#i found out recently that my older brother WAS baptized

[joachimnapoleon]

Meet the Bonapartes: Pauline (1/3)

New project! I got it into my head recently to do some research/mini-bios on all of Napoleon’s siblings. I find all their stories pretty interesting, but predictably (and understandably) they’ve always ended up relegated to the background of Napoleon’s much more famous story. I’m planning on each write-up being multiple parts. And, if the way this first one has gone so far is any indication, probably more parts than I originally intended them to be.

The conventional thing to do would be to write them in order from oldest sibling to youngest. 

...

Anyway we’re starting with Pauline, the third youngest, because she’s one of my favorites. :)

*****

Pauline Bonaparte was born in Ajaccio, Corsica, on 20 October 1780; she was the sixth of what would be eight surviving children born to Carlo Buonaparte and Letizia Ramolino. Baptized the following day at the local cathedral, she was christened Maria-Paola; her family would refer to her throughout her childhood as "Paoletta."

Almost nothing is known of her childhood in Ajaccio other than that her education was woefully neglected (as would be that of her younger siblings, Jerome and Caroline), and that she delighted in mischief at a young age. Her father died when she was only five years old, and her mother did little to instill discipline into the younger children; they were given a room in the house in which they were pretty much left to their own devices. Napoleon, eleven years her elder and appearing only sporadically during her early years as he continued his education in France, nevertheless developed a strong affection for her which he would retain for the remainder of his life, and which Pauline would reciprocate for the rest of hers.

In June of 1793, the inflammatory political sentiments of her third eldest brother, Lucien, set the ire of the supporters of the Corsican patriot Paoli against the Buonapartes, and the family was soon forced to flee Corsica for the French mainland. They eventually settled in Marseilles, and it was at this time that the names of the family were "Frenchified"; the surname Buonaparte was refashioned to Bonaparte, Maria-Paola into Pauline, and her affectionate nickname of Paoletta now became Paulette.

In Marseilles, she continued with the mischief of her childhood, stealing figs from a neighbor, who once caught her in the act and chased her off with a vine whip, sputtering curses. In her less mischievous moments, Pauline made herself dresses; by her mid-teens she was already becoming known for her beauty, and had developed a taste for finery, although the family was still far from wealthy at this point.

In later years, once Napoleon had come to power and royalist (and British) propagandists began taking aim at the Bonaparte family, numerous sordid stories were published about the behavior of Pauline and her sisters, with the earliest accounts of their alleged promiscuity occurring during their time in Marseilles. The royalist Peltier was one of the first to spread these rumors, depicting Pauline as having taken her first lover at the age of fourteen, and claiming that all three siblings had worked as prostitutes in while living Marseilles (Caroline was only eleven years old). There is nothing credible in any of these stories, but they were the start of a near-constant stream of rumors and tabloid gossip that would continue to accumulate about the Bonaparte sisters for the rest of their lives, and which have unfairly tarnished their reputations to this day.

However, Pauline did fall in love for the first time during this period, at the tender age of fifteen, with a much older man: a forty-one-year-old politician named Stanislas Fréron. Fréron had been tasked with establishing the authority of the revolutionary Convention to Toulon, where he first encountered Napoleon Bonaparte. How he first met Pauline is less clear, but she soon fell head-over-heels in love with him. With the assistance of older sister Elisa (and possible Lucien), she wrote love letters to Fréron, featuring excerpts such as the following:

Ti amo, sempre, et passionnatissimamente, per sempre ti amo, ti amo, amo, amo, amo, amo, si amatissime amante.

Fréron seems to have genuinely reciprocated the feelings. It was through him that Pauline became acquainted with the writings of Petrarch, which would always remain dear to her. Fréron intended to marry the girl, and Napoleon was not initially opposed to the match. Letizia Bonaparte, on the other hand, did oppose it; whether because of the age difference or because of the stories of Fréron's less-than-savory private life (he had at least two illegitimate children from an Italian actress) is unclear. Pauline scorned her mother's opposition, gushing to Fréron:

My heart is not for sharing. It's given to you whole. Who could oppose the union of two souls who seek only happiness and who find it in loving each other? No, my love, not Maman, not anyone can refuse you my hand.

It wasn't until Fréron began to fall out of political favor that Napoleon finally vetoed the impending marriage himself. Pauline was devastated, but submitted to her brother's will, writing him the following (again with the help of Elisa):

As for me I would rather be unhappy all my life than marry without your consent and bring your curses down on me. If, my dear Napoleon, you, for whom I have always had the most tender affection, could see the tears that your letter has caused me to shed, I believe that even you would be touched.

By way of consolation, Napoleon invited her to visit him. At some point after the Fréron affair, one of Napoleon's young aides-de-camp, Jean Andoche Junot, fell passionately in love with Pauline, and hoped to marry her. But Napoleon bluntly shot him down, saying "You have nothing. She has nothing. What does that total? Nothing. Your children will be born to wretchedness. Best to wait."

Pauline accompanied the rest of the family to stay with Napoleon in Mombello, Italy, in 1797. This was the first time the Bonaparte and Beauharnais family were in regular close contact with each other; it did not go well. Letizia despised Josephine, and in short order all of her children (minus, of course, Napoleon) followed suit. Pauline, envious of Josephine's grace, polish, and fine wardrobe, made it a point of sticking her tongue out at Napoleon's wife whenever her back was turned. She ran wild enough at Mombello--allegedly taking numerous young officers as lovers--that Napoleon became determined to marry her off as quickly as possible. He finally settled on a promising subordinate, twenty-five-year-old Charles-Victor-Emmanuel Leclerc. The match was convenient, as Leclerc, like numerous others before him, had also fallen in love with Pauline. She would refer to him affectionately as her "little Leclerc." The pair were married on 14 June 1797.

The French academician Arnault leaves the following impression of the newly-married couple, after a visit to their home on the rue de la Ville-l'Evêque:

I found Leclerc at home and intoxicated with happiness; amorous and ambitious, and both with reason. His wife seemed to me very happy too, not only because she was married to him, but also just because she was married. Her new position had not increased her seriousness, as was the case with her husband; he seemed more serious than usual. But as for her, she was just as much of a madcap as ever.

She became pregnant soon after the wedding, and Leclerc doted over her anxiously during what proved to be a difficult pregnancy. Their only child, a boy named Dermide Louis Napoleon Leclerc, was born on 20 April 1798. Pauline was plagued with recurring poor health from this pregnancy on. Her biographer Margery Weiner writes:

A difficult confinement left her debilitated and probably with some minor disorder easily rectified nowadays but, without proper treatment, a constant source of malaise and lassitude. It is likely that she suffered from post-natal inflammation for which contemporary medicine could prescribe only a round of therapeutic waters and baths, recommending in desperate cases baths of beef tea, surely more efficacious to swallow than to wallow in.

Leclerc eventually resigned his post in Paris and was reassigned to Brittany. Pauline did not accompany him to this post, staying in Paris with baby Dermide (Napoleon was campaigning in Egypt at this time). She was befriended by Madame Permon and her daughter Laure (future wife of Junot), who helped her make her way into Parisian society. In short order, Pauline was dazzling the salons of Paris with her natural charm and beauty (as well as her increasingly expensive wardrobe). "Nothing can give an idea of this ravishing figure," says Laure Junot in her memoirs. "She truly lit up the salon when she entered."

Perhaps entranced by her own talents for seduction and manipulation by this point, Pauline embarked on a brief triple love affair with three generals who were also close friends: Moreau, Macdonald, and Beurnonville. She seemed to take as much delight in being able to play the men against each other as she did in experiencing their affections; but it wasn't long before the three friends compared notes and decided to walk away from her in unison in order to preserve their friendship. The greatest effect of this affair was undoubtedly the stain it left on Pauline's reputation, not only in France but eventually abroad, as it quickly made its way into the British tabloids.

In late 1801, Napoleon--now First Consul--ordered Leclerc to Saint Domingue, to take charge of the 23,000 French troops there and suppress the rebellion of Toussaint L'Ouverture. To Pauline's dismay, her brother commanded her to accompany her husband on the expedition. Historian Michael Broers describes her resistance to this measure:

She... tried every trick she knew to get out of it. She claimed to be pregnant: Napoleon had her examined by his own doctor with the predictable result; she said she could not cope with the coach drive from Paris to Brest: he sent her in a sedan chair. She retaliated by going on a ruinous spending spree in Paris, which she landed on Napoleon, before her departure.

***

Sources:

Broers, Michael. Napoleon: Soldier of Destiny. 2014.

Cronin, Vincent. Napoleon Bonaparte: An Intimate Biography. 1972.

Fleischmann, Hector. Pauline Bonaparte and Her Lovers, 1914.

Fraser, Flora. Venus of Empire: The Life of Pauline Bonaparte, 2009.

Roberts, Andrews. Napoleon: A Life. 2014.

Weiner, Margery. The Parvenue Princesses: Elisa, Pauline, and Caroline Bonaparte. 1964.

Zamoyski, Adam. Napoleon: A Life. 2018.

[dailysassfromshego]

Controversial topics about my country!!!

As some of you might now, I live in a pretty damn Balkan Eastern European country that is pretty misogynistic, homophobic etc etc….

-ABORTION We all are shocked now about USA anti-“pro-life” propaganda these recent days…Thank God in Albania abortions are legal for some several reasons that the poorest states of America (like Alabama) are failing to actually understand!  1) POOR EDUCATION!!! Poor education means high illiteracy rates followed by low average income (Albanian’s average monthly wage is around 200-300 euros). Poor education also means incest, rape and unprotected sex! Yes, our rates on these are pretty high! I got friends whose moms and/or themselves work at maternity centers/hospitals and they say the average of teenage pregnancies are too damn high and a good part of them end up in abortion, specifically or if possible in other cities so nobody specially their parents won’t see them to “publicly shame on them somehow”, simply because falling pregnant at a very young age is also humiliating to their parents and if they found out those girls better commit suicide rather than being actually killed by their fathers or bigger brothers!!! Rarely these girls get the support of their own family tbh and specifically if these girls are from the rural parts of the country. This happens mainly because a girl should be married first and give birth later, and in most scenarios this is because of unprotected sex due to their partners being total assholes for refusing to use protection and most of the cases later dumping them!  2) Health risks for mother or kid! These were the cases that were tolerated even back during communism (also rape and incest were part of the exclusion at that time), but even then there would be a lot where women would fake illnesses to want a pregnancy terminated for sorely their personal reasons. (At least they’d better fake documents at a very trusted person or they could easily face Spaç, the Albanian Gulag, cause spies were fucking everywhere!) And “yes” there could be complications that show up after the 5th month.  3) THE GENDER OF THE KID! Being a very misogynistic country aborting simply because the upcoming child is a girl will push wives by their husbands to commit an UNWANTED ABORTION! This is by far the most controversial and this is the only reason that should be banned by law if you ask me! Thankfully abortions cost less than 200 euros. And to all those “pro-lifers”: You really are pro-life but if the kid dies within the next 3 years by the poor life conditions don’t @ me cause ya all the real anti-lifers! Or lets say that those kids end up in an orphanage where in most cases the conditions are equally as bad as if their biological mothers would keep ‘em, specially in poor countries most kids in orphanages are malnourished, psychologically and physically abused by the people who work in those orphanages or by their older fellows! (I can not even count the amount of the cases we had here and most are within the last 3 years!) “If are a pro-lifer then you better want a life with quality not with the guaranteed fear of abuse and death!!!”

-LGBTQ RIGHTS Not the most welcomed country for the LGBTQ community, I see actors and politicians being openly homophobic and swearing to kill their own sons if they found out they were gay, live on TV programs! However the more educated and informed the common society gets the better for the community! Here you got a source for more info into this topic if interested! Thankfully we are progressing into this topic and we got 17th of May on 2014 as the 1st LGBTQ pride and since then held every year! (Currently speaking we have some exchange students from Spain that are gay and one of them has cried for having a very good time here and being accepted from his fellow students and my father, who is his teacher and if not actually the only one of the teachers to truly accept him for whom he is rather than in his home where he is very badly treated by his teachers simply because he is gay and drags!) However we also got a kind of “transgender” culture that is more of an old tradition in rural parts of Northern Albania, practiced under the “Kanun of Lek Dukagjini/Rules of Lek Dukagjini” (check on internet about this one, is a very interesting topic to even study on it if you are a non-Albanian + it will get you to understand the whole old mentality of this country better) the women called “Burrnesha” or else called the “Sworn Virgin” who are the women that take a vow of chastity and wear male clothing in order to live as men in patriarchal northern Albanian society, cause due to the family not having any sons therefore they’d become “the sons their family never had” keep their childhood surnames and inherit the family properties. There is also a whole National Geographic Taboo series episode dedicated on this topic + a lot of documentaries for you to check out! In this patriarchal country is basically more acceptable if a woman condones with the life of a man than a boy with a woman’s. Notable is one of the best live-on-air TV programs “wrecks” was when a transgender got asked by the dumb ass hostess what kind of community she represents and her respond was “I represent the community of women!” and the host went by in a very pushing way “but you are a different kind of a woman it should be something more or else…” and the other ones interrupts “…let me take is this way honey, just because you are blonde you represent the community of blondes?” and the host says in a thinking way “…mmm yes, actually, yes!” This scene became one of the best memes against the illiteracy of that particular TV hostess whom is known to make stupid questions and totally out of place comments + a boom against most of those so called journalists that have and are filling our media courses full of unprofessionalism, lies and trash content! “Your genitalia preferences are none of my business and shouldn’t be anybody’s! What matters is your character!”

-WOMEN RIGHTS Believe it on not Albania allowed women to vote before Italy, starting in 1920 and gaining full rights of voting in 1945! The very 1st feminist movement was started leaded by Urani Rumbo (who happens to be from the same city as me, Gjirokastra) who promoted woman’s emancipation by publishing the newspaper “Drita” (light in Albanian) and protesting in 1923 so girls could get high-school education! It is known though that actually the Tosk part (Southern part of Albania) was always more matriarchal compared to the patriarchal Geg part (Northern part), and women where seen with far more equal rights towards men while in the other part women were seen as objects. However in 1945 Albania became the 1st communist country that actually applied the ideal of gender equality compared to others that were more symbolic rather than actually applied! That system also put a whole ban on pre-arranged marriages, gave them their rights to get a full education, vote and work equally as men did! You finally had female doctors, drivers etc. even mine diggers!!! (When my grandmother had my father she was just 19 and my grandfather, 26 at the time, was begging to her to continue her university studies on economics where she had won a scholarship, but she kept on declining saying she had to raise the kids while he was saying that her mother could do that as she was living with them! Now she regrets not listening to him!) Anyways by the fall of communism in 90′, things got a bit out of control and the “Kanun” (friendly reminder the “Kanun” is basically medieval rules made somewhere in the 1400′ for the rural parts of the north) got back in tracks and a lot women lost their rights not “legally” but “morally” and this being applied till recent days where the law and authorities would actually do nothing on cases of domestic abuse, rape and incest. And as if this is not enough most of these cases are not even reported due to fear from their husbands, relatives or even family for putting a shame on them! Not to even mention some sexist laws that were put the recent years… Though thankfully there are people fighting about that but yet again is a lot to do due to poor education specially mainly in the rural parts which consists around 70% of the country! “There is still a lot to be done!”

