#donne tumblr

[ragazzaguerriera123]

8:52

Buon giorno a tutti che fate? 💋

[adventuresofalgy]

The day was black, and so was the weather forecast. The agitated weather birds were flying all around Scotland issuing stark warnings, crying out as they passed overhead that Storm Éowyn was on the way to wreak havoc in the more densely populated regions of the country on Friday.

Algy was never quite sure how accurate their forecast was likely to be, but as they had issued a rare "danger to fluffy birds" alert for the area not all that far south of Algy's home, he decided to take no chances.

For the moment, however, nothing very unusual was happening: it was just dark, windy and wet, but that was entirely unremarkable in the wild west Highlands in January. So before he retreated to a place of safety to sit out the storm, Algy decided to recite a long poem for the benefit of anyone who might be listening, as he might not have another chance for a day or two…

Hopping up into an elder bush, Algy began to repeat an old poem about a storm at sea. As he lived on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean, Algy was always especially concerned for the folk out at sea when the wind and the waves became really angry, and although the poem was written hundreds of years ago, and the construction of ships had changed considerably since that time, he knew that seafarers were still at very considerable risk in storm force conditions…

The south and west winds joined, and, as they blew, Waves like a rolling trench before them threw. Sooner than you read this line, did the gale, Like shot, not feared till felt, our sails assail; And what at first was called a gust, the same Hath now a storm's, anon a tempest's name. Jonas, I pity thee, and curse those men, Who when the storm raged most, did wake thee then; Sleep is pain's easiest salve, and doth fulfil All offices of death, except to kill. But when I waked, I saw, that I saw not. I, and the sun, which should teach me had forgot East, west, day, night, and I could only say, If the world had lasted, now it had been day. Thousands our noises were, yet we 'mongst all Could none by his right name, but thunder call: Lightning was all our light, and it rained more Than if the sun had drunk the sea before. Some coffined in their cabins lie, equally Grieved that they are not dead, and yet must die. And as sin-burdened souls from graves will creep, At the last day, some forth their cabins peep: And tremblingly ask what news, and do hear so, Like jealous husbands, what they would not know.

[Algy is reciting part of the long poem The Storm by the late 16th/early 17th English poet John Donne, in a modern English version.]

[untuffonelpassato]

Per una volta, senza scannarvi, qual è il vostro parere a riguardo?

Lo avreste fatto diversamente questo “slogan”?

[tizianacerralovetrainer]

"Gli uomini hanno paura che le donne ridano di loro. Le donne che gli uomini le uccidano.”

Margaret Atwood

[sunelrose]

[nottesolostellata]

[medlars-and-sorb-apples]

To His Mistress Going to Bed

John Donne

Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy, Until I labour, I in labour lie. The foe oft-times having the foe in sight, Is tir’d with standing though he never fight. Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering, But a far fairer world encompassing. Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear, That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there. Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime, Tells me from you, that now it is bed time. Off with that happy busk, which I envy, That still can be, and still can stand so nigh. Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals, As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals. Off with that wiry Coronet and shew The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow: Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed. In such white robes, heaven’s Angels used to be Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know, By this these Angels from an evil sprite, Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.

Licence my roving hands, and let them go, Before, behind, between, above, below. O my America! my new-found-land, My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann’d, My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie, How blest am I in this discovering thee! To enter in these bonds, is to be free; Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.

Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee, As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be, To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use Are like Atlanta’s balls, cast in men’s views, That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a Gem, His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them. Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made For lay-men, are all women thus array’d; Themselves are mystic books, which only we (Whom their imputed grace will dignify) Must see reveal’d. Then since that I may know; As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence, There is no penance due to innocence.

To teach thee, I am naked first; why then What needst thou have more covering than a man.

[io-rimango]

[machiavelli]

I’ll go into a social media exile for a bit, so idk when I’ll be back, but just picture me like this while I’m gone: working <3

[echo-s-land]

Do you ever say ex: 'Dis-moi-le' instead of 'Dis-le-moi'?

[idylls-of-the-divine-romance]

hi! just wondering, what are your thoughts on the genderfluid jesus stuff that madieval monks liked to write about? like where he was depicted with breasts and such.

Anonie I am so sorry this took me 22 hours T-T. I have no excuse other than poor time management. The answer, though, is that I absolutely love it!

I didn't always love it, growing up fairly conservative as I did (i refer to it as "black liberal" which is essentially just moderate which is essentially just conservative unless it's about black people). That said, once I learned about biblical language about God as a mother, all those inhibitions sort of just left. There's Lady Wisdom in the Solomonic tradition - Proverbs, Song of Songs, Sirach, Wisdom - who I think is quite clearly supposed to be Jesus, who is the Wisdom of God "Firstborn of All Creation" etc etc. And then the most frequenstly quoted passage from the Tanakh is when God described himself in Exodus 34 and the first thing he says is, essentially, "mother". Jesus calls himself a mother; Hosea refers to God as a mother bear; Paul speaks of all of the cosmos as within the womb of God in his most famous sermon ("in whom we all live and move and have our being"). Then Jesus had breasts in the Revelation! (this one might be complicated but idk).

