Jesus the Radical

Meet the Jesus you weren’t taught in Sunday school. How Christ’s message defied norms and continues to be misunderstood. 

If you grew up with a sanitized, polite version of Jesus — the one who smiled at children, patted sheep on the head, and delivered motivational speeches about kindness — you were misled. 

The real Jesus was a troublemaker, a rule-breaker, and a threat to religious and political elites. He was a man who told his followers to abandon their families, rebuked the religious authorities of his day, and welcomed women, tax collectors and sinners into his inner circle. He preached radical nonviolence while shaking up every power structure around him. And yet, modern Christianity has often sanitized him, turning a revolutionary into a figurehead for power-hungry, greedy, corrupt and close-minded institutions he surely would have condemned.

So, what did Jesus actually teach? And how has he been completely misunderstood? Let’s start with the ways he upended everything people thought they knew about God, religion and power.

How Jesus Was a Radical

He tore down religious authority.  

Jesus didn’t uphold the religious establishment. He wanted to dismantle it.

The Pharisees and Sadducees — the religious gatekeepers of his time — were obsessed with rules, from Sabbath restrictions to purity laws. Jesus? He ignored them. He healed people on the Sabbath (Mark 3:1-6), touched lepers, and even ate with “unclean” sinners. But he didn’t stop there: He actively attacked their authority, calling them “blind guides” and “hypocrites” (Matthew 23:13-24).

Perhaps the most blatant act of defiance came when he stormed into the Temple, flipped over tables, and drove out money changers with a whip (John 2:13-16). That was an assault on the entire system of religious corruption that profited from people’s faith. No wonder they wanted him dead.

He rejected earthly power (and made Rome nervous). 

The Jewish people were expecting a military messiah — someone to overthrow the Roman Empire and restore Israel’s glory. Instead, they got a man who rode into town on a donkey — yes, a humble beast, but also a deliberate nod to prophecy. Their savior wasn’t a warrior, though; he told people to “turn the other cheek” (Matthew 5:39) and “love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:39). What a letdown.

Jesus’ entire Kingdom of God message was subversive because it challenged both Rome and Jewish leadership. When people tried to trap him by asking if they should pay taxes, Jesus delivered his famous line: “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s” (Mark 12:17). It wasn’t just a clever dodge; it was a denial of Rome’s ultimate authority. His kingdom wasn’t built on armies and taxes, but on justice, mercy and radical love. That made him a political liability.

He told people to abandon their families. 

This one rarely makes it into the warm-and-fuzzy Jesus narrative. Jesus wasn’t about family values — at least, not in the traditional sense.

He explicitly told people to leave their families behind if they wanted to follow him:

“If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters — yes, even their own life — such a person cannot be my disciple.” (Luke 14:26)

Hate your parents? That’s… extreme. But Jesus wasn’t advocating literal hatred; he was saying that loyalty to God’s kingdom had to come first, even before family obligations. In a society where family was everything, this was shockingly countercultural.

And when someone told him, “Hey, I’ll follow you, but first let me go bury my father,” Jesus replied, “Let the dead bury their own dead” (Luke 9:60). Translation: No excuses. This mission is urgent. Of course he did think the end times were going to happen within his lifetime. 

He elevated women in a society that saw them as inferior. 

Women in first-century Judea weren’t exactly treated as equals. They couldn’t testify in court, they were largely excluded from religious leadership, and they were often considered property. Yet Jesus shattered these norms.

• He taught women as disciples (Luke 10:38-42), something unheard of for a Jewish rabbi.

• He defended a woman caught in adultery from being stoned, challenging a law everyone accepted (John 8:1-11).

• He spoke to a Samaritan woman at a well (John 4:7-26), ignoring racial, gender and religious taboos in one go.

• Mary Magdalene, not Peter nor any other male disciple, was the first to witness and proclaim his resurrection (John 20:11-18).

In a culture where a woman’s testimony was considered worthless, Jesus entrusted the most important message in Christian history to a woman. If that’s not radical, what is?

How Jesus Is Misunderstood Today

He wasn’t a champion of organized religion. 

Ironically, many churches today function like the Pharisees — obsessed with rules, hierarchy and institutional power. But Jesus was against organized religion; he was about tearing down barriers between people and God.

When he said, “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath” (Mark 2:27), he was dismantling the idea that religious rituals were more important than people. Today, some Christian institutions do the opposite — using doctrine to exclude, judge or control.

Jesus’ kingdom wasn’t about political power. 

Some modern groups try to hijack Jesus for political agendas — whether it’s nationalism, capitalism or theocracy. But Jesus never sought earthly power. He said, “My kingdom is not of this world” (John 18:36), which means he wasn’t interested in ruling governments.

Any time Jesus is used to justify violence, nationalism or oppression, we’ve strayed far from his teachings.

Christianity has made Jesus more about rules than love. 

Jesus didn’t say, Follow these 613 laws and you’ll be saved. He said, Love God and love your neighbor — that’s the whole deal (Matthew 22:37-40). But over time, his message got lost in a maze of rules, shame and endless theological debates about who’s in and who’s out.

The irony? Jesus spent most of his time calling out religious folks for their obsession with rules while embracing the most marginalized people in society.

Reclaiming the Radical Jesus

The real Jesus wasn’t a goody-goody figurehead of religion — he was a revolutionary who upended the status quo. He was killed precisely because he was a threat to those holding religious and political power.

Those who follow him should reject the sanitized, institutionalized version of Jesus and embrace the radical, table-flipping, rule-breaking teacher who challenged authority, welcomed the outcasts, and preached a love so dangerous it got him executed.

So the question is: Are we following the real Jesus, or just a comfortable version of him? –Wally

The First Homosexuals at Wrightwood 659: Rewriting Art History With a Queer Lens

This powerful global exhibition traces the emergence of queer identity through more than 300 artworks — at a time when LGBTQ+ visibility matters more than ever.

Peace 1 by Zhang Huan, 2001

When Wally and I heard about The First Homosexuals: The Birth of a New Identity, 1869–1939 at Wrightwood 659, we were immediately intrigued. We had missed the first iteration, which ran in 2022. This new presentation promised to be larger in scale, and suggested something truly ambitious — a visual journey recontextualizing art history by presenting a wide range of works through a queer lens. 

This exhibition is especially important because it comes at a perilous time when LGBTQ+ voices are increasingly under attack across political and cultural spheres. In the face of bans, restrictions on school curricula, and renewed efforts to limit or erase queer visibility, The First Homosexuals reclaims that space by affirming that queer identity has an enduring, complex and creative legacy. 

““The First Homosexuals” is especially important because it comes at a perilous time when LGBTQ+ voices are increasingly under attack across political and cultural spheres. ”

I was reminded of Masculin/Masculin, a provocative exhibition Wally and I saw at the Musée d’Orsay in 2013. Drawing primarily from European painting and sculpture, the show turned the traditional male gaze on its head — shifting the focus from the female form, so often idealized in art, to the male nude. By presenting works from 1800 to the early aughts, the show invited viewers to reconsider the male body, not just as a symbol of strength or virility but as an object of desire.

While Masculin/Masculin traced the idealization of the male body in European art, it didn’t place those depictions within the broader context of queer history. The First Homosexuals at Wrightwood 659 takes that next step, expanding the lens across five continents and inviting viewers to consider queerness as something shaped by history, society and culture — often coded, but always present. 

The First Homosexuals included more than 300 works by 125 queer artists from 40 countries.

Its point of departure is 1869, when Karl-Maria Kertbeny, an Austrian-Hungarian writer and activist, introduced the term “homosexual” anonymously in a German pamphlet advocating reform of Prussian sodomy laws — a linguistic turning point that shifted same-sex love from act to identity. 

You’ll definitely need to book ahead (and book early) when you see a show at Wrightwood 659.

Our Arrival at Wrightwood 659 in Lincoln Park

After breakfast at one of our favorite spots, the Bourgeois Pig, Wally and I strolled up the leafy stretch of Wrightwood Avenue in Chicago’s Lincoln Park. We were surprised to find a modest four-story red brick façade at 659. But the small group forming outside and a sign promoting the exhibition reassured us that we were in the right place.

The modern concrete building attached to the exhibit space is actually the home of one of the cofounders of Wrightwood 659.

I initially assumed the gallery’s entrance was through the modern concrete cube next door — but that was actually the private residence of media entrepreneur and philanthropist Fred Eychaner and his husband, Danny Leung. Eychaner is the founder of the Alphawood Foundation, a charitable organization, and cofounder of Wrightwood 659.

Inside, a docent greeted us in the light-filled atrium and explained that the building was constructed in the 1920s as an apartment complex. Despite its external appearance, the interiors have been stripped and radically reimagined by Japanese architect Tadao Ando.

A historic apartment building was reimagined as a striking modern art gallery.

Architect Tadao Ando transformed the interior with his minimalist design.

We stood in awe of the space’s understated tranquility. Ando preserved the outer walls, which are clad in irregular, weathered Chicago common brick, an earthy contrast to the interior’s sleek geometric simplicity. 

In the far corner, an Escher-like concrete staircase begins its ascent. More than just a functional connector between levels, it serves as a kind of contemplative path, guiding visitors upward in a calm, deliberate rhythm. It’s a signature Ando gesture: structure becoming experience, architecture becoming journey.

Dance to the Berdash by George Catlin, 1837

Before the Binary: Origins of Queerness

The exhibition unfolds gradually across three floors and eight thematic sections, beginning with “Before the Binary.” This gallery sets the stage for the installation’s sweeping journey, inviting viewers to reconsider how same-sex love and gender diversity have been expressed and celebrated throughout history, long before  queer identity emerged in the form we recognize today.

Prior to the subjugation brought by European colonization, many non-Western cultures regarded same-sex behavior as a fluid part of life rather than a fixed identity. This changed dramatically with the arrival of colonial powers, who introduced prejudices and legal systems and cultural prejudices that criminalized same-sex relationships. Along with this intolerance came a new binary: homosexual and heterosexual — categories rooted in 19th century European science and psychology. These labels spread globally reshaping how people understood desire, identity and themselves.

George Catlin’s painting, Dance to the Berdash, depicts a ceremonial dance performed by the Sac and Fox Nation honoring a “two-spirit” individual. The term berdache, used by Catlin, is an outdated and derogatory French term historically applied to two-spirit people. 

In his journals, Catlin describes the scene as “very funny and amusing,” and expresses bewilderment where a “man dressed in woman’s clothes … driven to the most servile and degrading duties” would be celebrated and “looked upon as medicine and sacred.”

Despite his evident bias, Catlin’s work offers a rare glimpse into the deeply spiritual and cultural roles that two-spirit or third-gender individuals have historically held in many Native American communities.

Portrait of Chevalier d'Eon by Jean Condé, published by John Sewell in a 1791 issue of The European Magazine

The Chevalière or Chevalier d’Éon (1728-1810), was an early gender-nonconforming figure and a French diplomat, spy and soldier. 

In 1755, while presenting as a man, d’Éon was sent to Russia disguised as Mademoiselle Lia de Beaumont to persuade Empress Elizabeth I of Russia to ally with France against England and Prussia. From 1777 onward, d’Eon lived publicly as a woman and was officially recognized as such by King Louis XVI.

In this print, d’Éon is portrayed as a middle-aged woman wearing a dark dress with a chemisette, a lace cap and the star of the Order of St. Louis, an honor awarded for distinguished military service and espionage.

As evidence of the shifting political and cultural landscape of the era, d’Éon spent much of her adult life in London, where her gender identity was the subject of constant speculation. It was even the subject of a court trial declaring d’Éon to be a woman, though a surgeon later attested on her death certificate she had “male organs.”

Anacreon and Cupid by Bertel Thorvaldsen, 1824

Bertel Thorvaldsen’s neoclassical Anacreon and Cupid depicts the Ancient Greek poet Anacreon being struck by Cupid’s arrow, causing the older man to fall in love with the youthful god of love. The relief is inspired by Anacreon’s text, Ode III, which ends with Cupid flying away, satisfied he can still attract love with his arrows, while the poet is left alone with his longing. 

The term homosexual didn’t yet exist, and art about the classical past enabled the representation of same-sex eroticism under the guise of historical reference. 

The artist’s nearby ink and graphite sketch literalizes the erotic element of the sculpture, portraying Cupid fondling the poet’s groin. 

In Ancient Greece, the ideal same-sex relationship was seen as one between an older man and a teenage boy. This kind of relationship was tied to ideas about teaching the younger generation how to be good citizens. Same-sex desire was accepted — but only in ways that supported the male-dominated social system.

Portrait of Rosa Bonheur by Anna Klumpke, 1898

Portraits: Icons and Outlaws

“Portraits” features artists who dared to make homosexuality visible long before it was safe or legal to do so. 

American artist Anna Klumpke’s tender pastel portrait captures her partner, Rosa Bonheur, in the final years of the celebrated French painter’s life. The two met in 1895, when Klumpke was 39 and Bonheur was 73. They soon moved in together, and their relationship endured until Bonheur’s death in 1899.

Rosa Bonheur was one of the most renowned animal painters of the 19th century. An independent woman and openly lesbian, she famously obtained official permission from the Paris police to wear men’s clothing — a permit she justified by explaining that traditional women’s attire was impractical for working in stables and slaughterhouses, where she sketched animals for her work.

By the way, there’s a delightful bar, Rosa Bonheur, in Paris, named after this icon. 

Retrato de un Anticuario (Portrait of an Antiquarian) by Robert Montenegro, 1926

Roberto Montenegro’s 1926 portrait of antiques dealer Chucho Reyes is rich with visual codes that still resonate in queer iconography today — a limp wrist, a tilted chin and a wry smile. In the foreground, a silver ball subtly reflects the artist’s own face, a quiet but unmistakable act of self-insertion and queer affirmation.

An early figure in the Mexican muralist movement, Montenegro often pushed against the boundaries of revolutionary aesthetics. In a mural for the Secretaría de Educación Pública in Mexico City, his depiction of a nude, androgynous Saint Sebastian drew criticism for being out of step with official nationalist values. 

Montenegro was ultimately compelled to repaint it. In his private commissions, however, he enjoyed greater artistic freedom — freedom he fully embraced in this intimate and symbolically coded portrait.

Portrait of James Baldwin by Beauford Delaney, 1944

In this vibrant portrait, Beauford Delaney depicts the 20-year-old African American author James Baldwin before the writer’s rise to literary fame. Delaney renders Baldwin’s face in expressive strokes of green, yellow and purple, capturing not just likeness but inner light. The two men, both openly gay and trailblazing artists of color, shared a profound, formative bond. 

Baldwin regarded Delaney as a mentor and father figure. Reflecting on Delaney’s influence, he wrote, “The reality of his seeing caused me to begin to see.” 

Though Baldwin would become a powerful voice in the civil rights movement, his open sexuality often left him marginalized within the movement’s leadership.

He went on to become one of the most influential gay writers of the 20th century, penning such landmark works as Giovanni’s Room (1956).

Profile of a Man With Hibiscus Flower (Felíx) by Glyn Philpot, 1932 

This intimate portrait features Felíx, a French Caribbean model who sat for the British artist Glyn Philpot several times in 1932. The composition, with its flattened perspective and floral motif, recalls Paul Gauguin’s canvas Jeune Homme à la Fleur, evoking themes of sensuality and exoticism. While the painting echoes colonial-era visual tropes, Philpot’s broader oeuvre is distinguished by its empathetic and often dignified representations of Black subjects, challenging the stereotypes prevalent in early 20th century European art. 

Le Bal élégant, La Danse à la campagne (The Elegant Ball, The Country Dance) by Marie Laurencin, 1913

Relationships: Intimate Worlds

The section titled “Relationships” explores the personal and social dimensions of queer lives. From Marie Laurencin’s sensual and playful female imagery to Andreas Andersen’s portrait of his younger brother and his friend, their works reflect the sheer diversity and joy of queer intimacy. 