-RELIGION Now this one is my fave! Here nobody gives a flying fuck about your faith! Once again the 1st communist country to truly apply the ideology’s terms making us the 1st Atheist country in the world, in the 60′! Sure a lot mosques and churches were demolished, yet the most important ones were preserved (compared to now that only a few are being founded by Turkey, Greece or Vatican regarding on where they apply their interests on, which is totally unacceptable, and most of them aren’t legit ones with real historical values) and a lot of priest and believers where imprisoned (this one wasn’t a fair move tbh), yet it was the best option to finally unify the nation based on nationality rather than on religion that most nations actually do and/or have! If that wasn’t done on the right time Albania would have ended up in a Bosnia of 90′ scenario where people slaughtered each-other for identifying with another religion=nationality! That, cause if religions weren’t banned people would not accept each-other only because of having another faith, not to add the slurs each of them had and still do somehow! This opened up to marriages regardless of religion which is truly an amazing thing and impossible in most of the world! (My mum is Christian Orthodox from her family, my dad Bektashi Muslim from his and it was his choice to baptize me Christian Orthodox... Funny part? None of us is actually a believer!!!) Why still does? After 90′ a lot people, mainly non-Albanians, found free space to mess up with people’s minds and pushing them to become believers of a certain religion for a considerate amount of money in exchange! Believe it or not this still is a very high risk these days using all sorts of forms to brainwash the illiterate part of the society and condone with a lifestyle that is borderline morally and physically illegal or at least should be illegal! Simply because religion is a very personal topic and nobody should push that on anybody in any way possible! However the best part of being a secular state is that you get to celebrate extra vocations!  “In the end of the day Albanians’ real faith is “money and food”... as for the rest we don’t really care as long as we got to celebrate!” XD

[catholicartistsnyc]

Meet California-Based Artist Lawrence Klimecki

LAWRENCE KLIMECKI is an Orangevale, California-based artist working in visual art, painting, illustration, graphic design, and iconography. (www.DeaconLawrence.org)

CATHOLIC ARTIST CONNECTION (CAC): Where are you from originally?

LAWRENCE KLIMECKI (LK): I am a native Californian, living in and around the Sacramento area.

CAC: What do you see as your personal mission as a Catholic working in the arts?

LK: I see myself as a Catholic with the gift of artistic ability. Artistic ability is simply one gift among many given to the baptized and confirmed to carry out the Great Commission of evangelizing the world. My personal mission is to use my gifts to bring people closer to God and to encourage other artists to do the same.

CAC: Where have you found support in the Church for your vocation as an artist?

LK: The writings of Pope Saint John Paul II and Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI have certainly supported the contribution the arts have made over the centuries. Their writings have helped me to focus on the true purpose for the gifts I have been given.

CAC: Where have you found support among your fellow artists for your Catholic faith?

LK: As I focus primarily on liturgical and sacred art, I tend to associate with other Catholic artists working in the same vein. So support of my Catholic faith is never really an issue. However, part of my ministry as a deacon is to reach out to other artists and support and encourage them in their work and in their faith.

CAC: How can the Church be more welcoming to artists?

LK: There seems to be far more artists than there are large commissions for them. Nevertheless, I think the church can support artists on the parish level by commissioning new original work and by offering spaces, such as parish halls, to allow the artists to showcase their work.

CAC: How can the artistic world be more welcoming to artists of faith?

LK: I think this would require a fundamental shift in how art is viewed by the "artistic world." In our post-enlightenment age, art is typically viewed as the means by which the artist "finds him(or her)self." It is all about individual artistic expression and "art for art's sake." True artists of faith understand that their purpose is to serve their brothers and sisters rather than themselves. For the artistic world to be more welcoming  to artists of faith, it must understand this basic, older, view of the purpose of art.

CAC: Where in the Orangevale/Sacramento area do you regularly find spiritual fulfillment?

LK: As a deacon I serve at my parish, The Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, in Sacramento, California. We work very hard to make our liturgies as beautiful and reverent as possible and are frequently complimented on those aspects of our liturgy by visitors. The Mass is my strength and spiritual fulfillment. Everything flows from the altar. The sacramental life of our parish is constantly growing deeper and richer.

CAC: Where do you go to get inspired?

LK: Visual artists by nature are a somewhat solitary lot, sacred artists even more so, as there are not enough of us around to form groups or collectives. Sacramento, however does have a number of beautiful churches full of inspiring art.

CAC: How have you found or built community as a Catholic artist in your city?

LK: We have made various efforts to form a group of Catholic artists but due to a variety of factors they tend to dissolve after a short period of time. I have had more success developing an online community at deaconlawrence.org, writing articles for my blog to inspire and guide artists spiritually.

CAC: What is your daily spiritual practice?

LK: My daily spiritual practice is not related specifically to the arts. I recite morning, evening, and night prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours and spend a great deal of time reflecting on the spirituality of the artist in the articles I write. 

CAC: What is your daily artistic practice? And what are your recommendations to other artists for practicing their craft daily?

LK: I try to draw every day, although this is not always possible given my diaconal ministry. I am also constantly learning from the work of other artists. I would recommend setting some time aside each day to devote to your art and always continue to learn from others.

CAC: Describe a recent day in which you were most completely living out your vocation as an artist.

LK: I occasionally have the rare day wherein there are no other demands on my time, and I am able to stay in the studio and work. I have recently been exploring graphite as a medium. It allows me to work quickly, is very forgiving when corrections need to be made, and offers deceptively rich results. And so a day of completely living out my vocation as an artist is a day in which I can work uninterrupted on a piece that comes close to the image in my mind. The closer I can realize my inspiration in graphite and paper, the more joy I feel in the result.

CAC: How do you financially support yourself as an artist?

LK: I am fortunate in being able to support myself and contribute to the support of my family through commissions and the sale of prints. I have tried several print-on-demand sites and currently work with Fine Art America. The drawback there is that you cannot collect emails from your buyers. I try to mitigate that by pointing buyers to my website to signup for newsletters. I am somewhat limited by having to do all my marketing and job search online, I am still working out a repeatable process for this. Actual jobs for sacred art are few and far between. Building an email list of fans and followers is far more effective.

CAC: What are your top 3 pieces of advice for Catholic artists post-graduation?

LK: Realize that your gifts are not about you. You are here to serve others. Spend as much time as necessary to discern your true calling and the proper use of your gifts.

[gnosticgnoob]

I recommend the book Julian (1964) by Gore Vidal. Like Game of Thrones, it has the intrigue of warring kingdoms, family treachery, scheming within the imperial court, mysticism, prophecy, and religious conflict. But this is our history, and Emperor Julian's quest was to undo Roman Christianization.

Throughout Julian's and his older brother Gallus' youth, they were essentially political prisoners kept around merely in case they could be of use due to their noble lineage. Their father was executed without clear cause in typical fashion of paranoid Roman politics, and during their upbringing the imperial court kept an eye on them like vultures who would either disdain them and ask for their heads or petition them for political favor, depending on the mood of Emperor Constantius, who seemed at various points just as likely to also have them killed (as he did their father) as to have them formally accepted into the active political scene.

Julian Augustus [writes:]

Ecebolius was eager to go to Ephesus, rather to my surprise; I had thought he would have wanted to keep me from Maximus. But he was compliant. "After all, I am your teacher, approved by the Emperor. You cannot officially study with Maximus, or anyone else. Not that I would object. Far from it. I am told Maximus is most inspiring, though hopelessly reactionary. But we hardly need worry about your being influenced at this late date. After all, you were taught Christian theology by two great bishops, Eusebius and George. What firmer foundation can any man have? By all means let us visit Ephesus. You will enjoy the intellectual life. And so shall I."

What Ecebolius had come to enjoy was playing Aristotle to my green Alexander. Everywhere we went, academics were curious to know me. That meant they got to know Ecebolius. In no time at all, he was proposing delicately that he "exchange" students with them. "Exchange" meant that they would send him students at Constantinople for which they would receive nothing except the possible favour of the prince. During our travels, Ecebolius made his fortune.

In a snowstorm we were met at the gates of Ephesus by the city prefect and the town council. They were all very nervous.

"It is a great honour for Ephesus to receive the most noble Julian," said the prefect. "We are here to serve him, as we have served the most noble Gallus, who has also honoured us by his presence here." At the mention of Gallus, as though rehearsed, the councilors began to mutter, "Kind, good, wise, noble."

"Where is my brother?"

There was a tense pause. The prefect looked anxiously at the councilors. They looked at one another. There was a good deal of energetic brushing of snow from cloaks.

"Your brother," said the prefect, finally, "is at court. At Milan. He was summoned by the Emperor last month. There has been no word about him. None at all. Naturally, we hope for the best."

"And what is the best?"

"Why, that he be made Caesar." It was not necessary to inquire about the worst. After due ceremony, we were led to the prefect's house, where I was to stay. Ecebolius was thrilled at the thought that I might soon be half-brother to a Caesar. But I was alarmed. My alarm became panic when later that night Oribasius told me that Gallus had been taken from Ephesus under arrest. "Was he charged with anything?"

"The Emperor's pleasure. There was no charge. Most people expect him to be executed."

"Has he given any cause?"

Oribasius shrugged. "If he is executed, people will give a hundred reasons why the Emperor did the right thing. If he is made Caesar, they will say they knew all along such wisdom and loyalty would be rewarded."

"If Gallus dies..." I shuddered.

"But you're not political."

"I was born 'political' and there is nothing I can do about it. First Gallus, then me."

"I should think you were safest of all, the scholar-prince."

"No one is safe." I felt the cold that night as I have never felt the cold before or since. I don't know what I should have done without Oribasius. He was the first friend I ever had. He is still the best friend I have, and I miss him here in Persia. Oribasius has always been particularly useful in finding out things I would have no way of knowing. People never speak candidly to princes, but Oribasius could get anyone to tell him anything, a trick learned practicing medicine. He inspires confidences.

Within a day of our arrival at Ephesus, Oribasius had obtained a full report on Gallus' life in the city. "He is feared. But he is admired."

"For his beauty?" I could not resist that. After all, I had spent my childhood hopelessly beguiled by that golden creature.

"He shares his beauty rather liberally with the wives of the local magnates."

"Naturally."

"He is thought to be intelligent."

"He is shrewd."

"Politically knowledgeable, very ambitious..."

"Yet unpopular and feared. Why?"

"A bad temper, occasionally violent."

"Yes." I thought of the cedar grove at Macellum.

"People fear him. They don't know why."

"Poor Gallus." I almost meant it, too. "What do they say about me?"

"They wish you would shave your beard."

"I thought it was looking rather decent lately. A bit like Hadrian's." I rubbed the now full growth affectionately. Only the colour displeased me: it was even lighter than the hair on my head, which is light brown. To make the beard seem darker and glossier, I occasionally rubbed oil in it. Nowadays, as I go grey, the beard has mysteriously darkened. I am perfectly satisfied with the way it looks. No one else is.

"They also wonder what you are up to."

"Up to? I should have thought it perfectly plain. I am a student."

"We are Greeks in these parts." Oribasius grinned, looking very Greek. "We never think anything is what it seems to be."

"Well, I am not about to subvert the state," I said gloomily. "my only plot is how to survive."

much later, as Emperor:

...My old teacher Bishop George had finally succeeded Athanasius as bishop of Alexandria. Not surprisingly, George proved to be an unpopular prelate. He was highhanded and arbitrary with everyone. Matter came to a head when he destroyed a Mithraeum, saying that he intended to build a charnel house on its foundation. When our brothers rightfully protested this sacrilege, he retaliated by displaying all sorts of human skulls and bones as well as obscene objects, declaring falsely that he had found these "proofs" of human sacrifice buried in the Mithraeum. It was an ugly business.

George also incurred the wrath of the Athanasians by his single-minded persecution of all those who had followed the teachings of the bishop. The Alexandrians could not endure him. When word finally came that his protector Constantius was dead, the mob stormed the bishop's palace and murdered George; his body was then tied to a camel and dragged through the city to the beach, where it was burned and the ashes thrown into the sea. ...Not long after, Athanasius appeared in the city with a great mob of fanatics and resumed his old place as bishop. Almost his first gesture was to "baptize" the wife of my governor. This was too much. I banished Athanasius, making it clear that a return from exile did not mean a return to power for deposed bishops, especially those who are resourceful enemies of Hellenism.

At about this time I acquired George's library, easily one of the best in Asia. I am rather sentimental about that library, for his were the actual books which had shaped my own mind. I am travelling at this moment with George's set of Plotinus. The rest of the books I left at Constantinople as the nucleus for the Julian library.

The edict of 4 February had a good effect, though there was much complaint from the Arian bishops, who felt that by allowing their Athanasian brethren to return, I was ensuring doctrinal quarrels which would inevitably weaken the Galilean organization. Exactly! They are now at one another's throats. I have also insisted that all lands and buildings which over the years the Galileans seized from us be restored. I realize that this will cause some hardship, but there is no other way of getting the thing done. I am quite prepared for trouble.

...Late in February I learned, quite by accident, that Vettius Agorius Praetextatus and his wife were in the city. He is the leader of the Hellenist party at Rome while his wife, Aconia Paulina, has been admitted to every mystery available to women as well as being high priestess of Hecate. I was eager to meet them. Praetextatus is a slight, frail main, with flowing white hair and delicate small features. His wife is somewhat taller than her husband and as red-faced and robust as a Gaul, though she is of the purest Roman stock. They are most enthusiastic at what I am doing, particularly Aconia Paulina. "We have had a remarkable response at our temple of Hecate. Truly remarkable. And all due to you. Why, last year in Rome we could hardly get anyone to undergo initiation but now... well, I have received reports from Milan, Alexandria, Athens... everywhere, that the women are flocking to us! We are second only to Isis in enrollment, and though I am devoted to the Isis cult (in fact, I am an initiate, second degree), I think Hecate has always drawn a better class of women. I only hope we shall be able to open a temple right here."

"You shall! You shall!" I was delighted. "I want every god represented in the capital!"

Aconia Paulina beamed. Praetextatus smiled gravely. "Every day," he said softly, "every waking hour, we pray for your success."

For at least an hour the three of us celebrated that unity which only those who have been initiated into the mysteries can know. We were as one. Then I got down to business.

"If we are to defeat the Galileans we must, very simply, have a comparable organization."

Praetextatus was dubious. "We have often discussed this at Rome, and until recently we thought we were at least holding our own. At heart, Rome is anti-Christian. The senate is certainly Hellenist." He paused and looked out of the window, as though searching for Zeus himself in the rain clouds rolling in from the sea. "You see, Augustus, we are not one organization like the Galileans. We are many. Also, we are voluntary. We do not have the support of the government..."

"You do now."

"...now, yes but is now too late? Also, our appeal is essentially to the individual, at least in the mysteries. Each man who is initiated undergoes the experience alone. At Eleusis it is the single soul which confronts eternity."

"But there is also the sense of fellowship with other initiates! Look at us! You and I are brothers in Mithras..."

"That is not the same thing as belonging to an open congregation, our conduct governed by priests who are quite as interested in property and political power as they are in religion."

"I agree." I tapped the papers in front of me. "And I suggest we fight them on their own ground. I plan a world priesthood, governed by the Roman Pontifex Maximus. We shall divide the world into administrative units, the way the Galileans have done and each diocese will have its own hierarchy of priests under a single high priest, responsible to me."

They were impressed. Aconia Paulina wanted to know if cults would be represented in the priesthood. I said yes. Every god and goddess known to the people, no matter in what guise or under what strange name, would be worshiped, for multiplicity is the nature of life. We all believe -- even the Galileans, despite their confused doctrine of trinity -- that there is a single Godhead from which all life, divine and mortal, descends and to which all life must return. We may not know this creator, though his outward symbol is the sun. But through intermediaries, human and divine, he speaks to us, shows us aspects of himself, prepares us for the next stage of the journey. "To find the father and maker of all is hard," as Socrates said. "And having found him it is impossible to utter him." Yet as Aeschylus wrote with equal wisdom, "men search out god and searching find him." The search is the whole point to philosophy and to the religious experience. It is a part of the Galilean impiety to proclaim that the search ended three hundred years ago when a young rabbi was executed for treason. But according to Paul of Tarsus, Jesus was no ordinary rabbi or even messiah; he was the One God himself who rose from the dead in order to judge the world immediately. In fact, Jesus is quoted as having assured his followers that some of them would still be alive when the day of judging arrived. But one by one the disciples died in the natural course and we are still waiting for that promised day. Meanwhile, the bishops amass property, persecute one another, and otherwise revel in this life, while the state is weakened and on our borders the barbarians gather like winter wolves, waiting for us to stagger in our weakness, and to fall. I see this as plainly as I see my hand as it crosses the page... To stop the chariot as it careers into the sun, that is what I was born to do.

