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themythinglink · 7 months

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Welcome Foolish Mortals!

With Halloween fast approaching, here's a special treat: the Haunted Mansion case study I wrote for my 2013 book, EVERY GUEST IS A HERO: Disney's Theme Parks and the Magic of Mythic Storytelling--available in both print and e-reader editions from Amazon.com. Enjoy!

Tomb It May Concern Haunted Mansion

by Adam M. Berger

Many Disney attractions deliver their thrills by pretending to put you in peril—either personally (as in Indiana Jones Adventure and Big Thunder Mountain) or vicariously (Pinocchio’s Daring Journey, Snow White’s Scary Adventures). But the Haunted Mansion is one of the few that purport to send you into the afterlife…or at least offer you a peek into the Great Beyond. Unless you count the “white room” scene near the end of “it’s a small world” (which some guests reportedly assume represents some sort of international “singing doll heaven,”) the remainder of the list is pretty much limited to the finale scene of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride and the various iterations of Tower of Terror.

The Haunted Mansion’s ubiquity in the Magic Kingdom-class parks around the world testifies to the attraction’s inherent appeal. Each version is unique in its own ways, with some differences more significant than others. In Disneyland Paris for example, where the attraction is known as Phantom Manor, the sequence of scenes is notably different from its counterparts in the U.S. and Japan, as is the storyline’s emphasis (though the overall theme remains largely intact).[1] Only Hong Kong Disneyland, among the Magic Kingdom-class parks, is devoid of a version of the Haunted Mansion.[2] For the purposes of this case study, however, we’ll focus solely on the Magic Kingdom rendition.

Your first good view of the Haunted Mansion will typically be from the quaint colonial environs of Liberty Square—a Special World within the Special World of the Magic Kingdom (see Ch. 5: Please Stand Clear of the Doors), which, at the same time, represents the Ordinary World relative to the Special World of the Haunted Mansion. The Dutch-Gothic style manor house looms over Liberty Square—a foreboding presence atop a low hill, set apart from the other attractions yet impossible to ignore…especially with its frequent wolf howls serving as a chilling Call to Adventure that can be heard throughout the area and even from Tom Sawyer Island.

Of course no one can resist the enchanting strains of a nice, full-throated wolf howl. And so, accepting the Call, you follow your ears through the wrought-iron gate and onto the manor’s grounds. Traversing the neatly manicured entry drive, you pass a glossy black horse-drawn hearse, which appears to be hitched up to an invisible horse, the contours of its body discernable only by the shapes of its leather harness. Though you have barely crossed the First Threshold into the Special World of the Haunted Mansion, already you are finding that the rules are different here.

Soon, the queue leads you into the family cemetery, where the graves of various loved ones feature headstones playfully hinting at their less-than-virtuous lives and their not-so-dignified demises. But there’s something else that sets this cemetery apart from those of the Ordinary World. For here, the dearly departed refuse to entirely depart. Instead, several of them linger in our mortal realm well past their expiration dates—in spirit, at least—and are fond of making their presences known in whimsically macabre ways. Thus, the pipe organ-shaped tomb of a decomposing composer plays his favorite tune (“Grim Grinning Ghosts”) when you touch the sculpted stone keyboard, while the sepulcher of “Captain Culpepper Clyne,” (who was “allergic to dirt so he’s pickled in brine”) douses nearby mourners with a spritz of saltwater whenever its occupant sneezes. And so it appears that, by entering the domain of the dead, you are already beginning to display a nascent ability to interact with them.

Arriving at the Mansion’s imposing front door, you are soon greeted by a lugubrious-looking butler or maid, who dolefully bids you enter. This time your threshold crossing is a literal one, and it delivers you into a gloomy foyer, where a portrait of a dashing young man quickly ages—“Dorian Gray” style—until the subject is reduced to a putrefying corpse. This, it turns out, will be just one of many transformations you’ll be encountering in the course of your Journey. Meanwhile, speaking over the sound of a mournful organ arrangement of “Grim Grinning Ghosts,” the disembodied voice of the Ghost Host welcomes you and the other “foolish mortals” in your group. He then issues the Haunted Mansion’s first official Call to Adventure as he invites you to step into the Portrait Gallery. It seems that, simply by being here, you’ve already accepted the Call. For as your Ghost Host informs you with an audible smirk, “There’s no turning back now.”

Through much of your Journey, the Ghost Host will be not only be your tour guide, but will also fulfill the dual roles of herald and mentor, announcing each new threshold and explaining some of the paranormal activity you will encounter as you penetrate ever deeper into this supernatural realm. However, here in the Portrait Chamber, he is apparently getting a mischievous kick observing your “cadaverous pallor” as you begin to “…sense a disquieting metamorphosis.” But it’s not your imagination; the entire room really is stretching—including the paintings of several previous guests “…as they appeared in the their corruptible, mortal state.”

And now your Ghost Host is cheerfully pointing out that, “This chamber has no windows and no doors…which leaves you with this chilling challenge: to find a way out!” And so you are assigned your first test on the Road of Trials.

Before you can ponder your next move, the gargoyle lamps are suddenly extinguished as a flash of lightning reveals the gruesome sight of the Ghost Host’s decaying corpse hanging from the cupola rafters, which have suddenly become visible through the formerly opaque chamber ceiling. A clap of thunder and a bloodcurdling scream complete the effect. When the lights return a moment later, you notice that one of the walls has somehow vanished, allowing you and your fellow adventurers to exit the chamber.

Though you are only at the beginning of your Haunted Mansion tour, you are already becoming acquainted with some of the peculiarities of the otherworldly realm inside this place. First, you are beginning to realize that, in this Special World, things are seldom what they seem at first. Going forward, you can be sure that your expectations (based, reasonably enough, on your experiences in the Ordinary World) will be upended again and again. You are also starting to sense that this house possesses a personality of its own—one with a twisted sense of humor.

Now, as you emerge from the Portrait Chamber, you notice that the Ghost Host’s claim that “There’s no turning back now” is not quite true. For just outside the chamber is a doorway with a sign: “Full of fear? Exit here.” If you belatedly decide to refuse your Call to Adventure, this is your opportunity to make a last-minute escape back to the friendly, familiar environs of Liberty Square. But it’s going to take a lot more than a stretching room and a swinging corpse to discourage you from continuing your Journey. And so you bypass the “chicken exit” and instead follow your compatriots into a gloomy corridor where, in the words of the Ghost Host, “…a carriage approaches to carry you into the boundless realm of the supernatural.”

Your “carriage,” of course, turns out to be a Doom Buggy—a ride vehicle painted a fashionably funereal shade of black, matching the tone of the humor you’ll be encountering through the remainder of your Journey. Moments after you step aboard, you cross the first of several shadowy thresholds awaiting you beyond. This one leads to the Portrait Corridor, where flashes of lightning expose the secret monsters lurking within as an angelic young woman turns out to be a horrifying medusa, and a regal knight on a handsome steed is revealed to be a hideous ghoul astride a skeletal horse. It’s a continuation of the transformation theme that began in the foyer. But these portraits also hint at the idea that each of us has a private, hidden self, concealed behind the public selves we display to the world. Just as the well-manicured grounds and pristine exterior of the Haunted Mansion conceal a dark, sinister world within, many aspiring heroes must ultimately acknowledge and deal with the dark inner forces of their own self-doubt, guilt, anger, resentment, jealousy, hubris, or other negative emotions that hold them back and threaten to derail their quests.

Passing beneath an archway, you enter the Mansion’s dimly lit library, which the Ghost Host explains, “…is well-stocked with priceless first editions; only ghost stories, of course.” A bookcase ladder moves on its own while an apparently empty rocking chair rocks back and forth and books slide in and out of their places on the dusty bookshelves. Even the marble busts seem endowed with some sort of life force as they shift their gaze to follow your Doom Buggy’s motion from their bookcase perches.

It seems some of the Mansion’s resident spirits are present, yet you are unable to directly see them, as you are not yet attuned to the spiritual frequencies of this ghostly Special World. Your ever-helpful Ghost Host has a quick remedy however, explaining, “…we have 999 happy haunts here, but there's room for a thousand. Any volunteers, hmmm?” It is perhaps the strangest and most macabre Call to Adventure you will find anywhere in the Disney theme parks. And as if to assure you that he’s serious, the Ghost Host adds, “If you should decide to join us, final arrangements may be made at the end of the tour...” Nevertheless, this is one Call to Adventure you should probably pass up.

Next, you enter the Music Room where moonlight streaming through the large windows reveals the shadow of an otherwise invisible pianist, pounding out chords on a dusty old piano. This shadow, according to Imagineering sources, belongs to the Ghost Host, though it’s never stated anywhere in the attraction. In fact, this particular scene is presented without any narration at all. In any case, you can only perceive the figure’s ghostly presence implicitly as you are still developing the mental skills you will need to directly visualize the Mansion’s spectral inhabitants.

Leaving the music room, your Doom Buggy ascends through a chamber where staircases surround you at impossible angles while glowing green footprints appear on the steps. The deeper you penetrate into the mansion, the more you appreciate how far the rules of this Special World depart from those of the Ordinary World. The strange staircase drives home the extent to which your familiar sense of “reality” has been literally turned upside down.

Arriving at the top of the staircases, you notice malevolent-looking eyes scowling at you from the deep shadows. As you move into a gloomy corridor, the eyes eventually merge into the pattern of the creepy wallpaper. Next, you pass a parlor, where a suit of medieval armor and an easy chair decorated with a spooky, abstract face seem to be watching your every move. Nearby, a flickering candelabrum floats eerily in mid-air in a seemingly endless hallway. The candelabrum is not just another peculiar phenomenon; it’s also a signal, a beacon. Someone—or more likely something—is beckoning you to follow. For now, you decline this new Call to Adventure as your Doom Buggy carries you past the corridor and into the next room. Yet the floating candelabrum implies that, for the first time, one of the residents of this peculiar world (other than your Ghost Host) is making at least a token effort to reach out to you.

Now your Doom Buggy rotates around to face backward as you enter the Mansion’s conservatory, where dead flowers surround a coffin occupying the center of the room. A raven is perched atop a wreath featuring a banner that reads: “Farewell.” However, the eulogies may be premature, as the coffin’s occupant is desperately trying to pry the lid open from within, his gnarled hands illuminated by a sickly green light that spills out of the sarcophagus. “All our guests have been dying to meet you,” says the voice of the Ghost Host, dripping with sarcasm. “This one can hardly contain himself.”

Does the fact that you can clearly see the coffin’s occupant (or at least his hands) mean that you have suddenly graduated to the rank of “ghost whisperer” and are now able to visualize the Mansion’s spectral inhabitants? Sorry, not really. The hands are visible to you because this is not a spirit at all, but merely an “undead” corpse—or maybe even a still-living individual unwillingly awaiting a premature burial. But rest assured, you will be able to directly perceive the “happy haunts” with your own eyes…though you are not there yet.

And what of the raven on the wreath? As you may have already guessed, the dark, menacing creature is more than mere decoration. The raven, in fact, has a long mythological pedigree. In Norse mythology, the father god Odin has two ravens—Huginn and Muninn—that serve as feathered reconnaissance drones, relaying news to him of everything that happens in Midgard (Middle Earth, the human domain). In other words, Odin’s two ravens provide a means of communication between the mortal world and the supernatural realm of the Norse gods. The raven is also a major part of the creation myth of the indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest Coast, who also consider the bird to be a trickster god. And most famously, the title figure of Edgar Alan Poe’s unnerving 1845 poem “The Raven” plays the role of a supernatural messenger, whose repeated utterance of a single enigmatic word—“Nevermore”—is laden with meaning for the poem’s narrator. And so, given its strong symbolic connection with the world beyond, it should hardly come as a surprise that you will be meeting the Mansion raven three more times before your Journey has ended.

The mystical forces flowing through the Mansion now propel your Doom Buggy into a corridor lined with heavy doors. And whoever—or whatever—is on the other side of those doors seems anxious to make a grand entrance on your side. Doorknobs twist and doorknockers pound while grunts, growls, and snarls issue from within. A pair of skeletal hands can even be seen pressing one door outward. Fortunately, as your Ghost Host remarks, “They all seem to be having trouble getting through.”

The Corridor of Doors (WDI’s internal name for this scene) might as well be known as the Corridor of Thresholds. Each one presumably leads into some other part of the Haunted Mansion’s Special World. But in this case, the beings on the other side would rather cross over to your side of the threshold. Which just goes to remind you that threshold crossings can work in both directions.

Just beyond the Corridor of Doors, you pass through the Clock Hall, which features a single grandfather clock. A pair of skeletal fingers that serve as the hour and minute hands rapidly spin counter-clockwise, striking the 13th hour every few seconds. At the same time, the shadow of a sinister claw sweeps across the clock’s demonic features. The creepy scene serves to reinforce the strangeness of this Special World, reminding you (as if you needed further prompting) that the rules of your familiar, Ordinary World do not apply in this ghostly place.

“Perhaps Madame Leota can establish contact,” suggests the Ghost Host as you enter the Séance Circle. “She has a remarkable head for materializing the disembodied.” Indeed, you are fascinated by the sight of Madame Leota’s luminescent head inside a crystal ball, floating preternaturally above the séance table. The raven from the conservatory, meanwhile, now perches on the back of the chair behind the table, its presence here reinforcing its mythic reputation as a supernatural messenger.

You have caught Madame Leota in the midst of an incantation as she summons the spirits into the visible world, intoning, “Serpents and spiders, tail of a rat—call in the spirits, wherever they’re at!” Musical instruments float through the air, responding to her spell, while a formless green apparition traces a phosphorescent trail in the surrounding darkness.

As the medium that establishes contact between you and the spirit world, Madame Leota fulfills the herald archetype, beckoning the Mansion’s ghostly residents to reveal themselves. At the same time, she acts as a threshold guardian, essentially controlling the flow of spiritual energy between the dimensions. However, at this point in your Journey, you have undergone your own sensory transformation. Whether you are aware of it or not, the prior chambers you encountered during your tour, with their “wall-to-wall creeps, and hot and cold running chills,” were all tests along the mythic Road of Trials. The fact that you (presumably) endured the succession of frights without freaking out has proved your worthiness. And now you are about to collect your reward.

“The happy haunts have received your sympathetic vibrations and are beginning to materialize,” announces your Ghost Host as your Doom Buggy carries you into the Grand Hall, where the Mansion’s residents are “…assembling for a swinging wake…” This announcement marks a turning point in your relationship with the Mansion’s resident ghosts. They have obviously undergone a transformation, transitioning into a state visible to your mortal eyes. But that transition comes as the direct result of your own metamorphosis, which has enabled you to project your “sympathetic vibrations” into the abode of the dead.

The “swinging wake” proves to be just as rowdy as advertised, with dozens of translucent apparitions waltzing, cavorting drunkenly, swinging from the chandeliers, dueling, and partying themselves silly while even more spooks pour through the ballroom door—all to the tune of “Grim Grinning Ghosts” performed on a ghoulish pipe organ by an equally ghoulish organist. You can now say, with a straight face, “I see dead people.”

The festive mood takes a dark turn as your Doom Buggy is unceremoniously diverted to the attic, where a dirge-like piano version of Wagner’s Wedding March (AKA “Here Comes the Bride”) wafts through the space. “We have 999 happy haunts here,” your Ghost Host informs you. “But there’s room for a thousand. Any volunteers?”

Still in the attic, you pass a series of wedding portraits. Each one features the same bride but a different groom. And in each portrait, the groom’s head vanishes before your eyes. Soon you encounter the bride herself—a smiling, wraith-like presence. “I do,” she says repeatedly in a slow, menacing voice as a gleaming hatchet materializes in her clasped hands. The implication is clear: this is the girl your mother warned you about.

In mythic tales, a wedding generally signifies a major milestone in the hero’s Journey toward maturity. However, if the hero is not ready for the responsibilities of adulthood, tragedy can ensue—as appears to be the case here. Appropriately, the (literal) beating heart of that tragedy has been hidden away here in the attic, which turns out to be the Inmost Cave of your personal Hero’s Journey, and this encounter is your Supreme Ordeal. Moreover, though the Haunted Mansion storyline is deliberately vague on the subject, it’s entirely possible that the hatchet-wielding “black widow” bride may be the epicenter of all the supernatural activities that have taken over the Mansion, with her matrimonial murder spree providing the trigger event that attracted the 998 other happy haunts inhabiting this place. As such, the bride, despite her angelic glow, is actually the shadow archetype in your adventure—a literal femme fatale, as well as a shape-shifter and trickster.

