February 2017: Magdalene at the Casbah

"Take me to the Casbah!"
I always associated this euphemism, expressing a woman's wish to escape to exotic environs (hopefully to be well ravished there), with a popular 1938 film starring Hedy Lamar and Charles Boyer, called "Algiers." Having reviewed that movie, the phrase is nowhere within it, so I don't know who made it famous. The soundtrack has some sinister passages that can only be described as highly suspicious music.

I must have seen this film sometime during my childhood, home sick from school, stationed on the couch to imbibe the hypnotic distraction of TV. I expect this is the source of my impression of the Casbah as an tropical emporium of ill repute - where rascals, spies, and international scoundrels spin their schemes and scams, while refined gentlemen with aristocratic bloodlines risk blackmail and scandal to obtain the companionship of sophisticated courtesans. Similar to the Chinese Geisha, these ladies of the night may be skilled in the entertainments of dance, music, games, or conversation, and certainly more intimate services. I thought of the Casbah as a high-end brothel, with attached casino.

But in fact (rather than in my imagination), the Casbah was a citadel: an ancient walled fortress, around which a cultural district of its own - a 'medina quarter' - gradually accumulated. Wikipedia says that in Turkish and Urdu, the word "kasaba" refers to a settlement that is larger than a village but smaller than a city; Serbo-Croatian linguistics confirm it as a small town, provincial in temperament.

Casbah Caïd Ali, Asslim near Agdz, Morocco

There were many of these Kasabas throughout North Africa, and they were fought over, defended, and conquered by successive waves of challengers. 

France colonized Algeria in the mid-1800's. The movement to wrest it back began as long ago as WWI, was quashed by betrayals of the French during WWII, and was finally accomplished in 1962. Interestingly, the Casbah became an epicenter for the resistance in the battle for Algeria's independence. The insurgency, led by the National Liberation Front (FLN), strategized from the Casbah.

It was famously immortalized by the Clash in their worldwide hit, Rock the Casbah. 

For whatever reason, I find myself deeply drawn to North Africa, and inexplicably fond of Algeria. The region's influence shows up multiple times this year - in February, May, June, September, and even on the front cover. Somehow this became a recurrent theme without my noticing.

Every panel is begun with the discovery of an intriguing portrait of a woman. She anchors the month, and excavations of energetic material (images that speak to my intuition) uncover the story that this woman wants to tell about the feminine experience. 

Locating resonant images often occurs through the agency of The Happy Accident. Like Colette's Vagabond, I rely upon Chance, finding things I wasn't looking for, that unexpectedly pull a thread in the curtain. The images have to work on many levels. Apart from considerations of color, shape, scale, and overall aesthetic, they have to carry the story.

For instance, I so love this cathedral from Algiers and wanted it in the panel. But it made no sense until I 'chanced upon' the painting of Magdalene. 

by Carlo Dolci, 1665

The narration of the story began to whisper. The message was one of irony, of the fickle mercy dispensed by the Church, served out only to those it deems deserving. Turning its back on the dirty laundry of the Casbah, it sniffs and looks away. There is scant accommodation or compassion for those who have no access to alternative occupations, who land in the lowliest of stations by economics rather than by choice, and must make the best of what is possibly the world's worst job. I imagine that even beggars are better thought of than prostitutes.

Witches await their inhumane punishments at the
hands of the Christians (I'd call them the Fake Christians,
out of deference to those who are Real). Prior to the
acceptance of the Gregorian calendar, there was already
an ongoing conflict in Europe between the sun-based
Julian calendar and the ancient lunar calendar of 13 months
 (moons) per year. As the Church's campaign to eradicate
witches progressed, the number 13 became very unlucky
indeed.
The murdered women were actually herbalists, healers, and
midwives who refused to give up their lunar calendars,
which they had used since time unwritten to track
pregnancies to term, to be properly prepared to assist
mother & baby in the death defying experience of birth.

There seems to be an over-abundance of judgement towards women generally, from the traditions whose God is made in the male image. Even women in those faiths may be harsh to others of their gender. All I can imagine is that if god was a mother, she'd be less likely to reject any child than these male Gods. I wouldn't be surprised if They're in arrears on Their child support payments.  

(Fortunately the Avatars are not limited by anyone's idea of God. Who would Jesus hate?)

Recurring themes tend to emerge while the panels are under construction, but I have no conscious clue as to how these come by their prominence. They 'self-select', apparently. A repeating example in 2017 is the lady bug. She appears in January and again in September. Why is she there? I didn't question her presence at all, while 'under construction'. But now, I can investigate her power as a totem, and learn about her medicine. 

