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When people are taught that they are “white” and then shown how evil “white” people supposedly are, then it makes sense why they identify with that label and strive to defend the same. But what if “white” is as much of a social construct as “black”? What if many of the people we call “white” and credit with building America or civilization in general were always identified by their cultural heritage? Rome was diverse and founded on Greek philosophy, neither of which were “white.” America was built by the Dutch, Germans, Irish, Scottish, Italians, Chinese, Slavs, etc. Although some may fall into a broad definition of “white” or European, the fact remains that “whites” were not the sole builders of America. What matters first is culture and ethnicity, then region, and finally by modern standards some arbitrary color wheel. It is only when you learn that “white” is meant to be an insult, like use of the abbreviation “nazi,” that it all begins to make more sense. The same is true for “white trash,” which was the basis of contemporary “black culture.” Additionally, the idea that “white” people built the modern world is just fundamentally not true. Whatever “white” is, these people certainly contributed to the building of civilization, even more than certain other groups. But China developed the compass, paper, modern money, gun powder, and printing — in fact, the oldest printed book in the world is not a Gutenberg Bible, it is a Buddhist text predating that book by over 500 years. Doesn't this count for something? The growing rebellious use of racial insults and the embracing of undefinable or inaccurate “white culture” is not what it all may seem. The idea that “blacks” or “whites” invented the world is without doubt part of an op.*The is the FREE archive, which includes advertisements. If you want an ad-free experience, you can subscribe below underneath the show description.
The two saints were brothers, born in Thessalonica. St Methodius, the elder brother, served as a soldier for ten years before becoming a monk. Cyril was librarian at the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople; then he too became a monk. Their first missionary work was not among the Slavs: When the king of the Khazars (a Mongol people who then inhabited much of what is now Russia) petitioned the Emperor Michael to sent teachers to instruct his people, the Emperor chose Cyril and Methodius as his emissaries. They converted the Khazar king to the Christian faith, along with many of his nobles and commoners. When King Rostislav of Moravia likewise sought teachers of the Christian faith, Cyril and Methodius were again sent forth. This time they devised an alphabet for the Slavic language and used it to translate many of the Greek service books into the language of the people. (In theory, the Orthodox people have always been privileged to hear the Church's services in their own tongue, though often attachment to dead languages has prevented this ideal from becoming reality.) Both brothers were repeatedly attacked by Germanic priests of the region, who opposed the use of the common tongue in the liturgy. At different times, both brothers were forced to appeal for exoneration and protection to the Pope of Rome, who supported them warmly each time. After the two Saints reposed, attacks on their work continued, and their disciples were eventually driven from Moravia. The disciples, fleeing southward, found a warmer welcome among the southern Slavic peoples, and their work bore much fruit in Bulgaria (including modern-day Serbia) and other countries. And, of course, the alphabet that they devised, called Cyrillic after St Cyril, remains the standard alphabet of both the Slavonic service books of the Church and the Slavic languages of today.
The Day Rhode Island GaspedColumbus Day 1910, the Fabre Line, and the Italian immigrants who transformed Natick and Pontiac.If you had stood along the main road through the villages of Natick and Pontiac in the early 1900s, you would have heard a medley of accents and languages. The British, the Irish, the Swedes, and the French-Canadians had all come before, each group finding its place in the textile mills that lined the Pawtuxet River. But by the dawn of the twentieth century, it was the Italians who were arriving in ever-growing numbers, and they were the latecomers. As many historians have pointed out, their experience followed a familiar pattern: they took the lowest-paying jobs, lived in the poorest housing, and clung fiercely to their ethnic identity. In the crowded mill villages of Rhode Island, this was simply what happened to each new wave of strangers. Of course, Italians were no strangers to the New World. Long before the mills of Natick ever hummed with machinery, Italian mariners had charted the very course to the Americas. Think of Christopher Columbus, Amerigo Vespucci, John and Sebastian Cabot—whose family name was really Caboto—and Giovanni da Verrazzano. Their ships had opened the Atlantic like a book. Even in the earliest colonial days, Italian families had found their way to what would become the United States. The Tagliaferro family, for instance, settled in Jamestown, Virginia, within just a year of Roger Williams founding Rhode Island. And when the Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776, one of the men who put his name to it was William Paca, a Maryland delegate of Italian heritage. Later, during the Civil War, three Italian Americans rose to the rank of general on the Union side. So the Italian presence in America was nothing new. But the great tide of immigration that would reshape places like Natick and Pontiac was still to come. That tide began to swell in the 1860s, when the demand for labor to build the Transcontinental Railroad drew thousands of workers from southern Italy, Ireland, and China. One of those men was Carmine DiFranco. He came to help lay track, lived for a time in California, and eventually settled in Natick, where he opened a small grocery store that catered to Italian tastes and needs—a quiet sign that a community was taking root.Yet the major impact of Italian immigration in New England was not truly felt until the early twentieth century. Southern Europe's economy had soured, while Rhode Island's textile mills were desperate for cheap, willing hands. The pull was irresistible. Once the influx began, Italians arrived in numbers no one had quite anticipated. Charles Carroll, in his book Rhode Island: Three Centuries of Democracy, captures the moment of awakening perfectly. He writes that Rhode Island scarcely realized the volume of Italian immigration until the first observance of Columbus Day as a public holiday in 1910. What had been expected to be just another parade—in a city already known as "the paradingest city"—turned into something far larger. For hours, Carroll says, Italian divisions poured through the city streets in rapid succession. And then he delivers the unforgettable image: the whole state gasped at the discovery, rubbed its eyes to test the reality of what seemed plausible only as a dream. In a single day, Rhode Island became aware of its Italian population.But consciousness, unfortunately, soon curdled into fear. The migration continued at an unrelenting pace until 1921, when prejudice in Washington finally found its voice. Congress passed the Emergency Quota Act in 1921, followed by the National Origins Quota Act in 1924. These laws were aimed squarely at Italians, Jews, and Slavs, and they succeeded in slowing the flow from southern Europe. Even so, between 1898 and 1932, nearly fifty-five thousand Italians arrived at the Port of Providence alone. Read the Full Content
Evening Prayer for Saturday, February 14, 2026 (Eve of the Last Sunday of Epiphany: Transfiguration, or Quinquagesima; Cyril and Methodius, Apostles to the Slavs, 869, 885).Psalm and Scripture readings (60-day Psalter):Psalm 109Jeremiah 44:1-19, 24-302 Corinthians 12:1-13Click here to access the text for the Daily Office at DailyOffice2019.com.Click here to support The Daily Office Podcast with a one-time gift or a recurring donation.
Morning Prayer for Saturday, February 14, 2026 (The Second to Last Sunday of Epiphany: World Mission Sunday, or Sexagesima; Cyril and Methodius, Apostles to the Slavs, 869, 885).Psalm and Scripture readings (60-day Psalter):Psalms 108, 110Genesis 44:1-20, 30-34Matthew 4Click here to access the text for the Daily Office at DailyOffice2019.com.Click here to support The Daily Office Podcast with a one-time gift or a recurring donation.
Full Text of Readings Memorial of Saints Cyril, Monk, and Methodius, Bishop Lectionary: 334 The Saint of the day is Saints Cyril and Methodius Saints Cyril and Methodius' Stories Because their father was an officer in a part of Greece inhabited by many Slavs, these two Greek brothers ultimately became missionaries, teachers, and patrons of the Slavic peoples. After a brilliant course of studies, Cyril (called Constantine until he became a monk shortly before his death) refused the governorship of a district such as his brother had accepted among the Slavic-speaking population. Cyril withdrew to a monastery where his brother Methodius had become a monk after some years in a governmental post. A decisive change in their lives occurred when the Duke of Moravia asked the Eastern Emperor Michael for political independence from German rule and ecclesiastical autonomy (having their own clergy and liturgy). Cyril and Methodius undertook the missionary task. Cyril's first work was to invent an alphabet, still used in some Eastern liturgies. His followers probably formed the Cyrillic alphabet. Together they translated the Gospels, the psalter, Paul's letters and the liturgical books into Slavonic, and composed a Slavonic liturgy, highly irregular then. That and their free use of the vernacular in preaching led to opposition from the German clergy. The bishop refused to consecrate Slavic bishops and priests, and Cyril was forced to appeal to Rome. On the visit to Rome, he and Methodius had the joy of seeing their new liturgy approved by Pope Adrian II. Cyril, long an invalid, died in Rome 50 days after taking the monastic habit. Methodius continued mission work for 16 more years. He was papal legate for all the Slavic peoples, consecrated a bishop and then given an ancient see (now in the Czech Republic). When much of their former territory was removed from their jurisdiction, the Bavarian bishops retaliated with a violent storm of accusation against Methodius. As a result, Emperor Louis the German exiled Methodius for three years. Pope John VIII secured his release. Because the Frankish clergy, still smarting, continued their accusations, Methodius had to go to Rome to defend himself against charges of heresy and uphold his use of the Slavonic liturgy. He was again vindicated. Legend has it that in a feverish period of activity, Methodius translated the whole Bible into Slavonic in eight months. He died on Tuesday of Holy Week, surrounded by his disciples, in his cathedral church. Opposition continued after his death, and the work of the brothers in Moravia was brought to an end and their disciples scattered. But the expulsions had the beneficial effect of spreading the spiritual, liturgical, and cultural work of the brothers to Bulgaria, Bohemia and southern Poland. Patrons of Moravia, and specially venerated by Catholic Czechs, Slovaks, Croatians, Orthodox Serbians and Bulgarians, Saints Cyril and Methodius are eminently fitted to guard the long-desired unity of East and West. In 1980, Pope John Paul II named them additional co-patrons of Europe. Reflection Holiness means reacting to human life with God's love: human life as it is, crisscrossed with the political and the cultural, the beautiful and the ugly, the selfish and the saintly. For Saints Cyril and Methodius much of their daily cross had to do with the language of the liturgy. They are not saints because they got the liturgy into Slavonic, but because they did so with the courage and humility of Christ. Dear Saints Cyril and Methodius: Pray for us!Saint of the Day, Copyright Franciscan Media
On this episode of Unsupervised Learning Razib talks to Peter Nimitz about the rise of the Slavs. His Substack, titled Nemets, explores world history through the lenses of archaeology, paleogenetics, and historical processes. His writing focuses on "deep history," such as the Bronze Age Collapse and the migration of Indo-European peoples, while connecting these ancient shifts to broader patterns of civilizational rise and fall. Nimitz often integrates technical data from genetics and climate science to challenge traditional narratives about nomadic tribes and early state formations across Eurasia. Beyond antiquity, the newsletter also touches on modern geopolitical developments and regional studies, ranging from the war in Ukraine to the cultural history of the Americas. Razib and Nimitz explore the thousands of years of Slavic history and prehistory, from their fragmentary mentions in antiquity, to their explosion in the Middle Ages. Nimitz discusses the many archaeological cultures in northeastern Europe that might be candidates for the proto-Slavs as they emerged from the Corded Ware Culture during the Bronze Age, as well as the historical, cultural and genetic effects of the Slavic migrations that impacted Christian Europe after 600 AD. He also addresses the role of Slavs as one of Europe's preeminent ethnolinguistic configurations in early modern Europe.
Theodora was the wife of Emperor Theophilus the Iconoclast, but secretly revered the icons, and protected others who did, until the emperor's death. Upon his death, she quickly restored veneration of icons to churches throughout the empire, the event celebrated on the upcoming Sunday of Orthodoxy, the first Sunday of the Great Fast. She ruled wisely as regent for the young emperor Michael for fifteen years: she is said to have initiated the mission of Sts Cyril and Methodios to the Slavs. Before Michael III reached his majority, he was prevailed upon by Bardas, Theodora's brother, to depose her and send her to a monastery, where she finished her life in peace and holiness. When Constantinople fell, her incorrupt relics were taken to Corfu along with those of St Spyridon. They are still venerated there. There is a much-debated story that, when Theophilus was dying, the Empress, moved by compassion for him, brought an icon of the Mother of God out of hiding and laid it on his face; and that Theophilus, coming to himself, kissed the holy icon and confessed the true Faith before giving up his soul. Other accounts say that the Emperor died in heresy. It seems possible that the holy Empress circulated the story to ensure that her departed husband would be remembered in the Church's prayers.
