wedding in the jungle essay

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How I Survived a Wedding in a Jungle That Tried to Eat Me Alive

Nothing says “I do” like a small blood sacrifice

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I lie half naked and miserable in a puddle of my own sweat. I open the tent flap to breathe but there’s no relief, even at midnight. Who comes to the Guatemalan jungle in July?

Yesterday’s hike was rough, but the 15 miles today were raw pain. The mosquitoes were so vicious that by mile two even our local guides had asked to borrow our 100 percent deet. Bugs here suck down lesser repellent like an aperitif. Nothing provides complete protection.

Our destination is La Danta, one of the largest pyramids on earth. It’s located in the ruins of El Mirador, a centerpiece of Maya civilization from 800 B.C.E. to 100 C.E. that was abandoned nearly 2,000 years ago. There are no restrooms, no gift shops. In fact, the site is still being excavated.

This is where Angela and Suley want to get married. So, accompanied by a pair of guides, a half-dozen pack donkeys, and their ten toughest (or least informed) friends, the brides are determined to march us 60 miles over five days through Parque Nacional El Mirador in northern Guatemala to La Danta to say “I do.” It’s our second night on the trail.

I close my eyes and wait for Tara, a.k.a. Tent Dawg, to start snoring. I met her 48 hours ago. Broad shouldered and sharp jawed, she looks like she could win a car-tossing competition or spit and hit Mars. A major in the U.S. Army, she’s been training soldiers on how to survive in the field since before Survivor was a tiki torch in Mark Burnett’s eye. Back in the small town of Flores, the night before we all set off, she’d said something about a kidney condition with a shrug. Nothing fazes Tent Dawg.

I slip out of our nylon cocoon to pee, swimming through the liquid night. Humidity 83 percent. Cicadas buzz from thick-vined shadows—the jungle’s 24-hour booty call.

The misshapen moon shimmers like a mirage. I drop my underwear and flash a rounder moon at the donkeys. A languid tail whips a fly. Because my body temperature nearly matches the outer world, it’s hard to feel the boundary line. So I watch to be sure the piss is pissing. At least it runs clear; I’ve been pounding water to replenish the gallon I sweat off every hour.

No sound emerges from our five tents, just green-black humming in all directions, 1.6 million acres of primeval rainforest teeming with the richest biodiversity in Central America. I shake my hips, pull up my skivvies, and float back to my tent.

I flop down and remind myself, This is the opportunity of a lifetime, when a mosquito the size of a Winnebago chomps my left butt cheek. The pain is electric but passes quickly. After frantic swatting and cursing, I drift off, anesthetized by this single dart.

It was not a mosquito.

Four months before this trip, in April of 2017, I sat in a collapsible chair at a campsite in Joshua Tree, California, avoiding eye contact with the breakfast of sardines I had to force down.

“Yes!” I said, before Angela finished her question.

I’d met her years ago when she was a subject in a documentary film I’d directed, and we became friends. An Arab-American medic in the Army, Angela met Suley, a Mexican-American enlistee, and couldn’t resist her thousand-watt smile. Despite the recent repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, the policy had left its scars. The military still didn’t feel like a safe place for their love. Although Angela had once dreamed of being a lifer, she quit and Suley followed suit. They launched new careers and big plans for life as wife and wife.

As Joshua Tree’s cold March winds blew dust around our campfire, I swaddled Angela and Suley’s drowsy Chihuahua inside my parka, keeping us both warm. They told me they planned to marry in Guatemala—something about the Maya ruins, a handpicked crew, almost all women, did I want to come along?

I didn’t want details, I just wanted in.

I was a single 39-year-old living and working in Los Angeles, freelance-writing and making films, and my life felt rife with uncertainty. This trip offered a chance to grab on to the one thing I knew about myself. I’d ascended the peaks of the High Sierra, explored the bowels of the Grand Canyon, and snow-camped across north-central Colorado’s Gore Range. My future was a cloudy mess, but I knew this: I am an adventurer.

To be clear, I am not a fearless adventurer—I’m paranoid about viruses and parasites, and have a phobia of ticks. Growing up in Syracuse, New York, a hotbed for Lyme disease, didn’t help. Anything insidious or invisible is my enemy. Give me something I can see and fight, not a freeloader sucking out my life force. (Yes, I have low-grade OCD and watched Alien at an impressionable age.)

But at this moment I wanted to say yes and feel grand for saying it. I’d fallen out of trekking shape; I needed to prove that I still had the stuff. There would be plenty of time for fear. I am the kind of person who says yes.

Had I been listening, I would’ve heard that almost everyone on the trip was professionally fit and ten years younger than me: a soldier, a martial artist, two physical therapists, and several fitness instructors. My regimen of strolls on Venice Beach and Sunday morning flop yoga wouldn’t cut it with this crowd.

Had I been listening, I would’ve heard Angela describe her dream wedding: “A super-trek to a remote destination that we all barely survive but bonds us forever—like how Suley and I met in the Army!”

Had I been listening, perhaps I would’ve said no. Instead, the conversation turned to breakfast. Angela gestured to my sardines. “They’re not so bad if you hide them in the eggs,” she said. The Chihuahua squirmed against my belly.

I peeled back the tin and threw another oily stinker onto the campfire skillet. As it popped and sizzled, I heaved a spoonful of orange whitefish roe into my mouth. Just get it done.

I was choking down sardines and roe at the behest of my acupuncturist. He said that this diet would help prepare my body for the harvest of my own eggs a few weeks later, and I’d learned not to question his methods. (At least it wasn’t the encapsulated deer placenta this time.)

I wanted a sexy adventure buddy and a safe, reliable co-parent to have children with, but he hadn’t appeared yet. Refusing to settle for the wrong guy had felt plucky at 23, but at 39 seemed more like a game of chicken with the universe. Freezing my eggs stretched out the road a bit longer, but it might be for nothing.

A fertility clinic is the one place in Los Angeles where you can’t hide from the realities of aging. I’d never felt less in control as I dropped ten thousand hard-earned freelancer bucks to take my best shot at having a baby. I’d have eaten the sardine can itself if the doctor suggested it.

When I returned to Los Angeles from Joshua Tree, I shot up my abdomen with expensive medicine for several weeks leading up to the egg-retrieval procedure. I didn’t have a partner to help me prep the injection site or hold my hand as I stabbed the dripping needles into my subcutaneous fat. My only companion was the paid model in the injection tutorial video produced by the medicine’s manufacturer. Night after night, I’d mimic her manicured hands—long after I’d memorized the steps.

A month before Guatemala, with my eggs successfully retrieved and on ice, I sat across from a travel-medicine doctor in Santa Monica. She’d already vaccinated me for dengue fever, hepatitis A, and tetanus, and given me a bottle of Malarone to ward off malaria. I filled out a form detailing my history with giardia, a parasite in contaminated drinking water that causes diarrhea, exhaustion, and, in my case, so much weight loss that my college basketball coach worried I’d become anorexic. I’d caught it five times on wilderness treks, even when no one else did. “I don’t know what to tell you,” she said. “I guess bugs just like you.”

“What about ticks?” I said. “Do ticks in Guatemala carry Lyme disease?”

“Honey, they got something, ” she said. She handed me a prescription for a single doxycycline pill the size of a baguette. “Anything bites you, take this. No hospitals in the jungle. And get the best tweezers you can find.”

I stopped at a drugstore on the way home.

I open my eyes in the misty jungle dawn, grateful to have dozed a handful of hours. Tent Dawg continues her Darth Vader breathing, perhaps dreaming of rappelling from a helicopter or choking out a python. I sit up and listen, hearing only the guttural wail of a howler monkey declaring his territory. The other tents are still.

I start to lie back down, but a tight sensation between my legs grabs my attention.

I face away from Tent Dawg, cross-legged, and peel off my underwear to inspect. Nothing. But what is that ache? I pull my right labia aside and my field of vision snaps into a tunnel.

Behold my nightmare: a tick has bitten my vagina.

The predator is massive—the size of a pencil eraser—with a revolting blood-brown shell and mandibles that rival Jaws.

A dizzying heat rushes to my face. I feel the urge to tip headfirst into an imaginary hole. A voice from some deep place rises. We’ve trained for this, Johnson.

I grit my teeth and pull out a brand-new pair of Mr. Tweezermans—excuse me, Dr. Tweezermans—from my pack. I flip on my phone’s flashlight and assume the butterfly position.

The good part about being bit by a jungle-grade arachnid on the lady taco is that the folds of the labia make it hard for the little jerk to get traction. I spread my labia with my left hand, slit my eyes, and dive into surgery.

The creature squirms and plunges for deeper velvet, legs in blind fury, cruel mouth desperate for flesh. But my wrath will not be evaded. Not today. I grasp its beady head with a firm hand and yank up once, exorcizing the demon from my holy garden.

“Fuck you,” I hiss. I dump it into a plastic sandwich bag and smash out its guts with a rock. I swallow the enormous antibiotic pill in one gulp.

Tent Dawg wakes up, fresh as springtime.

“I’ve had a negative life experience,” I say.

She rolls over and I relay the ordeal with the gravitas of Obi-Wan Kenobi describing the destruction of planet Alderaan.

She bursts out laughing. I decide I hate Tent Dawg.

At breakfast I am, perhaps, a little unhinged.

“I just want everyone to know that I was bitten by a tick on the vagina,” I announce.

The group looks up with full cheeks and wide eyes. Ashley, a bubbly blond yogini who weighs as much as my left leg, offers me tea tree oil from her stash. I splash on so much that it feels like my undercarriage has been power-washed with Listerine. I thank her for this kindness.

Angela pulls me aside. “Hey look,” she says, “If you don’t want to go on with us, I totally get it. That sucks. One of the guides can take you back.”

Just say yes and this will be over. But her tone is so compassionate, so ready to let me off the hook from this hellish trip, that it soothes me out of my tantrum.

The tick is dead. I took the pill. I’ll be fine.

I slap gaiters over my hiking boots and we single-file out of camp for eight more miles through the bush.

Another breathless dawn sags over our heads on the third day, but I feel light in a way I haven’t since I boarded the plane at LAX. No matter what else happens, we’ve made it to El Mirador. Now we just need to climb the La Danta pyramid and pull off a secret wedding.

A moment before we leave camp, Suley decides she needs a pre-wedding beauty treatment. She plops on a stump, douses her hair with a water bottle, and shakes off the excess. Ashley uses the tiny pair of scissors from the med kit as Angela brushes bits of hair from her beloved’s shoulders. “Look how prepared I am,” Suley says, showing off her underwear waistband, which says: TUESDAY. Today is Tuesday. Angela smiles. It’s time to go.

I think we’re climbing over natural ridges and hummocks to get to the La Danta pyramid, crown jewel of El Mirador, but our guides, Alejandro and Luis, explain that we’re actually climbing over the half-digested bones of a capital city that would take lifetimes to unearth. With an estimated population of 200,000 at its height during the third century B.C.E., El Mirador was the nerve center of a densely settled network of towns and villages. But the city declined and was largely abandoned in the first century C.E.

This collapse didn’t mean the end of the Maya. But it did mark a low point for civilization in the region. Why did so many of its inhabitants abandon this place, never to return? Warfare? Shifting trade routes? Alien invasion? Richard Hansen, an archaeologist who has conducted research in northern Guatemala for over four decades, points to drought and deforestation as the culprits. Over millennia, the jungle swallowed this once mighty metropolis—no small lesson for a group of Americans about the fate of a society whose power outstrips its wisdom.

Despite aching feet, sopping armpits, and a blossoming case of jungle butt (think adult diaper rash), adrenaline inflates my lungs as we approach the massive pyramid, which is easy to mistake for a sleeping volcano in the canopy.

Angela asks Alejandro and Luis if we can spend a few minutes alone atop La Danta for a period of “quiet meditation,” and they hang back. Although the Maya were no strangers to homosexuality and may have incorporated it in some shamanic rituals, things changed when the Catholic Spaniards arrived in the 1500s. Gay marriage is not recognized in Guatemala today. A gay man and two trans women were killed in a single week during Pride Month in 2021, and at least 19 LGBTQ+ people were murdered in 2020. Alejandro and Luis seem cool, but Angela can’t risk complete honesty. (Also, I’ve changed the guides’ names lest they suffer consequences for being party to our expedition.)

So why choose this spot for their wedding—somewhere that neither woman has personal ties to, in a country hostile to their love?

“I know there were gay people in these communities,” Angela says. “I can’t quite explain it, but I feel connected to them. I don’t want to be disrespectful; I hope the Maya spirits understand.”

Besides, neutral ground doesn’t exist for Angela and Suley. When they announced their engagement back in the States, members of their families cried—and not in the happy way. Despite getting their marriage license in California, the couple didn’t feel safe having a public wedding during the first year of the Trump administration. Choosing peak rainy season has assured them of precious privacy. We have not seen, nor will we see, another tourist the entire week. This is what a history of trauma yields. When you’ve been forbidden to be yourself for so long, a lost city feels like home.

We approach a rickety wooden staircase scaffolded onto the side of the pyramid. Two hundred and thirty-six feet to the top. Lacquered with sweat, I grab at the skeletal railing to hoist myself up platform after platform. My ego refuses to be left behind by my younger, fitter comrades. So what if my lungs explode? The sun beats down upon my pale body as I squint and adjust my hat and sunglasses against its full equatorial force.

We spill out on top of the pyramid and dump our daypacks into the shade of a single tree. The rough slab is the size of a modest backyard deck, with nubs of ancient steps on one side and a simple wooden railing to prevent falls on the other.

We’re standing on sacred ground. No one speaks. Our guides had told us that in the midst of the Maya’s environmental crisis, they had sacrificed everyone from babies to nobility up here—a futile attempt to appease gods for human errors. I’ll later learn that there’s no evidence of human sacrifice in Maya rituals until centuries later. But right now the story of spilled blood feels true.

Looking out, it’s hard to imagine a bustling city or the degraded landscape that followed. All I can see, all anyone can pay attention to, is the great green ocean roiling to the horizon.

The brides slip identical crisp white shirts over grizzled hiking pants and straighten their sweat-soaked bandanas. Joby, a mountain-biking med student, steps upon a rock-cum-pulpit and pulls her hair into a bun to officiate. Tent Dawg, the ring bearer, assumes her post with military posture.

Suley stumbles over her opening lines. Angela takes her hands. These two souls, so full of passion and conviction, choose their own holy words and cast a spell over their future. I have never felt anything close to the bond these women share. Merging with another person requires a kind of faith I’ve distrusted and resisted. But this altar was made for transformation.

