The Temple- Chapter 1/?

N’Jadaka x OC

A/N: I thought this was going to be a two parter, but now it’s looking like maaaaybe 3? I’m just now getting back into my writing and forgot how longwinded I can be lol. Enjoy! 

CW: short mention of suicidal ideation

Previous chapter: Prologue

3256 Words

N’Jadaka’s eyes blinked open and he was met with yet another day in Wakanda. This one was a little different than all his other mornings there because it was the first time he got to wake up in his own bed in his own quarters (outside of that one day he was king.) N’Jadaka had spent the last three months in a psychiatric treatment facility working on his anger and mental health issues. When he woke up after the civil war he caused he was livid. He had wanted to die on that mountain and unfortunately the feeling didn’t leave him until about a month into his treatment. He felt he had nothing to live for since his entire life’s work had gone up in flames before his eyes. He accomplished his one goal in life only to have it snatched back from him a day later. Everything important to him in his life had been taken from him and he felt he had nothing else to live for, so his cousin, King T’Challa, arranged for N’Jadaka to spend some time at Ithemba Center for Mental Wellness. 

He would never admit it out loud, but N’Jadaka was scared to go to Ithemba. He thought his stint as king would have turned Wakandans against him, but it did the opposite. The royal family had decided that transparency was the best policy and did a press conference explaining the entire situation to the people. T’Challa explained what had happened between his father and uncle, what the prince’s life had been like up to that point, and the fact that while he did usurp the throne he did it the right way according to Wakandan law so he wouldn't be charged with treason. The people of Wakanda were shocked, but welcomed their new prince with open arms. He wasn’t aware of the new developments because he was still resting in a healing pod in Shuri’s lab at the time, but when he went to Ithemba he was surprised to find out that everybody already knew him and was more than willing to help him. N’Jadaka hadn’t received that much care and attention since he was a child and he didn't really know how to handle it. It took him weeks to learn how to open himself to others, and it wasn’t until his last month of treatment that he even began opening himself up to the other patients in group therapy.

N’Jadaka’s main therapist was a woman named Ife. She reminded him so much of his mother that he had almost no choice but to open himself to her, crying in her lap during their first couple sessions. Ife had been incredibly patient with the emotional yet emotionally repressed prince, allowing him to work through his overwhelming feelings of anger, sadness, and hurt. 

His time with Ife and the other patients at the center had been incredibly healing and he felt like a new man. He still felt like he had a ways to go, and he could tell he needed something, but couldn’t figure out what. His healing didn’t feel anywhere close to being done.

A knock at the door interrupted his morning laziness.

“Ngena.”

In walked the king of Wakanda flanked by two of his Dora Milaje, who he politely dismissed to stand outside the door. He walked across the room and sat in the plush velvet wingback chair by the full bookshelves.

“Sup man?” N’Jadaka barely opened his eyes to speak to his cousin. The bed was too comfortable.

“My apologies cousin, did I wake you?”

“Nah I’m up, this bed just won’t let me go.”

T’Challa chuckled at his cousin’s laziness. He completely understood, the beds were the most comfortable beds he’d experienced in all of his travels and time abroad in school. 

“I just wanted to formally invite you to attend breakfast at 9. It’s casual, just family and whatever few friends are staying in the palace with us at the time. M’Baku will be joining us today.”

“The gorilla nigga?”

T’Challa tried and failed to stifle his laughter, which quickly spread to his slightly younger cousin.

“Yes the gorilla nigga.”

“Ooooh I’m telling M’Baku you said that. Better yet, I’m telling Auntie.”

“I’d really rather you not.”

N’Jadaka chuckled and wondered if this is how it always would’ve been if they had grown up together. The thought was more bitter than sweet, so he pushed it aside for the time being. 

“Maybe just this once.”

T’Challa grinned at his cousin and he also wondered how life would’ve been had they known each other their whole lives.

“Thank you. Oh and get up, it’s already 8:30” T’Challa stood and walked towards the door.

“These damn beds…” N’Jadaka shook his head and reluctantly flung the sheet back and swung his legs over the side of his bed, completely forgetting he slept naked. He rushed to cover himself in the king’s presence.

“Shit, my bad, man.” 

“For…?”

“Nigga I got my dick swinging!”

“You’re sorry for being naked? Wh- oh that’s right. We aren’t puritanical like you are used to in America. Nudity isn't scandalous here, it’s just a body. But I will leave and let you get ready. See you, umzala.”

N’Jadaka stood there shocked. He knew of Wakandan culture, but experiencing it was going to be an adjustment. Just how different were they? They were never affected by colonization so the oppressive white supremacist ideology wouldn’t exist there. He had a lot of unlearning to do and a lot of questions to ask his family.

He eventually shook himself out of his thoughts and made his way to the en suite bathroom. He turned on the shower using the touchpad and the water fell from the ceiling like rain. He scrubbed down in the vanilla chai body wash he had requested and afterwards he covered his skin in shea butter. He walked into his enormous closet and stood there overwhelmed at the choices. His inner child wanted to throw a fit for everything he’d missed out on, but N’Jadaka took a deep breath to center himself before walking over to the section of clothes that he recognized. He was so nervous about breakfast he almost dressed to impress, but then he remembered T’Challa’s words and casual outfit. He grabbed his Lost Tribe hoodie and threw on his favorite black jeans and his Timbs. He swooped all his locs to one side of his head and threw on his gold glasses. N’Jadaka took a deep breath and walked towards the door.

“Chill out...it’ll be fine.”

The guards stationed outside his door directed him to the dining room where he was met with the smiling faces of his family members. Ramonda was the first to notice he’d entered the room..

“Mholo, umtshana!”

She met him for a hug and kissed his cheek. He smiled so hard his dimples looked deeper than ever and he hugged her back.

“Mornin, Auntie. T, Lil Bit, Charlie’s Angel, Big Man.” N’Jadaka greeted his cousins, Nakia, and M’Baku.

Yet again, T’Challa failed to stifle a laugh, which he tried to play off with a cough. Nakia lightly backhanded his chest and sucked her teeth at him. 

“Little bit? Don't start with me, bubble wrap!”

“Who is Charlie and why am I their angel?”

“That is not my name.”

Shuri, Nakia, and M’Baku spoke over each other.

Thankfully the queen mother was there to settle the children down right as the food was being brought out. N’Jadaka looked at the table and was surprised to see that Ramonda was seated next to T’Challa and that the only empty seat was at the end of the table. 

The king noticed N’Jadaka’s nervousness as he watched him sit down gingerly and take in his surroundings. 

“So N’Jadaka, how was your first night in the palace? Our beds are the most comfortable in the world.”

“Auntie, I almost didn’t come to breakfast. That bed had a hold on me.”

“You must come visit my people sometimes. If you think you sleep good here, wait until you have the crisp mountain air-”

“Nah lemme stop you right there. Crisp is code for cold, and I don't do that shit. Sorry Auntie.”

“I don't do that shit either. When I was staying there I shivered the whole time, even with the beautiful furs and blankets! I’m just not built for the cold.”

N’Jadaka grimaced at the mention of his time as a burgeoning world dictator. He was thankful nobody noticed.

He was also thankful for the large platters of food the kitchen staff came and sat in front of them. They passed the food around the table and soon enough there was silence as everyone dug into what N’Jadaka would later describe as the best meal he ever had.

After breakfast, the three men retired to T’Challa’s office while the princess hurried off to her lab, Nakia disappeared, and Ramonda tended to her garden. 

“So, N’Jadaka...I wanted to talk to you about a few things-”

“Then why is Mighty Joe Young here?”

M’Baku rolled his eyes.

“Again, that is not my name. Who even is this person?”

“It’s a big ass gorilla.”

“Oh- well in that case…”

T’Challa cleared his throat.

“As I was saying. Before anything, we need to address your crowning ceremony. Obviously you are part of the royal family, but by Wakandan law, all royalty must be officially crowned to be able to hold a title. If you would like to be Prince N’Jadaka son of Prince N’Jobu we must have the ceremony.”

N’Jadaka’s voice caught in his throat and his eyes got misty.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

M’Baku put a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s good to have you, brother.”

“Good to be here.”

T’Challa fought tears of his own.

“Ok so uh, that’s that. We can hash those details out later. Now, the second thing I wanted to bring up with you is this: M’Baku and Nakia have offered to show you around the merchant tribe here in the city, the river tribe, and Jabariland. Shuri will get you acquainted with the mining tribe, and I will take you out to the border tribe on Wednesday.”

“Aight, sounds like a plan, but I don’t want the surface-level touristy shit.”

T’Challa chuckled.

“Noted. Now, lastly,” T’Challa pulled up a projection of a futuristic yet somehow still modern building next to a basketball court. 

N’Jadaka’s stomach dropped.

“What is this?”

“I want to open our borders to the ‘Lost Tribe’ as you call it. Maybe to the rest of the world eventually, but at the time they are less of a concern. In addition to that, I-”

The king was cut off by Nakia entering the room.

“Perfect time, love.”

“Sorry for being late, this baby runs my life now.”

“I’m getting a baby cousin?!”

Nakia looked at him dryly.

“Yes, N’Jadaka, you are getting a baby cousin.”

He peeped her attitude and settled down. If there was one thing he knew in this world, it was never piss of a pregnant woman.

“So the Outreach Centers, yes. I had actually had the idea for a while, but it took the country almost burning down for this idiot to see I was right. T’Challa had the idea to use your old apartment complex as the first Wakandan Outreach Center. Hopefully if it goes well, we could expand to-”

N’Jadaka zoned out staring at the projection. His vision may not have come true in the way he thought it would, but this would certainly be a step towards the betterment of the lives of Black people everywhere. N’Jadaka couldn't help but grin. 

“I think we lost him…”

“Cousin!”

He snapped out of his daze.

“Yeah I-I like it. Thank you, this really means a lot. One thing though?”

“Yes?”

“I want it dedicated to my pops.”

T’Challa smiled and zoomed in on the name above the door. It read “Prince N’Jobu’s Wakandan Outreach Center”. Then he took them on a 3-D tour of the facility, ending with the memorial to N’Jobu in room 1401.

N’Jadaka nearly broke down in tears.

“Cool. Thanks, man. For everything. This is…” N’Jadaka took a deep breath. “Just, thanks…”

The other three Wakandans smiled back at him fondly, an occurrence it seemed he would have to get used to. 

“I’m glad you like it. Now if you three will excuse me, I have work to do.”

Nakia kissed T’Challa’s forehead and left the room.

 “Aight, I need something lighthearted. A nigga is tired of crying. Oh! Actually I got some questions…”

“Ask away.”

“So earlier you mentioned how free and open and shit yall are here...I’m single and haven’t had any in like 6 months so where can I go to find some pussy. Since I’m a prince do I just like, I don't know, have concubines brought to me? I don't know how this works”

M’Baku snorted.

“Clearly.”

N’Jadaka flipped him off while T’Challa answered.

“No, we do not have ‘concubines’ though we do sort of have sex workers, which we can discuss later. You know, it would do you good to read some Wakandan history books...and maybe even some of our sex education material.”

“Ay man, I already know all that.”

“Not the way we teach it. Plus our birth control is better here.”

“More effective?”

“And no side effects. Trust me, you’ll want to visit the library at the end of the hall, cousin.”

N’Jadaka considered his suggestion and made a mental note to check out the library later that day.

“Yes, maybe you’ll learn a thing or two,” M’Baku chimed in.

“My guy, I know how sex works! I’m just curious about the culture surrounding sex. T, you said y'all aren’t puritanical like America...expand on that.”

“Well the list of books I just sent to your beads would be able to cover this in greater detail than I can at the moment, but basically every preconceived notion you have about sex, gender, attraction, etc. has been tainted by colonialism as a means of control over the population.”

“Hanuman…”

“Yeah I know that, I guess I just can’t really conceptualize a world without all that sexism and homophobia and shit.”

“What is homophobia?” M’Baku asked, genuinely confused. The cousins answered at the same time.

“When people hate gay niggas.”

“The hatred of, or at least the disdain for, those who are attracted to their same gender.”

“And we ain't even getting into the people who aren't men or women, that shit blows people's minds.”

“Why?”

The cousins continued to explain the outside world to M’Baku for what felt like hours. T’Challa looked at the clock and stood.

“Well gentlemen, as...depressing as this conversation has been, we must get to the council meeting.”

“I need a drink after that. The strongest Jabari mead!”

“Yeah imagine living with that shit for 30 years then coming here. I’m not gonna know how to act.”

“You’ll learn.”

The three made their way to the council meeting and N’Jadaka had never been so bored in all of his life. He started nodding off at one point and M’Baku elbowed him in his side when he started to snore. When it was finally over they parted ways and N’Jadaka headed to the library. He had plenty of reading to do.

He started with the Wakandan history books reading about the lives of his ancestors. His fathers stories had given him a good foundation to build on, but what he found in the books blew his mind. 

