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ynannarising
Ancient moon priestesses were called virgins. ‘Virgin’ meant not married, not belonging to a man - a woman who was ‘one-in-herself’. The very word derives from a Latin root meaning strength, force, skill; and was later applied to men: virle. Ishtar, Diana, Astarte, Isis were all all called virgin, which did not refer to sexual chastity, but sexual independence. And all great culture heroes of the past, mythic or historic, were said to be born of virgin mothers: Marduk, Gilgamesh, Buddha, Osiris, Dionysus, Genghis Khan, Jesus - they were all affirmed as sons of the Great Mother, of the Original One, their worldly power deriving from her. When the Hebrews used the word, and in the original Aramaic, it meant ‘maiden’ or ‘young woman’, with no connotations to sexual chastity. But later Christian translators could not conceive of the ‘Virgin Mary’ as a woman of independent sexuality, needless to say; they distorted the meaning into sexually pure, chaste, never touched.

Monica Sjoo, The Great Cosmic Mother: Rediscovering the Religion of the Earth   (via girlmanga)

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"While filming a timelapse of a stormy derecho from his Chicago home this week, videographer and Threadless creative director Craig Shimala managed to capture the rare occurrence of a triple lightning strike on three of the city’s tallest buildings. In the video and stills below, three bolts of lightning can be seen striking Willis Tower, Trump Tower, and the John Hancock Building at the same time, illuminating the Chicago skyline in an incredibly dynamic way.”

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puresuns

Arturo is a 29-year-old male polar bear currently living in Argentina’s Mendoza Zoo. He is suffering in 40C (104F) heat in an enclosure that has just 20 inches of water for him to swim in and has as a consequence been displaying worrying behavior.

Please sign this petition or at least spread the word in order to have Arturo transferred to a zoo in Canada which has better facilities for an animal that is used to polar conditions.

sign this or die

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Three years later, a new girl sits cross-legged on your bed. She tastes like a different flavor of bubblegum than you are used to. She opens up a book that you had to read in high school, and a folded picture of us falls out of chapter three. Now there are two unfinished stories resting in her lap. Inevitably, she asks, and you tell her. You say: I dated her a while back. You don’t say: Sometimes, when I’m holding you, I imagine the smell of her vanilla perfume. You say: She was younger than me. You don’t say: The sixteen summers in her bones warmed the eighteen winters my skin had weathered. You say: It’s nothing now. You don’t say: But it was everything then.

Some things are better left unsaid.  (via fawun)

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