HALLÅ DÄR KÖTT OCH BLÅBÄR FREDRIKA HÄÄÄR KÖR EN RIPPOFF FRÅN SEAN BANAN THE ONE AND ONLY MÄÄN

NU kan man börja undra var Maria håller hus igen. Hon är inte bra på att surfa här iaf eftersom hon bor i en bil som har inbyggd säng, toalett, dush, kök osv. Allt i ett paket, allt utom internet. Tycker det vore en ganska bra uppdatering på den där traktorn dom åker runt i och “tittar på stränder”. Gabbe härjar tydligen också med någon blogg men den har jag inte fått tag på så det blir nästa goggle. Igår var vi på Marre Larre på Chromeo. Det är alltid för sjukt svettigt på nedervåningen får lite klaustrofobi. Varje gång jag har varit där dryper mitt hår av svett, öl och tårar och jag har haft en känsla av att döden är nära på något härligt eller skrämmande sätt. Det är därför Dödskul på marie Laveau är ett jävligt sant koncept. Varför jag inte är där ikväll, och detta är helt sjukt, men jag hör faktiskt en fågel sjunga i atlas området. Det är inte Sprv, det är en såndär näktergal kanske, den galar på bra iaf. Jag börjar undra om den har fattat att vintern inte kommer!? Fick en grym comeback av sommarnätter. Så inatt är det jag o den där jävla fågeln.

Hellow everyone! As SfCatty said,  I was in N A’wlins yesterday! A group of ladies from our local RWA chapter got together and spent the day walking around the French Quarter. First let me say it was a lot of fun and Paula you rock! Between you knowing so much about New Orleans and your husband on your phone filling in the blanks we found out so much wonderful information.

So Sayde is taking a break from writing steamy or sexy for a while. I’m focusing all my attention on editing and writing a Young Adult book. The YA takes place in N A’wlins.

Here are some of the sites we saw. I’d love to go and ride the trolley to the garden district and spend the day there. But that’s next time.

 That’s right, a horses’ ass is what I saw! Thanks to Cynthia Eden who wanted to ride the carriage so bad I got to sit up front to be the first to get poohed on!

 Marie LaVeau’s daughters’ tomb. HOWEVER, rumor has it that Marie is actually in there and her daughter somewhere else.

Marie Laveau’s tomb. Later in the day we were told that her family moved her body to another location after having the tomb vandalized. Only the family, Marie, and a select few of others know for sure. It is said the tomb and her daughter’s tomb are fake and that Marie lives on, roaming Bourbon street today.

Marie Laveau Voodoo shop. I **think** this was either her home at some point or the home she used to practice Voodoo in. Don’t hold me to that, I was ready to eat by this time!

The trip was wonderful. I learned so much and got so many wonderful tidbits to use. Now I just have to talk the hubby into going and spending the night there so I can take a haunted tour! I’d love to do that. Hmm, maybe that can be my Christmas present!

Last week was definitely a sleep deprived week.
During PartnerCon by Pictage I stayed at the event location. It was a wonderful hotel where any request at all to the staff was met with “It would be my pleasure”. The only downside was that my room faced Bourbon Street and as anyone who has been to Bourbon Street knows….it doesn’t shut down. Well, it might but not until folks my age have long gone to bed. The first night I was there coincided with a New Orleans Saints game. They were playing the Ravens – And won! The Saints have had and undefeated season. Now I’m not a religious woman but I think The Saints having a winning season is listed as one of the signs of the “End of Days” the Pentecostals like to reference so much. Not that I’m not thrilled for The Saints, but it does leave me a little worried……

Onward though.

The point I was making was that it was extremely loud that night and I heard drumming and music into the wee hours of the morning. The next day, I would have been groggy had I not been so excited about the conference! I sailed through the day but was stick-a-fork-in-me-I’m-done by the end of the day. I retreated to my room and climbed into bed relishing the silence. Ahhh, that was the stuff. After room service arrived with my seafood gumbo (I decided to be a pescatarian during this trip as being a strict vegetarian is just too hard around all that fresh seafood) and I had all that creole goodness digesting in my belly I was looking forward to dropping off effortlessly into blissful REM. That’s just about the time the drums started up. I almost couldn’t believe it. I wanted to cry. I tried to drown it out and after about 3 hours I gave up and stuffed the earplugs that came in my welcome bag into my ears. I hate the feeling of anything in my ears, but it did help and I was able to wedge some sleep in between the hours of I-can’t-believe-I’m-still-up-thirty and 4 AM. Throwing salt into the wound of my bloodshot eyes were two facts. The first was I was in Central time – meaning 5 o’clock Central time felt like 6 o’clock Eastern time (home time). BUT it was the first few days after Daylight Savings Time – meaning 4 o’clock CDT was 6 o’clock EST.

