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I think of you, woman a court of men from your village

has sentenced to death for adlutère ...

The Stoning

"Female body that is both tender ..." Yes, and this tender, if well privilege, you also refers to all those in whom the blood or bump is erected: it is so exhilarating to debase, to strike, to kill, when, born cozy, we know not to risk more response than to a child or an old man! That being to whom one does not forgive the length where it puts your instincts, and often gives you a implicit lesson of courage, endurance, dignity, whether that be is weaker than you - what a bargain for your vanity! Since the pleasure of man is despotic, the woman - known ability to control nature - will incur the immorality of the act. Her seduction native Is not a perpetual temptation, corruption? This creature does not confuse it with your guilty conscience? Without a word, by its very existence, it convinces you of your weakness, of a different nature than his own denounced by theologians: lust. So we can not have indulgence for this witch, this dog, which leads you to sin then you inflicts a silent reprimand.

And so, in the convulsions of history, short of conflict, conquest and enslavement of entire peoples, as "the scum of events", a History has aggregated which we know only fragments, as it accommodates the silence and shadows. A story of submission and servitude, humiliation and violence in everyday life. There is nothing that makes less noise than the anxiety, fear, anything that disturbs the sleep less satisfied, and the cries of the oppressed are the same, rumor in the human, the complaint of a bird that would stifle the oceanfront.

It may be that so many groans closed lips, words that represses, silences that you harden your fists, how to make a clamor, but who can grasp it in both its present scope and duration? the most active sympathy wanes when distance, time, interpose, before she gives up the crowds as if they were diluting the horror or the extension of the practices, attitudes commonplace enough to validate them.

To judge the woman in all fairness, it should be able to relive our flesh and our nerves, even our breath, and in its full length which, at its own condition, in a few words in memory , newspapers, stories, reports, which, again, was forgotten or the columnist had no witnesses other than the walls. Should convene this whole continents of humiliation, to submit revival of thousands of opprobrium and abuse - so that the magnitude and consistency of our shame we never surrender at mortified and humble.

The accused argues women greedy, lazy, irascible, tortuous, brutal, but the people from the beginning, those who came to us with a child's confidence and that we have violated, the people of those we dry our selfishness, darkened resentment and aversion when everything, teen, aspired to the exchange, then those who wished to enrich ourselves, we adorn their freedom and that we have denied the Self! ... And among those who were, because women scorned, beaten, degraded, put to death, how many had a soft body - long clips, curves, a hair, to delight our eyes - that we should disarm?

Eternity is not enough to provide a detailed martyrdom of women, and from left, first names, our palms sweat constellation, our white blood and stupor prevent us from go further. At least I'll have a thought for some, without regard to location or timing, since it is here and now that I remind myself, time with his congealed by terror, that such and such had to suffer man.

But no, we do not condense into a few words what was often seen as tampering, the progressive collapse of faces, landscapes familiar to or supported the view; like pallor of the sky faded to anguish, and his final changeover. Each line would margins, every thought suspense, as vast as the loneliness that we walled up, tortured him, though she could not even make sense of the fate that he did.

I think of you, women in India who look in silence and then eat human children - and you feed scraps;

And you, black women hoes manipulating a child on her back, another in the stomach while the man palaver;

thousand years Chinese women who had to restrain your foot in the state of stumps and walking with measured steps, the legs shackled by your dress, Chinese qu'asservirent one after another a father, husband, stepmother, an older wife, a son, a brother-

Zharma women - Nigeria-we 'Gave up and get informed infirm;

Beaume women, killed in 1644 with a stick because you held accountable for the slender ;

Jewish women stoned in the morning of their wedding on the grounds that the sheets did not contain traces of blood

girls without number, birth abandoned, exposed, thrown into a pit, buried alive - because girls

young Black slaves sold at auction or as breeders for the prettiest girls as fun on the market New Orleans ;

women you find no fire or place or resources because your husband has said three times before witnesses, even in your absence, "I divorce her," and you also weighs the threat from these three words, which guarantees your docility;

woman held by a halter around his waist, your husband sold for a Guinea on the Market Square, Sheffield, on a certain day in March 1803;

Ann Lear, who eûtes twenty-one children in twenty-four years;

women victims of kidnapping for the purpose of appropriating a wife, a practice immemorial in Kenya, the Philippines and in rural Sicily.

