Week 13: Famous Last Words--Georg Friedrich Wilhelm Hegel

"Only you have ever understood me. . . And you got it wrong."

Maybe it's the weather, or the approaching end of the semester, or the continuing drama, but once again I have decided to wax philosophical.  Feel free to tune out here, all you who read my blog solely for the unending sarcasm and "humor"--though, if such readers do exist, may I say woah.  And thanks for actually paying me any kind of attention; I'm honored that you choose me to take away time from the plethora of cat jump fails and memes and Facebook stalking you usually occupy your time with.  Truly.  Honored.  But back to my semi-philosophical musings. . .

I've been reflecting once again on how for so long, I have tried to match myself with everyone else's perceptions, to fit myself into their framework of expectations.  I have let myself be defined by the ideas of everyone around me, caving to pressures as I strive to reach a personality and a future that are not wholly my own.  And I hate that.  I hate that I have let so much of my life be governed by others, how even when people don't directly give me orders, I let them dictate what books I read, what jokes I laugh at, what classes I take, what grades I get, what hobbies I undertake, what conversations I have, what schools I look into, what jobs I research.  But it is so freaking hard to break from that mold, to strike out on a path that others may not approve of, something different and unexpected.

What if I disappoint my friends and family?  And yet, if I am being me and doing what I want, should I even be able to disappoint them?  I mean, is anyone really your friend if they don't approve of you for being you?  And isn't the point of family having a group of people who love you and stand behind you no matter what you do?

And it's not like I'm about to change everything about myself and my majors.  I love biology and letters, and I still plan on going into animal research.  But I also have so many questions, and I am not as sure of where I want to go as I once was.  I've come to the realization that I never really talk about myself, that I am possibly too content to just listen to what other people say and parrot back what is expected.  How many times have I cracked a joke to get out of saying some deep truth?  How many times have I let people speak their own opinions without interruption, rather than state a contrasting view and risking censure?

Thinking of my friends and family, I can count on one hand the number of people who really know me, the number of people I am willing and able to tell anything to, who I am unafraid to be shamelessly myself with.  How many people know all of my secrets, know all of the dreams and plans I am afraid to tell the world?  How many people know my doubts, my hesitations?  How many people do I tell about my family, about drama I've experienced in the past and am experiencing in the present?  How many people do I let see me?  It's a shamefully small number, and I have to wonder, why is that?

Why are we so afraid to let people in?  Why can't I just stand up and shout off the rooftops the few truths about myself that I do know?  Why not?  Is it because of how I was raised?  Is it because of family, because of religion, because of society?  Or is it just. . . me.  Am I the only thing holding myself back?

Perhaps.  Heck, probably.  But it is so hard to go from telling no one anything to telling everyone everything.  And there are some lies that I have spent so long convincing myself to be the truth, that I don't know how to expose them to others.  And while "one step at a time" and "one foot in front of the other" are great sayings in theory, those steps are immeasurably difficult to take.

Image Information.  Girl of rain.  Photograph taken 2007, by nurtanrioven.  deviantART.

Photograph of a girl thinking alone during a sunset.  Posted by Unsplash, 2014.  Pixabay.

Tech Tip: Google Docs Dictionary

So while I personally don't really have an issue with this pair of heterographs, I have found that it is a major pet peeve of mine when people mix this word pair up (or when people mix up heterographs in general.  Sometimes I am seconds away from editing all the books, websites, newspapers, signs, etc that I find errors in.  And no, I am not kidding--I just have issues, haha.)

Anyway, the heterographs I decided to share with you are taught and taut.  Mainly because I was recently reading a book that had this error twice. (The book shall remain unnamed.  I am too frustrated with it to give it the honor of recognition, lol.)

Here are the Google Docs dictionary definitions of taught. . .

and taut:

Hopefully that clarifies the distinction with anyone who did not know it.  Taught is a past form of teach, and is therefore a verb or participle, whereas taut is a word meaning pulled tight or concise, and is thus an adjective.  So. . . yup.  That's all I've got.  Hooray to the confusion that is the English language!!

P.S.  I found this list one day when I was online and thought it was interesting enough to bookmark.  You know, so I can point out people's errors to them easily.  (Not really; I would never do that.  Seriously, though, I am not quite that cruel.)  It says that it's a list of homonyms (which I guess is technically true), but it is more accurately a list of heterographs.  Enlighten yourself.  Besides, some of the definitions are actually kind of funny, so it's worth wasting a few minutes. . . maybe.  Probably not.  Enjoy anyway!

