A Saucy Chick After My Own Heart!

So, a friend sent me this story about a tattooed mummy from Egypt. The whole areticle is worth reading, but my friend sent it to me because of this:

One of the mummies, whose remains were found just seven years ago, was so well preserved that archaeologists could almost make out the tattoo on her skin on the inner thigh of her right leg with the naked eye. Infra-red technology helped define it more clearly.

The woman, aged between 20 and 35, had been buried wrapped in a linen and woollen cloth and her remains had mummified in the dry heat. The tattoo has been deciphered by curators and spells out in ancient Greek – M-I-X-A-H-A, or Michael.

The owner of the tattoo was a woman who died in about AD 700 and lived in a Christian community on the banks of the Nile.

The tattoo represents the symbol of the Archangel Michael, who features in both the Old and New Testaments. The symbol has previously been found in ancient churches and on stone tablets, but never before in the form of a tattoo.

“You can see her tattoo really clearly using infra red reflectography,” said Dr Antoine, “The tattoo on her right inner thigh represents a monogram that spells Michael in ancient Greek.

“She is the first evidence of a tattoo from this period. This is a very rare find.”

The woman was about 5ft 2in tall and was found in 2005 on an archaeological dig in a cemetery in Sudan. Other ancient Egyptians who were mummified had their organs removed before being preserved.

“The scan of the Sudanese mummy showed her internal organs are remarkably well preserved,” said Dr Antoine. “We can only speculate why she had a tattoo. Perhaps for protection.”

A valid reason. Bit still kinda saucy.

I approve!

Read the whole thing: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/museums/10717154/1300-year-old-mummy-and-her-intimate-tattoo.html

2 Dreams from the Past

It seems much of my impetus for non-fiction writing recently is my conversations with ChrissyTheHyphenated. In the combox for post Why a Rapture, I wrote of my dream about my someday-to-be-dog-friend, Anubis. As I wrote, I recalled another dream, definitely Revelations flavored, and featured a grassy hill. So, I’m gonna write about it, and then as a bonus, relate a funny dream that only Grunt and Lephael have known about until this point.

Dream 1: This was dreamed about 12-13 years ago. At the time, I hadn’t studied much at all in the way of prophecy (Christian or otherwise), but I dang well knew about angels, as angelology was a hobby of the time.

I’m standing on a field, the grass a bright, rich green. Bright like the sun is shining on it. The sky is dark and clear– not quite night-time dark, but I can see the stars in my peripheral vision. I’m looking at the horizon, at my eleven o’clock. From beyond the horizon, I see two fireworks shoot up and explode, one white, one red. The burning flecks radiate out, but instead of dissipating and falling, they elongate and grow brighter, becoming missile-like things headed right for where I (and others) are.

Somehow I know that they aren’t missiles, even before the unfurl/unfold. I know almost immediately that they are angels– the red are Seraphim (because Seraphim burn, yanno, so red), the white are Cherubim (because the cherubim–not putti!– are very intellectual sorts. Logic and Reason. Clear. White).

So, these angels come and land on the field, and line all us humans up into queues– one Seraph facing the head of each line, multiple Cherubim managing each line. I’m so distracted by all the angels all around (because Angels! Pretty! Shiny!!!) that I don’t pay attention to what’s happening at the front of the lines as we shuffle through. Before I realize it, I’m at the head of the line, with something coming right at my head.

On instinct, I lift my left hand to my forehead to block, and get a handful of sealing wax, imprinted with a design I can’t exactly remember. Part of the wax seal is on my forehead, but most of it is in the palm of my left hand. The Seraph with the self-waxing stamp gives me a level look as I mutter “Oh, crap! I’ll never be able to use this hand again!”

The Cherub to my right gently pats my shoulder with a somewhat rueful look. “It’s okay,” he says. “We all know who you are and where you go.” The implication is that I have something of a reputation among the angels, and that reputation is something along the lines of “Easily distracted, somewhat flaky klutz.” As I can think of far worse reputations, I don’t mind.