Full Text of Readings The Saint of the day is Saint Blaise Saint Blaise's Story We know more about the devotion to Saint Blaise by Christians around the world than we know about the saint himself. His feast is observed as a holy day in some Eastern Churches. In 1222, the Council of Oxford prohibited servile labor in England on Blaise's feast day. The Germans and Slavs hold him in special honor, and for decades many United States Catholics have sought the annual Saint Blaise blessing for their throats. We know that Bishop Blaise was martyred in his episcopal city of Sebastea, Armenia, in 316. The legendary Acts of St. Blaise were written 400 years later. According to them Blaise was a good bishop, working hard to encourage the spiritual and physical health of his people. Although the Edict of Toleration (311), granting freedom of worship in the Roman Empire, was already five years old, persecution still raged in Armenia. Blaise was apparently forced to flee to the back country. There he lived as a hermit in solitude and prayer, but he made friends with the wild animals. One day a group of hunters seeking wild animals for the amphitheater stumbled upon Blaise's cave. They were first surprised and then frightened. The bishop was kneeling in prayer surrounded by patiently waiting wolves, lions and bears. The legend has it that as the hunters hauled Blaise off to prison, a mother came with her young son who had a fish bone lodged in his throat. At Blaise's command the child was able to cough up the bone. Agricolaus, governor of Cappadocia, tried to persuade Blaise to sacrifice to pagan idols. The first time Blaise refused, he was beaten. The next time he was suspended from a tree and his flesh torn with iron combs or rakes. Finally, he was beheaded. Reflection Four centuries give ample opportunity for fiction to creep in with fact. Who can be sure how accurate Blaise's biographer was? But biographical details are not essential. Blaise is seen as one more example of the power those have who give themselves entirely to Jesus. As Jesus told his apostles at the Last Supper, “If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask for whatever you want and it will be done for you” (John 15:7). With faith we can follow the lead of the Church in asking for Blaise's protection.Saint of the Day, Copyright Franciscan Media
Welcome to the new episode of the Learn Polish Podcast! Have you ever wondered where the Polish language comes from? In this episode, I explore the mysterious history of the Slavs. We discuss the theories about the “cradle of the Slavs,” their expansion, and what unites Slavic nations today. This is not just history,; it is the story of the language you are learning. I speak clearly and slowly to help you improve your listening skills. Premium members can access the full Polish transcript word-for-word at realpolish.plThe post RP512: Kim są Słowianie? appeared first on realpolish.pl
He was a disciple of Saints Cyril and Methodius (May 11), and traveled with them on their missionary journey to the Slavs. With them and their other companions, he endured many trials, including several imprisonments at the hands of the Latin Franks, who were seeking to seize control of the region of Moravia in order to impose the Latin language and to spread the heresy of the filioque. For a time their troubles were relieved by Pope Hadrian II, who supported the mission and made St Methodius Archbishop of Pannonia, with jurisdiction over the Eastern European Slav lands. But when St Methodius died, St Nahum and his companions were imprisoned once more, then sent into exile, where they finally found shelter in the Orthodox Kingdom of Bulgaria. There they were able to continue their work of evangelization in the Slavonic language. Saint Nahum founded the Monastery that bears his name on the shore of Lake Ochrid. After his repose his relics were brought there for burial, and are venerated there today.
The Bathhouse is a live call-in show from the green room of The Stand one of New York City's best comedy clubs.Follow the guests: Chris Scopo, Derek Drescher and Rob O'Toole.Chapters:00:00 - Intro03:30 - Show start04:17 - Slav calls - question for Derek, business idea for Danny15:20 - Jared calls, J-talk24:15 - Pablo calls - Ban women from driving tall cars, teacher with big fake jugs36:45 - 24 year old getting out of a relationship and moving in with the folks - get the dog55:20 - Gilly - Bought a house and got married1:02:00 - Dylan trying get Derek to relapse1:09:00 - Can you switch seats?1:10:39 - Ryan from Texas also dealing with dog issues1:17:00 - TVPES calls - Standup advice?1:24:05 - Slavs gets cut off by 1:24:28 - Rubestar calling asking about Fuestes & Pierce1:30:00 - Finish
Support us on Patreon---At the dawn of the Middle Ages, small numbers of Jewish families ventured across the frozen Alps, seeking a new life in a foreign land they called Ashkenaz. In their workshops, at the market, and around the shabbat table, these people created a new language in secret: one that joined together the Hebrew writing system of ancient Palestine with the Germanic vocabulary of their Christian neighbors. Despite its obscure and polygenic medieval origins, this neighborhood speech would grow to become a fundamental element of Jewish history and identity and a true world language: Yiddish.This episode of Gladio Free Europe explores the origins and development of Yiddish with the help of Wilf, esteemed circumpolar Yiddish scholar and longtime friend of the pod. Wilf guides Liam and Russian Sam through the complexities of the language's development and grammar. The many influences on Yiddish, from its Semitic alphabet to its Slavic grammatical structures and its unexpected Romance loans, tell the story of the Ashkenazi Jewish people. So too does the resilience and growth of Yiddish in spite of centuries of hostility and, in the 20th century, near-total annihilation. Putting Yiddish in the context of the rise of rabbinical Judaism and the expansion of the diaspora, we see how this Germanic vernacular developed alongside the liturgical language of Hebrew. While widespread bilingualism meant Yiddish and Hebrew would influence each other throughout their history, the two languages were often perceived in conflict. Yiddish would be demeaned and degraded throughout its history, both by vicious bigots who hated its Jewishness and pious scholars who thought it not Jewish enough. Yet despite centuries of hardship, the language would blossom across the medieval period into a literary language along the lines of French and Italian. Medieval Jewish writers eagerly took part in the broader European tradition of chivalric romance. Yiddish adventure stories about Jewish knights, Jewish princesses, even a Jewish King Arthur were widely read and have some lingering influence on Jewish folklore to this day. As Yiddish spread eastward, out of the German lands and into the kingdoms of the Slavs and Hungarians, the language of the Ashkenazi Jews ceased to be a medium of communication with Christians, but instead an ethnolect that could only be understood by Jews. The unique situation of Eastern European Jews, more numerous and more culturally distinctive than their Western European neighbors, would be fundamental to the later development of Yiddish.Listen to the newest episode of Gladio Free Europe to understand what makes Yiddish, the heymish mother tongue of the Jewish hearth, unique among the languages and such a treasured aspect of the Jewish experience. Borek-habo!
Journey east with Matt Lewis and Martyn Whittock to uncover how the Vikings came face to face with the Slavs. Using clues like the Ingvar Rune Stones, Matt and Martyn discover how the Vikings reshaped Northeastern Europe, with Norse trade, warfare, and cultural exchange, as well as their role in the Byzantine Empire and Islamic Caliphates, and how these adventurers helped forge the Kievan Rus and influence Russian and Ukrainian identities.MOREViking TravelsListen on AppleListen on SpotifyRunesListen on AppleGone Medieval is presented by Matt Lewis. Audio editor is Amy Haddow, the senior producer is Anne-Marie Luff.All music used is courtesy of Epidemic Sounds.Gone Medieval is a History Hit podcast.Sign up to History Hit for hundreds of hours of original documentaries, with a new release every week Sign up at https://www.historyhit.com/subscribe. You can take part in our listener survey here: https://insights.historyhit.com/history-hit-podcast-always-on Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
Who were the descendants of Japheth—and what role do they play in the formation of modern nations and biblical prophecy?Video Version Available at https://www.lastchristian.net/In this powerful and detailed exploration, The Last Christian Radio Show dives deep into the historical and prophetic legacy of Japheth, one of Noah's three sons. Based on Genesis 10 and supported by historical, biblical, and cultural sources, this study identifies the lineage of Japheth and traces the origins of many Indo-European civilizations—from the Greeks and Scythians to the Armenians, Slavs, Thracians, and beyond.
The two saints were brothers, born in Thessalonica. St Methodius, the elder brother, served as a soldier for ten years before becoming a monk. Cyril was librarian at the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople; then he too became a monk. Their first missionary work was not among the Slavs: When the king of the Khazars (a Mongol people who then inhabited much of what is now Russia) petitioned the Emperor Michael to sent teachers to instruct his people, the Emperor chose Cyril and Methodius as his emissaries. They converted the Khazar king to the Christian faith, along with many of his nobles and commoners. When King Rostislav of Moravia likewise sought teachers of the Christian faith, Cyril and Methodius were again sent forth. This time they devised an alphabet for the Slavic language and used it to translate many of the Greek service books into the language of the people. (In theory, the Orthodox people have always been privileged to hear the Church's services in their own tongue, though often attachment to dead languages has prevented this ideal from becoming reality.) Both brothers were repeatedly attacked by Germanic priests of the region, who opposed the use of the common tongue in the liturgy. At different times, both brothers were forced to appeal for exoneration and protection to the Pope of Rome, who supported them warmly each time. After the two Saints reposed, attacks on their work continued, and their disciples were eventually driven from Moravia. The disciples, fleeing southward, found a warmer welcome among the southern Slavic peoples, and their work bore much fruit in Bulgaria (including modern-day Serbia) and other countries. And, of course, the alphabet that they devised, called Cyrillic after St Cyril, remains the standard alphabet of both the Slavonic service books of the Church and the Slavic languages of today.
The two saints were brothers, born in Thessalonica. St Methodius, the elder brother, served as a soldier for ten years before becoming a monk. Cyril was librarian at the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople; then he too became a monk. Their first missionary work was not among the Slavs: When the king of the Khazars (a Mongol people who then inhabited much of what is now Russia) petitioned the Emperor Michael to sent teachers to instruct his people, the Emperor chose Cyril and Methodius as his emissaries. They converted the Khazar king to the Christian faith, along with many of his nobles and commoners. When King Rostislav of Moravia likewise sought teachers of the Christian faith, Cyril and Methodius were again sent forth. This time they devised an alphabet for the Slavic language and used it to translate many of the Greek service books into the language of the people. (In theory, the Orthodox people have always been privileged to hear the Church's services in their own tongue, though often attachment to dead languages has prevented this ideal from becoming reality.) Both brothers were repeatedly attacked by Germanic priests of the region, who opposed the use of the common tongue in the liturgy. At different times, both brothers were forced to appeal for exoneration and protection to the Pope of Rome, who supported them warmly each time. After the two Saints reposed, attacks on their work continued, and their disciples were eventually driven from Moravia. The disciples, fleeing southward, found a warmer welcome among the southern Slavic peoples, and their work bore much fruit in Bulgaria (including modern-day Serbia) and other countries. And, of course, the alphabet that they devised, called Cyrillic after St Cyril, remains the standard alphabet of both the Slavonic service books of the Church and the Slavic languages of today.
This is a free preview of a paid episode. To hear more, visit thecarousel.substack.comI'm joined by real life kulak descendant Daniella Pentsak for genuinely fantastic conversation about Slavs, religion, and genetics. She is host of the Culturama podcast.FIRST 30 MINUTES FREE. PLEASE BECOME A PAID SUBSCRIBER NOW NOW NOW TO SUPPORT THE AMERICAN KULAK!The Carousel is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work,…
Putting lives back together after the battle.By FinalStand. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.Either you embrace Change and are destroyed by it, or you resist Change and are overwhelmed by it. What is your choice? (The Politics of 'Not' Being Dead)The rest of the trip was made in silence. They dropped us off at the edge of Miercurea Ciuc, home base of the 61st Mountain Troops Brigade, of Professor Loma and from whence all this craziness had originated. The meeting was already awkward before I arrived. It only got worse. Where to begin? Well, Russia, the United States, the UK, Romania, Hungary and Ireland were now all interested parties. And I had gained two personal distinctions:1.) Not only was I now heralded (and not really joking anymore) by some sources as Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege, I was thereby re-awakening old nationalistic and territorial fears. Hungary didn't want a Prince, yet they did have an anemic Monarchist party. I might not be a Hapsburg (the last royal house of Hungary), but I could possibly be misconstrued as a long-lost Árpád scion (first King and founder of the Hungarian state), which would be even better.A crisis was looming in my ancestral crucible. It seems I already had a webpage in Budapest and six hundred "friends" within 24 hours. Worse, they had some pictures of me. Besides being 'of regal bearing' in the descriptions, I was sexy-hot and a soldier of fortune, a modern day 'Wild Geese, (Goose?)' who was wanted for questioning in a, or perhaps multiple, murder(s) involving either a duel over a woman's honor or killing a dozen armed gangsters who prayed on young innocents newly arrived to the big city.I wasn't alone. My trusty companion was A.) an ascetic Jedi Mistress (my own, personal Yoda), B.) an ancient witch schooled in the necromantic arts (apparently the reason I couldn't die), or C.) a Cold-War Era SMERSH (too much James Bond) assassin repaying an old debt to the descendent of an anti-communist partisan she'd killed years ago, eerily close to the truth for once. That, plus the TEK investigation, were Hungary's main points of concern involving me.2.) I was now a person involved in significant events for half a dozen nations on the world scene.Let's start with Romania. Okay, foremost, I was responsible for the single deadliest day in modern (post-WWII) Romanian Land Forces history. There was no covering this up. Close to one hundred men and women had died in combat, and then you added the forty-some dead Amazons, many of them apparently tortured, and this was a political and public relations nightmare.No one doubted their troops behaved heroically. That wasn't the problem. The political conundrum was how could they explain Ajax and his fifty seasoned killers penetrating into central Romania with no one being aware of the danger? A few politicians wanted to blame Székely nationalists (by that, they meant the ethnic minority who 'vaguely' wanted Transylvania to rejoin Hungary), except they had me, the Hungarian Prince, leading the charge.Life would have been so much easier for them if I had died. Yes, I could read the minds of those politicians. Screw a girl, then her younger sister, and then his wife, who all say they love me, and you'll recognized the emotional intent a father directs your way. (I'd only done that once, and once was enough.) I was getting that vibe again.Unfortunately for them, I wasn't dead and three big time foreign governments (and Ireland) seemed really curious about me, my performance and my mortality. So dragging me out back for a firing squad wasn't going to happen. Riki Martin of the US State Department was there and she told me a representative of the US Military Mission was on his way up to debrief me. Russia's sexy military attaché was still on