The midday sun kindles the white of their shirts into incandescence. I am the weightless reflection of this glow. My body, dearest friend and burden on this journey, appears to have gone missing. In its place the jungle buzzes—a cacophony of life in every direction, vibrating with its inescapable, insatiable, many-mouthed maw, the sound of life’s deep yearning for more. I am that yearning. For to witness love like this and bless it amid the primordial is to be absorbed. To become part of it.

When I feel my body again, I realize I can’t stop smiling. Life to life, creature to creature, the buzz bounces and refracts and compounds everything in its wake with an intoxicating hunger that hits like joy.

After the ceremony, hugs, and a thousand photos taken from every angle, we notice dark clouds rolling in from the west. Rather than climb down, we stand our ground in the stultifying haze. Not even a leaf moves. As the tallest person on the highest promontory, I should be worried about the approaching veins of lightning—but the ceremony has left me invincible. I raise my aluminum hiking pole in defiance. Lightning could no more strike me down than it could shatter the whole of La Danta.

Moments later, when the heavens wash our stinking, ecstatic bodies clean, we shout like children who’ve known no greater pleasure. Then, having dumped its violent bounty upon us, the sky moves on.

In a final touch of magic, when we make it back to camp, we find that our guides have decorated a long table with a plastic, fruit-patterned tablecloth. It feels like the Ritz-Carlton. Alejandro and Luis present us with a pineapple upside-down cake and a magnum of Ron Botran.

My eyes widen and find Angela’s with the same question. Do they know about the wedding? But no. Today is Tent Dawg’s birthday, and they wanted to surprise us. The air dissolves into toasts and merriment while the red sun sinks below the horizon. I gorge my body with sugar and caramel-vanilla rum, offering a small blood sacrifice to the mosquitoes who float like spirits above the feast.

On the last morning, I wake up cocky and hungover, and vote to take the shortcut back. Everyone agrees. Let’s abandon the trail and beeline to Carmelita for an early lunch! The jungle isn’t so terrifying after all. We’ve tamed it.

We haven’t tamed shit. Two hours later, our progress slows to a crawl. I follow Alejandro, who slashes his machete against the interminable, intestinal green at every step. Rainy season has yielded super-growth that he didn’t anticipate. The leaves are so enormous, I imagine curling into one to serve myself up as a spring roll for whatever hungry giant patrols this ramble.

No wonder people get lost and die in this park. Angela tells me that Alejandro saved Luis’s life out here years ago. That’s how they met. My stomach flutters.

We pick our way through swamps that stink of death and sulfur. A gang of monkeys hurl branches at us from a tree. I spy a scorpion two feet from my toe and lunge past it. A fer-de-lance, notorious rainforest serpent, pokes its venomous yellow chin out of the muck and I stop breathing. Or is it a vine? No matter, press on.

Thick mud paints my purple gaiters gray; I look like I’m walking on concrete stilts. I use my hiking poles to peel pancakes off the bottom of my boots every 15 minutes.

Trying to enliven the mood, ever sunny Suley interviews Diana with her GoPro. “So,” she chirps, “what did you learn in the jungle?”

“It doesn’t matter what percent deet you use, the mosquitoes still bite you.” Diana has a bite on her eyeball.

Suley turns to Joby. “What did you learn in the jungle?”

“Don’t go in the jungle,” Joby deadpans.

Luis assures us there’s only a mile or two left. “Twenty more minutes!”

Twenty minutes pass. A dour silence falls.

Estela’s knee gives out. Tent Dawg, suffering a nasty bout of trench foot, shuffles like a zombie, but she insists that Estela ride the donkey. None of us yet know that Tent Dawg is also suffering from gout and renal failure precipitated by our salty diet and dehydration.

“Twenty more minutes!” Luis says.

By hour five, everyone stops talking. The only sound is our sludgy trudge and the rhythmic whack of the machete. By hour six, I stop thinking. My quads and calves scream and fire on autopilot. Bugs can’t get traction on my skin, glazed in a slime of sweat, sunscreen, and deet. No mind. Only motion.

One foot in front of the other. Keep going. Another sardine on the skillet. Another date. Another injection. Mimic the manicured hands. Don’t stop. Left foot, right foot, left foot.

Hours (or minutes?) later, our troop lands on a rare dry patch of dirt. Bodies bend over knees. Hands clasp the backs of heads. Lungs suck and exhale.

Alejandro slices a bamboo cane and guzzles water from its hollow core, then offers it to me. Even he looks cooked. Tent Dawg is dead last. Her soaked shirt slings from the angles of her frame. Her face glows with a ghostly yellow tint.

Luis, shirt off, smile forced, can’t resist. “Only 20 more minutes!”

Rage boils up my throat, but before it can release, Ashley, our gummy bear of light and positivity, beats me to it. She wheels on the group with bulging eyes and clenched fists and screams, “You can’t do this to people!” followed by a shriek that would appall a howler monkey.

Who is she yelling at? Luis? Angela and Suley for bringing her? Perhaps she’s yelling at the jungle itself. But the jungle can do whatever it wants to people. As far as the ticks and the scorpions and the fer-de-lance are concerned, we’re just another soft-skinned mammal. Another body to swallow in the mud. Another city to devour.

I dart my eyes away from Angela’s and choke back a giggle. Someone snorts and tries to cover it with a cough. I stare at the ground, but it’s too much. The group erupts into laughter. Resistance is futile. Resistance is suffering. The jungle will eat you. So be eaten.

My future is a cloudy mess but I know this: I am an adventurer. And an adventurer is someone who surrenders to the unknown even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it’s horrible, because once you’ve been absorbed, nothing else will do.

When we set forth this time I feel a new sense of calm. It is only 20 minutes before we happen upon a small bright clearing and turn right to see beautiful Carmelita with its rusty corrugated roofs, dirt roads, and a single horse in a pasture. We have been released.

The group’s mood soars into blue skies—hugging, singing. Blood rushes to my head and washes the backs of my knees, down my stiff calves, and between my toes.

After cervezas and enchiladas prepared at Alejandro’s home by his wife and daughters, we pile our smelly bodies into a passenger van and head off for Flores. I sit shotgun and hold the muscles of my thighs. Thank you, thank you. The jungle whips past my window at impossible speed.

Suley taps my shoulder from the seat behind and points her GoPro at me. My hair is wild and my face is dirty. I’m proud of looking this bad. I tell the camera, “I just feel alive.”

I’m a thousand feet high and flying in this magical old van. I am La Danta, and the roiling green ocean, and the scorpion lurking in the muck. I am a tick on the cosmic vagina. I do not fear not finding love or missing out on motherhood. There’s nothing I cannot do in this life.

It will be a few days before the giardia sets in.

Melissa Johnson ( @highhip ) is a writer and filmmaker in Los Angeles. She had a baby girl in March.