I think of you married women of Babylon that was thrown to the river with your rapist;

daughter of the Inca who were charming walled up alive in a vault for responded to the love of General Olten sai;

India Women walking on that ass in public, shaved head, severed fingers, for making advances to a girl ;

Vestal buried alive for having failed in your vow of chastity - or be suspected;

girls Hausa, Nigeria, in which the vagina is incised allow reports when you are married twelve years

wives, daughters and sisters run by brothers or cousins asked by the family council of this "honor killing"

Hebrew captured tribal women raped by men of neighboring tribes in order to provide as servants, concubines and slaves procreative future;

women of India pledged to creditors who could take advantage of you if the debt was not repaid on time;

Giraffe women who man retaliated by withdrawing the stack of necklaces of copper, which equates to a death sentence;

harem women, killed or buried alive with servants "of the king's house" in such a necropolis of Ur or Nubian;

women slaves Jamaica, a forum being beaten, lying on his stomach with a hole for receiving the child

Chinese campaign updates death for wearing short hair;

widows in India, often widows, children, whose right to marry again was denied;

women that they played with dice;

white women flogged for taking a black lover;

women attributed to Aztec warriors who had distinguished themselves in combat;

wives of nineteenth century French contaminated by a syphilitic husband who forbade the doctor to apply treatment that would have terminated;

women raped by knights and pilgrims walking to Constantinople and then in the same town, ransacked;

women raped by hordes during the Hundred Years War, Thirty Years;

women raped in the name of God during the Wars of Religion;

women killed in Uzbekistan Hundreds in 1927 and 1928 for having removed your veil

skinned women in honor of the Aztec goddess Teneoinnan;

Chinese girls from six to eight years purchased from poor people or removed, to be educated in prostitution;

women of India that drives them to suicide, being murdered for the spouse gets in remarrying a second dowry

girls of Ader, Nigeria, forced out in the bush or thrown into a well a child whose father has no status.

I think that you met Young, old, wrinkled, broken, miserable ... which had twenty-eight years - and seven children;

I think of you Lutgarde, strangled in 1283 by your husband, Duke of Greater Poland, because you were sterile

you, humiliated wives, molested, beaten, which had found refuge in your family and that brings power to your torturer;

Soissons women raped in 1414 and by the nobles and the soldiers

prostitutes sold at auction in Buenos Aires and other places;

pregnant Formosa trampled to death ensues;

women raped in the Middle Ages collectively, in a quasi public, intending to make you switch to the clan of whores;

women surgeons unnecessarily mutilated by taste of lucre;

women gradually robbed of your possessions, your wealth by threats and abuse of a husband;

widows were buried deep in the side of your husband in a pit that assistance filled with sand and then trampled; widows being burned brightly on the funeral pyre;

adulteresses France of the seventeenth century, publicly whipped, branded with and then banned;

women in the West Bank run by the family or forced to commit suicide for having been "dishonored" (and be seen in the street with a man that was enough for the keg).

I think of you, Akram, a young Iraqi of great beauty that vitriol for failing veiled, and I think that your sister beat, stoned for the same motive, which we threw darts coated with cyanide ;

you girls rock and unwed mothers in Rwanda, delivered or transported to the hyenas on an island in the river to be abandoned;

women "untouchables" of countryside, subject to the banality of rape

convent girls who threw for refusing the husband who wanted to impose or establish a better son,

girls, women killing in the aftermath of a rape by a male relative;

pregnant girls streaking, clamped between two piles to expulsion of the fetus which is loaded hyenas;

prisoners raped by their guards ; women raped by the very people-policemen or police - who had charge of protecting them

Greek girl thirty years imprisoned by her father in a dungeon for punishment of a bond;

women China miserable 1936, hired by contract to the body, pledged, sold for prostitution;

women in India, half of your reproductive life - fifteen forty five years - is going to be pregnant or breastfeeding, your life at risk with each pregnancy;

girls, women being sacrificed to the interests or policies that forcibly married to a rich old man ;

women who had to pay them the convenience of a hello husband, child, a lover

Indian women raped by white men and white women raped by Indians during the conquest West;

women that betrayed the nationalist revolutions which you participated;

I think of you black women raped by the master to deliver the future plantation slaves, black women who have been the victim of the master , his son, neighbors visiting, overseers of the plantation - Women forced to sell under the whip knowing that suffered by you, with you, parents, brothers, sisters, a fiancé ...