Have I lost you? Do you even care at this point?

Regardless – I had sacrificed sleep again. The second day of the conference was just as good if not better than the first and this is probably due to in no small part, the photo workshop I went to hosted by Jeff and Erin Youngren – As I discussed in my ParnterCon Review a couple of posts down. Fast forwarding to that evening. I did sleep more but that had more to do with the wine I drank than the lack of noise from the street. By the time Thursday rolled around I was running on excitement and adrenaline….

And that’s when Ginger Snapps came for a visit from Baton Rouge! And the first thing she said to me? “I hope you know we aren’t going to sleep much”. I was amazed at her clairvoyance.

Now, I don’t know about you, but being a woman I easily get intimidated walking around taking photos, especially in New Orleans, especially at night. It was SO nice to have a friend to walk around with! As much for the security as the camaraderie. We had a GREAT time taking pictures of the French Quarter at night and you’ll see them below. We wrapped up our nighttime walk around 11:00 or so and went back to the room. I was pretty exhausted and ready to let myself float away regardless of any distractions. We were in bed, lights out by 11:30. I was so tired I let the music below just carry me and my consciousness. Somewhere my brain was thinking “Just go with it and don’t fight it”…and it was working! It was wonderful!

Until, inexplicably the alarm clock went off at 12:00.

Loudly.

The clock was closest to the bed Ginger was sleeping in and I heard her blindly fumbling for the “off” switch or at least a merciful “snooze” anything to stop the intrusion the alarm was rudely introducing to the night. She finally got it and we returned to bed. It took a while but I found the groove again and floated in and out taking little sips of sleep for the rest of the night.

At 6 am my brain woke up and forced the rest of me to follow suit. Ginger confessed she had not slept well because of all the street noise. Funny, because I didn’t think it was so bad and then realized I’d started getting used to it, and poor Ginger was freshly initiated. We got up, showered and dressed and hit the streets by 7:00 AM. I wanted to show her the light in the city at that time the same way the Youngrens had shown us a couple of days prior. I did and the light was still great. We even went to the same street we had gone to during the workshop and shot each other. (I love how violent photography is…You get to “take” peoples’ pictures and schedule shots and shootings ). Using each other as models was a good exercise. In a low stress environment we got to play with lighting and poses. I really like a lot of the shots I got of Ginger but I also learned what I did wrong and how to avoid it. I felt bad for Ginger while she was shooting me. I’m about as natural and fluid in front of the camera as the Tinman without his oil can. I mean, I’m bad. And while sometimes I can look good, most times I just look goofy. It leaves me wondering if I look that goofy all the time. I’m so much cooler in my head.

After our initial modely posey thing we walked all over the Quarter again taking pictures. I truly love New Orleans.

We finished up the Quarter at one of the intriguing cemetaries. If you are unfamiliar with how it works in NOLA, let me tell you. Since NOLA is below sea level and the water table is 6′ below the surface, residents cannot bury their dead in the ground. Everything must be above ground which makes for some interesting gravesites as you’ll see below.

Our last place before my battery died was the Garden District and as proof of this city’s comeback, we stumbled upon a set, either TV or movie I’m not sure, where they had wrapped shooting. I don’t know what was shoot or who was in it, but we got to see all the equipment.

Enjoy the pictures below and know that I love New Orleans!

WV

I have been going to New Orleans for most of my life and the following images capture what I love about the city. It’s old, original, grungy and authentic.

These remind me of the movie Saw for some reason

New Orleans has its share of street urchins. Some of whom have read too much Anne Rice


This reminded me of the Exorcist for some reason. Lots of spookiness in the Quarter at night


For me, I can actually feel the history oozing out of the walls in some parts of the French Quarter



OK, break in spooky photos courtesy of random homeless guy asking us to take his picture. It is the French Quarter afterall

Back to the spookiness

Touchdown Jesus


I don’t know why I like this pic so much but I do!