CHAPTER ONE Jungle Wedding Stories By JOSEPH CLARK W. W. Norton & Company Read the Review Jungle Wedding WE FLY AT NIGHT out of New York on a small chartered jet, some ancient but refurbished DC-8 that lumbers down the runway and struggles for lift. There are worried faces on the crammed-in wedding party, people mouthing silent prayers, some mumbled chants and not a small number of people clutching crystals hanging from their necks. My girlfriend Gwyn holds my hand until we've reached cruising altitude. Most of these people are her friends and acquaintances, strange people who follow alternative gods and goddesses, shamans, and aliens-among-us theories. The woman who organized this wedding, Louise Sanderson, had seen my video at the Whitney Biennial show and told Gwyn I had a "very primal, pagan touch." She called me and sounded a little like Bette Davis on the phone, a 1930s upper-crust New York accent, a no-nonsense voice with a hint of sardonic wit. She said that she wanted a " video artist " to tape a celebration she was organizing, a very special and unusual celebration to take place in a location she was not willing to disclose. She needed someone who would be able to "capture the essence of what we are all about." She said " video artist " as if she were saying "automotive technician."     "I'll pay you a flat fifty-thousand-dollar fee, amenities included," she said, not waiting for my answer. "Tomorrow morning someone will stop round with the contracts."     A long silence passed until I snapped out of it and said, "Yes. I'll be here. Thank you ... um--" the phone went dead. Fifty thousand dollars is an awful lot of money just to tape a wedding and I don't tape weddings. I'm an artist who uses film and video tape to create "moving canvases." The Art in America review of the Whitney Biennial described my work as "certainly disturbing: whatever meaning can be discovered in these works is buried beneath layer upon layer of howling dogs, defecation noises, cockfight outtakes and mock-porno `acting' sequences. Perhaps after this critic is long buried such work will pass into the lexicon of what we now call `painting.' At their best they are blatantly primal and pagan--self-aggrandizement bordering on narcissism" That review resulted in my first sold-out show and boosted video sales.     "Who is she?" I asked Gwyn.     "You met her. Blaine's solstice party, remember? You asked me about her."     "Seemed a little haughty and bitchy to me."     "I thought you were attracted to that?" She's smirking.     I did remember Louise Sanderson: her ineffable projection of power, a crackling certainty in the way she possessed a room as soon as she entered it. I couldn't take my eyes off her all night. Gwyn showed me a spread in Elle Decor , interior shots of Louise Sanderson's two-floor co-op apartment overlooking Central Park, a romantic otherworldly, tree-topped version of life in New York.     I read over the contract as the waiting courier fidgeted. An invitation and a timetable were attached, but still no announced destination. It was a short itinerary with few details--where to meet the plane and when we were to return to New York. "Wear tropical clothing and be prepared for insects," the note said. A small Post-it note added, "Please use your discretion in completing this project. I leave it up to you to edit the document as your artistic sensibilities seem fit." It was signed LS in a tight but florid scrawl. I signed in the marked places and slipped the first-half payment check for twenty-five thousand out from beneath the paper clip. After the courier left, I read the fine print; the contract stipulated that I could not make dubs of the tapes for my portfolio nor talk to any member of the press about anything I would see or hear. I would be sued into submission if I failed to live up to this contract. I should have demanded copyright, I realized, but I decided I would make dubs anyway. Edit document as your artistic sensibilities see fit , is what she wrote. As far as I'm concerned that is an open-ended contract, without limitations. THE FIVE-HOUR FLIGHT is uneventful, Gwyn passes out as soon as we've reached thirty thousand feet, her hand going limp in mine. She's excited about the mystery of an unknown destination and talking about the sort of wedding we might have, a jokey, just kidding conversation that always leaves me wanting cubits of fresh air and a long, solitary walk. Gwyn has always been into alternative ways of looking at the world. She has acupuncture and exotic massages, mixes up foul-smelling tinctures and makes tea from raw herbs. These remedies work even on extreme skeptics such as myself.     Many of the people on this plane she met at her yoga class. They live in owner-occupied, single-family brownstones in the Village and the Upper East Side. Their dinner parties often end with interminable drumming circles and group massages or mindless chanting to some recently invented pagan goddess. I think of this crowd as a little sloppy. I find their thinking without any theoretical or scientific basis. IT'S FIVE-THIRTY LOCAL TIME when the captain announces our descent into a fog-covered Puerto Verde. The landing is perfect despite the fog and we taxi toward the tower where we are met by military jeeps, armored personnel carriers, and a fleet of armored black Chevy Blazers whose headlights show dimly through the predawn fog. The air on the exit ramp is sentient, thick with smoke and diesel fumes. I am first out of the plane, ready with my camera as the others descend. When I point the camera at Gwyn she shifts into runway swagger. Maybe it's the presence of the carpet or the long straight walkway and the diamond white light, but she's pouring it on, twisting her body and swaggering through the gauntlet of soldiers waiting at the bottom of the ramp. The soldiers are all shorter than the women getting off the plane. The officers in charge lean their heads together and whisper when they see me moving toward them with the camera on my shoulder.     Louise Sanderson gets off last; walking slowly down the gangplank, she gives a little movie star wave, then adds a little wink meant just for me. My friend at the Times says that it's prewar Texas oil money that gives her all that autonomy and power. This security must have been expensive, but Gwyn says that Louise has friends in the State Department. The man welcoming Louise at the bottom of the steps looks professorial and anemic, not at all like a general or secret operative. Whoever he is, he's not an ambassador. There won't be any high government officials meeting this bunch of Americans. This event is not officially taking place, though I am already busy documenting it.     The airport road is encased in reinforced concrete like a California riverbed. Contained and protected from view, this fortified bridge is without a breakdown lane, no stop signs or speed markers. Fires burn on the horizon. We come to an elevated section of roadway and spread out as far as the eye can see are shacks of a half million or more people. The entire circumference is devastation and ruin, a shanty encampment after a natural disaster--maybe an earthquake or hurricane. The phrase, " indigenous population never recovered ." Nothing on the horizon is over ten feet tall, a vast plain of cardboard and tin houses, plastic sheeting nailed to scrap wood, old trucks and cars. Television antennas sprout from many of the makeshift houses. Groups of people huddle together around open fires. A helicopter gunship appears flying flanking maneuvers to our left. The faces on the ground turn toward the sound of the chopper expressing, not shock or wonder at the sight of this exotic bird, but terror. Some people run, others are numb and defiant, like the woman near the road who stands up and holds a baby out toward us. Her mouth is open and she's screaming something that makes the baby vibrate at the end of her arms. The baby is her only language, a symbol system reduced into this one tiny image being held aloft on its temporary signpost. The message remains oblique as they disappear in the roaring jump cut. THERE IS NO GRADUAL CHANGE as we enter the city. The rubble is built right up to and against the foundations of the high-rises and colonial buildings. The streets are empty of civilians. Bedraggled soldiers leaning against 50-caliber machine guns mounted on ancient jeeps watch over deserted intersections. Solid concrete walls topped with glass and razor wire surround every important building including the Buena Vista Intercontinental Hotel. The Blazers file into the underground parking garage at top speed, powering the brakes hard into the turns. More soldiers keep a wary eye on us until we've reached the private elevators. Gwyn and I get into an empty one and a man wearing an earphone holds the door as Louise hustles in carrying a kid leather Italian handbag. She smiles at Gwyn. "Hi darling," she says, and leans in to give her a tiny peck on the cheek. I sense Gwyn shudder and tense up. Louise nods in my direction. "Hello," she says, as if addressing the hired help. There is a tiny vibration on her upper lip, and the eye that is visible only to me winks again. She smiles, showing off porcelain work of the highest quality.     "Is there a civil war going on here?" I ask Louise as the elevator door closes.     "Not anymore," she says, putting her bag between her feet and moving errant hairs out of her face. "I believe this is how the rich protect themselves from the poor." She gives her head a shake, and the growl in her voice makes me laugh out loud. Her invitation is as brash as it is subtle. Gwyn looks at me surprised.     "Louise" I ask, "I was wondering whether or not we might discuss this project some more. I'd like a clearer idea what events you want me to record."     "Record them all, starting now"     "But I mean is there some format you prefer, some point of view you want in particular?"     "Nothing in particular," she says. "Just do your normal Whitney Museum thing." She's clearly taunting me.     "I think we should get together and talk this through."     "How about tonight? I'm free after ten-thirty. Come up to suite eleven-thirty-four, and bring one of your cameras along. You two get some rest, now," she says. "You won't be getting much sleep in the next two days." She addresses the comment directly to me. She expects me to work hard for my big check.     Gwyn and I wander around our huge suite of five rooms, a well-preserved museum of International Style Americana, circa 1964. The furniture is modernist airport lounge--lowback and no-back couches, chairs covered in orange and green and purple pastels, wall-size built-in fish tanks, a fold-out stereo console with aerodynamic styling. The rooms are like intact 1964 World's Fair exhibits sold prefab to small countries impatient for the great leap forward. Judging by all the satellite dishes I saw in this part of the city I suspect they have already made the leap that matters. The windows are floor-to-ceiling and the fear of falling, of being terribly exposed, keeps us from the edges of the rooms except for brief moments. Below, buses weave past lone sentries standing guard at the intersections. The morning fog is starting to break up and I pull the curtains, thinking of snipers and government security forces with naval spotting scopes. This much security surely means the room is bugged, full of hidden cameras making low resolution tapes to be later enhanced for the colonel's entertainment.     "Why are you closing the curtains?" Gwyn asks. "Do you have something in mind?" I look at her curled up on the bed, the honey brown highlights of her hair exotic against the white satin sheets. Someone is probably watching her right this moment. Watching me watch her, the gringo bitch wanting to get fucked.     "Um, no, wasn't thinking about anything." I say, pacing the room and looking closely at the sprinklers, wall mirrors, and temperature control boxes for hidden pinhole eyes. She motions for me to sit on the bed next to her, but I continue to pace.     "What's gotten into you. You're nervous as a cat." I smile at her, amazed at how much I like being in her presence. I sit down on the bed and she strokes my arm and opens her white cotton bath towel to show me her breasts. How will they look in this light? Will the paused image flicker and be out-of-focus?     "Isn't it wonderful to be out of New York?" She sits up against the pile of pillows she's collected. "I feel like I get trapped there."     "We're in the Interzone now. I feel like I'm on a movie set. Don't lean too hard against the walls."     "The bed is real." She leans forward and bites my arm, nibbles her way into my neck and I feel a stirring. I roll on top of her and she opens her legs beneath me. "You must have gotten excellent shots this morning. It was beautiful with all that weird light and fog drifting through. Sounds like you might be pretty busy tomorrow.     "Just another rain forest wedding. Ritual sacrifice. Body branding. People will beat on drums. The world ends."     "P?" she says. "Try not to get too weird on me." I kiss her lips, feeling myself get hard against her pelvis bone. Damn the cameras. We'll show them how it's done in the American movies. AT DINNER NEW PEOPLE join the party in the banquet room. Tanned North American men wearing Italian linen suits and sandals. Hollywood types, groups of lesbians and gay men. Gwyn recognizes an actor. Sitcoms. Two soaps. Used to be in some science fiction cult but got out of it when he dropped his girlfriend. The actor is talking with a high-profile collector I've met. They wear the usual global trappings of the New Age, only here in this restricted and private space they've gone all out, with belly buttons pierced with amethyst and silver rings, brightly colored, flowing drawstring clothes, and nonmeat shoes. This is a trust fund culture filled with dropouts and wanna-be dropouts, a trickle-down theory wrapped in a liberal blanket. Everyone's glowing, hair on fire in the track lighting. These bodies have been astral-balanced, crystal-healed, rolfed, and acupunctured, all enhanced by super doses of blue-green algae capsules, indigenous herbal tinctures, and smuggled rain forest antioxidants.     The thing on my plate looks like burned octopus. The woman next to me in the buffet lines says, "No, it's charcoal-grilled wheat gluten on a bed of organic blue corn chips." Yum, yum.     I'm now officially the "camera guy." Hey camera guy, why don't you come over and film us? Are you supposed to be here? What show are you with? Get out of my face with that fucking thing! The camera guy in a documentary is the invisible force, a roving and neutral eye who creates a proscenium arch wherever he points. When they talk to me, trying to break down the wall that I want to keep between us, I find it agitating.     Gwyn waves to me from across the room, where she's part of a semicircle around Louise Sanderson. Then Louise waves me over and I'm finally introduced to the wedding party. There are four couples in all. Phil and Joe, from "a city on the West Coast," are immediately hostile to the presence of a camera but charmed by Louise as she tells them "everything has been arranged to insure the utmost privacy." Evonne and Baxter are both mid-forties statuesque and a little too willing to go before the camera. When I turn it off, they drift off and I hear him say in a stage whisper, "Mistress, can I be your bathroom this afternoon?"     Louise points out Teri and Lincoln, who look like ashram disciples, wearing identical yellow silk shirts and casual red drawstring pants. "Retired professors," Louise says with the hushed disdain some people might say "trailer trash" or "full scholarship." They are in their late fifties, without any discernible plastic surgery, and they cling to each other amid the glitz and glare and capped teeth. The last couple's names are Tab and Patricia. It is well into the introduction before I realize I'm talking to two women. Tab is frighteningly male and hilarious in a white tuxedo and leather loafers. "So, camera guy," Patrica says, "you aren't going to do anything nasty with this footage are you?"     I listen to a couple from Santa Fe describe their recent summer solstice party, the flamenco dancers they hired, and how much they love adobe. And how much higher the potential for spirituality really is in the desert of New Mexico. And how much they don't miss New York with all the noise and terror. "Uh-huh," I say, smiling, and tip down another bottle of Corona that clunks against the camera. I've set up the camera so that it's directly patched into another 8 mm editing deck. At any given moment, I can release my stock images and splice them into the mix. My favorites are the long sequence of lions fucking in some anonymous corner of the dusty savanna, a wooden tub full of blood sausage and human hands, some black and white grape stomping clips, and random orgasm clips from porno tapes. My normal Whitney Museum thing.     Gwyn is exhausted and falls asleep early. Suite 1134's door is open and I walk in with the camera on my shoulder.     "Oh, there you are," Louise says, noticing the camera. "Don't trip and hurt yourself."     "I'm concerned about the `no copies' clause." I say, trying the aggressive tactic.     "Relax," she says. "I bet you have everything in your house cataloged in alphabetical order."     "Actually, I do. Is the contract a subject I shouldn't bring up?"     "Darling, you're not relaxing at all and it's very unbecoming. Don't worry about the contract."     "So you really mean it, just do whatever I want to?"     "As I said, do your little Whitney Museum thing. Let yourself go." Her tone is decisive, and I put the camera down. "Are there any more questions, because it's getting late and I'd like to sleep."     Let yourself go , she says. Little does she know what I'm going to do with her wedding video. AFTER EATING BREAKFAST WE BOARD BUSES going to the jungle villages. The buses are matte black with steel covers protecting the tires and tinted windows covered with chain-link fencing material to guard against rocks and rocket-propelled grenades. We're escorted by another convoy of jeeps, APCs, and motorcycles. This is dearly an American operation because it is seamless and plush and full of an idiotic optimism. There are no surprise bribes or passport checks, no unexpected roadblocks or ambushes. Everything's been arranged, paid for, negotiated.     We head north, winding our way up thirty miles of switchbacks and cliff-side escarpments. We pass men and women on donkeys who are pushing sheep and goats back to the safety of their night shelters. Several times I spot men in the bushes with Kalashnikovs slung over their shoulders. We drive through villages so sleepy and abandoned that only the old are present and they all seem to be asleep in the shade. A priest watches us roll past from the archway of his tiny basilica. He looks as if he were expecting us. No doubt he knows our destination, our intentions deep in the jungle.     When we emerge from the air-conditioning they tell us that the village we have arrived in has no name. The sun is behind the mountains but the air is still thick and stifling. Skinny dogs pace nervously around keeping their distance. There are two dozen stone houses covered with rotting stucco and a tiny adobe church with plywood nailed haphazardly over its windows and doors. A bloodstain runs down the front steps and bullet holes pockmark the fronts of all the houses on this dirt street. I see that the soldiers are not the "well-paid" professionals I first thought but uninterested teenage conscripts wearing mismatched uniforms. They want the rich gringos to know they are not impressed by what they are seeing. They lounge around sending out clouds of cigarette smoke and attitude. The jeep beat crunch of big bass spills out of their giant Korean headphones. Gangsta rap acquires new meaning in the proximity of real guns, the country's gutted constitution suddenly a palpable absence.     Several tents have been set up in a square. One larger one is empty except for a small raised platform covered in green AstroTurf. Most of the villagers are sitting in this temporary town hall watching a big screen television someone from our group has set up for their entertainment. I peek my head inside and watch from the open door flaps as cinematic explosions mix with images of hand-to-hand combat. Two young boys turn away from the movie and smile at me. The excitement on their faces is real and I recognize the undubbed movie as American, the bland language of extreme violence and high-tech exotica: Die Hard 2 .     I sit in the dust of the hard-packed courtyard, pointing the camera up at the shaman's elongated face as he talks to the gathered wedding party. He tells us that we will be awakened before dawn and that the ceremony will go on for twenty-four hours. He looks indigenous but his accent sounds familiar. He's wearing military jump boots and a headdress of parrot feathers. The four couples come to the front and everyone claps and cheers. The shaman blows sage smoke toward them and rings his little bells and chants something unintelligible. Then he wishes us all a good sleep and a good evening. People wander off to their tents, the sound of animated talk and laughter echoing in the surrounding mountains.     "Guerrillas were spotted today," he says to me, his accent wavering in and out of recognition. I put the camera down. We are alone in the clearing. A jungle bird shrieks and takes sudden flight through the heavy canopy.     "I thought there was no civil war," I say.     "They are criminals," he says. " Banditos ." He's smiling at me as if he had just made a joke I should be getting.     "But they want to overthrow the government, right?"     "Sometimes these men like to blow things up. They set the forest on fire and kill ambassadors. The people call them the Robin Hoods of the Rain Forest." Still the shit-eating grin dominates his face. What is it I'm not getting here?     "Why would they set the forest on fire?"     "Because they are crazy," he says. "They believe in nothing." The smile remains on his face, an enigmatic counterpoint to the mystery I'm not being let in on. I WAKE FROM A DIE HARD , QUICK-CUT DREAM of car chases, explosions, and digitally enhanced machine-gun fire. In America I might get up from such a dream, go to the bathroom, then go back to sleep without even remembering it ever happened. Here I sit on the edge of the tiny cot, dripping sweat, hyperventilating, terrified that my flashy, Technicolor dreams are spreading across the world.     What if they set the forest on fire because they believe in nothing?     What if the audience laughs and stamps its feet when the machine guns roar?     In a few minutes the shaman walks through the camp ringing a small bronze bell. A hand-rolled cigarette hangs unlit from the corner of his mouth. A necklace embedded with crystals hangs from his neck. He has a studied look about him, too many cliches--the shaved head of a Tibetan monk, old combat boots, unlaced and with the tongues hanging out, large silver earring. I want one of those sweet smelling cigarettes of his, but I'm not going to do anything weird for it, no bowing or feet kissing, or sage blown in my face. He smiles when I ask for one like he knows I'm on to him.     "Would you like me to roll you one?"     "I would appreciate that," I say, and he deftly makes another cigarette and hands it to me. I notice that the olive color of his skin has been chemically enhanced. The accent is American, probably southern East Coast. He's near fifty and I imagine that his big year was 1969, back when he used Ravi Shankar, early Pink Floyd, and high-grade LSD for his primitive seductions. Now his technique is nearly flawless. He lights his own cigarette after getting mine started. This smoke is the only thing that seems in the least bit normal on this particular morning in my life.     "You from the South?" I ask. He flashes that wry smile and gives me a long, unblinking stare.     "I grew up there," he says, this time without a trace of American accent. He sounds vaguely European. "I haven't been back in many, many years." The tone of his voice says, Leave it alone, smart ass. This is my territory . We smoke in silence, then he steps on his cigarette butt with the toe of one of his combat boots. I also step on mine and find myself involuntarily sighing. He laughs, mocking my discomfort, then picks up the bronze bell. He checks his watch, a beat-up vintage Breitling with a cracked face. Holding the bell at arm's length, he hits the side in short wrist-snapping motions. I move away as people wander dazed into the open ground between the tents. The smell of coffee finally wakes me up and I'm relieved the night is over and this wedding--or whatever it is--is about to begin. THE SHAMAN WALKS AT THE HEAD of a long procession of Americans moving through the jungle. The trail has been widened by men with machetes and the small footbridges show signs of recent repair. I look for snakes hanging from the triple jungle canopy but it is hard to see anything. It's like being in a cave, there are so many layers of growth for the sun to penetrate. The soldiers aren't with us today. The villagers and soldiers were watching Die Hard 3 when we left.     After breakfast the whole courtyard turned into a big finger-painting scene. Big bowls of primary colored paints were applied to every gringo in our party. The wedding couples had aquamarine paint plastered over their naked bodies like mud. Some of the celebrants, including the younger women, are topless now that we've left the village. Some "best men" and friends are painted blood or rust red and all the guests except me have had a gold stripe painted vertically in the center of their foreheads. Many men have tiny green spirals covering their backs. Red spirals for the backs of the women including Gwyn. People carry drums that they pound in oblivious disregard to one another. Chanting and ringing bells punctuate the chaos.     After a mile and a half we file into a clearing where there is a small stone temple forty feet high and covered in vines. Small trees grow here and there in the cracks of the stones. The temple is covered in crude markings and symbols applied in expressionistic splashes of synthetic color. The colors and designs match those on the wedding party as if some designer had carefully coordinated the whole operation. I stop walking, letting Gwyn and the others file around me, and pan the camera across the spirals and graffiti covering every ancient stone.     The steps are shiny with use and stained a deep umber, as though an oil spill had slicked them down. At the top of the altar are the skulls of various animals stuck on the end of poles. I recognize deer and cow and some kind of big cat. Beneath these on shorter poles are smaller skulls that might be human. A sage fire is burning at the top of the temple. A man I have not seen before fans a banana-leaf broom over the smoke, spreading it in deliberate circles. The wedding processional begins to work its way slowly up the steps.     The temple is larger than it looks from the ground. Even the stones at our feet are covered in designs. Several coats of paint cover trace lines where the original brush strokes and handprints have been reapplied and kept fresh. The shaman and Louise Sanderson stand together on a raised platform. The shaman blows even more sage at the bridal couples. The rest of us form a wide semicircle. When the shaman starts talking his accent is distinctly southeastern U.S. He's pouring on this faux-hick aw-shucks thing that makes me laugh out loud.     "Folks, we are gathered here in this sacred place to unite these couples in a spiritual and ritual union. The vows have all been said individually and the wedding will be consummated by participation in the consumption of the divine elixir ... blah, blah, blah." He drones on for half an hour. Men with bellows fan giant piles of sage. I'm blinded by the smoke, gagging it's so thick.     Women with their breasts covered in blue mud, come around holding large wooden ladles filled with a yellowish liquid. When the ladle is offered me I can't take my eyes off the woman's firm and very purple breasts. She makes a disgusted face and walks away. An aerial still shot of the purple Kool-Aid apocalypse of Jonestown flashes before me.     "What is this?" I whisper into the ear of the woman standing next to me. She whispers back.     "Ayahuasca."     "But what is it?"     "Liquid godhead," she replies and turns away.     Then I see Gwyn standing naked from the waist up, her eyes closed and a little smile on her face because a man with a brush is painting gold star patterns on her breasts. I watch the end of the brush move around her nipples and see them move slightly with each dab of color. I'm going to kill that guy if he keeps it up much longer, but just then he steps back to admire his handiwork. Gwyn opens her eyes and nods her head to thank him then twirls, dervishlike round and round. I focus the camera on her and start getting hard, thinking of our afternoon in the hotel. She twirls faster, giving the camera a workout.     "I'm dizzy from that shit," she says, coming to a stop and moving out of the crowd and grabbing a hold of my hand. There is a sloppy star painted across her face which turns her smile into a lewd remark. My beautiful clown. My Gwyn.     "Don't worry so much," she says, pinching my cheek a little too hard. "We read about this stuff, remember. It's the newest thing. The shamans have been using it for centuries to induce visions." I do remember reading about ayahuasca in one of Gwyn's New Age magazines. It was in Details , too, so I start to relax and go back to shooting.     The woman with the bowl appears again and holds the ladle up to my lips. The smell is acidic and fruity, but I take an exploratory slurp. As it goes down my throat I feel an alkaloid afterburn. Then I down the whole ladle and some of it drips out the sides of my mouth and down my neck, stinging my skin. I want to be with Gwyn. I want to follow her to wherever she's gone. The top of my head becomes warm; the drumming gets faster. Whatever was in that wooden bowl kicks in with a vengeance. I'M BUMPING INTO PEOPLE who are twirling and spinning. The newlyweds dance naked in a little group in the center of this carnival. The couples are all mixed up now, gay man with straight wife. Straight husband with gay male partner. I keep filming, following the action even though my own eyes are seeing trails attached to things, exploding colors, and grotesque masks that are only faces. Louise Sanderson smiles and waves at me when I find her in the viewfinder. A younger man is licking her stomach with a skinny purple tongue. She holds his head to her groin and throws her head back and screams. I do long pans across the tops of the increasingly grotesque heads and try to stay in focus but my eyes are getting worse.     The shaman appears in my viewfinder. He's a long way off, sitting on a rotting log, just watching and smoking with that superior smirk on his lips. I zoom in on him, catch him laughing to himself, shaking his head from side to side. I want another one of those cigarettes to sober me up. He disappears while I'm getting a shot of some dancers so I search the area on telephoto until I see his back disappearing into the undergrowth. I feel compelled to see what he's up to.     It takes some time to walk through the carnival. The ground has turned to rubber and my depth perception is off. I'm knocked down by two whirling women with blue mud matted in their hair. Tripping on the liquid godhead, I'm beginning to think of myself in the third person, no longer someone making a film, but someone in a film that's veering out of control. I keep the camera going, cradling it to my side as I wander into the jungle. A path appears through the trees, which I follow for a hundred yards until I hear voices up ahead. The voices are male, speaking a mixture of Spanish and English. The earth heaves and pulsates in front of my feet and I move impulsively off the trail and pull a flanking maneuver, creeping steadily forward toward the sound of hushed conversation. I feel suddenly clear-headed and lucid, as if hunting these voices has kicked in some instinctual and primal knowledge of just how to act in this situation. I SMELL THE SMOKE from their cigarettes the moment before I see them. The shaman is crouched down in a circle of men wearing black berets. Two dozen men are languorously spread out in a small clearing with Chinese machine guns, grenades, and bandoliers slung haphazardly over their bodies. They talk softly while I focus on them in the viewfinder. The shaman says clearly, and in an unmistakable Mexican accent, "The payment should be $100,000 US." He mentions an account number and a Swiss bank. One of the men sits on the ground with a PowerBook propped on his knees. A large briefcase is open next to him and I see the small satellite umbrella unfolded and pointed at an open spot in the canopy. He's clicking at the keypad and I hear the modern connecting to a number. Then I notice that most of the men having conversations in Spanish have cellular phones to their ears. The man with the PowerBook looks up and says, "The money is in the account." As he shakes hands with one of the men talking into a cellular phone, the shaman's smirk is really more a grimace or facial tic than any emotive sign.     "Congratulations, Commander," one of the men says to the shaman. They shake hands.     I hear a loud metallic click in my ear and turn to see two men standing over me with their guns pointed at my head. I'm so high at this point, so far gone into this thing that I laugh at them and push the barrels out of my face. They escort me into the clearing and all the black berets stand up. The shaman takes the camera out of my hands, then slaps me across the face hard enough to set me down in the mud. I'm laughing, because his face is melting and doing fun-house-mirror tricks. The man who was working the PowerBook is rewinding the tape in the camera and watching through the viewfinder, looking for something. "Got it," I hear him say through the din in my head and I'm conscious enough to know that he is erasing their presence from the tape. My earlier cryptic conversation with the shaman gets replayed in my head. They are criminals , he said. They are crazy because they believe in nothing .     No doubt Louise Sanderson was given safe passage through "rebel controlled territory" by making this small contribution to the cause.     The trees behind their heads seem to be dancing and taking on all sorts of biomorphic traits. Happy faces and Lord of the Rings animation. The shaman's face hovers over mine, coming into focus for a second, then blurring. His breath smells like bananas and cigarettes and he's talking to me, though the words are out of sync, disembodied, and lost in the din of the growing hallucination. I do hear one thing clearly but it is not coming out of his mouth at the same time he says it. "This gringo is really fucked up," he says without moving his lips. The wedding sounds come and go on the breeze as the shaman propels me back through the jungle, to the reception and he drops me uncerimoniously in the mud along with my camera. His terrible banana and cigarette breath is on me again, his beady little eyes boring in. "Go back to your New York City," he says. "Tell all your rich friends what a beautiful little jungle we have down here." It's the last thing I remember--the incessant and sinister beating of those stupid drums. I START FEELING BETTER on the jet flying back to New York. Gwyn's leaning over me with a hot towel that she's wiping across my face. We seem to be the only two awake; the plane is dark and full of in-flight vibration and air-conditioning whispers.     "You went way out," she says.     "I need water," I say. She hands me a bottle and I finish it and ask for another. She gets me another one from the bag at her feet.     "You were really tripping out there. You started chanting and rolling around in the mud. At one point you were dancing around and around your camera with your eyes closed yelling, `Mommy, Mommy, I'm flying! I'm really flying!' We had to carry you all the way back to the tents. And you slept all the way to the airport."     "It was in that stuff we drank. It was painted on the rocks of that temple. I honestly don't remember what happened, " I say, lying. I do remember what I saw up there on the temple or what I imagined I saw. I remember the men in the clearing as if they were sitting next to me in this plane. If I was dancing around my camera, then I'm no longer anonymous. I'm in my own movie, forever part of this weird event.     "Gwyn," I touch her upper arm. "We need to get away from these people as soon as we get back to New York."     "It's okay," she rubs her fingers through my hair. "There's nothing to worry about."     Obviously, Gwen went to some blissful place on her cupful of ayahuasca. In my dream there was blood and bones, people moved willingly and trance-like into a giant plume of orange flame. The dark stain down the front of the steps was not the shiny remnants of a million feet, but dried blood turned dark with time. I must have been filming most of this because I remember in framed, sweeping pan shots and purposely out-of-focus scenes of dancing and chaos. Somewhere in this vision I see distinctly the men in the jungle waiting and watching over us, as paid for as the soldiers. I remember Louise in her chic white dress moving untouched through the mud. The purple tongue of the young man on his knees at her feet.     "We both need a hot bath and a good bed," she says, touching my face with her fingers. She snuggles close to me, bumping up against my camera bag. When I lift it out of the way, I notice how light it feels. I open it and look inside and the tape cases are empty. Only my 35 mm camera is left but the film has been removed. Gwyn doesn't look surprised, in fact, she seems relieved.     "They just took the stuff."     "Last time I saw you the camera was covered in mud. Pieces were missing."     "They can't just steal my tapes and camera."     "You signed a contract. The tapes are theirs."     "Yeah, so a bunch of very wealthy people are worshipping Dionysus down in South America. Big deal. What are they so paranoid about?"     "Remember," she says, "more money than God. Some of these people are high up in the government and entertainment. They have images to maintain."     "Don't worry, I got paid," I say, but in truth I feel burned. I wanted to see the footage, to see what I could do with it. What the hell. I shrug it off, change the subject.     "What would you say about having a little wedding?" I say it as a joke.     "Are you proposing to me?" She's trying to sound funny but I see a serious look in her eye.     "Just a quiet little get-together."     "How about a Methodist church in a quiet little town. The bride wears white." She's still got the look in her eye.     "We'll drag a ram's head behind the electric car."     "Yeah," she says, drawing looks from the nearby passengers. "We'll drive it to a little Cape Cod house with a white picket fence." She's giggling, weightless. Someone in the seat behind us laughs and I recognize the gravelly edge. I sit up and turn around and there is Louise giving me that charity-ball smile as hollow as it is perfect. My neck and face start to burn and the inside of the plane goes out of focus. Gwyn pats my arm saying, "Forget about it."     But I know it's going to be a long time before I find all the little pieces I've left scattered around this hemisphere. I'm hyperventilating and the sweat pours off my face. I try deep breaths to calm down, touch my hand to my chest and feel something hard in my pocket. I take out the object carefully keeping it from view. It's a plastic case with the 8 mm dub I must have made sometime during the ceremony. The tape is still inside. Gwyn covers her mouth to suppress her shout when I show it to her.     "Inside that little house with the picket fence?" I say, raising my voice loud enough for Louise to hear clearly. "Late at night, we'll dance around and whirl like dervish."     "In our little garden, we'll grow sunflowers as big as Frisbees," she says, wild-eyed and happy that she's letting Louise know how she really feels.     "Someone will write PIGS on the door of the refrigerator in a stupid, childlike scrawl."     "And we'll live happily ever after," she says, raising her voice and catching the disgusted look the couple across the aisle is giving us. "We'll live like we can afford to own the world." (C) 1999 Joseph Clark All rights reserved. ISBN: 0-393-04526-9

