#Patterns of Evidence Exodus

[alizha]

𝗂𝗆𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝖻𝗃𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗌 | 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣

—Rolan x Tav | NSFW

Word Count: 5.9k

Tags: female bard tav, tav is not described, angst, sibling relationships, sexual tension, kissing, neck kissing, references to canon-typical violence

Summary: Rolan has only ever had Cal and Lia. They insist he’s family, but he doesn’t even need that. He’s never needed or wanted anything more.

masterlist | cross posted to ao3 | next chapter →

Rolan’s words are harsh, he knows that. But the truth is that they’re simply an island of three amongst the sea of other refugees. Just because they’re all on the same exodus from Elturel doesn’t mean he feels any camaraderie with anyone outside his small circle.

The infernal orange ring of Lia’s irises flare. She can’t be reasoned with when she’s like this, and Rolan should know. Still, he plants himself steadfastly across from her. If she wants to be stubborn, he can easily rise to the challenge.

There’s no basis of evidence for his true age, but when they were all small, Rolan felt like he was younger than Cal and Lia. He remembers being a gangly, uncertain child. It was them who led him by the hand out of his own self-imposed walls back then. Of course, he’s never stopped following them, but it’s more out of a sense of responsibility now.

Which is why he refuses to risk their lives for the sake of a group of people he never wanted to join in the first place. Zevlor’s people are slow, a hindrance. And most of all, Rolan doesn’t know them. Lia is petulant if she thinks raising her voice at him and calling them ‘kin’ is going to change his mind.

“You only care about your apprenticeship!” she says.

Those words are the ones that finally cut deep. Rolan sputters, nearly losing his hold entirely on the calm demeanour he’s managed to cling to thus far.

“Take that back!”

“These people aren’t fighters! We should help!” she barks.

Cal, ever the voice of reason when tempers blaze too hot, tries to step in. Even he can’t quell Lia today.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” starts an unfamiliar voice.

The woman it belongs to has edged close to them, leaning in curiously with her arms tucked across her chest. Undoubtedly, she’s one of the adventurers who helped dispatch the goblin raiders outside the gate, but that notion seems a little ridiculous now that Rolan’s looking at her up close.

A lute hangs by a strap on her back, still wrapped in traces of Weave, marking her as a bard. She doesn’t look particularly strong or intimidating, especially in the bright colours and whimsical patterns of her jerkin. This is what passes for an adventurer?

“But you are intruding,” Rolan says acridly.

Lia turns her gaze furiously back to him. The woman tries to hide an amused grin. Badly. It strikes him in a way he doesn’t expect. A feeling like irritation sparks in his stomach.

“You should all stay,” she says. “Who knows? A single blade could make a difference.”

“Thank you!” Lia says, throwing her hands up. “You see? We have to stay. It’s the right thing to do.”

“She’s right, Rolan. We’re better than this,” Cal says.

With that, Rolan feels the situation has suddenly careened too far out of his control, and all because of a few words from this intruder. He tries mentally to renew his grasp on the thread of his argument, but he’s sick of fighting. And no matter what, he will not lose his composure in front of an outsider.

“Zurgan,” he mutters. “Fine. I’ll stay, too. Lest the both of you end up with your throats slit by a goblin blade.”

“Thank you, Rolan!” Lia beams, though not at him—at the bard. “You’re the one who tangled with those goblins, aren’t you?”

Personally, Rolan has no interest in where this conversation is headed next. He uses the last of his energy to stop himself rolling his eyes as he turns and heads back into the hollow.

Her name is Tav. It was the last thing his ears caught as he left Cal and Lia with the errant adventurer the previous day. Not that he was trying to catch it. She had intruded on their conversation, plain and simple, much in the same way she was now intruding on Rolan’s peace.

Cal and Lia had insisted they were going to make themselves useful that morning, and apparently that meant ingratiating themselves with the guards at the top of the gate. Rolan prefers to keep them both in his line of sight to make sure they don’t get into trouble. Or cause it. In that spirit, he sticks to the secluded area on the periphery of the gate so he can keep an eye on them while he practises his magic.

Throwing himself in his studies has always been his refuge. Withdrawing into his magic feels natural, even when being a part of a family doesn’t. He remembers running away to their shared room and slamming the door whenever everything became too much or too loud and disappearing into a book until his frayed nerves recovered.

Instinctively, Rolan shuts his eyes and reaches into the Weave, its warmth rushing to envelop him. Two decades of training, and the sensation never changes. It’s reminiscent of an embrace, all-encompassing acceptance—the kind that doesn’t wink out of existence when he doesn’t feel worthy of it. Because this is something he’s earned after years of learning everything he can about magic on his own.

And then, Tav had shown up, flanked with the same followers she’d been running around the grove with yesterday. A gith, a half-elf in Sharran armour, and an elf with a smile more pointed and dangerous than the daggers on his belt. They are decidedly more formidable-looking than their bard.

She greets his siblings like they’re already friends, and that is enough to poke holes in Rolan’s focus. He tries to firm his concentration, but the sound of their laughter shreds it to pieces. Tav’s laugh is clear as a bell, with a quality to it that begs everyone around her to give her a reason, another opportunity to hear it again.

The image of her thinly-veiled grin sticks in his mind, and that’s the last straw. Rolan releases the last dregs of his focus, letting the curling tendrils of Weave surrounding him to furl in on themselves and evaporate with a sigh. Gods, he misses the peaceful quiet of his room in Westerly and the wingback armchair by the window he liked to curl up in with the spires of High District soaring in the distance.

“Hello,” Tav says, suddenly appearing at his side.

He tenses. “What do you want?”

“To say ‘hello’,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Bad day?”

The inane question grates at him. Rolan doesn’t understand how she can’t see that he’s sequestered himself by design—to be left alone.

“We should have left by now,” he says bitterly.

“This again?”

“Yes,” he snaps. “Instead, because of you, we’re just sitting here, practically begging to be attacked.”

Rolan’s not entirely sure what possesses him to lay the entire blame on her, but it feels right in the moment. And perhaps, he would regret it if not for the self-satisfied look that settles over her countenance.

“Leave on your own, then,” she says, shrugging. “If you’re so impatient.”

It’s a transparent attempt to call him on his bluff, but it’s an effective one.

“That is tempting,” he admits, “but I could never leave Cal and Lia behind.”

Tav’s face softens at his words. The shift in her expression is subtle. Rolan feels something twist in his belly in response that he finds utterly confounding.

“What?” he demands, frowning.

She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “Nothing.”

Before he can (rightly) call her a liar, her half-elf friend calls her name and waves her back over.

“See you around,” Tav says with one last momentary glance before striding back up the path, gone as quickly as she appeared.

Rolan watches her reunite with her companions and head together further into the grove. It’s only after they disappear from view that he realises he feels warmer than he’d been while wrapped in the Weave.

The sting of steel pulls a gasp from Rolan’s lips. He lifts his finger to his mouth to swipe his tongue against the bead of red forming from his cut. Thankfully, it’s not deep.

“You’ve been distracted,” Cal remarks. His own handiwork with a blade has already produced a small pile of skinned rabbits, whereas Rolan has only managed a few measly carrots. He’s used to helping out in the kitchen but never been as skilled with a knife.

When Okta enlisted their help with the stew today, he’d hoped it would prove a good way to get his mind off things. Things, specifically, like the sound of Tav’s laugh and the soft, hazy glow that formed around her whenever she stepped into the columns of sunlight pouring into the hollow through cracks and openings in the stone canopy.

“Away with you!” the old woman says, snatching his knife and shooing him from his station toward a basin. “Away until you’ve washed your hands!”

Rolan grumbles a little but does as he’s told. Okta is meddlesome and a busybody, but she’s shown the three of them an abundance of kindness, always making sure they’ve had their fill of gruel or watered-down stew. He plunges his hands into the basin and lets his chin fall to his chest.

“Been a few days since those adventurers came around,” Cal says pensively. “Wonder what they’ve been up to.”

It’s true that Tav and her friends haven’t shown their faces in a while. Not even to sell off their rubbish.

“If they really did go to deal with the goblins like they said, they’re probably dead,” Rolan says.

“Don’t be morbid,” Cal says. He pauses, then, “What do you mean ‘if’?”

Rolan lifts his head to send his adopted brother a look of disdain. “Did you really think they were going to traipse into a goblin camp for the sake of some unfortunate refugees?”

“You don’t trust them?”

It’s a far sight easier to believe they had never intended to help them than to imagine them falling short. Just like with the druids.

“About as far as I can throw them,” he says.

When the news comes that the goblins’ leaders have been defeated, Rolan’s pride tempers his giddiness. They can finally leave and resume the journey to Baldur’s Gate, to their futures.

“They did it! They really did it!” Lia says.

“I knew they would,” Cal says, giving Rolan a knowing look he’s seen too many times before.

Rolan scoffs, feigning disinterest. “Let’s just get on with it. I don’t want to spend one more second longer here than we have to.”

His wish to get back on the road immediately is promptly delayed by the suggestion of a party. A final celebration at the adventurers’ camp of their victory before parting ways. Rolan can’t think of a worse idea.

The druids keep a rustic domicile within the Emerald Grove—a grand name for what essentially boils down to a smelly cave. There’s no separate shelter for the oxen. They’ve simply buffered a small space to keep them while staying there, along with their troughs and hay.

Rolan’s robes are no doubt saturated with the odour by now. The thought of attending a party wearing them, much less showing up in Baldur’s Gate to meet Lorroakan, is difficult to swallow. He contemplates washing them in the river, but everything that goes in the water tends to come out with a thin film of slippery grime that clings to the skin unpleasantly.

Not long after the scouts break the news, Tav and her companions show up at the grove. Rolan tries to appear as unaffected as possible as they speak to Zevlor, but he’s purposefully peering through the crowd for a better look.

They look a little ragged under all the sweat and goblin viscera. Even Tav’s brightly coloured jerkin is stained with drying spatters of scarlet. Maybe Rolan doesn’t have so much to worry about fragrance-wise after all.

The moment they finish their conversation with Zevlor and start moving, Rolan looks for anything else to turn his attention to. What he lands on is rifling through his pack to look busy, but there’s barely anything in it except for a waterskin, an apple, and a few crumpled letters. Tav takes her time talking to each of the refugees she’s apparently become acquainted with while he feels stupider each second he spends pretending to search for something that doesn’t exist.

It’s not even been a tenday, and Tav seems to have spoken to more of the other refugees than Rolan’s ever had since they set off from Elturel. He realises, perhaps for the first time, that he never tried to get to know any of them because he didn’t see the point. There’s never really a point. It’ll always be him, alone, trailing after Cal and Lia—just like it was when they were children.

His hands still. Maybe that was why Tav inspired such a feeling of hostility inside him. Left him all twisted up and warm. She was like a foreign object wedging its way between them.

He shakes the thought from his head. It was completely irrational, he recognises that.

“Rolan,”

Cal gently knocks the toe of his boot against his. He looks up to find Tav has finally made her way over to them. She flashes him a brilliant smile.

“Took care of those goblins for you,” she says.

Ah, she means it as a jest. Rolan straightens and arches an eyebrow at her.

“For me? Really?” he says sceptically. “I nearly dispatched them myself, but you seem to have managed well enough.”

“‘Well enough’, is it?” Tav echoes teasingly.

“Yes. Why wield a masterwork where a butcher’s blade will do?” He eyes the bloodied rapier at her hip.

“Is that what passes as gratitude in Elturel?” she says, patting the handle of her weapon nonchalantly.

“Certainly not,” Cal says with a pointed look at Rolan. “Come off it, Rolan. You really think you could have Thunderwaved every goblin in that camp alone? Thank the nice lady for saving our skins.”

It’s almost worse that she tries to fight against the smirk threatening to burst across her face. Rolan scowls at Tav, at the locks of hair plastered to her forehead and the flush lingering in her cheeks from the heat of battle, and swallows.

“Thank you, truly,” he says stiffly.

“You like her,” Cal says, seemingly out of nowhere.

Rolan nearly drops his end of the barrel they’re in the middle of lugging over to the ox cart.

“What?” he hisses.

“Tav. You like her.”

The repeat of his words makes Rolan cringe, even though he brought them on himself.

“It’s just like Zephirine all over again,” Cal goes on. “Your ears got all red.”

“‘Cept he made Zephi cry,” Lia says, the venom in her voice a little thin if only due to the distance of years since the particular event she’s referring to. Rolan can’t imagine Tav bursting into tears because of something he says anytime soon.

“If you’re not careful, she’ll think you’re a prick.”

“You make it sound like he still has a chance,” Cal says with a lighthearted laugh.

