fig trees, and I apportioned her the larger share of the dates that I’d received from yet another pleasant woman, I asked the question which had worried me since my childhood, when I used to watch the blond slaves tending to the herd’s needs: “How is it that your people are so large, and yet you eat so little?”

“Hmm,” Kalla said, flicking the tips of her wings in amusement. “No one has dared ask us that before. But the answer is simple: we eat merely for pleasure, not out of physical need. We need no food as you humans do, or your animals. Would you like more of the dates?”

“Thank you, but no,” I said. I was blushing with embarrassment. All my childhood, Kalla’s herd had lazed in the compound at the palace, flicking away flies, munching slowly—but they were not mere cattle. Far from it. I said, “I should have known better. I was taught better. You are not mortal, as we are, but guardian djinn, more akin to the gods than to us.”

“Yes, it’s something like that,” Kalla said, laughing the strange, deep laugh of her kind. “We absorb the energy from the sun, as plants do. But it’s too complicated to explain. Push those delicious-smelling fresh dates closer to my mouth, human, and stop worrying about it.” She grinned, then, and used a golden wingtip to brush my head softly.

I tried to treat Kalla more deferentially after that, more as one ought to treat an immortal guardian and less as a friend, but I kept failing. It was like water in the desert, after all my lonely years, to have someone to talk to.

One evening towards the end, as I dismounted, Kalla told me to get all the food I could carry, when I went to the farmhouse nearby.

“Can you see those mountains in the distance?” she asked. “Those little bumps on the horizon? They’re the Mountains of Mashu, the boundary of your human realm, higher and wider than you can imagine. Some say they’re impassable, that they stretch to the heavens. We will come to them tomorrow. There will be streams of pure water, but no farms—no human beings who eat the food that you do.”

After that, we flew not over fertile river plains or even desert but over the rocks and boulders of the mountainside. In the evenings, Kalla refused any of my stores of fruit and cheese.

“I’m not sure how long this will take, trying to skirt around the side of these mountains,” she said. “You need those good-smelling edible things, and I don’t. No, don’t argue, human. I’m older than you. And much bigger.” Her face was serious; only the twitching of her tail told me that she was teasing.

After nine days of mountain flying—cliffs and ravines, springs and cataracts, stands of tall pines and regal cedars—the stocks in my food-pouch were almost gone. I tried not to worry. I had enough for tonight, just barely.

“Look,” Kalla said, around noon. “The glitter, below us. It is the Garden of the Gods, I’m sure it is.” She sounded relieved. Surely my guide and protector had not doubted that she could find it?

I looked down, and gasped.

I had grown up in a palace, surrounded by the riches of men and gods. I used to eat from silver plates, and drink from a golden cup set with gemstones. Mother glittered like the stars in the night sky when she was hung about with gold and jewels for state occasions, and Father’s green alabaster throne set with carnelian and chrysoprase glinted in torchlight.

But this was a garden as big as our city, or larger, with each shrub, each tree, each lush vine scattered with bright jewels in place of fruit and flowers. It was just as Mother had told me, but larger, brighter, more real—and more divine. This was indeed the Garden of the Gods. How had I dared come here?

My awe and wonder at the jeweled garden only increased as we flew closer and I could see more and more gemstones encrusting the plants. And then I saw the sea. It was like our River in flood, but impossibly wide. It stretched to the far horizon and beyond. And then the truth hit me: the Mountains of Mashu, the Garden of the Gods, the wide blue sea—I was where Kalla’s elders had sent me, the fabled ends of the earth. I must find Siduri and ask her advice.

As it happened, I didn’t need to find Siduri. She came to meet me while I was still scrambling down from Kalla’s back.

“We must talk, girl,” Siduri said to me, then looked at Kalla. “You—guardian being—what is your name?”

My massive mount said, “I am Kalla, Goddess.”

Goddess? Of course, I thought. People called Siduri a wise woman, but how could she live here, brewing ale in a vat given to her by the gods, unless she too was one of them, a goddess in her own right?

Siduri nodded. “Kalla, you may now graze on the fruits of the Garden of the Gods.”

Kalla bowed before Siduri. Her human-seeming face was almost impassive as that of the carved bull statues that guard my father’s palace, but I could see the suppressed joy around those stony blue eyes. Kalla moved sedately towards the glowing jewels, her body a picture of restrained decorum.

“The jewels of the gods are a delicacy for Kalla’s kind,” Siduri told me. “They give them strength and wisdom.”

I just stood there helpless before the goddess, my knees trembling, my mind almost blank. Siduri took me by the hand, led me to a bench in front of her tavern, and gave me a silver cup of ale, also pouring one for herself from a golden jug.

“But now,” she said, “you must drink my ale. I have few mortal visitors, here at the ends of the earth, but my ale is excellent.”

