#but it's also celebrated on The Day of the first fleet's arrival / the conquering of australia

[koigoldfish]

「 HAIKYUU!! SETTERS AS THINGS THAT REMIND ME OF HISTORICAL EPICS 」

: ̗̀➛ AUTHOR’S NOTE. what can i say? i have no other explanation other than to say that i am a history buff. i spend most of my time either watching historical movies or stuff on youtube and just be awed at what ancient or medieval rulers did at the time. so, what if the haikyuu!! setters were like them too? consider my history-nerd side going off in this post. everyone here is inspired by many historical figures and i just mash them up together.

: ̗̀➛ WARNING(S). mentions of blood and violence, i.e, impaling (what did you expect? history is rarely ever pretty), though the description is not very explicit.

OIKAWA TOORU: ‘the great’, gold crowns made from intricately detailed sculptures of leaves, acorns, and flowers, mounting a stallion with a furious demeanour as its rider, vexilla glistening beneath the sunlight on their way to a battlefield, battle horns tearing through the sky as a sign of their arrival, putting two plumes on their battle helmet with the purpose of attracting their enemies to fight them, eyes burning with the flames of a thousand ambitions, clashing of the swords with kings doomed to fall before him, military campaigns to discover and raid other lands, the people erecting a massive statue during their reign as a sign of gratitude and worship, battle of gaugamela, “there is nothing impossible to him who will try.”

KOGANEGAWA KANJI: ‘the bruce’, raising a rebellion against an overlord to gain independence, an outlaw king, every lord in the region pledging their loyalty to the king crowned by the people, regardless of birthright, a gold diadem upon their heads as they rode out to battle, only armed with fabric cuirass and chainmail, the call to stand together against an overwhelming number of enemy troops, muddy battlefield where it had rain the night before, telling one of his soldiers to not announce his fatal injury as to not discourage his men, instead, beat the war drums louder, battle of loudoun hill, “if you at first don’t succeed, try, try, and try again.”

AKAASHI KEIJI: ‘the determined’, planning battle strategies in their dreams, shooting balls of fire from trebuchets to pound another kingdom’s brick walls, building walls surrounding the enemy’s kingdom to trap them inside and intentionally letting them starve to death, battles taking place in a forest, the trojan horse, defeating another ruler who has a considerable age gap, a siege that goes on for fifty three days, intended to make chángshēngbùlǎo yào (elixir of life) but ended up inventing gunpowder, both a benevolent ruler and a master of war, battle of hastings, “in my end is my beginning.”

ATSUMU MIYA: ‘the lionheart’, raising a rebellion against one’s own father with a brother, strong arms suited to wield a longsword, a gruesome scar across the face that will haunt the rest of their days, executing traitors and enemies either by the gallows or beheading, insulting their enemies and got captured for it, crusades to recapture the holy land, accidentally invading a neighbouring kingdom (conquest of cyprus), proposing a one-on-one fight to spare the lives of their men, able to fight with a non-dominant hand in case the dominant one gets injured, battle of arsuf, “brave men should either conquer nobly or gloriously die.”

KAGEYAMA TOBIO: ‘the magnificent’, laurel wreaths made from real leaves, not gold, tunic adorned in rich, gold embroideries under the tyrian purple toga, their subjects required to prostrate before him when he’s present in a room, meetings with the senates held in curia julia, abolishing a corrupted system that has burdened the empire for decades, trusted advisors eventually turned traitors mingling in their political court, constructing a colosseum, watching the gladiatorial contest or the naumachia (mock sea battles) every week, owning a majestic golden chariot pulled by the strongest and fastest of white stallions, battle of alesia, “experience is the teacher of all things.”

KENMA KOZUME: ‘the young king’, ascending the throne before coming of age, bloodstains on fallen sakura petals and broken tree branches, torn karuta after an exhausting battle with a stubborn and strong enemy, broken katana blade gleaming under the moonlight and sadly, beyond repair, bloody wounds that never really heal but every single one holds a memory, battles fought near shallow waters of a river, sengoku jidai, hundreds of warships among the coastlines to anticipate any attack from the waters, endless bloody feud between prominent clans, battle of sekigahara, “a clear and innocent conscience fears nothing.”

SEMI EITA: ‘the bold’, magnificent red robe draped behind the shoulders, attaching a talisman representing the goddess of battle and wisdom before he goes out to battle for good luck, ambushing the enemy’s camp at midnight, the sound of horses’ stampede running down a hill accompanied by the screams of their men, face stained in mud and blood, breaching the enemy’s gate with battering-rams as thousands of arrows rain upon them at the same time, the sun shining through the clouds as they celebrate their victory, lavish banquets full of music, food and wine for his soldiers, inviting their enemy to their tent and deciding whether to give them a glass of water or not, first arab siege of constantinople, “death smiles at us all, but all a man can do is smile back.”

SUGAWARA KOUSHI: ‘the good’, age of enlightenment, offering protection to his distant family members who have been betrayed or usurped, fortifying the walls from unexpected sieges by barbarians from the sea, attacking the enemy fleet with greek fire, singing along with their soldiers as they march towards the battlefield to lift their spirits, the marching sounds of their army from behind a hill, heavy rainfall during a battle, soldiers grouping together to form a shield-wall to protect their leader, continuing to stand and fight even after falling from their horse, siege of paris, “fate and history conspired to make me what i am today.”

SHIRABU KENJIROU: ‘the impaler’, swearing revenge against a comrade who betrayed and killed one of their family members, not often engaged in battles but still leading their army from the safety of the capital, using the environment to their advantage to overtake their enemy, impaling traitors and an enemy’s entire army’s head on a pike and put them on display along the castle’s walls, demoralizing their enemies by showing symbols, singing, and beating drums, walking through piles of dead enemies’ bodies, disguising a lavish dinner feast with a goal to capture all of his traitorous boyars, sacking their enemy’s kingdom if they refuse to surrender, trapping the enemy’s troops by forming a shield-wall while pushing their spears towards them, night attack at târgoviște, “a man’s greatest joy is crushing his enemies.”

MONIWA KANAME: ‘the kind’, forming a decision to never execute people during their reign, developing plans to improve the empire’s agriculture, inventing new weapons to easily overwhelm enemies, marching through a desert with all of his troops just to make a peace treaty, would rather form a diplomatic alliance than waste his men to meaningless bloody wars, establishing sīchóu zhīlù (silk road), the tang dynasty (also known as the ‘golden age’), wanting to build the greatest wall the world has ever seen, a humble ruler the empire has ever had but still holds justice in the highest regard, battle of huoyi, “endure what is difficult to endure and to suffer what is difficult to suffer.”

reblogs are appreciated! ✦

© 2021 | all work & content posted belongs to iwakusa. do not under any circumstances modify or repost.

[lisinfleur]

When she’s around

The request:

Author’s Notes | I decided to write this one from Ubbe's POV cause I wanted to focus on the changes and the impact of her presence in Ivar's life and someone who's out of a relationship but was present since before the reader's arrival - and knows Ivar as much as an older brother could know - gives the perfect point of view I wanted to this fiction! I hope you like it!

Universe | Vikings

Pairing | Ivar x Reader, Ubbe’s POV

Info | Viking Age AU, requested by anon for 5CW7

Words | 1901

⁑ Warnings: Historical inaccuracy.

She came into his life out of nowhere. But she already arrived showing what she was able to do.

"To be honest, the Ragnarsson has spread some good pieces over this table..."

In a matter of moments, she solved a deadlock that was keeping us from determining a plan for our next battle against the Christians through the last three hours. And she did it by clarifying to all of us...

...That Ivar was right...

 "It's a matter of prediction. Foreseeing what your enemy will probably choose to do and set up a trap in each one of his options; prepare yourself for each one of his possible movements. This way, wherever the Christian prince decides to move, we'll catch him. Here, here, or there. He's locked."

 Her fingers sliding through the map, making us all able to see what my little brother's blessed mind had already seen before us, placing little details that would complete his plan and make it practically foolproof... They caught Ivar's eyes pretty more than our attention. They convinced Ivar's heart pretty more than Björn's suspicious mind.

And I didn't let it pass.

She was completing my brother's plan, but I also could see there was a part of her that was causing her lips to curl in a smile whenever he would come to complete her sentences; every time their ideas would sound unison as if they were made to work together.

 "Imma losing an advisor, ain't I?"

 More than that.

Harald lost pretty more than just his advisor or one of his best warriors that day.

He lost her attention. Completely. Because their plan was a huge success, but it was with us that she came to sit and celebrate.

Beside my little brother was where she shared the mead of a victory we didn't expect to see coming so easily. And the gods are witnesses: Sigurd wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for her sweet voice into my little brother's ears; her tender hands over his trembling and tense hands.

 "It doesn't worth the price, Ivar. You're just giving him what he wants. You're losing control and proving him right. A child would throw this ax. But you're not a child... A man wouldn't be affected by such vicious words. So, what are you, Ivar, the Boneless?"

 I saw my brother hearing her low voice more than he ever heard my screams. Her words caused his hand to stop shaking when my speeches were never that effective. Ivar sat down once again and his eyes went from Sigurd into her orbs.

 "I won't let a childish stupidity ruin the victory we conquered today. Nor my plans to take the men who want to fight with me. We'll spread our fingers through these lands and they'll know and fear my name. And then..." his eyes got back into Sigurd's, catching that surprised expression in our brother's face. "Then I'll show you that crawling like a baby I'm better man than you'll ever be with your perfect walking-legs, brother."

 The ax fated to my brother's chest was sunk on the table that evening. And that same night, Ivar called her to come with us.

 "I want you with me. I want your words and your mind by my side. Together we are invincible!"

 But even at that moment, even under his praises, she had humble words full of wisdom.

 "No man is invincible, my prince. No flesh shall live forever. But two similar minds are pretty harder to be beaten than one. And like you, I want to see how much of these lands we can cover with the mantle of your fame."

 They covered the whole place... Wherever my little brother's chariot rode, the lands would somehow become his. In a matter of months, the whole East Anglia was taken. And Ivar's army was now advancing over Mercia. Sigurd stepped back to care for Aelle's lands. I stepped back to care for East Anglia's settlement. Harald stepped back being left with York under his care.

But the two of them along with Hvitserk... They were insatiable.

I saw that woman convincing my little brother that there wouldn't be vengeance bigger over our mother's name than forcing Lagertha to a long and peaceful life...

I watched my little brother smile over Lagertha's funeral boat, watching on the wrinkled face of our mother's murderer the proof she would be nowhere to be found in the halls of the gods to where I saw Ivar carving his way.

But the time came for him to come back even for our homelands. With his claws established and our people spread all over the places he conquered, Ivar came back to take our homelands from the Rus' hands with his iron fist. With our reinforcements - Sigurd's, Harald's, and mine - Ivar came back to take the crown from the prince Rus who dared to attack our homelands and claim the life of our older brother who perished by their army right after being made king of all Norway.

A messenger of our kind invited me with the news of my little brother's marriage...

 "The people of Norway invites with pleasure and joy your highness, king Ubbe from East Anglia, to return to your homelands and celebrate the marriage between king Ivar, the Boneless and his soon to be queen Y/N, the Crow."

 Today my feet were once again touching Kattegat's docks after years away. With a small fleet of my men, along with Sigurd - who had also come to honor our little brother's marriage - and a small part of his men, I arrived my homelands to see the market twice as big than I could remember, cleaner, more full of people with all parts of our kind.

"A deal placed the fisherman in Vestfold and the clean products in our lands to ensure a clean bay. It made our market more attractive, our merchants richer, and increased the number of tents." I've heard Hvitserk's voice - kinda hoarser than I could remember - speaking beside me where he had stopped without my acknowledge. "He made us bigger, brother. He fulfilled his promises. Ivar is known everywhere from Mercia to the ends of Ringerike, where I just came from to celebrate with you." he smiled.

A crown in his head, smaller, possibly something under Ivar's. But something I could see Hvitserk wasn't ashamed of walking around with. We exchanged an embrace before my eyes could run over the place once again.

"Everything changed," I mumbled as Hvitserk was hugging Sigurd before he could look at me once again.

"Biting my own tongue about him, after all," Sigurd mumbled and Hvitserk giggled.

"You better hold your teeth, brother. You might need to have your tongue whole to be bitten when you meet our little brother once again." he boasted.

His words were not enough to prepare me for what I would find inside our great hall. The braces in his legs were completely different from the ones I remember seeing him dressing the first time Ivar stood on his feet in front of my eyes. My little brother's hair was longer, braided tight, well cared. And so were the beard in his face, shorter than mine, but there: something I thought I would never see.

A heavy crown in his head - a huge sign of his power - was something I was already waiting for. However, Y/N's dress held an even bigger surprise for us all. One that made Hvitserk smile cockily over the confirmation of the words he had just spat on Sigurd's face.

"I told you to wait before biting your tongue there, Sigurd... Now I think you have more reasons to swallow it whole, uh?" he mumbled, joking as we followed the gorgeous image of Ivar's queen - belly swollen with his child - approaching to receive us as our brother kept himself sitting on the throne that was once Björn's; our father's, before his.

"King Ubbe, King Sigurd, welcome to Kattegat," she smiled, respectfully saluting us both, ignoring Sigurd's jaw almost dropping down to the ground in front of him.

I, however, felt my lips curling in a proud smile when my eyes crossed with the icy blues looking at us from that higher spot. If someday I had expected to see my little brother in a good situation, those were all my dreams for his life becoming true.

He had the crown he pursued so far, the heir his nightmares told he would never be able to produce, the name many believed he would never build. Ivar's broken legs had taken him further than any of us had reached with our bodies whole and I was proud of what he had conquered. Of him.

But inside I knew behind all that strength, was the anger. I knew behind all that wisdom, was the little man I saw crying inside his room, punching his bed, cursing the gods for his painfully broken bones. Behind the whole curve of that cocky smile Ivar had conquered the right to wear in front of each one of us, was the mark of the tears and sweat I saw rolling down his face since the beginning.

And if someone had helped him to find the right way to where he was standing now, realized, this person was her.

 Y/N, from Vestfold...

 The woman my people had learned to call "The Crow" for, like Huginn and Muninn to Odin, she was the crow cawing in my little brother's ears, whispering wisdom to his troubled mind, teaching him where and how to drive his strength so he could become the huge man I was alive to see in front of my eyes.

She was everything Ivar ever needed by his side. And because of Y/N, I saw my little brother flying higher than my best dreams could plan for him. Ivar has built himself, forged in his own strength, bathed in his own talent. But she was the hammer and the fire; the forge and the hits that turned him into the man he had become.

I held her hand Y/N had offered me in salutation. And there was a tender smile in my eyes. Proud for Ivar. Full of gratitude for her.

"Thank you, Queen Y/N," I said, smiling at her figure with happiness when she landed her hand over the beautiful belly swollen with my nephew or niece to come. "It was never this good to return to my home."

It was never that good to stand in Kattegat's Great Hall and look around to see the whole effort I made when our father was absent had turned into something so majestic.

He wasn't my son, but I was proud as if it was a child of mine with that crown in his head.

He wasn't my doing. And I was happy to see my little brother walking by himself.

Somewhere in Valhalla, our father was toasting for him, lowering his head in shame and apologizing for ever have doubted his strength - such as our brother Sigurd was doing now, shocked by Ivar's ability to prove him wrong.