P.P.S.  Did I link to it enough times?  No?  Okay, here it is one last time. . . TADAH!!!

Week 12: Storytelling--Emerald Vitality

My name is Mankanaka.  And when I dance, the world trembles beneath my feet.  This is my story. . .

When I was a young boy, I often played with the animals in the woods and sang with the birds in the skies and swam with the fish in the rivers.  These creatures were my friends, my dearest companions, and so I resolved to live like them and abstain from eating any meat.  Instead, I would diet only on the plants and weeds the forest provided, much as my friends did.

And so, for years and years, I dwelt alone in the forest with my friends, never coming into contact with other people.  I ate the bounties of the land--on occasion the luscious, ripe fruit falling from the trees, rarely the earthy roots and tubers dug from the earth, but mostly the variety of waving, rustling grass spread out in wide swathes across the land.

Grass!  Was there ever created a more succulent and ambrosial food?  It is no wonder my friends can subsist on only this!  The rough and shaggy blue-green grass of the woods, waving like the rough waters of the sea in a breeze, tasting earthy and slightly bitter, with a rich, almost nutty undertone.  The bright green, tender young sprouts of grass in spring, crisp and sweet like the freshest fruit when consumed.  And the frost-covered grass in winter?  Ah, you will never taste anything so tart and tangy, immediately causing a shiver of pleasure to course through your body.  Why would I ever feel the need to eat meat when there is such a wealth of flavor and texture of plants available to me?

The years passed, and I continued my life in the forests away from the travails of human society.  My time was spent running through the trees with the deer, trundling across the lands with bears, climbing through the trees with the squirrels, singing in the trees with the birds, and swimming through the rivers with the fish.  What time I spent on my own, I would spend sitting in peaceful meditation, working to listen to the Earth itself and become one with it, as well.  I could sit on a hill, and fill the spin of the Earth as it spun and carried us through the heavens.  I could feel the heat from the molten core at my center, and the cool from the crystal waters and whispering winds on my skin.  I was truly one with the world, but I did not yet know how deep this connection extended.

Then, on a day not unlike any other, I was weaving myself a new mat out of grasses for my meditations when a sharp blade sliced my palm.  Feeling the sharp sting, I looked down at my hand, but where I expected there to be a flow of crimson blood, instead there was a sappy stream of green liquid not unlike the juices of grass.  A grin crept over my face, a laugh bubbled from my chest, and I was overwhelmed by happiness and excitement.

Now I could know for sure that I had done it!  I had become united with the Earth, with its plants and its creatures, with its earth and its waters and its skies.  Nothing could compare to this euphoric feeling of connection with the world!!  If only all of those who had mocked my diet of grass could feel this sensation, could understand this awareness of nature and everything in it!!

Yet, as I celebrated, as I danced and leapt with joy and ardor, I did not notice that all the world danced with me.  This is not to say I didn't notice my friends and the Earth joining me in my lively gambols, for I recognized their companionship even in this magnificent moment.  But what I did not realize was that our combined dance, with animals and plants and stones and rivers and oceans all cavorting in euphoria, had set the Earth to shaking and the oceans to tumbling.  Not only this, but my dance was so enthralling that some of my dear friends were dancing themselves right unto Death's door!

Luckily, the gods looked down at the jubilant disturbance from their place in the heavens and sent the kind and merciful Shiva to halt my gleeful jig.  In the guise of a hermit he addressed me with a soft query, "For a moment, be still, and explain to me why you dance."

I stopped my steps, and in a moment the world had settled gratefully back into its normal order.  "I have done it!  I have become so a part of the world that my blood is the same as the lifeblood of plants!  This green liquid, this wonderful, sticky, emerald sap, this is why I dance!!!"

Smiling a tender smile, Shiva spoke again.  "I am truly pleased for you, but look. . ."  The hermit before me pressed his fingernail into his skin, and ashes not unlike the white snow of winter drifted gently down to the ground.

In shock, I realized my folly.  I recognized that my every action would affect the movements of the Earth which I so loved, and I resolved to never bring such euphoric harm to it again.

