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splathousefiction · 1 year

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Editorial: The Othering

Note: This was started in february, well before the recording of Long Live Lacroix. I still firmly believe the written aspect of this has value, and decided to proceed forward with finishing this work.

The best place to start is with the truth, I suppose.

Hi folks, I’m trans. As to what flavor or label of trans, I’m unsure. But I’ve known nearly my entire life. I’ve lied to and denied myself that fact for as long. Though I’ve slowly begun to open up about that over the last year I’ve never come out publicly and stated it. Patrons first heard about it months ago on my series The Workshop, where speaking it aloud felt safe. There were fewer people there and they were folks I by and large trusted immensely.

This is my first time talking about who I am in full outside of my circle.

I think I was scared of doing that for a long time. But I’m getting too old, tired and angry to give a shit anymore. I’m trans. I’ve known my entire life. Though I may not have dared to type that word or talk about it until now, I’ve been open about it in my own way for seven years.

I did so with a face you all know and love. Someone many of you have written in and expressed immense admiration for. Someone that I’ve said on several occasions had the fates been kinder to me, you’d be addressing as Jen rather than Jack.

Jen, for lack of a better way to put it, is just me in a wig with a chest plate. Her words, ideas, thoughts and dialogue have always been my own behind a thin veneer of vocal effects. Jen wasn’t my first experience revealing this side to myself either-as I was a woman to an entirely different circle of people called Jacklin for nearly five years in my early twenties.

Surprise, or not, depending on who you are and your capacity to read intent.

I’m Trans.

And I’m tired of fighting you all about it.

I write today not only in hopes to firmly establish my identity outloud, but to also proclaim that the community at large (specifically its online component) has done a shit job at acknowledging people like me. We’re the lost folk of queerdom, and there’s not a single day that goes by that I feel safe either out in the world or with my own kind. Our experiences are outliers to the gender binary, something many of my siblings adhere to despite openly protesting it. While I am by no means unique in my perspective, I find the voices of my kin stifled every time we try to say something. Moreso if they’re minorities.

Queerdom and being queer isn’t a radical idea or position to take. There’s no “right” way to queer or trans, but the beauty of the spectrum is held in check by the dead weight of deeply rooted gender binary concepts, misogyny/misandry and racism. The online queer community has been placed in high chaos, violent times with unprecedented access to resources which allow us to draw attention to the suffering of our siblings.

Instead, they’ve used it to align themselves with the boots of fascist policies which are quickly running through the respective houses of government in the US and becoming law. The serpent inevitably eats its own tail, et al. Instead of using widely available technology to enable the greatest mutual aid network our species could conceive, I see it squandered by and large on intra community squabbles which invariably boil down to gossip and overblown popularity contests. Specifically at fault are the white queer americans, who have used their positions to preach to the rest of us about how we should be.

Which, before I go any further, I’d like to say the following to these types: There is no amount of gladhanding or appeals to law enforcement, government officials or religious leaders that will keep you out of the mass grave we’re on track to be buried within. The killing and curling of our kin is already happening. You directly aided that by thinking being “one of the good ones” would save you. You ignored the teachings of those that sacrificed themselves so that you could draw breath right now. Because of your efforts, here we are again with people denying Stonewall was a riot. With cops at Pride. With puritanical ideas running rampant once more, infecting the youth and the old with fascist, genocidal ideals.

And so the serpent eats it’s tail once more. But I digress.

I feel neither masculine nor femme, but another option entirely. This is popularly referred to as “non-binary”, but adhering to labels at all limits the beauty, depth and nuance I and others like me have come to find with our existence. Instead, we get wrote off in a thousand different ways under a thousand different names, which ultimately do nothing save fracturing the community and our identity further. The most damning thing is that this is often done without our consent, by people who think they understand us.

I’ve been called a “demi-man” simply because I’ve a five o’clock shadow one day. A “queen” simply because I took photos in a skirt. Despite going from “they-them” to “any pronouns” in a desperate attempt to assert myself, I still get called a man by my own community-often by well meaning queers as afraid of asking me to explain as they are of upsetting the Straights. It’s a means of silencing discussion and the human experience ingrained in us from birth by a culture that swallows propaganda daily.

I and others like me are out, but we’re not free. We’re seen but we’re not heard. The only time people do listen is when we yell, and then they give us as much space as their sensibilities as allies and siblings will allow. Because they seriously, genuinely thought slapping an enby flag on our forehead solved our problems instead of creating another form of pseudo-nationalist rhetoric.

The only time I felt liberation from the expectations of labels was within the trans community. It has faults of it’s own, bad actors and no shortage of those that want us dead. Speaking comparatively in my personal experience however, it by far aligns closer with my concept of identity than others. I feel more at home in the arms of my brothers, sisters and others than I ever did attempting to placate the rhetoric of the rest of the community.

A non-zero portion of the rest of you would be happy if we all just shut the fuck up though. The shackles of binary ideals muzzle what you know to be the truth-that we’re all queer uniquely, and I dare say “trans” by concept of stepping away from those binary norms.

It scares you. A lot. Because it upsets the comfort and protections you’ve secured by appealing to the same powers that want us dead.

Which is why it’s fine to have sacrificial lambs.

The Binary: An Anti-Humanist, Species Destroying Concept

Nothing is inherently gendered.

Absolutely nothing.

“Gender” as a concept is so inherently nebulous, so vague and general in so much that it’s applied to overlapping experiences and marketing. In of itself however, it is simply a word with no basis in physical reality. The concept of what’s a “man” and “woman” is ultimately a dialectic concept, conveyed through the equally nebulous concept of intention. Gender, in theory, should be “whatever the fuck I individually make it to be”.

Yet right now, there’s laws being pushed through congress and the senate that allow for the active genociding of anyone challenging the idea. As of this writing, there was a trans girl who was stabbed to death in the UK for expressing her identity.She won’t be the last of us killed just this month, nor is she alone in being a minor murdered for this. There’s thousands of years of historical precedence justifying our existence, yet that’s ignored so we can die by the hundreds every year at the alter of American conservatism and evangelical values.

For something that ultimately doesn’t exist. For a concept that should be treated with the same derision people have for organized religion or the idea of incorruptible governments.

Queers treat the gender binary as a yardstick with which to measure their human value. We talk of “passing” and “boy/girl moding” as beasts we have to satiate simply to piss where we want. Should any of our siblings not adhere to these ideals and concepts, we feast upon their being like a multi-course dinner. First comes the polite suggestions, the ribbing. The advice never requested about fashion, hair removal and more. When those fail we exile them, ostracize them. For desert, we use them and their existence as a boogeyman style warning to others.

“Hey, you don’t want to be like them right?”

The fact of the matter is, this is an abused, marginalized group perpetuating the abuse that was given to them in a desperate bid to hold power totally unavailable by any other means. We’re politically under-represented, out gunned and out matched by our oppressors everywhere else. So of course a section of us will use the same tactics to beat down anyone that doesn’t conform to some contextually sensitive, puritanical idea of what a “good queer” looks like.

The truth of such movements however is that they ultimately serve white supremacist, cis-het christian ideals. You can see the proof of this via the “LGB remove the T” movement, which recently has opted to remove/invalidate bisexual people as well. They’re perfectly fine with allowing members of the same struggle to die so long as their white, cis-het approved comfort is perpetuated. You’d think any level of awareness of our history whatsoever would show them what a dangerously deadly idea this is.

Yet, their goals aren’t simply exclusion/exile from the community-but rather to alter it’s trajectory as legitimate and established. Doing so allows them to control the narrative of the struggle, and therefore it’s history both backwards and forwards. Just like the very people that were content to send us to death camps during the 1940s. I’ve often called such people “casually evil”, and I can think of no better term to illustrate the mindset of white queer americans towards the struggles of anyone who isn’t them. The total disregard for inequality, human life and the voices of others is committed with the same casual disdain they give receiving a work email. BIPOC people and gender fuckers are a nuisance to their existence, as we’re a threat to the power grip of white american politics.

Adherence to the gender binary will be the death of all of us. Assuming that our identity is solely tied into how well we pantomime, how well we fit our clothes, how well we can shuck and jive will be death of us. Adherence to an outdated, static ideals that we fail to realize are a kinetic concept and always have been will be the death of us.

It behooves me to mention very specifically that the “LGB without the T” movement was started by two people that aren’t even queer. Bev Jackson and Kate Harris of the LGB alliance, aside from their hate/fear mongering rhetoric, ultimately seek to “redefine homosexuality” and thus retroactively invalidate all historical precedence for what is ultimately elimination of queer voices from public spaces and history. They boldly claim that queer children don’t exist among other things.

Hey, Bev and Kate-I was in the closet from the time I was ten. Literally nobody knew anything about my sexual identity or preferences until I was twenty-five. I masked a majority of my life if for no other reason than the threats to my young life were incredibly real. I know for a fact based on empirical evidence and conversations with others in this community I’m not the only one by a wide margin. We see what you’re doing and we’re wise to it. That’s why we fight you so hard, you daft, absolutely hideously evil cunts. Denying the existence of a marginalized group does not make us magically go away. There’s no amount of hand-wringing, whataboutisms and denial that can snap an entire group of people out of reality no matter how much you direly pray for our deaths.

Charity status doesn’t mean you’re not a hate group.

One legacy will significantly outlive the other.

Besides, don’t you have a court date to prepare for?

Wad Of Flesh, Slab Of Iron

I’m trans.

I have zero intention of getting on hormones.

I don’t care if I pass. The very concept of needing to do so makes me laugh.

I am stuck in a body I didn’t ask for in an existence I didn’t consent to on a planet that wants me dead.

I’m trans, and given the above, I will work with what I have.

I will take this heap of flesh covered in coarse body hair, this booming bass voice and I will pound away until it’s hard as iron. Until my shirt stretches across the flat-breasts that Gendered Society calls “pecs”, until I cry out in pain on the weight bench and beg god to kill me.

Then I’ll do another set. And another.

If I will be considered undesirable by the straights and othered by my own siblings, then I will lead by example. I will mold my body and torture my flesh into an ideal I can feel comfortable in, damned the consequences and pain it inflicts upon me.

Because nothing can hurt me more than you already have. Nothing can kill me in any meaningful way more than being given a smirk by people I thought were my found family, followed by the off-handed remark of “are you sureeeee you’re trans?”

Nothing I do to myself and my body will hurt anywhere near as much as the things you people have done to me, to people like me and to our BIPOC siblings.

I will do all of this because long after your ideals of what a queer should be have been defeated, be it by your own in-group fighting or the reality of existence, after you’re dead and quiet at last, I’ll still be here. Right alongside all the other “ne’er do wells” like me. It’s gonna be a hard road for all of us, and I’ve got to be strong enough to carry it with them. I’ve got to be strong enough to keep fighting all the others that tell us we shouldn’t exist, too.

I’m trans. I’m not unique in how I trans. There’s a lot of people like me.

There’s always been trans folks like me.

There will always be trans folks like me.

And some distant day, maybe in a world that looks like ours (or perhaps will be kinder), I hope to sit down in my old age with my siblings. I hope we can laugh and smile and the pain of the here and now is distant.

But until then.

I will lift.

I will fight.

I will grow stronger than you ever could have imagined I and others like me could be.

Because we’re trans, and we are powerful.

As for what to call me:

I’ve long since given up the struggle of being recognized.

Call me anything, I don’t care anymore.

But acknowledge me. Realize I exist.

Realized we exist.

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historyhermann · 2 years

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A history of the word (and practice of) genealogy

Image is courtesy of an article about tracing Irish ancestors and the quote comes from Lawrence Overmire's official website.

As I've written before, I am a genealogist (formerly employed as one) who has done "research updating genealogy of my mom’s family by my grandfather, using varied resources on the internet and photographs," while mentioning genealogical sources in varying other posts. [1] But there is one question that confounds me: what is the history of the word and practice of genealogy itself?

Reprinted from my History Hermann WordPress blog and Wayback Machine. Originally posted on Jan. 3, 2018.

In his 1967 novel, Washington D.C., Gore Vidal hilariously makes fun of, on pages 198-199, (as you could put it) the practice of genealogy:

Mr. Carhart was standing at his desk on which had been arranged a series of charts containing thousands of little boxes, some blank and some written in. "Genealogy," he said amiably. "I've traced the Carhart back to Robert the Bruce, in two lines." "That must be interesting sir." Peter [said]....Mr. Carhart's reputation as a bore was not exaggerated. Not only did he...have a series of set numbers...but he could also be spontaneously dull. He was exactly what Peter needed. "I'm all right, as you can see, through the nineteenth and most of the eighteenth century, a few holes here and there, of course, but the Carhart line is clear. Then in the seventeenth century was have a few little problems." He frowned: large problems obviously. "There is a connection with Sir Thomas Browne which is quite exciting but depends entirely upon this lady here." He pocked at one of the little boxes. "Who was her first husband? And are we kin to her children or to those by the second husband?" ...[Peter then gives Mr. Carhart his magazine] Peter was becoming restive: a sign that he was responding to the Carhart treatment. He was bored to life again.

Of course, I'm taking the context out of this story perhaps too much, but this whole thing does make me chuckle. It is worth noting that Peter and Mr. Carhart were talking in a mansion and both were white, in the "high life" of the wealthy to say the least. So, you could say that from this that genealogy was a hobby of the rich. I dug into this further, to find out the origins of the word itself.

The origin of the word "genealogy."

Before moving onto the history of the practice of genealogy, why not delve into the origin of the word itself?

Unfortunately, John Ayto's Dictionary of Word Origins does not have an entry for the word "genealogy" (likely because it was not used as often when the book was published in 1990) but does have one for "family." It saying that the word has an unknown origin, with the word familia, indicating a term for domestic servants in the household, deriving from the Latin word famulus and only coming to its current meaning when translated into English to mean the "whole household," then narrowed again to a "group of related people." However, The Oxford Dictionary of Word Histories solves this problem by giving the origins of the word "genealogy" on page 229:

genealogy [Middle English] This came via Old French and late Latin from Greek genelogia, from genea 'race, generation' and -logia 'speaking, discourse.'

The Online Etymology Dictionary, of course, has an entry as well, which is similar to the one on the Oxford Dictionary, along with other entries for the related words "genealogist" and "genealogical":

early 14c., "line of descent, pedigree, descent," from Old French genealogie (12c.), from Late Latin genealogia "tracing of a family," from Greek genealogia "the making of a pedigree," from genea "generation, descent" (from PIE root *gene- "give birth, beget," with derivatives referring to procreation and familial and tribal groups) + -logia (see -logy). An Old English word for it was folctalu, literally "folk tale." Meaning "study of family trees" is from 1768.

Encyclopedia Brittanica also talks about the origin of the word "genealogy":

Genealogy, the study of family origins and history. Genealogists compile lists of ancestors, which they arrange in pedigree charts or other written forms. The word genealogy comes from two Greek words—one meaning “race” or “family” and the other “theory” or “science.”...Genealogy is a universal phenomenon and, in forms varying from the rudimentary to the comparatively complex...The history of genealogy can be divided most easily into three stages. The first is that of oral tradition; the second, that in which certain pedigrees were committed to writing. The third stage comprises the period from approximately 1500 in western Europe and later in the English-speaking world...In the early days of civilization, before written records were made, oral traditions were necessarily important...Numerous Asian genealogies appear in the Bible. A cursory examination of these will reveal that they belong to the first and second stages in the history of genealogy...In southern India the ruling house of the maharajas of Travancore claimed to trace its descent, direct and unbroken, from the old Cera kings of southern India...The very long Asian genealogies begin as oral pedigrees and were later written down, but they concern only princes or great persons. In Africa the one instance of a claim to very long descent, that of the emperor of Ethiopia, bears a similarity to Tod’s Rajput genealogies...Under European influence, some Asian countries have adopted the practice of keeping systematic records for all citizens. In China, with its ancient system of ancestor worship, long, drawn-out pedigrees, including claims to descent from Confucius, are not unknown...In modern Japan, the registration of vital statistics is regulated by law...In the Bible there are many genealogies, the object of which is to show descent from Adam, Noah, and Abraham. By the time these genealogies had become part of the Jewish scriptures, the concept of racial purity had reinforced the keeping of family records...In Roman genealogies heroes were always descended from gods...With the invention of writing, the oral became the written tradition. This occurred in Greece and Rome, where genealogies were recorded in poems and in histories...With the conversion of the peoples of Ireland, Wales, and England to Christianity, the recording of their regal traditions began...From roughly 1100 to 1500, the emphasis of genealogists was on pedigrees of royal and noble lines...This period also saw the emergence of pedigrees of lesser folk...It was during the third period in European genealogical history that records that came to include everyone began. This period extends from 1500 to the present...In the course of so doing they discover and work with general principles which apply to pedigrees other than their own, though records other than those applicable to their own case do not interest them...The writing of private family histories by professionals is very common...In tracing family history, the worker follows certain rules...As the centuries are passed, the numbers of those who can prove a descent by the male line dwindle, until by the time of the Norman Conquest scarcely half a dozen pedigrees can be traced in the male line for either Saxon or Norman.