Wakandans can trace their history for thousands of years, all the way back to the time of the great Bashenga, the first Black Panther. Growing up as a Black American, N’Jadaka had no connection to his mother’s family history because there was no record. When the Lost Tribe was enslaved and brought to the west, they were recorded as cargo, not people. The enslavers didn’t care about their names or where they came from, and when they got to shore their families continued to be ripped apart and sold to the highest bidder. They weren’t allowed to play drums and congregate, they weren’t allowed to read, they weren’t allowed to marry. There was no written record of his people, and the most they could go on was family bibles which almost never went back before the mid 1800s. 

N’Jadaka was overwhelmed with the information, so he decided to switch to something else and come back to the history books later. He picked up “Intimacy and Sex” by Ami Nbunda and flipped through the pages. He skimmed the table of contents and was surprised by what he saw.

The first chapter was on anatomy, but it actually included intersex people instead of just focusing on male and female bodies. The next chapter was about loving and respecting yourself and others, but not in the slut-shaming way of the outside world. The next few chapters were on the mental and emotional sides of intimacy, and the last few were on birth control, sexual health, attraction, healthy communication, and more resources. 

The prince couldn’t believe what he was seeing as he flipped through the pages. He stopped on a full-color photo of a vulva with all the parts labeled.

“This is for kids? Damn, we really living in two different worlds. America would never.”

He turned the page and saw a to-scale model of the entire clitoris, and his eyes bugged out of his head. 

“That shit’s a whole wishbone…”

He continued to read through the pages in awe. M’Baku was right, he was learning a thing or two.

N’Jadaka spent the whole day in the library reading book after book on everything he could get his hands on. If it hadn’t been for his guards alerting him to the time, he would’ve missed dinner. He grabbed the last two books and went to drop them in his quarters before heading to dinner.

“Umzala, have you been in the library this whole time?”

“Yeah man, it’s a lot to take in. I might have to take that sex ed book back to the states.”

“We plan on doing just that at the Outreach Centers. Comprehensive sex education is a necessity, and since your government prefers to keep people in the dark about how their own bodies work it will be our job to educate those who come through our doors. All but the last chapter, of course.” 

T’Challa winked and N’Jadaka felt like he had missed something.

“You mean the resources? Makes sense, those books wouldn't be available outs-”

“Not the books, dear, the Temple.” Ramonda chimed in.

“The what? I ain't got that far yet.”

Shuri rounded the corner and N’Jadaka expected the conversation to stop, but no.

“Remember earlier when you asked about concubines and I said we have sex workers?”

Ramonda cut her eyes at N’Jadaka as he nodded.

“Well that term doesn’t quite encompass what they do. They are sexual healers blessed by Bast herself and they reside in the Temple of Healing on the outskirts of the city near the Land of the Dead. They are known as the Daughters of Bast.”

“Now I feel bad for calling them concubines.”

“You should.” Ramonda said as she slapped him upside the head.

“Ow Auntie, damn”

T’Challa was thankful that his mother had someone else to fuss over, and he chuckled.

“I think it would be a good idea for you to pay them a visit. They are healers, after all.”

Next Chapter

Aerith & Jam: The Eastern Appeal of Two Similar Women

February has came so fast! I thought it would be fun to a post to celebrate the upcoming birthdays of my two, all-time favorite characters; Jam Kuradoberi from Guilty Gear and Aerith Gainsborough from Final Fantasy 7. I'll be explaining in detail the surprising amount of similarities between them, why these characters are widely loved in Eastern more than Western audiences, etc. I hope you enjoy reading!^_^ Let's begin by looking at Aerith's and Jam's design!

WHAT JAM AND AERITH HAVE IN COMMON ====================================

Besides having light brown hair, Jam and Aerith share the color scheme of red and pink. These two colors perfectly represent Jam's and Aerith's personalities along with their outlook on life.

The Color Red (https://www.empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com/color-red.html):

The color red is a warm and positive color associated with our most physical needs and our will to survive. Red is energizing. It excites the emotions and motivates us to take action. It signifies a pioneering spirit and leadership qualities, promoting ambition and determination. It is also strong-willed and can give confidence to those who are shy or lacking in will power. Being the color of physical movement, the color red awakens our physical life force. It is the color of sexuality and can stimulate deeper and more intimate passions in us, such as love and sex on the positive side or revenge and anger on the negative.

The Color Pink (https://www.empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com/color-pink.html):

The color pink represents compassion, nurturing and love. It relates to unconditional love and understanding, and the giving and receiving of nurturing. A combination of red and white, pink contains the need for action of red, helping it to achieve the potential for success and insight offered by white. It is the passion and power of red softened with the purity, openness and completeness of white. The deeper the pink, the more passion and energy it exhibits. Pink is feminine and romantic, affectionate and intimate, thoughtful and caring. It tones down the physical passion of red replacing it with a gentle loving energy.

Pink is intuitive and insightful, showing tenderness and kindness with its empathy and sensitivity. In color psychology, pink is a sign of hope. It is a positive color inspiring warm and comforting feelings, a sense that everything will be okay. 

An interesting part about Jam's earlier concept art is she didn't always have hazel brown eyes....

(Note: Image cropped to save space. Originally posted from https://gear-project.tumblr.com/ )

She has green eyes! Specifically, the same shade as Aerith's~.

Jam and Aerith's birthdays are only a day apart from each other. Aerith's birthday is February 7th while Jam's birthday is February 8th, making them both Aquarius. This further proves both Jam and Aerith are givers, since the symbolism of the Aquarius is a picture showing water being poured heavily from a container(The Water Bearer), giving life, wisdom, etc. to everyone. Aquarius women are typically known to be Independent, eccentric, humanitarian, and free-spirited. This is true for both Aerith and Jam, but let's examine a little deeper on what it says about an Aquarius.

Aquarius Personality (https://labyrinthos.co/blogs/astrology-horoscope-zodiac-signs/the-zodiac-sign-aquarius-symbol-personality-strengths-weaknesses):

One of the most obvious traits of those born under the Aquarius zodiac sign is that they are kind, friendly and generous, though later you may find that they are quite guarded and may choose to keep some emotional distance. Alongside this, they are quite subversive and rebellious - filled with many quirks that make them memorable characters of the zodiac.

Despite their friendly nature, they have a reputation for being outsiders - ones that cooly observe society, while sometimes also feeling detached from the systems that run it. Although they can be quite aloof, they are also deeply concerned with humanitarian causes. Aquarians tend to care very much for the welfare of others and society as a whole. This means as humanitarians, you can usually see them fighting power structures and campaigning against oppression.

With their eccentric nature, Aquarians find connections with others to be very easy to make, and will not find it difficult to meet up with friends or family members that they have not seen or heard from in a long time. Having a real zest for life, Aquarians tend to have a lot of energy and have a great curiosity for new experiences. Being very sociable, they can drift towards groups when working and in their social lives rather than having one or two friends. They like to experience new things, and will always be the first to try something novel.

Aquarians are one of the most friendly and entertaining signs of the zodiac, and thus they can be  fun to spend time with. Their eccentric and empathetic nature leads them to be great advice givers, always happy and excited to help those in need as well as to have a listening ear. They make great friends, and work hard so that more introverted signs can come out of their shells. Their curiosity with the world and energy mean that they are always willing to accompany friends into new adventures, and are always up for the next exciting experience. They are also generous givers, so if you are ever in need, an Aquarian will not hesitate to share whatever they have with you.

When it comes to love and relationships, Aquarians can be great partners - as long as they feel they are not trapped. Because they expect and need their own freedom and privacy, they are also just as giving of that freedom to their partners. They are rarely ever the type to get jealous or nag you repeatedly about something, rather choosing to give you your own time. Because they crave stimulation, they seem sometimes to be drawn to what is mysterious in love and relationships - looking to solve the riddle. Once they do commit however, they tend to be very loyal, the more empathetic and vulnerable side of their characters being open to you.

In love, they desire intellectual stimulation and friendship above all - and in partners they search for those that are not just lovers, but best friends too. A relationship with someone born under the Aquarius zodiac sign can be filled with surprises; their love of life means that yours too will be fun, exciting, and unusual.

Both Jam and Aerith are the same height( 163cm = 5 FT. 4in).

Both Jam and Aerith grew up in harsh, less fortunate environments. Jam lives on the poorer side of China with daily struggles of maintaining a place to live and achieving her dream of being a chef. If you watch GG Revelator 2 of May's Instant Kill, one of Jam's lines is "The lights are off again?" GG Revelator also reveals Jam has experienced tragedy according to Bedman's Instant Kill where Jam says "A black umbrella...? What are you doing here?" In China, a black umbrella symbolizes someone close to you has died.  Meaning Jam did lose someone important to her, it's just hasn't been stated who(my personal guess is a family member).

Aerith also experienced tragedy of losing her parents at a young age. Her father was shot for refusing to give his wife Ifalna(Aerith's mom) and her to Dr.Hojo, so he got shot by Dr.Hojo's henchmen. Ifalna died from her fatal injury and left to be raised by her adopted mother Elmyra. Aerith grew up in The Slums(Sector 5) of Midgar, where criminal activity and danger is common. Aerith and Jam had no help from outsiders or had millions of friends, all they have is themselves to rely on. Yet despite the harshness of their experiences, they maintain a optimistic outlook and happy attitude along being very street-wise.

Although Jam is a martial artist and Aerith is a magic user, there's some similarities with their abilities. They were both even targeted for it by corrupted organizations. Aerith was targeted by Shinra because she's one of the few remaining Cetra, and Jam was targeted by the P.W.A.B(Post-War Administration Bureau) in GGX2 because of her borderline inhuman gift in Ki. I'll show you by providing information on both.

About Cetra(https://finalfantasy.fandom.com/wiki/Cetra):

The migrations of the Cetra were a Planet-reverent pursuit of the fabled Promised Land conducted by traveling and cultivating life. The Cetra could commune with the Planet, an ability regular humans lost once they gave up their close relationship with the Planet in favor of leisure and convenience. The Cetra could guide the flow of the Planet's spiritual energy, this being the means by which they cultivated life on the Planet's surface. According to legends, Ancients could use magic without Materia, and had an advanced magical civilization.

About Ki(https://gamefaqs.gamespot.com/ps2/562111-guilty-gear-x2/faqs/21874):

Q. What is magic? What is ki? A. Magic is a source of incredible energy that began to be studied seriously by humans in the 21st century. There are five elements of magic: fire, lightning, water, wind, and ki. The first four are now well understood and can be amplified and controlled, but the use of ki remains unknown. Ki has its origins in the Orient. Testament is known to control some sort of magic, and the wielders of Jinki can also control magic to some extent. Axl too, for some reason, has been observed to use something similar to magic of the fire element. As for ki, some fighting masters of the Orient, such as Jam Kuradoberi, can use it; Kliff Undersn was the first non-Asian to be able to use ki, and now Chipp Zanuff has mastered its use as well.<

Here's another source about Ki in Guilty Gear(https://guilty-gear.fandom.com/wiki/Ki)

Ki is the Japanese on'yomi formatting of the Chinese character Qi/Chi (気 or 氣, pronounced as "chee"), and is one of the five elemental categories of magic. It is the oldest among all magical elements and is also considered the foundation of all magic. It has the ability to amplify the strength and effects of the other four magics. It is also the least understood among scholars of Magical Theory of Science.

In real-life, qi/ki is considered by Asian philosophy to be a type of life force or energy flow that literally often pertains to the atmosphere around oneself.

Jam may not be a special race, but notice how both her and Aerith's abilities relate to magic and spirit energy. This means their gifts symbolize life and spirituality.

Both Jam and Aerith have sadly suffered some "lost in translation" of their personalities. I've already mentioned how the English translation of the older Guilty Gear games had taken away alot of Jam's sweetness and empathy to being replaced with being rude and edgy to be "interesting" to Westerners. You can find my character analysis of Jam here(https://culinaryphoenix.tumblr.com/post/151953570662/character-analysis-of-jam-kuradoberi). Thankfully, the later games like Revelator fixed this. With Aerith, while not as extreme as with Jam, the English translation of Final Fantasy 7 took away some of her sweetness to focus more on her spunky side for the same reason; cause it's more "interesting" to Westerners. I'll show you a comparison of Aerith's dialogue when her and Cloud meet again with Reno and some Shinra henchmen arriving there.

English Version ---------------

Aerith: "Don't fight here! You'll ruin the flowers!"

Japanese Version ----------------

Aerith: "Please, no fighting here! You'll ruin the flowers!"

Cloud and Aerith quickly retreat to the back section of the church by going up the stairs. The platform is broken in half with Cloud jumping first then tells Aerith to follow. She immediately shakes her head in refusal. Let's compare the dialogue again.

English Version --------------

Cloud: *nods* "Alright, I'll hold them off."

Aerith: "Right. Make sure they don't get through!"

Japanese Version -----------------

Cloud: *Nods* "You'll be alright. I'll catch you."

Aerith: "Alright. Please make sure you catch me."

Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oGt8ua68xAM

The original context of the scene is totally different from the English version. Not only you see how while Aerith is spunky, she's also very polite. It also reveals her shaking her head was because she was scared of falling. Unlike the English version where it gives the impression she simply refused to jump and be like "I'm not listening to you! Go fight those henchmen!" Lol. Jam and Aerith can easily take care of themselves and have great emotional strength, especially from their experiences. At the same time, they're still people that show moments of being vulnerable and having a great need to be cared for, protected, etc. Which leads to the next part what they have in common; the traits of their love interests.

