#Church of Our Lady’s Nativity

[streetsofdublin]

SCOUTS DEN IN LEIXLIP

The present Church of Our Lady’s Nativity dates back to 1833 and replaced the previous church which was built around 1750.

THIS WAS A CHURCH THAT WAS BUILT IN 1750 The present Church of Our Lady’s Nativity dates back to 1833 and replaced the previous church which was built around 1750. This 1750 church was built on the banks of the Rye and is now the scouts’ den for the Leixlip Scout Unit. The River Rye or Ryewater is a tributary of the River Liffey. It rises in County Meath, flowing south-east for 19 miles.…

[jontycrane]

Riga

Latvia’s capital, and the largest city in the Baltics, Riga isn’t as immediately appealing as Estonia’s Tallinn but is home to some great museums, lots of grand buildings, and even more churches. The House of the Black Heads is a good place to start, as the home of the guild that helped bring Riga to prominence as part of the Hanseatic League. It has a beautiful facade, representing different…

[portraitsofsaints]

Saint Juan Diego 1474-1548 Feast day: December 9 Patronage: America and Natives

Saint Juan Diego was an indigenous Mexican who embraced the Catholic faith, spread by the Spanish friars, that came with Cortez. On December 9th, 1531, Our Lady appeared to him on Tepeyac Hill (Guadalupe), as he was going to Mass, asking for a church to be built on that spot. After convincing the skeptical Bishop of the authenticity of the apparition, through Mary’s miraculous image on his tilma (cloak) and Castillian roses spilling out when he opened the tilma, the Bishop had the church built. Thousands of conversions occurred, when the tilma, with Our Lady’s image on it, was processed through Mexico City. St. Juan Diego spent the rest of his life as the caretaker of the tilma and telling the story of the apparition. The tilma can be seen today in the basilica in Mexico City.

Prints, plaques & holy cards available for purchase here: (website)

[misspjsuperior]

Tonantzin Guadalupe 🌵🌹

The original \/u| \//\ goddess I created in 2013 is Maria Rosa. Her design was inspired in major part between the miracle of La Virgen de Guadalupe and the concept of Mary Queen of Heaven.

I was recently commissioned to create a new (\/) Goddess inspired similarly between Guadalupe and Tonantzin by my chingona hermana Janet Bella Rosa who also knew Mi padrino Antonio 🙏 I felt his spirit guiding me to connect our visions! 💞

Tonantzin is an enduring Nahuatl title for the maternal aspect of any Aztec goddess, much like “Our Lady”, rather than the name of a particular goddess. I chose a blue background to parallel Her starry mantle of heaven and also represent Lake Texcoco since the eagle, snake, and cactus from its story of the founding of ancient Mexico there are present. 💙🌵 

Tonantzin in various forms is frequently depicted with eagle feet so I thought it appropriate to have the legendary golden eagle clutch the silvery moon below Her in place of Guadalupe’s cherub 🦅 🌙 Tonantzin is often known, by many names, to wear a skirt of snakes- the celestial Aztec earth mother Coatlicue’s particular name translates to “She of Snake Skirts”. So I couldn’t help but see the snake emerge from the opening in Her folds here. Frequently in Aztec art snakes emerging from or replacing body parts represents blood so I feel a menstrual element from how the snake manifested in this vision 🐍 🩸

Many believe that the apparition of La Virgen de Guadalupe on Tepeyac Hill unto St. Juan Diego, an Indigenous peasant originally named Cuauhtlatoatzin meaning ��Talking Eagle”, was a vision of a new form of Tonantzin. Her local temple had formerly been on that very site, destroyed by conquistadors. When Cuauhtlatoatzin received these holy visions, the Goddess spoke to him not in Spanish but in his native Nahuatl language even though She identified Herself as The Virgin Mother of God. Even the Church documents testify that The Holy Mother assured him in his moment of doubt, in his Indigenous tongue, “Am I not here who am your Mother?” Indeed Tonantzin Coatlicue herself is said to have had her own divine conception via a feather 🪶 

The miraculous vision of Guadalupe that appeared upon Juan Diego/Talking Eagle’s tilma is often seen as a self portrait by Her and there are many analyses of the visual element’s encoding of Aztec symbolism. I took these theories and insights into consideration while creating this vision.

Even within the suppression of Spanish colonization ancient indigenous Mexican Curanderismo healing practices were able to persevere and often in the name of La Virgen de Guadalupe, under the protection of Her image.

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

“At home, on the evening of December 12th we may light a candle and place offerings of flowers, copal and chocolate in front of her statue or painting. In the public square, those who follow the Mexica spiritual tradition will join brothers and sisters for an all-night vigil of prayer, Danza, offerings, and songs to her, who is Tonantzin Tlalli Coatlicue, who was always honored at the hill of Tepeyac. As we salute the Four Winds and dance in the ceremonial circle, we honor those who have gone before us, the courageous people who kept traditions alive through the centuries despite the threat to their life if discovered. The feathers in the copilli, the ceremonial headdress worn by the dancers, will draw down the energy of the cosmos into Mother Earth, our beautiful Tonantzin Tlalli Coatlicue to help her heal from the many ways she is dishonored.

Nearby, children will play and laugh, faces smeared with the traces of candy and the cinnamon of churros, the delicious deep fried pastry covered with sugar and cinnamon while the sound of mariachi music adds to the feeling of a fusion of cultures and beliefs. If you wander the crowded street you will see a handful of Catholic pilgrims on their knees on the hard pavement slowly make their way to the entrance of the church in gratitude for answered prayers.

And, in spite of quiet official church disapproval, the local parish priest will invite Indigenous ceremonial dancers to participate during the special December 11-12 mass for Our Lady of Guadalupe. Inside the church, for a few moments, Mayan copal will blend with European frankincense, quetzal feathers will dance on the air, and elders with bundles of aromatic rosemary plants will cleanse the People’s spirit. The two cultures, reconciled at this moment, acknowledge their bond of love for the Woman Who is Cloaked with the Sun; a bridge of Light between peoples.”

Maestra Grace via Curanderismo.org

[islandtarochips]

Hello! You've been super nice with my content and I would like to thank you for being so kind 🥺

I have a question since I'm interested to ask! Can you tell me something about your culture and Samoan people? :D

Of course dearie! Everything that you've created is an ABSOLUTE stunning art! You and the others that I have followed!

And yeah! I would LOVE to! But just to let you know, I’m slowly learning as well since I was young. Because of how a slow learner I am but I will do my best to answer your question! (And it will be in a little detail for me to explain EVERYTHING about our culture.)

Starting off about the Samoan people. Us Samoan people are very strict with our culture. And they said that we're the most recognizable people showing it. Our dances, our music, visual arts. All of that! The Visual Arts are the most interesting thing that I've seen so far. Like the Tatau (tah-tah-oo).

The Tatau are like tattoos mainly on the thighs and waist. You can say that they're wearing like clothing. Which means they are practically...Ahem. You should know. And they said we started using this as an inspiration by the two Fijian women who came up to the shore and brought their materials and knowledge of tattooing. Next one that we're known for Visual Arts is Siapo (see-ah-poh). A Samoan word for "A fine cloth made from the bark of the Paper Mulberry tree."

The Siapo is very important for ceremony, especially the wedding occasion and the funeral service, just to wrap the dead body and put in the grave. (Since we have caskets now. We put the Siapo on TOP of the casket instead.) It's even for High Chiefs or village maiden wearing the Siapo around their waist. Like in this old photo!

(IF you can even SEE it) Now the next one is the Ie Lavalava (ee-eh lah-vah-lah-vah). An Ie Lavalava is a piece of fabric that Polynesians tie around their waists that gets worn like a skirt. Both men and women wear this type of garment in Samoa and is considered to be a traditional daily outfit used for school uniforms or work attire paired with a jacket and tie. Like this one:

(Students wearing their Ie Lavalava for school) Or this one:

(This is somewhere in the state as they allowed them to wear it in school campus. I forgot the name of the school and place.) Men and Women wear them like that. For anywhere they go. Back in the days, my dad use to tell me that women should wear an Ie whenever they go out in the village. If they don't, it goes to show that they are not respecting our people or the village for it. And nowadays, we hardly done that. I mean, there are still some of them wears an Ie when they go out but most of us aren't. I only wear an Ie when I go to another Pastor's house or go to Church. Anyway, here is some BEAUTIFUL design that they made an Ie Lavalava!