[sml8180]

Sins Exposed

(A/N: So... I wrote my first Far Cry 5 story! This ended up a lot longer than I thought it would, but I’m pretty damn happy with how it turned out. I hadn’t seen anything tackling when Joseph might have gotten the sin scars that are all over him, so I decided to write my take on it. Also, bit of a TW for this one. There’s some pretty in-depth descriptions of blood/bodily harm/cuts (Not self inflicted, but asked for. Literally. Joseph asked for this to be done to him). So, be aware of that)

Joseph had settled in his role as the Father, though not without help from his two brothers. Despite their time apart, the three were able to form a strong bond with one another. A bond of family, and faith, and trust.

The Project was still relatively small at this time, with new members trickling in every so often. If not for his brothers, Joseph wasn’t sure if he would be managing things as well as he was. While he handled much of the main operation, he was still just one man. He had gotten his older brother, Jacob, to handle the logistics of keeping their people armed, protected, trained, and mobile; to be the Soldier. The eldest Seed’s time in the service made this an easy position for him to fill. Meanwhile, the youngest brother, John, was assigned by his brother to be the group’s Baptist. He welcomed in new members, washing them of their sins, and bringing them into their family. The youngest Seed had also taken to using his skills as a lawyer, handling any legal (or illegal) needs of the Project, and doing anything in his power to get what they needed, be it resources, homes, vehicles, anything.

The brothers were all settled indoors for the night, as it grew too dark outside to do anything. Warm light from the table lamp and fire lit the room comfortably, as they discussed general goings on among the people of Eden’s Gate. Jacob had little to report, other than a handful of jammed firearms he was having to look into, and Joseph only had positive reports of their follower’s response to recent sermons. When the conversation turned to John, though, there was a shift. Without him even speaking a word, his older brothers were able to tell that there was something not quite right.

“When baptizing new members, or when convincing them to join us, you’ve always told me to remind them that even you are not free of sin,” John’s first sentence was spoken carefully, as often was the case when he spoke. “Most accept this without question. But, recently there have been a handful who have doubted this. They seem to believe that who speaks for God, who has heard His voice, must be free of sin. At the very least, they claim that the sins you have committed should be exposed to the world.” This was a sentiment John had shared previously with his brothers, and it was something they had been working on. The youngest Seed’s skills with a tattoo gun had lead to many images and phrases being penned into Joseph’s skin. The worst of his sins, though, were nowhere in sight.

“They want tangible proof that even their Father has sinned?” Joseph questioned, looking to his younger brother. He received merely a nod in response. “Then they shall have it.”

“I’ll get my equipment, then,” John offered, beginning to stand. Joseph reached to grip his arm, halting his brother.

“Not as tattoos. No ink will be needed.”

“What are you thinking, Joseph?”

“You still carry your knife, correct?”

“Always. You can’t be thinking what I think you are, can you?” John couldn’t believe what his eldest brother might be implying.

“Be sure the blade is clean in the morning. The flock will see the sins of their Father exposed. I want no arguments.”

John searched Joseph’s face for some indication that he wasn’t serious about going through with this idea. He found that his search was fruitless, and his brother was dead serious. Without a word, John nodded, walking away to prepare his knife and ready himself for what would unfold the next morning. Jacob, meanwhile, remained with Joseph in the silence for some time, before they both retired for the night.

The early morning was painted golden yellows and oranges and pinks as the sun rose. Jacob was already out, tending to a handful of things before Joseph’s sermon. John and Joseph, meanwhile, were making their way to the chapel, walking side by side.

“You’re sure about this, Joseph? This will hurt far more than any tattoo you’ve gotten from me,” John questioned. This was the second time he’d asked this question that morning. Although he knew it wouldn’t change Joseph’s mind, he wanted to be sure that this was what his brother wanted. Carving the words into his skin would certainly be many times more painful than even the worst tattoo he’d gotten.

“Yes. I’ve already told you, John, I’m certain,” came Joseph’s calm reply. He was nervous, to a point, but he was set on doing this.

“What sins will you be exposing?”

“Greed, gluttony, lust, pride, and sloth.”

“All five? You don’t need to do them all at once.”

“We’ll keep going until I can’t take it. I don’t want you to stop unless I say so.”

“Of course. I understand.”

The rest of their walk went by in silence. The pair approached the chapel silently, making their way inside and down the aisle between the pews. A small handful of followers were already seated, some silent, and some whispering prayers. As Joseph prepared for the service, remaining followers trickled in, taking their seats in the pews, filling the space with quiet chatter and shuffling. Jacob entered with the last of them, the chapel door shutting behind him as he made his way to the front, taking his place standing off to Joseph’s side, just a bit behind him.

Joseph’s sermon was as powerful as any other he’d given. He spoke about sin, and the need to be cleansed of one’s wrongdoings so as to reach atonement and have the gates of Eden open to them upon the collapse he so often mentioned. The middle Seed confessed that even he, their Father and prophet, had lived a sinful life. This brought about chatter among the flock, and even a handful of objections and arguments implying that it was impossible. Joseph raised his hands to signal the congregation to settle down, and things slowly came back to the usual silence. With a silent motion, Joseph had Jacob bring a folding chair for him, and he began to prepare himself for what was to come.

“Greed, gluttony, lust, pride, and sloth,” he began, slipping off his black coat, setting it on the back of the chair. “These are the sins I have committed. The same as many of you. We have all sinned, and we must come to terms with that fact.” As he spoke, he turned the chair with one hand, so that the side faced the pews, and began to unbutton his shirt, the tattoos on his chest slowly coming into view. “Some of you have questioned whether or not I have sinned, and some have questioned my dedication. Now, you will see that even I have done wrong, and must atone. My sins will be exposed.” Joseph’s words were book-ended by him setting his shirt on the back of his chair as well.

John stepped forward as his brother sat down, turning his knife in his hands as Joseph explained that he would be having his sins carved into his flesh. The youngest Seed situated himself at his brother’s right side, brandishing the knife. Jacob set his hands firmly on Joseph’s shoulders to ensure that he kept still. Without another word, John went to work, starting to carve “Sloth” into his older brother’s chest. Joseph grit his teeth, clenching his fist as John worked.

The younger Seed’s hand was steady, despite the odd method he was using. As he did when tattooing, he kept a steady hand, using a cloth to wipe away the blood drawn by the act. Slowly and steadily, he cut each letter into Joseph’s skin. The result was rough when compared to his work with ink, and it bled far more, it was clear that there would be a prominent scar when wounds healed. He stood, wiping the blade clean as he observed Joseph’s face, walking to his left side and kneeling there. Being given no word to stop, the Baptist draped the Father’s arm over his shoulder, and went on to repeat the process, this time cutting “Greed” into his brother’s upper arm. A handful of pained groans escaped Joseph, and John felt his brother grip the back of his shirt and vest in his fist. The position was awkward, and he would have preferred to have Joseph’s arm on a table, rather than his shoulder to allow him more freedom to work, if he were being honest. The man had to stop half way through, and had Jacob take hold of Joseph’s arm; the position he was in was far too difficult to work with as the letters got closer to the crook of the elbow. Finally, though, he finished the second sin to be exposed on Joseph’s skin.

The Father’s breathing was heavy as he attempted to take deep inhales and calm himself. This process was turning out to be more painful than he had expected. But, he couldn’t give up, now, and merely gave John a nod, urging him to continue.

John and Jacob moved again. Jacob setting firm hands on Joseph’s shoulders again as John got down in front of them both. He looked up to his brother, giving him a chance to either call this off for the time being, or to indicate that this wasn’t where he wanted to have “Lust” carved into him. With a mere nod, Joseph let his brother know that he was going through with this, and that this placement would suit just fine. Upon the confirmation, John got to work, cutting the four letters into the Father’s skin. Joseph was clearly trying to restrain his pained noises, gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes tightly behind his yellow aviator glasses. This sin went by faster, as John was growing used to the method he was using.

By the time his younger brother finished cutting into his lower abdomen, Joseph’s breaths were coming as pants as he tried to control his response. Blood was trickling from his wounds as he let his head fall back against Jacob’s stomach for a moment, catching his breath. He only had two more rounds to go, and it would be over. As John wiped the blood away from all his wounds, he was able to calm himself. A moment for recovery passed, and rather than call off the rest of the endeavor, the Father stood, albeit with some assistance from his brothers, and turned his back to the congregation, sitting backwards on the chair. He was leaned forward a bit, resting his right forearm on the back of the chair to brace himself, as his left arm stayed by his side, blood running down it to his fingertips.

Becoming more comfortable with what he was doing, now, John stood by Joseph’s left side again, and began to carve “Gluttony” into the back of his brother’s shoulder. The process brought more pained noises from the middle Seed as his control began to waver. Secretly, he was glad that nobody but Jacob could see his face, as tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes behind the glasses he always wore. The first open yell came as the N was formed, starting to cross his spine, being followed by the Y. The tattoo he had in progress on his back hurt like hell when John worked on it, but this was far worse. The Father’s resolve was clearly breaking down as the Baptist wiped the blood away from the finished product. Now, there was just one more sin to go.

John gave his brother a moment to settle, and back down if need be. Of course, he knew that Joseph made up his mind already. He was going through with this, no matter what. Thus, the Baptist knelt down, and began to carve “Pride” into his brother’s lower back, in fairly large letters when compared to the others. Clearly, this was his brother’s most prominent sin, all three of them knew it, and the scar left behind would only prove that. Each movement was deliberate, and he braced his left hand against Joseph’s back when he wasn’t using it to wipe away the blood coming from the wounds. Even Jacob was keeping their brother still, holding firm to his shoulder and arm as the man’s forehead was resting against his stomach. Just as before, the letters closest to, and crossing over, the spine brought the worst reactions. As John finished the I, and went on to the D, Joseph let out a handful of yells, his bloodied hand gripping the leg of his pants. John finished fairly quickly, slicing the four lines to make the letter E in quick succession, simply to get it over with for his brother’s sake. The action drew a clearly pained yell from the Father, before he simply went silent, drawing in harsh breaths. Several moments went by before he was able to even think of speaking again. He wiped his eyes behind his glasses, out of view of the congregation at his back, and finally started to straighten up. With a final few deep breaths, the Father stood, and the Baptist stepped aside.

Joseph turned to face the silent congregation, full of stunned onlookers. “Just as all of you, I have sinned, and I wish to atone for my sins. From now on, if you ever doubt that you or I have done wrong, remember this day. My sins are now exposed for all to see, just as God sees the sins of every one of his children.” Joseph’s words were careful, as he tried to keep his voice steady despite the collective ache and sting burning though his wounds as they still bled slowly. He lifted his hands, one bloody, both shaking just the slightest bit, and bid that his flock go in peace, and think of what they had witnessed. Without a word, the congregation filed out of the chapel, leaving only the brothers inside.

None of the Seeds said a word for some time. Joseph merely sat back down, letting his elbows rest against his knees, his head hanging low as he steadied himself. John wiped his brother’s blood from the blade of his knife, having nothing to say. Jacob watched his two younger brothers, simply observing as Joseph took one hand and reached up, setting it on John’s wrist in a silent thanks. The Soldier took this as a sign to leave, and did so quietly, leaving the two younger Seeds on their own.

“You did well, John,” Joseph quietly praised his younger brother.

“It was unorthodox, to say the least. But, I suppose that was the point,” came John’s reply as he tucked his knife into the sheath at his hip.

“Thanks to you, I have had my sins exposed. There may be hope for you, yet, my brother, so long as you show the same devotion to God, to the Project, that you have shown me, and that I have shown you.” With these final words, Joseph stood once again, this time more steady on his feet. He took his shirt and jacket off the chair back, and simply walked out of the chapel, blood still slowly dripping from the fresher wounds in his back, and shining as the sun outside hit it.

John was now left alone in silence. He thought over his brother’s words, debating his meaning. To the Baptist, knowing how his brother spoke, found the answer obvious. Joseph wasn’t the only one of them who would have his sins exposed.

[decorous-biohazart]

Trigger warnings to all who read or watch this. Just like the video says, the thematic nature of it’s content as well as my entry cover very sensitive topics. 

I saw this tonight, and the words of it along with the recent implications of situations as well as encouragement from those I confide in I wanted to share this. 

But moreso, I want to speak. 

Normally I’d say ‘you don’t have to read this’ or ‘it’s just a vent musing ignore it haha’ but not this time. 

Not talking, keeping things to yourself, and having apathy for your situation will only make it worse and lead you to doing things that hurt others just as bad as yourself. 

My story, my experience, is what pushed me to start art and speak out about abuse. But recently I’ve started to waver, lose my push forward to chase that dream and instead wallow in thoughts and memories. 

They need out, and I’m going to let them out. 

So I ask, as selfish as it sounds, please read. Just this once.

If you did read all of this, I thank you for listening and I hope it helped you just as much as me. If not, I encourage you to at least watch this video if you have battled with any kind of abuse.

Because of this video and what has come from it, I had the courage to send a message to my former youth pastor to speak with him and his wife to tell them the truth about what they didn’t know about my father. Not out of a vendetta, but as a Deacon in their church he deserves to know who he is. 

But above that, I need closure, and I won’t be denied any longer.

You are not alone in this. We are not alone in this.

Speak up. Be heard. Let them keep you silent no longer.

I stumbled across this video tonight, and at first I didn’t open it. 

The title was so stunning, what felt like a missile directed right at me that would sink me deeper in to the fog I was already in and I almost didn’t click it. 

But I did, and I don’t regret it. Instead, I wanna tell my story. 

It’s what I have wanted to do since I set out to become an artist. To make my story worth something. To share the characters, thematic worlds and designs I’ve created that served so long as my sanctuary from what was real. My way of expressing what I was going through and what was in my head. 

I remember, ever since a young age, for some reason I was always afraid of my father. Now, to some extent all children are. They fear getting in trouble, upsetting their father for things they did. I got that, so I thought it was normal to feel how I did. 

The nights I spent crying in terror, the days stuck in the car where he pushed me to my limits with threats for losing one point on a spelling test for talking. 

I thought it was normal. So I took it. 

Then I got older, and I started to see things different. For what they were. When he divorced our mother things stayed relatively like that. I had my suspicions, but never capitalized. 

Then our first step-mother came along. Now, she wasn’t the nicest, and it was such an unfamiliar concept to us. In a lot of cases she was much more assertive, much more controlling and somehow our father became our haven from her. 

That it was her fault for what we were feeling, and we had to rebel against her. Eventually, we drove her off. But still it continued. 

The yelling, the runarounds in conversations that left us no ground to speak for ourselves other than to say ‘yes sir’ and admit to whatever he wanted us to. 

During the time with our first step-mother he started pushing us into church. I remember the day he asked if we ‘wanted to go to church’ like we had some kind of choice.  That was when he was ABSORBED, absolutely overtaken by his ‘faith’ that I didn’t see until years later was a ploy to give him divine affirmation to do the sick things he did to us. 

The way he made his word law, and questioning it was heresy against God. To go to church time after time and even be court ordered at our mother’s home to be taken there. Where we would cry and beg not to be taken to church but she had to by juristic requirement. 

Then the real agony started in middle school. When I started to wake up to what was happening to me. 

When I started taking drastic measures just to get anyone to notice what was happening to me. 

Not bathing, showing up to school in dirty clothes, letting my grades slip, starving myself. ANYTHING to get someone to ask what was wrong. 

But instead, it reflected on our mother and not our father. It almost got my brother and I taken away so many times and I had to stop. To pull it together. 

Although, even when I tried in school, it wasn’t enough. Second grade I was testing at a college level. He’d say we were ‘destined for greatness’. 

So when life started to catch up and wear us down, when the work got harder and we had real life things to get in our way it was unacceptable when we could not succeed. 

When we had horrid acne that ruined our esteem he would berate us for how awful our faces looked and send us away so he did not have to look at us. 

Then he put us on Acutane to clear it up. Those days were some of the most physically agonizing I had to experience. 

For those who do not know what Acutane is: it is an acne medication that works to extreme measures for chronic acne. It fills the blemishes with the medicine to clean them out before it would start clearing up. 

This not only made the acne worse by making it swell to painful levels, but also would make the user break out in bulbous yellow heads and dry out the skin and lips to severe degrees. 

