Exploring the F-word in religion at the intersection of scholarship, activism, and community.
My god bleeds with me
Her feet right beside mine for morning gratitudes
Soles to soils, we touch skin to skin
She’s vast like me
And I love her
My god grieves when I do
My sorrows meet Hers at the ocean shore
Vial for vial, our tears make our medicine
She can transmute anything, just like me
And I love Her
She courts me
leaves me love notes in the shapes of flower petals
winks at me in amber sunsets
morning serenades and juicy fruits
She loves me! She lifes me!
And I love and I life Her too
For most of cinematic history, the moral universe of film was anchored in clarity. The hero was dharmic—principled, disciplined, and guided by a moral compass that was neither ambiguous nor negotiable. The villain, by contrast, represented a clear rupture in the ethical order. Actions had consequences; justice was intelligible; human beings possessed agency, responsibility, and accountability. Main stream cinema reflected a world in which right and wrong, virtue and vice, were not merely narrative devices but metaphysical coordinates. One could locate a character on the map of moral compass with precision.
Older Indian cinema often adhered to a strong moral framework in which even the most charismatic or beloved protagonists were ultimately required to pay for their transgressions on screen. Unlike today’s era of morally ambiguous films—where anti-heroes may triumph, consequences are negotiable, and ethical lines are intentionally blurred—classic cinema rarely allowed wrongdoing to go unpunished. Yet this does not mean that earlier films lacked sophistication or ambiguity; rather, they explored moral conflict within a clear ethical horizon, allowing audiences to empathize deeply with flawed characters while still witnessing their inevitable downfall. For example, in Deewaar (1975), Amitabh Bachchan’s Vijay becomes an iconic rebel whom audiences passionately sympathize with, yet he must die in the end to restore moral order. In Parwana (1971), his obsessive, morally dark character meets a tragic ending, demonstrating the same principle. Even beyond Bachchan, iconic villains like Gabbar Singh in Sholay (1975) was originally written to die as a narrative necessity. Through such storytelling, older cinema balanced empathy with accountability, illustrating that complexity and moral clarity once powerfully coexisted.
Continue reading “Evolution of Cinema and Shift of the Moral Universe by Sabahat Fida”
Dear FAR readers, here is a selection from my new collection Holding Our Brokenness, a gathering of poems. I chose these particular poems for their connection to feminism and/or religion. I hope you will enjoy them.
The Old One Speaks
You must be unmade here
inside my grey cloak
inside my cold womb
here where the ice forms
and breaks
at the river’s edge.
What Kali Tells Me
It’s all in the rhythm.
Falseness throws you off beat.
Rhythm renews your strength
with every step. That’s how time
becomes timelessness.
When I first heard the ‘trumpeting’ and ‘brrring’ it was less than an hour before dawn, but one aggregation was already on the wing headed west, away from the fields. Because their direction led away from the fields, I feared we would not see the Sandhills at all. It was All Saints Day, a time to give thanks to those creatures and people who have helped us along the way. (Sandhills have been been a beacon of Light in my own life). A bloody red sky turned deep rose as the sun shattered the charcoal outline of distant mountains, turning them carmen red. The wind was fierce as I walked up and down the sides of the open agricultural fields listening intently. Gunshots rang out and I wondered where these might be coming from. In Maine it is illegal to shoot migrating cranes. The sunrise was spectacular. Clouds spun themselves out of ruby, slate, and violet hues. Indescribable.
Although snow buntings, red winged blackbirds and two harriers were scrying the skies around the fields after dawn I only had eyes for sandhill sightings!
Continue reading “The Echo Makers 25 by Sara Wright”A woman’s body has become a site of commodification to such extreme that even her most basic necessities are not spared. Products meant for hygiene or comfort ; razors, deodorants, tampons, shampoos are packaged, scented, and coloured in ways that signal femininity, pushing them into a hyper-aesthetic zone of the departmental store. This creates a glaring economic contradiction: men’s products, often identical in function, are sold cheaper, while women pay a premium simply for their gender. But the exploitation is not merely financial. By demanding that her essentials adhere to socially approved standards of beauty, the market sends an unambiguous message: a woman’s needs, her very body, are only legitimate when they are commodified, beautified, and consumed in accordance with society’s expectations. The Pink Tax is thus not just a matter of inflated prices, it is a subtle enforcement of control, conditioning women to invest continuously in an ideal that is neither natural nor negotiable.
But this exploitation extends far beyond commercialized markets and seeps into the routines of everyday life. A tailor may charge different rates for the same shirt depending on the gender it is intended for, while a simple haircut at a salon can cost women far more than men, despite the identical service. Men’s consumption remains largely practical, functional, and unembellished, whereas women are expected to pay for aesthetic compliance at every turn. This raises the question: is the female market driven merely by trends or gullibility, or is it a reflection of deeper societal pressures — an unspoken demand that a woman’s body and appearance must conform to rigid standards of femininity in order to be socially acceptable? Is the answer in the very language and design of advertising Taglines like “You’re worth it” or “Strong is beautiful” which carry a psychological imperative, subtly instructing women to compare, conform, and continually invest in their appearance as a measure of worth ? These subliminal marketing strategies are deeply rooted in social comparison theory, objectification and fear appeal/protection motivation theories.
