Marjorie Young

The Psychic View – Truth in ‘Beauty’

By Marjorie Young

Movies have always been a happy part of my life; I often finding them inspirational as well as entertaining. Seeing my first Japanese film, ‘Seven Samurai’ as a teen began a life-long fascination with that country, which later became my home for many years.

Sometimes a film’s influence can come unexpectedly. One recent example is ‘Beauty and the Beast.’ It wasn’t something I’d typically be drawn to, but the excellent reviews made me curious. The lavish opening introduced us to a spoiled, cold-hearted, and self-indulgent prince. In the midst of an over-the-top revel, an old woman pleads for shelter from the storm raging outside. The prince responds with scorn. As it turns out, the stranger was a sorceress, who promptly cursed the prince, transforming him into a repulsive creature on the spot. The only way to break the spell, we are told, is if the newly created ‘beast’ can learn to love and be loved in return. However, the odds are against it, the narrator reminds us…because ‘who could love a monster?’

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Biff beast is loose…a border wall…Ouroboros chokes: Facing reality months after the election

“The highest type of ruler is one of whose existence
the people are barely aware.”

--Lao Tzu

As votes were tallied last November and each state on the map of the United States slowly turned red on election night, citizens of Earth slowly slipped into the sickening shock wave rippling around the planet as the sun slowly rose over Asia, and it was apparent that Donald J. Trump (aka Mayor Biff Tannen) would be president of the United States.

Now, looking back just a few months into the Biff-pig being president, the all-too-real narrative of a nightmare we live in gets worse as his presidency comes to full and frightening fruition.

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Amanda's View: Sibling rivalry

By Amanda Knox
 
In my pre-teens, I chose to ignore the sour tang that had crept into my relationship with my little sister Deanna. I dismissed her suddenly miserable, disdainful attitude towards me like it was nothing more than one of her frequent bouts of carsickness. She’d get over it.
 
It’s not like I had done something. In fact, from the way she seemed to be angry with me about everything, I deduced that her frustration wasn’t really directed at what I did, but at me. Me personally. And it was baffling. What happened to the kid who crawled into my bed whenever she had a nightmare? The little girl who counted on me to look after her on the playground, and be her voice when she was too shy to speak? Why didn’t she like me anymore?
 
The answer was obvious to everyone else. “It’s just sibling rivalry,” the adults said. “Don’t take it personally.” But it felt personal, and I was at turns skeptical and angry. I wasn’t competing with my sister, so why should she compete with me?
 
Now, nearly two decades later and in the thick of Deanna’s wedding planning, we texted the following exchange:  
 

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