It was torture, but the verbal berating we got when we stopped taking the medication consistently was worse. 

One day I was stood in the garage, just so overwhelmed while we were doing yard work by the utter weight of my father. So much so, that I found myself holding a pair of hedge clippers to my neck. 

I almost did it. I almost quit. Left this world at such a young age. 

But I didn’t. And I put them back. It wasn’t the last time I thought about it, but it was the last time I tried. 

Then came high school and I chose to get baptized. I wanted to pursue my own path of faith and try to find my own place within it rather than conform to his view of it. 

At least that’s what I told myself, but in hindsight I believe I did it to please him. 

So when word got back we messed up once at our mother’s house and he went into another hours long lecture it was worse for me because I was baptized. 

That being submerged in that tank made me not allowed to make mistakes anymore, then he swatted a phone across the room. One of his many times he sent objects flying in a rage. There was a knick in the kitchen counter at our old home where we lived with our mother where he threw the island counter top at her. 

Our second step mother, who he is still with, obediently picked up the pieces as he went on. 

Then, it happened one day. The first time, I had an anxiety attack. 

I was pale, shaking and couldn’t breathe. I had to leave class, go to the counselor’s office to help me get my grip back. I had to go home that day because being outside struck a fear into me like none I had ever known. 

But when I forewent the church trip that weekend I was looking forward to, as an escape for the weekend rather than going to his house for those few days, he crossed an nonredeemable line. 

He started by parking across the lawn from our mother’s house instead of pulling in the driveway like he always did. 

When I got in the car, he was playing a Weird Al Yankovich song because ‘it always cracked him up’. 

I had the hope, just for a second, he understood. That it was gonna be okay, and he was gonna listen.

But when I said on the sidewalk outside his house that I was glad the week was over I was proven so horribly wrong. 

He said, and I quote, ‘don’t talk about what happened this week until we’re in front of a therapist otherwise I can’t guarantee your safety. Understand?’ 

Of course I said ‘yes sir’. 

‘Good man!’ 

That was his response, in such an unfitting spirited voice before he went about going to the neighbor with me to feed their dog while they were out of town. 

I snapped that day, seething in fear and anger but all I could do was sulk on the couch. 

Then he sent me upstairs because he didn’t want to see me do that. But that wasn’t enough, he came up there and DEMANDED that I pray and apologize for my actions. 

I had to APOLOGIZE for what HE DID to me. And I did, like the obedient child he molded me to be. He started praying too and touched my foot, and every time I think about it I want to break his nose. 

One day we confided with our step-mother about the many incidents she didn’t know about before her time there. 

The threats, the shows of power, even threatening our last step-mother with a gun. 

The current one told us about a time she had to pull a knife on him when he pushed her against the counter and tried to get her to break down crying. 

But she never said anything about it to the church, just like we didn’t, because she knew no one would believe it. 

Time after time, more and more incidents until finally college came. 

Summer before, we’re going on a cruise to Alaska to celebrate our graduation. 

And on that trip there was an insignia on the cards that we were given (because we registered before we were 18) that allowed us to participate in activities with attendees 12-17. 

Now I had no intention to attend these, rather they were an alibi to avoid him. 

But he said it would probably be better not to for the image it’d give. And you know, for the first time we agreed on something. At least I said I agreed and meant it for once. 

But when our step mother asked us to dance on the deck of the ship and I refused due to my raging social anxiety (guess where that came from) he instead saw it as protest for now going to those events because we wanted to touch the kids. 

That’s right. He believed, because we did not want to dance that we were pedophiles. 

Now, he is a cop. And just like his job at the church he uses it as affirmation to do the things he does. 

So he said time and time again during that lecture, nay, that interrogation that he was speaking to us as an officer and not a father. That this was his worst nightmare. 

Now if this were true, he would have sent us back to the US on a plane to be processed like he said he would. 

Instead eventually he just left the room, leaving us behind to simmer with that classic, obnoxious edgy arrogant thing you see badly written characters (or people with huge egos) do where he gave one last quip over his shoulder before leaving. 

Then, it was like it never happened. 

Now, how could it be him talking as an officer if he did not take his job serious enough to process us? 

Nah, he got his rocks off doing that. It’s how he always did, but this time was one of the most extreme and that was easily why he was in such a good mood the rest of the trip. 

Our first summer was approaching out of college, and he wanted word back from our summer job at the local pizza place about getting our job back for the break. 

Now I knew early on I wasn’t cut out for that place, and the day I was going to quit he demanded that we request 20 hours a week from them. 

Because of that, I believe was why they shined us on and didn’t tell us they were going to fire us. 

But of course, it had to be our fault and that we were not trying. 

So finally, we put our foot down. We had to gather in my work at the Conduct office with my bosses, my brother’s boss, and an Auraria Campus police officer to tape the call while we had it JUST to tell our father we needed space. 

We asked for space and said we needed to cut contact. We didn’t tell him how the night before when we ignored his calls we hid in a friend’s room two floors above ours at our dorm until our mother picked us up to hide out at her apartment. 

His response: I am cutting your phone plans and medical care. Don’t give me this bullshit (his response to when I said I didn’t want this to be permanent and that this would hopefully make things better between us) you want to go live entitled with your mother. I will let you be homeless in a box before I enable you (one of his favorite lines). 

I’ll see you when you crash and burn. 

It’s been two and a half years, those were the last verbal words he said to me. 

Last year, I started antidepressants in part of my desire to pursue art. To get better. But they didn’t work, none of them did. So I finally saw a psychiatrist by the behest of my physician. 

He, along with the other I went to for a second opinion, both asked me extensive questions and told me a diagnosis I never thought I would hear. 

‘You have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder’. 

PTSD. 

I had PTSD. 

What was I going to do with that information? 

How could, even after all that time and thought about how bad it was, did I not believe he really did that much damage to me? 

It made me realize just how in my head he was. 

Then my brother went back to him. Tried to patch things up, and it actually looked like things were going well. 

He made it clear he would not be putting up with his crap any longer. That things were to be different. 

He told him about my diagnosis, and about a suicide attempt my brother had made the semester before in result of what happened. 

Never an apology. Never. 

Instead he said ‘no matter how much you hurt us, we will always still love you’. 

He had ALL  the facts and instead still twisted it to make us the perpetrators. 

That was it. That was enough. 

But still I suffered, battling this mental disorder and the ghosts of my past. 

Then I saw this video, and just like with the medication I felt free to speak publicly. 

I started medication because an artist by the handle RinTheYordle started talking in her stream once about doing what it takes to get better at your craft. Studying, school, tutorials, medication. 

I felt like that was the green light to start what I had always been told was fake, that I was faking and didn’t need it. I was told yes from someone who I held at a higher opinion than the one who said no. 

Just like with this video, I saw it good to finally speak publicly. That it could change a life. Even just one. Even just mine. 

[albertineingomorrah]

By the time I was eleven I was being homeschooled.

Down the road lived two other girls (twins) who were also homeschooled by their mother.

They were devout catholics and as I had just been kicked out of Catholic school- my mother insisted I spend as much time with them as possible.

They were several years older than me and very well endowed.

That is to say, they had enormous breasts.

During that time I was growing into myself as well, swelling here and there- but it was something I hadn’t quite come to terms with. All my clothes were dark shades and way too big on me.

While they had come to embrace their hyper feminine bodies I felt cautious and encumbered by my own.

They had a lot of opinions, which is not altogether too strange for teenage girls of a highly religious nature.

They had disparaging opinions on sex, or even kissing before marriage..

The first time I kissed a boy was in kindergarden, he had started crying because his mother left him in Sunday school, we were visiting my brother's church and it was my first time there too.

I felt bad for him and I’d seen a kiss scene on television recently- mistaking the romantic tension for platonic comfort.

You can imagine the face on the poor woman who was in charge of the class, when I walked up to him and grabbed his face..

I wanted to be somewhat accepted by these busty twins, mainly because I had been forbidden to spend any more time with the girl I actually liked playing with, and the boys down the street had started to notice I was a girl which ruined a lot of the fun of spending time with them.

All of a sudden I was being protected in Capture The Flag rather than tackled like everyone else.

For about a year the three of us spent a lot of time together.

They weren’t terribly nice to me- they made fun of my clothes and how I didn’t like to brush my hair. They always made a big deal out of being older than me and they thought it was annoying that I had to take a book with me everywhere I went.

Most of all though, they didn’t like my aversion to religion- especially Catholicism.

They would endlessly tell me that non-believers would go to hell and that if I didn’t believe in god that he would hate me. If I listened to “secular” music I was going to hell, if I said “Oh my god” I was going to hell… all together it was a limiting friendship.

Rachel, technically the younger one- was slightly kinder, but not by much.

Megan was more aggressive. Always the first to start in on something that annoyed her and always ready to prove her point.

One day we were sitting at my kitchen table and they had started in on me about the whole-”You’re going to hell thing.” again, which had gotten really old.

It was a summer evening and my dad was in the connected garage tinkering with some invention I'm sure.

He must have overheard them, as the living room was close to the open door.

He wandered in and made eye contact with me. I sort of shrugged as if to say, “eh, whatever”

But he sat down anyway.

“You know…” he started, I could tell he was thinking because of how he rested his chin on his hands.

“Jena was ACTUALLY baptized by an Archbishop”

A hush fell over the table.

He allowed a moment of silence for this news to set in and then he went on.

“He traveled to Cleveland just to baptize her” His face was so solemn I almost believed him too.

“It was such a momentous occasion that people from all over came just to watch him baptize her”

It was the first time I saw the girls so stunned that they had nothing to say.

I never had to listen to them talk about the church again, but they became a little more bitter toward me after that.

On my 12th birthday my mother invited them to sleep over.

As we sat up in my room they told me that they felt too old to be my friend anymore, and that it would be annoying to keep hanging out with someone so young when they were about to turn 16.

I wasn’t too upset to be honest. Now I could just tell my mother they didn’t want to hang out with me and I wouldn’t be subjected to their constant criticism anymore.

Rachel was pregnant by 17, which was ironic, yes.

But I did feel bad for her when I found out that her step father had almost kicked her out.

It must have been hard living with so many rules and fears. I understood why she ended up going in the opposite direction.

[catcher11]

SLEEPING BEAUTY (TRELUCARD)

                                              LITTLE BY LITTLE

TREVOR

The honor had not mattered to him for years, and basically, he no longer had parents or superiors to please. The only task he carried on his shoulders was to keep the name of his line alive by defending the innocent and doing his best to try to win the battle against the immortal monarch.

However, there he was, wondering more and more frequently, what his parents would do if they saw him now, a complete disaster in his story, his way of showing how he cared about  something or someone, but, above all, his feelings. Would they be proud of the last vestige of the contradictorily honorable Belmont clan fighting literally with a fist and sword for the humanity that carried a heart made a catastrophe? Great work, Trevor! Great fucking job.

If only the crystal clear water of the river in which he bathed at that moment could erase his feelings as easily as bloodstains and grime. He was not ashamed of who he loved, but the effects of feeling that way. Trevor was not used to feeling vulnerable, let alone at the mercy of someone. He was master of his words, actions, impulses and feelings. But, once again, there he was, sighing over that person's lips and his body protected by his arms. Yours and those of no one else.

A sudden flash of gold suddenly interrupted his thoughts, and Belmont had to use all his strength to keep his interminable indifferent mask intact.

There he was.

The man he loved.

The enemy.

A fucking vampire.

Alucard was practically no longer his opponent since he decided to join them to defeat his father, but it took about three months, countless arguments and several death battles against the infernal army to get accustomed to his presence. Getting used, but not trusting.

He had been wandering for almost all of Wallachia for eight months along with the floating vampire Jesus and the Speaker. He kept looking for the exact moment when he took the step of tolerating him to cherish him and to cherish to loving him. Not even using the memories with his parents served to know if they, at some point, advised him on romantic matters or told him their story. And though Belmont knew that his parents loved each other, he had no idea what to do with his recent feelings.

If only  everything was as easy as skinning Dracula's beasts.

Alucard paused for a moment to realize his presence. The vampire sighed, irritated, and Trevor snorted with annoyance as his companion stripped off his clothes. The hunter took his eyes off just in time before Tepes caught him staring at him. He simply entered the water little by little and began to carve his body without looking at Belmont. One look would have been his death sentence.

- What, are you coming to baptize?

- Human or not, I have needs, Belmont. Besides, leave the religious jokes aside already, they aren't funny anymore.

- And you stop acting like a smart guy. First you correct my movements when fighting and now my sense of humor. You waste time correcting me. It doesn't suit you.

- Recovering your manners would not be a waste, if they ever taught you some. And who knows? Maybe it would save your neck.

- I do not need a babysitter.

- Well, stop acting like a baby.

Enough was enough. The hunter, no matter how immature the gesture seemed (he had no modesty since his first duel when he brazenly beat his testicles anyway), threw water directly at the vampire, who closed his eyes tightly and snarled before returning the attack. Curses, more snorts and splashes followed for a long time until both opponents got tired. One last poisoned look ended the childish dispute and then proceeded to carve their bodies without saying anything at all.

But when one did not look ... the other would record the other's body in his mind.

Trevor admired the long, blond hair of the vampire and paid special attention to his fine hands and graceful movements. Alucard, for his part, memorized the wide back, the intense blue eyes and the tension of the muscles when moving. There was only one common denominator in their meticulous study: they both wondered about the history of their scars. Curiosity overcame pride, and curiously, Belmont was the first to break the silence.

- Where did you get that wound  from your torso?

- I already told you and Sypha from the beginning. It was my father.

- Do not make me angry once more. I do not want to fight now and I'm trying to be friendly at least once.

-Alright, I get it, I'm sorry. He responded with annoyance. It was not the question that made him angry, but the answer. The memories were always more painful than the moment when he had ended with that baggage. - The day my mother was killed ... Father lost control. Rage, impotence and a great melancholy: that was the blindfold in his eyes. I wanted to persuade him to find the murderer and stay at peace with it. Cry his loss and move on. But he was so intent on the ideal that there were no more innocents without her, no matter how much he knew what she did for them and how much she loved them. I fought him. And all I got was this. He murmured, running his fingers along the deep diagonal line, thoughtful, totally oblivious to Trevor's desire to caress that wound himself. - And you? How did you get that?- He asked, pointing to his right cheek.

- My first hunting. Several years ago, I was barely a child. My father was convinced that it was time to take me hunting. Of course I did not leave him alone until he allowed me to do it before.- Alucard smiled slightly, softened by the image of a pure and innocent Trevor, eager to fight a beast as if it were a game. - We started before the sun came out, my father, my two older brothers and me. All day long, we wandered through the forest, I was listening to my father giving instructions to me every time, emphasizing that I should not lower my guard and being a victim of my brothers' pranks. Damn sons of bitches.- This time, the vampire could not help but chuckle and be slightly stonished to see Trevor's nostalgic smile. - We found nothing during the day, and just as we were on the way home, a small horde of harpies appeared. First they attacked Sebastian, my older brother, and when I tried to defend him, a harpy cut me and almost killed me. Had it not been for my father and Andrew, I would not have come back alive. Mother went crazy, Sebastian spent a month in bed because of a broken leg and father yelled at me the whole night. But from there on, I joined them and the training continued until I became what I am.

Anecdotes led to the first trivial and friendly conversation. That was enough. That talk would be the passage to more intimate secrets, secret fears and even, private jokes.

- Tell me, did the nap worked, sleeping beauty?- The hunter asked with a mischievous smile and a playful tone. Alucard laughed.

- Don't mock. It was difficult to find the correct position in a stone coffin for a year.- He joked, earning a laugh from Belmont.- Besides, it's a shame, you know?

- What?

- My prince charming did not wake me with a kiss.

Silence. And the water running. Alucard hid the blush on his cheeks with his hair, and Trevor begged that his heartbeat whould not pierce his chest. Belmont smiled like never before, though Tepes could not see him because of the embarrassment that kept him from looking him in the eye.

- Yeah, what a shame.

Trust was gained little by little and at a slow pace, just like baby steps. But there was a common feeling that equated its slowness and relevance: love.