What is the overall mood of the wedding? Give evidence from the text to support you answer The Jungle: Chapter 1 Quiz

What is the overall mood of the wedding? Give evidence from the text to support you answer The Jungle: Chapter 1 quiz

The overall mood of the guests attending the wedding celebration is one of friendship, joy, happiness, and a great sense of fun.

So, with laughter and shouts and endless badinage and merriment, the guests take their places. The young men, who for the most part have been huddled near the door, summon their resolution and advance; and the shrinking Jurgis is poked and scolded by the old folks until he consents to seat himself at the right hand of the bride. The two bridesmaids, whose insignia of office are paper wreaths, come next, and after them the rest of the guests, old and young, boys and girls. The spirit of the occasion takes hold of the stately bartender, who condescends to a plate of stewed duck; even the fat policeman—whose duty it will be, later in the evening, to break up the fights—draws up a chair to the foot of the table. And the children shout and the babies yell, and every one laughs and sings and chatters—while above all the deafening clamor Cousin Marija shouts orders to the musicians.

The overall mood of the family and those paying for the celebration is one of dismay.

Perhaps he would have liked to go at some of those fellows with his big clenched fists; but then, doubtless, he realized how little good it would do him. No bill would be any less for turning out any one at this time; and then there would be the scandal—and Jurgis wanted nothing except to get away with Ona and to let the world go its own way. So his hands relaxed and he merely said quietly: “It is done, and there is no use in weeping, Teta Elzbieta.” Then his look turned toward Ona, who stood close to his side, and he saw the wide look of terror in her eyes. “Little one,” he said, in a low voice, “do not worry—it will not matter to us. We will pay them all somehow. I will work harder.” That was always what Jurgis said. Ona had grown used to it as the solution of all difficulties—“I will work harder!”

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'The Jungle' Questions for Study and Discussion

Upton Sinclair's Banned Book

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The Jungle is one of the greatest (and most controversial) works by  Upton Sinclair. . Dedicated to "the Workingmen of America," the novel detailed the unhealthy conditions of the meatpacking industry and eventually led President Theodore Roosevelt to pursue new federal legislations. 

Here are a few questions for study and discussion to think about before and after reading this work.

