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Sybrina Durant

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“If I were to ask you to open two novels, and compare the circumstances of each protagonist, asking you to chose who is “better,” you may find this ridiculous. You may tell me these characters have been forged in two different worlds, around different people, and they each have their own inherent purposes. They’re traveling different paths, and they’ll traverse their paths at different speeds, as their meant to. Great. So as such, never again compare yourself to another.”

“It's not enough for us to mourn and resist the suffering and oppression of 2SLGBTQIA+ folks. We must also dare to imagine a world in which we are all embraced and celebrated in life-giving mutuality. We must stir our imaginations to conceive of a Church where every member of this vibrant Body is recognized for the divine image we reflect. And before we nod in easy agreement to this truth, we must also recognize that we have been conditioned into a crisis of imagination. We have lost so much of that creative capacity- and we must rekindle it! And one crucial way to do that is to elevate those lives and voices that demonstrate that imagination, found most often among those very people who live under that suffering and oppression. As Walter Brueggemann reminds us, "It is the vocation of the prophet to keep alive the ministry of imagination, to keep on conjuring and proposing futures alternative to the single one the king wants to urge as the only thinkable one.”

“A Mind's Minotaur - A Soliloquy by Stewart Stafford In a labyrinth’s mental corridors, prisoner of consciousness, Fleeing a Minotaur I fear is me. Achilles' heel, masked by strength hath shown, An arrow cometh from Time's swift flight, For those with bountiful time enow, Find themselves slain in a heroic light. When thou dost gaze upon the world below, And scorn its depths, thou canst not comprehend The truths that pool o'er its shadow, glow. No tears stain that meadow of solace, A phantom limb, tickling in memory's store, Galley slaves in hurricane's heart so lashed. Transient madness and renown, conjoin on pomp’s bridge, Champions of the joust wave paramour's kerchief, Revered statues limp from a pedestal's ridge. The signs of pride and brittle ardour, The hubristic bite of isolation's cur. The death warrant quill must ne'er be stilled, For authority doth stifle beauty's song, Staged chaos through the written word is willed. Phantasy's balm to verity's scourging, A cleansing soak of battle-scarred minds, And in the dark, imagination reigns. He who hath fear of the dark hath vision keen, Whilst those who see but naught are dull and plain. Thus, let us not be swayed by others' lore, But splay in error, heal to prosper once more. Idolatrous moth to lechery's candlelight, In lover's tongues, passion's seared delight. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”