They pause at the back of the cart as Lia joins in on the chuckling. Rolan knows they aren’t trying to be mean, but wants to fold in on himself anyway. Together, he and Cal swing the barrel up onto the cart.

Hells. Cal was right.

Rolan loathes admitting these kinds of things to himself, hates the futility of it. He’s always rejected distractions to his singular focus of achieving power. The kind of power that meant the three of them would never have to lose their home again.

It takes a glass or two of cheap wine for the merriment of the celebration to smooth the edges of his discomfort. At least, Cal and Lia don’t leave his side, swaying to the music with big goofy smiles on their faces. Seeing them happy gives him permission to relax.

Cheers erupt amongst the dancers, drawing Rolan’s attention to the centre of the camp. Alfira is sidling up to Tav, nudging her not-so-subtly as she continues to strum her lute. Tav makes a show of rolling her eyes, but her enthusiasm is plain as day. As she reaches for her own instrument, the crowd cheers again.

She falls into Alfira’s lively tune easily, bouncing back and forth with the beat. The fire throws warm light across her face, sparks and embers twirling with the movement of the dancers. Tav spins theatrically, drawing hoots from onlookers—she’s a natural entertainer, glowing in the attention.

Rolan tears his gaze away and closes his eyes, letting the phosphenes from the fire fade away into black. He is certain Tav is a puzzle, and anyone who wants to be with her has to fit neatly into her and her life. Much like himself. Futility. Coming to terms with that makes it a whole lot easier for Rolan to put Tav out of his mind.

“Didn’t you say you were going to put on your little show?” Cal says, slightly winded as he drops to a seat on one of the rocks nearby.

“Fireworks!” Lia exclaims, knocking into Cal. She looks up at Rolan eagerly. “We finally get to see the fireworks! Well, come on, then!”

She and Cal lean forward on their knees. The ale has turned her cheeks an even rosier shade of red than usual. ‘Fireworks’ is a bit of a stretch for a minor prestidigitation spell, but he’s inclined to humour them.

“Patience,” Rolan says, feeling his confidence reemerge. He wags a finger at them. “Have you no respect for showmanship?”

Stretching out his arms, Rolan dips back into the Weave. His self-assurance swells as he feels its warmth surround him. A pleasant shiver runs up his spine.

“Having performance issues, Rolan?” Cal loudly whispers.

Lia smacks Cal in the shoulder. They’re even more obnoxious when they’ve been drinking, but Rolan’s mood is quickly improving. He shoots them each nothing more than an unamused look.

“Hush,” he scolds them.

Drawing from the well of the Weave’s power, Rolan concentrates his magic at his fingertips and makes a grand sweeping gesture as a brilliant light flashes above them, white at its centre and fracturing into iridescent colour around the edges. It evanesces into residual sparks around them before fading completely.

“Remember when he could barely cast that?” Lia says, elbowing her brother.

Cal grins. “They grow up so fast.”

Rolan shakes his head, though he can’t help but chuckle a little. The sound of clapping interrupts him. Alfira and Tav have brought their duet to a ringing end, it seems.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” Lia says, twisted in her seat to look over at them.

Tav is reluctantly putting down her lute, clearly determined not to take up any more of Alfira’s stage. She waves off requests for an encore with a sheepish grin and tucks a lock of her hair behind one ear. When she looks up and catches Rolan’s gaze with hers, her lips curve into a small smile. His chest nearly bursts.

“Pass the wine,” he tells Lia, turning away.

“I saw your spell,” Tav says by way of greeting once she finally tears herself away from a conversation with her elf companion.

She saunters over to his side, a goblet of wine in her hand. Cal and Lia immediately begin whispering to each other as if he can’t hear them.

“Very impressive.”

“Come to offer your adoration?” Rolan says, opting to ignore obvious gossip. He’s had a couple more cups by this point, and it’s so much easier to do so. “You’re too kind.”

Tav looks a little surprised. “You’re certainly more at ease.”

“Might have something to do with not having to worry about goblins anymore,” he tells her.

She hums in agreement and takes a long sip of her wine. When she pulls the goblet away, it leaves a drop of the deep ruby liquid on her bottom lip. Rolan actively fights against the urge to reach up to wipe it away with his thumb. That would be a wildly inappropriate and intimate gesture, he reminds himself.

Her tongue darts out to swipe at the droplet. It’s a quick motion, but just a hint of the pink tip suddenly makes his pulse accelerate. Even though Rolan hastily averts his eyes, Tav seems to have noticed him looking and grins.

“I’m glad it worked out. You risked a lot to stay. I don’t know what I would have done if anything happened to you or your siblings,” she says.

It’s his turn to be surprised. He hadn’t expected sincerity, hadn’t known she was capable of it.

“Of course, that probably would have meant I was dead. So, you know. Hypothetically,” she says with a weak laugh.

She drops her gaze to the reflection of stars in her cup, and Rolan recognises an attempt at walking back a moment of candour when he sees one. They had stayed, and it had been because of something she said. Of course, she would bear the heavy weight of responsibility if it had ended badly.

Impulsively, Rolan thrusts his own drink out in front of him and takes a deep breath. “Well, here’s to it all working out,” he says a little too quickly so that his words all jumble together slightly.

It manages to pull a laugh out of her. Soft, but still clear and bell-like. The sound tugs at something in his chest, beckoning. His mind scrambles, unbidden, to try to think of anything to say that might get her to laugh again in the future.

“To it all working out,” she agrees, gently clinking her cup into his.

He was awash with a spell that night. One made of the taste of dry wine and the crackle of the fire and the tantalising prospect of a singular chance.

They are bound for different paths, ones that he can’t know for sure will ever cross again. And even if they did, Rolan won’t fold into her life neatly, and she won’t fold into his. It’s simply how they operate.

But they have this one night, and one thing Tav seems to know how to do is take a chance. She reappears several more times between making the rounds with everyone at the party, bringing offers of coy looks and fleeting touches. Rolan isn’t so clueless as to not recognise how women like her behave when they want something.

So, what stops him? He tries to parse the answer to that question for far longer than he’d be willing to admit.

It’s not just one thing. It’s the thought of leaving Cal and Lia alone, of the inevitable mess of rolling around with her in the dirt. The tenderness in Tav’s eyes when she speaks in hushed tones with her wizard companion. The burning embarrassment of the fiasco that was his first kiss. The smell of ox lingering in his robes.

In the end, he lets the opportunity slip through his fingers, and it feels easy. It’s almost liberating.

“Think we’ll see them again in Baldur’s Gate?” Cal asks, taking one last glance behind them as they leave the adventurers’ camp in the wee hours.

“Maybe. It’s a big city,” Rolan says unaffectedly. He doesn’t look back.

It takes three people in total to drag him away from the site of the ambush. Adrenaline pumps through his veins. Rolan screams at them to let him go after Cal and Lia until his throat is sore.

The snivelling of the children chafes at his already fragile sense, rubbing his nerves raw. It’s unbearably cold, even when he touches the Weave—as if even Mystra’s reach cannot fully penetrate the shadows. Shadows that have buried deep, into regions of his chest reserved for himself and his magic.

They’ve never been apart, the three of them. Not like this. Rolan’s island shrinks in on himself.

It feels like the shadows have gripped him and refuse to let go. Rolan plants himself at the bar inside Last Light Inn and drowns himself in Arabellan Dry so he can stop replaying the way Cal and Lia threw themselves at the cultists in his head.

The others call him a mess. Rolan shoots nasty glares at them. He’s drunk, not deaf.

“You look awful.” She says it like she can’t help herself, teasing and a bit regretful. Rolan feels the undeniable need to cut her down to size bubble up his throat like bile.

“Stick your nose in someone else’s business this time,” he spits at her over his cup. “Haven’t you done enough to my family?”

Tav’s face falls, but she clings to her sad smile. It makes him want to shove at her and run away. Unfortunately, this is the only place the alcohol is kept.

“Alfira told me what happened,” she says. “She said you stepped in and protected everyone.”

Rolan scoffs and turns away, sagging over the bar. “Cute. And while I did, Cal and Lia were dragged away screaming. Maybe you two can write a ballad about that.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to them, but—,”

“You should be sorry. It was you who convinced them to play hero, and now they’re gone.”

He’s done it again. Laid the blame at her feet. This time, for some reason, it doesn’t feel as gratifying.

“I’m going to get them back, Rolan,” she says.

There’s not so much as a shake to her voice. Her words are quiet but confident. The desire to steal even a fraction of her audacity threads through his being. Rolan whirls around to face her again. His head swims.

“They’re my responsibility. Leave me and my family alone.” He laces the command with acid and revels in the way she flinches in response.

She seems like she wants to say something else. The glint in her eye carries a suggestion of worry. Or pity. For her sake, Rolan hopes she keeps it to herself.

“Fine,” she says finally, as if sensing his silent warning. It’s the last word she says before making herself scarce.

He might have still been a little inebriated when he slipped out of Last Light, but the shadows quickly chase the last of the haziness away. This isn’t the worst thing he’s been through, Rolan tells himself. And if anyone is going to rescue Cal and Lia, it’ll be him.

He’s not doing this out of a misplaced sense of pride. Certainly, this has nothing to do with the way he very confidently told Tav off and declared that this was his responsibility.

Certainly not.

Even when he’s alone, Rolan still finds himself trailing after his siblings. There’s probably some irony in that he’s currently failing to identify. The hem of his robes routinely catch on dead branches that reach out of the darkness like gnarled fingers. He’d be more worried about potentially showing up to his apprenticeship in this state under different circumstances.

There are shapes moving in the dark that make him question the integrity of his darkvision. Rolan moves with purpose through the winding cobblestone paths, gripping the torch in his hand so hard his nails dig painfully into the palm of his hand. The skin on the back of his neck prickles.

Clumsily, he climbs over the edge of a broken bridge and down the splintered fragments of road leading south. At least, he thinks it’s south. Lia was always the better tracker.

He can’t pinpoint exactly when he becomes aware he’s being stalked. All Rolan knows is that there’s nowhere to hide, no reprieve from the shadows this far from Last Light. And the deeper he goes, the darker the shadows will become. The best he can hope for now is a good spot to make a last stand.

All this time, and he’s never seen Tav in action before now. She commands the fight just as well as she commands an audience—that is to say, better than Rolan ever expected.

He can’t believe he ever thought she wasn't intimidating. Thousands of hours with his nose buried in books, and he isn’t sure he could even match the vastness of her magic. How does a bard access the Weave with the consummate ease of a wizard?

It’s neither the time nor the place, but as Rolan watches her send down a blast of light that disintegrates the final shadow creature, he recalls the words of praise she offered him about his magic trick at the party. Had she only been humouring him? The idea eats away at him like acid, and when Tav turns to him, glorious with her hair wild and chest heaving, he fixes her with a look of pure vitriol.

“Godsdamn it all!” he shouts. It feels good to shout. Cathartic. Even though his throat is still a little sore. “Not you again! Anyone but you!”

“Tymora’s tits, Rolan! I can’t believe you would do something so stupid!”

Tav matches his tone, apparently forgetting all about her companions watching on awkwardly behind her as she storms at him.

“You're going to get yourself killed, you fucking arsehole!”

Her hands are on the ornate silver plate stretching across his chest and shoving him. It’s not a forceful shove—Rolan imagines he’d receive more than a few bruises if the barbarian at her back was the one doing this—but he’s also not expecting it. His back hits the rocky outcrop behind him with a soft thud.

“You’re supposed to be at Last Light!”

Tav raises one arm up to furiously swipe at her reddening face with her sleeve. The edges of Rolan’s vision turn white. She doesn’t get to do this.

“I’m supposed to be saving Cal and Lia!” he barks back at her. “Instead, I found myself cornered by shadow fiends and in need of rescue! From you, of all bloody people.”

He can hear the way his tone veers toward condescension. It’s a bluff of the highest order. She could probably strike him down before he even gets out the incantation for Magic Missile. But falling back on arrogance is his last defence against the slip of her mask threatening to tug at his heartstrings.

“Was I supposed to just let you die?” Tav says with a sneer.

“Alright, soldier,” her tiefling companion says, drawing her back gently by the shoulder. “I think he gets the picture, don’t you Rolan?”

His muscles hurt from tensing. Rolan forces himself to draw in a deep breath of cold, stale air.

“I know when I’m outmatched,” he says, defeated.

They let him go off on his own and return to Last Light. He’s surprised they’d even trust him to do that right.

The pain is almost too much to bear, but Rolan doesn’t want to so much as look at another bottle of wine. Not after he spends a good hour retching over the side of the docks behind the inn. It feels deserved anyway.