• What is important about the title: The Jungle ?
• What are the conflicts in The Jungle ? What types of conflict (physical, moral, intellectual, or emotional) did you notice in this novel?
• How does Upton Sinclair reveal character in The Jungle ?
• What are some themes in the novel? How do they relate to the plot and characters?
• What are some symbols in The Jungle ? How do they relate to the plot and characters?
• Is Jurgis Rudkus consistent in her actions? Is he a fully developed character? How? Why?
• Do you find the characters likable? Are the characters persons you would want to meet?
• Does the novel end the way you expected? How? Why?
• What is the central/primary purpose of the novel? Is the purpose important or meaningful?
• Why is the novel usually considered a work of protest literature?
• How essential is the setting to the story? Could the story have taken place anywhere else?
• What is the role of women in the text? How are mothers represented? What about single/independent women?
• Would you recommend this novel to a friend?
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• 'Lord of the Flies' Questions for Study and Discussion

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• The Jungle: Novel Summary

The Jungle: Chapters 1-3

• The Jungle: Chapters 4-6
• The Jungle: Chapters 7-9
• The Jungle: Chapters 10-12
• The Jungle: Chapters 13-16
• The Jungle: Chapters 17-20
• The Jungle: Chapters 21-24
• The Jungle: Chapter 25
• The Jungle: Chapters 26-27
• The Jungle: Chapters 28-31
• The Jungle: Character Profiles
• The Jungle: Metaphor Analysis
• The Jungle: Theme Analysis
• The Jungle: Top Ten Quotes
• The Jungle: Biography: Upton Sinclair
• The Jungle: Essay Q&A

  Summary The Jungle begins with Marija Berczynskas overseeing and organizing a wedding ceremony in the ‘back of the yards’ in Chicago. She is Lithuanian and today her cousin, Ona Lukoszaite, has just married fellow Lithuanian Jurgis Rudkus. Ona is not quite sixteen and the readers are told her new husband is able to carry a two hundred and fifty pound quarter of beef without staggering, but he is as ‘frightened as a hunted animal’ at the wedding celebrations.   A ‘charming informality’ is one of the characteristics of this celebration, but it is a law (transplanted from Lithuania) that no one leaves hungry. Ona’s stepmother is Aunt Elizabeth, and is referred to as Teta Elzbieta, and she and other women bring masses of food through to the guests.   There is also music being played and this transforms the place from a saloon ‘to a fairy place, a wonderland, a little corner of the high mansions of the sky’. The violinist is Tamoszius Kuszleika and he later gets engaged to Marija. Ona is spared from crying too much (with happiness) by listening to Marija teach the musicians a song they do not know. She is described as a powerful woman who works in a canning factory handling fourteen-pound cans of beef.   Following this, Antanas (Jurgis’s father) gives a speech. He is sixty years old, but looks eighty. He and the rest of the family have only been in the United States for six months, but this is already affecting him adversely. He works in the pickle rooms at Durham’s and this is damaging his chest.   The music begins again and the guests dance along. The older ones wear some item of clothing that is from their homeland, but the younger people avoid doing this. These younger people have assimilated more than their elders. Some of the dancers are described, such as Alena Jasaityte. She is the ‘beauty of the evening’ and paints cans all week in a factory.   The next event is one of the most important of the evening. This is the acziavimas , which is a three or four hour uninterrupted dance and each guest dances and leaves money for the bride and groom. The wedding costs two even three hundred dollars and this is more than a man’s wages for a year. The vesilija is a form of compact where the guests eat and drink as much as they desire, but also give the married couple money. This tradition is changing in the ‘new country’, though, and some are leaving without donating anything. Jurgis says not to worry as he will work harder to pay the bills for the wedding.   Chapter Two begins by explaining how Jurgis is still young and optimistic, and talks lightly about work. He is also naïve and has never lived in a city before. He met Ona and her family in Lithuania and her father initially refused him permission to marry her. Jurgis went back to see her a year later to ask again only to find her father had died and the family were now impoverished. This family now consisted of Ona, Teta Elzbieta, her six children and Ona’s brother Jonas. They all believed that coming to the United States would give them freedom and more opportunities. Before they set off, and at the last moment, Marija also decides to join them.   When they arrive in the Packingtown district in Chicago, the smell of the stockyards greets them first. They are almost penniless once they reach here after being taken advantage of in New York (as they are clearly immigrants and know no English). They all stay at Aniele Jukniene’s home as she takes in lodgers. This is already overcrowded and ‘unthinkably filthy’. There are lots of children in the area, but no school and there is a fetid odor because this part of town is built on the city dump. Despite these conditions, Ona and Jurgis look out at Packingtown in awe.   In Chapter Three, Jokubas, a fellow Lithuanian who runs a delicatessen, shows them around the area. The cattle pens alone take up half of a square mile. He takes them to Durham’s and shows them a room where hogs are killed and the sound of their pitiful shrieks is given in detail. Their deaths are also depicted; a chain is attached to one of their legs and they are swung on this chain before being killed. The factory is described as such: ‘It was porkmaking by machinery, porkmaking by applied mathematics.’ The narrative continues to describe the unpleasant conditions and how the inspectors are lax in checking the hogs for tuberculosis.   Descriptions then ensue of the killing of cattle and of how nothing of the animals is wasted at Durham’s. They are thought to furnish food for thirty million people. At this early time in the narrative, Jurgis thinks the workers should be grateful to have positions with such a company and is described as guileless.   His first work is with Durham’s rivals, Brown’s. The bosses quickly choose him when he first waits for work, because he is young and has a large stature. Because of his naivety, he is unable to see that he is lucky to have been picked.     Analysis Chapter One begins with the marriage of Ona and Jurgis and from Chapter Two to Chapter Seven the narrative takes the readers back to explain how the families arrived and settled in the United States, and how they saved for the wedding to take place.   Chapter One is primarily concerned with describing how Ona and Jurgis are marrying in a traditionally Lithuanian way, and how these customs are being eroded for the worse in this new country. In the United States, the guests are less willing to pay after eating and drinking as much as possible. By beginning in such a way, the novel emphasizes immediately how the United States is having a detrimental effect on earlier traditions and how the cracks in the family’s American Dream are beginning to appear after being in this country for only a few months.   Chapters Two and Three trace back to six months ago to when Jurgis and his father and Ona and her family came to the United States with hopes for a better future. The narrative is careful to reiterate how they innocently presumed that life would improve. This is most evident in the depiction of the central character, Jurgis, who at this early time still believes that he will be treated fairly. He is depicted as honest and willing to work, and it is also evident that he is naïve in the practices of the packers (the firms who kill the animals and produce the meat and by-products). He is in awe of companies such as Durham’s and Brown’s and is unable to see that he has only been chosen to work because of his age and build and neither of these advantages will last long with the hard work he has to undertake.    

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The Lion Wedding: A Short Moral Story

Short stories with animal characters are interesting to young readers. They love to read these stories and find hidden moral messages.

This story is about judging people from their appearance.

It explains why we should look deeper into a person’s character.

The Story of The Lion’s Wedding

This is a story of a lion and his wedding. He invited all the animals but no one showed up. He was a gentle lion and wondered why the animals he invited did not come to his wedding. What did the animals think of the lion? Why did they not come to his wedding? Find out by reading this interesting moral story.

The Lion and other Animals

Once there was a huge jungle. Many wild animals lived there. Everyone was afraid of the lion. He was the only lion in that jungle.

The elephants were afraid of the lion and never let their calves stray near his den. The bears always made sure that their cubs were inside the den in the evening. It was the time when the lion went outside for a walk.

The lion was huge and fierce but he was very gentle. It was his appearance that intimidated all the other animals in the jungle.

The Gentle Lion

The Lion’s Wedding

The lion did not have a clue of what the other animals in the jungle thought of him. He was young and energetic. One day, he thought of his marriage. He was an adult and wanted to settle down.

He found a beautiful lioness in the other jungle and fixed his marriage. He was so happy that he invited all the other animals.

He went to the elephants and said, “I am inviting you all to my wedding. Please be there with your friends and family.” The elephants stammered and agreed.

He went to the bears and said, “Friends, I am marrying my love. Please come to my wedding. I will be glad if you gather sweet honey for all the animals.” The bears agreed to what he said.

He then went to the monkeys and said, “Monkeys please join the other animals on my wedding day. You dance well. Please be there to entertain the other animals.” The monkeys were scared but agreed.

The Wedding Day

The wedding day finally arrived. The lion and lioness were happy. They have made all the arrangements and decorations. They were happy to finally meet all the animals.

To their surprise, the whole day was gone but nobody arrived. There was no one at the wedding. It made the lion and lioness sad.

The Lion and Lioness Were Sad

The Next Day

The next day, the monkeys asked the elephants, “Did you all go to the wedding?”

The elephants said, “We were so afraid of him. We did not go! What about you?”

The monkeys replied, “We are afraid of him too. How can we dance if we are afraid of him?”

The bears added, “We were unable to arrange honey for all the animals. We feared that he would kill us. That is why we did not attend the wedding.”

All the animals confessed that no one went to the wedding because of the lion’s fierce appearance.

The lion, on the other hand, realised that the animals were scared of him.

Moral of the Wedding Story of the Lion

The moral of this edition of Lion Wedding Stories in English is not to judge a book by its cover. We should not judge others by their appearance. We need to consider and understand what is inside a person.

Tips for Parents

Explain the story of Lion Wedding for Kids and elaborate on the life lesson hidden in it. Describe how the animals should have considered the lion’s true nature. Explain why the animals were afraid. Encourage children to read the Lion and Monkey story with moral lessons.

FAQs on The Lion Wedding: A Short Moral Story

1. Why did the animals not attend the wedding of the lion?

The animals thought about how they can share their happiness if they are afraid of the lion.

2. Why did the bears not attend the wedding?

They were afraid of the lion and were unable to collect honey. They thought the lion would not be happy with this and might harm them.

3. Why was the lion sad?

The lion was sad because all the animals misjudged his character. They did not consider that a lion can be gentle and kind.

How To Describe A Wedding In A Story (100+ Examples & Guide)

Weddings make magical moments in your story, essay, or other writing.

Here is how to describe a wedding in a story :

Describe a wedding in writing by capturing the essence of the ceremony, the emotions of the couple and guests, and the unique atmosphere of the venue, all while weaving in the cultural and personal details that make each wedding unique.

Keep reading to learn everything you need to know about portraying the magic of weddings in your stories.

Types of Weddings to Describe in a Story

Table of Contents

As you probably know, there are more than one type of wedding.

Here are some of the most popular types you can include in your stories.

Traditional Wedding

A traditional wedding is steeped in customs and rituals that have been passed down through generations

These weddings often take place in religious settings, with formal attire and a solemn atmosphere. The bride walks down the aisle accompanied by her father, while the groom waits at the altar.

Vows are exchanged, rings are placed on fingers, and the couple shares their first kiss as married partners.

Beach Wedding

Imagine saying “I do” with toes buried in the warm sand and waves crashing gently in the background.

A beach wedding is casual yet breathtakingly beautiful. Delicate seashell decorations line an arch under which the newlyweds stand for their vows. Sun-kissed guests can enjoy a relaxed celebration adorned with tropical flowers and soft music floating through the salty air.

Garden Wedding

In a garden wedding, nature becomes an enchanting backdrop for love to unfold.

Surrounded by blooming flowers and lush greenery, couples exchange vows under an elaborately decorated archway or rose-covered gazebo. The natural serenity of chirping birds adds charm to this intimate affair as guests bask in a whimsical atmosphere created by twinkling fairy lights strung between trees.

Destination Wedding

Destination weddings are celebrations held in a location away from the couple’s hometown, often in exotic or scenic places.

They offer a unique opportunity for couples to exchange vows in a memorable setting, from historic European castles to tropical Caribbean beaches. These weddings can also provide an exciting travel experience for guests.

Cultural Wedding

Cultural weddings celebrate the unique traditions and customs of a couple’s heritage.

These ceremonies are often rich in rituals that honor the couple’s cultural background, whether it be an Asian, African, Middle Eastern, or another heritage. Cultural weddings are a beautiful display of heritage, often featuring traditional attire, music, and ceremonies.

Modern Wedding

Modern weddings break away from traditional norms and often incorporate contemporary elements.

They may feature non-traditional venues, personalized vows, and modern decor. Technology, unique themes, and a more relaxed approach to planning characterize these weddings. Modern weddings reflect the couple’s personality and contemporary lifestyle.

Vintage Wedding

Vintage weddings are inspired by elements from a specific era in the past, like the Roaring Twenties or the Victorian period.

These weddings often feature antique-style decor, classic vehicles, and attire that reflects the chosen time period. Vintage weddings are perfect for couples who appreciate the charm and elegance of bygone eras.

Rustic Wedding

Rustic weddings are characterized by their natural, simple, and countryside-inspired elements.

They often take place in rural settings like barns, farms, or vineyards.

Decor includes natural textures like wood and burlap, and the ambiance is cozy and down-to-earth, reflecting a love for the rustic, outdoor charm.

Eco-Friendly Wedding

Eco-friendly weddings focus on sustainability and minimizing the environmental impact of the celebration.

These weddings use eco-conscious materials, local and organic food, and natural decor. Eco-friendly weddings are perfect for environmentally conscious couples who want to celebrate their love while respecting nature.

An elopement is a small, intimate wedding, often involving only the couple, a witness, and an officiant.

Elopements focus on the couple’s commitment without the extensive planning or guest list of a traditional wedding.

They can be spontaneous or planned and often occur in unique or meaningful locations to the couple.

How to Describe Traditional Weddings

Let’s start with how to describe the most common type of wedding.

Elements of Traditional Weddings

Traditional weddings are steeped in rich cultural and religious customs, each with their own unique elements.

These ceremonies often begin with a formal procession, where the bride is escorted down the aisle by her father or another significant family member.

The guests eagerly await her arrival, standing respectfully as she walks towards the altar.

Once at the altar, traditional weddings typically include a heartfelt exchange of vows between the bride and groom.

This deeply personal moment allows them to publicly declare their commitment and love for one another.

Following this emotional exchange, rings are exchanged as symbols of eternal unity and devotion.

After the exchange of rings comes one of the most iconic moments in a traditional wedding: the first kiss as a married couple.

This simple gesture signifies not only their union but also serves as an expression of love and affection witnessed by all those present.

Cultural Customs

Beyond these universal traditions, many cultural nuances can be observed at traditional weddings.

From vibrant Indian ceremonies filled with colorful attire and intricate rituals to elegant Chinese tea ceremonies symbolizing respect for elders – there is no shortage of diversity in how unions are celebrated around the world.

Some cultures emphasize specific customs such as breaking glass (a Jewish tradition) or exchanging leis (a Hawaiian custom), adding depth and meaning to these once-in-a-lifetime events.

Regardless of location or religion, traditional weddings consistently offer moments that celebrate love while showcasing individuality through various cultural practices.

Traditional Wedding Writing Examples

• The grand cathedral’s stained glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of colors over the bride as she gracefully walked down the aisle.
• A string quartet played classical melodies, adding an air of solemnity and tradition to the ceremony.
• The groom, dressed in a classic black tuxedo, waited nervously at the altar, his eyes lighting up as he saw his bride.
• Guests, dressed in formal attire, whispered in admiration of the ornate decorations and the couple’s adherence to time-honored traditions.
• The couple exchanged vows in a time-honored manner, their voices trembling with emotion as they promised to love and cherish each other.
• The church bells chimed melodically, signaling the start of the traditional wedding ceremony.
• Guests turned as the bride, clad in a classic white gown with lace detailing, gracefully walked down the aisle.
• The scent of fresh lilies and roses filled the church, enhancing the sacredness of the occasion.
• A hush fell over the attendees as the couple exchanged time-honored vows, their voices echoing in the grand hall.
• The groom, dressed in a sharp black suit, gazed lovingly at his bride, a symbol of their impending union.
• The couple’s hands joined, symbolizing unity, as they slid wedding bands onto each other’s fingers.