The Seraph huffs at the Cherub, and the latter points me to a hillside not that far away, and says “Your friends are over there.” I go, somewhat gingerly cradling my left hand, and sit down next to some very good friends of mine, who pass me a bread-basket full of popcorn. “We got good seats,” one says. “We’ll be able to see everything!”

End of Dream 1

Dream 2: I’m adding this because it’s funny and deals again with angels– or a rather specific one in this case. First, before we get to the dream, if you’re not familiar with Michigan J Frog, you need to be familiar with this:

The running joke with the frog is that he only ever sings in front of that one guy– if anyone else comes along, he reverts back to normal frog behavior. And then starts singing again when they go away.

This dream happened in late May of 2004– I was in the hospital, the first time I’d stayed overnight in a hospital, in the process of being diagnosed with cancer. I was not yet relocated to the “cancer ward”, still in the general unit with a roommate that was, I think, dying. I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on– they’d run enough tests to seriously alarm the docs, but the biopsy wasn’t to happen until the next day. But they wanted to keep me, because they were afraid that I’d slip into respiratory arrest at any moment.

So, being the amateur angelologist that I was, I knew that when you were sick or in need of healing, the number one angel to ask for was Raphael. He’s known a the Divine Physician, the Top Angel when it comes to Healing. He also has a reputation as being the “chummiest”, “most approachable”, and “goofiest” of the angels.

So that night, I finished out my nighttime prayers with the following: “And, God, if it isn’t too much trouble, and if he’s got a spare moment or two after his real work, and if it’s okay by You, tell Raphael he’s always welcome to come by. Even the smallest bit of help would be deeply appreciated. Thanks.”

That said, I snuggled down and went to sleep.

I dreamed I woke again in that same room, and in came Raphael, bright and shining, dressed in a tux with tails, and spats, and a top hat and cane and white gloves, singing that same song and dancing that same dance as the frog! Followed by all his Malachim helpers!

It was so ridiculously silly that I started giggling uncontrollably, and woke myself up I was giggling so hard! From that moment on I knew I’d be okay. It was something I couldn’t explain to the doctors or nurses, or even my distraught mother and father– though I did tell mom years later. I knew I’d be okay, because Raphael came by and made me laugh (it is the best medicine, after all).

And he seriously is the goofiest angel, ever. [Even keeping in mind that he whupped Asmodeus’ butt barehanded and locked him in the desert until the end of time. Mmhmm! He’s not one of The Magnificent Seven for nothing, you know!]

Brevity and Dreams

This is the time of year when I have few thoughts to spare outside my immediate job, my brain exhausted and useless on the weekends, even those weekends I don’t end up going in, as I did yesterday. Activity will be minimal through to October. Unless this “Every two weeks a mass shooting” thing continues, in which case I’ll try to devote a few hours to pointing out my growing problems with this pattern.


In the meantime, I’ve promised myself to try to get back in the habit of writing down my dreams, especially those that stick in my brain for any reason. This is not due to any pretense of “prophetic” or “Psychic” dreaming, so much as the understanding that dreams are the way the subconscious tells the conscious various things, sometimes relating to upcoming events, more often relating to the very personal present or the past. When a dream is especially clear, it warrants a note or two for the sake of remembrance. So, my dream last night .. .

I was in smallish church, perhaps a glorified chapel, kneeling behind a pew full of nuns, their habits and veils a navy blue, except for the novice who was in light blue with a white veil. Several more rows of nuns in different habits ranged ahead, while the pews to my right were filled with cassock-ed priests and robed monks. There were many families with children also at the Mass, all gathered around the base of the altar– it was some sort of community Mass of Thanksgiving, I think specifically for the religious God had called from the community. From the decorations in the church, I think it was late Advent, and I think it was evening, the stained glass windows dark, but the interior filled with light.