Walking back to the hotel. Love how everyone has a balcony

The lights of Bourbon Street

Night Tours

Jackson Square was beautiful at night and we found a new Nikon Creative Lighting System….wait until the cars almost pass by before taking a picture so you can use their headlights as a light source!

St Louis Cathedral has always reminded me of Disney World

The band beneath my window and the drunks who love them

MORNING TIME! My favorite portrait taken by Ginger Snapps!

My favorite I took of Ginger Snapps

Street Shots

Love the Grunge and the History



St Louis Cathedral in the daylight


Hardest working Donkey in the business

I think Brad and Angelina live here…just kidding

Loved this doorknob and the lock reminded me of what I learned during a haunted history tour. The living used to install the lock upside down after a loved one died. It was supposed to confuse them and they couldn’t unlock the door and get in the house. Actually a night in the French Quarter is enough to leave unable to use a key to get in the house too.

Still with me? These are a lot of pictures I know but we’re almost done. Here is one of the cemetary we visited. I really just included this picture because in the reflection I look skinny

This was an unmarked site but apparently voodoo followers knew that this was a voodoo grave. Since it was so close to Halloween I think folks must have gathered and left offerings.

Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau is reportedly in this tomb. There is controversy as to whether she is really in there or not. I’m not sure what the triple “X”s mean but if you know please email me so I can include it in the captions.


Another unmarked tomb of a voodoo practioner.

and another

Enough with the voodoo. Here are some God fearing graves. Most of them were all in French so I didn’t undestand all of what I was reading





Some bling for you




Last one

And right before my battery died I got the shot of the No Parking sign.
That’s it! You made it to the end! Thanks for looking and if you have any feedback i.e. were there too many picture, let me know! Thanks everyone!

Boris Karloff in "Bride of Frankenstein" (John Kobal Foundation/Getty Images)

On Monday’s podcast, Sarah and I got to wear our English major hats – our favorite chapeaux of all.

In honor of Halloween, we talked about a little ghost story competition that gave us both “Frankenstein” and the vampire.

In the summer of 1816, a party of five was staying at the Villa Diodati in Switzerland: Lord Byron, Mary Shelley, Percy Bysshe Shelley, John Polidori and Claire Clairmont. Illustrious company, to be sure – Byron and Percy Shelley were well-known poets, and Mary Shelley was the daughter of writers Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin. Polidori was Byron’s physician, and Clairmont Mary’s stepsister.

One rainy day, Byron challenged them all: “We will each write a ghost story,” he said, and they set to scribbling. But interest soon wanes, and Byron himself only completes a fragment. Mary Shelley, however, receives the story of Frankenstein in a terrifying dream vision, and Polidori takes Byron’s fragment about an eccentric nobleman and turns it into “The Vampyre.”

But it’s not as simple as that – Polidori’s story was published under Byron’s name, and Mary Shelley’s introduction to “Frankenstein” paints the picture a bit differently. For instance, she claims Claire Clairmont wasn’t even a member of the party … even though Claire gave birth to Byron’s baby several months later. Why the discrepancies? Listen to the podcast on iTunes and find out. And if you liked this one, be on the lookout for a couple of podcasts we have coming up: one on Byron, and one on his daughter, Ada Lovelace.

Wednesday’s podcast brought us Marie Laveau, voodoo queen, a person Sarah and I had a devil of a time researching. The problem is partly that there were two Marie Laveaus – the original and her daughter, Marie II – and partly that research isn’t there to be had. There aren’t a lot of primary sources from the period, and many of those that do exist have been altered – names cut out, for example, by people who wanted to hide their ancestors of color.

The legend of Marie Laveau speaks of a 20-foot snake named Zombie and powerful magic that could make people crawl on their bellies on the floor, disappear or fall in love.

But the reality of Marie Laveau was a bit different, as was the reality of Voudoo at the time. So what do we know about her? And if you mark her tomb in St. Louis Cemetery in New Orleans with three X’s, what happens? Listen to the podcast and find out what we know.

(Photo by moi.)
St. Louis Cemetery No.1, New Orleans
Reputed tomb of Marie Laveau (c. 1794-1881) Marie Laveau was the reigning Voodoo priestess of the nineteenth century.

An exerpt from City the Dead: A Journey Through St. Louis Cemetery #1 about the Marie Laveau legend can be found here
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Interested in the history of VooDoo? Dambala at American Zombie recently wrote an excellent explanation of his religion, Yoruba Cosmology, which is the root of VooDoo. It’s a must read.