Somewhere in the halls of the gods, our mother was smiling down telling everyone something I would be happy to hear if I could...

 I know I shouldn't say I told you so... But I told you so.

Do you like my work? Support me!

Tagged ones:

|| @bluearchersstuff​ || @ivarswickedqueen​ || @directionlessbuthappy​ || @akamaiden​ || @bang-kim-bap​ || @cris101071​ || @elysias-temple​ || @alicedopey​ || @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla​ || @lol-haha-joke​ || @readsalot73​ || @rekdreams247​ || @naaladareia​ || @laketaj24​ || @therealcalicali​ || @grungyblonde​ || @arses21434​ || @honestsycrets​ || @2thequietone4​ || @blackspiritshake​ || @vikingsbifrost​ || @wallabieswisher​ || @lyanna-the-giantsbane​ || @chinduda​ || @isthat-tyra98​ || @xinyourdreamsx​ || @thiahilmarsdottir​ || @queenbeeta​ || @winchesterwife27​ || @gold-dragon-slayer​ || @mzliterarydreamer​ || @youbloodymadgenius​ || @marvelouuse​ || @tgrrose​ || @lif3snotouttogetyou​ || @lordsexmachine​ || @deathbyarabbit​ || @ietss​ || @thorins-queen-of-erebor​ || @didiintheblog​ || @h-e-a-v-y-l-e-a-t-h-e-r​ || @heavenly1927​ || @alexhandersenx​ || @alexisshoto​ || @letsloveimagines​

Want to be tagged? Ask me!

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: Love Language, ch. 2

Relationships: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Kagami Tsurugi, Sabine Cheng/Tom Dupain, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Wayhem

Characters: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Kagami Tsurugi, Tikki, Tom Dupain, Tomoe Tsurugi, Sabine Cheng, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Alya Césaire, Nino Lahiffe, Kitty Section,  Jagged Stone, Penny Rolling, Clara Nightingale, Alec Cataldi, Nadja Chamack, Fang, XY, Lila Rossi, Chloé Bourgeois, Wayhem, Le Gorille | Adrien Agreste's Bodyguard

Additional Tags: Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Language of Flowers, Gifts, Traditions, Holidays, Cultural Differences, Kimono, Qipao, Family, Love, Romance, Celebrations, Symbolism, Aged-Up Character(s), Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Christmas Fluff, Identity Reveal, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Established Relationship, Marriage Proposal, Family Dinners, Airports, feeding each other, sharing ceremony, Anxiety, Engagement, Kissing, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Admiration, Pet Names, Cuddling & Snuggling, yin and yang, Communication

Summary: Kagami is nervous the entire flight back to France, waiting to see Marinette at the airport.

AO3 link (chapter 3 contains smut)

FFN link (chapter 3 contains implied sex)

Part 5 (currently) of the Catch a Falling Star series

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

Love Language: Chapter 1

--------

Kagami had asked Marinette and her parents to come to the airport to greet them on their return. The intention was a dinner at the Tsurugi home, with Marinette spending the night afterward.

Really, she hoped to have a late gift exchange. The hitch was that Kagami’s gift to Marinette… was an engagement ring. In truth, she wished to propose to her upon their reunion at the airport.

She had agonized for weeks over design possibilities, quite aware Marinette’s skill in that area and anxious of failure. She had carefully selected the engagement ring and wedding band, custom ordering it from a Japanese jeweler, Mokumeganeya, and choosing the same style for herself with different accompanying stones.

The diamond cut was special, the Sakura cut, symbolizing the cherry blossom—her desire to spend the rest of their beautiful, fleeting lives together. Her own engagement ring had rubies on either side of the diamond. Marinette’s had pink tourmaline. The wedding bands were tsunagaru-katachi, one connected wide ring cut from the same billet of Mokumegane to be pulled apart at the ceremony, each with three stones: tourmaline on one side, ruby on the other, with the purity of a diamond in between to represent the pure bliss of their union.

The union she hoped Marinette wished to share with her.

The designer she had met with had been confused by the order of two tsunagaru-katachi, one for engagement and one for wedding bands, as normally the engagement ring and both wedding bands were made from the base sheet. Same-sex marriages were new in Japan and restricted to certain areas, but the Tsurugi name carried enough weight for the request to be accepted without judgment.

The engagement rings were still connected by a tiny bit of metal, and should Marinette say yes, they would have a sharing ceremony over a celebratory dinner.

Kagami couldn’t stop herself from checking her bag, in front of her on the floor of the aircraft, for the velvet box again, for what had to be the umpteenth time.

“Kagami, fidgeting is unlike you,” her mother commented in Japanese. “What troubles you? Surely not doubts?”

“I only hope Mari-tō shares my desire to be united in marriage, Mother.” She realized abruptly that made her sound doubtful. “I have no doubt she does, but even with such certainty, I cannot help but be nervous.”

“Ah, I believe that is anxiety, which your chosen mate has much experience with according to her mother,” Tomoe responded.

“I believe hers is quite a bit more severe than what I am experiencing at present, but this experience gives me a new appreciation of her fortitude.”

Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder in a rare show of affection. “Then I have no doubt you will also conquer it and grow as a result. In the meantime, I suggest meditation.”

The rest of the flight passed quickly as her meditation faded into sleep; Kagami woke as they were landing, and immediately understood what people meant regarding butterflies in one’s stomach.

Her mother always travelled first class, so there was no wait to disembark. With other members of their retinue tasked with retrieving luggage and preparing to document her proposal, following a brief check by customs, there was nothing to delay meeting Marinette.

Kagami ducked into a restroom to smooth her clothing in a mirror, having chosen a simple andon-bakama, black with embroidered cranes and sunflowers—symbols of hope—with a red kosode for this occasion. A full kimono would have been uncomfortable on the long plane ride, but she wanted a level of formality for this occasion.

Tomoe waited patiently, not interrupting her as she checked herself in the mirror, likely recognizing this as more anxiety. But she had indicated her expectation that Kagami conquer it, so with a deep breath she left the restroom to continue on to meet Marinette.

Marinette was waiting beyond security with her parents, and she looked radiant. She was dressed in a pale pink qipao with gold embroidery, her pigtails higher on her head, in gentle buns that cascaded.

Kagami thought she might melt at the sight of her.

She met Marinette’s smile with what she hoped was an acceptable one of her own, striding forward at the beat of her own heart before dropping to one knee, pulling the velvet box from her bag, and opening it. She was vaguely aware of the flash of cameras.

“Marinette… Mari-tō… I have been blessed every day by your presence in my life. Will you marry me?”

Kagami could see tears shining in Marinette’s eyes. Instead of an answer, Marinette presented her with a wrapped box.

“My answer is in here,” she said softly.

The box was shaking slightly in her grasp, and Kagami took it, closing the ring box and placing it back in her bag to unwrap.

Inside was a qipao, crimson with gold and silver embroidery. Down the bust was a resplendent dragon. In its claw it held a lotus.

Looking up, she realized Marinette wore its yin, a lustrous phoenix with its own lotus in a talon. She recognized the symbolism of two lotus blooms—shared heart and harmony, hé for union. There were other flowers as well, gently ornamented around the phoenix, mirrored around the dragon. Lilies, orchids, peonies, daffodils, roses, and tulips, and a winding pattern of gentle twined vines.

Marinette had prepared her ‘yes’ in advance, in such a Marinette way.

“Kagami?” She realized abruptly that her mother couldn’t see the symbolism.

“Marinette has gifted me a qipao, embroidered with a golden dragon holding a lotus. She is wearing one with a phoenix holding its own lotus.”

A soft intake of breath meant her mother also knew the symbolism; unsurprising, given she had taught it to Kagami.

Marinette’s smile widened. “Ma sirène, I can think of no greater joy than spending the rest of my life with you.”

Kagami was hardly aware of getting to her feet, only of pulling Marinette into her arms, finding her lips in a public display of affection she would normally not indulge in but felt right in this moment. She was lost in her, their warmth and closeness, in the smell of yeast and cinnamon sugar that seemed ingrained in her hair.

Slowly she was aware of applause, and she broke from Marinette to find that the airport had stilled around them, their engagement having gained attention.

Marinette’s cheeks were red, and she was certain hers were as well if the heat in her face was any indication.

The attention was, thankfully, short-lived, with well-wishers expressing congratulations. Kagami was mostly aware of Marinette at her side as they were led to the waiting limo for the ride home.

It was another kiss from Marinette that pulled her more into awareness, when they entered the home.

“I wish to wear the qipao to dinner,” Kagami told her. “You hand-embroidered it yourself, didn’t you? It’s stunning.”

Marinette blushed happily at the compliment.

“Might I feel the stitching first, Marinette?” Tomoe asked politely. “I am only able to see with my hands.”

“Of course, Tsurugi-san!” Marinette gently took the garment from Kagami to present to her mother.

She tutted. “Please, simply Tomoe is fine. You are to become family. Following the wedding, you may feel free to call me kaasan or haha, whichever you feel comfortable with.”

Kagami thought Marinette might spontaneously combust at the offer, but she stood still as Tomoe’s hand ran over the proffered qipao, finding the shape of the embroidery with ease.

“This is splendid work,” she said softly. “You must have been working on this for some time.”

Marinette giggled softly. “Actually, I started it when I received the package with the kimono.”

Tomoe’s fingers went still at that, and then gently grasped Marinette’s right hand, pulling it out from under the fabric and feeling at the fingers. Kagami could see they were red, calloused, and her heart ached at the sight.

“Have more care with these, Marinette,” Tomoe said finally. “They work magic, and should be treated well.”

She asked one of the servants to bring a salve for Marinette’s fingers to Kagami’s room, and then invited Sabine and Tom to sit with her for pre-dinner tea, effectively dismissing the two of them until dinner.

When they were safely in Kagami’s room, she took Marinette’s hands, kissing each fingertip with reverence. When the salve arrived, she dabbed it on gently, rubbing it in with a tender touch.

They did not have time for relaxation, with dinner on the horizon, so Kagami changed into the qipao, which fit splendidly, falling just above her ankles and hugging her body in a way that gave her a figure. The slits up the sides were something she was unused to, but they did not go high enough to cause her discomfort or embarrassment. The higher collar gave the garment a modest appearance.

Marinette straightened and smoothed the fabric, making sure nothing was creased. She had only just finished when dinner was announced.

The meal was one of Kagami’s favorites, sukiyaki with a lovely variety of vegetable side dishes. It was everything one could want on a cold winter evening.

Afterward, Kagami placed the velvet box on the table.

“The rings are tsunagaru-katachi, cut from one block,” she said, opening the box and pulling out the rings to show they were joined by a tiny bit of remaining uncut metal. “In this sharing ceremony, we will together split them into two rings, to symbolize our eternal bond.”

She heard a sniffle and realized Tom was tearing up, and paused, uncertain how to react.

Sabine just smiled. “He’s a bit of a sucker for romance. Please go on, dear.”

Kagami turned back to Marinette. “Mari-tō, I chose the Sakura-cut diamond, as the cut has more facets, making the diamond as brilliant as you. Cherry blossoms represent the fleeting beauty of life, and I wish to spend the rest of mine with you.”

Marinette’s eyes were wet, and Kagami knew she was just as much a romantic as Tom was. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to make her cry, though it would certainly show her she had hit her mark.

“The pink tourmaline is a representation of your love and compassion, and the way you work to protect and heal those around you,” she continued. “And the ruby represents the passion you have inspired in me, the zest for life you have instilled in me since we met.”

There went the tears; she had absolutely hit the mark.

“Mari-tō, will you share this ring with me?”

Marinette reached forward, letting Kagami guide her hand as they gently pulled the rings apart, gently bending and breaking the bit of metal that kept them together. Then Kagami took Marinette’s left hand, sliding the perfectly-fitting ring onto her ring finger. Marinette did the same.

Together, they let Sabine take pictures, and eventually Marinette pulled out her phone to take a selfie of them and their rings, quickly posting it to her Instagram with the caption, “Kagami asked for my hand in marriage, and I accepted. We just had our sharing ceremony with the lovely tsunagaru-katachi she designed.”

Kagami pulled out her own phone to like and share with her own followers. “I get to share my life with the most wonderful woman in Paris.”

By the time they were done, the table had been set for dessert and tea. The centerpiece was a Bûche de Noël brought by Marinette’s parents, and next to it was a red celebration suama. They were surrounded by wagashi, yuzu castella, manjū and mizu yōkan. Several pots containing different varieties of tea were also on the table.

It was a night of celebration. A night that let Kagami hear her mother’s rare laughter as Tom used puns and Sabine regaled Tomoe with silly stories of Marinette growing up. A night that showed they would be, altogether, a lovely family, both sides together. A night that allowed her to feed Marinette her favorite Japanese sweets, and be fed by her in turn.

They ignored the soft mobile notifications of text messages from friends to focus on each other.

The tea was replaced by watered down sparkling sake to celebrate an auspicious night, and as she snuggled with the best friend who had become her beloved, Kagami found herself more content than she had ever been.

[littlejeanniebean]

Ep. 1 | The Marauders: Chase Her

A/N: I’m back, witches! ;) With the long-teased BAND AU!! Also @inakindofdaydream​ here’s your tag as promised, hope you enjoy :)) More Marauders in my masterlist! Read on AO3! - J xx

“Oh, Lily, darling, isn’t it a bit…” Narcissa Black appraised the outfit with a derisive sniff, “childish?”

It was a floor-length gown, trimmed to flow with the model’s figure exactly, thanks to Dorcas’ design skills. The highlight was the hot pink lava-lamp-like mixture oozing between the solid pale pink inner layer and the clear exterior material; Lily, a chemistry undergraduate who’d founded the Evans brand on Etsy as a hobby, had made it from scratch. Underneath it all was a complicated circulation system of refrigerant to keep the wearer cool, courtesy of Marlene, who was studying to be a mechanical engineer. Lily had tested it on herself and had the light burns on her legs to prove it, but it was worth it for the 60s-themed Met Gala. That is, if she could convince her client to wear it.

“Hardly,” she responded, “The design says you're playful, but the slinky cut and deep-V neckline say you’re a woman ready to conquer the carpet.”

Narcissa rolled her eyes, “Serves me right for selecting a designer last minute. All the professionals are booked.” 

Lily tried to think of a popsicle or winter, anything to cool the angry flush she could feel burning in her cheeks.

The tall blonde was unbothered as she strutted around the mannequin, inspecting the low back and the spaghetti straps, before extending her arms out to Dorcas and Marlene, who were standing by, “Fine, fit me.”

“I got it,” Lily said quickly when she saw Dorcas’ jaw drop in indignance at being treated like a maid. 

Marlene successfully occupied the deeply offended designer until Mary, the brand's publicist, announced that it was time. 

Lily and their client left the hotel for the iconic New York museum in a chartered limousine among an entire fleet of them. Although dressed plainly in a black sweater and pencil skirt, Lily’s bright red hair made her stand out among the Black family’s monochrome entourage. 

“Sirius, who’s that?” James pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose and tiptoed to get a better look through the sea of celebrities and their teams spilling onto the carpet. 

“I don’t know, but she must be nice because I’m not related to her,” said the dark-haired man, who’d been essentially coerced into attending this event with the rest of his crazy reality television family. 

“Starting to not regret letting you drag me along,” while his friend walked the carpet, James followed the lady with the designer access credentials who looked at everything around her in unabashed wonder.

“James Potter!” someone called out.

