I think an article about the above might sell to New-Age type periodical… if pitched right.
What do you all think.
I was reading about the Samartians, and how legends passed down from these people sound very close to the traditions of Arthur’s Cavalry…although there is nothing Celtic about the Samartians. Arthur of course is pure Celticia–what we know about him is fuzzy but if he existed at all he was born in Wales and fought for Britain (read: Druids, pagans, Celtic poetry and song) against the onslaught of Saxon barbarians around 500 A.D.
But the Samartians fought with Arthur, they loved Arthur and supported his ideals of a love of justice and peace, with war the neccessary evil means of attaining that peace. Or so the myriad muddle of stories and history and legend and archeological evidence seems to point toward.
A man way ahead of his time. A peace-craving warrior. Both idolized and demonized by his contemporaries. So even his actual existence is questioned. He was that contradictory, that misunderstood. Unlike such heroes as Alexander the Great and Cleopatra, we don’t have solid proof he was ever a real person. More like Jesus. But does the enormous amount of speculative writings about the “fuzzy historical” characters throughout time speak more for the reality of the person, or for our humanity’s longing that such a person SHOULD have existed.
And if we crave such a person so dearly, perhaps we do indeed create him and make him (or her) as real as any hero we find the bones of in a tomb with their name on it, dated back to the proper time and place, with contemporary sources agreeing on enough points that even thousands of years later we can say “yeah, that person definitely breathed air on this planet”.
But that’s not what I wanted to write about [tangent alert]
Arthur’s Celtic story involves peoples from many different lands. In fact, the term “Celtic” is a bit fuzzy: we’re not sure where they came from, when they settled in what we today think of as “Celtic Lands” or even what the average Celt looked like. Were they red-haired? Blue-eyed? Or dark-eyed and dark-haired with fair skin, like today’s Welsh people
or Snow White? It was the invading Danes and Icelanders who were blonde, after all…or was it the Germanic people? You see how fuzzy it all gets. Toss the Romans into the mix, invading and then living among Britons for 400 years or so until Rome started falling under the weight of Vandal invasions and could no longer support an army in far-off Britain. Those darn Germans again… if you want to get nasty (Nazi) about it–which I don’t.
Because my point is, we are all so blended anyway. Not just Americans, the land of immigrants (as long as your skin isn’t too dark), the melting pot. Europe was a melting pot boiling over way before anyone got to America. (I’m not talking about indiginous American Indians. It breaks my heart and would probably prevent me from continuing this essay. I bless them and acknowledge the sins of my fathers, but I must go on…as must they…in the 21st century as it is.)
But don’t whine to me about immigrants taking over without acknowledging that you are not lily white and haven’t been as far back as pre-history, that your ancestors immigrated and took over from the natives to feed your own families. Don’t accuse today’s immigrants of being particularly evil. They are only doing what your grandfather did. So shut your yap. And don’t tell me you pulled yourself up by your bootstraps either, so can they: see my essay about bootstrap pulling. You are being arrogant and blind to the realities of just how impossible it is to make an inroad into purely hostile territory, compared to making an inroad into a fairly open field. It’s different now.
Your immagrent grandparents set up the laws so that no other young usurpers could come and do what they did. OKAY?
Then give me an informed argument for hating Haitians. (I’m speaking now to my own town, whose motto is “One Human Family” except for Haitians.)
Oh, I will pay for that. I’m kind, but I’m not nice. Sorry. The emery board grates too much. I cannot be filed down. It’s too hard to determine if someone is truly kind if they put up a wall of niceness you have to tip-toe through before you can find their REAL character. And who has the time or energy to go tip-toeing through someone else’s tulips today?
But we MUST. We must TAKE the time. Sniff out the NICE BAD GUYS so we don’t fall under their spell because once we do–game over. The intelligent crowd has lost another potential activist to the tribe of lemmings following the sweet toots of someone like Sarah Palin off the edge of the cliff.
Damn. Where was I? I was supposed to go to my friends’ house tonight and I missed it again. I missed an appointment today with a Buddhist counselor and my foot doctor…damn. It’s like my head is exploding with ideas and I’m frantic to get them on the page and I won’t be stopped until it’s all out. Then I can worry about publishing.
Do I take myself too seriously? Maybe I need to to balance out 35 years of not taking myself seriously enough.
I believe this will pass. I will find a balance. I won’t rot in bed. This is just the beginning. Things are happening. I mean, it’s taken me MONTHS just to MAKE the appointments…you can’t expect me to KEEP them as well???
I am not superwoman. I am human. I get tired. I’ve been through a smashing ordeal. You need to hear about it and you will. But if I push myself too hard I will burn out again…I’ve done it twice before. Now I want to learn how NOT to do it again.
So I’ve found and am listening to my spiritual guides who are like angels who come to me when I feel very small and surround me with their soft fluffy feathers and soothe my feverish spirit. I can send them out to help others, too. I don’t need them all the time–that would be suffocating.
They are harsh but they are KIND. You see the difference? They put up with no nonsense, but they can discern true suffering. They are not led off-course by traps set by NICE people with no inner core of kindness, only self-advancement.
I always thought to cry was to be weak or at least to fatally SHOW weakness. I misunderstood. I saw so much fake crying around me I thought it was ALL fake. No, there are real tears shed and we must be alert to them and find them through the muck of alligator tears that seem to be washing away all the REALness from our hands. Antibacterial scrubs indeed.
I like a woman with a little dirt under her nails. It tells me she’s not afraid to get down into the garden and DIG.