I sipped; it was the best I’d ever tasted, better even than the finest of wines in the palace.

“It is excellent indeed, Goddess,” I said. “Thank you.”

“So tell me, girl,” Siduri said. “Why are you so sad?”

That much was simple. “Demons dragged my brother, beautiful Dumuzi, down to the Underworld.”

“Ah, I heard about that. So you are the sister, valiant Geshtinanna, who tried to protect him.”

Unshed tears made my throat hoarse. “I failed.”

The goddess shook her head. “Whether you had failed or not, your brother would have died soon enough. He could perhaps have had ten more years, twenty, maybe even fifty, but death comes to all mortals. It is best if you accept it. Take joy in everyday pleasures: warm baths, clean clothes, good food and drink, making love with your husband, feeling your child’s hand in your own.”

Wise men and poets had said the same thing since the dawn of time. It didn’t help.

I said, “That is excellent advice, Goddess, I have no doubt. But my city is falling to ruin. My mother has had no rest since her son was taken by the demons, and my father the king will not speak even to his closest advisers. Even the slaves and the sheep lament him. The sun burns the crops, and our fields are cracked, dry mud. To escape the sorrow of my brother’s death, I would need to leave my city and my people, never to see them again, and still I would feel their grief and anger.”

Siduri poured herself another cup of ale. “But, Geshtinanna, to leave her family is the lot of all women, whether peasant, noble or goddess. Every woman of marriageable age must leave her father’s house and her mother’s rooms and live instead in a house of strangers. The more exalted the family, the farther the woman must travel from her home.”

I sipped cool ale from my cup before I replied. “That is all too true, Goddess. Indeed, if any of my suitors had paid my bride-price, he would have taken me far from my parents’ palace. His mother would have become my mother, and his father my father. Perhaps, indeed, I would never have seen my own parents again, nor the place where I was born.” Still, it did not help.

The goddess gestured around her. “So why are you here?”

The words came unbidden to my lips. “I must find Dumuzi.”

I hadn’t known, until that instant, what I was going to say. But it was true: the purpose of my quest was to find my brother—in the Underworld. Everything in my life pushed me towards that destiny.

The goddess sighed. “I was afraid of that. Your mortal race finds it so hard to accept death, though it is your lot.”

Death is not the lot of the immortal gods, I thought. Why must it be our lot? Why must we accept it? But I did not speak.

Siduri drained her cup. I looked down and found that mine, too, was empty. The goddess said, “If that is what you want, you must go to the Dark Queen, Ereshkigal.”

Ereshkigal, the Queen of the Underworld, the Queen of the Dead. Ishtar’s sister.

For a moment, the world went hazy-white around me. If I had not been sitting on the bench, I might have fallen. But I remembered the vizier, and how he had trained me. I took a slow, deep breath, and lifted my head high.

“How do I find Ereshkigal?” I asked.

“Ah, that’s an interesting question,” the goddess said. “For mortals, there are many paths to the quiet realm of the Dark Queen. I could slip a simple poison into your cup, or touch you with a single drop of the Waters of Death out there—” the goddess pointed to the sea, moving blue-green against the shoreline in front of us “—or merely wish you dead.”

Gods! I took another deep breath.

Siduri touched my hand, gently and kindly, and said, “But you are fortunate, Geshtinanna. Kalla will take you to the Underworld.”

My heart shuddered at the thought of exposing Kalla to that danger. “Can I ask that of her?”

“Perhaps you could not,” the goddess replied, “though she is no mortal creature. But I will ask her, and she will not refuse me.”

Soon I sat again on Kalla’s broad back, my heart hammering, my fear-cold hands gripping the muscles below her wings. Siduri’s kiss of farewell burned on my cheek.

This time I took no fruit, no water-skin. There was neither eating nor drinking in the Underworld.

Kalla said, “It would be best if you closed your eyes, Geshtinanna. Your kind is not designed for a journey such as this.”

I squeezed my eyelids shut and felt a sudden sensation of dropping through the void. My bowels were cold. There was darkness and confusion all around me: first whirling heat and pressure on my head and body, then a windy emptiness and a searing cold. I heard cries of terror, whimpers and moans. It could have lasted a moment or a year.

Then all was still and quiet, and I opened my eyes. I was in a great cavern, naked as a newborn baby, and stripped of my seven pieces of jewelry, gifts from my family and reminders of my past. Kalla stood beside me, shining blue-black in the light of the torches on the rough-cut walls.

In front of us stood the Queen of the Dead, Ereshkigal, incomparably lovely in her nakedness. A horned crown sat on her glistening hair. Strong dark wings hung behind her, from shoulders to knees. Her hands were almost like human hands, though her nails were talons, but her feet were the strong claws of a bird of prey. Those terrifying feet gripped the backs of twin lions, and two great owls, each as tall as a ten-year-old child, flanked her. She was as beautiful and as terrible as an army arrayed for battle.