He turned around and noticed too late that it was a reporter.

“How does it feel to win a record deal after your performance in the Highland Music Festival?” 

“Will you be performing on The House of Black?” 

“When is your debut album coming out?”

James held up a finger for silence the way he’d seen his mum do plenty-a-time, “I’m so grateful - especially to my music teacher, Minerva McGonagall. I don’t think my best friend will even be on that show anymore and we do everything together. We’re in writing sessions now, just having fun and seeing what we can do, but we’re very excited to share our music with everyone soon, especially our amazing fans.”

“Who are you wearing?”

“Who are you most excited to meet tonight?”

“Are you excited for The Weird Sisters’ performance?”

It went on this way until James could politely extricate himself with the boyish excuse of needing to use the bathroom. He practically sprinted to the tents at the end of the carpet. 

“My armpits are sweating, Lily!”

There she was. A picture of calm amidst the commotion. And her name was Lily.

“Cissy, calm down -”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Siri!”

“See, this is why I can’t work with you lot anymore! You’re bat-shit crazy! Of course, your pits sweat, you’re a human being - not a fucking Barbie doll!”

“You haven’t the faintest idea of the impossible standards I hold myself to because I actually strive to be my best self unlike you, you lazy dog!”

“Are you getting this?” Bella Black, whispered with a toothy smile to the camera that was filming the entire exchange.

"How's it going, Molly?" James addressed the short videographer with auburn space buns. 

She made a funny face at him and he laughed. Molly smiled just a bit in spite of the tensions she worked around daily. 

"Narcissa," a clear voice pulled his attention back towards the girl named Lily, "I believe you've just nicked the wire that runs the cooling system with your heel," she crouched down and hooked it back up, "There you are."

James took this as his cue to pull Sirius away before another argument began. Also, he may or may not have wanted to get even closer to the red-head, "C'mon, mate, let it go, yeah? It's not worth it."

Narcissa huffed and strutted away. Lily had no choice but to follow at her heels, but to her admirer, she made it look like a power move. 

"Ugh, remind me never to do that again!" Sirius collapsed onto the couch in the recording studio they rented next door to their label, Castle Records. 

"James?" Remus asked his less distraught friend.

"Narcissa."

"Ah. At least it wasn't Bella."

The bespectacled boy sat at his drum kit and began to play a couple of mid-tempo rounds on the snare, cymbals, and base, creating the mood of a pursuit. 

"Ooh, I like that," Peter switched the settings on his electronic keyboard to an eighties synth and joined in the jam.

Remus added the bass while Sirius plugged in his electric guitar. 

It was three the next afternoon when Remus finished mixing the track and Sirius had no more unorthodox but cool ideas like, "Record the tires squealing while I  do donuts in the parking lot on my motorbike and add it to the chorus!"

However, James, being ever the perfectionist when it came to music, kept wanting to re-record the drums and the others couldn't even talk him out of it because truthfully, it sounded better every time he did it. 

When they reached the one-week mark, though, Sirius had to take action. "I called Molly. She's going to record our music video today and you know she's quick in post-production so whatever you've got is what we're running."

"Ugh, I hate you!" said James. He didn't. 

Molly arrived at nine sharp and set up the lighting, did their hair and makeup, helped them pick coordinating but not matching outfits, and at ten exactly, called, "Action!"

Don't let her doe eyes fool you

She's been winning since the day she was born

Darlin' don't wanna lose you 

Je ne parle pas français, mais j'adore

So I'm done playing hard to get

(You gotta chase her, chase her, gotta gotta chase her)

 You're running circles in my head

(You gotta chase her, chase her, gotta gotta chase her)

And every word you ever said

(You gotta chase her, chase her, gotta gotta chase her)

Is calling my soul outta my body, must be in heav'n

Whoo!

"LilyLilyLily!" Mary squealed, barging into her friend's hotel room and clambering onto the bed, "We made it!"

Narcissa's lava dress had been trending all week and the Evans brand online store had finally crashed with the volume of orders they were trying to process at once for clothes, accessories, make up, and fragrances.

Her name is bloomin' in my heart

And every beat I beat is hers alone

Darlin' think of what we could start 

Jamais seul ou triste, jamais pas en mode

"Jimbo! Jumbo! Jambo!" Sirius woke up his roommate with their first single blasting from his phone, "We made it!"

Their Chase Her music video had over a million views and the song was number one on Spotify. 

And if our paths cross just this once

Could you be mine and I'll be yours

Tonight, darlin', we dance, we dance

Nous pourrions vivre pour toujours

Sirius guffawed at the comment section, "James: I don't speak French; Also James: Nous pourrions vivre pour toujours."

"Co-written by Google Translate," the singer quipped, putting on his glasses so he could see it all for himself, his smile coming close to breaking his pretty face.

Done being someone you'll forget

(You gotta chase her, chase her, gotta gotta chase her)

 Cuz you're all I got gon' through my head

(You gotta chase her, chase her, gotta gotta chase her)

Yeah every word you ever said

(You gotta chase her, chase her, gotta gotta chase her)

Is calling my soul outta my body, must be in heav'n

Whoo!

[lukeskywaker4ever]

King João & Queen Philippa 3rd child: Prince Henrique the Navigator

Infante Dom Henrique, Duke of Viseu, (Porto, March 4, 1394 - November 13, 1460) was a Portuguese prince and the most important figure of the beginning of the Age of Discovery, also known in history as Infante de Sagres or Navigator. 

Infante D. Henrique was born in Porto, on Ash Wednesday, a day that was considered unfit for the birth of a child. He was the fifth son (the 3rd surviving child) of King D. João I, founder of the Avis Dynasty, and Queen Filipa de Lencastre.

The infant was baptized a few days after his birth, and his godfather was the Bishop of Viseu. His parents named him Henrique possibly in honor of his maternal grandfather, Duke Henry of Lencastre and his uncle Henry IV.

Little is known about the infant's life until he is fourteen. The infant and his brothers (the so-called Incredible generation) had as their master a knight of the Order of Avis.

In 1414, he persuaded his father to mount the Ceuta conquest campaign on the North African coast near the Straits of Gibraltar. The city was conquered in August 1415, assuring the Kingdom of Portugal the control of the maritime trade routes between the Atlantic and the Levant.

In 1415, he was armed knight and received the titles of Duke of Viseu and Lord of Covilhã.

On 18 February 1416, he was entrusted with the Government of Ceuta. It was up to him to organize the maintenance of the Moroccan Square in the kingdom.

In 1418, he returned to Ceuta in the company of D. João, his younger brother. The Infantes commanded a relief expedition to the city, which this year suffered the first major siege, imposed jointly by the forces of the kings of Fez and Granada. The siege broke down and D. Henrique immediately tried to attack Gibraltar, but bad weather prevented him from disembarking: the Infantry's recklessness and anti-Muslim fervor was once again manifested. Upon his return to Ceuta, he was ordered by King João I, not to pursue such an undertaking, so he returned to the kingdom in the early months of 1419. At this time he set up a Corsican fleet, which operated in the Strait of Gibraltar from Ceuta He had one more source of income, and many of his men thus became accustomed to the sea. Some of them would later be diverted to other trips to new destinations.

In 1419–1420 some of his squire, João Gonçalves Zarco and Tristao Vaz Teixeira, then landed on the islands of the Madeira archipelago, which had been visited by Portuguese sailors since the previous century. The islands proved to be of great importance producing large quantities of cereals, minimizing the scarcity that afflicted Portugal. The archipelago was donated to D. Henrique by King D. Duarte, successor of D. João I, in 1433.

On May 25, 1420, D. Henrique was appointed leader of the Order of Christ, which succeeded the Order of the Templars, a position he would hold until the end of his life. Concerning his interest in the exploration of the Atlantic Ocean, his position in the Order was also important throughout the 1440s. This is because the Order controlled vast resources, which helped finance the exploration, the prince's true passion. .

In 1427, their navigators discovered the first islands of the Azores (possibly Gonçalo Velho). Also these uninhabited islands were later colonized by the Portuguese.

With a new vessel, the caravel, the expeditions were greatly boosted. Cape Bojador was reached in 1434 by Gil Eanes and Cape Branco was reached in 1441 by Nuno Tristão and Antão Gonçalves. Arguim Bay in 1443, with consequent construction of a fort in 1448.

Dinis Dias arrives at the Senegal River.

Guinea is visited. Thus the southern boundaries of the great Sahara desert are crossed. From then on, D. Henrique fulfills one of his objectives: to divert the Sahara trade routes and access the riches in Southern Africa. In 1452 the arrival of gold was sufficient to coin the first golden crusaders.

In the 1450s the Cape Verde archipelago was discovered. From that time, commissioning an old world map of the world from Fra Mauro, a Venetian monk.

By 1460 the coast was already explored to what is today Sierra Leone.

In the same year, on November 13th D. Henrique died. He is resting in the Founder’s Chapel inside Batalha Monastery near his parents and family.

To celebrate the 500 years of his death a monument was built: The Discoveries Monument  a monument with a shape of a caravel, where D. Henrique is the central figure holding a small caravel.

The Order of Infante D. Henrique is a Portuguese honorary order, created on June 2, 1960  at the 5th Centenary of the death of Infante D. Henrique and reformulated and enlarged in 1962, which aims to distinguish the provision of relevant services to Portugal, at home or abroad, or services in the expansion of Portuguese culture, its History and its values

Because he was the brain behind the Discoveries, Prince Henrique the Navigator is one of the most famous persons and dear to the us the Portuguese. 

[thephilosopheroftheboudoir]

Grim History

Diary Of a Rich Madman: Jacques Lebaudy, Emperor Of the Sahara

    In 1903s, the French millionaire Jacques Lebaudy renamed himself Jacques the First and declared himself Emperor Of the Sahara. At the age of forty, he was rich, by the standards of his day, after inheriting money from his deceased father who had made his fortune running a sugar factory in their home country. Lebaudy was a short man with a taste for expensive odd clothes and, some would say, an annoyingly high-pitched voice that resonated like nails on a chalkboard. Apparently the age of forty was the big turning point in his life when he decided to translate what he believed to be his destiny into reality. But was he insane?

    At first, no one seemed to think so. Lebaudy, using his vast sums of wealth, bought a yacht for himself and two others to follow, filled with 400 men, a battery of high powered guns, and the American Civil War hero George Edouard Gouraud who would act as his Governor-General during the venture. The yachts landed at Les Minquies island off the coast of Morocco. Jacques Lebaudy had his men carry a throne to his recently built pavilion and announced his intention to claim the Sahara as part of the Empire of Patagonia for the French colonial government. The French crown, however, refused to accept him as Emperor. Lebaudy, nonetheless, continued to make plans for his conquest, no doubt believing the colonialists would soon see the error of their ways and come around to his point of view. While Lebaudy sat on his throne, some of the local Arab population hatched a plan to make money off the faux-dignitary; they kidnapped several of his men and demanded a ransom. Lebaudy refused to pay them and tried to coax his followers to ambush the kidnappers and bring the men back. By this time, his subjects had started to think he was a kook; many of them abandoned the Emperor. Some returned to France and petitioned the authorities for help. Soon a fleet of French naval vessels showed up and began bombarding the island shores with artillery. The Arab kidnappers got scared and released the prisoners.

    Jacques Lebaudy, Jacques the First, Emperor Of the Sahara had become an embarrassment to the French government. They went to Les Minquies, captured him, revoked his French citizenship, and deported him. Lebaudy soon showed up in London, using his wealth to establish residency in the plush Savoy Hotel.

    Jacques Lebaudy had quite an interesting time at the Savoy. When entering the dining room in the purple robes of an emperor, the hired musicians would cease whatever piece they were playing and launch into the national anthem of the Empire Of the Sahara which he had commissioned a local composer to write in his honor. Lebaudy always sat at his own private table with wife and daughter, the table being draped with a royal purple tablecloth; a crown of chrysanthemum hung from the ceiling overhead. Word got out that an emperor had arrived in London and a cadre of journalists, photographers, celebrities, and other schmoozers began to hang around. Several hundred visitors stopped by; laborers, weapons dealers, merchants, farmers and others all sought favor from Lebaudy, hoping to land a job. Some of them were hired and immediately put on salary. Jacques the First spoke of elaborate plans to cover the entire Sahara desert with his newly designed flag as soon as he conquered the vast territory spreading across the African continent. At dusk there was to be a church ceremony and the greatest fireworks display the world had ever seen. January 1, 1904 was set to be the date in which the new empire was to be officially declared. That day came and went. Nothing happened. The emperor’s throne remained empty on the island of Les Minquies, awaiting the return of Jacques Lebaudy.

    His family felt humiliated by his delusions of grandeur. They quietly shipped him away to America to live in a Long Island mansion where he would pace the halls and grounds in his uniform, covered in thick rows of medals and military insignia.

    Then something started to irritate the old nut. The age of automobiles had arrived and a woman who lived nearby had taken to cruising the roads at 15 or 20 miles per hour in her newly bough car. The sound of the motor drove Lebaudy crazy and what could possibly have been America’s first conflict over noise pollution resulted in him paying his workers to put bales of hay and tree trunks across the road to prevent any further traffic. The lady driver called the sheriff who showed up on horseback. Then Jacques Lebaudy emerged, himself on horseback and clad in full royal regalia, from the surrounding forest. He claimed responsibility for the mess and the sheriff commanded him to clear it up. Lebaudy refused and tore off across a meadow on his horse. The sheriff summoned more police. After seeing Lebaudy at a distance, they chased after him and a pursuit involving pistol shots began. Jacques Lebaudy’s horse eventually showed signs of exhaustion and fatigue then finally refused to run any more. Lebaudy dismounted and surrendered. The police beat him up and hauled him off to jail.

    Jacques Lebaudy’s wife pleaded with the police to release him on the ground of his eccentric and erratic behavior being symptoms of mental illness. They agreed and took him to the nearby Knickerbocker sanitarium. They put him in a special wing of the psychiatric ward which was reserved for the highest political functionaries; it is rumored that the Emperor Of the Sahara had an easy time making friends with the King of China and the Queen of Africa.

    But a goof emperor can not be kept down for long. The quick-witted Lebaudy one day pretended to be asleep; his guardians stopped paying attention to him and he got up and jumped out the window. He ran all the way home. Nobody pursed him and nothing else was heard from him until one day the police were called Jacques Lebaudy was found dead with several gunshot wounds. As the story goes, upon his retirn hom, Lebaudy spent several weeks trying to seduce his daughter. She continuously refused his advances until one day he physically assaulted her and tried to rape her. His wife then pulled out her gun and shot him dead.

    So was Jacques Lebaudy, Emperor Of the Sahara insane? Probably but then again, the French colonial era produced a lot of adventurers who sought to conquer foreign lands, often with a head full  of bizarre fantasies about what life outside Europe was like. Turn-of-the-century England also had its share of eccentrics and an emperor living the Savoy Hotel probably attracted a great deal of attention but in the end, he probably seemed like just one more weird man in a society full of weird men. And America certainly attracted its share of strange characters. Maybe Lebaudy was little more than a trust-find baby who had lived a sheltered life in an aristocratic chateau. Maybe he read too many books and never spent enough time around other people. Maybe the other family members he knew were just as eccentric as him. Maybe  he had too much money and too little common sense. Maybe, at the age of 40, Jacques Lebaudy started having an unusually bizarre mid-life crisis. In any case, there were certainly enough people who were blinded enough by his money to overlook his oddness and believe in his grandiose fantasies. Maybe they were the ones who were crazy.