site and looking happy for some reason. Flaviu, who had some experience with me, was soon to be gone; replaced by some person who had some serious lettuce before his actual name and didn't know me from didly. Not good.The UK had one of their diplomats coming up as well, just so I didn't get lonely. They weren't driving up with the Irishman, or the American. No one considers their carbon footprint in a crisis, I swear. But wait! It gets better. My Romanian Special Force dudes had brought the rest of their company (around a hundred new buddies) with them, they seriously didn't want me to get homesick and wander off (because, you know, I liked living and freedom).The Romanian army shouldn't have worried. It seemed that there were some US Army Rangers with NATO in Kosovo, Albania, or Bosnia and Uncle Sam was expressing a desire for them to 'stop by'. Maybe they could share their C-130 with the British paratroopers who were equally concerned about my well-being. I just hoped everyone was going to play nice when the Spetsnaz arrived. Putin was suddenly (and surprisingly to me, anyway) my new pal. I had a feeling I'd soon be discovering my secret Russian heritage if I wasn't careful. I was thinking maybe I could squeeze an Order of Lenin, or a Hero of the Soviet Union out of him. I heard they both looked nice, were obsolete and came without an actual pension.If Katrina wouldn't let me write off this calamity as PTO, I was going to be irate. I was on the verge of having a large family to support after all, unless you considered me marrying a billionaire's heiress to be compensation enough. The only group involved who weren't trying to actually see me was the Khanate.Temujin most likely had some shamanistic mojo that would let him know if I croaked. That bit smacked of paganism, so it was kept under wraps because he had to appear dutifully Islamic for the masses. Still, some koumiss would have been nice. Heck, right then I could have gone for an 'atta boy', perhaps even a 'two thumbs up'.Oh yeah; the general of the 4th Romanian Division wanted me to stop by when I had the chance (if I didn't, he'd send men to kill me, or so it was insinuated). The 61st Mountain Troops was part of his division's combat command and if the General Staff went looking for someone to crucify, he was making damn sure it wasn't going to be him.It occurred to me that I could send a handsome-looking Spetsnaz (if there was such a thing) to go in my place. They were brother Slavs, right? I was sure that between the 'Fall of the Berlin Wall', Moldavian Independence and Romania joining NATO, they would have much to discuss. Out of the blue, Pamela smacked me on the back of my head, Jethro Gibbs' style. My 'more-evil Russian doppelganger' idea must have been poorly thought out.Before I could implement that silliness, or trigger the big brouhaha, there was a preamble: I had three compatriots. Of greater importance, I had three heavily armed/gravely-serious bodyguards who wouldn't surrender their weapons and/or abandon me. So I thought "play nice" thoughts to myself.Diplomacy, sovereignty and legality all reared their ugly heads. I wasn't really an Irish diplomat. My paperwork was still valid, but the Romanian government hadn't permitted my entry into their country under the standard diplomatic protocols. Ireland wanted to talk to me about that, why was I running around armed and killing people in two Central European countries? I was acting more like an Irish adventurer from the 17th century, than a genteel civil servant from the 21st.Then there was the niggling little complication that involved me, my friends and our criminal possession of military-grade hardware. Chaz had the dubious excuse of being an official British government agent on assignment. That meant he could hope for a prisoner exchange within the next decade. Rachel and Pamela were private citizens with painfully sketchy proofs of US citizenship.When the Romanian legal system finished buggering them, it would be off to Hungry and its serious inquiry into all the dead bodies we'd left in our wake. Who was I kidding? What I was really worrying about was how many members of the Romanian penal system would die when they escaped. Their flimsy identities gave no clue to how dangerous they actually were. Hell, they'd beat me home.I had the added difficulty of Ireland and their questions about who the fuck I was and why I had their gold filigree on something I didn't deserve sitting snugly in my back pocket.So first off, this new band of 'Eagles' wanted to disarm and separate us."Don't insult me," I scoffed. "I am your Prince. Don't make me explain it to your widow.""I'm not married," the Lieutenant snarled back, daring me."Well, rush out and marry somebody. I haven't got all day. We don't want me to be caught in an idle boast now do we?" I grinned. Verbal sparring apparently wasn't in his repertoire."What?""Shut the fuck up, Carl," Chaz blithely inserted himself into the conversation."But you don't even speak Romanian," I countered. "How do you even know what I said?" The Romanians didn't know English, but they knew Carl. The tension between us ebbed."By the expression on the officer's face, Hercege," he winked. "It's universal to the brotherhood.""Who is he with?" The officer questioned me."You and he are the same," I answered."You cannot go any farther armed," he returned to his mission parameters."I don't envy you going in and telling the Colonel to come out here, but so be it," I held my ground."We could kill you and take them off your corpses," he studied my reaction."You are the second handsome man to tell me that today," I shook my head. "I'll tell you what I told him: 'you sure are cute, just not my type'." Pause then laughter."You are a madman," the lieutenant snorted. "I'll go talk to the Colonel."I was a jerk, loved maidens and was a master of bullshit. Did that make me a modern day Minotaur? The lieutenant came back out, then ushered me inside; Riki had to wait for the moment. He motioned my team come along. In the staff room of the 61st were a handful of officers and several suits."Mr. Nyilas," the Colonel gazed upon me. "I don't know what to make of you.""You and my Mother both," I mumbled. Despite the somber atmosphere, a few of the men and women let their moods lighten. They didn't hold my levity against me. I'd been there, on the battlefield and if humor was how I dealt with the experience, so be it."Ha," the greying man mused. "It is wholly my fault that I disregard most of the information you supplied my staff. You were unerringly accurate in your assessment of our enemy's capabilities. I know my men and I know how good they are. Veteran commanders can barely describe what my troops endured. You warned us and I didn't believe you. I was wrong and my men died because of it," he sighed."Sir, I do not believe you could have done anything else and succeeded," I interrupted."Succeeded? Is this what you consider success?" he hardened."Absolutely, Sir. Had you been slower to respond, those men would have most likely come here, to Miercurea Ciuc, and you would have fought the same battle, except your civilians would have been caught in the mix," I lied.If Ajax had escaped he'd have hunted me down. The location would have been irrelevant to him. How he knew where to be was a question for later and something to be presented to smarter, more experienced minds."Perhaps," he allowed. "They were heading north when we encountered them.The Alal in me was going back over the plan. It had been sound."Sir, you had every reason to doubt my military experience and to believe I exaggerated the threat. I was right and I take no joy in that, nor do I think anyone can hold your decisions against you," I stated.Now he gave a bitter laugh. Yes, they could hold all the deaths against him."We both know your men and women didn't die for their country, they killed for it. Quite frankly, I believe they killed some of the most vicious creatures to ever walk the face of the Earth. Fuck them for taking so many of us. Pile their bodies up and burn them," I suggested."They deserve no more Romanian soil than a spot to inter their ashes," I concluded."You do not sound like any diplomat I've ever met," the Colonel regained his gruff exterior."I'm not. I'm a fraud. I know as much about Ireland as I do about being a prince," I confessed. "That said, I didn't come here to kill anyone. I came to save lives.""How has that worked out for you?" a sitting woman in a suit questioned, in Romanian. She was slender, waspish and didn't sound comfortable speaking English, though she knew enough to get by."I am not a fortune-teller. I don't know how this is going to work out," I said."That's not what I asked," she prodded."Yes it was," I corrected her. "You wanted to know if I thought the price of your dead countrymen was worth the life of me, my friends and the lives of your countrymen I came to save. I can't measure the promise of those lives against the loss of all the dead. Don't play games with me. I'm have a degree in Philosophy and I eat morally ambiguous people like you for lunch."Pamela laughed aloud and lively."Kimberly and Katrina would be so proud of you right now," she chortled."I don't think you grasp the deep pit your find yourself in, Friend" the suit stayed chillingly calm."Oh, I think we all know we both screwed the pooch big time," I smirked. "The difference is me and mine are all happy to be alive after two of the most trying, fun-filled days of our lives. You want to throw us in prison. The Hungarians want to throw us in prison. I'm sure if I get back to the States, they will want to put us in prison too. Have I missed anyone?""I'm glad you will confess. It will make it easier on us," she grinned like sexy weasel."Wait," Rachel put a restraining arm on me. "I've wanted to say this for some time." To the weasel, "Blow it out your ass, dipshit.""Rachel, you don't know what she said," Pamela faux-gasped."I don't know the words, but I know what he meant," Rachel glowered. She missed Charlotte so much, she was willing to court pain and death. "I want to go back in time and slap her mother repeatedly for not strangling her in the crib. Is that succinct enough?""I apologize for ever meeting you, Rachel. I've brought you to a bad end," I gave her a tender look."It's okay. I never thought I'd live long enough to sleep with you anyway," she smiled back.Phifft, sigh. It was so sad that I recognized the sound of a low-caliber, silenced round."Listen up, dipshit," Pamela snickered. "Good one, Rachel. If you don't believe the next one is going through your skull, you clearly haven't been listening to us. You are fucking with the wrong monkeys. You have this bizarre idea that if I kill you, your government won't replace your worthless, bullet-riddled hide with someone we find more agreeable. My grandson sent in motion a half million combatants a few hours ago, he nearly died leading your soldiers against your nation's enemies and you want him to kiss your shoes as if you matter at all in the grand scheme of things?" she snarled. "Think again."No one was moving because Pamela had her silenced 22 Beretta out and pointed at Weasel's head. The SF's were caught flat-footed, as was everyone else. No guards came rushing in because the closed doors further muffled the sound. "I think this is a good time for us to get a drink," Chaz advised as he slowly reached out and lowered Pamela's gun hand.It was Pamela's gunboat diplomacy yet again. She hadn't meant to kill the women. Hell, she'd been a random target of opportunity. What Pamela had done was clear up the doubts in the room. Everyone on the staff could self-consciously let themselves off the hook for not being in the front lines, risking themselves with their comrades. Thanks to Pamela, they too had confronted violence.'Crazy' Grandma had fired off her piece and everyone sighed with relief when Chaz got her to lower it. I was pretty sure Chaz was in on this dangerous game. It resided with the Colonel as to how to resolve this hiccup in our dispute."Mr. Nyilas, why don't we take a walk outside, just the two of us?" he 'requested'.I nodded because I'm not always as dumb as I look. He was letting my people off with incredible temperance and I could honorably send them away. They'd scoped out the scene and believed I'd be safe enough. He, in turn, had an excuse to take a step away from his political watchdogs."I think that is for the best," I nodded. "Do you want me to leave my guns behind?""No, Mr. Nyilas, we might run into trouble out there and one of my Captains has suggested you are a man who can take care of himself," he replied. That was very nice of him indeed. If I did do something stupid, he had a ton of troops about who would make my regrets rather temporary. I decided to behave as if I had a passing acquaintance with sanity.His first questions were about the fighting at the ruins. I peppered our exchange with my interest in what had happened to the advance force of the 22nd. It was bleak news, yet the Colonel felt a sense of relief. He was coming to accept the lethality of his enemies, which in turn, led to an understanding, if not acceptance, of the carnage his men had been subjected to.He was in a cycle of context, grief, context. He'd gambled on me and men died. Once the battle was joined though, his soldiers had done precisely the right thing under considerable stress. He could be proud without dishonoring the dead. Only Pamela and I had engaged Ajax earlier. Only I had talked with the man.The Colonel had to look into my eyes to get the spark that led to understanding the mind and ruthlessness of his opponent. The name 'Ajax' never came up. That was more than a rational mind could accept at the moment. He knew his men had fought and killed the best and that helped him cope a tiny bit. Our interview ended when the first of the unwanted guests arrived.Only when I walked inside did it occur to me that this had been my first soldier to soldier chat. We had respected one another and discussed matters like men who knew the score. That was depressing in its own right. It was well passed nightfall when we went back inside. In our absence, Riki had started to redeem my existence. My salvation lay in Romantic Americana Symbolism.Translation: I was a Horatio Alger, a working class kid raised by a widower father, who earned a scholarship to a quiet New England college, graduated near the top of my class and gotten an excellent job (salary and benefits not disclosed). That was the was the first part of the Americana, proof positive that America was still the land of opportunity and a place where poor children could still reach the highest levels of society (umm, okay?).The second Americana Part: my Father had been murdered in a case of mistaken identity. Those heavily-armed foreign corporate/rogue governmental-sponsored terrorist mercenaries (their exact origin was shrouded in double-dealing misinformation) had ruthlessly murdered my Pa to cover up their error. Like any true Son of the American Dream, I had sworn vengeance.The Symbolic Part: My compassionate, understanding government (the good governmental servants of Republican Democracy, not the bad, hires the covert, secret, black-bag, unaccountable private contractors/ pawns of the Wall Street Elite bureaucrats) allowed me to participate in a multi-national taskforce. These selfless guardians of the freedom had formed a coalition which had hunted down the villains.With the priceless assistance of two Central European countries, who currently had to remain nameless (cough: Hungary and Romania), we'd achieved a final, violent confrontation in which my allies and I had emerged bloody, scarred, yet victorious. Once more, free men and women had answered the call of duty and some had made the ultimate sacrifice.See, I had a good government that cared enough about me to let me become a gun-toting menace to the civilized world. Like a Hollywood Western hero of the 1950's, 60's and 70's, I had taken personal revenge against the forces of wickedness, exit the railroad tycoons and cattle barons, enter the shadowy world of private security forces and uncontrolled corporate capitalism.
Die Ausstellung zeigt einige ganz neue Skulpturen und Rauminstallationen des internationalen Künstlerkollektivs „Slavs and Tatars“ aus Berlin.
Evening Prayer for Friday, February 14, 2025 (The Fifth Sunday of Epiphany; Cyril and Methodius, Apostles to the Slavs, 869, 885).Psalm and Scripture readings (60-day Psalter):Psalm 109Jeremiah 44:1-19, 24-302 Corinthians 12:1-13Click here to access the text for the Daily Office at DailyOffice2019.com.Click here to support The Daily Office Podcast with a one-time gift or a recurring donation.
Morning Prayer for Friday, February 14, 2025 (The Fifth Sunday of Epiphany; Cyril and Methodius, Apostles to the Slavs, 869, 885).Psalm and Scripture readings (60-day Psalter):Psalms 108, 110Genesis 44:1-20, 30-34Matthew 4Click here to access the text for the Daily Office at DailyOffice2019.com.Click here to support The Daily Office Podcast with a one-time gift or a recurring donation.