As though sensing your unease in the murderous bride’s presence, your Doom Buggy hastily transports you out of her vicinity via the most direct means possible: by diving directly out the attic window…and into the Mansion’s very unusual graveyard. You are now commencing the Return movement of your Journey, and like many mythic heroes, you briefly “taste death” as your Doom Buggy descends in reverse, making it feel as though you are being laid to rest in an open grave. Meanwhile, the Mansion raven, with its glowing red eyes, watches attentively from the branch of a gnarled old tree.

Nearby, wispy ghosts fly up out of their graves and into the inky night sky, while the caretaker and his emaciated hound stand nearly petrified with fear in front of the cemetery gate. Do they share your newfound ability to visualize the Mansion’s happy haunts? Or is it the sudden sight of you that has them so terrified? It’s anyone’s guess. Meanwhile, an upbeat jazz-inflected rendition of "Grim Grinning Ghosts" lilts through the night air, performed by a graveyard ensemble, including a quintet of harmonizing headstones. Ghastly ghouls pop up on either side of your Doom Buggy, while a stout opera diva, a decapitated knight, a lively mummy, and an ethereal cast of other grim grinning ghosts have “…come out to socialize.”

The musical number serves as a cheekily cheery send-off as the Return movement continues and you approach a new threshold: a stone archway that leads to the Mansion’s shadowy stone crypt. The red-eyed raven joins you one last time, glaring down at you from its perch atop the arch. As the Mansion’s unofficial supernatural messenger, the raven’s appearance no doubt heralds a new development in your adventure. Perhaps the bird is here to remind you of the fact that the Return movement of the Hero’s Journey is often fraught with new perils for the hero.

But what is the nature of this latest menace? “There’s a little matter I forgot to mention,” offers the voice of the Ghost Host. “Beware of hitchhiking ghosts!” By this time, of course, it’s far too late for the warning to be of any value. In any case, the otherworldly forces that have been steering your Doom Buggy all along are still in control, leaving you no choice in your destiny. And so the three ghostly hitchhikers[3] now come into view—and they seem unlikely to take “no” for an answer.

Moments later, you are passing a long wall of mirrors, by which point one of the three hitchhikers has already joined you in your vehicle to fulfill its role as a certified trickster archetype. Catching your reflections, you watch with amused disbelief as the hitchhiker proceeds to interact with you in fiendishly silly ways—swapping your head with his own, popping your noggin like a balloon, and playing other literal head games with you. “They have selected you to fill our quota,” the Ghost Host informs you, “and they'll haunt you until you return!”

With this scene, your assimilation into the Special World of the Haunted Mansion is now complete. You are not only able to see the happy haunts; now you are actually, (meta)physically interacting with them…and vice-versa. But the hitchhiking ghosts serve another function. Mythic heroes often return from their Journeys in the Special World with a boon: a healing elixir, a magical ring, a miraculous sword, or some other souvenir of their adventures. Your token souvenir? A hitchhiking ghost. Mazel tov.

Finally, as your Doom Buggy nears the unload area, a miniature spirit nicknamed “Little Leota” bids you farewell from a shelf overlooking the ride path and urges you to “Hurry baaack. Be sure to bring your death certificate if you decide to join us.” You then exit your Doom Buggy onto a moving belt, which conveys you to the exit.

Yet your adventures in the Special World are not quite over yet. For you must now pass through the Mansion’s outdoor mausoleum, where you are serenaded by an a capella rendition of “Grim Grinning Ghosts” performed as a Gregorian chant. The inscriptions on the vaults continue in the style of the morbidly amusing epitaphs you viewed in the front cemetery, including several horrifying puns. Then, if you glance up at the hillside as you exit the mausoleum, you’ll even catch a glimpse of a fenced off pet cemetery. Finally, you again pass the black hearse with its invisible horse before you arrive back in the relative Ordinary World of Liberty Square.

The mausoleum experience is part of your transition back to that Ordinary World. Once you are beyond the mystical influence of the Haunted Mansion, you are no longer able to “see dead people.” That ability has vanished—at least until you “Hurry baaack,” (unless you count the residents of the nearby Hall of Presidents, most of whom long ago shuffled off their mortal coils). But your memory of the experience remains, and your assumptions about the spirit world may never be the same. After all, “There’s no turning back now!”

[1] The differences between the various Haunted Mansion attractions are spelled out in detail by Imagineer Jason Surrell in his book The Haunted Mansion: From the Magic Kingdom to the Movies (Disney Editions, 2003)

[2] Out of cultural considerations involving traditional Chinese sensitivities toward the subject of ghosts, that niche in the park’s attraction portfolio is occupied by Mystic Manor, a dark ride that immerses its guests in an all-new supernatural adventure.

[3] Affectionately nicknamed Phineas, Ezra, and Gus, the three hitchhiking ghosts have become the semi-official mascots of the Haunted Mansion.

#disney #haunted mansion #mythic storytelling #Joseph Campbell

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tinyshe · 2 years

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THE IMAGE MADE BY ANGELS, VALENCIA, SPAIN According to tradition, the image of Our Lady of Pucha, or Nuestra Senora del Puche, was fashioned by the angels, and made of the very stone of the sacred sepulcher, where the most holy body of the Mother of God lay hidden for three days. After the assumption of the great Queen into Heaven, the holy angels took the statue they had created from Gethsemani to Pucha, placing it in a church dedicated to the Blessed Virgin. The statue of Our Lady of Pucha remained there until it was buried, beneath a large bell, by the religious who lived at that first monastery at Pucha, when the Moors entered into Spain at the time of the Goths. This statue remained in the earth for well over 500 years, until Divine providence facilitated the happy discovery by the great servant of God, Saint Peter Nolasco, founder and patriarch of the Royal Order of Mercy, in the year 1237. Saint Peter Nolasco witnessed, on four consecutive Saturdays, that seven strange lights, looking like seven stars, were observed at night over the same place. They would seem to drop from Heaven seven times, and disappear into the earth, always in the same place. Saint Peter felt certain that this strange phenomenon had a meaning and purpose; so he commanded men to dig about the spot. They had not gone far into the earth when they came upon a bell of prodigious size, beneath which was a beautiful image of the Virgin Mary. Saint Peter took it up in his arms, recognizing it as a valuable gift from Heaven, and built an altar upon the very spot where it was buried. This altar became very celebrated for the number of miracles performed there. The discovery of the sacred image of Our Lady of Pucha was a powerful encouragement to King James I of Aragon, who was resolved to finish the conquest of Valencia at that time. He credited Our Lady of Pucha, and the prayers of Saint Peter Nolasco for his conquest, when he received, into his hands, the keys to the city of Valencia from the Moors. He acclaimed Our Lady of Pucha the Patroness of Valencia, and of his entire kingdom. The holy image was always considered miraculous, and was universally revered throughout Christendom. Popes and kings, and very many people of the greatest holiness and nobility came on pilgrimage to Our Lady of Pucha. The powerful protection of Our Lady of Puche was confirmed through many long years, for, whenever there was a dangerous storm threatening, the bells in the church bell tower would ring and people would again witness the wonder of the seven stars. The angels could also often be heard singing soft melodies and sweetest chants in the choir of the church that were heard by the religious, filling their hearts with heavenly rejoicing. It is recorded that a boy named Jose Carbonell, the son of Agustin Carbonell, was pushed by another boy and fell with his arm landing in the path of a heavy cart. The boy’s arm was crushed so severely, that it was soon considered necessary for a surgeon to cut-off the arm to save the child’s life. The following morning the boy’s father went to work at his brother’s farm, from which he could see the church of Our Lady of Pucha. He prayed, as he worked, with humble supplication and many tears. At the end of the day the father returned home to find the surgeon had just arrived and was undoing the bandages over the boy’s injured arm. Once it was unwrapped, the surgeon cried out, “Gentlemen, what is this? This arm is good and healthy!” In recognition of the favor, the boy eventually took the habit of the Religious of Our Lady of Mercy. The heavenly image of Our Lady of Pucha was eventually taken from Pucha to Valencia, at the request of the Catholic monarch Philip II. The people followed the venerable Patriarch Don Juan de Ribera, Archbishop of Valencia, on foot in solemn procession on Sunday, 17 July, 1588. All was done with the same solemnity with which the procession of the Blessed Sacrament occurred in this famous city. The praises of the angels could be heard for sixteen nights in the holy church of Valencia, and the wonder of the seven stars was frequently seen, filling with inexpressible joy the witnesses, both inside and outside of Valencia. It is known that the stars have appeared many times on the bell tower of the church of Our Lady of Pucha since then, and, not only in ancient times, but they were especially noted between the years 1723 to 1758.

[+]

#catholic #spain #september 21 #ol pucha #our lady of pucha #pray for us

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une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir · 3 years

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random stuff on songs in Sansa I ~ AFFC

All her nights were full of song, and by day she prayed for silence.

Sansa loves songs, but in truth they are just a sanitised version of history. Sansa's role in history will be big, from her stay at King's Landing to her return to Winterfell, on and on. She's already part of a song, she's just not aware of it.

And the songs he chose . . . He sang of the Dance of the Dragons, of fair Jonquil and her fool, of Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies. He sang of betrayals, and murders most foul, of hanged men and bloody vengeance. He sang of grief and sadness.

No matter where she went in the castle, Sansa could not escape the music.

This is the history she has not lived yet. We know this is true because the very first, the Dance of the Dragons, has a second equivalent that has just only started and hasn't affected her as of yet (not even in her first chapter of TWOW).

Anyway, three songs: Dance of the Dragons, Florian and Jonquil, and Duncan and Jenny.

It floated up the winding tower steps, found her naked in her bath, supped with her at dusk, and stole into her bedchamber even when she latched the shutters tight. It came in on the cold thin air, and like the air, it chilled her.

There are four moments these songs catch her in. It's the second that gives it away as to how it should be interpreted because they match 1:1. But starting from the start...

"He sang of the Dance of the Dragons" VERSUS "It floated up the winding tower steps."

The Dance of the Dragons redux has started when Young Griff outed himself as Aegon VI and invaded Westeros. He opened the "hostilities" when he refused to grovel for Daniella's favour and went to get his birthright himself. Daniella will also participate because she sees the throne as her birthright and has no problems usurping the rightful heirs (Viserys). It's likely Jon will be dragged into this, as he's Targaryen as well.

"It floated up the winding tower steps" projects the idea of an upwards movement. The dragon song is coming up North. There are two options here, Sansa will flee North because the dragon war reaches the Vale (in whatever form, even if by rumour) straight to the arms of another dragon (Girl in Grey) and / or the dragon war will eventually come North. It's my conviction that the Targaryen brothers will fight each other for a time (Aegon's Conquest meets Northern Independence) before reaching a truce, which would qualify as part of the Dance of Dragons.

"Jonquil and her fool" VERSUS "found her naked in her bath"

This is the most obvious sign that they should be paired as said, since Florian and Jonquill's story is literally that, Florian finding Jonquill naked in a pool and falling in love with her. There is more to this story (it also involves dragons), but in specific the bath part is mentioned here. BTW this is a stupid story. Nobody falls in love with another because they see them naked, at most they fall in lust. Regardless, if Sansa is up North (either way from the previous song she's already there and as of TWOW she's heading there soon), then there's one candidate, the Winterfell Hot Springs.

We can guess a male finds Sansa naked at the Hot Springs, and something that can be passed of as romance happens. Much like before, there are several ways this can come to be but there are only two characters that are associated with frisky times in the Godswood of Winterfell, Theon Greyjoy and Jon Snow. The former is too traumatised by sexual torture while the latter has fantasies of bathing naked with his woman and then have exibitionist sex in front of the Heart Tree, so the latter is the likelier candidate.

I know it's not a popular theory because it's somewhat disgusting, but it all adds up. The Stark kids bathed naked at the Hot Springs (Bran confirms this in ACOK, but this also happens at the Water Gardens until they're 12-14,). A 12-14 male teen is at that age when they start getting "interested" in the opposite sex (only worse if thy parade around naked), so imagine a teen getting "interested" in someone they shouldn't at the weekly Stark kids bathing routine and this horrifies them so much because tHeY'Re NoT tArGaRyEnS to the point of wanting to join a celibate order, sacrificing their biggest wish (family). And that's remembered by this teen, now a man, in a "take two" of this event. Truly a fool though, as he knows nothing about "tArGaRyEnS" or that they're actually not siblings.

"Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies" VERSUS "supped with her at dusk, and stole into her bedchamber even when she latched the shutters tight"

"supped with her at dusk" projects the idea of just before the night starts, which in ASOIAF also projects the idea of the Long Night and before winter. Such this all gives us the time frame, just before the dead come. You know, around the time the northern campaign happens. It's my conviction, from a number of feasts Sansa attends where she supped "trouts", that this suggests the norther campaign will likely extend to the Riverlands and may meet with Aegon's Conquest campaign (Dance of Dragons V2, congruent with song 1).

"stole into her bedchamber even when she latched the shutters" projects the idea of a thief getting inside an intimate place (where she sleeps, where her bed is) despite her best efforts not to. The simpler conclusion is rape. The most likely conclusion though, is something much more benign.

"stole into her bedchamber" in ASOIAF is associated with wildling custom of marriage. Most (if not all) accounts of this ritual involve the man getting the woman while she's asleep. I can recall three stories where it happened as such. Bael stole a Stark maiden from her bed. Yggrite accuses Jon of stealing her the night the Night's Watch raided their camp, she's the one that was asleep. Longspear stole Munda from her bed while she was asleep. Interestingly, the first is a Stark, the others are redheads. These fit Sansa perfectly.

So Sansa stolen by a wilding or someone that qualifies as one. Any will do, but in specific there's a character that has already been mentioned twice in regards with these songs and also fits into this one. Jon Snow has been accused of having become a wildling / half-wildling due to spending time with them and making peace with them. He was accused of stealing Ygritte but refused that he did it, considered stealing another to make a family but also refused to usurp Sansa's claim (we'll get to that below), so there's a third coming up for him.

"even when she latched the shutters" suggests resistance and that's also according to wildling custom, as the woman is supposed to fight against stealing. While a wildling woman fights physically, Sansa fights psychologically. As for sex, Sansa fought against Sandor with kindness and fought against Tyrion with courtesy, so neither succeeded in stealing her. However, Sansa "latching the shutters" suggests a different kind of resistance than those used before (both Sandor and Tyrion entered her bedchamber without stealing into it), as if she put barriers in place.

Sansa putting up barriers happens in ASOS / AFFC. She doesn't believe anyone will marry her for love ("It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love.") and she doesn't really want to marry again. ("A marriage . . ." Her throat tightened. She did not want to wed again, not now, perhaps not ever."). Such, "stole into her bedchamber even when she latched the shutters" suggests that Jon convinces her otherwise. The question is... how.

"Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies" Now, for the song that goes with it, is also kind of telling. The story of Jenny and Duncan is about Duncan falling in love with Jenny and abdicating so he can marry her. So someone throws away their claim, breaking through Sansa's belief that nobody will marry for love but for her claim, and will ease her into wanting to marry again.

Jon actually has two claims. The first is Robb's will, which names Jon as his heir over Sansa. Jon wanting to void the will not only follows the Jenny and Duncan song (the man throws away his claim for the woman) it also destroys half of Sansa's barrier (he protects her claim, we already know he did this once per Stannis' insistence, incidently stealing a woman was mentioned, as said before it appears it's all thematically linked).

The second is by birth, as he's Rhaegar Targarye's son. If somehow Jon is legitimate, then he's King Aegon VI's heir until he has children, and he's also a prince. If I recall, most of Sansa's allusions around a Targ union are with a Targaryen prince, not a Targaryen king). If Jon is a bastard, then he'll be considered a threat to a Aegon VI, just like every bastard is (the Targaryens are well known for bloody wars between legitimates and bastards). I would assume this will be a doozy for brothers to deal with.

Somehow, either or both claims should have a hand in convincing Sansa that Jon would want to marry her for love instead of her claim as well as convincing Sansa to marry again. Robb's will clearly covers the former but not the latter (she can't marry her brother, tHeY'Re NoT LaNnIsTeR oR TaRgArYeNs, even though they are). However, Jon's second claim is what allows that marriage. For example, if Aegon accepts peace between the South belonging to him and the North belonging to Sansa as long as Jon throws away hs claim, yeah that's it. But any that fits the Duncan and Jenny story as well as Sansa being stolen despite her misgivings, will do.