That is not to say that I changed my diet--I still dine on the succulent blades of grass whose sap runs through my veins.  No, instead I decided that my life would be lived as before, accompanying my friends in their daily activities and meditating on my own in the hills.  Thus, to this day, I remain in the forests and slopes of India, feeling everything the Earth feels.  And as the Earth dies beneath me, so will I die, gradually withering and fading away as my friends die off and leave me the last inhabitant of the once bountiful lands in which I danced so joyfully long ago. . .





Author's Note.  'Sup, everyone!  So this week I decided to tell the story of Mankanaka because, well, I felt like it.  The big stories in this week's readings were really those of Savitri and Damayanti (who are in my storybook, so telling their stories here kinda felt like cheating), and then that of Santa (who, although I found interesting, I couldn't really get into the persona of).  Thus, after those stories were eliminated from the running, I was left with the basic plotline of the Mahabharata and. . . this story.  Which is short and fun and kind of fantastic, haha.  Though, I must admit, the entire time I was reading/writing this story, I couldn't help but wonder how my vegetarian sister and friends would respond.  And I once again realized that (even if I could end up as awesome of Mankanaka) I could never become a vegetarian.  I love meat too much to live off of grass, haha.  Ciao!!

Bibliography.  Buck, William (1973).  Mahabharata.

Image Information.  Rolling Hills Sunset.  Photograph by jaydigital.  DeviantArt.

Week 12: Reading Diary B--Lotuses (Loti?) and Santa's Deer and a Pop-Eyed Little King

Let's see if I can continue the streak of short reading diaries and extend the longest run ever to two!!  Haha.

O. M. G.  This chapter is titled the thousand-petaled lotus.  And we're heading towards the story of the pond.  Maybe my hundred-petaled lotus blossom wasn't that far off at all. . .

Ecologically concerned Pandavas, you are fantastic, haha.

I don't know that Makanaka's diet was necessarily bad, at least not for him.  I mean he was insanely strong--he just could destroy the universe with his strength as a result of eating plants.  So his diet was dangerous, but not inherently bad.

Also, does this mean ancient Indians don't approve of vegetarianism?  Lol, how times have changed.

What is it with wandering men "losing their seed" and having it consumed by random animals to give birth to weird people?  Seriously, though.

Another intelligent woman.  Score two for the Mahabharata!!!  And yay, Santa, haha!!  You sneaky, duplicitous princess, you.

Lol--Rishyasringa doesn't know what a girl is. . . Two pillows on "his" chest, indeed.

I shouldn't even say it. . . but all I can think of is the fact that this is a story of Santa and a reindeer.  Though I would really hope Santa doesn't wed his deer.

You speak, you get stoned.  Punishment definitely fits the crime, there.

Aw, Bhima, you're so chivalrous!  Thinking of your wife before yourself. . . And roaming mountains just in case you come across some flowers for her. . . *sigh*

[Anybody else having trouble detecting my sarcasm from my genuine thoughts and feelings anymore?  Just me?  'K, then.]

And then you go and insult a sick monkey.  Bhima, you disappoint me.

IT'S HANUMANNNNNNN!!!  What?!?!

No.  Way.  It's a lotus lake.  I totally called it, if in the completely wrong story, lol.

The Castle of the Dawn of the World ruled over by the Treasure Lord.  There's a grand and pretentious series of titles if I've heard one, haha.

NO FRIENDS?  Awwwwww.  Poor Treasure Lord.  I'll be your friend!

Flood story?  Of course.  I mean, they're everywhere.  The question is, is it the same flood, or different floods?  A very important question, indeed.

I feel like the Pandavas accumulate more wealth while they are banished than they had to begin with.  Why settle when you live in such comfort and wealth anyway?

Who needs war paint when you can put a flower behind your ear.

"pop-eyed little king. . ."  Now that is an interesting description, haha.

I want that lute.  The thing is powerful and I can think of some uses for it. . . (Duh, duh, duhhhhh)

I now have a new monster to occupy my nightmares--Kalee.  At least she doesn't have a grudge against me. . . At least I don't think so. . .

So many personified deer in this epic!!

God, I love how much power Draupadi has over her husbands.  Seriously, it's awesome.

If someone spoke to me the way Krishna speaks to Narayana, I'd marry them.  So I can understand why Krishna has sixteen thousand wifes.  <--Just in case you were wondering, this is half in jest and half serious.  Try to make sense of it now, haha.

SAVITRI!!!!!  I <3 YOU!!! (If you didn't know, I wrote her story already, on my storybook site.  Link here.  Granted, this is assuming people read my blog for the sake of reading my blog, buttttt--yeah.  Link!)

