Jul. 1st, 2007

alainn_aislinn: (Mysterious ways)
"Racism isn't born, folks, it's taught. I have a two-year-old son. You know what he hates? Naps! End of list." Dennis Leary

I suppose it is a sort of racism. It certainly is among the other creatures, but even between us, it lingers, in looks, in glances. Even among our own "species" we are Other. When hierarchies are based upon species, how can it be anything but a form of racism. We can call it speciesism or whatever, but in the broader scope of things, we are all Fae. Sidhe, pixies, gnomes, leprechauns, nymphs, the spirits of the trees and rocks and the rest. We are all Fae, all born of the magic and Dana's touch.

But the Tuatha de Danann are special, set apart from the rest, at the top of the order. While the other Fae are touched and blessed by the Goddess, we are her children. Blood of her blood, the first of us born of her union with the earth, a perfect blending of Earth and Divine, and this makes us the leaders of those born solely of the Earth, with just the breath of the Divine in them. They haven't the blood. They haven't the Power.

But Power is where the racism among us begins. Because while the Tuatha de Danann are all children of the Goddess, we are divided into our own races. The Daoine Sidhe. The Bean Sidhe. The Leanan Sidhe. We co-exist in palaces. We all reign at the top of the social ladder and the strata that define Faerie. Some of us, such as my father, are accorded the status of Kings and Queens of the Sidhe in our own right. But we are Other to each other. Subtle variations, each of us claiming some superiority over the others, based upon variations in the way the Goddess' blood expresses itself in us.

The Daoine Sidhe are the politicians. They lead, inevitably. They go to War. They defend. They lead the hunt. They are the craftsmen and the inventors. The Bean Sidhe exist mostly in their own sphere and keep to themselves and really want little to do with any of us, pleased to be the harbingers of Death and follow the Morrigan with mournful delight. And then there we are, trapped between worlds. The Daoine Sidhe can exist solely in Faerie, never needing to leave but to win a bride or a child to keep the bloodlines strong, but the Leanan Sidhe must walk among mortals, even if briefly. We are as connected to them as the Bean Sidhe in our own way. While we can inspire our own, and inspire the artisans of the Daoine Sidhe; while we can be the artisans of the Sidhe, creating our own works of beauty to exalt the beauty and the delight of the Sidhe; we still need them, the mortals, the humans. We need their energy, their creative force. We need it to live, to thrive.

And this makes us somehow less than in the Daoine Sidhe's eyes, who need nothing from anyone. Oh, they remember, when we were the seers. Our kind still may choose to serve as priests to the Sidhe, energy radiating out from those seeking to connect with the Divine to feed their need, but there are too many of us now to all fill that function, and not enough of them to keep us all fed. So we disperse among mortals, some of us for long periods of times walking this worlds, others just for visits to the chosen.

And all of this sets us apart. It makes many of the Daoine Sidhe watch us with suspicion. We do not have their magic. We do not have their Power. We cannot control the weather or make the seasons change. We cannot conjure anything we wish out of the air, using only the elements around us. We cannot change our shape at will. We cannot fly. We can only cast simple glamours, perform the simple magics that certain humans with sensitivities can as well. Magics learned by the Daoine Sidhe as children, and them something stops us, blocks us from doing more, even though we know how. But we can slide between worlds easily. Barriers cannot keep us out. We can walk dreams and slide into minds and connect with people in ways the Daoine Sidhe cannot. We connect with the Divine spark inside each being, can manipulate the soul, can enhance the connection, can bring nirvana and pure bliss and an intimacy of experience they cannot hope to achieve without us.

We work together well, usually. But always there is that moment, those looks, that touch of suspicion of those different than us. One of us manipulates one of them; one of them exiles one of us and tensions flare and war is threatened. It is learned, surely, this uneasy truce.

But learned or not, it is always there, even as we feast together, dance under the stars in Her name, make love, make children. Always. I don't know if it always has been, but I cannot see any way that it will ever be truly gone.


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December 2007

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