“What do you want, mortal woman?” Ereshkigal asked. Her voice was that of a lion calling in the night, or of a huge owl hunting before moonrise. My breathing quickened at the sound, despite my fear.

I could not lie to her. “I have come to seek Dumuzi,” I said.

The goddess bared her teeth, and the hairs bristled at the nape of my neck. She said, snarling, “Are you sent by my treacherous sister Ishtar? Are you one of her devotees?”

I trembled. “No, Goddess. I have no love for mighty Ishtar. I am Dumuzi’s sister, Geshtinanna. My brother was Ishtar’s husband, then her ransom to leave this place. The demons sent to free your mighty sister snatched my brother Dumuzi and brought him here, to your dark realm, in her stead.”

The goddess settled her glorious wings against her back. “Surely my sister sent you. All men and women who walk on the earth serve the Goddess of Love and Battle.”

I shook my head. “I do not do the will of Ishtar, no matter how great she is, and how much adored. If it were not for Ishtar and her love for my brother, he would still walk on the earth, living and breathing. Why would I do her bidding?”

“Then why are you here?” The goddess glowed with unearthly beauty. Her breasts were like ripe pomegranates, her eyes the color of the night sky. I felt myself falling, helpless, into that deep, starry sky.

I took a breath. “Truly, Goddess, I am here for my own sake, and my mother’s, and my father’s, and my city’s. My parents are mad with grief. Our city falls to ruin. The sun burns the crops, and the fields are dry. Even the slaves and the sheep lament him.”

The goddess Ereshkigal asked, “Do you desire to come here, as his ransom, to take his place? Do you wish to live here in my kingdom?”

I gasped and knew that this was what I had sought without understanding: to live forever in Ereshkigal’s dark realm, in her fearful presence.

I bowed my head, ashamed. “My brother Dumuzi’s beauty made him a god, or equal to one. He was beloved of a goddess. He was enough to ransom Ishtar, great goddess of the earth and sky, from your power. I am a mortal woman. Am I enough to free my brother, and take his place?”

Ereshkigal frowned. On her face, even a frown was glorious. “Perhaps not, my mortal Geshtinanna,” she said. “But I will beseech the gods on high that they might allow the exchange, if that is truly what you wish.”

She gazed into my eyes, into my soul. I fell into her darkness, and stars swirled around me.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes. It is truly what I wish.”

The goddess put out a sharp-taloned hand to my right breast—was she going to kill me now, slash me with those glittering claws? I held my breath, waiting for pain and death.

Instead, Ereshkigal pinched my nipple, tenderly. Fire ran through me, but it was the fire of pleasure, not of pain. Again, I gasped, and blushed.

The goddess smiled in delight. “You tell the truth, mortal. Truly, you do wish to dwell here with me.”

“Yes,” I said. I watched her hands, her eyes. I needed her to touch me again.

“You and I have something in common,” the dark goddess said. “We are both sisters of siblings beloved by all.”

“Yes,” I said. Touch me.

“Beautiful Dumuzi, lovely Ishtar.” She stroked my ear, my throat, with those clawed fingers. I shivered, but I was not cold.

“Yes.” Please, touch me.

The goddess kissed my hair, my cheek, my lips. “To me, you are more beautiful than Dumuzi.”

“To me,” I said, catching my breath, “you are lovelier than Ishtar.”

The gods on high decreed that I, a mortal woman, would not suffice to ransom Dumuzi entirely, but that I could take his place in the Underworld for half of every year; for that time, my brother would walk the earth.

It was enough. Our city rejoiced, the sheep jumped in the fields, the irrigated soil abounded with crops, and Mother and Father were filled to overflowing with happiness. I was pleased for their sake, but I could no longer live there, with them, after all that had happened.

For half of each cycle of the sun, now, I dwell in Ereshkigal’s dark realm, sharing her fierce pleasures. No woman knows greater bliss. But when Dumuzi returns underground and the sun is hot in the sky, I am compelled to return to the world of the living. I travel the earth, then, with Kalla, best of companions. If you look carefully enough at the hawks and eagles that fly high in the sky, one day you might be startled to see her golden wings flashing in the sun. Look for me riding on her back.

END

“The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen” was originally published in Dreaming of Djinn, edited by Liz Grzyb and is copyright Jenny. Blackford, 2013.

This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the Google Audio Library.

You can support GlitterShip by pledging to our Kickstarter at https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/keffy/glittership-a-queer-sfandf-magazine-going-for-year-4 , checking out our Patreon at patreon.com/keffy, subscribing to our feed, leaving reviews on Apple podcasts or buying your own copy of the Autumn 2018 issue at www.glittership.com/buy.

Thanks for listening, and we’ll be back soon with a whole new issue and a GlitterShip original, “The Ashes of Vivian Firestrike” by Kristen Koopman.