Further books, such as The Cambridge Encyclopedia of Language, say that genealogy is one of the two ways of classifying language, being the same as "genetic" in this context. [2]

How should we define genealogy?

First, before telling the history of the practice, we should define what genealogy even is! Otherwise, telling a history would be pointless.

The Webster's New World College Dictionary defines genealogy as simply "a chart or recorded history of a person or family from an ancestor or ancestors" or as "the science or study of family descent" and as "descent from an ancestor; pedigree; lineage."

Beyond that broad definition, there are many others out there. Some seem to differentiate between "family history" and "genealogy" (especially depending on whether you live in North America or Europe) while others say that genealogy is "history in a microcosm." [3] In terms of the word "genealogy" itself, some enthusiastically say it is a "hunt to answer every question you have ever had about your family and family history" while others say it is "essentially the study of information" or your "own personal history mystery." Others, like a site on Italian genealogy, note that

Often it is important to know where we come from, for a fuller sense of direction in life, in participating to a larger general design. All those who contributed to our genetical map are in a certain sense still living inside ourselves, wherever their physical existence took place. The research of our roots is both genetic and cultural: from the dusty, crumbling papers of documents people who belong to what we now are come out of the mist of time and look at us silently, affectionately, waiting for someone to decipher their documents, rescue them from oblivion and pass their otherwise forgotten names and stories on to the next generations...Genealogy, as all researchers know, needs imagination, that special feeling that there must be something somewhere, and just the right stone must be moved, the right person interviewed, to connect the missing link.

Furthermore, the following sites define genealogy as the following:

"a record or account of the ancestry and descent of a person, family, group" or "the study of family ancestries and histories" or "descent from an original form or progenitor; lineage; ancestry."- Dictionary.com "an account of the descent of a person, family, or group from an ancestor or from older forms" or " regular descent of a person, family, or group of organisms from a progenitor...or older form [pedigree]" or "the study of family ancestral line" or an "account of the origin and historical development of something."- merriam-webster.com "The descent of a person, family, or group from an ancestor or ancestors; lineage or pedigree" or "A record or table of such descent; a family tree" or "the study, and formal recording of such descents"- wikitionary "Genealogy is the study of the history of families, especially through studying historical documents to discover the relationships between particular people and their families."- Collins Dictionary "the study of the history of the past and present members of a family, or a particular history of this type"- Cambridge Dictionary

Using these definitions, many of the posts on this blog would fundamentally be genealogical in nature, especially the ones about the members of the Maryland Extraordinary (Extra) Regiment.

The practice of genealogy

As it stands now, the public, at least in the United States (and in other countries like those in Europe and across Asia), seems deeply interested in genealogy. This has been reflected by the Mormons, who are big into the subject by running familysearch.org and its affiliated Family History Library. Even the Boy Scouts of America has a genealogy merit badge (I don't remember that from the time I was in Scouts)! Additionally, the Internet Archive has genealogical works, and the Library of Congress has certain collections.

A search on Google Books pulls up a lot of old genealogical publications. Avoiding specific family histories, or genealogies, I focused on genealogical publications.

For a magazine titled Genealogy: A Journal of American Ancestry, published in 1912, is an index to volumes 1 and 2, and then focus on specific families, certain records are transcribed (1790 census), and then there are columns for the publication on genealogical questions. These columns interestingly do not indicate gender of those writing in, but only their inquiries and surnames, with mentions of where the responses are located, on what page I presume:

The final page noted that it only cost $5.00 a year for a subscription to the Genealogy magazine, which was published by William M. Clemons on 45 and 49 William St in New York City, and edited by Lyman H. Weeks. Advertisements for family history information were also offered as was a list of nearby genealogists, and notation of the magazine having its own archive of genealogical materials.

I could go through over 300 other pages in the Google Books, but perhaps it is better to focus on the publisher, editor, and genealogists mentioned in their "directory," just in the first issue of this magazine (noted above).

Mr. Clemens, whose full name was William Montgomery Clemons, lived from 1860 to 1931, and published at least 26 works, various magazines and family records, along with books on Mark Twain, to name a few. The Genealogy Bank has an article about him and his life. They write that

William Montgomery Clemens (1860-1931) was a prolific genealogist and writer. Nephew to the more famous Samuel Clemens [or Mark Twain] (1835-1910) – he was also a newspaper man and author...A prolific writer, he was the author of well over 100 books and hundreds of essays and newspaper articles. His regular column – “Notes on American Ancestry and Revolutionary Records” regularly appeared as the “Genealogical Department” in the Columbia, SC newspaper – the State...Over 80 of Clemens’ genealogy columns appeared in the Star.Each one has genealogical details & information for families from across the country. He regularly received questions from his readers and posted them to this column.

What about the editor, Lyman Horace Weeks and recommended genealogists H. Wattel and E. Haviland Hillman? Lyman Horace Weeks was also a prolific genealogical writer as this page shows, only appearing one time in Harper's Magazine apparently. The New York Public Library describes him as such:

Lyman Horace Weeks (1851-1942) was an American genealogist, historian and editor. His specialty was genealogical research and he wrote and edited monographs and serials. His biography of Sir Peter Warren, British naval officer who aided in the capture of Louisbourg in 1745, was based on genealogical research.

Nothing else is known about him from my internet searching. For H. Wattel, it seems an insurmountable task to find his first name. As for E. Haviland Hillman, he seems to have been based on London for some amount of time, part of the F.S.G., writings some books (see here and here). From a quick search, the term "F.S.G." seems to be an accreditation of some sort. Further verification proves this to be correct. The denotation refers to one as a Fellow of the Society of Genealogists (SoG), based in London, founded in 1911. The organization describes what this means:

[As a fellow] they enjoy the knowledge their services have been recognised by their peers. They are entitled to use the initials FSG (Fellow of the Society of Genealogists) after their name and mention it on any professional websites they have. They are not compelled to do anything else. Fellowship is given for work and contributions already made to Genealogy; not for future work.

Likely when Hillman was a genealogist he was held to the same standard. SoG in 1911 was apparently founded as "a place where professional genealogists and amateur enthusiasts could meet." But who were those genealogists and enthusiasts? Considering that it was only 50 people at its founding in 1911 and still less than 1,000 after WWII, as noted by the UK's National Archives, it is probably worth an educated guess that the group was exclusive, attracting those who were well-off, respectable, male, and white. While it has become "Britain's premier family history society," it seems to be still exclusive to an extent. It has a "registered office located in Greater London," as noted on a business site, at the building, as it looked in 2015, below:

Courtesy of Google Street View

The building is small and almost looks like a library, at least inside. I was expecting something more ornate, but I was wrong.

What about 45 and 49 William St in New York City? As it stands now, it is a huge apartment building with construction on the street level. As it turns out, this location is just one of the many places rented out within the "Trump Building" (because Trump is the landlord of it) which was constructed in 1930. However, this magazine came out in 1912, 18 years before the tower was constructed. So where were their offices? While a photo of William Street before 1930 cannot be found, the city was teeming with cars and many skyscrapers even by the 1920s. It is likely that the building they were in was invoked a relatively recent style, as noted in an article by the New York Times:

By the beginning of the 20th century, the first generation of downtown skyscrapers ground out any remaining vestiges of the Dutch city, and in 1901 The New York Times mused that the crooked streets “remain to this day to bewilder modern New Yorkers"...Amos F. Eno, whose family had owned property in the area since before the Civil War, gave South William a renewed Dutch twist in 1903...Gilbert chose brick the color of honey and trimmed his commission with the soft white terra cotta that frames bays of leaded windows, rising to a stepped gable bearing a small circular window.

Then we get to The American Genealogical Record, published by a company in San Francisco. It told the history of specific families, just like Genealogy magazine, and seemed to resemble genealogy books we still see today. Sadly, this book does not give any insight into genealogy at that time.

Concluding words

There is still something to say after all of this. The practice of genealogy has changed over the years. Originally it was a hobby conducted by an exclusive few who were undoubtedly well-off white men (and perhaps some women). As the years went by, it became more inclusive and more scholarly. Genealogy is a field open for those of all races, sizes, and shapes. It allows one to cross class, racial, gender, or other lines which is, at times, harder in other disciplines. This is, what you could say, makes it unique. With all sorts of genealogical information online, one can sit at their computer and look up this and that, but this only gets so far because not every record is digitized. So, you still have to go to cemeteries, archives, libraries, historical societies, and the like. You can't look up everything online. To end this post, I look forward to your comments and the future trajectory of History Hermann, fully moving into the field of genealogy!

Notes

[1] See "The story of the extra regiment soldiers: from McCay to Patton"; "Benjamin Murdoch’s life after the war"; "“A young man with some property”: the story of a former Maryland captain"; "“A character for probity and honor”: the story of Theodore Middleton"; "“A Gentleman of Maryland”: the short life of Edward Giles"; "“An officer of the Revolution”: The story of Mountjoy Bayly" (In this post I wrote that "the only way to find this out would be to, perhaps, would be to contact the DC Archives. I don’t feel it is my place to do this since I would be intruding on genealogy research by the family itself, but it is open for any other researchers"); "A “person of trust”: the story of Archibald Golder"; and "The post-war life of Alexander Lawson Smith, a “Harford Man”".

[2] The QPB Encyclopedia of Word and Phrase Origins by Robert Hendrickson also has no entry for the word "genealogy" which should be no surprise.

[3] The Society of Genealogists makes this distinction, defining genealogy as "establishment of a Pedigree by extracting evidence, from valid sources, of how one generation is connected to the next. (In essence, this means the discipline of the construction of a valid family tree)" and family history as "a biographical study of a genealogically proven family and of the community and country in which they lived. (In essence, this means the writing of a biography of a series of related ancestors of common genealogy. Family History incorporates Genealogy)." By these definitions, I have engaged in genealogy and family history!

#genealogy #family history #definitions #google books #magazines #society of genealogists #uk

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a-dragons-journal · 3 years

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How would one get started in questioning their otherkin or such??? I think I have questions but I honestly don't where to even start or what to ask.

I'm so glad you asked! Have a bunch of links I keep on-hand for this very question:

This guide to questioning (and definitions of basic terms) by @/shadowfae

My "questioning" tag, which has both posts talking about general advice and posts answering specific questions (and posts with people talking about their own questioning processes)

A list of typical experiences for various alterhuman identities (note typical, not required or universal)

A list of places to interact with other nonhumans, which honestly is the best way to try and learn what being ‘kin really looks like (because while “it means you identify as nonhuman” is all well and good for a definition, what exactly that means is not always crystal clear)

My general “kin resources” tag has A Lot in it, a lot of which is not going to be relevant to you specifically, but it's there if you want to peruse it

While I don't have a list onhand yet, I would also recommend trying to find writings by others with kintypes that are the same as or similar to the ones you're questioning, and comparing notes with what they've written. Websites are going to be a good place to do that, especially if the tag for your kintype on Tumblr is underwhelming - I'll recommend houseofchimeras dot weebly dot com (you know how Tumblr is with external links, sorry) and their Bookmarks page for a place to get started finding those. (Generally speaking, whenever you find a good alterhuman website, they'll likely have a Bookmarks, References, Further Reading, etc. page full of links to other websites. Find that page and go through it to find other good websites, and then rinse and repeat.)

Hopefully that helps get you started? I'm more than happy to chat about any further/more specific questions if you want, feel free to poke me anytime!

#otherkin #questioning #rani talks #asked and answered #artioprotection #the directory

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kryptkept · 3 years

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( ellie thatcher , female , she/her ) apparently that's 𝐋𝐘𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 lurking around town for a year . the local psychic claims they're a 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 ( record store clerk ) who's 𝟐𝟑 / 𝟒𝟓 years old but she's always been a bit unhinged . whispers around town say they're intrepid , artful but mordant . honestly , they remind me of using pages of the bible as tinder for a fire , getting a stick & poke in your best friend’s basement , & the liberation of forsaking your savior which explains why i've seen them with an aged rosary .

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄. lydia emerson ; born as lydia anne morgan . 𝐏𝐑��𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐒. lydia myers , sawyer augustine , valerie tatum smith , various others . 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒. lyd , lydz , deetz . 𝐀𝐆𝐄. physically 23 ; truly 45 . 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑. female ; she/her . 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘. bisexual . 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐒. vampire . 𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. clerk @ quiet riot records shop . 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘.

( tws for : abuse , loss of a child , alcoholism , attempted murder , period typical misogyny , if i’ve forgotten to tag anything or you need something tagged please let me know ! ) lydia was born in 1960 to a moderately unhappy pair looking to save both face & their miserable marriage . while they had initially been informed that they were expecting twins , lydia’s sibling died in utero & thereafter was absorbed by lydia herself in a case of twin resorption . while there was little explanation for this phenomenon at the time , lydia’s mother , theresa , was distraught , under the assumption that lydia must have killed her sibling in the womb if only she had survived , and began to view the child growing inside of her as something akin to the devil . this belief was only exacerbated by the difficult pregnancy she endured with lydia , anf further stoked by her strict catholic beliefs . after her birth , theresa’s feelings remained unchanged ; she was a withdrawn , angry mother , forced to keep up the act of a perfectly quaint little family in front of friends & family . unfortunately , theresa fell victim to severe postpartum depression which would devolve into full blown psychosis . given the time period , this went largely unnoticed for the most part , written off as the stress a new mother must endure for the sake of her child . meanwhile , lydia’s father , richard , was of little help . he was similarly withdrawn but as opposed to theresa , this was less rooted in hatred and more in the general apathy he faced most things with . coming from a broken home himself , directionless in life & uninspired , he’d long since turned to the drink as a way of coping & the arrival of his daughter had done little to change that . in a hazy memory that haunts lydia to this day , she can recall the day her mother wrapped both hands around her throat a the tender age of three , and attempted to squeeze every last bit of life from her . all the while , she was shrieking like a banshee about how lydia was a demon , the antichrist , nothing but a plague . her father found them moments before lydia slipped into unconsciousness , and she has little recollection of what happened between them after that . the situation itself resulted in theresa’s departure . this would eventually lead to lydia being left in the care of her maternal grandparents after three more years spent with her father , who spent more time under the influence than he did sober . her grandmother & grandfather were strict and very much orthodox , though they did love her , but their expectations of her were far too lofty . they weren’t the affectionate type , but were more prone to physical rewards than words of praise or hugs . her childhood & adolescence were pockmarked with various attempts at rebellion ; talking back , sneaking out of sunday school , sneaking out at home , meeting up with the outcasts in town despite often being warned to steer clear of them , stealing , etcetera . lydia was desperate to feel something and in pursuit of pleasure , she continued to act out and do as she pleased . she began to dabble in darker things : the supernatural & the occult , namely . she was kicked out of her home at 18 and spent her time couch surfing . as the 80′s rolled around , she delved into the world of satanism , urged on by the need to separate herself from her heavily religious upbringing & the ways in which her experiences during childhood had effected her ; essentially , a big fuck you to the majority of her family , and to god himself . at this point she was on the other side of the satanic panic , laughing at those that protested and screeched about unholy corruption in things like music & literature . lydia was well known on the scene . with her sharp humor and devil may care attitude , she was the life of the parties she frequently attended . and it was during the aftermath of one such event that she would come to lose her life : taken with a perfect stranger , she’d followed him into the darkened alleyways as the party came to a close , unaware of his intentions to quite literally bleed her dry . when she woke the following night , she was in a haze , wobbling like a baby deer and overcome with a hunger so intense it almost sent her toppling to the ground .

𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍.

as opposed to some , lydia accepted her fate with little complaints . in fact , you might say she was a little too enthusiastic ... driven by thirst , she slaughtered a group of college students and left them out in the open air of the park they’d been having a nighttime hangout at . she fled town soon after , leaving behind the sunny shores of california for the emptiness of indiana . she began going by the name lydia myers meanwhile . after that , she never really stayed in one place for too long . she loved to travel , enjoying her freedom immensely , and found kin with the people she met along the way . most of these relationships were fairly fickle , in the grand scheme of things ; most people she charmed out of necessity . it was nice to have a friend to call on when you needed a place to stay , or a few bucks for bus fare . it was a genuine rarity for her to find herself truly attached to another , because she feared commitment more than anything ; she still does , in fact . letting someone grow close means giving them the chance to hurt you , to leave you , and lydia is ... not about that .

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘.

though she’d initially vowed upon her departure that she’d never return to cali , lydia has come slinking back . if you ask her why , she’ll tell you it’s boredom , and that much is true — but a pressing matter remains : that of her sire . she’s been running from him for 22 years since her turning , but recently , she’s felt a sharp tug on the thread that keeps them connected . both curious and vexed , and maybe searching for an answer to a question she’s tried not to ask , she’s tracked him back to ambrose . to support herself , she’s taken up a job at the record store ( one of the things she’s always enjoyed has been music ! )

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘.

hello words are failing me so take some bullet point traits . :,) + creative , adventurous , brave , resourceful , charismatic ( when necessary ) . - manipulative , sardonic , evasive , stubborn , dishonest , hotheaded .

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

hi please bring me her sire . i have ... honestly too many ideas to list here because i don’t want to risk rambling for like , eight paragraphs about everything lmao .

i think it would be interesting if she ran into someone she hasn’t seen for years . maybe they were one of the people she used , and they’re super pissed at her for how she just ghosted . or maybe they look back on her fondly .

she antagonizes people for fun . please hate her

she’s also definitely the type to flat out tell people she’s a vampire . and like , given her usual sarcastic , jokey nature ... people probably just take it as her messing around . which is even more hilarious to her . this could result in : 1. someone who constantly goes along with the ‘joke’ , who maybe later on finds out and either also thinks it’s funny , is horrified , or feels betrayed ( to which lydz would respond with but i told you ? ) 2. someone who is very suspicious of her and Does Not think it’s just a funny joke at all

𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑.

she loves going to the beach late at night . like , the sand getting everywhere sucks , but she’ll deal with it .

she can be surprisingly generous when in a good mood . when she says don’t mention it , she fuckin means it

loves motorcycles , wants one someday

has an old polaroid camera from the 80′s that she still uses pretty frequently . she enjoys photography !

i need you all to know i literally came up with her because i listened to kiss the go goat by ghost for hours on end over the span of a few days please help i can’t stop

#hi idk what this is #goryintro #i am not proofreading this i am sorry IM SO TIRED I AM ABOUT TO GO COLLAPSE AND LURK ON DISCO

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firstumcschenectady · 3 years

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“Interconnected” based on James 1:17-27

Welcome to the book of James. It is one of my favorites, despite the fact that it takes away one of my best preaching tools. That is, I usually spend a lot of time explaining context and making sense of a scripture in the time and place it was written. But James is almost a form of wisdom literature. It is universal. So, we're able to spend our time on the ideas in the book directly.

James is written to the followers of Jesus in the diaspora – that is, those who lived outside of the Holy Land. The ones who had been DISPERSED from the land of their ancestors in faith. This feels relevant right now too. I don't know any church members at FUMC Schenectady who would claim modern Palestine or Israel as their native land, but I think that all of us are displaced from the “land” we once knew, and have not yet settled into the “land” we'll live in eventually. The Pandemic has displaced us all (although not all the same amount.)

In this opening chapter of the book of James, we are urged to LIVE our faith. James wants faith in ACTION. He urges people not to just listen to preachers ;) but to LIVE their faith, and he gets rather specific about it. James believes that people who are followers of Jesus should be acting out different values than the world's.

The crux of the advice from today's passage is “let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God's righteousness.” For James, this is integral in what it means to be “religious” - right up there with caring about God's beloveds who the world doesn't value (“widows and orphans.”)

As far as I can figure it out, the work of Christians is to build the kindom of God. The kindom, sometimes called the beloved community, is God's vision for the world. We will know it is here when the power of love overcomes the love of power; when the abundant resources of the world are used for the good of all people; when kin-ship connections cross all boundaries; when the poorest and most vulnerable people have enough to survive and thrive; when no one has to teach anyone about God because God is known by all. The kindom is God's long term plan for us, and our work to get there happens in two broad ways: first, by creating Christian communities where we practice kin-dom values and treat each other like we're already there and second by working with God to share love, to seek mercy, and advocate for justice so that the world is healed.

One of the parts of kindom building that can be hard sometimes is that it requires seeing clearly what the world is like now. We have to do this so we can hold it in tension with how God would have the world be in the kindom, but often the aching pain of the world as it is can be hard to let ourselves see clearly. For instance, we can't work towards a world without rape and violence unless we admit that we live in a world with rape and violence, and that there are barriers to changing it. So, we seek to see clearly. We seek to see how things are AND how God wants them to be.

Now, I don't want to shock you or anything, but the United States is a highly individualistic society. (The kindom is not.) We in the US have proven to the world how terribly individualism works – time and time again. Including in our responses to the COVID-19 Pandemic.

You might think that if you were looking at this pandemic with clear eyes that you would see that none of us can be well unless all of us are well- that we are collectively only as healthy as the least healthy among us – that every act of protection and prevention has enormous ripple effects. However, if we had learned this lesson, we'd be spending as much as possible to make it feasible to vaccinate every willing person in the world as soon as possible. We'd even do this before triple vaccinating our own population, because slowing down the spread of the virus is the most important way to keep everyone safe, healthy, and alive. The well being of all and the well being of the USA actually align! Yet, we miss the mark.

The book of James has an interesting perspective on the relationship that Christians have to the world. In the face of the injustices of the Roman Empire, the wealth inequality, the slavery, the power imbalances, the death rates of the poor, James urges the faithful … not to get angry.

I find that my first instinct is to argue with this a little bit. “Are you sure?” “What about when...?” Yet, even as I argue, I am convicted by this passage.

Society is rife with anger. Anger is pulling us apart at the seams. Some of the anger, I'd argue, is “righteous.” It is a response to injustice that needs to be seen, acknowledged, named, and addressed. We'll talk about that in a moment.

Most of the anger is misplaced. The anger is being used to create groups of “us” that stand against “them,” and those distinctions dismiss that everyone in both groups are beloveds of God. The anger is being used to provoke fear, sell products, pass unjust laws, and elect politicians. The anger is being USED.

And James points out directly that the people who want others to get angry are selling them on the idea that if they get angry enough, they will provoke God to action. James says it won't work though. God will act when God will act, and furthermore, prayer is a better way to go about it. Anger serves the people promoting it, not God.

But what about righteous anger? As I've been saying recently, anger is a “secondary” emotion. That is, it exists like a red flag to mark a place where something that is held precious is being violated. It lets us know when our values are attacked, and underneath that is another emotion. Most often anger is there to act as the bodyguard to sadness or the diversion to fear.

Sadness and fear are sufficient. They can guide us to good action, they can show us the ways of compassion, they can help us grow together. They are wise enough, that once we find them, we can let go of the anger that guided us to them.

Which means that the way to be “slow to anger” is often to identify anger, and then sit with it and find out what is underneath it. It means that we sometimes need to listen – to ourselves and our tender emotions. God is there, with us when we listen, with us when we feel, with us when we discover what is under our anger. This is, even, a form of God's healing, God's salve in our lives.

Of course, “be slow to anger” is the third piece of advice we're given in today's passage. The first two are to be quick to listen and slow to speak. It seems clear that James' advice is aimed at faith COMMUNITIES, because his advice is aimed at deepening and maintaining good relationships among the followers of Jesus.

For the past several years, I have participated in “listening circles.” These intentional spaces have careful guidelines that are aimed at making sure there is holy and sacred space for listening – and speaking. At times there have been 20 or 30 people in these circles, and you might think that there would be a lot more speaking than listening. But, there isn't. Often there are prolonged silences between speakers, and they feel like time to absorb the wisdom one beloved of God has offered. When the obligation to have a response is taken away, along with the tendency toward chit-chat, there is spaciousness for silence and listening.

When I hear James say, “be quick to listen, slow to speak” I think of how healing those circles have been in my life. I love being freed from having to have a response to something someone says, and instead just listen to them and receive their wisdom. And, when I do speak into such a space, I am astounded at the power that comes with being heard with love.

As much as I have loved these experiences though, it isn't clear to me how to live “be quick to listen, slow to speak” ALL the time. Really listening to another of God's beloveds takes energy and attention, and … let's be honest dear ones, those are finite resources!!! We will drain ourselves if we try to listen WELL all the time. (I've tried.)

That said, there is a being who is capable of listening with complete attention, and full energy, with love and compassion, with care and support – all day, every day, to all of us. God, the creator, sustainer, redeemer has gifted us with life, and God is with us breathing new life into us day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, and even second by second. When we seek God in prayer and meditation, we find that God is close at hand, ready and able to offer us healing. When all we have to offer are sighs too deep for words, God knows what we mean. When we are full of words, God listens until we have exhausted them. When we are able to be with the Divine in holy silence, God meets us there. And, of course, when what we offer God is our listening, …

well, that's when things really start to happen ;)

James encourages us to an active faith – not just to worship God once a week, but to live out faith in every day. He reminds us that the very people the world dismisses (the “widows and orphans”) are the ones that followers of Christ take care of. James doesn't hate the world – though he isn't impressed with it either - but he doesn't think being angry with it is going to change it. James encourages the people of faith to act differently. Take care of the struggling and vulnerable, listen deeply, speak with intention, slow down anger and learn its lessons instead of acting it out. Don't replicate the brokenness of the world – change it.

So, dear ones of God, I invite you to God's restoration, God's healing of the world, God's work of the Kindom: be quick to listen; be slow to speak; be slow to anger. With such “simple” acts as these, we can heal the world. May God help us. Amen

Rev. Sara E. Baron

First United Methodist Church of Schenectady

603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305

Pronouns: she/her/hers

http://fumcschenectady.org/

https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

September 5, 2021

#Thinking Church #Progressive Christianity #book of james #doersoftheword #Slow to anger #Slow to speak #Quick to listen #Parker Palmer #Circles of Trust #Kindom building #Seeing clearly #FUMC Schenectady #UMC #schenectady #Sorry about the umc #Rev Sara E Baron #Pandemic Preaching #What is under anger?

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codynaomiswireart · 6 years

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“Gauze in the Wound” - Part 15

King Frederic paced about nervously in one of the upper parlors of the castle, doing his best to maintain composure as he waited to hear back from the Captain about any news concerning the whereabouts of Varian and Arianna. After the lighthouse keeper had seen them vanish on the horizon heading southward along the coastline early that morning, no other trace of them had been reported since. Of course, Corona had a few outposts and port towns along its coastlines, so King Frederic had sent word to them via messenger hawks and curriers, requesting they report immediately back to the capital if they saw any such watercraft as the one Varian and Arianna had taken. King Frederic had hoped that the orders could even go fast enough so that Varian and Arianna could be intercepted as they sailed along (for he also requested that every effort be made to detain them), but so far no such news had been brought back, and it was utter agony as Frederic waited in horrible suspense.

“Please your majesty,” Nigel finally tried to interject as he watched his king traverse the length of the hall for the hundredth time that evening – noting the dark marks that had appeared beneath Frederic’s eyes, the occasional massaging of his aching wrists from doing hard work around town earlier that day as he waited for news, and the slight stoop of his usually proud shoulders as his eyes remained downcast towards the carpet. “I know the situation is dire, but you really must rest. You’ve been working hard since before dawn today, and everything regarding Varian and her majesty has been done that can be done for now. I know it’s difficult, but your people need you to be able to lead them in this dark hour. Staying up and worrying like this won’t help anything. Especially since-”

“Don’t you think I know that Nigel!?” the king snapped at his advisor. “Do you not think I don’t know how utterly powerless I am right now!? That I can’t do anything to help Arianna, or-or to stop her from getting hurt!? Don’t you think that I-!?”

But before he could finish his next thought, Frederic did notice through the fog of his weariness the look of hurt on Nigel’s face as he had begun ranting at him. Though Frederic did not feel in the present mood to apologize for his sudden burst of temper, he did check himself with a huff, and instead of carrying on he opted for glaring out one of the windows of the parlor, with his brow furrowed hard as he looked out over the city highlighted in the light of the full moon. As he stared out the window, Frederic couldn’t help but make eye contact with the dim reflection of himself that looked back at him from within the glass. Frederic’s eyes narrowed, hating how pallid, frightened and haggard he looked.

…It wasn’t so unlike the expressions he had seen so often on Varian’s face since they’d taken him into custody – a kind of quiet, determined, but desperate anxiety, that threatened to burst out either into raging fit of anger, or into broken and bitter tears (or perhaps a combination of both of them) at a moment’s notice. You were never quite sure which one of those you were going to get until it was already happening, and most of the time it seemed anyone present was at a loss for how to deal with it when it came.

…And Frederic hated it.

Suddenly, Frederic started as he heard a stern knock at the door, and he felt his heart beat harder in his chest as he bid the knocker to enter, and found it was the Captain of the Guard coming in to give his report.

“Any news Captain?” the king asked earnestly, and the Captain felt his own heart twist at the fear and worry he saw clearly written in the king’s eyes. The Captain cleared his throat as he began to speak, and dreaded the words he would have to say next to his already distressed friend.

“I’m afraid so,” the Captain said, trying his hardest to be clear and to the point as he continued. “We received some word back from a couple of the port towns and outposts that the small watercraft taken by her majesty and Varian from our harbor was indeed spotted sailing along the coast. Unfortunately, by the time the orders to detain them upon sight came through, they’d been long gone from either point.”

King Frederic wiped a clammy hand across his face at this. This was certainly not good news at all.

“We also received word from a few lookouts that they only saw one occupant sitting in the craft.” Here Frederic looked up sharply in utter alarm. Had Varian shoved Arianna overboard and left her to drown in the sea!? “However,” the Captain continued, “there were a couple that also accounted for seeing two people, and those that accounted for seeing only one reported that the occupant was clearly an adult female.”

Frederic let out a huge sigh at this, moving to support himself by splaying out his hands on the table beside him as his moment of panic was quickly replaced by a wave of relief. “Captain, please don’t scare me like that again,” King Frederic couldn’t help but growl a little pitifully as he took in another few deep breathes.

“Begging your pardon your majesty,” the Captain said with an apologetic bow. “I was just-”

“Yes, yes, I know, I know, doing your duty,” King Frederic finished for him, and then gestured for him to continue with the report.

“Anyway, it appears that they’ve sailed out of Corona’s waters and into Equis’s territory, so I’m afraid on that front we have no further information on their whereabouts.”

King Frederic’s hands balled into fists upon hearing this. As if diplomatic ties between Corona and Equis weren’t strained enough as it was, how was Frederic supposed to tell Trevor to keep a lookout for his queen and a runaway felon sailing off the coast of his own domain without his written permission? Whether he thought it a setup for another prank, or even if he took it seriously, Trevor would surly not be at all pleased in either scenario.

“Although,” the Captain said, his tone now turning very grave indeed, “we may have found another avenue of information for how we can find them.”

King Frederic’s eyes widened. “Really!?” he asked in astonishment. “What do you mean?”

Here the Captain frowned hard (his expression one of…betrayal?) as he signaled for the door to be opened again, and two more of Corona’s guards came in, leading in a handcuffed man between them.

King Frederic froze as he saw whom it was that the guards had arrested and brought in. “Nazeem!?” Frederic gasped as the merchant glared at him from where he stood between the guards. “Captain, what is the meaning of this!?” the king asked hurriedly.