He doesn’t understand how no one else seems to be going insane at quite the same rate as him in this godsforsaken place. The constant darkness is draining, an eerie echo of the day when the eternal light of the Companion was snuffed out. It almost feels like they’re about to be swallowed up into Avernus again.

The lack of day and night distinction makes it difficult to determine just how much time passes as Rolan sits and waits. He doesn’t even know if he’s waiting for Cal and Lia to be saved or for Tav to return with unsavoury news, if she comes back at all this time.

Nothing exists beyond the borders of the shadow-cursed lands. Rolan can’t even fathom making it out of here alive, let alone making it to Baldur’s Gate alone. He slumps over a table, resisting the urge to slam his head down on the wood, and rests his cheek against his stacked hands.

Someone calls his name. The voice sounds muffled with his ear pressed against his arm, but Rolan would recognise it anywhere.

“Lia?” he croaks, lifting his head.

It’s them. It’s really them. Cal, Lia, his family. Rolan is on his feet, but they refuse to move.

“We’re back,” Cal says, closing the distance between them because he can’t seem to.

“That’s all you have to say?” Rolan says, angling his body away from them coldly. “While you two were Torm knows where, I was out there battling the wretched darkness. What were you thinking?”

Recently rescued prisoner or no, Lia’s fiery temper remains entirely unaffected. Her nostrils flair. “Oh, I’m sorry we got captured by murderous lunatics,” she snaps.

“I thought you were dead, you ass!” Rolan fires back. “Both of you!”

“We’re all safe!” Cal says, scrambling to physically place himself between them before Lia can get in his face. “That’s all that matters.”

It’s like a dam breaks inside him. Rolan has no choice but to surrender to the wave of emotion crashing down on him. His eyes sting.

“I thought my whole family was dead,” he says, voice breaking.

Lia visibly deflates. “I’m sorry,” she says, sincerely this time. “We should have been here.”

“No—no, it’s not your fault,” Rolan says as Cal claps a hand over his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have shouted. I’m sorry.”

“You two are idiots,” Cal says affectionately.

Rolan exchanges amused glances with Lia and lets the corners of his mouth lift into a small smile.

“Troglodytes, the both of you.”

He’s not sure why he’s hiding. It’s humiliating, the way Rolan presses himself against the wall of the upstairs landing.

The adventurers have returned and are sitting around the fire at the centre of the main hall. From what he can hear, they’ve worked out a portion of how to break the shadow curse. The sound of Tav’s tired voice pins him to the spot like a spell.

Rolan peers through the railing down at them, stomach churning. They all look… rough. The Sharran cleric (Shadowheart?) is cradling her head in her hands, slouched forward in her seat on her elbows. Karlach is crumpled in the barstool next to her, and Tav’s being held up in her chair partially by Wyll’s arm slung around her shoulders.

“Who’re you spying on?”

Cal’s whisper comes from way too close to his ear. Rolan reels, cringing, and rubs his ear frantically.

“Ah, they’re back. Need to properly thank them for what they did at Moonrise,” Cal says, getting up from his crouched position beside him.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Rolan says, heart still pounding.

“What are you sods doing skulking about up here? Come on,” Lia says, emerging from the door to her room.

Rolan accepts the hand Cal offers him with a sigh and follows them stiffly down the stairs to the common area of the inn. A few pairs of eyes glance up at them as they enter. Tav’s are noticeably not among them.

“I’m going to get some air,” Rolan mutters to his siblings. As if there’s any to be had in this hellhole.

He keeps his head down and scuttles toward the exit before Cal or Lia can protest. The moment his foot touches the eerie moon-like light cast from the Selûnite shield, he feels a short tug on his sleeve and freezes. Rolan knows who it is before she even starts speaking.

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

It takes him a moment to steel himself before he can face her. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for bringing my family back to me.”

The expression on her face is unreadable, but the dark circles under her eyes jump out at him.

“And?” she says.

He shifts his glance briefly back up toward Cal and Lia, hoping they might sense his desire for a well-timed intervention. No such luck.

“And…,” he pauses and bites back a groan, “I’ve lashed out at you, drunkenly and otherwise, and you helped anyway. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

Rolan expects her to look at least a little satisfied—it was rather a good apology. Instead, her brows knit in disappointment.

“Hells, humble Rolan is a bit uncanny. I think I like you better when you’re being pretentious,” Tav says, plush lips quirked into a lopsided grin.

He’d almost forgotten after everything that she is still the same meddlesome, needling bard he met in the grove.

“Are-are you being serious right now? I mean, do you never drop the glib bard act?”

Tav the adventurer. Tav the bard. Tav the fighter, the saviour, the flirt. Rolan grasps at aspects of her of his own making, trying to find the one that comes closest to the truth, but it’s like trying to catch smoke.

“I’m sorry,” she says with what seems like genuine remorse behind her weak smile. “I’ve been dealing with a lot, mostly unhealthily. With a lot of alcohol and humour. I suppose I’ve gone a bit mad.”

The air seems suddenly sucked out of his lungs. Rolan doesn’t often find himself at a loss for words. He’d heard from around the inn, of course, about the illithid affliction plaguing Tav and all her companions.

“Oy! Get a room, why don’t you?” Karlach calls, waving at them.

Startled, Tav spins and shoots her friend a rude gesture. The others hoot and laugh around her. Rolan’s cheeks heat uncomfortably.

“Your friends seem reenergized,” he says flatly.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” she asks him.

He very nearly stammers out some nonsense answer before she quickly clarifies.

“I’m just talking about a walk around the inn, Rolan.”

“Ah, yes.” He feels a bit foolish. “Of course.”

“I’ve never had the pleasure of travelling through Elturel. Been all up and down the Sword Coast but never that far east.”

Tav finds ways to fill the silence that seem to come so enviably natural to her. She makes Rolan feel like an awkward lanky youth again, stumbling over his words and his steps, not quite yet grown into his frame. They skirt the perimeter of the dark water, past the boat Cal had told him he and the other prisoners used to escape Moonrise.

“Trust me, you’re not missing much,” Rolan tells her, toeing a bit of gravel over the edge of the dock. “I’m sure Baldur’s Gate is a comparable city to Elturel.”

“You’ll soon see for yourself. When you finally make it to your apprenticeship,” she says.

“You’re very confident we’re making it out of here.”

That pulls one of her addictive laughs from her. “I have to be. I don’t know what the alternative would look like.”

Of course, that makes sense. Rolan hadn’t even been able to form a loose idea of what he might do with his life if he’d really lost Cal and Lia. He chances a glance at her at his side watches her pensively as they stop at the edge of the Moonshield. Beyond, there's a bridge that extends over a narrow in the water.

He can’t help but wonder what they’re doing out here. If Tav had seemed somewhat out of reach before, she might as well be untouchable now. She spends all her time with Karlach, the Blade of Frontiers, bloody Gale of Waterdeep. It feels as though it should be one of them standing here beside her.

Besides, he doesn’t want her. He’s come to respect her. Perhaps, that came a little late. But he does not want her. Rolan has his family to think about, a path already set before him, a future as an Archmage with his own tower someday. That sort of thing doesn’t fit neatly into the life of an adventurer, and he can’t imagine she’d want to be tied down either.

So then, this must be some sort of fling for her. A passing fancy. Tav is saying something, but Rolan had been too preoccupied with his own thoughts and missed most of the first part. Something having to do with the Underdark and a bulette—he doesn’t really care. He turns to her abruptly and cuts her off.

“What is it you want from me?”

His question gives her pause, and he can practically hear Lia’s voice in his head. If you’re not careful, she’ll think you’re a prick. He can’t help it. It’s just always what he’s done to anyone who’s tried to get too close, for good or for ill.

“Nothing.” She says it cheekily, as if trying to elicit a reaction. It succeeds.

“Liar,” he tells her in a low voice.

Her tongue flickers out over her lip. “Yes,” she says simply. “Maybe I just want you to yell at me a little more.”

“Don’t jest. You might not want to think about it, but you could die soon. Or worse.”

“That could be. But to be honest, I’ve always believed fortune favours the bold,” she says with a shrug.

Bloody follower of Tymora. He’s certain he’s heard her invoke the Smiling Lady’s name before. Leaving so much in the hands of his goddess isn’t something Rolan is in the habit of. He clenches his jaw, transfixed by the self-assured expression Tav wears so well.

“You’re not just Lady Luck in disguise, are you?” he says, narrowing his eyes at her. “Here to tempt me and move on to the next shiny toy?”

She gives a decidedly unladylike snort at that. “I feel rather strongly that gods ought to avoid relationships with mortals at all costs. But more importantly, is that really what you think my dastardly plan is?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know you, and frankly, you don’t know me,” Rolan says, aware of the frustration edging its way into his voice.

Tav chews the inside of her lip, scrutinising him. “Alright, Rolan. I can take a hint. No hard feelings.”

She moves to leave, and Rolan feels a jolt through his chest. This is what he wanted, and Tav isn’t as much of a fool as he likes to think she is. She can see the walls he builds around himself brick by brick meant to keep people like her at arm’s length.

Rolan has no clue what compels him to snatch her hand into his. The leather of her glove is worn, stopping at the second knuckle and giving way to callouses at her fingertips from years of playing the lute. Even just that slightest contact of bare skin against skin sends electricity sparking along his veins.

Sod it all. He has the fleeting thought that if she manages to ruin him like this, then so be it. His name tumbles like a question from her lips in the split second before he pulls her into him.

He crashes his lips into hers, flinching at the dull pain of the clumsy collision. It’s not how he meant to kiss her in the slightest, but if he breaks away now, Rolan thinks he might lose his nerve. Tav doesn’t seem to mind anyway.

When he threads his fingers through hers, she splays her free hand over his chest, twists into the fabric of his robes, and pushes up onto her toes. Gods, he’s relieved he’s been able to bathe since arriving at Last Light. Rolan admittedly has little practical experience of this kind, but like magic, a firm grasp of the theory must provide a good enough foundation. Methodically, he adjusts his movements—more lips, less teeth—until he matches her pace.

“Rolan,” she whispers against his mouth, tugging lightly at her handful of his robes. It sounds like a plea. He’s trying too hard.

Consciously, he softens his efforts, and Tav swiftly takes the opportunity to slip her tongue between his lips. The feel of her palm sliding against his jaw is warmer, more comforting even than the embrace of the Weave. She tastes like spiced tea sweetened with honey, and he hasn’t kissed many people before, but he knows instinctively that this is how a kiss should be.

Her tongue swipes along the roof of his mouth, sending shivers down his spine. She’s clearly done this before. Multiple times. Rolan is tired of her continuously running circles around him. He won’t let her surpass him this time.

Daringly, he winds one arm around her waist to draw her body against his. With his other hand, he takes Tav by the chin and tilts. The squeak she lets out spurs him on as he trails kisses from the corner of her mouth to the side of her neck. When Rolan presses his tongue flat against her heated skin, she claws at his sleeves, gasping.

There’s another gasp just then that Rolan knows couldn’t have come from Tav. It’s louder, farther away, and quickly followed by astonished titters.

“Oh, my.”

Rolan’s racing heart stops, and he snaps his gaze up. Bex and Danis are rooted to the spot where they apparently stumbled upon them, eyes big as saucers. Hells.

Mortified, he lets go of Tav and scrambles to put a respectable distance between them. Bex lets out a giggle as the pair makes a hasty exit that lances him through the stomach. Rolan considers jumping straight into the murky river right then and there.

Tav makes a strange strangled sound, drawing his attention sharply back to her. She’s covering her mouth with both palms, cheeks still beautifully flushed, laughter threatening to burst through her lips. The moment is honest to goodness ruined. Rolan rolls his eyes at her.

“Really?” he says.

It takes her a moment to compose herself, though it seems she still can’t help but beam at him. “It’s funny.”

He responds with an unamused grunt. “Come on. We should probably get back.”

masterlist | cross posted to ao3 | next chapter →

[archangel-metatron]

🏔️ The New Jerusalem — God's Mountain, Eden Restored, and the City Coming Down From Heaven

> “Then I, John, saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.”

— Revelation 21:2 (NKJV)

The New Jerusalem is not a symbol. It is a real city, currently in Heaven, prepared by Jesus Himself. It is God’s dwelling with man, the Bride of the Lamb, and the place where Eden, Mount Zion, and the House of God are fulfilled — permanently.

Let’s explore the overwhelming biblical evidence that the New Jerusalem is a literal, physical, pyramid-shaped city that will descend from Heaven to Earth, bringing God’s government and presence for a thousand years, and then forever.

📐 Dimensions: The Shape of the City

> “The city is laid out as a square... its length, breadth, and height are equal.”