Strauss, Erwin S. How to Start Your Own Country. Paladin Press, 1999.

https://grimhistory.blogspot.com/

[tinyshe]

Tolkien, Advent and the light that conquers darkness

Fantasy  / By Philip Kosloski

/ 3 minutes of reading                                                                    

December is a month in the Catholic Church where the liturgical year ends and is renewed by the season of Advent. It is a month where we see the general theme of the liturgical season being echoed in nature. Darkness has crept over the world, and is increasing each day. Yet, there is hope for soon the days will begin to lengthen and the sun will conquer the night. The earth reveals that there is a light in this dark place and that Light reigns victorious.

A Passing Shadow

The great Catholic author J.R.R. Tolkien knew this reality very well. Throughout his works there is an ongoing contrast between the dark world and the light that illumines it. In particular, Tolkien stressed that even though there is great evil in the world, goodness always triumphs in the end.

This theme of good surpassing evil is shown perfectly in the following passage from the third chapter of his Lord of the Rings saga, The Return of the King,

There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tower high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.(The Lord of the Rings, pg. 901)

Even in the dreary, hopeless, shadow land of Mordor the darkness will not last forever. It is only a passing shadow. The light of the sun is there and will return evermore glorious.

This is a consoling thought and something which we must keep always on our minds, for it helps us to realize that the evil in this world is only a passing thing. While it may be hard to see any goodness or beauty around us, Christ has already conquered the Evil One and what we see before us is but a fleeting shadow.

The Dawn Surpasses the Night

The Church makes this truth more visible whenever she celebrates the “Rorate” Mass. This votive Mass during Advent in honor of the Blessed Virgin Mary receives its name from the first words of the opening chant, “Rorate caeli,”or in English “Shower, O heavens.” What is peculiar about this celebration of the Eucharist is that it takes place entirely in candlelight and typically just before dawn.

The symbolism of this Mass abounds and is a supreme “sacrament” of the Advent season. First of all, since it is celebrated at dawn the Church is slowly lit up by the rays of the winter sun. This speaks of the general theme of Advent, which is meant to be a time of expectation eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Son of God. It also echoes to us the truth that the darkness of night does not last, but is always surpassed by the light of day.

Secondly, all present typically hold lighted candles throughout the Mass. Certainly this is a practical way of illuminating the church, but it also symbolizes the reality that darkness is dispelled by a unification of many individual lights. Indeed, when all of us together let our lights shine before men, not hiding them under a bushel basket, we are able to illuminate the world and easily destroy the darkness before us.

This Advent season let us remember: Darkness is a passing shadow and flees more speedily when it sees a multitude of lights.

DOWNLOAD A FREE COMIC BOOK!!

Sign-up below to access the complete first issue of Finnian and the Seven Mountains and also receive our FREE e-mail newsletter that features our latest articles, projects and publications.

[cowbroughcommunications]

BLOG: Anniversary celebrations and Belize's Scottish roots

As the Central American country of Belize celebrates 40 years of independence from the UK, its historical foundation has deep Scottish roots.

The dream of building a Scottish ‘empire’ in the 17th century was left in tatters with the collapse of the Darien project in 1698.

The ill fated adventure to set up a colony in modern day Panama, Central America, not only cost the lives of some 500 Scots men, women and children. It was said the financial impact of the disaster was so catastrophic, that it was a major factor in pushing the country into the Act of Union nine years later.

But where the Scottish government failed to make its mark in the Caribbean, a few hundred miles further north on the same coast, a small band of Scots adventurers had already established a successful community 50 years before the Darien mission set sail.

These roots put down by, among others, the Wallace, MacDonald and Forbes families survive to the present day and ensure a lasting Scottish legacy in this corner of the world, long after the painful memories of the Darien project faded from the national psyche.

This Caledonian connection is with Belize. Squeezed in between Mexico to the north and Guatemala to the west and south, at 280 miles long and around 70 miles wide this tiny enclave is around the size of Wales, but with less than one tenth of the population at under 250,000. The development of modern Belize is a remarkable story and one in which Scottish influence has had a considerable and enduring guiding role.

The history of civilisation in this part of the world stretches back to the first millennium. Southern Mexico and the area now covered by Belize was the cradle of the great Mayan dynasty long before European’s conceitedly christened this land the ‘New World’. At its height between 250 A.D. and 900 A.D it is estimated this area of land which, today is so sparsely populated, supported more than three million people. The earliest known settled community in the Maya world dates from 2,000 B.C. and from this developed a society as complex and advanced as either the better known Aztecs to the north or the Incas to the south.

The Maya cultivated cotton and learned to dye and weave cloth. Religion, mathematics and astronomy all played an important role in their culture. Great cities flourished at Atun Ha and Carcol with grand temples, palaces and public buildings, plazas and ball courts. All before Scotland as a nation even existed.

It was just as Kenneth McAlpine was unifying the throne of Scotland and becoming the first king of the modern nation in the 9th century that the Maya reign was coming to an end.

Although the causes are not certain, archaeologists believe it was due to population pressure with the land no longer being able to provide enough food. Changes in climate, wars and scarcity of products to trade have also been presented as reason for their decline.

Certainly by the time the first Scottish adventurers set foot in Belize the Maya were no longer a unified functioning society, but survived in sporadic pockets scattered through the dense jungle landscape.

There is no exact date for when this event took place but most indicators suggest it was sometime in the 1630’s and where Darien is a story of incompetence, bad luck and political betrayal, the successful founding of modern Belize is a tale of survival and triumph against the odds.

The Darien scheme began in 1695 when the Scottish Parliament passed an Act for the establishment of a 'Company of Scotland Trading to Africa and the Indies'. A huge fundraising effort was initiated and capital of £400,000 was pulled together, an enormous sum for the time amounting to around half the total capital available in Scotland.

A small fleet of three ships with 1200 people on board sailed in July 1698 with the intention of founding a new colony in present day Panama, finally landing in November of that year.

Although the settlers enthusiastically started putting down roots in New Edinburgh, they had seriously underestimated the scale of the task in hand. This part of the Caribbean is known as the Mosquito Coast and the settlers were soon weakened by diseases of the climate; yellow fever, malaria and dysentery.

Although the settlers made treaties with the indigenous Indians the surrounding Spanish conquistadores proved a sterner test and ultimately snuffed out the fledgling colony within two years.

Abandoning the colony in 1700 only one of the three ships made it back to Edinburgh in one piece.

Meanwhile a mere 700 miles away the new settlements in Belize were already well established with a strong Scottish contingent. Although facing the same intense pressure from the surrounding Spanish the final outcome was to be much different from the fate of their kinsmen further down the coast.

The Spanish had first settled in the Americas in the years following Christopher Columbus’ voyage of discovery in 1492 and by the time the Scots arrived in Darien they were firmly established throughout the Americas...

By 1520, Hernan Cortés had conquered the Aztec empire in Mexico. His lieutenant, Pedro de Alvarado, defeated the Maya in Yucatan and expeditions were sent to conquer what is now Guatemala and Honduras. Cortés himself passed through the south-west corner of Belize in 1525.

Although thanks to local Mayan resistance they never had a firm control over the country their presence devastated the local population as it succumbed to European diseases. It is estimated that 86 per cent of local people who came into contact with the Spanish died as a result of disease or war. So by the time the first Scots landed in Belize the Maya were no longer a force in the country.

Evidence suggests this first foray was led by a Scotsman, Peter Wallace, who with 80 of his crew established a settlement on the Belize River. He was possibly born in Greenock but there are conflicting stories. What is officially recorded is that he was a one time Governor of the island of Tortuga and had served as a lieutenant under Sir Walter Raleigh in the Royal Navy.

It is thought that the name Belize is an extreme Spanish corruption of the name Wallace which is easier to understand when seen as the Spanish spelling, Belice.

Wallace’s presence in Belize was not as any officer of the crown however, but as a buccaneer, a privateer or pirate - the title depended on whether seen from a Spanish or British point of view. For the 17th century was the height of Spanish power in the Americas and the seaways of the Caribbean were packed with ships of the crown transporting gold looted from native Indian society back to Madrid.

Belize with its sheltered Cayes or islands lying off the coast and its shallow waters and dangerous barrier reef made an excellent protected raiding base for these buccaneers to prey on passing vessels. A pastime positively encouraged by the British at the time who were almost constantly in a state of war with Spain throughout this period.

But after the Treaty of Madrid in 1670 a period of peace saw the new Belizeans or Baymen reinforced by disbanded soldiers and sailors. These new arrivals turned to logging, particularly logwood which, was used to produce dye and was in great demand from the flourishing European cotton and woollen mills.

Demand for hardwoods such as mahogany also grew and the fledgling colony expanded with many new arrivals from Scotland.

According to John Holm, professor of linguistics at the University of Nassau, the Bahamas in his book ‘The Creole Language of Nicaragua’: "There seems to have been a high proportion of Scots among the British in the western Caribbean from the seventeenth century onwards."

But the new settlers did not have a quiet life with the bountiful mahogany forests attracting growing interest from the surrounding Spanish. Throughout the 18th century the Baymen experienced a series of violent skirmishes with their aggressive neighbours. For Spain claimed sovereignty over the entire New World except for Brazil which, was a recognised Portuguese possession and were insistent that the Scottish and English woodcutters were trespassers.

The raids of 1717, 1730, and 1754 were particularly damaging with evacuations into the interior necessary as the Spanish sacked the Baymen’s towns and villages.

Following their defeat in the Seven Years War though, the Spanish agreed to give the Scots and other settlers the right to cut and export timber, but still claimed sovereignty over the territory. This ongoing dispute inevitably led to more attacks and in 1779 the Spanish captured St George's Caye a small island off the coast of present day Belize City.

Agreements continued to be made between the Spanish and British about the rights of the Baymen without any long term solution. Bad feelings rumbled on until the situation came to a head with the Battle of St George’s Caye in 1798.

A defining moment in the early modern history of the country, it is still celebrated as a national holiday on September 10.

With news of an impending Spanish invasion bigger than anything ever attempted, the Baymen called for reinforcements from British forces in Jamaica.

But the future of Belize was clearly not a priority for the government of the day and they sent only one small gun brig HMS Merlin along with a company of the West India Regiment.

In total the Baymen managed to assemble only 12 vessels, most of which were wooden rafts fitted out with a few guns, backed up by a few hundred settlers and regular soldiers. Against this makeshift force the Spanish had 32 ships, 500 sailors, and 2,000 troops.

The battle was a game of cat and mouse for five days as the Spanish armada tried to out manoeuvre the defending flat boats and make a landing near the mouth of the Belize River. Once a bridgehead had been established the plan was to call in overland reinforcements from Mexico

Finally, on September 10 the Spaniards rushed into the fray with fourteen of their biggest and most heavily armed ships of the fleet. After a bloody engagement they were eventually forced into retreat again. But this time the Spanish losses were heavy and they withdrew back to their Mexican ports.

This defeat was to be the final time the Spanish tried to exert their influence over Belizean territory by force. The battle secured the country’s future first as the colony of British Honduras and later as the independent nation that is today Belize.

The scarcity of records from this period makes it difficult to determine exactly how many Scots were involved in this heroic action. But Stephen Forbes himself a Scotsman by birth and author of the historical novel the ‘Baymen of Belize’ describes the country in the late 1700s as "an essentially Scotch community."

Certainly the ‘community’ would have been backed by several hundred African slaves brought into work on the logging camps and plantations throughout the century as well as settlers from other nationalities. This mixture of colours and creeds is what makes Belize the country it is today, one of the most multicultural on earth.

A melting pot of Garifuna, from South American Indian and African descent, indigenous Mayans and Mestizos who are descended from Mayan and Spanish settlers. Add to this creole, black Africans born in the region, to a steady stream of Scots and other Europeans. Combined with American refugees from the Civil War in the 1860s and later Indians from the subcontinent and more recently Chinese, Taiwanese and German Mennonite immigrants.

A heady mixture, but one in which Scots heritage remains strong through surnames and place names.

The town of Bermuda Landing off the northern highway on the way to the Mexican border is believed to be named after the Bermuda grass planted by Scottish immigrant farmers looking to graze cattle on cleared forest land. Flowers Bank is named after Adam Flowers the Scottish immigrant who made the casting vote in the decision to defend rather than evacuate Belize City in the face of the invading Spanish in 1797. Nearby Scotland Halfmoon Village is said to be named after a homesick immigrant who arrived during the half moon, and Scottish surnames survive throughout the country.

Perhaps the greatest legacy left by the early Scots is language. The Battle of St Georges Caye might appear a mere skirmish in the grand scheme of world history. But it helped secure a free nation whose place is now secure within the international community, the only English speaking nation in Central American.

Exactly 100 years after the ill fated Darien project set sail, Scots finally realised a dream of helping to build a new society on the Caribbean coast.

[dfroza]

the heavenly Ark of the Covenant

is seen in John’s writing in the book Revelation at the closing of Today’s chapter from the New Testament:

[Measuring the Temple]

Then a measuring rod, like a staff, was given to me and I was told:

Rise and measure God’s temple and the altar and count those who worship in it. But exclude the courtyard outside the temple, for it has been given over to the nations, and for forty-two months they will trample on the holy city. And I will authorize my two witnesses to prophesy, wearing sackcloth for one thousand two hundred and sixty days.

These two witnesses are the two olive trees and the two lampstands that stand before the Lord God of the whole earth. If anyone attempts to harm them, fire will flow out of their mouths and consume their foes. All who seek to harm them will die in this way. They have authority to shut the heavens so that no rain will fall during the days of their prophesying. They have authority over the waters to turn them into blood and to strike the earth with every plague imaginable, as often as they desire.

When their testimony is completed, the beast that comes up from the sea will wage war against them and conquer them and kill them. Their dead bodies will lie on the street of the great city that is symbolically called Sodom and Egypt, where their Lord was also crucified. 9 For three and a half days people from every ethnicity, tribe, nation, and language will see their corpses, because no one is permitted to bury them. The entire world will gloat over them and celebrate and exchange gifts, because these two prophets had condemned those who dwell on the earth.

After three and a half days God’s breath of life entered them and they stood to their feet, terrifying all who saw them. Then they heard a loud shout from heaven saying to them:

Come up here!

The two prophets climbed up into heaven in a cloud while their enemies watched. At that very moment there was a powerful earthquake and a tenth of the city collapsed, killing seven thousand people. The rest were terrified and gave glory to the God of heaven.

Now the second woe has passed and the third is coming swiftly.

Then the seventh angel sounded his trumpet, and a loud voice broke forth in heaven, saying:

“The kingdom of the world

has become the kingdom of our God

and of his Anointed One!

He will reign supreme for an eternity of eternities!”

Then the twenty-four elders who sit on their thrones before God fell facedown before him and worshiped him, saying:

“We give thanks to you, Lord God Almighty,

who is, and who was,

because you have established

your great and limitless power and begun to reign!

The nations were furious, and you became furious,

and the time for judging the dead has come.

The time has come to reward your servants, the prophets

and the holy ones and all who reverence your name,

both small and great.

And the time has come to destroy those

who corrupt the earth!”

Then God’s temple was opened in heaven and the ark of his covenant was clearly visible inside his temple. And there were blinding flashes of lightning, voices roaring, startling thunderclaps, a massive earthquake, and a great hailstorm!