And LASTLY of the Visual Art, is Weaving. I'm sure you already know of what weaving is. For us, we weave baskets and Ie Tonga (ee-eh toh-ngh-ah). It's like the Ie Lavalava but it is made of native pandanus (lauie) tree. And it's BIGGER. I forgot if my dad told me if it was the BARK or the LEAVES they use to make it. Here is what the Ie Tonga look like:

Just like that! They use these for the funerals as a gift to show their respects. I've seen this MANY times. They use these for Fa'alavelave (fah-ah-lah-veh-lah-veh). Means "Families dig deep to help fund funeral, wedding, or other life-interrupting costs, to the tune of thousands of dollars." And oh yeah, the Samoan funerals also involves money. To help out to get the things for the high chiefs and other pastors and wives. ANYWAY, they said the I'e Toga originated from our neighboring country, Tonga. The I'e Toga was originally brought to Samoa by a Tongan lady named Fuka (foo-kah). Fuka's older sister, Lautiovogia (lah-oo-tee-oh-voh-nee-ah) the Queen of Samoa, was married to the King Tuiatua (too-ee-ah-too-ah). During Fuka's visit to Samoa, she gave her sister an I'e Toga as a gift. And that's how the Ie Tonga came into Samoa. That's about it for the Visual Art. And for the music and dances. The dancing is mostly about elegant and grace. The dances also tells the story about our ancestors and mostly about love. Just like any other countries uses their music in dancing to tell the story! Another thing about us Samoans. Samoan parents are VERY strict of disciplining their children. Like let's say....Mexican/Asian/Black mothers disciplining kind of way😅. But they're just doing that out of love. Nothing abusive. I promise. And also, there are TWO different Samoa island. One island is named ACTUALLY Samoa and there's AMERICAN Samoa (That's where I'm at right now!). The differences is. Samoa are like the independent one. Nothing owns them. Until New Zealand took Samoa under them. While American Samoa is under the US. If I remember correctly the reason why American Samoa is under the US. Is because of the Americans assisting us from the war that is going on. Going against Germany, I think. So I guessed that's how we became under the protection of the US.

Here are the two Samoan islands. Almost close but it's like 1h 12m on an airplane and 16h on a car ferry. I prefer the plane (If I didn't pack anything HEAVY. Lol.) So yeah, that's about it. Thank you @welldonekhushi for the ask and hopefully this will help you answer your question! I'm trying be detailed as I can.

[she-wolf09231982]

Chapter 1-Rosaria Marie Leone

Summary: Chicago native, Rosaria Leone (leh-OHN), was stationed in Aldourne, England awaiting further instructions to her next duty location. She finally received orders to Bastogne after the 326th Medical team was captured on their way to the town by German soldiers.

The church in the town was converted into an aid station to lodge wounded soldiers that came in from the front lines, but with medical supplies running low and shortage of medical personnel, the Americans were in desperate need of more medics and nurses to keep up with the workload. To her surprise, she finds a few silver linings by befriending a local nurse, Renée Lemaire, and Easy Company’s medic, Eugene ‘Doc’ Roe. 

A/N: OC Introduction/Rosaria Marie Leone (leh-OHN), EugeneRoeX!FemMedic, WW2, Character introduction, Post D-Day, She/Her Pronouns, Military Terminology, Band of Brothers References, Mentions of Weaponry, Smoking, Mentions of death, Blood, Medical Terminology, Italian and French with English translations

Story takes place during Episode 6-Bastogne

*These stories may not fall entirely in accordance with the TV series timeline. I do not know the real soldiers the actors portray in this series, so please understand I show no disrespect. Some or most of historical events and character interactions in my fanfics are fabricated purely for the sake of the enjoyment of fiction*

~~~~~~~ 

Bastogne September 1944 

“Rosaria Marie Le-Leeee-on-” the charge nurse, Agatha Hannigan began with difficulty, as she looked over her spectacles at the orders given to her by the young woman standing before her. 

“Leone.” The young lady articulated. She was used to people mispronouncing her last name. 

The older lady’s lips pursed into a thin line, clearly displeased with being corrected by a replacement. She scribbled a few things on the orders. The charge nurse looked back at the young woman, scanning her from head to toe with every ounce of disdain behind her eyes. 

“Why are you wearing soldier’s fatigues? Where is your ward dress uniform? And your apron and head scarf?” Hannigan snapped. 

“This is all I ever worn, ma’am. I’m a field medic, so this is my initial issued uniform.” she explained. 

Hannigan sniffed at her, then wrote a few more notes on the orders. 

“Alright, Rosaria Leone-” 

“It’s just Saria-” 

 “-you and Renée report to me and I report to LT Doc Ryan.” she explained paying no mind to Saria’s statement. 

Saria sighed, “Yes, ma’am.” 

As she followed Hannigan, they approached a young nurse stirring a large metal pot hanging over a pit in the fireplace. The smell of the steam proved it wasn’t any kind of food she had been mixing but used bandages that were being laundered. 

“Renée-” Hannigan bellowed. 

The girl turned upon hearing her name. She met the charge nurse and Saria halfway as she dried her hands on her apron. 

“-this is our new nurse, Rosaria Lenonni, just in from Aldourne.” Hannigan introduced. 

Saria rolled her eyes but remained silent, not bothering to correct her again. 

Renée extended her hand, “Bonjour! (Hello!)” she greeted in French. 

“Buongiorno. (Good morning.)” Saria returned in Italian with a warm smile shaking Renée's hand. 

“You speak Italian?” Hannigan asked. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Hm, a lot of good that’ll do you here. You do know you're in Belgium, right? Renée, you got her from here.” Hannigan snipped, waving her hand as she walked away. 

“Oui. (Yes).” Renée replied turning back to Saria, “-Don’t mind her. You’ll get used to her.” she whispered with a grin. 

“I’m sure.” Saria responded. 

“Viens avec moi (Come with me), I’ll show you around.” Renée gestured to Saria to follow her. 

~~~~~~~ 

December 1944 

The months flew by and before Saria could blink, a layer of snow covered the grounds in and around Bastogne. She quickly befriended Renée and the other Congolese nurse, Anna. Together, they worked side by side tending to the wounded, and endured the aftermath of what happened outside of the Church/aid station when soldiers were brought to them. The horrors of blood and gore came in overwhelming waves, but Saria, Anna and Renée worked through the carnage as a team to do what they needed to do to save the men that were brought to them.  

More often than not, soldiers have succumbed to their injuries because medical supplies were becoming scarcer. There was very little of everything they needed, and it seemed more and more men were being brought to them daily. They were unable to evacuate the wounded or receive medical supplies due to heavy German advances. Not only did the Germans prevent escape for the injured, but they also captured the 326th Medical team and integrated them into their own medical team to tend to their wounded soldiers.  

“Lost another one today.” Renée said to Saria as she sat next to her on a pew against the wall. 

Saria shook her head, “Seems to be happening more often, doesn’t it?” she acknowledged. 

“Peut-être (Perhaps).” Renée replied as she reached into her apron pocket pulling out a half-wrapped bar of chocolate. 

She removed the paper and broke off a piece, handing it to Saria. 

“Chocolat?” she asked. 

Saria looked at the candy in Renée's hand and smiled weakly as she took it from her. 

“Merci.” Saria thanked. 

“Prego.” Renée returned in Italian, “Your French is getting better!” she added. 

Saria laughed, “You don’t have to be nice about it, Renée, I know it needs work.”  

“No, I insist! Your practicing is paying off, mon ami (my friend).” Renée encouraged. 

“Well thanks to you.” Saria pointed out. 

As they sat there enjoying the sweet treat, a handful of soldiers came in with an injured man on a stretcher, as a medic walked in after them. 

Renée and Saria rushed to the men with the injured soldier. 

“No, no. Here. Put him here.” Renee instructed. 

“Yes, ma’am.” the head soldier carrying the stretcher obliged as they lifted him onto a bed. 

“Is he bad?” Saria asked the medic. 

“No, lower-leg wound. No morphine.” he replied in a deep calm voice. 

Renée took a quick look at the right leg then nodded. 

“I’ll get more bandages.” Renée relayed to Saria. 

Before Renée could leave the medic was following her, “Nurse, have you got plasma I can--?” 

“Wait. Please.” Renée urged before disappearing into another room. 

The medic furrowed his eyebrows, discouraged by Renée's response. Saria felt a wave of guilt for him.  

She looked back at the soldier on the bed that they just brought in, “What’s your name, soldier?”  

“They call me Skinny.” he responded with labored breathing. 

“I’m Saria. We’ll get you squared away, ok?” She reassured him with a warm smile. 

He nodded with a forced grin since he was obviously in pain. She covered him with a blanket and turned to the same medic standing alone in a doorway watching Anna pack a thigh wound of another soldier while Renée assisted. 

The medic turned to Saria, “Hey, what’s going on here? Why aren't these men being evacuated?” 

Saria was a little taken back by his dismayed tone. 