you, Patsey, you who were a slave proud, industrious - and superb, the back streaked with scars of a whip for your refusal, and your master eventually break completely with blows;

to you again, Black slave from Alabama who killed the The child born of rape by your master, to save him the suffering that you inflicted your master;

I think of you, women of Carinthia last century, we hitched to the plow with an ox;

girls given by the boy band loved women data to friends by husband

black women that all Congolese century Belgian colonialists raped and forced into prostitution;

overwhelmingly Armenian women raped by the Turks in 1895 and 1915;

women and girls raped during the Jewish pogroms in Poland and Ukraine, tortured and raped during the riots in number of Crystal Night in November 1938, subject to raids in the Warsaw ghetto;

Russian women abducted, mutilated, by the German army, and at first you think it led to a brothel for the soldiers established in the conquered city of Smolensk;

women concentration camp guards raped by their slave drivers, or they were drawing for prostitution on the eastern front;

Berliners that ended your life for fear of being raped or being ashamed of;

Italian or Greek women raped by all the armies of passage;

women of Korea, Vietnam Women raped by U.S. soldiers, and at first you, women of My Lai massively raped, mutilated, murdered March 16, 1968 ...

Yes, horror is monotonous and it builds on this very monotony to extinguish in us the ability to indignation and pity. And yet, what thought should we not have for three thousand women of the harem of the Emperor of China, their humiliation, their boredom, the emptiness of their lives, if we are to understand that thirteen thousand women Chitor, in Gujarat, have chosen in the fifteenth century, the stake rather than slavery in the harems of the Muslim conquerors ...

I still think the hundreds of thousands of "witches", hunted, tortured, stoned, burned for witchcraft, demonic possession, or .... summer drought, with a frightened village;

to ten thousand shepherds vendee raped by the Blues and sometimes deliberately contaminated by the soldiers syphilitic;

the twenty Chinese women raped mile from the first month of the occupation of Nanking by the Japanese in December 1937, and often mutilated, killed after the act, a stick driven into the sex

to 3-100000 Bengali women raped in nine months by Pakistani soldiers and then rejected by their husbands to the tens of thousands of these women being forced into prostitution in military barracks, by depriving them of food when they did not accept a minimum of "customers" and who, pregnant, contaminated, were reduced to infanticide.

I think the hundreds of millions of women who were, are or will be excised. And the Somali people who are not confined to root out the clitoris, the nail or the tip of a knife sliced nymphs, labia sewn, they become women after a matron on the night of their weddings, will open with a razor, unless it is the husband of her sex - which was tell one of them that "the first night of marriage like an agony."

But the crowds of victims do not shoot us an abstract compassion. By instinct or infirmity backup, imagination stumbles over misfortune innumerable; humiliations, sufferings singular there interfere, become blurred and almost vanish - and that is how we read history without flinching.

I no longer relies on legions of women founded to complain of their fate as we do: it is enough to confuse us, to think of You, a court of men your village has sentenced to death for adultery. Your innocence is one of those who do show and you believed in pure heart, in the power of your denials. You did not know that your very existence thwarted plans for a fickle and brutal husband; your accuser found an ally in every man that faithful wife, you were turned away; a Religious brandished the divine law and would appeal to custom. You did not know that a small community foresaw the bitter pleasure of collective crime, the intoxication of spring give way to tragedy.

Even before the verdict has served you, you've found lost, you were surrounded by shouting, whistles, laughter, insults, curses - and it was already stoning of the soul, but now you can no longer doubt that death has the figure of the circle. There is that hole, well your dimensions we just dig, where prompts you where you buried up to his shoulders, there is this limit, around, we have drawn on the ground - a stone's throw.

You dominant, the circle of men, gathered all their energy in their hand that goes beyond a shot, finally, further, the enclosure of mountains, the horizon eventful than your thoughts crossed hardly, as a woman resigned to the perimeter that he assigns his life. All the local community which we so often become bent shackles and it's not quite say the whole world has understood you, decapitated. Your head has rolled down like a huge funnel, where the blue edge, appears to slide down, spilling onto her, a great wave of scorn, ridicule, hatred, whose silence - silent film - you even more unbearable the clamor hostile earlier. Your head is the height of their feet and men would have only a few step to trample you, and you know it and your eyes close. If God inspires your executioners dares to what lies ahead, he can see that his creation has arranged a target that all that remains of you - your head - is the center. And I am surprised light drifted out of sight and that takes you to home you were not yet burned the eyes, even before the grip you have no earthly stifled terror you were not yet broken the temporal arteries.