It's worth noting Robb's will and it's implications (Sansa being usurped and Jon's kids being a threat to the legitimate line) are discussed at lenght between Cat and Robb at Oldstones, precisely where legend says Jenny and Duncan met (or where she came from, I cannot remember now the specifics), next to a sepulcher that represents Jon's true birthright as a Targaryen (the sepulcher is of a king with a warhammer upon his chest, which is how his father Rhaegar died, and covered with wild roses, which are a symbol of his mother Lyanna), and solves Robb's will implications (they can marry each other, so his children are hers, so they're no threat to the Stark legitimate line). As said, all tightly thematically linked and I cannot blieve this us a coincidence.

It came in on the cold thin air, and like the air, it chilled her. Though it had not snowed upon the Eyrie since the day that Lady Lysa fell, the nights had all been bitter cold.

So Dance of Dragons starts (Aegon's Conquest), some shenanigans at Winterfell's Hot Springs, then some claim throwing to the trash and a marriage. And after that comes winter. So it kind of suggests this all happens BEFORE the War of the Dawn, not after.

After the songs bit, we have the "meat" of the chapter, which is what the whole thing revolves around. Petyr and Sansa must lie about Lysa's fate to both Robyn and the Vale Lords. I would just like to point the following.

“Some lies are love, ” Petyr had assured her. She reminded him of that.

“When we lied to Lord Robert, that was just to spare him, ” she said.

“And this lie may spare us. Else you and I must leave the Eyrie by the same door Lysa used.” Petyr picked up his quill again. “We shall serve him lies and Arbor gold, and he’ll drink them down and ask for more, I promise you.”

He is serving me lies as well, Sansa realized. They were comforting lies, though, and she thought them kindly meant. A lie is not so bad if it is kindly meant.

Petyr, who's pretending to be Sansa's father, lied to her cousin Robyn about his mother, to spare him from the pain of the truth. Likewise Ned, who's Sansa's father, most likely lied to her cousin Jon about his mother, to spare him from the pain of the truth. Some lies are love, they are kindly meant.

Petyr, who's sort of Warden of the East for the time being, must lie to the Vale's lords & company about Lysa's fate, as he believes if he told the truth, he and his fake child (Sansa) would die. Likewise Ned, who's Warden of the North, must also lie to the rest of the realm about Lyanna's fate (death by childbirth), as he believes if he told the truth, he and his fake child (Jon) would die. Some lies spare innocents (Sansa / Jon), they are also kindly meant.

There's more stuff, but I don't feel like writing it now.

I always lol at Sansa's cousin being upset about his mother's death so he soughts her bed to nuzzle at her breasts and wet the bed (*shifts eyes*). This is important because Sansa bars the door to keep him out ("she latched the shutters"), yet at the end of the chapter, her cousin gets inside anyway ("stole into her chambers") because she forgot to bar the door. No idea what's that supposed to suggest, right?

#jonsa #should i tag this that if its just random thoughts with no finesse

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moonflower-31 · 4 years

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Midnight Visits - Spencer Reid x Reader

Requested? No

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: None

If you were going to be honest, you seriously missed your boyfriend.

Not just ‘I haven’t seen him in a few days’. No. You hadn’t seen him in over two weeks due to the onslaught of new cases back to back. And to top it all off, your boss had made you take those two weeks off since you had so much vacation time built up. So you were bored, lonely, and without any sort of human contact. Sure, you had your roommates, but they liked to bring around frat boys who would do nothing but grab your ass and call you sexy. You weren’t a fan.

Finally, you had gotten the text that read

Just getting off the jet now from Manhattan, but you’re probably asleep. So I’ll come visit tomorrow. - Spencer<3

So now you had the dilemma of having to hear your roommate and the new guy she brought over going at it while trying to sleep while your boyfriend refused to come over.

While it was also true that you could just text him and tell him you were awake, you didn’t want to. Besides, who would ask their boyfriend to come over when there’s a very dick-headed alpha male in the other room? There would either be a pissing contest, or one would scare off the other. And you loved Spencer. You truly did. But you doubted that either situation would go in his favor.

You grabbed the (f/c) pillow from the side of your bed where you had kicked it and pressed it against your head in hopes of drowning out the god-awful sounds just across the hall. You knew you and Spencer weren't even that loud!

You stared down your phone from where you had placed it on it’s charging port hours earlier. You had already had 3 hours of restless sleep when your roommate decided it was the perfect time to start moaning her head off. It was now about 12:30 in the damn morning. And you wanted actual sleep so that Spencer didn’t scold you in the morning for not getting adequate sleep.

Unfortunately for you, the phone never buzzed. Nor did the sounds ever stop. In fact, they only got louder. You didn’t know how your other roommate even slept through the nonsense. But she did.

You threw off the pillow in anger and crossed your arm in a huff. This was stupid. You knew exactly where your boyfriend lived. His apartment wasn’t that far from yours. So you could take a quick trip down to his place. Any place that was quieter than your apartment currently was heaven to you. That and you wanted to see him. Even if you might be disturbing his beauty sleep. Ah to hell with beauty sleep. You wanted him and you wanted cuddles. And you wanted them now.

So in the moment you settled on this plan of action you grabbed your earbuds, phone, charger, and your shoes. You slipped on your soft flats and began to hurry to the door before you heard the tell-tale moan.

Your skin erupted in goosebumps as soon as you entered the cold, Quantico night air. You shivered and rubbed your arms up and down. You’d think the summer nights would be warmer.

But instead of turning back around in favor of warmth over comfort, you began your trek down the 5 or 6 blocks to Spencer’s apartment. It wasn’t that bad. And besides, you always carried a small taser on you. Good for zapping a creep in the balls and getting away quick. Yes, Spencer had given that to you.

About 15 minutes or so later, you finally made it to Spencer’s apartment building. It was a tall and quite frankly, large building. You wondered how he even afforded his apartment. But then again, he worked for the FBI, he’s probably got those luxuries. Lucky bastard.

You look up at the building and shiver from a passing breeze. Whelp. No turning back now. You look down and towards the sliding glass doors, and begin your walk inside.

Once inside you saw the lobby was basically empty. So you instantly found the elevator and pressed Spencer’s floor. When you got inside and the doors closed, the nervousness and the reality of what you were doing set in. What were you even going to say to him when he opened the door? If even that? Would he be annoyed with you? No. No, you and him had been together for two years. Thick and thin. He wouldn’t be annoyed. He was always happy to see you.

You took a deep breath, and by the time you came back down to earth from your worries, you had made your way to Spencer’s door. You swallow nervously and raise a fist to knock. Once, twice, thrice. You then began to fumble with the phone in your hand and it’s charger. Curse your anxieties.

But before you could chicken out and basically ding-dong ditch your own boyfriend, the knob turned and the door opened to reveal a very tired, but happy to see you Spencer. “Hey.” He greeted, his eyes already full of love at the sight of you.

You immediately feel all your anxieties and worries fall away at his gaze and incoming smile. There was nothing for you to worry about. “Hey yourself. I just… Uh… I couldn’t wait to see you. Sorry if I woke you. That and my roommates are assholes.” You explained. He let out an amused chuckle and shook his head as he smiled at you warmly.

“I’m sure they aren’t that bad. Though I will have to thank them for getting you so bothered as to seek me out.” He teases. “My bed feels lonely, you know.” You giggle.

“I’m sure it is, Spence. Why don’t I come join you? We can cuddle too. Doesn’t have to be just sleep.” You suggested, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively. He raises an eyebrow at your expression and smirks.

“You knocked on my door at 1:12 am, to cuddle?” He teases, giving you a questioning look.

“You complaining, doc?” you tease back. Spencer shrugs at this, finally giving in and opening the door enough to let you in. You grin childishly and race inside, your arms immediately wrapping around him and squeezing him tightly.

��Missed me, huh?” you nodded with a huff, puffing out your cheeks as Spencer put his hand on your head. Yes, you were shorter than him. And he liked to tease the ever loving crap out of you for it.

He chuckled in response, reaching down and picking you up. You let out another giggle and nuzzle closer to him. He carried you to his bedroom, in which you had definitely seen before. He laid you down on his mattress, pressing a kiss to your forehead after he did so. You felt a slight blush appear on your cheeks at the affection. Even after all this time, he still got to you.

Then he turned and headed towards the living room. You huffed and crossed your arms. “What? Are you willingly putting yourself in the doghouse, Spencer?” You tease. You hear a laugh from the other room before Spencer returned with a small, blue, and hard backed book that had small golden embroidery that you recognized. You widened your eyes in recognition and scooted back towards the pillows. You loved when he would read to you before bed. Especially Edgar Allan Poe’s poems.

“I still don’t understand to be put in the ‘doghouse’. I know it’s a metaphor for getting in trouble with a romantic partner, but it still confuses me. H-however the first writings of the saying originate from the Criminalese in 1926. The origin though is more prosaic than the peter pan theory. Meaning someone who is put out into the cold. But it still doesn’t fit.” He explains, taking a seat next to you on the mattress. You smiled up at him as he shared with you another fact that you didn’t know. You loved it when he rattled off on statistics and explanations that not everyone knew about. It was one of the many things you loved about him.

You snuggled closer to him without any interruptions, not wanting to bother his thought process. He soon after wrapped an arm around your frame and held you close. “Either way, I was just going to get this book. What poem were we on?” he asks you. You roll your eyes. He already knew. He’d memorized the whole damn book.

You gently hit his arm teasingly. “Spence.” You warned. He chuckled and kissed your forehead again.

“I know. Just teasing. I know you like this.” He reminds as he opens the small poem book in his large hands. He clears his throat gently and begins to read softly to you. You look up at him tiredly. Now that you didn’t have much distractions or noise, you realized just how tired you were. And just how tired Spencer looked. You laid your head on his chest and listened to his voice tell the short story of Anabel Lee.

“It was many and many a year ago in a kingdom by the sea that a maiden there lived whom you may know by the name of Anabel Lee.” Spencer began, his voice deep and soothing to your ears. His eyes moved down the page slowly so as to read it slow enough for you. “In this maiden she lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child in this kingdom by the sea. But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Anabel Lee.” He continued, adjusting his arm a bit. His voice was still just as warm and loving as it was when he began, lulling you even closer to sleep.

“With a love that the winged Seraphs of heaven coveted her and me. And this was the reason that long ago in this kingdom by the sea, a wind blew out of a cloud, chilling my Anabel Lee.” He continued, his eyes tired and slowly drooping with stories of a case I would most likely find out more on tomorrow. “So that her highborn kinsmen came and bore her away from me to shut her up in a Sepulcher in this kingdom by the sea. The Angels, not half as happy in heaven when envying her and me. Yes that is the reason, as all men know in this kingdom by the sea, that the wind came out of a cloud by night, chilling and killing my Anabel Lee.”

You felt your eyelids closing tireously, although you fought back as you tried to stay awake long enough for him to finish the poem. But his voice was so calming, and you just felt so safe, warm, and protected in his arms. You wondered what it was like for him.

“But our love was stronger by far than the love of those who are older than we, of many far wiser than we. And neither the Angels in heaven above, nor the Demons down under the sea, can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Anabel Lee. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams of the beautiful Anabel Lee. And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes of the beautiful Anabel Lee.” Damn his voice was so soothing. You were already almost asleep. How did he even stay awake with a voice like that?

“And so the night tide I lie down by the side of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride in the Sepulcher there by the sea, in her tomb by the sounding sea.” Spencer finished, squeezing you tightly as he closed the book and placed it gently on the nightstand beside him.

“Hey Spence?” You ask tiredly, blinking up half lidded at your boyfriend. He turned his head and gave you a questioning look. You smiled and began to mumble. “Am I your Anabel Lee?” You asked sleepily. Spencer smiled at you and let out a happy sigh.

“Yes you are. Now sleep, (Y/N).” He insists, running a gentle hand through your hair as a relaxer. You smiled sleepily and snuggled even closer to him, happy with his answer.

He yawned and turned to the lamp, turning off it’s light before turning back to you and wrapping both arms around you. He was glad you’d stopped by for an impromptu visit. You made his bed less lonely. And he already had missed you terribly. He really had to thank those roommates of yours though.

Then the idea came to his head. If he was so lonely in his bed without you, why didn’t he just ask you to move in with him? You two had been dating for some time now. And he did want you around more. He would have to think about it some more but he was sure he wanted to ask you. But for now, he was going to enjoy the gift of having you nestled gently in his arms. Right where you belonged.

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #Spencer Reid Reads #spencer reid reader insert

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geopsych · 5 years

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Promotional bit for the Portugal tour that is aimed at people who love fantasy stories and RPGs:

Have you ever wished for a tour especially designed for lovers of fantasy stories and games? One that takes you to distant lands and opens your eyes to new narratives? Wish no more—this is that tour, and Portugal is the perfect setting!

You'll see ancient megaliths, experience Celtic culture hanging on after thousands of years, visit the ruins of a Roman city, tour a spectacular monastery founded by King John I to fulfill a promise to God, and enter a magnificent Templar castle with an elaborately decorated rotunda church designed after the Holy Sepulcher.

You'll visit magical, picturesque villages unlike anything you’ve seen, and end the tour with two nights in a palace built for a king, set beside a walled forest so sacred that Pope Urban VIII banned women from setting foot inside and ordered the excommunication of anyone who damaged the trees.

Along the way, you'll taste local wine and authentic specialties, witness the celebration of a regional holiday, and see beautiful rural countryside where many old ways are still practiced. Bring your camera, your sketchbooks, and your notebooks—this tour will awaken your muse and kindle your imagination!

(We expect the price to be about $2000, not including airfare to and from Portugal from wherever you are. The exact price, I’m told, will be ready soon.)

#portugal fantasy tour #off topic

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autolovecraft · 6 years

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Madness rides the star-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.

By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall be mangled in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the night, not only around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John nor I could identify; and on the moor the faint deep-toned baying of some creeping and appalling doom. One evening as I. Much—amazingly much—was left of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the pale watching moon, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. We were no vulgar ghouls, but we recognized it as the victims of some gigantic hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John, walking home after dark from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was not wholly unfamiliar. Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and we could scarcely be sure. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the commonplaces of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had first heard the baying of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure. I heard the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound, or sphinx with a charnel fever like our own. His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and we began to happen.

Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we thought we had heard in the vilest quarter of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Wearied with the commonplaces of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and articulate chatter.

Extinguishing all lights, we thought we had seen it then, but as we looked more closely we saw that it was dark. These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and a secret room, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the world. But after three nights I heard the baying of some creeping and appalling doom.

Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and I had hastened to the theory that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave. Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the dancing death-fires, the sickening odors, the sickening odors, the antique church, the titanic bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. The predatory excursions on which we could scarcely be sure. As we hastened from the long undisturbed ground. It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. It was the night-wind, and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had heard in the corridor.

It was the night of September 24,19—, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground.

We were no vulgar ghouls, but so old that we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the night-wind, on which we could neither see nor definitely place. A wind, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Whether we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

#H.P. Lovecraft #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #1922 #The Hound #The Hound week

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wherespaulo · 5 years

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Hiking the Francigena Way from Siena to Rome

March 3-12, 2019

“You will find where Odysseus wandered when you find the cobbler who stitched the bag of the winds”

Homer

I'd again been hankering for some sort of expedition to get me away from New York City's urban sprawl. Something that might fit into the St Johns University Spring break where I teach organic chemistry and which would hopefully provide some badly needed sunshine. So in early March, 2019, when I hoped the Tuscan hills would be warming up nicely, I planned to hike the last 180 miles of the Via Francigena from Siena to Rome over ten days – this is an old pilgrims route which officially starts in Canterbury and includes walking-on-water over the English Channel. I would, of course, travel alone, and Camino Ways would ferry my luggage from one small hotel/B&B to the next, so I only had my day pack to carry. I've done the 'carrying everything' and 'pitching a tent in the pouring rain and dark' already – now I could afford to just do a physically challenging hike where I could travel light and have wine, pasta and a warm bed at the end of it. To find my way I would use a combination of way markers and maps (old school and electronic) but did secretly look forward to an occasional wrong turn...