“We can’t evacuate. We’re cut off, this is far as it goes.” she replied as she side stepped him to get to Renée and Anna. 

~~~~~~~ 

Renée and Saria had returned to Skinny with a bottle of liquor and a glass, pouring him a hefty amount to drink as a pain remedy. 

Skinny looked up at the two nurses then looked at the medic, “I think I’m in heaven, Doc.”  

The medic smirked briefly. 

As Renée and Saria began walking away, the medic called after them, “Nurse-” 

“This way.” Renée said, as she motioned him to follow. 

The medic walked along side Saria while they followed Renée to the rear of the church where all the supplies were being stored at an extravagant altar. 

“I need Morphine. I need bandages. Whatever you got. We’re down to nothin’.” the medic explained. 

“Ok, I can give you a little, but not a lot.” Renée replied gravely. 

Saria picked up a small wooden crate filled with IV bottles, syringes, and a few syrette cases. 

“You can have this today. Do you want that?” Saria asked him. 

“Oui. You got plasma?” he questioned urgently. 

“A little. Are you a surgeon?” Renée queried. 

“No. We don’t got no surgeon.” he replied with a bit of sting behind his voice. 

Saria placed a handful of torn cloth into his crate, “What’s this?” he asked, holding up the bulk of cloth. 

“From the beds.” Saria replied. 

“What, sheets?” he clarified. 

“Yes, for bandages.” 

A look of shock appeared on the medic’s face as he stared at her. 

“It does the job.” Saria said with a soft smile and a shrug. 

He nodded, placing the bandages back in the crate. 

He stood tall before Renée and Saria when they were done packing the crate with supplies,  

“Merci.” he thanked in a low honeyed southern accent. 

“Prego.” Saria responded. 

The medic shot her a look of confusion, tilting his head studying her like a puzzle. 

“Comment vous appelez-vous? (What do you call yourself?)” the man asked Saria and Renée. 

Renée looked at him, then looked at Saria expectantly waiting for her to reply. 

“Go on, this is a perfect time to practice, mon ami. (my friend).” Renée encouraged Saria. 

Saria’s eyes flitted between Renée and the medic,  

“Uh-” was all Saria could manage until she heard Renée again. 

“Tu peux le faire, mon ami (You can do it, friend).”  

Saria took a deep breath, “Je m'appelle Rosaria Leone (My name is Rosaria Leone).”  

A smile tugged at the corners of the medic’s mouth. 

“My name is Renée.”  

“I’m Gene. Eugene Roe.” 

“Where are you from?” Renée asked Eugene. 

“Louisiana. Half-Cajun. Et toi? (And you?)” he returned. 

“Bastogne.” Renée answered. 

Eugene looked at Saria. 

“Chicago.” 

His eyes widened like a deer in the headlights. 

“Oh, I thought maybe you-” 

“No, I’m American. My parents were born in Tuscany, Italy.” Saria explained. 

“I see.” he discerned. 

There was a brief silence before he nodded at Saria then turned to follow Renée to the exit. 

“Arrivederci, Eugenio. (Goodbye, Eugene).” Saria called after him in Italian. 

Eugene turned while still walking away displaying a coy smile. 

After some time, Renée returned from showing Eugene out. Her cheeks were rosy, and she wore a subtle smile as she mindlessly stirred the boiling pot of bandages.

“Renée?” 

No response. 

“Renée?” Saria said again a little louder. 

Renée looked at her startled, “Oui?”  

Saria laughed, “You were gone for a good couple of minutes. Où étiez-vous? (Where were you?)” Saria stated. 

Renée smiled, “I caught up with our new friend to give him some chocolat.” 

“That was nice of you, Renée.” 

“You can see in his eyes he’s seen some awful things. He needed to be shown some kindness.” Renée explained. 

~~~~~~~ 

It wasn’t the last time Renée and Saria saw Eugene Roe. The second time he had visited, Renée and Saria were frantically trying to stop a soldier from bleeding out from his mid-section. As Saria tried to pack the wound where the source of the bleeding was while Gene had been wiping the blood away so she could see where the artery was. The soldier expired leaving Renée, Gene, and Saria disheartened and lost in their own thoughts.  

Saria sauntered towards the spiral staircase to the main entrance so she could go outside to get some air. Eventually, Renée and Eugene joined her. Saria sat by a pile of broken furniture in front of the church, with her face buried in her hands. Renée sat next to Saria draping an arm across her shoulders pulling her in for a side hug. 

“Ça va mon ami? (Are you alright, my friend?)” Renée asked. 

Saria only nodded; not even sure she really was ok. 

Eugene observed each of their hands. Saria’s hands, bruised with remanence of the soldier’s blood after failing to wash all of it off her knuckles and nails and Renée's hands bearing the same appearances. Renée pulled a new bar of chocolate from her apron pocket and began tearing away the paper.  

She broke off a section, nudging Saria, “Tiens, belle amie (Here, beautiful friend).” 

Saria accepted the chocolate, “Vous êtes trop gentil. (You’re too kind).” 

Renée offered Eugene the candy, but as he took it from her, he smiled. 

“What?” Renée asked. 

“Your hands.” Eugene gestured to her and Saria. Saria slowly looked up at him. 

“Our hands?” Renée reiterated. 

He nodded, “You’re good nurses.” he complimented. 

Renée looked at her hands, “No. I never want to treat another wounded man again. I’d rather work in a butcher’s shop.” 

Eugene’s eyebrows drew inward hearing her statement. 

“But your touch calms people.” he defended, “That’s a gift from God.” he added. 

Renée shook her head, “No, it’s not a gift,” she flipped her hands over to look at the back of them, “God would never give such a painful thing.” she proclaimed. 

“Renée, you don’t mean that.” Saria insisted. 

“Oh, mais je le fais, mon ami. (Oh, but I do, my friend).” Renee said with a weak smile. 

A jeep pulled up with yet another wounded soldier, “Nurse! Nurse! We need some help over here!” 

Renée looked over her shoulder, “Stay and rest awhile longer, mon ami. I’ll take care of this.” She said to Saria as she gave her an encouraging hug before she stood up and ran off. 

A moment of silence passed before Eugene spoke again. 

“Is that how you feel, too?” he asked her. 

Saria sighed, “No. I don’t.” she replied confidently shaking her head before meeting his gaze. 

“Glad to hear it.” he affirmed with a slight smile as he looked back down at the candy bar in his hand. 

Saria folded her hands in her lap. 

“Comment se porte ton français? (How’s your French coming along?)” Eugene quizzed her with a mischievous grin. 

Saria looked at him alarmed, and slightly embarrassed. She rubbed the back of her neck and began to blush. 

“Oh, uh-” she began, “-tellement, tellement (so, so.)” she replied. 

Eugene chuckled, “I've heard you do better than that.” he declared, “Tell me something new you’ve learned. Peut-être que je peux aider. (Maybe I can help.)” he offered. 

Saria felt heat rise from her collar. 

“Ce serait généreux de votre part, Eugène (That would be generous of you, Eugene),” she managed to say, “-merci.” 

“Prego.” Eugene answered modestly in Italian with a welcoming smile. 

Saria laughed aloud at his playful response. 

“Guess I could return the favor and teach you some Italian.” she suggested. 

“Sure.” Gene allotted. “Guess I’ll be heading back to the line then. See ya around, mon ami.” He stood and ran towards the jeep to hitch a ride. 

Saria watched the jeep speed off with Eugene in the front seat, saying a silent prayer to herself for him to be safe when he makes it to the front lines. 

~~~~~~~ 

Christmas Eve 1944 

The third run in with Eugene, he brought in an Easy Company soldier, with an IV already applied. As they carried him in setting him down onto a cot, the receiving medic, Jones, began hounding Gene for the man’s information. 

“Where’s his tag?” Jones looked all over the man’s person, then looked at Gene again, “Where’s his tag?” 

Eugene stared at his buddy lying on the cot unable to move. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Jones pushed. 

Eugene looked at him calmly, “Paralyzed.” he responded simply. 

“What?” Jones asked. 

Eugene sighed, “He’s paralyzed. Can’t feel a thing.” he clarified. 

Renée saw him from across the room, “Eugene?” 

Gene looked at her, his spirits lifted the moment he saw her smile. 

“Eugene.” Renée greeted him. 

“Renée-” he replied with frail delight in his voice. 

“Are you-” Renee started to ask before she was interrupted. 

“-Renée, I need some help over here!” Jones called from the back. 

“Are you all right?” Renée continued as she walked towards Eugene. 

“Renée! We need you!” Jones called again. 

She looked towards the rear of the church where Jones was then huffed in frustration. She met Gene’s disappointed expression, gave him an apologetic smile then scampered off. 

“Bonjour, Eugène.” Saria greeted. 

“Bonjour, Rosaria, mon ami. (Hello, Rosaria, my friend),” he returned with a fleeting smile. 

Saria looked Gene over, “You ok?”  

He met her concerned guise with soft tired eyes, “Oui.” he responded plainly. 

Saria gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “Je suis toujours là, mon ami. (I’m always here, friend.)” Saria reassured him. 

He looked at her and nodded, “Merci, mon ami.” he replied managing a genuine smile. 

Saria returned a smile then proceeded past him. 

“Oh, and Eugene-” she called back to him. 

He turned to her. 

“Joyeux noël. (Merry Christmas.)” she projected somewhat cheerfully to him, sending him a wink before he could reply. 

Eugene smiled to himself, feeling that bit of warmth in his heart that he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

~~~~~~~ 

Eugene returned to the line, only to have to go back to Bastogne to bring LT Welsh to the aid station that night. Upon entering the town, everyone was in a panic, running to find cover from an imminent German air raid heading towards the town.  

Upon hearing the siren alerting the town of the attack, Renée and Saria began assisting the wounded who tolerated the ability to move to evacuate the church.  

On the other side of the town, Eugene could see the enemy aircraft approaching. He started to race towards the church to see if Renée, Saria, and Anna had been able to reach safety. As he sprinted towards the aid station, the bombers passed overhead releasing shells on every building in their wake until one hit the church, releasing a mushrooming blast from the steeple. Another bomber deploying a bigger explosive, shattered the foundation of the stone building, sending it to shambles to the ground below. 