The Book of Revelation, Chapter 11 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 22nd chapter of 2nd Chronicles that documents the evil rule of King Ahaziah along with his mother, Athaliah. but a sign of protection as well with a boy name Joash:

[King Ahaziah]

The people of Jerusalem made Ahaziah, Jehoram’s youngest son, king. Raiders from the desert, who had come with the Arabs against the settlement, had killed all the older sons. That’s how Ahaziah son of Jehoram king of Judah became king. Ahaziah was twenty-two years old when he became king, but reigned only one year in Jerusalem. His mother was Athaliah, granddaughter of Omri. He lived and ruled just like the Ahab family had done, his mother training him in evil ways. God also considered him evil, related by both marriage and sin to the Ahab clan. After the death of his father, he attended the sin school of Ahab, and graduated with a degree in doom. He did what they taught him, went with Joram son of Ahab king of Israel in the war against Hazael king of Aram at Ramoth Gilead. Joram, wounded by the Arameans, retreated to Jezreel to recover from the wounds he received in Ramah in his war with Hazael king of Aram. Ahaziah son of Jehoram king of Judah paid a visit to Joram son of Ahab on his sickbed at Jezreel.

The fate of Ahaziah when he went to visit was God’s judgment on him. When Ahaziah arrived at Jezreel, he and Joram met with Jehu son of Nimshi, whom God had already authorized to destroy the dynasty of Ahab. Jehu, already at work, executing doom on the dynasty of Ahab, came upon the captains of Judah and Ahaziah’s nephews, part of the Ahaziah delegation, and killed them outright. Then he sent out a search party looking for Ahaziah himself. They found him hiding out in Samaria and hauled him back to Jehu. And Jehu killed him.

They didn’t, though, just leave his body there. Out of respect for his grandfather Jehoshaphat, famous as a sincere seeker after God, they gave him a decent burial. But there was no one left in Ahaziah’s family capable of ruling the kingdom.

[Queen Athaliah]

When Ahaziah’s mother Athaliah saw that her son was dead, she took over. She began by massacring the entire royal family. Jehosheba, daughter of King Jehoram, took Ahaziah’s son Joash, and kidnapped him from among the king’s sons slated for slaughter. She hid him and his nurse in a private room away from Athaliah. So Jehosheba, daughter of King Jehoram and Ahaziah’s sister—she was also the wife of Jehoiada the priest—saved Joash from the murderous Queen Athaliah. He was there with her, hidden away for six years in The Temple of God. Athaliah, oblivious to his existence, ruled the country.

The Book of 2nd Chronicles, Chapter 22 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for friday, february 19 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons about our True King:

The world might be in a frenzy over various earthly fears, but understand that the LORD God of Israel is upon the throne, friends. As it says in our Scriptures: "For the LORD, the Most High, is to be feared, the great king over all the earth" (Psalm 47:2). Those of faith understand history - including the End of Days - as the expression of God's sovereign and providential hand. The gracious Savior always works "all things together for the good" of those who are trusting in Him. Ein od milvado (אין עוד מלבדו) - there is no power that can be exercised apart from God’s consent and overarching will. Indeed all authority in heaven and earth belongs to Yeshua, the “the Ruler of the Kings of the earth” (עליון למלכי הארץ). As it is written, “All the nations you have made shall come and worship before you, O Lord, and shall glorify your name” (Psalm 86:9). [Hebrew for Christians]

2.18.21 • Facebook

An email by Glenn Jackson:

February 19th

* ...."For here we have no continuing city, but we seek one to come".... Hebrews 13:14

The inconstant, fleeting nature of earth's most substantial and social things is proverbial. Poetry and fiction speak of it. It is part of the sad experience of life, and the hastiest observation confirms that earth is prone to change. Its fairest flowers fade away, and its most precious joys soon wither. But Heaven is enduring. It is not the pilgrim's inn. It is home; it abides and is settled forever. Heaven is a prepared city; it is ready and complete. Homes are already built, and no strenuous labour faces us. Everything is ready, anticipated, and furnished by a knowledge and ability that knows all our needs and stops at no expense.

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

February 19, 2021

With Christ

“Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth. For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God.” (Colossians 3:2-3)

The apostle Paul, looking forward to the time when we shall “ever be with the Lord” (1 Thessalonians 4:17), wrote: “For I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which is far better: Nevertheless to abide in the flesh is more needful for you” (Philippians 1:23-24).

The fact is, however, that we can be “with Christ” even while still abiding in the flesh, as Paul himself emphasized. This is the great principle called positional truth. “Positionally,” we are already “with Christ,” for that is where God sees us and how He relates to us. He has “raised us up together, and made us sit together in heavenly places in Christ Jesus” (Ephesians 2:6).

Before we could be raised up with Christ, however, we first had to die with Him. “I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me” (Galatians 2:20). God even saw us as buried with Christ when He was buried, and this is the great truth symbolized in our baptism. “We are buried with him by baptism into death” (Romans 6:4).

“Now if we be dead with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with him: Knowing that Christ being raised from the dead dieth no more” (Romans 6:8-9). He died for us, so our deserved death became His substitutionary death, and His victorious resurrection becomes our own unmerited deliverance from death in eternal resurrection life. This is our position now, and our assured everlasting possession then, for we are with Christ, who “dieth no more.”

This truth is not only a wonderful doctrine, but as we see in our text, a focus for our thoughts, and real incentive for godly living. HMM

[hermanwatts]

Fantasy New Releases: 6 July, 2019

Time-traveling Rangers, superheroes in love, living saints, dungeon-delving samurai, and the Black Tide of the undead feature in this week’s newest fantasy and adventure releases.

Armored Heart – J. M. Anjewirden

May returned home from the Second Augment War having left parts of herself behind, emotionally and literally. An inventor at heart, she built herself cybernetic legs to regain her mobility, and then a suit of powered armor to regain a purpose in her life as the superhero Escuda.

But can she balance being a superhero with a love life?

The country’s most celebrated superhero, Steel Patriot, has moved to her town. Sure, Escuda will be able to work with him easily enough, but can May get his attention, while also dealing with a new breed of supervillain on the rise?

Chronicle of Lightning #1 – Shadows Finger

Dai Lin was a mystery from birth, arising from a bolt of blue thunder that descended into a land of the unknown. In this land, there was a distant village, one which had been ravaged by his arrival, a place known as the Windtale Village. Taken in by a small but unusual family of two, he was later raised as one of their own, but while things would seem to be fine, there were changes occurring in their world’s underside, ones that would affect not only themselves but the lives of all beings who exist within this ever so fleeting, and mysterious domain…

This is a story of passion, obsession, and unrequited love, follow along as a child journeys to find his place in a land that rejects his very existence, this is his story, this is the tale of Dai Lin…

Crusader (Saint Tommy, NYPD #5) – Declan Finn

He might be on his last crusade

Still working abroad, Detective Tommy Nolan has a hot tip that leads him to Germany. Women and children are disappearing from Catholic Bavaria. The local police have their hands tied. Tommy is the last hope for answers.

Yet again, Tommy is in over his head. What starts as a sex trafficking ring turns into a terrorist conspiracy to unleash Hell on Europe. To stop it, Tommy must fight Nazi vampires, terrorists, and a swarm of succubi who want him as their next meal. Tommy has always crusaded for justice. But now he might be on his last crusade.

Dead God’s Due (Sins of the Fathers #1) – Matthew P. Gilbert

To stop the end of the world, they must defy a god.

Yazid Valerion is alone with the truth. The apocalypse is coming. But his warnings fall on deaf ears. His people are far more concerned about the wars of today and tomorrow than those of the past.

Eons ago, the Dead God promised a world of ash, and the time of that prophecy is now at hand. His only hope is to cross the sea with his few followers in search of ancient enemies, the Meites, and pray he can sway them to his cause. But the Meites are no mere mortals; they are powerful sorcerers prone to outbursts of destructive terror. Even if he can find them, there’s no guarantee they won’t slaughter him and his men upon first sight.

Perhaps there is no way to change the prophesy of a god. If not, then Yazid will die well. For a warrior knows, it is better to die fighting than trembling in fear of the final blow.

Firestarter (The Valens Legacy #15) – Jan Stryvant

Up until now, Sean has only been fighting battles. He’s been fighting them against the demons coming through temporary gates, demonically backed agencies, magic users, or even just plain crazies. But now, now the war, the real war, is about to start as the date for the main gateway, which will be open for two years, draws near. A gateway through which millions of demons will be coming to conquer the world.

And yet there is just so much still to do. Help and reinforcements are flooding in, but people need to be sorted out, infected were necessary, and trained. Supplies need to be organized, and bureaucrats must be dealt with. Plans must be made and often updated as more and more is learned about their enemies and their allies.

It’s a tall order for a young man who is barely past his twenty-second birthday, lion or not.

Kami no Kishi (Dungeon Samurai #2) – Kit Sun Cheah

Six months after being spirited away to a land filled with deadly monsters, Yamada Yuuki and Hiroshi Matsuo are about to face their toughest challenge yet. They and their fellow samurai must dive deeper into the world-spanning dungeon, going where no man has gone before, in a quest to confront the demon who brought them to its realm.

But as the samurai grow in skill and power, so too do the monsters. Legions of bloodthirsty beasts stalk the shadow-filled halls of the labyrinth, far more dangerous than those on the upper floors. Strange spells echo in the corridors, visiting death and madness to the unwary and the unfortunate. An ocean of agony and suffering lies between the humans and the bottom floor.

To stand fast against the coming onslaught, it is no longer enough for Yamada and Hiroshi to serve as samurai. They must don the mantle of the Kami no Kishi: the Knights of God.

One Helluva Bad Time – Chuck Dixon

You don’t punch a cocktail waitress around Dwayne Roenbach, not even if you are his wealthy mogul boss.

Unfortunately, said boss got him blacklisted for actions that Dwayne knew were entirely appropriate of a retired US Army Ranger.

Now, a phone call from a mysterious benefactor wants Dwayne to pull together a team to help rescue scientists who are lost.

With the kind of money he’s being offered he only asks a couple of questions to make sure the job is legit.

Perhaps he should have asked a few more.

This Epic Adventure spans multiple time periods, gun battles with creatures and people all over the world as well as up and down history as they battle to do what is right.

No matter if Hell is there to greet them in the end.

Bad times or not, these Rangers have no ‘quit’ in them. Everyone and everything needs to get the hell out of their way.

River of Night (Black Tide Rising #7) – John Ringo and Mike Massa

Tom Smith used to be somebody. Now he’s just another refugee, fleeing the smoking ruins of civilization.

Well, maybe not just another refugee.

Late of the Bank of the Americas where he used to be the global managing director for Security, Tom and his fellow survivors watched New York City burn. His plan to the save New York long enough to find a cure for the zombie virus hadn’t survived the bloody scrimmage between angry cops, cunning gangsters, and rapacious City officials.

But Tom and some trusted allies were able to stay one step ahead and escaped offshore. Now they’re holed up in a safe house in coastal Virginia and it’s time to breakout.

Between him and his objective, one of the bank’s prepared evacuation camps in the Cumberland Valley, are hundreds of miles of clogged roads, burnt-out towns and howling mobs of infected humans who know only hunger.

Without a fat checkbook and the team of hired spec-ops mercenaries it used to bring, how will Tom Smith fend off entrepreneurial marauders, a brilliant sociopath or two and a kill-count hungry member of the E-4 mafia?

And if he pulls it off, no one is sure how they will they re-start civilization.

Fantasy New Releases: 6 July, 2019 published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

[emmagreen1220-blog]

New Post has been published on Literary Techniques

New Post has been published on https://literarytechniques.org/motif-in-literature/

Motif in Literature

Examples of Motif in Literature

Motif, in essence, is a recurring element, whether a concept, a phrase, an image, an object, an event, or a situation. This element can reappear within a single work, but also across many works written by one or numerous different authors (not always consciously imitating each other). Modern scholars tend to distinguish these two meanings of the word “motif” in literary studies by labeling the recurrence of elements in a single work with the German word leitmotif (“leading motif”)—borrowed from early analyses of the music of Wagner—and by referring to the repetition of concepts and themes across literary works with the rather old term topos (pl. topoi; “(common) place”)—borrowed from ancient rhetoric. So that you can understand better this distinction, below we provide examples of both topoi and leitmotifs, i.e., the two different types of motifs.

Across Many Works (Topoi)

Example #1: Ubi Sunt

“Ubi sunt” is Latin for “where are… [they]?” and it is one of the oldest and most pervasive motifs in world literature. It is a melancholic comment on the transience of life, usually made through a series of rhetorical questions concerning the fate of the most exemplary people of the past, be they the bravest, the wealthiest, or the most beautiful. Sometimes, ubi sunt can also take the form of a nostalgic yearning for “the good ol’ days;” in this case, the mood it tries to convey approximates the one captured by the numerous variations of another widespread motif: the “golden age” motif.

The Bible

You can find one of the earliest appearances of the ubi sunt motif in the Book of Baruch (33:16-19), a deuterocanonical book of the Bible (meaning: it is considered to be part of the Bible only by Catholics and Orthodox Christians). In fact, the expression ubi sunt is derived from the Latin translation of the first two words of this passage:

Where are the rulers of the nations, and those who lorded it over the animals on earth; those who made sport of the birds of the air, and who hoarded up silver and gold in which people trust, and there is no end to their getting; those who schemed to get silver, and were anxious, but there is no trace of their works? They have vanished and gone down to Hades, and others have arisen in their place.

Medieval Poetry

Medieval poets attempted to bring to mind this feeling of fleetingness pretty often, and you can find the same motif expressed in numerous poems written in many different languages during this period of time. Thus, the Old English poem Wanderer asks “Where is the horse gone? Where the rider? Where the giver of treasure?/ Where are the seats at the feast? Where are the revels in the hall?” and 13th-century French trouvère Rutebeuf sings “What has become of my friends/ That I had held so close/ And loved so much?”

One of the most famous evocations of the ubi sunt motif can be found in another French poet of the Middle Ages, the notorious François Villon. In his “Ballade of the Ladies of Times Past,” he sings that all the most beautiful maidens in history have disappeared just like last year’s snows. The poem contains perhaps the most imitated and alluded-to refrain of this kind: “Where are the snows of yesteryear?”

On a more positive note, the well-known academic commercium song “Gaudeamus igitur” contains the verses “Where are those who trod this globe/ In the years before us?” but only so as to inspire those who listen to seize the day, which is another prominent literary topos sometimes associated with the ubi sunt: the carpe diem motif. But we’ll get back to it later.

Renaissance and Romanticism

Shakespeare revisits the ubi sunt motif in the “Alas, poor Yorick” speech given by Hamlet in the fifth act of his most celebrated play, as does James Macpherson in his pseudo-translations of Ossian, Fragments of Ancient Poetry: “Where is Fingal the King? where is Oscur, my son? where are all my race?”

From the Romantic period come two more personalized and, thus, more devastating manifestations of the ubi sunt motif. The first one can be found in Goethe’s “Dedication” to Faust, in which he bemoans the fact that the people he wrote his poems for can no longer read them:

They hear no longer these succeeding measures, The souls, to whom my earliest songs I sang: Dispersed the friendly troop, with all its pleasures, And still, alas! the echoes first that rang!