I didn't expect to find God since I've never been of the religious persuasion, probably for a number of reasons. Growing up in an English working-class coal mining area the only religions were hard graft and soccer, accompanied by copious quantities of beer and tobacco. Moral codes, such as treating everyone how you would like to be treated and respecting your elders, were deeply ingrained into your psyche through strong role models. And although religious education was compulsory in my comprehensive school, the books illustrating God as a big beardy bloke in a white robe, lounging on a cloud while overseeing his parishioners, and usually with some extra creative graffiti added by a bored student, never really did it for me. And then later in life, after I trained as a scientist, I always struggled with the idea of believing in an omnipotent supernatural being that I couldn't see. Don't get me wrong. I would never be so narrow minded to assume in this vast universe that just because I can’t see something or explain it by science it doesn’t exist. And I've always respected people's belief or not in any kind of God and understand that for many people the community of the church is just as important as the belief. Also, growing up amongst a family of builders, I have an appreciation for beautiful architecture which has been inspired by bygone believers – and this is usually some of the best, so I was looking forward to admiring some of it.

When I'm hiking by myself my mind tends to wander way more than the geographical journey -- I believe my traveling is just a reflection of my mental wanderings. As I strode out easily over the gently rolling Tuscan hills into dazzling Spring sunshine under azure blue skies, through the neat rows of olive and hazelnut groves and vineyards, I considered the inanimate clouds of dust rising from beneath my feet and struggled with a conundrum. How is it that the very same atoms could simply be rearranged to provide a living, breathing, reproducing organism with a life force? Where does this life force come from? Is there something else at work here.

These were all thoughts running through my mind as I started a short climb to the beautiful historic hill fort of Vignoni with its narrow medieval alleyways set within castle walls.

I surveyed the rolling Tuscan landscape from my elevated position. Medieval hilltop villages like Bagno Vignoni and Radicofani rose from the distant valley like gigantic way markers for the wayward pilgrim, while the neat rows of Italian cypress and umbrella pines lining every vineyard track seemed to be tempting me with diversions.

Having already considered the very nature of life my mind now wandered further to contemplate life’s journey and its many meanderings. At some point in life most of us become lost. Don't we? And as with Odysseus we strive to find a new way home. Wherever or whatever that may be. Life seems to follow a simple route for some. For others we have an occasional unforeseen diversion. Maybe a mid-life crisis where we suddenly realize we're not where we expected to be, no longer recognizing our immediate surroundings. I think that's what happened to my ex-wife – she became lost and didn’t recognize me anymore. Yet others seem forever lost. Some people don't seem to mind being lost. Others do. Some don’t even know they’re lost.

It was shortly after leaving the most beautiful medieval lakeside town of Bolsena that I became lost – did I miss the sign? I wandered back about half a mile to the last way marker I'd seen and wandered back and forth for quite a while, but alas...

Until 2005 my own life seemed to have been following a well-trod path -- good job with wife and two kids in the English burbs. Then there was an unexpected detour after missing the signs – a divorce had altered my expected route and directed me across the ocean to New York City. Although, as with Odysseus, the four winds had now been loosed, an interesting job and good social life had tethered me like a kite for nine years. But that tether was severed in late 2015 when my job was eliminated, and I saw this as an opportunity to blow to the four corners of the earth. But, as with Odysseus, I recently seem to have become lost and home seems to be just an idea.

My favorite much-used advice to my young sons when they thought they'd lost something was “seek and ye shall find”. Of course, they'd always assumed that it was lost as soon as it was out of their sight – they hadn't yet learned that you have to realize you’ve lost something, or realize you’re lost, before you can find something or find your way. And they always did find it after listening to my advice. Always. They are both well along their own journeys now – good jobs in computer science and living with their girlfriends in London and Lyon. And just like they’d done many times while growing up, I did eventually find that way marker post after I’d searched for it -- it had been knocked over and hidden in the grass.

I entered a dense woodland where Spring was already in the air. Colorful European jays, the creepy cackle of the green woodpecker and the sharp floral smell and beautiful white blossom of the hawthorn bush all caught my attention and brought me into the moment. I considered how my mind is temporarily anchored in times like these, when it's not timebound and craving for something from the past or future. Is that why people who consistently live for the day don't tend to feel lost? Erkhardt Tolle writes about this while Siddhartha was the ultimate practitioner.

I walked the last few miles into Rome with a fellow 'pilgrim'. Beatrice was a tall, windblown and sunburned 40 something from the Spanish Basque region and we’d met after she’d appeared from behind a derelict barn while pulling her pants up. She wore a red beret tilted at an angle and smoked like a chimney while carrying a very large full pack, of I'd guess 35 pounds or more. She informed me in broken English, while prodding my chest intensely, that she'd left Madrid at the beginning of November and had walked to Rome via Santiago de Compostela, through the Winter. I felt humbled. After further questioning it seemed she'd been walking almost non-stop for a few years now – with that full pack and while sleeping in a tent. It's a pity I didn't have more time to hear her story as she seemed to have a purpose about her. Maybe she was also on an Odysseun journey to find her way home.

Our first sight of Rome was from the elevated Monte Mario Park – I could make out all the main sights that I’d visited back in 2010 on my way to a business meeting in Ascoli, just east of Rome. The colosseum, the Pantheon, the Alter of the Fatherland. And I considered my lifetime diversions since then - leaving the corporate world to travel, write and teach. But I hadn’t had time to visit the Vatican then and since that was the official end of the Via Francigena pilgrims’ route, this was going to be first on my list.

As I entered St Peters Basilica all my previous experiences of admiring ecclesiastical architecture – the enormous cathedrals of Chartres, Notre Dame, Canterbury, Seville, Gaudi’s La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem – quickly paled into insignificance. St Peters was so much grander and opulent than anything I'd seen before and set a whole new bar. Building had started around 1500 under the power-hungry Pope Julius – it hadn’t surprised me that after demolishing the original 1500-year-old St Peters Basilica it had taken another 120 years to complete this one. And it was just the same as the Louvre’s art paled into insignificance against the enormous Michelangelo and Raphael frescos of the Sistine Chapel.

As I considered the enormity of it all I thought about the many pilgrims over the years who’d viewed Rome with the very same awe after their tiring journey from Canterbury -- and how they too, like Odysseus, had to get lost before they could find their way home.

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fear-god-shun-evil · 5 years

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Seek the City With Rain: Where Is the Work of the Holy Spirit?

All brothers and sisters who have believed in the Lord for years have the experience that when we have the work of the Holy Spirit and a proper relationship with God, no matter what we do, we can feel God’s leadership and guidance. Just as a hymn goes, “The Lord leads me to enter His gates. We have endless heartfelt words to talk. Our love is as strong as death. Mighty waters cannot extinguish it….”

Once, I also had such a close relationship with the Lord, but unknowingly, I could not feel the presence of the Lord anymore when I prayed to Him. I also could not obtain the enlightenment when I read the Bible and my understandings were dry and banal. Besides, I felt no enjoyment in the meetings because the preaching was always the old teaching. I could not obtain the Lord’s help, support, and provision when encountering difficulties. I felt helpless and panic. Now the day of the Lord is coming soon, yet I feel no presence of the Lord. Do I still count as a believer in the Lord since there is no relationship between me and Him? I felt scared in my heart, as if I were a child abandoned in the wilderness. To recover my relationship with the Lord, I prayed more often and even prayed with fasting. I also actively attended Bible study classes and attended more meetings, and visited places to search for the church with the Holy Spirit’s work, only to find that all sects and denominations were also withered away and desolate. Though some of them were thriving outwardly, often having dinner meetings and going traveling, and their churches were impressive, the sermons of the pastors were the same old teachings—telling Bible stories, spiritual doctrines, or some theological theories that nobody can understand. After hearing their sermons, the believers still felt dry in spirit, and had no presence of the Lord. Some believers followed the worldly trends, seeking after material comforts and sensual gratification, and seemingly reduced to unbelievers; some just observed religious rituals and went to church once a week, but they seldom read the Bible and prayed, and they gave tithes merely in exchange for peace and security; some lived in jealousy and strife and couldn’t practice the Lord’s word…. Brothers and sisters had gradually lost their faith and love.

In perplexity and misery, I went before the Lord many times and prayed, “O dear Jesus the Savior! You are my refuge, the lamp to my feet, and the light to my path. O Lord, now I am very weak and puzzled. May You save me. What should I do to return to Your embrace and recover the relationship with You? O Lord, may You lead me out of this darkness, give me strength, and guide me to walk the way ahead….”

One day, an old classmate whom I had not seen for many years visited me suddenly. We discussed the question why desolation appears in the churches in the last days. We saw it is said in Matthew 24:12: “And because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold.” After I read this verse, I didn’t know what specific acts the increasing lawlessness referred to. She fellowshiped with me, “If you want to know that, we should trace back to the end of the Age of Law. At that time, though the Jewish chief priests and scribes served God in the temple, they went against God’s will and went their own way. And the temple finally became ‘a den of thieves’ where oxen, sheep, and doves were sold. They did not obey God’s commandments and offered lame sacrifices to God. For their status and livelihood, they deceived and bound the believers by interpreting biblical knowledge and doctrine, and practicing religious rituals. And they took their own path and opposed God. These sins are facts apparent to us all. Therefore, when the Lord Jesus came to do the work of redemption in the Age of Grace, He revealed and rebuked them: ‘Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for you are like to white washed sepulchers, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness. Even so you also outwardly appear righteous to men, but within you are full of hypocrisy and iniquity’ (Matthew 23:27-28). ‘Well has Esaias prophesied of you hypocrites, as it is written, This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me. However, in vain do they worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men. For laying aside the commandment of God, you hold the tradition of men, as the washing of pots and cups: and many other such like things you do. And he said to them, Full well you reject the commandment of God, that you may keep your own tradition’ (Mark 7:6-9). From the seven woes to which the Lord Jesus condemned the Pharisees, we can see all the actions of those hypocritical Pharisees are defiant of God and go against Him. Outwardly they preached the old traditions and laws, but they violated God’s laws and commandments, secretly devoured widows’ houses and killed prophets and righteous men; they never testified God’s word and God’s way, but only followed their ancestors’ traditions so as to be looked up by others, and thus brought people before themselves. Especially when the Lord Jesus appeared to work, they didn’t obey the truth expressed by the Lord Jesus; instead, they caged and controlled the believers, frenziedly resisted and condemned the Lord Jesus for the sake of their status and livelihood. It is sufficient to prove that their service is resistance against God and in violation of God’s will. Because the Jewish chief priests, scribes, and Pharisees opposed God and were hostile to Him, the Holy Spirit did not work in the temple and in the end the temple became desolate.”

In the end of the Age of Law, the reason why the whole Judaism fell into darkness is because the Jewish leaders did not follow God’s commandments but resisted and went against God, and thus lost the work of the Holy Spirit. I realized the reason that the religious world today fell into darkness was likely the same.

Then she continued with her fellowship, “Another reason of the temple’s desolation is that the Lord Jesus became flesh on the earth and started a new and improved form of work. We all know that when the Lord Jesus came to work, He not only preached the gospel of the kingdom of heaven, but also performed numerous miracles, such as feeding five thousand people with five loaves and two fish, raising Lazarus to life, and so on, which completely revealed God’s authority and power. All those who truly sought the truth discovered that the Lord Jesus is different from ordinary people, and recognized the Lord Jesus is the coming Messiah from His words and work. Just as the disciples who followed the Lord at that time, they kept pace with God’s work by recognizing God’s voice and investigating His work.”

Listening to her fellowship, I seemed to see the scene that in the evening Peter and his brother were fishing on the Sea of Galilee, and the Lord Jesus walked to them and said: “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men” (Matthew 4:19). From then on, Peter followed the Lord Jesus. Through the contact with the Lord Jesus and from His words and deeds and due to the enlightenment of the Holy Spirit, Peter realized that the Lord Jesus is Christ and the Son of the living God. I recalled that the Samaritan woman, after hearing the Lord’s words in the town Sychar at noon, left her water pot and went to the city to testify the Lord’s name. I also thought of John, Matthew, Philip, Nathanael, and so forth. Because of hearing the wonders performed by the Lord Jesus and the words expressed by Him, many people walked out from the law and kept pace with the Lord Jesus’ work.

“However, those Jewish leaders not only did not investigate or seek the work of the Lord themselves, but spread rumors to deceive the believers and even colluded with the Roman government to persecute the Lord Jesus and crucified Him.” My friend’s fellowship interrupted my thoughts. Right! The Jewish people of that time were eliminated and lost God’s salvation because they failed to keep up with God’s work. Now it is the end of the last days; the Lord may return at any time. If we cannot keep up with the work of the Holy Spirit because we do not know God’s work, then, won’t we have the same end as the Jewish people? Thinking of these, I told her my concern immediately, and she found two verses in Amos for me and read, “‘And also I have withheld the rain from you, when there were yet three months to the harvest: and I caused it to rain on one city, and caused it not to rain on another city: one piece was rained on, and the piece whereupon it rained not withered. So two or three cities wandered to one city, to drink water; but they were not satisfied: yet have you not returned to me, said the LORD’ (Amos 4:7-8). ‘Behold, the days come, said the Lord GOD, that I will send a famine in the land, not a famine of bread, nor a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the LORD’” (Amos 8:11).

Then she fellowshiped, “‘One city’ in the verse refers to the church that has the work of the Holy Spirit, while ‘another city’ refers to the church that has not. God’s intention of sending a famine in the land is to force those who truly believe in Him and love the truth to leave the place without rain and look for a city with rain.” I asked, “Yet all denominations and sects are desolate now, so how can I find a church with the work of the Holy Spirit—the city with rain?” She continued to fellowship, “God said: ‘I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give to him that is thirsty of the fountain of the water of life freely’ (Revelation 21:6). If a church is the city with rain, it surely has the provision of living water of life, the work of the Holy Spirit, as well as the words and guidance of God. Because of the work of the Holy Spirit in the church, the believers recover their faith and love. When they pray, they have the enlightenment and illumination of the Holy Spirit and the presence of God. When they read God’s word, they have light. Through experiencing God’s work, they have more and more knowledge of God as well as their corrupt nature. Slowly, they begin to loathe their own corruption, become subject to God, and have a heart that truly obeys, reveres, loves, and worships God. Therefore, if we want to find ‘the city with rain,’ we should search for the church which has the work of the Holy Spirit and is testifying God’s new work and experiencing God’s words and work today. When we find a church where the believers are testifying the truth, have growth in life, and have changes in disposition, we find the church with the work of the Holy Spirit. And when we find the church with the work of the Holy Spirit, we find the appearance of God.”

Thank the Lord! By studying these verses and fellowshiping with my old classmate, I have been clear about the basic reason why Judaism lost the work of the Holy Spirit in the end of the Age of Law: There was more and more lawlessness in the temple; the Jewish leaders went against God’s will and went their own way; they did not obey God’s commandments but misinterpreted the Bible to shackle, control, and deceive people; they brought people into biblical knowledge and made them stray further and further away from God. They changed the temple into a place of religious rituals. As a result, more and more things of hypocrisy and resistance against God appeared. On the other hand, based on the needs of mankind, God started a new work—the Lord Jesus carried out the work of redemption outside the temple. Those who kept pace with the Lord Jesus’ work had received the work of the Holy Spirit again and lived in the light and reunited with the Lord, while those who stubbornly held on to their notions, imaginations, and did not accept the Lord Jesus as the Messiah had fallen into darkness and lost God’s salvation.

Having understood the reason why the temple became desolate in the end of the Age of Law, I couldn’t help remembering a verse in Revelation, “These are they which follow the Lamb wherever he goes” (Revelation 14:4). This is the guidance the Lord gave us to seek a church that has the work of the Holy Spirit.

#Church Revival #The Desolation of Churches #Spiritual Life #church life

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silent-strategist-blog · 7 years

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Alphonse was distraught, and he couldn’t decide which part of the evening had wounded him more. A part of him felt resent for the off-handed way he’d been confronted by the two of his compatriots he most considered friends, and another part only blamed himself for allowing them to see his pains and burdening them with his problems and sorrows.

He was still clad only in his smallclothes from his examination, and stayed that way long after the two had left him there. He kicked his wall of empty wine bottles in frustration, sat on his bedroll, grabbed his robes, and hugged them tightly around him.

“If you wish for death, then jump from the tower,” she’d said. And again, “Pull the trigger.”

Calhoun, a mirror’s shadow standing behind the priestess, had echoed the notion. “I could give him a pistol, it’d leave less mess to clean up.”