Aerith is in love with Cloud and Jam is in love with Ky. It's interesting how both Ky and Cloud are handsome men with blonde hair, radiant blue eyes, has blue as their main color, both are skilled swordsman and extremely strong, and both were in the military at a young age(Cloud in SOLDIER and Ky in Sacred Order of Holy Knights). They even have the same blood type(Both Cloud and Ky's blood type are AB)! Both men willingly take on the weight of the world upon their shoulders because they know others, especially their friends and loved ones are depending on them. They're protective over those they care for and go out of their way to make sure they're safe, cared for, etc. This is extremely important and special to Aerith and Jam because it's something they both want and need in their lives. Remember both these women's upbringing and how it's usually them having to be strong and do everything on their own, but now they meet these men are willing to do the same for them out of genuine care. This is the main reason why the two women are so in love with the two men. Let's look at the evidence starting with Aerith.

Note: Final Fantasy 7: DISMANTLED is an official Japanese book that tells the events through each character's personal monologue.

Aerith's Monologue in the Shinra building(https://www.finalfantasyforums.net/threads/vii-dismantled-book.43606/page-2) Aerith: *being excited now* Aerith: Cloud, you came! When I got to the Shinra Building I was handed over to a man called Hojo, I couldn’t help thinking that I won’t be able to escape anymore. I don’t know why but that man gave me the shivers. The way he looked at me was like measuring a piece of experimental specimen…. In short, he wanted a hybrid from Red XIII and….oh forget it, I don’t want to talk about it. Anyway, Professor Hojo is absolutely a weirdo! Although Red told me that “the acting was to throw Hojo off guard”, but he seemed quite serious at that moment. He does look like a savage beast, however, he is more human than most of mankind. Like what he tried to convey, we should cherish this Planet. It’s just…I can also feel the excessive strain— he seems to push himself too hard. And Cloud really is a hero! To Tifa, and to me as well, he’ll come wherever we’re in a pinch! Well, as for the one-date payment, I think I should make it two! Aerith gleefully enjoys and comments on how Cloud is a knight-in-shining armor to both her and Tifa. This increases her attraction and deepen her feelings for Cloud. This is also proof that Aerith knows the real him very early because notice how she says "Cloud really is a hero!" She knows this trait is truly part of Cloud and not something he's just pretending to be or copying from Zack. This leaves a strong impression on her because when her, Cloud, and the others finally are about to leave Midgar, Aerith admits it's her first time leaving. Cloud asks if she's worried, which at first she claims it's only a little then later admits she's worried alot. Instead of saying, "I'll be alright, though. I've dealt with worse." Aerith says... "But I have my bodyguard, right?" There's also the part when Barrett mentions of needing to assign an official leader for the team, Aerith automatically says "It should be Cloud." Once again, Aerith knows and sees Cloud's qualities not only as a person, but also a leader. She has so much faith in him and continues to do so throughout the game. She feels safe, deeply cared for, and happy with Cloud. With how much time they spent together(in-game time wise, it's likely a few months with all the traveling, etc.), Aerith realizes Cloud is the one for her. Next, is looking at the evidence with Jam. In the 3rd path of Jam's story in Guilty Gear X2, she later finally finds the one responsible behind the attack at her restaurant; Robo-Ky. Below is the dialogue from the original translation. Jam's Story Path 3(https://gamefaqs.gamespot.com/ps2/562111-guilty-gear-x2/faqs/20666) Jam: You hiding over there... I see you! Robo Ky: Gigigi... you found me. Jam: Did you come to get beat up again? Robo Ky: Target's battle power has been analyzed. Robo Ky: Group attack... Robo Ky: ...would be most effective. Jam: Aiya! How many of them are there?! Jam: They're coming from all sides! (vs. Robo Ky) (vs. Robo Ky) (vs. Robo Ky) Robo Ky: Gigigi... Jam: Th-there's no end to them! Even though the gameplay shows needing to fight the Robo-Kys only three times, it's conveying Jam has been fighting an army of them for countless hours on her own. She's in great danger cause she's eventually going to get worn out and more Robo-Kys keep blocking her way. But then... Robo Ky: Gigigi... Give it up! Robo Ky: Everyone present! Robo Ky: Present! Robo Ky: Present! Jam: There's all of these?!Ky: That's it! Jam: A new one?! Ky: You're mistaken. I've come to save you. Jam: You're... from that time... Ky: I'm sorry I came late. Ky: Please leave these to me. Jam: Okay! Just like with Aerith, this leaves a very strong impression on Jam for many reasons. She didn't expect any help, especially from the man she thought she would never see again. She's exposed to how Ky's the type of person to go out of his way to save her and other people. She spends time with him for a while and getting to know just how caring, responsible, and noble is. This causes the result of her attraction and feelings for him deepens. She has her heart set on Ky.  Both Jam and Aerith are highly perceptive and give great wisdom than people think, which their detractors quickly label them being "insensitive" cause they totally miss the context. With Jam, I already gave an example with Haeyun in Revelator from my character analysis I linked to earlier. She also gave provided the same to Jack-O, whom spurred her to realize her purpose and place in the world. With Aerith, the notion of her being "insensitive" has even been stated as fact according to Final Fantasy 7 Wikia and some fans think this is her character flaw. Aerith's Personality from FF7 Wikia(https://finalfantasy.fandom.com/wiki/Aerith_Gainsborough) Though she means well, Aerith can be insensitive to other people's problems, like when Barret is troubled in the Gold Saucer. I'll post and highlight the parts people are focused on. Aerith: "Hey, Barret! Cheer up!" Barret: "I'm not in a cheery mood. Just leave me alone." Aerith: "Really? That's too bad." *goes to Cloud and says* "Let's go" To get the full context, there's a video below that leads up to the group arriving at the Gold Saucer. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JS9JfjixzAI&list=PL85002125B482FF1B&index=34 Around 1:43 of the video, notice Aerith is the first one to ask what happened followed by Cloud. When Barret tells the group how his hometown isn't what it used to be. Aerith says, "But how could those people say such awful things?" with her hands on her hips in disgust. She definitely didn't like how the townspeople treated Barret. After he explained what happened and why he says it's all his fault, Aerith gives sympathetic silence. Red XIII does the same, Cloud is disgusted of what Shinra did to Barret's home and people, and Tifa tries to console Barret saying it wasn't his fault. But Yuffie says... Yuffie: "I'm not sympathizing with Barret! He shouldn't have trusted Shinra." Even though Yuffie has a point of he shouldn't have trusted Shinra, Barret didn't know at the time. She just plainly ignore how the townspeople and Barret's wife died along with the town itself burned to almost nothingness. So she's basically like, "Welp, that's what you get for being a dummy!" This is the very definition of being insensitive and not caring about people's problems. It's interesting how people ignore this yet claim Aerith is the wicked witch of the west all because she tells Barret to "cheer up" and "Really? That's too bad." lol. Below is the full context of the scene, which I'm using a better translation and not the given English one. Aerith: "Wow! Let's have fun!"  *Feels excited then turns to look at Barret from a distance* "I know it's not the right time to do this, but..." "Hey, Barret, cheer up!" Barret: "I'm not in a cheery mood. Just leave me alone."   Aerith: "Really? That's too bad." Tifa: *Whispers* "Aerith, doesn't that seem a little inconsiderate...?" Aerith: *Whispers back* "When situations like this happens, it's best not to push the issue too much." Tifa: *Whispers* "Really?" Aerith: *whispers* "Mm hmm~" *Aerith goes over to Barret again* Aerith: "We're gonna go play..." Barret: *blows up* "THEN PLAY! Mess around *curses*! Don't forget we're after Sephiroth!" *Angrily jumps inside Wonder Square* Aerith: "Oh, he's mad..." Tifa: "He'll be fine. He seems to be doing a little better now." Aerith's intention was to try to get Barret's mind off of his emotional pain by being playful and lighthearted. After seeing his reaction, Aerith decides to give him some space, though she did later wanted to let him know she and the others were going to enjoy the sights of the Gold Saucer. What Aerith explained to Tifa is some people just need time to sort out their problems on their own instead of forcing the person to. In the end, it started to work cause Barret started to jump in one of the attractions instead of standing alone and being silent. She has also given wisdom and compassion to Cloud many times when he would doubt or blame himself. WHY AERITH AND JAM ARE SO POPULAR IN THE EAST MORE THAN WEST ============================================================ There will always be fans who dislike these characters regardless, and there are Western fans who do like them(like myself). With Aerith, you could easily say it's because she's the main female character and vital to the plot of FF7. But with Jam, she's sadly just a supporting character cause in Guilty Gear, May and Millia Rage are the main female characters. Yet, she's so popular in Japan there was an anime called Genshiken where a character cosplayed as her.

The main reason both women are very beloved in the East both have traits of a leading lady. Their hardworking, determination, and free-spirit towards their goals and dreams make them admirable. Their outward display of emotions and not afraid to be express their romantic interest towards the men they love(devotion is a highly good trait in the East). Their femininity and how their strength is how they deal with life's trials and tribulations rather than strictly about their superpowers, etc. Both of their experiences are relatable to many along with their optimistic nature and playfulness, even their flaws makes them endearing and humane. I would call this type of leading lady "The Cheerful Optimist". Tifa and Dizzy also have traits of a leading lady, which the type I would call "The Strong, yet Gentle" type(going into detail about this would require another post, but wanted to give them an honorable mention~).

This also explain why I love these characters so much, especially how they easily disprove the notion that female characters can only be amazing if they completely abandon their femininity, viciously degrade men to "put them in their place", be Mary-Sues(meaning absolutely perfect with no humane and notable flaws), etc. I think people underestimate how much emotional strength it takes to remain positive and being inspirational to others when life and people have treated them horribly. It's a shame that instead of seeing the depth of these characters, it's easier for people to just label them as "weak, insensitive jerks, etc." But thankfully, me and other fans who do take the time to understand Aerith and Jam know how they are.

Happy early birthday to both Aerith Gainsborough and Jam Kuradoberi~

Into the Dungeon of Darkness

A short story based on the game Darkest Dungeon, but it’s still readable for those who haven’t played it. It was meant to be just a small exercise, but it kinda... evolved. Enjoy!

The air this deep into the ruins was disgusting, oppressive, and uniquely scented. The cracks in the damp and crumbling walls provided no relief, revealed no landscape, they just gave way to oppressive dirt and rock. If you burned incense in a room down here, you could return years later to find its scent only mildly dissipated. I felt the rot in the air clinging to my lungs, coating them like oil. Given the strange fungal life we’d seen so far, it wouldn’t be surprising to learn the unusual odor was due to an abundance of spores. I imagined an impossible scenario where I died peacefully in my sleep decades from now and an autopsy revealed a bushel of mushrooms lodged in there, much to the bafflement of the local doctor.

My mildly amusing fantasy was interrupted by the whisper of one of my companions. Something was coming. Our Highwayman cocked his gun, the Leper readied his mighty sword, and I prepared my preliminary prayers to the Lord. The slow shuffling around the corner became clear to me now too.

The stale air stood even more still and our breathing became audible to each other as we braced ourselves for another grueling round of combat. Most abandoned places felt cold and uncaring, but these ruins felt actively malicious and cruel. What had apparently once been a warm and loving home had been warped and desecrated, twisted by its greedy sons into a maze of unfathomable evil. Their excavations into the earth below their home brought none of the power and riches that the rumors promised, just death and madness.

This place was an affront to the Lord and if my light was able to cast away even a fraction of the shadows that existed against His mighty will, then I would suffer whatever wounds, physical or mental, to do so. So what would I be smiting this time?

Giant slugs and spiders? The shuffling grew louder. Living mushrooms and slimes? With proximity came clarity: it was the sound of footsteps. Bandits and madmen? We could see the vague shadows of a hand gripping the wall’s edge. More of those blasphemous re-animated corpses?

As the rest of the silhouette stepped into view I called down the holy light, blinding the figure while the Highwayman interrogated it.

“Hold it! Who’s there?”

Instead of the usual ferocity, flurry of movement, and unfathomable sounds that started these battles the figure just held its thin arms in front of its eyes and whimpered “I mean you no harm.”

I dimmed the Lord’s light and took in the “man” that stood before us. There was no question of his humanity per say, but rather of his functionality. He was emaciated and pale, adorned only with tattered clothes and broken long-chained manacles clamped around his wrists. The most striking detail, though, were the scars: dozens upon dozens of them, some more aged than others, scattered across his skin like a dropped bundle of sticks.

“Please, help me get out of here. I’ve been trapped down here… so long.”

The Highwayman was a suspicious man under normal circumstances. He’d led a hard life, taking odd jobs and robbing banks when the work dried up. The only other thing I knew about him was that he’d been the lone survivor of a previous excavation, which was truly astonishing when you considered the wit and determination it’d take to survive the hostility of the ruins alone. So it made sense when he barked “Why should we trust you? How d’ja get here in the first place?”

“I was kidnapped by the cultists. I think they wanted me for a sacrifice, but the ritual… went wrong and I was able to escape.”