The second example comes from Charles Lamb’s brief poem “The Old Familiar Faces” which opens with this heart-rending tercet:

I have had playmates, I have had companions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days, All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

We can list many more examples, but we guess the above should suffice. As you can see, all of the works quoted here essentially say the same depressing thing—namely that life ends and that even the most remarkable among us will eventually die. Because of this, they can all be considered variations of the same theme, in this case labeled the ubi sunt motif.

Example #2: Ars Longa, Vita Brevis

Ars longa, vita brevis is another Latin phrase which is used as a common designation for a recurring theme in literature. Meaning “art is long, life is short,” this motif is essentially the optimistic other side of the ubi sunt coin. It says that even though our time on earth is short, and our beauty, bravery and wealth mean little when death arrives, our artistic creations remain long after we’re gone and can outlive us by centuries; death may conquer life, but art triumphs over death. The phrase is most frequently used with reference to the timelessness of the written word, or more particularly, poetry.

Ancient Rome

Interestingly enough, the antithetical phrase “ars longa, vita brevis” is a misinterpretation of an aphorism by the Father of Medicine, Hippocrates, who actually says (as translated by Chaucer): “the life so short, the craft so long to learn.” It is in this manner that Seneca quotes him in On the Shortness of Life from where the Latin phrase originates. However, the word “ars,” which originally meant “craft” or “technique,” in time came to mean “the fine arts,” which inspired many poets to reinterpret this initially pessimistic quote into the much more hopeful idea that art outlasts its creator.

The most celebrated ancient meditation upon this ars longa motif is the final poem of the third book of the Odes by Horace, in which the poet confidently—and correctly—predicts that, through his poetry, he has built himself a monument as enduring as time itself (tr. Sidney Alexander):

I have erected a monument more durable than bronze, loftier than the regal pile of pyramids that cannot be destroyed either by corroding rains or the tempestuous North wind or the endless passage of the years or the flight of centuries. Not all of me shall die. A great part of me shall escape Libitina, Goddess of Death.

William Shakespeare

If that first line from Horace above rings any bells, it is because you’ve probably already read it rephrased into English by none other than Shakespeare in his Sonnet 55: “Not marble, nor the gilded monuments/ Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme.” However, as he informs us in the second stanza of the same sonnet, Shakespeare is interested in the timelessness of poetry not because of his own fame, but because of the beauty of his lover:

When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword nor war’s quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory.

Shakespeare restates these feelings several times, most famously in the closing couplet of Sonnet 18, which, referring to itself, claims that:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Romanticism

Far from being the only one, Shakespeare is merely one of the hundreds and hundreds of poets who adapted Horace’s ode and generated their own variation of the ars longa motif. Alexander Pushkin directly imitates Horace in “Exegi momentum,” and both Keats’ “Ode on a Grecian Urn” and Shelley’s “Ozymandias” comment upon the timelessness of art in connection with the brevity of life—though in a much less confident manner. One of the most popular Romantic poems which uses this motif is certainly Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “A Psalm of Life” which, among others, contains these verses:

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

Example #3: Carpe diem

Of course, in addition to producing artistic creations which may outlast you, there’s another way for you to confront the brevity of life; and that is by living it to the full. Made famous by the 1989 movie, Dead Poets Society, this motif is most succinctly referred to as the “carpe diem” motif, which is Latin for “seize the day” and which, once again, comes from Horace (I.11): “Even as we speak, envious Time is fleeing./ Seize the day: entrusting as little as possible to tomorrow.” Horace himself has written quite a few verses expressing this very same feeling, and who knows how many poems written after him are no more than variations of this motif! Here are just a few.

Pierre de Ronsard, “Sonnet to Helen” (II.43)

Pierre de Ronsard was the first French poet to be called “a prince of poets,” and it is only because he wrote in French that he is not that famous in the English-speaking world. Few of his poems have, nevertheless, reached a wide audience. Famously adapted by W. B. Yeats under the title “When You Are Old,” the most famous of Ronsard’s numerous “Sonnets to Helen” is undoubtedly one of the most memorable expressions of the carpe diem motif in any language. In it, Ronsard warns Helene that one day he will be dead and she just an old crone, sitting by the fireside and regretting the fact that she had once scorned the advances of one who loved her and thought her beautiful; however, the poet doesn’t want Helene to recognize this as a reason for concern, but as an invitation to enjoy the pleasures of life (tr. Humbert Wolfe):

And since what comes to-morrow who can say? Live, pluck the roses of the world to-day.

Robert Herrick, “To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time”

Writing a century after Ronsard, English Cavalier poet Robert Herrick voices the very same opinion in the 208th poem of his lifework, the collection of verses, Hesperides, with language which obviously echoes his French predecessor:

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today To-morrow will be dying.

Andrew Marvell, “To His Coy Mistress”

In the last stanza of Herrick’s carpe diem masterpiece, the poet urges the virgins to “be not coy, but use [their] time” while they still can. Written probably just a year after “To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time” was published, “To His Coy Mistress,” Andrew Marvell’s most famous love-song, is merely a modification of this advice, in this case, addressed to one particular lady.

In the first stanza of the poem, Marvell explains to this shy maiden that if they had “but world enough, and time,” he would have courted her for millennia, praising her eyes for at least a century and adoring each of her breasts for twice that time. However—he goes on in the second stanza—he can always hear “Time’s wingèd chariot” behind him, making him fully aware that, before too long, his lust will turn into ashes, and his beloved’s “long preserved virginity” will be tried by worms.

And if that is the case—Marvell finally gets to the point in the third stanza—then why all the coyness? “Let us sport us while we may,” the poet urges his beloved, “and tear our pleasures with rough strife/ Through the iron gates of life.” That way the two will have nothing to regret when they die because they’ve made the most of their lives:

Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.

In a Single Work (Leitmotifs)

Example #1: William Shakespeare, Macbeth (1606)

Back in the time when there were no computers and Ctrl+F shortcuts, an English literary critic by the name of Caroline Spurgeon managed to diligently index every single image and metaphor in all of Shakespeare’s plays.

“It is a curious thing,” she notes at the beginning of Chapter XV of her pioneer study Shakespeare’s Imagery and What It Tells Us, “that the part played by recurrent images in raising, developing, sustaining and repeating emotion in [Shakespeare’s] tragedies has not, so far as I know, ever yet been noticed. It is a part somewhat analogous to the action of a recurrent theme or ‘motif’ in a musical fugue or sonata, or in one of Wagner’s operas.” And then she proceeds to trace “the recurring images which serve as ‘motifs’” in each of Shakespeare’s great tragedies, after having done the same with his histories, comedies, and romances in the previous three chapters.

Spurgeon singles out Macbeth’s imagery as “more rich and varied, more highly imaginative, more unapproachable… than that of any other single play.” However, among the several motifs she registers, one seems to stand out—that of Macbeth’s ill-fitting garments. Shakespeare makes recurrent allusions to this humiliating image of “a notably small man enveloped in a coat far too big for him.” First, it is Macbeth who brings attention to it, after he is named the Thane of Cawdor in the third scene of the first act (I.3.108-9):

The Thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me In borrow’d robes?

Just a few moments later (I.3.144-6), Banquo explicitly calls it to mind by claiming of Macbeth that:

New honours come upon him, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould But with the aid of use.

And when Lady Macbeth later scolds her husband for his hesitation in relation to the murder of King Duncan, she admonishes him with these words (I.7.36-7): “Was the hope drunk/ wherein you dress’d yourself?” Macduff also resorts to clothing imagery in an ironic comment on Macbeth becoming the new king just as he sends Ross to the coronation in Scone (II.4.37-8): “Well, may you see things well done there: adieu!/ Lest our old robes sit easier than our new!”

Shakespeare returns to this same motif twice more in the second scene of the fifth act when, first, Caithness describes the already shaken Macbeth as someone who “cannot buckle his distemper’d cause/ within the belt of his rule” (V.2.15) and, furthermore, when Angus, just a few verses later (V.2.20) “sums up the essence” of Macbeth:

now does he feel his title Hang loose about him, like a giant’s robe Upon a dwarfish thief.

The motif of Macbeth’s “ill-fitting garments” is probably not something one is capable of noticing at first or even third reading; however, as Spurgeon demonstrated, it was always there in the verses, appearing over and over again across the play, so as to serve as a sort of a soundtrack for its main protagonist; just like a Wagnerian leitmotif.

Example #2: William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury (1929)

William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury is one of the indisputable masterpieces of 20th-century modernist literature (though Wyndham Lewis and Vladimir Nabokov would probably disagree). Similarly to a few other books which share comparable reputation—think Proust’s In Search of Lost Time—Faulkner’s novel deals prominently with the topic of subjective vs. objective time. Faulkner uses several motifs masterfully, not only so as to periodically suggest and hint at the theme (mainly that of arrested development), but also so as to provide some unity to his highly experimental work.

And this is especially evident by Faulkner’s prominent use of motifs in the first two parts of his work, which are narrated, respectively, by the intellectually disabled Benjamin “Benjy” Compson (who acts as if he is 3 even though he is 33 years old) and the depressed and deteriorated Quentin on the day of his suicide. Since both of these parts are presented in a stream of consciousness fashion, it can be difficult for the reader to make out the chronology of the described events or detect any intelligible storyline. However, by saturating Benjy’s and Quentin’s accounts with sporadically reappearing motifs, Faulkner successfully compensates for this lack of narrative clarity, transforming the first half of his novel into a sort of a lyrical exposé, rich with refrains and repetitions.

Think of these Faulknerian leitmotifs as conspicuous cues planted in the text so as to remind the reader from time to time that it is still the same story he’s trying to get to the bottom of, even though occasionally it may not seem like that. To understand this better, just consider how the word “caddie”—often uttered at the golf course—reminds Benjy of his favorite sibling’s name and stirs his mind into a whirlwind of unrelated associations of his sister Caddy. The word “caddie” itself doesn’t stand for anything here, i.e., it is not a symbol; it is merely a cue for a stream of connotations, a motif Faulkner spins out into something more important for the overall theme: the brothers’ relationship with Caddy.

Another thing that Benjy is passionate about is fire. It is an image he is fascinated and calmed by, and it often comes to his mind for no apparent reason whatsoever. A few examples should suffice: “I liked to smell Versh’s house. There was a fire in it…;” “There was a fire in the house, rising and falling…;” “He was just looking at the fire, Caddy said”… The fire-motif here works the same way choruses work in songs: reemerging from time to time to create a lyrical pattern. It is difficult to say whether the fire is meant to represent something: to Benjy, it is probably a friendly element and, just like caddies, it seems to have some kind of a warm connection to Caddy.

However, the fire-motif is infused with other meanings when it reappears in the second part as in this meditation by Quentin:

If it could just be a hell beyond that: the clean flame the two of us more than dead. Then you will have only me then only me then the two of us amid the pointing and the horror beyond the clean flame.

In Dante’s Purgatorio, poets are purified by passing through a wall of fire; it is what Dante has to do in order to see Beatrice. However, Quentin’s love for his sister seems something beyond purification, which is why he associates fire with both “clean flames” and “hell” at the same time: on the other side of the “clean flame” there is no Paradise, but “pointing and horror.” The phrase “amid the pointing and the horror beyond the clean flame” reappears four times in Quentin’s musings, thus becoming a sort of a sub-motif which always recalls and points to something more than what the phrase itself contains.

It is difficult to say here more without getting into unnecessary details with regards to our keyword, but, if you are interested, an excellent place to go on with your research is Sartre’s exceptional essay “Time in the Work of Faulkner”: large parts of it treat some of Faulkner’s time-related motifs, mostly in Quentin’s part (reference).

[inmyprimeallthetime-blog]

Everyone says “time flies” but I don’t think you really feel it while in the daily grind. If I wasn’t sure of that before, now my two munchkins, who aren’t quite so small anymore, are constant reminders that time is ever fleeting. Nothing is permanent and the ability exist in the present without desire or regret is incredibly hard to surrender to. Every moment flows to the next like the waterfalls at the Ohe’o Gulch in Hana, Maui. Crystal clear water cascading down out of a rainforest into the turquoise pacific. It’s magic, and when we won’t slow down to enjoy the view we miss it. It had been almost seven years since we had gone to Maui on our honeymoon when we received a save the date for a dear friend’s wedding. I was honored to be invited, but thought that with Chris’ busy work schedule, kids and a stressful home improvement project that this was a trip we would have to sit out. Much to my surprise (and great joy) as soon as Chris saw the invite he exclaimed, “amazing, I can’t wait!”. We began to plan our trip over the next few months and shaped it similarly to the way we did our honeymoon. We had three separate destinations on the itinerary. I was nervous that travel with the kids would prove draining (which at times it was) but for the most part it was an absolute dream.

We landed at the Kahului airport at around 2pm on a Thursday and promptly each grabbed a kid to divide and conquer the luggage claim and car rental. We were off the airport premises within 20 minutes and on our way to our first destination at the Polo Beach Condos in Wailea. I had some trouble in transmitting the keyless entry code to the itinerary I wrote up resulting in an inability to unlock the door,  we thought we were too early to check in so we got back in the car and set out to grab lunch at the Grand Wailea just a couple minutes up the road. After refueling we grabbed supplies then realized we were supposed to type the # sign in before the code and like that we were in our beachfront condo in paradise. We explored the beach and pool before settling in with some frozen pizza for dinner, gourmet I know… The next day my parents arrived and we gave them the tour after they got acclimated. The condo’s private beach connects to the public Polo Beach and the paved beach walk that runs between the beaches and resorts sprinkled along that Wailea stretch. We walked from our beach over to the Fairmont for some lunch and frosty adult beverages, then back to the condo for swimming at the pool. The sweet smell from the plumeria trees and the warm sticky air awoke my senses. The following morning we were up with the sun and out to grab gear from Snorkel Bob’s by 9am. Our kids are 4 and 6 so I wasn’t sure that we’d really be able to do an activity like this but they LOVED it, and so did we. My youngest had on floaties but our oldest just held onto dad and explored the wildlife off of Ulua Beach. We saw a variety of fish but none as exciting as the Humuhumunukunukuapua’a, aka the Reef Tiger Fish and the official state fish of Hawaii. It’s as fun to say as it is to see in real life. My oldest son loves to watch documentaries and shows about marine life so this was truly one of the highlights of the trip for all of us. The wonder and amazement in his eyes and the enthusiasm with which he spoke about seeing the animals swim right next to him will forever stay in my heart.

After two more nights at the Polo Beach Club Chris and I were ready to set out on our solo adventure for the trip. The wedding day was here and we had managed to sneak off for two nights to the ultra luxe Four Seasons Wailea sans children, a vacation inside our vacation! Of course we were just a couple minutes away if needed but my parents were happy to keep the kids entertained and away for most of those 48 hours. Upon check-in we were greeted with a delicious cucumber lemon infused water and a cool lavender towel that I awkwardly wiped my hands and neck with so as to not be rude. The service at the Four Seasons is unmatched, granted we don’t stay at these sorts of places often. We had booked the room without realizing there was a room block so during check in I mentioned it and asked if we might be able to receive the block rate. The accommodating staff took care of us and issued a credit for the difference. We dropped our bags in our garden view room which was as perfectly set with comfy bed, nespresso, speakers softly playing island music, and a couple of chewy powdered sugar dusted lemony cookies that I ate all myself (Chris isn’t big into the sweets). We then left the room to embark on the festivities for the evening. Ferraro’s is a poolside restaurant and bar at the resort where we started the evening with some cocktails before heading to the lobby. The beautiful bride had emphasized that we meet in the lobby at 4:30 sharp so as not to miss the ceremony. I just assumed it would be onsite at the hotel however several people had speculated that we’d be escorted off site, which is indeed what ended up happening.