— Revelation 21:16

This city is 12,000 stadia in every direction — about 1,500 miles wide, deep, and high. That’s not figurative. It is a massive, geometric structure — either a perfect cube, like the Holy of Holies (1 Kings 6:20), or more likely a pyramid, matching the image of a mountain:

Isaiah 2:2 — “The mountain of the Lord's house shall be established on the top of the mountains…”

Psalm 48:2 — “Mount Zion on the sides of the north, the city of the great King.”

✨ A City Prepared by Jesus

> “I go to prepare a place for you... and I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also.”

— John 14:2–3

Jesus did not say He would build us a metaphor. He said He would prepare an actual place. The New Jerusalem is that place — God’s building, not man’s:

2 Corinthians 5:1 — “A building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.”

Hebrews 11:10 — “Abraham waited for the city which has foundations, whose builder and maker is God.”

👑 Some Standing Here Will See the Kingdom

> “Assuredly, I say to you that there are some standing here who will not taste death till they see the kingdom of God present with power.”

— Mark 9:1

This verse is not allegorical. What follows is Jesus taking Peter, James, and John up a high mountain where they are shown His glorified state (Mark 9:2–8). This is often called the Transfiguration, but what they saw was a preview of the New Jerusalem:

Jesus’ face shone like the sun

His clothes were white as light

They saw Moses and Elijah, who appeared in glory (Luke 9:30–31)

A cloud overshadowed them, and the Father’s voice was heard — just like in Revelation 21, where God dwells with His people

💫 The Star of Bethlehem Was the New Jerusalem

> “...the star which they had seen in the East went before them, till it came and stood over where the young Child was.”

— Matthew 2:9

This was no normal star. Stars don’t travel in front of people and stop directly above small homes. The “star” was the New Jerusalem, visible from Earth, shining with the glory of God, like it will again when it descends (Revelation 21:11).

The angels descended from this “star” and announced His birth. This aligns with Revelation 21:2 and Luke 2:9–14.

🌑 The Eclipse at Jesus' Death — Shadow from the City?

> “From the sixth hour until the ninth hour there was darkness over all the land.”

— Matthew 27:45

This unexplained, unnatural darkness may have been more than a sign — it could have been the shadow cast by the New Jerusalem, descending from Heaven and aligning above Earth. Like in Exodus 40:34, where the glory cloud overshadowed the tabernacle, the presence of the city may have covered the Earth during this divine event.

🌊 Eden Restored: The River and the Tree of Life

> “And he showed me a pure river of water of life… On either side of the river was the tree of life…”

— Revelation 22:1–2

This is the restoration of Eden. In Genesis 2, Eden had a river flowing from it that split into four. The Tree of Life was there.

In Revelation, we see the same pattern, but eternal. The New Jerusalem is Eden, returned in glory, healing the nations.

🏞️ All the Names of the New Jerusalem in Scripture

Throughout the Bible, the New Jerusalem is referred to in many ways:

Name Verse

New Jerusalem Revelation 3:12, 21:2

The Bride Revelation 21:9

The Mountain of the Lord’s House Isaiah 2:2

Mount Zion Psalm 48:2, Isaiah 24:23

God’s Holy Mountain Isaiah 11:9, 65:25

Eden Ezekiel 28:13–14, Revelation 22:1–2

The Tabernacle of God Revelation 21:3

The House not made with hands 2 Corinthians 5:1

The City of the Living God Hebrews 12:22

Heavenly Jerusalem Galatians 4:26, Hebrews 12:22

⏳ It Will Stay for a Thousand Years

> “And they lived and reigned with Christ for a thousand years.”

— Revelation 20:4

When Jesus returns, the city will descend to Earth. The saints will reign with Him from this city during the Millennial Kingdom — a literal 1,000-year rule on Earth.

Zechariah 14:4–9 — The Lord will stand on the Mount of Olives; living waters will flow out

Isaiah 2:3 — “Out of Zion shall go forth the law, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.”

📹 Watch the Companion Videos

Watch this quick overview of the topic on YouTube:

📺 https://youtube.com/shorts/MFyhy9tkAsk?si=sZKd-IeZt0M0Tclh

And here are some more videos which are pertinent:

https://youtube.com/shorts/LjWri436tBQ?si=dECVkBfRTTDjV-Ek

https://youtube.com/shorts/b1LV3kayjBY?si=F2pzhMofTDS-wJ2J

https://youtube.com/shorts/gC23Fwc04E8?si=F2_qdXNY1hTHveiY

https://youtube.com/shorts/Jj--nGR8Ujg?si=_jwmlFC5gjwzGfxr

https://youtube.com/shorts/1Eeo6LJ2MVs?si=cAHnCAi8Tqr9qcvn

https://youtube.com/shorts/orM06LN25J4?si=aDQu9tVClHqvH9fO

[reedreadsgreek]

1 Corinthians 10:5–6

5 ἀλλʼ οὐκ ἐν τοῖς πλείοσιν αὐτῶν εὐδόκησεν ὁ θεός, κατεστρώθησαν γὰρ ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ. 6 ταῦτα δὲ τύποι ἡμῶν ἐγενήθησαν, εἰς τὸ μὴ εἶναι ἡμᾶς ἐπιθυμητὰς κακῶν, καθὼς κἀκεῖνοι ἐπεθύμησαν. 

My translation: 

5 But God did not think well of the most of them, for they were strewn down in the desert. 6 And these things became types of us, unto us not being desirers of evil things, just as those ones also desired. 

Notes:

10:5 

ἀλλά marks sharp contrast. NASB, NRSV, NIV: “Nevertheless”. ICC paraphrases, “Yet, in spite of these amazing advantages ...”

οὐκ negates the aorist εὐδόκησεν (from εὑδοκέω “I am pleased, well-pleased”) whose subject is ὁ θεός. The preposition ἐν denotes the object of the pleasure/delight (BDAG). The substantival τοῖς πλείοσιν is the comparative form of πολύς (lit. “the more”), here standing in for the superlative (“the most”). The genitive αὐτῶν is partitive: “most of them”. This is an understatement, as Numbers 14:38 tells us that there were only two men from that generation who did not die in the wilderness. 

γὰρ introduces the evidence that God was not pleased with most of the Israelites. 

The hapax legomenon καταστρώννυμι is “I spread out” (BDAG), from κατά + στρώννυμι (5x) “I spread”. The verb figuratively can mean, “kill”, but a more literal “strewn” (NIGTC; NIV: “scattered”) fits the imagery best; NET: “they were cut down”; NRSV, HCSB: “they were struck down”. The aorist passive κατεστρώθησαν is modified by the locative prepositional phrase ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ. 

10:6 

δὲ is transitional (“Now”, most translations). 

ὁ τύπος (15x) is, “example, pattern, form” (cf. English type, prototype). τύποι is the predicate nominative of the aorist passive ἐγενήθησαν (from γίνομαι) and the substantival ταῦτα is the subject; ταῦτα refers to the story of the exodus which Paul just paraphrased. The genitive ἡμῶν after τύπος is objective: ‘the pattern applied to us’ (cf. 1 Pet. 5:3 for a similar usage). Most translations: “examples for us”. ICC takes the genitive as possessive (“which we possess for our guidance”). 

εἰς τὸ + infinitive indicates purpose, “so that” (most translations). μὴ negates the present infinitive εἶναι (from εἰμί). ἡμᾶς is the accusative subject of the infinitive. 

The hapax legomenon ὁ ἐπιθυμητής is, “desirer, one who desires”, from ἐπιθυμέω (see below). ἐπιθυμητὰς is the predicate accusative of εἶναι above. Most translations render the noun as a verb for smoothness of reading (NASB, NET: “crave”; ICC: “lusting after”). The substantival κακῶν is neuter (“evil things”) and an objective genitive. (NIV: “to keep us from setting our hearts on evil things”.) 

ἐπιθυμέω (16x) is, “I desire, long for” (BDAG), from ἡ ἐπιθυμία “desire”. The clause introduced by the comparative καθὼς modifies the verbal idea in the noun ἐπιθυμητὰς above. κἀκεῖνοι (a crasis of καί + ἐκεῖνοι, lit. “those ones also”) is the subject of the aorist ἐπεθύμησαν. To prevent redundancy, most translations omit this verb (“as they did”). 

[connecting-to-source]

"Signs and Wonders: Activating Your Spiritual Power"

When Moses stood before the burning bush questioning his capability, God responded not with words alone but with demonstrations of divine power. These signs weren't just convincing displays but revelations of the transformation process available to each of us.

The Staff of Authority

"What is that in thine hand?" God asked Moses. "A rod," he replied. (Exodus 4:2)

This simple question reveals a profound truth: we already possess spiritual authority, often without recognizing it. The staff represents:

The power already in your possession

Spiritual authority awaiting activation

Divine capability within ordinary tools

Wisdom hidden in everyday experience

When Moses cast down his rod and it became a serpent, we see the transformation of potential into active power. What ordinary capabilities are you ready to surrender to divine purpose?

The Hand of Creative Power

"Put now thine hand into thy bosom..." (Exodus 4:6)

Your hands represent creative expression and manifesting power. This sign of the hand becoming leprous, then restored, shows:

The purification process in consciousness transformation

How revealing hidden patterns precedes healing

Divine restoration of creative capability

Enhanced power following spiritual cleansing

Like Moses, we often fear looking at what needs healing. Yet seeing clearly is the first step toward restoration.

Water into Blood

Water turning to blood demonstrates:

Consciousness (water) becoming life essence (blood)

Understanding transforming into embodied wisdom

Thought manifesting as tangible reality

Truth becoming demonstrable evidence

Your Signs and Wonders

These demonstrations weren't just for Moses but reveal the pattern of transformation available to you:

Recognize the authority you already possess

Allow purification of your creative expression

Transform understanding into embodied wisdom

Join us for this transformative exploration of divine power and conscious transformation.

(Connecting to Source with Rev Stephon podcast)

Share your journey: What signs of transformation are appearing in your life?

[omarhussainchicago]

Florida Real Estate Trends and Insurance Concerns

Florida has long been a beacon for those seeking sunny skies, oceanfront living, and a booming economy. However, the real estate landscape in the Sunshine State is undergoing significant changes, shaped by escalating insurance costs, climate challenges, and evolving demographic shifts. These factors are creating a complex environment for both buyers and sellers, with broad implications for the state’s economic future.

Rising Insurance Costs

One of the most pressing issues affecting Florida’s real estate market is the skyrocketing cost of homeowners’ insurance. Homeowners across the state are facing unprecedented premium hikes, often exceeding the national average by a substantial margin. This sharp rise is largely driven by the increasing frequency and severity of natural disasters, particularly hurricanes, which have led to massive insurance claims and financial strain on insurance companies. Some insurers have even ceased operations in Florida, leaving homeowners with fewer options and higher costs.

The impact of these rising insurance premiums is tangible. Many sellers are reducing asking prices to entice buyers who may otherwise be deterred by the additional financial burden. This trend has led to a growing number of price reductions on properties, reflecting the pressure on the market as homeowners try to balance their financial responsibilities with market realities.

Climate Risks and Development

Florida’s vulnerability to climate change is another critical factor shaping its real estate trends. Rising sea levels, coastal erosion, and intensified storm activity pose significant risks, particularly for properties in flood-prone areas. Despite these challenges, development in high-risk zones continues to flourish. Thousands of new buildings have been constructed in areas that are at heightened risk of flooding, underscoring the ongoing demand for coastal properties despite the potential for long-term challenges.

Omar Hussain, a Chicago-based business executive with expertise in real estate, commented, “South Florida’s real estate market continues to attract luxury buyers who are looking for unique, high-end homes that provide both exclusivity and access to all the amenities that the region offers.” His perspective highlights the enduring appeal of Florida’s real estate, even as concerns about climate risks and insurance costs grow.

Nevertheless, the intersection of climate risks and real estate development has created a paradox. On one hand, properties in high-risk areas remain desirable, particularly among affluent buyers seeking luxury coastal homes. On the other, the long-term sustainability of these developments raises questions about the resilience of Florida’s housing market.

Demographic Shifts

The combination of rising insurance premiums and growing climate risks is prompting some Florida residents to reconsider their long-term plans. While the state remains a popular destination for retirees, young professionals, and families, there is evidence of a shift in demographic patterns. Some long-term residents are relocating to states with lower insurance costs and less exposure to natural disasters.

This shift is particularly pronounced among retirees, who often face fixed incomes that make the escalating costs of living in Florida unsustainable. The strain of dealing with frequent hurricanes, heatwaves, and rising insurance bills is causing many to reevaluate whether the benefits of living in Florida outweigh the challenges.