There was hesitation in his voice. He was holding back, but perhaps with good reason. We’d run into those cultists before and the power they had wielded in battle only hinted at the madness they might be able to inflict on a captive. We all had things we’d seen in the ruins we wished to never think of again and he surely felt the same about his torturous time with the cult.

The Leper, of course, immediately took sympathy on the tortured soul and sheathed his sword. I knew nothing of the Leper, but I sensed a piousness and decency about him that only those who’ve flourished despite true suffering seem to have. He did not speak, only extending his hand to the man in solidarity.

The Highwayman grumbled, “Keep in mind this gun of mine don’t leave my hand, should yah think of making trouble.”

Our newest party member nodded in acknowledgement, his gaze locked on the barrel that was equally focused on him. It was then that I noticed it: some weight behind his eyes, something dark deep within him. It almost felt… primal.

We continued our way through the winding halls and crumbling rooms, stopping to search abandoned crates and bookcases. It was uncommon to find anything worth taking, but we’d found enough valuables along the way that this looting became something of a habit. We’d made our way to a library of sorts: lined with collapsing wall-to-wall shelves and populated with half-burned books. We were all indulging in our habit, but I was ignoring the handful of strongboxes and trinket-filled desk drawers in favor of the cryptic texts scattered about. The abundance of forbidden texts down here made it easy for me to learn about the dark arts and while I was reluctant to pursue anything that endangered my soul, I knew it would prove necessary to surviving this journey.

“Stay away from there!” screeched the Highwayman with unprecedented fear and anger.

I was startled by such volume, as we hadn’t spoken so loudly since before we entered the ruins. It was dangerous to speak that way in a place that can echo a noise for miles. The object of the Highwayman’s ire was the manacled man, who had his hands up and was standing stock still next to a small fountain in the corner. It had no water running, but had a stained and mildewed basin. What was truly strange was that the centerpiece was no angel, bird, or even abstract architecture, but rather an oddly detailed tentacle. Our party had seen one or two similar stoneworks but never bothered them, having more than once learned the lesson of staying away from anything that hinted at the unholy so strongly. The newcomer was apparently still naive.

The Highwayman brought his voice back down and said “Did ya touch it?”

“N-n-no sir.”

“Good. Don’t. Lost some good men that way.”

It occurred to nobody in the room to inquire any further. It was not our place and we didn’t have the spare sanity to handle such things. I returned to my texts when I felt the slightest shiver on the back of my neck. Was the Lord warning me? Of what? I stood to attention, gripping my holy book tightly. I looked over at the manacled man and he returned the gaze, but with intense fear. There was a beat and I understood.

“Incoming!”

Unlike our last encounter, there was no time for preparation. A moment after the words left my mouth, cultists burst through the door we’d yet to clear. The Highwayman acted with his usual superb speed, letting off a pistol shot mid-dive behind a desk. Sadly his aim wasn’t as impressive and he only managed to clip the arm of one of the cultist brutes. I was already positioned beside a desk, so I had easy cover, but the Leper and the manacled man weren’t so lucky. The Leper was out in the open and his sword was sheathed, but on the opposite side of the room as the cultists. The manacled man was still at the fountain corner, which was adjacent to them. He ducked into the shadows and curled up, hoping his small stature would hide him.

There were four cultists: two brutes and two shamans. The brutes were massive beings of mostly muscle, probably supernaturally enhanced at the cost of their humanity. They were equipped with clunky gauntlet claws, essentially three swords attached to their hands. The shamans, always women for some reason, used their staffs to cast strange unholy spells, but each shaman’s magic was slightly different. Oh and they could see just fine despite wearing thick black blindfolds, which, while strange, was fairly useless knowledge combat-wise.

The bleeding brute leapt forward towards the Highwayman’s cover, determined to retaliate. Clearly the Highwayman wasn’t expecting such quick reaction, as he was reloading. I started to chant a stun prayer, but there was no need. The Leper darted forward with incredible speed, my vision blurring body and metal together as his sword swung downward, smashing into the ground. My eyes and brain caught up and registered the outcome. It looked like there was a section missing from the brute’s arm, as if someone had erased a few inches. The Leper’s sword had completely severed it, but at the cost of having those claws lodge themselves in his shoulder and upper arm. The brute’s delayed scream of pain boomed louder than overhead thunder, but the Leper made no noise as he discarded the arm, even though it took a chunk out of him in the process. The brute went to swing again, but was greeted by the barrel of a newly loaded gun and was swiftly removed from the fight.

To push our advantage, I’d have to take care of those shamans. I shouted the prayer of my Lord at one of them, successfully stunning her. As she collapsed, a slight glow around her, I heard the slight “thump” of her head hitting the stone floor. She’d be out for a while. The other shaman started muttering, practically hissing the foreign words through lips pursed with anger. Shadows slinked up from the floor, curling up the staff like snakes and gathering together into a ball around the tip. I was mesmerized by their movement, swept up in the surreality and a tad jealous I couldn’t wield light similarly. My stunned fascination kept me immobile for a second too long and I was swept off my feet as shadowy tentacles burst from the staff, stretching across the room and smashing into my chest. As my body collided with a bookshelf, which shattered easily, and then the wall behind it, I felt something in my body crack. A rib probably, given that impact.

I managed to keep my eyes open and stay conscious, but the wind was completely knocked out of me. I sat there wheezing, trying to regain my ability to breathe, but the musty and dust-filled air offered no relief. The Leper stormed forward offensively towards the shaman, his gouged arm dangling behind him as he ran. Before he could get close though, the remaining brute intercepted his path and the Leper narrowly avoided another claw strike. The Highwayman let loose a shot to cover him, which skimmed the neck enough to distract and hurt the brute, but not permanently impede it. The Highwayman cursed his shoddy aim this battle and ducked back down to reload.

The Leper heaved his sword and readied himself to attack again, but I could tell from the writhing shadows around the shaman that her counterattack was already poised. I tried to warn the Leper, but words require air and my lungs still had none to offer. As the shadow tentacles flew towards him the Leper defensively raised his sword, but there was no collision. The shadows just… passed through him. The Leper was stunned, but soon that surprise on his half masked face morphed into absolute terror and anguish. A pained croak, the most I’d ever heard from him, escaped his throat as he collapsed to the ground and began shaking violently. My recent research helped me recognize it: a nightmare spell, designed to make you relive your greatest traumas and worst fears. It’d take some time, some prayer, and a good woman but he’d be fine… probably.

The brute, its wound shaken off, advanced to finish the weakened soul. “Leper!” exclaimed the Highwayman as he vaulted over the desk. He ran toward the crumpled figure, drawing his dagger from its sheath. The brute ignored him, determined to wipe the Leper out. As it raised its metal claws in the air for the death blow, the Highwayman dashed across its vision, landing just outside the brute’s range with surprising grace. It took both the brute and I a few seconds to realize what the Highwayman had accomplished with such a strange attack, but as blood started to leak from a thin and long cut in the brute’s forehead I understood. The brute grunted, furiously wiping away at the blood that kept dripping into its eyes. The wiping became more and more exaggerated, slowly turning into a furious flailing as the brute lashed out against its blindness.

The Highwayman ducked a passing swipe and picked up the Leper, whose convulsing had stopped. As he turned to bring him back to cover, he stumbled and then froze. The shaman cackled, a single tentacle extended from her staff to the Highwayman’s ankle. That extra second in the range of the brute was all that was needed, as he was struck in the head by a passing arm and knocked to the ground. The brute, realizing it’d hit someone, re-oriented itself in that direction, and readied its claws for a more deadly strike. I begged the Lord for strength as I croaked out a stun spell, but the coughs confused my words and the sharp jab of a cracked rib weakened my will power. The brute’s fist came down and I closed my eyes. It was over.

The vibration of an unfamiliar roar shook my eyes open again. The brute’s fist was suspended in air, the claws paused mere inches from my companions. There was a chain wrapped around the brute’s arm, its links leading back to the corner with the fountain. From out of the shadows stepped a grotesque beast, a red-skinned devil with the teeth and claws of a wolf, the stature and build of a bear, and the horns of a ram. Where had it come from? Would its bloodlust end with the cultists or would it come for us too? How could we even begin to stop that… that monster?

The beast heaved back the ensnaring chain, pulling the brute off balance and bringing it to the floor. The predator leapt on its prey with uncanny speed for its size, its claws digging into the flesh of the almost-man that I now almost felt sorry for. The brutes death would have been quick and incredibly painful if not for its companion, as the shaman’s shadow tentacles wrapped themselves around the beasts neck and head, dragging the devil off her companion and slamming it into a bookcase. Unfortunately for her, the beast recovered quickly. She cast tentacle after tentacle, both tangible and not, but the beast kept coming and eventually overcame her. It took seconds for the body to become completely unrecognizable as human. The brute attempted to intervene, but the Highwayman scrambled to his feet and sliced its throat from behind. A more merciful death than it would have received at the beast’s hands.

Finally able to breath with some amount of regularity, albeit not painlessly, I too rose to my feet. The Leper propped himself up on his sword. The beast, bored with its prey, moved on to the unconscious shaman I’d stunned earlier. To die in her sleep was a mercy that blasphemer didn’t deserve. After finishing her off, the beast turned towards us. It walked slowly, each footstep almost as loud as its deep and labored breathing. The chains it was dragging clinked quietly, chains that were attached to… manacles? Wait… could it be? The beast roared a final time as its body contorted, shrinking and changing color. We all wanted to look away from the transformation, but we couldn’t. After what felt like minutes of convulsions and groans, the manacled man stood before us once again.

“Well… you know the truth now. I… am an Abomination. If you want to kill me, I’d understand, but I can’t guarantee that It won’t try and stop you.”

We were still dumbstruck, unsure of what to say. How do you address someone that’s simultaneously the most pathetic man you’ve ever met and also the most terrifying beast to walk this earth. The Abomination squirmed uncomfortably in anticipation of our response. For once it was I who spoke first.

“Do you have it under control?”

“Uh, for the most part? I can’t always control when it comes out, but I can stop it from hurting people I care about… assuming I have something else to attack nearby.”

The Highwayman sighed, sheathing his dagger and pistol. “Well that’ll just have to do then. We need all the help we can get I s’pose. Vestal, get to work healing Leper and yourself. We need to keep moving.”

The Leper smiled the faintest of smiles, patted the Abomination on the shoulder, and then followed after the Highwayman. I leaned over to the Abomination and whispered, “The Lord doesn’t approve of alcohol, but if- I mean when- we make it back to town I think we all owe you a drink.”

The Abomination smiled weakly and for a second I couldn’t see that weight in his eyes, that burden of the beast within.

“Thanks Vestal.”

He followed behind me as we joined our companions, resuming our journey into… The Darkest Dungeon.

Morrison, Carpentier, and the Separation of Church and State

essay by Rebekah Janway  ⌂

The First Amendment of the United States Constitution states that “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof” (US Const. amend. I). Propagated as the foundation upon which all American establishments had been and would forever be built, this ideal has shaped the path we walked not only as a country, but also globally. The Christian and non-religious institutions of this nation have always operated comfortably within this system, before and after the drafting of the Constitution. However, as demonstrated by authors Toni Morrison and Alejo Carpentier in their books A Mercy and The Kingdom of this World respectively, these words were a veneer crafted by European imperialists to impose their will upon people they had and would continue to enslave for centuries. Though it continues to this day, religious oppression is a horror outlined by these authors as one of many components of a system designed to justify slavery, an effort to criminalize every aspect of non-white people and their cultures. Each author uses the vehicle of religion differently, but in both novels it reflects the power relationship between people groups and is a marker of class. There is an inherent assertion in both Morrison and Carpentier’s work that religious identity shapes the power of a person or group and is an incredible tool in wielding power or dethroning it. This power is demonstrated through contrasting means where Morrison’s characters come to experience through religion the power wielded upon them as a dividing force, whereas Carpentier’s characters wield religion as a unifying force to shift the power dynamics of their community.

The first and perhaps deepest shape religious identity provides is to the self. First and foremost, religious identity shapes an individual’s self-image and, in turn, their image of the world around them. In the context of power, religion becomes a tool. In A Mercy, we see the use of religion as a method of dividing the oppressed. Morrison provides readers with perhaps the most complex character relationship to religion in Lina, as she struggles within a religious duality. As her native pantheistic religious beliefs are compartmentalized within the monotheism adopted under her abusers, the idea that the beliefs of her people are “unholy” can be understood as an expression of power by the Europeans. The power dynamic is clear as she recalls her time with the Presbyterians, after the loss of her native village to disease and destruction by fire from European colonists. Though she adopted their customs, took their name for herself, and “acknowledged her status as heathen,” she was not allowed to attend religious rituals and was ultimately discarded (Morrison 47, 48). The religion she was forced into prohibited, in fact, the aspects of her culture that gave her the autonomy to survive in the world, and it is only upon revisiting the “hedonistic” ways of her people that she remembers the skills necessary to keep not only herself alive (Morrison 48), but also Jacob's crops and his entire household (Morrison 49). This inverse relationship between individual autonomy and the dominant culture can be observed through the lens of religion in both Morrison’s and Carpentier’s work.