Describing the Wedding Venue: Setting the Scene

Once you step into the wedding venue, you are transported to a fairytale setting.

Vibrant flowers adorn every corner, creating an enchanting atmosphere.

The soft glow of fairy lights illuminates the space, casting a romantic ambiance that is simply breathtaking.

The ceremony takes place in a beautiful garden with towering trees providing shade and adding to the intimate feel of the occasion.

A flower-covered arch frames the bride and groom as they exchange their vows under a canopy of twinkling stars.

Guests gather in an exquisite ballroom for the reception.

Crystal chandeliers hang from high ceilings, casting shimmering light onto elegant tables adorned with delicate centerpieces and sparkling tableware. The dance floor has been crafted with care, gleaming like moonlit water inviting guests to celebrate love and happiness throughout the night.

Wedding Venue Writing Examples:

• The grand ballroom shimmered under the glow of crystal chandeliers, setting a majestic tone for the wedding.
• Lush greenery and blooming flowers encircled the garden venue, creating a natural and enchanting atmosphere.
• The rustic barn was adorned with twinkling fairy lights and delicate draperies, blending elegance with country charm.
• Overlooking the ocean, the cliffside venue offered a breathtaking panorama, perfect for a serene wedding.
• The historic mansion’s ornate architecture and sprawling lawns provided a backdrop of timeless elegance.
• A canopy of stars illuminated the open-air rooftop venue, offering a romantic and urban setting for the ceremony.
• The quaint countryside chapel, with its stained glass windows and wooden pews, exuded a warm, intimate ambiance.
• Majestic mountains surrounded the outdoor venue, providing a spectacular and dramatic backdrop for the nuptials.
• The modern art gallery, with its minimalist decor and contemporary art pieces, set a chic and sophisticated stage.
• The vineyard’s rolling hills and rows of grapevines created a picturesque and tranquil setting for a romantic wedding.

Capturing the Bride’s Beauty: Dress, Hair, and Makeup

The bride’s radiant beauty shone through her carefully chosen ensemble.

Her dress, a flowing masterpiece of lace and silk, hugged her curves in all the right places. Every intricate detail was meticulously crafted to enhance her elegance and grace.

Her hair was swept up into an elaborate updo adorned with delicate flowers that matched the vibrant blooms in the venue.

Each strand was meticulously styled to create a look of effortless glamour.

As she walked down the aisle, her hair swayed gently with each step, adding an ethereal quality to her presence.

Completing the picture-perfect look was her flawless makeup.

A subtle palette brought out her natural features while accentuating her best qualities.

The soft glow on her cheeks highlighted her cheekbones, while shimmering eyeshadow made her eyes sparkle with joy and anticipation.

With every element flawlessly executed – from the elegant dress to intricately styled hair and expertly applied makeup – this beautiful bride exuded confidence as she embarked on this new chapter of life alongside love ones.

Bride Description Examples:

• The bride glowed radiantly in her elegantly fitted gown, adorned with delicate pearls and fine lace detailing.
• Her eyes sparkled with joy, accentuated by the soft, natural makeup that highlighted her innate beauty.
• Cascading curls framed her face gently, with a few stray tendrils dancing in the light breeze.
• The bride’s smile, warm and infectious, lit up the room, reflecting her inner happiness and excitement.
• Graceful in her movements, she seemed to glide rather than walk, her gown flowing beautifully behind her.
• A traditional veil, intricately embroidered, cascaded over her shoulders, adding an air of mystery and elegance.
• Her bouquet of wildflowers and roses complemented her gown, adding a touch of vibrant color to her bridal look.
• The sunlight caught the subtle shimmer of her dress, making her appear as if she were surrounded by a soft, ethereal glow.
• Nervous yet excited, her hands delicately clutched the bouquet, her fingers adorned with a simple, elegant ring.
• Poised and serene, she exuded a sense of timeless grace, a vision of classic beauty on her wedding day.

The Groom’s Dashing Appearance: Attire and Accessories

The groom, adorned in a sophisticated black tuxedo, exudes elegance as he stands at the altar.

His jacket fits him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and trim waistline. The crisp white shirt beneath contrasts beautifully with the deep shade of his suit.

A sleek satin tie completes his ensemble, its bold color adding a touch of personality to his formal attire.

As he glances down at himself, one can’t help but notice the gleaming silver cufflinks adorning each wrist – small accents that add a dash of sophistication.

Completing the groom’s look are polished leather shoes that shine under the venue’s light.

With every step down the aisle, their sturdy yet elegant appearance adds an air of confidence to his stride. Overall, through careful attention to detail in both clothing and accessories, this groom is undoubtedly a picture of refined style on this special day.

Groom Description Examples:

• The groom stood tall and confident, his tailored black tuxedo fitting him impeccably, enhancing his dignified appearance.
• A hint of nervous excitement twinkled in his eyes as he awaited his bride, his smile broad and genuine.
• His hair was styled neatly, adding to his polished and refined look, perfect for the grand occasion.
• A sleek, silver tie clip and matching cufflinks added a touch of sophistication to his classic black suit.
• The groom’s shoes, polished to a high shine, clicked softly against the floor as he shifted his weight, eagerly anticipating the ceremony.
• A boutonniere of fresh, deep-colored blooms adorned his lapel, echoing the floral theme of the wedding.
• His posture, upright and composed, exuded a sense of readiness and joy for the lifelong commitment ahead.
• The warmth in his expression softened as he caught the first glimpse of his bride, his love and adoration palpable.
• He shared light-hearted banter with his groomsmen, his laughter ringing out, easing the pre-ceremony tension.
• As the ceremony commenced, his hands, though steady, revealed a subtle tremor, betraying the depth of his emotions on this momentous day.

The Ceremony: Emotions, Vows, and More

We can’t leave out describing the ceremony.

Weddings are filled with a rollercoaster of emotions.

As the couple takes their vows, joy and excitement radiate from their faces.

The guests can’t help but smile as they witness this celebration of love.

Tears glisten in the eyes of parents as they give away their child to a new life partner. A feeling of nostalgia is met with hope for the newlyweds’ future.

Vows are promises made by the couple to each other, spoken from the heart.

They declare their unconditional love, devotion, and commitment. These words carry immense emotional weight and have been passed down through generations as a timeless tradition.

As each vow is uttered, an air of anticipation fills the room, reminding everyone present that these heartfelt promises will shape the foundation of lifelong happiness.

Examples of Describing the Ceremony:

• The venue was adorned with colorful flowers and soft candlelight.
• The bride looked radiant in her flowing white gown.
• Guests were seated on elegant chairs, facing a beautiful altar.
• The groom stood nervously, waiting for his bride to arrive.
• The music played softly in the background, setting the mood.
• The officiant spoke heartfelt words about love and commitment.
• Rings were exchanged, symbolizing their eternal bond.
• Tears of joy and laughter filled the air.
• The newlyweds sealed their vows with a kiss.
• Applause and cheers erupted as they walked back up the aisle.

The Wedding Traditions

Weddings are steeped in tradition, bringing together customs and rituals from various cultures around the world.

These traditions add depth and meaning to a wedding ceremony, making it a memorable event for all involved.

Here are a few common wedding traditions you might want to describe:

• The White Dress : A popular tradition in Western weddings is for the bride to wear a white dress. Symbolizing purity and innocence, this tradition dates back centuries.
• The Procession : At the start of the ceremony, the bridal party walks down the aisle in a specific order, with each member playing an important role. This procession sets the stage for the bride’s grand entrance.
• Exchanging Rings : During this pivotal moment in any wedding ceremony, couples exchange rings that symbolize their love and eternal unity.

These wedding traditions may vary depending on cultural or religious backgrounds but serve as beautiful reminders of love and celebration.

The Wedding Photographs & Video

Capturing the essence of a wedding day, photographs and videos provide lasting memories for couples and their families

A skilled photographer will document each precious moment – from the bride getting ready to the exchanging of vows and the heartfelt speeches at the reception.

These visual mementos freeze time, allowing everyone to relive the joyous occasion for years to come.

Images crafted with expertise can showcase both candid moments – like giddy laughter and heartfelt embraces – as well as carefully posed shots that emphasize the beauty of the venue, decorations, and attire.

By incorporating various angles, lighting techniques, and artistic perspectives, photographers create a visually stunning narrative that tells the unique story of every couple’s big day.

Videos capture not only still shots but also movement, voices, music, and genuine emotions in real-time.

Skillful videographers fuse these elements together to create a seamless cinematic experience.

Through clever editing techniques that synchronize visuals with audio snippets such as vows or speeches, they craft an emotional journey that elicits tears of happiness when watched later.

Photographs are often given pride of place on mantelpieces or adorning walls in albums which bring back cherished memories whenever they’re opened.

Videos offer a more immersive experience by letting viewers rewatch every step down memory lane during anniversaries or family gatherings.

Think about how to describe the photographer, videographer, and their actions during the ceremony.

Here are examples of how to describe the wedding photos and video:

• The photographer captured candid moments of laughter and tears.
• The videographer recorded the exchange of vows for posterity.
• Group shots froze memories of the bridal party’s joy.
• A drone soared to capture stunning aerial views of the ceremony.
• The couple posed against a breathtaking sunset backdrop.
• Close-ups highlighted the intricate details of the wedding attire.
• The photo booth churned out snapshots of guests’ merriment.
• The slideshow played a montage of the couple’s journey together.
• The photo album told the story of their special day.
• The video montage edited together the most touching moments.

Writing Wedding Dialogue: Conversations and Speeches

Wedding conversations are filled with joy, anticipation, and a touch of nerves.

As guests mingle before the ceremony, their enthusiastic chatter fills the air.

• Couples in love can be heard whispering tender words to each other as they exchange vows.
• Family members excitedly discuss seating arrangements while trying to dodge last-minute mishaps.
• Friends share heartfelt anecdotes during speeches that bring tears of joy to everyone’s eyes.

The dialogue at a wedding is brimming with emotion and serves as an important tool for telling the story.

It can reveal characters’ relationships, showcase their personalities, and provide insight into their thoughts and feelings on this momentous occasion.

In a well-crafted wedding scene, conversations flow naturally, reflecting the excitement in the air.

Dialogues capture both intimate exchanges between loved ones and larger group interactions that create a warm atmosphere for all attendees. From whispered confessions to humorous banter during speeches, every conversation adds depth and color to the narrative tapestry of describing a wedding in a story.

Examples of Wedding Dialogue:

• The bride and groom exchanged heartfelt vows.
• The father of the bride gave a tearful speech.
• Friends shared humorous anecdotes during toasts.
• Guests whispered compliments about the couple’s love.
• The officiant’s words resonated with wisdom and warmth.
• Couples reminisced about their own love stories.
• Siblings playfully teased the newlyweds.
• The best man’s toast was lighthearted and touching.
• Guests gushed about the beauty of the ceremony.
• The couple’s gratitude and love shone through their words.

The Reception: Food, Decor, and Entertainment

One of the most important elements of a wedding to describe is the reception.

You might want to talk about the food, decor, and entertainment.

Here is an example:

The reception was a grand affair, filled with delectable food, exquisite decor, and lively entertainment.

As guests entered the venue, they were greeted by an elegant display of flowers that adorned every table.

The scent of succulent dishes wafted through the air as servers moved gracefully around the room. From tender steak to mouthwatering seafood, there was something for everyone’s tastes. Guests indulged in a delightful feast that left them craving for more.

A live band played enchanting melodies throughout the evening, creating an atmosphere of joy and celebration.

People laughed and danced under twinkling lights, their happiness radiating from their faces. The reception was truly a memorable event that showcased the couple’s love and delighted all who attended.

Wedding Reception Writing Examples:

• The dance floor was filled with guests showing their moves.
• Tables were adorned with elegant centerpieces and candles.
• The DJ kept the party alive with a mix of music.
• Waitstaff served delicious courses of gourmet cuisine.
• The couple made a grand entrance with confetti and cheers.
• Guests enjoyed a photogenic dessert table.
• The open bar served signature cocktails and fine wines.
• The reception hall was beautifully lit with fairy lights.
• A photo booth offered guests a chance for fun snapshots.
• The couple shared their first dance as a married couple.

How to Describe Modern Weddings: Capturing the Essence of Contemporary Celebrations

Wedding ceremonies and celebrations have transformed significantly in recent times.

Here’s a glimpse into describing modern weddings:

• Non-traditional settings: Modern couples are stepping away from conventional venues like churches or banquet halls, opting for unique locations such as vineyards, rooftops, or even private homes.
• Personalized touches: Today’s weddings often showcase personalization through customized vows, creative themes that reflect the couple’s interests and passions, and interactive elements like photo booths or food stations.
• Technology integration: In contemporary weddings, technology plays a significant role – digital save-the-dates and invitations are sent via email or social media platforms; live streaming allows distant loved ones to participate virtually; drones capture stunning aerial shots of the ceremony.

How to Describe Destination Weddings: Describing the Magic of Exotic Locations

Destination weddings offer couples a unique opportunity to exchange vows in breathtaking locations around the world.

• Captivating landscapes : Imagine standing on a pristine beach, with soft white sands slipping between your toes and crystal-clear turquoise waters stretching to the horizon. Set against such a picturesque backdrop, destination weddings allow couples to create unforgettable memories surrounded by nature’s beauty.
• Cultural immersion : From historic castles in Europe to vibrant temples in Asia, exotic destinations provide an immersive experience into different cultures and traditions. Guests can explore local customs, taste authentic cuisine, and partake in traditional activities that make their attendance at the wedding even more meaningful.
• Intimate celebrations : By opting for a destination wedding, couples often prioritize intimacy over grandeur. The smaller guest list fosters quality time with loved ones and encourages deeper connections among attendees. Instead of an overwhelming ballroom affair, these weddings exude warmth as they become cherished shared experiences.

Whether it’s exchanging vows on top of a breathtaking mountain peak or amidst ancient ruins steeped in history, describing the magic of exotic locations brings life to destination weddings’ allure and romance without being repetitive or overly elaborate.

Destination Wedding Description Examples:

• The ceremony took place on a pristine beach in the Bahamas.
• Guests traveled from different corners of the world.
• The couple exchanged vows under a tropical canopy.
• A luau-themed reception celebrated the destination.
• Seashell and starfish decorations adorned the tables.
• The couple embraced a relaxed, beachy dress code.
• Activities like snorkeling and island tours were included.
• The wedding photos showcased stunning ocean views.
• The couple’s love story was intertwined with their travels.
• A sense of adventure and wanderlust filled the air.