Eugene stopped in his tracks, shielding his eyes from the piercing light from the blast. Frozen from shock and disbelief, his mind began piecing together the possibility that Renée, Saria, and Anna were still in the church during the bombing. To this thought, he began running again, pushing through the crowds to reach his friends. 

~~~~~~~ 

Eugene searched relentlessly for the three nurses. As dawn approached, he began to lose hope. He had asked everyone he bumped into if they had seen Renée, Saria, or Anna. Everyone he asked either hadn’t known the whereabouts of any medical personnel or had conflicting stories of who made it out or not.

Just when Eugene was ready to give up, he saw a familiar figure sitting on a pile of stones that had collapsed from the church. As he cautiously approached, he recognized the face of this young woman seated before him. 

“Rosaria?” He addressed the woman with strain behind his voice. 

Saria turned slowly; her bloodshot eyes met his hopeful face while tears trailed through the dirt on her cheeks. When she saw it was Eugene, her tear flow increased beyond her ability to see. 

“Eugene.” she gasped as she tried to stand to meet him. As she did, she lost her footing on the gravel. 

Eugene snaked his arms around her, pulling her into him so she wouldn’t fall forward. 

“Hey, now! Je t'ai eu (I got you).” he exclaimed. 

He helped her stand up right, pulling her square to him so he could talk to her. 

“Are you ok!?” he asked. 

“I-I’m alive.” Saria stuttered. 

Eugene kneaded her shoulders with his hands. 

“Et Renée? (And Renée?) Anna?” he dared to ask holding Saria steady by the shoulders. 

Saria looked away from Eugene and began to sniffle. Eugene waited. 

She reached into her pocket, pulling out a blue head scarf and handed it to him. He took it from her, realizing it was the same one that Renée had worn. 

He stared at the blue cloth in his hand as everything began to sink in. 

“We-” Saria tried to explain but her overwhelming anguish had her struggling to speak, “-we were evacuating as many men as we could. Renée had----gone back inside to find Anna right before the first shell dropped on the church-”  

Eugene redirected his eyes onto Saria. He swallowed hard, biting back the tears he felt building up. 

“When the first bomb hit, I tried to go in to get her...then the second one hit blocking the entrance to the church. I couldn’t get to them, Eugene.” Saria whispered, staring over his shoulder reliving the horrific scene as if it was replaying in front of her on a movie screen. 

She started to shake her head, “If I had only gotten there sooner-” 

“No,” Gene placed a hand on each side of her face bringing her attention to him, “what happened to Renée and Anna is not your fault. You hear me?”  

Saria’s tears spilled over like waterfalls.  

He pulled her into his chest, allowing her to sob into his jacket as he stroked her hair. 

“Ssshhh,” Gene soothed, “Je suis là, belle amie. Je suis là (I’m right here, beautiful friend. I’m here.)” 

~~~~~~~

[orthodoxydaily]

ICON, SAINTS&READING: SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 2024

september 8_september 21

THE NATIVITY OF OUR MOST HOLY LADY THE THEOTOKOS AND EVER VIRGIN MARY

By Fr. Alexander Schmemann

The Church’s veneration of Mary has always been rooted in her obedience to God and her willing choice to accept a humanly impossible calling. The Orthodox Church has always emphasized Mary’s connection to humanity and delighted in her as the best, purest, most sublime fruition of human history and of man’s quest for God for ultimate meaning, for the ultimate content of human life. If in Western Christianity, veneration of Mary was centered upon her perpetual virginity, the heart of Orthodox Christian East’s devotion, contemplation, and joyful delight have always been her Motherhood, her flesh and blood connection to Jesus Christ. The East rejoices that the human role in the divine plan is pivotal. The Son of God comes to earth, appears to redeem the world, He becomes human to incorporate man into His divine vocation, but humanity takes part in this. If it is understood that Christ’s “co‐nature” with us is as a human be‐ ing and not some phantom or bodiless apparition, that He is one of us and forever united to us through His and forever humanity, then devotion to Mary also becomes understandable, for she is the one who gave Him His human nature, His flesh and blood. She is the one through whom Christ can always call Himself “The Son of Man.” Son of God, Son of Man…God descending and becoming man so that man could become divine, could become partaker of the divine nature (2 Peter 1:4), or as the teachers of the Church expressed it, “deified.” Precisely here, in this extraordinary revelation of man’s authentic nature and calling, is the source of that gratitude and tenderness that cherishes Mary as our link to Christ and, in Him, to God. And nowhere is this reflected more clearly than in the Nativity of the Mother of God.

ICON: SOPHIA THE WISDOM OF GOD OF KIEV

The Icon of Sophia, the Wisdom of God (Kiev), occupies an unique place in the Russian Orthodox Church. On the icon is depicted the Theotokos, and the Hypostatic Wisdom, the Son of God incarnate of Her.

In Wisdom or Sophia, ponders the Son of God, about Whom in the Proverbs of Solomon it says: “Wisdom has built a house for herself, and has set up seven pillars” (9:1). These words refer to Christ, the Son of God, Who in the Epistles of Saint Paul is called “Wisdom of God” (1 Cor.1:30), and the word “house” refers to the Most Holy Virgin Mary, of Whom the Son of God is incarnate.

The arrangement of the icon bears witness to the fulfillment of this prophecy. On the Kiev icon of Sophia is a church, and standing there is the Mother of God in a robe with a veil on her head, under an archway of seven pillars. The palms of Her hands are outstretched, and her feet are set upon a crescent moon. The Theotokos holds the Pre-eternal Christ Child, blessing with Her right hand, and holding the Infant with Her left.

On the cornice of the entrance are inscribed the words from the Book of Proverbs: “Wisdom has built a house for herself, and has set up seven pillars.” Over the entrance are depicted God the Father and God the Holy Spirit. From the mouth of God the Father issues the words: “I am affirmation of Her footsteps.”

Along both sides the seven Archangels are depicted with outstretched wings, holding in their hands symbols of their duties. On the right side: Michael with flaming sword; Uriel with a lightning flash hurling downwards; Raphael with alabaster vessel of myrrh. On the left side: Gabriel with a lily blossom; Selaphiel with a scale; Jerudiel with royal crown; and Barachiel with flowers on a white shawl.

Under a cloud with the crescent moon, serving as a footrest for the Mother of God, is a staircase with seven steps (depicting the Church of God on earth). Those standing on the seven steps are the Old Testament witnesses of the manifestation of Wisdom, the Forefathers and the Prophets.

On each of the seven steps are inscribed faith, hope, love, purity, humility, blessedness, and glory. The staircase's seven steps are set upon the seven pillars, on which images are inscribed, and their explanations are taken from the Apocalypse.

Philippians 2:5-11

5 Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus,6 who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, 7 but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men. 8 And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross. 9 Therefore God also has highly exalted Him and given Him the name which is above every name, 10 that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of those in heaven, and of those on earth, and of those under the earth, 11 and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Luke 10:38-42; 11:27-28

38 Now it happened as they went that He entered a certain village; and a certain woman named Martha welcomed Him into her house. 39 And she had a sister called Mary, who also sat at Jesus' feet and heard His word. 40 But Martha was distracted with much serving, and she approached Him and said, "Lord, do You not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Therefore tell her to help me." 41 And Jesus answered and said to her, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things. 42 But one thing is needed, and Mary has chosen that good part, which will not be taken away from her. 27 And it happened, as He spoke these things, that a certain woman from the crowd raised her voice and said to Him, "Blessed is the womb that bore You, and the breasts which nursed You!" 28 But He said, "More than that, blessed are those who hear the word of God and keep it!"

[stvlti]

linger like a sandwalk - a playlist for Dune Part Two

I'm back 💃 after 2 years of not posting new playlists for my fandoms 💃 this new Dune movie is living in my head rent free 😮‍💨 of course I had to make fanmix for this one to try and consolidate my thoughts.

Tracks ⏏️

Bloodline -- Gabriels  //  No Church in the Wild -- Jay-Z & Kanye West  //  Mary Magdalene -- FKA Twigs  //  Pink Matter  -- Frank Ocean  //  Smother -- Daughter  //  Say You'll Go -- Janelle Monáe  //  A Time of Quiet Between Storms (Dune Part Two OST) -- Hans Zimmer  //  Your Blood -- Nothing But Thieves  //  The River -- Kero Kero Bonito  //  Bad Religion -- Frank Ocean  //  Telekinesis -- Travis Scott ft. SZA & Future  //  Transform -- Daniel Caesar ft. Charlotte Day Wilson

Meta ⏏️

An explanation of the song choices & related thoughts on the film *

(*) I still have not read the book *lies down* As soon as life slows down I swear I will. The 2 Denis Villeneuve films combined already make for a rich narrative and storyworld however, and this playlist is very much based on that.

▶️ Bloodline -- Gabriels

It's the bloodline This thing came before you Bloodline

I wanted to open this playlist on something that gets right at (one of) the core themes of Villeneuve's Dune, and to me that is the idea of bloodlines, legacies and self-fulfilling prophecies.

Birth rights can be stole Truth is you were always alone Tears in your hands Seems you lost before you began Your ancestors' blood fed the soil and the sand

I think a point that many filmgoers miss - and is also a point I missed on my first viewing of Part Two - is that the Lisan Al Gaib prophecy and Paul's claim to it is wholly manufactured. Upon rewatch, several lines in the 2 films jumped out to me: 'On Arrakis, a path has been laid' (Mother Mohiam in Part One), and first Paul (during his first meal in Sietch Tabr) and then Lady Jessica's declaration that they must persuade the non-believers that he is the Lisan Al Gaib so as to ensure their continued survival among the Fremen. Irulan's later commentary, 'these are our religious patterns', cemented this fact for me. We are reminded that The Bene Gesserit has sent missionaries to the Fremen over decades and centuries, creating the religious circumstances for Paul to consolidate power among the natives. He has as much a claim to the title of the Mahdi / Lisan Al Gaib as any other outerworlder from the Houses of the Imperium - that is to say, he isn't really the Chosen One. 'Birth rights can be stole', and this is a birth right he stole.