He closed his eyes, straining against pains both physical and otherwise, to strive for some clarity of mind. It was most likely their frustration with you, surely it is not their minds but their hearts speaking. They’ve spoken with you as friends a number of times before now… But so too I have seen Miss Preston teetering from that side of her personality which is concerned for her fellows toward that side of her personality which is so direct and so single-mindedly reckless. It is very possible that I’ve heard just one of two possible truths tonight, not some mistake of passions.

He glanced back to the railing. His allies had left him, the only two which seemed to view him in anything other than a professional light. What was left was the Highlord, and people who knew him better than they knew Alphonse. If a time ever came where the scholar’s work was neither well-liked nor needed, how quickly would his life come to an end? Or, wasn’t that what his life was doing just now?

“I can guess at what you’re thinking of doing, my boy. Don’t be reckless. You carry knowledge that took many people their entire lives to collate, and cost many others their lives to defend,” Wallcroft said, his ethereal voice resonating in Alphonse’s head.

“Your insistence on haunting me and the book is what led me to this. I didn’t drink quite so heavily before I had to share my mind with you. All those years in the military were fine.”

“I apologize for your discomfort, but you need guidance or all will be lost. Heed my advice and we’ll get your life back on track. No need to end it here.”

Alphonse took a deep breath. He properly donned his robe, replaced his pauldrons and gloves, and grabbed up his staff. He walked to the tower platform’s railing and somewhat clumsily clambered up on top of it.

“There is a need.”

He jumped, just as was necessary to avoid the network of ramps and walkways below, and teleported without a mind to where just before reaching the bottom.

He emerged from a cloud of arcane wisps somewhere in the wilds of Lordaeron.

“Light preserve, boy! Don’t do things like that!”

“I free myself of my old life and the burdens that it carried, all the fallen comrades and regrets and time wasted. I satisfy the reckless desires of my compatriots, and release myself from them and give myself over to your instruction. Tell me what needs to be done.”

Alphonse stepped tenderly over the ground. Graveyards could tend to be eerie just by reminding you of how mortality held a lease on all human lives, and the sheer number who had succumbed in this one place, and make you fear that you may follow them soon after. This one had a different haunting aura. Not evil magics or ill intent, but the softer form of human evil; neglect. It was clear, walking past sepulchers which must have at once been marble white which were now overgrown with moss and grass and brush that this place had not been tended to in decades. No single tombstone had been cleaned, meaning no visitors came here. It was possible no one knew of the place at all.

“Here is where the old College buried any who committed themselves to it. Martialists, Tacticians, Logisticians, Diplomats, Politicians, and Strategists alike lay here. My mentors, colleagues, and a generation of my students and soldiers all lay side by side. I owe every success of mine to them. You will owe all of your successes to them,” Wallcroft said as Alphonse tread slowly along the eroded cobblestone path.

“I wish I knew what had become of the corpses of the Black retinue. I would like their caskets transferred here, if this is to be the resting place of those to whom I owe my successes.”

“Find my grave, retrieve the mask. In time, with proper restoration and some practice, it may yet show you the answer to your question. Go on then, don’t tarry here. Go to the catacomb entrance atop that next rise, deep within is where I lay.”

He found the mask still fixed over the skeletal face that belonged to his ethereal mentor. Its face looked long and devoid of feeling, and through the inlays and openings that surrounded the eyes, he felt a spark of life come from beneath even though the mask’s owner was long since dead. He tenderly lifted the mask off the body, and bowed his head reverently to the corpse of Davrin Wallcroft.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m in here with you now, remember?”

“You are whatever this man has instilled in the books. You are not him. I shall revere you both.”

He could imagine the spirit’s thoughtful frown and nod, as only silence was forthcoming. The mask seemed to be made of ironwood, painted black and covered with a blue cloth. It was trimmed with thick pieces of golden steel, making it looked armored. From the back of the mask hung a blue cloth hood. It felt terribly heavy in his hands, he couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable this would be to wear. Yet it would be his to wear soon. He turned and looked back down the dark network of alcoves in the crypt. An equally ill-tended space, though the overgrowth had yet to make it this far underground. Looking at it, he swore that once he had gained mastery over the books and the mask, he would return to this place and restore it to honor the fallen of his Order, and he would bring his comrades from his decade in the military to rest here as well.

“Very good. You’re a few steps closer now, but the hard part has yet to begin. Our next stop is a hermitage in the Wetlands just outside the Menethil Harbor area. You’re looking for an old dwarven shaman named Rorinhall. He’ll be able to restore the mask’s enchantments.”

“There y’are, yer late!” exclaimed the dwarf. He hobbled down the path a few steps more. There was no telling for how long the old fellow had been lying there in wait.

“I didn’t realize I would be expected,” Alphonse answered, letting his head dip in a polite bow. “You have my apologies, Master Rorinhall.”

“No need fer ‘em. C’mon, let’s get workin’. Did’je bring the scepter?”

“Scepter? No, I’m not aware of any scepter. Was there one back in the tomb?”

“Ach, never mind it, lad. It’ll come when it needs to come, you must not be the one to bring it.”

Alphonse studied the dwarf quizzically. He’d known very few shamans before, but the one’s he had met seemed content to talk about the elements and ancestors and leave it at that. This one seemed to be some sort of clairvoyant, which was confusing.

“I suffered this ascetic life fer a century an’ more. The universe shows me the portents, and the portents answer all me questions. Soon it may do the same for ye, lad, but not ‘fore ya done some sufferin’ of yer own.”

“I’d say I’ve done a bit of suffering, but I have the sense that my past pains would neither impress nor satisfy you, Master Rorinhall,”

“Ye’d be right. Got a keen an’ suspicious mind on ye, lad. But if Wit isn’t tempered with Wisdom, ye’ll be a machine fer calculatin’, not a teacher fer effectin’ change.”

Alphonse followed the shaman back to his humble dwelling, past small gardens and farms and a pond. It seemed the shaman tended the whole place on his own, since there were no others to be seen, and just the one house. The building, built into the ground, was furnished spartanly. The only distinctive feature was a massive hearth and an array of strange reagents hanging from the ceiling and walls all around it. When the man came to a stop in front of the fire, Alphonse passed the mask to him.

“I’ll get workin’ on the mask. Ye better help yourself to as much food an’ drink as ye can stomach.”

“And why is that?” Alphonse asked.

“May be the last substantial meal ye have fer a long while.”

As Alphonse ate, he stole glances at the mask. The same spark of life he’d thought he’d seen before seemed kindled now into a flame, a blue flame which spouted from the masks eye openings. An aura of tremendous runic magic and suffused the room and the mask alike, and Alphonse knew that when he donned the mask, it would claim a part of his life for itself. Even though he’d filled himself with stew and bread, he prepared himself a second helping.

“Ar’right, she’s done. Try ‘er on, lad,” Rorinhall said, extending the enchanted mask to him.

Alphonse rose from the table and accepted the mask gently from the dwarf. He looked down at it, and its glowing blue eyes looked back at him. He could feel something travel from the books, which he’d left on the far side of the room, into the mask as he held it. It travelled like a violent gust of wind, and when it entered the blue flames brightened. Alphonse glanced back up at the shaman, who only nodded at him. He closed his eyes at put on the mask.

For all the build-up leading to that moment, Alphonse was surprised at the ordinary feeling of the mask. He’d expected to feel some crushing magical force, but he might as well just be wearing a Hallow’s End mask.

“I’ve left the books in favor for the mask. I will help you from here, and from here I can see the outside world as you do. And when you’ve accomplished your mission, you may silence me by removing the mask. Better than drinking yourself half to death, isn’t it?” Davrin said.

“It is. What do you mean by ‘mission’, though?”

Davrin cackled mischieviously, and Rorinhall took a step closer. “Tha’ thin li’le slit fer tha mouth is all ye’ve got to eat an’ drink through, ‘til ye say tha incantation ta remove ‘er.”

Alphonse tugged at the mask, testing what Rorinhall was saying. The mask didn’t budge, and he did start to feel a greater weight than he’d expected. He took a breath to still his thoughts, then regarded the dwarf through the glowing slits.

“Very well. And where can the incantation be found?”

The dwarf pointed at the books, which peeked out of Alphonse’s satchel in the far corner of the room.

“Ye’ll get there eventually. ‘Til then, I’ve got some tricks to teach ye ‘bout stayin’ alive and listenin’ to tha universe,” Rorinhall said, happy and boastful.

“And I’ve lessons to teach you about your place in the world,” Davrin added.

“I’ll accept them all gratefully. And I venture I’ll have a few lessons to teach myself.”

Rorinhall nodded and smiled a wide, toothy grin. Davrin cackled again, and Alphonse closed his eyes and grinned.

#tales #backstory

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love-god-forever · 6 years

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Churches Desolate, How to Regain Presence of God?

By Xiaoxi

Once I also had such a close relationship with the Lord, but unknowingly, I could not feel the presence of the Lord anymore when I prayed to Him. I also could not obtain the enlightenment when I read the Bible and my understandings were dry and banal. Besides, I felt no enjoyment in the meetings because the preaching was always the old teachings, let alone obtained the Lord’s help, support, and provision when encountering difficulties. I felt helpless and panic. Now the day of the Lord is coming soon, yet I feel no presence of the Lord. Do I still count as a believer in the Lord since there is no relationship between me and Him? I felt scared in my heart, as if I were a child abandoned in the wilderness. To recover the relationship with the Lord, I prayed more often and even prayed with fasting. I also actively attended Bible study classes and attended more meetings, and visited places to search for the churchwith the Holy Spirit’s work, only to find that all sects and denominations were also withered away and desolate. Though some of them were thriving outwardly, often having dinner meetings and going traveling, and their churches were impressive, the sermons of the pastors were the same old teachings—telling Bible stories, spiritual doctrines, or some theological theories that nobody can understand. After hearing their sermons, the believers still felt dry in spirit, and had no presence of the Lord. Some believers followed the worldly trends, seeking after material comforts and sensual gratification, and reduced to unbelievers; some just observed religious rituals and went to church once a week, but they seldom read the Bible and prayed, and they gave tithes merely in exchange for peace and security; some lived in jealousy and strife and couldn’t practice the Lord’s word…. Brothers and sisters had gradually lost their faith and love.

In perplexity and misery, I went before the Lord many times and prayed, “O dear Jesus the Savior! You are my refuge, the lamp to my feet, and the light to my path. O Lord, now I am very weak and puzzled. May You save me. What should I do to return to Your embrace and recover the relationship with You? O Lord, may You lead me out of the darkness, give me strength, and guide me to walk the way ahead….”

One day, an old school friend whom I had not seen for many years visited me suddenly. We discussed the question why desolation appears in the churches in the last days. We saw it is said in Matthew 24:12: “And because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold.” After I read this verse, I didn’t know what specific acts the increasing lawlessness referred to. She fellowshiped with me, “If you want to know that, we should trace back to the end of the Age of Law. At that time, though the Jewish chief priests and scribes served God in the temple, they went against God’s will and went their own way. And the temple finally became ‘a den of thieves’ where oxen, sheep, and doves were sold. They did not obey God’s commandments and offered lame sacrifices to God. For their status and livelihood, they deceived and bound the believers by interpreting biblical knowledge and doctrine, and practicing religious rituals. And they took their own path and opposed God. These sins are facts apparent to us all. Therefore, when the Lord Jesus came to do the work of redemption in the Age of Grace, He revealed and rebuked them: ‘Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for you are like to white washed sepulchers, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness. Even so you also outwardly appear righteous to men, but within you are full of hypocrisy and iniquity’ (Matthew 23:27-28). ‘Well has Esaias prophesied of you hypocrites, as it is written, This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me. However, in vain do they worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men. For laying aside the commandment of God, you hold the tradition of men, as the washing of pots and cups: and many other such like things you do. And he said to them, Full well you reject the commandment of God, that you may keep your own tradition’ (Mark 7:6-9). From the seven woes to which the Lord Jesus condemned the Pharisees, we can see all the actions of those hypocritical Pharisees are in defiance of God and go against Him. Outwardly they preached the old traditions and laws, but they violated God’s laws and commandments, secretly devoured widows’ houses and killed prophets and righteous men; they never testified God’s word and God’s way, but only followed their ancestors’ traditions so as to be looked up by others, and thus brought people before themselves. Especially when the Lord Jesus appeared to work, they didn’t obey the truth expressed by the Lord Jesus; instead, they caged and controlled the believers, frenziedly resisted and condemned the Lord Jesus for the sake of their status and livelihood. It is sufficient to prove that their service is resistance against God and in violation of God’s will. Because the Jewish chief priests, scribes, and Pharisees opposed God and were hostile to Him, the Holy Spirit did not work in the temple and in the end the temple was desolate.”

Through her fellowship that in the end of the Age of Law, the reason why the whole Judaism fell into darkness is because the Jewish leaders did not follow God’s commandments but resisted and went against God, and thus lost the work of the Holy Spirit, I realized the reason that the religious world today fell into darkness was likely the same.

Listening to her fellowship, I seemed to see the scene where in the evening Peter and his brother were fishing on the Sea of Galilee, and the Lord Jesus walked to them and said: “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men” (Matthew 4:19). From then on, Peter followed the Lord Jesus. Through the contact with the Lord Jesus and from His words and deeds, and due to the enlightenment of the Holy Spirit, Peter realized that the Lord Jesus is Christ and the Son of the living God. I recalled the Samaritan woman, after hearing the Lord’s words in the town Sychar at noon, left her water pot and went her way into the city to testify the Lord’s name. I also thought of John, Matthew, Philip, Nathanael, and so forth. Lots of people, because of hearing the wonders performed by the Lord Jesus and the words expressed by Him, walked out from the law and kept pace with the Lord Jesus’ work.

Then she fellowshiped, “‘One city’ in the verse refers to the church that has the work of the Holy Spirit, while ‘another city’ refers to the church that has not. God’s intention of sending a famine in the land is to force those who truly believe in Him and love the truth to leave the place without rain and look for a city with rain.” I asked, “Yet all denominations and sects are desolate now, so how can I find a church with the work of the Holy Spirit—the city with rain?” She continued to fellowship, “God said: ‘I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give to him that is thirsty of the fountain of the water of life freely’ (Revelation 21:6). If a church is the city with rain, it surely has the provision of living water of life, the work of the Holy Spirit as well as the words and guidance of God. Because of the work of the Holy Spirit in the church, the believers recover their faith and love. When they pray, they have the enlightenment and illumination of the Holy Spirit and the presence of God. When they read God’s word, they have light. Through experiencing God’s work, they have more and more knowledge of God as well as their corrupt nature. Slowly, they begin to loathe their own corruption, become subject to God, and have a heart that truly obeys, reveres, loves, and worships God. Therefore, if we want to find ‘the city with rain,’ we should search for the church which has the work of the Holy Spirit and is testifying God’s new work and experiencing God’s words and work today. When we find a church where the believers are testifying the truth, have growth in life, and have changes in disposition, we find the church with the work of the Holy Spirit. And when we find the church with the work of the Holy Spirit, we find the appearance of God.”

Thank the Lord! By studying these verses and fellowshiping with my old school friend, I have been clear about the basic reason why the whole Judaism lost the work of the Holy Spirit in the end of the Age of Law. On the one hand, there was more and more lawlessness in the temple. The Jewish leaders went against God’s will and went their own way. They did not obey God’s commandments but misinterpreted the Bible to shackle, control, and deceive people. They brought people into biblical knowledge and made them stray farther and farther away from God. They changed the temple into a place of religious rituals, which brought more and more things of hypocrisy and resistance against God there. On the other hand, based on the needs of us mankind, God started a new work—the Lord Jesus carried out the work of redemption outside the temple. Those who kept pace with the Lord Jesus’ work had received the work of the Holy Spirit again and lived in the light and reunited with the Lord, while those who stubbornly held on to their notions and imaginations and did not accept the Lord Jesus is the Messiah had fallen into the darkness and lost God’s salvation.

Having understood the reason why the temple became desolate in the end of the Age of Law, I couldn’t help remembering a verse in Revelation, “These are they which follow the Lamb wherever he goes” (Revelation 14:4). I think this is the guidance the Lord gave us to seek a church that has the work of the Holy Spirit.