How to Describe Intimate Weddings: Portraying the Beauty of Small Gatherings

Intimate weddings possess a captivating allure, filled with an abundance of close-knit emotions and tender moments.

• In these intimate gatherings, love dances gracefully in each corner as only the dearest ones come together to celebrate.
• The atmosphere is enveloped in warmth and closeness, creating an unmistakable sense of intimacy that flows effortlessly through every interaction.
• These small-scale weddings paint a picture of serene elegance, where the focus lies solely on genuine connections rather than extravagant displays.

Capturing the essence of an intimate wedding requires weaving words delicately to evoke feelings of cherished intimacy and tranquility.

• Emphasize Meaningful Connections : Highlight how intimate weddings reflect deep bonds among loved ones who have gathered from near and far.
• Create a Sense of Serenity : Mention the calm ambiance that pervades these gatherings, allowing couples to exchange heartfelt vows in tranquil settings.
• Celebrate Personal Touches : Acknowledge how smaller guest lists enable couples to infuse personalized elements into every aspect – from decor to cuisine – ensuring their wedding truly becomes a reflection of their unique love story.

How to Describe Grand Weddings: Depicting the Extravagance and Opulence

When describing a grand wedding, it is important to vividly capture the extravagance and opulence that surrounds such an event.

Use sensory details to engage readers in the luxurious atmosphere.

Describe the lavish decorations adorning every corner of the venue – from cascading floral arrangements to shimmering chandeliers, painting a picture of wealth and beauty.

Highlight the grandeur of the bride’s attire – her exquisite gown adorned with intricate lacework and sparkling jewels.

Mention how each step she takes evokes elegance, accompanied by a subtle rustle of layers upon layers of silk fabric.

Discuss the groom’s stylish tuxedo, tailored impeccably to fit him like a second skin.

The readers should feel transported into this world through your words – enticed by the rich aromas wafting from tables embellished with silverware, crystal glasses, and delicate china plates.

Let them imagine savoring delectable courses prepared by renowned chefs serving culinary masterpieces on gleaming platters.

The ambience should be further emphasized through descriptions of live music played by talented musicians filling every corner with melodies that make hearts swoon. Paint a visual image of guests gliding across marble dance floors in perfect harmony as they celebrate love beneath dazzling lights that twinkle like stars.

Overall, evoke emotions such as awe and enchantment using eloquent language combined with detailed descriptions when depicting these extravagant weddings.

Lavish Wedding Examples:

• The venue was a grand palace with crystal chandeliers.
• Guests were greeted with champagne and caviar.
• The bride wore a couture designer gown.
• A live orchestra played classical music during the ceremony.
• The guest list included dignitaries and celebrities.
• The wedding favors were custom-made luxury gifts.
• An extravagant fireworks display lit up the night sky.
• The menu featured gourmet delicacies from around the world.
• The reception hall was transformed into a fairy tale ballroom.
• Every detail, from the invitations to the linens, exuded opulence.

How to Describe Outdoor Weddings

Outdoor weddings offer a unique blend of natural beauty and romantic ambiance.

They allow couples to exchange their vows under the open sky, amidst the splendor of nature.

Whether it’s a serene beachfront, a majestic mountain view, or the rustic charm of a countryside setting, outdoor weddings provide a picturesque canvas for your special day.

Here is an example to spark your creativity:

The sun casts its golden rays upon the meticulously manicured garden, enhancing the vivid hues of wildflowers that adorn every corner.

The gentle breeze carries with it a symphony of fragrances, mingling the sweet scent of blossoms and fresh grass.

As guests gather on elegant white chairs set amidst nature’s lush carpet, they are embraced by a picturesque backdrop of towering trees and rolling hills. Beyond the wedding altar constructed from intertwining vines and delicate blooms, a tranquil pond reflects the azure sky overhead.

Graceful swans glide across its glassy surface as if performing their own enchanting dance to celebrate this joyous union.

Sparkling fairy lights twinkle in harmony with nature’s own starry canopy as twilight slowly envelops the scene.

Guests indulge their senses further during an exquisite farm-to-table feast using locally-sourced ingredients—vibrant greens picked straight from nearby fields, succulent fruits plucked at perfect ripeness, and tender meat seasoned softly with herbs grown right here—a gastronomic journey designed to reflect not only love but also reverence for Mother Earth herself.

How to Describe Unique Weddings: Showcasing Unconventional Celebrations

Unique weddings are a delightful way to celebrate love, filled with unexpected and refreshing elements.

From the venue to the rituals, these unconventional celebrations create lasting memories for both couples and guests.

• Location : Instead of traditional venues like banquet halls or churches, unique weddings may take place in breathtaking settings such as lush gardens, rustic barns, or even on a mountaintop. The location sets the stage for an enchanting experience that captures the couple’s personalities and passions.
• Themes and Decor : Unlike conventional weddings, unique celebrations often embrace creative themes that reflect who the couple is as individuals. Whether it’s a vintage carnival theme complete with cotton candy machines or an elegant masquerade ball with extravagant masks adorning every table setting, these wedding decors tell stories that transport guests to another world.
• Ceremony Traditions : Instead of following traditional ceremonies step by step, unique weddings may incorporate custom rituals inspired by different cultures or personal beliefs. It could be a handfasting ceremony symbolizing unity through binding hands with ribbons or exchanging personalized vows while their favorite song plays softly in the background.

Examples of Describing Unique Weddings:

• The wedding was held in a historic, converted barn.
• The couple arrived on horseback, dressed in rustic attire.
• The ceremony featured a candle-lit labyrinth for guests.
• A live painting artist captured the ceremony’s essence.
• The couple incorporated their love for cosplay into the theme.
• The reception doubled as a masquerade ball.
• A food truck served gourmet tacos and sliders.
• A flash mob surprised guests with a choreographed dance.
• The couple’s dog served as the ring bearer.
• The wedding favors were personalized, handmade crafts.

Genre-specific Wedding Descriptions: Romance, Comedy, Drama

I thought I’d add these genre-specific examples of how to describe a wedding in writing.

Romance Genre Wedding Description

The romantic ballroom buzzed with anticipation. Soft candlelight danced on the walls, as the bride descended the grand staircase in her ivory gown adorned with delicate lace. The groom stood at the altar, his eyes shimmering with love and excitement.

The ceremony began amidst a symphony of heartfelt vows and whispered promises. Tears flowed freely as guests witnessed these two souls unite in eternal devotion. Love filled every corner of the room, wrapping everyone in its warm embrace.

Following the “I dos,” old friends and new acquaintances mingled over glasses of champagne, creating an atmosphere charged with laughter and joy. As day turned into night, couples swayed to dreamy melodies under a canopy of stars, celebrating true love that would endure for all eternity.

Comedy Genre Wedding Description

Bob’s wedding was far from ordinary – it was hilariously chaotic! Right from the start, everything went wrong: flower girls tripped over their oversized skirts while ring bearers ran off chasing butterflies!

Even during the vows, mishaps ensued – Bob clumsily mispronounced his wife’s name causing an eruption of giggles throughout the crowd.

But instead of fretting about perfection, they embraced these humorous moments wholeheartedly.

As evening fell, astounding dance moves took center stage as grandmas outshined professional dancers and uncles showcased never-before-seen disco skills. It was an uproarious celebration that left everyone rolling on the floor laughing – certainly a memorable event for years to come!

Drama Genre Wedding Description

In a dimly lit cathedral shrouded in mystery and melancholy, Sarah walked down an aisle lined with somber faces dressed in black attire. Bride and groom exchanged solemn glances while exchanging vows laden with both hope and sorrow.

Intense emotions crackled through every heartbeat as whispers echoed around them like distant thunder.

Each word spoken seemed suspended in time as if carrying within it not just their future but also the weight of past mistakes and lost opportunities.

The day unfolded with an air of melancholy splendor, every gesture heavy with symbolism. It was a wedding that vividly portrayed the complexities of human existence – a celebration not just of love but also of life’s profound mysteries.

Check out this video on how to describe a wedding in a story you write for school:

Final Thoughts: How To Describe A Wedding In A Story

Capturing a wedding in writing is like painting a vivid picture with words, bringing every heartfelt moment to life.

For more creative insights and tips, explore other articles on our website.

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• January 14, 2021
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International Journal of Research and Innovation in Social Science (IJRISS) | Volume V, Issue I, January 2021 | ISSN 2454–6186

Book Review on ‘The Village in the Jungle’ By Leonard Woolf  

Abeyweera, G.H., Tennakoon, TMPSI, Rubavathanan, M Department of English Language Teaching, Uva Wellassa University of Sri Lanka 

Introduction The novel written by Leonard Woolf which was published in 1913 is basically about novelist’s experience about Colonial Sri Lanka written in the intuitive point of view. Thus, it portrays a vivid picture of the lives of a deprived and pitiable family lived in the small village called Baddegama which in terms of literally ‘the village in the jungle. The events that take place in the novel provide a set of mixed feelings of terrifying, depressing and interesting. The description given to the jungle is quite awe inspiring and fearsome. According to the novel, “All jungles are evil, but no jungle is more evil than that which lay about the village of Beddegama” . Baddegama is a rudimentary, primitive settlement in the deep south of then Ceylon now Sri Lanka with just ten families. These families which are poverty-ridden are very much closer to the animals in the jungle. There are civilized culturally influenced values instead people are caught in a muddled traditional beliefs, superstitions and stoicism. The spirit of the jungle is in this village and the people who live in the thicket. The jungle with its hints of evil develops the background of the novel. With this setting, novel begins its exposition by introducing the protagonist or the principle character together by introducing several incidents with other characters which is the development of the novel. Body of the Novel The novel mostly accounts the life of Silindu and his twin daughters who are independent individual with their own living style in order to dwell peacefully with themselves and the jungle. The villagers resolve they are outcast or pariahs and even demons and therefore decided not to extend their help or a finger as they are plotted against over and over for the gains of others. The lives of their twin daughters, PunchiMenika and Hinnihami are overwhelming and upsetting in the way their lives are wasted at the expense of others. The incidents that are being narrated by Leonard Woolf will give the reader a realistic picture of the village in the Baddegama which is dominated by three corrupt influences, the Headman, Babehami who is the local agent of the British Administration, Punchirala the village medical practioner and kattadiya and Fernando, the trader. The despicable predicament of the villagers in Baddegama discloses through Silindu, the protagonist in the novel and his interaction with these three evil men. Silindu a man of the jungle is a hunter, and Chena cultivator meets the British Officials in the guise of the village Headman who insists that he obtains a licence for a gun which under normal circumstances is not an easy task to obtain a licence. Meanwhile, the Headman bears a grudge against Silindu from the time of the death of Silindu’s wife, a sister of the Headman Babehami due to ill-treatment she suffered in the hand of Silindu for giving birth to twin daughters instead of sons to help him for hunting and for his Chena cultivation. The Headman harasses Silindu at every opportunity he gets and thus Silindu makes it imperative that he gets the licence for a gun. The episode concludes with Silindu going to Kamburupitiya to get his gun lience and borrow grain from the trader (Mudalali) there. Meanwhile, the Headman uses the non-payment of body tax to harass further. Usually, what generally happens is that the Headman pays the tax for all the villagers and later recovers it with a very heavy interest but not for Silindu whom he wants to irritate.

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An Exegetical Reading of the Wedding at Cana (John 2:1-11) - An Excerpt from John

• January 6, 2017
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Today’s excerpt is from the Gospel of  John , the newest installment in the Zondervan Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament.

Written by Edward W. Klink III, the excerpt below from John 2:1-11 is an example of how each passage is interpreted in the light of its biblical setting, with a view to grammatical detail, literary context, flow of biblical argument, and historical setting.

Literary Context

The careful and lengthy introduction to Jesus by means of a prologue ( 1:1 – 18 ) and a two-pericope introduction to the narrative proper ( 1:19 – 51 ), along with the careful articulation of the completion of the first “week” of the ministry of Jesus, has emphasized that in the person of Jesus the Creator is now with his creation. The focus can now transition to the work of God in the world. This pericope is the first recorded work. This first work serves as a “sign” to the unseen realities also at work and to that which the work will ultimately accomplish.

The arrival of Jesus transforms the world and all its activities. During a wedding celebration, Jesus transposes the purposes and plans of humanity with the will and wisdom of the Father, and, with a reversal of grace, transforms a failing celebration into the celebration of the wedding of God. Jesus, the faithful Son and true bridegroom, is making preparations for his bride, the Church.

Translation

Structure and Literary Form

Unlike the previous pericopae, which serve as the introduction to the narrative proper and have unique structural designators, this is the first pericope in the Gospel that corresponds to the basic story form (see Introduction). The introduction/setting is established in vv. 1 – 3 . The conflict is quickly presented in v. 4 , with the response of Jesus creating the climactic moment of the pericope. The resolution is provided in vv. 5 – 8 , including the response to and aftermath of Jesus’s statement. Finally, the conclusion/interpretation is provided in vv. 9 – 11 and serves to explain the result of the activities, with v. 11 offering a closing summary regarding the meaning of the pericope and its relation to the rest of the Gospel.

Explanation of the Text

Although the Gospel of John begins with a prologue which serves to guide and direct the reader, at the level of the narrative’s development the entire first chapter ( 1:1 – 51 ) has functioned as an introduction to the Gospel and to Jesus. This introduction explained the context into which Jesus entered, the witness provided for him by the Baptist, and his functional identity as the revelation of God. Paralleling the creative work of God at creation, God was now present with his people, creatively and powerfully at work in the world. The entire first chapter of the Gospel has projected the creative “first week” of the Creator as he enters his creation.

2:1 On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus  Was there (Καὶ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ τῇ τρίτῃ γάμος ἐγένετο ἐν Κανὰ τῆς Γαλιλαίας, καὶ ἦν ἡ μήτηρ τοῦ Ἰησοῦ ἐκεῖ). The narrator introduces the scene by informing the reader of a wedding that was taking place in Cana of Galilee (on the significance of “the third day,” see the sidebar “Jesus’s First Week”). The favored location is Khirbet Qana, which is located about nine miles north of Nazareth (Josephus, Life 86.207). Though some try to deduce a symbolic significance in Cana, the only significance that can be deduced is that it serves as a narrative place marker, since the first section of the Gospel story begins and ends in Cana (cf. 4:43 – 45, 54 ). It is not Cana but “a wedding” that is most determinative for the context of the pericope. It is interesting that the scene is set without Jesus being mentioned; the only character mentioned is the mother of Jesus. Her identity, however, is entirely defined by Jesus: “the mother of Jesus” (ἡ μήτηρ τοῦ Ἰησοῦ). She is never named in the Gospel.