Episode #77 — “The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen” by Jenny Blackford was originally published on GlitterShip

#GlitterShip #lgbtq fiction #queer fiction #short stories #science fiction and fantasy #podcast

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connorrenwick · 5 years

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The Retreat at Blue Lagoon Iceland Offers a Sanctuary for the Senses

Very few places can rouse such deep and lasting awe for both the grand and intimate, the dramatic and placid, than the “Land of Fire and Ice”. A land redolent of another planet, Iceland’s pockmarked landscape chronicles an epic, ongoing struggle between fire, water, and earth – steamy exhales from the deepest depths of the earth surfacing at every corner, sinews of lava intermittently spilling forth, and ragged volcanic rocks permitting only the most vigorous of life to thrive. Iceland’s violent contrasts along its most mythological and primordial south western Reykjanes Peninsula make for a unique backdrop for the nation’s only 5-star resort, The Retreat at Blue Lagoon Iceland, a serene oasis hidden in plain sight within Iceland’s most popular destination.

The winding roadway toward the property’s front door follows the contours of the surrounding 800-year-old lava flow, only revealing the reservedly welcoming doorsteps of architecture seemingly floating across the terrain, a welcome punctuated by its own miniature steam vent.

Silence isn’t merely golden, it’s a relaxing luxury served daily at The Retreat at Blue Lagoon, heightening the sensation of being enveloped by the stark surrounding landscape. \\\ Photo: Gregory Han

The first thing you may notice upon entering The Retreat at Blue Lagoon, after the first promising glimpse of those turquoise waters, is the remarkably mute atmosphere that emanates into every corner of the property. The silence is strikingly noticeable in contrast to the ebullient crowds swarming only a building away at the public end of the geothermal pools of the Blue Lagoon, a section cordoned off from this 62-room resort using a gentle combination of architecture and landscape. The hush welcome bodes well for anyone seeking an escape into an entirely different state of mind and body.

A small collection of ceramics is on display in the main lobby. Once belonging to Icelandic artist Anna Eyjólfdóttir, the collection was acquired by the Icelandic Museum of Design & Applied Art with a grant from Blue Lagoon.

Checked in, guests are invited to escape daily stress, crowds, and in observance of this elegiac landscape, unnecessary noise. Conversations seem to emerge as quietly as steam from the naturally heated cyan waters surrounding the property, and in winter the snow draped volcanic rocks dampen sounds even further to a gentle hush while guests navigate a lava rock landscape through silica and algae enriched waters. But while a respectful observation permeates, the general atmosphere is rather relaxed, something underlined by the prevalence of plush white bath robes worn by all nearly everywhere across the hotel.

The Moss Junior suite takes subtle cues from the communities of mottled green that cling to the steam-warmed volcanic rock.

In respect to the unique site upon which the property occupies, Icelandic firm Basalt Architects made great efforts to protect and magnify the beauty of the Reykjanes UNESCO Global Geopark by heavily referencing the landscape (occasionally even permitting the sections of landscape into rooms).

Similarly, guests rooms are decorated with a sedate and sophisticated eye, extending occupants’ gaze inward out. Design Group Italia was tasked to furnish each suite, and they’ve done so with a medley of decor sourced from B&B Italia, Axor, iGuzzini, EFLA, and Liska; the entirety complements the warm wood interior detailing, while gracefully permitting the mute Icelandic landscape the rapt attention it deserves, thanks to floor-to-ceiling windows in each suite.

Photo: Gregory Han

Guests are treated to a daily collaboration between earth and sky at sunset. The Retreat at Blue Lagoon Iceland invites guests up to a rooftop observation deck where all can appreciate not only the departure of the sun, but on occasion, the arrival of the Northern Lights late at night. \\\ Photo: Gregory Han

There’s really not much to do while staying at The Retreat at Blue Lagoon Iceland except relax, eat, and take in the geothermally warmed waters each day. That’s not a complaint, but an enthusiastic endorsement of the focus the hotel delivers in service of reawakening a relaxed state. The pinnacle of the experience is revealed upon entering the Retreat Spa, where guests descend guided by simulated starlight into the hotel’s centerpiece network of spa and water treatment rooms to peel away stresses of both physical and psychological nature one dip at a time.

The Retreat Spa directs guests into a cavernous underground network of private and semi-private rooms toward various access points into the water for a floating massage. The Blue Lagoon Ritual is another centerpiece of the spa experience, a three part treatment of silica, algae, and minerals, all reputedly beneficial for the skin.

A glance downward to steps situated above the subterranean wine cellar of Moss Restaurant, built directly into the landscape and naturally cooled by rock. \\\ Photo: Gregory Han

The hotel’s Moss Restaurant is decorated with special editions of previously unavailable furniture by 20th century Icelandic designers chef’s table, but the surprise feature is a large-scale luminaire situated over the restaurant’s chef table. Fitted with 106 individually controllable OLED panels, the lighting fixture moves in accordance to the diners and staff below.