We had gotten to the part of the Mass generally referred two as the “Prayers of the Faithful”– after the three readings, the psalm and homily, after the Creed was recited, when the community brought forth petitions to be prayed by everyone. In my dream, after the lector-led prayers, there was a few minutes given for people in the congregation to pipe up with their own intentions– a practice I have experienced in some smaller communities and gatherings, but in not the normal practice with a Sunday congregation. One man, over to my right, dressed in a long sleeved white button-down with a dark red sweater vest and grey slacks, mentioned an intention, over which we prayed. Then, at the front of the church, to my right, at the front of what would have been the south transept, near the base of the altar and the children, a man in a puffy white parka began to speak an intention of his own.

“That Allah will witness this, and bless what comes after. . .” it was calmly spoken, as he pulled out what looked, from my distance, to be a .45 and, in one smooth motion, carelessly aimed it at a little, brown haired boy and shot him in the head. The entire right side of the church seemed to surge as the men rushed forward, one of the first tackle him crying “Don’t beat him, just restrain him for interrogation!” But I think I saw some kicking anyway.


I was kneeling in shock at witnessing the so-casual murder of a child, the wailing of his mother cutting through the eerie silence even as the men subdued the man with the gun. The nuns in front of me were also in similar shock, the novice’s pale robe somehow stained with specks of blood even at our distance.


The obvious take needs not be addressed. But I will be thinking about the not-so-obvious signals in this dream. When I have dreams this clear and coherent, everything is the way it is for a reason, with several layers to be dissected. And it usually takes a few years to work them all out. Two I have had that have taken me a few decades to discover all the layers to. . . so no rush. Just a reminder to myself and readers that, especially with dreams, one must “Look underneath the underneath . . .”

Madonna, Removing All Doubt

Two weeks ago, I posted a weird YouTube about Britney Spears, Madonna, and some odd mind-control theory. I was skeptical about a lot of it, but a fair amount made sense, due to my “Questionable Past.” When I heard that Madonna was doing the Super Bowl Halftime Show again this year, I thought it would be a good time to check the theory. I would watch and, wither it would fit the “Occult Ritual Pattern” in some way, or it wouldn’t. I expected to have to give some thought to it. But she couldn’t have been more blatant.

The following video gets some of it– I thinking I might do a more thorough analysis this evening, if I can.There’s a lot more here than even this person saw.



Related to previous post: Forced Abortions and Sterilizations

AT is humming today, as usual. While skimming their headlines today, I ran across the following from their blog portion, and it also fits into what I’m piecing together:

Is Hitler’s World Our Own? by Casey Mattox

The forced sterilization of those whom society has rejected because of their race, economic standing, or mental condition rightfully brings to mind Planned Parenthood’s founder, Margaret Sanger.  Adolf Hitler also comes to mind, with his absolute inhumane treatment of 400,000 fellow humans via forced sterilizations under his “Law for the Prevention of Progeny with Hereditary Diseases.”


But that was then, and this is now. And what happened under Sanger and Hitler couldn’t happen in a society as “advanced” as ours — or could it?  (Or is it?)


In December 2010, the Boston Herald reported on Norfolk Probate and Family Court Judge Christina L. Harms’ order to force a 32-year-old woman, referred to by the pseudonym “Mary Moe,” to have an abortion and then to be sterilized — all against the woman’s consent.


Harms’ justification for her decision was Moe’s mental state.  (One of Hitler’s reasons for forcing women to be sterilized in the 1930s was “mental illness” as well.)  What’s especially horrifying about Moe’s situation, however, is that her mental problems are documented to be the direct result of an abortion she had to end an earlier pregnancy — an abortion she now regrets because she believes that through it, “she killed her baby.”


And even though a guardian ad litem concluded that Moe “would have refused an abortion even if mentally sound” because of her Roman Catholic faith, Harms was unmoved.


Rather, Harms summarily dismissed the guilt and misery Moe still feels from having her first abortion, as well as her faith, and “claimed in her ruling that Moe would choose the abortion if she were mentally competent.”  She also “directed that any medical facility that performed the abortion also sterilize Moe at the same time to avoid [sic] this painful situation from recurring.”


