“The truth of my existence tugs at my veins… and even *I* am surprised at the hand She has had in my making. In retrospect, so many things fall into place now that never did before. So many of the seemingly unentangled choices I have made, demands I put upon myself, in the full context of my being, only now begin to make since.
M'Lady Night, She who wears the Stars within Her hair, The dangerous, deadly, hidden, beautiful mystery of every Desert Night… She who claimed meas Daughter before my existence ever stitched into being.
As dusk starts falling every day, I can literally feel my veins itch with Her. At night, under the desert stars, She fills me to the point of wanting to break. She is literally embedded within me, and so I carry M'Lady Night with me even in the light day. Her voice whispers with every shadow, her children carry out Her unfathomable will at every turn, and I stand anchored, one foot in the World of What is Not, the other in What She will Make Be.
None of it works, unless all of it works together… My use as a doorway to Her only makes since when I am anchored within My Desert. For I am it’s child as well, forged under the heat of it’s imminent Sun, my blood-splattered legacy soaked up within the sand and the thorns that I have always loved.
The suddenness of this revelation is going to, again, remake me. Only this time, I know I will survive, and come out of the other side intact… More intact than I have ever been.”
In some things I am completely immovable. Oaths. Trusts. Guarding over those that M'Lady hands to me to guard.
Why? Because when you are given hard lessons, you learn them well.
It would be easy to simply absorb and reflect the morality of those around me, to accept the things that others seem to accept so readily… but I have never been able to bring myself to do so. Instead, I poked and prodded every philosophy I could find to poke. I decided that if I were to be alone in my learning, than in my learning I would be alone.
My spirituality became a lonely thing a very long time ago… Not because it was suppose to be so, but because at some deep primal level I could not buy into what was being sold to the masses. I needed something deeper than anyone was willing to give, and in those few moments of sharing The Most Important Things in small efforts to reach out to others, I found that most who call themselves “Pagan” were merely wearing the costumes of what they thought paganism and witchcraft were. Half of the time the Gods were reduced to mere thought-forms in their banter, the other times some kind of twisted fairly godparents who’s power and will were ALWAYS doubted and overshadowed by an urge to keep them non-concrete.
I realized that the way I was encountering the Gods, and the ways the Gods were interacting with me was not only abnormal to most peoples experience, but was also quite frowned upon. I was accused of hubris, lying, being insane, of being an “Attention Whore” and of just flat out being wrong. The Gods don’t do those things, and I was not welcome among the many if I said they did.
In my 15 or so years of courting various Pagan Religions and various modern pagan constructs, I never once found ears that were not hostile to my way of vivid experience of my Gods, and of my inner will to pursue the things my God put before me… Until a couple of years ago when I discovered the small, serous, and rather quiet practice of Modern Polytheism alive and well.
Think about that quietly for a moment… I fought for 15 years alone, harvesting the kind of lonely that would break most people, because my Gods kept saying “No. Not yet. That’s not your path.” And because I listened… It took 15 years to find those who saw my paths worth.
I stand, where I have always stood, only now I understand why. Moments from my youth that always stood out as opposed to what I thought I was to become have a deeper color. I have always been on this crash course for self destruction, but it never scared me. My unmaking is something I refuse to fear, for it is coming no matter what road I take.
People come to me when they are broken, afraid, and in the throws of unwanted or uncomfortable change. On a day to day basis, I do not deal with humanity at it’s shining best, and I don’t need to. I understand being broken. I have a map of this territory, and I will point people to where ever they need to go, without making judgments on how they were broken. They need me to know the darkness, they need to know that their is life after the storm, even if it is not the life they knew. They need me to whisper the words the Gods put on my tongue for them, those messages that no one wants to hear, but everyone needs from time to time. My position of strength is always going to be “Outside Looking In”.
In a world where we analyse everything, where so many people lose themselves amongst ideas that leave them empty, it is only by standing outside of Humanity that I can do them any good. A madwoman for the Gods, whispering secrets, planting the seeds of change that others are afraid to plant, traversing territory others forgot to realize, and tilting imbalances between the light and shadows.
My gods are rooted in darkness and death, they are the ticking clock, the twilight hours, the darkness, and the secrets that whisper from terrifying shadows.