Comparing Draupadi with Savitri?  Yessssss.

Success!!  Another reasonable reading diary!!  Stay tuned to see if I can keep the streak up next week, on Mythological Musings!!!  Haha.

Week 12: Reading Diary A--My Frustration with Dice Continues and My Favoritest Couple Everrr

I promise--I mean it this time!--this reading diary will not be insanely long. . . I really am trying, I swear!

Is anybody else picturing them all sitting around a little checkered tablecloth on the stone floor of a grand receiving hall?  Kinda like a dice picnic inside a giant palace.  All things that make sense together, haha.

That is a ton of pearls.  Like, literally.

From cattle and sheep to a city then to people.  Totally a logical progression, I guess, if you have a city and other people to stake as a bet.

Though I must say, I love that Draupadi is described as equal to all five Pandavas--a woman worth five unmatched men!

Yay, Draupadi!  Knock that brute to the ground!  Wooooo!!

The whole "I am going to destroy your thigh" thing that Bhima has going on totally makes sense now!  Macho men stripping to show off their thighs--*sigh*  <-- And just to clarify, that is a sigh of frustration and not one of wishful thinking.  Just making sure you got that.

"'You have surpassed your beauty.''  Yes.  Yes!  YES!  See, these are the kinds of females we need in the epics.  Strong women defined by more than their looks.  Thank goodness for Draupadi.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!  What the heck, Yudhishthira?!  Even knowing that you are going to keep gambling and lose everything again, I still want to throw my book at the wall.  Gahhh.

I don't know Dhritarashtra, why do you have affection for Duryodhana?  He's a menace, a cold-hearted bastard who doesn't care about anything but himself.  Come to your senses, man!

Anybody else love the random sketch of a katydid?  No?  Just me?  Okay. . .

BUTTERRRRR.  Mmmmmm. . .

"You can have anything if you just turn back--"  Okay, Arjuna, explain to me why you didn't ask for your banishment to end and your kingdom back?  Why just ask for a drink?  Like, what??

The wine caused a cup to explode, the leaves to fall, mountains to crack, and stormy flowers to form, and you call it delicate?  I think you are terribly mistaken.

The inexhaustible quiver was empty. . . Well, obviously it's not truly inexhaustible, now is it?

All the description of heaven and the one thing I pick up on is that the white elephant has four tusks.  Yup, I'm special that way.

[I'm blaming the length of this post on my frustration.  Yeah, that's it.  Don't argue with me, just accept my faulty logic.]

You think no one is more unfortunate than you?  You're wrong.  Trust me, I'm a poet.

AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!   IT'S NALA AND DAMAYANTI!!!!!!!!  I CANNOT CONTAIN MY EXCITEMENT.

Excitement contained.  But no more shall be said about that duo right now. . . Well, maybe a few things.

I.  FREAKING.  HATE.  DICE.  Taking all you have and then transforming into birds just to steal your robe.  Jerks.  (Though, personally, I am awesome at liar's dice, haha.  But that's totally different, of course.)

You throw stones at her?  Stones?  At the faithful and intrepid Damayanti?  For shame, people, for shame!!!

"As small as a thumb. . ."  Odd thing to compare something to, but okie dokie.

And we return to Ayodhya.  Again.

What is it with these men and gambling away their wives?!  I mean, at least Nala knows he cannot lose, but still.

And as we return back to the "present" with the Pandavas, we break until tomorrow!  Ciao!!   :)


[And just if you were wondering, this was a perfectly reasonably-sized reading diary.  My lifetime goal has been reached, haha.]

Week 11: Famous Last Words--Crowfoot

"What is life?  It is the flash of a firefly in the night.  It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime.  It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset."

Another week has come and gone, and I am left feeling somewhat philosophical.  I've been dealing with some family drama (which shall remain unstated, so all of you gossip-mongers should simply stop reading now), and it has set me to thinking--how does family and upbringing influence not only the way we live, but the way in which we view life?

While part of our personality and behavior will always be determined by nature, by the genes and resultant characteristics and behaviors formed throughout millenia of evolutionary history, a large part of who we are is determined by nurture.  The people and culture and circumstances that surround us define us in innumerable and indefinable ways.  The religion with which we are raised provides the base for all of our moral standards, the schools we attend and teachers we have affect the way we view history, literature and culture.  Our families and friendships forever change the way we view and create relationships.  And while we feed back into this system, changing it as it changes us, can we ever be truly separate from the culture and religion that forged us?