La Danse (The Dance) by Marie Laurencin, 1919

Marie Laurencin (1883-1956), a French Cubist, created an idiosyncratic body of work that excluded men and placed women at the center, something truly revolutionary considering that she worked in Paris, in an environment dominated by male artists. A member of Pablo Picasso’s gang, Laurencin’s unique take on Cubism is particularly evident in The Elegant Ball, The Country Dance, a fragmented and angular portrayal of two women dancing front and center. 

The canvas The Dance illustrates Laurencin’s departure from Cubism and marks the development of her own visual language, one that embraces a softer, more fluid style in which women’s bodies seem to merge and dissolve into one another. Laurencin’s dreamlike, ethereal compositions represent a feminist counterpoint to the stylistic tendencies of the male-dominated Cubist avant-garde.

Interior With Hendrik Andersen and John Briggs Potter in Florence by Andreas Anderson, 1894

The Norwegian painter Andreas Andersen depicts his younger brother, Hendrik and their friend, American painter John Briggs Potter, when the trio were living together in Florence in 1894. To our modern eyes, this is a stunning image of a homosexual relationship — but the reality is that men of this era didn’t think that loving or having sex with other men was abnormal or put them into a sexual category. 

Potter, who eventually married a woman, was close to Isabella Stuart Gardner of the eponymous Boston museum. The exact relationship between Hendrik and Potter isn’t known, though Potter was painted by a number of known queer painters and himself painted portraits of handsome men.

Sueño marinero (Sailor’s Dream) by Gregorio Prieto, 1932

Gregorio Prieto was a member of the influential Spanish cohort known as the Generation of ’27, alongside the poet

Federico García Lorca. While his work is well known in Spain, it hasn’t received the recognition it merits. 

Prieto’s two paintings exhibited at Wrightwood exemplify his use of the mannequin as a surrealist trope. Prieto employed mannequins as a metaphor for homoerotic love. Indeed, Sailor’s Dream seems to insinuate the act of oral sex, while Full Moon implies stimulation by hand.

Le Sommeil de Manon (Manon’s Sleep) by Madeleine-Jeanne Lemaire, 1907

Changing Bodies, Changing Definitions: Redefining Beauty 

The exhibit then pivots to “Changing Bodies, Changing Definitions, where we witness how the nude evolved in art in relation to shifting conceptions of sexuality. In the 19th century, artists often depicted ambiguously gendered adolescents — but by the early 20th century, those figures gave way to striking portraits of well-muscled men and women. Romaine Brooks’ androgynous nude of her female lover sits alongside Tamara de Lempika’s muscular female nude. 

The French novelist Marcel Proust and his lover, Reynaldo Hahn, referred to Madeleine-Jeanne Lemaire as Maman, or Mother, acknowledging her centrality to queer relationships and networks. Lemaire hosted a regular salon well attended by homosexuals, including Proust, Hahn and others such as Sarah Bernhardt, whose work is also featured in this exhibition.

The close-knit queer relationships that defined Lemaire’s social circle also come through in her painting. While many of her female contemporaries avoided overt eroticism, Lemaire’s Manon’s Sleep presents a nude figure who is neither orientalized nor classicized, her sensuality left unapologetically unframed by allegory or genre.

The recently discarded clothes in the left-hand corner appear to take the shape of a female figure lounging in a chair, perhaps watching the nude woman sleep. Lemaire’s soft color palette, decadent textiles and languid figure also seem to emulate Rococo aesthetics, perhaps in a nod to the genre’s own scenes of erotic subversion.

Nackte Schiffer (Fischer) und Knaben am grünen Gestade (Naked Boatmen [Fishermen] and Boys on the Green Shore by Ludwig von Hofmann, 1900

Ludwig von Hofmann enjoyed a prominent career as a painter in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. At the time, Germany — newly unified — looked to Ancient Greece as a cultural model, embracing public nudity as a sign of health, virtue and classical refinement. This free body culture (abbreviated as FKK in German) encouraged public nudity as a sign not of prurient interest, but of health and moral virtue.

Segregated from urban homosexual culture by questions of class and occupation, this image of nude boys and men, while undeniably homoerotic, works hard to de-emphasize its inherent suggestive qualities through a committed attention to labor.

Wrestlers by Thomas Eakins, 1899

Thomas Eakins, celebrated along with Winslow Homer as two of the finest 19th century American painters, here produced a study for an even bigger painting of a gymnasium featuring, among other scenes, two young men wrestling.

While depicting an actual wrestling move, the painting allows two men a moment of full-body contact that escapes inscription as homosexual. They are, moreover, curiously relaxed, even inert, in what is ostensibly a battle for dominance.

Nu Assis de Profil (Seated Nude in Profile) by Tamara de Lempicka, 1923

Tamara de Lempicka’s seated nude exists in a space of gender nonconformity, much like the artist herself. The figure’s heavily muscled body and tanned face suggest a masculine presence, perhaps shaped by outdoor labor, while the visible breast and porcelain skin point to a more traditionally feminine traits. The body is angled away from the viewer so as to heighten this sense of indeterminacy.

After moving from Poland to Paris in 1918, Lempicka gained recognition for her Art Deco portraits of glamorous, androgynous figures. Her style and subjects reflect her social circle, which included queer women like the writers Vita Sackville-West and Colette, and her own experiences as an openly bisexual woman.

Venus and Amor by Gerda Wegener, 1920

History: Echoes of Antiquity 

One of the most powerful sections, “History,” features works that portray an idealized classical past as an alibi to depict homoerotic imagery. Hans Von Marées’ Five Men in a Landscape feels suspended in a timeless queer utopia, while Rupert Bunny’s muscular Hercules takes on both dragons and sexual subtext. 

Venus and Amor is Gerda Wegener’s vision of lesbian Arcadia. In her uniquely Art Deco style, Wegener depicts a garden populated by the Three Graces, Cupid and Venus, the latter helping Cupid draw his bow. Cupid is represented as distinctly nonbinary, with rosy cheeks and nascent breasts. Like the figure of Puck in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Wegener seems to suggest Cupid’s mischievous nature is connected to his gender transgression. 

When this canvas was completed, Wegener was so popular in France that the government bought three of her works for the Louvre, which are now in the Centre Pompidou collections. 

Sadly, she spent her later years in poverty and died in 1940, shortly after Nazi Germany invaded Denmark.

The Joy of Effort by Robert Tait McKenzie, 1912

Robert Tait McKenzie was a Canadian physician, educator, athlete and sculptor who became director of athletics at the University of Pennsylvania. He donated hundreds of bronze homoerotic images of athletic young men to UPenn, where many are still on display. 

He was a key figure in sports medicine and rehabilitative medicine, designing prosthetics for wounded soldiers. He extolled the value of exercise early, especially for those who worked primarily with their minds. Despite the undeniable homoeroticism in his work, he was married, as the norms of his time dictated.

Cumulonimbus by Kotaro Nagahara, 1909

Kotaro Nagahara (1864-1930) was one of the early innovators of yōga, or Western-style painting, in late 19th-century Japan. The relatively conservative style of his male nudes (note the lack of visible genitals) may reflect the impact of the “nude debate” (ratai ronso) in Japanese art circles in the 1890s. The influence of Western nude painting fueled an intense debate among Japanese artists about the nature of propriety and indecency, and some yoga painters like Kuroda Seiki caused controversy for displaying nude paintings to the public. In this cultural atmosphere, it’s not surprising that Nagahara took a more discreet approach here in obscuring the figure’s genitalia.

Slaves by Gabriel Morcillo, 1926

Colonialism and Resistance: Imported Shame, Native Pride

But art is never just about aesthetics. In “Colonialism and Resistance,” the exhibition explains how Western imperialism often coded queerness as foreign or degenerate, while simultaneously fetishizing it. A pernicious side effect of colonialism was that Western suppressive ideologies on homosexuality were imposed on conquered lands — many of which went from respecting same-sex relations to writing homophobic laws into their legal codes. 

Gabriel Morcillo’s painting Slaves is a striking example of how Orientalist aesthetics were often used to veil overt homoeroticism. Like many artists of his era, Morcillo employed the exoticized imagery of the so-called “East” to explore themes of male beauty and sensuality, subjects that were daring and even dangerous to depict in the 1920s and early ’30s. He later experienced both the favor and the fallout  of political affiliation: Between 1950 and 1955, he was commissioned by dictator Francisco Franco to paint several portraits, both standing and on horseback. With the arrival of Spain’s democratic Transition, Morcillo was classified as a Francoist, and his work largely vanished from art history books, despite its considerable artistic merit.

L’après-midi (In the Afternoon) by David Paynter, 1935

David Paynter’s In the Afternoon offers a rare and quietly radical vision of male intimacy in early 20th century South Asian art. Born in 1900 in Sri Lanka (then Ceylon), Paynter was known for merging Western classical techniques with South Asian subjects, often weaving subtle references to same-sex desire into his work.

In this painting, two young men share an intimate gaze, one delicately holding a flower — echoing the sensuality of Gauguin’s Polynesian women but recast through a defiantly queer lens. The image stands in quiet resistance to colonial-era moral codes that had, by that time, already begun to reshape attitudes toward sexuality across South Asia.

Before the British imposed Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code in 1861 — which criminalized “carnal intercourse against the order of nature” — many Asian cultures held more fluid and nuanced understandings of gender and sexuality. Paynter’s work gestures toward that precolonial cultural memory, reclaiming tenderness between men as both natural and beautiful.

La Danza (Dance) by Elisàr von Kupffer, 1918

Beyond the Binary: Gender, Reimagined

Finally, “Beyond the Binary” delivers what may be the show’s most revelatory section. Featuring more than 60 works, it draws direct connections between early queer and trans identities. 

Among the highlights is one of the first self-consciously trans representations in art: Gerda Wegener’s 1929 portrait of her spouse Lili Elbe. 

This section also includes paintings from the Elisarion, a utopian queer villa in Switzerland. One of these images is believed to depict the first same-sex wedding scene in art history.

Elisàr von Kupfer, who preferred to be called Elisarion, founded a spiritual movement he named Clarism, which rejected the gender binary as a perversion of divine will. Proud of his own feminine physical features, von Kupfer adorned his temple in Minusio, Switzerland, with paintings of similarly androgynous and nonbinary figures. While von Kupffer was a pioneer in challenging gender and sexual norms, he was also a white supremacist, and his work was influenced by Aryanism. He sought to engage Adolf Hitler in correspondence, though there is no evidence that the dictator ever replied. 

In von Kupffer’s utopia, gender was fluid and inclusive — but race, clearly, was not. His example shows how radical views in one realm did not necessarily extend to others.

Untitled (kuchi-e [frontispiece] with artist’s seal Shisen) by Tomioka Eisen, 1895

This image was made as an illustration for the novel Sute obuna, an adaptation of the mystery novel Diavola (1885) by the British author Mary Braddon. From the 1880s onward, many European mystery stories were translated into Japanese and adapted to Japanese contexts. This could have the effect of producing unique and humorous juxtapositions between the Japanese characters and their Western mannerisms, as seen in this moment of unexpected male intimacy. Tomioka Eisen was a prolific illustrator during the Meiji Period, trained in ukiyo-e methods. He also produced a small number of erotic works, which were circulated privately.

Lili med fjerkos (Lili With a Feathered Fan) by Gerda Wegener, 1920

Lili With a Feathered Fan by Gerda Wegener depicts her husband, Einar Wegener (who later became Lili Elbe), holding a green feather fan. The painting is significant as an early example of transgender representation in art, created during a period when Lili was beginning to express her gender identity more openly. 

Lili first emerged in 1904 when Gerda asked Einat to pose in women’s clothing after one of her female models failed to show up. This moment marked the beginning of a public and private transformation. In the early ’20s, Lili began living more fully as a woman, and in 1930 she underwent one of the first known gender-affirming surgeries. 

Their relationship inspired the 2015 film The Danish Girl. Tragically, Lili died in 1931 from complications following the final stages of her surgeries. 

Peter (A Young English Girl) by Romaine Brooks, 1923

Romaine Brooks’ work from this period captures early 20th century lesbian life, with portraits of friends, lovers and fixtures of the queer world she inhabited. Here, Brooks depicts the nonbinary British artist known as Gluck, who also went by the name Peter. Gluck insisted on being addressed as “Gluck, no prefix, suffix or quotes” — rejecting any gendered association with their identity.

Amazing architecture, powerful art, dedicated docents and a relaxed, uncrowded flow make Wrightwood 659 well worth a visit.

Wrightwood 659 Does It Right 

Wrightwood 659 intentionally limits the number of visitors and requires timed-entry tickets purchased in advance. This keeps exhibitions intimate and uncrowded, allowing visitors to reflect deeply without distraction.

The First Homosexuals brings together more than 300 works by 125 queer artists from 40 countries, drawn from over 100 museums and private collections around the globe. Each loaned piece contributes to a sweeping, multifaceted narrative of queer identity, resilience and creativity. 

A quiet nook with a view at Wrightwood 659

Wally and I were struck not only by the scale of the exhibition, but by the obvious care with which it was assembled. Every element — from the curation of individual works to the flow of the galleries — felt deeply considered, designed to honor the artists, their histories and the communities they reflect.

We had the added privilege of visiting on a day when docents were present, enriching the experience with personal reflections and deeper context about the artists and their work. Their stories added an intimate, human layer to an already powerful presentation. –Duke

Wrightwood 659

West Wrightwood Avenue
Chicago, Illinois 
USA 

 

Secrets of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World

Author Bettany Hughes shares surprising truths about the Great Pyramid, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon and other Wonders of the Ancient World. 

Quick — name the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.

Struggling? You’re not alone.

Most people can’t list them all. Some guess the Colosseum or Stonehenge. Others don’t realize that only one still stands. 

“These weren’t just impressive buildings and sculptures.

They were bold declarations of power — a Hellenistic highlight reel that reflected the ambition and reach of Alexander the Great’s world.”

In her 2024 book The Seven Wonders of the Ancient World: An Extraordinary Journey Through History’s Greatest Treasures, historian Bettany Hughes peels back the mythology and reveals the politics, poetry and propaganda behind these wonders. These weren’t just impressive buildings and sculptures. They were bold declarations of power — a kind of Hellenistic highlight reel that reflected the ambition and reach of Alexander the Great’s world.

MORE: 3 Times Alexander the Great Wasn’t So Great

The oldest surviving version of the list was scribbled on a scrap of papyrus used to wrap a mummified body in Ancient Egypt. 

Most could be visited on a single, well-planned trip through the eastern Mediterranean. This was the ancient world’s first viral travel list — and its message was clear: Look upon our works, ye mortals, and marvel.

1. The Great Pyramid of Giza: A Resurrection Machine by the Nile

If you visit the Great Pyramid today, you’ll likely see a heat-blasted monument rising from a stretch of ochre desert. But what if we’ve been picturing it all wrong? Hughes urges us to reimagine the Giza Plateau not as barren but as bursting with life: “Where we see desertion, imagine an abundance of clover and thousands of homes; where there are sands, waterways; where there is emptiness, tens of thousands of workers in loincloths and linen kilts. Where there are now neutral horizons, there was once hectic color; where piles of collapsed stone, dwarf-pyramids and sloping, mudbrick mastaba tombs. Where desert, gravid green.”

Built around 2550 BCE and once faced in polished white limestone, the Great Pyramid would have shimmered with a blinding brilliance. 

It wasn’t just a royal tomb; it was a “resurrection machine,” a literal launchpad to the afterlife. This machine served a higher cosmic purpose: to guarantee Egypt’s prosperity by ensuring the pharaoh’s rebirth. The fate of the world literally depended upon Khufu’s afterlife. 