They do not satiate you watch. Now that you have been revealed, those who your face was always hidden is almost disbelief at the windfall, they experience the exhilarating feeling to violate your privacy, it also has a hand on the woman Act . And you are more vulnerable yet this denudation profane, the inconceivable show your face, your hair spread. You have been unveiled: Since you are a public woman, it's just that your head is delivered to men and especially show that everyone can appreciate the effect of his shot. You go and give rise to a competition where they will display at the heart of both its moral rigor and vigor and address.

The stupor. What other feelings that you inhabit the collapse of sensation and thought? As a huge sledgehammer blow, you were down like a pile and you're arms and legs pinioned to the ground, any incipient movement once drunk by the inertia that hugs you. Your chest, your stomach is so hard tablets that your breath goes crazy, almost static, on a base of asphyxiation.

How to believe in a nightmare? It would really great precision, and time does not freeze well in dreams, and there, away, the chorus of mourners - neighbors, relatives - we hear the groans chanted; ago, which waiting near the village dogs, and vultures also post themselves, patients, away from the beast that must die. It is as close as the arch dam of the men dug the kidneys, calves cured, resisting more weakly to the burden of hatred that soda. And you recognize them from your husband, but, oh sad that destroys you, your son.

Now that the village leader gave the signal for the kill, I'm not sure you watch until the end.

Who has rammed his head against an obstacle? Who has not seen in his skull off a sheaf of light and did stumbled as splashed by lightning real? Who has seen blinding pain splashing out of it any other sensation? And this is not a sudden it will resist, as we launch, unique, a slap at random: dozens of hands in impatience evaluate the impulse to give, meditate on the path to describe. We will not let the pain subside time: each new shot will burst the unbroken relay, carrying the treetops. Loved Each building will add to the flamboyant, lanceolate to blight. At the height suffering, overflowing, will be injected tirelessly huge doses of pain .... But only succeed in inspiring in this resurgence continue? And the heart will he find the time to beat up? Die. Die because the pain blind you, overwhelms you, choking you, and that life, in the end, terrified and prepares to flee.

Yes, who hit his head against a wall? But it was mostly smooth. Swollen, our envelope had retained its integrity. Here, in this ritual murder and who wants to copy it is disfiguring until death. To crush distance as a noble woman, as you would a shoe heel tight. In pain radiating smooth, overlaps that of the skin, the flesh scraped ; pain open, exposing the pain of the yelping, doomed to darkness closed body, facing the big day. The pain of flesh suddenly deprived of its contours, a pain that is self-lacerating.

Doubtless you anticipate, O woman who stoned the minutes where the anxiety of the approaching end to the oppression breath, to the crown of thorns of those looks that pierce you, will be added as overlay, such stridency of sky and always pushed paroxysm nerves - she will not let you even the time to wish die. When the first boom was raised, you closed your eyes and I felt sketched out in your forearms that had hampered the gesture protected your face.

We try to parry the blow that comes over us hit in the head, as we move our members to disperse, to mislead the suffering in an inconsistency of actions. It is hard, and that the mole receives the packet of water, that the projectile reached you. At the thud of stones falling into a mudflat, the tilting her head back, I know that inside your skull shattered, in great fanfare, a light bitter you blinded, deafened and you, flaming, made you a flare of pain, while the dark blue of the interstitial precipitate a coup.

Blood. A red band at the picnic to the right corner of the mouth. Maybe you do not perceive the taste bland, but to all those men who plan to show the best shooters yet, he made his chops dog or jackal. No power over you save: each is a tooth of the horizontal wheel has turned and you must crush distance. Is it not part of the shame you have imposed on the community? Each officiate.

Is it your arm clad in body? It seems thus gathered, your pain passes that of the Crucifixion ; it makes you a mass of agony as gigantic as the statues of Easter Island, and that whenever the pain garnered additional of herself - then jumps or condenses, it is unclear - More until you retract nothing more than a column of an immaterial and leaping full of crystal lamps with sharp edges.

I try in vain to make my own the words, that which excludes them, what their successful defeat into a kind of ineffable reversed. And as for reporting what I see ... Does the term dismay not translate the feeling of dominating one for whom the woman's face is one of those places where beauty is condensed, and the hammer would like effigy of deceased pharaoh? And this is not granite we hit, worn, crushes, but a skin "which is soft as" fragile, O gentle mouth competing with mango and avocado, and your eyelids silk lined bid ...

