thank god it's frigg's day

With all of the rapturous talk going on about tomorrow, Saturday, it's got me thinking about our American "Christian" culture and how it's not really that Christian at all.

The days of the week, for instance.

Do most bible-thumpers even realize that pagan cultures are a huge part of our everyday lives? When they were the predominant world culture, the Greek and Romans gave names to the days of the week, after their gods and celestial bodies. When the Anglo-Saxons invaded, they substituted their own god names.

So we have:

Sunday: Named after that big old star the Sun.

Monday: Named after the Moon.

Tuesday: Tiw's Day named after Tyr, a Norse god of war, equivalent to Mars — Martedì in Italian, Mardi in French, Martes in Spanish.

Wednesday: Woden's Day. Woden, or Odin, was the most powerful of the Norse gods. Take that, hump day. The Greeks and Romans originally honored Mercury on this day, hence Mercoledì in Italian, Mercredi in French, Miércoles in Spanish.

Thursday: Thor's Day, that Norse god with the big hammer. The romance language equivalent is for Jupiter, by Jove: Italian Giovedì, Spanish Jueves, French Jeudi.

Friday: Frigg's Day, the most powerful of the Norse goddesses. Thank God it's Frigg's day. The Romans felt the same way about this being the best day of the week, naming it after their lovely Venus: Venerdì in Italian, Vendredi in French, Viernes in Spanish.

Saturday: Named after the god and planet Saturn.

So if you're still scrambling, trying to make some end of days plans for tomorrow — Saturnalia, anyone?

i don't practice santeria

You never know what will wash up on the beach. This morning's find was a tad grisly. I can't pretend to be one of my favorite sleuths, Hercule Poirot or Sherlock Holmes, but a discovery of a plastic shopping bag with claws and feathers sticking out of it on the beach yesterday morning brought out my inner armchair detective. The horrible package seemed to be a clear clue pointing in only one direction—some ritual was performed on the beach involving the death of a rooster or very large winged bird. I didn't open the bag to check. I've said before I hate those CSI shows. To support my theory, there was a full moon a few nights back. If there was an attempt to dispose of the corpse in the ocean, the ocean refused to be an accomplice and gave it back to the beach.



There have been recent stories in the news that local animal shelters won't allow any black cat adoptions this time of year because of ... rituals. I'm not sure this is connected to Santería, which was my first guess, or some other religious practice. I don't have any problem with people practicing whatever faith they want to, but I'm a little baffled as to why there still needs to be blood sacrifice. Other religions are o.k. with metaphor.

Are some people trying to get back to the earlier rites, the brutality of their ancestors? It makes me think of my recent reading of Neil Gaiman's American Gods. Do we really still need to hang Odin in the tree for nine days and nights to get results? Can you feel good about whatever you have asked the gods for when you have spilled blood to get it? Is that why there are so many stupid vampire and zombie bowdlerizations? Misdirected blood lust?

I don't think the sacrifice of animals in a religious practice is considered illegal. I'm not questioning that right. But if you are using a living creature's life in a ceremony, shouldn't you dispose of its body in a respectful manner?And not just dump it, unceremoniously? Animal sacrifice may not be a crime, but I think littering is.

I really like Sublime [sigh]

ten commandments

I was watching the glorious Charlton Heston/Yul Brynner Hollywood cheesefest The Ten Commandments the other night - my holiday tradition, along with the dyeing of eggs. We used to watch it almost every Easter when I was a kid. Not sure why the annual telecast was bumped forward one night, but nothing stays the same, does it? When I was ten I think I was overcome by Brynner's and Heston's hotness and decided that Easter to read The Bible. I made it all the way through the first three or four books and then got really bored with all the begats and the extremely misogynistic portrayal of women. So let it be written.

Watching the movie the other night I was struck by two things. First, the only thing missing were song and dance numbers. The whole movie is so saturated in color, at least in the Egyptian sequences, which are of course, the best part, and all the acting is so completely over-the-top that a break for a musical number with Gene Kelly and Donald O'Connor wouldn't have seemed out of place. It's impossible not to smile when Nefretiri/Anne Baxter intones, "Moses, Moses, Moses!" Brynner, of course, steals the entire movie and when the camera fades out on him for the last time, all the fun is gone, despite the still-to-come big fifties state-of-the-art parting of the Red Sea special effect. Brynner is bigger-than-life as he is with all of his performances, but somehow in just the right way. The movie tries in vain to keep up with him. He made such an impact on me in this film that when I visited Egypt, no matter where we saw a statue or depiction of Ramses, I always pictured him.