And the engineering behind it still leaves modern minds gasping. Standing 480 feet tall and weighing in at roughly 6.5 million tons, the pyramid used about 2.3 million blocks of limestone, each hauled into place over a quarter of a century. Its interior space alone could swallow London’s St. Paul’s Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican, and the cathedrals of Milan and Florence — with room to spare.

Despite theories ranging from alien intervention to lost technologies, Hughes focuses on the human marvel of it all: tens of thousands of anonymous laborers working 10-hour days, 52 weeks a year, over decades — moving one block every two to three minutes. Current estimates suggest around 20,000 workers were active on the plateau at any given time, likely using a combination of sledges, rollers, ramps and perhaps even early hydraulic lifts. Still, the exact method remains elusive: “The engineering and construction of the Pyramid — the way these blocks were shaped, lifted and set in place — has confounded researchers for centuries, triggering miles’ worth of parchment and paper, and now volumes of iCloud storage,” Hughes writes. “It is a conundrum that obsesses the modern world — taxing the minds of engineers, architects, archaeologists, surveyors, even mediums.”

It’s also easy to forget that this was a riverfront wonder. In Khufu’s day, the Nile flowed much closer to Giza, hugging the Pyramid complex for most of the year, and sometimes lapping its very foundations. What we now see as isolation was once a place of movement and connection — a grand riverside attraction.

Capped with a golden or electrum pyramidion that caught the sun’s rays and hurled them back to the heavens, the Great Pyramid symbolized the original mound of creation — the divine moment when the world emerged from chaos. It was cosmic.

2. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon: Myth, Monument or Mistranslation?

Of all the Seven Wonders, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon remain the most mysterious — and possibly the most fictional. Unlike the Great Pyramid, whose stones still scrape the sky, the Gardens leave us with no ruins, no universally agreed-upon site, and plenty of questions. Did they even exist?

If they did, the Hanging Gardens would have bloomed sometime in the 6th century BCE, during the reign of Nebuchadnezzar II — the great Babylonian king who ruled from 605 to 562 BCE and who is most often credited with their creation. That attribution, though, rests more on later tradition than contemporary evidence.

MORE: Nebuchadnezzar, King Josiah and the Formation of Jewish Law

And the evidence is where things get messy. Hughes lays out the problem clearly: Neither Herodotus nor Xenophon — Greek chroniclers who actually visited Babylon — mention the Gardens. Not once. That silence is thunderous. Even the East India House Inscription, a beautifully preserved 20-inch-wide slab chronicling the many accomplishments of Nebuchadnezzar II, makes no mention of them — no garden at all, hanging or otherwise.

So what gives?

Hughes suggests we may be looking for something too specific. What if the gardens weren’t separate from Babylon’s famed walls but were part of them — verdant terraces that flowed from the fortifications and palatial structures themselves? In many ancient lists, it’s actually Babylon’s walls that earn the “Wonder” designation, not the elusive Gardens. That ambiguity raises the possibility that what we now call the “Hanging Gardens” may have been a poetic misunderstanding — a mistranslated marvel.

And yet, the idea of the Gardens persists — not just because they would’ve been beautiful, but because they captured something deeper and darker about humanity’s emerging relationship with nature. These were not serene rooftop retreats. They were feats of engineering and control, power disguised as paradise.

“Whatever they were, however wondrous, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon would not have been idylls,” Hughes writes. “They would have been exquisite, exacting expressions of potency, expressions of belief, manifestations of ingenuity and the start of a dangerously dominating relationship with the natural world.”

Whether built in Babylon or borrowed from memories of Nineveh, the Hanging Gardens endure because they symbolize an idea: that nature could be bent into spectacle. And that idea, as Hughes suggests, has echoed through every empire since.

MORE: Controversial Theories About the Tower of Babel

3. The Temple of Artemis at Ephesus: Sanctuary of Stone and Wildness

Of all the ancient world’s architectural achievements, none left the poet Antipater of Sidon more breathless than the Temple of Artemis. Around 140 BCE, he wrote, “I have set eyes on the very wall of lofty Babylon, supporting a chariot road, and the [statue of] Zeus by the Alpheios [in Olympia], and the Hanging Gardens, and the Colossus of Helios, and the huge labor of the steep pyramids, and the vast tomb of Mausolos; but when I saw the temple of Artemis, reaching up to the clouds, these other marvels dimmed, they lost their brilliance, and I declared, ‘Look, apart from Olympus itself, the sun has never shone on anything that can compare to this!’”

Constructed around 550 BCE and rebuilt in grander fashion after a devastating fire in 356 BCE, the Artemision — as it was called in classical sources — was the first of the Seven Wonders to be accessible to all people, not just royalty. And it was the only one where women, both mythic and mortal, stood at the center of its story.

The original temple was incinerated on a sweltering July night — the very night Alexander the Great was born. In fact, the Greek world couldn’t help but connect the two events: “Tongues wagged: Artemis — goddess of nature and childbirth — it was whispered, was so busy in northern Greece, super-birthing a world-class megalomaniac, she neglected her earthly temple home,” Hughes writes. 

MORE: Alexander the Great: 8 WTF Facts About His Early Life

The arsonist was a man named Herostratus, likely a desperate slave who torched the temple to immortalize his own name — and, ironically, succeeded. The Ephesians tried to erase him completely. Speaking his name was made a capital crime. But history, being what it is, remembered him anyway.

The rebuilt temple was a marvel: 425 feet long, 225 feet wide — nearly twice the size of the Parthenon that would follow it 150 years later. It featured 127 columns, each 60 feet high, and some capped by a skylight above the central cult statue. The structure marked the first true colonnaded Greek temple, laying the architectural blueprint for millennia to come.

Here, Artemis wasn’t the graceful huntress of Louvre sculptures. She was Asiatic Artemis, a wild guardian of beasts, bearing the mystery and fertility of the Earth. She was a goddess of contradictions — pure yet primal, distant yet intimately present.

“Artemis in the mythology of the Greeks was an unusual goddess, a female figure who stood apart from the rutting sexuality that was the norm of ancient life and myth,” Hughes writes. “The story went that on the eve of her wedding, Artemis begged her father Zeus to allow her not to marry. In most cultures at this time, women were controlled, either by having to have sex, or by not being allowed to. Artemis’s agency, and her choice, makes her attractively odd. She was a virgin, whose sphere was consummation.”

Her image, kept hidden behind a curtain in the sanctuary, was likely a wooden plank known as a xoanon — treated as a living being. It was washed in seawater, anointed in fig milk or grape juice, adorned with clothes and gold, and lovingly cared for in a process called kosmeis — the root of our word cosmetics.

The cult of Artemis was largely female-led. Young women, or parthenoi, took part in the rites. But the high priests — the megabyzoi — were eunuchs, men who had castrated themselves in service to the goddess. Their female counterparts, the melissae, were the “honey women,” underscoring the deep associations between Artemis, fertility and nature’s sweetness.

Ephesus itself had become one of the largest and busiest cities in the ancient world, its port capable of hosting over 800 ships. That accessibility helped the temple’s fame spread far and wide. It was a religious sanctuary, a political hub and — crucially — a bank. Like many temples of the time, it safeguarded vast stores of wealth and knowledge. To violate the temple was to risk divine wrath.

The mythic presence of Amazons — female warriors who were said to have founded the site — was inescapable. Their likenesses adorned the temple’s façade, doorframes and rooftop sculptures. Bronze statues of Amazons stood with short chitons, bare breasts, crescent shields and battleaxes — some even depicted with wounds.

“The Temple of Artemis is a Wonder with diverse genetic makeup and influences from both East and West within its deity, its design and its dogma,” according to Hughes. “It is a work of mankind, trying to understand the power of the natural world and the power of women.”

And Artemis herself? Her statue was encrusted with bees, lions, griffins, cows, horses and sphinxes — a tapestry of creatures and symbols. Her front was thick with mysterious swellings: ostrich eggs? Pollen sacks? Breasts? Testicles? Bags of gold? The goddess resisted definition. She contained multitudes.

Topping her cylindrical polos crown was an image of the temple itself. A shrine of power, mystery and the wild feminine, the Artemision stood as a defiant celebration of life’s most primal forces.

4. The Statue of Zeus at Olympia: God Made Monument

Epictetus, a Stoic philosopher, captured just how beloved the Statue of Zeus had become by the 1st century CE: “The wish to witness the ancient masterpiece of Phidias was so intense, that to die without having seen it was considered a huge misfortune,” he wrote in Discourses. 

The statue of Zeus at Olympia glowed with godly gravitas inside the sanctuary’s darkened temple. A creation of the sculptor Phidias, it was a divine father made colossal: Zeus, King of the Gods, father of Artemis and Apollo, products of the rape of the titaness Leto. The statue wasn’t meant to comfort. It was meant to awe.

“Of course, in a place where men were attempting to become godlike, the ultimate god took the form of the ultimate man,” Hughes writes. 

Built between 438 and 430 BCE, the statue was made of the most extravagant materials available: gleaming hippopotamus ivory for skin, gold for hair and beard, ebony, bone, polished stone and glass. 

“Measuring the size of a three-story home (41 feet, on his pedestal rising over 44 feet tall), and yet seated, crouching, with his head skimming the ceiling, like Alice in Wonderland after taking her Drink Me spiked potion, the godhead must have seemed extraordinarily intimidating,” Hughes adds. “It was said that if he stood up, this Zeus would ‘unroof’ his temple-home.”

The throne featured six statues of Nike, the goddess of victory, marching up the legs. The arms of the seat were sobering sphinxes. The struts featured Herakles slaughtering Amazons to seize their queen’s girdle. The side panels showed Artemis and Apollo massacring Niobe’s children for her pride. And at Zeus’s feet? A stool supported by snarling lions — another Amazonian battlefield carved beneath.

“The message was clear: Olympia, and its Holy of Holies were, in every sense, somewhere that weakness was abhorred, for Zeus’s domain, there were only winners and losers,” Hughes explains. 

In Zeus’ right hand stood a 6-and-a-half-foot statue of Nike, also made of ivory and gold. In his left: a scepter topped by a gleaming eagle. His hair curled in heavy golden locks onto his shoulders, while his ivory skin was oiled daily to prevent cracking in the damp climate. That oil pooled in a limestone basin at his feet — creating a dark twin of the god.

The temple that housed Zeus at Olympia was a masterpiece of Doric architecture, designed by Libon of Elis and completed in 456 BCE with the spoils of war. Zeus’ likeness, modeled after Homer’s verses in The Iliad, captured the very image of cosmic authority. It was said Zeus could start an earthquake just by furrowing his brow. 

A wooden framework supported the ivory plating, carefully soaked in vinegar and sculpted into seamless sheets. Recent research by Kenneth Lapatin confirms the intricacy of this process — and the ingenuity of the ancients who achieved it.

When Roman Emperor Caligula ordered the statue’s decapitation in 41 CE so he could replace the god’s head with his own, Zeus reportedly laughed. The scaffolding collapsed, and days later, Caligula was assassinated — after having dreamed of the deity he sought to deface.

After standing for nearly 1,000 years, the statue was eventually moved to Constantinople, where it burned in a city-wide fire around 476 CE. Olympia’s pride, a masterpiece honored for generations, was reduced to ash.

And yet, Zeus lived on — not just in memory, but in iconography. The Byzantine depiction of Christ Pantokrator, “Ruler of All,” seated on a throne with glowering brow and commanding presence, bore a striking resemblance to Phidias’s Zeus. The divine father had been reborn.

5. The Mausoleum of Halikarnassos: A Monument to Power, Grief and Glittering Excess

It was a tomb so grand it gave its name to every monumental tomb that followed. But the Mausoleum of Halikarnassos — final resting place of Mausolos, satrap-king of Karia — wasn’t just massive. It was mesmerizing. A collision of Greek elegance, Persian grandeur and Anatolian symbolism, built between 361 and 351 BCE on the sun-soaked coast of modern-day Turkey.

This Wonder fused the influences of East and West: Ionian and Doric architectural styles mingled with the dramatic scale and symmetry of Persian rock-cut tombs. Hughes notes that Karia, the region where Halikarnassos sat, was a culture of blendings — borrowing, reimagining and innovating in equal measure. And the Mausoleum was its masterpiece.

“This giant tomb came to be thought of as wonderful because it was trumpeted as embodying a faithful woman’s selfless devotion to her husband-brother, a sign that the brilliance of some men is to devastate women by dying,” she writes. 

Indeed, much of its fame came from the story of Artemisia II, Mausolos’ sister and wife, who reportedly grieved so hard she mixed his ashes into her wine. But beneath the romance lay a structure of staggering ambition: a 145-foot-tall marble confection built atop a limestone terrace stretching over 785 feet — about half the height of Big Ben, and nearly the length of two football fields.

The base consisted of a rectangular podium roughly 100 by 125 feet wide. Above that, 36 columns ringed the structure, echoing the layout of the Temple of Artemis. On top of the colonnade rose a stepped pyramid of 24 tiers, leading to a grand pedestal. And at the very top? A chariot drawn by four thrashing horses, almost certainly carrying statues of Mausolos and Artemisia themselves — a couple who have been put quite literally on a pedestal.

Designed by architect-sculptor Pytheos and possibly other elite artists of the day — Scopas, Bryaxis, Leochares and Timotheus among them — the Mausoleum was both a sculpture gallery and a piece of architectural theater. Its blocks were polished to a glass-like sheen. Carvings depicted Mausolos hunting, receiving ambassadors, honoring the gods and leading battles — scenes real and imagined. Life, as Mausolos wanted it remembered, in full pageantry. 

We tend to think of ancient structures as white, but many were actually a riot of color — and the Mausoleum certainly was. “Funerary monuments in particular favored color — there was a sense that the polychrome experience brought the dead back to some kind of life,” Hughes informs us. “Mausolos’ tomb would have been a firework in the sky.”

And what fireworks: white marble, then bluish limestone adorned with over 120 human and animal figures — all progressing toward a seated Mausolos before a great doorway. Was this his entrance to the afterlife? Above this level, imported white marble from Athens depicted brutal battle scenes, including — once again — Amazons, a recurring motif in Wonder architecture.

A ring of lions likely prowled the pyramid’s base. The decorative program celebrated domination, but also wildness and ritual. Priestesses in clinging, diaphanous dresses, their bodies visible beneath the folds, hint at ecstatic Bacchic rites. 

Skulls unearthed at the site suggest mass animal sacrifice during the burial — a slaughter of sheep, oxen, lambs, birds. Where now there are thistles and butterflies, there were once streams of blood.

Threads of gold found among the ruins may have once wrapped the king’s cremated remains. 

A spring near the site was famed in antiquity for its uncanny power to make men infertile or effeminate. That same spring inspired Ovid’s tale of the creation of Hermaphrodite: the son of Hermes and Aphrodite, lured into its waters by a nymph, merging into one being of two sexes.

The Mausoleum was a place where myth, sex, sacrifice, politics and grief all coalesced. A wonder of death, yes — but pulsing with the messy, lavish power of life.

6. The Colossus of Rhodes: Bronze Giant, Fallen God

The Colossus of Rhodes is perhaps the most misunderstood Wonder. Popular imagination has long insisted it stood legs astride the harbor entrance, torch in hand, as ships passed beneath. But that towering figure, feet apart across a 390-foot waterway, is pure fantasy — a medieval myth that held the world’s imagination hostage for 800 years. (It even inspired the Titan of Braavos in George R.R. Martin’s Game of Thrones.)

In reality, the Colossus never straddled the harbor. It likely stood higher up, on the city’s acropolis, towering above the bustling port of Rhodes. This was Helios — the pre-Olympian sun god — cast in bronze and iron, gleaming in the Aegean light.

Standing an estimated 108 feet tall, the statue was a staggering feat of ancient engineering. Built in the early 3rd century BCE and completed around 280 BCE, it had a skeleton of iron and a polished bronze skin. Just one of its digits — a single toe, say — was said to be larger than most full-sized statues.