And now I’m mad that nobody told us we were given cows. Cause that’s really f*cking nice and nobody mentioned it at all.
American media tends to disregard that anyone donates to the US. And then Amurricans complain about money going abroad because “nobody helped the US in our disasters.”
>.>
Also, do you know how much a cow costs? O.O
It isn’t just a matter of how much a cow costs, its a matter of considering that Masai life is based around their cattle. Its their wealth, their food, and a significant part of their religion. Here’s a quote from Wikipedia:
“Traditional Maasai lifestyle centres around their cattle which constitute their primary source of food. The measure of a man’s wealth is in terms of cattle and children. A herd of 50 cattle is respectable, and the more children the better. A man who has plenty of one but not the other is considered to be poor.[37] A Maasai religious belief relates that God gave them all the cattle on earth, leading to the belief that rustling cattle from other tribes is a matter of taking back what is rightfully theirs, a practice that has become much less common.[38]”
So its not just “they gave us 14 cows”, its that they gave us something that is very important and significant to them, it is more than just a kind gesture that definitely deserves to be known and its a genuine shame that more people don’t know about it.
Wait, you guys DON’T KNOW that we offer help to the US when you have disasters???????
Shit, down here in Brazil we not only offered to send tracking units and doctors to help in 9/11 but we wanted to send a whole lot of donations to help with Katrina (we have experience with floods down here so we knew what kind of medicine to send to prevent outbreaks).
We alone had like 2 army airplanes full of medicine and non-perishables like baby formula, diapers, bottled water, mosquito nets and other stuff that’s needed to fight opportunistic diseases that hit flooded areas, enough to assist a good few thousand people at least, ready to go the day after it hit, but your government refused the donations.
The same thing happened to the Canadians and Europeans who offered help, the US embassies around the world told us all to give money to Red Cross.
And so we did, we all gave hundreds of millions of dollars to them, and then this happened:
So please, don’t you go spreading misinformation and prejudice against the rest of the world, WE DID OFFER HELP AND ORGANIZED IT EVEN FASTER THAN BUSH DID, BUT Y’ALL REFUSED IT.
Oh wow I had no idea this happened it’s really not talked about in media at all wow this is something good to know about wow
Dear Rest of the World,
Im so sorry that our government is full of unwiped, shitty assholes.
Oh behalf of the Non-Assholes who live here, thank you all so very much!
So a few of you may know my story but for those who don’t, prepare yourselves. I’m a lesbian, but I prefer the term gay. I came out to my Mom in september, she was quiet and didn’t have much to say. Something went down in January that I never like to repeat, but then being gay came back up. I was in her room, we talked, I told her again and she said she didn’t want to talk about it but I said I did because if not we would never start to talk again. We yelled
Stuff was said
Christianity was brought up
I backed out of my religion, I no longer identify as Christian.
I cried
a lot
I was hurt
She took all of my passwords, has all of my accounts. I can no longer communicate with the trevorprojectawareness over this. I wasn’t able to communicate with certain people for a few months. She made me unfollow people like Tyler Oakley. I can no longer, however, find his tumblr so if anybody knows the official one then please link it on this post.
It was bad, my sexuality was destroying me. Not to mention going through a christian school where if they learned of me, I could be kicked out, wasn’t helping either. At one point right when I moved in with my dad, she sent me some….really upsetting text. She used my sexuality to her advantage, “Well this this this because basically I know about your sexuality and can use it to get away with stuff” She played that card too many times. She believes it’s a choice, always said, “You are not gay! You do not know what it means anyways! You think you’re joining in with the cool kids!”
A lot of hurtful stuff along with that I don’t want to say. It’s been 6 months now and once I’m 18 in September, this will be gone. But at times It feels so far away. Sometimes I don’t even think about it, sometimes I do.
During this period my anxiety started to act up, I would talk to friends then break down having a flashback about what happened. I believe my Mom could hear everything because she tracks my ip, has my passwords, everything.
My anxiety got to a level where I felt paranoid all the time.
Well I’m sure all of us know that supreme court legalized gay marriage in all 50 states Hooray!
I cheered!
I was happy!
Now of course to my christian friends on twitter I voiced my opinion, I explained that today wasn’t a day about just putting a ring on somebody’s finger, it was more than that. It was a victory.