However, the exodus is not uniform. Florida continues to attract new residents from across the United States, drawn by its tax advantages, job opportunities, and lifestyle offerings. The influx of new buyers and renters, particularly in urban areas, is helping to offset some of the demographic losses seen in other parts of the state.

The Future of Florida Real Estate

Looking ahead, Florida’s real estate market is poised for a period of transformation. Rising mortgage rates, insurance costs, and climate risks are likely to influence buyer behavior, creating new opportunities and challenges for stakeholders. Developers, policymakers, and homeowners will need to adopt innovative strategies to address these emerging concerns.

Omar Hussain emphasized the importance of adaptability in navigating Florida’s real estate landscape. “Navigating the competitive South Florida rental market requires a keen understanding of local trends and a proactive approach to emerging challenges,” he stated. His insight reflects the dynamic nature of the market and the need for forward-thinking solutions.

For homeowners and investors, the path forward will require careful planning and a willingness to adapt to changing conditions. Mitigating the risks associated with climate change and rising costs, while capitalizing on Florida’s enduring appeal, will be key to sustaining the state’s real estate market.

Conclusion

Florida’s real estate market stands at a critical juncture. The interplay of escalating insurance costs, climate vulnerabilities, and shifting demographics presents both challenges and opportunities. While the road ahead may be uncertain, Florida’s allure as a vibrant and dynamic state ensures that it will remain a focal point for real estate activity. Stakeholders must embrace innovative solutions to ensure the resilience and sustainability of this vital sector.

Originally Posted: https://omarhussainchicago.com/florida-real-estate-trends-and-insurance-concerns/

[dkaufmandevelopment]

The Great Millennial Migration: States Wealthy Young Professionals Are Leaving and Where They’re Headed Next

In recent years, a significant trend has emerged among affluent millennials: a mass exodus from high-tax states in search of more favorable living conditions. Wealth advisor Clint McCalla’s experience encapsulates this shift. After enjoying life in San Diego, known for its stunning beaches and renowned attractions, McCalla and his family made the difficult decision to relocate to Austin, Texas, in September 2023.

Cost of Living Drives Relocation

For McCalla, the allure of San Diego was overshadowed by its high cost of living. "We loved it there, but the expenses were simply too much to bear," he explained. Renting proved challenging, and the complexities of California's property tax laws only added to their frustration. McCalla remarked on the state’s systemic issues, saying, “You have a system that disproportionately benefits legacy real estate owners and investors at the expense of new buyers.” This challenging environment contributed to their decision to seek a better quality of life elsewhere.

In Austin, the McCallas have found relief. “Almost everything costs less,” McCalla noted, emphasizing the substantial savings in housing costs. Their new home in a great school district has not only provided financial respite but has also fostered a sense of community that they cherish.

The Larger Trend: High-Tax State Brain Drain

McCalla is not alone in this migration. A recent analysis by SmartAsset, utilizing IRS data from 2021 and 2022, highlights a growing trend of wealthy millennials leaving states like California, Illinois, and New York. California, in particular, faced a loss of 3,226 affluent households in 2022, resulting in a significant economic impact due to the loss of high-income tax revenue.

This demographic, primarily those aged 26 to 35 earning over $200,000 annually, contributes heavily to state economies. The average income of households in California’s affluent millennial demographic stands at an impressive $480,776. As these individuals relocate to lower-tax states, such as Texas and Florida, the implications for California’s economy become evident. The Wall Street Journal notes that this exodus could lead to higher taxes for those remaining, especially the middle class.

Where Are They Going?

Texas and Florida have emerged as popular destinations. In 2022, Texas welcomed 1,660 new millennial households with an average income of $405,215, while Florida gained 1,786 households, averaging $526,273 in income. This influx not only boosts local economies but also positions these states as attractive hubs for young professionals seeking both financial stability and lifestyle advantages.

Shifting Trends on the Horizon

Interestingly, early 2024 data suggests a potential reversal in this migration pattern. Some millennials who previously moved to Texas and Florida are now returning to their home states, including California and New York. While it’s too soon to determine the permanence of this trend, cities like Austin and Miami are experiencing a slight decline in their wealthy young resident populations.

Engaging with the Future

As we continue to monitor these shifts, it raises critical questions about the long-term viability of high-tax states and the evolving preferences of millennials. Will economic incentives ultimately outweigh lifestyle choices, or will the pull of community and familiarity bring them back?

Join the conversation: What factors influenced your decision to stay in or leave your state? How do you envision the future of these shifting demographics? Your insights could help shape the narrative around this evolving story.

[ben-drabbles]

Chitterlings

Known as the chr'tai in their native tongue, this arboreal species was the first to leave their home system and begin settling on other planets. However, by the time of humanity's exodus across the galaxy, the chr'tai empire had collapsed to ruins. The secrets of their technology were lost, and the people were once more stranded on their homeworld. Though, this seclusion was short-lived, in the grand scheme of things - when there is something to find, someone will find it. In the case of the chr'tai, a group of drifters from Straight On 'Till Morning reverse-engineered enough chr'tai tech to find their home planet, and bring chitterlings back to the stars.

The chitterling homeworld is a dense low-gravity jungle, full of dangerous predators and fantastical flora. The lanky and fragile Chitterlings, unlike to many other sentient species, evolved from herbivorous prey animals. They sport large, dangling ears, widely-spaced eyes, and dense fur in varying patterns and colorations. The name 'chitterling' comes from their speech; their jittery native language, 'chi'ter,' is spoken faster than most other species can understand without training. Their twitchy reflexes and frequent fidgeting add to an air of anxiety about them, but that is only in relation to other species, and even then, more appearance than fact.

In galactic society, chitterlings often find themselves working in zero-gravity. The relatively high standard gravity taken from the human colony ships (and, presumably, earth) is a bit more than most can tolerate; they have trouble breathing, they often feel sluggish and weak, and they are more injury-prone than species adapted to high-gravity worlds. But, through their long reach, delicate handiwork, and experience moving without a tether to the ground, they have adapted well to a spacer's life. It's almost like they never left.

Chr'tai ruins are typically adapted well to any world they're found on, built of local materials and overgrown with local life. They can be identified by the rather unique architecture, often assuming visitors would climb as much as they would walk, and leaving a lot of headroom and open spaces. What little of their technology survives is frequently an early form of psycho-tech, interfacing with minds directly; the devices also frequently display geometric patterns of gold light, resembling the pattern of stars during Foldspace travel. Perhaps our modern discoveries are not as unique as we think?

Modern chr'tai ships and technology emulate these ruins to some extent. Their ships are zero-gravity at almost all times, and feature large 'wings' of golden light. Other people who fly alongside chitterlings comment on how open, breathable, and comfortable the space is - a little slice of paradise, if everything is functioning well. Of course, they aren't exactly durable, as a more densely-built ship would be. As such, these vessels are typically flown on pleasure voyages or along safer Foldspace routes. That is not to say chitterlings are careful spacers - you can find them on nearly any vessel, though they may complain about low ceilings and people 'leaving the gravity on too high.'

The mystery of the chr'tai empire's collapse captivates many of their people, but many more seek to build a new future for themselves. While at first their elders were reticent to return to space, citing cryptic ancestral warnings, they eventually found that there was no remaining evidence of these dangers. Many other peoples wandered the cosmos in peace - at least, from anything capable of wiping out an entire empire. The young folk found new ways to live out in space, and only a scant few remained to tend the treetop villages of their old home - but still, their stories live on, if any wish to hear them. There is much to learn from the chr'tai, even with their ancient history long-forgotten.

Though, as space begins to weaken around Foldspace lanes, one has to wonder - what if there truly is something to fear, out beyond the veil? What could have happened to the ancient chr'tai - and what might happen to us?

[destinyimage]

Jesus Hears Your Raw Cry for Him!

Jesus stopped and said, “Call him.” So they called to the blind man, “Cheer up! On your feet! He’s calling you.” (Mark 10:49 NIV).

Jesus stopped.

Those two words catch my attention. What causes Jesus to stop? He is the Word. He is Lord. He is Messiah, and yet throughout Scripture we have moments when Jesus appears to allow Himself to be interrupted. Who is this God-Man who appears at times to have extremely flexible plans? What is it from humanity that would cause Him to pause His journey, to stop what He is doing, and turn toward us?

Jesus often stopped for the unlikely. Jesus would stop for ones whom His own disciples did not think He would stop for. We see this in Mark 10:13-16 as Jesus decides to stop for the little children. The disciples try to whisk the children away, seeing them as an inconvenience, but Jesus finds value in stopping for them. In this brief interaction, you can tell that once again even those who walked daily with Jesus did not fully understand His heart. This became normative for Jesus, consistently giving attention to the ones others so easily ignored. In Mark 5:1-20, we find another such intriguing story when Jesus is approached by a demon-possessed man. For an unknown amount of time, this man had been totally rejected by society, living among the tombs, tortured by the legion of demons that inhabited him. This man was the type most people ran from, but not Jesus. Again, Jesus stops to give attention to this man who is crying out for His help.

Clearly Jesus had a pattern of stopping for those most would not, but what is it about Bartimaeus and several others that caught His attention? It is hard to tell on the surface if it is having the right need, the right heart, or maybe even the right environment. Throughout Scripture there were certain cries that seemed to catch Heaven’s attention. Look at some of these remarkable verses.

A very large crowd of people assembled in Jerusalem to celebrate the Festival of Unleavened Bread in the second month. …The priests and the Levites stood to bless the people, and God heard them, for their prayer reached heaven, his holy dwelling place (2 Chronicles 30:13,27 NIV).

The Lord said, “I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering. …The cry of the Israelites has reached me” (Exodus 3:7,9 NIV).

In my distress I called to the Lord; I cried to my God for help. From his temple he heard my voice; my cry came before him, into his ears (Psalm 18:6 NIV).

Apparently there is a cry, there is a sound, that reaches the ears of God and compels Him to action. These are the cries of those hungry for Him to move. It is the desperate sound of those who realize that God alone can save them, heal them, deliver them. When people turn to God alone this can be called the cry of faith. It is the cry that says, “God will move on my behalf!”

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Faith is not as abstract as we often make it out to be. Faith indeed has substance and it is evidence, as Hebrews 11:1 (NKJV) says, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Faith is tangible. Faith always demands a response; it always precedes actions. James points this out when he says:

So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead. But someone will say, “You have faith and I have works.” Show me your faith apart from your works, and I will show you my faith by my works (James 2:17-18 ESV).

Faith often seems to ignore the social norms and even at times logical human advice. If you are not the one in faith, it appears to ignorantly deny truth. Faith by all other accounts, usually except for the one who has it, can be quite extreme. Bill Johnson says, “Faith does not deny a problem’s existence, it simply denies it influence.” In other words, faith is not denying the present obstacles or reality; it is just submitting to a higher truth—the truth of Jesus Christ. We do not have to deny the statistics about this generation to have faith for them. We aren’t ignoring the facts; we just have faith that the Word of God supersedes the facts.

Faith can be seen, it can be felt, and it can be heard. It is evident that faith can be seen by how Jesus responds to the healing of the paralytic when he says, “And when Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, ‘Son, your sins are forgiven’” (Mark 2:5 ESV). Faith can be felt, which is obvious when Jesus says, “Someone touched me, for I perceive that power has gone out from me” (Luke 8:46 ESV). Faith can also be heard. It is heard when the centurion says to Jesus, “Just say the word, and my servant will be healed” (Matthew 8:8 NIV). This level of faith impressed Jesus. The Bible even states that Jesus marveled at his faith (Matthew 8:10). This is the faith that causes Jesus to stop. This is the sound that demands Heaven’s attention.

It is this sound that is heard when Bartimaeus makes that bold declaration, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” I believe Jesus heard a sound that He simply could not resist. Jesus heard the sound of faith. Jesus heard the sound of hunger. He heard the sound of determination. The sound of one who says, “I will do whatever it takes to get His attention.” Bartimaeus had made that bold declaration, essentially saying, “You are the Messiah, You are my Source, no matter what anyone else is saying, You have what I need.” Bartimaeus refused to be quieted down. Bartimaeus refused to be distracted. Bartimaeus refused to be deterred, and Heaven heard his cry.

The response—Jesus stopped.