Unlike Zeus’ patriarchal presence, Helios pulsed with youthful ambition. “Whereas the Zeus at Olympia thundered, his luxurious beard the signifier of a mature man in Greek culture, Rhodes’ Wonder, the un-bearded, tousled, soft-lipped Helios, had the dangerous energy of a young, unpredictable man poised to do great things,” Hughes writes. 

And given the era, it’s hard not to see the influence and inspiration of Alexander the Great in the statue’s features and commanding pose. Rhodes had resisted a siege by one of Alexander’s successors — and the Colossus was both a victory monument and a symbol of sun-blessed resilience.

Kolossos is a Greek word — possibly of Asiatic origin — that originally meant simply “statue.” But this statue rewrote the definition. It was never just a likeness. It was legend in metal, a city’s pride forged into form.

“This was a wonder that became legendary within weeks of its completion,” Hughes says. 

Created by the sculptor Chares of Lindos — and possibly influenced by the legendary Telchines, mythical inventors of metalwork — the statue took 12 years to complete. It was cast in sections, working from the feet upward. Each foot stood on a marble plinth around 60 feet wide and 10 to 15 feet thick.

And then it fell.

Around 227 BCE — just 60 or so years after it was completed — a devastating earthquake struck Rhodes. The city walls crumbled, the coastline dropped by 3 feet, and the Colossus came crashing down. It broke at the knees and was never re-erected. 

The fragments, enormous and awe-inspiring, lay scattered for centuries — longer than the statue ever stood. According to later sources, the tumbled Helios remained visible until the 7th century CE, when its remains were finally melted down for scrap. So much for immortality.

And that legend has never quite gone cold.

7. The Lighthouse of Alexandria: Fire, Mirrors and the Edge of the World

Unlike the short-lived Colossus of Rhodes, the Lighthouse of Alexandria stood tall for over 1,500 years — a marvel of geometry, ingenuity and sheer ambition. Built beginning around 297 BCE and completed over the course of 15 years, this towering wonder rose more than 400 feet above the bustling twin harbors of Alexandria, Egypt, making it the second tallest structure in the ancient world after the Great Pyramid.

It was astonishing. A stacked sequence of geometric forms — square, octagonal, circular — constructed from marble and local limestone, sheathed in red granite shipped down the Nile from the scorched quarries of Aswan. Some blocks stretched 36 feet long and weighed 75 tons. The tower was crowned with a 50-foot statue, almost certainly of Zeus Soter (Zeus the Savior), watching over the seas like a divine lighthousekeeper.

Its beacon could be seen for over 37 miles — a flaming furnace at night, and during the day, sunlight reflected off massive copper mirrors. It was both a feat of engineering and a performance of cosmic authority. Ships approaching Alexandria’s treacherous coast — battered by crosswinds, stalked by hidden rocks — were guided by this shimmering sentinel, the Pharos.

It was built of red granite, which is usually a dull pink, but could turn an iridescent purple  in desert light. “The ancients must have believed red granite brought with it some kind of sorcerer’s power,” Hughes muses. 

The tower’s structure was just as beguiling: a 1,115-by-1,115-foot base with fortified brick walls and turrets; an interior ramp and hoist system to ferry fuel and supplies; and an eight-sided middle tier symbolizing the compass winds. Above that, a cylindrical chamber topped with the beacon — perhaps powered by naphtha and papyrus, possibly attended by pack animals climbing in pairs.

And the Pharos wasn’t just a lighthouse. It was also a proto-telecom tower, using flashing heliography — ancient Morse code — and possibly even mechanical sound effects. Sculpted Tritons (half-man, half-fish) stood around the structure, possibly blowing horns that served as early sirens, ancient animatronics that altered the city in times of danger.

The lighthouse was initially funded by Ptolemy I — one of Alexander the Great’s most successful generals — and completed under his son, Ptolemy II. It cost an estimated 800 silver talents — over $19 m

illion in today’s money. Built on the island of Pharos, which would lend its name to the structure and eventually become the word for “lighthouse” in multiple languages, the monument embodied Ptolemaic power and vision. It was a glowing stake in the sand, declaring Alexandria the gateway between Africa, Asia and the Mediterranean world.

And for centuries, it worked.

Until 1303 CE, when the Earth shook. An earthquake finally toppled the Pharos, reducing it to ruins and ending one of the longest-standing Wonders of the Ancient World.

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Why the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World Still Matter

All but one of the original Seven Wonders may be long gone — toppled by earthquakes, scavenged for scrap, or buried beneath centuries of sand and myth. But as Hughes makes clear, their true legacy is that they weren’t simply monuments to kings or gods. They were monuments to us — to human ambition, ingenuity, imagination and the drive to build something bigger than ourselves.

The list was specific, political, proudly Hellenistic — showcasing a curated world seen through Greek eyes in the wake of Alexander the Great. And yet, the idea of a Wonder has endured far beyond its original moment.

“Wonders serve a rich triple purpose,” Hughes writes. “They were constructed partly to feed our need for wondrous tales — to experience and talk about the biggest, the best, the tallest, the most strange, the most bold. They encourage a saturation in the now, by submitting to a present, pure sensation of wonder. They remind us of our overwhelming desire to collaborate to create beyond the possibilities of the individual.” 

Even today, the concept of a “wonder” still fuels our storytelling, our bucket lists, our skyscrapers and our sci-fi dreams. Because deep down, we’re still looking to be amazed. Still looking to build what seems impossible. Still wondering. –Wally

MORE: What Was Daily Life Like in Ancient Egypt?

What to Know Before You Go to Meow Wolf’s Radio Tave in Houston

At Radio Tave, reality takes a coffee break. Here are 10 tips to get the most of this kaleidoscopic wormhole of art, lore and immersive weirdness. 

Imagine stepping into a radio station from another dimension — one where the airwaves are alive, nothing is quite what it seems, and reality twists like a pretzel. That’s Meow Wolf’s Radio Tave, a 29,000-square-foot mind-bending, neon-drenched fever dream where the usual rules of physics, logic and personal space don’t apply. It’s like doing shrooms without actually doing shrooms — trust me, you don’t need psychedelics to feel like your brain is melting … in the best way possible.

Before heading in, prepare yourself. You might think you’re just visiting a trippy art exhibit, but Radio Tave has other plans. Here’s what you need to know before you tumble down the rabbit hole.

“ Trust me, you don’t need psychedelics to feel like your brain is melting … in the best way possible.

”

Note: This post contains spoilers of a sort, as well as images of Meow Wolf Radio Tave. 

1. Engage fully. When in doubt, touch it, open it … and question reality. 

This isn’t a museum. You’re not just here to admire at a safe distance. You’re here to get lost, touch everything, and probably question your grip on reality.

If something seems slightly off, investigate. You might discover a hidden passage, a surreal transmission or a funky relic from another dimension. If that radio sounds like it’s whispering secrets directly into your soul … it absolutely is.

2. Always look for a door (even if it’s not a door). 

In the world of Radio Tave, exits are illusions and illusions are exits. Sometimes a doorway is painted into a mural. Sometimes the handle to another world is just sitting there, waiting for you to open it.

If you find yourself in a room with no way out, take a breath. The escape route is probably hiding in plain sight — maybe inside an everyday object.

3. The mystery’s there … but don’t drive yourself crazy trying to solve it. 

There’s lore here. A lot of lore. Something about a radio station lost in time and space, a mysterious force manipulating the airwaves, and an entire reality gone sideways. You can follow the clues if you want to unravel the mystery, but spoiler alert: You’ll never get a full answer.

The designers left about 60% of the story intentionally vague, meaning you’ll pick up eerie transmissions, weird artifacts and cryptic messages that hint at something much bigger … but never quite give you the full picture.

We asked a couple of staffers if there was an official solution to the mystery, and they all sort of looked at us blankly.

So go ahead and chase the story, but don’t stress if you leave with more questions than answers. That’s half the fun.

4. Try to avoid the crowds — and don’t worry if you get separated.  

Entry is staggered, which helps keep things from feeling too crowded. Show up on time, or risk having to wait for another entry slot.

If you’re with friends, don’t panic if you get separated. This place has a way of pulling people in different directions, and honestly? That’s part of the experience. Make a loose plan, but embrace the chaos. Maybe you’ll end up meeting in the break room — or at the dimension-tearing tornado. 

5. Prioritize comfort (your feet will thank you). 

Shoes matter. If you show up in stilettos or flimsy sandals, you’re going to regret it. Stick to sneakers or other comfortable shoes — you’ll be wandering, climbing stairs, and possibly stepping into alternate dimensions.

Mobility-wise, most of the space is accessible, but there are a few places where you might have to step over low thresholds or navigate tight areas. Take the elevator at least once. It’s fun to see where you end up. 

6. Pony up for the glasses. 

Fork over the 2 bucks to get a pair of Chromadepth 3D glasses — and while you don’t have to wear them the entire time, they’re worth pulling out at the right moments.

Some of the painted walls have low-key 3D effects, but that’s just the warmup.

The real magic happens in the more mind-bending spaces, where the glasses crank up the intensity and make everything feel deeper, weirder and way more immersive.

Wear them when you want extra visual chaos, then take them off when you need a break. 

7. Savor the experience (i.e., put your phone down for a minute!)

Yes, you’re going to want photos. The colors are otherworldly, the visuals are trippy, and if you don’t take at least one deeply confused selfie, did you even go?

But also — be in the moment. Some of the most surreal parts of the experience can’t be captured in a picture or video. The way the sound shifts as you walk through a portal, the eerie sensation of a voice whispering something maybe just for you, the feeling that you’re being watched by something just outside the edge of perception…

Take some shots, sure. But also just let yourself be immersed in the bizarre.

8. Admire the work of local artists. 

Over 100 artists contributed to various aspects of Radio Tave, with more than 50 coming right from Texas.

Keep an eye out for the work of Sam Lao, Dawn Okoro, El Franco Lee II, Gonzo247, Jasmine Zelaya, Loc Huynh and Trenton Doyle Hancock — their murals and installations add another layer of brilliance, storytelling and local soul to the already surreal experience.

If you find yourself staring at a piece of art for an uncomfortably long time, congrats! You’re experiencing Meow Wolf correctly.

9. Get a drink at the Cowboix Hevvven saloon (you’ll need one). 

Inside Radio Tave, you’ll find Cowboix Hevvven, an interdimensional saloon with themed drinks and a chill, quirky vibe. If you need to process what just happened (or just want to sip something colorful in a surreal setting), this is the place. You should definitely stop by — if you’ve ever wanted to step into the Star Wars cantina, this might be the closest you’ll ever get.

10. Exit through the gift shop. 

Let’s be real: The gift shop is pricey. But if you want a souvenir from your brain-melting trip through another dimension, this is your shot.

There are weird and wonderful trinkets, exclusive artwork and surprisingly stylish clothing. My friend got a sweater and socks; I got some stickers.

Even if you don’t buy anything, it’s worth a look — just in case you need a memento of the time you accidentally slipped into another reality and lived to tell the tale.

Bonus tip: Hit Saint Arnold’s before (or after) your journey through the multiverse. 

Whether you need to fuel up before stepping into the unknown or decompress after tumbling through time and space, Saint Arnold Brewing Company is a perfect stop — and it’s right across the street. 

This Houston institution is Texas’ oldest craft brewery, serving up a stellar lineup of beers alongside a menu of hearty eats.

The vibe? A mix of laidback beer garden meets quirky art installation, complete with a funky fleet of decorated cars that feel like they could roll straight into Meow Wolf without missing a beat.

It’s the ideal place to gather your crew, sip something refreshing, and prepare (or recover) from the mind-bending experience that is Radio Tave.

Radio Tave: Tune In and Trip Out

Radio Tave is hard to describe. It’s more than an art exhibit — it’s an experience. It’s part scavenger hunt, part fever dream, part “Wait, am I actually here or did I just astral-project?”

Whether you dive headfirst into the lore, obsess over the hidden doors, or just vibe with the neon-lit absurdity of it all, you’re in for a wild ride.

So go in with an open mind, comfortable shoes, and absolutely no expectations of logic or reason — and have the time of your (possibly multidimensional) life. –Wally

Meow Wolf Houston: Radio Tave

2103 Lyons Avenue
Building 2
Houston, Texas
USA

 

The Ultimate 10-Day Iceland Road Trip

Your Ring Road and Golden Circle itinerary — complete with must-see detours, travel tips and can’t-miss stops you’ll brag about for years. 

Reynisfjara Beach

Why visit Iceland? The country begs to be circled, zigzagged, detoured and lingered over — with waterfalls misting your windshield, lava fields stretching to the horizon, and hot springs steaming under the midnight sun. The best way to do that? Hit the road.

This guide maps out a wow-per-minute route that loops the island on Route 1 (the famous Ring Road), layers in the Golden Circle, and sprinkles in a few side quests you’ll be humblebragging about for years.

“Whether you go clockwise or counterclockwise, you’ll pass glacier tongues, black sand beaches, alien geothermal zones, and sleepy fishing towns that look straight out of a Nordic fairy tale.”

Below: a 10-day Iceland itinerary that balances drive time and jaw-dropping moments, plus tips on timing, packing, and how to drive like a local without becoming an accidental sheep herder.

Brimketill natural pool

Why the Ring Road (Plus a Few Smart Detours) Is “The One”

Route 1 loops the entire country in about 1,332 kilometers (828 miles). Whether you go clockwise or counterclockwise, you’ll pass glacier tongues, black sand beaches, alien geothermal zones, and sleepy fishing towns that look straight out of a Nordic fairy tale.

Sure, you could do the loop in seven days — but 10 gives you breathing room to wander, soak and say “wow” every few miles. Toss in the Snæfellsnes Peninsula, the Golden Circle, and a Highlands teaser (if roads allow), and you’ve got yourself the greatest hits album of Iceland.

Reykjavik

The 10-Day Ultimate Iceland Road Trip Itinerary

Day 1: Reykjavik Arrival and Prep

• Land, stock up and ease in. Pick up your campervan or car, grab groceries at Bónus or Krónan, and explore Reykjavik’s colorful streets (don’t miss Hallgrímskirkja and Harpa). And there’s always the Icelandic Phallological Museum if that’s your thing. 

• Overnight: Reykjavik or a nearby campground (Mosskogar, Hafnarfjörður)

• Driving: Minimal (airport to city)

Þingvellir National Park

Day 2: The Golden Circle Warm-Up

• Þingvellir National Park: Tectonic plates and Viking-age drama. Walk the rift valley. Bonus points for snorkeling between continents at Silfra.

• Geysir Geothermal Area: Strokkur erupts every 5 to 10 minutes. Perfect for slo-mo footage.

• Gullfoss: A two-tiered roar that sets the tone for Iceland’s waterfall game.

• Secret stop: Reykjadalur hot spring hike — geothermal soak with a view.

• Overnight: Campsite in Selfoss or Flúðir (the Secret Lagoon is rustic and steamy).

• Driving: About 230 kilometers / 143 miles

Solheimasandur plane wreck

Day 3: South Coast Icons: Waterfalls to Black Sand

• Seljalandsfoss and Gljúfrabúi: Walk behind one, then find the other hiding in a canyon.

• Skógafoss: Perfect rectangular power. Climb up for panoramic payoff.

• Sólheimasandur Plane Wreck: Eerie DC-3 remains in a black desert. It’s a 7-to-8-kilometer  round trip, so bring snacks.

• Vík and Reynisfjara Beach: Basalt columns, sea stacks and sneaker waves. Keep a healthy distance.

• Overnight: Vík or Kirkjubæjarklaustur.

