Tag Archives: drawing

Return of the Goddess

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While at the library the other day I happened on a book about the origins of religion. In it I read that many early gods were not gods at all but rather goddesses.  There were pictures of numerous pre-historic goddess figures, an image of the Egyptian cow goddess Hathor and many more from various cultures around the world.

The text went on to say that these early nature oriented peoples recognized the relationship between a woman’s reproductive cycle and the phases of the moon upon which they determined their agricultural activities: planting, harvesting and such and from this associated a certain super-natural aspect with womankind.

I guess overtime woman has lost some of her magical association.  But, when I think about it there are still women out there who continue to radiate goddess-like qualities.  Lady Gaga, Madonna and Sinead  O’Connor all seem to think quite a lot about religion.

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Belief is truth to the Believer

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Boy, it’s really hard to know what to believe these days.  I read in a news magazine my hero, Mr. Rogers, was a former Navy Seal with twenty five confirmed sniper kills during the war in Viet Nam; truly mind-boggling.  But, then I went on line looking for details and found out that the story wasn’t true, that it was just an urban legend.

I got to thinking that the safest thing to do is doubt everything, but my friend told me that it’s impossible: to be skeptical of everything is to be skeptical of being skeptical which is a logical contradiction. (I guess he didn’t know about Godel’s Incompleteness Theorem).

My friend said I should have faith that some things are true, that belief is truth to the believer. I guess people with a strong religious faith believe God is truth and that when they’re in doubt they can ask God to direct them, which means they have a way of communicating with a supernatural entity.  I don’t doubt their sincerity but judging from the variety of interpretations different people have for the Biblical texts I wonder if they’re all talking to the same Being.

Well, maybe it’s just that wires get crossed sometimes.

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Do you ever get picked on?

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I’ve been having problems lately at doll school.  This Chucky doll has been making fun of me, teasing me for having a visible fusion seam that runs around my entire body, of being monochromatic, of always wearing the same dress.  He’s relentless and I feel persecuted.

But I’ve gotten to thinking about people who have suffered truly abominable persecutions. Take St. Sebastian.  He was tied to a post and shot full of arrows and when that didn’t kill him he was clubbed to death-just for having unacceptable religious beliefs.  Then there was Giordano Bruno who had his tongue cut out and was burned at the stake just for having the audacity to suggest there were probably intelligent beings on other planets.

Well, I guess I can deal with Chucky.  I’ll just ignore him; if that doesn’t work maybe I can get my friend Ken to teach him some manners.  I know, I know, retribution isn’t the answer but sometimes it sure is pleasing to contemplate.

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What Hell is like

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I just finished reading Dante’s Inferno.  In case you don’t know it’s a book about what Hell is like.  In it, Dante tells about being guided by the poet Virgil into the underworld, which is this huge pit containing the souls of all the people who have died and been found guilty of evil doings without having done anything, penitence-wise, that would have maybe gotten them to a more favorable eternal location.

The first level of the underworld is for people who haven’t been baptized and, basically, all they have to do is wait around forever, but as Dante and Virgil go down deeper and deeper they discover each successive level holds souls who have been more evil than the last and are made to suffer worse conditions.

On level five heretics are encased in fiery graves and watched over by the Furies and Medusa.  On level seven violent souls are submerged in a river of boiling blood and watched over by the Minotaur so if they come up for air they get shoved back down.

When the poets get to the very bottom they find Satan encased in ice and unable to move, so they climb up his huge body and escape from Hell.

Boy, Dante sure had a good imagination.  The amount of detail he goes in to is amazing.  He must of thought about Hell for a long time.  I wonder if it was because he felt guilty about something or if he was just trying to warn people to walk the straight and narrow.

Anyway, I think people today think differently about what Hell will be like than they did in Dante’s day.  It probably will have more to do with the loss of mobile communication devices and reality TV.