[astridstorm]

Day of Pentecost

Today is the Feast of Pentecost. Pentecost in Greek means 50 days, because we are now 50 days from Easter. Our Jewish brothers and sisters are this weekend also celebrating their Pentecost. This was a Jewish festival before it was a Christian one. The men and women in the reading from the book of Acts were gathered in Jerusalem to celebrate that -- the Jewish Pentecost (or Shavout, as they call it).

Pentecost in the Christian tradition is one of the five primary feast days in the church year for baptisms. And we have another--our last for a while--baptism today, of Stella Caramanica. Welcome to her  and her family. They joined our parish about two months ago, after moving from Washington. Their former church was Christ Church in Alexandria, which is a big and historically important church for Episcopalians. Here’s something interesting: that church was built before the founding our country. George Washington had a pew there, which still has his name on it. It was founded in 1749, so exactly 100 years older than we are. We're honored you all chose to make St. James the Less your new parish home. Welcome. Stella has an older brother Lucca and we welcome him, too.

All over the world today Christians are baptizing new members into the faith, many at this very hour. Kind of a lovely thought. Pentecost is really a celebration of Christianity's reach and scope and of our religion's diversity. So it's appropriate that we are all doing this important thing together today of baptizing new Christians.

I had a picture in my mind of this sermon before the words came. I saw countless little red dots and lines on a world map, starting in Jerusalem. On the Day of Pentecost when the disciples had this ecstatic experience of the Holy Spirit, 3000 people, pilgrims there in Jerusalem from foreign lands, were converted that day (that's mentioned just after our reading). So this picture in my mind's eye started at Jerusalem with 3000 tiny red dots. Because many of those people went home after the festival to their faraway towns, in North Africa, in Turkey by the Black Sea, to Arabia, there would be a little line charting that course, and on the far end of it, more dots branching out as each of those people converted spouses, children, even households.

This keeps spreading out, and spreading out, dots and lines, dots and lines, Jesus’ word spreading to the north, to the south, east and west, across oceans, deserts, channels, borders, mountain ranges, across ethnicities, language, cultures, dots and lines, big red masses of many dots, extending further and further out, until south and north, east and west meet. That is the story of Christianity, beginning on this day.

The writer Philip Jenkins, who writes about the rise of Christianity in the Global South, said that our faith spread out to more cultures and languages in its first 100 years than any other religion in so short a time. To do that, you had to be zealous, and those first Christians were certainly that. You had to have some help from history: Roman roads, good ships, books--the codex, a new invention at the time Christianity began and certainly one that helped it spread. But you also had to have people who were adaptable, flexible, and who wanted to go out, to venture far afield of what is comfortable, and known.

It is traditional that, on the Day of Pentecost, we also read this story from the book of Genesis, the Tower of Babel. It’s an old folktale. The first 11 chapters of Genesis contain the “pre-history” of Israel. It’s filled with mythical stories of how things came to be: the earth, human sin, murder, cities, different cultures and, today, different languages. We meet these people in our reading as they’re plotting to build a tower. The story says less than we think it does. It doesn’t say anything about hubris, or vanity, or trying to overtake God in building this tower. What it does tells us by way of a motive is that they wanted to avoid spreading out. “Let us build a tower… otherwise we shall be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.”

The implication being: we do not want that. Let’s huddle here. Let’s be as like each other as we can. Let’s take no risks, let’s build a fortress to protect ourselves from uncertainty and the unknown.

The Christian Pentecost story is sometimes said to be a “reversal” of the story of Babel. Until recently, that never quite made sense to me. If it were a reversal, then the many languages would become one again. What was undone at Babel, the one, unified language and people, would be restored. But that doesn’t happen in Acts. If anything, the diversity, and the chaos, only increase.

But now I get it: it’s a reversal not of many languages back to one, but of that desire to huddle, and not change or be changed. It’s a reversal of fear that keeps us in one place. It’s a reversal of monoculture. It’s a reversal of the need to always be safe, to always be buffered from risk by hiding in towers and fortresses of our own making.

Those early Christians had a mindset that couldn’t be further from the people of Babel. They got out there, in the world. They let the Spirit lead them to places and people unknown. And today on this Feast of Pentecost, we’re called (like them) to let God’s light shine as far and as bright as it possibly can. To expand our fellowship. To let the Spirit do its work, in us.

[killingthebuddha]

For years I’d been meaning to attend the Friday meditation class at my father’s retirement community.

When my parents moved to Piper Shores in 2001, meditation was not on the schedule. They were in their mid-70s, and everyone assumed my father, a workaholic with heart problems, would be the first to go. When my mother died of ovarian cancer a few years later, the order of events seemed incorrect. My father was alone in a way he never expected to be. I visited every month, driving the hundred miles to Maine on Saturday mornings and leaving Sunday afternoons.

While there, I meditated in the guestroom. Sometimes I’d tell my father what I was doing, other times I just closed the door. After several years, a sign saying Quiet Room appeared on a door near the dining room. When I asked my father about it, he said it was a place where families could meet with bereavement counselors or people could meditate.

I’d always thought of my parents’ generation as being dismissive of meditation. Born in the 1920s, these men and women grew up during the Great Depression and came of age in the midst of World War II. Though my parents came from different backgrounds, they were both bright, ambitious, and ill-suited to sitting still. There was always so much that needed doing. So much to be done.

My parents met at night law school in the 1950s. After a brief courtship, they married, had my two brothers, and moved to Maine. My father wore a suit to work each day, drove a Ford, and voted Republican. He became a success not because he was daring or charismatic, but because he was the opposite—calm, measured, and considerate to anyone who asked his advice. Although my father wasn’t closed-minded, I’m not sure he ever heard of the Beats. He simply wasn’t a counter-cultural kind of guy. He attended attended a neighborhood Episcopal church, where I was baptized in 1960.

*

During the same decade as my parents’ courtship, Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and Gary Snyder famously explored Buddhism. My meditation teachers all came of age in the 60s and 70s, the heyday of the Hippy Trail, when young Westerners trekked across Asia in search of meaning and adventure. Some of this groupof students, dropouts, seekers, and malcontents journeyed to Bodh Gaya in northern India to learn how to meditate at the site of the Buddha’s enlightenment. Some found their way to Dharamshala and befriended the young Dalai Lama. Others flew to Thailand, shaved their heads, and were ordained as Buddhist monks. Eventually, almost all of them ended up back in America.

I wish I’d been old enough to hitch a ride to Boulder, Colorado in 1974. The kickoff of the Naropa Institute that summer became the Woodstock moment of American Buddhism. Chögyam Trungpa, a “crazy wisdom” guru, invited other unconventional teachers to lead workshops. Ram Dass, who had just published Be Here Now, was there. The poet Allen Ginsberg and the composer John Cage attended, as did Joseph Goldstein, Jack Kornfield and Sharon Salzberg, all recently returned from Asia and trying to figure out how to teach mediation to “Young Americans”—a song Bowie recorded that summer in Philadelphia. Their first students were mostly middle-class, college-educated kids like themselves.

Like me in the 1980s. I tried to meditate during the Reagan Era, but didn’t mention it to my family. My parents would have regarded it as another affectation, like my becoming a vegetarian years earlier. My brothers would have made jokes. I was ambivalent myself. Though I agreed with most of what I read in Buddhist books, on the cushion, nothing seemed to be happening except boredom, frustration, and pain. I wondered if sitting was a complete waste of time.

I took my first meditation class in the early 1990s and learned that my struggles were common. I meditated everyday for a year, then quit for several years, then started up again.

By the 2000s, I had established a consistent practice. I told my family about my practice in 2005. My mother had died the year before, and my brothers and I were worried about my father. Before I drove to my first retreat, I had to explain where I’d be, what I’d be doing, and why my phone would be turned off for a week. I sent an email with emergency contact information.

Every year after, I sent almost the same email. My retreats became longer, sometimes stretching to several weeks. Getting away was never easy. As my father got older and deafer, I worried more and more about being away.

*

The first time I opened the door to the Quiet Room, I had to feel around for the light switch. The room, illuminated, was the size of a small living room. Three blue armchairs were arranged in a semicircle. The paintings on the wall were seascapes in muted blues and browns. It could have been the waiting room for a spa or a funeral home.

I sat in one of the blue chairs, somehow feeling guilty, as if I didn’t have the right to be there. Every time I heard footsteps or voices in the hallway, I tensed, thinking someone was about to open the door and ask, “What are you doing here?”

But nobody did. Not that first time. Not the next. I got comfortable on my monthly visits to the Quiet Room. After a while, a meditation cushion showed up in the closet, but no other meditators. If I opened the door late at night, I worried I might surprise staff members having sex in the darkness, but nobody was ever there.

My father never asked about my practice, but when meditation started to become mainstream, he clipped articles out of the New York Times and mailed them to me. It was a sweet gesture. I thanked him when we spoke on the phone. I didn’t mention I’d read the articles online.

Those last years, I often went to church with my father, though we both knew I wasn’t a believer. When he turned 90, he finally allowed me to drive. He still had his license and drove surprisingly well. I wasn’t worried that he’d cause an accident. I worried someone would hit him and he’d be hurt and unable to hear.

When a friend his age died, my father learned that donations in the friend’s honor could be sent to the meditation center I frequented. At the funeral, my father sought out the man’s daughter to ask her about it. She said her father had gotten a lot out of going to the Buddhist center, but rarely spoke about it.

When my father told me this, I asked him if he wanted to try the Friday meditation class. I offered to come up early to go with him. “Probably not,” he said politely, which we both knew meant no.

*

My father’s own funeral was last April, shortly after his 92nd birthday. “I don’t want to linger,” is what he always said after visiting bed-bound friends in the nursing home. “I don’t want to linger.” And he didn’t. He died a day after being rushed to the hospital and three days before a scheduled meeting to discuss his moving to assisted living.

The Friday after his funeral, my brothers and I gathered at his apartment to take, give away, or throw out all his belongings. Everything: from the almost empty box of bran flakes to the king-size bed he’d shared with my mother and then slept in alone for 14 years.

This would be my last opportunity to go to the Friday meditation class. I took it. The group had outgrown the Quiet Room and now met in the big lecture hall. I introduced myself to the two women who were teaching, both residents. They were welcoming and looked disconcertingly close to my own age.

I took a seat in one of the rows of folding chairs facing the windows. There were already a dozen people there. Some residents maneuvered their wheelchairs close to the folding chairs. Some arrived on motorized scooters, then carefully made their way to chairs. Others rolled in on walkers to join the group. No one sat on a cushion. Outside, the wind whipped the flag and clanged the rope against the flagpole. Most of the snow had melted, exposing the hay-colored lawn. Spring was still weeks away.

It wasn’t until I was sitting with the residents that I realized I’d expected the class to be something of a lark, not quite the real thing.

I’d been amused when mindfulness classes first showed up on the schedule at Piper Shores. The image of genteel seniors sitting in a semi-circle of cushions seemed ridiculous, as likely as their learning how to pole dance or build a bong. Yet as I sat with the men and women who were so like my parents, I felt an overwhelming sense of love and connection. We were all there for the same purpose—to understand our own suffering and maybe find some relief.

For the first time, I appreciated how generous Asian teachers had been to the young Westerners who knocked on their doors. How odd and comical those kids must have seemed to the elders who welcomed them in.

The doors of the room were propped open. As we meditated, the quiet was interrupted by voices in the hallway. I could picture the table outside the mailroom which held framed announcements of the residents who had died that week. Usually there were two or three. The notice of my father’s death was already gone..

I opened my eyes and looked around the room, knowing I’d never be there again. Most people had their eyes closed. One man was snoring. Several years ago, my father had delivered a Veterans Day talk about the Gettysburg Address in the same room. My nephew and I had driven up to hear him. After the talk, he got a standing ovation.

I tried to meditate, to be a part of the group, rather than an observer. I closed my eyes, then opened them again. My brothers were two floors up, working hard, probably annoyed with my absence. There was so much to be done. I closed my eyes and wept. Had my father been there, he would have been embarrassed for me. But he was not there. I was in the midst of his world, and without him.

By Sunday afternoon, we had dismantled the apartment. There were still clothes to take to Goodwill and furniture marked for the movers, but the space was no longer my father’s home.

I took only a few objects: some old photos, a gray cashmere vest, a glass polar bear I’d given him years ago. I also took the watch my father wore when I was a child. The crystal was scratched, and when I wound it, it wouldn’t tick, but I could so clearly remember it on his wrist. I thought briefly about having it fixed, but I didn’t want to wear it so much as have it near.

[kansascityhappenings]

Baby brothers beat all odds after horrific attack

Watch Video

Nurses, anesthesiologists and surgeons were crowded into an operating room at Tallahassee Memorial HealthCare’s main hospital, racing to save the life of a young boy with a knife lodged in his skull. Suddenly, the phone rang, and everything stopped.

“Before you pull the knife, I want him baptized,” the frantic voice on the phone said.

The caller was Gail Brown, the grandmother of the boy who was lying on the operating room table. Brown also happened to be a nurse at the hospital — and she feared the worst.

A hospital chaplain baptized the 20-month-old, and some of those in the operating room whispered a prayer. When the ceremony ended, the surgery commenced.

“I shed a tear,” said Dr. Narlin Beaty, a neurosurgeon at the hospital who led the surgery.

“Honestly, we didn’t know whether he was going to live or die.”

Juan Pedro Nino-Brown survived that surgery in April. Now 2, he loves to laugh and play, and he shows no serious signs of his injury.

His brother, Guillermo Timoteo, who was 8 months old in April, also survived a complex surgery to remove a pair of scissors from his skull. He now seems to be developing just like any other healthy infant and recently celebrated his first birthday.

The medical journey that the boys survived was so significant that their doctors wrote a case report and submitted it to the journal Trauma for review and publication, Beaty said.

“Every day, we see little miracles, and this just happened to be a big one,” he said.

How complex surgeries saved the boys

In the middle of the afternoon of April 24, the boys were rushed to Tallahassee Memorial HealthCare with life-threatening head injuries. Authorities say their mother had attacked them.

Carolyn Brown allegedly stabbed Juan Pedro with the knife and Guillermo Timoteo with the scissors, CNN affiliate WCTV Eyewitness News reported in April.

WCTV reported that, according to arrest documents, Brown told a county worker that she had killed her children. She was taken into custody and transported to the Apalachee Mental Health Center in Tallahassee.

In May, she was charged with two counts of attempted murder, but in July, a judge found her mentally incompetent to stand trial. She’s being held for treatment in a mental health facility.

Immediately after Brown said she harmed her children in April, Gadsden County sheriff’s deputies performed a welfare check at Brown’s residence and found the two boys on the floor of a bedroom, according to WCTV.

The boys were in critical condition.

Dr. Joseph Soto, an ear, nose and throat surgeon at Tallahassee Memorial HealthCare, was the on-call physician for facial trauma when the boys arrived at the hospital.

“I’ve taken care of a lot of patients, kids and adults, who have been through a trauma — stabbings, gunshot wounds to the neck — but never have I seen this type of situation with these two boys — two young boys, who were basically defenseless,” Soto said.

“One boy had a pair of scissors through his ear, his left ear. Another boy had a knife through his neck, going up towards his head, in his brain,” Soto said.

“My immediate reaction was how angry I was. I wanted to find who did this,” he said, adding that he did not know details about the incident. “Then I quickly settled down, and I went into ‘doctor mode,’ trying to figure out what we needed to do.”

Soto, Beaty and their colleagues performed angiograms, or X-rays, of both boys to determine how deep the objects were lodged in their heads and what would be needed to remove the objects without causing severe bleeding or additional injury.

“The one thing that gave me hope, when I saw the youngest boy — he had a scissor that was 6½ inches shoved into his ear, to the hilt — and he was sitting there staring at an iPhone that was given to him by our child life specialist,” Beaty said.

“Just like any child who zones out to technology, he was still very much aware,” Beaty said. “Now, his older brother, who had the knife buried in from his jaw up into his brain, he was very much dead when we met him. He was in a deep coma. His pupils were not working. He had no signs of brain stem life.”

Immediately Soto, Beaty and their colleagues performed surgeries on each boy, pulling the scissors out of the younger brother and the knife out of the older brother.