• Driving: About 200 kilometers / 124 miles

Fjaðrárgljúfur Canyon

Day 4: Glaciers, Icebergs and Lava Fields

• Fjaðrárgljúfur Canyon: A mossy, winding marvel (check road access)

• Skaftafell (Vatnajökull NP): Hike to Svartifoss or strap on crampons for a glacier walk.

• Jökulsárlón and Diamond Beach: Icebergs to the ocean, glittering ice on black sand. Straight-up magic

• Overnight: Höfn area (soak at Hoffell hot tubs if you’re feeling fancy).

• Driving: About 270 kilometers / 168 miles

Seyðisfjörður

Day 5: The Eastfjords: Switchback Beauty and Tiny Towns

• The drive: Narrow roads cling to fjords, with surprise tunnels and gasp-worthy views.

• Stops: Djúpivogur’s giant eggs, Petra’s Stone Collection, maybe a reindeer cameo near Egilsstaðir

• Optional detour: Seyðisfjörður, a rainbow-road artsy escape in a deep fjord

• Overnight: Egilsstaðir or Seyðisfjörður

• Driving: About 260 kilometers / 162 miles

Hverir

Day 6: Northbound to the “Capital of the North”

• Dettifoss and Selfoss: One’s raw power, the other’s elegance. Use Route 862 if you prefer paved.

• Hverir: Bubbling mud pots and sulfurous steam. Welcome to Mars, Iceland edition.

• Lake Mývatn: Lava labyrinths, pseudocraters and the blue Grjótagjá cave

• Godafoss: Horseshoe-shaped and heavenly

• Overnight: Akureyri

• Driving: About 300 kilometers / 186 miles 

Whale watching at Húsavík

Day 7: Whale Tails and Turf Roofs

• Morning in Akureyri: Coffee and a botanical stroll

• Húsavík Whale Watching: Prime humpback territory. Book ahead.

• Glaumbær Turf Farm: Sod-roofed time travel

• Overnight: Varmahlíð or Blönduós

• Driving: About 260 kilometers / 162 miles

Snæfellsnes

Day 8: West Iceland & Snæfellsnes Teaser

• Short hikes: Glanni Waterfall and Grabrok Crater

• Snæfellsnes (optional start): Kirkjufell, Arnarstapi cliffs, Djúpalónssandur beach and the glacier-capped Snæfellsjökull

• Overnight: Stykkishólmur, Grundarfjörður or Hellissandur

• Driving: About 300 kilometers / 186 miles (less if you save Snæfellsnes for tomorrow)

Vatnshellir lava cave

Day 9: Finish Snæfellsnes & Return to Reykjavik

• Catch anything you missed: Vatnshellir lava cave, the moody Búðir black church

• Optional soak: Krauma Baths — steamy serenity powered by Europe’s most powerful hot spring

• Overnight: Reykjavik or Keflavik

• Driving: About 250 kilometers / 155 miles

Reykjanes Peninsula

Day 10: Blue Lagoon, Reykjanes, and Farewell

• Lagoon of your dreams: Sky or Blue Lagoon. Yes, they’re touristy. They’re also glorious.

• Reykjanes Peninsula: Lava cliffs at Brimketill, bubbling Gunnuhver, and a bridge between tectonic plates

• To do: Return your ride. Ooh and ahh over your photos. Cry a little.

• Driving: About 80 to 120 kilometers / 50 to 75 miles 

Hveravellir

Bonus Detours (If You’ve Got Extra Days) on Your Iceland Road Trip

• The Westfjords: Rugged, wild and crowd-free. Dynjandi waterfall, Látrabjarg puffins, Rauðasandur’s red beach. Add 3 to 5 days.

• The Highlands: Summer only, 4x4 required. Rhyolite mountains of Landmannalaugar, steamy Hveravellir. Check F-road status before you go.

• Thórsmörk Valley: Epic hikes and glacier views — reached via rough roads and worth every bump.

Godafoss

When to Go on Your Iceland Road Trip (And What That Means)

• Summer (June to August): Midnight sun, most accessible, priciest and busiest. Reserve everything early.

• Shoulder Seasons (May and September): Fewer crowds, lower prices, decent daylight. Road conditions can vary.

• Winter (October to April): Northern lights, snow-globe vibes, but also storms and limited daylight. Consider shorter loops unless you’re a seasoned winter driver.

The Ring Road

Island Road Trip Logistics: Campervan vs. Car

My take: campervans = ultimate freedom + a rolling kitchen. If you want to be spontaneous, cook your own meals and sleep by waterfalls, this is the way. Iceland’s campsites are everywhere, and a fully equipped premium campervan makes logistics easy-peasy.

Selfoss

Driving and Safety Tips for Iceland

• Weather: Vedur.is and road.is are your new besties. Wind can literally rip doors off.

• Single-lane bridges and blind hills: Yield, go slow, stay alert.

• Gravel and F-roads: That F stands for fjall (Icelandic for “mountain”). Most insurance won’t cover damage. Know what you’re driving.

• Sheep patrol: If one crosses, assume more are on the way.

• Fuel: Fill up when you can — especially in the East and North.

Diamond Beach

Iceland Road Trip Budget Snapshot (Per Day for Two)

• Campervan: $150 to $300+

• Fuel: $60 to $100

• Campsites: $15 to $25 per person

• Food: $30 to $50 (DIY), double if you eat out

• Activities: $60 to $200 per tour

• Pro tip: Tap water = glacier-fresh and free. Bring a refillable bottle.

Glaumbær Turf Farm

Packing Essentials for Your Iceland Road Trip That You’ll Actually Use

• Clothing: Waterproof shell, warm layers, quick-dry everything, swimsuit, gloves — even in July.

• Shoes: Waterproof boots, camp shoes, microspikes for shoulder season.

• Electronics: Car inverter, USB hubs, offline maps, camera batteries (the cold eats them).

• Comfort: Spices, condiments, a French press, headlamp (winter) or eye mask (summer).

• Safety: First aid kit, emergency blanket, paper map backup.

Iceland Campsite Etiquette and Rules

• No wild camping (unless a farmer says yes). Use official sites.

• Leave no trace. Seriously. Iceland’s fragile — pack it in, pack it out.

• Keep quiet hours: Usually 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. The midnight sun doesn’t excuse middle-of-the-night karaoke sessions.

Dettifoss

Take the Road, Not Just the Photo

Iceland is a photographer’s dream, but the real magic happens in between the snapshots — chatting with locals about elf rocks, soaking in a secret hot pool, or pulling over because the sky just exploded in green fire.

So start your engine. Keep your plans loose. And let Iceland do what it does best: Surprise you around every bend. –Jeremy Albelda

Lost Your Wallet Abroad? Here’s How to Not Freak Out

Losing your wallet while traveling is stressful, but you don’t have to panic. Here’s a step-by-step guide to protect your money, identity and peace of mind — wherever you are.

Losing your wallet on vacation can quickly turn your dream trip into a stressful scramble. Say you’re in Morocco. Between the twisting medinas, bustling souks and nonstop adventures, it’s surprisingly easy to misplace something important. But before panic sets in, take a breath. There’s a calm, practical way to handle the situation — and we’ve got your back.

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Here’s exactly what to do if you’ve lost your wallet abroad.

1. Retrace your steps. 

Though it may sound obvious, the quickest way to find anything misplaced is to stop and immediately retrace your steps. Adrenaline can cloud your memory, so take a few deep, slow breaths as you consider where you have been since you last saw or used your wallet. Was it that café where you had lunch? The market you went to afterward? A taxi? If you can, go back place by place and ask the nearby merchants — many people have luck finding lost items that have been handed in by locals and passersby.

If they don’t speak English well, don’t panic. Most Moroccans, for example, speak French, so try, “As-tu trouvé un portefeuille?” (pronounced a bit like: “Ah tew troo-vay uhn port-foy?”) That means, “Have you found a wallet?” 

Or, you could use a translation app such as Google Translate to speak a more specific phrase, detailing the wallet. Stay calm — people in Morocco and other parts of the world honor hospitality and are generally very helpful.

2. Cancel your cards. 

If it becomes clear that you aren’t going to find your wallet anytime soon, you need to cancel your credit and debit cards immediately. You could call your bank or use a mobile banking app — look for free Wi-Fi in a hotel or café, or hotspot off one of a travel companion if you don’t have roaming access. 

Most major banks have protective measures in place for international travelers and will know what to do to keep your money safe. They may even be able to provide a replacement card for you to use on the remainder of your vacation.

3. Report it to the police. 

Even if you don’t suspect your wallet was stolen, it’s still useful to report it to the local police. You may need the official report as documentation for your travel insurance, and if anyone hands it in, they can get in touch and return it to you. In big cities like Casablanca and Marrakech, tourist police are often stationed near major landmarks.

If you were unlucky enough to have your ID and/or passport in your wallet, contact your home country’s embassy or consulate. They can help you with emergency travel documents and a replacement passport, and can also offer advice and assistance. 

You’ll likely need the police report, a passport photo (easily done in a camera shop), and proof of address (bank statements or similar).

4. Get some emergency funds. 

If you stashed some emergency cash in your luggage or hotel room, now is the time to use it. Otherwise, you can ask someone from back home to send you funds using a reputable money transfer company like Remitly. 

Some banking apps like Revolut or Monzo may allow you to freeze physical cards but continue to use virtual cards, which can be a lifesaver for booking transport or buying food until you get sorted.

Remember, you don’t have to cancel your trip and start planning your return journey early — just maybe skip the expensive dinner for now. 

Many cities in Morocco, for instance, are easily walkable and full of delicious street food, inexpensive riads and budget-friendly experiences. The loss of your wallet may force you to enjoy a slower travel experience until you are reassured that your money is safe. That’s could be a blessing in disguise.

How to Prevent Losing Your Wallet Abroad

Once you’ve secured your finances and hopefully regained your wallet, it can be useful to consider what went wrong. Was your wallet in your back pocket? Did you drop it into your backpack and forget to zip it up? Crowded markets and tourist hotspots are prime areas for pickpockets, no matter where you are in the world, so it’s worth remembering to be extra careful in the future.

Next time you go away, why not invest in an under-clothes wallet pouch or a money belt, or split your cash and cards between different spots in your luggage. You should also take a photo of your passport, visa and cards before traveling, or use a travel card and leave your real ones safely behind at the hotel.

Learn from the experience. 

Though it can be a real test of patience to lose your wallet abroad, it doesn’t have to ruin your trip. With the right steps and a bit of support, you can keep your cool and still have a great adventure. Travel isn’t about perfection; it’s about learning to adapt and smile through the challenges we face along the way. –Amanda Gardner

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MORE: 9 Tips for Navigating the Fès Media — And Making It Out Alive

10 Divine Ways Roman Women Were Deified

From mimicking gestures to fertility-loaded iconography, these imperial women followed a set of rules to prove they were literal goddesses. 

Vibia Sabina, looking every bit the empress — and maybe the goddess. Hadrian gave her honors in death…if not warmth in life.

Questionable hairdos, divine mimicry and the occasional eagle ride to the afterlife — being an imperial woman in Ancient Rome came with flair. Drawing from You Look Divine: Deifying Women in the Roman Empire, a lecture by archaeologist C. Brian Rose at the Art Institute of Chicago, I’m breaking down how Rome turned its empresses into literal goddesses.

A select few imperial women didn’t stop at empress; they were turned into goddesses after death, in a process called apotheosis. And Rose didn’t just walk us through Roman history — he charioted us straight to the heavens. Through sculpture, coinage and other dramatic iconography, here are the most divine highlights.

Apotheosis of Antoninus Pius and Faustina, where the imperial couple ascends to the heavens atop the wings of Eternity

How to Become a Goddess (in Ancient Rome)

1. Ride an eagle — or Eternity herself — into the heavens. 

When an empress died, art often showed her literally taking off for the heavens. The preferred transportation? The oldest Roman custom was to depict the soul carried up by an eagle, symbolizing the late empress’ apotheosis (ascension to godhood).

There was another method of transport, though: On the monumental Column of Antoninus Pius, for example, Faustina the Elder, wife of Antoninus, is shown being whisked heavenward by none other than a winged figure of the personification of Eternity (often depicted as a woman but here as a man), with two eagles in tow. Talk about traveling in style!

In short, if you wanted to advertise that a Roman woman became a goddess, you put her on a first-class feathered flight straight to the stars.

Julia Domna as Ceres, goddess of grain — serving up imperial fertility with a side of wheat

2. Recycle the pose of a goddess, become a goddess. 

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery — and in Rome, it was a fast track to divinity. Empresses would borrow the bodies of goddesses (at least in marble). 

Statues of imperial women often copied the poses and symbols of deities so closely that only the heads and inscriptions differed. Julia Domna, for instance, had a statue in Ostia holding wheat and poppies, just like Ceres, goddess of agriculture. In fact, her statue’s body was so generic-goddess that another statue of Empress Sabina used almost the exact same body with a different head and hairdo. 

Drusilla, Caligula’s sister, favorite — and, if whispers are to be believed, something more. After her death, he made her a goddess.

3. Get deified by a doting brother (thanks, Caligula!). 

Sometimes it’s all about who your family is. If your brother happens to be emperor and is just a tiny bit obsessed with you, you might skip the whole virtuous life part and go straight to goddess. 

Case in point: Caligula and his sister Drusilla. When Drusilla died in 38 CE, Caligula was so heartbroken (and unhinged) that he had the Senate declare her a goddess. He bestowed on her the name Diva Drusilla Panthea, meaning “the Divine Drusilla, the All-Goddess.” 

She was the first woman in Roman history to be officially deified by an emperor’s decree.  It didn’t hurt that Caligula fancied himself a living god, too — nepotism at its peak. 

Drusilla’s fast-pass to Mount Olympus shows that in Rome, having a god-maker in the family (even a certifiably crazy one) could trump all other qualifications.

Built for Faustina, rededicated to Antoninus — this temple is what happens when a Roman emperor can’t quit his empress, even after death.

4. If you’re really special, you get a temple of your own. 

When an empress was truly exceptional, the Romans gave her the ultimate posthumous honor: a temple on prime real estate. Think of it as the architectural equivalent of landing the cover of Vogue, but for eternity. 

Faustina the Elder was the first to score this distinction. After her deification, Emperor Antoninus Pius built the Temple of Faustina in the Roman Forum in 141 CE, complete with a grand colonnade and priests offering sacrifices in her name.

Julia Augusta (Livia) rocking the nodus — a hairstyle so serious it doubled as a public statement: “I’m chaste, powerful and one step from godhood.”

5. Be so virtuous, your hairstyle becomes a symbol of moral purity.

In Roman iconography, a woman’s hairstyle shouted her values to the world. Take Livia Drusilla, Augustus’ wife and the first First Lady of Rome. She pioneered the “nodus” hairstyle — a pudgy roll of hair over the forehead with the rest tied in a bun. 

It looks simple, but it spoke volumes. By choosing the nodus style, Livia presented herself as the embodiment of traditional Roman feminine virtues like pudicitia (modesty) and pietas (duty). 

That conservative ’do was basically a halo of humility. And it caught on: Women across the empire copied it for two or three generations, signaling that they too were modest, dutiful matrons. 

Faustina the Younger paired with Juno Lucina, goddess of childbirth — because bearing heirs was a divine duty and a full-time job

6. Fertility becomes your superpower. 

In the Roman imperial playbook, making imperial babies wasn’t just family planning — it was practically a divine service. An empress’ ability to bear children (preferably future emperors) was glorified as a literal superpower that kept Rome strong. 

Many empresses obliged, but Faustina the Younger outdid them all. She and Marcus Aurelius had at least 14 children (yes, 14), including two sets of twins. 

Her prolific motherhood was celebrated far and wide. Upon one daughter’s birth, the mint issued coins depicting Faustina as Juno Lucina, goddess of childbirth. The message was clear: The empress isn’t just having babies, she’s basically a fertility goddess herself. 