“Earlier today,” the Captain began to explain, “one of my boys patrolling around town caught site of a messenger hawk entering into one of the windows of Nazeem’s house, and it wasn’t one of ours. He couldn’t see in what direction the hawk went when it left because of all the buildings, but let’s just say upon further investigation, we found evidence in Nazeem’s office to suggest that he’s been communicating with the Separtists of the Saporia, and that the messanger hawk was meant to transport messages between himself and them. According to the evidence, this has been going on for a couple weeks at least, if not even a bit longer.”

A few tense seconds of silence passed as King Frederic took in this newest information. Then, his expression turned to one of hurt and rage as he stormed across the chamber to stand right in front of Nazeem, drawing his sword from his belt at his side, and pointing it right at the man’s chest between his ribs.

“YOU TRAITOR!” King Frederic bellowed in his face. “Why have you done this!? What do you know!? How could you have done this to me!? To your own kingdom!? Why would you-!?”

“Heh, you’re honestly asking me those questions?” Nazeem replied, trying to keep as cool a demeanor as possible as he eyed the king’s sword aimed at his heart. “I could easily ask the same of you, your majesty.”

King Frederic felt a shudder run through him as he recalled hearing a similar retort from Varian at his trial all that time ago, but he held his tongue as Nazeem continued to speak.

“Oh don’t tell me you haven’t guessed it by now! Varian isn’t the only one who’s been dissatisfied with how you’ve been running the kingdom, your majesty. Oh, don’t get me wrong. The boy is no friend or ally of mine, and he has very little sympathy from me. True, that business with his father and Old Corona is most distressing. Quirin was a good man, and the loss of that village has been devastating to our economy. But Varian has been brash and impulsive, and his energy and efforts were channeled in all the wrong places. It was not for the betterment of everyone else that he fought against you. It was only for himself and his father that he nearly…deposed of you and your kin. But in one thing at least he had been right.”

Here, Nazeem looked Frederic square in the eyes with utter loathing. “You are not fit to be Corona’s king. You let the situation with the black rocks get way of out hand, destroying the lives of others as you sat by watching from your lofty tower. So many natural resources, trade routes, and livelihoods cut off and destroyed because of your negligence! Do you realize how much damage has come to our economy because of what you failed to prevent and address!?”

“So, it’s all about the money with you again, is it?” Frederic growled back, having to restrain himself from running the merchant through right then at there, or perhaps punching him square in the face.

“Oh, it isn’t just me you know,” Nazeem said as he sneered back. “Farmers, miners, lumbermen…Oh honestly Frederic! Did you really think that Varian was the only person from Old Corona – or any of the other villages on the outskirts for that matter – that felt abandoned by you!? Heh! You talk about my own self-interests as if they didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but what about yours? Are you honestly prepared to tell your people that the life of your daughter was far more important than the lives of those devastated by this plague of destruction that’s swept across our land!? That her safety was far more important than the safety of the workers in my employ who work the fields, the mines, and the woods of this kingdom!? Believe me your majesty, Varian and I are certainly not alone in questioning your leadership. Distrust in your government is growing, and it won’t be long before you-!”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” King Frederic shouted, pressing his sword tip to the front of Nazeem’s shirt as he did his best to tower over the traitorous merchant. Though despite his tall stature, if King Frederic were to be honest in that moment, he felt very small and very shaken after hearing all that Nazeem just told him. It was bad enough that the remnants of Saporia’s kingdom had been a constant threat since Corona’s very founding, but now it seemed that King Frederic may have to be leery of anarchy coming from within the very citizenry of Corona itself.

But now was not the time to think about this. More urgent matters were at hand.

“We’ll discuss this more later Nazeem,” King Frederic said, his eyes burning pure rage back into Nazeem’s own smug ones. “But right now, you will tell us where your Saporian contacts have gone, and if they know anything about the queen and Varian’s whereabouts.”

“Oh, I can tell you right now your majesty that there’s no point in worrying about that,” Nazeem said, the Captain wondering if the man had some sort of death wish as he said it with a small smirk. “I can guarantee you that if her majesty and that brat have encountered them, you’ll definitely have your news about that soon enough. And it will mark the beginnings of your own downfall.”

Frederic’s teeth clenched hard as Nazeem uttered these words, his face contorted into a hard scowl, and it took all of Frederic’s self-control not to push his sword tip further into the traitor’s chest. Instead, Frederic sheathed his sword with a harsh swish, turned away sharply as his heel, and growled over his shoulder, “Take him to the dungeons.”

“Yes sir,” the Captain replied, and signaled for the guards holding Nazeem to escort him to whatever cell would be waiting for him.

“Huh! And that’s just like you isn’t it?” Nazeem hissed back at Frederic over his own shoulder. “Just lock away your problems so you don’t have to deal with them. What a coward of a king you are-!”

“Quiet you!” the Captain now snapped at Nazeem, and Frederic could hear him threaten to gag the merchant as he was brought out of the room, and the doors shut with a bang behind them. Nigel, who stood awkwardly in the corner of the room, looked (not for the first time) uncertain of what to do. “S-Sire?” he finally tried to offer helpfully. “Are…are you-?”

But Frederic held up a hand for silence, and Nigel respected his wish, also taking this as his cue to leave him alone until summoned again. With a silent nod, Nigel took his leave, shutting the doors quietly behind him as he left.

Now truly alone, Frederic once again went to the windows overlooking his kingdom, and his brow furrowed hard at that defeated face that stared back at him like an old, translucent ghost. It disgusted him, and frightened him, and as Frederic felt a chink give way in his armor of decorum, the king of Corona splayed a hand out on the cold, clear glass, pressing his hot forehead up against it, and giving it a harsh pound with his other hand balled in a tight fist. Frederic screwed his eyes shut as he could hear the clinking sound of a single crack forming along the glass’s surface at his strike, his hand throbbing with a sore ache in response, and he felt a similar effect on his heart as his fear for his dear wife’s wellbeing flooded to the surface.

“Oh Arianna,” Frederic choked out passed the lump in his throat, and he swallowed hard. “My darling, where are you…?”

Sabine could feel the shift in atmosphere immediately, and her animal companions as well, as both Pontus and the elder eagle suddenly halted in their race towards where they knew battle was taking place. In that moment, they could tell that some great magic had also entered the scene, and Sabine could feel it tingling through the earth, sending other woodland creatures of the night scattering in alarm, and she could hear a distant rumble crescendo its way through the night. And…it was getting closer.

Could it be…?

“Hurry old friend!” Sabine again urged her steed forward as she could feel the power continue to grow some ways ahead of them. Pontus heeded her plea, and in long, graceful bounds he continued towards their goal. “I’m almost certain we’ll be needed now!”

“What the- hair!?”

Varian heard the lady spy gasp above him as he shut his eyes tight against the blue-silver light that flooded his field of vision. Varian also heard shocked exclamations from the others accompany the lady’s voice, and a whooshing-shimmering noise filled his ears as he felt the pressure along his temples reach its climax and then plateau out into a dull, throbbing ache. In response to this pain, Varian’s wrists tugged hard and desperate at the cords that bound his hands behind his back – the alchemist wanting nothing more in that moment than to be able to cover the sides of his aching head with his palms and fingers, and do something to alleviate the pain blossoming around his skull. But the cords wouldn’t give, and Varian could only curl in on himself on his knees and let out a cry of distress as his mind grappled with what was happening to him.

“VARIAN!” Arianna cried out as she watched in frightened astonishment the unexpected phenomenon of the discolored streak in Varian’s hair beginning to glow a vibrant silver-blue in response to Xavier’s words. Then, gradually, the rest of Varian’s hair followed suit, until his whole head was crowned in a shimmering white; locks of hair flowing about as if caught in a wind that only Varian could feel, and causing his hachimaki to loosen itself from around his forehead and drift away gracefully onto the grass beside him.

“VARIAN!” Arianna tried again, but either Varian couldn’t hear her, or else he was in no condition to respond as he clenched his teeth hard and continued to writhe helplessly on the ground. Arianna tried to open her mouth a third time to call out to Varian, but any words were cut off as she suddenly felt a hand clamp itself tightly across her mouth.

“Quick! You!” the male spy said to one of his comrades from where he held the queen’s mouth shut and Arianna struggled against him. “Gag them both! I don’t know what’s going on here, but that old man obviously said something that-!”

But before the male spy could even finish giving his command, he suddenly felt the ground beneath him begin to rumble and quake, and the next thing he knew, he was fumbling backwards away from the queen as a shimmering, slender, spire-shaped rock shot out of the ground not three feet away from them. Quick as an arrow, Arianna could hear (and feel) the rock shoot up just passed her left ear towards her captor ([“That was for kidnapping me.”]), and it was only due to his own quick reflexes that the spy avoided having his left shoulder impaled by the razor-sharp rock.

As Arianna and the spy fell apart, Arianna looked up from where she lay on the turf, and her eyes widened as she beheld the black rock that seemed to tower over her protectively. “Wh-what’s going on?” Arianna thought in utter confusion as she saw it. The black rocks had ceased spreading after Rapunzel had used them during the Battle of Old Corona, and Arianna was certain that they never spread into this part of Equis even before that.

Why then would they…?

Arianna flinched as she again felt another rumbling followed by the crunching sound of another one of the black rocks puncturing up through the turf. Arianna’s eyes snapped to the source of the sound, where she saw Varian, now sitting up on his knees, and a black rock having been summoned just behind him as his face turned skyward – as if it were responding in tandem to his motions. Immediately afterward, Varian fell forward, hitting the ground awkwardly as his arms couldn’t fly out forward fast enough to catch himself. Fortunately, it was not a long fall forward by any means, and it was only after a short pause that Varian brought his now freed hands forward – for the rock had shot up at just the right angle behind him to cut his bonds – and pushed himself up gingerly from the ground.

“Aaah!” the lady spy yelped from where she stood nearby Varian, and quickly fumbled at her belt to where she had a series of knockout darts stored away. But it was no use, for she too found herself stumbling back in alarm as Varian’s eyes suddenly snapped up to fix on the pouch of darts that hung from her hip, and at the same moment another rock came shooting up out of the ground at her, and hitting the pouch with a direct strike. With another sharp cry – this time in startled pain – the lady spy staggered back several paces, and dropped Varian’s Demanitus steel sword as her hands flew up to press hard into where the rock had punctured her pouch (destroying its contents in the process) and grazed her side with a harsh sting.

“NO!” her brother shouted in alarm as he saw his sister wounded by the rock, and then he too moved to incapacitate Varian, who was now kneeling shakily on the ground with his gloved hands splayed out beneath him, supporting his upper body as he took in rapid and shallow breathes. As Varian’s fingers dug harder into the earth, the rumbling and quaking grew more rapid, in sync with his breathes, and everyone present cried out in alarm as multiple trails of black rocks came rushing in around them (as Varian, Arianna, and Ruddiger had seen them do around Rapunzel during the Battle of Old Corona), and they converged on the point where Varian knelt helplessly on the ground. As they closed in, the boy covered his head with his arms out of reflex, and he could feel the cold burning of his hair prickle at his skin as the rocks enclosed him in a cone-shaped cocoon.

After letting out a halting breath (Varian just now realizing he had been holding it for the last several seconds), Varian cautiously blinked his eyes open, half-expecting to find himself in utter darkness as the rocks had fenced him in. But to his surprise, Varian found himself surrounded by the rocks all glowing a dim and calm blue hue around him, and his hair still alight with that silver-blue glimmer; flowing about his head as if caught in the gentle swells of an invisible flowing river. Tentatively, Varian pulled down a lock of his bangs in front of his eyes, and stared at the marvel before him; simultaneously spellbound and horrified.

What was happening?

The strange thing was…Varian knew. Or, at the very least, he had some sort of inkling or feeling as to what was going on. Varian struggled to formulate this knowledge into any sort of words, which proved to be a surprisingly difficult task. For instead of a more concrete sort of knowledge that could be outlined in a textbook or a dictionary, it was more like a kind of intuition or sixth sense that had suddenly come awake inside of Varian – like a door in his mind had suddenly been thrust open, and while whatever lay on the other side of it was something he had never encountered before (or, at least, nothing he recalled ever encountering before), it also didn’t seem completely alien to him either. It was like encountering a familiar yet inaudible tune – the musica universalis – and he was being drawn into its orbital resonance against his will, and in a place that felt rather high up on the scales of that ineffable harmony – with the cool, tingly, silvery wavelengths around him, within him, and above him vibrating in harmony with the deeper, stronger, larger tones of the Earth beneath him. There also seemed to be another one calling back – calling from somewhere both beyond the Earth with a warm, jubilant, fiery series or chords, yet also one in a land miles and miles away from his present location, though somewhere still upon the sphere of Tellus.

It was as if space itself where singing – to him, and to whatever other lonely set of notes was responding back from inside him and beyond the borders of Corona and Equis, and to the whole of the cosmos throughout the universe. It made Varian feel very small and fragile indeed; more so than he had ever felt in his life, and it was borderline unbearable.

…And yet…

Varian was frightened by this, yes, and a whole slew of questions had come crowding in to greet him at the threshold of this mystery door, nearly overwhelming him with their clambering for his attention. But he also just…knew. And while this knowing disquieted the young alchemist beyond measure, it also somehow felt so…right. Like when he had finally figured out how those floating lanterns could fly, or when he made his very first alchemical compound, or was able to join in the dances at the palace square without tripping over himself, or when an equation suddenly made sense to him.

[“Books and Chapters for this Week: … ‘Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica’, book 3 (‘De mundi systemate’)…”]

It made him feel like he belonged. To what or to where exactly, who could say? But he just…did.

After sitting there entranced for several seconds by the phenomenon that was his glowing hair and the energies reacting around him, Varian started sharply out of his thoughts as he suddenly felt something paw unexpectedly at his side. Varian looked down to see Ruddiger (who had been close enough to him to have also been enclosed amongst the rocks with him), who was now looking up at Varian with shocked, wide, and frightened eyes as he dragged himself, hurting, to his master’s side.

[“Never give up Ruddiger!”]

“Oh, Ruddiger…!” Varian breathed out shakily as he gently scooped up his frightened and bleeding friend into his arms. He heard Ruddiger give a quivering chitter in response as Varian shut his eyes tight and nuzzled his face into Ruddiger’s fur; stroking the raccoon’s fur comfortingly as a gentle swell of energy flowed through the air around him in tandem with his actions and emotions. The blue-silver light continued to encircle the two of them, and Varian rather wished that he could just remain like this – remain sheltered from the hostile world waiting just beyond their impenetrable tent, in the company of his best friend, to slam shut that door that now yawned open within himself, and to never have to worry about anyone or anything else ever again.

…But of course this would not do. Dad was still trapped and waiting to be freed, Corona was in grave danger, and Varian knew Xavier and the queen didn’t have much time, especially as Varian could now hear faintly through the slight gaps in the black rocks surrounding him:

“Wh-what’s going on? What happened?”

“What is that?”

“Where is he? Is he still in there? Can anyone see him?”

“You! Blacksmith! What did you do? What do you know about this-!?”

“N-no time for that now brother! We- Ow! We-we should get out of here! Now! While we still can!”

“Quick! You! Grab the two of them and let’s go!”

“Let’s move, move, move!”

“Get out of here!”

…Again…Varian knew.

And he knew what he had to do.

As Varian reopened his eyes, he caught sight out of his peripheral vision the flare of a slightly more saturated blue light coming from his right. Turning to its source, Varian saw the Demanitus steel sword that had been dropped beside him, now pulsating with this light from where it lay on the grass; it’s alchemical makeup resonating with the energies around it. Varian recalled how upon the blade’s completion he had an inexplicable sense that it was somehow calling to him – as if it were meant for him. This feeling reemerged again now, only with a rather new significance as the blade continued to pulsate with a glow of anticipation.

Puer lunae…

Et da nobis lux vestra…

Hurriedly but gently, Varian swiped up from the ground his hachimaki where it lay discarded on the turf, and proceeded to use it to bandage the wound that bled from Ruddiger’s side. As the raccoon’s blood began to seep into the fabric – causing the white moon-like symbol to now turn a deep red – Varian moved very carefully to drape his friend securely over his shoulders.

“H-hang on tight boy,” Varian commanded him, and he felt Ruddiger dig his paws hard into his shirt in obedience. Then, this all done, Varian braced himself as he peeled off his dark leather gloves, and let them drop onto the grass before him as he stood up on shaky legs. With one last deep breath, Varian braced himself, and then reached his bare hand out towards the sword that awaited his command.