Just in time for Halloween, Preservation Hall debuts this beautiful animated video which includes a graveyard romp with Marie Laveau:

The video is part of a package from Preservation Hall Recordings featuring four small-group arrangements from the Preservation Hall Hot 4, the King Britt remix of the Preservation Hall Jazz Band’s “St. James Infirmary,” and three music videos. It’s available exclusively on iTunes — no hard-copy CD, just pure electronic distribution.

If you aren’t familiar with the classic St. James Infirmary, check out Preservation Hall’s MySpace profile and play it for free in the upper right of the page. It’ll help you appreciate what King Britt did to riff on the source material. (You will need to scroll down to the “album version” to hear the old school take, not the new reinterpretation.)

Then you can read more on two blogs about St. James Infirmary: http://iwentdowntostjamesinfirmary.blogspot.com/ and http://nonotes.wordpress.com/

If this video got you excited and you’d like to see the real-life Preservation Hall, check out their tour dates. If you happen to be in Switzerland, Sweden, Norway, Slovenia or France, you can catch them in November. If not, some closer-to-home dates include:

I wrote a recent post about Preservation Hall and the path of reinvention its director Ben Jaffe is taking — check that out here.

Yasemin and Georgina doing a quick costume fix during snake shoot.

Our first shoot – done about a week and a half ago – was exhilarating! Three hours of shooting and at least 8 hours of set design – all of which was done by Lee in our backyard. The scene is that of voodoo priestess. We did tons of research on Marie Laveau, came up with a costume based on a white ruffle skirt, white headwrap, a half-corset, and a few simple, printed hip wraps in varying colors. The set was rich in texture – a wooden door inlaid with colored glass panels, burgundy, diamond-embossed fabric for wallpaper, oil lanterns, antique tables and more.

Amazing and tiring! As usual, I marveled at the photos in the viewfinder with disbelief… stunning images, subtle yet striking lighting, and what comes across as a very natural interaction between me and the two snakes! Shamz, the ball python and Hava, the boa constrictor were excellent companions during the shoot; their light appearance and tangerine or yellow markings a nice, cool contradiction to the dark, warm colors of the set.

Next up – a shoot involving a unibrow, a shoe, and a naked lady…

Let me tell you a few stories:

When I was living in San Francisco in the Seventies, Eighties and Nineties, I didn’t limit myself to one quarter that was black-friendly, like Fillmore, Hunter’s Point or Lower Haight. I explored almost all of its neighborhoods and main drags, like Noe Valley–24th Street, The Mission–Mission and 16th, Potrero, Pacific Heights, The Marina, and Cow Hollow–Union Street.

One fine day in the Eighties, I happened on a shop on Union Street that had just opened which was packed to the rafters with masks and carved gods and goddesses and other icons from Africa, Asia, Melanesia and Micronesia. It looked really interesting on the  outside, and people were going in and out.   However, I wasn’t there for long, because I felt that I had to leave after less than five minutes. No, it wasn’t the manager/owner or the clutter. And I didn’t feel that it was the effect of electronic messages that security firms insert surreptitiously in music to keep customers from stealing. I’ve had that experience before. I do remember that there was no music in the place.  Nor was it hot or stuffy in there, and I hadn’t eaten anything weird.

How can I explain it? I felt that I was extremely sensitive to the organic vibrations those masks and idols gave off. There was a sense of confusion, suppressed rage, and of dread in that shop. Many were beautiful, and with strong images, but some were quite ugly, and were less artistic than grotesque.   I was talking to the manager when suddenly, it did not feel right for me to be there to be among these “ancestors” who were all mixed up, and crowding in on each other.  They were unrecognized, unnameable, dishonored and in a place where they were to be sold as mere conversation pieces and as decorations. I felt that they were angry as hell. That’s why I had to get out of there quickly, and breathed fresh air just outside the door.

The manager, a white man, followed me out, seeing that I looked overwhelmed, asking whether I was okay, and I managed to mumble to him something of what I felt.  He said proudly that he had collected these items along with a friend for a number of years, and that they were now selling them. He invited me to come back later when I felt better, but I never returned.