The other thing that really struck me was a scene about halfway through the epic, where Moses has been cast out of Egypt and has settled down for a little domestic bliss with Sephora, played by Yvonne DeCarlo of Lily Munster fame. They are looking at Mt Sinai ("it's only a model!") and he asks the crucial question:

Moses: Does your god live on this mountain?
Sephora: Sinai is His high place, His temple.
Moses: If this god is God, he would live on every mountain, in every valley. He would not be the god of Ishmael or Israel alone, but of all men. It is said he created all men in his image. He would dwell in every heart, every mind, every soul.
Sephora: I do not know about such things, but I know that the mountain trembles when God is there, and the earth trembles, and the clouds are red with fire.

O.K., game over. You lost me. Moses/Heston asked a completely profound question, one that I ponder frequently, and was blown off by an "I drank the Kool-aid" speech of "I don't know, I just believe." Cue the music and bring in the Busby Berkeley dancers.

I know that I have to view the film in the context of when it was made, but I think it's interesting that a movie that is shown every year, possibly watched by some for its religious content, would have such a nugget of a philosophical question embedded, however deeply, under all the other layers of schmaltz, pageantry, melodrama and Technicolor.

This exact question posed by Heston's character is what gets to the heart of my problems with organized religion. Why every sect thinks theirs is the only "right" way is just darn crazy to me. Anyone who has done just the tiniest bit of reading of other cultures' creation and other mythologies has to realize that all humans tell the same stories. Each sect might give the heroes and heroines different names and back stories, but the essential lessons are the same. So what is the problem? Why can't we get past this "my way or the highway" attitude about religion? So let it be done.

my personal relationship with...

...God? Zeus?

My daughter asked me the other day if I like to go to church. I answered that I like to be in churches, that I love the architecture and the art (we stopped in at the National Cathedral on Christmas afternoon and checked out the stained glass and the crèches from around the world. We lit a few candles. A nice visit.)

That answer satisfied her, and we moved on to where we should go for lunch.

But she raised a topic that I have been giving some thought this holiday season. I have been reading a lot of fiction, mostly set in the middle ages, lately. Probably gearing up for another trip to France or England in the next year or so. At least I hope so. In the Brother Cadfael mysteries the same crimes for gain, glory or lust are committed as they are today. Members of Cadfael's church are like folks everyone knows; some are honest, some more intelligent than others, some are hypocritical bastards. Just like today. The character of Cadfael has chosen the life of the cloister after leading quite an adventurous one in the "outside" world, going on crusade, romancing women, the works. His belief in God is innate, but tempered by his experience, knowledge, and even cynicism about the human race.

The Golden Compass was on cable recently. My daughter loved it and I found it quite entertaining. I have yet to read the books it is based on, but have read about its author, proud atheist Philip Pullman. His belief system isn't the main reason I am interested in the trilogy. I like that he chose a young female protagonist who boldly goes forward in the world, following her instincts. I'm intrigued to read her story.

Where do I fall in these two extremes of belief? It's complicated. As you can tell, for me, everything is tempered by art. That is how I approach life, love, everything. I'm no atheist. I believe in too much. Somewhere between pantheism and polytheism, probably. I pray to the parking gods often, as I do the loop-the-loop round my neighborhood. I pray at night for my loved ones to stay sound in mind, body and spirit. But I don't follow or accept the Christian format (virgin birth? please), although I love the idea of the saints - probably appeals to my polytheist tendencies. Great stories, great myths. I have studied and adored art made to celebrate God, whether it is a depiction of Jesus, Buddha, Aphrodite, etc.

I'm still working it out. But I do know that too many people have died, made others miserable, tried to shut out or make suffer, other people whose belief system varied from their own. Personal belief is fine. Where it gets difficult, even sometimes ugly, is when it is practiced publicly. Organized religion is for the birds. Not for me.