Imperial artists would show empresses with a cornucopia to symbolize fruitfulness — and the longer the better. Sometimes a woman was so fertile, she’d be deprived with a double cornucopia. 

Faustina the Younger as Venus and Marcus Aurelius as Mars — Rome’s ultimate power couple, cast as the gods of love and war

7. Victory and motherhood were a package deal. 

In the Roman mindset, a great empress could multitask on a cosmic level. She wasn’t just Mother of the Imperial House; she could be Mother of the Army, too. 

The idea was that an empress’ virtues off the battlefield (loyalty, fecundity, stability) magically contributed to victory on the battlefield. It sounds like a stretch, but the Romans leaned in. 

Faustina the Younger even got an official title for it: Mater Castrorum, “Mother of the Camp.” In 174 CE, she accompanied Marcus Aurelius to war in the wilds of Central Europe. The honorific implied that Faustina’s motherly care extended to the Roman army, boosting their morale and, by extension, Rome’s victories. 

Faustina the Elder had courier guilds renaming themselves after her and stage performers dedicating altars — all while she was still alive. Beyoncé who?

8. Gain a cult following (literally) in the provinces. 

If you really wanted a head start on divinity, it helped to have people worshipping you before you died. 

In the eastern provinces of the empire, where imperial cults were all the rage, communities sometimes treated the empress as a living goddess — with the emperor’s blessing, of course. This was savvy PR: It spread loyalty and flattered Rome’s rulers. 

Faustina the Elder enjoyed this rockstar status. In her lifetime, a courier guild in Ephesus renamed itself after her, and over in Puteoli, Italy, a group of stage performers (the scabillarii, who used foot clappers to keep rhythm) went so far as to dedicate an altar in her honor while she was still alive. 

Essentially, Faustina had fan clubs doing daily devotions to her across the empire. Incense, altars, maybe even occasional sacrifices — all for the living empress. 

These provincial admirers weren’t saying she was on par with Jupiter or Juno (let’s not get crazy), but they were laying the groundwork for her eventual deification.

By the time Faustina died and was officially consecrated as Diva, half the empire was already used to treating her as divine. 

Galba had no dynastic ties, so he borrowed some cred — appearing on a coin with Livia as Diva Augusta, Rome’s eternal empress.

9. Coins acted as your dynastic propaganda. 

Silver denarius of 69 CE: the deified Livia (Diva Augusta) standing with scepter and patera on the reverse. If you wanted to spread a message in ancient Rome, you stamped it on a coin. 

Imperial women found had their new goddess status broadcast through pocket change across the empire. Every coin was like a tiny billboard screaming, “The imperial family is sacred and stable!” 

One dramatic example: in 68–69 CE, during a chaotic civil war, Emperor Galba desperately needed legitimation. So what did he do? He minted coins showing Augusta Livia — wife of Augustus, long dead and deified — on the reverse, with the legend “the divine Augusta.”

By flaunting the protection of Grandma Livia’s divine spirit, Galba hoped to borrow her clout and calm everyone’s nerves about his usurpation. 

Living empresses appeared on coins with allegorical goddesses (Fecunditas, Pietas, Venus Victrix and the like) to nudge the public toward certain conclusions (e.g., “She’s as fruitful as a goddess!” or “She’ll bring victory!”). 

To Roman eyes, Faustina the Younger was more than marble. She was a living presence — painted, perfumed and draped in cloth like the goddess she had become.

10. Your statues get painted and perfumed. 

Those ghost-white marble busts we see in museums? In Ancient Rome, they were painted in full color and sometimes even scented to smell divine. 

Romans treated the images of their gods (and deified emperors or empresses) almost like living beings. Recent research reveals that many Greco-Roman sculptures were not only brightly painted, draped in real cloth, and adorned with jewelry, and even doused in perfumes and fragrant oils. 

So imagine walking into a temple of the deified Empress Faustina: You’d see a statue of her with rosy skin tones and gilded accessories, maybe with her hair painted the rich brown of the real Faustina. The statue might be wearing an actual diadem on her carved marble curls. And the air would be thick with the scent of imported incense or floral oils anointing the statue’s surface. 

Roman statues were multisensory experiences; they looked alive and even smelled “heavenly.” This was all part of maintaining the illusion (or reality, to believers) that the deified woman’s spirit was present and watching. If you were deemed a goddess, you got the full spa treatment for eternity. By

In the end, the Romans believed the gods got around to everyone deserving. An empress could ascend swiftly on a funeral pyre’s eagle, or slowly on the wings of her lasting reputation – either way, divinity was destiny for the worthiest of Roman women. –Wally

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Fierce, Flawed and Faithful: The Boldest Women of the Bible

Meet the women of the Bible who defied kings, led armies, seduced heroes, saved nations — and rewrote the rules. From Jezebel and Bathsheba to Deborah and Delilah, these are the stories of power, survival and divine disruption.

When people picture women in the Bible, they often imagine quiet obedience, gentle kindness or domestic virtue. But crack open the text, and you’ll find something far juicier: prophets, rebels, assassins, queens and seductresses. These are women who changed the course of history — whether scripture painted them as saints or sinners.

Some were praised, others demonized. Some saved lives with wisdom or loyalty. Others spilled blood without blinking. But one thing’s for sure: None of them were forgettable.

So let’s meet the fiercest women in the Bible: the faithful, the flawed and the downright fearsome.

“These women weren’t just background characters. They were prophets, plotters, protectors and provocateurs.

Some were praised. Others were punished. All of them left a mark.”

Righteous Rebels

These women broke the rules to do what was right — even when the world was stacked against them.

Shiphrah and Puah

The midwives who quietly launched a revolution

Bible Verses: Exodus 1:15–21

What They Did: When Pharaoh demanded the death of every Hebrew baby boy, these two women — likely low-status midwives — flatly refused. Instead of violence, they used wit, telling Pharaoh that Hebrew women gave birth too quickly for them to intervene. Their rebellion allowed a generation of children — including Moses — to live.

Modern Take: In a time when midwives had little social power, Shiphrah and Puah used the only weapon available: their word. Their civil disobedience predates Moses’ leadership and reminds us that revolutions often begin with women operating behind the scenes. Historically, midwives were both caretakers and quiet community leaders. Their defiance speaks to moral courage — choosing life over law in the face of a brutal regime.

Tamar

The widow who outplayed a patriarch — and won her place in history

Bible Verses: Genesis 38

What She Did: Twice widowed by the sons of Judah, Tamar was promised a third husband — but her father-in-law failed to deliver. Taking matters into her own hands, she disguised herself as a prostitute and slept with Judah. When she was found pregnant, he ordered her execution — until she produced his own staff and ring as proof of paternity. Judah, stunned, admits, “She is more righteous than I.”

Modern Take: Tamar’s actions are morally complex but deeply rooted in justice. In a system that left widows vulnerable and childless women powerless, she navigated patriarchal structures with strategy and nerve. From a historical lens, she subverted the levirate marriage laws — which stated that if a man died without children, his brother or another close male relative was expected to marry the widow — to claim her rightful place. Her story is one of resilience and survival: a woman taking back agency in a rigged game. Notably, she becomes an ancestor of King David and Jesus, canonizing her in the royal line.

Ruth

The loyal outsider who played the long game

Bible Verses: Book of Ruth

What She Did: After losing her husband, Ruth makes a bold choice: She refuses to abandon her mother-in-law, Naomi, and travels with her to Judah. To survive, she gathers leftover grain from fields — a practice called gleaning, where the poor could pick up scraps after harvest. Her loyalty and grit catch the attention of Boaz, a wealthy landowner and relative of Naomi. Ruth later approaches him at night and proposes marriage — a daring move that leads to a new beginning and places her in the lineage of King David.

Modern Take: Ruth’s story is often cast as sweet and romantic, but beneath the surface lies a tale of calculated risk and social navigation. As a Moabite, she was a foreigner and likely looked down upon. But she used cultural customs — gleaning, kinship ties, levirate marriage — to secure a future. Historically, her story challenged ideas of purity and inclusion. She represents the emotional strength of caretaking and long-term resilience.

Rahab

The outsider who brokered salvation with scarlet thread

Bible Verses: Joshua 2; Hebrews 11:31

What She Did: Rahab, a Canaanite sex worker living on the edge — literally, her home was built into Jericho’s city wall — welcomed two Israelite spies into her house and hid them under stalks of flax on her roof. When the king’s men came knocking, she coolly lied through her teeth, saying the spies had already left. Then she cut a deal: If she helped them escape, they’d spare her and her family when the Israelites conquered Canaan. Her one condition? “Tie a scarlet cord in the window” — a bright, bloody thread of survival hanging from the same place where she’d once advertised her services. And when Jericho crumbled, hers was the only household left standing.

Modern Take: Rahab embodies the cunning of marginalized people who work outside the system to survive. While labeled a prostitute, she displays diplomatic skill, foresight and shrewd negotiation. In the New Testament, Rahab is actually praised for her faith and included in Jesus’ genealogy, highlighting the Bible’s complicated relationship with female outsiders. Her courage in the face of annihilation marks her as a figure of radical faith.

The Syrophoenician Woman

The woman who changed Jesus’ mind

Bible Verses: Mark 7:24–30; Matthew 15:21–28

What She Did: A non-Jewish woman asks Jesus to heal her daughter. He rebuffs her, saying it’s not right to give the children’s bread to the dogs. She replies, “Even the dogs eat the crumbs under the table.” Jesus is impressed — and heals her daughter.

Modern Take: This exchange is one of the most shocking in the Gospels. A woman, doubly marginalized by ethnicity and gender, challenges Jesus — and wins. From a cultural standpoint, her story exposes deep prejudices of the time, including those Jesus himself inherited. It’s a moment of boundary-pushing faith, persistence and maternal desperation. Theologically, it’s a turning point that expands the scope of Jesus’s mission — and it happens because a woman insisted she mattered.

Delilah

The seductress who toppled a legend

Bible Verses: Judges 16

What She Did: The Philistine rulers knew brute force couldn’t bring Samson down. So they turned to something more dangerous: a woman with motive and access. They promised Delilah a king’s ransom if she could uncover the secret of his strength. She smiled. She agreed. Then she got to work. Night after night, she coaxed and teased, feigned frustration, and tested his love with lies of her own. “Tell me,” she whispered, as he lay tangled in her lap. And every time he fed her a false answer, she sprang the trap — watching as Philistine guards failed again and again. But she didn’t give up. Delilah was patient. She made betrayal feel like affection. Eventually, Samson cracked. He told her the truth: His hair had never been cut. It was his covenant with God. That night, he fell asleep with his head in her lap. She summoned a barber. The scissors whispered. The covenant snapped. And by morning, the man who had once torn lions apart was blind, bound, and defeated.

Modern Take: Delilah is usually cast as a cold-hearted betrayer, but we’re never told her motivations. Was it about money, survival or political loyalty? Unlike Samson, she wasn’t operating under divine direction — just practical, if dangerous, cunning. Her story is a study in how women’s power — especially when sexual or strategic — is often cast as villainous in ancient texts. She fits a familiar mold: the woman blamed for the downfall of a powerful man.

Lot’s Daughters

Survivors of Sodom with a disturbing plan

Bible Verses: Genesis 19:30–38

What They Did: After watching their city go up in flames, losing their mother in a pillar of salt, and seeing their fiancés vaporized in the rubble of Sodom, Lot’s daughters took refuge in a mountain cave with their father. There were no towns, no people, no future. Believing the world had ended, they hatched a desperate plan: get their father drunk, sleep with him, and repopulate the earth. One night at a time. One sister after the other. He never knew. Both girls became pregnant — and their sons, Moab and Ben-Ammi, would go on to found two of Israel’s most persistent rivals: the Moabites and Ammonites.

Modern Take: This story is more complex than it appears at first glance. It’s not just about taboo; it’s about fear, trauma and twisted survival instincts. Culturally, it also serves as an origin story used to discredit rival nations. But viewed psychologically, this is a trauma narrative: displaced, motherless and isolated, the daughters act in desperation. Whether you see their actions as horrifying or human, they force us to confront how messy survival can be.

Athaliah

The queen who killed for the crown

Bible Verses: 2 Kings 11; 2 Chronicles 22–23

What She Did: After her son, King Ahaziah, was assassinated, Athaliah seized power by executing the rest of the royal family — except for one hidden grandson. She ruled Judah for six years until she was overthrown by a priest-led coup.

Modern Take: Athaliah did what male monarchs often did — secured power by eliminating rivals — but as a woman, her actions were scandalous. Her rule is painted as a dark, wicked time, but she clearly held onto the throne with force and strategy. She may have been protecting her dynastic line (as the daughter or stepdaughter of Jezebel). Her reign reminds us how easily women in power are branded as unnatural or evil, especially when they don’t play “mother” or “queen” in the expected ways.

Herodias

The queen who silenced a prophet

Bible Verses: Mark 6:17–29; Matthew 14:3–11

What She Did: Herodias didn’t just marry into power — she remarried into it, divorcing Herod Philip to wed his half-brother, Herod Antipas. The move consolidated her influence but scandalized the region, and no one was louder about it than John the Baptist. He didn’t whisper, he shouted — from the riverbanks and beyond — that her marriage was unlawful. Herodias, humiliated and enraged, bided her time. That moment came during Herod’s birthday banquet. Wine flowed. Dancers twirled. Her own daughter took the floor — young, dazzling and magnetic. Herod was so pleased he promised her anything, even half his kingdom. Coached by Herodias, the girl made a simple, chilling request: “I want the head of John the Baptist — on a platter.” Moments later, the prophet’s severed head was paraded through the banquet hall like a party favor. 

Modern Take: Herodias is often reduced to a manipulative villain, but she was defending her position in a fragile political marriage. John the Baptist was attacking the legitimacy of her union. In ancient honor-based societies, public shame could be fatal. While her methods were brutal, they weren’t out of place in Herodian politics. Her story underscores how women were forced to wield indirect power — often through spectacle, scandal or seduction — because direct influence wasn’t allowed.

Prophets, Leaders and Warriors

They spoke for God, commanded armies, interpreted law, or held entire kingdoms together — often in sandals, not armor.

Deborah

The prophetess who led from both the palm tree and the battlefield

Bible Verses: Judges 4–5

What She Did: Deborah was both a prophet and a judge — meaning she settled disputes, delivered divine messages, and led Israel during one of its most chaotic eras. She summoned the general Barak to battle and foretold that a woman (not him) would get the glory. Spoiler: She was right.

Modern Take: Deborah is often treated as an exception to the rule. But maybe she just proves the rules were never the point. She’s not framed as masculine or controversial; she simply leads, with wisdom and clarity. Her story challenges the idea that women in ancient Israel were always silent or sidelined. Historically, her rise may reflect periods when traditional structures collapsed and leadership was open to those with proven charisma and vision — regardless of gender.

Jael

The housewife who nailed it — literally

Bible Verses:: Judges 4–5

What She Did: After the Canaanite general Sisera fled the battlefield, he sought shelter in Jael’s tent. She welcomed him, gave him milk, waited until he slept — and then drove a tent peg through his skull.

Modern Take: Jael’s act is both shockingly violent and deeply subversive. She’s not a soldier, but her tent is her battlefield — and she uses tools from daily life (a hammer and peg) to carry out a political assassination. In ancient Bedouin culture, women often set up tents, so she used her own domestic domain as a trap. The story celebrates her action without moral panic — unusual for biblical violence involving women. She’s framed as a hero, not a murderer. Think of her as the ancient world’s quiet avenger.

Esther

The queen who played the long game and saved a nation

Bible Verses: Book of Esther

What She Did: Chosen as queen for her beauty, Esther kept her Jewish identity secret — until the king’s righthand man plotted genocide. Risking death, she approached the king without invitation and, through a series of well-timed banquets and pleas, exposed the plot and saved her people.