The

wheel jolts but, turns, and each of its teeth continues tear in shreds from the face and hair, the explosion of bones, the shelling of a slurry of blood, transforming what was antenna of a harmonious body into a stump that will rattle the stone-throwing.

You who have more shape and that pain of existence, that you dig up earlier to take your body beyond the limits of the soil, the dogs you will easily discover that night, I do not go with you further because I am a coward, like so many my peers and I turn away, palms applied to my ears not to hear the sound of tree sapling that savagely this noise even apple pulp in the press, and those who condemn imperceptible moaning so distinctly human me.

What are light those who would argue that the "honor killing" now being punished, barbarism against women has no force of law, even in a remote area of India, Pakistan or the Middle East!

Sample Letter Verifying Community Service

1 Sept 15 August 1 August

MARINES IN THE MARGINS ...

THE SEA LYS

"We should not pick the sea lilies"

These are my words, fallen from the lips of a man who, on his balcony, watching me back a raid on the coastal dune.

- and I know I have a bad conscience. Is to study it.

- This is already done.

- Yes, but not a poet. "

(I've seen in the saying, how ridiculous my answer.)

botanist might have named this variety : lily emaciated. From a long narrow buds, open six fingers almost threadlike, white to pale green dorsal, which s'écarquillent around a corolla taffeta, welded horn, each petal fabric that incorporates the net of the stamen .

The flower, graceful, racy, is supported by a thick stem, resulting from a jet of sand, as are the leaves into long, flexible strips, known to undergo huge balls down from the wind. With its semi-folds Paw waterfowl, say it is, remotely, lacerated, but its cohesion trumps conducted the tormentor.

I broke the law to revive my memory of sheaves of lilies laid at the altar of my country church in the month of Mary. If thin, fleeting, that is the smell of sea lilies, she restores the one spreading the flowers picked from the garden of the rectory. A smell both heady and "unhealthy", which imposed, I may have a refined form of torture, it is too tied to a time of submission to dogma and hence of guilt diffuse, persistent, affecting flesh that you darkened. To believe that by this scent that might seem emanated girls' school sisterhood that we stare at the back door, on their benches similar to ours, across the aisle, we have wanted to warn us that pleasure was sad.

I said the smell "sickly." That it calls for other images: those of the grandmother who, before a scratch of the child, pulled a bottle of a petal lily macerated in eau-de-vie. And here I visited, in an inspiration, and the dark room air Senior inert bed curtain, and the grunting of the cabinet door comes to beetles, and short burn compress that followed the ritual admonition to have been turbulent.

I think I can reassure him who gave me a lesson of respect for creation: never again will I pluck sea lily

ó

The Immortal

is not liable to the same criticism to pluck a few blades of immortal: a fixed dune radiates its slender clumps and provided; she laced blood - glomeruli - a yellow past, which sometimes hatch on intangible stamens, sometimes remain in their original state-of-pocket balls of scales or bracts.

Worn by short stems lined with single sheets, cramped, cloth covers with gold patina and sand, warm to the eye as the parchment of the Books of Hours.

A fragrant gold. In an open area along with beads of immortal flower, we slow down the pace, suddenly topped with a sweet mellow cordial to the point of believing we hailed a threshold of cottage to a halt. Through the open door, we hear a brass cookware. The hostess had to omit some closing cabinet filled with old records connected, grimoires, stacks of popular novels, unplugged from having been read.

We decline the invitation, but still in the casting of air - sea? Scots? - Defending extent uninhabitable, we humerons this sun of autumn, volatile, speaks in gusts of sand still warm, and more for a room at the polished floor, in bed with velvet curtains, where to find also the ease, beginning with the "fine amor.

The flowers will brown but do not will undo. Years after their collection, a long draw inspiration from them, but weakened unaltered flavor forever linked to a smiling disuse. Accordingly, hearts that have tasted richly lived.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Whispers ...

The love

To you who never cease to seek, among words, the keys that open up, which would make me read, I you book it, for those days when I am waiting, closed, sealed, vacant and collected: lagoon.

The lover

You exist: a beautiful cloud of tenderness travel through space.

Grave and sunny, heavy flavor without weighing too much love to claim woman, I see no better name for you than companion. That which you hide the original exile and desert where everyone lives. One with whom time is like those rivers Peaceful loaded barges.

François Solesmes The Murmurs of love , Ink Navy.

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