My sexuality isn’t public on twitter, so everything I said was from a non-homophobic, heterosexual view from those who know nothing about me. I woke up today, going through twitter and felt rage because everything I said was deleted. Where somebody quoted me agreeing it said, “tweet no longer available”
And I knew exactly why. She deleted them.
This stuff has gone on for months. Every time I voice my opinion she’ll take it down, my tumblr has not been touched which I don’t know why but, ok, whatever. “Oh, Jordyn, get over it. Just a few tweets, whatever.”
It’s more than that. For the past 6 months I feel I have been gagged and unable to voice my opinion about anything like this. It’s always like, “Sssh, you’re still suppose to be a christian who’s straight and like boys. Shush you don’t know what’s going on.”
And that annoys me. I’m getting angry and want to put my foot down.
If this post gets deleted you know exactly why
So what I’m asking is for you to reblog this post and stand up for me. I will write down each url, screenshot this post, etc. Either on my 18th birthday or when I leave for college I will show her this and how many people (hopefully a lot) who stand up for me.
I’ve been pushed, broken, and hated like any other for my sexuality, I want to take a stand.
tl;dr
gay teen under a lot of restriction for sexuality and what not. Mom involved, unable to voice opinion anymore. Feeling broken, sad, I’m wanting to stand up.
Please, no matter how many times you see this please reblog. I need the help. The lgbtqa+ community is a loving community most of the time who rejoiced together over our victory, now let’s get back together and help each other again.
Both mine and your battle isn’t over yet.
Deer
Please, please, please reblog
Oh honey, thats ABUSE. Emotional Abuse. Im saying this as a MOTHER WITH A TEENAGE, BI DAUGHTER! (((((Huggles)))) Im so sorry :(
EDITOR’S NOTE: Over the weekend, a young freedom fighter and community organizer mounted an awe-inspiring campaign to bring down the Confederate battle flag. Brittany “Bree” Newsome, in a courageous act of civil disobedience, scaled a metal pole using a climbing harness, to remove the flag from the grounds of the South Carolina state capitol. Her long dread locks danced in the wind as she descended to the ground while quoting scripture. She refused law enforcement commands to end her mission and was immediately arrested along with ally James Ian Tyson, who is also from Charlotte, North Carolina.
Earlier this week, social justice activist and progressive blogger Shaun King offered a “bounty” on the flag and offered to pay any necessary bail bond fees. Newsome declined the cash reward, asking that all proceeds go to funds supporting victims of the Charleston church massacre. Social media users raised more than $75,000 to fund legal expenses. South Carolina House Minority Leader Todd Rutherford, a renowned defense attorney, has agreed to represent Newsome and Tyson as they face criminal charges.
Newsome released the following statement exclusively to Blue Nation Review:
Now is the time for true courage.
I realized that now is the time for true courage the morning after the Charleston Massacre shook me to the core of my being. I couldn’t sleep. I sat awake in the dead of night. All the ghosts of the past seemed to be rising.
Not long ago, I had watched the beginning of Selma, the reenactment of the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing and had shuddered at the horrors of history.
But this was neither a scene from a movie nor was it the past. A white man had just entered a black church and massacred people as they prayed. He had assassinated a civil rights leader. This was not a page in a textbook I was reading nor an inscription on a monument I was visiting.
This was now.
This was real.
This was—this is—still happening.
I began my activism by participating in the Moral Monday movement, fighting to restore voting rights in North Carolina after the Supreme Court struck down key protections of the 1965 Voting Rights Act.
I traveled down to Florida where the Dream Defenders were demanding justice for Trayvon Martin, who reminded me of a modern-day Emmett Till.
I marched with the Ohio Students Association as they demanded justice for victims of police brutality.
I watched in horror as black Americans were tear-gassed in their own neighborhoods in Ferguson, MO. “Reminds me of the Klan,” my grandmother said as we watched the news together. As a young black girl in South Carolina, she had witnessed the Klan drag her neighbor from his house and brutally beat him because he was a black physician who had treated a white woman.
I visited with black residents of West Baltimore, MD who, under curfew, had to present work papers to police to enter and exit their own neighborhood. “These are my freedom papers to show the slave catchers,” my friend said with a wry smile.