The characters in Carpentier’s The Kingdom of This World experience a vastly different relationship with religion. Their religious independence proves to be a major factor in not only their individual lives, but as a unifying force in the community dynamics of mass rebellion against their enslavers. Ti Noel is an example of this independence and an excellent point of contrast to Lina’s subjugation and indifference toward religion. From the very beginning of Carpentier’s work, the reader sees Ti Noel’s anger toward the religion of the Europeans, and the resulting comparison with African culture and religion: “In Africa the king was warrior, hunter, judge, and priest; his precious seed distended hundreds of bellies with a mighty strain of heroes. In France, in Spain, the king sent his generals to fight in his stead; he was incompetent to decide legal problems, he allowed himself to be scolded by any trumpery friar” (Carpentier 9). It is clear that Ti Noel has no respect for the religion of his enslavers, and as can be inferred from his imaginings of enslavers’ heads on an eating platter (Carpentier 9), and no respect for his enslavers as an extension. The keeper of true religion and ultimately true power, in Ti Noel’s mind, is Macandal whom he references in the same passage as the arbiter of “the deep wisdom [behind] these truths” (Carpentier 9). The power Macandal holds over Ti Noel’s actions and that of so many others culminates in the name given to him, “The Lord of Poison,” and it is explained that “thousands of slaves obeyed him blindly. Nobody could halt the march of the poison” (Carpentier 20). The agency taken by the enslaved Africans in causing real damage to their oppressors was made possible by their unifying belief in Macandal as a deity.

The power of religion also appears in the community divisions, as shown in A Mercy. The community Morrison narrates is that of the women in Jacob’s household, torn apart by the dominant religion’s division of men and women as members of society. After Jacob's death, the household of women find themselves entirely without economic or societal standing. Upon returning to the house after her baby’s birth, Sorrow observes the fear in her house through religious tension with Rebekka: “Mistress said nothing about the baby, but sent for a bible and forbade anyone to enter the new house” (Morrison 133). Where Rebekka had been content with “polite attendance” to church in her life with Jacob (Morrison 77), upon finding her husband dead, herself ill with smallpox, and the future of her community threatened, she barks at Sorrow: “God alone cures. No man has such power” (Morrison 133). Although her previous experiences with Christianity have been negative, both in the fear of her childhood and the pain of child loss, Rebekka exerts the little power she has left in her home: exclusive access to the culturally dominant religion. Although the healing practices of a free Black man were the true healers for both her and Sorrow, the dissolution of Rebekka’s community had invoked great stress, and she has retreated to the religious practices of the dominant society as her individual power wanes.

Yet again from Carpentier we see the complement to this relationship. Because of the religion spread by Macandal and the community created by his teachings, those enslaved across many plantations were interconnected enough to do irreparable damage to plantation owners like de Mezy, and, we see later, to King Henri Christophe, a free Black man who adopts European culture and Christian religious beliefs, as well. This idea of religion as community is noted multiple times throughout Ti Noel’s journey as knowledge followed by action, in this case the Haitian independence movement led by Dessalines:

For he knew—and all the French Negroes of Santiago de Cuba knew—that Dessalines’s victory was the result of a vast coalition entered into by...all the deities of powder and fire, a coalition marked by a series of seizures of a violence so fearful that certain men had been thrown into the air or dashed against the ground by the spells. Then the blood, the gunpowder, the wheat flour, and the powdered coffee had been kneaded together to make the leaven that would turn men’s heads toward the ancestors, while the sacred drums throbbed and across a fire the swords of the initiate clashed. (Carpentier 58)

Both the knowledge that there is a community of “French Negroes of Santiago de Cuba” under one religious umbrella and the motif of sacred drums that appears in every act of rebellion throughout the text serve the idea of religion as community, and community as a precursor to dethroning a dominant power structure.

Morrison and Carpentier provide equally essential reciprocal perspectives on religion’s ability to shift power. Morrison provides the negative: each of her characters has a different relationship with the dominant religion in their society, but all experience the dividing power it wields over their lives. Carpentier’s work illustrates the great power of access to religion: a belief in a unifying force and the community to turn that force into real change. Though opposite in nature, these texts provide a picture of an intentional, systemic effort to exercise power through establishing a dominant religion and vilifying and removing access to any threats to that power. This practice was and continues to be threaded throughout global history; a tragedy that cannot be fully comprehended due to its success in oppressing voices of dissent. As articulated by George R Handley in “A New World Poetics of Oblivion:”

A complete understanding of events such as the murder and displacement of millions of Amerindians or the Middle Passage of African slavery and its subsequent legacies of untold suffering for millions of Africans and their descendants is often beyond representation because the lived realities were either initially understated or erased in historical documentation in an attempt to conceal accountability. And, of course, dead victims cannot speak; those who did survive had little or no access to written expression, and their testimonies often held feeble legal force. This is to say nothing of the daunting task of simply finding adequate forms of representation with which to sum up such atrocities. (26)

The horrors of slavery and what was stolen from the people forced into it can never be truly expressed or understood. As Toni Morrison states, “language can never 'pin down' slavery, genocide, war. Nor should it yearn for the arrogance to be able to do so. Its force, its felicity, is in its reach toward the ineffable" (qtd. Handley 28,29). We must heed the reach of authors who understand the generational impact of slavery, lest we repeat the blindness of our forefathers. We must seek to understand what was truly stolen, lest we continue to allow “freedom of religion” to grace the pages of textbooks and nothing more.

Works Cited Carpentier, Alejo. The Kingdom of This World. Collier Books, 1970. Handley, George B. “A New World Poetics of Oblivion,” in Look Away! The US South in New World Studies, ed. Jon Smith and Deborah Cohn (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2004), 25–51 Morrison, Toni. A Mercy. Vintage International, Vintage Books, a Division of Random House, Inc., 2008. United States Constitution. Amend. 1. ∎

More on Rebekah ~ Minerva’s Owl Homepage

Its About That Time

It is about that time where I write another blog and bitch unconditionally about my life problems and repeat things ad nauseam for the sole purpose of spewing my irrational anger out there, especially after I have ranted and raved on my other social platforms due to people who want a reaction out of me, and them knowing how my mental illness works they get it out of me, and because I know with responding and reacting to such nonsense, I already lost, but then I go the extra mile to be disrespectful because I feel like if they are going to want a response from me, then I want them to regret everything. These certain people will make accusations like “Someone with mental illness, would not have to state they are mentally ill” Yeah I get that might not be what you are used to and I am so sorry ti disappoint savage type of people who want nothing more but to be like Howard Stern and try to push people to the brink of insanity, while having your crew cheering you on because you happen to do it under the guise of “comedy” but understanding the deeper seated issues of how this world is run and how people at the top want nothing more but people to be negative and ignorant toward each other, I found a way to convey how my mental illness works, because for the last decade, I have spent time analyzing myself and why I think the way I do, and how people could be pushed, especially when it has to do with the industry, and people just laugh at something going on with certain people, but think they are just reacting to a natural story and we should joke about anything, and you are fine to, but I am allowed to point out why certain people are going through what they are going through, and why they react the way they do.

There has been such a fucking stigma on mental illness for the longest time, that even when someone, who might happen to be a public figure, flips his/her collective lids, people just react to the symptom of the problem and think they are doing some edgy work poking fun at people, especially when they can’t explain what is going on and if they do dare explain the deeply rooted issues in the system, they are chastised and made to look like they are the fucking asshole. They use it as a marketing tool now, because even certain right wing type get in on the action and make their words and actions seem like they are the victim of something. This is why people resonate with Trump, because the people have understood the system to be the liars, when there has been a change, a limited one, nonetheless a change, so now anytime they make fun of Trump constantly and daily, people think he is some kind of victim, even though there is truth to what he says about the media, but now anyone who repeats anything Trump says will be lumped in with racists. They censor ignorant racists and truth tellers because they want you to correlate that there is no difference between the two.

So luckily for me, putting out, what some call delusional theories, has been the worst and the best for me. I have made myself an easier target putting it out there, and it becomes more ammo for people to use against me, and try to manipulate me. It could be trolls online paid to harass people, my own friends, my own family at times, or supposed Stern fans. I realize it would make me a target, and while it has made me an easier and bigger target, people can dismiss it as craziness because they are not allowed to speak out on how this shit works and they are worried they won’t get the perks they receive behind the scenes. So they think by organizing attacks and making it look like they are just random people hating on me for the shits and giggles, that it won’t be seen as anything serious. They have propagandized comedy and used it for their sick pleasure to fuck with people because they have been trained by the Howard Stern’s of the world to fuck with people and feed off the negativity. I know this from experience, and I have been in that same boat because I wanted to be like Howard, because he was one of the most successful people in the radio business and I had to follow those same steps, and when I realized it was bullshit I quickly tried to distance myself from those methods. Now I am under attack and when people try to get me on their platforms and I recognize they are imitating Stern in more ways they would like to admit, not just with the material of the show, but the tactics that are used. I left and I went my own way, and now these same people try to lure me back and making these accusations that my mental illness is some kind of act. I take issue with that because anyone who knows me, knows I don’t like feeling the way I do, or saying the things I do, but I rather be someone to spews his irrational shit, rather than end up like every other person in the world and overdose or go on a violent spree, which is their goal, it was said the purpose was to get me to kill myself and you are a relentless troll, and now you expect me to forget that. You analyze my mental illness, but don’t analyze your mental illness, because you have fake fans in your chats cheering you on, when you are the one who seek me out to be on that show. One minute you say you want me back, the next I hijacked your show and I was just a crazy whack packer, that you needed on your show and when you can’t find content that is remotely interesting, you decide to bait me into calling in, and telling people to talk shit in the chats, which you organize privately, in my opinion.

I didn’t like the direction of the show because you are one of those people that is going to be this edgy messiah to PC culture, while you are bowing down to ignorant bullshit the right wing wants people to be. I said to leave me alone. I can write a blog and convey my message. It hurts that I am not snapping the way you want, when you get me to snap, I will say some fucked up shit. In my opinion you have been connected with higher ups and they need you to have me on the show, so you can try to exploit more of my own thoughts and organize more arguments so I can yell at people. It is sick, you need help. Instead of getting it, you will get your people to come into my platforms to troll me constantly.

I was willing to leave it be peacefully, but you keep bringing me into this shit. You use my mental illness as this enjoyment, and I don’t even blame you fully, this is what people have been told is edgy and cool because being nice to people or being mean to the right people, the ones who are oppressing the people, is so uncouth and phony, while your brand of entertainment which is a bootleg version of what Stern does, is to humiliate people and make stupid jokes that are so passé, nothing creative. It bothers me that you can’t leave well enough alone, and even when someone from your show wants to talk to me, you have to oversee it, or you get incredibly butt hurt that someone else who does not want to be on your show, is talking to me. Someone you humiliated time after time, and then want them back. You and your sick “fans” spent nearly 5 hours going over her arrest records and exposing her real name and her age, and then you claim you want to be peaceful. Then you have certain republican women who lied about their connection to the Stern show, and then even lied about her political stance, because she knows I hate Trump supporters, especially ones who think he is doing something like draining the swamp, and not much after I left, she went on about being a Trump supporter. Nice to see I called out your alt right ass before you could use your “good looks” to manipulate me. These Stern republican chicks are the worst because they think they can grab on any Whack Packer, because we need to be embraced by any female interaction, and we are so desperate for it, that we will bend over backwards to cater to your ass, fuck out of here with bullshit. You people are sick and maybe instead of doing 5 hours shows, maybe you should seek help as well. You can be entertaining when you don’t cater to all this shit, but now fuck it, I don’t care. I was going to take a break from the show and maybe return, but every day since you left you either been transparent with your attacks on me, and then subtle with your followers coming into my chat.

You claim your viewership went up after I left right, then why would you need me back? My numbers are dwindling. No one cares about conspiracies and wrestling. I should just act like you and act like the biggest pervert on your show and check marking whatever else is on the Stern Show cliché list. I hate that I have spent this much time on this, but you know what you are doing. This goes for all of these trolls. Because I have been off that show, they have used their connections to suppress my numbers or anyone else from interacting with me.

I went on a wrestling podcast, and their accounts are suspended, because I dared talked about conspiracies on their show, then my time gets limited on other shows. Clearly these people know certain people who can do this kind of thing. People on my Face Book Live are telling me they are getting warning for liking my page or wanting to view my videos. They are limiting me so much that I would have no choice but to go back to these other shows. It is really sick. It is one of the sickest things ever. You want my numbers to dwindle down so you can claim I am nothing without you, when I am the one who was needed more. I was doing fine without you and I will continue to do fine without you, or as fine as my mental illness ass can be. Oops I acknowledged my mental illness and have analyzed myself inside and out, that knowing where my mind can go when I am extremely aggravated, so that means it is not real. I should get a group of people to organize and harass people, and do it like everyone else in the system.

I rather be on my own than be in group chats and organize this kind of thing and then on the surface acting like I am completely sane. Sorry that isn’t me, and that is why people gravitate towards me, because I am one of the realest people on this planet, and I am so real I can acknowledge I have to be a phony at times, which I don’t fucking like, If it were my choice, I would want to be dead, but these people won’t kill me, because it would make me look like a fat disgusting martyr, they want me to go out the way they want me to, and that is me inflicting harm on myself, and they have done that to other people in life as well. A lot of people are so doped up and so fucked mentally they can’t even speak about it because the savages in this world will call them pussies, and these same alpha male type are the ones who act like pussies, and they use fake accounts to fuck with people, because they would never want to show their fan base or general public know how insanely fucked in the head they are.