Photo: Gregory Han

What: The Retreat at Blue Lagoon Iceland Where: Norðurljósavegur 11, 240 Grindavík How much: From $1,259 Highlights: The warm, soothing waters of the geothermal lagoon is reason to visit, but the hotel’s tranquil ambiance, multi-sensorial spa treatments, and handsomely appointed suites – the epitome of relaxation – is why you’ll want to stay. Design draw: Time your visit right, between March 25th through the 29th, and you can attend Iceland’s annual design festival DesignMarch in nearby Reykjavik. Book it: The Retreat at Blue Lagoon Iceland

Photos courtesy of Blue Lagoon Iceland (except where noted).

Go virtually on vacation with more design destinations right here.

via http://design-milk.com/

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thisdaynews · 5 years

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How Kamala Harris Charmed the 1 Percenters

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/how-kamala-harris-charmed-the-1-percenters/

How Kamala Harris Charmed the 1 Percenters

SAN FRANCISCO—In the summer of 1999, in the monied Napa Valley north of here, a bejeweled bride rode sidesaddle on a speckled horse into what the press would label “the Bay Area’s version of an outdoor royal wedding.” The lavish nuptials of Vanessa Jarman and oil heir Billy Getty—replete with red carpet, hundreds of flickering votives, and “a fair amount of wine,” according to one deadpan attendee—featured a 168-person guest list stocked with socialites and scions, philanthropists and other assorted glitterati.

This coterie of the chosen included, as well, a 34-year-old prosecutor who was all of a year and a half into her job in the San Francisco district attorney’s office. And she wasn’t just some celebrity’s all but anonymous plus-one. She was featured in the photo coverage of the hot-ticket affair, smiling wide, decked out in a dark gown with a drink in hand.

Story Continued Below

“Kamala Harris,” the caption read, “cruised through the reception.”

Well before she was a United States senator, or the attorney general of California, Harris was already in with the in-crowd here. From 1994, when she was introduced splashily in the region’s most popular newspaper column as the paramour of one of the state’s most powerful politicians, to 2003, when she was elected district attorney, the Oakland- and Berkeley-bred Harris charted the beginnings of her ascent in the more fashionable crucible of San Francisco. In Pacific Heights parlors and bastions of status and wealth, in trendy hot spots, and in the juicy, dishy missives of the variety of gossip columns that chronicled the city’s elite, Kamala Harris was a boldface name.

Born and raised in more diverse, far less affluent neighborhoods on the other side of the Bay, Harris was the oldest daughter of immigrant parents, reared in a family that was intellectual but not privileged or rich. As a presidential contender, running against opponents who openly disdain elites and big money, she has emphasized not only her reputation as a take-no-prisoners prosecutor but also the humbleness of her roots—a child of civil rights activism, of busing, “so proud,” as she said at the start of her speech announcing her candidacy, “to be a child of Oakland.”

Her rise, however, was propelled in and by a very different milieu. In this less explored piece of her past, Harris used as a launching pad the tightly knit world of San Francisco high society, navigating early on this rarefied world of influence and opulence, charming and partying with movers and shakers—ably cultivating relationships with VIPs who would become friends and also backers and donors of every one of her political campaigns, tapping into deep pockets and becoming a popular figure in a small world dominated by a handful of powerful families. This stratum of San Francisco remains a profoundly important part of her network—including not just powerful Democratic donors but an ambassador appointed by President Donald Trump who ran in the same circles.

Harris, now 54, often has talked about the importance of having “a seat at the table,” of being an insider instead of an outsider. And she learned that skill in this crowded, incestuous, famously challenging political proving ground, where she worked to score spots at the some of the city’s most sought-after tables. In the mid- to late ’90s and into the aughts, the correspondents who kept tabs on the comings and goings of the area’s A-listers noted where Harris was and what she was doing and who she was with. As she advanced professionally, jumping from Alameda County to posts in the offices of the district and city attorneys across the Bay, she was a trustee, too, of the museum of modern art and active in causes concerning AIDS and the prevention of domestic abuse, and out and about at fashion shows and cocktail parties and galas and get-togethers at the most modish boutiques. She was, in the breezy, buzzy parlance of these kinds of columns, one of the “Pretty Thangs.” She was a “rising star.” She was “rather perfect.” And she mingled with “spiffy and powerful friends” who were her contemporaries as well as their even more influential mothers and fathers. All this was fun, but it wasn’t unserious. It was seeing and being seen with a purpose, society activity with political utility.