And now, in the past 6 days, I’ve seen arson attacks against 5 black churches in the South, including in Charlotte, NC where I organize alongside other community members striving to create greater self-sufficiency and political empowerment in low-income neighborhoods.
For far too long, white supremacy has dominated the politics of America resulting in the creation of racist laws and cultural practices designed to subjugate non-whites. And the emblem of the confederacy, the stars and bars, in all its manifestations, has long been the most recognizable banner of this political ideology. It’s the banner of racial intimidation and fear whose popularity experiences an uptick whenever black Americans appear to be making gains economically and politically in this country.
It’s a reminder how, for centuries, the oppressive status quo has been undergirded by white supremacist violence with the tacit approval of too many political leaders.
The night of the Charleston Massacre, I had a crisis of faith. The people who gathered for Bible study in Emmanuel AME Church that night—Cynthia Marie Graham Hurd, Susie Jackson, Ethel Lee Lance, Depayne Middleton-Doctor, Tywanza Sanders, Daniel Simmons, Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, Myra Thompson and Rev. Clementa Pinckney (rest in peace)—were only doing what Christians are called to do when anyone knocks on the door of the church: invite them into fellowship and worship.
The day after the massacre I was asked what the next step was and I said I didn’t know. We’ve been here before and here we are again: black people slain simply for being black; an attack on the black church as a place of spiritual refuge and community organization.
I refuse to be ruled by fear. How can America be free and be ruled by fear? How can anyone be?
So, earlier this week I gathered with a small group of concerned citizens, both black and white, who represented various walks of life, spiritual beliefs, gender identities and sexual orientations. Like millions of others in America and around the world, including South Carolina Governor Nikki Haley and President Barack Obama, we felt (and still feel) that the confederate battle flag in South Carolina, hung in 1962 at the height of the Civil Rights Movement, must come down. (Of course, we are not the first to demand the flag’s removal. Civil rights groups in South Carolina and nationwide have been calling for the flag’s removal since the moment it was raised, and I acknowledge their efforts in working to remove the flag over the years via the legislative process.)
We discussed it and decided to remove the flag immediately, both as an act of civil disobedience and as a demonstration of the power people have when we work together. Achieving this would require many roles, including someone who must volunteer to scale the pole and remove the flag. It was decided that this role should go to a black woman and that a white man should be the one to help her over the fence as a sign that our alliance transcended both racial and gender divides. We made this decision because for us, this is not simply about a flag, but rather it is about abolishing the spirit of hatred and oppression in all its forms.
I removed the flag not only in defiance of those who enslaved my ancestors in the southern United States, but also in defiance of the oppression that continues against black people globally in 2015, including the ongoing ethnic cleansing in the Dominican Republic. I did it in solidarity with the South African students who toppled a statue of the white supremacist, colonialist Cecil Rhodes. I did it for all the fierce black women on the front lines of the movement and for all the little black girls who are watching us. I did it because I am free.
To all those who might label me an “outside agitator,” I say to you that humanitarianism has no borders. I am a global citizen. My prayers are with the poor, the afflicted and the oppressed everywhere in the world, as Christ instructs. If this act of disobedience can also serve as a symbol to other peoples’ struggles against oppression or as a symbol of victory over fear and hate, then I know all the more that I did the right thing.
Even if there were borders to my empathy, those borders would most certainly extend into South Carolina. Several of my African ancestors entered this continent through the slave market in Charleston. Their unpaid toil brought wealth to America via Carolina plantations. I am descended from those who survived racial oppression as they built this nation: My 4th great grandfather, who stood on an auction block in South Carolina refusing to be sold without his wife and newborn baby; that newborn baby, my 3rd great grandmother, enslaved for 27 years on a plantation in Rembert, SC where she prayed daily for her children to see freedom; her husband, my 3rd great grandfather, an enslaved plowboy on the same plantation who founded a church on the eve of the Civil War that stands to this day; their son, my great-great grandfather, the one they called “Free Baby” because he was their first child born free, all in South Carolina.