Yet, he does undoubtedly hail from his mother's Bene Gesserit lineage and, through consuming the Water of Life, inherit the ancestral memories of both his masculine and feminine forebearers from both the royal bloodlines and the Fremen lineage of Reverend Mothers. (We see this during the montage after he takes the WoL, falling through a super cut of the faces of the Fremen Reverend Mothers who came before him before eventually finding a vision of Alia on the sand dunes.) His 'ancestors' blood fed the soil and the sand' on which he now stands as the (false) prophet that will lead his Fremen tribe to ruin...

It's the bloodline Don't let it destroy you Bloodline

... and in ascending to the title of the Mahdi, he will undoubtedly lose everything that made him Paul the individual in the first place. Greater prophecies, plans and conspiracies will eclipse his humanity. This is the real bloodline that drives him to war and genocide. 'Don't let it destroy you' - but maybe it's already too late.

▶️ No Church in the Wild -- Jay-Z & Kanye West

I mean, come on, this song choice is just too obvious isn't it?

Human beings in a mob What's a mob to a king? What's a king to a God? What's a God to a non-believer who don't believe in anything? Will he make it out alive? Alright, alright No church in the wild

'Mob' = the Fremen and their Fedaykin guerilla troops. 'King' = Rabban, and later Feyd-Rautha, and the Harkonnen regime. 'God' = Paul as Mahdi and Muad'dib, the desert terrorist. 'Non-believer' = Chani and her brethren among the Northern skeptics.

But the sonical landscape of this song also played a huge part in my inclusion of the song on this list. I'm a lover of words before all else, but something about Dune made me want to curate a sonically coherent playlist that accompanies the story in lyrics as much as it does in sound. The grueling, forward momentum of this song's iconic beat lends itself to the raids the Fedaykin warriors launched against the Harkonnen-controlled spice fields.

▶️ Mary Magdalene -- FKA Twigs

In my head I call this the quintessential Bene Gesserit song. Listen, and read the lyrics:

A woman's work A woman's prerogative

The song makes it clear from the very first lines that it's about the woman's birthright and sovereignty. Most of the Bene Gesserit ladies we see in this film have roots in the royal bloodlines themselves. In that, they have a claim to a particular prerogative. Yet they also actively govern the domain of procreation, descendancy, succession, and survival of royal bloodlines. That is the nature of 'a woman's work' in this storyworld.

A woman's touch, a sacred geometry I know where you start, where you end How to please, how to curse Yes, I learnt you needed me Yes, I'm here to open you Yes, I know that your heart is blue (So cold)

FKA Twigs' darkly seductive vocals paired with this particular verse really evokes that entire Lady Fenring/Feyd-Rautha sequence.

I fear before the fire True as Mary Magdalene Creature of desire Come just a little bit closer to me Step just a little bit closer to me

The seduction continues here, but there's power inherent in the 'creature of desire' Mary Magdalene represents. Her story and her iconography bears a heavy resemblance to the Bene Gesserit sisters and their relationships with the men of the Imperium and its court.

I can lift you higher I do it like Mary Magdalene I want you to say it Come just a little bit closer 'til we collide

A woman's hands So dark and provocative A nurturing breath that could stroke Your divine confidence

I really fuck with the Mary Magdalene allegory in this song, and the chorus nails the mythos and authority she commands in modern reimaginings of her figure in relation to Jesus' mythos. Yet there's something softer in the latter half of the chorus - the devotion she shows to her partner is on equal footing, less of manipulation and more of the muse she can be for him to realise his full potential. With the arrival of the second verse we truly see how important she is to a man's dominion. 'A nurturing breath that could stroke [His] divine confidence': that is the power of Lady's Jessica's love for and devotion to Leto Atreides.

A woman's war Unoccupied history True nature won't search to destroy If it doesn't make sense

Of course, it would be remiss of me not to point out that certain parts of the Bene Gesserit's characterisation functions as a manifestation and perpetuation of Frank Herbert's very of-its-time misogynistic, gender essentialist ideas of a woman's station and the (only) avenue through which she derives her power in the material world - her womb. (Miss me with that radical feminist bs.) But we also see, in the film, Princess Irulan's character: a female historian whom the film suggests would have been happier free from the trappings of the Bene Gesserit programme and her Imperial lineage. 'A woman's war; unoccupied history': Mary Magdalene is a prime example of how for most of history, women are often anonymous (as that Virginia Woolf saying goes), their histories are often erased and deemed as unimportant; Irulan's inner thoughts and history are also cast aside and given no voice in the Dune narrative, but in an ironic twist, she dedicates her life to documenting the history of others.

▶️  Pink Matter -- Frank Ocean

What do you think my brain is made for? Is it just a container for the mind? This great, grey matter Sensei replied, "What is your woman? Is she just a container for the child?" That soft, pink matter

This song provides more of a male - or at least, androgynous - perspective on the question of the Bene Gesserit breeding programme ('Is she just a container for the child?' / 'My God, she's giving me pleasure'). But it gets right at the core of the question of whether the women in this universe, and the avenue through which they gain power, is truly confined to being 'just a container for the child'. I also really liked the direct parallels Frank Ocean's lyrics draw between the womb (pink matter) and the mind (grey matter), as the other main source of power Jessica drives from is through her mind and the prescience becoming the Reverend Mother has afforded her.

▶️ Smother -- Daughter

In my head I call this Lady Jessica's song.

I want all that is not mine I want him, but we're not right In the darkness, I will meet my creators And they will all agree that I'm a suffocator

I think it's more intimate than either of the 2 songs that come before this one, and centres Jessica squarely in her role as a mother before her place as a Bene Gesserit sister. She knows she will meet her creators - the generations of mothers and Bene Gesserit sisters who came before her - and she knows they will disapprove of the path she has manipulated to suit her ends, first for Duke Leto (in bearing him a son) and then for her son's survival (in spreading propaganda of him as the Lisan Al Gaib among the Fremen tribes). Now I know that the films sort of reduce her to a one-dimensional villain in Part Two, but I've heard that she is a lot less gungho about their little homegrown personality cult of Paul as the Lisan Al Gaib / Mahdi in the book. In fact, his accelerated transformation into a religious figurehead and his willingness to exploit the Fremen for that, at the cost of his own humanity, seems to be an unintended outcome that she regrets. She has unwittingly become a 'suffocator', in that regard - a mother killing her own child's humanity in his metaphorical cradle as soon as she exposed him to tales of the prophecy.

Oh love I'm sorry if I smothered you I sometimes wish I'd stayed inside My mother

▶️  Say You'll Go -- Janelle Monáe

Say you'll go to Nirvana Will you leave Samsara? Or in the words of Dhammapada, "Who will lead? Who will follow?" Our love will sail in this ark The world could end outside our window Let's find forever And write our name in fire on each others' hearts

Something about Janelle's crooning vocals against the symphonic strings and melodies just makes this a timeless love song. I love including it in for my ships 🥺 and I think it rather fits PaulChani, the star-crossed lovers that they are. 'Let's find forever' is my 'I will love you as long as I breathe'.

But of course, the question of whether Paul will go south looms over their heads like the Sword of Damocles. 'Will you leave Samsara? ... Who will lead? Who will follow?'

▶️  A Time of Quiet Between Storms (Dune Part Two OST)

Among the Dune OST, this song holds a higher and special place in my heart because of the way it celebrates their first on-screen kiss, but is also used as a reprise of sorts at the end of the film as Chani walks out on Paul. It's a bittersweet track. And it's lived in my mind rent free much the same way that last shot of Chani, with her quivering lips and angry eyes, has.

This brings me to the name of the playlist: the PaulChani tragedy, and just, the film as a whole, has definitely lingered in my mind. It has dragged against my thoughts gently, but persistently like the rhythm of a sandwalk.

I also chose to place it in the middle of playlist to sever it into 2 parts, much the same way the film is severed into 2 parts: before Paul undergoes the Water of Life ritual, when he is still an idealistic boy who actively rejects the title of the Mahdi for fear of the wartorn future he's foreseen, and afterwards, when he claims the mantle of the Mahdi.

▶️  Your Blood -- Nothing But Thieves

You know it's your blood that I bleed Tell me that there's some way that I'll get through the night I carry your moral disease I don't wanna be something I'm not to stay alive

You guys don't know how long I've wanted to put this song on a fanmix!! I've called this Joey Wilson/Jericho's song from the moment I heard it 😂 but I think the same themes can be found in Paul's story too, specifically his first scene right after recovering from the Water of Life ritual. 'We're Harkonnens.' And his realisation that that's how they'll survive: by becoming Harkonnens. It's the Baron's blood that he bleeds, and conflicted as he is about that, eventually he'll come to realise that he has to 'be something I'm not to stay alive'.

▶️  The River -- Kero Kero Bonito

Holy mother Receive our hearts in your arms And let our souls pass The day the rain returns again

These 4 lines are repeated throughout the song, almost like a prayer. It reminds me of the way Stilgar holds onto those same 4 words, 'As it was written', throughout the film as an affirmation of his religious convictions - the belief that the true Mahdi will bring paradise one day and with it, the rain.