Modern Take: Esther is often seen as a passive beauty queen turned heroine — but she’s far more strategic than that. She uses every tool available to her in a deeply patriarchal court: silence, timing, performance and, yes, her looks. Her story reflects the vulnerability of diaspora communities under imperial rule. Esther’s courage is slow-burning but explosive. She teaches us that bravery doesn’t always look loud — and that saving lives can sometimes start with throwing a really well-planned dinner party.

Judith

The widow who prayed, seduced and beheaded her way to freedom

Bible Verses: Book of Judith (in the Apocrypha)

What She Did: With her city under siege, Judith took matters into her own hands. Dressed in her finest, she infiltrated the enemy camp, charmed the general Holofernes, got him drunk — and decapitated him in his sleep. She returned home with his head in a bag, and the enemy scattered.

Modern Take: Judith’s story is so cinematic it’s almost unbelievable — which is why many scholars see it as historical fiction or parable. Either way, she embodies a radical blend of piety and violence. She fasts and prays before taking action, but once she moves, it’s swift and irreversible. Her tale has inspired centuries of art — and fear. She’s the kind of woman whose name never got dragged through the mud because she left no room for interpretation. She was both sword and salvation.

Huldah

The prophet who interpreted a rediscovered scroll — and shaped reform

Bible Verses: 2 Kings 22:14–20; 2 Chronicles 34:22–28

What She Did: When a lost book of the law was found in the temple during King Josiah’s reign, the officials didn’t go to a priest; they went to Huldah. She read it, confirmed its authenticity, and prophesied destruction for Judah — but peace for Josiah because of his humility.

Modern Take: Huldah was a recognized religious authority at a time when prophets like Jeremiah were also active. That’s a big deal. She shows us that literate, spiritual women had real influence in ancient Judah. Her brief story reveals how women’s voices were, at times, the final word. In a world that often forgets female scholars, Huldah remains a quiet but powerful counterpoint.

Women of Wisdom and Influence

They weren’t always the ones with swords or scrolls —but they knew how to read a room, bend a situation and leave a legacy.

Abigail

The diplomat who stopped a king from bloodshed

Bible Verses: 1 Samuel 25

What She Did: Married to the boorish Nabal, Abigail intervened when David — still a rising outlaw — was about to slaughter her household in revenge. She rushed out with gifts and a speech so persuasive that David praised her wisdom, thanked her for saving him from a terrible sin, and, after Nabal died, married her.

Modern Take: Abigail is the master of de-escalation. She’s calm, strategic and fast-moving. In a culture where women’s voices were often private or domestic, she steps directly into a military crisis and changes the outcome. She represents the “wise woman” archetype: a kind of informal authority figure often embedded in households or towns. She also offers an early model of emotional intelligence and diplomacy. Also, let’s be honest: She traded up.

Bathsheba

From pawn to power behind the throne

Bible Verses: 2 Samuel 11–12; 1 Kings 1–2

What She Did: First introduced when King David saw her bathing and summoned her, Bathsheba is often framed as passive. But later, after their son Solomon is born, she secures his claim to the throne — by confronting David and collaborating with the prophet Nathan. She later becomes the queen mother.

Modern Take: Bathsheba’s story is often filtered through male guilt: David’s sin, Nathan’s rebuke. But read closely, she transforms. After enduring trauma and loss, she becomes politically astute. In ancient royal courts, the role of queen mother was often more powerful than that of the queen herself. She became one of the few women with real dynastic influence. Psychologically, Bathsheba reflects the shift from victim to strategist: someone who learns the system, survives it, and ultimately shapes it.

The Queen of Sheba

The outsider who tested Israel’s wisdom

Bible Verses: 1 Kings 10:1–13; 2 Chronicles 9

What She Did: The Queen of Sheba traveled to Jerusalem to test King Solomon with riddles, questions and wealth. She left impressed by his wisdom and court — but not before making a striking impression herself.

Modern Take: She represents global intrigue, cross-cultural exchange and intellectual power. Historically, she may have been a South Arabian or Ethiopian ruler, and her story reflects real trade networks between Israel and Africa. In some traditions, she and Solomon have a child together, starting royal lines across Africa. Her visit challenges the idea that all wisdom flows from men or from Israel. She’s the rare woman in scripture who isn’t a wife, widow or mother, but a sovereign in her own right.

Priscilla

The teacher who quietly shaped Christian theology

Bible Verses: Acts 18:24–26; Romans 16:3

What She Did: Priscilla, along with her husband, Aquila, took the eloquent preacher Apollos aside and corrected his theology — offering deeper instruction in “the way of God.” She is often listed before her husband, suggesting she may have been the more prominent teacher.

Modern Take: In the early Church, Priscilla stands out as a female intellectual. Not reduced to the common status of helper or hostess, she was a theological mentor. Her presence shows that women were deeply involved in the formation of Christian doctrine. Some scholars even suggest she may have authored parts of the New Testament (like Hebrews), though that remains debated. She represents a model of collaborative leadership and quiet authority in a male-dominated movement.

Phoebe

The deacon who carried Paul’s most important letter

Bible Verses: Romans 16:1–2

What She Did: Paul introduces Phoebe as a deacon and benefactor (or patron), and entrusts her to deliver his letter to the Church in Rome. That means she didn’t just drop it off; she likely read and explained it.

Modern Take: Phoebe’s title, diakonos, is the same word used for male deacons. She’s the first named Church leader in Romans 16, and one of the few explicitly praised for her work. She reflects a Church still forming its structures, where women had space to lead. This makes us challenge assumptions about who held knowledge and who spread it — especially given how misogynistic the Church has become. 

Divine, Symbolic and Mysterious

These women act as symbols, archetypes and cosmic forces that stretch beyond history into myth, theology and metaphor.

Eve

The first woman — and the first to reach for knowledge

Bible Verses: Genesis 2–4

What She Did: Eve was formed from Adam’s side and placed in the Garden of Eden. She listened to the serpent, ate from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, and gave some to Adam. The result? Consciousness, shame, exile — and, for better or worse, the birth of humanity as we know it.

Modern Take: Often blamed for “the Fall,” Eve has been scapegoated for millennia. But some see her not as wicked, but curious and courageous — a seeker of wisdom. Historically, her story has justified everything from patriarchy to childbirth pain. But reread through feminist or psychological lenses, Eve becomes a symbol of autonomy, awakening, and the cost of choosing freedom over obedience. The first to question. The first to act. And the first to pay the price.

Mary, Mother of Jesus

The vessel of incarnation who sang a revolutionary song

Bible Verses: Luke 1–2; John 2; Acts 1

What She Did: Mary accepted the impossible: a miraculous pregnancy, divine purpose and certain scandal. After the angel Gabriel appeared and told her she would conceive a son by the Holy Spirit — without ever having been with a man — Mary didn’t panic, protest or faint. Instead, this young, unmarried girl in a patriarchal society said yes to a destiny that could get her shunned, divorced, or even stoned. She visited her cousin and sang the Magnificat — a bold hymn that shouted revolution. She predicted thrones would topple, the rich would go hungry, and the lowly would rise. Throughout the Gospels, the Virgin Mary stays close: from the wedding at Cana, to the cross, to the fledgling early Church.

Modern Take: Mary has long been framed as the pinnacle of passive femininity: meek and mild. But a closer reading reveals something far bolder. She’s a teenage girl who says yes to a life-threatening calling, sings a revolutionary anthem about overturning social hierarchies, and endures the trauma of watching her son executed by the state. In many cultures, she has become a mother, queen, even goddess — a figure claimed by liberation theologians, artists, mystics and mothers alike. She’s a paradox: virgin and mother, humble and exalted, human and divine vessel. Mary holds the sacred tension between idealized womanhood and radical spiritual agency. She doesn’t just bear the Word; she becomes a voice in her own right, whispering comfort, roaring justice and outlasting empires.

RELATED: Artistic Depictions of the Virgin Mary

Mary Magdalene

The much-maligned apostle to the apostles

Bible Verses: Luke 8:1–3; John 20:1–18

What She Did: Mary Magdalene followed Jesus, supported his ministry financially, witnessed the crucifixion, and was the first to see him resurrected. Jesus called her by name — and sent her to tell the others.

Modern Take: Long confused with a prostitute (a smear introduced centuries later), Mary Magdalene was actually one of Jesus’ most loyal followers. She’s the only person mentioned in all four Gospels as witnessing the resurrection. Historically, her demotion from leader to fallen woman reflects the Church’s discomfort with powerful women. But in recent decades, she’s been reclaimed as a true apostle — equal in faith and insight. She was the first to preach the risen Christ. That’s not just symbolic. That’s canon.

RELATED: What Did Early Christians Believe?

The Woman With the Alabaster Jar

The one who poured it all out

Bible Verses: Mark 14:3–9; Luke 7:36–50; Matthew 26:6–13

What She Did: She broke an alabaster jar of expensive perfume and anointed Jesus, either on his head or feet, depending on the Gospel. Some bystanders called it wasteful. Jesus called it beautiful — and said her act would be remembered wherever the Gospel was preached.

Modern Take: This unnamed woman breaks every rule of decorum: She touches a man, pours out wealth, and interrupts a meal. But Jesus praises her more than almost anyone else in the room. Her story blends sensuality, sorrow and sacrifice. Historically, she’s been confused with other women or moralized into irrelevance. But she embodies a kind of devotion: extravagant, intuitive and unapologetic.

Wisdom (Sophia)

She who was with God before the beginning

Bible Verses: Proverbs 8–9; Sirach 24

What She Did: Wisdom is personified as a woman calling out in the streets, standing at the gates, and present at the creation of the world. She builds her own house and prepares a feast, inviting the simple to come and learn.

Modern Take: Sophia is both symbol and spirit — seen by some as a feminine aspect of God, by others as a poetic device. Her presence in Proverbs is striking: She’s active, vocal and cosmic, present at the dawn of creation. In Christian mysticism, she becomes a bridge between human reason and divine truth. For many, Sophia also offers a sacred feminine within traditions that often silence it. She echoes the ancient mother goddesses — not in open defiance of monotheism, but woven quietly into it. In this way, she becomes a goddess in disguise, allowing vestiges of female divinity to survive under the name of wisdom. Across Orthodox icons, Gnostic texts and mystical visions, she whispers of a God who speaks not only with thunder — but with intuition, mystery and grace.

The Woman Clothed With the Sun

A radiant sign of pain, power and apocalypse

Bible Verses: Revelation 12

What She Did: In a vision, John sees a woman “clothed with the sun,” crowned with stars and pregnant. As she gives birth, a dragon waits to devour the child. She escapes into the wilderness as war breaks out in heaven.

Modern Take: Interpretations vary wildly: sometimes Mary, Israel, the Church or divine femininity itself. But whatever she symbolizes, her imagery is intense. She labors while cosmic forces collide. She’s both vulnerable and protected, chased and exalted. Historically, she reflects ancient mythic tropes of the mother goddess and the serpent. Psychologically, she represents transformation: pain that brings new creation, radiance born of struggle. She’s the centerpiece of a celestial showdown.

Bible Study, but Make It Subversive

Sunday school left a lot out. It’s time to shine the spotlight on the women who flipped the script. These women weren’t just background characters. They were prophets, plotters, protectors and provocateurs. Some were praised. Others were punished. All of them left a mark.

Their stories remind us that the Bible is a wild, ancient tapestry of human ambition, courage, desperation and wit. And at the heart of that chaos? Women who dared to act.

So go ahead. Read between the (patriarchal) lines. Ask the uncomfortable questions. If you relate more to the bold, subversive, and violent women of the Bible (like Jael, who literally nailed a Canaanite general to the ground with a tent peg) than to the idealized, domestic “virtuous woman” described in Proverbs 31 — you’re not alone. –Wally

How to Celebrate Lammas and Lughnasadh: First Harvest Traditions, Ritual and Sun Magic

On August 1, Lammas — aka Lughnasadh — marks the first harvest on the pagan Wheel of the Year, with sun-drenched rituals honoring the Celtic god Lugh and bread. Lots of bread. 

It still feels like summer — the kind that clings. The air is thick, the gardens are bursting, and the sun hasn’t yet given up its post. But something’s shifting. It’s not quite autumn, and not quite high summer, either. Just that in-between hum that says: Harvest time has started.

This is Lammas, also called Lughnasadh (this mouthful is pronounced “Loo-nah-sah”) — the first harvest festival of the pagan year. A time to gather what’s grown, bake bread in gratitude, and honor both the work and the letting go. It’s the season of full fields, tired hands, and sacred thank-yous whispered into the grain.

You may have lit fires for Beltane in the spring and danced under the high sun at Litha, but now the Wheel turns again. Lammas is where the wild energy slows — where intention meets outcome, and we pause to ask: What have I grown? What do I carry forward? And what do I leave behind?

What Is Lammas and Lughnasadh?

Lammas, celebrated on August 1, is the first of three harvest festivals in the pagan Wheel of the Year — followed by Mabon (the autumn equinox) and Samhain (the final harvest). The name Lammas comes from “Loaf Mass,” a Christian-era term marking the blessing of the first bread made from the grain harvest. But its roots run deeper.

Before Lammas, there was Lughnasadh, a Gaelic festival honoring the Celtic god Lugh (pronounced like Lou), patron of skill, craftsmanship and light. According to legend, Lugh created the holiday to honor his foster mother, Tailtiu, who died after clearing the land so crops could grow. Think of it as a celebration born from sacrifice, labor and love (more on this below). 

Both versions of the festival celebrate the same thing: gratitude for the first fruits of the land, and the subtle turning toward darker days. You bake bread because the grain has ripened. You give thanks because survival is never guaranteed. And you celebrate with fire, feasting, games and offerings — not in fear of winter, but in honor of what you’ve managed to grow before it comes.

Today, whether you’re harvesting wheat, creative work or personal growth, Lammas is the time to pause, reflect and say thank you — out loud, with your hands full.

The Legend of Lugh

Long ago, when gods and giants still roamed Ireland, there was a queen named Tailtiu — a goddess of the earth, strong and steady, her hands always buried in the soil. She took one look at the wild, tangled forests of Ériu and saw potential. So she cleared the land. All of it. By hand.

For days and nights and then more days again, Tailtiu worked. She moved mountains. Pulled roots. Flattened fields. Until at last, the land was fertile, ready to feed a people who didn’t yet know how much they’d need it. Then she laid down, weary beyond words — and died.

But her foster son, Lugh, wouldn’t let her be forgotten.

Lugh was brilliant, golden, untouchable. A god of many talents: warrior, smith, poet, harpist, trickster, tactician. When the gods were recruiting for a battle against the monstrous Fomorians, they told him, “We already have someone for each skill.” So Lugh said, “Then find me someone who has all of them.” And the room went quiet.

It was Lugh — the sun-bright, many-skilled god — who declared a festival in Tailtiu’s honor. He called all the tribes together, not for mourning, but for celebration. He lit fires. He hosted games. He told stories and sang songs and held contests of strength, wit and beauty. Farmers brought their first grains. Poets spoke their sharpest lines. Lovers met in the tall grass. Oaths were sworn. Bread was broken.

This was Lughnasadh, the “Assembly of Lugh.” A wild, sun-drenched sendoff for a goddess who gave everything — and a reminder that nothing grows without effort or sacrifice.

The games were held at Tailtiu’s grave, where the grass grew thick and sweet over her resting place. 

And every August, when the sun ripens the wheat and the sickles gleam, Lugh’s voice echoes somewhere in the wind: “Honor her. Honor the harvest. Honor what it cost.”

The Rise of Lammas

As the centuries turned and the old gods quieted — or were quieted — the Church stepped in, as it often did, with a rebrand.

Lughnasadh, with its bonfires and boasting, its hilltop games and grain offerings, was a little too loud, a little too wild, and way too pagan. But people weren’t about to stop marking the first harvest — not when the fields were full and the bread was fresh and the land still whispered Tailtiu’s name.