Because three years after the Getty wedding, in mid-2002, Harris called Mark Buell. She knew him because Harris was friends with his stepdaughter, Summer Tompkins Walker, the daughter of Susie Tompkins Buell, the major Democratic donor. Harris told him she wanted to run for district attorney. At first, Buell was skeptical, he said recently when we got together for dinner at an old Union Square haunt called Sam’s; he considered Harris “a socialite with a law degree,” he explained over salmon and sauvignon blanc. The more Harris talked, though, the more impressed he became. By the end of their conversation, Buell offered to be her finance chair. His first piece of advice: To knock off an incumbent in what would be a nasty, three-candidate fight, Harris was going to need to raise an early, eye-popping amount of money. Buell saw her friends, people he knew, too, as an asset to deploy. “So we put together a finance committee that primarily was young socialite ladies,” he told me. The group included Vanessa Getty, by then one of Harris’ closest pals, and Susan Swig—head-turning surnames in the city’s choicest circles. Buell’s directive: “I said, ‘No one has ever raised more than $150,000 for a D.A.’s race, totally. I want this group to raise $100,000 by the first reporting period.”

Outfitted in sharp designer suits and strands of bright pearls, Harris kickstarted her drive to become San Francisco’s top cop—in its ritziest, most prestigious locale. Predominantly white Pacific Heights—hills upon hills, gobsmacking views of the Golden Gate strait, mansions built and bought with both new tech money and old gold rush cash—is home to Nancy Pelosi, Dianne Feinstein, Gavin Newsom and others, one of the country’s foremost concentrations of politicians and their patrons. Including the Buells. In late 2002, this became the campaign routine, Buell recalled: “Thirty to 50 people in a room … cocktails … a nice introduction by the host.”

And then?

“Kamala would make her pitch.”

And then?

“We’d go around with the bag and collect the money.”

“A well-qualified prosecutor with a lot of ties to the Pacific Heights crowd, Harris should have no trouble raising money,” theSan Francisco Chroniclenoted that November, and so it was: By the close of the calendar year, Harris had raised $100,560—nearly 23 percent of which came from the three ZIP codes of Pacific Heights. It’s a roster of early donors that reads like a who’s who of the city. “That crowd really got her started to be taken seriously,” Buell said.

These people who seeded the start of Harris’ political career got something in return as well. “You always had the feeling that she was going somewhere,” Dede Wilsey told me. Wilsey is a stalwart fundraiser and a philanthropist, the widow of real estate bigwig Alfred Wilsey, and a Republican who nonetheless is a Harris supporter and friend. “You might want to go along for that ride, too.”

Harris, whose campaign did not respond to a request for comment for this story, put her headquarters in the Bayview, a poor neighborhood six or so miles south of Pacific Heights and a world away, and she would earn the backing of a swath of the city’s black, Chinese and LGBT leaders. But in January of 2003, she also was on the cover of theNob Hill Gazette, the monthly paper of record of San Francisco society—one of the faces in a collage of people deemed to be the crème de la crème.

Harris, said theGazette, “may be our next D.A.”

Eleven months later, it was true.

***

“… Kamala Harris, an Alameda Co. deputy D.A. who is something new in Willie’s love life,” Herb Caen wrote in his column in theSan Francisco Chronicleon March 22, 1994, making public her romantic relationship with Willie Brown, who was still married (albeit long estranged), 30 years older than Harris and by then approaching a decade and a half into his unprecedented reign as speaker of the California State Assembly. “She’s a woman, not a girl,” Caen continued in his signature three-dot style. “And she’s black …” Beyond the wince-worthy language, it’s hard to imagine in that time and space a more spotlit debut.

Caen, for his part, was at the tail end of a nonpareil, nearly 60-year career. Six days a week, he two-finger-typed a thousand or so of the most-read words in San Francisco. “If he put your name in boldface, you’d get calls from everyone you knew saying, ‘I saw you in Herb Caen today,’” Jesse Hamlin, one of his former assistants, told me. “If your name wasn’t in there, you weren’t anybody,” longtime local press agent Lee Houskeeper added. In his columns, Caen called Harris “attractive, intelligent and charming.” He called her a “steadying influence” for Brown. And in December of 1995, when Brown was elected mayor, Caen called her the “first-lady-in-waiting.”

Brown, meanwhile, was one of Caen’s best friends, and his mayoralty would cap a lengthy career in which he proved to be one of the shrewder getters, keepers and users of political power of the last half of the 20th century. The dapper, hyper-connected bon vivant and unashamed showman wore pricey Brioni suits and drove fast, fancy cars. Brown didn’t want to talk to me for this story, but he once wrote: “Being able to cross over into the white community is essential for any black, female or male, to succeed as a political figure. I suggest black women lay the groundwork by looking to become active on the boards of social, cultural and, charitable institutions like symphonies, museums, and hospitals. It’s the way to get respect from a world that otherwise is content to eschew or label you. You have to demand the opportunities to enter these worlds.”