For years, I allowed my upbringing and the expectations and perceptions of those surrounding me to define me, to determine how I should look, how I should act, how I should interact, how my life should proceed.  And slowly, throughout recent years, I have been fighting to reclaim my identity, to infuse myself and my own goals into the crude statue that society sculpted.  Yet you can never escape your roots, cannot distance yourself from past relationships without losing a part of yourself--and I don't want that.

So is it possible to separate oneself from all of the expectation and perception around us without forgetting ourselves?  Or is that expectation and perception impossible to escape, is it what shapes us even as we think we leave it behind?  Is it possible to maintain relationships with family and friends even though you disagree with their expectations for yourself and though you fight to break from their mold?  At what point does the drama overwhelm you; at what point does separation from the past become necessary?

Through all of these musings, I cannot help but wonder what I believe life is, what the point of life is.  Because I have always felt that the life best lived is one in which you forge strong, lasting relationships with people around you, one in which you work only to better life, even if it is just in small, seemingly-insignificant ways.  But if that is life, how do I view dysfunctional relationships with close friends and family?  As relationships change, as people change, should I work harder to make those relationships work, or should I accept my losses and break contact, at least to some degree?

Honestly, I have no idea what the answer to any of these questions is, and perhaps it doesn't matter.  I'd like to believe that I can determine my own future, that no relationship is unsalvageable.  But unfortunately, simply because you believe something doesn't make it true.  Perhaps life is as fleeting and ephemeral as Crowfoot's words would imply; and perhaps it can also be as beautiful.  But I am starting to have my doubts about the latter.

Image Information.  Photograph of grass in a sunset.  Wallpaper on website of Kim Kohatsu, PPC Consultant.
Photograph of a bull in winter.  Image on tourist website for Jackson Hole, WY.

Tech Tip: Google Translate (Duh, duh, duhhhh)

So even though I already know how bad Google Translate is at exact translations (especially for Latin--don't even bother attempting there), I decided to see how it worked when looking solely at general ideas and concepts.  Taking the Italian Aesop's fable of La volpe e l'uva, aka The Fox and the Grapes, this is the translation I got:

The Fox and the Grapes 

A hungry fox saw bunches of grapes hanging from a pergola, and tried to grab them. But he could not. "Sour crap!" then he said to himself; and walked away. Thus, even among men, there are those who, unable to inability to reach his goal, he blames circumstances.

Aesop, xxxii; Phaedrus, IV, 3.

So I'm guessing the Italian version is already shortened a little from the original, but there are definitely some striking differences due to translation error.  For example, I doubt Aesop would write a fable with the phrase "'Sour crap!'" in it, haha.  But the moral rings true, and the story makes sense, so I guess Google Translate succeeds in translating general concepts and ideas, if not exact statements.

Week 11: Storytelling--Roseate Waters

Early in the morning, as the birds trilled their songs in the skies, as the dew glistened on the blades of emerald grass, and as the sun tinged sky and river rich violet and rose hues, my mother sighed softly and closed her bright eyes for the last time.  Never again would I hear her laugh resonate through the palace halls; never again would I listen warily as she told me a story of her youth.  And never again would I receive her wisdom and advice to heal my troubles.

Yet still certain of her final words to me echoed through my mind.  "A fair maiden waits for you along the Ganges.  Meet her secretly--ask her not who she is or from where she comes.  Take her as your wife, for she loves you and will bring you much happiness.  Trust me in this as in all else."

And so I found myself there, standing on the shores of the Ganges, wishing to drown my sorrows in the river before me.  A single tear escaped me, falling to the waters below and creating ripples that distorted the sky's reflection.  The troubled waters seemed to reveal my turbulent emotions as I struggled for control, for a semblance of composure.  I'm here, Ammi.  I trust you.

From behind me I heard the soft rustling of silken garments, causing me to turn.  And when I saw her, all grief left me, for in the presence of such beauty and such an overwhelming feeling of love, it is impossible to remain in the company of despair.

Breathless from kindled passion and recently departed sorrow, I spoke softly; my voice carried to the ethereal woman on the light breeze.  "O Beautiful One, O Ruler of My Heart and My Desires, I care not whether you are goddess or Naga, Asura or Apsara, or human being like myself.  My mother told me that along these banks I would meet my wife and regain my happiness, and now I know that these words were true.  Please, do me the honor of returning with me as my Queen!"