When Earth is submerging And heaven is open The river will carry all of us to Where we belong ... Then a torrent crashes down Releasing the jungle swelling in the ground And as was foretold our time is out

▶️  Bad Religion -- Frank Ocean

If it brings me to my knees It's a bad religion This unrequited love To me, it's nothing but a one-man cult And cyanide in my styrofoam cup I can never make him love me Never make him love me

This song places us in Chani's pov. To her, Paul's meteoric rise of notoriety among the Fremen is 'nohting but a one-man cult'. She loved him as he was - an outsider who stayed humble and learnt her ways, and earned a place among her Fedaykin brethren. But as a power-tripping outerworlder claiming to be the Mahdi - she doesn't recognise him, and she 'can never make him love [her]' again, not as the man he has become.

▶️  Telekinesis -- Travis Scott ft. SZA & Future

I could've took the pain and I could've went out sad Streets stepped in and raised me, but I ain't have my daddy

So I'm gonna be honest: this is actually the track that started this entire project for me 🙈 But you see it, right? Travis Scott as Paul's voice, and SZA as Chani's...

I can see the future, it's lookin' like we level through the sky I can't wait to live in glory in eternal lastin' life

The fact that 'I can see the future' is the refrain of this song. In its original context I'm almost certain that Travis meant it less literally, and more in the realm of being able to guess the trajectory of his career as he continues to top the charts as a hip hop superstar. But it lends well to the context of Paul's religious myth-making as well. 'Eternal lasting life' and all that.

How can I sleep when you're out catchin' bodies? I still wanna be with you, trust me, I know that's insane ... We both ain't shit and it's workin' for me Workin' for me, yeah I can see the future, I can see the future

The thing that breaks my heart about the ending of the film is that you can see Chani still loves Paul, but not who he has become. I also like that the song flips the refrain around and has SZA sing it too. Except when she says, 'I can see the future', she says it self-deprecatingly. It's a future of more heartbreak and betrayal (by way of mutual infidelity) and ruin.

▶️  Transform -- Daniel Caesar ft. Charlotte Day Wilson

If a leopard never changes its spots How can I change what I've got? Transform, transform, transform, transform We don't punish the tiger for catching its prey So how am I the one to blame? If it's in my nature Transform, transform, transform, transform

One thing rewatching these films has made me realise is that Paul's 'sudden flip' to becoming a coloniser exploiting the Fremen's religion for his own gains in Imperial politics after drinking the Water of Life is actually less of a plot twist and more of an inevitability that has been advertised since Part One. Towards the end of the first film, he says to Liet Kynes that he intends to marry one of the Emperor's daughters and make a play for the throne. In Part Two, during his first meal at Sietch Tabr, he says to his mother that he must convince the non-believers that he is the Lisan Al Gaib. He may not have intended to bear the mantle of the Mahdi, perhaps he was foolishly, idealistically looking for a different path towards revenge and the throne, but he has never been above playing the game and utilising court politics to secure his 'victory', so to speak. He was born of royal blood and forged in those politics. It's in his nature.

It's never over until life ends Lay down beside me, do it again

These 2 lines reminds me again of that promise Paul and Chani exchanged: 'I will love you as long as I breathe'. (And if I remember correctly, Chani said something to the effect of 'I will be here for you as long as you stay who you are' as well.) I didn't want to end this playlist on a downer ending, hence this song choice.

If you've made it this far into my meta-commentary, thank you! Hope you've enjoyed this playlist ♡

[scotianostra]

On 19th August 1560 the Scottish scholar and poet, James Crichton, was born.

Soldier, scholar, poet and athlete, he was a graduate of St Andrews University and a tutor of King James VI. James Crichton, known as the Admirable Crichton, was a Scottish polymath, a latin term that translates to “universal man”, basically he was good at everything!

Crichton wasnoted for his extraordinary accomplishments in languages, the arts, and sciences. One of the most gifted individuals of the 16th century, James Crichton of Clunie Perthshire, was the son of Robert Crichton of Eliok, Lord Advocate of Scotland, and Elizabeth Stewart, from whose line James could claim Royal descent.

At the age of eight Crichton’s eloquence in his native vernacular was compared with that of Demosthenes and Cicero. By fifteen he knew “perfectly” Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Arabic, and Syriac; and commanded native conversational fluency in Spanish, French, Italian, “Dutch”, Flemish, and, oh, “Sclavonian”, don’t worry I looked it up for us, it’s basically Slovenian.

That was the mere beginning of Crichton’s admirableness. He was also a champion athlete, a horseman, a fencer, a dancer, a singer of rare voice, and the master of most known wind and string instruments. His St. Andrews professor, Rutherford, a noted commentator, judged him to be one of the leading philosophers of the era.

After sucking all the available education to him in Scotland, it was only natural he should start on mainland Europe, he studied in France at the College of Navarre at the University of Paris. Here the young Scotsman cut a broad swath, though according to his jealous fellows his arenas of greatest activity were the tavernia’s and the whorehouses, rather than the lecture hall. Young Crichton did like the ladies, who in turn found him most–admirable.

He may have been liked by the ladies, but nobody likes a big heid, and that is how Crichton must have come across to many, nowadays he would have been one of the Chasers, or an Egghead on our TV screens, but back in the 16th century there were no such outlets for Crichton to show his big heid off, so he had posters printed up declaring that on a day six weeks hence, at nine in the morning, in the main hall of the College of Navarre, he intended to present himself to dispute with all comers all questions put to him regarding any subject. He had these put up on all the appropriate notice boards and church doors, before disappearing into the red light district to prepare himself for the contest. His adversaries had to quit laughing when on the appointed day Crichton appeared as advertised and bested the greatest local experts in grammar, mathematics, geometry, music, astronomy, logic, and theology.

The Crichton Show, having conquered Paris, moved next to the Italian peninsula. The young Scot performed memorable feats of academic disputation first in Rome and then in Venice. There he became fast friends with the famous scholar-printer Aldus Munitius, who is a credible witness to some of his more amazing intellectual performances. One of his ways of showing off was giving off the cuff instances of Comedic verse, a sort of Stand Up routine, but with that Crichton twist, the odes he told were in Latin!

Tradition has it on the street in Mantua one night he was accosted by four swordsmen, with superb sword play Crichton disarmed them all and forced them to show their faces. One of them, their leader indeed, turned out to be one of his pupils and prodigy, Vincenzo Gonzaga who was the son of The Duke of Mantua. Crichton was in the Duke’s employ and the youngster was jealous of the Scot, Crichton was also romantically linked to Vicenzo’s ex mistress. On seeing Vincenzo, Crichton instantly dropped to one knee and presented his sword, hilt first, to the prince, his master’s son. Vincenzo took the blade and with it stabbed Crichton cruelly through the heart, killing him instantly. James Crichton of Cluny was then in his twenty-second year.

There have been many accounts of Crichton in literature through the years since, mostly fictional but with hints of the story, the most famous is arguably the J M Barrie play, but the title of the play is the only semblance to the story of the Scottish Polymath.

[crazycatsiren]

My personal prayer beads

Mala:

Used in the context of Buddhism, a mala is a loop of prayer beads used for counting and keeping track of prayers/recitations when performing japa (meditative repetition of a mantra, sacred sound, or a divine name/epithet).

A mala consists of 108 beads. Often, factors of 108 such as 54, 27, 18 exist on the mala as well. A 109th "guru bead", not used for/included in prayer counting, is also very common.

The origin of the mala is actually unknown, which gives you an idea of just how old the religions that use it are. As far as my native land is concerned, there are no references to the use of malas in Chinese literature before the introduction of Buddhism during the Han dynasty. Historians can only theorize that the practice may have spread from India to China at that point in time.

Why 108 beads? There are lots of theories on this one, but the number itself has remained consistent. The number 108 holds religious significance in ancient Indian religions (including Buddhism). Traditional Buddhists believe that humans come with 108 afflictions or kleshas (mortal mental states that cloud the mind and manifest in unwholesome human actions). 108 is also the number of possible dharmas. In some Buddhist traditions, the 109th guru bead represents Amitabha Buddha or the bodhisattva Avalokitesvara (the East Asian depiction/counterpart/equivalent of whom is Guanyin) who has 108 avatars.

Rosary:

The rosary ("crown of roses" or "garland of roses") is a string of prayer beads used primarily in Catholicism. The Rosary prayer, which the rosary beads are used for, is arranged in sets of 10 Hail Marys, referred to as "decades". Each decade is preceded by 1 Lord's Prayer and followed by 1 Glory Be. The rosary beads are used for saying these prayers in their proper sequence and tracking their numbers.

Traditionally, 5 decades are recited in 1 session, and each decade recalls and meditates on 1 of the Mysteries of the Rosary (events in the lives of Jesus Christ and his mother the Virgin Mary).

A litte bit about the Mysteries of the Rosary: In the 16th century, Pope Pius V established 15 Mysteries, and these Mysteries are grouped into 3 sets with 5 Mysteries in each set (the Joyful Mysteries, the Sorrowful Mysteries, the Glorious Mysteries). Then in 2002, Pope John Paul II added a new set of 5 Mysteries, called the Luminous Mysteries. Now we have a total number of 20 Mysteries divided into 4 equal sets. The mysteries are recommended to be prayed on specific days of the week.