Full Text of ReadingsMemorial of Saints Cyril, Monk, and Methodius, Bishop Lectionary: 333The Saint of the day is Saints Cyril and MethodiusSaints Cyril and Methodius' Stories Because their father was an officer in a part of Greece inhabited by many Slavs, these two Greek brothers ultimately became missionaries, teachers, and patrons of the Slavic peoples. After a brilliant course of studies, Cyril (called Constantine until he became a monk shortly before his death) refused the governorship of a district such as his brother had accepted among the Slavic-speaking population. Cyril withdrew to a monastery where his brother Methodius had become a monk after some years in a governmental post. A decisive change in their lives occurred when the Duke of Moravia asked the Eastern Emperor Michael for political independence from German rule and ecclesiastical autonomy (having their own clergy and liturgy). Cyril and Methodius undertook the missionary task. Cyril's first work was to invent an alphabet, still used in some Eastern liturgies. His followers probably formed the Cyrillic alphabet. Together they translated the Gospels, the psalter, Paul's letters and the liturgical books into Slavonic, and composed a Slavonic liturgy, highly irregular then. That and their free use of the vernacular in preaching led to opposition from the German clergy. The bishop refused to consecrate Slavic bishops and priests, and Cyril was forced to appeal to Rome. On the visit to Rome, he and Methodius had the joy of seeing their new liturgy approved by Pope Adrian II. Cyril, long an invalid, died in Rome 50 days after taking the monastic habit. Methodius continued mission work for 16 more years. He was papal legate for all the Slavic peoples, consecrated a bishop and then given an ancient see (now in the Czech Republic). When much of their former territory was removed from their jurisdiction, the Bavarian bishops retaliated with a violent storm of accusation against Methodius. As a result, Emperor Louis the German exiled Methodius for three years. Pope John VIII secured his release. Because the Frankish clergy, still smarting, continued their accusations, Methodius had to go to Rome to defend himself against charges of heresy and uphold his use of the Slavonic liturgy. He was again vindicated. Legend has it that in a feverish period of activity, Methodius translated the whole Bible into Slavonic in eight months. He died on Tuesday of Holy Week, surrounded by his disciples, in his cathedral church. Opposition continued after his death, and the work of the brothers in Moravia was brought to an end and their disciples scattered. But the expulsions had the beneficial effect of spreading the spiritual, liturgical, and cultural work of the brothers to Bulgaria, Bohemia and southern Poland. Patrons of Moravia, and specially venerated by Catholic Czechs, Slovaks, Croatians, Orthodox Serbians and Bulgarians, Cyril and Methodius are eminently fitted to guard the long-desired unity of East and West. In 1980, Pope John Paul II named them additional co-patrons of Europe. Reflection Holiness means reacting to human life with God's love: human life as it is, crisscrossed with the political and the cultural, the beautiful and the ugly, the selfish and the saintly. For Cyril and Methodius much of their daily cross had to do with the language of the liturgy. They are not saints because they got the liturgy into Slavonic, but because they did so with the courage and humility of Christ. Saints Cyril and Methodius are the Patron Saints of: Slavic PeoplesEcumenism Saint of the Day, Copyright Franciscan Media
Friday of the Fifth Week in Ordinary Time Memorial of Saints Cyril and Methodius; Ninth Century brothers in a part of Greece inhabited by many Slavs; they became missionaries, teachers, and patrons of the Slavic peoples; when the Duke of Moravia requested political independence and ecclesiastical autonomy, it changed the lives of Cyril and Methodius; Cyril invented an alphabet; together they translated the Gospels, the psalter, Paul's letters, and the liturgical books into Slavonic; Cyril and Methodius journeyed to Rome, and saw their Slavonic liturgy approved by Pope Adrian II; Cyril, long an invalid, died in Rome 50 days after taking the monastic habit; Methodius continued mission work for 16 more years; they were named co-patrons of Europe by Pope John Paul II Office of Readings and Morning Prayer for 2/14/25 Gospel: Mark 7:31-37
Theodora was the wife of Emperor Theophilus the Iconoclast, but secretly revered the icons, and protected others who did, until the emperor's death. Upon his death, she quickly restored veneration of icons to churches throughout the empire, the event celebrated on the upcoming Sunday of Orthodoxy, the first Sunday of the Great Fast. She ruled wisely as regent for the young emperor Michael for fifteen years: she is said to have initiated the mission of Sts Cyril and Methodios to the Slavs. Before Michael III reached his majority, he was prevailed upon by Bardas, Theodora's brother, to depose her and send her to a monastery, where she finished her life in peace and holiness. When Constantinople fell, her incorrupt relics were taken to Corfu along with those of St Spyridon. They are still venerated there. There is a much-debated story that, when Theophilus was dying, the Empress, moved by compassion for him, brought an icon of the Mother of God out of hiding and laid it on his face; and that Theophilus, coming to himself, kissed the holy icon and confessed the true Faith before giving up his soul. Other accounts say that the Emperor died in heresy. It seems possible that the holy Empress circulated the story to ensure that her departed husband would be remembered in the Church's prayers.
Theodora was the wife of Emperor Theophilus the Iconoclast, but secretly revered the icons, and protected others who did, until the emperor's death. Upon his death, she quickly restored veneration of icons to churches throughout the empire, the event celebrated on the upcoming Sunday of Orthodoxy, the first Sunday of the Great Fast. She ruled wisely as regent for the young emperor Michael for fifteen years: she is said to have initiated the mission of Sts Cyril and Methodios to the Slavs. Before Michael III reached his majority, he was prevailed upon by Bardas, Theodora's brother, to depose her and send her to a monastery, where she finished her life in peace and holiness. When Constantinople fell, her incorrupt relics were taken to Corfu along with those of St Spyridon. They are still venerated there. There is a much-debated story that, when Theophilus was dying, the Empress, moved by compassion for him, brought an icon of the Mother of God out of hiding and laid it on his face; and that Theophilus, coming to himself, kissed the holy icon and confessed the true Faith before giving up his soul. Other accounts say that the Emperor died in heresy. It seems possible that the holy Empress circulated the story to ensure that her departed husband would be remembered in the Church's prayers.
Full Text of ReadingsMonday of the Fourth Week in Ordinary Time Lectionary: 323The Saint of the day is Saint BlaiseSaint Blaise's Story We know more about the devotion to Saint Blaise by Christians around the world than we know about the saint himself. His feast is observed as a holy day in some Eastern Churches. In 1222, the Council of Oxford prohibited servile labor in England on Blaise's feast day. The Germans and Slavs hold him in special honor, and for decades many United States Catholics have sought the annual Saint Blaise blessing for their throats. We know that Bishop Blaise was martyred in his episcopal city of Sebastea, Armenia, in 316. The legendary Acts of St. Blaise were written 400 years later. According to them Blaise was a good bishop, working hard to encourage the spiritual and physical health of his people. Although the Edict of Toleration (311), granting freedom of worship in the Roman Empire, was already five years old, persecution still raged in Armenia. Blaise was apparently forced to flee to the back country. There he lived as a hermit in solitude and prayer, but he made friends with the wild animals. One day a group of hunters seeking wild animals for the amphitheater stumbled upon Blaise's cave. They were first surprised and then frightened. The bishop was kneeling in prayer surrounded by patiently waiting wolves, lions and bears. The legend has it that as the hunters hauled Blaise off to prison, a mother came with her young son who had a fish bone lodged in his throat. At Blaise's command the child was able to cough up the bone. Agricolaus, governor of Cappadocia, tried to persuade Blaise to sacrifice to pagan idols. The first time Blaise refused, he was beaten. The next time he was suspended from a tree and his flesh torn with iron combs or rakes. Finally, he was beheaded. Reflection Four centuries give ample opportunity for fiction to creep in with fact. Who can be sure how accurate Blaise's biographer was? But biographical details are not essential. Blaise is seen as one more example of the power those have who give themselves entirely to Jesus. As Jesus told his apostles at the Last Supper, “If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask for whatever you want and it will be done for you” (John 15:7). With faith we can follow the lead of the Church in asking for Blaise's protection. Saint Blaise is the Patron Saint of: Relief from Throat AilmentsEnglish Wool Combers Saint of the Day, Copyright Franciscan Media
The Hoes and Bitches Need A Champion.Based on a post by FinalStand, in 13 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels. ‘Once you go Black, you don't go back; unless you are an Amerindian, Arabic, Asian, Black, Indian, Latina, or White girl, or guy who has tried Black, then found sexual fulfillment with a non-Black person and created a blissful relationship with them'Introduction:Right off the bat, be warned that I'm using the 'N' words, nigger, niggah, my niggah, plus homie, thug, coon, buck, spook, spade and whatever other crude racial slurs that come to mind. This story plays to both Black and White stereotypes.Lastly, this story is rather flippant with the entire concept of sexual assault. Those who have red my previous tales know this is not my attitude at all. For the sake of this genre I had to grapple with the concept of forcing a woman and 'making them love that cock'Prelude:My tale begins as the Winter Man Saga 1300 years ago, about the year 700 AD. One small clan of my Swedish ancestors lost a brutal feud with their neighbors. Their farms were burned, animals slaughtered and their women and children taken as slaves. Only three young brother-warriors survived, wounded but unconquered. The victors chased them high into the mountains when a terrible winter storm struck.The three brothers were trudging across a glacier between the mountain peaks in Whiteout conditions. The lead brother stepped into a crevasse and slid to the bottom of the glacier. Not giving up on their last kinsman, the other two slid down into the darkness after him. At the roots of that glacier they found an ice cavern formed by snow that fell 100,000 years ago.They melted the ice for water with their body heat and in doing so, unleashed a demoness (virus) that no man had ever known and survived. The three men grew very sick, but their fierce desire for vengeance kept them from succumbing. When they emerged from their icy tomb, they discovered that several of their pursuers had frozen to death in the blizzard and the rest had returned to their stolen homes and purloined lands, thinking the three brothers were dead.In the dark of the long northern night, they snuck upon the Great Hall of their enemies. When one of the brothers saw his 'former' wife doing a slave's work, he revealed himself to her. She rejoiced at the return of her love; physically, then brought the three table scraps to survive on. In the process, they learned that their sisters were also alive and the sexual playthings of their male nemeses.Due to the depth of winter, stealing back their womenfolk wasn't possible. They'd all freeze to death if they didn't starve first. To repay their enemy's wickedness, one of the brother's snapped and raped one of the chief's daughters. He was possessed with an unearthly desire and held her in a stable for hours. Only when he was utterly spent did he fall asleep.She ran to her father and returned with many warriors. So the first of the brothers was taken. He was tortured and abused. For three long nights he suffered at the hands of his captors yet refused to admit any of his other brothers were still alive. After that third night, the chief's daughter sneaked past the sleeping guards of the chained man, and raped him.For the next five nights, while her father, brothers and husband slept, she raped and raped and raped that brother. On the fifth night, a sister-in-law caught her at it. The daughter pled for the other to spare her; that the man's sexual prowess had ensnared her. She even challenged her kinswoman to sample the 'fruit' before turning her in. Five women later, the brother cracked and told the women how to find his brothers.The night after the Spring Equinox Celebrations, the women of their enemy rose up and slaughtered all their adult menfolk at the behest of the three brothers, on the conditions that their youngest sons be spared and that the men continue to share their favors with all the womenfolk (who were not their kin).The Sammi ClanThe isolated region of the land of the Swedes kept my ancestors out of contact with the wider world for some time. Many generations later, a son of that clan came to lead a band of (female) Finns. His Swedish name is forgotten. The Finns called him Sami (the Exalted One, no shit). He and this band took to fur trading along the Eastern tributaries of the Volga.In time, this group became identified with the Varangian. The Sons of Sami intermarried with the Slavs, becoming Slavicized and the Sons of Sami became Samsonovs. They followed the Rus expansion into the eastern tributaries of the Volga reaching Nizhny Novgorod in the 10th century.Then came the Mongol Conquest, the Tartar Yoke, Rus reunification and the Russian drive across Siberia. The Samsonovs remained tightly clannish and uncomfortable in urban settings. That wanderlust led them across the Bering Straits into Alaska where their genetic abnormality, the gift of that ancient demoness (virus), slumbered in isolation and monogamy.After a thousand years, the tales of mass orgies with strange women and protective female war bands faded into obscurity. Then my Mom, the brilliant, driven eccentric came along. Once she became enraptured with her own Samsonov lover, she had to know the secret of Samsonov men's sexual prowess.With her burning intellect and educational background, she eventually figured it out. She was also amoral enough to keep the knowledge to herself and vengeful enough to plan to use our curse as a weapon.My Living Family· Father, Nikolay 'Nik' Samsonov;· Mother, Gayle Fonteneau Samsonov;· The Triplets, Alexander 'Alex', Mikhail and Vladimir 'Vlad'; that's me.Sitting at the dinner table, I protested; ‘Mom, You actually expect me to believe my Father, Brothers and I have the genetic capability to addict every woman we have sex with to our schlongs? That's nuts!'Mom retorted; ‘As opposed to thinking the color, length and girth of a phallus makes any woman lose all sense of loyalty, morality and decorum so she can become a man's sex sleeve, whore, bitch, property? Yes, I do.'The lives of my family took an unexpected detour in the spring of this year. My great-aunt Matilda (Mattie) died and willed her estate to Mom. I had never met the woman while she was alive yet in death she would have a profound effect on all our lives. Mom's family was a mess; a crowded dingy with a madhouse of odd characters.Lionel was my eldest maternal uncle. He was a Big, Bulging Brain working as a Chief Technical Advisor for NASA; a solitary crusader for all Mankind. What was he a technical advisor for? If anything left terra firma for more than fifteen seconds, he knew every detail about it. That included volcanic eruptions too. When we were younger, he invited us to various volcanoes (both above and beneath the waves). Great guy.Cassius, my second uncle, was serving time in Indonesia for piracy. Mom said he was meaner than every saltwater crocodile that ever lived. The two times I'd met him, he'd been a lean, happy laconic kind of guy with a love for military history. Mom said he was a charismatic rebel who was possessed by an obsession to defy authority in all its forms.Dido was child number three; my Mom's older sister, married to an Evangelical Televangelist in Nebraska under an assumed name, Paula Richmond. She also had a MD in Psychiatry and a Master's