Passion sparked in her deep brown eyes, as rich and comforting as the nourishing silts of the river.  Her cheeks were tinged with a pink blush, displaying her pleasure.  Plump lips slowly curved into a sultry smile, and the woman before me gave me the slightest nod.  Her voice rang out clearly, like nothing so much as the pleasant murmurings of a stream as it courses through the woods.  "I would like to do this.  But if I am to be your lady, you must first agree to my requests.  Never must you ask my name, nor speak to me unkindly, nor interfere with any of my actions.  If you do, I will leave you."

With fire racing through my veins and heart pounding in my chest, I knew these requests were but trifling things when compared with my passion for this mysterious figure.  And so I agreed with a steady nod, took that exquisite woman's soft hand in my own, and ushered her home to my kingdom where she promptly became my wife.

As our life together as husband and wife--as King and Queen--began, my love and respect for the enigma alongside me only grew.  My pulse still thundered through my veins with every heated look, every gentle touch, every taste of her rich lips.  That delicate pink blush of passion and attraction seemed always to color her cheeks.  And then came the first test of my trust in her.

A year after our meeting, My Love bore me a beautiful son whom possessed deep mocha eyes so similar to her own.  But before I could hold him in my arms, before I could christen him with a name, she carried him down to the river and promptly drowned him there, holding our tiny babe beneath the waters until nascent limbs went limp.  As his body sunk into the life-stealing waters of the Ganges, My Queen whispered in her murmuring voice to the deceased child.  "This is for your good.  Return."  Looking at me with eyes as deep and inscrutable as the waters of the river, she rose and came to stand before me.  Remembering her words to me on the day we met, knowing questioning her actions would cost me her love and companionship, I inhaled deeply, exhaled, and whispered.  "I trust you."  Together we returned to our palace in silence.

Once each year, for six more years, my enigmatic wife bore a child.  And once each year I would follow her down to the river Ganges, the river known for bequeathing unto all things her nourishing lifeblood.  But to this river, one by one, I lost a total of seven sons.  And each year, as my Queen stood silent before me with garments streaming and hair flowing, I would say the same three words.  "I trust you."  Yet each year, the statement stuck in my throat a little more, came a little slower.  And while my passion remained as strong as that first day, I could no longer bear to watch our children drown.  Thus when in the eighth year another son was born, a babe endowed with his mother's rosy cheeks, and when for the eighth time My Love knelt on the riverbank and slowly dipped our child into the cold waters, I could not help but cry out.  "Stop!  Do not kill him!"

She stopped.  Turned towards me.  She smiled softly, though her profound eyes were sorrowful.  "Take him," she murmured gently.  "Take him as my gift.  I shall not free him from life.  My Lord, My Love, I am Ganga, and I leave you now with your son!"

Astonished, breathless, I watched my ethereal lady step into welcoming waters.  She turned back to me, and for the last time I looked into her eyes and felt the fire race under my skin.  For the last time I watched her lips curve into a slow smile, and then--she disappeared under the reflective waters before me.

Once again I found myself standing on the shores of the river Ganges, grief and loss filling my heart and soul.  The sun was setting in the sky, tinging my Ganga pink, the same rosy hue decorating those waters as once adorned her cheeks.  A single tear flowed down my cheek, joining with the river below.  My son stirred in my arms, and embracing the last remnant I had of My Love, I returned to my kingdom, with two words echoing around me on the wind.  Trust me. . .





Author's Note.  So I wrote this story through the eyes of Santanu, the Kuru king.  Which was different for me, to say the least.  Normally if I tell a story in first person, it's through the female perspective, so this proved an interesting change but a fun challenge.  I chose to write the story of Santanu and Ganga because I found it hard to imagine the depth of love and trust you must feel for someone to allow them to drown seven sons before objecting.  So often nowadays (and throughout history, really) trust is a hard pill to swallow.  It is so much easier to be distrustful than to let down your guard and just trust.  I actually admire the fact that Santanu could trust so deeply a woman he didn't really know.  Thus this retelling was born!  I hope you enjoyed it.  :)

Bibliography.  Buck, William (1973).  Mahabharata.

Image Information.  Sunrise over the South Esk.  Photograph by Gwen and James Anderson, 2012.  Geograph.