The exact origin of the rosary is subject to debate among scholars. The use of knotted prayer ropes in Christianity goes back to the Desert Fathers in the 3rd and early 4th centuries. The practice of meditation while praying "Hail Mary" goes back to Dominic of Prussia, a 15th-century Carthusian monk, and he called the practice "Life of Jesus Rosary" (vita Christi Rosarium). Then in 1977, Andreas Heinz, a theologian from Trier, discovered a vita Christi rosary that's thought to date all the way back to 1300. Pious tradition legend has it, the idea of the Rosary was given to Dominic of Osma by an apparition of the Virgin Mary in 1214 in the church of Prouille, and this apparition received the title of Our Lady of the Rosary.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

SAINT OF THE DAY (December 9)

On December 9, Roman Catholics celebrate St. Juan Diego, the indigenous Mexican Catholic convert whose encounter with the Virgin Mary began the Church's devotion to Our Lady of Guadalupe.

In 1474, 50 years before receiving the name Juan Diego at his baptism, a boy named Cuauhtlatoatzin — “singing eagle” — was born in the Anahuac Valley of present-day Mexico.

Though raised according to the Aztec pagan religion and culture, he showed an unusual and mystical sense of life even before hearing the Gospel from Franciscan missionaries.

In 1524, Cuauhtlatoatzin and his wife converted and entered the Catholic Church.

The farmer now known as Juan Diego was committed to his faith, often walking long distances to receive religious instruction.

In December 1531, he would be the recipient of a world-changing miracle.

On December 9, Juan Diego was hurrying to Mass to celebrate the Feast of the Immaculate Conception.

However, the woman he was heading to church to celebrate came to him instead.

In the native Aztec dialect, the radiant woman announced herself as the “ever-perfect holy Mary, who has the honor to be the mother of the true God.”

“I am your compassionate Mother, yours and that of all the people that live together in this land,” she continued, “and also of all the other various lineages of men.”

She asked Juan Diego to make a request of the local bishop.

“I want very much that they build my sacred little house here” — a house dedicated to her son Jesus Christ, on the site of a former pagan temple, that would “show him to all Mexicans and exalt him throughout the world."

She was asking a great deal of a native farmer. Not surprisingly, his bold request met with skepticism from Bishop Juan de Zumárraga.

But Juan Diego said he would produce proof of the apparition, after he finished tending to his uncle whose death seemed imminent.

Making his way to church on December 12 to summon a priest for his uncle, Juan Diego again encountered the Blessed Virgin.

She promised to cure his uncle and give him a sign to display for the bishop.

On the hill where they had first met, he would find roses and other flowers, though it was winter.

Doing as she asked, he found the flowers and brought them back to her.

The Virgin Mary then placed the flowers inside his tilma, the traditional cloak-like garment he had been wearing.

She told him not to unwrap the tilma containing the flowers until he had reached the bishop.

When he did, Bishop Zumárraga had his own encounter with Our Lady of Guadalupe – through the image of her that he found miraculously imprinted on the flower-filled tilma.

The Mexico City basilica that now houses the tilma has become, by some estimates, the world's most-visited Catholic shrine.

The miracle that brought the Gospel to millions of Mexicans also served to deepen Juan Diego's own spiritual life.

For many years after the experience, he lived a solitary life of prayer and work in a hermitage near the church where the image was first displayed.

Pilgrims had already begun flocking to the site by the time he died on 9 December 1548, the 17th anniversary of the first apparition.

Pope John Paul II beatified him on 6 May 1990 and canonized on 31 July 2002.

He is the first Catholic saint indigenous to the Americas.

[bandofchimeras]

ACAB its not just a slogan or a meme.

police make everywhere feel so unsafe.

when you aren't one of the demographic they serve (landowning upper class white cishet people). i don't even think about calling the cops if my life is danger. I did that one time. they arrested me.

if there was a murder need investigating, sure, but i wouldn't trust that they would actually put any effort into the search based on who my friends tend to be.

in this city, they paid serial killers on the force 500,000 pension to "retire" and then get hired again by another county force the next year. everytime a cop car drives by, I imagine that verified murderers and accomplices, heavily armed and angry, are in the drivers seat. how is that NOT a fucking "gang"?

I'm white. I'm never going to understand the particuarly terrifying relationship Black Americans or Native people have with the police.

but when other middle class people make jabs at "unsafe" neighborhoods and places...they forget elite, rich neighborhoods can be just as deadly if you don't look like its residents. My blood pressure rises whenever i have to drive my junker truck with the taped over window into a wealthy area, or park near businesses where most of the other cars are shiny. recently all the side streets in this city have been full of "NO PARKING" signs to target houseless folks. In Kentucky they're working on passing the H5 bill the "Safer Kentucky Act" - which would decriminalize shooting homeless people. and criminalize sleeping in your car. and implement a three strike rule, which can lead to a life sentence or execution.

state sponsored execution for being "undesirable" think about that. they get to just decide who gets to live and die? for being "dirty" or using substances? for being disabled by a disabling virus?

its easy to let ACAB become a slogan and not think about why cops are bastards if you aren't exposed to dangerous situations regularly, and then default to them in a panic when the chips are down. because you haven't seen it. you're the white church mom I used to know posting about how nice the cops were to her when she got pulled over. the lady who makes her blonde friend drive when they go on road trips because she can get out of tickets. but once you witness the level of betrayal and mishandling in the criminal injustice system, the level of abuse and violence, the way your neighbors and friends are trigger-happy to use this armed gang against you the second you're perceived as "out of control, "the second that violence touches you it becomes so obvious these bastards are not your friends and never can be.

unless you adopt the ideology necessary to justify their aggressions against yourself and your neighbors. and even then. you ever seen some wacko with a Blue Lives Matter wrap get pulled over? its funny but also it shows, nothing will protect you. cops are doing heavy PR right now. town halls, coffee and donuts. they're recruiting for the upcoming militarization that's coming in response to Palestine protests and this horror show election in November.

Amerikkkan cops are heavily infiltrated and practically equivalent in many cities to other white supremacist, militant gangs. They are militarizing more and more rapidly. Using AI and integrating with the court system, more survelliance, more rules for how you're allowed to exist in public. think about that. why should it matter? if you loiter, if you skateboard, if you wear glasses or masks? you are being trained to see yourself and your neighbors as potential-crime-committers rather than human beings. we are self-survelling. reporting. getting off on correcting and ignoring eachother. What Israel is doing is a mirror held to our collective potential future. and you should be very, very alarmed. Fuck the cops. Fuck the prisons. Fuck the detention centers. We already have the Gestapo and the camps. Look the fuck around.

[cruger2984]

THE DESCRIPTION OF OUR LADY OF PROMPT SUCCOR The Patroness of New Orleans and the State of Louisiana Feast Day: January 8

The French Ursuline nuns first arrived in Louisiana in 1727. The nuns established a convent and founded what is the oldest school for girls in the territory of the modern-day U.S., Ursuline Academy, which educated the children of European colonists, Native Americans, and those of the local Creole people, slave or free. The Spanish sisters came to assist the growing school in 1763 after Louisiana fell under Spanish control.

In 1800, the territory came back under French possession, and in 1803, most of the sisters, fearing the anti-clerical sentiment of the French Revolution, fled to Havana, Cuba. When Louisiana passed into the control of the United States, the sisters sent the President a letter asking if their property rights would be honored by the new government.

Short of teachers, Mother Saint Andre Madier requested sisters from France to come to America to aid the struggling convent. She wrote to her cousin, Mother Saint Michel Gensoul, who was running a Catholic girls boarding school in France at the time. The Catholic Church was suffering the wrath of the revolution under Napoleon. Mother Saint Michel, knowing that the Church was in distress in both her homeland and abroad, approached Bishop Fournier of Montpelier to request a transfer. Bishop Fournier felt unable to afford the loss of another nun, as many had been killed or fled during the revolution, and advised Mother St. Michel that only the Pope could give this authorization.

Pope Pius VII was a prisoner of Napoleon at the time, and Mother St. Michel knew the unlikelihood of the Pope even receiving her letter. She prayed before a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary and said: "O most Holy Virgin Mary, if you obtain for me a prompt and favorable answer to this letter, I promise to have you honored at New Orleans under the title of Our Lady of Prompt Succor."

Sending her petition on March 19, 1809, Mother St. Michel received a letter from the Pope Pius VII granting her request on April 29, 1809. Mother St. Michel commissioned a statue of the Virgin Mary holding the Infant Jesus. The workman carved her flowing robes so that she would appear to be moving quickly. Bishop Fournier blessed the statue and Mother St. Michel's work.

Many miracles have been attributed to the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary under the title of Our Lady of Prompt Succor. Two historical events are especially associated with the Virgin. The first occurred in 1812 during the eruption of a great fire in New Orleans devastating the Vieux Carré. The Ursuline convent was facing imminent destruction as the winds blew the terrible fire toward the Plaza de Armas.

An order was given to evacuate the convent, however at that moment, a nun named Sr. St. Anthony (Marthe Delatre, daughter of Antoine Delatre) placed a small statue of Our Lady of Prompt Succor on a window seat and Mother St. Michel began to pray aloud, "Our Lady of Prompt Succor, we are lost unless you hasten to our aid!"

The second major miracle occurred in 1815, three years after the disastrous fire. General Andrew Jackson's 6,000 American troops faced 15,000 British soldiers on the plains of Chalmette. On the eve of the Battle of New Orleans, New Orleans residents joined the Ursuline sisters at their convent in the French Quarter to pray throughout the night, imploring the help of Our Lady of Prompt Succor.

On the morning of January 8, the Very Rev. William Dubourg, Vicar General, offered Mass at the altar on which the statue of Our Lady of Prompt Succor had been placed. Cannon fire could be heard from the chapel. The Prioress of the Ursuline convent, Mother Ste. Marie Olivier de Vezin, made a vow to have a Mass of Thanksgiving sung annually should the American forces win. At the very moment of communion, a courier ran into the chapel to inform all those present that the British had been defeated. They had become confused by a fog and wandered into a swamp.