We were transported to a beautiful grassy knoll overlooking the ocean. The bright altar sewn with vivid orange roses, purple orchids, green hydrangeas and more did a spectacular job of framing the gorgeous couple on this perfectly calm afternoon as they declared their love for one another. The vows were romantically heartfelt and left not a dry eye in attendance, at that moment they were true love embodied for us all to see. The cocktail hour was back at the hotel near the lobby where high top tables and purple orchids were merely props for the delectable appetizer tasting and sunset viewing soiree. Couples and friends all posed as the cotton candy sky illuminated – a postcard worthy backdrop.   After the cocktail hour we made our way to the reception on the ocean front lawn. Again stunning and elegant, every detail thoughtfully executed and representative of the happy couple. Bruno Mars played on the speakers to bring them in for their fun entrance before the first dances began. Every person who spoke about the officially formed Wu’s brought soundbite after soundbite that Oprah would deem a “tweetable moment”. This authentically good and kind duo were definitely made for eachother. We rounded out the evening with an unreal buffet (3 tables full of the most delicious food), a dessert bar that even I wasn’t able to take full advantage of due to lack of space in my belly, dancing, and even a nightcap in the lobby bar. Oh and they had a fire performer, I mean come on, it was breathtaking. The Kearney and Wu families know how to throw an epic celebration of love.

The next morning after nursing our hangovers for a bit we met my parents and our kids in the lobby for breakfast downstairs at Duo. They have a beautiful buffet for adults and a pretty sweet one for keikis, powdered donuts included, however we all opted for made to order meals off the menu. Their Ulupalakua Ranch Breakfast was phenomenal including their unique potatoes that are perfectly crisp on the outside and fluffy soft on the inside.After breakfast we set up the family at the pool, then Chris and I made our way to the Grand Wailea for our massages. This spa is world renowned so we booked our treatments there. Upon arrival we were shown the facilities and escorted to the locker rooms to change and start our experience. My massage was top notch however I did think the facilities felt a bit cheesy and dated. I fell asleep during my massage which is a testament to how relaxed I felt, definitely a good sign. Post massage we went straight for the Serenity Pool back at the hotel where we ordered a Poke sampler to share which I devoured most of without regard for my partner. It all worked out fine as he ordered his own sushi roll shortly after. We sipped on Lahaina Lemonades and reenacted our time spent there on our honeymoon taking silly posed photos and laughing A LOT. Dinner reservations were at Spago we shared a pork belly appetizer and ahi tuna poke in sesame miso cones, yum! For dinner I got a fish curry with rice and Chris enjoyed a szechuan style beef dish, also delicious. My dish came with three flavor enhancing sauces that I was advised to add only after tasting them each individually, instead I threw them all in at once for a flavor tango that danced all over my tongue. We finished up with a chocolatey volcano for dessert. Our experience didn’t disappoint and we felt transported back in time to when we were married. We retired to bed and enjoyed sleeping without kids for another night before returning to the condo to set out on our next adventure. Check in later for part two of our Maui vacation. As always thanks for reading!

Beauty, Love, and a Dream Vacation (Part One) Everyone says "time flies" but I don’t think you really feel it while in the daily grind.

[gracewithducks]

“You cannot sit apart.” - Nelson Mandela (Ephesians 4:1-6, 21-32)

Rolihlahla was born in the village of Mvezo, in South Africa.

 Growing up, Rolihlahla heard the stories of his ancestors and their struggles for freedom. Because, of course, South Africa had not always been as it was then. In 1652, Dutch settlers arrived, followed almost a hundred and fifty years later by boats full of entrepreneurs from Britain. As elsewhere, the colonizers were met with resistance from the land’s original inhabitants; there were not one but many wars of resistance. Many peoples fought, and many laid down their lives, trying to defend and protect their families and their homes, fighting for their history and for their future.

 However, again and again, the battle was lost. The settlers brought with them more advanced weapons, yes, but they also knew the value of divide-and-conquer, dealing with each tribe in isolation, and allowing fear and mistrust and old rivalries to keep their enemies from daring to unite against them.[1]

 Rolihlahla was inspired by these stories. He was inspired by the sacrifices his ancestors had made, and as he looked around him, “he dreamed also of making his own contribution to the [his people’s struggle for freedom].”[2]

 When Rolihlahla went to school – it was a Methodist school, by the way, because even then, Methodists believed in not just preaching but teaching and healing, too – at school, he was given a new name, a “Christian” name, because even Methodists can make mistakes, and because renaming was the custom at the time. What was meant by that, really, is that he was given an English name. And so Rolihlahla became “Nelson” – and this is the name by which we know him: Nelson Mandela.

 And if you’ll indulge me in a sidebar today – I found it interesting that, while this supposedly Christian name “Nelson” isn’t a biblical name, it is a significant English one. Originally a surname – a last name, meaning “Neil’s son,” the name started to grow in popularity as a given name, a first name, when it was given in honor of the British admiral Horatio Nelson.[3] This Nelson was most famous for the Battle of Trafalgar, one of the most celebrated victories in British history. Horatio Nelson led a fleet of twenty-seven British ships against thirty-three united French and Spanish ships. During the battle, in spite having the advantage, the French and Spanish lost 22 ships, without a single British ship being lost.

 The British fleet accomplished such an amazing victory because Horatio Nelson broke tradition – he tried doing something in a way it had never been done before. It was customary, when you faced an enemy, to face them line to line, parallel to one another. Instead, Nelson came at the opponent with his ships in two columns, two lines of attack – and it worked. He changed the game; he came at the problem in a whole new way – and in doing so, he beat the odds, leading his boats to defeat a much stronger and mightier foe.

 During the battle, however, Nelson was shot; he was one of the casualties of the greatest victory of his life. He won the battle, but lost his life.[4]

 I don’t know if Nelson Mandela knew any of that. I don’t know if he knew the heritage of his new name – but I do know that, so often in the story of faith, names are important. And Nelson Mandela was a man who believed the game could be changed, that “we’ve never done it that way before” doesn’t necessarily mean we never should, and that might doesn’t make right, and it’s still possible for David to defeat Goliath… and he also knew that, when you make a stand for what you believe in, it just might end up costing you dearly; there are times when you have to believe that there are victories worth living and dying for.

 Anyway, back to Nelson – our Nelson’s – story. He grew up, attending church and learning at one Methodist school after another, and his faith became an important part of how he saw himself.

 Throughout his life, Mandela increasingly found himself not quite fitting in: because he would not accept a marriage arranged for him, he ran away from his tribe and his home… but in the world beyond, he faced racism and prejudice because of the color of his skin and where he’d come from.

 I cannot begin to do justice to the long and fascinating life and struggle that shaped Nelson Mandela, but for today it is enough to say that he was the leader and voice for the fight against apartheid – against legalized, institutionalized discrimination and racism – in South Africa. Over the course of two decades, he stood for what he believed in, and as his influence grew, he was often banned from speaking publicly, arrested, and tried for a variety of supposed crimes.

Eventually Mandela found himself facing possible execution for his activities; during his trial, rather than mounting a defense, Mandela gave a speech, concluding by saying that, [The ideal of a just and free society of equals living in harmony] is an ideal for which I hope to live for and to see realized. But, My Lord, if it needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die.”[5]

 He did not die, but instead, the judge condemned Mandela – and two others – to life in prison.

 Nelson Mandela was in prison for 27 years; perhaps you know that he did, eventually, regain his freedom – but he didn’t have any reason to hope, then, that he ever would. At first, he was kept isolated, forced into hard labor and allowed but one visitor every six months. But over time, he gained more and more privileges – including the privilege of celebrating communion.

 One pastor, Father Wiggett, shares the story of one communion service in prison, where Nelson was present. Father Wiggett was accompanied by a warder, a guard, who was there not only for his protection but to monitor anything and everything that was said, to make sure no illegal or illicit communications were being passed.

 This one day, then, partway through the communion service, Mandela interrupted the pastor, saying, “Just a minute.” And he looked at the warder, the guard, and he said, “Are you a Christian?” And the guard answered, “Yes, I am.”

 And Nelson Mandela said to this jailor, “Well then, you must take off your cap, and you must come and join us. You cannot sit apart; you can’t sit there on your own… This is holy communion, and we must share and receive it together.”

 Father Wiggett remembers being stunned: “As a priest,” he said, “I didn’t think of doing that, but the political prisoner released the warder!” The guard took off his hat, and he took his place at the table with the rest of the body of Christ.[6]

 And this, friends, is why I share this story today. Nelson Mandela is, in my opinion, a saint: not because he always got it right, but because he did the best he could, to love God, to follow God, and to honor the image of God in others.

 Here was a man who had his whole life been excluded from the table – an outsider, everywhere he went, and for all the influence he gained in his lifetime, he gained it only through constantly and persistently fighting for a place at the table.

 And this is the man who looks at the guard at his prison, and says, “Welcome. Come join us. You, even you, belong here.”

 Can you hear there the best of Methodist tradition? This is why we believe in an open table table – because we believe that, no matter where we’ve come from, no matter what we look like, no matter what we’ve done, what limits others place on us – this is the one place where we all, truly, belong. Here we are equal, and here we stand on common ground: when we gather to receive the grace of God, freely offered at the table of Christ.

 Our scripture for today if from Paul’s letter to the Ephesian church – which is still another of Paul’s prison letters, which seems only fitting as we sit with Nelson Mandela, who also spent much of his life in prison, uncertain if he would ever be released, continuing even there to speak and act as faithfully as he could.

 And here in Ephesians 4, Paul writes these words: “I, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called… making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. [For] There is one body and one spirit… one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God of us all…

 “So then,” he continues, “let’s speak the truth to each other, because we belong to one another; we are members of the same body in Christ. Be angry, but do not sin… Put away bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander and malice, and… forgive one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you.”

 Friends, you and I know that we live in a world where we continue to divide ourselves – based on race and color and gender identity and nationality and ability so many other factors. We ourselves live in a society built over the graves of those we disenfranchised and devastated for our own sake; we live in a society where prejudices are still woven into the very fabric of our lives together.

 I don’t pretend to have all the answers today. There are no easy answers or quick fixes. But the story we find ourselves in is not just a story of prejudice and segregation and death – it’s a story of justice and reconciliation and resurrection, too.

 This is why I love World Communion Sunday: because we know, we are reminded, that we are not alone; we come to a table that extends around the world – and just because we are divided by time and distance and culture and language and on and on… what matters more is that we are united, we are one, we stand on common and level ground, when we gather at the table of Christ.

 This is where prisoner and guard break bread together. This is where slave and free drink from the same cup. This is where black and white and red and yellow and brown sit side by side by side, as one family. This is where young and old and all of us in-between, where women and men and boys and girls and those who find themselves somewhere in-between, where all of us hear the good news:

 You are welcome. You are loved. You belong here.

 Christ welcomes us today, to come as we are. And Christ invites us, today, to begin once more to become who we are called to be.

 My prayer is that we will be faithful, not just here, but when we go back out into this divided world; my prayer is that we will refuse to allow fear and old wounds to keep us apart; that we will work for reconciliation, for peace and justice both; And my prayer is that we will be the ones who look for those who are on the outside, waited to be invited in – and we will extend welcome and grace, again and again.

 You cannot sit apart, friends, so come to the table, where we find that God’s love, truly, makes us one.

  God, you know the story that surrounds us: and it’s a story of divide-and-conquer and might-makes-right, a story of brokenness and injustice and loneliness and despair. Invite us once more into your story. Transform us, and help us to transform the world, for the sake of all of your beloved ones. Make us into peacemakers, and when we lose hope, help us to believe we really will see your kingdom come. In Christ’s name we pray; amen.

 ------------------------

[1] Jack Simmons, “Wars of Resistance” (unpublished draft paper).  http://www.sahistory.org.za/archive/wars-of-resistance

[2] From the Nelson Mandela Foundation’s “Biography of Nelson Mandela.”

[3] “Nelson.” https://www.behindthename.com/name/nelson

[4] “Battle of Trafalgar” (Wikipedia). https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Trafalgar

[5] “I am prepared to die” (Wikipedia). https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Am_Prepared_to_Die

[6] “Father Wiggett by Marc Bellamy” (December 23, 2015). http://www.humansofsa.co.za/father-wigget-by-marc-bellamy/ // Kenneth M. Loyer, “Holy Communion: Celebrating God with Us.”

Other References and Resources: 

“Nelson Mandela” (Wikipedia). https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nelson_Mandela

Nelson Mandela Foundation, “Biography of Nelson Mandela.” https://www.nelsonmandela.org/content/page/biography

[hallsp]

Myths

Nations are forged in the fires of history but they remain molten, recast with each generation in the imperfect furnace of memory and imagination.

The controversial French philologist Ernest Renan was right when he once remarked that: “In order for a nation to exist, it had to remember certain things, and also forget certain things.”

The remembering of history often involves simplification, whereas I’d rather reflect its true complexity, with the result that the “agreed-upon facts,” to borrow a phrase from Gore Vidal, regularly need re-examination.

The most critical event in Irish history, without doubt, was the Norman conquest of Ireland in 1169. This was the beginning of English rule in Ireland, which would continue, in one form or another, down to the present day.

The 12th century “Anglo-Norman” conquest of Ireland was, in point of fact, largely Franco-Hibernian in nature. It consisted in an alliance of the Angevin King Henry II (Court Manteau) and the exiled King of Leinster, Dermot MacMurrough.

Henry II was born in France, spoke Norman French, married Eleanor of Acquitane, and spent fully two-thirds of his reign on the continent. The French Normans, in the person of William the Conquerer, had invaded Britain just a century earlier, defeating Harold at the Battle of Hastings in 1066.

Dermot MacMurrough allied himself with Henry II because he wanted to regain the Kingdom of Leinster, which had been taken from him by Rory O’Connor, the last High King of Ireland.

Jonathan Swift jokingly said that Henry had arrived in Ireland “half by force, half by consent.” The Irish History Reader, published by the Christian Brothers in 1905, puts it succinctly: “Ireland was once an independent nation. She lost her independence not so much through the power of her enemies, as by the folly of her sons.”

Interestingly, one of the first references to Ireland in the historical record, courtesy of Tacitus, the Roman historian, mentions a very similar scenario, in which an unnamed Irish chief, possibly Túathal Techtmar, exiled in the first century, sought refuge with General Agricola, who also thought of invading the Land of Winter.

The Normans were not the only invading power in the British Isles. Scots (Scoti in Latin) was the term used by Roman Britons in referring to the marauding Irish Gaels. In the 6th century, Dál Riata, a Gaelic kingdom in Northern Ireland and Scotland, became so powerful that Gaelic became the language of Northern Britain, hence the provenance of Scottish Gaelic and the etymology of Scotland itself. So, the Normans might have brought English (which is half Norman French anyway) to Ireland, but the Irish brought Gaelic to Scotland. And while we may not speak much Gaelic anymore, at least it’s survived. The Scots (in Scotland) can’t say the same about poor old Pictish. One other example: in 1111, Domnall Ua Briain, the great-grandson of Brian Boru, famous High King of Ireland, became King of the Isles (Hebrides, isles of the Firth of Clyde, and the Isle of Man) by sheer force of arms.