“Veni,” he called back to it. “Come.”

And the sword heeded his command.

As if it had a mind of its own, Varian’s sword spun upwards from the ground towards his outstretched hand, and as Varian’s finger’s closed around the hilt, the blade came alight in a bright explosion of bluebell flames and something like lightning, and the black rocks around him shone even brighter in response. Varian could feel Ruddiger clutch at his shoulders even harder at this, and the little creature buried his frightened face into the back of Varian’s neck to protect his own eyes from the intensity of the glow that swelled about them. Varian let out a silent scream as he felt such a huge surge of energy flow between his sword and his veins, and it felt as if something were fusing him and his sword into one entity through a kind of transcendent connection. The sword had truly become an extension of himself now, and with a loud yell of both a kind of pain and exhilaration, Varian slashed his sword in a wide circle around him; feeling the black rocks that fenced him in give way as they were sliced apart and burst into a cacophony of bright light, and sent out a shockwave that reached for many yards around him.

Arianna tried hard to resist as the Saporian agents dragged her away from her place of shelter under the shadow of the black rock that had shot out near her only moments before, but her efforts had been in vain, and soon she was being hustled along by a few of the lady agents as they retreated from the sight where the big cone of black rocks continued to glow eerily. By now, Varian’s goo traps and other concoctions had weakened enough that most of the agents were able to be broken free with a few seconds’ help from their fellow comrades, and now the whole troupe of them were making all haste towards their headquarters with Arianna and Xavier as their captives.

“Hurry up everyone!” the male spy shouted at them as he aided his stumbling sister with her arm over his shoulders, and his pale face for the first time showing great uncertainty. “Once we’re all safe we can return later and get the-!”

But the man’s words were suddenly cut short as they all heard and felt a huge wave of blue-white energy surge itself up from behind them, and every one of them in their company was sent sprawling onto the grassy turf as their ears were filled with the sounds of rushing wind, crackling lightning, and a kind of ringing noise. Arianna lay motionless on the ground for a few seconds, hardly daring to move as she recognized the phenomenon that just happened.

It was just like during the last battle…the Battle of Old Corona…

Only this time-

“What in the-!?” Arianna heard one of the men cry from nearby as she finally gathered herself up enough to raise her head from the ground and look behind them to where the shockwave had come from. There she saw Varian, and his form, Ruddiger’s, and the rocks behind him were all highlighted in the light of the full moon, in the light of his glowing white hair, and in the light emitted by the black rocks around him, which Arianna could see lay scattered about in shards upon the ground. Arianna also noticed that the sword Varian carried also glowed a bright blue, and the light pulsated threateningly as he began walking towards the crowd of them from across the way.

“D-DON’T JUST STAND THERE YOU IDIOTS!” the male spy yelled at his comrades, and now not even trying to hide how scared he had become in seeing the unprecedented threat that approached them. “ARCHERS, FIRE AT WILL!”

As fast as they could, the archers set their arrows and their bolts to the string, and fired a hailstorm of arrows in Varian’s direction. But before they could reach him, Arianna saw Varian gesture with his free hand in an upward, sweeping motion, and a series of about five large black rocks shot up out of the ground in front of him in response. After the bolts and arrows splintered themselves against this shield, the rocks suddenly retreated back into the ground, and Varian continued in his advance form behind them.

Upon seeing this, a handful of the agents turned and fled as fast as they could from the scene toward their headquarters, but the male spy and his sister tried to rally the rest.

“COWARDS!” the brother shouted to those who retreated. “THE REST OF YOU! TO ME!”

“HOLD YOUR GROUND!” his sister called as she drew her cutlass from her side, and tried her best to remain standing as she swayed in her stance.

“EVERYONE, ATTACK!” her brother shouted as he and several other brave warriors charged directly at Varian, and several of the archers attempted to bring on another wave of cover fire as they made to collide with him.

Arianna gasped, fearing for Varian as he now faced a whole wave of warriors all by himself, and while Arianna was still trying to wrap her mind around whatever new powers Varian suddenly appeared to have acquired out of nowhere, she wasn’t fully certain that he would be able to take on that many people by himself. He would be overwhelmed by numbers if nothing else surely, right? And it appeared as if Varian was starting to come to the same conclusion, as Arianna could see Varian halt and stagger a little in his advance as the troops came rushing on towards him. Or was he somehow hurt? For it looked like he also raised his free hand to clutch at the side of his head, his eyes tight shut, and she thought she could see something like lightning flicker from him briefly. Was he losing control? Was it too much for him?

“VARIAN!” Arianna suddenly heard Xavier shout from where he had been left under the guard of one burly agent, who tried hard again and again to gag him, but Xavier resisted his attempts, and just managed to call out above the din, “THE SWORD VARIAN, USE YOUR SWORD!”

Somehow, it looked as if Varian had heard Xavier, and he looked up sharply to where the old blacksmith struggled against his captor, and then down to the sword in his hand. The agents were only a few yards away from him now, and Varian flinched as he barely missed having an arrow hit him square in the shoulder.

“VARIAN!” Arianna now called as well, feeling utter helpless to do anything as she could only watch things unfold before her.

Then, Varian seemed to suddenly understand.

With another great cry, Varian raised his sword skyward, the blade now glowing a harsh lunar white, and then – just as the agents were almost atop him – Varian drove the sword back straight down into the ground with both hands clutching the hilt, and another shockwave expanded out from where he knelt on the ground, sending the agents flying through the air, and then tumbling and skidding to a halt yards away from him. As some of them began to stir from their places, a whole series of black rocks streamed their way out in all directions from where Varian knelt on the grass, and with almost surgical precion, they proceeded to puncture and shatter and splinter the agents’ remaining weapons as they lay about on the turf, or strapped to their own belts. Several of them also found themselves in the difficult situation of having extremely slender, almost needle-like rocks puncturing through their boots, just in the right places to avoid impaling their feet, but also effectively pinning them to the spot as their footwear became immovable as the rocks held them to the earth. Those who were not pinned in place now began running towards the headquarters behind those who had already retreated, while a few others fled to the woods to the sides of the large clearing.

Arianna stared wide-eyed and with open mouth as she took in the sight before her, but was suddenly jolted back to herself as she heard and felt another black rock shoot itself up just behind her. Arianna took in a sharp intake of breath, and flinched forward as she felt the cold surface of the rock barely graze her skin, and brought her arms forward just in time to catch herself as she felt forward. That was when it hit her that the rock had come up at just the right angle and speed to cut her bonds without hurting her, and Arianna looked over to see that Xavier had the same thing happen to him (with the added effect of separating his burly captor from him, and then having him pinned to the spot by both his shirt and trousers as tiny block rocks shot upward just shy of impaling his arms and legs).

“Gaah!”

As Arianna staggered over to help Xavier rise to his feet, they both stopped and stared as they heard a loud cry pierce its way through the night air, and they both felt their blood turn cold in their veins as they saw Varian had now moved from kneeling with his sword in the ground, to now standing with his sword pointing directly at the male spy as many long black rocks pinned him up against a granite rock formation to the side of the clearing, with the black rocks puncturing through his clothes to hang him up in an awkward crucifix form…with one of them drawing ever slowly closer to his throat.

“Oh no…” Xavier breathed in earnest as he and Arianna tried to run towards Varian, and the two of them cursing their stiff and aching muscles as they struggled along. “Varian!” Arianna and Xavier tried calling out to him, but either he couldn’t hear them or was ignoring them as he kept his eyes focused on the captive he now had in his clutches. “Varian, no! Stop! Please!”

Varian’s brow furrowed hard, and the tingling blood in his veins grew red-hot as he glared up hard at the male spy who struggled against the grip of the black rocks, and all the hurt and rage from the last few days found its target in him as Varian drew the middle rock closer and closer to the man’s throat. From his shoulder, Varian could hear and feel Ruddiger give a scared and questioning squeak in his ear…but Varian only froze in response he heard something else also accompany Ruddiger’s pleading sounds.

“That’s right boy,” Varian heard a deep, echoey voice say to him out of the darkness. “Do it!”

Startled, Varian paused, looking this way and that around him, but not seeing anyone else nearby him, even though the voice sounded as close to him as Ruddiger had been at his shoulder. Though Varian was also almost certain he hadn’t imagined it, for Ruddiger bristled and clutched harder at Varian’s shoulders as the voice had sounded in his ears, and it was as if Ruddiger too were aware that someone (or something) else were present nearby…and he didn’t like it at all.

“Do it,” the voice told him again, and Varian flinched as he heard it…though also presently began to feel another resonate energy come into play, drowning out the previous music he had heard with a dull, lulling, deep hum, and before Varian could do anything about it, he felt it churning up within him the old sticky-sweet feelings of hatred and aggression which he had felt the last time he had been in battle.

…And it felt good. It felt just. It felt right.

The humming grew louder in his ears.

“He deserves it after all, right?” the voice continued to whisper to Varian [“…but whatever I’ve done you deserved…”], coaxing him deeper into those feelings as Varian’s eyes gradually became blank, white, and distant. “They all do. Get it over with. Let your anger out, Puer Lunae. Do it…do it…do it!”

The male spy now shut his eyes tight and turned his head as the deadly-sharp, pointed rock extended its way closer, and Varian’s scowled harder as Ruddiger tried desperately to regain his attention from his shoulders.

“NOOOO!!!” the mans sister screamed from where she lay wounded some yards away, and watching with a look of horror as her brother was about to be killed right in front of her.

“VARIAN! DESINO!” Varian suddenly heard the word pierce through the humming sound in his head. “VARIAN! STOP!”

Blinking rapidly, and shaking his head, Varian came back to himself and breathed hard as he clutched at his aching head, uncertain of what just happened as he stared for several seconds at the rocks that jutted out in front of him, and at the man they held captive and ready to kill. The middle rock had stopped just centimeters away from the man’s throat, and Varian blinked up at him as he tried to process what was going on. Suddenly, Varian drew in a sharp breath as it all hit him, and in a hurry – before he could give it any longer thought – Varian drew the rocks back down into the earth, and the man fell into a crumbled heap at the base of the rocks, shaken terribly, but unhurt.

“Varian!” the boy heard his name called again as he turned slowly to see Arianna and Xavier running towards him.

“Varian!...Varian!...”

The young alchemist was no longer sure who or what was calling his name as it all began to blend together into a blurred echo in his brain, and he felt himself sway as the rush of energies and adrenaline began to cease, and he could feel his eyes roll towards the back of his head as his cramped and tired fingers loosened their grip on his sword, and the blade fell to the ground beside him, with the light dimming from it as it did so.

“Varian!...”

Varian didn’t even feel the moment when he hit the ground, as all around him faded to black, and all music or noise around him gave way to blessed silence.

Hmm, wonder who the mystery voice could belong to...

Also, the scene with Varian pinning the spy to the rocks like that and threatening to impale him was inspired by the scene from "Frozen" where Elsa did the same to one of the Duke's men as they were attacking her in her ice castle.

And again, my apologies for any errors in Latin on my part, or if it just sounds a bit clunky to anyone who knows the language. Was going by Google translate. xP Hopefully it's ok though.

#tts #rta #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #gauze in the wound #fan fiction #varian #xavier the blacksmith #queen arianna #king frederic #captain of the guard #nigel #the separatists of saporia #moon!varian

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duraxxor · 6 years

Text

Duraxxor’s Nazmir Expedition

[[ The following are a set of narrations within a journal that was written by Duraxxor and is currently in the hands of Panzer and it’s associates. Warning the story contains violence and mentions of blood. Viewer discretion is advised.]]

Prologue Entry

I, Duraxxor, have decided to record everything I observe and note through my intriguing stay in the swamps of Naz’mir. Not only for personal experience but for the research purposes of Panzer.

Day 1

A Zandalari guide suggested that I enter from the northwestern border which was also known as the Antul'Mita Plateau. The main roadway was apparently as treacherous as the name, known once as the Blood Gate. The Empire’s patrol those areas as a means to keep the Naz’mani at bay. Some have even stated that the undead also match alongside these cultists. How intriguing.

Crossing into Naz’mir’s declining elevation I have already noted signs of hostilities simply from entering the lands. It seems even the continent possesses a few Azerite wounds of it’s own. Alas, the Naz’mani, Zandalari, and even the Faceless servants shed blood for the blood of Azeroth. Perhaps it is time I settled towards the East and leave myself from being caught in the midst of this resource war.

Day 4

Not only have I settled within a small base of operations, but I have come in contact with two species of creature I have not even seen upon these shores.

The first being an insectoid larva that appears to be feeding off the swamp’s fauna in a rather alarming rate. Internally or externally, these parasites appear to sap the life from anything they latch upon to nourish themselves. Aside from such, they appear to infect the reptilian species with a rabies-like ailment, making them far more aggressive than normal. Samples of both a living larva and the saurolisk’s flesh have been acquired and stored for containment.

The second species was something I caught a glimpse of while heading more towards the north. Overhearing one of the female trolls, they pronounced this gluttonous creature to be known as the Crawg. Walking masses of flesh that appear to be nothing more than teeth, stomach, and a pair of legs. This specimen would likely need something larger to contain in order to study.

There was something else I noticed about this village I discovered the Crawg out. Bats were unnaturally roosting at the towering pikes that bore the banner of the Naz’mani tribe. Talks of a loa name Hir’eek were noted, something I am actually quite familiar with. Could it be that the Lord of the Midnight Sky be Actually here in Nazmir?

Day 7

I recently returned from investigating the village that possessed both the Crawg and the whispers of Hir'eek. Every bit of it was true and there was far more than I expected. Blood sacrifices and matriarchy ruled over this particular area known as Zalamar. There is something strongly amusing about listening to the slave men refer to their female leaders as 'Mada'. Those who didn't fulfill their tasks found themselves punished in a rather sadistic manner. To the point that I believe some of these trolls are masochistic from such behavior. Truly, they are every bit the cannibalistic tribe that many believe to be the old troll ways.

I managed to see myself around the bloodied distractions and beautiful displays of dominance by scaling the central cave network. Biles of corpses and twisted bone marrow were in the bottom of the pit, leading to what I would've never imagined. A massive, white bat stained by bloodied war paint was lying on the floor, lifeless. I had heard tales of the Drakkari killing off their own loa, but never would I thought that one would kill off such a beautiful creature. Hir'eek, you truly were a fine specimen. I could not resist the temptation to slice off a sample of his flesh for yet another sample.

Before I could leave the depths of Hir'eek's Lair, I found myself feeling a sense of unease. It felt as if arachnids had decided to skitter up my spine. Then there was a pressure in the back of my skull that wasn't there before. Then, in a guttural voice that resonated in unison as if it were gasping for air, I found myself being whispered by another force.

Vwah oou kaaxth zz ywaq iiyoq Ag'xlg fhssh I on'ma.

Feel the twitch in your spine? That's where I exist.

Day 13

I am nearly out of reserves to sustain my own hungers. Soon it will be time for me to head back and and defeat the gnawing hunger that plagues my very mind. Yet, the whispers would not relent.

Qam oou uhnish kyth zuq Ongg za fhssh as'rr.

Let the hunger take you. Feed on their blood.

What the hell is going on? I've never heard of the dark whispers encourage me to feast in such a vampiric thirst for blood. I realized that I needed something to distract my mind, so I decided to distance myself from Zalamar and head east.

As the terrain began to settle in elevation, I was beginning to notice that the activity of spirits and undead alike had increased exponentially. Skeletal constructs and shambling troll corpses walked the rotting earth. Spirits were restless and tormented by sorrow and grief. Despite the passage of ghosts that walked towards this temple to the north, I found myself compelled to continue east, going deeper and deeper into the earth. I was hear to investigate the rumors, after all.

Day 14

What I found next dwarfed Zalamar. In fact, it appeared to be quite more than just some village. The heart of the blood troll incursion as a matter of fact. Blooded altars and spike-covered huts that wrapped around the cliff's edge. This Zul teetered on the edge of a chasm that housed something that, although appeared to be ancient troll architecture, there was some far more titanic about it. I found myself....

The page seems to turn into a mass of scribbles, as if Duraxxor had been attacked or something else.

All life withers. Accept this and be transformed.

The tickle in your throat. The itch in your mind. I have always been with you.

Several pages of the journal were covered in dirt, blood, and flesh debris.

