This was once a blog for a class in which I had to make insightful posts about things that mattered. Now, it's pretty much turned into an excuse to look at beautiful things and compile them into one delightful link. Sometimes I post, frequently I reblog. Always, I'm eating.
why is religious Christmas imagery all so joyful and pleasant? where is the inherent horror of the birth of Christ? A mother is handed her newborn child, wailing and innocent. Her hands come away sticky. Red. Simply by giving her son life she has already killed him. He is doomed from the beginning. Her love will not save him from suffering. Because the thing cradled in her arms is not a baby, it is a sacrifice: born amongst the other bleating animals whose blood will one day be spilled in the name of what demands it. the night is silent with anticipation. Mary, did you know? That your womb was also a grave?