Indeed, the Normans weren’t the only ones boldly interfering in the affairs of a neighbouring kingdom. In 1051, prior to the Norman conquest of England itself, Harold Godwinson sought refuge in Ireland, with Diarmait mac Maíl-na-mBó in Leinster. Harold’s sons, Godwine and Edmund, fled here in 1066, and attempted to retake Britain from their base in Ireland, with fleets supplied by Diarmait, in 1068 and 1069. The colonial history of these islands might have been reversed in the event of their success.

The Vikings were not the only raiders and plunderers on the island of Ireland. According to the Annals, for example, Clonmacnoise was much more often attacked by the native Irish than by the Vikings. Indeed, even the monasteries themselves went to war with one another. Clonmacnoise went to war with Birr in 760, and with Durrow in 764. In 817, during a battle between the monasteries of Taghmon and Ferns, four hundred were slain.

The Battle of Clontarf, in 1014, is often imagined as the last stand of the Gaelic High King of Ireland, Brian Boru, against the marauding foreigner, the Norse King of Dublin, Sigtrygg Silkbeard. In actual fact, Sigtrygg was born in Ireland; he was also married to Brian Boru’s daughter. Brian himself was supported by Vikings from Limerick; and Sigtrygg was supported by Máel Mórda, King of Leinster, and Sigtrygg’s uncle!

The island of Ireland was not politically united until after the arrival of the Anglo-Normans, notwithstanding the exceptional High Kingships of Brian Boru and Rory O’Connor. There never existed a unified political entity called Ireland until about the 16th century, with the Tudor Conquest, the establishment of the Kingdom of Ireland, and the legal process of Surrender and Regrant; even then it took centuries of consolidation. Clearly there was a common heritage amongst the inhabitants of our little island prior to this, in terms of language and customs, but the country was made up of rival kingdoms, each vying for power and glory, just like everywhere else on God’s green Earth.

The omnipresent Catholic Church actually gave its imprematur to the Norman invasion of Ireland, as Henry II was granted the Lordship of Ireland by Pope Adrian IV, the first (and last) English Bishop of Rome. Laudabiliter, the papal bull granting this privilege, is extremely controversial, with many claiming it as a forgery. It matters not. The “Donation of Adrian” was subsequently recognised in many official writings. For example, in 1318, Domhnall O’Neill, along with other Irish kings, appealed to Pope John XXII in an attempt to overthrow Laudabiliter, a copy of which they enclosed. The Pope simply wrote to King Edward II of England urging him to redress some of the grievances of the Irish.

The Irish Rebellion of 1641, a result of anger at plantation and subjugation, gave rise to the Irish Catholic Confederation, which pledged its allegiance to the Royalists in the English Civil War. This is what brought Cromwell to Ireland, and though he was brutal (vicious, really) in his campaign, he was not the first military leader to massacre innocents, and exacerbate famine in Ireland. Robert the Bruce, and his brother Edward, who was proclaimed High King of Ireland in 1315, invaded the North and engaged in total war with the Anglo-Irish, slaughtering all of the inhabitants of Dundalk, for example.

Maurice Fitzgerald, who led one of the Cambro-Norman families which accompanied Strongbow in his invasion of Ireland, founded a famous dynasty in Kildare. The Fitzgeralds, like many of the Old English, eventually became “more Irish than the Irish themselves,” Hiberniores Hibernis ipsis. In fact, two descendants, separated by more than two-hundred years, would lead the Irish in rebellion against the crown: “Silken” Thomas Fitzgerald, in 1534, and Lord Edward Fitzgerald, in 1798. Such are the vagaries of history.

I like to remind Nationalists and Unionists alike that, during the 1680s, Pope Alexander VIII supported William of Orange, the Protestant usurper, in his battle for the English Crown, against the legitimate (though Catholic) King James II. The Orange Order, which refuses Catholic members, should make an honourary exception for the Pope. The Catholic Church, not for the first time in history, placed its own interests to the fore, as a member of the Grand Alliance, the League of Augsburg. The Battle of the Boyne in 1690 more or less decided the outcome of this conflict in favour of William.

This “Glorious Revolution,” so-called, is often celebrated as a victory for the liberal co-regency of William and Mary, over the authoritarian regime of James II. Edmund Burke thought of it as a final settlement and as freedom in full fruition. James was indeed an advocate for absolutist monarchy and a believer in the Divine Right of Kings.

However, it was James who made the declaration of indulgence, otherwise known as liberty of conscience, in 1687, a first step towards the freedom of religion. Indeed, the Patriot Parliament, which met in Dublin for the first and only time in 1689, granted full freedom of worship and civic and political equality for Roman Catholics and Dissenters. And yet, the indulgence also reaffirmed the king as absolute, so these pronouncements depended on the will of the monarch. (They were also made with a view to reinforcing support for his reign amongst Catholics and Dissenters.)

The founding members of the United Irishmen, the fons et origo of Irish republicanism, were all Protestant. This was an astonishing development. In the wake of the American and French revolutions, the Protestant planters, who had been brought to Ireland to pacify the country and bring it under English control, were now making common cause with the Gaelic and Old English Catholics to throw off the yoke of external domination. Wolfe Tone would state his aims boldly:

To subvert the tyranny of our execrable government, to break the connection with England, the never failing source of all our political evils, and to assert the independence of my country – these were my objects. To unite the whole people of Ireland, to abolish the memory of all past dissentions, and to substitute the common name of Irishman, in the place of the denominations of Protestant, Catholic, and Dissenter – these were my means.

In the aftermath of the 1798 rebellion, Catholics supported the Act of Union, because they believed that Catholic emancipation would be more easily achieved through Westminster than through College Green.

Daniel O’Connell, a native speaker of Irish, was utilitarian enough to “witness without a sigh the gradual disuse” of the language. Rather surprisingly, it was not the Duke of Wellington who said that being born in a stable — Ireland — does not make one a horse, it was the Liberator, speaking about the Duke, at trial in 1843.

O’Connell desired Catholic emancipation, of course, and the re-establishment of the Irish Parliament, but he wasn’t a separatist. In fact, he actually coined, or at the very least popularised, the term “West Brit,” then understood in a wholly positive sense. Here he is speaking in the House of Commons in 1832:

The people of Ireland are ready to become a portion of the Empire, provided they be made so in reality and not in name alone; they are ready to become a kind of West Britons if made so in benefits and in justice; but if not, we are Irishmen again.

O’Connell, who witnessed the beginning of la terreur in France, believed in peaceful agitation for change, “moral force” nationalism, and wholeheartedly rejected violence. “Let our agitation be peaceful,” he said, “legal, and constitutional.”

The principle of my political life…is that all ameliorations and improvements in political institutions can be obtained by persevering in a perfectly peaceable and legal course, and cannot be obtained by forcible means, or if they could be got by forcible means, such means create more evils than they cure, and leave the country worse than they found it.

In his non-violence he would be an example to Gandhi and to Martin Luther King, but not to the rebels of 1916. Strangely, though, you can find Robert Emmet’s blunderbuss in O’Connell’s home in Derrynane.

Two UK prime ministers were born and raised on the island of Ireland, part of the Protestant ascendancy: William Petty, 2nd Earl of Shelbourne (1782-1783) and Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington (1828-1830). These men also share the distinction of being the only two prime ministers who were also army generals. Wellington is not well-remembered in Ireland, because he was a staunch unionist and opposed to parliamentary reform (the reason Lord Byron called him Villainton), but he was Prime Minister during the passage of the 1829 Catholic Relief Act, and it would not have passed without his forthright support. The Wellington Testimonial in the Phoenix Park celebrates, somewhat amusingly, his encouragement of religious and civil liberty.

Irish soldiers fought with the British Army in almost every battle in the Empire’s history, including a large contingent in the Napoleonic wars alongside Wellington and, of course, in the Great War. At least 200,000 Irish soldiers fought in the First World War, all of them volunteers. Conscription for Ireland was eventually passed in 1918, but never enforced. The history of the British Empire is also our history, whether we like it or not. In fact, many of the troops who battled with the rebels in 1916 were fellow Irishmen, particularly from the Royal Dublin Fusiliers.

Ireland being an integral part of the Empire meant, for example, that the bugle used to sound the Charge of the Light Brigade at the famous Battle of Balaclava in 1854 was made in Dublin, at McNeill’s on Capel Street, and sounded by a Dubliner, Billy Brittain. It meant too that Winston Churchill’s “first coherent memory” is of cavalry on parade in the Phoenix Park in Dublin, when his grandfather, the Duke of Marlborough, was Viceroy. (Speaking of historical myths: it’s actually Lord Kitchener, as Secretary of War, and not Churchill, who bears most responsibility for the disaster which was the campaign in Gallipoli. He was the chief advocate for a naval attack in the first place and for a subsequent landing of ground troops.)

The Ulster unionists, latter-day proponents of democracy, law, and order, would do well to remember that it was their forebears who first introduced the gun into Irish politics in the 20th century, with the Larne gun-running in 1914. These were German guns for the Ulster Volunteer Force, who were determined to oppose Home Rule, the democratic will of the majority, by any means necessary.

The Irish Parliamentary Party (IPP), the majority nationalist party at Westminster, was opposed to partition, but acquiesced in the creation of Northern Ireland as a stop-gap in securing Home Rule for Ireland, which was delayed until after the First World War. John Morley, previously Chief Secretary for Ireland, wrote to Asquith in 1914 very wisely telling him that his special plan for Ulster “would not work,” because “there is a strong Catholic minority, and the effect would be to reproduce in Ulster, with a reversal of the political conditions, the very antagonisms that you now hope to relieve.” The creation of “a Protestant Government for a Protestant people” in Northern Ireland would lead directly to the so-called Troubles, in which Catholics were thwarted in their pursuit of basic civil rights.

The 1916 Rising was organised while Home Rule was on the statute books. The best defense of this action was probably given by Roger Casement, the campaigning British consul who had exposed the human rights abuses in the Congo and Peru, at his trial in 1916 before he was hanged for treason:

If small nationalities were to be the pawns in this game of embattled giants [the Great War], I saw no reason why Ireland should shed her blood in any cause but her own, and if that be treason beyond the seas I am not ashamed to avow it or to answer for it here with my life.

Tom Clarke, the mastermind of the Rising, had been arrested in London in 1883, found in possession of large quantities of nitroglycerin, intent on bombing London Bridge, the busiest part of the city.

Arthur Griffith, the founder of Sinn Féin, had suggested the formation of a dual monarchy, in emulation of Hungary’s settlement with Austria, essentially a return to the constitution of 1782, prior to the union of the Kingdoms of Great Britain and Ireland, and he had opposed all physical force nationalism in favour of passive resistance and abstentionism.

Patrick Pearse talked in the language of race theory, and welcomed the spilling of blood in the world war: “the old heart of the earth needed to be warmed with the red wine of the battlefields.” One might dismiss this as representative of the militarism of the age, but there were many who completely disagreed. James Connolly condemned this sentiment as belonging to that of a “blithering idiot.” Indeed, Pearse was “half-cracked,” according to Yeats, and a man “made dangerous by the Vertigo of Self Sacrifice.”

It must also be remembered, though, that John Redmond also called for a blood sacrifice, in encouraging the Irish Volunteers to join the war effort on the continent: “No people can be said to have rightly proved their nationhood and their power to maintain it until they have demonstrated their military prowess.”

Independence finally came in 1922, with the Anglo-Irish Treaty and the formation of the Free State. The Dáil ratified the Treaty, and the 1922 general election was a de facto referendum resulting in a clear majority in favour of the Treaty. The anti-Treaty republicans rejected this result, and brought the country to civil war. This anti-democratic element of republicanism is discussed not nearly enough.

Was the Treaty a worthy intermediate, a legitimate stepping stone to full independence? or was it a simple betrayal of the Republic? If you believe it was for the Irish people to decide, the Treaty was their choice. If, however, you believe that the Republic itself takes precedence over the voice of the people, then the fight would go on. Margaret Pearse rubbished the Treaty because she was haunted by the “ghosts of her sons.” In the end, the Republic was declared in 1949, not through force of arms, but through legislation.

In retrospect, the old unionist concern that Home Rule meant Rome Rule wasn’t entirely unfounded. Our constitution, Bunreacht na hÉireann, which was written in 1937, defined the state as explicitly secular, and, remarkably, provided recognition to the “Jewish congregations,” then under increasing attack in Europe. Nevertheless, the Catholic Church had inordinate influence on social policy. This would drive a wedge into the midst of the nation, to paraphrase W. B. Yeats. A 1925 prohibition on divorce prompted Yeats, then a senator in Seanad Éireann, to give an impressive speech.

I think it is tragic that within three years of this country gaining its independence we should be discussing a measure which a minority of this nation considers to be grossly oppressive.

Ironically, in the office of the ultra-Catholic Patrick Pearse at St. Enda’s in Rathfarnham sits a bust of the poet John Milton. It was Milton who had written so powerfully in favour of divorce in the 17th century, and Yeats invokes his name in support of the rights of the Protestant people.

The prohibition went ahead anyway, having a predictable effect on progressive society: in 1951, for example, the state rejected the donation of a painting from Louis le Brocquy, Ireland’s foremost artist. A Family was a pessimistic depiction which he painted while going through a public divorce in the UK.

Yeats predicted that the ban would eventually be removed. “There is no use quarreling with icebergs in warm water,” he said. “I have no doubt whatever that, when the iceberg melts [Ireland] will become an exceedingly tolerant country.” The iceberg finally melted in 1995, when divorce was legalised, by the smallest of margins, through popular referendum.

In the 1950s, in the wake of the failure of the “controversial” Mother and Child Scheme, which witnessed overt interference from the Catholic Church in the affairs of a supposedly secular state, and following the resignation of the courageous Dr. Noel Browne, then Minister of Health, Taoiseach John A. Costello was bold enough to state:

I am an Irishman second, I am Catholic first, and I accept without qualification in all respects the teaching of the hierarchy and the church to which I belong.

Is it really any wonder that Catholics were viewed with suspicion by protestants in the UK and elsewhere? Indeed, Martin Luther King Sr., a Baptist pastor and the father of the great civil rights leader, could not bring himself to support John F. Kennedy in the presidential race of 1960 solely because he was a Catholic. Kennedy eventually settled this matter once and for all in a brilliant speech to an antagonistic audience, all members of the Protestant Greater Houston Ministerial Association. He said, in essence, the complete opposite to John A. Costello.

In the 1960s, the provisional IRA gained a foothold providing protection to the Catholic community in the North who were agitating for basic civil rights. They abandoned their moral high-ground, though, by exploding bombs and killing civilians. In 1885, the Fenians had simultaneously bombed the Tower of London and the House of Commons; in 1974, the provisional IRA did the exact same thing. Again echoing history, their goal of a united republic was never achieved. The old IRA had fought for a Republic but settled for a Free State, the provisional IRA fought for a Republic but settled for a Power Sharing Executive.

The Irish History Reader, reflecting on the divisions of the past, encourages its students to “avoid dissension, and shun all that might tend to create disunion.” I would suggest the opposite, we are a diverse nation of contradictions. There’s room for all points of view. We should give oxygen to all traces of disagreement, welcome any tentative hints of polarisation. After all, friction creates heat and heat produces light.