The procedures were not easy.

“When you’re thinking about brain surgery, you either have the left side or the right side. So if you’re going to do a surgery, for example, you’re going to have to either prep the right or left — and in this case, both objects traversed midline. So they were both in the right and the left in both cases, which is unfortunate and unusual,” Beaty said.

“If you perform open surgery from the right, then you don’t have control of everything to the left, and vice versa,” he said.

In order to reach both sides of the boys’ brains, the surgeons inserted a series of catheters into the arteries. Those catheters allowed them to move between both sides and gradually push the objects out of the boys’ brains.

“We would move them from the left to the right as the objects were moved in the boys’ head,” Beaty said, adding that his colleagues and he entered the arteries from the large femoral artery in the leg to then travel to the brain.

The scissors in Guillermo Timoteo’s ear moved an artery that supplies blood to the brain stem and spinal cord, so that artery needed to be repositioned.

As for Juan Pedro, the knife cut his internal and external carotid arteries, which deliver oxygen-rich blood from the heart to the head and brain. Those arteries needed to be closed.

The medical teams used coils and balloons to perform the surgeries without harming any other blood vessels and arteries. The teams relied on 360-degree live X-ray imaging to help guide them through the tiny arteries in the boys’ bodies.

Both surgeries took place April 24, beginning in the late afternoon and ending late that night. The surgeries were successful, and both brothers survived.

‘We are grateful for every day’

“The younger boy definitely is going to have hearing impairment just because of the course of that foreign body that went into his ear,” Soto said.

Yet “when I see these boys and I see how they’re doing, it’s just remarkable that they — in the time I spent with them, which is limited — that they seem to act like normal boys,” he said.

“I hope when people hear about this story, they realize that there can be some pretty bad things that can happen, but you just keep that faith. You keep that hope, and you can still have the happier ending,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be a bad ending.”

Dr. Sanjay Gupta, CNN’s chief medical correspondent and a practicing neurosurgeon, saw radiology images of the boys’ injuries.

Gupta was not involved in their care, but after hearing about their story, he said he was impressed with how the boys’ medical team responded.

“Perhaps the most remarkable part of this story is the judgment and forethought the doctors and nurses had before proceeding with the operation,” Gupta said. “In these situations, the team spent the time to really plan the operation despite the urgency of the moment, and that saved the boys’ lives.”

After the boys were stabilized, they remained at the hospital for about a week. Then, they were transferred to Johns Hopkins All Children’s Hospital in St. Petersburg, Florida, for follow-up treatment and monitoring with specialists.

The boys continue to travel to Johns Hopkins All Children’s Hospital for follow-up care. They now live with their aunt and cousin, WCTV reported, and they are being called “miracle babies.”

In a written statement last week, the Nino-Brown family said, “Juan Pedro and Guillermo Timoteo are doing very well, thanks to God and the incredible medical care they’ve received. We are grateful for every day that they continue to grow and heal.”

Soto and Beaty were reunited with the boys in July, when Tallahassee Memorial HealthCare held a special reunion for the boys and their caregivers at the hospital.

“I think it brought closure to a group of people here at Tallahassee Memorial, the community here at Tallahassee Memorial Hospital, that maybe was aching for that closure — to see them succeed,” Beaty said.

Roughly 100 members of the trauma team at the hospital — including physicians, nurses and techs — were involved in the boys’ care.

“We did something collectively as a health care team to save their lives,” Beaty said. “You really felt that we were a team from the beginning to the end.”

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2018/09/05/baby-brothers-beat-all-odds-after-horrific-attack/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2018/09/05/baby-brothers-beat-all-odds-after-horrific-attack/

[catholicnotquiteyet-blog]

When I was a little girl, my mother worked two jobs and her only day off was Sunday. Due to this she made us go to church. But she was emphatic. “Go to any church but Catholic..who the fuck wants to pray to a woman.” This is how my religious life began. Sending her brood to church was a way of sleeping in on Sunday, and getting free babysitting. I have always liked church. Protestant, church. Baptist, Church of God, Church of Christ, Foursquare, Assembles of God, Methodist, Presbyterian,  Lutheran, Even Unitarian ( which is more of a club and less of a church as they don’t believe in much besides themselves and the “goodness of man” The Unitarian church did not have cookies for the kids and no music, so my brothers and sisters did not like it much, and I believe we only went once. All the other churches were sort of nice to us. We were 5 unattended children, mostly well behaved, always without parents, never able to put even a penny in the plate. Some churches loved us, some could not wait to get rid of us. But this was the Sunday Morning ritual, get up, get ready, get out of the house as quietly as possible and make sure we had some kind of paper to prove we went to church. When I got older, my mom got a better job and had the luxury of Saturday and Sunday off so church was no longer a requirement. Years passed, and I pursued lots of religious and philosophical endeavors. I like philosophy, enjoy Spinoza, though he is crazy and cranky and possibly wrong about many things. Camus, though he was mean to the ladies, Wittgenstein, partly, because he is really cute, and partly because I like the way he thinks and explains things. I also like Plato, quite a bit. But the church thing is something that I have never truly been comfortable in. I have gone to church, been a member, even gone to bible college, but even at my most intense, I was never quite comfortable. Recently, I wondered, literally across the street to the big Catholic Church which has been sitting there like a rich relative the entire 20 years  I have lived in my little place. It is towering, filled with happy families, and sort of beautiful. I like sitting in it, then I found I liked the show, they call it mass, then some of the ideas struck me as OK..no, better than OK, quite good. Then there are the huge deal breakers. Quite a few actually. MARY..ya, her, not crazy about their thoughts of the dear lords ol’lady. It is kinda off..and the Pope..Ya, even though everybody digs this guy, he is actually not my favorite. He is odd and literally loves all other faiths and at the same time has a major thing against Protestants, which I guess is sort of historical, but come on pal, its been a few years, can’t you forgive? I mean, its your thing right? Forgiving? Also, that the Catholics, all seem to think the Pope, is more than a guy in a skirt with a big job, bugs me. All that said, with all that buzzing in my mind, I can’t help but go!?! What the hell? (Literally..) Will I go to hell if I hang out at the Pope’s Pad? This is a journal of my journey at the place across the lane. This Sunday, they are going to ask me ..”What do you ask of God’s Church?” I will say “I don’t know” in my head, they want me to say “Entrance into the Eucharistic Community” but honestly, I kinda want that, if I could drop the Pope, Priests, and Mary, I would be so “In” but according to the class I went to , this is just saying..I am kinda, very interested, in studying more, and checking this thing out deeper. So ..ya, Its not official they say..and I was baptized by literally a bunch of other churches, over the years, so ..I am doing this blog, because, I hope that I can get some insight by blogging, and because, if there are any Catholics, Ex-Catholics, Nun’s, Ex-nuns, Priests, Ex-Priests etc.. Who want to chime in on this deal, please, please do! I am a lost sheep kind of person, always has been..so it would be very cool if I could just be a part of .

[taniasinel]

EVERYTHING YOU WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT WHEN HARRY MET MEGHAN!!!

Corny, I know!  But forgive me!!   I love that movie – “When Harry Met Sally” – it was one of my favorites, way back when, with that famous line “I’ll have whatever she’s having…”   And funny enough, the movie starred a Meg. Meg Ryan. It’s still a cute movie today, all these years later and Prince Harry and his Meg are just about as adorable as their Hollywood counterparts.

The world went crazy the day it was announced that Prince Harry was engaged to American actress Meghan Markle.  Twitter exploded with the news - it was as if everyone was so excited and so happy for the couple.  Who knew that Harry was so well liked?   But apparently, the Prince is one of the most beloved of all the Royals. 

As the younger brother to the future King of England, Harry was always a bit overshadowed by his older, more mature brother William. 

But the world fell in love with him when Diana died, and as just a young child, he walked the entire route behind her coffin, the image of grief, strength, and courage.

William and Harry took different paths in  adulthood.   William married his college sweetheart and quickly settled down, but Harry seemed to struggle.  He joined the military and did two stints in Afghanistan.  He played a lot of polo – he is said to be an incredibly talented athlete.  He was known to have a good time and he seemed to find trouble – a lot of it, especially when compared to William, who didn’t.  Lately, though, he has matured.  A few years ago Harry started the Invictus Games where injured vets compete in world wide sporting events.

And then, on the 20th anniversary of Diana’s death, he and William gave a series of heart-wrenching interviews.  Harry confessed that he suffered greatly from his mother’s death – that he didn’t grieve properly and it wasn’t until he was an adult that he allowed himself to open his heart up to his loss, with the help of therapy.  

It was the first time that the Royal Family had revealed so much of their private life to the public and it solidified the love everyone had for the once little boy who had walked all those long miles behind his mother’s cortege.

  Prince Harry was fixed up on a blind date with the L.A. born actress, Meghan, by a mutual friend, whom they refused to name.  Both hinted it was love at first sight.  After just a few dates they traveled to Botswana, camping out under the stars – and it was there that their relationship was sealed.  

The “tent” in Botswana where the couple “roughed it” under the stars.

The world didn’t know about the couple for six months – during which they spent the time mostly alone and at home, which further strengthened their new partnership.

  During their courtship, Harry and Meghan mostly stayed under the radar, but they were spotted out together a few times.  Once was at a friend’s wedding in Jamaica last March, when the paparazzi caught them sharing some PDA.  But, it wasn’t until this past September at the Invictus Games that the couple made their first public appearance together.   They looked so cute and so in love – their happiness was infectious.

It was whispered that they couple would become engaged in November and so it wasn’t a huge surprise when it was announced they were to marry.

It’s hard to believe how much the royal family has changed in just a few generations.  King Edward was forced to give up his throne because he wanted to marry a divorcee!   The Queen Mother never accepted Edward’s wife, Wallis Simpson, and she hated her to the day Wallis finally died.  Later, Princess Margaret was forced to give up the love of her life because he was also divorced.  Years later, Margaret herself would become the divorcee.

Meghan will be the first American to marry into the royal family since Wallis Simpson.  And she is a divorcee.  She was married to Trevor Engelson for two years, having dated him for seven.  They divorced in 2013. 

Meghan and her ex husband, producer Trevor Engelson. 

Trevor is Jewish and there were reports that Meghan was also Jewish, which would make her the first Jew to marry into the Royal Family – but that rumor was proved not to be true.   Meghan is Protestant.  And, it was announced she will be baptized and confirmed in the Church of England before her marriage.

But who IS Rachel Meghan Markle?

At 36, Meghan is three years older than her intended, Prince Harry.  She was born in L.A. to a white father and a black mother.  An only child, her parents divorced when she was just two, but the three remained a close and loving unit.  Her father was the lighting director on Married With Children and Meghan says she grew up on that set.   Her mother is a free spirit who teaches yoga and is a travel agent.   Her father has other children by another woman – and some of those half siblings have been leaking photos and stories to the press.  One half sister is currently writing a tell-all book about Meghan.  Ouch!

Thomas Markle – Meghan’s father.

Doria Ragland, Meghan’s mother.

Meghan as a cute little girl.

A foreshadowing of things to come?  Years ago, a 15 year old Meghan and her best friend pose in front of Buckingham Palace.

This friend shown here happens to be her life long best friend – from toddler to marriage.   The friends are now estranged and their breakup story isn’t a pretty one.  The friends parted ways after Meghan chose to divorce her husband.  Her former friend doesn’t speak highly of Meghan now and she sold her story to the tabloids.  It does make you stop and wonder –  they were best friends for almost 30 years, and the ex-friend has the photos to prove it. 

Meghan went to Northwestern and after she graduated, she worked as a calligrapher to help pay the bills between acting jobs.

She was a briefcase model on “Deal or No Deal,” believe it or not. 

Andy Cohen on “Watch What Happens Live” said that if Meghan Markle could fake so much enthusiasm for a suitcase filled with $25 – Harry might need to be suspicious.  Very funny,  Andy.

I was surprised to read that Meghan’s ex-husband produced the movie “Remember Me” starring Rob Pattinson and that she actually had a small part in the movie.  It is said that her ex is currently writing a movie about about an American marrying a prince.  Not sure if this is true or fake reporting.

It’s this show that brought Meghan all her fame, up until she met Harry that is.  For the past seven years, Meghan has starred on Suits – which recently filmed their 100th episode.  Now that she is engaged, Meghan will no longer be acting.  Suits filmed in Toronto and it was said that was probably the cause of her divorce.  Her husband stayed in L.A., while she lived mostly in Canada.   There were rumors of affairs.    For the past three years, Meghan wrote the popular lifestyle blog “The Tig” – something that she also recently gave up, along with  her once popular Instagram.

Last summer – Meghan wrote on her blog that she and good friend, fashion designer Misha Nonoo would be traveling to London and Spain for three weeks.  Misha’s ex husband, Alexander Gilkes, went to Eton with both Prince Harry and Prince William and the couple remained close friends with them.   At Harry and Meghan’s first televised interview, the couple confirmed a mutual friend had set them up on their blind date – but they refused to name the friend in order to protect her privacy.  It is thought that friend is Misha.  Their first and second dates were in July – right when Meghan and Misha were in London to see their other friend, Serena Williams play at Wimbledon.

At their engagement interview, Meghan said she knew nothing about Prince Harry before their blind date and asked only – “is he nice?” – but honestly, I found this strange and had trouble believing it.  What young girl doesn’t know who Prince Harry is?!?!?  I thought it sounded like a case of the lady doth protest too much.  Also, apparently Harry’s first cousins, Princesses Eugenie and Beatrice both attended Misha’s wedding in 2012.   Misha was at Prince William and Kate’s wedding.  The royal connection gets even deeper:

Pippa Middleton & ex boyfriend:  Misha’s brother-in-law!

Kate’s sister Pippa actually stayed at Misha and her husband’s townhouse in NYC.  And Misha’s ex brother-in-law Charlie Gilkes once dated Pippa.  Later, Princess Eugenie worked for Misha’s husband’s art auction house in New York.

Meghan’s bestie Misha with Harry’s first cousin Princess Beatrice

In the engagement interview, Meghan says “I didn't know a lot about him, everything that I've learned about him, I learned through him as opposed to having grown up around different news stories or tabloids or whatever else... anything I've learned about him and his family was what he would share with me and vice versa, so for both of us it was just a really authentic and organic way to get to know each other.”

Hmmm….

Misha Gilkes and Meghan call each other “sisters”  - so it’s hard to reconcile what Meghan said about not knowing anything about Harry or the Royals before their blind date.  I’m not the only skeptical one – it’s being mentioned in the tabloids.   Perhaps Meghan should not have stressed that fact during her interview, it just doesn’t ring true.

But, it’s obvious who the matchmaker was, despite all the secrecy.    Misha has long been thought to be the matchmaker, but when asked to confirm it, Misha stays loyal and has said in the past “I really can’t answer that.”  

Meghan is equally loyal to Misha.  In fact, the white shirt Meghan wore to her first public appearance with Prince Harry was the “Husband” shirt from Misha Nonoo’s clothing line.

To see this shirt and more of Misha’s line, go HERE

It’s good that many of Meghan’s friends are loyal and discrete – she will need that now that she will be chased by the English tabloids, who can be brutal.

In fact, last year Harry issued a plea to the media to leave Meghan alone.  He mentioned the racial undertones of news articles and how Meghan and her mother had been stalked by photographers.  Other disturbing stories were not even been published,  because of threatened lawsuits.  Dating a royal can’t be worth all that, or can it? 

Now that the engagement has been announced, more news is coming daily.  Meghan, it was said, will become an English citizen and she will make her permanent home in England.  The couple are to be married next May, at St. George’s Chapel at Windsor Castle.  Windsor was chosen because it is a place “close to the couple’s hearts.”  While they were secretly courting, Harry and Meghan spent a lot of time at Windsor and it was there that Harry was based with his Army regiment – the Blues and Royals.   Prince Charles and Camilla were blessed there after their own marriage and also in 1999, Harry’s uncle, Prince Edward, married his bride Sophie Rhys-Jones at St. George’s.  It was announced that the royal family would pay for the wedding, the music, the flowers, and the reception.   Nice. 

