Monstrous
Dead... And Not So Dead => The Dead and the Undead => Topic started by: TeteoInan on October 03, 2011, 12:10:40 PM
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It's not just Steven Hughes's that thinks of death as a woman!
Cihuacoatl, Manea, Freyja, Itzpapalotl, Kali, The Morrigan, Nephthys, Hecate, Hel ...Uhm... Tia, Rohe... I'm running out of names of ladies associated with Death... but I know there are tons more.
A story was told of a merchant of Baghdad who was approached one day by his servant. The poor man's face was pale and his hands were shaking.
"Master," said the servant, "I saw Death in the marketplace today, a tall woman hooded in black. She looked directly at me and made a threatening gesture with her hand." The terrified menial begged for his master's horse, that he might flee to the city of Samarra and so escape the clutches of the woman Death.
The master agreed, and when the servant had left for Samarra - riding as fast as the horse could carry him - he went himself to the market place, to see whether Death would appear.
She did indeed, hooded in black as the servant had said. She idled among the stands, examining the fruits piled there; from time to time, she tapped a person on the shoulder, and that person blanched and hurried away.
The merchant beckoned her to him, and she came willingly. He asked with curiosity why she had threatened his servant.
"That was not a threatening gesture," answered Death demurely. "It was a gesture of surprise at seeing here in Baghdad. I have an appointment with him tonight in Samarra, you see." And with a smile, she disappeared.
Now, I thought this was funny.
Who's your favorite female Death deity?
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Interesting thing, but the only way i can find why some author finds the death itself a woman is that: femme fatale.
The womans was the end in some cases for the men, because by the mens weakness for the woman. Maybe those authors who find the death female is that the men weakness for womans.
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Heh, The Grim Reaperess :-D
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Am I the only one that feels they lose iq points when they read this guys posts???
Authors? What authors are you talking about? *<:)
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*<:) *<:) Azzy that's not nice! *<:) *<:)
Interesting thing, but the only way i can find why some author finds the death itself a woman is that: femme fatale.
The womans was the end in some cases for the men, because by the mens weakness for the woman. Maybe those authors who find the death female is that the men weakness for womans.
My first question... Are you Sexist?
I'm curious about what "author" you're talking about... and does this assumption of yours about "femme fatale" include why there are Goddesses of Life, War, Wisdom?
Man's Weakness for Women is something that comes up in romantic fairy tales of heroes that die doing something stupid they shouldn't have been doing in the first place.
I was under the impression that "Death Itself" is a concept, or a point in time in the circle of life.
This topic isn't about the concept of Death.
This topic is about Female Mythological, Religious and Cultural Entities ( be they Goddess, Deity or Spirit ) that represent Death and the Varying "Underworlds" / "Hells".
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Kali is not the goddess of death, though she is a killer. Yama is. Though I know that isn't your point. :p just clarifying for the newbies.
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Kali is the feminine version of Kala, which is Time, Death and I think "Black". But, she's also seen as the "Redeemer of the Universe" or something like that. The "Kindly Mother Goddess".
Shiva's consort is the Destroyer, and the Goddess of Time & Change. Which, I was sure was Kali, and that's why I listed her off.
In every culture where Yama ( and name variations ) is seen as the Lord of Death, he is depicted as Male.
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You got that straight off wikipedia, didn't you? Haha. Kala means "black" and "dark coloured," as in skin-colour. Kali is an incarnation of Parvati, who is the Kindly Mother Goddess, who is Shiva's consort. And there you have it!
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To make sure my books aren't outdated, and a quick search on Yama, I sure did. :lol:
The Book of Hindu Imagery: The Gods and Their Symbols is my original source of knowledge about anything Hindu.
Kali is an incarnation of Parvati, who is the Kindly Mother Goddess, who is Shiva's consort. And there you have it!
That would be where the Wiki info folks got it, then for sure.
What about Shitala?
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As with Kali, an incarnation - though worshipped far less, as I think small pox is less of an occurrence in the present day. :P
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Right on, Thank you AWB... It seems I either mixed things up, copied them down wrong, or the author of the book got some details wrong. :lol:
I'm adding this in my notes, if you don't mind?
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It helps that hinduism is a pretty big thing in the family. Haha. Go for it!
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Azurahn thanks for your offend to my post, but next time keep it for yourself and you know why? Because majority of the users are offending my posts, so it's something usual to me, but i would like it if they would stop. When you read my posts i know that they aren't perfect formulated, but it's not recommended all the time to let loose to what you think like you did.