So the Church gave it a new name: Lammas, short for “Loaf Mass.”

Gone were the sacred games and sun gods. In their place: a more palatable ritual. You’d bring the first loaf of bread to church, fresh from the newly milled grain, and the priest would bless it. A holy thank you, wrapped in linen and incense. No druids required.

It was still a festival of gratitude — just with more psalms and fewer hilltop flings.

But even as Lammas was woven into the Christian calendar, the old ways clung. You’d still find tales of Lugh passed around fires. You’d still hear of sacred wells visited on August 1. And in rural corners, some folks secretly kept baking bread in his name.

Today, Lammas and Lughnasadh blur together — one dressed in church robes, the other in sun-gold and shadow. Whether you honor Lugh or the loaf (or both), you’re stepping into a very old current when you mark this day.

Traditions of Lammas and Lughnasadh

Lammas and Lughnasadh come with a spread of traditions equal parts sacred, social and symbolic. These rites once marked the height of summer’s bounty and the first sigh of the waning sun. Some remain intact, others were reinvented, but they all echo that ancient truth: Nothing grows without gratitude.

Bread

The central act of Lammas is in the name itself: Loaf Mass. People once baked bread from the first harvested wheat and brought it to be blessed. Others offered it at the hearth or buried pieces in the fields for luck and fertility. In both Christian and pagan observance, the bread wasn’t just food; it was a sacred transaction between land, labor and spirit.

Fire and Feasting

Like many cross-quarter festivals, Lughnasadh came with fire. Bonfires were lit to honor the sun at its peak and to mark its slow retreat. Feasts were held beside the flames, using the first of the harvest: berries, fresh grains, garden produce, and anything ripening under the late summer sun.

The Tailteann Games

Held in ancient Ireland at the burial site of Tailtiu, these funeral games were athletic, artistic and social all at once. Tribes competed in races, wrestling, music, poetry and storytelling. Oaths were sworn, grievances aired, and couples even formed trial marriages — often lasting a year and a day, no commitment rings required.

Sacred Sites and Pilgrimages

People made pilgrimages to holy wells, hilltops and other sacred places, often leaving offerings or saying prayers for a good harvest and safe passage through the darker half of the year.

Harvest Rites and Grain Spirits

The grain had a spirit, a presence. The first and last sheaves were honored with care. Some communities crafted corn dollies from the final stalks, believing they housed the spirit of the field and brought protection through the winter. Others saved the last sheaf for spring planting, returning the spirit to the soil in a full-circle blessing.

Symbols of Lammas and Lughnasadh

Lammas is a festival of grain, gratitude and golden light — a turning point in the Wheel of the Year when we honor both abundance and impermanence. Its symbols reflect the rhythm of harvest and the sacred balance between effort and reward.

1. Bread and grain
   The central symbol of Lammas is the loaf. Bread made from the first grain represents survival, sacrifice and the miracle of transformation — from seed to stalk to sustenance. Wheat, barley, rye and oats also carry protective and prosperity magic, often used in offerings or home blessings.

2. The sickle
   The sickle or scythe represents the act of harvest — the moment of cutting away, of reaping what has been sown. It’s a symbol of hard work, mortality and the necessity of release. In ritual, it can mark endings, gratitude and readiness to let go.

3. The corn dolly
   Often woven from the last sheaf of grain, the corn dolly (or harvest spirit) was kept through winter as a charm of protection and fertility. This figure represents the living spirit of the land — honored, protected and returned to the earth in spring to ensure next year’s growth.

4. The sun
   Though its power is beginning to wane, the sun is still a dominant force at Lammas. It ripens the grain, warms the fields, and reminds us that even as light fades, it leaves behind nourishment. Sun symbols, gold tones and fire rituals all connect to this presence.

5. Fire
   Lammas shares fire’s symbolism with many other sabbats, but here it carries a specific tone: Warmth giving way to shadow. Bonfires at Lammas honor the labor behind the light — not just passion, but perseverance. Candles and hearth fires evoke both celebration and quiet reverence.

6. Wheels and circles
   The Wheel of the Year turns, and Lammas marks a visible shift. Circular symbols — from braided loaves to sun wheels — reflect this ongoing cycle of growth, harvest, decay and rebirth. They remind us that the work is never truly done, only transformed.

7. The color gold
   Gold is the signature shade of Lammas. It’s the color of ripe wheat, late-summer sunlight and divine abundance. Wearing gold or decorating with yellow, orange and amber connects you to the energy of fullness, gratitude and transition.

A Lammas Ritual 

This ritual is designed to honor what you’ve harvested — creatively, emotionally or literally — while also making space for what must be cut away. It draws on the ancient symbolism of the sickle, bread and the turning sun. 

What you’ll need:

• A small round loaf of bread (homemade or bakery-fresh)

• A knife (symbolic sickle)

• A gold, orange or brown candle

Step 1: Set the scene. 

Cast a magic circle if you’d like. 

Place your candle in front of the bread. Light it as the sun begins to lower — golden hour, if possible. Let this moment feel sacred, even if it’s just you and your cat on the kitchen counter.

Step 2: Declare your harvest before the flame.

Hold your hands over the bread. Say what you’ve harvested this season. Maybe it’s a job. A finished creative project. A hard conversation you finally had. Say it, name it, own it. 

Then chant:

I’ve brought this to the table.
With work, with will, I’ve made it real.

Step 3: Cut the loaf. 

Use the knife to slice the bread. As you cut, envision what must be released to move forward: a habit, a fear, a stale version of you. Speak this next part as you slice:

The grain is grown, the blade is near,
I cut away what I outgrew this year.

What’s done is done. The stalk must fall.
I thank it — then I take it all.

Step 4: Chant. 

Break off a piece of bread, hold it to your heart, and chant this slowly — three times, each time a little louder:

Sun in the field and fire in the sky,
I feast, I thank, I say goodbye.
What once was seed is now my own.
I take the gift, I give it home.

Eat the bread slowly. Feel the warmth. Let yourself sit in that golden glow of satisfaction and release.

Step 5: Finish the ritual. 

Blow out the candle and scatter a few breadcrumbs outside for the spirits of the land, birds or anyone who could use a little magic.

Feasting and Traditional Foods of Lammas and Lughnasadh

Lammas is the feast that says, we made it this far — and that’s worth celebrating. After months of planting, tending, sweating and hoping, the first harvest is finally in hand. That’s why this sabbat is one of the most delicious on the Wheel: It’s a table piled high with the fruits of your labor, both literal and symbolic.

Bread (non-negotiable)

Bread: the ultimate alchemy of flour, water, salt and time. At Lammas, a loaf represents gratitude, transformation and survival. Traditional loaves were round, sun-shaped, or braided into spirals and wheels. Some folks saved a portion for blessings, while others fed it to the fire or the fields in offering.

If you bake nothing else this year, bake for Lammas — with herbs from your garden, honey from the farmer’s market, or whatever feels sacred in your kitchen.

Grains of all kinds

Wheat may get the spotlight, but barley, oats, rye and corn are all Lammas royalty. Oatcakes, porridge, barley soup, cornbread — these are humble, grounding foods with ancient roots. They stick to your ribs and remind you that nourishment is a sacred act. 

Berries and first fruits

The late-summer hedgerows are bursting. Blackberries, raspberries, blueberries — if you can pick them yourself, even better. Early apples may also be ready, and orchard fruit carries special Lammas energy: juicy, generous, wild.

Preserving, canning or pie-making also fit the season’s vibe. You’re feasting — but you’re also storing for the winter to come.

Seasonal veggies

Zucchini, tomatoes, squash, corn on the cob, beans, fresh herbs — Lughnasadh is a love letter to the garden. Many traditional dishes were simple: roasted with oil and salt, cooked into stews, or eaten fresh with bread and cheese. Let the ingredients sing. They’ve worked hard to get here.

Ale, mead and herbal infusions

Fermentation is magic. Whether it’s homebrewed ale, golden mead, or sun tea steeped with mint and calendula, a Lammas drink should feel alive. It should warm the belly and honor the earth. Toast to Lugh, to the land, to the ones who cleared the fields before you.

Crafting and Activities for Lammas and Lughnasadh

Lammas is a working holiday. It honors labor — physical, creative, emotional. So the crafts of this sabbat aren’t just decorative; they’re symbolic acts of gratitude, protection and offering. Whether your tools are scissors, shears, flour or fire, this is the season to make something that gives back.

1. Make a corn dolly (and don’t make it cute). 

Corn dollies are traditional harvest figures woven from the last sheaf of grain. They house the spirit of the field through winter — think of it as spiritual life support for the land. You can use wheat, corn husks or even raffia. Don’t stress about perfection; these were never meant to be precious.

Once made, you can:

• Keep it on your altar through the darker months

• Bury or burn it at Imbolc to return the spirit to the earth

• Add protective herbs or charms to empower its energy

2. Craft a sun wheel or grain braid. 

Braid together wheat stalks, dried grasses, or long herbs into a spiral or circle. These were once hung over doors and hearths for luck, abundance and protection. 

3. Press flowers and herbs from your garden. 

Take stock of what’s blooming or ripening around you. Press flowers and leaves between books or use them to make bookmarks, sachets or offering bundles. Lughnasadh is a time to capture the fleeting — before it fades.

4. Bake bread with intention. 

Shape your bread into suns, sheaves, spirals or wheels. Score it with sigils. Tuck in herbs, garlic or cheese. And if your bread flops? That’s part of the offering. You still get points for showing up.

5. Host your own mini Tailteann Games. 

Whether you host a poetry contest, an art swap or a backyard obstacle course, this tradition goes back to the festival’s roots. Celebrate what you (and your people) are good at — and don’t forget to crown someone “Champion of the Grain” or whatever glorious nonsense you come up with.

6. Create a harvest altar. 

Use things you already have: bread, fruit, dried herbs, a candle or two. Add in a symbol of something you’re proud to have “harvested” this year. You can dismantle it at Mabon, or let it linger as a visual reminder of all you’ve made possible.

Honoring the Spirit of Lammas and Lughnasadh

Whether you call it Lammas or Lughnasadh, this festival invites you to pause for reverence. Mark the moment between heat and harvest, between holding on and letting go. It’s a time to bake (and break) bread, give thanks, and honor your labor.

From corn dollies and feasts to fiery rituals and golden symbols, Lammas and Lughnasadh remind us that everything worth harvesting starts with a seed — and a little faith in the sun.

Happy first harvest. May your table be full, your spirit light, and your sickle sharp. –Wally

How to Survive (and Actually Enjoy) Off-Grid Travel

Thinking of ditching the grid for a few days of wilderness and wonder? From forest cabins to desert van life, here’s how to do remote travel right — with the help of a few modern upgrades.

Let’s be honest: Most of us aren’t heading into the wild to prove we can rub two sticks together and make fire. We’re there for the views, the peace, and maybe to post a smug little sunrise story once we’ve brewed our campsite coffee.

But remote travel isn’t always as romantic as the drone shots make it look. Get too cocky, and “off the grid” becomes “off your rocker”: You’re hangry, lost and out of power as the sun is setting.

“Off-grid doesn’t mean punishment. You don’t have to summit Everest or poop into a hole in the rain to prove you’re badass.”

The good news? With a little planning, a few creature comforts, and the right gear (like a portable power station that keeps your phone, fridge and flashlight going strong), you can actually enjoy your unplugged adventure.

Let’s break it down — from what to pack to the biggest surprises no one tells you about going remote. Spoiler: You’ll want extra snacks, backup socks and just enough signal to cue up your hiking playlist.

1. Choose your wild wisely

Off-grid doesn’t mean punishment. You don’t have to summit Everest or poop into a hole in the rain to prove you’re badass. Remote travel can look like a stargazing dome in the desert, a lakeside yurt, or a national forest cabin with a wood-burning stove and exactly zero bars of service.

Start with a place that thrills and comforts you. Is there a stream to dip your feet in? A boulder to pose dramatically on? A backup gas station within 45 minutes? All valid considerations.

Pro tip: Check trail conditions, weather, and the closest place to get both tacos and gas. If either is over an hour away, you’re in real “better-have-a-power-source” territory.

2. Pack for your mood, not just the map

Sure, you’ve got hiking boots, granola and a bandana. But what about a fan for when your camper turns into a sweat lodge? Or a way to light up your tent with soft fairy lights instead of blinding headlamps? 

Modern adventurers don’t just pack for survival. They pack to set the mood — for cooking, journaling, reading, vibing. That might mean a camp stove for real meals, a portable pour-over coffeemaker, or a solar string of fairy lights that turns your tent into a woodland cocktail lounge. Bonus points if you’ve got a way to power a fan or charge your Kindle without draining your car battery.

3. Make your car your command center

In remote areas, your car isn’t just for transport; it’s your fortress, pantry and power hub. Whether you’re camping out of it or just relying on it to get back to town, treat it like mission control.

Stock it with snacks, water, emergency gear and something that doesn’t run off your car battery. That way, your GPS can stay juiced and your cooler can hum along without draining your vehicle’s life force.

4. Unplug intentionally

Going remote doesn’t mean disappearing. The goal isn’t to vanish like a 2013 Facebook friend. It’s to choose when and how to disconnect.

Want to film your hike? Great. Want to read an ebook in a hammock with your phone on airplane mode? Fab.

The trick is to prep before you lose signal: Download maps, cue your playlist, set that away message. And bring backup power so you’re not stuck watching your battery die at 12% while you argue over whether the trail split left or right.

5. Eat like you’re on a picnic, not a survival show

We all love a good challenge — but soggy oatmeal and a melted protein bar does not a wilderness feast make. 

Just because you’re off the grid doesn’t mean you need to live like a raccoon. A mini stove, a small cooler and a foldable pan can turn a clearing into a forest bistro. Pancakes hit different at 10,000 feet.

6. Embrace the elements — but also outsmart them

Nature is stunning. It’s also rude. It will throw wind at your tent, sunburn you while you nap, and laugh while your map disintegrates in the rain.

Smart adventurers embrace the elements, sure — but they also plan like they’ve been bitch-slapped by Mother Nature before. 

Bring layers, slather on sunblock, stay hydrated — and always have a backup battery when the wind kills your power line and you need to Google “how to build a windbreak with a tarp.”

7. Sleep smarter, not harder

There’s nothing quite like a night under the stars. Until your air mattress deflates, your lantern dies, and something snuffles around your tent at 3 a.m.

Here’s the fix: Prep your sleep zone like it’s the Ritz-Carlton of canvas. Pack a cozy sleeping bag, throw in some soft lantern lighting (pro tip: solar-powered lights save you the panic of dead batteries), and make peace with the fact that every twig snap will sound like a bear.

8. Make your trip your own kind of wild

Not every off-grid trip needs to look like a Patagonia ad. Some people want to summit peaks. Others want to write poetry in a hammock, sip local wine, or catch their dinner in a creek.

Build your experience around what you love. And make sure you’ve got the power — literal and metaphorical — to do it.

Whether you’re filming waterfalls with your drone or journaling by lantern light, build your own version of wild. Download your maps ahead of time. Pack a rechargeable fan if it’s going to be toasty — or a pocket hand warmer if you’re chasing frost-kissed views.

Get Lost — Just Not Completely

Remote travel isn’t about proving you can suffer. It’s about trading noise for birdsong, to-do lists for trail maps, and overhead fluorescents for moonlight. And honestly? It’s a lot more magical when you’re not fumbling in the dark with 2% battery.

With a little prep, a healthy respect for the unexpected, and a few modern lifesavers, you can leave chaos behind — without going full caveman.

So go off-grid-ish. Hike until your legs hurt. Eat grilled cheese in the forest. Read by lantern light. And when someone says, “I could never do that,” smile — because you know the secret: The wild’s a lot more fun when you’re ready for it. –Wally