You see, I know my history and my heritage. The Confederacy is neither the only legacy of the south nor an admirable one. The southern heritage I embrace is the legacy of a people unbowed by racial oppression. It includes towering figures of the Civil Rights Movement like Ida B. Wells, Martin Luther King, Jr., Fannie Lou Hamer, Rosa Parks, Medgar Evers and Ella Baker. It includes the many people who rarely make the history books but without whom there is no movement. It includes pillars of the community like Rev. Clementa Pinckney and Emmanuel AME Church.
The history of the South is also in many ways complex and full of inconvenient truths. But in order to move into the future we must reckon with the past. That’s why I commend people like Sen. Paul Thurmond for having the courage to speak truth in this moment.
Words cannot express how deeply touched I am to see how yesterday’s action inspired so many. The artwork, poems, music and memes are simply beautiful! I am also deeply grateful to those who have generously donated to the defense fund established in my name and to those who have offered to cover my legal expenses.
As you are admiring my courage in that moment, please remember that this is not, never has been and never should be just about one woman. This action required collective courage just as this movement requires collective courage. Not everyone who participated in the strategizing for this non-violent direct action volunteered to have their names in the news so I will respect their privacy. Nonetheless, I’m honored to be counted among the many freedom fighters, both living and dead.
I see no greater moral cause than liberation, equality and justice for all God’s people. What better reason to risk your own freedom than to fight for the freedom of others? That’s the moral courage demonstrated yesterday by James Ian Tyson who helped me across the fence and stood guard as I climbed. History will rightly remember him alongside the many white allies who, over the centuries, have risked their own safety in defense of black life and in the name of racial equality.
While I remain highly critical of the nature of policing itself in the United States, both the police and the jailhouse personnel I encountered on Saturday were nothing short of professional in their interactions with me. I know there was some concern from supporters on the outside that I might be harmed while in police custody, but that was not the case.
It is important to remember that our struggle doesn’t end when the flag comes down. The Confederacy is a southern thing, but white supremacy is not. Our generation has taken up the banner to fight battles many thought were won long ago. We must fight with all vigor now so that our grandchildren aren’t still fighting these battles in another 50 years. Black Lives Matter. This is non-negotiable.
I encourage everyone to understand the history, recognize the problems of the present and take action to show the world that the status quo is not acceptable. The last few days have confirmed to me that people understand the importance of action and are ready to take such action. Whether the topic is trending nationally or it’s an issue affecting our local communities, those of us who are conscious must do what is right in this moment. And we must do it without fear. New eras require new models of leadership. This is a multi-leader movement. I believe that. I stand by that. I am because we are. I am one of many.
This moment is a call to action for us all. All honor and praise to God.
And why every apathetic voter who thinks they are making some sort of statement by not voting is actually supporting the very people they think they are making a statement against.
PLEASE VOTE. PLEASE get involved early. Register to vote. Help OTHERS register to vote… Get as many people involved in the process as you can, even if they are politically opposites of you. We are Americans, and dammit, WE DESERVE all the voter turnout EVER!!!!!!!!!!!
I wish there was some sort of blanket you could cover yourself with but it didn’t make you warm it just provided the sensation of being covered because some nights it’s just too hot for a blanket but I need something covering me so it’s a choice between boiling to death or being completely vulnerable to monsters
It’s….. It’s called a sheet hon. I mean, yea it SUPPOSE to slip in between you and your comforter-blanket, but they don’t mind if we pick just them… The sheets are cool with it.
1.) one or both of people you see as a “straight couple” could be pan/bi/poly/ace
2.) one or both of them could be trans or non binary
3.) you could be misgendering someone
4.) They could be there to give moral support to a queer friend or family member who didn’t want to go alone.
Number four is important
Ummm…. Im taking my 14 year old daughter this year with my (extremely supportive, awesome) boyfriend. She came out as Bi this year (she has a lot in common with her Mamma). If you think Im gonna send her ALONE WITH NO SUPPORT STRUCTURE?!?!?!? Ha. HAHAHAHAH!
Is there a joke here that 15 thousand people get but I don’t?
PLEASE EXPLAIN
WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT I’VE SEEN IT SO MANY FUCKING TIMES ON MY DASH AND I’VE SCROLLED THROUGH THE NOTES TO FIND AN ANSWER BUT I NEVER FUCKING FOUND ANY AND I DO NOT UNDERSTAND CAN SOMEONE PLEASE FUCKING EXPLAIN