Leave me the fuck alone. I didn’t want to write this one, but it is bad enough people in my life are in bed with these shady people, and hide things on a constant basis, but know that to the system I am a valuable commodity, even if it doesn’t look like it, and maybe that is more delusions grandeur, but it isn’t high school anymore, you will not make me doubt myself anymore. You will not inject yourself into my life, no matter how many people from the past you tell to mention your name, so I feel the need to reach out to you, because you can’t take that I fucking blew up on the Stern Show before anyone locally ever did. I have been hated and vilified for this, and because my connection to the show is the reason for a lot of people to have the doors open so they can live in nice houses, take great vacations, and hang out celebrities at your private parties, and you get to hide this fact, then show up to me and tell me you love me and I am the man, while you secretly hate my fucking guts.

I wish these people would kill me, but it would never fucking happen. They will torture me mentally more and more. The writing of this blog will make me an even bigger target. I have to do it because I need to get this out of my fat head because I have no other choice. Leave me the fuck alone. Just let me die out and go on the other side, but I am sure you would for me to act violently and make threats right? Fuck off.

Life Story Part 57

The #2 Beatles cover band came into Lewiston. Opening for them, was the #1 Elvis Impersonator. My father decided we should go as a family. I'll admit it was entertaining, though I often forget to mention it when asked about the shows I've been to as it didn't mean that much to me. I think some of the more drunk members of the audience were able to momentarily convince themselves that it was the real Elvis opening for the real Beatles. They hollered and danced. It was never really hit me that hard, though, in full garb the Elvis impersonator had his moments. They were obviously practiced musicians – but I couldn't help but to think about the contest that must be held for Elvis impersonators and Beatles impersonators. It seemed kind of silly to dedicate your life to playing someone else's music. You would have to be so passionate about that person. I remember looking at Allison – who was not quite a preteen but not quite a little girl anymore either, and noticing her clapping her hands and singing ecstatically. I count her as one of those people who was able to convince herself that the Beatles were really playing. Allison was a mad fan of the Beatles.

David was having more and more anger issues, throwing more and more fits. Becoming more violent. Maria left again to live in Juliaetta with Earl, and for awhile by the end of my year up in Moscow, Allison and David were left to their own devices at the house while my father was at work and I was in school. If you discount the possibility of a serial killer noticing two unsupervised children alone (it was at this time that serial killer Joseph Duncan III had actually kidnapped a boy and a girl about a county up from us), things might have been fine – if David wasn't becoming the way he was. I sincerely wish David had been raised differently. Something in him had snapped. Given there was nobody to stop him, he became violent and frightening to Allison. He was pushing himself to do bad things. He was like me, but worse. I wish I had never had the influence on him that I had had. I think he was depressed, but there was more to it than this. He was pushing the very limits of what he could get away with – and it was going farther than anything I had ever done. He ended up chasing Allison with a knife, screaming that he was going to stab her to death. Allison ran barefoot for two miles to get away from him to save her life, as he screamed and yelled psychotically down the street with the knife in hand.

I hadn't heard about all this stuff going down. I had been completely submerged in my own psychology and studies. But when I heard about it, it upset me. It was rather shocking. He was only nine years old. David needed help. Allison didn't need to be around this or to live in fear everyday after school. Something was very wrong with this whole picture. I knew something drastic needed to happen. This was not normal kid stuff. I knew David to be sincere in this way. He wasn't the type of kid who was aloof or pulled pranks. He was an all in or all out type of person. And I knew him to be a very sympathetic, and abnormally gracious human being most of the time. So for him to be chasing Allison with a knife, he must have really been feeling it. He must have been losing his mind.

Looking for constructive advice, I talked to Jenni about it. There of course wasn't much anyone could do though. I didn't want to, but I decided to take my dad aside one evening and try to explain the situation to him. I knew this would be a challenge, since to question David's behavior, was, by extension, questioning my father's own behavior. David was in many ways mirroring my father's rage and violence towards me. Both Allison and David had grown up watching it. They internalized it. And David also felt inferior as the youngest – I in particular made him feel powerless. I had been a mean babysitter. Never did I feel compelled to stab anyone to death, but I had been psychologically damaging. It wasn't good for me to be forced to babysit them like I did, but it might have been worse for Allison and David. David was attempting to gain the control he felt he needed. My mom's coddling him made him weak and expect more. He was becoming a disaster.

At first, my dad kind of understood what I was saying, but then he brushed it off with 'boys will be boys'. I tried to explain to him that while boys might be a little rowdy or less inclined to brush their hair, it was absolutely not normal for a boy to chase his sister with a knife screaming psychotically to the end of town. David's fits to where he would cry and scream till he couldn't breath weren't normal – and he had been doing that for years. He felt horrible and he needed help. This was a stage of his development where his mind was wiring who he would be for the rest of his life. I was worried. I felt that my father's neglect in this area was incredibly unfair to David and selfish. Our father had always ignored anything that was going on that was unpleasant – and he had given David his name. David in his eyes was sort of his prodigy. So by saying anything negative about David, my father felt I was insulting him personally.

He sort of blew the whole thing off, and then told me that he knew Allison could be manipulative. My father was big on this 'manipulative female' thing – always has been. He felt that men were honest and simple, and women were knifing and complex. In his pseudosciency way, he reasoned that we women were too weak to fight with our fists, so we played mind games – it was programmed in our nature to torture men, be it our brothers or our significant others. He didn't think men were capable of those mind games in any way shape or form. He absolutely didn't believe men could wrap their minds around being manipulative or emotionally abusive as he felt men could only do what was natural to them, and he felt that half the time, when men do things wrong it was because a woman had manipulated him or pushed him psychologically to do it. Though my father was not religious, he definitely blamed Eve for man's mistakes like some weird culty Abrahamic religious leader. It was infuriating, but he essentially blamed Allison for David's behavior. He was close to blaming me simply for being the messenger and telling him something he didn't want to hear. Him and David were male and in some way infallible. Allison and I were women, and we had to take it. That was the low key message. And nothing further got said. I had this sick feeling in my chest, and it just seemed to sit there.

In school, I just kind of got quiet. I felt powerless and uncertain of my own future. I tried to talk about the band Sarah and I were going to start that coming year with Sarah, but she didn't seem that into it. I threw myself more and more into books. I picked up a copy of 1984 by George Orwell. I read it in three parts. I remember reading the last one hundred pages or so on Sarah's couch. It was one in the morning, and Sarah was talking on the phone with Alex. I think it was a bit earlier in Georgia, or later. I don't know the time difference, but they talked to one another at times that were limited given the time aspect of it. She spent most nights talking to Alex on the phone these days. I remember reading all of 1984 and it blew my mind. I felt sick for days. I had never thought of a system as something that could never change. That was ultimately what made me the sickest. The book was extremely psychological. It wasn't some grand narrative of an evil king that gets overthrown. In the end, Winston lost and Big Brother won. I felt panicked, and I wondered if there were elements of modern society that were just like 1984 in their self perpetuating cycle of oppression. I could hear Sarah on the phone joking with Alex. I felt a million years away from it all.

At other times, I would just watch documentaries on baboons that were always playing on Public Television. Baboons seemed at times, more like little werewolves the way they tore down small gazelle like deer, the way they viciously ripped each other to shreds for dominance. Even though human beings seemed very civil, were we really? Were we as a species more or less just more complex violent apes? Between these baboon documentaries and reading 1984, my faith in humanity seemed to flow out of me, and I didn't have any way to explain it. In a way, it was humbling I guess. I no longer saw the world with myself as the center. I kind of understood that I was going to die someday, in some manner, regardless if I lived a full life of success, or if I died a nobody. People had been doing it for thousands of years, and really, who was I to proclaim my life so special? My goals stopped mattering to me as much as they had. I was not as excited about my own reflection. But I was still very ticked off. I could no longer be apathetic about the news. I was infuriated with the Bush administration. I saw human nature as primarily selfish, and yet there was something in me that said that it didn't have to be this way, that somehow there was something to be said about the human spirit, and maybe there was something greater – but I was still losing faith somehow. I was frustrated by my own inability to really communicate with people in person. I felt like I had gotten so angry, and held it in so long that did what stars do when they become black holes. So what I felt in me was this incredible void. It made my skin feel tingly, it made me feel sort of euphoric and afraid at the same time. It was like an energy I had no way to channel. And I have been this way ever since.

I also read A Handmaid's Tale, which, though it didn't make as much of an impact on me as 1984 had, was full of a million small ideas about gender, power, tradition, and mortality that were very interesting that built up to something that made me reevaluate the world around me. It was the kind of book I pondered about for many years. When they made a television show of it last year, I was all over it, and I was not disappointed.

I felt a little confused about conspiracy theories at this point. I guess when I had at first taken to believing in anything from the Lochness Monster to your everyday ring wearing freemason being some kind of overlord, I wanted to believe things, and so I had. It brought meaning in my life. Now, with this newly found sense that any belief I held had to be in some way justified and backed by evidence, I went back into looking for conspiracies with a lot of skepticism. But I wasn't really disappointed. Oligarchs exist. The world is rapidly changing behind the scenes. Excuses for wars are invented, corruption isn't a conspiracy theory when it comes to how our government operates with corporations. Our news media is controlled by very few. JFK's assassination was very fishy, so was Martin Luther King's. There are very eerie unexplainable crafts that do fly in impossible ways, that have been recorded and verified by government agencies and top level government people.

Not to mention that a lot of things the government or people of power don't want you to see isn't even exactly a secret. You could read all day and get very well documented well understood shadowy information about the backstory behind a lot of things that pertain to everyone that will make you feel very uneasy about the world we live in. You can listen to theoretical physicists or neuroscientists and get a very trippy reality check. It's out there. And in terms of evil conspiracies, a good portion of the time, things get leaked, or simply don't get reported, or get reported at the same time something more colorful is being reported on so that people don't look the opposite direction. If you care to, and you are aware enough, it's not that hard to find it, especially with the internet, if you are willing to put in the research and get the verification by sound sources. They just hope people don't go looking for it. I think more is done to keep people distracted, but even that sometimes backfires. I believe I was wrong in thinking, or hoping for some major plotline about who runs the world and it's money, mostly because it was meant to back my own ego, and it was based on zero evidence. But that isn't to say that there aren't all manner of shady situations going on.

I think this might have been why I got very intrigued by the MK Ultra program and such. This got me to reading about operation paperclip, and how the United States brought Nazi's into the United States. Telling my father about it one day, he confirmed it and explained to me that he had first hand met one of these Nazi scientists back in the 60's or 70's. Many of these Nazi's were secretly brought to north Idaho specifically because it was unpopulated, unseemly, and mostly white demographically. This one Nazi fellow was actually paid by the company that ended up being ATK – where my father worked, back in it's early beginnings to help with something engineering related. My father didn't know who this man with a German accent was at the time, but he saw my father working (this was after my father had stopped being a hippie), and he came up and praised him and told him something about him being an ideal example of a superior man with good work ethic. Later it was explained to my father that this guy was a true German Nazi who was secretly brought to the United States, so that statement of him being the ideal white man was actually pretty creepy.

I found that in nursing class, if I hurried up and got ahead, I could spend a good portion of my time just reading online about these weird facts about Nicola Tesla, Aleister Crowley, various experiments, and so forth. I was sitting there quietly reading intently one day. The room was full of kids writing their fiction stories, and the guy next to me got up to use the bathroom. Another guy came over and took his chair. I would have said something, even though I didn't know that guy – I still didn't want him to lose his chair, but I looked at the other fellow who had taken the chair, and I thought surely that kid knew what he was doing. I didn't want to get in a fight with this person over someone else's chair, so I didn't say anything. Sure enough, the guy came back to find his chair was missing. He looked over and saw that this other guy had taken the chair. And from the corner of my eyes, I watched him snap. He began shouting. Instantly, I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. It physically rattled my entire perceptions for a moment. The other guy nervously gave him his chair back, but guy 1 wasn't happy with this. I was closing my eyes in shock. The next thing I knew, this guy had taken the chair and thrown it against the wall as hard as he could. It came crashing down on my computer and the computer next to mine.

The guy ended up having to go into the office, where I could hear him screaming hysterically. He was the same guy I think I mentioned me sitting next to on the first day when I accidentally didn't swallow my diet pills correctly and exhaled a bunch of dust. He ended up having schizophrenia, and everyday I go up to Moscow, I see him pacing back and forth in the Moscow mall with headphones on. It seems rather sad. He was actually a rather normal person for most of the time I knew him, and he seemed generally very nice. What I remember most about the situation though was just how badly I was affected by violent unpredictable situations like these. Because after that chair came crashing down on me, I was about ready to gag. I couldn't breath right. I couldn't even register what I was seeing. My hands were shaky for hours. I didn't feel right in the head. I was nauseated and jumpy. I guess I was getting to a point where I had had my fill of loud violent angry men. I didn't take it personally that the guy had thrown that chair. I know he didn't intend on upsetting me like that. He was caught in his own rage to the extent where he couldn't even be considered fully responsible, the way I saw it.