in Public Communications (under her real name), which she kept secret from the fundamentalist congregation. The few times we met; she was the perfect mother. Secretly, we three sons wished she'd been our mother instead of our real mother. Mom said Aunt Dido was a master manipulator and wielded a cruel whip;Then there was Mom's twin, Uncle Theo, who never lived in one place, traveled all around the globe and had every law enforcement agency in the civilized world looking for him. We always receiving presents from him during all the normal holidays; like Michaelmas, Holy Week, the start of Lent, Martinmas (his favorite) and our birthdays; which arrived at random, unrelated times of the year and never from the same location.He was the only one we'd never met, but the one Mom loved the most. Dad suspected he was a narco-trafficker while Mom insisted he was too paranoid to be considered reliable for that line of work. Mom told us he'd spent his formative years killing people for Uncle Sam until one day he simply walked away from Fort Bragg and became an independent contractor.The Defense Department sent some fine, brave men from Joint Special Operation Command, to talk to Mom every few months. They made sure not to trip over the CIA and Homeland Security types who occasionally staked out our house. We boys guessed they came around every time Uncle Theo assassinated people. Mom taught us how to appreciate them in an elaborate ritual she called 'April Fool's, which became an 'any day of the year' activity.My Mom's father (I never met the guy) was a leader of a cult in Nevada. He went down, guns blazing during a DEA raid. Apparently his interests included both harems and marijuana production.Mom's mom? She left my Mother outside a dive bar in San Diego and was never seen again. She had doctorates in Biology and Physics as well as the reputation for being a certifiable Space Cadet. Mom insisted her mom hadn't abandoned her, she'd simply forgotten where she left her youngest daughter who was 15 at the time.After five days, Mom decided to join an Alternative Rock band instead of looking for the lady yet again. Seven years later, she was declared legally dead; though all her offspring believed she was still alive; somewhere; doing something.Then you had Dad's family. We had some characters on that side of the family, just not like Mom's. For starters, Samsonovs were bred for law enforcement. We'd been arresting bad guys since the 1500's. We'd been doing that in Alaska since the time of the tsars. When the Alaskan Territory was sold to the United States; well, my ancestors simply started writing their reports in English instead of Russian.Over the centuries, we had bagged serial killers, smugglers, poachers, drug dealers, domestic abusers and thieves. Mostly they arrested drunks and wackos. My Great Grandfather Petrov was a law enforcement legend in Alaska. Alone, he ran down a pack of murderous robbers in the dead of winter before they made it to 'safety' in the Yukon Territory.In the spring, they found them frozen solid, him leading five men, he recorded in his journal he'd killed the other three while apprehending the gang, back in chains. That pretty much defined the nature of my Father's family, no too many stellar geniuses, but always relentless past all norms of endurance and reason. The moment females were allowed in law enforcement, the womenfolk joined the profession.My Aunt Iliana was in the Coast Guard, that made her the 'Black sheep' in this clan. Taking the law out to the high seas was about as wild as Dad's family got. Dad was pretty much the standard issue for my kin. Big, Dad was 6' 5' and 290 lbs., and about as imaginative as a glacier. Why Mom married Dad had long been a mystery to his sons.Don't get me wrong. I loved my Dad, but the man used a grand total of twenty different sentences his entire life. The fewer words he had to speak, the happier he was. He was a nice guy, never drinking too much and I'd never seen him lose his temper. He smiled, was unerringly polite and had always been helpful and playful with us kids from our earliest memories.Grandpa, my great-aunts and -uncles, my aunts, uncles and cousins by blood were the exact same way. I mean that quite literally. We all pretty much looked alike as well. Those who married, married eccentrics. In our regular family get-togethers that translated over to the blood kin in one room saying and doing nothing (we were already cluing into some sort of primitive telepathy) and being very happy that way, while the married relations were in another room packing on the lunacy.There was no middle ground; you were either a silent, brooding peak in the Samsonov mountain range, or the aurora borealis. That left me and my brothers, we were triplets, in a precarious position. We looked like smaller versions of our Dad (we were still growing) yet were totally at the mercy of our Mother most of our young lives. Recall what I said about eccentrics and lunatic behavior. Mom was the Queen of the Asylum.Mom quickly fell in love with 'things' and she loved doing those things with family. Since Dad worked long hours, family meant my brothers and me. We could make passable pottery by age seven. Krav Maga? Screw this 'driving to some dojo in Anchorage' crap. Mom signed us up for a two week course in Israel and online lessons for a year. Archery, check. Rewiring our house and refitting all the plumbing, check.The three of us were SCA squires at age 12. Pleading to Dad was pointless. He'd smile, mess up our hair and remind us these excursions made our Mother happy aka he wasn't going to help us have normal lives. We had some ex-Green Beret guys teach us outdoor survival skills in Wyoming. We could pull wool, make thread and knit a set of pants and sweaters.I and my brothers had to memorize 1200 medically useful plants before we could get our Christmas presents when we were 14. We free-climbed mountains, ran 10Kms, kayaked, were proficient seamen on a sailing ship and learned how to navigate by the Sun, Moon and stars. Around the age of 15, we figured out that Mom had a ton of money squirreled away. There was no way Dad, with his civil servant's salary, could afford all this crazy shit.By the age of 18 we had such a crazy patchwork set of skills, we weren't sure what we would end up doing with our lives; though tracking down Uncle Theo and living a life on the run was looking more attractive every month. What we didn't have were great social lives. We all had girlfriends at one time, or another, but they never lasted.Right before any of us were about to get serious with any girl in high school, my Mom dragged us off; to things like a five day course on Renaissance artwork in Milan; that's Italy. We had to learn to speak Italian in three days, plus during the flight over. Mom made it easy for us. We could only speak Italian the entire time. Doing that at school was 'fun'. Dad? He smiled and said nothing for three days.Welcome to the Fonteneau House, Kingston, ArkansasAnyway, Mom's Great-aunt Mattie kicked the bucket and left her vast fortune in northwestern Arkansas to my Mom. The old bird hated the rest of the nutjobs in the clan, but adored my Mom (and Theo). Upon receiving the news, my brothers and I began thinking the same thing: banjo lessons, redneck stunts and girls in Daisy Dukes. By 'fortune' we were thinking a ramshackle Ozark shack sitting on a mountain top.Nope. Great-aunt Mattie was loaded. In fact, Mom's whole family had tons of money. They'd made a killing, quite literally, during the White expansion westward using various despicable means. They'd even been cursed by an entire Indian Tribe for bilking them off their land. Mom's family blamed that malediction for their bizarre behavior.That Arkansas home was actually the summer residence for the Fonteneau clan from a hundred years ago. Along with the palatial residence came thousands upon thousands of acres spread over a quarter of the state (and some land in Texas, Missouri and Oklahoma too).Tara, or the Biltmore estate, it was not, but it certainly had pretensions. It was a wide and roomy, rambling Victorian structure. The house proper (there were two barns, a stable, storage sheds, two garages, one attached and the other stand-alone, semi-attached servant quarters and four outlying hunting lodges) abutted the Kingston town limits.The place was big enough to require Mom to employ six staff;Phineas Cobb the third, an angry, sullen old White guy and his carbon-copy son, Phineas IV, were our two Wardens. That meant they took care of the outlying property which included hunting down poachers, interlopers and moonshiners (the competition, no doubt) and seeing to the upkeep of the various lodges, roads, trails and bridges around the place. Phineas the third and Mom; well, he cried and hugged Mom when he saw her, so we didn't know what to think of him and his son.Bebe Marston worked the stables and the twelve horses therein. She was a college dropout, White and 21; a woman at one of life's crossroads. Great Aunt Mattie brought her on a few months before she passed on. Bebe was a bit shy and distant around the menfolk. Mom treated Bebe like her long lost daughter; they got along fine.Thomas Freeman was the groundskeeper. Thomas seemed nice enough, a polite and somewhat deferential older Black man. I liked him. Mom fired him the moment the lawyer finished reading Maggie's Will. She believed the man was a back-biter, liar and a thief.Kamika Perry was the cook. She was a largish, plump Black woman with a large family in town. She was a tyrant in the kitchen but friendly and out-going everywhere else. She knew Mom from before; before what, we didn't know. She was close to Mom's age and was the niece of the former cook. She and Mom were cordial yet a tad formal.Nefertiti Cooke was the upstairs maid. She was a whip-tin attractive Black woman in her late-20s and joined Thomas heading out the door. Mom discharged her due to Nefertiti's sour attitude and general unwillingness to adhere to a work schedule.Anita Turner was our downstairs maid and overall manager of the other servants. Like Kamika, she knew Mom from her previous stay at the house, though Anita was already part of the staff back then. They acted like old friends though they understood the mistress-servant dynamics of their relationship.Mom solved our labor shortage by bringing in Mexicans (Hondurans actually). The two families divided up the nine rooms in the detached servants' quarters with Bebe, since Anita and Kamika lived in town and the Cobb's had their own cottage somewhere on the property.Hector Martinez became our new groundskeeper. He had a wife, Maria. Mom enrolled her in some online college courses so she could get a teaching license. They were both pretty young.Consuela Castro was our new upstairs maid. She was a single mother with a son, Gustavo (10), and a daughter, Isabo (6); they went to the local elementary school in town. Both families were very nice to us and seemed happy with their current circumstance. Since this job was their first go at being domestic servants, Mom told us to be patient and respectful while they learned the ropes from Anita and Mr. Cobb (only Mom could call him Phineas without pissing him off).My brothers and I, our Father, the Martinez's and the Castro's couldn't have predicted the shit-storm Mom was creating between our house and the dominant Black populace of Kingston along the great racial divide. The Hondurans had spent half their lives learning to keep their heads low when faced with discrimination. We didn't, nor did we know that Mom was acting with deliberate malice of forethought at that time.To help appreciate our understanding of the situation, we triplets had known a grand total of four Black people well enough to call them by their Christian names our entire lives. One was a crazy, older guy who had been a sniper at some point in his military career. By crazy, I meant he'd go off on tangents in mid conversation, or just stopping entirely. We all liked the guy.He and Granddad Samsonov were real tight. They'd served together in Vietnam and we boys suspected something bad had happened to them both, something which scarred and bound them together closer than brothers. He and Alexander went hunting all the time back in Alaska. All I knew was Morris (Grandpa's comrade-in-arms) was treated like family.That meant if Morris got in trouble, fifteen to twenty Samsonov's would show up to bail him out. That's what family meant. The other two were a retired Air Force couple, Parker and Mariana Carrington plus their infant William, that had moved in next door (that's 40 yards away in Alaska) when I was fourteen. They were in their early thirties and wanted to start a family. The woman had been pregnant with her second child when we left.My Mom and another neighbor trundled her off to a clinic during her first birth. Dad had driven fifty miles in a blizzard to get her husband, so he could witness his firstborn come into the world. The man worked as a fishing boat mechanic and had gotten stuck at work when his wife went into early labor. It was the Alaskan way to look after one another.I never much thought about minorities. There were nearly as many Native Alaskans attending my schools as White folk. The Natives knew my family going back eight generations. I had a few cousins who were 'First Peoples'. Minority? Majority? We were Alaskans and that was that.Again, I didn't think much about there being a social and economic racial crevasse when I showed up in Kingston, Arkansas. I probably would have been totally blind-sided about it if Dad hadn't done his due diligence and went to the Kingston Police Station and Davis County Sheriff's Office to report his status as an Alaskan State Trooper and register his firearms.Since we didn't know what to look for, we missed the obvious signs of trouble. The Black police officer that Dad talked to was; impolite. He informed Dad there would be no 'courtesy' given despite Dad's professionalism, i.e. he wasn't permitted to carry any of his licensed firearms. The Sheriff's department was very different.We met the Sheriff and the man got Dad to be about as verbose as I'd ever seen him. The Sheriff verified Dad's story, gave him a 90 Day permit for his sidearm and told him to make no never mind over the Town cops' hostility. He certainly seemed pleased Dad had three big, strong, strapping boys and gave Dad an application to join his department.That night, Dad informed us all at the dining room table he was considering the Sheriff's job offer. Mom was secretly pleased (like her sister, she IS an evil mastermind and master manipulator). Anita, Bebe and Kamika were eating with us as well, Mom insisted all the help do so (the Hondurans weren't with us yet), and I detected a hint of worry in their posture. I would have thought 'us' staying in the house, thus their continued employment, would be seen as a good thing.Welcome To Kingston.That night, over some late night cocoa, Mom gave the family the regional 4-1-1. Kingston was 75% Black, 20% White and 5% other. The rest of Davis County was 95% White and 5% Black and other. In Kingston, the Blacks ruled the town. All elected officials and police officers were Black. The Sheriff's department had a few Black officers, but was mostly White.It would have been all White except a combined lawsuit by Southern Poverty Law Center and N Double A CP, forced the County to 'integrate'. I asked the logical question: why hadn't the town been forced to integrate too? Mom told me that wasn't how things worked in the Lower 48. Here, Blacks couldn't discriminate; they could only be discriminated against.The Federal government said so. I was sensing shades of Uncle Theo in Mom's blanket assessment of things. My brothers and I were wrong. Mom was right. We were entering White Man's Hell aka Big Black Cock Country. Of course, Mom wasn't sadistic, or masochistic. She had a tidbit of knowledge no one this side of British Columbia was aware of, a Secret Weapon.Dad applied for and got the job of Senior Deputy, which riled some of the other (read: Black) deputies, but Dad's extensive experience and easy-going manner eased his entry into the unit. Mom remained Mom, an unconventional, beautiful, free-spirited kook. She made no effort to make friends. I was the boldest of the triplets so I asked her why.‘Do you know how your Father's family would rather hack of a hand than go back on their word?' she gazed at me intently. I nodded. When she said 'Father' instead of 'Dad', this was our cue that this was a Major Life lesson we had best memorize. ‘These people aren't like that. They will take that which is not theirs, break trusts, sully families and lie to your face.'