The voudou flag of the god Loko Atison, the aspect of Legba who is the protector of the voudou shrine; he represents medicine and the healing arts. He is often invoked to help with healing and to protect against black magic (Courtesy: Wikipedia)

In contrast, I visited a shop in Noe Valley that once had a lot of vodun (voudou) flags. A voudou flag essentially is a banner with an emblem or vévé for the god, or a picture of the god. They are sewn with native threads, spangles, and sequins.   This experience was different. I walked down the row of flags for sale, and none were crowded on each other; they were organized, separate and no masks were there except on the other side of the room. Then, the proprietor behind the desk specifically warned me about purchasing one with Baron Samedi (the god of death and the graveyard; the old Haitian dictator François Duvalier always dressed publicly as the god to strike fear in his constituents), unless I knew exactly what I was doing.   I looked straight at him.   I’m from New Orleans, I said.  Which meant,  I know what the voodou pantheon is. I wouldn’t want that, I agreed, giving a shiver to my shoulders.  We agreed that something like Oshun or Erzulie would be best.  Yeah, but there are so many people wanting to see his particular flag and wanting to buy it for their homes, he said.  My mouth flew open.

Lastly, when I visited New Orleans in 1996, I spent days in the French Quarter.  Naturally, I went to the Voodoo Museum and to Mam’zelle Marie Laveau’s house on St. Ann Street.  Among the usual tourist gew-gaws and real voudou products was the door to a room where there were altars dedicated to about six separate voudou gods.  They were protected by a wire fence on both sides.  You have to pay to enter this room, and you can close the door or leave it open.  I decided to take my chances and close the door.

I could feel vibrations coming from these altars, very, very strong, but they were rather benign.  I felt that the gods were indeed present there, and I inclined my head to each one in respect, after admiring and marking what was on their altars, until I got to the one dedicated to Baron Samedi, which was the last and nearest to the door.  I stood there slowly feeling as if I were about to be pushed into a large, dark mouth where there was no light, and when I couldn’t stand it anymore, I swung open the door.

Some Native-, Asian- and Latino-American peoples as well as Africans and Haitians have warned against people collecting certain religious idols, masks, and flags without knowing exactly what they are and what they depict.  They say that having such a item in one’s home could influence a room and the people in it. With the experiences I have had, I would have to take them at their words. The same can be said of religious rituals and rites that, cherry-picked and chosen by New Age practitioners, can be misused to the detriment of others. Rituals by themselves are not enough without the religions that created them, and the process by which they are understood and used correctly.

From Scandinavia to South America to Africa, people have come together in the sauna-like structures — typically heated by pouring water on hot lava rocks — for a variety of reasons, said Joseph Bruchac, writer and author of The Native American Sweat Lodge. He’s part Abenaki, a tribe concentrated in the northeast United States, and part European.

“Each tribal nation has its own traditions, so one group might do it differently from another so you cannot generalize too much,” said Bruchac, who runs an outdoor education center in Greenfield Center, New York.

In North America, most Native American tribes use the term “sweat lodge” to refer to a dome-shaped structure where the intimate ritual of the sweat takes place, said Bruchac, who has his own sweat lodge on his property in the foothills of the Adirondacks.

“Sweat lodges are typically used for a ritual preparation, like before a hunt, or nowadays, people might do it before a wedding or dance or some kind of community event as a way of putting yourself in balance,” he said.

Bruchac noted that incidents like the one in Arizona tend to raise discussion in Native American communities over whether non-Natives should be allowed to adapt traditional ceremonies.

“It’s a very meaningful ceremony. I can understand why people find it attractive,” Bruchac said. “But I consider it sacrilegious and foolish to do someone else’s rituals without proper guidance or practice, especially in sweat lodges where you’re raising people’s body temperatures. With that many people, oxygen is going to be depleted, and if you have heart problems or breathing problems, you could faint or die.”

I’ve participated in a sweat lodge. For a time in the late Eighties, I was into one aspect of Native American religion, but it was promulgated by a Lakota Sioux woman.   I went to the meetings with a white woman who has continued in Native religion after I decided to return to Nichiren Buddhism.   I photographed the building of the lodge until I was told not to, because it was not something to be shared with those outside of the group.  The sweat lodge experience occurred in a state park.