There was also an incident that got kind of heated, and rather than scare me, I felt rather inspired by it. So there was this dumb hick in our class. I think his name was Tony or something. He was cousins with a lot of people from Kendrick, and he was pretty excited to ask us if we knew such and such. He was outwardly friendly, but completely ignorant, and what we discovered, a racist. He was sitting in the class before the teacher had come in, and he was talking about something or other when he started calling someone he was talking about the N word. I can honestly confess, I was completely lost in a daydream, but Sarah had heard him say it, and I had heard people say it before when I had been in the Kendrick school. The word made me sick, but I had never had the courage to jump on anyone over it, and instead I generally buried my face in my arms with guilt. When he used that word, this girl named Emily stood up and asked him what he just said. He was shocked, I think everyone was. There was no doubt in her face. He tried to laugh her off, but the look in his eyes, you could tell he was scared.

I don't remember what went down exactly, other than it was awesome. I hadn't realized that sticking up to someone like that was something a person could do. Emily was already really cool to me, and I already admired her. I never spoke with her or about her, but she was actually in a band which I thought was amazing. She was a drummer in a band, she wore skinny jeans, she illustrated children's books. She was very confident, and didn't judge anyone. She was probably the coolest person in that school – possibly one of the cooler people I had ever met who was my own age. And apparently she had no qualms with getting up and taking care of racists in there tracks. She bitch slapped this guy with words until he was shaky and red in the face. She eventually forced him to apologize. It was perfect. I couldn't help but feel my own inadequacies watching this situation unfold. What did I ever do when this kind of thing happened, but duck my head? I kind of wished that I had been more like Emily. She did what everyone needed to do. She didn't care if she made a scene or what people thought about her. If more people were like Emily, the world would be a much better place.

During the end of school, we were taken on a few field trips. The first one was to this art exhibit. It wasn't the original artwork I don't think – or at least most of it wasn't, but there was a gallery exhibit of Lichtenstein's iconic artwork. If you don't know exactly who that is, you should look it up and most likely you would instantly recognize it as the classic comic book format. He basically came up with a way of creating small dots in comic books to create a sense of shading. I wasn't terribly interested in it personally as someone who inspired my art per say, but I still found it rather intriguing and influential.

I remember we also went on a field trip to the local city waste treatment system. It was smelly due to human waste. It was fascinating in this sick sort of way. In each tank, you could see the water being settled and changed – at first being raw sewage. You could see the brown stuff – being turds. Little did I know that I would be doing something sort of related to this for a job years later – though I never dealt with human sewage – rather industrial waste. At another time, we visited this exhibit in Pullman of fossils and bones. There was this spectacular thing where they had this horse's body separated perfectly between glass sheets, so you could see it all stretched out and separated. Anyone who has seen the television show Hannibal may know what I am referring to. It was incredibly interesting. Afterwards, everyone was taken to this creamery in Pullman where they made fresh ice cream. I don't think I ended up getting any ice cream though. I didn't have any money, and I was beginning to feel really uncertain of myself in public situations. I was afraid to go up and buy any ice cream. I felt halfheartedly frustrated at Sarah because she didn't do anything to help me – though in no way was she obligated. Afterwards, I remember being in some building that was several stories up. It was connected to the campus in some way, and I think it might have been related to entertaining a lot of people in some way. There were a lot of seats by these windows that overlooked a large portion of the town. Sarah and I sat up there quietly and looked out. The sky was gray, and it was rainy. There was something extremely pleasant about this little space. Sometimes I still dream about being up in that building looking out.

It was getting to be spring again, and Sarah and I were leaving to go home one day after school. It was still rather dark out, when out of the bushes came two people I in no way expected. It was Ava, and Melissa, Zack's girlfriend. They were both rather high, and they had a bunch of stuff in their hands. I noticed that the both of them were wearing Zack's clothes. I looked at Sarah, and wondered what the hell this was about. From what Sarah and I gathered, Melissa had broken up with Zack. I guess he had decided to go on a trip to Minnesota without her, and she was fed up with him. I didn't quite understand what the ordeal was about. But the key to this entire situation that hit my like a ton of bricks was that Zack and Melissa were no longer together. This meant that perhaps, just maybe if I connected with him again, we could maybe start again. And I guess Melissa was upset and was choosing to give Zack's stuff away as revenge – which I didn't think was right – but honestly I was so happy to hear it was over between them that I didn't care too much. It was mostly articles of clothing, and a few Pink Floyd cloth posters. Sarah got the one from The Wall, and I was given the image of the two men shaking hands, one of them being on fire.

This situation gave me this new sense of hope. Perhaps this could be a new start for me. A part of me honestly wanted to make something really deep out of this. I mean, why had Melissa and Ava found Sarah and I to tell us of all people? Why did we need to know? We never had had much to do with Zack or Melissa's relationship. Something seemed almost too weird to be true about them just showing up and finding us that evening. Sarah and I were thinking about it a lot over the car ride home, but there didn't feel like much could be said. Somehow, I still had been able to keep it from Sarah that I had feelings for Zack. I swear she must have known. How could she not? I was still weary of talking about it though. I really didn't want anyone to know. I felt like something would be ruined if I said anything.

After Danny kicked my mom out of the his house, she went back to Jim and Connie's place. It felt like old times on the weekend again. I sat around all day and watched UFO shows that investigated the same old incidences. Allison went into her area and watched endless amounts of Steve Irwin wrestling down iguanas. David went into his room and played LOTR games. It was strange being back. Things didn't last that long however. Both Jim and Connie assured my mom that she could stay for as long as she needed to get her life on track, but I ended up overhearing them at two in the morning, Jim was getting angry and drunkenly saying he was going to bust down the door and tell my mom to get her and her fucking rat children to leave. Connie was trying to talk Jim down, saying that while she felt we needed to leave as well, she couldn't bare the thought of my mom struggling out in the street, which was somewhat of an over-exaggeration of what would become of any of us, since we primarily lived with our dad and she had other friends.

I told her, and she got very upset. We stayed one more night. That night, Allison woke up to use the bathroom in a state of drowsiness. I wasn't in the room so I didn't see it happen, rather I heard a lot of commotion and walked in to see what had happened. The lava lamp broke, and the weird stuff inside of the lava lamp got all over the floor. Allison was deeply cut and blood was oozing everywhere. My mom had woken up, and she was shrieking at Allison. I think David had joined in. It made me sick to my stomach, watching the both of them tear into Allison as if she had intentionally broke the lava lamp on the floor. Nobody seemed concerned with the laceration on her leg. I ended up shouting at my mother to leave Allison alone, and ended up calling her a bitch. This escalated into her screaming throughout the house. Jim and Connie weren't home. I hated her so much. She forced Allison to scrub the floor with the stuff all over the carpet while she shouted in Allison's face about how worthless Allison was, as Allison whimpered in pain. She had gotten the weird stuff stuck in her cut. I had to step away I realizing that me getting angry wasn't going to fix things. I had angered her too much and if I even tried to clean it up, she was going to intentionally provoke me and make it impossible for me to do that. She was pissed off at me for having stepped in to defend Allison, and she was intentionally mistreating Allison to piss me off – so as horrendously upset as I was, I knew I had to step away to make things mildly better for Allison. It was three in the fucking morning, and too early for this insanity. Who does this? Honestly, I knew she deserved to be socked in the face, but it would only make things worse for Allison. I had to bite my tongue the best I could.

My mother was still with Danny for whatever reason. It just seemed painful and insulting for her to go along like nothing had happened. We ended up moving back to the Nye's, the very same place we had started when Danny had invited us to live with him. I remember that Easter of that year, Maria showed up with her kids, Roxanne showed up with her kids. It was planned to be some kind of fun Easter egg hunt out by the river. It ended up sort of miserable. Danny was there, and he started insulting my mother over everything. Maria's son Ian, who was about four by this time, was misbehaving and got into some kind of trouble tossing rocks at moving vehicles. Maria ended up getting upset and jealous because she felt that Roxanne was getting more out of Easter than she was. Maria wanted presents for Easter as a full grown adult, and she began freaking out about it. Meanwhile, I just sat there eating the eggs awkwardly in the grass with Allison. David got upset at Allison and then later at Roxanne's first daughter Sagen, and then at the boys. It was just a mess, and clear to me early on that there could be no good outcome for everyone to get together. Nobody enjoyed it. It seemed rather pointless to even try.

I was feeling artistically dead. I had almost given up art entirely by this point. It just didn't seem to come naturally like it used to anymore. I loathed anything I created and I felt like I was doing the same thing over and over again and even though I didn't want to do what I was doing, I couldn't stop. I also didn't know how I felt manga styled art anymore. It didn't affect me as much as it used to. I remembered years before when Katie, Sarah, Ava and I would all sit around the table and draw anime for endless hours. I couldn't do it anymore. It was kind of a pain to realize five years into an artform that I cared very little for it. And even had I still been into anime, I mostly just didn't like my particular style. I didn't feel as though I was doing much with it. I envied Sarah. She just seemed to be able to draw these flowing illustrations – the folds of cloth looked perfect, the skin looked translucent, she could draw feathers. She knew how to somehow draw things on MS paint and make them look pretty decent. My stuff looked flat and phony. I felt stuck.

I was still very upset with Sarah, but I just didn't want to talk about it anymore. I wrote a few angry letters, but I was getting to this place where I was afraid we would stop being friends if I challenged her too much. I didn't want to lose her as a friend. And maybe it was a little selfish. Honestly, for all her problems, she was the sanest person I knew. And we were still close in some ways, but to a degree it just wasn't the same. For about a week around this time, she was starting to look at me nervously when I talked about the 'band we were going to be in, and answer or say things to me in a funny guilty sort of way. I thought about getting mad about it, but I held my tongue. I knew that if I started talking, I was afraid of what I might say and that I might not be able to stop. I didn't want to go through this anymore. Of course, Sarah had her own plans. I should have seen it coming, but somehow I didn't. We were leaving school one evening, and she told me in the car on the way home that she needed to talk to me about something. She seemed hesitant and very nervous – which made me nervous, She told me in this deliberate distant way that Alex was going to visit that summer – which I was completely fine with as of course people can't just date online forever – but she continued on in a hesitant fashion, that at the end of the summer, she was going to go with Alex to live with him and his parents who were moving to Texas. Alex could play piano and guitar, and they were going to start a band together. I was never a part of that. Meaning there would be no band between Sarah and I. Meaning she more or less knew there would be no band or us working together in any way for a few months, but she had been afraid to let me know. Meaning everything I had planned for my future was in pieces. Meaning I would have no friends, and nowhere to run when my father or mother came after me. Nobody to watch movies with or take walks with on Friday evenings. Who was I without Sarah Mae?

I took it as well as I could. At first, I just shrugged it off, and slouched into myself in the passenger seat. Sarah went on sort of defensively – knowing perhaps what this meant for me, stating that at least for once she was being honest with me, and showing some sense of responsibility. It had been tempting for her to simply never let me know, but it wouldn't have been right. I had to agree there I guess. I had to give her credit where small credit was due. She hadn't known for certain the real plans between her and Alex, and she had let me know a week after the plans had been set. I took it calmly at first. I felt sort of numb and was quiet the whole ride home. I think in a strange way, Sarah had wanted me to get upset. I think it would have made her feel less guilty had I instantly lashed out at her. But at this point, what was the use in fighting her? She had made her plans. She had taken initiative, and she had made her own decisions. It was a bitter pill to swallow for me, but in a way it made me feel a little better. The last six months made a whole lot more sense to me then. At least now I knew something. At least she had for once been up front with me. I wasn't shooting at the moon anymore. I had some perspective.

It felt wrong though. It gave me strong message. I really couldn't expect so much from Sarah. Nobody really wanted to be around me. She didn't want to be in a band with me, or fight with me anymore. I was extremely envious that she was going to be in a band that would probably sound better than whatever it was we were going to theoretically create. I didn't even know how to think about it anymore though. The very thought of it made me feel tired and sick inside. I didn't even know if I wanted to quit school anymore. I went home, I curled up in a ball, and I just sort of felt myself sinking. I didn't feel angry. I felt weak, and scared. I remember trying to cry, but not being able to. Instead, it just felt like this large lump in my throat. I was having troubles breathing. This had been my future built up in my head, and having it stripped away from me left me feeling rather empty. I didn't even have enough substance to me to get properly angry.

I think at some point I must have gotten up out of my bed, and walked barefoot outside. Somehow, I ended up sort of waking up walking myself down into the back alleys near the end of town. My feet felt that itchy burn of not being accustomed to being barefoot. My head felt like clay. My eyes were moist and shrunken. I was incredibly confused. Somehow I had blacked out and ended up on the street and I had no idea how. I pushed back the fright and went home. I knew there was no use telling anyone. I didn't think anyone would believe me, and besides,  it was kind of personal.