Beautifully rendered animal totems and their meanings
Wisdom of the Animals

A recurrent theme in 2016 was the appearance of the ancestors of the women whose portraits 'anchor' the panels. It was as if the Grandmothers showed up, demanding acknowledgement. I was happy to meet them, actually. This year, I see a prevalence of prostitutes (similar to a gaggle of geese, a school of fish, a flock of birds, etc). Now, why are they there? What do they want?

I came to find that their choices and circumstances weren't always as dis-empowering as (once again) I imagined. In some cases, the occupation of the courtesan, when controlled by the women themselves, was a strategy that insured their sovereignty. We'll look more deeply into that when May gets here! 

Mary Magdalene is depicted ambiguously,
 with her girdle below her abdomen
rather than round her waist.
Could she be pregnant?
Kilmore Church, village of Dervaig, Scotland.

Meanwhile, who would Jesus love? 

Magdalene wipes blood from the Crown of Thorns, and such devotion causes rivers of roses to bloom; her story is about nothing if not the transforming power of what we call an Epiphany. From the ranks of the unworthy, the untouchable and most abused class of women, now she is pristine, radiant, beyond reproach - no less if indeed she was the literal Bride of Christ (yes, I mean in the Biblical sense)! In any case, she holds the place of the intimate counterpart of the Master, she whose being loves him with every cell, every breath.

This pure lover is part of the archetypal pattern, and in the lives of the Avatars, there is often a soul who fills this position as consort, companion, confidant. All that befalls him, she too suffers. 

The Lamentations of Mary Magdalene
on the Body of Christ
by Arnold Böcklin, 1868

It is worth noting that the early life of St. Francis followed a path of disrepute parallel to Magdalene's.

He was a drunken delinquent, an undisciplined public nuisance, until the Divine Whisper hit him.
His father then built a special cell in the house, where he imprisoned Francis for a year, in hopes of dissuading him from what was perceived as a temporary infatuation with Christ, never suspecting that the fire of this intoxication burns so hot that it smelts dross into gold.

Francis had a female counterpart, a partner in his crime of devotion:
St. Clare. 

Most images of her are so stern that she begins to resemble that famous internet meme, Grumpy Cat. When on pilgrimage in Italy, I mentioned this to my friend while we perused souvenirs in a shop near Clare's Basilica in Assisi. A forbidden giggle erupted from the sales clerk (the perennial sin of laughing in church). 

Sainthood isn't all it's cracked up to be.  First, there's the vow of poverty, then everything pleasurable is renounced. Who wouldn't be grumpy?

This is not the coin in the panel.
I just happened to like this one too.

On the subject of gold, money recurs as a theme this year as well (must be my own issues peeking in, lol). In February, there is only one real coin, a 20 franc piece minted in Morocco (we'll visit there in June). 

It can happen that for sheer survival's sake, we get stuck in a profession lacking joy, self-expression, or passion, turned into prostitutes for that paycheck, pimping to earn our portion of sand dollars. We could call it Fake Money: it pays the rent, with no further satisfaction for one's precious time traded so cheaply. Casbahs made of sand dollars fall in the sea, eventually, as Hendrix almost said. 

So, what OF the Casbah today? In 2008, Reuters reported that due to poor governance, age, and neglect, this historic cultural icon has fallen into serious disrepair, with some areas threatening to collapse. Population density is causal as well, because at that time, the census of the district was estimated at 40,000 - 70,000. The variance in the estimate was due to the uncountable squatters occupying vacant buildings! 

Preservationists would like to salvage and restore it - an expensive and delicate endeavor that would require vacating the district  -  while the government has regarded it as a hideout for criminals and terrorists. The New York Times called attention to its decrepit conditions in 2006. And this is why we see, in February's panel, the unattractive array of neglected structures wanting fresh paint, and the graceful arches of the verandas overrun with vegetation.

We cannot leave this inquiry without consulting the infallible Rumi, who says: 

“If you want money more than anything, you will be bought and sold.
If you have a greed for food, you will become a loaf of bread.
This is a subtle truth. Whatever you love, you are.” 

If we get the chance, and if we TAKE that chance, we choose our own joy to live, and follow it to wherever our Casbah may be. We still need real money, of course; but if we don't have to endanger ourselves in liaisons with unknown men to get it, we can count ourselves fortunate.

So, please, take me to the Casbah, anytime. I've fallen in love with Algeria.