Pan

“I know someone who kisses the way
a flower opens, but more rapidly.
Flowers are sweet. They have short, beatific lives. They offer much pleasure. There is nothing in this world that can be said against them. Sad, isn’t, that all they can kiss is the air. Yes, yes! We are the lucky ones.”
― Mary Oliver, Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver

“A man once made it a reproach that I should be so happy, and told me everybody has crosses, and that we live in a vale of woe. I mentioned moles as my principal cross, and pointed to the huge black mounds with which they had decorated the tennis–court, but I could not agree to the vale of woe, and could not be shaken in my belief that the world is a dear and lovely place, with everything in it to make us happy so long as we walk humbly and diet ourselves. He pointed out that sorrow and sickness were sure to come, and seemed quite angry with me when I suggested that they too could be borne perhaps with cheerfulness. ‘And have not even such things their sunny side?’ I exclaimed. ‘When I am steeped to the lips in diseases and doctors, I shall at least have something to talk about that interests my women friends, and need not sit as I do now wondering what I shall say next and wishing they would go.’ He replied that all around me lay misery, sin, and suffering, and that every person not absolutely blinded by selfishness must be aware of it and must realise the seriousness and tragedy of existence. I asked him whether my being miserable and discontented would help any one or make him less wretched; and he said that we all had to take up our burdens. I assured him I would not shrink from mine, though I felt secretly ashamed of it when I remembered that it was only moles, and he went away with a grave face and a shaking head, back to his wife and his eleven children. I heard soon afterwards that a twelfth baby had been born and his wife had died, and in dying had turned her face with a quite unaccountable impatience away from him and to the wall; and the rumour of his piety reached even into my garden, and how he had said, as he closed her eyes, ‘It is the Will of God.’ He was a missionary.”
― Elizabeth von Arnim, The Solitary Summer

“The Flower-Crowned Martial God; Sword in one hand, flower in the other. Shi QingXuan only remembered the flower, but had forgotten: Xie lian ascended because of his sword.”
― Mò Xiāng Tóngxiù, 天官赐福 [Tiān Guān Cì Fú]

“White women—feminists included—have revealed a historical reluctance to acknowledge the struggles of household workers. They have rarely been involved in the Sisyphean task of ameliorating the conditions of domestic service. The convenient omission of household workers’ problems from the programs of “middle-class” feminists past and present has often turned out to be a veiled justification—at least on the part of the affluent women—of their own exploitative treatment of their maids.

In 1902 the author of an article entitled “A Nine-Hour Day for Domestic Servants” described a conversation with a feminist friend who had asked her to sign a petition urging employers to furnish seats for women clerks.

“The girls,” she said, “have to stand on their feet ten hours a day and it makes my heart ache to see their tired faces.”
“Mrs. Jones,” said I, “how many hours a day does your maid stand upon her feet?”
“Why, I don’t know,” she gasped, “five or six I suppose.”
“At what time does she rise?”
“At six.” “And at what hour does she finish at night?”
“Oh, about eight, I think, generally.”
“That makes fourteen hours …”
“… (S)he can often sit down at her work.”
“At what work? Washing? Ironing? Sweeping? Making beds? Cooking? Washing dishes? … Perhaps she sits for two hours at her meals and preparing vegetables, and four days in the week she has an hour in the afternoon. According to that, your maid is on her feet at least eleven hours a day with a score of stair-climbings included. It seems to me that her case is more pitiable than that of the store clerk.”

My caller rose with red cheeks and flashing eyes. “My maid always has Sunday after dinner,” she said.
“Yes, but the clerk has all day Sunday. Please don’t go until I have signed that petition. No one would be more thankful than I to see the clerks have a chance to sit …”
― Angela Y. Davis, Women, Race & Class