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If anyone feels I am in the wrong, please PM me and let me know, and I will correct myself...
However, I feel this needs to be the example for our new members.
Night Energy, this a message to you as a Moderator, and the Author of this Topic, so please pay close attention:
* Keep an issue with a Specific Member Private. This means, if you have something to tell Azurahn, send him a PM.
* Your response, in general, because of how it's worded, and what is highlighted is a form of Trolling, as well. It's Calling Azurahn out, and the response would be negative. Thus is born an argument.
* Your very first statement of "keeping it to yourself" contradicts your later statement of "it's something usual to me"
* Let's see... Oh yes, your post has absolutely NOTHING to do with This Topic.
* If the problem with these Members, is because of your Topics and Posts...
Take it up with the Moderators ( To name a few, Myself, Anaya, Angelus, Oldbill... ), the Guardian ( Nina ) or even the Admin ( Loki ) himself.
OR
Construct your outlandish posts better, offer some cooperation and information to inquiring members, follow the rules ( which I see you have previously broken a few )...
* In general, it's apparent that you have offered nothing useful to the Forum, and have been something of a nuisance. I'm honestly surprised you haven't been Outed before me... especially because I'm the Nice one.
* Please use this message as a learning experience.
Back To Topic!
I have a story I will be posting here tomorrow that I found a little bit ago that I'm sorta excited about.
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Since T put it all down so nicely, all I gotta say is that you better do as she says ;)
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The tales begins with the dreams of a fisherman who worked on the gray waters of the northern coast. he was a young man, vigorous and red-cheeked from days in the cold salt air, but the time came when his eyes grew dull and his hands trembled. He lived alone and made no one welcome in his cottage. Something had begun to haunt it, and night after night he dreamed of things he could not tell by day.
One night, resisting sleep with all his will, he met his tormentor. The hours passed silently, save for the creaking of the house and the rattle of the windows as the north wind beat against them. He lay without a light, but even in the darkness, he saw the fingers of mist that drifted in from a crack in the stone wall beside his bed. Luminous and curling, the vapor lay on the air; with delicate tendrils, it searched among the bedclothes.
The fisherman leaped into action. He flung himself from the bed and slapped his hand over the crack through which the mist had entered. It was easy to plug the crack with fat from his lamp, easy to light the lamp with a spill flamed at the hearth. When the little light steadied, he peered at the place where the mist had been.
But it was gone. In its place a woman stood, and she was no ruddy village maid. Her flesh was so pale it seemed translucent; her hair was a cloud of darkness, and she gazed at him with liquid, knowing eyes. The fisherman put out the light.
In the morning she still lay beside him, unsleeping and watchful, trapped by daylight. He told her roughly that since she had chosen to haunt him, she could serve him as a wife: She was pretty, he said, and she gave him pleasure. She could set to the work that other wives did.
The woman obeyed silently, without demur, and the tasks he assigned were admirably performed. She cooked and mended the nets. With her white hands, she hung his catch of mackerel and herring over smoking, seaweed-lined pits to dry.
His neighbors asked the fisherman where he had gotten his obedient wife, but he rebuffed such questions sharply, and soon the matter was mentioned no more. Still, the people did not fail to notice how the pale woman grew rosy and strong. They saw the small smile that trembled on her red lips when her eyes rested on the fisherman. As for him, each day he grew more sullen and withdrawn. he seemed to fade: His face paled to a dull gray, marked by the hectic glitter of his eyes.
During the sunless winter hours, no windows glowed in the cottage. Inside, by the dim firelight, the fisherman each night surveyed his prisoner and said, "Tell me what you are and where you came from."
But she was the stronger at night. She smiled a secret smile at him and invariably replied, "I do not know." Then she beckoned, and helplessly he obeyed.
The fisherman became wraithlike; he took to drink and to staring at his blooming captive with hate-filled eyes. Always, he asked his nightly question: "Tell me what you are and where you came from."
"I do not know."
Anger saved the fisherman. One night, when he had drunkenly asked his question and received his answer, he ignored the beckoning hand. Instead, he stumbled to the wall and, with clumsy fingers, picked at the hardened fat that sealed the chink beside the bed. When he felt the night air, he turned to the woman and mumbled thickly, "You entered by this portal, lady. Leave by it."
The woman trembled; her pale flesh wavered and dissolved into vapor. Ribbons of the mist streamed upward, and light as a sigh, out the chink in the wall. The last the fisherman heard of his nightmare was a single, drifting, mournful wail that might have been the winter wind.