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potnia thêrōn

"potnia thêrōn" (''mistress of the beasts, mistress of [wild] animals'') is multiple things:

firstly and more famously it is one of the many epithets of the goddess Artemis, associated with the wilderness and the animals in it. secondly it is more widely applied, sometimes anachronistically (in the same way paleolithic female sculptures are called ''Venus''), to a persistent female divinity archetype found across western asia and southeastern europe in which a goddess (often a Mother, Nature or Fertility goddess but not necessarily [or we lack information]) is shown as controlling, presiding over, or being surrounded by wild beasts (typically felines), possibly linked to ancient beliefs in a Mother-type goddess associated with domestication rites.

some of the most well-known depictions of a goddess as ''potnia thêrōn'' include the ''seated woman with felines'' of Çatalhöyük, some depictions of Kybélê/Kubileya/Cybele and Ishtar that have them flanked by lions, winged Artemis seizing animals by the throat, or the gaulish Epona as mistress of horses.

this one is in no small part inspired by the oh-so-famous minoan snake goddesses.

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5-minute current fit

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Tumblr loves the Orpheus myth, but I’ve never seen anyone post one of my favorite poems on the subject.

Orpheus, Eurydice, Hermes

By Rainer Maria Rilke

Translated by Stephen Mitchell

That was the deep uncanny mine of souls.

Like veins of silver ore, they silently

moved through its massive darkness. Blood welled up

among the roots, on its way to the world of men,

and in the dark it looked as hard as stone.

Nothing else was red.

There were cliffs there,

and forests made of mist. There were bridges

spanning the void, and that great gray blind lake

which hung above its distant bottom

like the sky on a rainy day above a landscape.

And through the gentle, unresisting meadows

one pale path unrolled like a strip of cotton.

Down this path they were coming.

In front, the slender man in the blue cloak —

mute, impatient, looking straight ahead.

In large, greedy, unchewed bites his walk

devoured the path; his hands hung at his sides,

tight and heavy, out of the failing folds,

no longer conscious of the delicate lyre

which had grown into his left arm, like a slip

of roses grafted onto an olive tree.

His senses felt as though they were split in two:

his sight would race ahead of him like a dog,

stop, come back, then rushing off again

would stand, impatient, at the path’s next turn, —

but his hearing, like an odor, stayed behind.

Sometimes it seemed to him as though it reached

back to the footsteps of those other two

who were to follow him, up the long path home.

But then, once more, it was just his own steps’ echo,

or the wind inside his cloak, that made the sound.

He said to himself, they had to be behind him;

said it aloud and heard it fade away.

They had to be behind him, but their steps

were ominously soft. If only he could

turn around, just once (but looking back

would ruin this entire work, so near

completion), then he could not fail to see them,

those other two, who followed him so softly:

The god of speed and distant messages,

a traveler’s hood above his shining eyes,

his slender staff held out in front of him,

and little wings fluttering at his ankles;

and on his left arm, barely touching it: she.

A woman so loved that from one lyre there came

more lament than from all lamenting women;

that a whole world of lament arose, in which

all nature reappeared: forest and valley,

road and village, field and stream and animal;

and that around this lament-world, even as

around the other earth, a sun revolved

and a silent star-filled heaven, a lament-

heaven, with its own, disfigured stars —:

So greatly was she loved.

But now she walked beside the graceful god,

her steps constricted by the trailing graveclothes,

uncertain, gentle, and without impatience.

She was deep within herself, like a woman heavy

with child, and did not see the man in front

or the path ascending steeply into life.

Deep within herself. Being dead

filled her beyond fulfillment. Like a fruit

suffused with its own mystery and sweetness,

she was filled with her vast death, which was so new,

she could not understand that it had happened.

She had come into a new virginity

and was untouchable; her sex had closed

like a young flower at nightfall, and her hands

had grown so unused to marriage that the god’s

infinitely gentle touch of guidance

hurt her, like an undesired kiss.

She was no longer that woman with blue eyes

who once had echoed through the poet’s songs,

no longer the wide couch’s scent and island,

and that man’s property no longer.

She was already loosened like long hair,

poured out like fallen rain,

shared like a limitless supply.

She was already root.

And when, abruptly,

the god put out his hand to stop her, saying,

with sorrow in his voice: He has turned around —,

she could not understand, and softly answered

Who?

Far away,

dark before the shining exit-gates,

someone or other stood, whose features were

unrecognizable. He stood and saw

how, on the strip of road among the meadows,

with a mournful look, the god of messages

silently turned to follow the small figure

already walking back along the path,

her steps constricted by the trailing graveclothes,

uncertain, gentle, and without impatience.

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Cyborg

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We learned Shadowheart’s canon age last night, so now she’s got a new camp outfit

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It’s so easy for “i want to do something” to turn into a piece of pain called “i’m not doing enough” in your head

Don’t let it- leave it at “what do i want to do” and take one step at a time. You’re doing fine <3

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if you are looking for a sign to stop doomscrolling: this is it. staring at your screen in despair is not doing anything but making you as an individual miserable right now. take a break now.

if you need to justify it to yourself (or if you just want to do some good), here is a list of local public-facing immigrant support/advocacy groups. find one near you, donate what you can to it (even $5 helps), and then log off.

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Feelings tonight

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*clips a leash to my pet angelgirl's halo*

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via NYPost: Immigration and Customs Enforcement is preparing to launch a “big f–king operation” across sanctuary cities — including Chicago and New York — immediately after President-elect Donald Trump’s inauguration, multiple sources told The Post.

Starting Jan. 21, multi-day “ground operations” will be launched across cities that have served as safe havens for migrants because the local authorities do not cooperate with the federal government when it comes to immigration issues, sources said.

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drew @hurricanesunny‘s panther redesign because it slaps (im not good at drawing detailed things so if i missed anything im sorry!)

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I walked with you once upon a dream~

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Trans girls love making certain noises and sounds

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I like to think i’m funny:,)

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a fried egg, if you can believe it