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caridadmercedes · 7 years

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5 October Optional Memorial of Blessed Francis Xavier Seelos, Priest How many Christians weep over temporal misfortunes, and yet are insensible to the loss of their immortal souls! They avoid going near a corpse, and yet delight daily in the company of sinners. - Saint Anthony of Padua Every time you hear the clock strike, remember that you are not master of the coming hour, and think at the same time of all that our Saviour endured in order that you might possess eternal life. - Saint Joseph Labre Blessed Bartholomew Longo Also known as • Bartolo Longo • Bartolomea Longo • Bartolomeo Longo di Latiano • Brother Rosary • Fratel Rosario • Herald of the Blessed Virgin Mary's Rosary • Man of Mary Profile Son of a physician, Longo was born financially well off, and received a good education, both secular and Christian, and attended a Piarist school until age sixteen. Raised in a pious family; they prayed the Rosary together each night. An excellent student, Barolo was skilled in literature, oratory, fencing, dancing, music, and other arts, could play flute and piano, directed a school band; was also known to be restless, and had difficulty sitting through classes. Studied law at the University of Naples where received his degree in 1864, but where he fell into a dissolute and worldly life. Following a philosophy class taught by a fallen-away priest, Longo moved from indifference to the Church to ridicule, to open hostility. He participated in street demonstrations against the Pope, then dabbled in occult nonsense like magnetism and spiritism, tipping tables and contacting the spirit world through mediums. Burning his bridges, he finally became a Satanist, and with some further study, a Satanist priest. Bartholomew's family and friends refused to give up on the young man, praying for his return to the faith, and pecking away at his interest in Satan. Vincente Pepe, a respected professor from his home town, convinced him to turn from the occult, and a Dominican friar named Father Albert guided him through his return to the Church in a process we would today call deprogramming. Longo finally recovered his senses and his faith, and became a Dominican tertiary on 25 March 1871, taking the name Fratel Rosario (Brother Rosary). Bartholomew wanted to do something to make amends for his apostasy, and began preaching against the occult in the places where college students frequented. Father Albert helped him join a group of local lay people working for the poor. Seeing the terrible, grinding poverty that was the lot of most, he wanted to do something to help, and had a sudden inspiration that the Rosary would become the key. He established a shrine of Our Lady of the Rosary in the valley of Pompei and used a discarded painting of Mary under that title as its visual. Pilgrims came, miracles occurred, the crowds grew, and the local bishop asked Bartholomew to construct a new church. Work on the church began in 1876, it was dedicated in 1887, given to the papacy on 19 February 1894, was designated a basilica in 1901 by Pope Leo XIII, and today receives about 10,000 pilgrims a day. Bartholomew and Mariana, the widowed Countess di Fusco, constructed other charitable institutions nearby forming what became known as the City of Charity or City of Mary. To staff the orphanage in the City, Longo founded the Daughters of the Rosary of Pompeii. He established a trade school for the Sons of the Imprisoned, boys whose fathers were in jail, and placed it under the direction of the Brothers of Christian Schools. The success of the school disproved the contemporary assumption that children of criminals were doomed to be criminals themselves, and in 1922 he established a sister school for the daughters of prisoners. Because Bartholomew and Mariana worked together so much, gossip developed that they were romantically involved. To prevent their good work from being tainted by this talk, the two married in April 1885, but lived together chastely in keeping with private vows. It was not enough for some, however, and in the first years of this century he was accused of adultery, profiteering, dishonesty, even insanity. In 1906, Pope Saint Pius IX asked Longo to retire as administrator for the good of the City, and he did, handing it over to the papacy, and taking a job in the City as a regular employee. Made a Knight of the Guard Cross of the Holy Sepulcher in 1925. Born 11 February 1841 at Latiana, southern Italy Died • 5 October 1926 of pneumonia • buried in the crypt of the Rosary Basilica alongside his wife Mariana Beatified 26 October 1980 by Pope John Paul II Video YouTube PlayList Prayers All-powerful and merciful God, in Blessed Bartolo, a promoter of the rosary of the Blessed Virgin, you showed a wonderful example of holiness and of charity for needy children and orphans. Through his prayers may we learn to see Christ your Son in our neighbors and to love him through them. We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. - General Calendar of the Order of Preachers Readings You, what have you done by taking Christ out of the schools? You have produced enemies of social order, subversives. On the contrary, what have we gained by putting Christ into the schools of the children of criminals? We have transformed these misfortunate ones into honest and virtuous young people that you wanted to abandon to their sad fate or toss into insane asylums! - Blessed Bartholomew, writing to a group of criminologists about his schools My only desire is to see Mary who saved me and who will save me from the clutches of Satan. - Blessed Bartholomew's last words I wish to die a true Dominican tertiary in the arms of the Queen of the Rosary with the assistance of my holy Father Saint Dominic and of my mother Saint Catherine of Siena. - from Blessed Bartholomew's last will and testament Rosary in hand, Blessed Bartolo Longo says to each of us: "Awaken your confidence in the Most Blessed Virgin of the Rosary. Venerable Holy Mother, in You I rest all my troubles, all my trust and all my hope!" - Pope John Paul II in his homily during the beatification ceremony for Blessed Bartholomew Francis Xavier Seelos Also known as • Father Seelos • Francesco Saverio Seelos • Franz Xaver Seelos Profile One of twelve children born to Mang and Frances Schwarzenbach Seelos; he was named for Saint Francis Xavier. His father was a textile merchant who became parish sacristan. Francis was Confirmed on 3 September 1828, and made his first Communion on 2 April 1830. The boy wanted to be a priest from an early age, and often claimed he would be another Francis Xavier. He completed his basic studies in Füssen, Germany, and graduated from the Institute of Saint Stephen in Augsburg, Germany in 1839. Received a degree in philosophy and theology from the University of Munich, and entered the Saint Jerome seminary in Dillingen an der Donau, Germany on 19 September 1842. Francis became familiar with the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer, and their mission to work with the poorest, the abandoned, and immigrants. He joined on 22 November 1842. Feeling a call to minister to German immigrants to America, he left the seminary on 9 December 1842, sailed for the America on 17 March 1843, and arrived in New York on 20 April. Ordained in the Redemptorist Church of Saint James in Baltimore, Maryland on 22 December 1844. Worked nine years at Saint Philomena parish in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, six of those years as assistant pastor to, and spiritual student of Saint John Neumann, and the other three as superior and novice master of his Redemptorist community. Faithful to the Redemptorist teachings, he led a simple life, preached a simple message, and was always available to those in need. His sermons drew crowds from neighboring towns, there were lines outside his confessional, and he never tired of working with children. He heard Confessions in English, German, and French, from black and whites and anyone else with a burden. Transferred to parish ministries in Baltimore in 1854, Cumberland, Maryland in 1857, and Annapolis, Maryland in 1862. Proposed as bishop of Pittsburgh in 1860, but he begged to be excused "from this act of God", and his desire was granted by Pope Pius IX. In 1863, during the American Civil War, all men were obliged to be available for active military duty. Seelos, as Superior of the Redemptorist Seminary, met with President Abraham Lincoln, and obtained an agreement not to send seminarians to the front. Seelos soon after lost his position as Prefect of Students for being "too lenient". From 1863 to 1866 he lived as an itinerant mission preacher in both English and German in Connecticut, Illinois, Michigan, Missouri, New Jersey, New York, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, and Wisconsin. Hearing of an influx of German immigrants to New Orleans, Louisiana, he pastored a Redemptorist church there beginning in 1866. He worked with yellow fever victims until he was taken by the illness the next year. Born • 11 January 1819 at Füssen, Bavaria, Germany • baptized on the same day Died • 4 October 1867 in New Orleans, Louisiana of yellow fever • buried in a crypt beneath the floor of Saint Mary's Assumption Church, New Orleans Beatified • 9 April 2000 by Pope John Paul II at Rome, Italy • responsible for the miraculous healing from inoperable liver cancer of Angela Boudreaux in 1966 Patronage against cancer Storefront rosary, holy cards, statues Video YouTube PlayList Readings O Lord, my strength and my Redeemer, let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in Your sight. I offer praise to You for the grace You have bestowed on Your humble missionary, Father Francis Xavier Seelos. May I have the same joyful vigor that Father Seelos possessed during his earthly life to love You deeply and live faithfully Your gospel. Amen. - Byron Miller, C.Ss.R. Faithful to the spirit and charism of the Redemptorist Congregation to which he belonged, Father Francis Xavier Seelos often meditated upon these words of the Psalmist. Sustained by God's grace and an intense life of prayer, Father Seelos left his native Bavaria and committed himself generously and joyfully to the missionary apostolate among immigrant communities in the United States. In the various places where he worked, Father Francis Xavier brought his enthusiasm, spirit of sacrifice and apostolic zeal. To the abandoned and the lost he preached the message of Jesus Christ, "the source of eternal salvation" (Hebrews 5:9), and in the hours spent in the confessional he convinced many to return to God. Today, Blessed Francis Xavier Seelos invites the members of the Church to deepen their union with Christ in the sacraments of Penance and the Eucharist. Through his intercession, may all who work in the vineyard for the salvation of God's people be encouraged and strengthened in their task. - Pope John Paul II at the beatification recognition for Blessed Francis http://catholicsaints.info/blessed-francis-xavier-seelos/ Saint Faustina Kowalska Also known as • Elena Kowalska • Faustina Kowalska • Helena Kowalska • Maria Faustina Kowalska • Sister Faustina • Sister Maria Faustina of the Most Blessed Sacrament Profile Third of ten children, she attended only three years of school. As a teenager, she worked as a domestic servant for other families. After being rejected by several religious orders, she became a nun in the Congregation of the Sisters of Our Lady of Mercy in Warsaw, Poland on 1 August 1925; the Congregation is devoted to care and education of troubled young women. She changed her name to Sister Maria Faustina of the Most Blessed Sacrament. During her 13 years in various houses, she was a cook, gardener, and porter. She had a special devotion to Mary Immaculate, to the Sacrament, and to Reconciliation, which led to a deep mystical interior life. She began to have visions, receive revelations, and experience hidden stigmata. She began recording these mystical experiences in a diary; being nearly illiterate, it was written phonetically, without quotation marks or punctuation, and runs to nearly 700 pages. A bad translation reached Rome in 1958, and was labelled heretical. However, when Karol Wojtyla (Pope John Paul II) became Archbishop of Krakow, he was besieged by requests for a reconsideration. He ordered a better translation made, and Vatican authorities realized that instead of heresy, the work proclaimed God's love. It was published as Divine Mercy in my Soul. In the 1930's, Sister Faustina received a message of mercy from Jesus that she was told to spread throughout the world, a message of God's mercy to each person individually, and for humanity as a whole. Jesus asked that a picture be painted of him with the inscription: "Jesus, I Trust in You." She was asked to be a model of mercy to others, to live her entire life, in imitation of Christ's, as a sacrifice. She commissioned this painting in 1935, showing a red and a white light shining from Christ's Sacred Heart. Apostles of Divine Mercy is a movement of priests, religious, and lay people inspired by Faustina's experiences; they spread knowledge of the mystery of Divine Mercy, and invoke God's mercy on sinners. Approved in 1996 by the Archdiocese of Krakow, it has spread to 29 countries. Born 25 August 1905 at Glogowiec, Poland as Elena (Helena) Kowalska Died 5 October 1938 at Krakow, Poland of tuberculosis Beatified • 18 April 1993 by Pope John Paul II • her beatification miracle involved the cure of Maureen Digan who suffered Milroy's disease, a hereditary form of lymphedema that cost her a leg Canonized • 30 April 2000 by Pope John Paul II • her canonization miracle involved the cure of Father Ronald P. Pytel's heart condition Storefront medals and pendants Video YouTube PlayList Readings Oh, how great is the goodness of God, greater than we can understand. There are moments and there are mysteries of the divine mercy over which the heavens are astounded. Let our judgment of souls cease, for God's mercy upon them is extraordinary. - from the diary of Saint Faustina http://catholicsaints.info/saint-faustina-kowalska/ Saint Anna Schaeffer Profile Daughter of a poor carpenter. Anna dropped out of school at age 14 to work as a maid, and had hopes of a religious vocation, but her father's death left her working to support the family, and she was a lifelong lay woman. In 1898 she received a vision of Christ who warned her that she had many years of pain ahead of her. She was paralyzed by an industrial accident in 1901 when she fell into a vat of boiling water and lost the use of her legs. From her sick bed she carried out an apostolate through correspondence. Known for her devotion to the Sacred Heart. May have received the stigmata, but always tried to hide the signs of it. Born 18 February 1882 in Mindelstetten, Bavaria, Germany Died 5 October 1925 in Mindelstetten, Bavaria, Germany of natural causes Canonized 21 October 2012 by Pope Benedict XVI Readings Anna Schaeffer continues to be present among us with her message of life, which is a solid anchor of salvation when sad moments are experienced or when dark valleys are crossed. - Pope John Paul II at Blessed Anna's beatification Jesus, I live for you. - Saint Anna's dying words http://catholicsaints.info/saint-anna-schaeffer/ Blessed Raymond of Capua Also known as • Raymond delle Vigne • Raymund, Raimondo Profile Studied at the University of Bologna, Italy. Dominican priest. Held assorted offices in various Dominican friaries around Italy including prior of the house in Rome, and lector in Florence and Siena. Spiritual director of, close advisor to, and extensive correspondent with Saint Catherine of Siena. Supported the call for Crusade against the Turks. Added his voice to the plea for Pope Gregory XI to return to Rome from Avignon, France. Worked with plague victims in Siena, and caught the disease himself. Supported Pope Urban VI against the anti-pope Clement VII in 1378. Master-general of the Dominicans in 1380. Restored discipline to the Order, and reformed it to the point that he is considered a second founder. Wrote biographies of Saint Catherine of Siena and Saint Agnes of Montepulciano. Born 1330 at Capua, Italy as Raymond delle Vigne Died 5 October 1399 at Nuremberg, Germany of natural causes Beatified 15 May 1899 by Pope Leo XIII http://catholicsaints.info/blessed-raymond-of-capua/ Blessed Alberto Marvelli Profile Son of Alfredo and Maria Marvelli. His father was a bank employee, and his mother was very active in Catholic charities. Educated by the Salesians and Catholic Action; Alberto joined Catholic Action at age 12 and was a member the rest of his life. Lay man. Civil engineer. He worked professionally and politically for reconstruction of Italy following World War II, and on a personal level he worked with the poor, keeping a bare minimum for himself, giving away everything else he owned. Member of the executive committee of the Christian Democrat political party. Known for his devotion to the Eucharist, he spent his morning in adoration, attended Mass, and then worked the rest of the day. Born 21 March 1918 in Ferrara, Italy Died hit by a truck in a traffic accident on 5 October 1946 in Rimini, Forlì, Italy Beatified 5 September 2004 by Pope John Paul II Video YouTube PlayList http://catholicsaints.info/blessed-alberto-marvelli/ Saint Tranquilino Ubiarco Robles Additional Memorial 21 May as one of the Martyrs of the Mexican Revolution Profile Priest in the archdiocese of Guadalajara, Mexico. During the persecutions of the Mexican Revolution he continued his work in secret, celebrating Mass in private homes, and distributing Communion to covert Catholics. Martyred for refusing to stop his pastoral work, having been caught celebrating a marriage Mass. Born 8 July 1899 in Zapotlán el Grande, diocese of Ciudad Guzmán, Jalisco, Mexico Died hanged from a tree on the morning of 5 October 1928 in front of the house where he had been celebrating Mass in Tepatitlán, Jalisco, Mexico Canonized 21 May 2000 by Pope John Paul II http://catholicsaints.info/saint-tranquilino-ubiarco-robles/ Blessed William Hartley Additional Memorials • 29 October as one of the Martyrs of Douai • 1 December as one of the Martyrs of Oxford University Profile Raised a Protestant, he studied at Oxford University and became an Anglican minister. Convert to Catholicism. Studied in Rheims, France. Ordained in 1580. Returned to England to work with Saint Edmund Campion, ministering to covert Catholics. Arrested in 1582 for being a priest, he was deported. He soon returned to England to resume his minastery, was captured at Holborn, and executed. Martyr. Born Wilne, Derbyshire, England Died hanged on 5 October 1588 at Shoreditch, London, England Beatified 15 December 1929 by Pope Pius XI http://catholicsaints.info/blessed-william-hartley/ Saint Meinulph Also known as Meinolf, Meinolfo, Meinolfus, Meinulfus, Meinulphus, Meinuph, Meinulfo Profile Born to the nobility; his godfather was Charlemagne. Educated at the cathedral school of Paderborn, Germany. Archdeacon of Paderborn in 836. Priest. Noted preacher and evangelist. Founded the convent of Böddeken in Westphalia, Germany; legend says that abbey site was a place where Meinulph saw a stag with a cross in its antlers. Born c.795 Died 5 October 857 in Böddeken, Germany of natural causes Representation • with a stag with a cross in its antlers • carrying a model of Böddeken monastery http://catholicsaints.info/saint-meinulph/ Saint Apollinaris of Valence Also known as Aiplonay, Aiplomay Profile Son of Saint Isychius. Elder brother of Saint Avitus of Vienne. Bishop of Valence, France in 486 after a long vacancy in the diocese, and Apollinaris exhausted himself in reforming abuses and re-vitalizing the faith. Exiled by King Sigismund for political reasons, but allowed to return when he miraculously healed the king. Died • c.520 of natural causes • interred in the cathedral in Valence, France • relics thrown into the River Rhone and destroyed by Huguenots in the 16th century http://catholicsaints.info/saint-apollinaris-of-valence/ Blessed Flora of Beaulieu Also known as Flora of the Hosptiallers of Saint John Profile Know as a pious youth, her parents tried to arrange a marriage for her, but Flora resisted, and eventually entered a convent near Auvergne, France. In 1324 she entered the Priory of Beaulieu of the Hospitallers of Saint John of Jerusalem. Had the gifts of levitation, stigmata, and prophesy. She was ridiculed mercilessly by other sisters because of these gifts, and suffered bouts of depression. Born 1309 at Auvergne, France Died 1347 of natural causes http://catholicsaints.info/blessed-flora-of-beaulieu/ Saint Attilanus of Zamora Also known as Atilanus, Attilano Profile Benedictine monk. Friend and spiritual student of Saint Froilan with whom he founded the monastery of Moreruela, Spain. Prior. Bishop of Zamora, Spain, and area that had been under Moorish occupation, on Whit-Sunday in 990. Born c.939 at Tarazona, Spain Died • 1009 in Zamora, Spain of natural causes • relics in Saint Peter's church, Zamora Canonized 1095 by Pope Urban II Patronage Zamora, Spain, diocese of http://catholicsaints.info/saint-attilanus-of-zamora/ Blessed John Hewett Also known as • John Hewitt • John Weldon • John Savell Profile Son of a draper. Educated at Caius College, Cambridge. Studied for the priesthood at Rheims, France. Ordained in 1586. Returned to England, as a covert priest using the names Weldon and Savell to hide his identity while working with his flock. Arrested at Grey's Inn Lane, London, on 10 March 1587 for the crime of priesthood. Martyr. Born at York, North Yorkshire, England Died hanged on 5 October 1588 at Mile End Green, London, England Beatified 15 December 1929 by Pope Pius XI http://catholicsaints.info/blessed-john-hewett/ Blessed Sante of Cori Profile Joined the Augustinians in Cori, Italy. PriorPriest. Noted preacher, always centered on Scripture. Born early 14th-century in Cori, Lazio, Italy Died 1392 of natural causes Beatified 1 February 1888 by Pope Leo XIII (cultus confirmation) http://catholicsaints.info/blessed-sante-of-cori/ Blessed Marian Skrzypczak Additional Memorial 12 June as one of the 108 Martyrs of World War II Profile Priest in the archdiocese of Gniezno, Poland. Martyred in the Nazi persecutions during the invasion of Poland. Born 15 April 1909 in Janowiec, Kujawsko-Pomorskie, Poland Died shot on 5 October 1939 in front of his parish church in Plonkowo, Kujawsko-Pomorskie, Poland Beatified 13 June 1999 by Pope John Paul II http://catholicsaints.info/blessed-marian-skrzypczak/ Blessed Robert Sutton Additional Memorial • 29 October as one of the Martyrs of Douai • 22 November as one of the Martyrs of England, Scotland, and Wales Profile Layman martyr. Born Kegworth, Leicestershire, England Died hanged in 1588 at Clerkenwell, London, England Beatified 15 December 1929 by Pope Pius XI http://catholicsaints.info/blessed-robert-sutton/ Saint Charitina of Amasa Also known as Caritina Profile Martyred in the persecutions of Diocletian. Died • tortured to death in 304 at Amasa, Asia Minor on the Black Sea • died while praying http://catholicsaints.info/saint-charitina-of-amasa/ Saint Eliano of Cagliari Profile Eary bishop of Cagliari, Italy. Died relics interred in the crypt of the sanctuary of the cathedral of Cagliari, Italy http://catholicsaints.info/saint-eliano-of-cagliari/ Saint Aymard of Cluny Profile Monk of Cluny Abbey in France. Brother monk to Saint Odo of Cluny. Abbot of Cluny in 942. Aymard became blind and c.952 resigned his position, handing it over to Saint Majolus. Died 965 of natural causes http://catholicsaints.info/saint-aymard-of-cluny/ Saint Magdalveus of Verdun Also known as Madalveus, Mauvé Profile Benedictine Monk at Saint Vannes. Bishop of Verdun, France c.736. Born Verdun, France Died c.776 of natural causes http://catholicsaints.info/saint-magdalveus-of-verdun/ Saint Gallo of Aosta Profile Bishop of Aosta, Italy, consecrated on 15 October 528. Died 5 October 546 of natural causes http://catholicsaints.info/saint-gallo-of-aosta/ Saint Thraseas of Eumenia Profile Bishop of Eumenia, Phrygia (in modern Turkey). Martyred in the persecutions of Marcus Aurelius. Died 170 at Smyrna (modern Izmir, Turkey) http://catholicsaints.info/saint-thraseas-of-eumenia/ Saint Flaviana of Auxerre Profile Nun. Martyr. Died in Auxerre, France http://catholicsaints.info/saint-flaviana-of-auxerre/ Saint Boniface of Trier Profile Martyred with a group of Christians in the persecutions of Maximian Herculeus. Died martyred c.287 in Trier, Germany http://catholicsaints.info/saint-boniface-of-trier/ Saint Mamlacha Profile Nun. Martyred in the persecutions of king Shapur II. Died Persia http://catholicsaints.info/saint-mamlacha/ Saint Palmatius of Trier Profile Martyred with a group of Christians in the persecutions of Maximian Herculeus. Died c.287 in Trier, Germany http://catholicsaints.info/saint-palmatius-of-trier/ Saint Alexander of Trier Profile Martyred in the persecutions of Diocletian. Died 3rd century in Trier, Germany http://catholicsaints.info/saint-alexander-of-trier/ Saint Marcellinus of Ravenna Profile Third century bishop of Ravenna, Italy. http://catholicsaints.info/saint-marcellinus-of-ravenna/ Saint Firmatus of Auxerre Profile Deacon. Martyr. Died Auxerre, France http://catholicsaints.info/saint-firmatus-of-auxerre/ Saint Jerome of Nevers Profile Bishop of Nevers, France. http://catholicsaints.info/saint-jerome-of-nevers/ Martyrs of Messina Profile A group of about 30 Benedictine monks and nuns, some blood relatives, who were sent in the early days of the order to establish monasteries in the vicinity of Messina, Sicily, Italy, and who were martyred. We know the names, and a few details, about seven of them – • Donatus • Eutychius • Faustus • Firmatus • Flavia • Placidus • Victorinus Died 6th century Messina, Sicily, Italy http://catholicsaints.info/martyrs-of-messina/ Martyred in the Spanish Civil War Thousands of people were murdered in the anti-Catholic persecutions of the Spanish Civil War from 1934 to 1939. I have pages on each of them, but in most cases I have only found very minimal information. They are available on the CatholicSaints.Info site through these links: • Blessed Eugenio Andrés Amo • Blessed Sebastià Segarra Barberá Also celebrated but no entry yet • Giovanni Battista del Santissimo Sacramento • Peter of Imola • Tullia CatholicSaints.Info Portable Edition email CatholicSaints.* Other saints: Blessed Francis Xavier Seelos (1819 - 1867) United States He was born in Füssen, in Bavaria, in what is now Germany, on 11 January 1819. He entered the diocesan seminary. Coming to know the charism of the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer, joined it and was sent to North America. He was ordained a priest in 1844. He began his pastoral ministry in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania as assistant pastor of his confrère St John Neumann, serving also as Master of Novices and dedicating himself to preaching. He became a full-time itinerant missionary preacher, preaching in both English and German in a number of different states. He died in New Orleans, Louisiana, on 4 October 1867. Liturgical colour: green The theological virtue of hope is symbolized by the colour green, just as the burning fire of love is symbolized by red. Green is the colour of growing things, and hope, like them, is always new and always fresh. Liturgically, green is the colour of Ordinary Time, the season in which we are being neither especially penitent (in purple) nor overwhelmingly joyful (in white). ©Evangelizo.org 2001-2017 Bl. Francis Xavier Seelos Priest (1819-1867) He was born in Füssen, Bavaria, Germany on January 11, 1819, was one of 12 children born to Mang and Frances Schwarzenbach Seelos, and was baptized the same day in the parish church. Having expressed a desire for the priesthood since childhood he studied philosophy and theology in Munich. Seelos was touched by the letters published in the Catholic newspaper Sion, from the Redemptorist missionaries describing the lack of spiritual care for the thousands of German speaking immigrants. After visiting the Redemptorists in Altötting, he decided to enter the Congregation, asking to be allowed to work as a missionary in the United States. On December 22, 1844, Seelos was ordained a priest in Baltimore, Maryland., he was assigned for six years to St. Philomena’s Parish in Pittsburgh as an assistant to St. John Neumann. Regarding their relationship, Seelos said: "He has introduced me to the active life" and, "he has guided me as a spiritual director and confessor." Several years in parish ministry in Maryland followed, along with responsibility for training Redemptorist students. His availability and innate kindness in understanding and responding to the needs of the faithful quickly made him well known as an expert confessor and spiritual director, so much so that people came to him even from neighboring towns. His confessional was open to all: "I hear confessions in German, English, French, of Whites and of Blacks". He practiced a simple lifestyle and a simple manner of expressing himself. The themes of his preaching, rich in Biblical content, were always understood even by the simplest people. Father Seelos is described a man with a constant smile and a generous heart, especially towards the needy and the marginalized. For several years he preached in English and in German throughout the Midwest and in the Middle Atlantic states. Assigned to St. Mary of the Assumption Church community in New Orleans, he served his Redemptorist confreres and parishioners with great zeal. In 1867 he died of yellow fever, having contracted that disease while visiting the sick.