It was around April or May, and a few weeks since Sarah had told me the news. We only had a few more weeks of school. I no longer knew what I wanted to do, if I wanted to drop out or stay. Mike and Jenni, upon hearing the news took some pity on me. Mike seemed more set on making Sarah doubt her decision than he was going after my choices. Sarah would not be swayed though and both Jenni and Mike knew it. I just didn't know. I felt like I had all kind of crow I had to eat if I told anyone I wanted to stay in school. I had put up such a fight, but now it seemed pointless. I wasn't even sure I was going to be able to stay in school. Who would shuffle me up for class each day?

I wasn't going to fight with Sarah anymore. I suppose I had tried to explain to her what her leaving meant to me. It upset her, but I was now noticing that Sarah had a way of turning off what people said to her when it conflicted with what she wanted. And being abusively angry at her for doing this only made it worse. It also seemed like it would be rather selfish of me to push things or expect her to stay at my expense. I had to swallow something very big – something that was killing a part of me to swallow, and try to be happy for her and put my own feelings aside. I was entitled to nothing. Still, I think she was translating this to something she was more accustomed to, which was me being furious. Instead, I either acted robotic, or seemed pitiful and it was confusing. In the midst of our silent mulling of her leaving, we were headed towards home from class school one day. It was a windy day, a bit overcast but not bad. We hadn't driven too far from the school, and we were stopped at an intersection. Absentmindedly, I looked into the clouds in front of us, and I saw this very enormous looming black triangle in the sky. It was mesmerizing and strange in a way that I can't really explain. It moved in a way I had never seen anything in the sky move before. I first noticed it because clouds had cleared around it due to the wind which had exposed it.

I watched it intently for about forty seconds or so. It moved in a line, then took a sudden 90 degree turn back into the clouds. I could see parts of it through the clouds though, and then it seemed to suddenly disappear. The light turned green and we took our turn. I looked at Sarah, and tried to tell her what I had just seen. She looked at me and told me she had seen it too. We went over it and agreed we had seen the same exact thing. And the mechanical perfection of it was hard to explain. The whole time I watched it, I hadn't been scared. I hadn't even registered that I might be seeing a UFO. I had mostly been baffled. It had seemed almost mundane. It was broad daylight. UFO's hadn't exactly been on my thoughts. Also, I didn't even know that UFO's were ever reported as triangles. Normally, I had the impression that they were all either saucers or simply strange lights. It wasn't till I went home and looked it up. Honestly, I would even have been skeptical of my own account, knowing that the human brain can play tricks on itself, but Sarah had seen it too.

I am not going to go out and saw that there were aliens in the cockpit or anything. I have no idea what it was that I saw. I knew that it was enormous. My father, who has flown planes before told me that based on the clouds I was seeing, even at the lowest altitude, the triangle was probably at least 40 feet. The thing was very big – big enough to where I could see that it was made of very dark metal, even above the clouds. Had it been night time, I don't know if I would have trusted what I was seeing, but since I had a second witness, and since it moved very mathematically, deliberately and hastily. It seemed to be able to slow down and speed up in a single second, I had to say that it sounded like many other UFO sightings that I ended up finding online. I guess there is nothing like a UFO popping in your life in the center of a midlife crisis to pull you out of your own life for a second or two and reevaluate everything.

PART 56 - http://tinyurl.com/y7v9kbn2

PART 55 - http://tinyurl.com/y8fy3uew

PART 54 - http://tinyurl.com/yb8nlwvh

PART 53 - http://tinyurl.com/yae9wgbj

PART 52 - http://tinyurl.com/ybwft2g6

PART 51 - http://tinyurl.com/y9gsjg4j

PART 50 - http://tinyurl.com/y7729d45

Part 49 - http://tinyurl.com/ydbpgkqw

PART 48 - http://tinyurl.com/ydcn5uuu

PART 47 - http://tinyurl.com/y8xyogl9

PART 46 - http://tinyurl.com/ybqoxned

PART 45 - http://tinyurl.com/y94784tz

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PART 43 - http://tinyurl.com/yckvswd7

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PART 40 - http://tinyurl.com/y8aj6kmq

PART 39 - http://tinyurl.com/y97vprft

PART 38 - http://tinyurl.com/ycr7la8q

PART 37 - http://tinyurl.com/y8trssqd

PART 36 - http://tinyurl.com/y9ygq9q8

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PART 34 - http://tinyurl.com/yc6y4p69

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PART 32 - http://tinyurl.com/ycetanep

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PART 28 - http://tinyurl.com/yagdlo47

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PART 22 -  http://tinyurl.com/yat6cfnw

PART 21 -  http://tinyurl.com/y783egno

PART 20 - http://tinyurl.com/y8jskymt

PART 19 - http://tinyurl.com/rfhbms8

PART 18 - http://tinyurl.com/ycrznrwk

PART 17 - http://tinyurl.com/y77unlng

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PART 14 - http://tinyurl.com/yb4cfedq

PART 13 - http://tinyurl.com/yalanq9s

PART 12 - http://tinyurl.com/yc79mw94

PART 11 - http://tinyurl.com/yc9qhj84

PART 10 - http://tinyurl.com/yb734w24

PART 9 - http://tinyurl.com/yc2t6vfw  

PART 8 - http://tinyurl.com/ybl37utq

PART 7 - http://tinyurl.com/ybvo283g

PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu

PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am

PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg

PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx

PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2

PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8

Wounded Healers of the World, Unite!

In the dedication to my book, What’s God Got To Do With It, I wrote:

“To the wounded, and the wounded healers. Know that we are one and the same”

That wasn’t some clever turn of phrase or play on words - with that statement I was articulating a basic truth that we are either unaware of, or unconsciously forget as we go about the business of daily living. Now, some of us have been exceptionally wounded: through neglect, violence, and physical/emotional abuse we suffered either at the hands of our caretakers, and/or by the ones we have shared intimate relationships with. Some personal growth gurus are fond of saying that we attract those relationships, however damaging, so that we may learn the lessons we need to learn in this lifetime. 

Sorry folks, but I’m gonna stray into heretical territory when I tell you that personally, I find that to be complete and utter bullshit. True, as adults, many of us attract negative or destructive relationships into our lives (either through the familiarity of our personal backstory, or because we have been ingrained to believe those are the only kind of relationships we are worthy of having). But to say that those of us who have survived horrific abuses at the hands of parents/guardians/relatives/clergy needed those experiences to make us better persons is yet another platitude, however new-agey, used to explain that which is unfathomable in any empathic capacity. This doesn’t mean we can’t overcome such trauma, and even emerge victorious from our “baptism by fire”, but any suggestion of a conscious or metaphysical contract on our part to invite such abuse is a dangerous hypothesis to make.

The concept of the “wounded healer” is an allegory common to both Christian theology and traditional literature. It is a common theme because it is relatable and real: we all know stories of people who have overcome tremendous odds and psychological scars to give back to their communities, to share messages of hope and love, and to minister to those disenfranchised and often ignored. Even those individuals whose background involves less heinous transgressions put upon them have gone on to utilize those “lessons” in proactive ways to improve and uplift the lives of many suffering in present tense from similar circumstances. Often, grace is displayed by those whom we’d never believe to have suffered in any detrimental fashion, and yet have.

When I attended/presented at this year’s Wild Goose Festival, I met an angel of grace in the most (seemingly) unlikely of places. The headline performer on the main stage this year was none other than “Queen of Christian Pop”, Amy Grant. Amy’s trajectory from teenaged Contemporary Christian music artist to 80′s crossover pop star to bluegrass/gospel darling is a fascinating one, and yet many in attendance had an understandable enthusiasm toward her “VH-1 era” crossover hits, and her pop covers of 60′s chestnuts like “Put A Little Love In Your Heart” and “Turn, Turn, Turn.” Through a two-hour set on a ridiculously muggy night, under oppressive bright spotlights and swarms of insects attracted to such light, Amy remained poised, engaging, unflappable, even amusing - joking through both the annoyance and discomfort of contending with the elements.

Prior to the night’s stellar concert, I found that Amy and her “entourage of two” were camping in an RV just a few feet from where I was: while most past artists sought accommodations at the nearby (and considerably more civilized) Laughing Heart Lodge, Amy showed her humility in ways that still leave me scratching my head - brushing her teeth/hair in the communal sinks, singing and playing her guitar during Beer and Hymns, and being incredibly approachable to fans introduced to her by WGF Executive Director Jeff Clark. To give you an example of how modest and unassuming Amy was, when I stopped by the RV parked next door to re-connect and say hi to Jeff, I was completely clueless that the striking country gal he was talking with was none other than Grant herself.

On the final day of the Festival, Amy did a morning interview on the main stage, prior to our Sunday service. Moderator Chris Hauser asked the usual questions about her career and personal triumphs - at one point, I was waiting for Chris to exclaim, “AMY GRANT - THIS IS YOUR LIFE! Do you remember this voice from your past?” Thankfully, that didn’t happen. But he did play a voice from her past - it was a recording of a young Amy singing her first CCM hit, “My Father’s Eyes.” Needless to say, the 50-something year old Grant was a little embarrassed to hear her fourteen year old self singing that tune, and she was quite candid in her self critique. She said the tune was not very remarkable, her voice wasn’t that great - that there were dozens of female singers struggling to break into the industry whom she considered to be exceedingly more talented than she. 

She reflected on how she felt during those ‘early years’ in her career - in shock that so many folks saw a talent in her that, in her own mind, was hardly worth fussing over. Even forty years later, she remained astonished that so many folks treated her with kindness and encouragement, did not try to exploit her or physically take advantage of her - how blessed she was to have been surrounded by so many talented professionals who not only took a genuine interest in her, but wanted to see her succeed in a business that is not always known for having nice guys (and gals) finish first. Then, as her voice grew softer and more somber, she confessed to the crowd that for many, many years, she was plagued with feelings of inadequacy and low self-esteem. She never believed she was worthy of the early acclaim, the accolades, the success. She felt she was not up to the task, that the bar was being somehow lowered to allow her to perform and be in the spotlight. 

Now, it’s a given that many in the entertainment field chose creative expression precisely to overcome such feelings of low-esteem and unworthiness (as evidenced by the tragic endings of Amy Winehouse, Janis Joplin, John Belushi and Anthony Bourdain), but it was refreshing, even revelatory to hear that a woman who is a pillar of Contemporary Christian music, a woman who did not fall prey to drugs, bed-hopping or other vices, a woman who essentially led a sheltered life, and was sheltered from those temptations in an industry rife with them, would still have a personal demon - her own feelings of low self-worth and insecurity to deal with. She spoke about her marriage to fellow musician/songwriter Gary Chapman in 1992 (which produced three children), and her feelings of anger and betrayal when the couple divorced in 1999. It was an admission that caught me totally off guard, and I was floored by her honesty and transparency in sharing such an obviously difficult period in her life. But it also reminded me of our collective humanity - hers, as well as mine.

During the Sunday service, Amy sang “Better Than A Hallelujah” (from her 2010 release, Somewhere Down The Road) while a queer pastor officiated over the Eurcharist, then Amy, alongside progressive pastor Jacqui Lewis assisted in giving out communion. For some reason, I felt compelled to stand in the line where Amy was, and after receiving the bread and eating it, I hugged her and said, “I want you to know that what you said earlier really touched me. You are the last person that I would think would struggle with issues of low self-esteem. It really meant a lot to me to hear you say that, as I have been struggling with the wounds of my abuse for most of my adult life. God Bless You.” Amy could hear both the pain and sadness in my voice, and she ‘ministered’ to me with compassion and love. She thanked me for sharing what i said with her, and gave me a blessing before moving onto the next congregant waiting to be served the body of Christ.

In that one brief exchange I felt many things: grief, a depth of sadness I was not prepared to visit, but I also felt she understood, she cared, and I felt a psychic affirmation from her that what I went through was painful, that she appreciated being taken into her confidence, and most of all, that I mattered to her. Her, Amy Grant reminded me that I mattered. Even as I write this, I find it hard to stir up those emotions, but I do so because it is important that I convey to you, on an intimate level, what it means to be both wounded, and a wounded healer. I felt like kindred spirits with Amy during that exchange, like we had both had our share of baggage, and that in the end, we were both resolute survivors. We both understood that God had a larger plan for us, and we were going to do our best to fulfill that, and follow our inner voice. Throughout her professional and personal life (she has been married to country’s Vince Gill since 2000, and they share a daughter together), Amy has been the embodiment of good Christian values. I was not surprised to learn of the outreach she was doing on her ranch in the Tennessee mountains - utilizing her property to hold retreats and such - it made perfect sense given what I know about her now.

The reason I wrote the book in the first place was that I recognized that many people have been bruised by religion - the capricious application of it by equally wounded ‘followers’, how judgment and condemnation have pulled us from our humanity, instead of compassion and forgiveness drawing us toward it. I knew it was wrong, and needed to change. I knew it needed someone to call out such hypocrisy and brutality. I wanted to reach out to all those wounded souls and say, “Hey - God loves you. You’re here for a reason. Stop judging others, and say “Enough!” to the judgment foisted upon you by others. Respond to their ignorance with love.” John Lennon sang, “Love is the answer, and you know that for sure.” Don’t ever forget that you, in all your wounded brokenness have a gift to share with the world. And, if we could see in each other, that which we know lives inside our own souls, maybe, just maybe, we can move toward healing others, and by extension, be healed through them. For we are all one and the same.