Day 17

I have finally come to my senses. I pulled myself from the Heart of Darkness and escaped whatever sinister forces lie below from pulling me in with it's swaying words. Yet, by the time I had grasped these dark tidings, I found myself standing upon a pile of blood trolls, both Nazmani and Zandalari alike. Though I had grown used to murderous tendencies, there was nothing amusing about being controlled in a time of weakness. I apologize to the readers that find this part to be a gruesome image. I believe it is time I head back to the plateau and report everything to Pride and the Primordi.

Present Day - Conclusion

The Faceless known as Duraxxor anticipated that the time had finally come for him to head south in an attempt to find the other members of Panzer to at the very least present what he had found. His armor had still been caked by the madness that had consumed his hungering fit. It was difficult wash the amount of blood that had been painted within the white locks of hair that were no longer veiled by the torn hood. All he could think of was how he felt slightly pathetic in allowing himself to be temporarily controlled by whatever this thing was. G’huun, even if it were a false old god, it still possessed the ability to manipulate and control from afar. What was more alarming was the amount of undead minions this monstrosity possessed rather than void entities. A startling development, indeed.

The sound of billowing wings caught the attention of the Faceless. Lightly pocketing fel energies growing stronger at the approach of a demon hunter’s sudden arrival. The landing, even more graceful than most of his kin. “ Faceless Duraxxor. “ The demonic fighter nodded while swiftly handing over the message that was to be delivered as quick as possible. “ A message from the Dread Father himself... you wreak of carnage. I take it you enjoyed yourself? “

Duraxxor’s sights fixated on the letter, instantly taking it from the commander with no hesitation. Although, the provided answer was quite unexpected. “... No, for once... I can say I did not enjoy myself. “ The tone in his voice was low and hinted at a light irritation. However, the opened letter had Duraxxor going quite silent as he read each and every line of this urgent recall. Startling almost seemed pleasant at this point. His next choice of words were swift. “ Thank you, Hydra Kor’vain. I will see myself back to Zuldazar immediately after I have these samples sent in the care of Primordis Malakortana. “ With steel coffers strapped to his back, he saluted the demon hunter with the cross over his chest. “ For the glory of Panzer. “ Duraxxor returned to the shadows, marking the end of his first experience in Nazmir.

[[ @ebonconclave @sanguinesorceress @primordis-andaran @miah-ambershade and all of Panzer ]]

#Duraxxor #Panzer missions #Nazmir #Whispers of G’huun #Blood troll

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moonlightreal · 2 years

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Field Guide the extras

There’s actually quite a bit more in the book after the last chapter, but a lot of it is going to be too dated to be useful or so complex that it would take me ages to copy down. So I’m going to condense heavily and if anybody would like more data on something let me know and I’ll expand on it.

Afterword

Lupa talks about why she wrote the book, which seems to be “because nobody else had written one.” A solid reason if ever there was one! She encourages others to write their own books to add to the resources that are out there.

Otherkin Gatherings

Information from 2007 won’t be any use, especially in these covidious times. If you’re looking for otherkin gatherings, otherkin.net is a still active site with an events listing, or just sit up your favorite search engine. I could only find this, and it seems to have been an idea that didn’t get anywhere.

I would say scout out furry conventions, pagan gatherings, and renaissance faires if you’re looking to meet otherkin.

Interview With a Vampire Werewolf

Lupa the wolf therian talks to a therapist about the psychological aspects of being otherkin. It’s already a summary of a conversation and I don’t think I can do a good job of summarizing it again. The therapist did not freak out when Lupa explained to her what being otherkin means.

The therapist does say that it’s unlikely someone would be involuntarily committed for being otherkin. The criteria are different in different states but in general the “men in white coats coming to take you away” will only happen if you are a danger to yourself or others, or unable to care for yourself.

The other main point is that looking at being otherkin from a psychology perspective doesn’t negate the spiritual perspective. it’s just different ways of trying to understand the same thing. So whatever you are, therapy may be useful.

The Survey

This section is the questions that Lupa asked to get information for the book, and a bit about how she spread the survey around. The questions are all very open-ended, allowing respondents to write whatever they wanted about themselves. I’m going to boil these great multi-question questions down to a few words mostly.

-name/age/gender/general location?

-kintype? Appearance, human and kin?

-origin?

-if reincarnation origin, talk about memories?

-awakening? Changes since then?

-effects in your everyday life?

-otherkin and spirituality?

-glamourbombing?

-questions of sanity? Therapy?

-how uncloseted are you?

-do you know others? What do you think of the community?

-Any advice to give?

Raw Data

This section is the numbers, and I’m going to summarize a lot of numbers down to a few numbers.

There were a total of 131 surveys including Lupa’s.

Age range was mostly teens and early twenties.

110 were from the US, and most states were represented.

80 were female, 48 were male, and 3 unspecified.

35 Therians were the most common type of kin, the majority of those were wolfish with big cats being the next largest category. There were 18 dragons, 14 elves, 7 multiple systems, 3 vampires, 2 mediakin, 1 kitsune, and various other things and others who were more than one sort of kin.

Reincarnation was the most common origin, with “spirituality/magic” being next most common.

Bibliography

The bibliography is massive and hunting down and linking everything would take ages. Which I’m happy to do if anybody’s out there all like “Gimme ALL the sources! I wish to research!” If you’re that person, send me a message or a comment and I’ll get into it, but if I don’t hear from anybody I’ll just leave you with everything linked so far and your own abilities to poke through amazon and goodreads.

And that’s the Field Guide to Otherkin! I have condensed it down a lot, losing the beauty of the writing. I also didn’t copy the stories the survey respondents told, which I hated leaving out because they were so good, but I had to boil the book down to the barest facts or we’d be here for months and in a few days my classes will start and eat up alllll my working-on-the-computer time.

I recommend reading the book if you ever get a chance. I wrote up these posts to give you an idea of what’s in it so you’ll know just how much work you want to spend tracking it down. I don’t recommend spending hundreds of dollars for it, but there must be copies out there in used bookstores, and interlibrary loan may be able to get you there.

Hope you enjoyed this peek into a rare book!

#otherkin

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hopefulfestivaltastemaker · 3 years

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May 23, 2021

My weekly roundup of things I am up to. Topics include the age of civilization and three aspects of urban density: environmental, affordability, and lifestyle.

How Old is Civilization?

Samo Burja has another good piece on Palladium this week, Why Civilization Is Older Than We Thought. In it he makes the claim that in the coming years, we will find evidence that what we think of as civilization, including cities, goes back tens of thousands of years farther than currently believed. He may have been inspired by a recent trip to Göbekli Tepe, a site in modern-day Turkey that predates by about 5000 years the city-states in Mesopotamia that were once regarded as the first cities.

In the same vein, there is a recent paper, which I found through Tyler Cowen’s Marginal Revolution blog, that finds widespread evidence of large scale cooperation--that is, cooperation among weakly related or unrelated individuals--in forager societies, including those of the deep Paleolithic. The authors, Boyd and Richardson, find evidence of cooperation in hunting drivelines, trap fishing, warfare, diplomacy, and other areas.

The prevailing view, at least as I understand it, of large scale cooperation is that humans are not equipped for it, only for small scale cooperation based on kin ties and personal relationships, limited by Dunbar’s Number of about 150 for the size of cooperative ventures. Going past this limit requires various forms of social technology, most of which were developed shortly after agriculture, such as currency, writing, and legal codes. Since humans are not biologically equipped for large scale cooperation, the technologies that foster it create an evolutionary mismatch.

As Boyd and Richardson themselves admit, the evidence in their paper is not conclusive. But it does provide an intriguing case against the evolutionary mismatch view. Since widespread cooperation dates back perhaps hundreds of thousands of years, there is enough time for evolution, rather than just social technology, to make it a natural behavior for humans.

As Burja points out in his piece, our understanding of history, including prehistory, has unavoidable political implications for the present. In recent years, evolutionary psychology explanations have been marshaled behind nationalism, partisan politics, and other kinds of “tribal” behavior on the grounds that they tap into natural human behaviors of prehistory. I have some problems with the evolutionary psychology explanations, in that they tend to be “just so” explanation of current behavior, and they can easily fall into the appeal to nature fallacy. Add to that list of problems the fact that many basic questions about prehistoric human societies and human evolution remain unsettled.

Considering the Case for Urban Density - the Environmental Argument

I’ve written a lot about cities, and density in particular, in recent weeks, as this is the current project I am tasked to do in my work. This time I thought I would take a step back and look at the broader case for density, as well as its weaknesses.

There are many facets to the debate, but I see three main points for the pro-density case. First is the environmental argument that, all else being equal, denser living arrangements tend to have smaller environmental impacts. Second is financial: that by putting more people into a given space, we can lower the cost of housing. Third is lifestyle, that density, at least if done the right way, supports a better lifestyle than suburban living. I’ll address each of these points in turn.

Regarding the environmental effects, it seems to me that there is indeed an environmental case to higher density, though the case isn’t as much of a slam dunk as some advocates believe. For every doubling of urban density, if paired with other good design decisions, total driving should be reduced by up to 40%. Smaller units, and especially apartments that share walls, tend to have lesser heating and cooling needs, and density enables district heating and cooling systems that tend to be much more efficient than stand-alone units. Where the ambiguity comes into play is that people in denser living arrangements often make up their energy and emissions in other ways, such as more air travel. For obvious reasons, denser cities save habitat as well.

There are two major problems with the environmental argument. First, most of the environmental objectives of density can be better accomplished by other means. A concerted effort at increasing density in the United States would, over 50 years, reduce driving by what I estimate to be maybe 10%, or 20% if we’re really being generous. We could reduce emissions from cars more and faster by promoting electric vehicles and low-emissions power, both of which I expect will be widespread in 50 years. Greater land use savings are possible through cultured meat, greenhouses, and hydroponics than through density.

Safety comes up a lot, though I’m not sure how strong the safety case is for greater density, given that biking is a relatively dangerous form of travel, even if separated from cars. In the time it takes for any pro-density policy to have a major effect, I would expect self-driving cars to be common, and that should do much more than the reduction in driving in promoting safety. Aside from that, we could do a lot of simpler things like better traffic enforcement, use of pedestrian overpasses, and other measures to promote safety.

My second problem is when people hear about the environmental benefits of density, it sounds like--whether or not the speaker intend it--“you have to give up your lawn for the planet”. Sacrifice for environmental causes is bad politics and goes against what I believe in.

For these reasons I tend to deemphasize the environmental case when talking about density.

Urban Density -- the Affordability Argument

It sounds very intuitive, and urbanists like Brent Toderian make this argument all the time. Urban space is expensive and a premium resource, so the more people who can fit in a city, the lower housing prices should be through the magic of supply and demand. Therefore, zone for small houses and apartments, reduce the amount of space for cars in favor of housing, and housing prices should go down.

The main flaw with this argument is that it treats urban space as a fixed commodity. There tends to be a tradeoff between space and speed in transportation. By speed I mean how far a person can get in a fixed amount of time, so the “speed” of buses and rail would account for the time that a person spends waiting. Cars take up more space per traveler, but they allow a person to go farther, compared to other modes of travel. Car-oriented cities tend to be spatially bigger than transit-oriented cities, but they can support about the same number of people. Greater populations are possible when all modes are combined, which is why almost every large city in the world has a mix of modes.

There is a good case for cutting back on zoning regulation, which in many cities has become excessive and serves an explicitly nativist purpose. But cutting back on zoning regulation also entails liberalizing the spatial growth controls that are also common. It also means addressing environmental reviews and labor restrictions on new roads and rail, since infrastructure is necessary to allow cities to grow and infrastructure should be available at a reasonable price.

It’s not just urbanists who are a fault. Joel Kotkin, among others, makes a cargo cult argument that since suburbs tend to be cheaper than inner cities, more zoning restrictions should lower prices.

Urban Density -- the Lifestyle Argument

Environmental and affordability issues aside, I think the real animating force behind much modern urbanism is lifestyle. To many urbanists, the well-designed density of London, Rome, or Paris is much to be preferred to the dreary nondescript suburbs that characterize the fringes of American cities, or the dazzling skyscrapers of Hong Kong or Singapore provide much more excitement and opportunity than alternatives.

There is nothing wrong with this argument per se, and I am sympathetic to it as well. But people like the aforementioned Kotkin will make similar arguments about suburbs. Suburban life offers the space and privacy necessary for happiness, especially for children, that is unavailable in dense cities. Suburbs generally offer less crime, less pollution, better schools, and otherwise better metrics on most quality of life factors.

The problem is that I don’t know what principle to appeal to to distinguish between the above arguments. Thus so many decisions about urban planning devolve into a “he said/she said” situation that is basically unresolvable.

If we had a truly free market in cities, that would be one thing. People can sort themselves out by preference, and truly inferior arrangements will die by market discipline. But most urban planning decisions are made through political processes, and for a variety of reasons individuals can’t just pack up and leave easily for better living.

I suspect that density is the wrong question to be asking about urban planning. Density or sprawl are the result of good planning, not the objectives of planning.

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hallof-fire · 5 years

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The Importance of Church Community

a write up of a talk I gave

Today I wanted to take a look at Psalm 127, a psalm “of Solomon.” Most likely this means it was written by Solomon, but some commentators have made the case that it was parting guidance for Solomon by David. Whichever it was, we know that Solomon had a lot of experience with the topics in it!

Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the city, the guards stand watch in vain. In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat— for he grants sleep to those he loves.

Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them. They will not be put to shame when they contend with their opponents in court.

I don’t know about you, but this psalm is incredibly familiar – except as two different things. Whenever I hear pieces of this psalm, I never hear the whole thing. We have the “builders building in vain” wall hangings and the arrow-filled “heritage of children” plaques, but what does it mean to look at the entire psalm together? How does that change how we may read it?

It is quite easy to see the first half talking about where our dependence lies, but that theme actually is there throughout. When we look at this psalm, we see that Solomon is telling us that people depend on many things – architects, materials, resources, craftsmen, walls, weapons, gates, physical abilities, personal successes, hard work, and family.

These two parts together also give us some questions and answers. Who do we build homes for? What are cities for? We build a home as a place for a family to live. We build cities for families to live together in safety and to interact with one another. We work hard to care for our families, to earn a living that will feed many mouths and have clothing for everyone. Read together, these two sections are strengthened into a psalm that overall looks to God as providing for the family unit. The central verse notes that the Lord is the one blessing and gifting the family in the form of children. The first half involves adults caring for family, and the second half is the children carrying on the legacy of the family that came before them.

The talk last week was about the unity of believers and how unity is a blessing that comes from God, with the ultimate result of life forevermore. As we see also in this psalm, family is a blessing that comes from God. Wealth and circumstance may be determined by other things, but even the poor Israelites could have children if God gave them, and so show the favor they had from God.

One of my favorite holidays growing up was Thanksgiving. For my family, Thanksgiving was the holiday to get together for. Easter and Christmas were done in our own immediate groups, but at Thanksgiving my mom’s entire side of the family would descend on my aunt’s house for the whole day. We’d all show up with some dish – never missing out on cheesy potatoes and scalloped corn – at about 11 in the morning. Then there was a lot of “helping” whoever was in the kitchen with the turkey, while we kids would run around wherever was most inconvenient. Eventually when all the food was ready all 40 of us or so would fill the long dining-and-living room to say grace and get the food. Every possible space would be filled with tables to eat at, though once lunch was over the people at the ping pong table would need to move so we could play around the world. Everyone would stay the rest of day, playing card games and board games. I can always remember Thanksgiving being filled with laughter. One of my fondest memories is right after we all learned how to play “The Couch Game.” If you never played this, it’s partly musical chairs and partly a memory name game where you try to fill a couch with your teammates. The important thing is, if you don’t know everyone’s name, you are going to have a hard time winning. This year my cousin’s boyfriend was meeting the extended family for the first time, and the poor man got pulled into this game not knowing anyone’s name…and not being nearly as competitive as the rest of us. We still welcomed him in in our family’s traditional mode of giving him a hard time and his team trying to make house rules in his favor. My family could have a great time together with just a few pieces of paper and a bunch of chairs. Thanksgiving was always a place of belonging, of having the people around you caring for you in so many different ways, from providing food to the generations watching and playing with one another to teaching you games.

