Monthly Archives: September 2015

About a Bey, And Other Girls

Religious leader Louis Farrakhem recently admonished Jay Z to “cover up his wife.”   His remarks are eerily similar to political leader Mike Huckabee whom earlier in the year, called out Jay Z over the same thing in his book, “Guns, Grits, and Gravy.”

I am a bit mystified over the issue.  Why Beyonce?

Why call out Beyonce when one of America’s most famous teens is known for posting topless instagram photos, advocating for daily masturbation, and twerking against the crotch of a man much older than her – on national television?  Her mom is apparently with her, by her side, to witness the antics in first-person. Her mom!  Yet. Not one word from gentlemen’s Farrakhem or Huckabee about this girl covering up (maybe pasties count after all?).  Why?

Why call out Beyonce when a momager brokered her daughter’s sex tape, thus catapulting a reality TV family into a paparazzi dream?   We’ve watched the same mom sexualize her two youngest daughters before their time, so that everyone knew the seventeen year old was boinking the twenty-five year old, but hey, its okay, she’ll be eighteen in a month.  (Just don’t hold hands yet, ya know, in public.)   But Mr.’s Farrakhem and Huckabee are noticeably silent on the this example of ‘pimping’.  Why?

Because it’s not about sexuality, that’s why.  It’s about the husband’s job to keep his wife in line.  Maybe Tish Cyrus and Kris Jenner can be overlooked since they’re just moms; and anyway, kids will be kids these days, right?  But for a husband to allow, and even endorse, the public sexuality of his own wife is something completely at odds with the indoctrination that a wife must be quiet, subservient, and dependent upon her man.

Beyonce is a powerful woman.  She earned success before she married her husband.  She’s always been sexy, dirty, and gritty.  She must be made of some kind of steel to muster the courage to dismiss her own father as her manager – tough cookie.  Which is exactly the point. It’s not just that Beyonce needs to cover up, the issue is that she’s independent.   She’s bothersome because she demonstrates that a woman can be sexy and at the same time call her own shots, make her own money, manage her own business, and sculpt her public image.  She doesn’t need a husband, she chooses to have one.   She isn’t dependent upon him for her happiness. From a religious standpoint, this means her husband isn’t the beginning and ending of her purpose in life, and that’s problematic for the Farrakhems and Huckabees of the world.  So the advice of ‘covering up’ is really a euphemism for “you are not in control as a man, your wife is independent of you and that’s wrong, you must assert your authority and force her to bend to your will.  A real man is an authority over his woman.”

There are scores of women whose presence in social media garner attention of the most lascivious kind.  Mr. Farrakhem and Mr. Huckabee choose instead to focus upon a husband who can’t keep his woman under control.   That’s why Beyonce.

Yours, Frankie

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Cycle Bound

Every thing is cycle bound.

The sun is burning, churning out atomic warmth powerful enough to induce life on a barren land far away. Omniscient enough to provide the light required to produce energy, food for every living being.  A star, born in the fire of our universal beginnings, its days are numbered in accordance with the delicate balance of its core. Then, blast!, a nova, a white dwarf corpse. Finite. But billions of years worth of life.

There is the rock I hold in my hand. Millions of years of layers I can feel with my fingertips, see with my eyes.  What tales they could tell!  Forged by the pressure of nature, it will be ripped apart by wind and rain; or lapped up by the ocean, dragged down to the depths where it’s forced under a tectonic plate, melted there like Sauron’s Ring and spewed out again someday to become a layered trifle once more. Finite.  But millenniums worth of life.

Every thing is cycle bound.

The tree that gives me shade has been for hundreds of years now.  Her branches reach out then follow gravity down, providing a canopy that gives more than one kind of soul shelter from the rain.   Her rings would belie her age and give away her years of famine, years of plenty.   She would fall one day, becoming one again with the earth that fed her, to feed another.  Finite.  But centuries worth of life.

A human life resounds as well, with decades as boundaries for its duration.  We pass on our genetics, but more.  We create, make things out of other things, pull characters and pictures out of thin air, we reason and analyze, progress, advance.  Until the body wears down and its soul departs for an unknown existence.  Finite. But decades worth of life.

Every thing is cycle bound.

Man’s best friend fills a place in our soul like no other and if we’re lucky we get a dozen or so years of unmitigated affection. A companionship that mystifies and deeply satisfies, a love story of the profound kind. A partnership imperative to both parties; total mutual dependence.  And then a limp, a slowing down, a greying muzzle. Finite.  But years worth of life.

Bees, like the bearing beam to a house, support the weight of a specific niche in the ecosystem. Our lives rely on their consistent ability to pollinate. Because of them we eat; fruit, nuts, and vegetables.  Queens may live three to four years, workers live for months; days compared to other cycles, yet crucial days they are. Finite.  But days worth of life.

Every thing is cycle bound.

Millenniums or centuries. Decades or days.  Every thing is cycle bound. Perpetual motion, beautiful in its own way.


Freedom: As Demonstrated in a Drowned Toddler and Defiant Woman

I’m not sure any other picture will be as internationally stirring as the one of the tall lanky policeman carrying the lifeless body of a drowned Syrian toddler.

His family was fleeing a war torn area where a charlatan group of extremist believers (ISIS) would impose a strict theocratic government with no promise of freedom or democracy.   They were leaving behind the quite real possibility of their children being kidnapped and brainwashed to kill or behead ….  at eight years old.  They were running to the promise of safety and security where there might be opportunities, a choice in lifestyle, career, and mobility; where the ability to worship according to personal belief is granted without repercussion.   They, and thousands like them, are willing to endure grueling conditions and the possibility of death for freedom and democracy.

It is a horrendous statement of human arrogance that a baby would die in the pursuit of freedom while a woman born to privilege would abuse that same freedom.

Kim Davis will never know the insecurity of growing up in a nation wracked with war.  Because of her birth place she will never know what it feels like to live under a tyrannic ruler. Kim Davis will not experience what it means to have her political voice stifled as a woman.  She will not know what it feels like to have no choice and no opportunities since she was born in a secure, democratic nation.

Yet.  She would spurn that freedom.  She would defy her own democracy.   She mocks the document that allows her to worship to her own calling – a liberty that others die for, including little Aylan, his brother and his mother.

Kim Davis lives in relative comfort while sitting in jail.  She gets three meals a day, she has a roof over her head, she is protected from violence – even though she disregards the constitution that allows her those comforts.

On the other side of the world, a father buries his two sons and their mother, in a city they fled in order to acquire  the privilege of freedom and democracy.  He took the risk to gain a better life for his family and paid the price that none of us can fathom.

Would that Kim Davis could fathom her place of privilege, and how utterly arrogant her act of defiance is in the face of a drowned toddler.

Yours,

Frankie


In the Beginning…

in the beginning

Taken 09/04/2015 sunrise over Lassen Peak.

Oh to watch the Sun rise!

To welcome the new day with him.

Me with my coffee, he with his light,

Enjoy the silent morning together

in each other’s confidence.

Without words, yet with mutual understanding,

We together agree:

This!  This is where life meets its purpose!

At the beginning of each day,

At the start of the gate,

At the commencement of exercise.

“Anything of importance,”

He reminds me with solemn quiet,

“Is accomplished with the first ray of light

and the initial commitment of will.”

Oh to watch the Sun rise!