‘These women are all bold-faced whores, cock-hungry tramps and sluts who get abortions because they don't know what color the daddy is. The males are either the kind of men who would sleep with those kinds of women, or gutless wonders who won't fight for their rights as boyfriends, brothers, fathers, fiancés and spouses.'‘This is a colored thing, right?' I guessed. I wanted to be wrong.‘Got it in one,' Mom patted me on the shoulder. ‘Most White men in town are spineless wimps, Black men jump on whatever cunt they can crack open and women of either color put up with it, even beg for it. I know because I was once like them.'‘You and Dad?' I worried. Mom gave a deep, hearty laugh.‘That is not going to be a problem, I promise you. The only man for me is your Father,' she smiled. ‘I had plenty of lovers before your Dad. Since one month after I met him, I've never been with another man, or woman, or even wanted one.' More than I wanted to know, but good news none the less.While we were moving in the small amount of belongs that had followed us from Arkansas, two Kingston cops stopped by to see what we were doing. I had spent my entire life around law enforcement who knew about me and my clan. They were always friends and people we could trust. Kingston PD was a rude awakening we weren't in Alaska anymore.They were brusque and intimidating. Their real purpose was to remind my family the house was part of the town, even if the back acreage was not. Mom snorted at their pale deception. She asked to see their warrant. They asked if there was some reason they might need one. Mom politely asked them to leave as they were trespassing.They basked in their defiance. What could Mom really do? If she went all redneck and produced a gun, they'd lock her up, pointing weapons at law enforcement was stupid. Sadly for the cops, familiarity breeds understanding too. Mom gave us the April Fools' signal. Alexander, our oldest triplet, moved the cargo truck so it blocked the officers' view of their patrol car.While Mom looked peeved, feeding the Black cops sense of empowerment, my youngest triplet Mikhail and I (Vladimir) stripped their car of all easily removable parts; the dash-cam went first. They wanted to loiter around on our property? We let them behave stupidly. We dumped the parts and our work gloves in a packing box and carried it right past them.We walked straight out the back too. There was a burning barrel which we made prompt use of, for the oily gloves and box. We had spares. Mikhail tended the fire as I picked up a broken cinder block, a heavy-duty trash bag and walked a few hundred yards to the bog near the creek that ran through our property, county land. The bag and contents went into the bog.I used a branch to make sure it sunk deep before returning. Cleaning off my boots with the outdoor hose completed my destruction of evidence. Ten minutes later a member of the Arkansas Highway Patrol stopped by to see what the problem was. Mom had called them before the sabotage had even begun. She didn't know these two personally, but she knew from earlier visits to her aunt that these two were going to give us 'attitude'.Calling the Sheriff's Department would only cause a standoff where the police had the upper hand, the whole town jurisdiction thing. By the time the HP arrived, Alexander had left with the truck so when the Highway Patrolman began expressing concern for my Mom's civil rights, the two buck butt-bandits made to leave. That didn't work out well for them.First came the circus of the discovery they were missing key parts of their vehicle and the lack of an explanation of how that had happened. Mom wouldn't let the town cops search her place. She happily let the Highway Patrolman (who happened to be Black too) look around. We'd used the hose and the burning barrel because moving was nasty, sweaty work, especially in the Arkansas summer heat.The two policemen blamed us, the triplets. Mom asked them when, in the cops thirty minute trespass, had her 'little angels' stolen the parts, why we would do such a criminal thing, and if they knew where the parts might be. The Highway patrolman was kind of curious about the length of their stay as well.The cops lied, Mom went inside and brought back the camcorder that had taken in the entire event. They were caught in the lie and all they could claim was the cargo truck had been strategically placed to block a visual to their car; as we unloaded our truck. Mom even got the Highway Patrolman to co-sign her complaint to the Arkansas State Police Criminal Investigations department.Mom knew this one wouldn't go anywhere. She had lived with cops long enough to know the value of building up a case file. Alexander was off returning the truck in another county, so he was safe. Mom called him and Dad so they could hook up before Alexander came home. She counted on the cops to be petty and they were.Alexander was on a motorcycle. When he got pulled, the city cops pulled in front of him. Dad stopped as well. Despite their continuing pressure to make Dad leave, they had no legal grounds to do so, he was Alexander's father, who would be responsible for Alex's ride if they took him into custody. Being an off-duty sheriff's deputy wasn't good enough, yet Dad's point was telling.Cops always pull up behind a suspect, not ahead of them unless they want to ignore the dash-cam evidence. Dad had pulled up in his Sheriff's vehicle behind Alexander and his dash-cam was recording everything. They let Alexander off with a Warning Ticket and departed giving father and son dirty looks. School was five days off. We checked out the property for two days. The third morning my brothers and I, on motorcycles, decided to explore Kingston.Having never before confronted such blatant racism, we weren't afraid, we were furious. We hadn't done anything to anybody. We were from Alaskan-Russian stock and had never owned a person ever, as far as we knew. We certainly weren't invested in this whole 'Black slavery, White guilt' issue. Those who gave us attitude about 'White privilege' didn't care for our counter, that saying all White people were alike was equally racist.As Mom had warned us, Black people couldn't be racist; just ask them. Mind you, many of the town's Black residents were friendly and helpful. They just weren't friendly enough to defend us from the 'haters'. At the end of the first day, Mikhail nearly got in a fight with five members of the Black post-high school crowd who were fucking with, and sitting on, our bikes.Where we came from, that was rude in the extreme. When he appeared to be alone, they were boisterous enough. When Alexander and I stepped out of the pool hall (we'd been made unwelcome there), they backed off from their threatening rhetoric. They still wouldn't leave, or get off our bikes. The three versus five odds didn't deter us.It was the lack of faith in the local justice system that encouraged Alexander and me to hold Mikhail back. We had an answer to their intransience, crowding. It takes a great deal of cool to have three guys, all over six feet tall and 220 lbs. lean in on you while you are sitting down. When the current bastard was dealt with, we moved to the next. Before the group could figure a way to thwart us, we had retrieved our bikes and were headed home.The next day, we took Mom's 2012 Shelby V8 Mustang out for a drive. We found the three spots in town the 'White folk' hung out in. We had the Country Western Redneck posse' section of town, pseudo-riche Southerner clique downtown region, and the movie theater (theoretically neutral turf). The saner White middle class had departed for safer pastures, they had established their own municipality a few miles outside of town).The rednecks welcomed our physicality. We were attempting to fit in until they began talking about all those damn 'niggahs'. Alexander broke down after a bit and asked what a 'niggah' was. It was a 'coon'. Since that was of no help, we asked what a 'coon' was.The regulars found our naiveté amusing. It took us three minutes of running a verbal obstacle course to piece together that 'niggahs' was their inbred pronunciation of 'niggers' (a term we knew from TV and movies) which was idiot slang for a Black person. We were 'crackahs', idiot slang for crackers aka White people. Hispanics were 'beeners'; yeah, right.We also learned that the favorite activities for teenage rednecks was knocking over mailboxes as they sped down the road, beating up White girls who sucked Black cock and beating up 'niggahs' who touched White girls. My analysis was that these yahoos were long on talk and short on action.I wasn't a fashion icon yet I could tell these boys could use a bath and some fresh clothes. The girls who hung around this crowd looked about as loyal as salmon during spawning season. At 18, we were hardly experienced, but we weren't desperate virgins either. Girls we had just been introduced to, flirting with us and suggesting later sexual rendezvouses were a definite turn-off because God knows who else they'd been doing it with.That led us to the riche clique. Among the guys; half were snobbish closet gays who weren't our thing. The other half were rich straight guys pretending to be rednecks. Rich White girls pretended to be friends with the rich Black girls. They were used to being pampered by their rich White boyfriends while eyeing every Black stud that crossed their path.Until they realized Samsonov = Fonteneau, they were snide. After that, they tried to convince us we were all (distantly) related. Bloodlines and riches were not the basis for what we called friends so we politely postponed any celebrations.The Cineplex was a hunting ground for all ages. White women I was pretty sure were married to someone else engaged in sexual liaisons with Blacks; be they teens, business types, or lay-abouts. We had no idea if these were random hook-ups, or affairs and we didn't really care.Having wasted nine hours of our lives we definitely wanted back, we ended up rendezvousing with Mom and Dad at his boss's, the Sheriff's, place. Whatever else he was, Robert ‘Big Bob' Carson wasn't an underpaid county employee. His home was nice, expansive, relatively new and sitting on four wonderful acres of land, half woodland/half professionally maintained lawn and gardens. He had an expansive deck with a built-in grill, hot tub and pool out back.My brothers and I had been under the impression this would be an office outing. It ended up being our two families; the five of us, Big Bob and his daughter, Brandy Crystal Carson. There was no Mamma Carson in sight and a lack of family pictures was noticed by us and our Mom. Dad and Bob (it was tough to call him Big Bob when Dad was bigger than he was) were deep in conversation at the outdoor grill when I arrived.‘Vlad, come out here,' my Dad called to me in his easy going manner.‘Brandy!' Bob shouted. I promptly showed up. Dad wasn't a passionate disciplinarian. I didn't hustle out of fear. I hurried out because I wanted my Dad to look good in front of the Sheriff. ‘Hello Vlad,' Big Bob greeted me. ‘You are a strapping lad, big like your Daddy.'That was a bit odd. I had only heard one person call my Father 'Daddy'. That was my Mom when she was feeling frisky. Mom walked around the house naked when the mood struck her (even when we had guests over) and had few compunctions about hopping into Dad's lap when she wanted attention. That was a common enough occurrence that 'us' boys had learned to sneak out of the room quietly before we were ten.Only in the last two years had we figured out part of Mom's bizarre sexual behavior was caused by Dad being utterly clueless where women were concerned. He could spot a shoplifter at a glance, or an expired car registration at fifty feet on a moonless night. I had seen a car saleswoman hit on Dad when he was getting his newest pick-up. She did everything but flash her tits and do a striptease; it all went right over Dad's head.‘Brandy! Get your ass down here!' Bob bellowed. She must have been most of the way to us because she materialized five seconds later.‘Yes Daddy,' Brandy sounded bored. I was too busy gawking to see Big Bob's reaction to his daughter's insolence.Brandy was beyond gorgeous (according to my personal standards). She had pale-blonde hair in a ponytail that clearly went past her shoulder blades. Her caramel skin was the beneficiary of countless sessions with a tanning booth. Her eyes were the darkest blue I'd ever seen. Breasts, Jesus, they were large and firm. I could tell that because she had on a pink crop-top and no bra. I could almost see the bottoms of each orb.Her stomach was muscled with a thin layer of fatty tissue to give her real womanly curves and she had curves to spare. Her waist was narrow and her hips were wide, complimenting her breast size. She had on super-short, cut-off, 'faded-almost-to-White' denim jeans that accentuated her dark skin. Her ass was to die for. A bit big but well-muscled, each a perfect hemisphere.Her thighs and calves were the product of consistent exercise. Hot, hot, hot. She had on white tennis socks (no shoes) that finished off her delectable image.‘Brandy, this is Vladimir, Senior Deputy Samsonov's son. He's going to be your boyfriend this year,' Bob announced. I had a feeling this wasn't open for debate, in his mind.‘What!' Brandy squawked.‘What?' I looked to my Dad.‘What the fuck?' Brandy turned and glared at me. I would have enjoyed her breasts bouncing more if I hadn't been eyeballing my patriarch.‘Dad?' I kept my voice calm. Brandy was fantastic looking, but I didn't want anyone dictating my social life, period. I was eighteen. Besides, Brandy was turning out to have a far less appealing personality, Pretty Princess syndrome.‘Brandy, Vladimir's a nice boy. His father is 'good people',' Bob laid out his case.How did he know I was a good boy? He was taking a lot on faith.‘I don't want to date this loser,' Brandy shouted. 'Loser'? She didn't knew me either.‘If you don't keep Vlad as your boyfriend, then no cheerleading and no dance team,' Bob glared at his daughter. This clash of wills made no sense to me.‘No way!' Brandy glanced back at her Dad, protested loudly and stomped her foot on the wooden deck.‘Well then, you need to be home at 3:20 pm every school day,' Bob threatened. ‘And I'll make sure to check up on you.' Before I could wonder about Big Bob's abuse of power, I noted the state of the art security system, cyber-nanny.Brandy turned on me in a furor. Her face was screwed up with anger, her fists were clenched and I was working double-time to not ogle the cleave she enhanced by leaning forward. Man, she hated me for reasons I couldn't fathom. I disgusted her which I didn't get either. Plenty of non-relative women had called me good-looking and handsome.I had a healthy, well-defined physique, nice thick, blonde hair and the common sense to keep my body and clothes clean and casual. My only downside I'd ever been told about was my size, I was tall for my age and 'cut'. Brandy was 5' 4'. I was 6' 2'. I had stormy grey eyes, light blonde hair the color of wheat and skin spared the ravages of acne.‘Brandy, I am as uncomfortable and surprised about this as you are,' I tried to placate her. ‘Do you want to talk about it?' She forced herself to appear calm.‘Fine Victor,' she grumbled. Worse than getting my name wrong was the look of viciousness that glimmered in her eyes. ‘We'll make Daddy happy and be a cookie-cutter couple.'‘Dad?' I tried to exit this fiasco with some decorum.‘You'll do fine son,' he responded. That wasn't helpful.‘I'll see you Monday morning, Victor,' Brandy snidely mocked me before leaving. I turned to follow her thunderous retreat.Running after her would have felt pathetic so my sedate pursuit meant she put some distance between us. She ran right into Mom, who grabbed her arm.‘I'm warning you right now,' Mom hissed. ‘Don't have sex with any of my sons.'‘That won't be a problem,' Brandy snorted. I was filth in her mind
He was a disciple of Saints Cyril and Methodius (May 11), and traveled with them on their missionary journey to the Slavs. With them and their other companions, he endured many trials, including several imprisonments at the hands of the Latin Franks, who were seeking to seize control of the region of Moravia in order to impose the Latin language and to spread the heresy of the filioque. For a time their troubles were relieved by Pope Hadrian II, who supported the mission and made St Methodius Archbishop of Pannonia, with jurisdiction over the Eastern European Slav lands. But when St Methodius died, St Nahum and his companions were imprisoned once more, then sent into exile, where they finally found shelter in the Orthodox Kingdom of Bulgaria. There they were able to continue their work of evangelization in the Slavonic language. Saint Nahum founded the Monastery that bears his name on the shore of Lake Ochrid. After his repose his relics were brought there for burial, and are venerated there today.