How do you care for your family?

These days, I care for my family by telling my kids about Jeremiah, by cooking a meal for them after work, or by praying for their needs in the morning.

Did you know I had kids? I have, on average, 15-20. They’re 4 th and 5 th graders at my church. And while yes, I have occasionally cooked for my roommate, I frequently invite friends over for dinner and love to cook meals for them. And while I’m not as consistent as some of the others in this room, I try and make it to the daily prayer meetings in the prayer room to pray for staff in this office and around the country. Can you see where this is going? You may have thought it a bit odd that this single woman with no kids has chosen to talk about a psalm that is about family and children. But when we look at what’s going on in the passage and how bringing Jesus into it changes everything, I hope it makes more sense.

In Isaiah, God gives a promise to the foreigners and eunuchs, a promise that resonates strongly with the Ethiopian in Acts:

“To the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths, who choose what pleases me and hold fast to my covenant— to them I will give within my temple and its walls a memorial and a name better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name that will endure forever.

When we become Christians, our family is no longer limited to those who share our DNA. Instead, we are part of a large home that is connected by belief and a promise. Our name is no longer dependent on biological children who will continue a family lineage, but instead our memorial and name is wrapped up in everything that God is doing in the world, enduring forever. I may not have kids to pass my card games on to, but I do have kids that I can pass scripture on to, kids that I know and love and help to grow and develop into godly men and women. I may not have the close family Thanksgiving anymore as everyone has spread across the country, but I can choose to bring my spiritual brothers and sisters into my apartment and overflow my own dining and living room.

In his book, You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit, James KA Smith talks about how participating baptism should change how we think about who becomes family. I grew up in the United Methodist tradition, so I pulled out the particular section of the baptismal office that illustrates what the congregation says in response to a new believer being baptized:

With God's help we will proclaim the good news and live according to the example of Christ. We will surround these persons with a community of love and forgiveness, that they may grow in their trust of God, and be found faithful in their service to others. We will pray for them, that they may be true disciples who walk in the way that leads to life.

We can see from this text that the entire church commits to be a community that will help this new believer grow in their trust of God and be faithful in service. Smith highlights this role of the congregation with these thoughts:

“The rituals of political liberalism (whether one is ideologically more “liberal” or more “conservative”) paint a picture of the family as the incubator of good citizens, dutiful producers, and eager consumers at the same time that it shuts up the family in a private, closed home as part of the American ideal of independence.”

“If Christian congregations are truly going to live out of and into the significance of baptism, they will need to become communities in which the bloodlines of kin are trumped by the blood of Christ--where “natural” families don’t fold into themselves in self-regard.”

(These are just two quotes from about five excellent pages on this topic, so I highly recommend finding this book and reading it.)

What Smith highlights is the idea that churches have internalized, that once we have a “family unit” we’re expected to be self-sufficient. We are now independent nuclear families who come to church and talk with the people a few seats down from us, but who make sure we’ve cleaned and picked up the house before people come over, or that we have a toolbox full of all the things we might need for everyday projects. After all, asking someone to borrow their hammer or drill can feel like we haven’t quite made it, that we’re not really as together as we should be.

And I know right now some of you are like me, thinking “oh I’ve totally asked to borrow someone’s drill” or “I’m okay with people seeing my mess.” And granted, working in ministry and the limited budget that often accompanies that does help us press into this.

But over the course of this past year, God has been talking to me a lot about how much independence I like to have, and just how little I depend on others. This was vividly brought home to me right around Jan 1. And no, this is not about Urbana. Some of you have heard the dryer saga of my apartment, but right as I was doing all my laundry to prepare to leave for Christmas and Urbana at the end of December, my dryer died. It still turned, still acted like it was working, but it wouldn’t actually dry clothes. I exasperatedly toted my wet laundry to the nearby laundromat and made a call to our maintenance, hoping that it would be taken care of by the time I returned from St. Louis.

It was not.

Aside from making yet another phone call, what would your reaction be? Do you have a first immediate thought? Mine was – well, I could go to the laundromat, but who knows how long this will take. Our management is notorious for not managing. That’s a lot of hauling loads back and forth. I’m going to go get an indoor drying rack.

So off I went to the store, got a reasonable rack that could hold a smaller sized load of laundry, and went about my business. Anyone else likely to have chosen that route?

My roommate asked our neighbors if she could use their dryer.

Who thought about that option?

It had not crossed my mind – I would say not in a million years, but certainly literally not in weeks. I knew the dryer was out in Dec, I knew there was a chance it might not be fixed, and yet not once during that whole time had I considered asking someone if I could use theirs. I only thought about the ways that fit into my independent life. (I did, after that, use other people’s dryers three separate times while we waited two months for it to be fixed.)

In this psalm, the blessing of children is very like the blessing of the in-unit dryer. They offer the ideal of an independent family unit. When you have kids, they’ll look after you when you’re old and can’t do all the things you used to. Like the arrows the warrior shapes with skill, aims, and directs, your kids will watch out for you when they are adults, and they can carry on your family name and legacy. But some people don’t have in-unit dryers. Some people’s dryers break. Some people don’t have kids. Some people have broken relationships with their kids.

What do we do then?

We, as the church, need to do better at living out the call in scripture to consider ourselves as brothers and sisters. We need to take seriously the promises in Isaiah 54, and to enlarge our tents. Church fellowship is not something that we should “fit in” around our family life or our goals and plans. It is an integral part of discipleship, of understanding who we are as adopted children of God, and of our witness to a world that is so hungry for intimacy and connection.

But it’s hard. Family implies mess. When you live with a family, you’re in the same house, multiple people trying to use the bathroom at the same time, dishes piling on the counter, everyone’s stuff scattered around places, long discussions on just which movie to watch on Netflix, and so on. It’s not always peaceful and arguments happen. People get frustrated with one another and conflict arises. We air our dirty laundry. When we already have that with our families or roommates, it can be easy to choose to step away from it within the church! But that’s not what we’re called to.

This is why understanding that this whole psalm is based on depending on God is so fundamental. We can’t do this on our own, and we’ll come apart if we try. Now, I always like it when the application is something like study your Bible, pray, think about something…you know, things that you can do on your own without having to talk to other people. But I am challenging all of us to grow in our dependence on God by doing it with others. And this isn’t even doing those things like praying or reading the Bible with others (though those are good and I encourage you to do them). I’m talking about doing the things that are a little uncomfortable and stretching, the things that open up the possibilities for a messy family – but can lead to the depth of family love, too.

What is something you are gifted in? What material objects are you wealthy in? What can you offer to other people? I’ve lately taken to offering organization to my friends. As someone who actually enjoys cleaning and organizing – truly, a gifting from God – and who is wealthy in time without having an immediate related family to care for, I can bless my church family struggling to “do it all” and “be good homemakers” by dusting, vacuuming, arranging medicine closets and pantries for easier access, folding clothes… How can you care for your family in a way that makes the world wonder what is different about you?

#church #christianity #singleness and families

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crescendo-system · 7 years

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iM ASKING DEF HALP ADVICE but ya I'm not always able to properly relax and then any memories are like, hazy and watered down, and the last time I was able to get real deep into focus I felt a Bad memory coming on and got tf out of there

ooooo, yea that can happen. Personally speaking, I had that happen once and I continued to pursue the memory to get it over with? but it was already affecting my mood terribly and I had the time and mental preparedness to just have some sob time over the memory. it’s possible you may need to set aside time where you’re ready for it if that memory starts to resurface. I say this more because it might blindside you otherwise, or lurk underneath your consciousness and affect your mood if it goes on too long (which has happened to me a few times with my Dave kin.) But yeah if you can’t handle it then don’t feel pressured to face it just yet.

the method I use is actually probably good for avoiding that sort of thing, since it’s meant to be a guided mental walk through your memories. I’ve found it’s possible to dictate or affect what memories you see, to an extent. It’s reliant on visualisation so you could guide yourself away from that memory, perhaps. I’ve never tried to use it to avoid a memory so I’m not certain, but it’s possible.

Said method is built and personalized off of this handy dandy post right here, though the initial setup often led to me losing focus since i myself am a bit adhd lmao. This post is an inconveniently long and rambly iteration of my specific process and observations that have built up around the method as I’ve adapted it. (I’ll be reblogging both of these to this blog momentarily since I neglected to when archiving I guess, whoops)

main takeaway from these is probably- learn to visualize and utilize your mindspace to your advantage, and to sort of ‘cherrypick’ things - but don’t try to be too controlling or things will be unsuccessful, unclear or will just fall more out of control.

As for alternatives - I’ve found a few other things that help me, but personally speaking they’re not as consistently successful or reliable. They are however an invaluable resource so I recommend giving them a peek. ;)

(under readmore bc this got Lengthy™ as is in my nature to do lmao. I hope some of this helps!!)

1- paying attention to your dreams. I’ve gotten some kin details from dreams. Sometimes it’s layered in bunches of dream gunk, but if a character from my canon was there to my knowledge, I pay close attention and analyze for symbolism and alternate interpretations. This includes old memories before you kinfirmed, as well - sometimes there are details there that help as well. I’ve known someone who dreamt a kin memory in their childhood as a nightmare. It may not happen with everyone, or be obvious, but I recommend combing what you do remember of your dreams, now and then, just in case.

On a related note, keeping track of your dreams may help you remember more of them in general, and may make it easier to find kin memories. keeping a little notebook, even just to jot down key phrases or doodles, will help you remember things about the dream that you would lose on your own.

2- impressions, feelings etc - of course there’s a danger of overthinking, or of personal preferences/projections affecting it, but sometimes a gut feeling might lead to something more connected to a memory. I figured out one of the swaps in a bloodswap timeline of mine based on gut feelings alone (they had been a former matesprit so the emotional connection allowed me to figure it out better)

3- media. This one is tricky and random. I’ve regained memories from song lyrics, melodies and character themes, fanart and even some fanfics. it can be a phrase, or a certain action, pose, situation. Heck I’ve recalled a memory from a totally unrelated video before. Rather random, even if you look specifically at content/themes relating to your kin.

But there is a way to tip this into your favor - do you write? draw? make music? anything artistic/creative? then you may be able to pull from your kin memories if you do something based on your kin and the canonmates/settings/etc you had. I have a friend who’s discovered over time that many of the fanfictions they have written aren’t just fics, but actually based on memories from their timelines. They’re not always accurate portrayals of events, or quotes or dynamics, but the core flow and content has always matched up. Likewise, the way I draw/drew characters based on ‘headcanons’ have tended to match up to one of my own canons, and I believe I’ve also written fic snippets based on experiences from my timelines. And as I regain more memories, I’m beginning to write using the memories as a springboard, hoping to expand upon what was initially just, an emotion and specific image, turning it into an excavation of the whole memory I have yet to recall.

and last I can think of as of right now;

4 - talking to people about your memories - this is a very helpful exercise in general! and by this, I mean hold a discussion with someone you feel ok with, about memories and the like, as opposed to just making a post on tumblr. This conversation encourages and stimulates the brain to come up with details when describing, and sometimes the person will say something unexpected that might jog your memory, or help confirm what your canon WASN’T like. This can sometimes be because the person knows something you forgot/don’t know, or they might say something to be silly/make a joke or offer suggestions. Someone joked about something silly that otters did when I told them about my lusus in my Eridan Leijon timeline being an otter - which surprisingly gave me a memory and also answered a few questions.

I personally am on a few servers on discord where kin talk is encouraged and frequent, plus my longest time kinfriend has always encouraged me to talk about kinstuff as well as tell me about theirs, and in doing this we’ve both made connections for the other as well as discover we’re canonmates in a few tls.

So these are the methods I’m familiar with! I’m sure others have their methods, I know some witches will rely on spells and the like, but I’ve never been one for those things, based on personal preference.

I hope these help, and I am always open to helping in any way I can!! Feel free to ask me more stuff if you need!! :)

#long post #kin.txt #memory walk #lgbroductions #ask and ye shall receive

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maverickrahul · 4 years

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Ambedkar. A hero for all, the Left and the Right – out of genuine admiration, out of genuine fear. This is to be expected, for here was a man like no other in modern world history, one who shone like a star with his intellect and understanding. The most un-Indian Indian. Wisdom so frightening and yet so rooted, that it appealed to all. Where he was allowed to, he never put a foot wrong. His writings have that rare quality of timelessness, and his quotes, if quoted anonymously, can be mistaken as comments on contemporary India. Ambedkar has aged well. In this, he stands alone, afar, above. But there is a side to Ambedkar that is not known, spoken, or written, out of fear by those who have appropriated him.

Ambedkar's criticism of Hinduism, as a religion, as a way of life – call it what you will, everyone is aware of. From his umpteen speeches and numerous scholarly works, we know Ambedkar as someone who fought and exposed the terrible ills of Hinduism, and we applaud him for it. That Ambedkar left Hinduism and converted to Buddhism is in itself a stinging appraisal of the former. Knowing him, nothing more needs to be said as a critique of Hinduism. Such is the trust one can put in the man.

What we don’t know, however, is what he thought of the other great religion of the world – Islam. Because this facet of Ambedkar has been hidden from our general discourse and textbooks, it may come as a surprise to most that Ambedkar thought frequently of Islam and spoke frequently on it. The cold and cruel India of the young Ambedkar, that shaped his views on Hinduism and Hindus – and of which this author has written previously – soon became the cold and cruel India of the old Ambedkar, allowing him, through a study of Islam and Muslims, to make sense of a nation hurtling towards a painful and bloody partition.

A distillate of Ambedkar's thoughts on Islam and Muslims can be found in Pakistan Or The Partition Of India, a collection of his writings and speeches, first published in 1940, with subsequent editions in 1945 and 1946. It is an astonishing book in its scope and acuity, and reading it one realises why no one talks of it, possessing as it does the potential to turn Ambedkar into an Islamophobic bigot for his worshippers on the Left.

Here, then, is Ambedkar on Islam:

"Hinduism is said to divide people and in contrast Islam is said to bind people together. This is only a half-truth. For Islam divides as inexorably as it binds. Islam is a close corporation and the distinction that it makes between Muslims and non-Muslims is a very real, very positive and very alienating distinction. The brotherhood of Islam is not the universal brotherhood of man. It is brotherhood of Muslims for Muslims only. There is a fraternity, but its benefit is confined to those within that corporation. For those who are outside the corporation, there is nothing but contempt and enmity. The second defect of Islam is that it is a system of social self-government and is incompatible with local self-government, because the allegiance of a Muslim does not rest on his domicile in the country which is his but on the faith to which he belongs. To the Muslim ibi bene ibi patria [Where it is well with me, there is my country] is unthinkable. Wherever there is the rule of Islam, there is his own country. In other words, Islam can never allow a true Muslim to adopt India as his motherland and regard a Hindu as his kith and kin."

This scathing indictment by Ambedkar of Islam never finds a mention in our history books. (Indeed, even in Ambedkar.org, a primary resource site for Ambedkar, the chapter that contains this explosive passage is hyperlinked and, unlike other preceding chapters, not easily visible as a continuation under the sub-heading Part IV. The idea is to skip it, not click it.

But then this is India – a Hero must not be perceived as a Villain even though the misperception is entirely of our making. Well, we know better; he didn’t mean to say those things about Islam; perhaps he was misguided; let us look at the context; damn, no, that's not of any help here; tell you what, let us gag him; for the greater good; for communal harmony; for the sake of IPC Section 295A and our peaceful future.

Selective reading of Ambedkar, by which it is meant reading only his damning (and entirely justified) criticism of Hinduism, has led to a prevalent view that only Hinduism is laden with cultural and religious ills. One can see this even today, when the Left and its ideologues point selectively to the social and religious evils pertaining to Hinduism. As a result, someone who isn’t well-versed with India may get the impression that it is only Hinduism and Hindus who are to blame for every ill and intolerance that plagues us. The reality, of course, is that social and religious intolerance runs in our veins, it always has and it always will, for none other than the holy scriptures of all religions have mainstreamed it. It is Ambedkar himself who, presciently and fiercely, points to this hypocrisy.