Several years ago, I was in Brazil getting ready to preach in a church that I had never been to before. As I prayed about the service, I could not get a sense of what God wanted me to speak on. If you’re a preacher, you understand that this is not a great feeling. Your main job is to deliver a message, so you can imagine as the time for service drew closer I became more and more nervous. It didn’t help that I did not know the pastor or the church well. I arrived at the church and still had not heard anything from the Lord about what He wanted me to say or do. I attempted desperately to remember something, anything, that I could share and nothing was coming to mind. I wracked my brain for the most recent sermon I preached and still nothing. After the greetings with the pastor, we went into worship. I remember thinking that surely Holy Spirit would tell me something during worship. Again, absolutely nothing. Next thing I knew, they were introducing me as the guest speaker and I was taking steps toward the pulpit. It was then, in the final few seconds before I grabbed the mic, that He spoke one very simple thing. He said, “Ask them what they are hungry for.” For you reading this, perhaps you feel relieved for me that an answer came, but in the moment my first thought was, “What in the world am I supposed to do for the other fifty-nine minutes and forty-five seconds of this service?” There is no way that one brief question is going to suffice for an entire service. Having zero other options I nervously, with knees shaking, said over the microphone, “God wants to know what you’re hungry for.”

What happened next I will never forget. Immediately those in the crowd began to cry out. There were undignified screams of those who wanted Jesus more than anything else. I can still hear the sounds that undoubtedly captured the attention of Heaven. The next hours can only be described as holy. God’s Presence rushed into the room in such a mighty way that I and my translator both laid face down on the altar. They would not and could not be silenced, though no one present wanted it to end. His Presence was so weighty that day I wasn’t sure when if ever I would be able to get off the floor. For an uncertain amount of time, people continued to cry on the name of Jesus, until I began to hear the sound of movement. As I looked up, people were making their way to the altar. Many were crying as they threw their glasses on the stage because their eyes had been supernaturally healed as His Presence came. There were so many miracles that occurred that night with no one specifically praying for them.

That day, Jesus stopped.

A sound came out of a church in Brazil from people who were hungry for nothing else but Jesus. A cry that caught the attention of Heaven. A cry that ushered in a manifestation of His Presence.

After Jesus heard the cry of Bartimaeus, He stopped and said, “Call him.” This generation is one that is choosing to ignore those who would attempt to silence them. They are refusing to be silenced by the religious majority that would say that their cry is too loud, too passionate, perhaps too irreverent. They have chosen not to listen to the voices that would tell them that Jesus is doing something different or that their generation is too lost and too far gone. You must be focused on the One you are crying out to and determined to ignore the crowd. This generation will not succumb to the pressure of culture; they will cry out even more and Jesus will stop for them. In fact, Jesus is already stopping for them. He is calling them.

Do you know what I find comical? The very people who had rebuked Bartimaeus then said to him, “Cheer up! He’s calling you.” I would say these people are fair weather friends, and like many of you I have had more than my fair share of them. These are the people who criticize you when things aren’t working out the way we thought they would. They are ones who not only can’t see the promise that God has given you, they are the antagonists of the promise. They want to stop your dreaming. They want to halt your faith. They struggle to believe that Jesus would stop for you, and they certainly do not want Him to use you. These “friends” will kick you when you are down, but when He begins to fulfill His promises, when He stops for you, when He puts favor on your life, all of a sudden they are your biggest supporters and friends. One minute they are rebuking your cry and the next they are wrapping their arm around you and telling you with excitement that Jesus has called you.

We do not get much insight into Bartimaeus’ thoughts about these people around him. To be honest, it appears that he gives it barely any thought. I want to encourage you to do the same. Do not allow the crowd’s rebuke or the crowd’s cheer to affect you. Bill Johnson puts it best when he says, “If you live by the praise of man, then you’ll die by their criticism.” Be not overly moved when the masses attempt to deny you or when they sing your praises. Instead, take a lesson from Bartimaeus who stayed focused on just One. He did not stop when they tried to silence him and he did not try to make friends when they encouraged him. He simply remained focused on the movement of Jesus. Perhaps it has become cliché, but we truly are meant to live for an audience of One. This is our place of greatest strength.

In my heart of hearts, I believe this will be the heart posture of this generation. In a culture that has tried to sell them endless feedback in the form of social media followers, likes, and comments, I believe they will listen for the voice of Jesus. While the temptation is to find their value in brand agreements, viral videos, and Tik Tok approval, I believe they will prize the acceptance of Jesus above the approval of others. Many of them have tasted of the false acceptance that the crowd has offered them and they realized it did not satisfy. They have known the devastating flippancy of the virtual world. They have experienced firsthand being loved one moment and canceled the next. This society has not met their needs, and they are focusing in on the One who has what they need.

When you hear the voice of Jesus call you, it no longer matters who tried to silence you. Equally, it no longer matters who has tried to promote you. His voice drowns out all of the chatter. His voice permeates through the cultural noise.

Prayer

Father, give us the grace to live for an audience of One. I pray that right now You would heal the wounds of the crowd. For every time that this reader has been kicked when they are down, falsely accused, and rebuked by those who did not fully know their situations, I pray that You would bring healing to their heart. Help us to forgive them, for truly they know not what they do. Protect us from being moved by the criticisms or the praise of others. May we, like Bartimaeus, release a cry for You today that would catch Your attention. May we come out from all of the noise that culture supplies and lock eyes with You. Lord, hear our cry. Hear our cry for our own lives and for this generation. Amen.

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[tctmp]

Patterns of Evidence: Exodus: Directed by Timothy P. Mahoney. With Kevin Sorbo, Benjamin Netanyahu, David Rohl, Shimon Peres. An investigation into the validity of the Exodus.

[fazlkacom]

فيلم Patterns of Evidence: Exodus 2014 - فزلكا

فيلم Patterns of Evidence: Exodus 2014 – فزلكا

[beatrice-otter]

To give a bit more detail: nobody can pinpoint the time the Exodus described in the Bible happened, because there is zero archaeological evidence that it ever did. And the only documentary evidence is the Bible; there are literally no other sources that record it. There is no evidence in Egypt of a large group leaving; there is no evidence in the Levant of a large group invading and conquering. (Unless you mean the Philistines, who were Greek colonizers who settled in the lowlands by the sea, and were the enemies of the indigenous peoples of the Levant--which is consistent with the Biblical description of them.) All of the destruction the Biblical book of Joshua records? There's no evidence it ever happened. Which, considering they claim to have leveled multiple cities, there should be. (There were a lot of confused Western archaeologists in the 19th Century excavating ancient cities in the Levant trying desperately to find evidence of the destruction the Bible described, only to come up empty.)

There's also no evidence of cultural change or replacement in the material culture from anything that could plausibly be an invasion of Hebrew refugees from Egypt. Different cultures make different things: they make different styles of pots and decorate them differently, they eat different foods, they design their houses differently. So, for example, in England, you can tell from the archaeology when the Romans conquered because round houses disappear and get replaced by square/rectangle ones, and at the same time there are a lot of changes in settlement patterns, pottery, tools, burial customs, etc., et.c. Even if we didn't have Roman records of conquering England, we would know something big happened just from the archaeology. And in the Levant, we can tell archaeologically when the Philistines showed up, we can tell when the Assyrians showed up, etc., etc.

But there's never a shift in material culture that could possibly be a bunch of ex-slaves from Egypt arriving and settling in large numbers.

What we do have evidence of is long-standing low-level intertribal and intercity conflicts. We have evidence of Philistine (Greek) colonization of the lowlands and conflict between them and the indigenous people who got pushed up into the mountains, before the Philistines were wiped out by one of the successive invading empires (I'd have to look up which one). We have evidence of the kingdoms of Judah and Israel from about the 10th Century BCE (but we have no evidence they were ever a single kingdom, as the Bible insists they started out). We have a lot of evidence of the successive waves of imperial conquest over the centuries--Egypt, Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Greeks, Romans, Arabs, Turks, Europeans.

We've known for about a century that the Hebrew Bible (what Christians call the Old Testament) was edited into its final form during/after the Babylonian Exile, in the 7th and 6th centuries BCE. Much of the texts making up the Hebrew Bible are older than that, some much older; but they were edited. And one of the things that seems to have happened in the editing process is a mashing together of various cultural origin myths, to claim that they had always been one people and all of them had the same history. When in fact they had originally been a group of related and culturally-similar (but still distinct) tribes and city-states that eventually coalesced into two nations, Israel and Judah. Those groups regularly squabbled and fought among themselves, but generally united against outside invasions (which happened frequently).

There probably was a group that fled Egypt and settled in the Levant; if nothing else, Moses is an Egyptian name, not a Hebrew or Canaanite one (despite what the Bible claims). However, it was probably a small group, and it certainly didn't conquer anybody. But that story became important to a lot of people in the region, whether or not their ancestors had actually been a part of it.

To give a contemporary historical example of how a small group can become mythologized in a cultural history, consider America. We talk a lot about the Pilgrims coming over in the Mayflower and landing on Plymouth Rock. But only about 3% of all Americans have ancestors who were on the Mayflower. We talk even more about the Revolutionary War, and to be fair a much higher percentage of Americans are descended from people who were here during the Revolution. But still, more white people came over after the RW than before it. I have ancestors who were here during the Revolutionary War! ... but most of my ancestors were not, my great-grandparents didn't get here until the early 20th Century. And of those of our ancestors who were here during the RW, statistically only 1/3 of them were pro-America at the time. 1/3 of American colonists supported independence, 1/3 supported continued British rule, and 1/3 didn't care. (And then add in the fact that the British forces in the Revolutionary War included 17k German mercenaries, 1/3 of whom stayed in the US rather than going back home to Germany--and I'm descended from one of them.)

But we don't tell the story as "most of your ancestors weren't here when the Revolutionary War happened, and of those who were, most either supported the British or didn't care which side won." We talk about how our Founding Fathers were brave Americans who came together to defeat the British so America Could Be Free.

In the same way, the foundational Stories Of Their Ancestors as recorded in the Hebrew Bible are heavily mythologized and slanted--it's the National Story Of How They Came To Be. Most of it probably is true in some way, just incomplete or exaggerated or edited. Some of it's pure story (like the myth of George Washington and the Cherry Tree). But given that the actual people whose stories are told in the first few books of the Hebrew Bible have been dead for many thousand years, and lived before the Hebrews had a written language, it's tough to separate out fact from story. (Hebrew only adopted an alphabet and a written form around the 10th Century BCE; Moses--whoever he was--probably lived somewhere around the 13th Century BCE, some three centuries before that).

But what we can tell is that the only waves of conquest in the area that left any evidence behind are the ones that we can definitively match to outside empires coming in--the Assyrians, Babylonians, Persians, and all the ones that followed them. Whatever else the followers of Moses did, they didn't colonize the Levant. Even if the Bible claims they did.

[dgcatanisiri]

I touched on this briefly earlier, but I want to go in to it deeper.

When the geth attack Eden Prime in ME1, the Council’s response is a brush off. “The turians don’t found colonies on the borders of the Terminus Systems.” “Humanity was well aware of the risks when you went in to the Traverse.” Those are direct quotes.

Except... Eden Prime is NOT on the border of the Terminus Systems. Here, let me dig up the map from the wiki...

See? The maps aren’t perfectly mirrored to each other, but the general shape can be mapped. The Exodus Cluster is where the Utopia System is, where Eden Prime is. An attack on Eden Prim isn’t a random attack on a far-flung colony world. That is well within Alliance borders. Eden Prime itself was established in 2152, ME1 takes place in 2183, it’s been established for more than thirty years, over a generation - Jenkins was BORN on Eden Prime, and is old enough to have enlisted in the Alliance and made it through academy training.

And this is a pattern of behavior among the Citadel Council in specific and the Council races more broadly - the First Contact War happens because humanity activated the Relay near Shanxi, and the turians response was to blow the human ships up, rather than even negotiate. This is because Citadel law is to not activate dormant Relays.

But humanity wasn’t allied with the Council at the time. Humanity was not subject to the laws of the Citadel races - It’s been a constant refrain in the news about being signatories to various treaties creates certain impositions. When the US pulled out of the Paris Climate Agreement, it meant that the US was not bound to those agreements. 

Now, there can be political backlash and consequences to not being in these agreements, sure. But the point is, if you’re not a signatory, you are not abiding by that agreement. By definition, humanity, making its first forays into space exploration, this being First Contact, could not be a signatory to that agreement. This is the Citadel IMPOSING their laws on non-signatory sovereign entities, and doing so at gunpoint - no attempt is made by the turians to negotiate. The turians don’t even communicate with the alien ships. They assume threat and open fire. 

And, in the wake of all this, HUMANITY are the ones painted in Citadel space as bullies and aggressors. 

What the FUCK?!

Humanity just got mugged and the cops showed up, took the mugger’s side, and said “now you’re friends, shake hands, and go about your business.” 