2:2 And Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the wedding (ἐκλήθη δὲ καὶ ὁ Ἰησοῦς καὶ οἱ μαθηταὶ αὐτοῦ εἰς τὸν γάμον). The narrator adds that Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the wedding. Based upon chapter 1 , the disciples accompanying Jesus are probably the five already mentioned: Andrew, Simon Peter, Philip, Nathanael, and the anonymous disciple ( 1:35 ). There is no mention in the Gospel of the arrival of other disciples, though by 6:67 the narrator can speak of “the Twelve” without giving any indication when and from where the other seven came. That Jesus, his mother, and Jesus’s disciples were all invited to the wedding suggests the wedding was for a relative or close friend of the family, especially since Jesus’s mother bears some responsibility for the shortage of wine at the wedding ( v. 3 ). It might also be significant that one of the disciples, Nathanael, originated from Cana (cf. 21:2 ).

Several aspects of first-century wedding ceremonies are assumed in this statement and need explanation. Wedding ceremonies were always accompanied by celebratory feasts and were important in Jewish culture. The importance of wedding celebrations caused many rabbis to excuse a wedding party from conflicting religious festival obligations. According to the custom, wedding celebrations normally lasted seven days. The guests in attendance were usually connected in a social manner. For example, depending on the wealth of the family, entire towns could be invited. Even more, people who disliked the wedding family would be obliged to attend the wedding, since refusing to attend was socially inappropriate. This makes an invited person, like Jesus, difficult to define in relation to the wedding family. And since it was common for a scholar to be invited to a wedding, it is also possible that Jesus’s invitation was connected to his growing recognition as a public teacher. This might also explain the attendance of his disciples, since they would have been included with their teacher.

2:3 When the wine was gone, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no more wine” (καὶ ὑστερήσαντος οἴνου λέγει ἡ μήτηρ τοῦ Ἰησοῦ πρὸς αὐτόν, Οἶνον οὐκ ἔχουσιν). After being introduced to the characters in vv. 1 – 2 , we are now being prepared for the source of the conflict: the wedding celebration is running out of wine. Although wine was a standard part of daily life in the ancient Mediterranean world, Jewish literature makes clear that wine was an important part of festive occasions, especially at weddings. Since weddings in the first century were not about two people but about two families, the social dynamics were more comprehensive and intense. For this reason, to run out of wine during the wedding celebration was likely to have caused a loss of family honor and status. The anarthrous “wine” (οἴνου) might suggest that the wine was entirely gone, rather than just running out. Thus, the situation is dire.

The lack of wine at the wedding is connected to the mother of Jesus. The narrative not only gives no indication regarding the reason Jesus’s mother is involved, it also does not explain what options she had besides turning to Jesus. Various proposals have been offered for her connection to the wedding ceremony (e.g., a relative of the family) and her reason for going to Jesus (e.g., it was the oldest son’s responsibility in the absence/death of Joseph). None, however, are anything but conjecture, and several go well beyond any reasonable reconstruction. Although it is impossible to reconstruct his mother’s intentions, the narrative’s grammar might indicate that rather than commanding Jesus, she appears to be softly telling Jesus of the celebration’s plight in the hope that he might intervene. It is worth reiterating, however, that the narrative has not made the mother of Jesus the point of the story. Her lack of a name is itself support of this. However the plot’s conflict arrived at the feet of Jesus, it is there now.

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Essay on Indian Wedding

Students are often asked to write an essay on Indian Wedding in their schools and colleges. And if you’re also looking for the same, we have created 100-word, 250-word, and 500-word essays on the topic.

Let’s take a look…

100 Words Essay on Indian Wedding

Introduction.

Indian weddings are vibrant, filled with rituals and celebrations. They are grand affairs, often stretching over several days.

Pre-Wedding Rituals

The festivities begin with pre-wedding rituals. These include engagement, Sangeet, Mehendi where relatives gather and celebrate.

The Wedding Day

The wedding day starts with the bride and groom getting ready. The groom arrives at the wedding venue with his procession, called Baraat.

Rituals and Traditions

The couple exchanges garlands in a ceremony called Jaimala. They then take seven rounds around the sacred fire, known as Saat Phere.

An Indian wedding is a joyous occasion, reflecting India’s rich cultural heritage.

250 Words Essay on Indian Wedding

Indian weddings, an embodiment of cultural richness and diversity, are grandiose events marked by vibrant traditions and rituals. They are not just a union of two individuals, but rather a fusion of two families, symbolizing love, commitment, and togetherness.

The pre-wedding rituals commence with the Roka ceremony, a formal announcement of the alliance. This is followed by the Sangeet, where families celebrate with music and dance. The Mehendi ceremony involves the application of henna on the bride’s hands and feet, signifying prosperity and love.

The Wedding Ceremony

The wedding ceremony begins with the Baraat, the groom’s procession, accompanied by music and dance. The bride and groom exchange garlands in the Jaimala ceremony, signifying their acceptance of each other. The core ritual, the Saat Phere or the seven circumambulations around the sacred fire, marks the couple’s vows to each other.

Post-Wedding Rituals

Post-wedding rituals include the Vidai, marking the bride’s farewell, filled with emotions and tears. This is followed by the Grihapravesh, the welcoming of the bride into her new home.

Symbolism and Significance

Each ritual in an Indian wedding has a profound symbolic meaning rooted in ancient traditions, emphasizing mutual respect, equality, and sacrifice. The grandeur of Indian weddings reflects the country’s deep-rooted customs and the importance of familial bonds.

Indian weddings, with their beautiful blend of customs, emotions, and celebrations, offer a unique insight into the country’s cultural ethos. They are a testament to the rich heritage and diversity that India holds, making each wedding a festival in itself.

500 Words Essay on Indian Wedding

The grandeur of indian weddings.

Indian weddings are a grand affair, a vibrant blend of customs, traditions, and emotions. They are not just a union of two individuals but a fusion of two families, two cultures, and sometimes even two different communities. With an array of rituals, Indian weddings epitomize the richness of the country’s cultural heritage, offering a visual spectacle that is unparalleled.

The Pre-Wedding Ceremonies

The pre-wedding ceremonies are an integral part of Indian weddings. The ‘Roka’ or ‘Sagai’ marks the beginning of the wedding process, where both families exchange gifts and blessings. The ‘Haldi’ ceremony involves applying turmeric paste to the bride and groom, believed to ward off evil and bring prosperity. The ‘Mehendi’ ceremony, where the bride’s hands and feet are adorned with intricate henna designs, is another significant event. These ceremonies are not just about following traditions but are also a means to bring families closer and ensure everyone’s participation in the joyous occasion.

The wedding day is a culmination of all the anticipation and preparations. The groom, adorned in traditional attire, arrives at the bride’s place on a horse, accompanied by his ‘Baraat’, a procession of dancing and singing relatives. The bride, resplendent in her wedding attire, is then escorted to the wedding mandap. The ritual of ‘Kanyadaan’, where the bride’s father gives away his daughter to the groom, is an emotional moment. The couple then performs the ‘Saat Phere’, circling the sacred fire seven times, each round signifying a marital vow. The ceremony concludes with the ‘Vidaai’, the farewell of the bride from her parental home, a poignant moment filled with mixed emotions.

The Post-Wedding Ceremonies

The post-wedding ceremonies are as elaborate as the wedding itself. The ‘Grihapravesh’ marks the bride’s entry into her new home. The ‘Reception’ is a grand party hosted by the groom’s family to introduce the new bride to their relatives and friends. These ceremonies help the bride to transition into her new family and establish bonds with her in-laws.

The Cultural Diversity

India’s cultural diversity reflects in its weddings too. A Punjabi wedding is known for its vivacious ‘Bhangra’ dance, while a Bengali wedding is unique for the ‘Shubho Drishti’ ritual, where the bride and groom look at each other amidst the sound of conch shells. A South Indian wedding is recognized for its simplicity and the exchange of garlands, while a Rajasthani wedding is famous for its royal ambiance and colorful attires.

In conclusion, Indian weddings are a splendid celebration of love, commitment, and unity. They are a testament to the country’s diverse cultural heritage and the importance it places on familial bonds. Each ceremony, each ritual has a deep-rooted significance, making the entire process a memorable experience. Despite the changing times and western influences, the essence of Indian weddings remains intact, making them a fascinating spectacle for the world to witness.

That’s it! I hope the essay helped you.

If you’re looking for more, here are essays on other interesting topics:

• Essay on Indian Mathematician
• Essay on Indian Constitution
• Essay on Future of English in India

Apart from these, you can look at all the essays by clicking here .

Happy studying!

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What Shakespeare can teach us about racism

Associate Professor of English, Trinity College

Disclosure statement

David S. Brown receives funding from Mellon Foundation and American Council of Learned Societies.

Trinity College provides funding as a member of The Conversation US.

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William Shakespeare’s famous tragedy “ Othello ” is often the first play that comes to mind when people think of Shakespeare and race . And if not “Othello,” then folks usually name “ The Merchant of Venice ,” “ Antony and Cleopatra ,” “ The Tempest ,” or his first – and bloodiest – tragedy, “ Titus Andronicus ,” my favorite Shakespeare play.

Among Shakespeare scholars, those five works are known as his traditionally understood “race plays” and include characters who are Black like Othello, Jewish like Shylock, Indigenous like Caliban, or Black African like Cleopatra.

But what did Shakespeare have to say about race in plays such as “ Hamlet ” and “ Macbeth ,” where Black characters do not have a dominant role, for example?

As Shakespeare scholars who study race know, all of his plays address race in some way. How could they not?

After all, every human being has a racial identity, much like every living human being breathes. Said another way, every character Shakespeare breathed life into has a racial identity, from Hamlet to Hippolyta .

The playwright wrote about many key subjects during the late 15th and early 16th centuries that are relevant today, including gender, addiction, sexuality, mental health, social psychology, sexual violence , antisemitism, sexism and, of course, race .

In my book “ Shakespeare’s White Others ,” I explore the intraracial divisions that Shakespeare illustrates in all his plays.

Here are four things to know about Shakespeare and race.

1. No one should fear Shakespeare

For a long time, I was afraid of Shakespeare. I am not the only one.

In his 1964 essay “ Why I Stopped Hating Shakespeare ,” James Baldwin detailed his initial resistance. Like many people today, Baldwin wrote that he, too, was “a victim of that loveless education which causes so many schoolboys to detest Shakespeare.”

A major part of Baldwin’s loathing of Shakespeare had nothing to do with the English writer specifically, but rather the white elitism that surrounded his work and literature.

But as Baldwin eventually realized, Shakespeare was not the “ author of his oppression .”

Just as Shakespeare didn’t create misogyny and sexism, he didn’t create race and racism. Rather, he observed the complex realities of the world around him, and through his plays he articulated an underlying hope for a more just world.

2. Shakespeare’s work reveals social injustice

“ Titus Andronicus ” featured the playwright’s first Black character, Aaron. In that play, written near the end of the 16th century, the white Roman empress, Tamora, cheats on her white emperor husband, Saturninus, with Aaron. When Tamora eventually gives birth to a baby, it’s clear Tamora’s baby daddy isn’t Saturninus.

Consequently, the white characters who know about the infant’s real father urge Aaron to kill his newborn Black son. But Aaron refuses. He opts instead to fiercely protect his beloved child.

Amid all the drama that occurs around the child’s existence, Shakespeare momentarily offers a beautiful defense of Blackness in the play’s fourth act.

“Is black so base a hue?” Aaron initially asks before challenging the cultural norm. “Coal-black is better than another hue, in that it scorns to bear another hue.”

In other words, at least to Aaron, being Black was beautiful, Blackness exuded strength.

Such words about the Black identity are not uttered elsewhere in Shakespeare’s plays – not even by the more popular Othello .

3. The power of whiteness

In plays such as “ Hamlet ,” “Macbeth” and “ Romeo and Juliet ,” race still figures in the drama even when there are no dominant Black characters.

Shakespeare does this by illustrating the formation and maintenance of the white identity. In a sense, Shakespeare details the nuances of race through his characters’ racial similarities, thus making racial whiteness very visible.

In Shakespeare’s time, much like our present moment, the presumed superiority of whiteness meant social status was negotiated by everyone based on the dominant culture’s standards.

In several of his plays, for instance, the playwright uses “white hands” as noble symbols of purity and white superiority. He also called attention to his character’s race by describing them as “white” or “fair.”

Shakespeare also used black as a metaphor for being tainted.

One such moment occurs in the comedy “ Much Ado About Nothing .”

A young white woman, Hero, is falsely accused of cheating on her fiancé. On their wedding day, Hero’s groom, Claudio, charges her with being unfaithful. Claudio and Hero’s father, Leonato, then shame Hero for being allegedly unchaste, a no-no for 16th-century English women who were legally their father’s and then their husband’s property.

With Hero’s sexual purity allegedly tainted, her father describes her as having “fallen into a pit of ink.”

Sex before marriage violated the male-dominated culture’s expectations for unwed white women.

Thus, in that play, Hero momentarily represents an “inked” white woman – or a symbolic reflection of the stereotyped, hypersexual Black woman.

4. The future of scholarship on Shakespeare and race

Today, scholars are publishing new insights on the social, cultural and political issues of Shakespeare’s time and our own. In fact, there are dozens of scholars and theater practitioners devoting their professional lives to exploring race in Shakespeare’s literature and time period.

In his 2000 book “ Shakespeare Jungle Fever: National-Imperial Re-Visions of Race, Rape, and Sacrifice ,” UCLA English professor Arthur L. Little Jr. explored British imperialism, racialized whiteness and the sexual myths about Black men.

In 2020, playwright Anchuli Felicia King wrote “ Keene ,” a satirical riff on “Othello” that offers a modern-day critique on whiteness. In “Keene,” Kai, a Japanese musicologist, and Tyler, a Black Ph.D. student, meet at a Shakespeare conference where they are the only two people of color at the elite white gathering. While Tyler is focused on writing his thesis, Kai is focused on Tyler. A romance ensues, only to see Tyler – much like Othello before him – betrayed by his closet white confidant, Ian.

In 2019, British actress Adjoa Andoh directed Shakespeare’s “ Richard II ” with a cast of all women of color – a production that she called “a thought experiment into the universality of humanity.”

• English literature
• Shakespeare
• Anti-Semitism
• James Baldwin
• Titus Andronicus

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