It’s hard to think honestly about the origins of the rise of Harris without grappling with the reality of the role of Brown. He helped her. He put her on a pair of state boards that required not much work and paid her more than $400,000 across five years on top of her salary as a prosecutor. He gave her a BMW. He helped her, too, though, in a way that was less immediately material but arguably far more enduringly important.

“Brown, of course, was the darling of the well-to-do set, if you will,” veteran political consultant Jack Davis, who managed Brown’s mayoral campaign, told me. “And she was the girlfriend, and so she met, you know, everybody who’s anybody, as a result of being his girl.”

“I met her through Willie,” John Burton, the former San Francisco congressman and chairman of the California Democratic Party, said in an interview. “I would think it’s fair to say that most of the people in San Francisco met her through Willie.”

“He was the guy that put her right in the ballgame,” said Dan Addario, the chief investigator for the district attorney whom Harris ultimately would topple.

“He made her,” Davis said.

Many people bristle at this, castigating such sentiments as tired, sexist and racist, rightly pointing out that Brown dispensed favors and counsel to hundreds of aspiring politicians and only one of them is currently a U.S. senator running for president near the head of the heap.

“Look,” Rebecca Prozan, Harris’ campaign manager in 2003, told me, “those of us that want to be in public service in an elected capacity can be used by people who are in public office, taken around town, and there’s a whole host of us that have had that opportunity, and it didn’t work out for us. There has to also be something special abouther.”

“Kamala Harris was plenty capable of impressing anyone she met … all on her own,” said P.J. Johnston, a consultant in San Francisco and a former Brown press secretary, “and did so frequently.”

Harris broke up with Brown shortly after he won the election to be mayor. “She ended it,” Brown told Joan Walsh, writing forSan Franciscomagazine in 2003, “because she concluded there was no permanency in our relationship, and she was absolutely right.” But in the society and gossip columns in theChronicle, in theSan Francisco Examinerand in theNob Hill Gazette, her mentions didn’t go down. They ticked up.

When she was still a deputy D.A. in Oakland, Harris joined the board of trustees of the Museum of Modern Art in San Francisco. She was a member of the San Francisco Jazz Organization. She was a patron dinner chair for the San Francisco Symphony’s annual Black & White Ball. She was the executive director of the San Francisco Domestic Violence Consortium, and she was president of the board of directors of Partners Ending Domestic Abuse. She was on the board of a nonprofit called Women Count. “Few women,” gushed theGazette, “are more involved than (equally glamorous) attorney Kamala Harris.” In the outlet distributed specifically to the neighborhoods of the rich, she was featured in a fashion spread, shown wearing $565 boots, a $975 skirt and a $1,095 coat, all made by Burberry. In the descriptions of P.J. Corkery of theExaminer—who also ghost-wrote Brown’s book—Harris was “super-chic” and “super-smart” and “drop-dead elegant” and “very visible.” She was seen at Harry Denton’s Starlight Room. She was seen at Jeannette Etheredge’s Tosca. She went to a ball to benefit local arts museums at which celebrity event planner Stanlee Gatti’s elaborate set-up incorporated centerpieces of large balls of ice—and was spotted “sometime around midnight” trying to bowl the frosty orbs with Gavin Newsom, who was then a city supervisor as well as a friend and business partner of the Gettys. She went to the 25th anniversary showing of San Francisco’s “Beach Blanket Babylon” and was spotted slipping out of the afterparty for a dinner at Jardinière with Willie Brown and high societygrande dameDenise Hale. She went to a Ricky Martin concert in a limo with Hale and Denton and scenester Harry de Wildt. She went to the parties ofhaute coutureclothier Wilkes Bashford. She went to ladies’ luncheons at Pacific Heights homes. She had Sunday dinners with the Gettys.

“For society—and I hate that word—forthingsto continue to be exciting and interesting,” Vanessa Getty once toldVanity Fair, “circles have to keep expanding.”

“A lot of people think, ‘Those people are too rich for me, I can’t be part of their world—they’re out of my fucking league,’” a Harris friend said later inSan Franciscomagazine. Harris clearly didn’t think that. “She just kept showing up.”

By 2002, at the start of her campaign for D.A., she showed her packed, jumbled, leather-bound Filofax to Andrea Dew Steele, who was working at the time as Susie Tompkins Buell’s political and philanthropic adviser. Harris had organized her contacts in an inefficient and outdated way, Steele told me, but the list itself was formidable. “Definitely,” she said.

Recently, in the sitting room in the Pacific Heights house of socialite-turned-attorney Sharon Owsley, I visited with Owsley as well as Debbie Mesloh, a longtime Harris friend, and we talked about these inroads Harris was able to make.

“Kamala also comes from, you know, kind of an intellectually established family,” Mesloh said.