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poop4u · 5 years

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The Books on My Bookshelf

#Poop4U

Holy moly, Batman, the books on my night stand are piling up. Here’s a sample:

OUR DOGS OURSELVES, by Alexandra Horowitz. (Released September 3rd, but available for pre order.) This thoughtful book by the author of The Inside of a Dog and Being a Dog deserves to be read by dog lovers everywhere. I say that, full disclosure, not having read the entire book yet. An “advance readers edition” came several weeks ago, and I will admit to, at first, feeling a bit wary of how much new information it would contain. But then I started reading it, and this is, bravely and insightfully, a book that goes far beyond the usual musings about our relationship with dogs.

One early chapter is titled “Owning Dogs,” and explores our contradictory relationship with dogs–legally defined as property and yet considered by many of us to be family members and best friends. I’ve said in the past that if someone took one of my dogs it would be kidnapping, not stealing. But that’s not what the laws says. This is an issue that we’ve never adequately addressed, involving many complicated considerations, and I appreciate Horowitz’s attempts to continue a conversation about it.

Another chapter looks at our country’s spay and neuter practices–no controversy there (!). The author takes this issue on full frontal:

“For me simply to bring up the topic of de-sexing for discussion will be, in the eyes of some, impermissible. So sacred is the policy–so heartfelt (and good-hearted) is the intent behind it–that one is almost not allowed to talk about it.”

But of course, she does, and asks us to look carefully at costs and benefits of our current belief in whole-scale spaying and neutering. (Note this other article that looks at the costs of spay-neuter policies.

Our Dogs, Ourselves also takes on the biology and ethics of current breeding practices, among other topics, so expect to be engaged. Horowitz faces these controversial issues head on, and I love her for it. In subsequent posts I’ll no doubt talk about these issues, perhaps agreeing or disagreeing with the author, but grateful nonetheless that she is talking about them.

Last thing: Horowitz or her editors deserve an award for “best titles ever,” after The Inside of a Dog (from Mark Twain’s “Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”) Our Dogs, Ourselves is, of course, reminiscent of Our Bodies, Ourselves. Kudos.

TRANSFORMING TRAUMA: Resilience and Healing Through Our Connections with Animals, edited by Philip Tedeschi and Molly Anne Jenkins.

Well, this is a fundamental switch from a book like the one above, but I highly recommend it to people who are interested in trauma recovery, especially in relation to animal-assisted interactions and therapy. Those of you who have read The Education of Will are aware that trauma is a central theme is my life’s story, so this is a book that speaks to me professionally and personally. What I like about the book is its integration of kindness and benevolence, along with lots and lots of good, solid science that backs up what we know, and don’t know, about the impact of human-animal interactions in the recovery of trauma.

Actually, “The impact of human-animal interactions in the recovery of trauma” is title of the first chapter, whose lead author is Marguerite O’Haire (who I refer to as “The Woman Whose Talks Should Never Be Missed”). Seriously, this chapter is worth the price of the book for its summary of evidence-based research, and introducing (to most of us), the concept of “bio-affiliative safety”, in which other animals allow trauma victims to turn off their vigilance and mechanisms of defense.

This is not beach reading. For example, in Chapter One, relating to bio-affiliative safety: “In Porges’ explorations of the polyvagal system and the concept of neuroception, we can begin to understand how the presence of a nonhuman animal interaction may offer critical information . . . “.

But that’s exactly why I am a fan of this work–we need to continue to push beyond the feel-good, rosy picture of all animals helping all people all the time, and support serious science that looks at exactly how, and how not, other animals can help us humans recover from trauma.

The other perspective that is vital in Transforming Trauma is its emphasis on never using animals in a way that discomforts or exploits them. Here, here.

DOG BEHAVIOR, MODERN SCIENCE AND OUR CANINE COMPAIONS, by James Ha and Tracy Campion. Also not a beach reach, this book is a treasure trove of information for people who are interested in the integration of science and dog training. It includes a great deal of history and analysis of animal behavior studies, from Darwin’s interest in canine skulls, to cost-benefit analyses of decision making. It’s both practical (lots of stories from the author’s case studies) and theoretical (kin selection and dogs–who talks about that?).

What I love most about this book is based in part on my shared academic experience with one of the authors, James Ha. Both of us were trained as ethologists, and both of us spent years studying animal behavior in a general sense before we became involved in the dog world. I’ve always believed that to truly understand dog behavior, you need to understand the full range of behavior found in the animal world, so that you can put dogs in perspective. That’s exactly what this book does, and that’s why, for example, reading the chapter titled “Debunking Dominance: Canine social structure and behavioral ecology” is like a breath of fresh air. The chapter begins thus: “The social structure of a species, and hence their social behavior, is based upon resource distribution”. Oh, oh, music to my ears to see this in print. This is such an important concept to grasp, as is the fact that individuals of very closely related species can behave very differently, in part based on resource distribution. (Compare male-dominate chimps versus matriachal bonobos for example.)

Anyone who argues against “dominance or force-based training” would profit from reading this chapter, from its distinction between dominance and aggression, to the evidence that wolf packs in the wild are not “dominated by a alpha” but led by parent-like adults who take on roles of defense and hunting/provisioning, primarily based on sex.

There’s lots and lots more in this book, and I look forward to reading more of it, I’m thinking it will be a great way to start my every morning. (I tend to read fiction at night, non-fiction in the morning. You?)

GOOD AS A GIRL: A MEMOIR, by Ray Olderman. Ready for a paradigm shift? This book has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with dogs, but it holds a special place in my heart because it was written by a man who saved my soul in college. Quite literally. I was taking his class in literature at UW-Madison and working part time at the Primate Center. Long story, but at that time, the housing conditions for the monkeys at the Center were profoundly different than they are now. And pretty awful. When I went to the someone in charge to talk about what I felt were abuses, he literally told me “There is no biological evidence that monkeys can feel pain.” Yup, that’s what he said, in the mid 1980’s. I had thought that perhaps I could have some effect on the way the monkeys were treated, but it became clear that my ability to do so was negligible.

I couldn’t quit, I desperately needed the money, and I mean desperately. I could barely afford to eat. And yet working there violated everything I believed in. I stopped sleeping, and had a hard time just getting through the day. Ironically, in my literature class we were reading a book about a man who thought he could change a corrupt system by working within it, but was eventually destroyed by it. I finally went to see my professor, Ray Olderman and told him I was living the life we were reading about it. And it was killing me. And I couldn’t quit, I was beyond broke and there were no jobs available at that time of year. He hired me on the spot, finding some spare money to help him with grading. I will never forget it, and will always be grateful.

And so, I admit to a profound lack of objectivity about Ray’s book. But here’s the thing. I loved the book. Ray’s mother had wanted a girl, and had no pretense that she was disappointed when Ray turned out to be a boy. And so, at age eight, he vowed to her that he’d be “as good as a girl”. We follow Ray throughout his life trying to understand the female perspective while negotiating the complexities of Madison WI in the 70’s and 80’s during a time of profound cultural change.

If you’re interested in a delightful memoir about a guy who “couldn’t keep his mouth shut,” fought the system all of his life while doing all he could to understand women, this book is for you.

MEANWHILE, back on the farm: This weekend seemed to be a celebration of small, flying animals. This bee and butterfly kept displacing each other until they finally settled into feeding on opposite sides of the Hyssop flower.

Here’s the butterfly by itself; it appears to be a species in the Checkerspot group, but I’m not confident to say which one exactly.

This is one of my favorite insects, a hummingbird moth. Check out the video in the link, it’s really fun.

And here’s the source of its mimicry, still finding nutrition in this tacky looking Bee Balm flower.

Swallowtails everywhere. Monarchs too, although I could never get a shot. I hear that Monarchs are doing better this summer (yay!), and it’s also wonderful to see so many bees out. Finally! The wet spring and early summer was so hard on them, and they have enough challenges right now.

What brought you joy this week, whether a new book, animals or plants? You know I’d love to hear.

Poop4U Blog via www.Poop4U.com Trisha, Khareem Sudlow

#poop4u #cute dog #dogs of tumblr #puppy doggo #doglover #doggrooming #my doggo #dogmeme

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firstumcschenectady · 7 years

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“Bread for the World” based on Isaiah 25:1-9

In 2005 I was commissioned as a probationary Elder in The United Methodist Church, and immediately thereafter I went to Cuba on a Volunteer in Mission Trip (VIM). Cuba was fascinating and the trip was meaningful and educational. We started and ended our time in Cuba at the Methodist Hospitality House in Havana. On our last night, we were to have closing worship and the other clergy on the trip informed me that I was to preside at the communion table (for the first time). As a seminary student, I'd been involved in a lot of conversations about bread and grape juice; particularly around the idea that the the bread and wine that Jesus had used were the common elements of food for the people of his day, and that in places where bread and grape juice are not common food, perhaps they should not be the elements of communion. I found it convincing, particularly after having learned that grape juice is SUPER expensive in Cuba as grapes are not native and embargoes limit trade.

Thus, I decided to preside over the table with the elements of the people: salines and mango juice. Once our Cuban hosts heard about this, they wanted to partake as well. So, in one of those strikingly holy moments of life, I stood as an American woman in a rooftop in Havana, and presided over a bilingual communion service with salines and mango juice.

Not so long after that, I was back at school and back at my pastoral internship, helping to serve a Thanksgiving meal at the Hollywood UMC. It was a Sunday night, and the large room was filled with tables and the tables were filled with people. After serving most of the crowd, I looked up. What I saw took my breath away. It was the church's Thanksgiving Dinner, so many of the people who were present were church members; but they also made all meals open to the community, so many of those present were people who were homeless and hungry. The two crowds were intermingled at each table, sitting together and sharing a meal. The tables were diverse in other ways as well: age, race, country of origin, sexual orientations, gender identities, and even religious faith. On that day when I looked up and saw God's beloved people talking, laughing, and eating together I knew I'd seen the kin-dom of God on earth (if only for a moment).

Somewhere along the line, those two powerful moments have bonded in my brain, the communion meal intermingled with the shared meal of church fellowship that also fed the hungry. Perhaps they were tied together by the reflections of Rev. Dr. Barbara Thorington Green, who often speaks about the ways that God's Table (communion) invokes and also blesses the tables we share fuller meals at. Food is sacred, shared food even more so, and whether it is meals that fill the belly or tiny pieces of bread meant to satiate the soul, they matter.

Isaiah shares a vision of God in our reading today, and it is one that invokes and expands both of the stories I just told you. In this passage God prepares a table, a feast actually, of rich foods that would nourish bodies, and invites ALL people from ALL nations to the feast. God makes the food, for God's people, and all can eat together. It is so spectacular, so marvelous, that it makes sense that within such a God-drenched experience that God would also bring an end to death and bring God's presence fully to the people.

Abundant, life-giving food, prepared for ALL people by God's own self is equivalent, it seems, to swallowing up death itself.

This is not the world we live in. (Sorry to break it to you.) Death is here, still. Abundant, life-giving food is not available to all of God's people, and while the presence of God may be here with us, we often don't feel drenched in its goodness. According to the resources provided by Bread for the World, “Nearly 15 percent of U.S. households — approximately 49 million Americans, including 15.9 million children — struggle to put food on the table.”1 The problem is not limited to the United States. They also share, “The number of hungry people in Asia has also declined substantially, by 217 million between 1990-92 and 2012-14, according to the U.N. Food and Agriculture Organization. Yet Asia still has to two-thirds of the world’s hungry people.” Specifically, “More than 40 percent of children in India are stunted (being too short for their age group) due to malnutrition.” The other area of the world in greatest need is sub-Saharan Africa, “Just over a quarter of the world’s undernourished people live in the countries south of the Sahara Desert in Africa. Progress against hunger has been slow in this region. In 1990, one in three people in the region were undernourished. Today, one in four suffer from hunger”.2 “All added up, worldwide, 1.2 billion people still live in extreme poverty—on less than $1.25 per day.”3 This is WAY down from the recent past, but still unacceptable.

Bread for the world links to the United Nations Sustainable Development goals, which include the information that “In 2016, an estimated 155 million children under age 5 were stunted (low height for their age), down from 198 million in 2000, ”4 and “The proportion of undernourished people worldwide declined from 15 per cent in 2000-2002 to about 11 per cent in 2014-2016. … Globally, about 793 million people were undernourished in 2014-2016, down from 930 million in 2000-2002.”5 The decline in global hunger is a great thing, but it is still way too much.

We don't live in a world where abundant, life-giving food is available to all of God's people, not at all. And while global poverty and hunger was on the decline this year (praise God!), within the United States it rose, and is expected to keep rising. In previous years we have participated in the Bread for the World offering of Letters, asking our state and federal elected officials to pass expansive legislation to make food available to hungry people, this year we are aware that it will fall on deaf ears. We aren't fighting to expand programs to hungry people anymore, we are now fighting to keep resources that exist, insufficient though they are.

It is especially difficult right now, in the US and in the world, because the impacts of Global Climate change are drastically impacting food production, droughts and floods, wars and migration, transportation and food prices. All of this means that access to abundant, life-giving food is very difficult for many. Thanks be to God for the many organizations committed to finding ways to get food to hungry people, and thanks be to God that in the world at large there was a DECLINE in hunger despite these extra challenges!!

Isaiah's dream, however, still feels far off. I want to retell you the dream, in slightly different language, because I think we all need to soak in it a bit.

Our God, the one who never abandons us, the one who holds us together, We remember all that you have done, all the acts of liberation, and justice, all the ways you've sparked creativity, nurtured love, and healed brokenness. You have acted, and you have guided us to destroy the fortresses of oppression, and you ensure they will never be rebuild. The powers that deny anyone's humanity are over. The systems that privilege one over another are no more. Awe has struck all of us, the strong and the weak alike, at what you can do. You have reminded us of your values, and brought them to life. You are the sanctuary for the poor, the one who is safe shelter to those in need and in despair, protection from from hurricanes and rainstorms, a fireproof haven from the sun and from the fires, a sturdy foundation that not even an earthquake can harm. When the powerful attacked the weak, like a blizzard attacking a disintegrating home, when the cries of those calling for injustice seemed to drown out the voices calling for justice, you acted. You provided reinforcements and insulation for the homes, you reminded those calling for injustice of their own needs, and they stopped yelling and started listening. Here, here in this place, this place that has known such tragedy, fear, anger, sadness, and despair, here in this place you will give gifts to all your people. One will sit by another, and no characteristic of humanity will separate them. Here, in this place, you feed us all with delicious food, nourishing us, healing us, reminding us of goodness once again. Here, in this place, comfort will be shared, tears will be dried, shame will be destroyed, and death itself will lose its power to frighten us or bring us pain. Knowing that this will happen, let us be glad and rejoice in the goodness.

Commentators say that this vision won't necessarily come true exactly as written. #spoileralert Yet, I'm told that we can't be part of creating what we can't dream of, and we can't see what we can't conceive of. In the midst of the brokenness all around us, we need reminders of what goodness looks like, what hope would create if it could, what dreams God is dreaming over the long run. Some of us (me included) are so busy being concerned about the present that we lose sight of the idea that God is very good at playing a very long game.

So, bread for the world, that's the dream. All people being fed with abundant, life-giving food. Isaiah says not just bread but delicious soups and sauces, not just food but drink as well. No one going hungry, no one in need, not in body nor in soul.

That's one of God's dreams, and it is surely a God sized dream. Bread for the World and the United Nations are actually dreaming it with God, the goal is to eliminate hunger in the world by 2030. They say it is going more slowly than the hoped – but it is GOING. God's dreams might just be in reach, this one and all the rest as well. May we take the time to soak in the goodness of God's dreams, to trust in the visions God has for an abundant and just world, and give our attention to what might be – God is so good the dreams and visions are nourishing for us. Amen

1Bread for the World “About Hunger” http://www.bread.org/where-does-hunger-existaccessed on 10/12/17.

2Grassroots Advocacy Resources, Facts on Hunger and Poverty,http://www.bread.org/sites/default/files/downloads/gar-issues-poverty-hunger-us.pdfaccessed on 10/12/17.

3Grassroots Advocacy Resources

4United Nations, The Sustainable Development Goals Report 2017,https://unstats.un.org/sdgs/files/report/2017/TheSustainableDevelopmentGoalsReport2017.pdf accessed on 10/12/17.

5United Nations

Rev. Sara E. Baron

First United Methodist Church of Schenectady

603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305

Pronouns: she/her/hers

http://fumcschenectady.org/

https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

October 15, 2017

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