It’s like Orwell’s world is now our world, and it’s neither brave nor new.  Instead, it’s an ugly rewrite of the kind of place Sanger and Hitler both envisioned.


Yet as bad as this story could end, by God’s grace, State Appellate Court Associate Justice Andrew R. Grainger reversed Judge Harms’ ruling, stating that “[n]o party requested this measure … and the judge appears to have simply produced the requirement out of thin air.”


The Alliance Defense Fund, in its litigation on many other life-related matters, sees far too many tragic stories involving abortion.  We thank God that the angst which undoubtedly has consumed Moe since her first, and hopefully last, abortion will now be somewhat abated.  In this instance, life has triumphed over death.


Casey Mattox serves as legal counsel with the Alliance Defense Fund at its Washington, D.C. Regional Service Center.


Nazi Roots of “Sustainability”

Texan59 over at The Conservative Treehouse linking this article in the Open Thread this morning, from The American Thinker (I’m copying the entire text, because it’s working into something I’ve been working on, but I’m not yet sure which bits are the most relevant):

Green Lebensraum: The Nazi Roots of Sustainable Development By Mark Musser

Much of the European Union’s green sustainable development plans are largely based on government controlled land use planning theories rooted in the lebensraum tradition.    Literally, lebensraum means “living space.”   Lebensraum was originally developed by German geographer Friedrich Ratzel (1844-1904) and then greatly expanded under the banner of National Socialism (1933-1945). 

Continue reading

“It was the PAX . . .”

*Sigh* Part of the reasons we have cautionary tales like Jurassic Park, or Terminator, is a s a cultural warning to 1) Not make dinosaurs from preserved DNA and 2) Not allow networks of thinking machines. SKYNET= bad, Velociraptors=bad.

Likewise, Serenity also had a warning. Trying to scientifically treat Evil will backfire bigtime. Like, Reavers bigtime.

But, as always, there’s some know-it-all scientist who thinks he can figure it out. That Evil is not a sufficient word, that it’s a malfunction in the brain that causes lack of empathy that accounts for Evil. Because empathy is simply a function of the brain. The ability to Love Your Neighbor, or even enemy, is a matter of Biology.

This guy may be a genius, but he’s also an utter fool. Goodness, Truth, and Beauty– these things are beyond the physical boundaries of science. Likewise are their opposites. If you think you find the cause of evil in a biological system, you will then try to cure it. I cannot but help suspect that any “cure” would simply enable the evil to do greater harm. Perhaps those brain malfuctions that coincide with evil what holds the evil back. Heal it, and you may unleash Hell.

This is not to say that people with malfuctioning brains should not seek to have them healed. Rather, that if the healing is simply on the physical nature, the incompleteness of it may infact lead to greater damage. It is the Soul that needs healing, then the mind, and at the last, the brain. Inside out, not outside in.

Clearly, I believe the understanding of evil as a physical-plane only issues is a big mistake. Treating it as such will only make things much worse. At best you will mask the symptoms, at worst. . . SKYNET. Velociraptors. Reavers.

Insty Agrees.

A Hunt is afoot . . .

So, I’m on the trail of something. It started with noticing some similarieties between the Koran (as understood through the Doctrine of Abrogation), the commonly accepted Hadith, and Crowley’s The Book of the Law and it’s commentary. When reading the commentaries (not at all a pleasant thing), I found some similarities also to what passes for certain strands of progressive thought.

I’ve found one connection, but it’s tenuous and. . . late, chronologically speaking. I may well be asking for some help with finding the connections. I’m almost certain there’s something here that needs finding. The connections would have happened in the beginning of the 20th Century, through the ’60’s.


The Hypocrisy of Modern Gaia Worship

One thing I’ve never understood about the current environmental movement is their insistance that humans are part of nature, but at the same time, we’re not. To the modern Evironmentalist, Humans are Animals, yes. But, we exist to another standard than every animal that has gone before.

