— Rasha Abdulhadi, "a litany of refusals to become ghostly"
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I bet you did the best you could today.
May you come to see that performance as the most any human could ever ask of you.
I bet you made the best choices you could with the information you have.
May you come to understand all the lessons the Universe has to teach you.
I bet you regulated your emotions with as much skill as you were taught by those who cared for you when you were young.
May you come to befriend your full spectrum of emotions and come to see them as helpful information that you engage with consciously and curiously.
I bet you cared for your body with as much love as you’ve been led to believe you deserve.
May you come to see yourself as deserving as much love as the whole Universe holds.
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litany
by Mahogany L. Browne
I wish I knew how
It would feel to be free
I wish I could break
All the chains holding me
—Nina Simone
today i am a black woman in america
& i am singing a melody ridden lullaby
it sounds like:
the gentrification of a brooklyn stoop
the rent raised three times my wages
the bodega and laundromat burned down on the corner
the people on the corner
each lock & key their chromosomes
a note of ash & inquiry on their tongues
today i am a black woman in a hopeless state
i will apply for financial aid and food stamps
with the same mouth i spit poems from
i will ask the angels of a creative god to lessen
the blows
& i will beg for forgiveness when i curse
the rising sun
today, i am a black woman in a body of coal
i am always burning and no one knows my name
i am a nameless fury, i am a blues scratched from
the throat of ms. nina—i am always angry
i am always a bumble hive of hello
i love like this too loudly, my neighbors
think i am an unforgiving bitter
sometimes, i think my neighbors are right
most times i think my neighbors are nosey
today, i am a cold country, a storm
brewing, a heat wave of a woman wearing
red pumps to the funeral of my ex-lover’s
today, i am a woman, a brown and black &
brew woman dreaming of freedom
today, i am a mother, & my country is burning
and i forget how to flee
from such a flamboyant backdraft
—i’m too in awe of how beautiful i look
on fire
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If you've never heard this phrase I hope it's some use to you:
"Not my circus, not my monkeys."
It's an equivalent of "not my problem" but it's more or less a litany against getting involved in something that will not bring you any joy for getting involved.
This is not an excuse for truly important things, or to for you to be something as braindead as "apolitical". This phrase is applicable mostly for workplace drama, nonsense on a discord server about inconsequential bullshit, meaningless strife amongst friends, schemes you're asked to get involved in but you know you shouldn't, or otherwise things you know are going to be a disaster.
Whenever you find yourself getting sucked into situations like this, just take a deep breath, step back from the fracas, and repeat to yourself: "Not my circus, not my monkeys."
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Litany against watching TikTok I made for me and my roommate to combat doomscrolling
I must not open TikTok.
TikTok is the mind-killer.
TikTok is cocomelon for adults
TikTok is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my urge to open TikTok.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the urge has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
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[from my files]
* * * *
when we are old & our hearts have beat within us, let
us go back, & when we have buried our loves, & shed
our bodies piece by piece, & when we have danced
& broken our shoes, & danced, let us go back,
when we have gone mad, & when we have shut
the doors, dismantled our eyes & rifles, let us go back,
when we have drunk the wine & licked our lips
& put our tongues to the inside of the green glass bottle
& laid down our bodies old as trees, streets, let us go back,
when we have told our stories & forgotten our stories,
& set the tables & made the beds, let us go back,
& received other bodies into our bodies, let us go,
when we have entered, & opened,
& opened our mouths, let us go back,
[…] when the poem has been sung,
when the strings & tambourines,
when all the birds have gathered at the window, let us go,
let us go back there, let us go back
—Aracelis Girmay, from “Litany,” Teeth (Curbstone Press, 2007)
[Thanks to “Alive On All Channels”]
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Jan Dismas Zelenka (1679-1745) - Litaniae Omnium Sanctorum, ZWV 153
I: Kyrie eleison 00:00 II: Pater de coelis 3:39 III: Sancte petri 10:04 IV: Propitius esto 12:56 V: Ab ira tua 14:55 VI: Peccatores 18:35 VII: Ut nos ad veram 20:29 VIII: Agnus Dei 27:20
Performers: Inégal Ensemble, Adam Viktora, Gabriela Eibenová, Marian Krejčík, Terry Wey, Cyril Auvity, Prague Baroque Soloists.
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Vader - Litany
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Patreon Topic 86: A Magical Analysis of Dune's Litany Against Fear
If you want to submit a topic you would like me to write on for this blog or my Patreon, sign up for the Ansuz level or above here on my Patreon.
From Cunnian comes this topic:
“A magical analysis of Dune’s Fear incantation would be interesting. For me, I currently parse stuff a lot like diagramming a sentence: x element, y element, definition of actor and action, repetition and reinforcement,…
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Travis Kelce is the Tortured Poet we deserve. #upgrade
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I survived and so can you.
I survived and so will you.
I survived and so may you.
I grew strong and so can you.
I grew strong and so will you.
I grew strong and so may you.
I meet my needs and so can you.
I meet my needs and so will you.
I meet my needs and so may you.
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Litany
by Billy Collins
You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine…
–Jacques Crickillon
You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.
However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.
It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general’s head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.
And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.
It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.
I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.
I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman’s tea cup.
But don’t worry, I’m not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and–somehow–the wine.
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LITANY, 2023
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