And when humanity complains about their treatment, the Council’s reaction is to slap them down with bullshit procedures that make humanity out as the ones responsible for any misfortune. Like above. Eden Prime is not some border colony that’s just finding its feet. This is a colony world that was established before First Contact, closer to the heart of Alliance space. An attack there constitutes a major threat, not just to the Alliance, but several other central worlds.

But... It’s humans complaining again. And slandering one of the Council’s top agents in the process.

Because they don’t accept the eye witness report of Saren’s involvement. They let Saren have access to the files and records of the person he is accused of killing (conflict of interest!). The fact that Nihlus, who, being outside of the Alliance chain of command, was not in a position where anyone could argue with him, chose to proceed on his own, got killed is actually held up as evidence against Shepard’s suitability for the Spectres (and Saren really shouldn’t have any say, as Udina rightly points out, even though it’s framed as Udina being petty). 

Oh, and there’s the fact that Garrus is TOLD that his investigation into Eden Prime is concluded, not that he’s wrapped it up. This is coupled with the fact that all indications are that this investigation takes place in a short time frame - Shepard is out for about two thirds of a day before they arrive at the Citadel, and while the cut to Udina’s office could take place over any length of time, Udina’s comments indicate that it’s probably not that long after the Normandy docked, because he’s commenting on the appearance of Shepard and squad, who Anderson proceeds to introduce, and then when we get control of Shepard, they get to do the first-time tourist thing, meaning they haven’t had the time or opportunity to look around and get acquainted with the Citadel. 

So this is maybe A DAY’S worth of investigation, and seemingly not even enough time to go in person to the site proper and back - if Normandy is still out from the Citadel when Shepard wakes up after sixteen hours or so, then it would be that long for a ship to reach Eden Prime from the Citadel, plus the return trip. Like, standard rule of thumb IRL is that a crime scene ALONE will stand for about a day as evidence is collected. But this is saying that the investigators don’t even have a chance to go in person - AT BEST, we might assume robotic clean up bringing the forensics to the Citadel, but... That seems like bad policy to me, considering the value of actually interacting with the crime scene environment.

Oh, and let’s not forget Garrus’s credentials - he’s a cowboy cop in C-Sec’s structure, chafing under the standard rules and procedures. And he is the ONLY C-Sec officer assigned to the case that we see. On top of Pallin telling him that his investigation is over. This just SCREAMS that the Council is suppressing the investigation - they want it over and done with, and the complaint to go away. Never mind that the geth were involved.

And the thing that is called “irrefutable evidence”? It’s Tali, a quarian, whose species are considered vagrants to the Citadel races at large, providing a fragment of memory from a geth, something that Anderson says he thought was impossible.

Combined with everything above, it comes across as the Council finally deigning to act now that humanity has a non-human advocate, even if it is a quarian.

And then there’s also how the Council SAYS to Shepard that every effort will be made to help them track down Saren, but then we have Saren openly retaining his position with Binary Helix - Binary Helix does most of its business in Citadel space, if they have business ties to a known and wanted fugitive, it’s in their business interests to at least APPEAR to cooperate. But Shepard doesn’t get to even say “Saren is a wanted criminal I have been sent to apprehend, help me find him or watch your contracts disappear.” 

Honestly, all of this being the case, the Council contacting Shepard after each mission comes across more like them waiting to catch Shepard in a mistake and prove that humanity isn’t ready for the Spectres.

All of this, all of it, and then we reach ME2, when the colonies that actually ARE on the edge of the Traverse are being attacked, and the Council’s response, even though humanity is now ON the Council, is exactly the same. They learned nothing. They’ll still hang humanity out to dry.

And in all of it... The Council races STILL can’t admit that THEY caused this. It’s all still “humanity are bullies and aggressive, determined to have their way.” When really it’s more that humanity got attacked in a dark alley, the cops laughed it off and said “that’s the law,” and so humanity decided “fine, then we want to be in a position to influence and change that law, because it’s unjust.”

So when Ashley is saying that she doesn’t trust the alien governments, believing that they’ll leave humanity to die, that, in a metaphor of a bear attacking and you sicing your dog on the bear in the name of getting away while it’s distracted, humanity is the dog and the Council are the person getting away... Yeah, she’s right. That’s kinda the whole point of at least the first third of ME3, the Council throwing Earth and human interests in front of the bear so that they have a chance to get away.

She’s also right to be concerned about a cowboy cop and a merc taking a mission for gratis being given full access to the most advanced stealth ship in the Alliance fleet, which has a database full of schematics and secrets. She does what is right and proper in this instance - she approaches her CO in confidence, voices her concern, accepts the decision made, and does not let this interfere with her duties. In point of fact, she’d be a poor soldier if she DIDN’T make Shepard aware of her concerns and just acted as their personal yes-woman, going along with their decisions with no hesitation, even if they’re wrong.

[shammah8]

RHAPSODY OF REALITIES DAILY DEVOTIONAL

Wednesday, 15th February 2023

BUILD ACCORDING TO HIS DESCRIPTION

Moses was warned when he was about to build the tabernacle: “See to it that you make everything according to the pattern shown you on the mountain (Hebrews 8:5 NIV).

PASTOR CHRIS OYAKHILOME PHD

When God told Moses to build a tabernacle, He gave him a clear description and instructed him to build according to the description: “According to all that I shew thee, after the pattern of the tabernacle, and the pattern of all the instruments thereof, even so shall ye make it” (Exodus 25:9).

In your walk with the Lord and work in His Kingdom, don’t just run off with every idea just because you think it’s nice. Be sure that you’re following God’s blueprint; the pattern and description that He’s given. It’s one of the reasons you must know the Word for yourself.

In His Word, you find samples, patterns and descriptions of how He wants us to live, the things He wants us to do and how to do them. The psalmist said in Psalm 127:1, “Except the LORD build the house, they labour in vain that build it…”; we must build according to His plan.

In these last days, the Lord Jesus is building His Church. He said, “…I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it” (Matthew 16:18). There’s a description given to us in the Word of God that shows how He’s doing this. The Bible says He (Christ Himself), “…gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up” (Ephesians 4:11-12 NIV).

His plan is to build through these leaders, but everyone is involved; each one of us contributes to the building of this great body of Christ: “From whom the whole body fitly joined together and compacted by that which every joint supplieth, according to the effectual working in the measure of every part, maketh increase of the body unto the edifying of itself in love” (Ephesians 4:16).

Every time you lead someone to Christ, you’re adding to the building of the Body of Christ, and it's a magnificent building. Hallelujah! Keep playing your role by winning souls into the Kingdom. You’ll be contributing to the building of the magnificent structure according to the description given.

PRAYER

Dear Father, I thank you for the ability of your Word in my spirit. I’m a doer of the Word, not just a hearer. The results of living in and by the Word are evidently manifested in every area of my life today, in Jesus’ Name. Amen.

FURTHER STUDY:

Hebrews 8:5 AMPC [But these offer] service [merely] as a pattern and as a foreshadowing of [what has its true existence and reality in] the heavenly sanctuary. For when Moses was about to erect the tabernacle, he was warned by God, saying, See to it that you make it all [exactly] according to the copy (the model) which was shown to you on the mountain.

1 Samuel 15:22 And Samuel said, Hath the Lord as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams.

[aboutanancientenquiry]

This is the second review of Wesselius’ book on Herodotus and the Bible, for sure far more hostile than the previous one, written by none other than Kenneth Kitchen, who combines in his person rather paradoxically the qualities of eminent Egyptologist and of fundamentalist Christian apologist. Enjoy:

“THE ORIGIN OF THE HISTORY OF ISRAEL: HERODOTUS’S HISTORIES AS BLUEPRINT FOR THE FIRST BOOKS OF THE BIBLE

WRITTEN BY JAN-WIM WESSELIUS 

REVIEWED BY K.A. KITCHEN

OLD TESTAMENT

This book claims that whoever put together the older ‘history’ writings of the OT, namely the Pentateuch, Joshua, Judges, 1–2 Samuel and 1–2 Kings (so-called ‘Primal History’), imitated the Histories of the Greek writer Herodotus, who wrote in the later 5th century bc; and hence these biblical books were put into this sequence (or even first written) at that date if not later. Wesselius gives lists of what he views as significant common features between Herodotus and the biblical books just mentioned, which in varying measure are the evidence for his proposal, Intriguing, but has it any basis in reality?

Probably not. The comparisons are mostly far too superficial and inexact to carry any weight; or depend on untenable understandings of both texts. Just nine books in both cases is mere coincidence of no value, likewise the comparisons of Moses and the exodus with Xerxes crossing water to attack Greece; why not compare Ramesses II or Muwatallis II crossing the Orontes against/for Qadesh? Or endless Assyrian crossings of the Euphrates into the Levant? Finding drinking-water was a quest for all travelling groups, at all times! Interpreting the generations from Terah to Moses as just even links like the Persian line (Phraortes to Xerxes) is a fallacy; Exodus 6:20 gives only a summary to give Moses’ tribal (Levi), clan (Kohath), family (Amran), parent (Jochebed) line, not a full genealogy through 400 years! Cf. Numbers 3:27–28 (Amramites and relatives). Lists of equally superficially-compared data, wrenched out of their original contexts could be multiplied. This is not a deep inner pattern, but modern invention (‘eisegesis’).

Treating Genesis—2 Kings or ‘Primal History’ and Herodotus’s Histories together exclusively, and (especially) isolated from the relevant Near-Eastern literatures that are the sole true context of the entire OT, is a methodological disaster, that is guaranteed to fix results (i) as desired by the author, and (ii) that will be factually false. The work of Herodotus is basically uniform in its overall approach, of a narrative that regularly alternates the history proper with disquisitions on peoples and places involved. The ‘Primal History’ of the OT is a modern concept, not an organic unit; and it is made up of sets of writings that differ radically in style and formats, which can be dated to specific successive periods within c. 1900–550 bc, by use of objective criteria afforded us by the surrounding Ancient Near East, a matter compactly demonstrated in part in this writer’s On the Reliability of the Old Testament (Eerdmans, 2003). Neither Ezra nor any other 5th century Jew probably ever saw or read a copy of Herodotus’s long work, produced in a language largely unknown to them except for a few ‘culture-words’, even as many natively English-speaking people know a scatter of such words today (apparachnik; intermezzo; bon vivre; putsch; costa) without in most cases a reading/speaking knowledge of the languages these words come from. This ‘Eurocentric’ (and tacitly minimalist) approach has almost nothing of lasting value to offer to serious students of the OT, one must sadly concede.

K.A. Kitchen

University of Liverpool”

Source: https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/themelios/review/the-origin-of-the-history-of-israel-herodotuss-histories-as-blueprint-for-the-first-books-of-the-bible/

Kenneth Anderson Kitchen (born 1932)[1] is a British biblical scholar, Ancient Near Eastern historian, and Personal and Brunner Professor Emeritus of Egyptology and honorary research fellow at the School of Archaeology, Classics and Egyptology, University of Liverpool, England. He specialises in the ancient Egyptian Ramesside Period (i.e., Dynasties 19-20), and the Third Intermediate Period of Egypt, as well as ancient Egyptian chronology, having written over 250 books and journal articles on these and other subjects since the mid-1950s. He has been described by The Times as "the very architect of Egyptian chronology".[2]

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kenneth_Kitchen

Kitchen defends a maximalist approach on the validity of Old Testament as historical document and he defends chronologies for its composition much earlier than most other modern scholars accept, exactly in order to present it as an account contemporary with the events it relates. So, the ideas of a late composition of most of the ‘historical” part of the Old Testament in the Persian period by a unique author and under the influence of a Greek (among all people!) writer are anathema for him. 

Now, many criticize Kitchen (and with reason, I think), arguing that, when he writes on subjects outside his proper field (Egyptology), he is doing just fundamentalist apologetics for the Bible and his religion (he is Evangelical Christian). However, I think that he is right when he writes that the Old Testament must be understood above all in the context of the literatures of the Near East (although I think that he is unfair when he accuses Wesselius of “Eurocentrism”). He is also right I think when he writes that Wesselius’ parallelisms between Herodotus and the Bible are not convincing (although Kitchen sees them with hostility and rejects them as just superficial, whereas he should recognize at least that Wesselius’ comparisons are for sure interesting and thought provoking). 

Moreover, I think that Wesselius’ thesis takes as granted an intense cultural interaction between Greeks and Jews in the fifith century BCE, which is not supported by the evidence. I think also that it is almost sure that Jewish intellectuals came into contact with Herodotus’ work only after Alexander’s conquest and the progress of Hellenism in the Near East. Now, I don’t think that the main body of the Old Testament as we know it today could be dated in the Hellenistic period (it seems that most of it comes from the Persian period), so I tend to exclude an influence of Herodotus on the Bible (except perhaps on the Book of Daniel, which is a work of the second century BCE). But this does not mean that the research for similarities and parallelisms between Herodotus and the historical narrative of the Bible is fruitless, although we should not forget that major differences also exist between them (the Bible is above all mythohistory and sacred history, whereas Herodotus’ work is, despite its more traditional layers, the first work of history in the proper sense of the term).