And when the lodge was completed, covered in hides and blankets and evergreen branches, and when the stones were heated, and we were in various stages of undress, in shorts and in bathing suits, we went in small groups at a time. It wasn’t the 50-65 at one time that was said to have occurred at the James Arthur Ray-led group in Sedona, AZ. I’d say that there were about six to eight people at a time in the lodge.  And I sat and withstood the steam and heat from the stones until it was time for me to go. Compared to say, a sauna, where pine tar and eucalyptus mixed with water can be thrown on onto the heat, no scents were allowed on the stones. And it wasn’t for two hours either. I was there for at least twenty minutes to half an hour. Everyone was like that. No one was forced to stay in longer than it was possible for them.  People were quietly asked if they were okay during the sweat; they simply said yes or no, or nodded. I nodded. I did not speak until we were led in chants; my mind focused, and I was at peace and in inner prayer.  It had been a difficult day for me; my anger flared out on another black woman who was present with her daughter.  I cannot understand why even now; but perhaps this was because about inner change for me and cleaning out anything about me that was impure, and any change is scary.

James Arthur Ray, a self-help expert from Carlsbad, Calif., led what was billed as five-day “spiritual warrior” experience at Angel Valley, which concluded with a tightly packed sweat lodge ceremony. Participants paid about $9,000 each for the weeklong retreat, which included seminars, a 36-hour fast and solo experiences in the forest.

The authorities say that at any one time 55 to 65 people were packed for a two-hour period into a 415-square foot structure that was 53 inches high at the center and 30 inches high on the perimeter. Mr. Ray’s employees built the wood-frame lodge, which was wrapped in blankets and plastic tarps. Hot rocks were brought into the lodge and doused with water. Mr. Ray, who conducted the ceremony, left the area on Thursday after declining to give a statement to the police.

Sheriff Steve Waugh of Yavapai County said a death investigation would continue for several weeks. Mr. Ray, the Angel Valley owners, Michael and Amayra Hamilton, and all the participants are part of the investigation, the sheriff said. The results from autopsies that were conducted Friday have not been released and results from toxicology tests are not expected for several weeks.

Our late teacher did not ask for money except for the campsite and the food.  She was not some kind of exalted guru, she was a human being and an individual with failings.  She could have been like some of these New Age people, giving her groups half-truth feel-good medicine instead of whole truths as she raked in money, but she was not like that. She was even criticized and ostracized by other Native people for teaching non-Indians “the way.” I still remember her generally as a warm, decent woman, and there are times that I chant daimoku for her and thank her for her teaching me about respect for Turtle Island, and for “the plant people and the animal people for giving up their lives that we can live.”

We all ate afterwards; we had eaten little all day long, and it was like a giving thanks dinner. I think that everyone was in appreciation of each other and their lives that evening. And when I went back to my tent to sleep, I know that I slept deeply and well as if had I sloughed off something…bad.

“It’s important to know who is responsible for your spiritual and physical safety in that lodge,” said Vernon Foster, a member of the Klamath-Modoc tribe who regularly leads ceremonial sweat lodge events in central Arizona.

Mr. Foster said native people would use only natural materials in the construction of a sweat lodge. “We would never use plastic to cover our lodges,” he said. “The lodge has to breathe, that steam has to go someplace.”

Sheriff’s office investigators are conducting tests to determine whether any toxins were released during the ceremony. The authorities said sandalwood “was thrown on the rocks to give the effect of incense.” A 2007 study by the National University of Singapore on the effects of smoke emitted by sandalwood incense published in the journal Science and Technology of Advanced Materials found that “continuous and prolonged exposure to incense smoke is of concern.”

This past weekend I watched the Concert for George again. The Concert for George is George Harrison’s memorial concert, which occurred a year to the day after the former Beatle made his transition, on November 29, 2002 at the Royal Albert Hall. George Harrison first embraced the music, and then Indian culture and Hinduism. He felt that you could not appreciate Indian music unless you came to appreciate the culture from which it sprang, and that meant the people as well. That’s why I admire George Harrison, not just for his music, but that he walked his talk; he did not pick and choose (or steal or romanticize) from Asian people.

In contrast, people in New Age religions embrace only one part of the totality of a culture or a people–like the buying masks and idols or a religion–without an understanding of what these items or these rituals really mean. Disrespect results, and then eventually, leaders can become authoritarian and cultish, people can get turned off and leave, or people can get hurt or worse, die. That’s the cruel lesson, I feel, that’s being learned regarding this tragedy. I can only hope that this time, that it’s heeded.