Evironmentalists like Van Jones want Mother Earth to have Rights, many maintain that she is an organism on a grand scale, and even has some sentience and awareness. But, then, on the other hand, they fail to ignore some key communiques from Her Bigness . . .

Many people in this cult seem to be of the belief that the ecosystems of the world “Exist in a delicate balance.” This is pure and utter horsesh!t– if things in nature were balanced, we’d all be single celled blobs living in the ocean. The very nature of Earth is imbalance– from tides, tectonic shifts, the weather. . . to the greatest arms race on the planet, Evolution. Imbalance drives life, it drives everything in this planet. (Unless, like me, you believe in God, in which case it is He that is the Prime Mover who shifts and tips and weighs along the way.)

Species have been going extinct for millions of years. We’ve had absolutely nothing to do with most of them. Nature herself has killed off most of her own creations (again, speaking from the Gaiaist POV, not the Christian). If, as the Gaiaists posit, we humans are simply another animal that evolved out of the muck, then we are just as sumbject to her whims, caprices, and planning as every other creature. We are part of that “balace.”

If Gaia is sentient, is it not possible that, instead of being her enemy as the Gaiaists say, we are in fact her arms? Her hands? If a small species only exists in a place that is necessary to use for human society, is it not part of the Evolutionary Arms Race to do as it seems Gaia desires, and rid the planet of the species? Everyone in this cult assumes that Stasis is Her desire, but all indications are that Gaia likes movement, change. New things come, other things go. The Dinosaurs got old, so they were blasted away. The Mammoths were troublesome, so they were melted and hunted down. This bird over there was a pest, to the fleas took care of it. . . that little mammal was a problem, so a convenient lightning strike burned down their forest.

If we are Gaia’s creatures, and if another species exists in the place of our activity as a species, are we not to do the same thing that every other species on the planet does, and just go ahead and do our thing? If this causes the extinction of an owl, fish, or lizard. . . one that doesn’t exist in a lot of places and seems deliberately placed in our way . . . oughtn’t we heed the apparent wish of Gaia and roast the buggers?

Likewise, if we do our thing, and the creatures adapt (like crows and coyotes),  is this not a sign that Gaia favors those creatures? The Ceolocanth clearly is a favorite of hers. . .

I just want to get these beliefs straight. Either we humans are animals subject to Gaia’s Desires, or we are not.

UPDATE: Here’s the overview of a recent meeting on the matter.

There are Stars in the Night

[This was first posted at The Last Refuge. I’ve been meaning to repost here, but the time never seemed right. Good Friday is a good day for Confessions, so here goes. . .]

I must start by admitting that I don’t know exactly why I’m writing this. All I know it that since reading Dagny’s Women’s Voting piece, I’ve felt the need. Nagging, pressing, annoying. That usually means there’s some manner of Divine impetus behind it. Maybe somewhere in this story is something one of you needs to read. Maybe I just need to tell the tale to some people who haven’t actually met me personally. Maybe between the telling and the reading, some measure of clarity or understanding is offered. I really, really don’t know.

What follows is a partial autobiography at least to this point in my life, an attempt to explain why I approach certain topics from some rather strange angles. Many details will not be shared. Sometimes I may seem to go off onto a tangent—if so, it is only because I am trying to prevent at least some of the seemingly inevitable misunderstandings. Many of you will find some of these experiences strange—I will be as clear as I can and, if you ask questions, I will answer to the best of my ability. But that’s no guarantee to understanding—much I don’t even understand myself.

Please, bear with me. And yes, when I figure out what the point to all this is, I’ll let you know.

The fact of the existence of God was never a problem for me. From my earliest memories, the fact of God was as apparent as the clouds in the sky, or the fact that water was wet. “Du~uh, of course God’s real, dummy!” This has never changed, though to my great joy, my relationship to that Truth has changed a great deal over the years. No, my problem in my earliest years was that fact meant nothing to me. One might say: the brain knowledge was not connecting to the heart. Continue reading