So even when I wasn't all gender diversity-pilled, it became very obvious that the depiction of the Divine in scripture is not male. With the exception of Jesus, but again: Lady Wisdom. She was my obsession at the time and to a certain degree still is. She is why I love the Solomonic tradition. The divine nature clearly transcends any such gender distinctions, and all of that happens way before any LGBTQ+ movements happened. To push against this reveals more about *you*, I think, than anything else.

Once you've gotten to that point in your understanding of how God-talk relates to gender, genderfluid Jesus art and literature becomes much easier to understand and celebrate. Androgynous statues. An ode about a male Son brought forth from a transgender Father by a female Holy Spirit through a masculine Mary. Paintings of Jesus with breasts. People being born from the yonic side wound. Homoerotic mystical writings. Asking God to assault you. The Holy Trinity as Women. Heck we've had the Holy Trinity as a freaking ring before! If God can be represented as an inanimate object but not as a woman who is made in the image of God, then surely we are dealing with some absurdity!

All that said, in my spirituality, I try to keep quote-un-quote "transgressive" language and imagery serving a specific purpose. I've said this before: it is good and necessary for members of a religion to engage with their religion in a esoteric and transgressive ways that are still healthy. It is important to push boundaries, to not get trapped in boxed ways of thinking, and to pursue Truth because that is where God is. However, I am opposed to people who are not members of my faith making disrespectful jokes or art with the sole purpose of dunking on conservatives. I try to keep it theological, doing everything out of love of God and neighbor and not out of hatred or spite for those I disagree with.

So... yeah lol.

[raffaeles-blog]

Domani se non mi sveglio godo

[darthquayli]

No Man Is an Island by John Donne

No man is an island,

Entire of itself;

Every man is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less,

As well as if a promontory were:

As well as if a manor of thy friend's

Or of thine own were.

Any man's death diminishes me,

Because I am involved in mankind.

And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;

It tolls for thee.

[ginogirolimoni]

Troppi gatti e troppe donne nude su Tumblr, ci hanno impedito di veder arrivare Trump.

[tizianacerralovetrainer]

L’avevano fermata, le avevano detto che il suo velo era fuori posto, che doveva sistemarlo meglio, che coprisse come si deve. Uno sguardo di ammonizione, una regola ripetuta, e un comando che pesava come catene invisibili.

Ma invece di abbassare lo sguardo, di tirare quel velo come le avevano detto, si toglie il velo. Poi la giacca, la camicia. Strato dopo strato, libera la pelle, si scrolla di dosso le catene.

Nel cuore pulsante di Teheran, nel cortile dell’università, rimane in biancheria intima, ma rivestita di un coraggio e una dignità che superano ogni stoffa.

Gli sguardi si accalcano su di lei: alcuni pesanti, di giudizio; altri increduli, come se stessero respirando libertà per la prima volta. Lei è una nota stonata in un coro di silenzi, un punto esclamativo in un libro di regole immutabili.

La terra sotto i suoi piedi è sempre la stessa, ma il cielo sembra abbassarsi per accoglierla. Si domanda se il vento senta il peso di tutte le parole che non si sono mai osate.

Gli occhi degli altri si posano come pietre sul suo corpo, mentre le voci si sussurrano contro di lei, tempeste di giudizi. Ma nel suo silenzio c’è un grido che sfida il mondo.

Arrivano per spegnere la sua fiamma, ricoperti di divise che trasudano conformità. La afferrano con forza, la trascinano via, mentre lei resta muta, forte come una roccia. La portano in un luogo dove sperano di spezzarla, di soffocare quel fuoco indomabile. La trasferiscono in un ospedale psichiatrico, dove tentano di etichettare come “follia” il suo desiderio di libertà. Ma non capiscono che le idee non si possono ammanettare, né chiudere in una stanza bianca.

Donna. Libera. Rivoluzione che cammina a piedi nudi sul selciato della storia.

Il suo corpo è un manifesto, la sua pelle è inchiostro vivo, e oggi ha scritto una nuova pagina di libertà.

Nel dipartimento rimane il suo ricordo, un’ombra luminosa, un’equazione irrisolta sul muro. Perché spogliarsi dei simboli imposti è l’unico modo per rivestirsi di infinito.

PS: La ragazza si chiama AhouDaryaei, studia letteratura francese all’Università di Oloom Tahghighat, in Iran.

Un’eroina di cui avevamo bisogno!

Fonte: Simone Carta, scrittore ❤️

[amylouioc]

Tech Duinn, the House of Donn

Many might not know that the Irish have a god of the dead, Donn. His domain is thought to be located around Bull Rock, off the coast of Cork, and every Samhain, he comes to welcome new spirits and guide them westwards to the Otherworld.

This is also my October postcard, so if you’d like to sign up to get one, you can do so here!