Meghan’s parents will attend the wedding, but it was not clear if her father will walk her down the aisle.  Harry has met her mother several times and she was with the couple at the Invictus Games.  Her father lives in Mexico and Harry has not yet met him. 

In their engagement interview, Meghan said that her charity work was something the couple had in common.  But, now that she will be in the royal family – she will no longer work with the United Nations as she had been doing.  Instead, Meghan will be doing charity work both with Harry and on her own.   Her first engagement was this week with the Prince at the National Justice Museum in Nottingham where the couple got a very enthusiastic welcome!

Her wedding ring was designed by Harry – with the main diamond from Botswana, where they cemented their love.  The other two diamonds were Diana’s. 

What Will Meghan’s Title Be?

Most likely she will be called - HRH the Duchess of Sussex – IF Queen Elizabeth bestows the Duke of Sussex title on Harry the morning of his wedding, as tradition has it.  But, that has not yet been announced and it won’t be until the wedding day. 

The Queen met Meghan at tea at Buckingham Palace in October.  Apparently she was a hit with her pack of corgi dogs.   They have been with William and Kate several times and both are very supportive of the match. 

The couple will remain living at Nottingham Cottage at Kensington Palace, or NottCott as it is popularly called.

To make their announcement, the couple left NottCott at Kensington Palace and walked through the private door to where all the photographers were waiting.

It’s a shame it was a dreary, wintry day and all the flowers and greenery was not at their prettiest, but no one seemed to notice.

The couple weren’t miked and it was hard to make out what they said, but their long, taped engagement interview was released right after this appearance.

After a few minutes,  they headed back to their cottage in Kensington.

I’ve written on Kensington Palace a few times, HERE and HERE, most notably.

But, here you can see the original Palace where Queen Victoria was born and lived at the far left, bottom.  The red circled A = William & Kate’s very large apartment.   B = Princess Diana’s/Now Office Space.   C = Harry & Megan’s Nottingham Cottage

This is another photo of Kensington Palace from a different direction.  The original palace is at the top left portion of the photo.  Behind the original palace is William & Kate’s apartment.  Princess Margaret had lived in that apartment until her death.  Across the courtyard is Diana’s apartment where William and Harry grew up.  Today that apartment has been remodeled and is used by the boys for their charity work and royal duties.  Most interviews take place at Diana’s old apartment, as do most of their receptions and events.

And across the driveway from Harry’s childhood home is the tiny Nottingham Cottage, where he now lives.

And one more view from the back side.  The original castle is at the top right.  A is William & Kate.  B is Diana/Office and C is Harry & Meghan.   One of the other smaller cottages by NottCott is Wren Cottage.

One of the very, very few photos of Nottingham Cottage – which looks absolutely adorable!  Pink roses grow up the red brick walls.  A white picket fence hides the tiny garden that comes with the cottage.  It looks like there is a room on the second floor.  Utterly charming.

But, as cute as it is,  the house will not be suitable for the family once Harry & Meghan have children.  It is too small.  

The sign at Nottingham Cottage also points the way to Kent Cottage

NottCott has had a few other famous tenants.  While their own extremely large apartment was being renovated, William & Kate lived here while in London. 

Other well known inhabitants of the cottage were Diana’s sister, Lady Jane and her husband Sir Robert Fellowes who at the time was the private secretary to the Queen.  Prince Philip’s private secretary, Brigadier Sir Miles Hunt-Davis, and his wife Gay also lived in NottCott.

The cottage is said to have two bedrooms, two small reception rooms, a kitchen, and the small garden towards the front of the cottage.  Kate had the walls painted before she moved in there and she brought candles to get rid of its musty odor.    For the first five months that Harry and Meghan dated, when their relationship was a guarded secret,  they spent all their time at home at NottCott cooking, instead of going out to trendy nightspots which would have exposed their courtship to the world.  They were roasting a chicken at home on the night that Harry popped the question.   It is said one personal touch is the hammock that Harry has placed out in the garden.  Other reports say that it was William installed the hammock. 

One possible future move for the couple might be right next door to William and  Kate’s apartment – to 1A.  That 21 room apartment is said to be even larger than William and Kate’s 20 rooms.  But I doubt that Harry and Meghan’s living spaces will ever rival those of William whose apartment renovation has cost the taxpayers over 4.5 million pounds!!!!    After all,  William will be the King of England one day and after the new baby is born, Prince Harry will fall down to sixth in line to the throne.    Actually Nottingham  Cottage is a step up for Harry.  After he left Claridge House for good and went out on his own, he lived in a small one bedroom flat at Kensington Palace where he stayed for a year.   He has lived at NottCott for four years now. 

Joining the young royals at Kensington  Palace will be their cousin, Princess Eugenie, who is said to be moving into Ivy Cottage at Kensington.  While her engagement has not been announced, it is rumored that she and her longtime boyfriend are indeed engaged and she will be moving to KP from St. James Palace.  Ivy  Cottage needs extensive renovation and the problem of who will pay the bill has delayed Eugenie moving in.   There are reports that Prince Charles wants to curtail the royal duties of Eugenie and her sister Princess Beatrice.  Their father Prince Andrew was so aghast at this suggestion that he wrote a letter protesting this move and released it publically.   No wonder no one is hurrying to pay poor Eugenie’s renovation costs!

That’s not all that’s going on at Kensington Palace.  William and Kate are building a huge 2 story “iceberg” basement underneath the original 18th century Orangery.  This addition will be for 100 person staff and volunteers that work for Kensington  Palace.  It will also house the ceremonial dress collection.  Iceberg basements are no longer legal in the Kensington neighborhood, but apparently William received special permission!!

What Will Nottingham Cottage Look Like?

Unfortunately,  there are no photos at all of Nottingham Cottage’s interiors BUT we do have a few years worth of Instagram photos of Meghan’s own house in Toronto.

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It’s very cute, just like she is.  And it might give us an idea of how she will be decorating NottCott.  It is reported that while all her personal belongings have been shipped from Toronto, her furniture is being put into storage.

No idea who her decorator will be.  Will he/she be classic or contemporary?  It will be very interesting to see who they hire.

Here’s a look at Meghan’s personal style:

Meghan rented this townhouse in a trendy area of Toronto.  Two stories with a basement - a fashion designer who now lives in NYC owns the house.  It’s only 20’ wide, but it’s been valued at over $1 million.

There’s a cute backyard – that in the summer is so sunny, it must have reminded Meghan of L.A.   Meghan loves peonies and used the pastel flowers to further bring the Southern California vibe to Canada.

It’s hard to believe this is Toronto!

Well…..maybe not?   This is one of her two dogs. Both were adopted from shelters.  The internet went crazy when she announced that only her beagle is living with her in London.  Friends have adopted this dog - who she says is happier living in Toronto. 

Or so she says.  No one asked her dog if he would rather stay in Toronto or not!!!

White walls and light wood floors bring that California vibe inside.  Painted white stairs.  Along the back is the dining room where the wall is painted a trendy black.   The big antique gilt mirror is one piece that would probably look great in London!

To the right of the front door is this wood console with peonies, of course.

Later,  there were white flowers.

White slipcovered sectional covered with throws to keep the sofa clean from the dogs.

Boy can I relate!!   Behind the sofa is the black wall and antique mirror.

Meghan used Turkish throws to protect her sofas HERE.

I love all her throws and rugs. 

This is the lucky dog that made the cut and got to move to London!

Her coffee table is an old black trunk with a rattan tray on top.  And flowers.

Her table is a fabulous marble top oval Saarinen tulip table.  Stairs, up and down to the basement.  More peonies and Linda McCartney’s book.

The antique mirror on the black wall and white marble table.  This is a contemporary classic – marble tulip table,  black walls, antique gilt mirror, sheepskin throws.

A mix of trendy chairs with sheepskin.  At one time she had this Moroccan rug, but later she placed a white cowskin there.

Hanging on the wall is her prized photograph by Gray Malin.

Here is the photograph of the beach by Malin.  She also has another piece by Gray – from his Prada Marfa Collection.

To see more of Gray’s work,  go HERE.

Looking in the antique mirror.  You can see the new cowskin rug here.  Cute rattan accent chairs – another trendy item.   And near the front door is a cow skull hanging.

Similar chairs – HERE

Awww. The lucky one!

In the guest room,  Meghan happily announced the arrival of her newest art work.  Hotel styled sheets.

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And another bedroom with books arranged by color.

California Dreaming.

I have to say I love Meghan’s style.  It’s young and chic.  I like the mix of contemporary and antique and the layers of textiles.

But, will her style look good in Nottingham Cottage?

Meghan’s look is certainly nothing like Prince William and Kate’s.  Their Kensington Palace apartment is very traditional and very elegant.  I’m completely in love with their new apartment!!!

But, what kind of design style does Prince Harry have?

The only clue we have is from his room at Eton!!!   Well….I have to say, I do think this particular style will blend in with Meghan’s style judging from his hanging textile.

And then, there was this:

The most exciting news was right after the engagement announcement -

a certain estate was quietly taken off the market!!

A house in the Cotswold – very close to Prince Charles’ Highgrove – was for sale, the first time in over 70 years.

 It’s in the heart of polo country and Harry loves to play.  Rumor is that it is not a coincidence that the house was pulled off the market just as the engagement was announced. 

The house is also located near Harry’s cousin, Zara Tindall who lives on her mother Princess Anne’s estate. 

Look at the map – Prince Charles, Princess Anne, Zara Tindall and Harry’s rumored new house are all clustered together.  The other blue bullet on the right – way over there alone is William & Kate’s Anmer Hall which is near the Queen’s Sandringham Estate.  But, I wonder why they wanted to live all the way over there where it’s so cold and windy? 

The house that Harry is rumored to have bought is 10.5 million dollars.  It’s a lot of house and property for the money, even though it’s a lot of money.  But I think about houses in Houston that cost 2 & 3 million which are on very small lots.   This house itself is almost 10,000 sq. ft.  so it’s very large – plus there are over five cottages on the property, and stables, and other buildings.

Harry can afford it.   When he turned 30, he inherited $13 million from his mother’s estate.  His father may have put up some money for the house or Meghan could.  She earned 1/2 million each season of Suits – she probably has a nice egg nest built up. 

The estate, Luckington Court, is found in Luckington Village.    The gravel drive leads up to the estate.  Notice the Cedar of Lebanon trees – the same kind found on nearby Highgrove.  The largest cedar is over 400 years old and it is said to be the widest specimen in England.

The house is Grade II Listed from the 11th Century.  Remodeling was done first in the 16th century and again in 1921 when the north service wing was added.  There are five buildings, including a 17th century dovecote, on the 157 acre estate, which has a stone fence that rings the property which sits on the River Avon.   The church is not part of the estate.

The main house has 8 bedrooms and 7 bathrooms – large enough for a growing family and lots and lots of weekend guests.

The front gate through the stone fence that surrounds the house.   Hmm.  The first thing I would do is paint that blue!!!     The area is known for the Battle of Hastings which was fought there and where King Harold II was killed in 1066.

A garden element.

The front door is actually at the side of the house, which faces the church across the courtyard.    At the front,  far left, you can see a loggia addition with French doors, that was added – probably to open access to the front garden from the house.

The addition – with the slate terrace – that overlooks the front garden.   This is an earlier photo – it looks like the house has recently been painted a more cream than yellow color.

The house at the turn of the century.  Before, the ivy was allowed to grow wildly on the façade.    You can see here, that the addition at the left front of the façade is missing.  Notice the urns at the corners of the roof are still visible today.

But, it’s the Jane Austen connection that has made the house a very popular tourist stop.

Luckington Court’s exterior and interiors were used in the 1995 BBC production of Sense and Sensibility.   It was a several episode series that starred Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle.   The estate was used as the Bennett family home.    After the series, the house was modernized in 2003. 

This book was written about the filming of the six episodes of Pride & Prejudice.  If you are a fan of filming or Jane Austen – you might enjoy this little book.  I assume Meghan will buy a copy to keep on the house’s entry hall table!

The filming at the house.

Another earlier photo before it painted or perhaps a new skim coat of stucco was applied.    The Queen Anne portico is attributed to Grinling Gibbons.

Close up of the carved front door.  Love the lantern!

And in an opening scene – Luckington Court plays a huge part in this production of Pride & Prejudice.  It’s perfect as Longbourn – pretty, but not so excessively extravagant.   You believed that a gentleman owned the estate, but had trouble taking care of five daughters, all in need of suitable mates.  

The owner of the house had lived here for 40 years and she said that when filming was over, she truly missed the 70 person crew – they had become like family.    The saving grace was that she now had enough money to reroof the west wing.

Today, the house looks like this.  It could just be the photography, but the house looks much lighter here. 

The church across the lane was also used in the movie.

The floor plans show how large the house is.  I love the Loggia and the Study – two smaller rooms that were probably added on at a later date.

The foyer is large with limestone floor and a bolection moulded fireplace.    Beautiful antique screen.

The large Drawing Room has decorative woodwork, a stone open fireplace and doors through into the Music Room with a French door into the garden.

 For Pride & Prejudice – the drawing room had antique Georgian styled furniture.  It was all rather sparse, as was intended by the director.

Next to the living room is the Music Room.  Next to the Music Room is the Loggia – the addition that overlooks the front yard and terrace.  No photos, though.  The cellar trap door is located here in the Music Room.

The Dining Room.   Such a pretty room.   It needs a wonderful interior designer – but it will be so pretty when Harry & Meghan move in!!!

 Before, the dining room  was wallpapered.   When the owner died a few years ago, her daughter remodeled the house – stripping off the wallpaper and painting, which makes the house look so much nicer.   

And how it looked for Pride & Prejudice.

The kitchen is charming with Saltillo tile and a windowseat, Aga and large farm sink.

The master bedroom has paneled walls painted blue.  Again, it needs decorating.

The master bath was been remodeled and is quite nice with NO carpet!  Hooray!!!

This is my favorite room – the wide planked original wood floors are exposed and there is a darling corner fireplace.  This would make a cute nursery.

Besides the house, there is a tennis court and rose garden, fruit trees, a fountain and a 19th century stable block, which will be wonderful for Harry’s horses.  There is also a 17th century, Grade II listed Dovecote, an unused enclosed school, assorted farm buildings, and a Cotswold stone shed. 

The stables.

Plus there are these small cottages across from the stables and garden: 

The Rose Garden Cottage (a former potting shed with one bedroom and Cotswold stone, spiral staircase, rafters and large inglenook fireplace and wood burning stove – DARLING!!) the Dovecote is also shown above.

Plus these other cottages:

The Coach House (two bedrooms, Cotswold stone, beams, tiled roof.)

The Courtyard (4 bedrooms, Cotswold stone, staircase and garden)

The Studio (one bedroom, Cotswold stone, beams, kitchen, garden)

Court Farm Cottage (3 bedrooms, Cotswold stone, garden)

The stable block and garden.  The Rose Cottage is on the left, out of site.

The house is charming and beautiful – not too fancy.  It’s actually cozy and inviting for such a large place.  I hope they did buy it.

THE WEDDING:

The wedding will take place at St. George’s Chapel at Windsor.   The chapel dates back  to the 14th century.

Windsor Castle is a huge complex – but it’s considered the Queen’s country home.  The Queen’s  quarters are at the very right of this photograph and they overlook the gardens – while the church is at the very left. 

The chapel is beautiful and very dramatic with its soaring  ceiling and black and white marble floor.

In 1863, the Prince of Wales (later, King Edward VII) married Princess Alexandra of Denmark captured in this famous painting.

Prince Charles and Camilla received the blessing of their marriage at St. George’s.

I love this photo showing Prince Harry giving his father the stink eye.  I’m sure there is no way he was thinking that “in 12 years, I will be back here – getting married myself!!!”

BTW, I loved Camilla’s coat and hat and thought she look beautiful here on her wedding day!

Soul mates.  They should have married each other first. 

Charles & Camilla leaving the church – there wasn’t much decoration here, not that you really need much.

Another Royal wedding at Windsor was The Duke and Duchess of Wessex, aka Prince Edward and Sophie.   I loved their wedding and thought she looked gorgeous in her jeweled veil and tiara and simple but elegant dress.   Sophie is a true beauty – she is often compared to Diana, but she is so beautiful in her own way.

