Replaceable Women

The replacement of Rhaenyra and Alicent in House of Dragons forced a poem/essay (a pessay?) out of me to honor the graveyard of replaced women.

Replaceable Women

I stopped watching House of Dragons on episode 6.

The timeline jumps 10 years ahead.
They replaced the actresses who played Rhaenyra and Alicent, but did not replace the actors who played Ser Criston, Daemon, Corlys or Viserys.

Even though Criston and Daemon experienced those exact same 10 years of getting older.

Even when they are the main characters, women are replaceable. Just swap her out and update with a different model. No one will care.

But the men?
Oh, we keep the men. 
......................

Men are six times more likely to leave their partner if their partner gets cancer than women are.

When a husband has cancer, 2.9% of wives leave.
When a wife has cancer, 20.8% of husbands leave.

One in five men will replace his woman for a better functioning version. 

But the men?
We keep the men.
......................
There have been 7 different James Bond actors across 27 films.

There have been 79 Bond girls.

How many can you name?

It doesn’t matter. They were meant to be easily replaceable.

But the men?
Well. We know the men.
......................

When I was Mormon I worshiped Heavenly Father. Prayed to him everyday.

But Heavenly Mother?

I was forbidden from praying to her.

Our first prophet had 27 wives. Our second had 56. Who knows how many our God has. 

I suppose it's hard to pray to dozens? hundreds? thousands? of unnamed, replaceable mothers.

But Heavenly Father?
Oh, there's just one of him.
......................

In the Ming dynasty of ancient China, 46 concubines of emperor Zhou Yuanzhang were buried alive in his tomb, so they could continue their services in the afterlife.

In ancient Egypt, 318 of his wives, concubines and maids were buried alive with King Djer when he died.

For his 70th birthday, Mormon prophet Wilford Woodruff had 154 virgins come with him to the temple to be sealed to him in the next life.

Too grim?

I know. I too wish history was less full of the graves of unnamed women.

But the men?
History ensures we know the men.
......................

When Sylvester Stallone made it big with the Rocky movies, he replaced his wife of 11 years for his Rocky co-star.

When Harrison Ford caught a break with Star Wars movies, he replaced his wife of 12 years while sleeping with his 19 year old co-star.

When Lance Armstrong had cancer, his wife took care of him and their three kids. When he got better, he won five more Tour de Frances and he replaced his wife with a famous singer.

In a better world, we would know these replaced women's names who raised these men's children. We would support and honor them.

Instead
It's the men we support. It's the men we honor.
......................

Can we blame the men who grew up learning the gospel truth that Father is God. Son is God. But Mother?

Mother is a mere mortal.

Of use to mankind only for her virginal womb and baking of sacramental bread.

Can we blame the men whose heroes- kings, James Bond, prophets, emperors, Rocky, Han Solo, Olympians- are all hailed as they replace their women as if it is their right?

Can we blame the men whose gods harbor hordes of replaceable women?

Can we blame them when they treat women precisely as they were shown to- as a platter of replaceable parts?
......................

When a lawn mower gets old and can no longer do its job of cutting grass, we replace it.

When a door gets old and can no longer do its job of staying on its hinges, we replace it.

When a woman gets old and can no longer do her job of being silently beautiful, she is replaced.

And who can blame him really?

He who replaces his old, wrinkly door-
it's paint is chipping,
it whines where its lost structural support-
would a new one not be nice?
One that is not so loud. Not so rusty.

And would the neighbors not walk by and think what a fine looking door? So becoming of such a fine, strong house.
......................

But who will tell them?

Who will tell these men that those same old demons that lurk in their closets will go right on creaking regardless of how many shiny new doors he acquires?

Who will tell them that a door- new or old- was never meant to fill in the cracks in his foundation?

Who will teach them that doors aren't actually doors at all but structures of their own with hopes, feelings, ideas, fears and dreams just as valid and important as his?

Who will train them to see woman as something other than a replaceable jewel valued only for how her shine reflects on him?
......................

Is this the mother's job?

But mother is a mere mortal.

She is no god.
......................

And those old replaced doors? What of them? 

Do they lie dormant discarded? Piling up in graveyards of their own decomposition?

No.

For what is a graveyard if not a place to learn the lessons of the dead?

What is decomposition if not the transformation of death into new life?

They may have been replaced, but they are not lost. They are not useless. They are not dead. 

They open themselves to find portals of that which cannot be replaced- contentment, soul, connection.

They gather.

And together

they sing

as they construct something new.
...........................

Let the replacing men have their Potemkin villages of shiny facades. 

They are welcome to the chorus as soon as they understand the equal and innate value of what they've been trained to view as replaceable objects.

In the mean time, the replaced ones will build new solid foundations 

together.

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