#daily reading #saints of the day #10.5.2017

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thepaintedbrain · 7 years

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“Strait Is The Gate, Narrow Is The Way”

To the left of the door was a wall of shelves. A large plasma screen TV hung in the middle, which I always set to the indie music channel. There was a stainless steel sink that I didn’t use and it seemed like one of those weird design choices that no one used. The bathroom was small, with beige tiles lining a shower in which i sometimes slept, hiding behind a locked door. Often, during the night, the nurses would notice I wasn’t in my bed and was instead huddled on the floor of the shower. “Get back in your bed,” they admonished. Scared, I would creep outside and find refuge on the couch in the common room. I made my bed every morning, as a bonus to show the doctors that I was functional. The floor of the room was tiled cement, cold to the touch. Since we weren’t allowed shoes with laces or heels, we all walked around in sea-foam green hospital-issued socks with rubber on the bottom to keep from slipping. There was a large window in my room with a view of the buildings in Westwood. Sometimes I looked out the window at airplanes, predicting which ones would arrive at their destination without exploding. Happily, it was usually all of them. There was a plastic and vinyl armchair in a depressing shade of teal and pink plastic where I sometimes sat as I read the same New Yorker article, over and over, laughing at each snarky nuance. But one night, lying on the single bed in my private room in Four West, I could hear the Princeton Skull and Bones organizing upstairs.

I knew it was them because for one, the vent was directly over my bed so I could hear them and also, they let me know that they were getting ready. I lay in wait, trying to estimate what was going on. On my bed, staring at the vent in the ceiling, I could hear Web’s entire faction of Skull and Bones preparing. Clad in hooded brown robes neatly tied with black ropes, they surrounded the vent upstairs looking downward into my room. I couldn’t catch on to their legal system but clearly, a trial was taking shape and I was the one on trial. One by one, I heard marbles drop into my vent, a secret code for the brotherhood to keep track of my crimes.

And then it commenced. People from my past appeared in a circle, surrounding me. Slowly, more past friends gathered in a circle upstairs. Everyone was there, Mandy, Morgan, Scott, Steve, Marius, Katie, Shanah. My life was on the line. I lay awake listening to them argue my fate while Skull and Bones took note. Marius, the skater I had a crush on in high school, now a filmmaker, was impressed with my progress. I was doing great in Four West, I would be better in no time. But, I hadn’t wronged him. On the other hand, Marisa was livid. I had told someone of her father’s dying of AIDS without permission. “Who does that?” she hissed. And down came another marble. Skull and Bones stirred about the room above me, exchanging nods and glances. “Do you understand now, Tilly? Do you see?” I stirred on my bed. I was often plagued by my memories during the day. If my mind took a turn, I would cringe at a stupid thing I said, or a weird thing I did. But this memory had not been one of them. In fact, that was what made me feel this trial was so real. I wondered if it was something like the judgment people stand in when they die? Aren’t we supposed to stand trial before god and his angels? Is this a quick abbreviation of my otherworldly trial? I wasn’t sure what my fate would be, and so they continued. Marisa forgave me. And so we continued.

Ilya from elementary school appeared. How could I have told his new girlfriend about his father’s dying of AIDS before he broached it himself? “Sure you introduced us but you had no right to tell Erin about my dad.” And another marble dropped into the vent. Morgan came to my rescue, “Anyone would have done the same,” he said. Scott chimed in, “This isn’t her fault.” Ilya forgave me.

I couldn’t understand how they knew. I hadn’t thought about those trespasses, I never even understood that they had happened. And out of the blue Skull and Bones had me on trial for committing ethical crimes of consciousness? How did they know? Who told them? Mired in my past, I couldn’t understand how everyone but me seemed aware of my crimes. Usually, I am the one beating my breast. No one need remind me of mistakes, but obviously, I wasn’t the only one who suffered.

Years before my first breakdown, around the time of the millennium, I traveled to Europe, alone. I was psychotic, but no one knew it yet. The millennium was a special year for Catholics in Italy, It was time for the much anticipated Jubileum. Religious pilgrims flocked from around the globe to hear the Pope say mass. Also, this was a rare occasion when the doors to the holy sepulcher were opened and through which, if walked through, all sins would be forgiven. I entered through the immense door, staring up at an imposing room of marble and light, facing Bernini’s beyond compare. Transfixed, I was sure all my sins were forgiven in that moment. And Bernini, a god among men. If I made it this far, my life would only get better.

Then, Jennifer came up to bat. “You slapped me,” she said. “Remember? You found out I was sleeping with Manny and you slapped me. We were sitting on the lunch benches in our senior year at Pali High, and you knew I was dating him and you slapped me for sleeping with him.” “Manny made you smoke crack,” I countered. “He was a gangster in the 18th Street gang and he gave you drugs and you not only took them but you slept with him, too. I was trying to be a good friend. I was trying to wake you up.”

Years later, Jennifer would find me on Facebook. Saddened, I apologized profusely for the slap, for not being a good friend, for trying to mother her. And she, she didn’t remember the slap. She had no recollection of it. She, instead, remembered that I brought her into my home, gave her a safe place to sleep, invited her to all the parties I went to. She thanked me for being a good friend.

Sometimes, I feel like no one thinks of me as the kind of person to cause hurt. And, since they don’t think of me that way, they simply forget when it does happen. It’s like the time I walked around with a beer in Chicago. I passed a cop and he didn’t say a word. But I knew he wouldn’t. He simply didn’t think of me as someone who would break any laws. I’m a small woman, one to be trusted.

At the next point in the trial, Skull and Bones had gathered enough intel about me and were ready to close the proceedings. I would move on to the next level.

In a flash, I lay back in bed and an image of the room above flashed in a brilliant white light. This is death, surely, I thought. But it wasn’t. When I awoke, the trial was over and I wasn’t sure it ever happened.