Owsley agreed. “A very fine family,” she said. “Her mother was east Indian and came to this country and became a renowned scientist, and her father came to this country and became a professor of economics. So, she has, you know, the genealogy to move in any circles. But I also have to emphasize that … you don’tneedthat—but she had it all right.”

The support from the crowds in the homes on the hills was the fuel, and Harris took it from there. She pulled in campaign contributions from “every ZIP code in the city,” she emphasized toWmagazine—and the share of her contributions from Pacific Heights got progressively smaller through 2003, down to 21 percent from January to June, 19 from July to September, 13 from October to November and 12 percent from November to December. “I walk very comfortably in a lot of communities in this city,” Harris told theChronicleas her campaign crescendoed. The newspaper endorsed her in October, saying she had “shown an ability to work with neighborhood groups from the Bayview to Pacific Heights—in essence, all of San Francisco.” Said Buell when we met: “That’s part of Kamala’s gift, I think, is that she can go into a room in any part of town, and she can act appropriate to that room.” There remained, though, no question which candidate San Francisco high society was behind. Joining those donors who maxed out at $500 before the end of 2002 (Bashford, Gatti, Billy and Vanessa Getty, Summer Tompkins Walker, Susan Swig, Steven Swig, Darian Swig, Mary Swig, Marjorie Swig, Roselyne “Cissie” Swig, and Ann Moller Caen, Herb Caen’s widow) now were Wilsey, her son Trevor Traina, toy tycoon John Bowes, Frances Bowes, Ann Getty, Peter Getty, George and Charlotte Mailliard Shultz, in addition to a slate of Fishers (founders of the Gap) and Schwabs (as in Charles).

“You have to have your feet in a lot of different communities in order to win citywide office in San Francisco. It is by no meansenough,” Jim Stearns, a top strategist on the ’03 Harris campaign, said of Pacific Heights. “It is just, you know—itishelpful in that it is a good community to raise money out of, and it is a good community to get some visibility.”

“The challenge with San Francisco politics, even more then than now, is that almost everybody agrees with everybody else on everything,” said Dan Schnur, a longtime Republican-turned-independent political operative who worked at the highest levels of state and presidential politics and lived in San Francisco from 1995 to 2002. “Up-and-comers are less likely to distinguish themselves by policy differences than the way they navigate these political-cultural-philanthropic-community circles.”

“Particularly with candidates of color, you know, often they don’t have those kinds of networks,” Steele said, “so this was very, very important for her success … to have some funding stream for her first race, and subsequent races.”

Harris had put in the work.

“I could have met Kamala through Sharon,” Wilsey said. “I could have met her through Ann Getty, I could have met her through, you know, any one of those people.”

“We had mutual friends,” Cissie Swig told me. “If she was born in Oakland, she found her niche, perhaps, in San Francisco, and her expertise and her smarts served her well when she decided to come and be in San Francisco,” she added.

“She has a presence,” Owsley said. “She has a star quality.”

An “aura,” Wilsey added.

“Her strength. Her determination,” Frances Bowes said when I asked her what had attracted her to Harris. “She’s not scared of anybody.”

“Whyshouldn’twe have a fabulous D.A. like that?” Owsley asked.

“I think it started with the fact that people wanted to be able to say they’d met her and were supporting her because of this quasi-social network that we started with, and the more she raised, and the more she got traction, the more everybody else wanted to say they heard her, they talked to her, and were supportive,” Buell told me when we met for dinner. “I have to be careful here, because I still live in this town, but they were kind of professional socialites, and they wanted to help her. They saw it as a two-way street.”

***

This past spring,at a 2020 fundraiserat the house of one of her Pacific Heights neighbors, Dede Wilsey wanted to talk to Kamala Harris.

To thank her.

“She was very, very helpful,” Wilsey told me when I reached her in Newport, Rhode Island, where she’s been summering, “when my son was recently appointed ambassador to Austria. … And I said, ‘Kamala, I really wanted to be sure to come to this because I wanted to thank you for being so nice to Trevor.’ And she said it was the right thing to do. And I said, ‘But, Kamala, people don’t always do the right thing. And I want you to know how much I appreciate it.’”

The next day, I reached Traina, President Donald Trump’s pick to be the U.S. ambassador to Austria, in Vienna, where he’s been based since last May.

“Kamala is an old friend,” Traina told me. “We all kind of grew up together, you know, Gavin, Kamala and many others.”

He supported her when she was running for D.A. “And she was very nice and very supportive of me when I was going through my Senate confirmation process. And she was one of a number of different senators who put in a good word for me with the staffs at the Foreign Relations Committee, which I really appreciated. That was nice of her. And I think the proof was in the pudding because I was unanimously confirmed by the Senate.”

He, too, was at that Napa Valley Getty wedding, back in 1999.

“Great party,” he said.

Chris Cadelago contributed to this report.

#Charmed #Foreign #Percenters #Politics

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