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walking on water

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While checking out at the super market the other day I happened to glance over at the tabloids. On one, the cover story was, ‘Jesus doll walks on water.’  Usually I don’t pay much attention to these journals, the sensationalistic stories usually being so incredibly ridiculous, but this one caught my attention being about a doll and all.  So, I bought a copy and later when I had time, read that a young boy in Florida was playing with his Jesus doll beside a pond one day when the doll suddenly proceeded on its own impetus across the pond toward an old lady on the other side.  The doll, so the story related, moved up to and touched the old woman who was immediately relieved of the arthritic pain she had been suffering.  The doll then turned around and moved back across the pond to the little boy.

Wow!  There were pictures and everything.

As much as I enjoy a doll getting positive attention my skeptical nature questioned the accuracy of the account.  While dolls may certainly have independent natures, performing miracles, even for a Jesus doll, seems pretty incredible.  But, maybe where there’s a will there’s a way.

I think I’ll take a bath.

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Living Life to the fullest

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Seventh sphere 3It’s time to challenge myself…………..It’s not like I’m bored; I’ve plenty to keep me busy and interested…..I just feel like I need stimulation; something to force myself out of my comfort zone, expand my experiences and live larger.

I’ve been contemplating my options: sky diving, bungee jumping and rock climbing all have appeal but I’m deathly afraid of heights.  I could go the social route and volunteer in the schools or nursing home but with all those rammy kids or blind old people I could easily get stepped on.

I think I’ll offer myself for adoption at the Salvation Army.  I know it’s a serious risk: who knows what kind of situation I could get in to, but I could make some little girl happy and in addition meet some new dolls and people.  If worse comes to worse and I end up in a dysfunctional family I’ll just remember what Nietzsche said: What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

Playing the Game

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I feel myself falling into a rut lately.  The routine has become insufferable.  The days are passing painfully predictably: out of the box at 10, stand by the window, pose for a while, get leered at by that awful monkey and the other boring inanimates I am loathe to inhabit the studio with and, then, back in the box until morning when it starts all over again.  I won’t even go into the days I don’t get taken out of the box at all.  I’m feeling my life isn’t my own, that I’m simply a small cog in a big impersonal mechanism.

I guess Woody Allen’s right: all you need to do to succeed in life is show up….and play the game.  If only the bills needn’t be paid I would fly (figuratively speaking that is).

But certainly there’s relief to be had.  The Stoics recommend, when meaning in life is elusive, contemplating what it would be like if one lost what one had.  How much worse would it be without those small things we take for granted, like a nice cozy box……………..well, a cozy box is better than nothing.  I will try to be happy with what I have, the way things are…………….and I’ll sign up for flying lessons. discovering the mysteries 3

Thoughts of Death

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Sometimes, in the cold darkness of winter particularly, I can’t help but think about how it’s all going to end.  It’s incredibly depressing to contemplate one’s own mortality; Even plastic breaks down over time.  I guess the fear of irrefutable extinction is what drives people to religion.  The hope for a beautiful afterlife must be a wonderful pacifier.  But what if the after-life isn’t so beautiful, what if it’s terrible, tortuous.  If I were to accept the premise that there truly is an afterlife how could I be certain I was headed in the preferred direction?  When I think about it, throughout history there are more depictions of Hell than of Paradise.

I read somewhere that one is born of nature and to nature one returns after death; seems sufficient to me. gatesofdis3

some people even think I lack personality……….

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I know I’m plain.  I’m very aware I have no outstanding visual attributes. I stand out only in my ordinariness.  Sometimes even my friends will pass me without noticing me.  I suppose I could try harder to enhance my appearance; maybe a little eye shadow, although it doesn’t seem to adhere well to plastic.

I just don’t think it’s honest to pretend to be something I’m not.  Still, we are social animals.  Everyone needs friends.  Maybe if I worked out people would like me more.  A svelte body is everyone’s dream.  Beauty is symmetry, slimness, fitness, healthy skin, good muscle tone.  But, is this really me.  Better to just try and fit in as who I am.  I will seek out friends who feel good about themselves; who aren’t afraid of being who they are.

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