Rachel Alexander's Blog, page 229
April 7, 2019
therkalexander:
“Hecate thinned her lips. “The serpent smiling through a cloak of blue feathers is...
“Hecate thinned her lips. “The serpent smiling through a cloak of blue feathers is still a serpent.”
“I don’t trust her either, but she is trying to befriend me, and the last thing we need is to make an enemy of her. Besides,” Persephone said, reaching for a stylus. “If she is sincere, we could affect meaningful change in the world above. Wouldn’t you prefer that to mortal women being treated as little more than chattel, or your followers being stoned or exiled?”— The Good Counselor, Chapter 9
#TOStrong
On November 8, 2018, while other fires raged across California, and my community was reeling from a mass shooting the day before, a new threat loomed that would leave us all unable to properly mourn the loss of a friend and process all the casualties suffered at Borderline.
As we gathered at the vigil for the lives wasted in gunfire, we were unaware that in mere hours we’d have to gather our strength yet again and switch gears, some of us awakening in the middle of the night with minutes to pack our treasures and evacuate.
The Woolsey fire was coming.
96,000 acres, spanning two counties, ignited with 295,000 people under mandatory evacuation. Over 1600 structures burned displacing people, farm animals, pets large and small, wildlife, and killing three people. Embers flew on gusts upwards of 60 miles an hour, jumping a freeway, racing through rugged terrain, up mountains, and down canyons of dried Chaparral and Scrub Brush— miles of ripe kindling which cannot ever be cleared or the mountains come down in deadly mudslides during the rainy season.
This is my community’s natural disaster. Some have tornadoes, ice storms, floods, volcanoes, or hurricanes. We have fires followed by mudslides as our yearly natural disaster throughout our large state. This was the third experience to directly impacted my family, so about once every ten years. “Why don’t you move?” I hear some people say from afar. Then there was the online hate directed at this community I love. Name me a perfect place without natural disasters. There are none.
The wind changed direction, forcing us to evacuate in the middle of the night as we scrambled to pack our trunk. In the space of minutes, what would you grab? A tote of important documents I created for such emergencies: passports, social security cards, birth certificates, etc. Then wedding albums and framed pictures of my children when they were babies. The rest of my hatchback was stuffed with my kid’s lovies: ones they’d carefully chosen knowing we couldn’t save every stuffed animal. Then our pillows and sleeping bags for the evac-center cots, if any were available. Everything else: clothes, books, toys, toiletries, dishes etc. are replaceable and of little importance in a split second emergency.
We piled our two kids, two cats, and a big dog into our small hatchback and drove off into the night uncertain of when we could return.
In the middle of all this I called my sister who hadn’t heard the evacuation warnings that the fire was upon her doorstep. She had just gone to bed. “Where are you?!” I said. “Home.” All I remember was crying for her to leave immediately. “Get out now! Go!! Go!!” She drove by towering flames as structures around her turned to ash.
We were the lucky ones. We still had homes to come back to. Our biggest concern was poor air quality for weeks ahead; wearing our N95 masks and sadly knowing you’re smelling and breathing the ashes of other people’s loss. I can say with 100% certainty that our firemen and women are the nation’s best; they get a lot of practice and work tirelessly for weeks, with little rest, putting their lives at risk.Thank you CalFire.
Our community is strong and we pulled together to support those in need, even as our president leveled the blame at “poor forest management” despite there being no forest here, and as I’ve said many times there is no budget large enough to clear the very difficult and vast terrain, nor should that be a thought lest the mountains will bury you in your sleep from a lack of roots to hold the dirt in place.
The following images show the burn scar rebirth where the Woolsey fire stormed right into the heart of Thousand Oaks, Ca, across from our Civic Center’s vigil for the victims of the Borderline shooting, in which we mourned the loss of our friend and others; young souls gone way too soon. These photos are consistent with the first image heading this post. The rebirth happened in 4 months time with our heavy rains. With all this horror it is a reminder of brighter days ahead, positive thinking, and to try to look for the good. There is always good to be found.
It is very hard to tell, but this maybe the skeleton of a Laurel Sumac.
A charred black Coast Live Oak tree that easily existed before WWI. I estimate it is near 18 meters tall and 26 meters wide after standing next to it. These are very slow growing which makes this specimen quite old.
The Civic Center is the large tan building to the left. Down from this hill is where the home from the first picture was located.
All these mountains burned, as you can see, some are still quite black on various peaks. They are apart of the Santa Monica Mountain range and descend into Malibu, which was tragically hit so hard by the Woolsey fire.
Chaparral over grows. It dries, it dies, it builds up and chokes out the beauty, but beauty lies in wait for the fire that burns out invasive species, parasitic vines, and choking poison oak. And with this fire that nurtures the soil, after such darkness and despair, a change in season.
Now these patient seeds take root, grow strong, and bloom in all their beautiful glory, witnessed by all. This cycle goes on. I use it as a metaphor for our own pain within us and trials I experience; that I can burn them out and reveal inner beauty once again. This mantra is found in the rebirth and the reason I document it. It’s my meditation and it helps me cope and to know it will all be OK.
Yay I’m doing the video pitch today and I’m fucking terrified yaaaaaaaayyyyy. Currently laying here...
Yay I’m doing the video pitch today and I’m fucking terrified yaaaaaaaayyyyy. Currently laying here wearing a clay mask I should have taken off 10 minutes ago yaaaaaaayyyyy
April 6, 2019
fangirl-who-dreams:
smorespeligro:
I’m conflicted. I like the dynamic that a lot of so called...
I’m conflicted. I like the dynamic that a lot of so called Hades/Persephone AU type fics have. I like it. I enjoy it. I’m all about it. Character A is dark and brooding and genuinely troubled and probably kills people. Character B is lightness and a sounder morality but not too troubled by darkness. Great. Let’s bang.
BUT
HADES
IS
NOTHING
LIKE THAT
IN THE MYTHOLOGY.
He’s this chill and responsible dude who just happens to run the underworld because he and his bros drew straws for it and hey, he ended up with the underworld instead of the sea. He’s not a grim figure, or a sinister one, or a macabre one. He names his dog SPOT. Again: a chill dude. The kind of dude who does his taxes early.
So equating him with all these grimdark type characters–that’s not exactly right. That’s not right at all. The narrative is not Dark Dude Kidnaps Purity and Light in Girl Form. The narrative is not Her Love Saves Him.
The kidnapping thing–it’s not really. That was a marriage custom metaphor thing.
You know who was terrifying, in the mythology? Who was so dreaded that you weren’t even supposed to say their name?
Persephone.
Think about that, writing your AUs.
melancholic-wunderland:
poisonappleprintshop:I know you’ve all...
I know you’ve all been waiting to see this piece completed and here it is— Hecate’s Garden! Seen here as Hecate Chthonia, she resides over the poisonous plants of the underworld. She rests on a crescent moon as a symbol of her reign over the dominion of night. She holds aloft two torches in reference to her aid of Persephone and her illumination of crossroads, thresholds, and areas of transition. Hecate’s association with poisonous plants stems from her legendary herb garden on the island of Colchis, in which she grew poisonous plants in addition to other medicinal herbs. Her skill of working with the volatile nature of poisonous plants was unmatched, and she passed on her vast knowledge to her handmaiden and devoted priestess, the witch Medea.