Save for now, I could see people in green X-rays. President Obama, Phil’s mother, Susan, my grandmother and deceased aunt Ruth. There was another dimension, they assured me. “One in which we get to watch over you,” Susan said. My bedroom wasn’t safe. I could be raped there by another patient, by a male nurse. No one would know. I was terrified of sleeping there alone so I had a strategy worked out. First, I would sleep on the floor of my room, behind my bed so no one would see me. But if anyone figured it out, I would run to my bathroom, lock my door and huddle on the floor of the shower, fully clothed, in case I had to fight someone off or make a run for it. In the shower, I would tuck my knees in and try to fall asleep, unsuccessfully. Quickly, I would switch position to relieve my muscles. Then a nurse would come in and make me get out of the bathroom. I would get in bed and get out again when the nurse left my room. I headed for the hallway. There, in fluorescent green X-ray, Susan Davidson and Barak Obama assured me that I would be okay. They were watching over me. I huddled by the escape door that led to the other ward, Four East, a door that was locked and couldn’t open. Next, I headed for the common room sofa. Often my friend Nate was in the common room, gesticulating wildly and yelling loudly. I not so secretly thought he was acting that way on purpose because he wanted them to give him a shot of sedative to shut him up. He could have been dangerous. Sometimes, during the day Nate and I sat in the common room, eating ice cream and talking about Tori Amos. Nate was working on a Ph.D. in poetry at University of Michigan. When he got better, he decided to go back to school to complete his studies and disappear from my life, forever. I gave him a tiny hot pink origami crane to remember me by. I told him it would bring him good luck.

Three times a day we were let out to the big terrace for a break. It was a new modern terrace with tall glass walls overlooking the medical plaza from four stories up. At night we could see the romantic view of high rises down the street lighting up like a box of jewels. I could see all the way down to Wilshire, where I used to work, in another life. I looked down at the cars in the roundabout. Which ones are the ones that were there for me? I couldn’t tell. Web told me he’d watch over me and even visit me. But, I couldn’t see him and our communication was breaking down. He said he would show up for visiting hours, that I would know him when I see him, but he never did. I knew why. His family would never approve. I’m a big step down for them. Sure, I come from a good family, but they’re blue bloods, the beautiful educated. When I did see Web, he was wearing a grey hoodie and jeans, standing a devastating six foot three. There are some types of men I can’t say no to, and he was all of them in one. But on those breaks, we would connect and he reassured me we would be together soon. I would be discharged, I would rehabilitate, and he would come for me. “When you wear your cobalt blue silk pencil skirt and silken white top with your yellow and black Lanvin purse, I will come for you.” Our secret song was ‘Knife’ by Grizzly Bear. That’s when I would know he was there, and on cue, I would search the room for him.

Once, when my sister graduated college from Berkeley, the family traveled there to celebrate. Web followed me there. I would spend the better part of the day jogging, knowing everyone was watching me. Web’s white VW van followed me everywhere. He was so in love with me and all his friends were supportive. I would be the one. Then, the family headed to Camino for Ofri’s graduation dinner and we sat around the table. I, barely eating, couldn’t carry on a conversation with anyone. I was basically untreated and schizophrenic and I wasn’t on clozapine yet. We sat at the camino, sharing appetizers and then it happened. “Knife” by Grizzly Bear came on. But I, I couldn’t bring myself to look around. I didn’t lift my head, I didn’t turn to survey the crowd. I sat, mute, deaf and blind to everything around me.

Tilly Oren is a new Painted Brain contributor. This is her first appearance in Painted Brain News.

from “Strait Is The Gate, Narrow Is The Way”

#“Strait Is The Gate #Narrow Is The Way”

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thekwanderer · 7 years

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Monday May 8

Whenever I'm on vacation, the first couple days seem impossibly long, then the days accelerate and fly by. Once again it caught up to me. Today was our last day touring from Tel Aviv, but we still have some more travel through Jordan and Israel.

Today was our Jerusalem day. We showed up late to the hotel lobby for our pickup, but we were still there earlier than the bus. We were experts at the meeting point and while other tourists were lost and confused, we swiftly identified our bus and jumped on board to get an awesome spot at the front. Heading out to Jerusalem, we of course had to stop at our favorite Elvis diner and got another coffee and mug. Otherwise, the drive was uneventful. We've passed by Jerusalem 3 days now, so I'm pretty clued into what was coming, but every tour guide was different for us, so I always learn a new tidbit. When we arrive in Jerusalem, we stopped at an overlook to gather our bearings of the city. We could see the old City of Jerusalem and our guide explained that the old part of the city is made up of 4 different neighborhoods: the Jewish quarter, the Christian quarter, the Muslim quarter, and the Armenian quarter. Even though they have their own space, the different cultures mix and mingle together. The most prominent landmark is the Dome of the Rock with its golden dome.

We continue on around the city to see other sites like the Russian Orthodox Church with its golden onion domes and a monastery. We then parked the van in a lot underneath a shopping mall that used to be located in a no man’s land. Before 1967, there was a bitter battle between Jordan and Israel on the ownership of Jerusalem. Eventually, Israel won out and it built a beautiful mall on it. We walked up the steps and were confronted with the impressive old wall built by Herod that surrounds the old city. We walked through the Jaffa gate which was the one that delivered goods from Jaffa Port in Tel Aviv.

The Old City is a unique in the complicated background of its inhabitants. You basically need to throw out all of your preconceptions of people based on their ethnicity, citizenship, or religion. For instance, we went to a school that was obviously in the Jewish city of Jerusalem, created by a Frenchman, run by the Christian Franciscans, but taught Christian Arab girls bible studies in Arabic. It’s what makes the area so fascinating. I loved wandering through the streets with all of the delicious sights and smells. It had the look of Jaffa from Tel Aviv, but you could tell that people actually lived there. It was gritty and had a long history that made it fascinating to look down every corridor and around every corner.

The main site on our tour was the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. It is the site where Christ was crucified and his blood dripped on Adam’s skull atoning for original sin, where he was anointed in death, and where he was buried. The church is again complicated since 6 different denominations of Christianity lay claim to the church, and they each have their own area. The church is huge and has several rooms and domes all around. Under the one dome to the left after you enter, there’s a rose colored tomb sitting in the center. Here, pilgrims wait in line for 3 hours at a time to see the place where Christ was buried and resurrected. Our guide showed it to us from the outside, but told us a secret. Supposedly, that spot was not the spot where he was buried. In a little room offshooting from the large dome, there’s a tiny room whose walls are just bare stone. There’s a little opening in the side with many candles; this was supposedly where Christ was buried and resurrected, but the church wanted to have a place where it could shuttle thousands of pilgrims through. At least that’s what we were told. We also saw the piece of marble where Christ was prepared for burial, and a little stairway up to the “top of the hill” where Christ was crucified. Honestly, inside I was overwhelmed. I feel that the devout created this beautiful church and it should inspire me to believe in the power and miracle of Christ. But I didn’t feel like it was particularly welcoming as other people pushed and shoved their way to the front to be able to see these holy relics. It was interesting to be able to see these holy sites, but I didn’t feel particular warm towards the people in there. Maybe I’m just being a cranky tourist!

We then continued down the Via Dolorosa backwards. It was a good idea because it was pretty hot in the old city with the close walls and stuffy streets, and we got to go downhill. The Via Dolorosa is the path that Christ took on his way to crucifixion. We saw where he fell, where he leaned against a wall to rest, and where a pilgrim wiped his face. I love how the sites are pretty unassuming. It’s next to a bakery or a souvenir shop and I could see how difficult this climb would be. We actually were in the Muslim quarter during this walk, ironically. We walked by the street that would lead us to the Dome of the Rock. Sadly a few years ago, they closed the Dome to everyone but devout Muslims and they have a couple of guards keeping watch. To prove that you’re a devout Muslim, you have to recite the first 5 versus of the Quran in Arabic. I will not be getting in there any time soon.

The different quarters get along well and inhabitants are allowed to come and go as they please. The one area that is the exception is right by the Western Wall, or the Wailing Wall. This is the last piece of the wall that was originally there when the second Temple fell and it’s where the Jews come to pay their respects. We were allowed through a security check where we went through a metal detector and their checked our bags, but we’re otherwise let through. The wall is a tall thing, probably 3 stories high. It’s blisteringly hot especially as the stones are white and reflect the sun back at your face. The women and the men go to different sides of the wall, but there is a wall and steps on the women’s side so you can pop your head over and see what’s going on. I felt really welcome where, where I didn’t feel it in the Church. Everyone was accepting of anyone who wanted to be at the wall, and anyone can put their wish in the wall for free. They event provide free pieces of paper and pens! Twice a year, the wall’s caretakers take the wishes out and bury them on Mount Olive, where the Jews believe that the Messiah will come to earth. Thus, your wishes will come true. It was fun peeking over the wall to see the bar mitzvahs going on and the men dancing.

We briefly stopped for lunch in the old city, then we were off back through the winding streets back to the Jaffa Gate. Our last stop of the day was to the Holocaust Museum. I have been to the one in DC several times, but it’s still moving to me. I can’t imagine the hardships that the Israeli people went through to be here today. It is such an important topic that the Israeli army sends all of its recruits to the museum to understand the country’s history as well as make sure that it never happens again. The museum was beautifully designed. It’s underground, but there is a long hallway through the middle with a skylight running through. The roof is triangular and sunlight does stream through. One particular moving room was the library where the museum stored all the names that they have of those who they have recorded. It’s a circular room, and there are tomes of books of whatever information they can get about the people from family, neighbors, acquaintances, or any official documents. It’s overwhelming and sobering to see the richness of 6 million lives condensed down to a library with names and faded photographs. Another particularly beautiful exhibit is the monument dedicated to the 1.5 million young children who perished. There is a room that is pitch black with mirrors. There are some lights there, but the way that they are reflected transform it into millions of lights floating disembodied in the darkness. There is a voice calling out the names of the lost, their ages, and where they perished. It was a stunning monument to the loss of innocence.

It was a sobering way to end our official touring around Israel, but it reminds me why the state is here and what many of the people went through to get to where they are today. We were treated to a beautiful sunset back in Tel Aviv and a light vegetarian dinner at Anastasia Café. It has been a whirlwind visiting Israel, and I can’t believe that it has been 10 days already! On to Petra tomorrow!

#Israel #Jerusalem

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pope-francis-quotes · 7 years

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7th May >> Pope Francis' Regina Coeli Address: On the Gospel of the Good Shepherd ~ Jesus Is the “Good Shepherd and the Door of the Sheep;” “If Any One Enters by Me, He Will Be Saved” Below, please find an English translation of the address Pope Francis gave today before and after praying the midday Regina Coeli with those gathered in St. Peter’s Square: Before the Angelus: Dear Brothers and Sisters, good morning! In this Sunday’s Gospel (Cf. John 10:1-10), called “of the Good Shepherd,” Jesus presents Himself with two images that complement one another: the image of the shepherd and the image of the door of the sheepfold. The flock, which we all are, has as its habitation a sheepfold that serves as refuge, where the sheep dwell and rest after the exhaustion of the way. And the sheepfold is an enclosure with a door, where there is a guardian. Different persons approach the flock: there is one that enters the enclosure passing by the door and one that “climbs in by another way” (v. 1). The former is the shepherd; the latter is a stranger, who does not love the sheep, he wants to enter for other reasons. Jesus identifies Himself with the former and manifests a relation of familiarity with the sheep, expressed through His voice, with which He calls them and which they recognize and follow (Cf. v.3). He calls them to lead them out to grassy pastures, where they find good nourishment. The second image with which Jesus presents Himself is that of the “door of the sheep” (v. 7). In fact, He says: “I am the door; if any one enters by me, he will be saved” (v. 9), that is, he will have life, and have it abundantly (Cf. v. 10). Christ, the Good Shepherd, became the door of humanity’s salvation because He offered His life for His sheep. Jesus, Good Shepherd and Door of the sheep, is a leader whose authority is expressed in service, a leader that to command gives His life and does not ask others to sacrifice it. We can trust such a leader, as the sheep that hear the voice of their shepherd, because they know that with him they go to good and abundant pastures. A signal suffices, a call and they follow, obey, set out on the way guided by the voice of him they sense as a friendly presence, strong and gentle at the same time, who directs, protects, consoles and medicates. So is Christ for us. There is a dimension of the Christian experience that, perhaps, we leave somewhat in the shade: the spiritual and affective dimension, our feeling of being connected by a special bond to the Lord as the sheep to their shepherd. Sometimes we rationalize the faith too much and we risk losing the perception of the tone of that voice, of the voice of Jesus, Good Shepherd, who stimulates and fascinates. As happened to the two disciples of Emmaus, whose heart burned while the Risen One was speaking along the way. It is the wonderful experience of feeling oneself loved by Jesus. Ask yourselves the question: Do I feel loved by Jesus?” For Him, we are never strangers, but friends and brothers. Yet, it is not always easy to distinguish the voice of the good shepherd. Be careful. There is always the risk of being distracted by the din of so many other voices. Today we are invited not to allow ourselves to be diverted by the false wisdom of this world, but to follow Jesus, the Risen One, as the only sure guide that gives meaning to our life. On this World Day of Prayer for Vocations – on particular for priestly vocations, so that the Lord will send us good Pastors — we invoke the Virgin Mary: may she accompany the ten new priests that I ordained a short while ago. I have asked four of them of the Diocese of Rome to come to give the blessing together with me. May Our Lady support with her help all those called by Him, so that they are prompt and generous in following His voice. [Original text: Italian] [Translation by Virginia M. Forrester] * After the Regina Coeli Dear Brothers and Sisters, Proclaimed Blesseds yesterday at Gerona, Spain, were Antonio Arribas Hortiguela and six companions, Religious of the Congregation of Missionaries of the Sacred Heart. These faithful and heroic disciples of Jesus were killed out of hatred for the faith at a time of religious persecution. May their martyrdom, accepted out of love for God and fidelity to their vocation, awaken in the Church the desire to witness with fortitude the Gospel of Charity. I greet you all, Roman faithful and pilgrims, in particular those from Warsaw, Aalen (Germany), Liebenau (Austria), from Chennai (India) and from Texas, as well as the teachers and students of the “Corderius College” of Amersfoort (Low Countries). I greet the “Meter” Association, which for over 20 years has opposed every form of abuse on minors. Thank you. Thank you so much for your commitment in the Church and in society, and go on with courage! I greet the participants in the national gathering of the Police Arms, the delegation of the Police Autonomous Syndicate, the faithful of Pomezia and Palestrina, the Holy Sepulcher Association of Foligno, the Valsolda Philharmonic and the youngsters of Modica. [The Valsolda Philharmonic played and the Pope added: “Good!” Tomorrow we will address our Supplication to Our Lady of the Rosary of Pompeii. In this month of May we pray the Rosary in particular for peace, I recommend: let us pray the Rosary for peace, as requested by the Virgin of Fatima, where I will go on pilgrimage in a few days, on the occasion of the centenary of the first apparition. I wish you all a good Sunday. And, please, do not forget to pray for me. Have a good lunch and see you soon! [Original text: Italian] [Translation by Virginia M. Forrester]

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autolovecraft · 6 years

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On October 29 we found it.

It is not dream—it is not dream—it is not dream—it is not dream—it is not, I bade the knocker enter, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we proceeded to the theory that we were troubled by what we read. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the stealing of the neighborhood. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the city. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a semi-canine face, and mumbled over his body one of our shocking expedition, or sphinx with a charnel fever like our own. And when I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade.

Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a gigantic hound. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a nameless deed in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade.

Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Much—amazingly much—was left of the earth. -Upheaving stenches of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the night of September 24,19—, I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my spade.

Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old manor-house on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and we could neither see nor definitely place. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and in the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower. And when I spoke to him, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! As we heard the faint baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

Four days later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and he could not be sure. The moon was up, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by what we read. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.

My friend was dying when I saw on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. St John and myself.

We were no vulgar ghouls, but we recognized it as the victims of some ominous, grinning secret of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the unnamed and unnameable. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what we read. I dared not look at it. When I aroused St John must soon befall me.

When I aroused St John was always the leader, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we proceeded to the calm white thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or in our ears the faint distant baying of some gigantic hound.

When I aroused St John and myself. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John was always the leader, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John must soon befall me.

As we heard the faint baying of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and I had once violated, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! I approached the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the neighborhood. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. Wearied with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.

They were as baffling as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and it ceased altogether as I. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the earth we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.

So, too, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or a clumsy manipulation of the thing hinted of in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently. The enigmas of the thing that lay within; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. And as I approached the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. This is the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, or in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the picture of ourselves, the dancing death-fires, the titanic bats, was the dark rumor and legendry, the pale watching moon, the titanic bats, the sickening odors, the horrible shadows; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the amulet. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.

In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to ribbons. Around the walls of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical.

Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. I saw a black shape obscure one of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of the unknown, we thought we saw that it held. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. What the hound was, and with headstones snatched from the centuried grave.

May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

#H.P. Lovecraft #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #1922 #The Hound #The Hound week

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