[redheadedgirl]

It has been awhile so I don’t recall all the details, but the documentary “Patterns of Evidence: Exodus” works through Egypt’s timeline, going back to Joseph, to then work forward to Moses, adjusting and filling in the gaps. It’s fascinating, well researched, and I think lines up with/expands on some of the theories proposed so far.

I have SO many crazy theories on ancient lands.

[comrade-meow]

When The Drummers Were Women

By Layne Redmond

Yes, guys, there was a time in our history when the primary percussionists and drummers were women. The first named drummer in history was a Mesopotamian priestess named Lipushiau. She lived in the city-state of Ur in 2380 BC, which at that time had conquered all the surrounding city-states. She was the spiritual, financial and administrative head of the Ekishnugal, the most important temple in Ur dedicated to the moon god, Nanna-Suen. Her emblem of office was the balag-di, a small round frame drum used to lead liturgical chanting. In 2380 BC, Lipushiau ruled!

From the civilizations of Anatolia (Old Turkey), Mesopotamia, Egypt, Greece and Rome, the Goddess and the frame drum emerge as the core trance and mystical religious traditions. The frame drum was once at the center of the oldest rave like gatherings — it was the oldest technology for altering consciousness. The mystery rites would last for days at a time with nonstop drumming and dancing. Get this in perspective — this was church. Quite a different religious experience than I had growing up! A frame drum is defined by the diameter of the drumhead being much larger than the depth of its shell. The shells range in depth from 2" to at most 6". They range in diameter from 4" to 30". Most of these drums are portable and can be held in one hand.

The frame drum most often has a skin on only one side but sometimes it may have skins stretched across both sides. Bells or jingling and rattling implements may be attached to the inside rim, and in ancient times were believed to add to the drum’s power to purify, dispel and summon. Very often the drums were painted red, the color of blood, or sometimes green, the color of vegetation, the primordial colors of life. Mystical designs and symbols might also be painted on the skin head or the wooden frame. Threads or ribbons knotted with ritual prayers or chanting often hung from them.

Although this frame drum is similar in appearance to the shaman’s drum found throughout Asia and North America, there is a major difference in how they are played. The shaman’s drum is struck with a bone, horn or stick. The Mediterranean frame drum is played with the bare hands. While striking a drum with a stick gives a single deep resonant sound, finger techniques allow more variety: a deep, open tone, a slap, a high-pitched rim sound, or a soft brushing sound. This difference in stroke technique has led to differences in construction. The inner edge of the rim of the Mediterranean frame drum is often beveled and its skin is usually thinner, to enhance the sounds produced by fingers and hands. Hand or stick? I have not been able to determine which technique is older - the shaman’s drum played with a stick or the frame drum played with bare hands. The use and basic constructions of the drums are so similar that they probably both grew from the same root techniques of altering consciousness. In every ancient Mediterranean civilization I studied, it was a goddess who transmitted to humans the gift of making music. In Sumer and Mesopotamia it was Inanna and Ishtar; in Egypt it was Hathor; in Greece, the nine-fold goddess called the Muse. Musical, artistic and poetic inspiration was always thought to spring from the Divine Feminine. One of the main techniques for connecting to this power of inspiration was drumming.

The drum was the means our ancestors used to summon the goddess and also the instrument through which she spoke. The drumming priestess was the intermediary between divine and human realms. Aligning herself with sacred rhythms, she acted as summoner and transformer, invoking divine energy and transmitting it to the community.

The earliest known depiction of any drum was painted on a shrine room wall in 5600 BC in a Neolithic city in what is now Turkey. The shrine room wall depicts a group of ecstatically dancing figures, some of which appear to have percussion instruments. A band of human figures clad in leopard skins play various percussion instruments as they dance ecstatically around a large bull. One figure holds a horn-shaped instrument in one hand and a frame drum in the other. Other figures carry what look like shakers or rattles, as well as bowed instruments similar to the Brazilian berimbau. The excavating archaeologist, James Mellaart, has unearthed numerous other shrines in this city honoring a great goddess, and he believes that primarily priestesses tended these shrines. To date, the wall painting is our oldest evidence of a goddess-based tradition in which the frame drum was used in ecstatic rituals.

From 3000 to 2500 BC, written records of the Sumerians describe the goddess Inanna as the creator of the frame drum, along with all other musical instruments. They tell of Inanna’s priestesses who sang and chanted to the rhythms of round and square frame drums. Along with the written texts, numerous figurines of women playing small frame drums have been found. These drumming rituals were carried on in the later worship of Ishtar, Asherah, Ashtoreth, Astarte, and Anat in Mesopotamia, Phoenicia, Palestine and Assyria. Somewhere between 2000 and 1500 BC, the frame drum arrives in Egypt. James Blades reports, “All records from this period (Middle Kingdom) show the performers as women; in fact the whole practice of the art of music appears to have been entirely entrusted to the fair sex, with one notable exception, the god Bes, who is frequently represented with a drum with cylindrical body (frame drum).

”Another text described the priestesses as the composers and choreographers of the music and dance used on religious occasions. In the Cairo Museum there is an actual rectangular double-headed frame drum from 1400 BC that was found in the tomb of a woman named Hatnofer. Also surviving from the Ptolemaic period is the skin head of a frame drum on whose surface is painted a woman playing a frame drum in front of the goddess Isis. The inscription on the drum reads, “Isis, Lady of the Sky, Mistress of the Goddesses.”

It is important to comprehend the significance of women’s control of sacred music and dance in Egypt. Religious ceremonies based on music and dance can synchronize the underlying energy of the mind and directly influence our perceptions of reality. Ritual influences our modes of awareness that both underlie and transcend the normal patterns of consciousness. Rites can be used to rouse and shape group emotion and behavior, developing a continuous shared consciousness. Music vibrationally transmits states of mind directly from consciousness to consciousness. Thus, politically, music can resonate simultaneously on far more levels — emotional, spiritual, intellectual and physical — than can words alone. As music initiates changes in group consciousness, it can affect vast social and economic cycles.

The Biblical lands have also yielded numerous images of women playing the frame drum. Old Testament texts refer to the tambourine as the toph, which as been translated as the timbrel and the tabret. Exodus 15:20, “And Miriam, the prophetess, sister of Aaron and Moses, took a timbrel in her hand, then the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances.” In some legends it is said that Miriam parted the Red Sea with the shamanistic power of her drumming.In Greece, some of the most beautiful representations of the frame drum are found on the red figured vase paintings from the fifth century BC. The frame drum entered Greece from several different directions — from Cyprus, one of the main centers of the cult of Aphrodite where the frame drum was prominent from at least 1000 BC, and also from Crete, where it was used in the rituals of Ariadne, Rhea and Dionysos.

Pre-classical Greece also saw the introduction of the cult of the goddess Cybele, from Western Anatolia. The tympanum, the Greek frame drum, was the main instrument of the maenads, the women initiates, in the worship of Cybele and Dionysos, and the priestesses of Artemis, Demeter and Aphrodite also played them. Both single-headed and double-headed frame drums appear, once again played almost exclusively by women.

The Romans saw the last great flowering of these rites when the religion of Cybele was brought to Rome in April of 204 B.C. She was described as, “Cybele, the All-Begetting Mother, who beat a drum to mark the rhythm of life.” Rome was the cultural center for the mystery religions of Cybele, Dionysos, Isis and Dea Syria — all of which used the frame drum in their ecstatic rituals. These practices flourished until the Roman Empire officially adopted Christianity in the fourth century A.D.

In the ancient world, prayer was an active, trance-inducing combination of chanting, music and dance, and initiates often danced the sacred spiral into the labyrinth. The classic labyrinth is a single path meant for meditative circling. To enter it is to experience a ritual death; to escape from it is to be resurrected. The danced line into the labyrinth was a sacred path into the inner realm of knowing. Dancers holding a rope signifying Ariadne’s thread (that allows participants to find their way in and out of the maze) followed a leader into the labyrinth, spiraling right to left, the direction of death. At the center they turned, dancing out in the direction of evolution and birth, all to the driving rhythms of the frame drums. Another function of the frame drum was to create a prophetic trance state in which the priestess could foretell the future. The most dramatic mode of prophecy was uttered in inspired rhythmic speech. In the depths of ecstatic trance, the oracle was possessed by the goddess, who rapped in powerful rhymes directly through her lips. The Greek word for this state of transfigured consciousness is enthusiasmos – “within is a god” – the root of our word enthusiasm.

Ecstatic prophecy has many parallels with shamanism. Prophetesses sought inspiration through a number of external stimuli, including fasting, ingesting honey, inhalation of burning herbs or essential oils and intoxication via alcohol or psychotropic plants. Cybele’s priestesses relied most heavily on the trance-inducing properties of music and dance. The rhythms of frame drums, cymbals and flutes moved them towards the consecrated, concentrated state of divine revelation.

The Dionysian rites are the most widely known of all the mystery schools and have an enduring reputation as drunken sexual orgies. This is due to the later descriptions by Christian political leaders to whom the ancient mysteries of the goddess along with ecstatic drumming, dancing and in this century, rock and roll, have been labeled devil worship. Our word “orgy” comes from orgia, derived from the root word meaning “deed.” The term was used for the celebrations following initiation in mysteries, which might or might not include sexual imagery or behavior. Its ancient connotation seems to have been simply “secret rites.” Their aim was the ecstatic transformation of consciousness through rhythmic movement of the body.

Historians have associated the maenads, priestesses of Dionysos and Cybele, with unbridled sensuality and socially uncontrolled behavior. The word maenad means “mad women.” Their erotic longing for union with the Divine found expression in wild, barefoot dances to the primordial music of flute and drums, their unrestrained hair flying wildly about their faces, snakes wrapped around their arms. According to some reports they drank blood and tore wild beasts limb from limb. Not too far out of line from what might take place at a contemporary summer rock festival!

Wine was indeed an important part of the Dionysian mysteries. External stimulants were always used in pursuit of higher consciousness, for divine intoxication with the spirit of the deity. References to drinking blood may actually allude to a communion rite in which the fruit of the grape represented the blood of the deity, as it does today in Christian communion rites.

Mastery of the precise musical rhythms required to align the devotees’ consciousness with divinity suggests a control and sophistication of technique that contradicts the historical image of wanton frenzied women. Creating rhythms powerful enough to move hundreds of people into ecstatic trance states required skill, discipline and endurance.

With the ascendancy of Christianity, Cybele’s great temple in Rome was destroyed, the Vatican was built on the site and the new priesthood banned the priestesses, instruments and music associated with her rites. Not only was the frame drum banned from Christian religious rituals, its use in secular contexts was also frowned upon by the Church, in particular its use by women. The Catholic synod of 576 (commandments of the Fathers, Superiors and Masters) decreed: “Christians are not allowed to teach their daughters singing, the playing of instruments or similar things because, according to their religion, it is neither good nor becoming.

”For 3,000 years women had been the primary percussionists in the ancient world. As Europe pursued this policy of disallowing women to learn music, they effectively barred them from the professions of composing, teaching or performing.

The last 30 years have seen a dramatic rise in the number of professional women musicians, but there are still few women pursuing drumming. Although little is known about the history of frame drums and the women musicians who played them, it is an important part of our percussive history. And the ancient traditions of using drumming for spiritual purposes can point out what we have lost.

At contemporary rock concerts we have all the trappings of ritual without the spiritual purposes. Flashing trance-inducing lights, loud rhythmic sound, chanted and sung words, but often with no higher purpose than to momentarily entertain or to glorify the individual performer. And no matter how much idolization some of these quite gifted musicians attain, they are often driven to attempt to fill the emptiness with drugs and alcohol.

Yet I remember concerts that hinted at the search for wider realms and dimensions of being. The first concert I ever saw was a show by the Monkees. But what blew me away was the opening act — Jimi Hendrix. I had no frame of reference for where he was taking me. I soared with him beyond the known on the piercing sounds and songs of his guitar. Yet in the end he burned and beat that beautiful guitar to pieces. I had experienced something profound and transformative, but it had ended in destruction, leaving me bewildered and yearning for something more. I have spent the rest of my life looking for the pathway into the ecstatic that leaves me transformed, whole and euphoric.

This article was Originally published in DRUM! Magazine’s December 2000 Issue