He was a disciple of Saints Cyril and Methodius (May 11), and traveled with them on their missionary journey to the Slavs. With them and their other companions, he endured many trials, including several imprisonments at the hands of the Latin Franks, who were seeking to seize control of the region of Moravia in order to impose the Latin language and to spread the heresy of the filioque. For a time their troubles were relieved by Pope Hadrian II, who supported the mission and made St Methodius Archbishop of Pannonia, with jurisdiction over the Eastern European Slav lands. But when St Methodius died, St Nahum and his companions were imprisoned once more, then sent into exile, where they finally found shelter in the Orthodox Kingdom of Bulgaria. There they were able to continue their work of evangelization in the Slavonic language. Saint Nahum founded the Monastery that bears his name on the shore of Lake Ochrid. After his repose his relics were brought there for burial, and are venerated there today.
Was WWIII effectively started with the recent permission given to Ukraine to use long-range missiles to strike deep into Russian territory? Will Russia wait to see the first missile flying or preemptively strike the west? Do we have a global government in our near future? Complete with a war on Christianity (in all forms)? Will we see an inauguration in January? What have the leaders of NATO, the US, the G-20, and Russia all done within the past 48 hours? Is Ukraine to be the next "Greater Israel"? I encourage all to fast on a schedule in order to spiritually prepare for our future - the final showdown between good and evil before the truly Triumphal Entry of our Redeemer. SYN OF SATAN What the people of Rev. 3:9 want (hence, the Ukraine war?): https://x.com/HenryMakow/status/1772299206977331334?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Eembeddedtimeline%7Ctwterm%5Escreen-name%3AHenryMakow%7Ctwcon%5Es1 Trump inherits a really bad economy: https://www.zerohedge.com/political/they-just-got-handed-fraudulent-books-ed-dowd-warns-trump-inheriting-turd-economy Yup, political Zionism appears to be America's future: https://www.brighteon.com/cbcd95a6-f682-4f25-95e5-2633a5399c41 Trump's cabinet: https://open.substack.com/pub/gregreese/p/the-zionist-occupied-government-of?r=12g59e&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web Trump's cabinet #2: https://open.substack.com/pub/2ndsmartestguyintheworld/p/trump-team-overview?r=12g59e&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=email President has power to control FDA – will he?: https://open.substack.com/pub/karenkingston/p/fda-commissioner-drops-bombshell?r=12g59e&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=email Re-post: is Ukraine war all about clearing out Slavs to re-install Khazars?: https://x.com/HenryMakow/status/1772299206977331334?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Eembeddedtimeline%7Ctwterm%5Escreen-name%3AHenryMakow%7Ctwcon%5Es1 Clearing out Ukraine of Ukrainians?: https://halturnerradioshow.com/index.php/news-selections/world-news/from-august-6-to-november-11-222-395-ukraine-troops-killed-or-wounded Novus Ordo Seclorum?: https://www.lifesitenews.com/news/elon-musk-posts-novus-ordo-seclorum-alongside-image-of-him-with-trump/ Times of Israel 2014 article re those calling themselves Ashkenazi Jews returning to Ukraine (Notice of “The blog post is a work of satire” was added only when Russia invaded Ukraine in 2022 [as I recall]) : https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/leaked-report-israel-acknowledges-jews-in-fact-khazars-secret-plan-for-reverse-migration-to-ukraine/ Brief history of Khazarians (for clarification, Talmud is called Torah): https://geopolitics.co/2017/09/08/khazarians-then-khazarians-now/ History of Khazarians (I could only open this in Yandex.com): https://www.veteranstodayarchives.com/2015/03/08/the-hidden-history-of-the-incredibly-evil-khazarian-mafia/ Trump's cabinet thus far: https://t.me/gregreesevideoreports/539 Does bill by incoming Homeland Sec. Head, Kristi Noem, violate 1srt amendment?: https://needtoknow.news/2024/03/south-dakota-gov-kristi-noem-signs-hate-crime-bill-to-stop-antiemitism-violating-free-speech/ VAXX Dr. Naomi Wolf's team of 2500, “Centerpiece of Cvaxx is reproductive centers of body.”; https://t.me/NaomiWolfDr/8504 Woke physician withholds results of $10 million research grant when study of puberty blockers to children-study fails to yield ANY POSITIVE results (most likely a host of negative results): https://t.me/NaomiWolfDr/8500 Horrifying design of C19 vaxx to completely deregulate one's immune system (not designed by human hand?): https://open.substack.com/pub/2ndsmartestguyintheworld/p/update-2-turbo-vaids-the-end-decentralized?r=12g59e&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=email C19 vaxx leads to increased dementia, 20% increase in huge Japanese study of 600,000 people, mild cognitive impairment increased 2.4 times: https://www.aussie17.com/p/japanese-neuroscientist-dr-hiroto C19 prion disease might be contagious: https://www.
Oksana Kukurudza is currently immersed in a deeply personal writing project titled Sunflowers Bend But Rarely Break, which explores her parents' harrowing experiences as forced labourers in Nazi Germany during World War II. Oksana's motivation for writing stems not only from her parents' stories but also from the striking parallels she observes between their experiences and the ongoing conflict in Ukraine.Born and raised in Western Ukraine, which was part of Poland before the war, Oksana's mother, just 17 years old in 1941, and her father, 20 at the time, fell victim to Nazi propaganda and coercion that led many Slavs to Germany for forced labor. This choice, however, resulted in her enduring harsh treatment and effectively being imprisoned as a labourer.In her research for the book, Oksana has uncovered deeper layers of her parents' experiences, revealing aspects of their lives that were previously unknown to her. This has led Oksana to approach her writing with a blend of historical accuracy and creative narrative, aiming to immerse readers in the emotional landscape of her parents' lives during the war.The title of the book, Sunflowers Bend But Rarely Break, symbolizes resilience in the face of adversity – a theme that resonates deeply with Oksana as she draws connections to the current situation in Ukraine. The ongoing war has evoked memories of her parents' struggles, prompting her to advocate for awareness and support for Ukraine. Oksana believes that history is repeating itself, and feels a strong responsibility to illuminate these parallels for a new generation. By sharing her parents' story Oksana hopes that she can contribute to a greater understanding of the human experiences behind historical events and inspire action to support Ukraine in its current plight.CreativityFound.co.ukInstagram: @creativityfoundpodcastThreads: @creativityfoundpodcastFacebook: @creativityfoundpodcast and Creativity Found groupYouTube @creativityfoundpodcastResearched, edited and produced by Claire Waite BrownMusic: Day Trips by Ketsa Undercover / Ketsa Creative Commons License Free Music Archive - Ketsa - Day TripsArtworks: Emily Portnoi emilyportnoWant to join an award-winning community for creative small businesses? Visit creativityfound.co.uk/joinus to find out how. Buy arts and crafts techniques books, plus books by some of my podcast guests, from the Creativity Found bookshop Click here to book a 1-to-1 online chat with me to understand more about the Creativity Found Collective, the promotional and networking membership for creative small businesses.Support the showPodcast recorded with Riverside and hosted by BuzzsproutSubscribe to the Creativity Found mailing list hereJoin the Creativity Found Collective here
Cutting Through the Matrix with Alan Watt Podcast (.xml Format)
--{ "Policy...and Don't Panic"}-- Aspen Security Forum - New York hosts UN Summit of the Future and Climate Week - Who is Assaf Orion? - Global Warming, The Great Reset, Perpetual War - Centralized Bank Lending to Government - Wealth; Phoenicians, Slavs, Slaves; Coins - Education and the Leisure Class, Very Basic Education for Factory Workers - Mystery Schools, Egypt, India, Levant, Persia - Professional Hit Squads - David Kelly, Biological Weapons; Silent Weapons for Quiet Wars - Tangible Evil - Austerity; Basic Survival - Please Remember to DONATE and ORDER from www.cuttingthroughthematrix.com and All Links Mentioned in the Talks are Found There - TV Series, Dad's Army; Emergency Powers - Fear Immobilizes You; "Don't Panic" as Jonesy would say in Dad's Army - Gates, WHO, Immunity Passports - James Bond, Private, Shadowy Organizations; Sherlock Holmes, Moriarty and His Network of Spies.
"I have come as a light into the world, that whoever believes in Me should not abide in darkness." Jn 12:46 NKJVJohn Ortberg writes: "In 1780 a Jesus-follower in Great Britain named Robert Raikes could not stand the cycle of poverty and ignorance that was destroying little children, a whole generation. He said, 'The world marches forward on the feet of little children.So he took children who had to work six days a week in squalor. Sunday was their free day.He said, 'I'm going to start a school for free to teach them to read and write and learn about God! He did, and he called it Sunday school.Within fifty years, there were 1.5 million children being taught by 160,000 volunteer teachers who had a vision for the education of a generation. Sunday school was not a privatized, optional program for church kids.It was one of the great educational volunteer triumphs of the world. The alphabet of the Slavic peoples is called Cyrillic. It was named for Saint Cyril, who was a missionary to the Slavs and discovered they had no written alphabet. Thus he created one for them so they would be able to read about Jesus in their own language...A Methodist missionary,Frank Laubach, cited an extraordinary encounter with God about a century ago that put him on a mission to lift the world out of ignorance. He began a worldwide literacy movement. The phrase 'Each one teach one' flows out of the extraordinary life of this man.He travelled to more than a hundred countries and led to the development of primers in 313 languages. He became known as 'the apostle to the illiterates.'"Support the showChanging Lives | Building Strong Family | Impacting Our Community For Jesus Christ!
For this episode of the Black Madonna Speaks, we will be visiting Kievan Rus' history, and the beginnings of Christianity in the region. The Virgin of Vladimir is a beautiful example of this genre of art and her narrative reflects the complicated and vast history of the Slavs. Blessings on your Journey! To make a one time donation of any amount to support the podcast, please donate to https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/BlackMadonnaHeart Become a Patron for the channel at https://www.patreon.com/TheBlackMadonnaSpeaks To purchase Black Madonna Speaks extra content, please visit https://www.patreon.com/theblackmadonnaspeaks/shop #divinefeminine #sacredfeminine #virginmary #ourlady #blackmadonna #anthroposophy #Kiev #VirginofVladimir #orthodoxchristian #icons #palladium --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/stephanie-georgieff/support
The two saints were brothers, born in Thessalonica. St Methodius, the elder brother, served as a soldier for ten years before becoming a monk. Cyril was librarian at the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople; then he too became a monk. Their first missionary work was not among the Slavs: When the king of the Khazars (a Mongol people who then inhabited much of what is now Russia) petitioned the Emperor Michael to sent teachers to instruct his people, the Emperor chose Cyril and Methodius as his emissaries. They converted the Khazar king to the Christian faith, along with many of his nobles and commoners. When King Rostislav of Moravia likewise sought teachers of the Christian faith, Cyril and Methodius were again sent forth. This time they devised an alphabet for the Slavic language and used it to translate many of the Greek service books into the language of the people. (In theory, the Orthodox people have always been privileged to hear the Church's services in their own tongue, though often attachment to dead languages has prevented this ideal from becoming reality.) Both brothers were repeatedly attacked by Germanic priests of the region, who opposed the use of the common tongue in the liturgy. At different times, both brothers were forced to appeal for exoneration and protection to the Pope of Rome, who supported them warmly each time. After the two Saints reposed, attacks on their work continued, and their disciples were eventually driven from Moravia. The disciples, fleeing southward, found a warmer welcome among the southern Slavic peoples, and their work bore much fruit in Bulgaria (including modern-day Serbia) and other countries. And, of course, the alphabet that they devised, called Cyrillic after St Cyril, remains the standard alphabet of both the Slavonic service books of the Church and the Slavic languages of today.
The two saints were brothers, born in Thessalonica. St Methodius, the elder brother, served as a soldier for ten years before becoming a monk. Cyril was librarian at the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople; then he too became a monk. Their first missionary work was not among the Slavs: When the king of the Khazars (a Mongol people who then inhabited much of what is now Russia) petitioned the Emperor Michael to sent teachers to instruct his people, the Emperor chose Cyril and Methodius as his emissaries. They converted the Khazar king to the Christian faith, along with many of his nobles and commoners. When King Rostislav of Moravia likewise sought teachers of the Christian faith, Cyril and Methodius were again sent forth. This time they devised an alphabet for the Slavic language and used it to translate many of the Greek service books into the language of the people. (In theory, the Orthodox people have always been privileged to hear the Church's services in their own tongue, though often attachment to dead languages has prevented this ideal from becoming reality.) Both brothers were repeatedly attacked by Germanic priests of the region, who opposed the use of the common tongue in the liturgy. At different times, both brothers were forced to appeal for exoneration and protection to the Pope of Rome, who supported them warmly each time. After the two Saints reposed, attacks on their work continued, and their disciples were eventually driven from Moravia. The disciples, fleeing southward, found a warmer welcome among the southern Slavic peoples, and their work bore much fruit in Bulgaria (including modern-day Serbia) and other countries. And, of course, the alphabet that they devised, called Cyrillic after St Cyril, remains the standard alphabet of both the Slavonic service books of the Church and the Slavic languages of today.