The Mass ended with the singing of the Te Deum, and an annual Mass of Thanksgiving has been held January 8 ever since.

Pious believers of New Orleans pray before the statue of Our Lady of Prompt Succor, asking for her intercession whenever a hurricane threatens the city. During hurricane season, prayers are said at every Mass in the city during the Prayers of the Faithful requesting Our Lady of Prompt Succor's intercession and protection. After Hurricane Katrina, prayers were made to Our Lady of Prompt Succor asking for the quick recovery of the damaged city and surrounding area.

On June 13, 1928 - the feast of St. Anthony of Padua, Pope Pius XI declared the Blessed Virgin Mary, under the title of Our Lady of Prompt Succor as the Patroness of Louisiana.

[catholic-saint-tournament]

Here in extremely Catholic New Orleans, we specifically worship two holy figures: the Venerable Henriette Delille (the first U.S. native-born African American whose cause for canonization has been officially opened by the Catholic Church; born a free woman of color here), and Our Lady of Prompt Succor (a Roman Catholic title of the Blessed Virgin Mary enshrined here in New Orleans). I nominate them both for the appropriate categories!

NOLA, where you can get a psychic reading across from the church and then drown your sorrows in seafood and alcohol!

(Also remember Catholics don't worship saints or Mary, we just venerate/look up to them!)

BUT after those disclaimers I am happy to add both Ven Henriette and Our Lady of Prompt Succor to their respective lists!!!!

[teresawilson1]

1,000 Year Old Door

On Sunday I came across a very very ancient church door, made around the time of the reign of Edward the Confessor, 1000 years ago.

The wood and iron door has a stone arch door frame and belongs to the oldest (south) wall of the Church of St Mary at the Elms in Ipswich. The main part of the church is newer, dating from the fourteenth century.

Pilgrimage

Sunday 8th September was the day of the annual Pilgrimage Walk organised by the Guild of Our Lady of Grace of Ipswich, a pilgrimage that has its roots in medieval times. The shrine of Our Lady of Ipswich no longer exists as a building, but the place is marked by a commemorative plaque on the side of a modern shop on Lady Lane. The shrine was an important pilgrimage destination in Tudor times and was visited by Queen Catherine of Aragon in 1517 and King Henry VIII himself in 1522.

The Background to the Walk

(Info from The Guild Of Our Lady of Ipswich handout)

In 1528, Cardinal Wolsey - always ambitious in his plans for his native town of Ipswich - devised a pilgrimage walk, in honour of Our lady. This was to go from St Peter at the Quay, the church next door to the college he planned for Ipswich and began building. There were to be various stops for devotions and the pilgrimage was to end in Lady Lane, the site of the medieval shrine as Wolsey knew it, before its destruction in the Reformation.

Unfortunately, the weather on what was to have been the first pilgrimage walk turned out to be appallingly bad: 'fowle' as a contemporary recorded. It had to be cancelled. Before it could take place, Wolsey was stripped of his high offices by Henry VIII and died in disgrace.

In 1978, 450 years later to the day, the pilgrimage was revived by the Guild of Our lady of Grace of Ipswich and it has been walked annually since. Indeed, the Guild might be said to have put it into practice as, in Wolsey's day, only the rehearsal happened. Today, the pilgrimage ends at St Mary Elms, where the modern shrine stands.

For more details about the Guild please contact Nicholas Jardine

nicholasjardine40@gmail.com

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

Enola Rossingol’s Journal Entry 8

Warning: a bit of foul language, mentions of blood, mentions of fighting

9th of July, 1755

Any way the wind blows

I cannot say what happened last night, but all seemed to turn on me in a flash. This aching feeling in my stomach, the loneliness I felt without someone beside me. Haytham insisted on camping elsewhere on his own, and it took all my mental strength not to show my true ways, but to reach out and touch his hand, begging him to stay. 

I feel blue, I see the blue sky above me. When it comes time to handle the situation, I slowly rise from where I slept, and I catch sight of a cloud slowly moving through the sky. Then, I felt the hand of someone familiar to me, with copper-like skin, the man I met with Ziio, Amias. 

“Your friend is already in the eyes of the enemy. The others have gone to help him.” His voice whispers to me, our faces close to each other, close enough to feel his breath close to mine. 

It would make any other lucky lady blush, but I am so focused on the mission I have to turn my head to look at the setting before me. 

All the beautiful trees, the beauty of nature. I wish I dared to leave. The bombardment, the sinking ships, the Natives that wish only for peace. I wish I dared to go. 

I turn my head back towards Amias, seeing his intriguing features in perfect detail. The light brown color of his eyes reminds me of chocolate, sweet like he was when we first met. The size of his nose is a cute tale to tell, with his high cheekbones giving much for his oval-shaped head. The nose, as I’m trying to explain to myself, may have been a bit crooked, but it is cutely small. From the side of his face, there is a small black line of warpaint, it looks a bit like eyeshadow. Or did he not get enough sleep last night? Whatever that case may be, I cannot help but describe his lips. Full, thick, glossy like lips. That chin, though, my god, diamonds could be his worst enemy if they ever touch that. He is of muscular build as I have said in my earlier entries, and hasn’t changed it since then.

A gunshot rings out from kilometers away, giving me the warning that I should make my way towards the others. Amias’s rough hands took mine before I could turn from him, and as I looked down at our hands, I saw he had taken the risk, to intertwine our fingers together. The blush on my face was apparent, even thinking about it now gives me goosebumps. It took a few seconds to think I should let go of his grip, which I proceeded to do. 

The first thing on my mind is running again, but I hesitate in which direction. From the corner of my eye, I see a gorgeous brown horse with a unique white spot around its left eye with other white spots close to the saddle. Without another word exchanged between us, I ran towards the horse. I quickly hopped up on the saddle and grabbed the reins. I use the heel of my boot to tap the flank of its body, and I get the reaction I wanted. The horse’s movements go from trotting to galloping, moving through the battle ensuing. 

I see Haytham’s redcoat outfit and know how he looks very well. The athletic build, the way the hat fits, and obviously, the red ribbon that flows with the wind to keep his hair tied together. I see that man on the ground; what was his name again? Ah yes, George Washington, that man. The Native woman, Ziio, has him down to the ground and her hand on a knife that she uses to best him. I dart my eyes over to the ensuing soldiers on the British side and the French side, shooting and stabbing each other with their bayonets. The other Natives try to help, but with what they have, it feels hopeless. 

I leave Haytham to finish his job, to assassinate the bastard bitch named Edward Braddock. I join Pitcairn, Hickey, Church, Lee, and Johnson in attacking the French, but I also attack some of the British soldiers who think it is right to attack me who is helping them. The practice helps, parrying, thrusting, and rolling over various people just to stab the person next to them. 

After a few more minutes of fighting, I glance up from the tops of my eyelids to see Haytham reunite with Ziio. From this moment, I noticed my vision turning black, but in a transparent way. It seems like time has stopped just for a moment as I look around to see the damage, the bodies, and my friends. Behind me, I see time play forward, showing me a British soldier with his gun out, his mouth open in a fit of rage, about to stab me with a bayonet. I snap my head back to where I was looking, at the two. Time seems to play normally, and I use this to my amusement. 

As I hear the soldier’s yells, I touch the tip of the bayonet with my bare hands, bending backward so the bayonet stabs another British soldier, and I do not hesitate in making the bayonet share its target. I bend the gun back as quickly as I move my hand close to the bottom of the musket rifle. I pull the trigger, making sure the target of the mini cannonball is his neck. It succeeds, and I quickly escape from the battle, securing my hiding spot behind some bushes as I take a closer look at where Haytham and Ziio are.

They seem to be in a short but deep conversation, and in Ziio’s hands is the amulet that was once around Haytham’s neck. I saw Ziio give the amulet back to him, and the amulet was back around his neck, which surprised me as I simply told the future out loud. 

I leave my hiding spot when I see Lee and the others getting closer to my location. My feet start to move in the direction of Haytham, being as quiet as I possibly can. But, I suddenly stop in my tracks as I see Haytham leaving with Ziio. I feel my heart crack open just a little more than it did last night, and I hate that feeling, the feeling of his leaving me. I feel my eyes dilate, I feel my pulse race. I feel… fear. This fear that he has left forever, that he is hers and I will never be in his line of thought, his line of sight. This jealousy will be the death and the beginning of me.

I feel the wind in my hair, I gaze out towards the blue sky, towards the tall forest of trees. I feel a couple of stares, while I feel the presence of Haytham and Ziio slipping away. 

I feel blue, oh so blue. I’m stuck back where I once was, following the Master like a small puppy, begging for attention. I am pleading for it again, and he’s abandoned me. He’s out of my league, yet I keep running to him. Love is a shit-mouthed whore.

Tonight, I go back to the aftermath of the battle, not caring I am the only one around. I sit under a willow tree, and I write to the Grand Master how many have died, I write to both the British and French soldiers of how many men they have lost. I write another letter to Amias, telling him of how many Natives became heroes, that this war will turn for the better. All I write is a total lie, but it makes me happy to know this will lift his spirits just a little.

The night sky casts an eerie light on the fallen, and I feel a sudden change of scenery. I will need to be prepared for what comes at me.