Edward and Sophie decorated the steps leading from St. George – with accent trees and white flowers.  I love the red uniforms and the white horses.  Very beautiful.

My favorite though is the Queen’s grandson and Princess Anne’s son – Peter Phillips who married Autumn Kelly at St. George’s.   I loved her celadon theme and thought the flowers at the doors of the church were gorgeous and made such a statement.

They even had the greenery arrangements at the altar.

Notice the groomsmen who also wore green ties with their morning suits.

Their wedding was severely criticized in the British Tabloids because the couple sold the photo rights to Hello Magazine.  It was said that the Queen was furious!  I doubt that.  The Queen doesn’t get involved with petty family issues and I can’t imagine it was such a sin to sell the photos.  After all, Phillip probably needed the money to help him buy a house for his bride.

All eyes are going to be on Harry & Meghan’s wedding – even though it will not be a National Holiday in Britain.  People will be tuning in to watch the guests arrive and see who is wearing what.

These sisters will hopefully not cause as big a stir as they did at Prince William and Kate’s wedding when they both wore these horrid hats!   Beatrice’s hat probably is the all-time ugliest hat ever made.

I still don’t understand why Beatrice chose that hat!   !!!!!   Twitter erupted that day over her hat.  Princess Eugenie’s hat wasn’t much better, although it wasn’t quite as bad.

Recently, the tabloids praised Beatrice for hiring actress Emma Watson’s stylist.   The papers reported how beautiful Beatrice looked in this fabulous dress.  And I agree, she does look beautiful.   For some reason, I think she is just adorable!

These three cousins made quite the stir at William & Kate’s wedding.  They are the gorgeous blonde daughters of Diana’s brother Earl Spencer.   I hope all seven of the Earl’s children are at the wedding.   In fact, his youngest baby girl Lady Charlotte could even be a bridesmaid.

These two are definitely in the wedding – the cutest!

Prince George and his sister Princess Charlotte – they will steal the show for sure. 

Last Friday, the happy couple did their first charity work together.  They dressed like twins – both in navy wool coats.   Meghan can’t take a bad photograph – she is truly so beautiful.

Underneath she wore a darling khaki long skirt with a black turtleneck.  Much better than her engagement outfit which I didn’t think looked that good with the white coat.

Side note:  Meghan looks like just my niece!  It’s amazing how much she looks like Brooke (for those who know her!) 

OK.  That’s NOT Meghan.  It’s my niece Brooke and her darling daughter Blake Ivy.

I’m telling you the resemblance is amazing.

Critiquing the outfit!  Well – the coat was pretty, but I didn’t like that her green dress was peeking through.  Not sure how you handle that since we don’t really wear coats in Houston.    Also I think she has very tiny feet and her shoes looked a little big.  SOOOO critical!  I know!!  

But she has “big shoes” to fill – Kate is always impeccable and so is her mother-in-law Camilla – both always look perfect. 

Here is Kate wearing a white coat – no dress hanging out.

I think the trick is to wear a coat like a dress.

This is perfect.  Black hose, black turtleneck, fitted coat.

Again,  perfection.  Fitted blue coat, black suede boots.  Does this woman ever look bad?

And, a fun fur color on this coat dress.

Meghan will become a fashion icon soon enough.  Her white coat sold out right after she wore it.  On Friday, she took a large purse with her – a Strathberry – and it also sold out immediately.  Kate rarely takes large bags with her and this is something Meghan will probably not do in the future. 

To see more Strathberry purses, go HERE

I’m so excited about the wedding.   I was obsessed with Diana for her entire life and after she passed away, I was so upset, I just turned my back on everything royalty. 

But the younger ones have caught my attention again and I’m having so much fun following their babies, their homes and their fashions!

Meghan will be a great addition to the Royals.  I wish them all the best!!!

All that talk about coats made me look at some coats for sale, to see what I like and what I would wear if I was a Royal!  LOL!!!

Beautiful, long beige cashmere HERE

Military style coat.  Cute with tights or jeans.   HERE

Black double breasted HERE

I adore this one!   Pink coat HERE.

Darling with pants or jeans.  Short leopard coat HERE

Prefect Dress, long white coat HERE

Another cute one!  Long leopard coat HERE

Ralph Lauren double breasted long coat HERE

Eileen Fisher black velvet jacket HERE

AND here are some real furs, not expensive, but luxe looking.  I’m loving all the faux fur this season. 

Infinity Sable real fur HERE

Real Fox Stole – GORGEOUS!!!! HERE

Real fox wrap HERE from COTE DE TEXAS http://cotedetexas.blogspot.com/2017/12/everything-you-wanted-to-know-about.html

[christinaepilzauthor-blog]

George William Russell (AE) - Writer, Painter, Philosopher, Social Activist

by Arthur Russell

 George William Russell was born in the rural townland of Drumgor, near the town of Lurgan, Co Armagh, Northern Ireland on April 10th 1867 to Thomas Elias Russell and Mary (nee Armstrong). He was baptized in the nearby Shankill church. He was the youngest of three children; a brother Thomas Samuel who was 3 years older and sister Mary Elizabeth, who was one year older. When he was 11 years old, the family moved to Dublin to allow father Thomas to take up a new job in a brewery. George was sent to the Metropolitan School of Art where he befriended the principal teacher's son, William Butler Yeats, who was destined to become the brightest light of the Irish Literary revival as well as a future Nobel prize winner for literature.

When George was 17, the Russell family was dealt a severe blow with the death of his sister Mary Elizabeth. The poignant poem "A Memory" gives indication of how her death affected him, and was an early indication of his writing talent.

You remember dear together 


Two children you and I 


Sat once in the Autumn weather

Watching the Autumn sky

There was someone around us straying 


The whole of the long day through 


Who seemed to say, "I am playing 


At hide and seek with you"

And one thing after another

Was whispered out of the air

How God was a great big brother

Whose home is everywhere

His light like a smile comes glancing

Through the cool winds as they pass

From the flowers in heaven dancing

To the stars that shine in the grass

The heart of the wise was beating

Sweet sweet in our hearts that day

And many a thought came fleeting

And fancies solemn and gay

We were grave in our ways divining 


How childhood was taking wings 


And the wonderful world was shining 


With vast eternal things.

His Cooperative Work

After leaving Art School, where he developed his painting skills, but obviously not enough to consider taking up painting as a full time profession capable of giving him an income, he went to work in his father's employer's brewery. Later he became a clerk in Pim's drapery store in Dublin, where he was earning 60 pounds sterling per annum by the time he resigned to join the budding Irish Cooperative and Credit Union movements at the invitation of the Irish Agricultural Organisation Society (IAOS) founder, Sir Horace Plunkett.  His first job with IAOS was as Banks Organiser, but his writing ability soon saw him contributing to and then editing the Society's magazine The Irish Homestead which later merged with The Irish Statesman. He had a strong social sense and threw himself wholeheartedly into the development of the Cooperative movement as a means of supporting the economic development and market integration of emergent small holder proprietors that the various Land Purchase Acts were creating all over Ireland at the time. His cooperative work brought him to every part of Ireland, most of which still had searing and recent memories of famine and eviction which were seen as outcomes of the centuries old landlord system of land ownership in Ireland.

He edited the IAOS publication until 1930, which provided him with an outlet to display his writing talents as well as giving him a facility to mix the practical with the visionary (the vision and the dream). His boyhood experience as the son of a small holder farming community in Armagh helped him to provide well grounded technical advice to his farmer readers, at the same time giving him opportunity to outline philosophical thoughts on what the social and political future for his rural readers might be. He was sought after as a speaker lecturer not only in Ireland, but also in the United Kingdom and pre and post Depression era United States of the 1920's and 1930's.  

After his death in England in 1935, his body was returned to Dublin and lay in state for a day in Plunkett House, headquarters of IAOS, before it was brought to Mount Jerome cemetery for burial.

His Literary Work

Cover of AE's first publication (1894) Drawing by the author

His first book of poems, Homeward: Songs by the Way, published in 1894, established George William Russell as one of the leading lights of the Irish Literary Revival. His friend W B Yeats considered this little book as one of the most important literary offerings of the day.

The Origin of His Pseudonym "AE"

As his literary reputation grew he adopted the pseudonym "AE", derived from the word Aeon. This is a gnostic term used to describe the first created being. The story is told that his printer had difficulty deciphering Russell's handwriting and could only discern the first two letters of the 4 letter word in his manuscript. When asked to clarify the remaining two letters of the word, Russell decided not to add to what had already been composited by the printer and thereafter used AE to sign off on all subsequent offerings.  His mystic disposition had earlier caused him to join the small Theosophist movement in Dublin for several years, but he left after the death of its founder, Madame Blavatsky. While living there he met his future wife, Violet North and married her in 1897. The couple lived for some time in Coulson Avenue where they were neighbours to Maude Gonne and Count and Countess Markiewicz.

He was an active member and contributor to the Irish Literary Society, which was founded by his friend W B Yeats and others. The early moving force for the literary movement was the writings of Standish O'Grady who looked at Ireland's romantic past for inspiration. On reading O'Grady, Russell was moved to write "one suddenly feels ancient memories rushing at him and knows he was born in a royal house - it was the memory of race which rose up within me."

His Theatrical Work

Yeats and Russell shared a passion for the theatre and together they formed the National Theatre Company, later called the Abbey Theatre in Dublin. Yeats was President, Russell Vice-President and among the Committee members were Maud Gonne and the Gaelic language scholar and later first President of the Republic of Ireland, Douglas Hyde. Russell's play Deirdre is credited to have been the spark that set the Irish dramatic movement alight. Not only did he write the play, he also designed the costumes in its first production. His brilliant but eccentric personality contributed mightily to the evolving Irish literary revival, which is popularly referred to as the "Celtic twilight".

His Paintings:

Bathers - by AE (exhibited in 1904)

Russell had a talent for painting, which he followed during his life, mainly for his own recreation "whenever words failed him". There is a respectable gallery of his works which would lead one to question how good and enduring his painting legacy would be if he had invested more time and effort into that side of his output. We will never know. Suffice it to say, his paintings have a significant market and are well regarded by many.

The Irish Times newspaper, on the occasion of the centenary of the first exhibition of his paintings in 1904 at which he sold an amazing 68 paintings – many to the noted New York art collector, John Tobin; suggested it is high time for another exhibition to create awareness and appreciation of AE's art.    

Russell the Social Activist

He was destined to live through troubled times in Ireland and much change. The first two decades of the 20th century were the final years of the British Empire in Ireland and ushered in the formative years of the new Irish Free State that emerged in the aftermath of the Irish War of Independence in 1919-1921. It was never in Russell's nature to be a mere bystander or spectator in the movements of his times, and he engaged fully in trying to formulate what kind of Ireland would face into the last century of the millennium. As a visionary, poet, painter, author, journalist, economist and (finally) an agricultural expert he had views aplenty and was never slow to express them with great articulation and conviction.

He was involved in the general strike of 1913 and took part in a mass meeting in Albert Hall London in support of the Dublin strikers, where he shared the platform with George Bernard Shaw and suffragette Sylvia Pankhurst. He was an Irish Nationalist, but as a committed pacifist he deplored the violence of the Nationalist inspired Dublin Rebellion in Easter 1916. This did not stop him from organising a subscription for the widow of one of the executed leaders, James Connolly, who he had befriended during the 1913 strike; both men having shared views on how to deal with the exploitative attitude of many employers of the time.

The following lines written by Russell indicates something of the dilemma he and many pacifist nationalists of the day felt. He could admire the idealism of those who followed Patrick Pearse in taking up the gun in pursuit of nationalist ideals, but like many others he had serious issues with bloodletting as a means to achieve them.    

"And yet my spirit rose in pride

Refashioning in burnished gold

The images of those who died

Or were shut up in penal cell

Here's to you Pearse, your dream, not mine

And yet the thought- for this you fell

Has turned life's water into wine".

(from To the memory of some I knew who are dead and loved Ireland  - 1917)

He was conscious his adherence to non main stream views and opinions at a time when the extremes on both sides of the political divide were in clear ascendancy, drew sharp criticism from many, but he remained stoically unapologetic for his pacifism through that most turbulent period of Irish history.

On Behalf of Some Irishmen Not Followers of Tradition

They call us aliens we are told 


Because our wayward visions stray 


From that dim banner they unfold 


The dreams of worn out yesterday.

We hold the Ireland of the heart 


More than the land our eyes have seen 


And love the goal for which we start 


More than the tale of what has been.

No blazoned banner we unfold 


One charge alone we give to youth 


Against the sceptred myth to hold 


The golden heresy of truth.

His Relationship With the Newly Independent Irish State

George William Russell was disappointed that Irish independence was painfully slow in bringing the cultural and social flowering for which he yearned. He was of the opinion that the emerging rather puritanical state with its narrow vision, of which censorship of arts and writing was one of its most potent instruments, effectively blocked intellectual and artistic freedom as it tried to establish the new nation during the 1920s and 30s. He was particularly critical of the excessive influence the Catholic Hierarchy had manage to establish over the emergent body politic. It was his discomfort with this, along with the death of his wife a year earlier that caused him to leave Ireland in the aftermath of the 1932 Eucharistic Congress which was held in Dublin and which he considered a potent demonstration of over pervasive clerical power.

He moved to Bournemouth in England where he died in 1935.

His Support to Young Writers and Artists

During his years in Dublin, his company was much sought after and his home in Rathgar Avenue, Dublin became a meeting place for those interested in the Arts and Economics. He paid special attention to young talent, which he did all in his power to groom and encourage.

He was an endless source of support and advice to emerging writers. He first met James Joyce in 1902 and encouraged him to hone his craft as a writer. He once loaned him money, which Joyce acknowledged pithily with a written "AEIOU".

One of his lesser known acts was to support the American writer Pamela Lyndon Travers, the future author of Mary Poppins (published 1934) at a time when her interest in myths brought her into contact with both Yeats and himself in 1924. AE encouraged her to write and even published some of her writings in The Irish Statesman.

Simone Tery the French writer in L'ile des Bards wrote about him:

"Do you want to know about providence, the origin of the universe, the end of the universe? 
Go to AE. 


Do you want to know about Gaelic literature? 
Go to AE. 


Do you want to know about the Celtic soul? 
Go to AE. 


Do you want to know about Irish History? 
Go to AE. 


Do you want to know about the export of eggs? 
Go to AE. 


Do you want to know how to run society? 
Go to AE. 


If you find life insipid - 
Go to AE. 


If you need a friend - 
Go to AE.

These lines from a contemporary are a fitting accolade for one of Ireland's not so well known writers who played a vital role in what is now known as the Celtic revival.

Author's Note – While I had always been aware of George William Russell, otherwise known as AE, with whom I share a surname: I was not so aware of any family connection with him until very recently, when a distant cousin with interest in genealogy put focus on a lady called Frances Mary McGee, whose mother was a daughter of our common great grandfather. This lady married the brother of George William (AE), and while his surname was also Russell, Thomas Elias was not directly related to "our" Russells. (At least we need to go much further back to find any blood linkage). This information about Frances Mary caused me to remember conversations in my own family about a distant cousin called Fanny (short for Frances) McGee, second cousin to my father who had married into a family associated with artists and poets. Who else could it have been?

It was a personal Eureka moment, as I share some of AE's interests (though not necessarily his unique talent) for reading, writing, (I really know little about painting!) As well I share a strong belief in the positive role of self-help cooperative endeavor for solving problems facing Agriculture in feeding today's World's burgeoning population.

Arthur Russell is the Author of Morgallion, a novel set in medieval Ireland during the Invasion of Ireland in 1314 by the Scottish army led by Edward deBruce, the last crowned King of Ireland. It tells the story of Cormac MacLochlainn, a young man from the Gaelic crannóg community of Moynagh and how he, his family and his dreams endured and survived that turbulent period of history. Morgallion was awarded the indieBRAG Medallion and is available in paperback and e-book form.

Further information from s.arthur.russell@gmail.com

Hat Tip To: English Historical Fiction Authors