She moves in mysterious ways.
She moves in mysterious ways.
“No, I would not like to be a Barbie. My own Barbie was variously accidentally decapitated in a tug-of-war between my sister and the little kid from the sheep and cattle station next door, forced to wear a New Romantic haircut, and had blue biro inked on her eye lids. Furthermore, she couldn’t sit on a horse properly, and kept losing her shoes.”
Thus I replied to an automatically generated blog that appeared somewhere near the vicinity of my Vagina Tax Alert posting. I decided to have a squizz at it. http://blogs.babycenter.com/momformation/2009/03/11/shes-a-barbie-im-a-barbie-wouldnt-you-like-to-be-a-barbie-too/
And the answer is no, hell no, not ever. Why would I want to become a Barbie? The shoes are tight, the men are short, and you cannot ride a horse.
Not to mention the fact that millions of people around the world choose your wardrobe for you on a daily basis. Without consultation. If I were Barbie, I’d wake up, slash my wardrobe with a hunting knife, and ride off into the forest of Lost Toys.
Where St Mattel is routinely burnt at the stake.
Try Gabriel Garnica’s extreme Roman Catholic perspective of the ultimate she-heathen, Barbie, she of the long legs, impossible figure, and alluring descent into radical feminism – which as we know is about 3/4 of a step away from “goddess worship” (Garnica, G. www.dailycatholic.org/issue/04Dec/dec14gab.htm) and other such naughty stuff. Phew! And to think, as you will have seen from the article, she entitles her impassioned diatribe, The First Feminist Icon. What?!
How does one who fears a descent into goddess worship reconcile a belief in The Virgin Mary, a Roman Catholic incarnation of The Goddess Herself?
Having returned from a trip to a mate’s wedding in Italy at the beginning of August, and, prior to the wedding week, visited St Peter’s Basilica in Rome, I have to say that idolatry is alive and well in the Roman Catholic faith, and I don’t mean faith in gobsmackingly beautiful architecture. Idolatry is a language of worship, in which one recognises something divine, something transcendent – whether beautiful, loving, good, or no. It is the linguistics of religion, and of spirit. So how is a statue of the Virgin Mary holding her son not idolatrous?
Strangely compelled to enter St Mary’s Cathedral here in Sydney a couple of years or so ago, on a literal and metaphorical journey through date palms in Hyde Park – for reasons I shall not go into – I encountered an image of the Virgin Mary. Just inside the door was a beautiful sculpture of The Virgin Mary holding her infant son. An image. I could barely stop myself crying, and had to leave.
WHAT is so bad about goddess worship?
If I worship anything, it’s not a carefully constructed plastic doll with a jet-propelled bosom and legs which struggle to spread over the flank of a plastic horse, much less ride it to Boadicean victory across a lumpy lawn or dusty dryleaf-strewn yard.
If I worship anything – it is the spirit of the Goddess nature which IS nature, and within us.
Besides, where I come from, a barbie is short for barbeque.