Continue reading “The Second Skin: Lipstick, Lies and Lead part 1 by Sabahat Fida”I Resolve To Speak
There’s a fascist in the White House —
a malevolent clown and front man
for a cabal of the hard right.
Their takeover of the US government
proceeds rapidly, a stunning succession
of defeats for democracy.
The nightmares of fascism
are taking shape in waking reality.
Now is the time, I tell myself,
to speak up, speak out,
name the perpetrators,
name their games.
The bully in the White House
has been called a rapist,
and fascism is patriarchy on steroids,
waging unremitting war on nature,
people of color, and women.
Part 1 was posted yesterday.
MARRIAGE
“He looked at me without judgment. With him, I didn’t feel the need to perform.” Both her future husband (first year medical resident) and she (now studying applied linguistics) disliked fundamentalism’s legalism, but they were still committed to Christianity. Both were “devoted to [sexual] abstinence.” Sex did not even happen on their wedding night, but when it did, it hurt. For years, the pain continued. Vaginismus. “I didn’t know there was a name for it. I didn’t know that…it was twice as common for those who had grown up in religiously conservative households.” It took years to get through the pain. “It’s not until we can believe that our bodies are inherently good and worthy of pleasure and joy that we can begin to heal.”
A new pastor arrived at Rollins’ church armed with Christian nationalist ideas and fervor. It didn’t set right with her. She was moving toward progressive positions beginning with “my body, my choice.” She adds, “If there’s anything someone who’s struggled with an eating disorder understands, it’s the concept of bodily autonomy.” She began to research the Reformers beginning with Martin Luther who said this about women: “If women become tired, even die, it does not matter. Let them die in childbirth. That’s what they are there for.” Rollins’ husband pushes back, though, quoting Scripture—“there is no male or female…we are all unified in Christ.” Why then, Rollins wonders, does sexism run rampant in the church?
Continue reading “FAMISHED—ON FOOD, SEX, AND GROWING UP AS A GOOD GIRL by Anna Rollins: Book Review by Esther Nelson, part 2”
In her Preface, Rollins writes, “Hypercontrolling my food and using exercise compulsively had always been how I coped with life, stress, expectations, and fear.” Many people (usually women) use this coping technique in their day-to-day lives. Controlling your body’s needs and desires allows you to feel powerful. I know. I am one of those people.
Powerful or being in control was not something the author felt able to achieve in any “normal” way given her upbringing “in an Appalachian [West Virginia] church that fully embraced purity culture [sexual abstinence before marriage] and rigid gender roles.” Rollins continues, “…I’d bought into the scripts offered to me by both diet culture [controlling food intake to achieve a better-looking body] and purity culture [controlling your sex drive] … [knowing] that if I controlled my appetites, I could control my world. That if I made myself smaller, I would be better, safer.”
Rollins interviewed scholars, psychologists, and an array of women while writing FAMISHED. She states, “When women worked to heal from body shame, their relationship to religion was intricately involved.”
The author divides her work into three sections: Girlhood, Marriage, and Motherhood.
Continue reading “FAMISHED—ON FOOD, SEX, AND GROWING UP AS A GOOD GIRL by Anna Rollins: Book Review by Esther Nelson, part 1”
Where are they?
September’s light
illuminates one butterfly
in flight
Bittersweet losses
cast slanted shadows
pierce cool nights
morning mist
lifts as
light streams
through translucent
leaves
one acorn falls…
autumn’s breath
a gift of
primal scent
I am drawn to the sea not for its grandeur, but for what it returns: small, broken things that once had sharpness. As a child, I remember walking along the shore searching for glimmers, glass fragments dulled into misty greens, smoky ambers, pale blues. I wanted to gather the pieces of what had once been whole and what had once been contained. I collected the way a child collects secrets, each piece a contradiction. Maybe I thought I could make something from these fragments; after all, I was the kind of child who looked for meanings and signs in everything. It is in part what drew me to literature and writing.
There is a piece of sea glass I remember more than the others: an opalescent shard, a piece of moon. That piece became a metaphor for the self I hadn’t yet become. Like those fragments, I too had sharp edges once. Pain teaches that: the need to defend, to protect oneself from further breakage, carves us into angular shapes. I learned early how to brace for fracture, and there was a comfort I found in control, a fierce desire for wholeness that was often mistaken for strength. But there is a brittleness to that kind of armor, and eventually, it begins to break. It took years of undoing for my edges to soften.
Continue reading “Sea Glass by Elanur Williams”
Feminism and Religion 