The two saints were brothers, born in Thessalonica. St Methodius, the elder brother, served as a soldier for ten years before becoming a monk. Cyril was librarian at the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople; then he too became a monk. Their first missionary work was not among the Slavs: When the king of the Khazars (a Mongol people who then inhabited much of what is now Russia) petitioned the Emperor Michael to sent teachers to instruct his people, the Emperor chose Cyril and Methodius as his emissaries. They converted the Khazar king to the Christian faith, along with many of his nobles and commoners. When King Rostislav of Moravia likewise sought teachers of the Christian faith, Cyril and Methodius were again sent forth. This time they devised an alphabet for the Slavic language and used it to translate many of the Greek service books into the language of the people. (In theory, the Orthodox people have always been privileged to hear the Church's services in their own tongue, though often attachment to dead languages has prevented this ideal from becoming reality.) Both brothers were repeatedly attacked by Germanic priests of the region, who opposed the use of the common tongue in the liturgy. At different times, both brothers were forced to appeal for exoneration and protection to the Pope of Rome, who supported them warmly each time. After the two Saints reposed, attacks on their work continued, and their disciples were eventually driven from Moravia. The disciples, fleeing southward, found a warmer welcome among the southern Slavic peoples, and their work bore much fruit in Bulgaria (including modern-day Serbia) and other countries. And, of course, the alphabet that they devised, called Cyrillic after St Cyril, remains the standard alphabet of both the Slavonic service books of the Church and the Slavic languages of today.
Subconscious Realms Episode 273 - Tesla & Twain & Perun "Supreme God Of The Sky/Lightning/Thunder/War/Justice & Physical Realm" Slavic Pantheon - D.J. Elliott - Hermes Risen Podcast. Ladies & Gentlemen, on this Episode of Subconscious Realms we welcome back one of our Huge Fan favourites & fellow British Native, the Phenomenal Esteemed British Author & Elite Level Researcher, D.J. Elliott of Hermes Risen Podcast & D.J. Elliott YouTube Channel to discuss; Nikola Tesla & Perun "Supreme God Of The Sky/Lightning/Thunder/War/Justice & Physical Realm" from The Slavic Pantheon, along with one of Debbie's Book's; "Tesla & Twain" Mind-Blowing "Realm-Fest" of an Episode....this one get's Weird & Wild...
Morning Prayer for Wednesday, February 14, 2024 (Ash Wednesday; Cyril and Methodius, Apostles to the Slavs, 869, 885). Psalm and Scripture readings (60-day Psalter): Psalm 38 Isaiah 58:1-12 Luke 18:9-14 Click here to access the text for the Daily Office at DailyOffice2019.com. --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/dailyofficepodcast/support
Evening Prayer for Wednesday, February 14, 2024 (Ash Wednesday; Cyril and Methodius, Apostles to the Slavs, 869, 885). Psalm and Scripture readings (60-day Psalter): Psalms 6, 32 Jonah 3 1 Corinthians 9:24-27 Click here to access the text for the Daily Office at DailyOffice2019.com. --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/dailyofficepodcast/support
Full Text of ReadingsAsh Wednesday Lectionary: 219The Saint of the day is Saints Cyril and MethodiusSaints Cyril and Methodius' Stories Because their father was an officer in a part of Greece inhabited by many Slavs, these two Greek brothers ultimately became missionaries, teachers, and patrons of the Slavic peoples. After a brilliant course of studies, Cyril (called Constantine until he became a monk shortly before his death) refused the governorship of a district such as his brother had accepted among the Slavic-speaking population. Cyril withdrew to a monastery where his brother Methodius had become a monk after some years in a governmental post. A decisive change in their lives occurred when the Duke of Moravia asked the Eastern Emperor Michael for political independence from German rule and ecclesiastical autonomy (having their own clergy and liturgy). Cyril and Methodius undertook the missionary task. Cyril's first work was to invent an alphabet, still used in some Eastern liturgies. His followers probably formed the Cyrillic alphabet. Together they translated the Gospels, the psalter, Paul's letters and the liturgical books into Slavonic, and composed a Slavonic liturgy, highly irregular then. That and their free use of the vernacular in preaching led to opposition from the German clergy. The bishop refused to consecrate Slavic bishops and priests, and Cyril was forced to appeal to Rome. On the visit to Rome, he and Methodius had the joy of seeing their new liturgy approved by Pope Adrian II. Cyril, long an invalid, died in Rome 50 days after taking the monastic habit. Methodius continued mission work for 16 more years. He was papal legate for all the Slavic peoples, consecrated a bishop and then given an ancient see (now in the Czech Republic). When much of their former territory was removed from their jurisdiction, the Bavarian bishops retaliated with a violent storm of accusation against Methodius. As a result, Emperor Louis the German exiled Methodius for three years. Pope John VIII secured his release. Because the Frankish clergy, still smarting, continued their accusations, Methodius had to go to Rome to defend himself against charges of heresy and uphold his use of the Slavonic liturgy. He was again vindicated. Legend has it that in a feverish period of activity, Methodius translated the whole Bible into Slavonic in eight months. He died on Tuesday of Holy Week, surrounded by his disciples, in his cathedral church. Opposition continued after his death, and the work of the brothers in Moravia was brought to an end and their disciples scattered. But the expulsions had the beneficial effect of spreading the spiritual, liturgical, and cultural work of the brothers to Bulgaria, Bohemia and southern Poland. Patrons of Moravia, and specially venerated by Catholic Czechs, Slovaks, Croatians, Orthodox Serbians and Bulgarians, Cyril and Methodius are eminently fitted to guard the long-desired unity of East and West. In 1980, Pope John Paul II named them additional co-patrons of Europe. Reflection Holiness means reacting to human life with God's love: human life as it is, crisscrossed with the political and the cultural, the beautiful and the ugly, the selfish and the saintly. For Cyril and Methodius much of their daily cross had to do with the language of the liturgy. They are not saints because they got the liturgy into Slavonic, but because they did so with the courage and humility of Christ. Saints Cyril and Methodius are the Patron Saints of: Slavic PeoplesEcumenism Saint of the Day, Copyright Franciscan Media
Theodora was the wife of Emperor Theophilus the Iconoclast, but secretly revered the icons, and protected others who did, until the emperor's death. Upon his death, she quickly restored veneration of icons to churches throughout the empire, the event celebrated on the upcoming Sunday of Orthodoxy, the first Sunday of the Great Fast. She ruled wisely as regent for the young emperor Michael for fifteen years: she is said to have initiated the mission of Sts Cyril and Methodios to the Slavs. Before Michael III reached his majority, he was prevailed upon by Bardas, Theodora's brother, to depose her and send her to a monastery, where she finished her life in peace and holiness. When Constantinople fell, her incorrupt relics were taken to Corfu along with those of St Spyridon. They are still venerated there. There is a much-debated story that, when Theophilus was dying, the Empress, moved by compassion for him, brought an icon of the Mother of God out of hiding and laid it on his face; and that Theophilus, coming to himself, kissed the holy icon and confessed the true Faith before giving up his soul. Other accounts say that the Emperor died in heresy. It seems possible that the holy Empress circulated the story to ensure that her departed husband would be remembered in the Church's prayers.
Theodora was the wife of Emperor Theophilus the Iconoclast, but secretly revered the icons, and protected others who did, until the emperor's death. Upon his death, she quickly restored veneration of icons to churches throughout the empire, the event celebrated on the upcoming Sunday of Orthodoxy, the first Sunday of the Great Fast. She ruled wisely as regent for the young emperor Michael for fifteen years: she is said to have initiated the mission of Sts Cyril and Methodios to the Slavs. Before Michael III reached his majority, he was prevailed upon by Bardas, Theodora's brother, to depose her and send her to a monastery, where she finished her life in peace and holiness. When Constantinople fell, her incorrupt relics were taken to Corfu along with those of St Spyridon. They are still venerated there. There is a much-debated story that, when Theophilus was dying, the Empress, moved by compassion for him, brought an icon of the Mother of God out of hiding and laid it on his face; and that Theophilus, coming to himself, kissed the holy icon and confessed the true Faith before giving up his soul. Other accounts say that the Emperor died in heresy. It seems possible that the holy Empress circulated the story to ensure that her departed husband would be remembered in the Church's prayers.
Theodora was the wife of Emperor Theophilus the Iconoclast, but secretly revered the icons, and protected others who did, until the emperor's death. Upon his death, she quickly restored veneration of icons to churches throughout the empire, the event celebrated on the upcoming Sunday of Orthodoxy, the first Sunday of the Great Fast. She ruled wisely as regent for the young emperor Michael for fifteen years: she is said to have initiated the mission of Sts Cyril and Methodios to the Slavs. Before Michael III reached his majority, he was prevailed upon by Bardas, Theodora's brother, to depose her and send her to a monastery, where she finished her life in peace and holiness. When Constantinople fell, her incorrupt relics were taken to Corfu along with those of St Spyridon. They are still venerated there. There is a much-debated story that, when Theophilus was dying, the Empress, moved by compassion for him, brought an icon of the Mother of God out of hiding and laid it on his face; and that Theophilus, coming to himself, kissed the holy icon and confessed the true Faith before giving up his soul. Other accounts say that the Emperor died in heresy. It seems possible that the holy Empress circulated the story to ensure that her departed husband would be remembered in the Church's prayers.
Full Text of ReadingsSaturday of the Fourth Week in Ordinary Time Lectionary: 328The Saint of the day is Saint BlaiseSaint Blaise's Story We know more about the devotion to Saint Blaise by Christians around the world than we know about the saint himself. His feast is observed as a holy day in some Eastern Churches. In 1222, the Council of Oxford prohibited servile labor in England on Blaise's feast day. The Germans and Slavs hold him in special honor, and for decades many United States Catholics have sought the annual Saint Blaise blessing for their throats. We know that Bishop Blaise was martyred in his episcopal city of Sebastea, Armenia, in 316. The legendary Acts of St. Blaise were written 400 years later. According to them Blaise was a good bishop, working hard to encourage the spiritual and physical health of his people. Although the Edict of Toleration (311), granting freedom of worship in the Roman Empire, was already five years old, persecution still raged in Armenia. Blaise was apparently forced to flee to the back country. There he lived as a hermit in solitude and prayer, but he made friends with the wild animals. One day a group of hunters seeking wild animals for the amphitheater stumbled upon Blaise's cave. They were first surprised and then frightened. The bishop was kneeling in prayer surrounded by patiently waiting wolves, lions and bears. The legend has it that as the hunters hauled Blaise off to prison, a mother came with her young son who had a fish bone lodged in his throat. At Blaise's command the child was able to cough up the bone. Agricolaus, governor of Cappadocia, tried to persuade Blaise to sacrifice to pagan idols. The first time Blaise refused, he was beaten. The next time he was suspended from a tree and his flesh torn with iron combs or rakes. Finally, he was beheaded. Reflection Four centuries give ample opportunity for fiction to creep in with fact. Who can be sure how accurate Blaise's biographer was? But biographical details are not essential. Blaise is seen as one more example of the power those have who give themselves entirely to Jesus. As Jesus told his apostles at the Last Supper, “If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask for whatever you want and it will be done for you” (John 15:7). With faith we can follow the lead of the Church in asking for Blaise's protection. Saint Blaise is the Patron Saint of: Relief from Throat AilmentsEnglish Wool Combers Saint of the Day, Copyright Franciscan Media
He was a disciple of Saints Cyril and Methodius (May 11), and traveled with them on their missionary journey to the Slavs. With them and their other companions, he endured many trials, including several imprisonments at the hands of the Latin Franks, who were seeking to seize control of the region of Moravia in order to impose the Latin language and to spread the heresy of the filioque. For a time their troubles were relieved by Pope Hadrian II, who supported the mission and made St Methodius Archbishop of Pannonia, with jurisdiction over the Eastern European Slav lands. But when St Methodius died, St Nahum and his companions were imprisoned once more, then sent into exile, where they finally found shelter in the Orthodox Kingdom of Bulgaria. There they were able to continue their work of evangelization in the Slavonic language. Saint Nahum founded the Monastery that bears his name on the shore of Lake Ochrid. After his repose his relics were brought there for burial, and are venerated there today.
He was a disciple of Saints Cyril and Methodius (May 11), and traveled with them on their missionary journey to the Slavs. With them and their other companions, he endured many trials, including several imprisonments at the hands of the Latin Franks, who were seeking to seize control of the region of Moravia in order to impose the Latin language and to spread the heresy of the filioque. For a time their troubles were relieved by Pope Hadrian II, who supported the mission and made St Methodius Archbishop of Pannonia, with jurisdiction over the Eastern European Slav lands. But when St Methodius died, St Nahum and his companions were imprisoned once more, then sent into exile, where they finally found shelter in the Orthodox Kingdom of Bulgaria. There they were able to continue their work of evangelization in the Slavonic language. Saint Nahum founded the Monastery that bears his name on the shore of Lake Ochrid. After his repose his relics were brought there for burial, and are venerated there today.
He was a disciple of Saints Cyril and Methodius (May 11), and traveled with them on their missionary journey to the Slavs. With them and their other companions, he endured many trials, including several imprisonments at the hands of the Latin Franks, who were seeking to seize control of the region of Moravia in order to impose the Latin language and to spread the heresy of the filioque. For a time their troubles were relieved by Pope Hadrian II, who supported the mission and made St Methodius Archbishop of Pannonia, with jurisdiction over the Eastern European Slav lands. But when St Methodius died, St Nahum and his companions were imprisoned once more, then sent into exile, where they finally found shelter in the Orthodox Kingdom of Bulgaria. There they were able to continue their work of evangelization in the Slavonic language. Saint Nahum founded the Monastery that bears his name on the shore of Lake Ochrid. After his repose his relics were brought there for burial, and are venerated there today.
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